#Moving Companies Brussels

[movingcube]

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[like-apollo]

A Funky Friendsgiving

[I thought it would be fun to include some characters from my last story]

You were laying on your back in Anthony's king size bed, as his tan bubble butt was spread across your face.  “Don’t be shy babe, eat it up” he said as he was grinding on you, rocking up and down your face causing his hole to move from your nose to your mouth, back and forth. It smelled so bitter yet sweet.  “I mean it is Thanksgiving after all.”

The movement was building pressure around his puckered ass and you knew you were trapped.  Not that you minded

BBbbbrrRrRAaaaaPppptt 

“Ahhhh there you go, baby” he sighed as your tongue pressed against his hole and penetrated deep into his anal canal, causing him to realase more heavy gas down your throat. 

PhhFfrttPtt.

“Kiss it for me, babe?”  He kept ripping ass while grinding on your open mouth and up your nose.  You knew it was the only air you would be breathing tonight but you didn’t care.  It was coming from Anthony’s beautiful buttocks and you had no plans to stop…

Earlier that night, you arrived at your friend Christina’s house for a friendsgiving.  You had been looking forward to catching up with some good friends that you’ve known since high school.  It’s tough to get everyone together being in your 30s now, but you always made it work and it was always worth it. 

Even your friend Dante who you hadn’t seen in several months showed up, which was a nice surprise.  He brought his father David.  His dad was extremely fit and good looking for his age and you couldn’t help but to admire him.  Even though he was older, he fit in with everyone and made good company.  You happened to notice that Dante and David seemed very close for a father and son. Their energy threw you off at first, but you tried not to read into it too much.  Everyone was having a good time, after all.

With such a diverse group of friends, there was an exceptional mix of cuisine:  Dante and David brought their delicious Macaroni and Cheese; Noel brought a large platter of brown rice and beans along with a side of cheesy beef empenadas; Anthony brought his home made stuffed shells; Tia made mashed potatoes and a side of brussel sprouts; you brought a broccoli and cheddar fondu; and Christina, being the host, prepared a delicious turkey with a side of gravy and stuffing.  There was way more than enough food for the 7 of you.

Everyone was catching up and having a good time.  You stepped away to get a beer when suddenly you felt a hand on your shoulder. 

“Yo man!  Long time no see.”  You tunred around to see your friend Anthony.  Anthony was tall, handsome guy and he always had your back, even in your earlier school days.  Being an extrovert, Anthony now worked in sales and introduced you to a lot of people throughout the years, both friends and colleagues.  He was charismatic and always made people feel comfortable, but he was also a great friend. You couldn't help but admire his charm. 

“Hey Tony!  I was just grabbing a drink.”  Tony walked with you to the kitchen as you caught up with each other.  You've always had a crush on Anthony, but your friendship never went beyond that.  He knew you were gay from the beginning which helped him open up to you when he began exploring his own sexual identity and thoughts about other men, but it was more platonic.  Plus he had been living with his boyfriend Alex for over a year now and you cared about his happiness more than anything. 

Still, you felt more of an attraction to him tonight and noticed he was talking to you more than any of your friends.   Not that you minded, but it was hard to keep your feelings down - literally as your cock jumped in your pants every time he spoke. 

After a few drinks, it was time for dinner.  You looked in awe at the abundance of a delcious dinner in front of you.  Anthony grabbed 2 plates and handed one to you.  “Look, so there’s something I wanted to tell you.  After my promotion, I was actually able to move out and get a place of my own.  It was rough at first, but I’m making it work.”

You didn’t really understand what he meant.  Last time you checked, him and Alex were doing well together.  “Oh wow. I mean that’s great Tone, but you and Alex already had your own place, no?” 

“Yeah, so about that...”  Anthony was loading his plate up now.  He started with the Mac and Cheese and then added rice and beans. “As you know, me and Alex have gone through our ups and downs in the past.”  He was piling up his plate now with turkey, brussel sprouts, 2 empanadas, stuffed shells and mashed potatoes.  “We were always able to work through them, but we got into a big argument and there’s just no going back.”

You honestly didn’t know what to say. On one hand, you were shocked.  I mean, you cared about your friend, but it also low key made you excited knowing that he was single again.  But you also wanted to be there for him.  “Wow Tony, wait so back up, everything was going good between you and Alex, so what happened?” 

“I don’t really know how to tell you man, but“

“Sheesh Tony, the food isn’t going anywhere” he was interrupted by your other good frined Noel, noticing the mountain of dinner on his plate.  “I can’t even see the plate underneath!”

“Relax Noel, there’s definitely more than enough food here.” Christina chimed in.

“Yeah, but we all know what happens to Tony’s stomach when he eats too much.” Noel said grinning.

Noel was great guy and he was part of your inner circle back in the day.  What he was referring to was Anthony’s lactose intolerance, which you all were familiar with.  Even when he took his digestive enzymes, Tony’s gas was heavy and lethal. And dairy just added fuel to the flames.  Tonight his plate was full of different cheesy foods in addition to the turkey.

Tony walked over to Noel: “Life’s too short, man.” he turned his back to Noel.  “Sometimes you just gotta let loose-”

BbbbBBrrRRppPPttt

“…and live a little” he said as he ripped a booming 7 second fart right on Noel’s plate.

“Come on Tone, that was right on my food!”  Noel said frustrated as he walked to the living room.  Anthony just gave an evil smirk as he followed behind Noel.  Everyone was laughing about it as they went to the living room – well, everyone except for you.

Aside from the potent stench, his fart didn't really phase you. You stood in the kitchen for a moment contemplating what to do.  You really wanted to tell Anthony about your feelings tonight, and he just disclosed that he was single now, so you had the freedom to speak on it.  Still, as his friend, you wanted to know what happened with Alex. You wanted to talk to him, alone.

Back in the living room, everyone was eating and chatting.  Anthony was enjoying his massive plate while chatting with Dante and David.  You walked over and sat with them, trying to join in the conversation. 

“Man that was a pretty gnarly fart earlier” Dante said with a laugh.  “Can’t imagine how bad it’s going to get after dinner.” 

“Trust me, it’s gonna keep me up all night.” Dante and David gave each other an interesting look, which you never understood to this day. But your mind was occupied about Anthony to think too much about it.

Anthony finished his plate without saying a word to you.  You felt a shift in the energy, as he got up and walked to the bathroom.  As the night went on, you caught up with your other friends.  You tried to talk to Anthony again but it was as if he ignored you.  He was showing you so much attention at the start of the party, so what was going on?

By the end of the night, everyone was saying their goodbyes until it was just you and Anthony.  You both decided to leave together and after saying goodbye to Christina, you walked outside in silence.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you all night Tony” you said breaking the silence.  “You okay?”

“I’m good man, it was just a little bit uncomfortable earlier” he was finally opening up to you.

“Look, Tony, I’m not sure what happened but you can talk to me about anything.”

He looked at you and took a deep breath, then closed his eyes forcefully as he leaned forward.

BBBbbBBBRrrrRRPPPbbBBUUuuUUUMMMPpppPPPFFfffFTttTTt

He let out a loud, chunky 23-second fart that shook the whole street and set off the neighbor’s car alarm.   Even being outside, the smell hit burned the inside of your nostrils as you began coughing.

“Damn Tony, you might wanna check your pants. I was just-“

He interrupted you.  “Look I don’t know how to say this, but here it goes: yes, I have some powerful gas. But it’s not for everyone.  Alex wasn’t a fan of it.  We ended up getting into a huge fight over it.  The reason I left is because he couldn’t take it and he wasn’t open to it.”  he was looking at the ground now.  “He told me it was disgusting…”

“Wow, Tony, I’m so sorry man, I had no idea.  I mean it seems a little extreme to break up over farting.”  You wanted to tell him more about your feelings, but you were just trying to be there for your friend at this point.

“Well it’s not just about the gas.  The thing of it is, I have a kink for farting on other men.  I haven't been able to explore that yet. And I wanted to with Alex.  He seemed so open minded when we first met and I thought that after so much time he’d be willing to try it” Anthony said, now looking up at you.  “And the other thing is, seeing you tonight just made me feel good again.  But I didn’t want this to weird you out.  I mean I saw how Alex reacted…” It was all making sense now as to why he was ignoring you.  

Somehow through the gas, you were extremely turned on.  You had never really tried anything with farts before but just the idea of Anthony being so vulnerable in this moment about his deepest desire was turning you on. You didn't understand it but you were open to it.

“Look Tony I gotta be honest with you man.  It’s always been you.  I’ve always liked you.  Yes, your gas is powerful, but that never really bothered me.  Actually, if you want, we could try it out sometime…”

He grabbed your hand. “Well hopefully Christina doesn’t mind keeping your car overnight.  And we can just tell her you drank too much or something” He said with a laugh. Now Tony was the one getting hard at the thought of farting in your face all night.  “Would you wanna come back to my place?”

You couldn’t say no to him.  The thought of being with Anthony, who you've known for years, and the thought of taking his beautiful ass just felt right.  His stomach was rumbling at this point and he was ready to give you all of his built up gas, and you had no choice but to be there for him. 

You made it back to his car. As he puilled out of the driveway, he locked all of the windows.  

BrrRRrRRMmpppffffFffFt. The first of many deadly farts erupted and he moaned in relief, hand on his stomach.  The smell was intoxicating and you felt your eyes water being trapped in his car.  You honestly weren’t sure if you could take it but that was just turning you on more. Not to mention that it was giving Anthony so much pleasure and fulfilling his desires. Your dick was growing in your pants.

You started giving him a belly rub as he drove back to his place.  You could feel the bubbling in his guts as he was driving quicker.  The combination of all the food he ate was really messing with his stomach.

PffFfFFFFrRUrrrtT His farts kept coming out and shaking his seat.  “Ugh babe I have so much gas tonight.  I hope you’re ready for it.”  The smell was overpowering your mind.  You moved your hand down from his stomach and felt his throbbing cock through his pants, which turned you on even more.  Good thing Anthony’s house was only a few minutes away.

Tthe smell was overpowering, but you were so turned on being inside in Anthony’s fart cloud and breathing in his gas.  It’s like he was conditioning you to fall in love with his funk.  He quickly parked and you looked at each other as he kissed you passionately in the midst of his stink.  You were both precumming now, as he licked your lips and you felt his tongue inside your mouth. You both made it inside to his room, while he ripped as with each step up the stairs. 

You walked in first and he followed, closing the door behind him.  You walked over to his bed and he followed.  “Baby, you know you’re gonna take all of this ass tonight, right?” he says taking his pants off.

He turned around and you saw his bubble butt busting out of his slacks as he threw them to the wall.  He turned around to reveal his 8 inch rock hard cock poking through his underwear.  You were staring in awe, dick throbbing as you began to unbutton your own pants when he pushed you back on the bed. He turned around and stood above you. 

You saw his beautiful ass pointed out getting closer to your face as his legs straddled each side of your torso.  He finished taking your pants off as his ass rested on your face like two firm pillows until he was pressing full weight on your warm face.

Anthony pulled out your dick and jerked you off as he leaned forward .  You gripped his waist and pushed his butt farther down onto your face as his cheeks spread further apart in his underwear.

BbBbBBrRRrRoOommMmpppFffttt.

This was the first of his farts that you ever took directly to the face and the smell hit you instantly. You had no choice but to breathe it in and smell his toxic fumes.  “Ahhhh fuck baby, having your face on my ass is what I've been waiting for.”  Even through his thin briefs, you could still taste the bitter aroma of the enormous plate he ate earlier. 

He ascended up giving you a moment of semi-fresh air with the smell of his farts still lingering and pulled down his underwear to reveal his glorious, tan bubble butt.  It was slightly hairy and his raw, unwashed crack looked delicious. 

You were laying on your back in his king size bed as he spread his bare, tan ass across your face, feeling the rim of his smooth asshole brush up against your mouth.  “Don’t be shy babe, eat it up” he said as he was grinding on you, rocking up and down. It smelled so bitter yet sweet.  bBBBbruuppPppFfT “I mean it is Thanksgiving after all.”

