#ghost of kyiv

[jacensolodjo]

These are such cool vyshyvanka designs. Look at that seamless tryzub meshed with what i think probably represents the Ghost of Kyiv. And then the choppers and what looks to be a drone as well as smatterings of tryzubs. Or you can even get a bandura! (for those on mobile: pictures contain source links)

[shovshur]

Ghost of Kyiv.

[travismichaelkelce]

The Ghost Of Kyiv 🇺🇦

[engin-program]

🇺🇦💪 Today, on the Day of Defenders of Ukraine, we honor the courageous souls who have sacrificed everything to protect their homeland. This day holds more weight now than ever before, as the war has taken some of Ukraine's brightest and bravest. Their sacrifices remind us that Ukraine's future is now in the hands of those who remain — and it's up to us to be worthy of their legacy.

🫶 We extend our deepest gratitude to all defenders who continue to protect Ukraine every day, no matter how hard it gets. Your bravery inspires us, and your dedication reminds us of the strength we must all carry within.

📃 ENGin founder Katerina Manoff asks a deeply moving question in her article: Are we worth dying for? As Ukraine loses so many heroes — soldiers, volunteers, those who stood on the frontlines — the challenge before us is not just military. It's about our character, our community, and how we live our lives moving forward. We must rise to the occasion, not only to rebuild the nation but to ensure that the sacrifices made were not in vain.

💬 "Every day, I try to be better. Because I feel the ghosts of our heroes and I'd like to be deserving of their sacrifice. My ghosts are the Ghosts of Kyiv, Juice and Moonfish, fighter pilots whom I was honored to work with at the beginning of the war. Both of them gave their lives for Ukraine after successfully advocating for F-16 fighter jets to defend our sky - Juice just over a year ago, and Moonfish shortly after the first anniversary of Juice's death.

I think about them regularly and I don't want their deaths to be in vain. So, even when life gets overwhelming, I try to keep supporting Ukraine in any way I can," Katerina shared. ✍️

☝️ Her words remind us all that we must not only fight external threats but also strive to be better for each other, to live up to the heroes who can no longer be with us.

❤️‍🩹 Let's take this day to reflect on our actions and how we can be heroes in our everyday lives for Ukraine that so many have given everything to protect. 🇺🇦🩵💛

➡️ Read more in Katerina's powerful article: https://vilni-media.com/.../chy-varti-my-toho-shchob-za.../

[luthoniel]

Remains of a disaster

[polinashinyrockseater]

can't stop thinking about this.... soap using ghosts call sign in ukrainian during a mission just to catch him off guard (its привид btw) .... simon quietly confessing to johnny in ukrainian bc he won't understand him anyway...... simon humming ukrainian lullabies to calm soap down after a bad nightmare.... I love themb so mughc.

ykw. the ghost comics have him telling his story to a bunch of ukrainian school kids so i would presume ghost speaks ukrainian (or russian) and im thinking. how about his family is ukrainian, or at least part of it

it’s not overly present in their home life—ghost’s english father isn’t one for the culture—but ghost’s mother makes sure he and tommy always at least have the language, so if ever afforded the opportunity, they could really experience everything she’d had to leave behind in her wonderful home country.

and language ends up being one of the few things that keeps ghost and tommy’s relationship from ever completely falling apart, even when it is only holding on by threads. it’s what helps them to find common ground when ghost wants to get his brother sober and mend what’d been left broken by their father.

years down the line, language is what keeps the new brotherly bond between them strong. it’s always fun to use to gossip—at some point ghost gets inducted into a knitting group of babushkas with all the drama, one time on leave—and it’s a piece of their mother to remember her by after she’s passed. it’s something necessary to teach joseph, tommy’s son. it’s something to be proud of.

and when ghost eventually brings soap home—language is something to speak with his brother in hushed tones about all the things he admired about johnny without the man ever being privy to it. because ghost doesn’t know if he’s ready to confess those feelings just yet. language is what tommy then uses to tease his brother about his crush and urge him to get on with it, it’s clear that soap feels the same way.

i don’t know. I don’t know. just a little thought worm

[bits-and-babs]

Your fics are amazing! Would you ever write about König?

𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐃 — 𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆

synopsis : rumours of an elite soldier have the base reeling. murmurings of 'monster' and 'freak'. what happens when you come face to face with the beast, only to find he's nothing like the whispers cautioned?

pairing : könig x f!reader

warnings : 18+ mdni. war, violence, graphic gory imagery, self-conscious könig baby, little bit of hand kink, basic bitch smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, size kink, tight fit, sugar-sweet teeth rotting smut. this feels so basic… but I was struggling. please note, kilgore is a name previously linked to könig. I have used it as a codename 🙂

könig masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

Warfare training preps for the inevitable—those moments you need to fire a weapon and how to camouflage and navigate enemy territory without detection. These inescapable horrors are 'another day in the office' by the time you enter the field, the prickling chill of fear driven out of your system. Whistling RPGs are not dissimilar to the scream of your Drill Sergeant's commands, the cold, hard ground of a dilapidated building no more uncomfortable than the standard-issue barracks mattress you would ease your wearing bones into after training. 