He was moving his butt up and down your face while your tongue was going in and out of his dirty hole.

BBbbbrrRrRAaaaaPppptt 

“Ahhhh there you go, baby” he sighed as your tongue pressed against his hole and penetrated deep into his anal canal, causing him to realase more gas down your throat. 

PhhFfrttPtt.

“Kiss it for me, babe?”  He kept ripping ass while still grinding on your open mouth and up your nose.  You knew it was the only air you would be breathing tonight but you didn’t care.  You were in heaven with Anthony, enjoying all his gas. 

“Fuuuucckkkkk babe, I hope you weren’t tired tonight, because I have no plans of stopping.”  You opened your mouth and planted it around his ass, pushing deeper as he pressed harder on your smothered face. 

BRRRrrRrooOommFfrRRooUUmppttTT

“Mmmhhhhh-ugh” Anthony was moaning in pleasure as your entire mouth surrounded his throbbing hole.  He ripped more and more ass.  You could feel the pressure release from his body as he moaned in relief.  

Even though you could barely breathe, you kept licking Anthony’s hole and taking all of his bitter farts, as you felt his warm mouth surround your throbbing cock. You released loads of thick cum down his throat until it overflowed from his mouth.  “Nngghhh” You heard a faint strain from above before

BBBBBBBbBBbbbrRRruuUuUMUmNnnNNNMMPPPpPpFfftTTTtttTTsss

The strong pressure from his hole released a violent, meaty eruption of farts that lasted more than 60 seconds, with his toxic fumes releasing directly into your face, forcing you to breathe pure gas.  Your vision became blurry until you were unconscious, knocked out by Anthony’s dirty farts.

[thejournalisttintin]

I’m also working on a series of timeline age-ups for the Tintin characters, both canon and fanmade. Because these will be the perfect opportunity for me to brainstorm headcanons, as well as accept any suggestions from you all as well.

Now I’m starting off with my favorite ginger dork, Tintin!

Keep in mind, this is my personal interpretation of Tintin’s background, but everyone is free to interpret his history how they like it.

My headcanons for Tintin underneath:

Kid: Both Tintin and his twin brother Martin were left in the same orphanage as infants due to the First World War. Growing up in the orphanage, they never really had anyone to be friends with besides each other. However, they were often picked on simply because they were ginger.

As a kid, Tintin loved doing things that weren’t really considered normal for little boys his age. He was wildly imaginative, pretending sticks were swords, trees and large boulders were castles, and leaf wreaths that he made himself were crowns. He also had this phase where he loved collecting abandoned bird nests, mainly because he found them fascinating.

Preteen: This was known as Tintin’s “problematic” phase. Both Tintin and Martin were taken in by different guardians. Tintin was adopted by the manager of a local newspaper in Brussels, where he would eventually work. Meanwhile, Martin found a family in a wealthy but infertile couple. Yet they attended the same school together, which was a bit of a win.

However, Tintin was known for getting in trouble a lot at school, mainly because he kept getting into fights with the other boys. But the reason he got into fights was mainly out of protecting Martin, who was bullied relentlessly for his peanut allergy and nerdy attitude. This also occurred outside of school, when Tintin picked up a side job as a paperboy.

Teen: During the early canon of the comics. Tintin had decided to work at the local newspaper, which was taken over by a new publisher after the previous one, his adoptive guardian, had passed away. However, the new manager turned Tintin down due to his age, since he was still attending school.

So Tintin came up with the idea of lying about his age to get in. Which unfortunately meant he had to drop out of school, since he’d be working full time.

Martin, meanwhile, worked for a newspaper company on the other side of Brussels, in Antwerp. But Tintin and Martin still remained in contact and wrote to each other, despite them both working for different newspaper companies.

Current: Tintin as we all know him now!

With his dog Snowy, he has since moved into Marlinspike with Captain Haddock. They have also gone on various adventures together, having made friends (and enemies!) along the way. At some point during the post-canon timeline, Tintin starts to grapple with long-kept secrets about his past, some good and some bad, as well as his relationships toward his friends.

So here’s Tintin’s timeline age-up!

Enjoy!

[girlactionfigure]

THURSDAY HERO: Johan Weidner 

Johan “Jean” Weidner was a Dutch businessman who created an extensive underground rescue network and saved the lives of 800 Jews and 112 downed Allied aviators.

Born in Brussels in 1912 to Dutch parents, Jean grew up in Switzerland in a devout Seventh-Day Adventist home. His father, a minister who taught Greek and Latin at a church seminary, wanted Jean to become a clergyman but instead he decided to go into business. He moved to Paris in 1935 and started an import-export textile firm.

When the Germans occupied Paris in 1940 Jean dropped everything and fled to Lyon in unoccupied France. He had to abandon his company, so he started a new one in Lyon.

In 1941, as the situation for Jews and other enemies of the Nazi war machine grew more dire, Jean took action. He created an underground network secretly run out of his textile factory. To facilitate escape to Switzerland, Jean opened a second branch of his business in Annecy, near the Swiss border. The route was dotted with safe houses and locals sympathetic to the Resistance who sheltered the refugees and helped them cross the border.

Known as Dutch-Paris, the network Jean created became one of the most effective resistance groups during war. Also called “the Swiss Way,” the network’s mission was to rescue people targeted by the Nazis by hiding them until they could help them escape to a neutral country.

Jean was leader of 330 men, women and teenagers working clandestinely in occupied countries of Western Europe as well as in Switzerland.

Dutch-Paris was constantly in need of funds to support their extensive activities, and Jean made a deal with the Dutch ambassador to Switzerland. The Dutch government-in-exile in London would fund the rescue operations if Jean 1) expanded the escape route to reach all the way to Spain and 2) used the route to convey intelligence on microfilm between Dutch resistance groups. Jean agreed to the terms and the expanded network began operating in November 1943.

In January of 1944 they began rescuing downed Allied aviators, an especially dangerous operation because it attracted the attention of German military intelligence officers. In only a month they saved over 112 pilots before tragedy struck. In February 1944, a young Dutch woman working as a courier was arrested by the French police and turned over to the Gestapo. They tortured her physically and psychologically, and threatened her family. She cracked under pressure and gave up names of her colleagues colleagues in the Dutch-Paris network.

Germans started arresting members of Dutch-Paris, including Jean’s sister Gabrielle. Over the next few months, many of the rescuers were sent to concentration camps, where at least forty of them were murdered. Gabrielle survived until liberation by the Russians, but she was so malnourished that she died days later.

Jean was able to escape capture long enough to rebuild networks and continue his rescue operations. In Toulouse he was arrested by the French police, but he escaped before they were able to transfer him to the Germans.

France was liberated in November 1944 and Jean was invited to London by Queen Wilhemina to inform her about the Dutch-Paris route, and the situation for Dutch civilians in areas occupied by the Germans. He was made a Captian in the Dutch Armed Forces but after the war he was let go by the Dutch government for not being a professional policeman. Jean returned to his textile business, and in 1955 emigrated to the United States where he and his wife operated a chain of health food stores for several decades.

He received multiple awards for his wartime heroism including the US Medal of Freedom, the Croix de Guerre and the Legion d’honneur. He was honored as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem, and a grove of trees was planted in his name. In 1993, at the opening of the United States Holocaust Museum in Washington DC, he was one of seven people chosen to light candles honoring rescuers.

Jean Weidner died in 1994 in Southern California. Abraham Foxman, then National Director of the ADL said, “John Weidner lived his entire life giving back… Until his death, he lived a life of selflessness and service, working tirelessly to make the world a better place.”

For creating an underground escape route for victims of the Nazis, and saving hundreds of lives, we honor Jean Weidner as this week’s Thursday Hero.

[harryssattelitestomper]

Going on tour with bf!Harry (written one-shot)

Warnings: Use of "she/her" pronouns. Cursing.

Wordcount: 1K.

A/N: I'm not used to writing written one-shots but I tried my best, I hope you like it! Feedback is always welcomed 🥰

To be fair I hadn't meant to leave packing for the last minute, I just got distracted with other things. At least that's what I kept telling myself. But the truth was I just couldn't find it in myself to start, I mean no one likes packing for trips.

Perhaps my lack of enthusiasm was just because I knew I had to pack almost my whole entire wardrobe with me. I mean I was going on tour with Harry for a month. And a girl needed outfit options.

After finally pulling myself out of my spot on the bed where I had cocooned myself, I began to sort through my wardrobe and putting my stuff into my suitcase.

After what felt like hours I was finally done with packing. I put my suitcase at the end of Harry's and my bed for him to carry downstairs later and made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

I grabbed an iced tea from the fridge and after receiving a text from Harry saying he's gonna be home in an hour, I started making dinner.

As I had just finished making the pasta sauce and began to pour it in with the pasta I heard the front door closing.

"Lovie I'm home" I heard Harry yelling from the entryway, sounding relieved to be home.

"In the kitchen!" I continued making dinner as I waited for him to reach me. And a few seconds later I felt strong arms around my waist and a face being showed into my neck, peppering kisses along the expanse of my neck.

'missed yous' and 'i love yous' being murmured into my neck, I finally let myself move from the embrace and turned around to face him, my arms looping around his neck.

"Hi" his voice soft as if he'd just woken up even though that was not the case and he had in fact been up since 6am.

"Dinner's ready" I stated as I loosened my arms from him and started getting plates up from the cabinet.

As we situated ourselves at the dining table, plates full of pasta and glasses filled with red wine we relaxed, talked about the upcoming departure for the last shows of Love On Tour and just enjoyed each other's company.

It was 6am when Harry's alarm rang and it was time for us to go to the airport. Since we had packed most of our things, we just did our morning business, got dressed in some comfortable clothes and took off in the car that had been ordered for us. We were going to Werchter, Belgium for some of the shows that were ending an era. We had traveled back to our London home inbetween the Cardiff show and the Werchter show for some much needed rest. Because nothing beat the feeling of sleeping in your own bed.

After about an hour flight we'd arrived to Brussels from where we'd take a car ride to Werchter since it too took only an hour.

When we finally arrived to our hotel we straight away flopped onto the hotel bed, even though the flight and car ride were fairly short, traveling and interacting with people was always a bit exhausting so we took a quick nap before meeting with the others (Ai Sarah, Mitch etc.) at the lobby and going sight-seeing.

We went to see Stadhus van Leuven, which I wasn't sure if it was anything special but at least the building was absolutely beautiful.

After visiting a few more landmarks and going to grab some lunch, we strolled back to the hotel to get ready to leave for sound-check.

I was sitting on a random equipment box watching Harry and the band practice (really I was just admiring him). He randomly waved at me or blew me a kiss which, even after three years of dating still got butterflies to appear in my stomach.

"What's up" he chimed as he made his way over to me on the equipment box.

"Nothing, just thinking bout' how Love On Tour is almost over" I replied, with a bit of a bittersweet tone.

Harry moved to sit with me on the box and wrapping his arms around my waist.

"It is kind of bittersweet isn't it? A part of me is scared about people being disappointed in me taking a break but a bigger part of me is so excited about what's to come." he mumbled while playing with my engagement ring.

I just nodded my head and leaned my against his shoulder, knowing he was more making an observation than waiting for an answer. As we sat and watched the crew putting things in order I kept thinking about how proud of him I was.

"Guys you need to go get dressed" Jeff told us so we made our way to Harry's dressingroom.

Harry was dressed and doing his pre-show stretches as I once again stood on the side as to not get in anyones way. I had also changed my outfit (per H's request since he liked when I matched him) .

As it was time for him to start going on stage he came to collect his good-luck kiss and he was on his way.

I also made my way towards Anne who had flown to tonight's show. We, together with my assigned bodyguard made our way into the VIP/family booth.

"Can't believe tour's almost over" Anne mumbled to me when we were finally seated and rested her hand on mine. "Me neither, I'm trying to make the most of it before it's over" I answered her as I took in the view around me. Nothing could beat the way people lit up when they saw Harry, how they exchanged bracelets, dressed in colorful clothes, felt at ease. Oh, how I was gonna miss this. Obviously I knew there where so many things and new projects waiting for me and Harry in the future, but I've never been good with change.