Fear, beaten out of each man and woman that slipped on the uniform, held no commonplace in the military. Weapons, the call to war, brutality and sirens did little to raise the blood pressure. 

Whispers held far more weight and struck unease into the hearts of even the most desensitised of fighters. 

It was inarguable that each military in every country, at any time, had its own 'boogeyman'. Notorious fighters with absurdly large kill counts consisting of three digits that inevitably earned a bounty for their head, funded by the enemy—elite warriors who acquired a legendary reputation that ultimately became horror stories. The Ghost of Kyiv, The American Sniper Chris Kyle. These military cryptids kept their enemies awake at night, baying for blood and begging for the piles of bodies they left behind to stop growing. 

After years in the SAS, you were beginning to think that there was no such thing. Each soldier was prolific, brutally efficient and inarguably the best of the elite forces. It was only upon entering Task Force 141, a genuinely mean feat, that you began to hear the unshunnable, hushed whispers of Kilgore. 

“Did you hear about Berlin?” 

“Kilgore? Yeah, heard he blew away a whole Al-Qatala cell.”

“Twelve of ‘em. The hostages were traumatised.”

These mumblings had persisted for months, consistently updated with crazy tales of whole garrisons blown to smitheries by this massacre-happy hulking mass of pure military precision. You, like the rest of 141, elected to ignore the gossip. This was a battlefield, filled with elite soldiers, not a school playground. 

                            ✰

Austrian mud splatters your camo-clad shins as you sprint through the forest terrain, your heart lurching in your chest as your rain-soaked fingers almost fumble your gun to the sodden ground. It’s freezing cold, the gush of rain edging on a flurry of sleet as lightning cracks above your head. Clothes soaked through, the moisture and icy wind form something of a ‘Pact of Steel’, working together to deep freeze the marrow of your bones. 

As you slip in the mud again, heel skidding across the slick soil, you realise how dire the situation truly is. Separated from 141 during the firefight, you’d navigated north. You continued running for the safe house once discovering your coms had been dispatched by a stray bullet— that certainly would have ripped through your heart and dispatched you instantly if not for the layers of plastic settled over it. 

Thunder rumbles in the clouds above, the boom reminiscent of a distant air strike. Slurried earth gives way beneath your feet as you push on. Exhaustion gnaws at your joints as you scramble for safety, bested only by the adrenaline that buzzed in your ear like a vicious drill sergeant. “Move it! Do you wanna die?! Well fucking move!” 

You can hear their boots in the mud, the advancing Al-Qatala mercenaries chasing after you and shooting blindly at your heels, competing with the distance and dense foliage. You’re like an injured fox, feverish bloodhounds nipping at the end of your tail— what could they do with an SAS hostage? How much leverage would it buy? 

Bullets whistle by your feet, the proximity of some enough to set your hair on end. They’re closing in, jowls dripping with slobber as they attempt to close their teeth around you. Just a little mor—

Crack. 

Chaos erupts behind you, the thump of a body and a flurry of shouts. Panicked voices overlay each other in different languages, Urzik and Persian. You scramble for cover behind a treetrunk, the bark cutting at your palms as you brace for incoming fire. 

"Kilgore!" Someone shouts, and your blood runs cold, eyes wide as they dart around the foliage for the legendary soldier. The whizzing of high-powered bullets persists, dropping Al-Qatala mercenaries into the mud beneath them. You hear the yelled orders, Urzik fighters urged to retreat.

You're unsure if one fails to hear the directive over the din of warfare, but you hear the advancing feet of the mercenary advancing on your position—the squelch of the mud beneath the rubber sole of his combat boots. You scramble with your weapon, checking the gun's safety and readying for a one-shot shoot-out. 

When a bullet shreds through a victim's head, the sound is reminiscent of a watermelon being cracked open. It's a sickening crunch. A wet spray of warm blood cuts through the downpour of rain, splattering across your face. Some of it is solid, brain matter and shards of cranium. 

It's not silent by any means. The rain continues to beat against the floor, pattering in the puddles that had formed in sole-shaped prints in the soaked earth. Cracks of thunder sound in the distance, and the droplets drum against the leaves in the forest's canopy. However, the sounds of the firefight cease. 

"You can come out," a voice calls to you. Accented; Germanic. You hesitate for a moment, once again strengthening your grip on the gun you'd clung to. Your lungs strain with the sudden intake of breath, ribs crushed beneath your tac-vest. "Ghost sent me." 

Easing your head out from behind the tree trunk, you marvel, somewhat horrified, at the gigantic, hulking build of the man who stood in the clearing. Fallen enemy combatants surround him, a blanket of corpses draped across the turbid forest floor. A black veil covers his face, and his equipment litters his tac-vest. 

You'd be lying if you said you were unperturbed by the sight. Instead, fear lurches in the pit of your stomach, and you freeze in place. It's only when your eyes catch the crystal white slicing through crimson on the patch sewn into his shoulder that the airy voice, which certainly doesn't match his enormous frame, brings you a sense of safety. 

"The safe house is ahead. We could get you warm–– clean you up?"

                            ✰

Staring into the bubbling pan of water settled over the small fire, you relish in the warmth that creeps across your chilled body. Still, you're soaked, the damp clinging to the threads of your clothes. The scent of iron still assaults your nose, the water that you pick off the fire cautiously heated enough to scrub the blood from your face. 

Kilgore, who informed you upon entering the safehouse preferred to be called by his name König, had seated himself in the corner of the large, relatively empty room. He looked ridiculous like this, attempting to compact his body into the crevice. You don't doubt it's an attempt to ease the nervous energy bleeding through your pores, your hands trembling as you attempt to dip the rag he had gifted you into the hot water. 

"Did..." You swallow thickly, glancing up at the Austrian, "Did you tell the Lieutenant where we are?" 

"Mhm-hm," he nods slowly, his jade eyes watching you from beneath the face veil. They're sharp and bright, contrasting so strongly against his uniform's muted and inky shades. "He's planning evac." 

You scrub the gore from your face, wincing as you feel the shards of bone scrape across your face. König's eyes bore into you from the other side of the room, watching you struggle to remove what was left of the grime the rain had failed to wash away. 

"I've-... Heard a lot about you," you speak to him, attempting to cross the vast space he had consciously put between you. His green eyes gaze at you, unblinking as he watches your expression. König is trying to read you, trying to comprehend how you feel. He's cautious, trying not to push you outside of your comfort zone. 

"About Berlin?" He asks, and his voice is so soft that it reminds you of a child attempting to speak after being reprimanded by their parents–– wary of a second bout of raised voices. 

"Yes," you mumble, dipping the crimson rag into the water before laying it across your skin again, "About Berlin." 

König hums softly, casting his eyes to the aged, wooden floorboards. The woodlice have chewed through them, moss growing in some parts. You can see he appears uncomfortable, his knuckles white from the fists that form in his lap. 

"I didn't mean to scare anyone," König admits in a whisper, catching you off guard. His shoulders sag slightly, and you see him pick at loose threads in the knees of his camo trousers. 

"N-No... I meant to say how courageous it was," you point out, watching his fidgeting hands still suddenly, "You risked your life for those hostages... saved them singlehandedly. No one else would have done that." 

Hesitant silence settles between you both, König considering your words carefully as he stares at his lap. You can't see his face, the veil concealing all but his eyes, though you're almost sure he's stunned by your comment. It takes him a moment to discern his next step, but he finally lifts his body from the wooden chair he'd pulled into the corner. It creaks with the shift in weight distribution, floorboards straining as he walks across the space towards you. 

"You also saved me," you point out, watching him kneel before you, "Faced a whole cell..."

König steals your words from your mouth when his huge hand settles around the bloodied rag in your palm. He doesn't speak at; first, silence hanging between you once again as he dips the cloth into the water. Then, he soaks it until it drips, droplets pinging off the surface, and wrings it out. His dorsal muscles ripple beneath the backs of his palm, veins a ballpoint colour and standing out against his pale skin. 

"Ghost asked me to," he mumbles, carefully holding the damp fabric and slowly reaching for your face. He gives you time to pull away–– you don't. 

"You could have ignored him," you whisper, suddenly breathless with this proximity. He still towers over you, even balanced on his knees, head and shoulders slumped over you. You can see the ocean green of his eyes clearly, the halo of brown flecks that cover the circumference of his pupil. His eyelashes flutter when he blinks, so pretty and oddly feminine. 

The pressure of the cloth against your skull is so delicate. König appears to be afraid of hurting you, gently brushing away the flecks of blood in your hairline. He shakes his head gently, considering your kind words. "What kind of man would I be, Leibchen?" his voice is airy, tone flimsy.

Those stunning eyes take a moment to gaze into yours, searching for your answer. Instead, all you manage is a weak shrug. 

"Were... Are they afraid of you?" You whisper to him, struggling to find the words to broach a topic that appears to affect König so profoundly. It's his turn to answer wordlessly, offering an equally frail nod. 

König takes your chin ever so gently in his hand, his palm almost eclipsing the lower half of your face, and turns your head in search of further blood-spatter. He sweeps the makeshift face-cloth over your skin, focusing on removing the grime altogether. 

You'd heard the cruel rumours, the whispers of 'monster' and 'freak'. This König you'd met couldn't possibly be the same they uttered about maliciously. He held a child-like kindness, the brutality of the job seemingly doing little to chip away at his humanity. The same couldn't be said about the others. 