As Harry finally came on stage he immediately had everyone drawn to him. Everyone's attention was on him.

As the night went on me and Anne danced and sang, watched Harry reading and answering signs, laughing with him, just enjoying the night fully.

After all; New and great beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.

[mariacallous]

If the past five years of EU tech rules could take human form, they would embody Thierry Breton. The bombastic commissioner, with his swoop of white hair, became the public face of Brussels’ irritation with American tech giants, touring Silicon Valley last summer to personally remind the industry of looming regulatory deadlines.

Combative and outspoken, Breton warned that Apple had spent too long “squeezing” other companies out of the market. In a case against TikTok, he emphasized, “our children are not guinea pigs for social media.”

His confrontational attitude to the CEOs themselves was visible in his posts on X. In the lead-up to Musk’s interview with Donald Trump, Breton posted a vague but threatening letter on his account reminding Musk there would be consequences if he used his platform to amplify “harmful content.” Last year, he published a photo with Mark Zuckerberg, declaring a new EU motto of “move fast to fix things”—a jibe at the notorious early Facebook slogan. And in a 2023 meeting with Google CEO Sundar Pichai, Breton reportedly got him to agree to an “AI pact” on the spot, before tweeting the agreement, making it difficult for Pichai to back out.

Yet in this week’s reshuffle of top EU jobs, Breton resigned—a decision he alleged was due to backroom dealing between EU Commission president Ursula von der Leyen and French president Emmanuel Macron.

“I'm sure [the tech giants are] happy Mr. Breton will go, because he understood you have to hit shareholders’ pockets when it comes to fines,” says Umberto Gambini, a former adviser at the EU Parliament and now a partner at consultancy Forward Global.

Breton is to be effectively replaced by the Finnish politician Henna Virkkunen, from the center-right EPP Group, who has previously worked on the Digital Services Act.

“Her style will surely be less brutal and maybe less visible on X than Breton,” says Gambini. “It could be an opportunity to restart and reboot the relations.”

Little is known about Virkkunen’s attitude to Big Tech’s role in Europe’s economy. But her role has been reshaped to fit von der Leyen’s priorities for her next five-year term. While Breton was the commissioner for the internal market, Virkkunen will work with the same team but operate under the upgraded title of executive vice president for tech sovereignty, security and democracy, meaning she reports directly to von der Leyen.

The 27 commissioners, who form von der Leyen’s new team and are each tasked with a different area of focus, still have to be approved by the European Parliament—a process that could take weeks.

“[Previously], it was very, very clear that the commission was ambitious when it came to thinking about and proposing new legislation to counter all these different threats that they had perceived, especially those posed by big technology platforms,” says Mathias Vermeulen, public policy director at Brussels-based consultancy AWO. “That is not a political priority anymore, in the sense that legislation has been adopted and now has to be enforced.”

Instead Virkkunen’s title implies the focus has shifted to technology’s role in European security and the bloc’s dependency on other countries for critical technologies like chips. “There's this realization that you now need somebody who can really connect the dots between geopolitics, security policy, industrial policy, and then the enforcement of all the digital laws,” he adds. Earlier in September, a much anticipated report by economist and former Italian prime minister Mario Draghi warned that Europe would risk becoming “vulnerable to coercion” on the world stage if it did not jump-start growth. “We must have more secure supply chains for critical raw materials and technologies,” he said.

Breton is not the only prolific Big Tech adversary to be replaced this week—in a planned exit. Gone, too, is Margrethe Vestager, who had garnered a reputation as one of the world’s most powerful antitrust regulators after 10 years in the post. Last week, Vestager celebrated a victory in a case forcing Apple to pay $14.4 billion in back taxes to Ireland, a case once referred to by Apple CEO Tim Cook as “total political crap”.

Vestager—who vied with Breton for the reputation of lead digital enforcer (technically she was his superior)—will now be replaced by the Spanish socialist Teresa Ribera, whose role will encompass competition as well as Europe’s green transition. Her official title will be executive vice-president-designate for a clean, just and competitive transition, making it likely Big Tech will slip down the list of priorities. “[Ribera’s] most immediate political priority is really about setting up this clean industrial deal,” says Vermuelen.

Political priorities might be shifting, but the frenzy of new rules introduced over the past five years will still need to be enforced. There is an ongoing legal battle over Google’s $1.7 billion antitrust fine. Apple, Google, and Meta are under investigation for breaches of the Digital Markets Act. Under the Digital Services Act, TikTok, Meta, AliExpress, as well as Elon Musk’s X are also subject to probes. “It is too soon for Elon Musk to breathe a sigh of relief,” says J. Scott Marcus, senior fellow at think tank Bruegel. He claims that Musk's alleged practices at X are likely to run afoul of the Digital Services Act (DSA) no matter who the commissioner is.

“The tone of the confrontation might become a bit more civil, but the issues are unlikely to go away.”

[eoieopda]

hello! i have a song for the game. Thank you for doing this!

I really like Anywhere by Rita Ora and Namjoon.

thank youu x

oh this was such a cute song! 10/10

listen here

ft. boyf!joon, a whole-ass adventure across Europe in the span of 30 days, reader getting zooted after consuming the tiniest bit of an edible.

just take me anywhere / take me anywhere / anywhere away with you

Until now, every bit of your month-long trip across the European continent had gone according to plan.

Well, plan was generous.

Apart from identifying locations in each of your favorite books; purchasing all necessary travel tickets; and making hotel reservations, there had been no real plan. It was simply you and the best boy, taking in whatever sights you could. Good wine, even better cheese, and perfect company.

You’d left Korea on the first of November, landing in London and staying for two days. The turn-around was almost as quick as the Eurostar, projecting you onward over the rails to Paris. Most of those four days were spent nudging Namjoon along through the Louvre, wondering if he’d ever willingly leave. Begrudgingly, after several hours, he did — no assistance from security was necessary.

The first of your horrifying, turbulent, rickety, budget flights — in a tin can with wings — had delivered you to Barcelona. The second carried you to Milan, with your death grip on Namjoon’s hand lasting for the duration of your time in the air. After train rides from Milan to Rome, then Rome to Venice, a bus had carried you off to Salzburg.

When you’d found yourself in those living, Sound of Music hills, you didn’t even have to ask. Namjoon — without question or comment — joined you in spinning like a fool until you both dropped dizzy in the grass. Maybe it was the altitude, but you could’ve sworn the “I love you” he‘d murmured in that moment hit a little harder than usual.

A train to Vienna, a bus to Budapest, then — gulp — another panicked flight; this time to Kraków. Two days there, then — with a whine and several glasses of its homophone, downed quickly at the airport bar — a fourth flight to Prague. Shortly after, you’d boarded a train to Berlin.

By your fifth low-cost, high-anxiety flight, Namjoon had discovered an antidote. If you were at least as high as the plane itself, the creaking of that tiny, shaky hunk of metal was significantly less upsetting. It was fitting, after all, landing in Amsterdam while still floating off one (1) quarter of an edible.

God, what a light-weight.

Your incessant giggling had been overpowered by Namjoon’s, though he was stone-cold sober — just thoroughly amused. There, the two of you realized you’d made a mistake: the phallogical museum you were fascinated by was in Iceland, not the Netherlands.

On the subsequent train ride to Bruges, you’d vowed to hit the world-renowned dick museum on your next trip. Your current trip was now at its end, leaving you to scurry off to Brussels for a commercial flight back to Incheon.

Unfortunately, inclement weather had grabbed Belgium in a chokehold.

With your backs pressed against the wall, you and Namjoon sat weary on the floor near your gate. Your respective legs were sprawled out in front of you. Head resting on your shoulder, Namjoon spent a large portion of your wait in the liminal space between the dream and waking worlds.

If there had been any local hotels available for the night, he might’ve actually gotten some proper rest — in a bed, but likely still using you as a pillow. Instead, you were stuck where you sat: huddled together in the same terminal you’d been in for many, many hours.

Languidly, you traced mindless patterns into the denim fabric holding onto his quads for dear life. You sighed through a frown as you glanced down at him, “I’m sorry we can’t seem to get home, love.”

Too tired to move, Namjoon merely mumbled from where he’d nestled into your side, “Home is anywhere with you.”

[yourkimjaejin]

Unwelcome Touch

Finally we have Hannah's tour!angst post!! I know it's been awhile but work got hectic but now we've calmed down a bit so I get my head right. We still have Juno's angst left but until then....Happy Reading!! ~ Author Izzy

Warning: I don't really know how to warn for this but the closest I can come up with is non-consensual touch and cornering. If anything like this is triggering for you, that part starts with the words

“Hi Hannah.”

and ends with

“Hannah!! Thank God! I’ve been looking all over for you.”

I'll bold both of these sentences so you can skip that section if you need to. I'll also put a description underneath the post of what happened.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Hannah could taste the barbecue on her tongue as she walked to The Smoke-Out, a restaurant she found online.

AG had made it to the Dallas stop on their world tour. Sometimes the girls questioned the decision making in their company. This time they got it right. Giving the members the space to rest between cities provided a small chance to recharge and give their best performance for fans in each city. Which Hannah took full advantage of. Her other members tapped out after three full days of exploring. But not our resident Hawaiian. .

The exploring bug has hit her HARD for the entire tour, but can you blame her. Hannah never traveled outside the borders of her hometown.. Now she lives in Korea and travels the world with AG and WayV. It’s only natural that she’d want to see everything she could. Not bad for a girl from the island

After spending her last free day seeing the sights no one else was interested in, Hannah was walking to a fan recommended barbecue restaurant. She ran forward once the neon sign came into view. Touring around the city really works up the appetite. Luckily some of the crowd had died down and the dancer was able to walk right up to the counter and order. 

“What would you like?” 

“Let me get the rib combo and the brisket combo. One with coleslaw and mashed potatoes. The other with mac and cheese and brussel sprouts. Oh! Let me add a one pulled pork sandwich and one pulled chicken sandwich, both with potato wedges. I’m ordering for four.” Hannah laughs a bit. 

“Totally cool. You wouldn’t imagine some of the orders we get from food bloggers. Your total is $74.35 and you can pay with cash or card.” Hannah tapped her card on the scanner. 

“It’ll be about an half hour wait, if that's okay?” The cashier informed her but Hannah waved them off. 

“The best things are worth waiting for. Especially food.” Hannah and the cashier shared a laugh while she moved to the side. While waiting, she took a picture of the restaurant's wall where dozens of awards and memorabilia were hung up. The dancer's phone camera has been working overtime with all the pictures she’s taken.

While scrolling through the pics she took at the Dallas Arboretum Hannah noticed two guys walk in. They didn’t order but one of them locked eyes with her. The look in his eyes sent a small shiver down her spine. 

Hannah wasn’t crazy. She knew how it looked being a woman, alone at night. And that's why she kept her phone in her hand, shuffling closer to the security camera she saw on the wall. From the corner of her eye she could see them talking to each other but pointing in her direction. A part of her hoped they were nervous fans wanting autographs.

A text from Moxy took her attention off them. 

From Momo Unnie: Where R U??? To Momo Unnie: I’m getting bbq!! Suggestion from Czennie From Momo Unnie: HOW DARE!!! To Momo Unnie: You were asleep when I left From Momo Unnie: I could have been tempted by Dallas bbq To Momo Unnie: ….no you wouldn’t

The two members bickered back and forth, distracting Hannah from the sound of footsteps coming closer. 

“Hi Hannah.” A male voice said from way too close. Both of the boys were now crowded around her. The one to her left was blonde while his friend on the right had brunette hair.  Hannah smiled politely but it never reached her eyes. Something about the way they looked gave Hannah the creeps. She could feel their eyes trailing across her body. She put distance between them, disguising the movement by rocking back and forth. 

“Nice to meet you.” She lowered her head, bowing in greeting.