"König," you whisper his name softly, watching as he continues to focus on clearing up your skin. His soothing touch smoothes across your temple now, removing some mud speckles. "Don't listen to them."

You can see his eyes soften, once again turning to yours as you reach to fiddle with the edge of his veil. Upon tracing the border between the pads of your thumb and forefinger, you find that it's t-shirt material, the zigzag seam stitching rough against your touch like barbed wire. "They haven't seen you like I have." 

Those eyes gleam with amusement, little crows-feet creases forming in the corners. He's smiling, and your heart stutters against your chest. 

"That right, Leibchen? I've had a mask on this whole time."

The gentle teasing lilt to his tone makes you lightheaded, urging you forward with your frankly ridiculous plan. You begin to lift the edge of his veil upwards. You take it slowly, his pupils dancing across the bare skin of your face as you reveal the point of his chin. His skin is equally as pale there, barely exposed to sunlight.

König doesn't stop you as you continue to lift the fabric from his face, exposing the curve of his lower lip. The skin there is soft and plush, little creases in the flesh making your heart thud awkwardly against your ribs. Finally, you stop at his cupid's bow, so soft and subtle it's barely there at all. 

You can feel his gaze warming your skin as you trace his lips with your eyes. Hesitation holds you still, uncertain about the final step of this stupid plan. König, as ever, doesn't push you. Doesn't even breathe. When you lean forward, the tip of your nose brushing his own that still lay beneath the cloth, you hear a sharp yet gentle inhalation. It triggers goosebumps across your forearms, butterflies battering the pit of your stomach. 

Soft. His lips are so soft when you mould your own to their shape. König's veil tickles the skin of your face when you kiss him, and you feel his gigantic hands settle on either side of your neck as he begins to return your affections. They swallow you, and your pulse leaps against his palm. 

König smiles, and the kiss turns toothy and a little lopsided. You can't help but giggle nervously, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw as he presses gentle pecks to the edge of your mouth. Despite his massive, intimidating frame, each action is deliberate and soft. 

"... Are your clothes still wet, Schatz?" He's breathless despite his seemingly put-together appearance, his nose bumping yours as he interrupts your answer for another fragile kiss. "We could get you out of them." 

                            ✰

Your standard-issue military t-shirt slips and falls from the cot's mattress as König gently pulls your hips towards the edge. His fingerprints have already bruised into your thighs despite his attempts to be gentle. When he'd begun to panic, you told him not to worry–– he'd already bruised up your neck with his teeth and lips; what was a couple more?

Butterflying your legs out for him, König groans softly as you expose your glistening cunt for him. You're shy, covering your face with your hands as his fingers massage the soft, malleable flesh of the inside of your thighs. 

"Schatz," he whispers, and you peer through the gaps of your fingers. König gazes down between your legs, green eyes gleaming as he positions his cock between your folds. "So beautiful." 

It's ridiculous, you think, staring down between your legs. König is huge in every sense, the shaft of his cock thick and veiny and drowning out the seam of your sex as König shifts his hips forward to swipe the length of him across your weeping cunt. You can't help your mind running away with itself–– surely he needed a weapons license to carry that thing-?

A weak chuckle sounds above you, and you crane your neck to catch his eye. "I will take it slow, Schatz, I promise you."

You believe him. He had been so delicate with you this whole time, laying you down gently on the bed, careful when removing your gear and your clothes not to let the material snag on your nose or chin. 

König's hand disappears beneath the face veil, spitting into his palm before he smoothes it over the head of his cock. He groans, eyelids fluttering beneath the mask as he drags his hand over the length. It's a pretty sight, you think, such a colossal man shuddering in bliss. When he sweeps his cock through your folds again, he carefully taps the tip of his dick against your clit to illicit a whimper. 

"Mhmm, gentle. I promise you," he repeats, inching the tip of his cock down until it settles at your entrance. The soles of your feet find purchase on König's hips, and he massages your calves gently as he begins to inch into you at your nod of approval. 

Oh, Christ. 

König stretches you the moment he sinks inside. There's a delicious burn, one that has you lifting your hips with a whimper as you equally try to escape and dive into it. He's wheezing, eyes glued to where your bodies meet as he watches you flutter around his size. 

"Ha-So tight, Schatz," he groans loudly, stopping when you firmly grip the bedsheets. He notes your expression of slight pain, the tears welling in your eyes as your body attempts to accommodate the intrusion. König seemingly can't help the flurry of apologies that fall from his mouth as he leans over you, settling his thumb against your clit in an attempt to ease you open. "Here. I want you to feel good, Engel." 

The tremors in your thighs rattle against his hips as he circles your clit slowly. It's blissful, the sticky, warm arousal that blooms through your abdomen as he teases at the sensitive nerves. You arch your back against the mattress, moaning out his name breathlessly as he continues to inch his cock further into you. You barely notice when he finally settles the rest of him inside, wailing softly when it twitches and knocks something earthshattering inside you. 

"O-Oh fuck––" you choke on your curse when König shifts his hips forward, jutting into your cervix and winding you suddenly. You probably look ridiculous, eyes rolling back into your skull as you claw at the vast expanse of his chest. You drag pink lines down the pale skin, drawing blood to the surface, but it does little to phase König this far along.  

"Good, Liebling?" He murmurs, continuing to assault your clit. You can barely form a coherent sentence in response, drooling around a string of 'yes, yes, yes'. It's all he needs to find comfort in advancing, easing the length of him out of your weeping cunt before driving it back in at an achingly slow pace. 

You want to slam your fist against his pectorals and insist he go faster, but you're not sure you're ready for it when he slides into you balls deep. It's as though he's settling among your lungs, filling you so good that you're seeing static in your line of vision. 

The sound of a desperate groan from above barely brings you back down to earth, noting how he's staring at your face. His pupils are blown wide, almost devouring the green of his irises. It takes you a moment to realise you're drooling, his slow and steady pace already pushing you to a mindless edge. 

"Oh-" you moan, digging your nails into his abs. They ripple beneath your touch with each deliberate thrust, and König hisses at the sharp sting and the crescent moon indents they leave behind. "F-Fuck, König- Too much-!"

"It's too much?" He wheezes, eyes searching your face. You desperately shake your head, terrified he'll pull away from you despite the inching arousal building at the base of your spine. Wrapping your legs around his hips, your heels press into the small of his back and hook him in place despite your protests. 

It sparks something feral in the hulking man, his hips surging forwards and jolting you up the mattress. Your breath escapes you in a squeak, arousal soaring and buzzing thickly in your abdomen as König mumbles in German, his soft voice coming out all gritty under the strain of his exertions and bliss. 

"Mhmmm- fuck-" you babble, eyes rolling again as you lift your hips to meet his. He sinks impossibly deeper, and your breath stutters as you feel the telltale tug of your orgasm. "Oh God- König, I'm-"

"Tell me," König whispers, rutting up inside you. He doesn't bother to inch out of you now, repeatedly battering so deep inside you that you struggle to inhale as your orgasm approaches fast. 

"Hngngg- hah-ah- I'mgonna- c-cum-" you choke with each sudden thrust, his thumb quickening its pace against your arcing clit. Perhaps he shifts his hips slightly or reaches even deeper than before, but he brushes against something utterly debilitating, and you cum with a loud shriek of his name. 

It bursts through you with blistering heat, your fingernails sinking deep into the curves of his bicep as you brace against the waves of bliss that crash over you. König keeps fucking into you, your walls squeezing tight around him as his thumb persists in its assault on your throbbing clit. Tears stream down your face, and König can't hold on much longer as you strangle his cock. 

"Hah-Shit-" he slurs, his voice barely reaching your ears as he buries himself as deep as you can take him. He cums with a haggard moan, body trembling as his cock spurts inside of you. There's so much of it, too, leaking out of you before he even manages to move. 

Both of you take a moment, both stunned by the overwhelming ecstasy. König doesn't bother withdrawing from your heat as he slumps beside you, turning you on your side to face him. He offers no words, burying his face into the crook of your neck and holding you tightly. 

Your chest heaves as you suck in oxygen, skin prickling with heat as König encases you in his massive arms. You don't need the sheets, his body-heat burning hot beside you as you press your skin to his.

No words need to be said, you think. König had offered his feelings in the form of his reverent touches and delivered his thanks for your kindness in the delicate kisses he'd pressed to your lips as he carried you into the bedroom. 

As you lay in the dark, settled into König's side, you trace your fingers over the curved scars, the bulletholes that have healed over against his ribs. They rise and fall beneath your touch, lungs expanding and deflating with each breath. It's a sobering moment, the thrumming of his pulse against your palm reminding you of his humanity despite the whispers at the base that had insisted upon his bestiality. 

You realise those who speak cruelly of him and ruin his self-worth don't understand their impact. To them, he's a cryptid–– his very existence called into question. They hadn't seen him with their own eyes, only heard the mind-boggling tales of his startlingly impressive missions and monstrous size. 

They hadn't felt his heart, the way it fluttered against your touch when you'd offered compliments. Hadn't experienced the soft plush of his lips pressing into your own in heartbreakingly sweet kisses. He was no monster. 

And when Lieutenant Riley came for you the following day, choosing to ignore the marks left on your skin and the way you hesitated before climbing into the helicopter to offer the Austrian a gentle wave and a promise that you would return, you began the mission to rewrite his story. To change hearts and minds.  

It didn't take long at all.

"Did you hear about Kilgore?"

"I did! He saved a member of 141. Incredibly brave–– I heard the situation was dire."

"She spoke very highly of him. Said we could count on him."

"I certainly wouldn't mind fighting alongside someone so dependable and courageous." 