“We’ve been fans for a long time.” The blonde explained while inching closer. 

“Yeah and we’ve always wanted to meet you.” the brunette continued. The smaller of the three shivered, their voices felt slimy and unwelcome. Hannah made herself focus on their body language, cause the last thing she wanted was to piss off the two boys standing between herself and the exit. 

Hannah plastered on a smile, “Oh really! Thank you so much! One of the best parts of being an idol is interacting with fans. Especially ones we don’t get to see that often” Things got quiet after that. Hannah positions herself as far away from them as possible but they keep inching closer. Panic got her heart beat faster. There’s no way she could fight back against two boys who stood a head taller than her, 

But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t gonna try if it got to that. 

“You should hang out with us.” 

“Someone like you shouldn’t be alone. Especially not in a foreign city.” While the brunette got closer, the blonde reached over pushing a strand of hair behind her ear then trailing his finger down her neck to her shoulder. Tugging her shirt to reveal bare skin. Hannah closed her eyes, forcing her body to still. To not flinch away from a foreign touch. 

She flinched anyway when a new female voice took the boys' attention off of her. 

“Hannah!! Thank God! I’ve been looking all over for you.” A girl ran over to the trio. She was dressed in pajama pants with converse and hoodie. Her black hair was pulled into a hasty ponytail. She barged her way between the two boys and hugged the idol. The girl grabbed Hannah’s hand, pulling her away from the creepy boys and closer to the door. 

“Sorry I took so long, I went to the wrong restaurant. Have you been waiting?” The girl gave a subtle nod, hoping the idol got her message.

Some of the panic faded, knowing this kind stranger was trying to help her. Hannah pulled her into another quick embrace, “I didn’t wait long. I must have sent you the wrong location. I….got caught up with these two fans.” Hannah gestured to the boys standing together dumbfounded. 

The newcomer turned to them and bowed in apology, “Sorry for interrupting. You don’t get much hang out time with friends who turned into superstars.” 

“Oh, you weren’t interrupting and I am hardly a superstar!!” Hannah grabbed the hand of her new ‘friend’, grounding herself. 

“Sorry for barging in. Maybe I could take a photo for you guys. As an apology for stealing Hannah away?” Both boys shook their heads and quickly fled the restaurant. Before either could speak the cashier called out Hannah's name. Both girls couldn’t hold eye contact with the other person. They just awkwardly stood there waiting for someone to make a move. Which turned out to be Hannah. The dancer grabbed her food and expected her ‘friend’ to be gone. But there she was waiting at one of the restaurant's tables, trying and failing to look occupied. Hannah and the girls' eyes locked. They both gave a crooked smile. 

The idol made her way over claiming the seat across from the girl. Taking a moment to breathe now that immediate danger was behind them. Hannah took out her phone, texting her manager to pick her up. I think that's enough excitement for one day, she thought. Hannah took in her helper across from the table who was trying, and once again failing, to not look at the idol in awe. The singer discreetly observed the fan while sending the restaurant’s address to her manager. Hannah noticed the cinnamaroll photocard holder with a pc of her face protected inside. 

“I must have a new perfume on because I keep attracting fans tonight.” The girl's hands flew to the holder in an effort to cover it up. Panicked eyes met hers. 

The girl shook her head frantically, “I promise I’m not like those guys back there! I saw you cornered and I barely registered you were…..the Hannah of NCT AG. I just wanted to help.” Her words trailed off at the end, her cheeks turned red in embarrassment. Hannah couldn't hold back a laugh. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. Honestly I don’t meet many people who are fans of myself. What’s your name?” 

The girl's blush spread covering her ears, “I’m E-Emerald. Emmy for short. I’ve been a fan for a while now. Especially of you. WayV’s my favorite subunit and you kill every performance I’ve seen.” She could tell Emerald wanted to say more but was holding back. 

It felt good. Seeing someone genuinely happy to meet her. Performing in Korea helped her develop a thick skin. It hurts when you can tell nobodies there for you. But being on this tour reminded Hannah that she was loved. Emerald was living, breathing proof. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Emerald. And I have to thank you for the save back there. Is there anything I can do? Buy you food or something to drink.” The girl shook her head again. 

“It’s what any decent person would do for another. I can’t accept thanks for basic human kindness.” Hannah tried to offer more things but every time Emerald refused. Seeing she was fighting a losing battle, Hannah moved to getting to know the fan in front of her. She asked about her life in Dallas, what her hobbies were, ect. With every question Emmy opened up more. She even asked questions of her own.  Mainly about Hannah’s management of two groups with equally hectic schedules. 

“My best friend, who wasn’t a K-pop fan, changed her mind about NCT after listening to Basically Over You.” Emerald gushed to the idol. 

“You got your friend into NCT because of us?? That’s amazing!! I guess I’ll see you both tomorrow then?” Hannah was mistaken as she watched the other girl's face fall. 

Emerald shook her head, “We couldn’t get tickets. I heard the rumors about an AG tour but nobody could confirm. So I saved up for Dream’s concert. Now that my friend is into NCT we went to look for tickets but it was sold out.” Emerald perked up a bit, “It’s okay. My friend and I are planning a sleep and stalk night. We’re gonna be all over the official hashtag for videos. One of the good things about international fans, everyone posts on their socials.” The conversation got cut off by a honking horn. Outside, Hannah could see two of her managers in the front seats. . 

Knowing her time with her bias was over, Emerald sighed. But Hannah couldn’t just leave her fan with nothing. 

“Could you wait here for a moment?” Hannah grabbed her food and  jogged outside to the van. She climbed into the back seat rummaging around for something.

“Looking for something Hannah-ssi?” 

“Yeah…Where are those extra tickets we keep?” One of the managers opened the glove box, pulling the tickets out. 

“Do you need them for some….thing” He couldn’t even finish his sentence before Hannah snatched the tickets and jogged back inside. Emerald had grabbed her purse when Hannah stopped in front of her. 

“I know you told me that I couldn’t do anything for you but actually….I can.” Hannah watched amused while Emerald stared at the tickets dumbfounded. Her mouth fell open and her eyes wide. They flicked between Hannah and the tickets, unsure of what to do. 

“I hope you know I refuse to take these back to the car. I guess you’ll just have to take them.” Hannah placed the tickets in Emerald's hand with a smile. “Thank you again for your help back there. Enjoy the concert tomorrow! I’ll be looking for you both.” Hannah waved, jogging back to her van and hopping in. Emerald stood in disbelief, eyes moving between the tickets and the door her bias just walked through.

She just got tickets for AG’s concert handed to her……

And she didn’t even say thank you.

The familiar ringtone brought Emerald back to earth. She fumbled around getting her hand on her phone and swiping to answer. 

“Emmy!?!? Where are you? I was at your front door but you didn’t answer. Are you home? We have less than 36 hours to mentally prepare ourselves for the biggest fomo experience of our lives.” Emerald friend, Peri said to a mostly unresponsive Emerald. 

“Emmy? You good?” Peri asked.

“Peri…..Change of plans.” 

“To what?! There is NO WAY I’m missing—”  “YOU'RE NOT MISSING ANYTHING BECAUSE WE'RE GOING!!!!” Emerald interrupted before Peri could get her rant started. It was silent on both ends of the line. Emerald waited for Peri's reaction while her best friend took in what she said.

“We’re going where now?” 

Emerald envisioned the look on her friend's face as she said, “We’re going to see AG. In concert. Live. In Person. A Day from now. We’re going, Riri!””

“Did you just say we're going to the concert?” 

“I have so much to tell you.” Emerald said, smiling in glee.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Summary if you chose to skip: Hannah while waiting in the restaurant is cornered by two male fans who block her from the exit. One begins to touch her without her permission before they are interrupted by another fan, this time female, who sees the interaction, notices that Hannah isn't comfortable and saves Hannah.

[miitarashi]

You know what😳

A reader who, due to trauma, really dislikes being touched by anyone, and Tintin knows this. She suddenly has a nervous breakdown. How could Tintin help her, calm her down? 👀👀👀👀

(PLS PLS I WOULD REALLY LIKE TO READ WHAT YOU WRITE 🛐 and also a fact about the reader - even though she doesn't like to be touched, she herself can touch anyone, she could hug Tintin at the end 🥹👉👈 I just I like to create traumatized characters and then comfort them 🥰🔪)

OH- BRO I LOVED IT SO MUCH??? YOU'RE SO CREATIVE!

Warning: i end up writing too much so,it's long, because of the context. Sorry for it,i was hyped by the idea 😅. There's trauma mentioned and a scence of a man being a jerk and trighen of trauma so,please be aware.

I'll do my best to make the proper justice for this delicious idea 😌👌🏽

[Name] = Reader (Female)

Prompt: Tintin helps you in a breakdown.

You and Tintin are friends for a long while by now.

The circunstances of your first encounter wasn't so...good to say the least. Since you was one of the victim from the culprit of the case in his hand at the time. He didn't know exactly what happened and by the way you answered his questions,he only guessed enough to not disturb you more about it.

After sending the man to jail and solving the case,Tintin keeped contact mostly by worry in the begin and little by little as you open up your relationship grow and soon,he let you accompany him on his adventures, more in terms of looking for clues than in real action for obvious reasons.

In the meantime, it was readily apparent that Tintin was very...touchy. Whenever he spoke to someone, in the middle of the dialogue there would be some kind of light touch on the shoulder or arm maybe to emphasize his words or something. At first,it was a little problem for you. Precisely because he was touchy, sometimes without noticing, Tintin ended up touching or holding your arm and shoulders to get attention or just instinctively, moving away soon after noticing your reaction of discomfort apologizing whenever his hand instinctively approached you.

But, after some time, he got used to respecting your space so that he could feel comfortable around him. Even if for other people's eyes he was doing the least, for you, it had a greater value mainly because he had to hold back and avoid something he is used to doing.

However, because he is almost always too busy in his numerous adventures, in your mind, it was better to keep those feelings in order not to disturb him, apart from your problem with touch.

Being observant, Tintin noticed your reactions to people unaware of this problem when he was around you. Few, rarely, these interactions yielded mild reactions to your trauma. His first action was trying to hold you,but in the same instant he back away knowing that this only would increase the problem so he guide you for a place with less people and keeped company.

It was the first time you had a breakdown in front of him. You felt so bad afterwards,not even just because of what happened,but rather by the fact that it happened in front of him suddenly. As soon it ended, you said sorry, ashamed and he clearly said right away that it wasn't necessary and assured you it wasn't a problem for him, however, you still felt bad and tried to avoid it with your all.

Months after this episode, you finally found time to visit your friends in Brussels. Wandering the streets with a smile beaming with happiness, excited to meet Tintin and Haddock again, you was distracted enough to not notice a person approaching from behind just a few steps away from Tintin's apartment.

"hey! Looks like someone's happy huh?" - the sudden voice startled you.

With a small nod and smile,you keep looking foward and walking,but this man was still coming along uninvited.

"What's wrong? Come on,what about giving some attention for me? I just wanna talk" - again,he insisted and you shaked you head while walking a bit faster.

"Hey hey,wait a moment!" - suddenly,you felt a hand grabbing firmily your arms while the other hand already get on your waist.

"Such a cutie like this shouldn't playing hard to get-"

Your whole body trembled,the sensation feeling like dread disgust and fear spreading through you like a plague ,your breath catch on your throat and in a fast motion,you pushed him away and run the rest of the steps to the place,entering and going straight to his door.

You didn't knocked,not even cared for it as you open it wide and rush in closing the door resting your back against it finally safe inside of your friend's apartament. Tintin,who was sitted on the couch,get stratled by your sudden entrance leaving the newspaper aside and quickly get up focusing his gaze on your body language.

"[Name]? What happened? Is-" - after three to four steps closer,noticing him getting near,you cringy in place instantily.

He freeze. You was trembling,breathing heavy and shaky,tears threating to fall down your cheeks,the sensation still lingering on your arm and waist,the disgust growing deep within.

A breakdown. In front of him,but worst than the last time. Tintin was conflicted for a brief moment,the first thought being to touch you to bring comfort but it soon faded away by new ideas while looking at you sitting on the floor slowly and hugging yourself.

He give one more step closer,you cringe. He stopped. Five steps away was the limit. He didn't said much,only turn his back walking to the dranwer near grabbing something and then walking back keeping the five steps distance and sitting in front of you.

"[Name]...you don't need to tell me,just...point at it. I would never hurt you,don't forget it ok?" - after saying it,he pull a deck of cards with various words spreading them on the floor for you.

"Can i ask you the reason?" - his voice was lower,like he was afraid to scare away a little animal,keeping a calm tone.

Through the corner of your eye,you see the cards. He's voice was always calming,you stare get fixed on the floor for a moment,tears already falling down as you slowly adjust yourself sitting while hugging your knees letting your arms in a way that you could hide your face there.

He didn't moved,waiting patiently to not frighten you even more. You wanted to talk,to tell him what was wrong,to be heard but as soon you tried a tight knot formed on your throat and more tears poured down your face.

"[Name]...can you...point at the cards for me? Just nod if you can" - you lifted your head,keeping your eyes on the floor,looking at the cards. A slight nod.

"Great. Now,do you want to talk about it?" - one arm reach a bit shaky,your index finger pointing for the "No" card.

"There you go" - he praised,relieved.

"Do you want something? A cup of water perharps?" - again,your finger pointed "Yes".

"Ok,wait a second" - He get up and walked away.

You embrance your knees,gaze still on the cards. You was comunicating,not only keeping your thoughts for your own without the need of your voice for it. He was undestanding you,being patient and caring on this situation,your heart was gradually slowing down along with your breath.

He came back,put the glass just close enough for you to grab it together with a box of tissues while he goes back for his original position. After drinking and drying some of the tears,he asked in the same calm tone:

"Do you want anything more?"

"Yes" - you pointed for the card.

"Want me to give you more space?"

"No" - the card.

"Is something from me?"

"Yes"

"What is it?" - you finally look up to him,getting him slightly by surprise but receiving an encouraging smile in the same act.

Your eyes goes back for the cards,searching for the right ones and gauthering your thoughts better. Slowly,you point out.

"Me" "Want" - you stopped for a moment,hesitant and he noticed.

"Don't worry,i'll help you in any way. Take your time" - with a small nod,he speak giving the last push for you.

The knot on your throat wasn't there anymore,but using the cards sounds better for this request. Your hand moved forward pointing again.

"I" "Want" "Hug" "You".

His eyes open wide a bit in surprise,looking up to you in a silent ask with his eyes,trying to make sure that this is really what you wanted and in response,you crawl closer to him. Tintin stayed still,letting you have the lead on this,watching you coming closer and slowly wrapping your arms around his shoulders. His warmth passing a good sensation of comfort more than you thought it would.

You feel at ease almost instantily when his arms embrance you back,you had forgot how good this type of hug feels and now was the best moment to feel it again.

"Want me to carry to the couch? I'll not let you go,i promise" - you nod and with a more happy smile,Tintin carefully take you in his arms.

Lifting you up and in a few steps,he reach the sofa,placing you down before sitting right next to you,keeping an arm on your back and the other on your upper back making a light caress.

"...i'm sorry..." - you speak in a weak voice,head resting against his shoulder.

"For?"

"All of this...for my problems and-"

"[Name]" - he cut you in a gentle manner.

"Don't feel bad or sorry for something that you can't control. I'm happy to help,and mostly,for trusting on me. You can always count with me,ok?"

You agree with a light moviment of your head and put it back on his shoulder,enjoying the touch,the caress on your back and hair. Your breath begin to slow down,eyes closing at the atmosphere being so at ease just by his touchs.

By him. Because of him.

"...Thank you...Tintin..."

He hear your weak voice,sounding sleepy and chuckle quietly whispering back:

"Your welcome,[Name]"

___________________________________________

A/N: i honestly have some doubts about this one,but i really did my best here so i hope you like it dear unknow person! The idea was simply perfect and i really hope that i made justice for it. Oh,and don't worry,Haddock punched the guy after,its canon 😌👌🏽. Thank you again for the request! Bye bye!

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

SCENE-INSPIRED ONESHOTS - MS47

normal people

warnings: alcohol consumption, detailed descriptions of injury/blood, mugging/mentions of assault (one punch thrown), angst, major cheese

THIS IS NOW THE START OF A NEW SERIES - SEE NAVIGATION LINK IN BIO FOR MORE INFO - REQUESTS OPEN ON TOMORROW!

word count: 4.5k

The small party of close friends were all huddled in the living room, glasses nearly drained, with the promise of no more. It was getting late, and you knew everyone was beginning to tire. The warmth of the room, alcohol and meal seemed to only increase the rate of decline. You were standing at the edge of the room, the exhaustion of having to host a party - whilst only small - was beginning to catch up to you, and you sagged gratefully against the doorframe, the pressure on your temples soothing. 

You couldn’t help the warmth that flooded through your veins at seeing your friends content to be in each other’s company, friendly conversation flowing so naturally. It had been so long since everyone had been in the same place. Jobs after uni consumed people’s lives; people moved away, and people travelled. 

This private gathering had been scheduled and planned three months in advance, and you still found yourself rushing around at the last minute, cleaning, cooking and preparing. But as you looked around, you knew there was no way you’d have traded this for the world. 

The lighting was warm, glowing across your walls. It was cold outside, the middle of November, and the stark contrast to your interiors seemed to offer people a semblance of comfort. Yet, despite your utterly tranquil state, there was a nagging in the back of your mind. Something missing. You knew exactly what it was, but you refused to confront it. Ruining this perfect evening was not something you wished to do. 

You kept trying to distract yourself from even thinking about it, that empty melancholy that rested somewhere in your chest. The first method was by constantly cleaning - plates and cups and crumbs from the coffee table, straightening rugs after people tripped over the corners in their drunken haze. The second had been to drown yourself in conversation with complete determination - it wasn’t particularly difficult. You hadn’t seen Olive in five months, and she’d spent the good part of her time in Brussels occupied with her new job. 

But as you leant in the doorway, observing, you were struck with the sense of loneliness you’d spent the entire night attempting to evade. It was an isolating existence pondering the heartache your soul possessed, when your guests all sported unabashed grins and rosy cheeks. Their happiness radiated in their eyes and their pores, they were glowing. You were sure the same couldn’t be said for you. 

You pushed up off the wall, shoulder momentarily stinging. It was Olive who noticed your movements out of the corner of her eye, and flashed a questioning smile. 

You returned it, simply lifting up your empty glass, and she nodded in understanding, clearly approving of you leaving, and turned back to the group.

As soon as you were out of earshot of the party, you sighed, throwing your head back and making your way into the kitchen - conveniently tucked away from the living room.

There were plates scattered all across the counters, and empty glasses and bottles lined up neatly along the tiled walls. You rolled your eyes at the amount of washing up you’d have to do in the morning.

It was for a good cause.

The island in the middle of the kitchen was where you placed your glass. It was also where you fought back the yearning and desire. 

Gosh, why was it so difficult?

It wasn’t the missing him that you found so challenging, it was more the knowing you missed him. You knew it, so it was everything you could think about, and nothing else. And it drove you insane, completely mental. 

When you didn’t know what to think about, you thought about him. 

Your hands had gone to run through your hair in a frustrated manner when a buzzing sounded from your pocket. You frowned, taking it out of your trousers, and your heart simultaneously dropped and throbbed at the same time upon seeing the contact number.

You took a deep breath, attempting to control your erratic heartbeat, and pressed the button, gingerly placing it against your ear.

There was heavy breathing when the phone connected, the sound of wind and footsteps being picked up through the speaker, and you furrowed your brows. It sounded like he was pacing.

“Mick?” You asked, voice steady, unwavering. Your breath faltered, and you strained your ears, the lack of a response somewhat concerning. “Mick?” You called again, hopeless in your kitchen. 

It was probably a butt-dial.

Just as you were about to hit ‘end call’, you heard his voice, “I’m really sorry for calling you, I know it’s late.” He rushed his words, and purely from the faraway lilt to his tone, you deduced he was most likely drunk. “I’m really sorry.”

His words were confusing, and it took everything in you to not ask why he was so sorry, because you had an inkling feeling that he wasn’t just apologising for calling late.

“It’s fine, I’ve got people over anyway. You weren’t disturbing anything.” 

“Fuck.” He groaned, his breathing returning and the pacing stopping. 

Mick wasn’t really the type to swear, but whenever he did, it was usually with passion and intent. That changed when he was intoxicated: the alcohol made him loose-lipped, and he tended to be chattier and less reserved. 

You swallowed, not really knowing what to say. It was clear he was annoyed by something, and you hesitated asking why, because you hadn’t talked to each other in four months. Four long, tortuous months - at least for you. What were the boundaries now? You’d initially agreed no contact for at least a month, but that singular month had whizzed by, then two, then three. If you were being honest, your heartbreak stemmed purely from the fact that by the third month you’d lost all hope you ever accumulated for there to be something there again.

You’d tried to move on, but all you could bring yourself to do was scroll through the accounts your friends had sent you to encourage your desires. You didn’t want to wonder if he was in the same state. Hopeless, lonely, devastated.

Your eyes shut briefly, steeling yourself, “Are you okay?”

You told yourself the question wasn’t to make him stay on the line a little longer, that you didn’t miss the honeyed sound of his voice, even over the phone. He was a little gruff from the alcohol, and you knew he always hated his phone voice, but it was one of the most endearing qualities about him.

He sighed through the phone, and you could almost sense him placing his hand on his hip and blinking up at the sky in thought. “Er–I don’t know.”

Your heart was pounding in your ears and your head hurt.

“Why don’t you know?” You tried to be soft, but the harshness – the worry – was evident through the invisible strain in your words.

“Because you have people over, and I…I don’t want to intrude on anything, but I just got mugged. I’m outside your house, but I don’t know if you want me here. You can send me the other way, if you’d rather, I mean…at this point, I’ll pretty much just do your bidding—”

“You got mugged?” You echoed, having trouble deciphering his slightly slurred words over the laughter coming from your front room.

You could have sworn your heart stopped beating for a brief moment in time. His words took a while to sink in, and when they did, you couldn’t hear much of what he’d said after ‘I just got mugged’, because the tolling tsunami wave of anxiety and dread had consumed your mind completely, rendering you numb to the outside world.

He paused, sniffing in the cold air, “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” 

Shit, he was right outside.

“I’m opening the door–”

“You don’t have to, y’know?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not leaving you outside.” You were firm with your words, and you could tell as you walked past the door to your living room, Olive had heard your urgent voice as you made your way to the front door.

She ran out, red hair billowing behind her as she followed you closely, waiting for you to hang up before she interrupted.

“What’s happened? Are you okay?” She asked, worry evident in her tone as she watched you scramble for the locks on the door.

“I’m fine, but Mick’s been mugged, and he’d drunk and on my front step—”

“Fuck.” Olive muttered, reaching over to help you with the key.

You flung open the door with such force the cold air rushed to greet you with a slap on the face, aching your lungs and burning your nose. You had only opened the door half way when you caught sight of Mick, trying not to look too injured as he shivered in nothing but his shoes, jeans, and a hoodie. The hood was pulled up to shield his ears from the chill, but it was the sight of his nose that made you do a double take.

It was dark on your step, but the light from the hallway had illuminated his face. There was blood slowly trickling down his lips. It was a mess, the redness slicking under his nose and across his cheek, as though in his drunken stupor, he’d tried to swipe it off his face, but in doing so had only smeared it further. You know it looked worse than what it was, but there was absolutely no way he wasn’t the least bit shaken by the event.

“Did you get punched?” He’d opened his mouth, attempting to smile reassuringly at you, but you cut in, not even thinking straight when you pulled him inside by the forearm and shut the door behind him - blocking out late Autumn.