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[edelweissko]

Hetalia Ukraine Headcanon #2 – or, rather, my take on Ukraine in Hetalia canon.

upd: I might have worded it a bit shitty, but the entire purpose of this post is that „canon/common fannon“ uwu crybaby Ukraine is bulshit and fuck canon we ball anyway. That I will be re-creating her character the way I want, and that‘s literally it. Damn. Pls don‘t misinterpret things, I‘m not defending Himaruya or anything

This is something that has to be clarified before I proceed, and even before I answer to any further asks.

I think of Ukraine in „canon Hetalia" as Russia's perspective, what he tells others about Ukraine and what he wants them to think of her, for his own purposes.

Because, if you recall, the episode where she is introduced (Axis Powers, ep 42), it is Russia telling England about her. Just like episode 43, it's Russia's memories and perspective. I hate that this fact is often overlooked, as it makes total sense for Russia to want others to see Ukraine as a weak crybaby that is dependant on him. In fact, this no shit is the attitude russians have to ukrainians. Almost inferior, (quote) unable to fend for themselves. It is not cute. It is very much toxic. The scarf moment is extremely fucking funny. Because, (and again, this is Russia's memories), Ukraine gives him her favorite scarf. But what people overlook, is that in return she asks (in dub) FOR CONTROL FROM BLACK SEA TO POLAND. HER TERRITORIES. THIS- THIS IS NOT A CUTE MOMENT. SHE IS TRYING TO GET AWAY. AS SHE ALWAYS HAS. FOR CENTURIES. Or, in sub, she asks for „inheritance rights to Kyivan Rus", so again, reclaiming a part of her identity. After which, russia concludes that maybe they've never been close at all. srsl I wish russia realised that in real life and fucked off already

To me, this is the first moment that shows that there is much more to Ukraine than what we see, and that Russia must in no way be trusted on his word when it comes to her.

Especially since In her next appearence, Gakuen Hetalian Newspaper Club part 1, Ukraine is nothing like that. She wants to join the choir club, where the baltic trio and others are, and we find out that the choir is targeted by the so-called „soviet club". Lmao. Nor she is in any of the Halloween episodes she appears in subsequently. Moreover, in the 2013 haloween series, Ukraine is shown dressed up as a reference to a Ukrainian(!!!) urban legend about a ghost train. So, she is not afraid to express her identity even at that point. Yes, she is emotional, but not a complete mess of a crybaby whose every 1 in 2 words is „Russia". Which further backs my theory.

The latest appearence, where in Chapter 389 of Hetalia world stars, Ukraine asks Lithuania to „sent spare paper Russias" to her if he ever gets any, because, quote „THIS RUSSIA IS OBEDIENT, QUIET, AND LISTENS TO WHAT I SAY".

Does this sound like a weak crybaby Ukraine whom Russia was describing to you?

No. That's the point.

Btw the only point in history I can think of where she could be referring to when she says it's „like we've gone back in time", is 7th - 10th century; when the principality of Suzdal (later: Muscovy→Russia) was just freshly colonized by Kyiv and Polatsk (later Ukraine and Belarus) and was paying fiefs to them. Which is like, literally 40 years before Suzdal’s prince plundered and burnt Kyiv down in 1169. A first russo-ukrainian war for you.

So, even from "canon hetalia", the idea of Ukraine's character that this fandom often percieves her as derives mostly from Russia's POV. Which is sad, ironic (represents the influence of russian propaganda irl), but also thanks fuck, this means we see so little of her that her personality can be easily interpreted in a multitude of ways that reflect history and reality way better

[dontforgetukraine]

Now that Ukraine has finally received F-16s, many people are remembering one of the Ukrainians that started the campaign to receive them. Andriy "Juice" Pilshchykov was a talented MiG-29 pilot who dreamed of having F-16s in Ukrainian skies. Unfortunately, he would not see the day when on Friday, August 25, 2023 two L-39 combat trainer aircraft collided in the air, resulting in the death of him and two other pilots. His grave can be found in Kyiv.

‘He dreamed of F-16s’: Ukrainian Air Force leads tributes to pilot ‘Juice’

His digital ghost is still on twitter.

Source and photo credit: Illia Ponomarenko I’ve brought a candle light to congratulate Juice on behalf of all fellas who are not in town.

Glory to Ukraine. Glory to the Heroes.

[dryndelicate]

AI Art Challenge - Overview

Me and My Ghost

@ai-satin-chic: What Have I Done?

@anderii: The Ghost of Things We Leave Behind

@mohairmaster: In Reminiscence of all the Christmas Birds

@fluffyfaza: Ghost of Kyiv

@dryndelicate: Carmen, Her Matador, and the Bull That Got Him

@danni-gurrl: Me and My Ghost

@softsmooth69: Me and My Ghost

@alyssa-ai: Me and My Demons

@hollyjumper: Me and My Ghost

@gigiprinceton: Me an my Ghost/Advisor

@synth-ai: Learning to Walk with My Ghosts

@andysfantasie @celestmilena @mistressmaurahypno @xanna-tose @burningpoisonroaster

[fluffyfaza]

Challenge "Me and my ghost"

Ghost of Kyiv

Everyone has their own ghosts. I have mine too. When I get a notification "Sounds in the sky - are kind", I know: I have a Kind Ghost

Who is the "Ghost of Kyiv" you can read at this link The mural depicted in the picture is also real, at this link

I want to thank all my Sky Defenders for the opportunity to write these lines

I wish for everyone to have only Kind Ghosts. Like Casper, for example….