Olive had disappeared almost immediately after you’d opened the door, and you could vaguely hear her rounding up the guests, encouraging them to leave, but all you could truly focus on was the blood still dribbling from Mick’s nose. His cheeks had turned pink, but he was looking at you with awe, his eyes shining with longing. You were oblivious, leading him into the kitchen under better light as you gently took his face in your grasp, ignoring the way your heart seemed to stutter and surrender at such close proximity. 

He gulped and you could feel him hold his breath a little longer. “Hi.” He whispered.

You pressed your lips together, unable to help your reaction to his simple greeting. You could feel your ears heat up, and unintentionally your eyes flicked up to meet his. It was familiar, a reminder that he knew things about you. Still does. 

He knows that all it ever takes is one look, his blue eyes meeting yours, and you don’t know whether to hate it or relish in the way the rigidity seems to leave your shoulders, the way you go slack as though you’ve been shot. Is it embarrassing to be that enamoured by one person? 

You know he slowed it down – your somewhat borderline panic – on purpose. 

Your lips slowly curved up into a smile, and he mirrored it, your eyes zipping down to his mouth, mindful of the thumb you kept on his chin, your hands splayed on his cheeks. He was cold underneath your touch.

And then you realised that maybe looking at his mouth and touching his face so intimately was mildly inappropriate considering the circumstances, and promptly turned your attention back to his nose.

“Hi.” You whispered back, before holding him in place against the island, and making your way towards the sink to retrieve sheets of kitchen roll. Two dry, one damp.

You could feel his gaze burning against your back as he watched you work at the sink, his hands splayed out to grip the counter behind him to steady himself. When you turned back around, kitchen paper in hand, he was blinking rapidly, as though trying to dispel something from his head. 

You resumed your position, hands guiding his face towards the light and at an angle that meant you could see properly, and began slowly dabbing the blood away with a dry piece of kitchen paper. You knew the material would be rough, but it was the best thing you had on hand that was closest. 

He widened his eyes on purpose, and you looked up, “Did you know that yours is the only phone number I know off by heart?” 

He said it so casually. So, so casually. So casually that you almost second-guessed the ingenuity of the statement, that he said it purely to fill the silence resting comfortably between the two of you. But his eyes were contradictory to that assumption. He knew what he was doing, pronouncing such a declaration in such close quarters so he could analyse your every facial expression; each twinge of your brow, the pull of your mouth, the creases around your eyes. He said it to elicit a reaction, but all it did was break your heart a little more. It twisted the knife lodged between your sternum. 

He was what you couldn’t have, and you refused to let yourself believe there was a chance. You refused to torture yourself with his possible motives in saying such a heavy-loaded thing.

Nobody knew anybody’s phone number anymore - not apart from their own. They were imported into phones and never looked upon again, and the fact that he’d learnt yours?

It destroyed you.

“Oh.” Was all you said, looking straight back at his nose. He looked much better already, the tissue having already soaked up some of the blood. It wasn’t enough for you to assess whether it was still bleeding, but enough—

“Can you see my pupils?” Was his next inquiry, as though his previous question was merely just drunk rambling. He blinked dramatically, and you were prompted to look back up at his eyes. 

“Barely. There’s only a fraction of blue.” His eyes were also bloodshot, but you didn’t mention that.

“They’re really blown?” He asked, this time with a hint of excitement bubbling under his skin, and you had to pull your hand away as he fidgeted against the counter, adjusting his positioning so he was seated on one of your stools. You nodded, switching the bloodied towel for the damp one, and moved to stand between his legs, pausing as his knees trapped you where you stood. “It doesn’t surprise me, to be honest.” He started, and you hummed nonchalantly, “They always are when I’m looking at you.”

If you’d have heard that statement leave someone’s mouth in a book or on TV, you’d have cringed audibly. Now, when faced with the romantic connotations, you couldn’t help but clench your jaw. Your aim had originally been to ignore all signs that were pointing towards a future for the two of you, and all he’d done was make two non-committal statements. Granted, they both held unspoken depth and meaning, and you were sure that if he kept dealing such blows like this until you’d cleaned him up, you’d be crying yourself to sleep.

You couldn’t help yourself, though.

“What are you implying?” You asked a little breathlessly, now more than ever aware of his burning touch, fingers lightly tugging at the base of your shirt and face so close you could see the green flecks in the sliver of colour left in his eyes. His knees were pressed into your hips and his lips twitched fractionally, and you cast a glance towards the door, hearing the scuffle of chairs scrape along your floor.

Hope was cruel, but at this moment in time, it seemed like a silver lining of sorts.

You saw his eyes flicker downwards, and his silence was torturous. For once you didn’t know what he was thinking, his eyes had glazed over from the alcohol, and he sniffled quietly.

He didn’t say anything for a while, and, defeated, you pulled out of his grasp gently, so as to not startle his lagging mind too much, and left his grasp. He sighed audibly, dragging a hand down his cheek and rolling his eyes to sober himself up a little. You were aware that your guests were piling up in the hallway, the gentle thuds getting louder as people jostled in the corridors. You turned your back on Mick, silently placing the bloodied kitchen towels in the bin and rinsing your hands, watching as the clear water turned pink under your fingers. He’d bled quite a bit to say he was so cold when, though you suspected the drinks gave him an edge. 

Once you’d dried your hands, you took a clean glass from the overhead cupboard and filled it with water, making your way back over to him. He’d swung around on the stool, elbow resting on the countertop as he held his head in his hands.

He looked up after hearing the chink of the glass, eyes glossy. You gave a meaningful nod, and he smiled ruefully, looking as though he was going to say something but thought against it.

“I’m just going to see my friends off.” You started, backing away from the counter, “If your nose keeps bleeding, use the other sheet to wipe it.” You left before he could say anything.

***

When you re-entered the kitchen, he’d shed his jumper, his black Under Armour shirt clinging to his broad form. 

Oh, he was cruel.

The glass you’d placed in front of him was drained completely, and when he looked up, the shock on his face was painfully evident, as though he hadn’t expected you to come back. His face was wet, like he’d splashed himself with water to regain sobriety.

“Hi.” He whispered again, voice hoarse. The blue in his eyes had brightened and when you offered a timid, sad smile, you saw his mouth twitch downwards and he avoided your gaze.

You wondered if his chest was aching too.

“Are you okay?” You asked, gingerly stepping around the other side of the counter and crouching to get down to his eye level. He was distraught; you could see his chin wobbling with the effort not to shed tears. He was doing that thing he always did by trying to force his lips up with a smile to prevent him succumbing to his own emotions, but his eyes were watering and his cheeks were reddening. He clutched the piece of kitchen paper in his hand, only one smear of blood visible. His nose was a little swollen, but other than that it looked fine, much to your relief.

He opened his mouth to say something, but cut himself off with a hand over his mouth as he looked straight down at the counter, hands tracing shapes against the marble. He was still trembling, though not from the cold. His eyes welled up, and he sniffed once more, hurriedly wiping away a stray tear that landed on the surface. 

You bit your cheek, your own eyes beginning to burn, and before you could convince yourself not to, you found yourself standing next to him, a comforting hand on his arm to pull him away from his hidden position. 

Mick was an incredibly passionate person, and he didn’t show emotion very often, but whenever he did, you knew it was genuine, and at such a height that you couldn’t even begin to fathom. He just felt things differently.

It barely took a second for him to spin around on the stool, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist as he tugged you between his knees again, his head resting on your sternum. One of your hands reached to smooth against his back, and the other came to rest in his hair.

“You’re okay, you’re going to be fine. You’re safe.” It was all you could to reassure him, to constantly mutter sweet nothings in his ear, fingers carding through his hair, your hold on him tightly gripping until his breathing calmed and his temperature slowly declined. 

You left it up to him as to when he wished to pull away, and after a few more minutes, spent on controlling the ever-growing urge to place a delicate kiss on the top of his head, he did just that, slowly pulling away, eyes rimmed red as he kept one arm draped around your waist, his hands wiping at his face as he blinked.

You felt utterly and completely hopeless, and didn’t have it in yourself to step out of his embrace. It may have been unfair to take advantage of his vulnerable state, but you wanted to savour his touch as long as you could.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You took a seat next to him, your knees knocking together. His hand remained where it was, and he leant an elbow back on the counter, resting his head in his hand again, unashamedly not hiding his face from you. His hair was a mess, and he knew it, but made no move to fix it.

He swallowed, taking a deep breath, eyes searing into yours, “I was just walking home from the pub and these guys came out of nowhere. Socked me in the nose and took my coat, then ran away. I didn’t see their faces…I guess it just took me by surprise—I just had to…release some emotion.”

You nodded, taking the hand on your waist and intertwining it with your own, fingers locking together as you both watched the dance of hands in your lap. Mick sniffed again, and you looked up, heart stuttering at the pure, unadulterated emotion burning behind his gaze. It took your breath away, starving your lungs for a brief moment.

“Was it cathartic?” Was your next question, and as you moved to pull your hand away, he gripped your hand tighter, and you pressed your lips together to hide a growing smile, moving your free hand to block the action.

Mick caught it, he always did, and he grinned, his eyes still red - a reminder of the present situation. He looked happier, more relaxed, and a little more sober compared to when he first stepped through your front door. It wasn’t much but it was an improvement. Under the light he looked angelic. His blonde hair practically glowed and his eyes were luminescent. Though the light did reveal how haggard he looked, the youthful carelessness accompanied with alcohol having dissipated, leaving noteable bags under his eyes.

He was still breathtakingly gorgeous.

“Very.” He muttered, turning his attention back to your joined hands, thinking.

The silence was heavy, and your heart thrummed in your chest, anticipation building. It made you nervous. And it suddenly dawned on you with agonising truth that you’d lost the ability to read him. Or maybe he’d become more guarded. Most likely a healthy mixture of both.

“Are we completely irreparable?” He asked, not looking up at you.

You swallowed, biting the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to cry all of a sudden. You took a shaky breath, looking at the ceiling, and your hand tightened in his grasp, prompting him to look at you. He must have seen something soul destroying written in the contours of your face because the next thing you registered was his eyes shutting as though admitting defeat.

You were torn. 

You wanted to say no, more than anything, you wanted to. But you couldn’t deny there was something holding you back. It made you want to cry, the fear of an even worse outcome than this one: sitting in your kitchen, both secretly yearning for the other—

“You changed everything for me, you know?” He opened his eyes, voice breaking, and you looked at him, hand over your mouth as though to prevent yourself from crying. You knew your brows were furrowed with the effort to remain silent. You could feel the effort of doing so carrying onto your shaking shoulders. You weren’t even crying yet. “You drive me crazy. I’ve woken up everyday and missed you so much it physically hurts to breathe sometimes. The bad days killed, and the good days…weren’t really any better because all I could think about was that I wanted to spend those good days with you.”

Tears blurred your vision, hot, salty liquid streaming down your cheeks. 

“I don’t want to hide the fact that I missed you every day,” his mouth did the thing again - the saddest smile you’d ever seen, and you could see the tears building in his waterline again. The realisation that this was affecting him as much as it was you made you screw your eyes up even more, taking deep, shaky breaths to try to calm yourself, “‘It’s just…I miss you so much. I miss you in the mornings. I’m terrified I’m going to forget you.”

You hiccupped, squeezing his hand, “You said you were walking home.”

He breathed a laugh, swiping at the tears, “I did.” 

“I’ve watched from a distance…” you began, blinking to try to get rid of some of the tears still accumulating, “I’ve watched you through pictures and at races for months…” you sighed frustratedly, your ability to gather your words and form them eloquently leaving you at this crucial time, “I don’t think we’re irreparable, is what I’m trying to say.”

He took a sharp inhale, a hand going to clutch at his chest as he looked at you with blinding hope and adoration.

Nobody had ever looked at you like that before.

“And I don’t want you to forget me, either. I don’t want to forget you. I didn’t think you wanted us anymore.”

“The day I don’t want you anymore would be the day the world ends.” There wasn’t an inch of hesitation in his words.

This time it was your turn to laugh bitterly, rolling your eyes fondly, your eyes still watery but vision now much clearer, “You make it really difficult not to love you, you know?” Your voice was broken, shattered, and something in his face collapsed, his eyebrows drawing together as he lifted you off your chair, both coming to stand in front of each other. 

His arms wrapped around your shoulders and you buried your face in his shoulder, a hint of aftershave and beer remaining, your arms coming up to hold his back, pressing his torso as close to yours as you could allow.

“I think we should talk in the morning.” You muttered, voice somewhat muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

You shook your head, “There’s a spare room with a bed. Take that instead.”

“Okay.”

***

When you came down the stairs the next morning, the washing up had been done and there was a hot mug of coffee and a plate of toast waiting for you on the counter. Mick had fallen asleep on the sofa, a blanket draped across his shirtless torso, looking like he belonged there.

There was a post-it-note stuck to your plate. It read:

I secretly think you were made for me.

It was cheesy, but you loved it so much you may as well have melted on the spot.

[beardedmrbean]

1. 'Not wasting a second on confederalism': Magnette and De Wever clash in rare debate

The leader of the Francophone socialist PS party Paul Magnette does "not want to waste a second" on negotiations about confederalism with the Flemish nationalists, he said in a frank but courteous hour-long debate with N-VA leader Bart De Wever on Tuesday night. Read more.

2. Good Move, e-scooters or Metro 3: What are parties offering on mobility in Brussels?

Good Move, the construction of Metro 3 or scattered e-scooters – mobility in Brussels is a topic heavily on many people's minds. With the elections rapidly approaching, the mobility policies of political parties have been assessed. Read more.

3. We're all going on a summer holiday? Fewer Belgians plan to go abroad this year

Fewer Belgians plan to go on holiday this summer, according to the holiday barometer presented on Tuesday by Europ Assistance. Still, the desire for a summer break remains strong, despite inflation putting a strain on vacation budgets. Read more.

4. Eurostar now manages its entire network from Brussels

Eurostar, the high-speed train network, has shifted all its operations to a new centre in Brussels, the railway company announced on Tuesday. The centre will employ around 100 staff. Read more.

5. Belgian police raid European Parliament offices over Russian propaganda network

Belgian police conducted a series of raids on Wednesday at the residence and offices of a European Parliament employee in Schaerbeek over allegations of involvement in Russian influence. Read more.

6. Better Together: Belgians have more in common than some politicians claim

Belgians have more in common than some politicians claim. They should stick together, not split up. Read more.

7. 'The Merry Wives of Windsor': Modern-day Shakespeare comes to Brussels

English-language amateur theatre company the Brussels Shakespeare Society (BSS) will stage a modern interpretation of William Shakespeare's 'The Merry Wives of Windsor' at the Théâtre Mercelis in Brussels for one week in June. Read more.

[thejournalisttintin]

Now here’s a timeline age-up of Tintin’s book-nerd twin brother Martin, who looks up to him as his role model.

However, when it comes to adventure, Martin prefers to be on the safe side. But he’s still his best to be as equally adventurous as his brother.

Headcanons for Martin:

Kid: Martin never had any friends in the orphanage, mainly because he was bullied a lot for being a nerd. Tintin was his only friend, and they’ve been together since.

This was also around the time Martin found out that he needed glasses due to his nearsightedness, as well as learning that he was allergic to peanuts. After an incident involving chocolate and peanuts, Tintin and one of the head matrons of the orphanage were informed that Martin had developed an anaphylactic reaction from eating peanuts. And this was also around a time when the concept of allergies was relatively new.

Preteen: This was a difficult phase in Martin’s childhood. After Tintin was adopted by the head of a local newspaper in Brussels, Martin was taken in by a wealthy couple who has had issues with infertility. The couple was even informed of Martin’s peanut allergy, to which they adhered strongly to it. Which meant that they took the necessary precautions to remove anything with peanuts from Martin’s diet.

School, however, wasn’t as forgiving. The only plus was that it was the same school Tintin went to, so they could be together.

But Martin was teased a lot because of his glasses, his passion for reading, but the more brutal reason was because of his peanut allergies. At one point, some bullies thought it would be funny to give Martin a sandwich that had peanuts in it. Which brings us to Tintin’s “problematic” preteen phase, in which Tintin found out and beat the absolute shit out of them.

Teen: During the comics’ early canon. Martin is still in school, but at the same time, his adoptive parents have allowed him to get a job at a local newspaper in Antwerp.

Unlike Tintin, who was working full time at the newspaper company in Brussels, Martin was allowed to work part time at the newspaper, so he could finish his education off strong.

Current: During the comics’ canon timeline. Martin has finally finished his education, and has even decided to move to Brussels. He has decided to go freelance in journalism, but is working more locally than internationally, since he prefers more on site work. Soon enough, he and Tintin meet up again and catch up. But it’s up to this point that he eventually finds out that Tintin has been keeping some secrets from him…

There are more timeline age-ups to come, so stay tuned!!

[brigittttoo]

From the same randomizer as the ballroom dancing ficlet, I was inspired to make an Old Guard codywan AU with these prompts! See below (and also posting it on AO3)

Ovens these days are such untrustworthy things. It takes them fifteen minutes of mixing ingredients to realise there isn't the tell tale hum of pre-heating, and Cody notices the dial got stuck halfway between fan oven and grill.

"Wouldn't get this with a clay oven," Obi-Wan sighs as Cody sets it properly and the fan clicks on. "There's either a fire going or there isn't."

"I think the neighbours might object," Cody says, but he tucks his hand on Obi-Wan's crossed arms as if he agrees: technology was supposed to be a marvel, a wonder, and now things just don't work properly.

When they met, the most advanced piece of equipment on the ship was one of the navigational devices, that measured water depth or current speed or something only three men on board the whaleship knew the workings of, until a struggle with one sperm whale in November of 1820 cut that down to two. He and Cody had slept in neighbouring bunks, swaying together across the waves, until the next whale finished the job and wrecked the whole ship. Drowning was not a death either of them wished to experience again.

They'd dreamed about each other before then, though, Cody on the docks of Kororāreka where he was born and Obi-Wan travelling through Indonesia at the time. He remembers seeing Cody's face swim up through the darkness of night, shirt loose and drifting around his collar and scar arcing around his eye, and waking up in a jolt, sweat gathering under his limbs and at the back of his neck, muscles twitching to move. He'd taken a southbound ship just before dawn, with a surety of purpose he couldn't remember having in quite some years.

It's hard to compare that propelling force back then to his earliest years—his first life, as he's sometimes thought of it. Obi-Wan can only think hazily: of England becoming England, of the invasion of Ireland, of dragging himself out of a muddy mass grave in what is now likely great green pasture. Qui-Gon had found him then, drawn by his own dreams and explaining everything in that calm, soft voice, his hair long and clean and straight, beard greying. Sleep had felt impossible afterwards, not just in the days that immediately followed, but for the next three decades at least, and the memories of that time in Qui-Gon's company are hazier than anything that had come before it.

He's happy to let them go, though. He's happy to fill his thoughts now with chocolate—what a luxury, even when you can't get the good stuff. Milk and sugar and cocoa, all beautiful and precious things that would have upturned his little Anglo-Norman tastebuds if it had come over to Europe any sooner than it did. Cody steals dark shards from the bar he's chopping and feeds them to Obi-Wan, letting them melt in his mouth for a second before laying the knife down and dipping in for a kiss.

"There'll be none left for the brownies," Obi-Wan protests, but they both know it's an incredibly weak argument. Cody hums and eats a piece of his own, scooping the rest into the batter with the flat of the knife.

"Remember Belgium?" Cody says, and Obi-Wan instantly recollects the rich and velvety texture of the chocolate there, steering carefully through Liège and Brussels and Antwerp just before the first world war. But then Cody huffs a laugh and elbows Obi-Wan in the side to say, "Ah, Benoît, tu étais très charmant."

"Va te faire, chéri," Obi-Wan smiles, and slides the baking pan over. Coping with bastardized and shifting names was something quickly learned once one's expected lifespan lengthened so considerably. He's gone by Osbert and Benedict, and William was quite popular for a substantial time; combinations thereof dissolving chronological and geographical barriers to become Obi, Ben, Wallam. Too many other Will's and Ben's on board the whaler meant he met Cody as Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan met Cody as Cody.

And for all Obi-Wan knows, Cody has always been Cody. He's never spoken of any former names, and likes it well enough when Obi-Wan whispers it into the skin under his jaw, right where the stubble comes in, scratching on his lips.

The brownies go into the accursed oven and for a time they become distracted with the temptation of dragging fingertips through the leftover batter in the bowl, standing with hips leaning on the counter until they move to the couch, and then dwell under the same blanket as they wait. The egg timer clicks away back in the kitchen—Cody says he prefers the mechanical sound of it rather than relying on something digital. "The noise is how clocks should sound," he says, like a true citizen of the 19th century. Obi-Wan, having lived for about 500 years before clocks would deign to become a household joy, obliges him in this.

He still has dreams about Cody, like the old ones on his journey to the South Pacific, even though they've never parted since the whaler. In 1895, just after the earthquake in Ljubljana, he'd dreamt of Cody's face swimming up towards him again, surrounded by sea water, and had catapulted out of the frighteningly empty bed only to find him blithely wrestling with the kettle on the little woodstove. Obi-Wan hadn't been able to explain himself then, laughing off the adrenaline but clinging onto Cody's shoulder throughout the day. After 128 years to ponder it, though, he supposes it might have been because the only other dream he'd had of Qui-Gon since his own first death was right before his companion's final one.

Coincidence, of course, just the same as how Obi-Wan hasn't managed to return to England in 800 years. He’s been elsewhere, helping other people, doing his duty and staying under the radar. Changing his name and, less frequently, his appearance, and occasionally wondering whether he might be the only one on the entire planet in his particular predicament. Cody’s existence had disproved this last speculation, and oh, what a beautiful contradiction to join paths with.

The brownies smell heavenly when the egg timer rings its alarm, and taste heavenly as well, too hot and dotted with melting chocolate chunks. They each eat a piece right there, hovering over the pan and silent in shared bliss. The silence extends to a casual and performative deliberation over whether a second piece is really necessary, after which Obi-Wan cuts a square in half and realizes the oven is still on, and Cody starts laughing too much for Obi-Wan to feed the piece to him.

Later, they fall into bed together as they have done for two centuries now, and when Cody starts to softly snore, Obi-Wan stills to hear the Winchester Cathedral chime the late, moonlit hour.

[thegoodnessofprovidence]

On the Continent

1

Something changes in the way Holmes perceives Watson when they reach Brussels. They've been moving too quickly, with too focused movements for him to give it any thought. But something settles into the back of his mind when they're in the train compartment, planning the next part of their voyage that suddenly it feels like this could be a holiday.

Maybe it's the being away from England. Maybe it's the first chance in a while to properly be with Watson since their months of separation. Maybe it's the prospect of the two of them spending for what is the first time in their friendship, an extended period of time with no company but each other, with nothing to do but travel. Maybe Mycroft can do what Mycroft does, secures the whole terrible affair and they can rest easy, return home together without fear.

And Holmes can do what he has wanted to do for years now.

[mariacallous]

Right then, while you fumble for your credit cards, I will talk about the rise of fakery: fake news, fake images, fake audio, fake politics.

Let me begin with someone I know. I admire Michela Wrong enormously. She does what journalists are meant to do: she afflicts the comfortable and comforts the afflicted.

Her beat was Africa, and Michela spent her career puncturing the West’s illusions about its rulers.

After Paul Kagame’s forces overthrew Rwanda’s genocidal Hutu regime in 1994, the world wanted to believe in a fairy story. The mass murder of Rwanda’s Tutsi population would be followed by peace, reconciliation and justice, it thought, as it threw praise and money at Kagame’s government.

Rwanda became the darling of the global aid industry. Under New Labour and the Tories, Kagame was feted.

Now our Conservative government declares that Rwanda is such a serene and safe country, Britain can dump asylum seekers there without the smallest concern for their safety or the faintest suspicion that corrupt officials will siphon off taxpayers’ money.