@danni-gurrl @ai-satin-chic Thanks for the interesting challenge!

@danni-gurrl @ai-satin-chic @hollyjumper @anderii @andysfantasie @mohairmaster @prettiesforyou @mistressmaurahypno @gigiprinceton @synth-ai @alyssa-ai @fluffyfaza @softsmooth69 @xanna-tose @burningpoisonroaster @celestmilena

[awesome-casuallyfamouscollector]

MiG-29UB Fulcrum of the 40th Tactical Aviation Brigade "Ghosts of Kyiv" returning from a CAP mission over central Ukraine, 2024. Source: OSINTtechnical

Ukrainian fighter jet carries 4x R-73 AAMs. Despite the numerical superiority, the Russian aviation has failed miserably, losing the battle for air supremacy in Ukraine already at the first stage of the war, when Ukraine did not yet have modern air defense systems. Ukraine's old Soviet-era Mig-29s and Su-27s are quite successful against the formidable modern Russian air force. Russian aviation pilots are only able to successfully wage war against defenseless civilian targets...

[mariacallous]

Throughout the 1980s, and into the early 1990s, the New York real estate developer Donald Trump exchanged fan letters with disgraced ex-president Richard Nixon. In 1982, not quite eight years after Nixon’s resignation, Trump described him as “one of this country’s great men.”

Why was Trump such a fan? It might have had something to do with Nixon’s vengeful approach to politics, or their mutual closeness to McCarthyite prosecutor Roy Cohn. But the famously deal-seeking Trump was also an admirer of Nixon’s most famous diplomatic coup: the 1972 visit to China.

Today, the ghost of Nixon is haunting American foreign policy as well, thanks to the administration’s declared intention to strike a grand bargain with Russian President Vladimir Putin that would reorder global politics by sidelining the Europeans and leaving Kyiv in the cold.

Keith Kellogg, Trump’s Ukraine war envoy, revealed the underlying logic for such a move during a presentation at the Munich Security Conference. The Trump administration, he said, will try to “break” Putin’s alliances with China, Iran, and North Korea—apparently by offering Russia a deal better than anything it can get from them.

It’s an approach that strikingly mirrors Nixon’s masterstroke in 1972, when the president who had made his reputation as a diehard anti-communist stunned the world by becoming the first U.S. leader to travel to the People’s Republic of China. By meeting Mao Zedong, Nixon created a new diplomatic relationship that put the Soviet Union on the back foot—giving the United States leverage it used to push Moscow into negotiating a new strategic arms treaty. Now Trump is apparently contemplating a “reverse Nixon”—a dramatic rapprochement with Moscow that would leave Beijing out in the cold.

This doesn’t come as a complete surprise. Trump and his followers have often expressed their eagerness to engineer an end to the war, usually in terms that allow little input from the Ukrainians themselves. At the same time, MAGA loyalists—including Vice President J.D. Vance—have suggested that leaving Ukraine and the Europeans to fend for themselves would free up Washington to focus on countering China.

The anti-China camp inside Trumpism has not been doing well recently. Trump himself has recently made conciliatory sounds about Beijing, even touting his “very good relationship” with Chinese President Xi Jinping, and much U.S. government work targeting China has been frozen by Elon Musk’s government efficiency cuts, to Chinese nationalists’ delight.

Yet undermining China has been one of the consistent themes of MAGA foreign policy ever since Trump rode down that golden escalator in 2015. Cozying up to Putin, in Trump’s mind, might be just the way to box in the Chinese.

This logic is deeply flawed. Nixon’s visit took place at a time when Beijing and Moscow were already enemies, three years after a deadly exchange of fire over a disputed island on the Ussuri river had brought the two close to all-out war. Today, in contrast, Russia and China are closer allies than ever.

Russia is deeply dependent on China in just about every way that matters. China is the biggest customer for Russia’s coal and crude oil—a market that Putin would be ill-advised to jettison at a time when his economy is struggling. Western sanctions and the spiraling war costs have hit the Russian economy hard, driving up inflation, which in turn is fueling predictions of a devastating wave of corporate bankruptcies).The two countries share an often-contested border where they resolved long-standing disputes through a complex series of negotiations in the 1980s and 1990s; neither has any desire to relitigate the issue, or to have to use troops and money to refortify their frontiers.