It was such a compelling story.  Kagame and his idealistic group of young rebel fighters overthrow a genocidal regime ushering in an era of peace and stability. Under his leadership Rwanda became the West’s donor darling, hailed as Africa’s “Switzerland” or “Singapore”

The compelling story was also such balls. Michela exposed the lies, and has suffered a campaign of terrifying vilification as a result.

 As AI and deep fake technology advance, not only journalists, politicians and celebrities, but potentially all of us can suffer equally ferocious attacks as calumny becomes ever easier to manufacture.

But first let me tell you what happened to Michela, then I will move on to the wider implications.

 Her Do Not Disturb, and what a sweet title that was for a book about comfortable myths, was published in 2021.

She looked at the regime’s pursuit of opposition leaders, human rights activists and journalists. She showed how its critics were beaten and cowed into silence. And how, in the most high-profile cases, they  “disappeared,” never to be seen again.

Michela has had her own punishment beating

Writing in this morning’s Observer she described how the regime hired a British  PR company to coordinate the online hate attacks. She expected abuse after the book was published but….

What followed still took my breath away. A tide of vilification, expressed in petition form, on specially created websites, in pseudonymous Amazon reviews, and spread by literally hundreds of anonymous social media accounts. Almost all ignored the topic of my book – Kagame’s extraterritorial assassination campaign – while repeating certain tropes. I’d always taken it as read I would be accused of racism. What was extraordinary, though, for a journalist who reported on the 1994 genocide for Reuters and the BBC, was to be accused of “genocide denial”. But there was method in this malevolence. Genocide denial is now an accusation hurled at pretty much any government critic – including members of Kagame’s minority Tutsis who lost loved ones during the genocide. But it’s a crime in Rwanda, carrying a potential 10-year sentence, so I could in theory be arrested if I boarded a plane touching down in Kigali. When a Brussels restaurant owner cancelled my event after a tsunami of tweets and emails, I wondered if I even needed to worry about being arrested in Belgium. Rwandan government supporters have pushed for the EU’s laws on Holocaust denial to embrace supposed “negationists” like me.

Michela now wakes screaming in the night. Her nightmares convince her that Rwandan agents have broken into her flat.

“In the morning, I sometimes find chairs, duvets and pillows stuffed against the front door: my anxiety has bubbled up in my sleep. A therapist would probably mutter ‘PTSD’.”

As everyone who has been on the receiving end of hate campaigns knows, they work. Years of accusations that Michaela is a “racist” and “genocide denier” meant that…

“Anyone thinking of inviting me to speak at a conference or write an article will, on Googling my name, be presented with a list of accusations only the most stout-hearted – or those who know Rwanda – will casually brush away.”

The experience of Michela Wrong will become commonplace. Here without me needing to go out of my way to find them is a selection of stories from the past few days

Millions of people came across fake sexually explicit AI-generated images of Taylor Swift on social media. The White House Press Secretary told ABC News the Biden administration was "alarmed" by what happened to Swift online and that Congress "should take legislative action."

As it turns out, there is no federal law in the U.S. that would prevent or deter someone from creating and sharing non-consensual deepfake images. But there is a profitable commercial industry that thrives on creating and sharing digitally manufactured sexual content.

Do not think that fakery is confined to the famous

Yesterday the Times told the story of Helen Mort. In 2020 she found a fake porn film with images of her face taken from social media. Like Micheala she was horrified. She was even more horrified when she discovered that “an estimated 95 per cent of deepfakes online are non-consensual porn featuring women”.

As in the US, there is no single criminal offence in England and Wales that governs the taking, making and sharing of intimate images without consent.

On Thursday digital forensic investigators in Germany uncovered a vast, pro-Russia disinformation campaign against the Berlin government. It used tens of thousands of fake accounts on the social media platform X to attack Germany’s support for Ukraine. Russia generated more than 1m German-language posts from an estimated 50,000 fake accounts. They were dispatched at a rate of two every second.

On Friday Scientific American reported on how artificial intelligence was creating fake tapes of high school principals giving racist speeches. It also automatically generated calls, apparently from Joe Biden, urging citizens not to vote.

“Society,” the journal concluded, “may be woefully unprepared to deal with the resulting inevitable wave of digital fraud and the looming implication that any media item could be fraudulent.”

I don't know where that may in Scientific American’s conclusion came from. Society clearly is woefully unprepared,

Hany Farid, a computer science professor at the University of California described how the malicious actors held all the cards. It was incredibly easy to perpetrate a fraud, he explained.

“I record a person and clone their voice. And then I record myself saying what I want them to say with all the intonation—bad words and all—and it converts my voice into their voice. It’s all the same underlying generative AI technology.”

When it came to uncovering fraud, however…

“Detection is harder because it’s subtle; it’s complicated; the bar is always moving higher. I can count on one hand the number of labs in the world that can do this in a reliable way. That’s disconcerting.”

The falsely accused teachers will find it very hard to clear their name. While those who want to believe malicious fakery will feel justified in doing so.

As well as the innocent being falsely accused, the guilty will be able to say that they are innocent victims and AI generated the evidence against them.

As the technology for fakery explodes, and as states like Rwanda that no one believed capable of running propaganda operations and character assassination campaigns try to distort debate, the question arises what do we do.

I disagree with many of my fellow free-speech defenders who think that little or nothing should be done.  We cannot go on with the Clinton era dispensation, which gave legal immunities to tech companies, without the rule of law falling into disrepute.

Everyone caught up in fake news attacks is baffled by the shortage of legal remedies against the AI companies that are profiting from their misery.

But clearly the law can only go so far. A deep fake outfit based in Northern Cyprus or some other bad land is effectively beyond the rule of law.

It strikes me that there are two possible futures.

The first isn’t so bad. People just shrug when dirt is thrown. They assume the evidence poisonous ideologues and movements use against their hate objects is fake.  Or they follow the “ye without sin cast the first stone” principle. Or, and you can see this happening now, they say that when so many are attacked or are capable of being attacked, once shocking accusations lose their sting.

The second is, I am afraid, as likely. 

Every election is swamped with fake news. The defeated side refuses to accept that they lost in a free-and-fair contest. High levels of trust, on which contented and prosperous societies depend, collapse. As more of us become like Michela Wrong and fear the power of the new technologies to destroy us, the more suspicious our world becomes.

[conradscrime]

The Crimes of Dr. Crippen

September 17, 2023

Dr. Hawley Harvey Crippen was born on September 11, 1862, in Coldwater, Michigan and was the only surviving child of his parents Andresse Skinner and Myron Augustus Crippen who was a merchant.

Crippen first studied at the University of Michigan Homeopathic Medical School, and graduated later at the Cleveland Homeopathic Medical College in 1884.

Crippen married his first wife, Charlotte Jane Bell, but when she died of a stroke in 1892, Crippen sent his son, Hawley Otto, who was only a toddler, to live with his parents in San Hose, California.

Dr. Crippen began practicing medicine in New York City, marrying his second wife, Corrine "Cora" Turner in 1894. Cora was actually a music hall singer who sang under the name, Belle Elmore. Also in 1894, Crippen began working for Dr. Munyon, who had a homeopathic pharmaceutical company.

In 1897, Dr. Crippen and Cora moved to England, even despite the fact that Crippen's medical qualifications were not met to practice in the UK. Crippen was working as a distributor of patent medicines around this time, while Cora was socializing.

Dr. Crippen was fired by Munyon's in 1899 for spendin too much time managing Cora's career. Dr. Crippen went on to work as a manager for Drouet's Institution for the Deaf, where a young woman named Ethel Le Neve was his typist in 1900.

By 1905, Crippen and Ethel were having an affair. That same year, Crippen and Cora moved to 39 Hilldrop Crescent, Camden Road, Holloway and took in lodgers to help with their income. Cora ended up having an affair with one of these lodgers, and due to this, Crippen officially made Ethel is mistress in 1908.

On January 31, 1910, the Crippen home hosted a party, and after said party, Cora had disappeared. Dr. Crippen's excuse for his wife's disappearance was that she had gone back to the US, later adding that she had died there. After this, Ethel moved in with Dr. Crippen and actually began to wear Cora's clothes and jewelry.

The first mention of Cora's disappearance came from her friend, Kate "Vulcana" Williams. The disappearance was taken more seriously when people associated with the Scotland Yard Superintendent, Frank Froest were pushing for the matter to be looked into.

Police searched Dr. Crippen's house but found nothing. Dr. Crippen under questioning did eventually admit he had made up the story of his wife dying, because he wanted to avoid the embarrassment over him leaving her, fleding to the US with one of her lovers. Authorities were satisfied with Crippen's story, however he did not know that and instead fled with Ethel to a hotel in Brussels.

The next day the two got on the SS Montrose, headed for Canada. This made them look suspicious, so police further searched Crippen's house, finding the torso of a human body buried under the brick floor of the basement. Traces of a calming drug called scopolamine was in the torso as well.

The torso was identified as being Cora, however her head, limbs and skeleton were never recovered.

Dr. Crippen and Ethel who was disguised as a boy were heading across the Atlantic ocean, and the captain noticed them. Notifying the Chief Inspector, Walter Dew, of this, he boarded a ship from Liverpool and beat Dr. Crippen to Canada, arriving in Quebec.

Dew himself actually boarded the next ship disguised as a pilot. When entering on board, Dr. Crippen was invited to meet the pilots to which Dew removed his cap and said, "Good mornin, Dr. Crippen. Do you know me? I'm Chief Inspector Dew from Scotland Yard."

Dr. Crippen's response was apparently, "Thank God it's over. The suspense has been too great. I couldn't stand it any longer." And then held out his wrists for the handcuffs. Both Crippen and Ethel were arrested on board on July 31, 1910.

Dr. Crippen was tried at the Old Bailey, on October 18, 1910. The trial lasted 4 days. Though they argued that the torso could not be totally proven to be Cora, there was a piece of skin that had a scar that was similar to Cora's medical history.

Other evidence was brought forth, such as a piece of a pyjama top that Cora had given Dr. Crippen the year before, in 1909, and hair that matched Cora's. During the trial, Dr. Crippen did not show any remorse for his wife. He was only concerned with Ethel's reputation.

Dr. Crippen was found guilty in just 27 minutes. Ethel was only charged for being an accessory after the fact and was eventually acquitted.

Crippen never actually gave a motive for why he killed his wife, however many theories have risen over the years. A late Victorian and Edwardian barrister, Edward Marshall Hall believed Dr. Crippen had been giving Cora hyoscine as a depressant but accidentally gave her too much, causing her to overdose.

In 1981, multiple British newspapers reported that a man claimed to have met Ethel in 1930 and she confessed to him that Dr. Crippen murdered Cora because she had syphilis.

Another theory is that Dr. Crippen was carrying out illegal abortions and the torso was actually that of a previous patient, not Cora. Others find it strange that Dr. Crippen would bury his wife's body under the floor, but managed to get rid of her head and limbs with no discovery.

Dr. Crippen was hanged at Pentonville Prison, London, on November 23, 1910. Ethel sailed to the US before moving to Canada and found work as a typist. She supposedly returned to Britain in 1915, and died in 1967. Crippen had requested that a photo of Ethel be placed in his coffin and buried with him which was approved.

Think the story's over? Think again.

In October 2007, a forensic scientist named David Foran claimed that mitochondrial DNA evidence showed the remains under Dr. Crippen's basement floor were not that of Cora. Using genealogy, they identified 3 of Cora's living relatives who gave their DNA to be compared.

The original remains were also tested using an assay of the Y chromosome, finding the flesh sample was male, not female. This research team also argued that a scar that was found on the torso and had been identified as a scar that Cora had was incorrect.

This new DNA evidence has been disputed, with a journalist commenting that this team used a special technique that is too new, and working on a century old slide isn't the best sample to use to compare DNA.

In December 2009, the UK's Criminal Cases Review Commission declared that the Court of Appeal would not hear the case to pardon Dr. Crippen posthumously, meaning he is still known forever in history as having murdered his wife.