Beijing has been giving the Russians vital military and technological support; by one estimate, China supplies roughly 90 percent of the computer chips currently used in Russian industry. Moscow and Beijing have developed overlapping interests in a variety of diplomatic and political realms, motivated by their deeply held desire to oppose the U.S. wherever they can. Russian and Chinese propagandists promote each other’s disinformation narratives across the world.

They agitate against the West using joint fora such as the BRICS and the Shanghai Cooperation Organization. They have been holding joint military exercises (with a notable emphasis on the Indo-Pacific region) and sharing military technologies. Along the way, China has also been tacitly and not-so-tacitly abetting the war in Ukraine. There’s a reason why Xi declared in 2022 that their countries’ partnership had “no limits.” If the U.S. were to persuade Putin to abandon this relationship, the price would have to be exceedingly high.

And why in the world should the United States pay it? Despite MAGA talk of American decline, the U.S. economy is thriving, and its military remains strong. Russia, by contrast, is shockingly weak. Over the past three years, Putin’s empire has struggled to subdue a foe that has less than a third of its population and merely a fraction of its natural resources.

The economy is in deep trouble. The ruble has lost more than half its value over the past decade; ordinary citizens are struggling to cope with runaway inflation. His central bank recently had to hike interest rates to an eye-watering 21 percent, prompting some experts to warn of a coming wave of corporate bankruptcies.

For most Russians, their country—sapped by corruption and backwardness—is little better than one of Trump’s proverbial “shitholes.” Sanctions have cut off Russians from foreign travel to many countries , international money transfers, and global credit cards. Russia’s GDP, despite its population of 144 million, is smaller than that of Texas or California; if Putin is the leader of a superpower, then so is President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva of Brazil, whose economy is now slightly larger than Russia’s.

Trump’s half-assed proposal to pressure the Kremlin by imposing tariffs vividly reveals his funhouse-mirror view of Moscow’s global significance. It’s been a long time since Russia has exported anything in significant quantities to the United States, so the effect of trade barriers would be virtually nil.

Meanwhile, U.S. allies from the United Kingdom to South Korea are unified in their desire to thwart Putin’s Ukrainian ambitions, since they know perfectly well that a Russian victory represents a massive threat to their own security. (The aggregate EU economy, by the way, is 10 times the size of Russia’s.) This constellation of forces makes this the perfect moment to pressure Russia into concessions at the negotiating table. Yet instead Trump is contemplating giving Putin a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Putin has made his own strategic priorities eminently clear. He wants to keep the territory he has illegally occupied in Ukraine; he wants to control the government in Kyiv; and he wants to keep Ukraine neutral (making its security de facto subject to Russian dictates). Putin recently refused to take part in direct talks with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, whom he called “illegitimate.” (It’s worth noting that Zelensky was elected president in a competitive election, while Putin has retained power through a series of sham votes engineered by his own minions.) And, above all else, he wants to negotiate one-on-one with his American counterpart, serving his desperate need for status. The Biden administration stuck with admirable consistency to the slogan of “Nothing about Ukraine without Ukraine.” The current American president’s version so far sounds more like “Trump to Kyiv: Drop Dead.”

For the West to agree to such terms would be both scandalous and stupid. Rewarding the most blatant act of territorial aggression in Europe since World War II would strike a huge blow to the postwar rules-based order that has kept much of the world at peace for decades. It would establish a disastrous precedent—one that would signal to Beijing, above all, that there is no price to be paid for the armed conquest of weaker neighbors, such as Taiwan.

Until now, despite many shortcomings, the Europeans have done a surprisingly competent job of helping Kyiv militarily and financially. But a Trump-Putin deal, forged over the heads of the Europeans, would almost certainly mean the death of NATO—a massive gift to China, Iran, and other anti-Western tyrannies. There is reason to fear that Putin will make some sort of shallow concessions designed to give Trump a publicizable win.

Russian sources have said that they are aware of Trump’s desire for an achievement he can depict as a victory over China, and they are almost certain to provide him with one. Whatever that may be, there is little reason to think that Putin will see a need to scuttle his alliance with Xi. He simply needs it too much, regardless of what the Americans will give.

No one should be holding the fate of a European democracy hostage over the alleged benefits of a treaty with Putin’s wobbling empire. The Russian dictator has painted himself into a corner. Trump would be a fool to help him out of it.

[captain-price-unofficially]

The Ukrainian 40th Tactical Aviation Brigade was officially awarded the honorary title “Ghosts of Kyiv” today.

The 40th, based just 20km of south of Kyiv at Vasylkiv Airbase, was heavily involved in winning air superiority over northern Ukraine in early 2022.

[engin-program]

🌟 ENGin CEO&Founder Katerina Manoff Shares a Powerful Story of Courage and Sacrifice 🌟

Katerina Manoff opened up about a remarkable hero she had the privilege to work with – Andrii, known as Juice, the Ghost of Kyiv. This story is so personal, tragic, unique, and touching.

🖇️ Read the full article on ENGin blog: