#why study in russia

[2chiribitas]

Babe, I'm gonna ruin you if you let me stay

[linka-r9-vysocina]

I know this is gonna sound like, fake or shallow deep (hehe shallow deep) but the more i read about the history of the baltic region (i am studying for my finals) the more i am thankful for today's european politics and the european union. I mean, criticize it however you want, but I am so glad that as of today and in europe, war is not just another means of doing politics. I am noit going to pretend that everything is okay in today's world and in today's europe etcetera, but... I can't imagine living in that time. Territories constantly changing hands, every few years. Armies going through your homeland several times in your life. States attackign each other whenever someone senses weakness in the other, trying to bite off pieces of land. (A part of me feels like today's Russia got stuck in this thinking as well as the guy in former Trump's administration arguing that "the US should buy Greenland".)

And while I can somehow understand that yes, this was a quest for power etc. etc., I can't help but feel like that was so, so damn stupid. Maybe someone with a history degree could explain all of that to me a little better, but I feel like any of those lands would have been better off if they had focused on what they already have and not lost countless lives and resources on wars. I don't want to act like a smartass or pretend that "oh what an enlightened time we live in", because in many ways, people and times did not change. But I am really thankful for the ways they did. I am glad Germany is not trying to seize our Czech asses whenever our government falls.

[dancingindreamlight]

Yay we're becoming a prison country like russia 🤬

[evienovo]

thinking of a Vikings modern au where it’s just Maura/Eyvor wilding in Norway during her Erasmus and in England for summer break lol

[storiesforallfandoms]

nature trip ~ sergei "kraven" kravinoff;marvel

word count: 2675

request?: no

description: in which she's on a camping trip to explore and connect with nature, and she doesn't expect to run into anyone else

pairing: kraven x female!reader

warnings: swearing, one use of y/n, scary encounter with a jaguar but no one is harmed, mentions of cheating

masterlist (one, two, three)

My friends thought I was crazy when I told them I was going to northern Russia for a nature trip. Of all the places to go, they said, why would I want to go to Russia? Nobody understood that there was some of the most beautiful places in Russia, places that were hardly ever explored because everyone thought the same way as my friends did. Going there meant it was way less likely for me to run into anyone else. I could explore on my own, take in nature, reconnect with it. It's what I needed after the last few months.

My first night was very peaceful. I had set up camp far enough in a wooded area that, on the off chance anyone else was around, they wouldn't come across my camp. It was a warm enough night that I didn't need to have the extra cover on my tent and I could watch the stars before I drifted off to sleep. I woke up early enough to make myself breakfast from the small amount of food I had brought with me, pack up my camp, and set off to explore.

That is when things became much less peaceful.

I had found a trail to take. I was considering taking a break anyways. I had been walking so long that my legs were starting to hurt, and my water bottle was starting to run empty. So, I was in search of any body of water I could fill my bottle with and could sit down next to, when I heard the low growl.

I stopped. When there was no follow up noise, I was sure I had imagined it. But then I heard rustling, and then I saw the jaguar.

She was large, even at such a distance I could tell. She was low to the ground, stalking towards me; a predator stalking her prey. My heart was pounding so hard. I knew she could hear it. Predators knew when their prey was afraid, after all.

I knew coming across wildlife was likely. I thought it was something I'd be prepared for. But in that moment, I had never felt less prepared. My only thought was fight or flight, but I knew I'd never win a fight with a jaguar, and I likely wouldn't out run one either. I was completely helpless, with a large, snarling jaguar inching closer to me.

Suddenly, I wasn't alone. I thought I had imagined hearing more rustling, but then someone was stood in front of me. It was a man, and I truly had no idea where he came from. I could've sworn I was the only person out here. There hadn't been another campsite as far as I could tell.

He was stood between the jaguar and I, almost shielding me from her.

"Back down, girl," he said. His voice was both gentle and stern somehow. "This is not an enemy."

The jaguar lowered herself to the ground. She was still on alert, but it seemed like she was trusting this man. Her eyes kept flickering between us, a slight snarl still curled on her lips.

"Hey!" The jaguar's eyes snapped to him. "She's good. She's not here to hurt anyone. Walk away."

Her eyes found me again. I felt like she was studying me. I felt the need to shift so she could see my camping gear and understand that I wasn't going to hurt her. Not that she needed that reassurance. I'm sure we both knew she could easily take me down if she wanted to.

To my surprise, the jaguar rose from her crouched position. She kept her eyes on us as she stalked back into the woods.

The man turned to face me. It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. I couldn't understand what he was saying because his voice was muffled, but he was right in front of me. The edges of my vision was starting to go black. Next thing I knew, the man was rushing to catch me as I fell to the ground. My vision went black before I hit the ground.

~~~~~~

When I came to, it took me a while to remember what had happened. When it all came back to me, I sat up quickly. I had expected to find myself still on the ground in the woods, but instead I was laying on something soft; a bed. I looked around to see I was no longer in the woods, or even in my tent. I was in some sort of building, rounded and made completely of windows.

And I wasn't alone.

I jumped when my eyes landed on a man stood in the doorway. It took me a second to remember who he was.

"Good morning," he said, a light tone in his voice. "Are you feeling alright?"

I nodded. "What - uh - what happened?"

"You passed out," he explained. "It must've been the adrenaline wearing off from your run in with the jaguar. Or the shock kicking in. It's not an unusual reaction to have."

I tensed a little when he started to approach me. He noticed and stopped. He held something out to me, and that's when I realized he had been holding my water bottle, and he had filled it.

I reached out to take it from him. "Thanks."

The feeling of the cold liquid was refreshing. I downed nearly the entire bottle in one go.

I capped the bottle and looked back to my savior. "And thank you for saving me out there. How did you do that, though? I mean...she was a wild animal, and you just...talked her down."

"I have a way with animals," he answered, shrugging as if it were that simple.

I narrowed my eyes at him. I wasn't about to argue when it came to how he saved my life, but it didn't mean I couldn't be skeptical. How was someone able to speak to a wild animal to stop it from attacking? Even if he "had a way with animals", no one was that good with any animal.

"My name is Sergei, by the way," he said. I mentally noted his quick change in subject.

"(Y/N)," I said. "Where are we?"

"My home."

I looked at him with wide eyes. "You live out here?"

He chuckled. "It's that hard to believe?"

"Kind of. I did research about this place before my trip and there was nothing about anyone living out here."

"I like to keep it that way. Less people bothering me."

"Except for campers who run into angry jaguars."

He nodded, an amused smile on his face. "Yeah, except for campers who run into angry jaguars."

There was an awkward moment of silence. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do now. I guess I should've been planning to leave. After all, Sergei only saved me and brought me here because I had fainted. I wasn't supposed to be a guest or anything. But I wasn't exactly jumping to go back out into the woods again. I knew I would have to eventually, but the encounter was still too fresh in my mind.

Sergei broke the silence by saying, "I made food if you're hungry."

My stomach rumbled in response. We both laughed and Sergei gestured for me to follow him. I stood slowly from the bed, testing my ability to stand and walk after having been laid down for so long.

I couldn't believe how big Sergei's place was. I still didn't understand how he was able to live in secrecy like this. There was no way nobody had ever come across his place before. A giant dome home in the middle of nowhere was certainly enough to even just be added to a "trivia" section on Wikipedia when researching the area.

"I hope you like fish," Sergei was saying, snapping me from my trance. "The only other thing I have is some vegetable made food if you don't."

"I can eat fish," I said. "Do you gather your own food?"

"I catch fish to eat, and I have a garden," he explained. "I don't go after any of the other wildlife out here. I don't eat any meat."

"Just fish."

He gave me a look. I would've thought I had offended him, but there was a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I don't get along with fish as well as I do other animals."

He passed me a plate of his self caught, homecooked fish, as well as some of his home grown vegetables. To say I was impressed would be an understatement. I couldn't remember the last time I had ever met someone who was this self sufficient. I mean, I had one friend who had a garden, but she mainly grew a few carrots and strawberries. Sergei seemed to be completely living off the land.

I took a mouthful of the meal Sergei had given me. It was delicious, and a much needed change from the protein bars and other smaller foods I had taken with me.

"What were you doing out in the woods anyways?" Sergei asked me.

"Camping," I responded.

He raised an eyebrow at me. "In Russia?"

I nodded. "I was looking for somewhere that other people don't typically go to. Somewhere that I could be by myself and get in touch with nature."

"And you didn't prepare for the event of running into dangerous wildlife."

I looked down at my plate as I shrugged. There was something about admitting how unprepared I was for that situation that kind of made me embarrassed, although I wasn't sure why. Who is ever really prepared to run into a jaguar? Besides Sergei, apparently.

"I knew it was likely," I said. "I guess I just didn't fully prepare myself in the event of it happening."

More silence fell over us. I could feel his eyes on me, studying me the way the jaguar had. I didn't want to meet his eye, though. I was feeling a little intimidated, just as I had when the jaguar had been watching me so closely.

"Most people go to Canada to camp," he pointed out. "Or like...Australia."

I scoffed. "You saw how unprepared I was for a jaguar. You really think I was ready to go toe to toe with snakes and giant spiders?"

He chuckled. "No, I guess not."

"Besides, like I said, I wanted to go somewhere that other people weren't going to go to. Somewhere that I could just...be alone. That I could reconnect with nature and clear my head."

Sergei hummed. "There's a story there."

I dared to look up at him, trying to glare. I hadn't noticed before - mainly because I was fearing for my life - but he was an incredibly handsome man. His dark hair a little long and unruly, but not in a way that made him look a mess or anything. It made him more appealing, actually.

"There's a story as to why you're living all the way out here on your own and keep a low enough profile for no one else to know you're here," I retorted.

He nodded. "There is."

I kept looking at him, expecting him to go on. Not that he owed me an explanation or anything, just like I didn't owe him one for why I was on a nature trip the furthest away from society that I could get. But I'd be lying if I said my interest wasn't piqued.

He was looking back at me, though, the same look on his face.

I sighed. "My story is boring."

"Who says mine isn't?"

"I have a hunch there isn't much boring about you."

He smiled, but he didn't say anything else. I knew he wasn't going to back down. So, because my curiosity to know more about Sergei was killing me, I rolled my eyes and said, "I've had a rough few months."

He shook his head. "You gotta give me more than that."

I let out another sigh. "I found out my boyfriend of a year was cheating on me with someone from his work for six months. He dumped me and immediately started flaunting around his relationship with her. And the way I found out was because I was passed over for a promotion I had been promised weeks ago in favor of someone else who hasn't been with my company even half as long as I have, so I was driving over to his place for comfort and found him fucking someone else instead. Oh, and then my fish died."

"Jesus," he breathed.

I nodded. "Yeah. So...your turn."

He hesitated. For a second I thought he wasn't going to tell me, and I was going to remind him that I had just dumped my trauma on him so it wasn't fair to not tell me his. Finally, he said, "I needed to get away from my dad."

I looked at him for a moment before gesturing for him to continue."

"He wasn't a good man. He...he did terrible things. To my mom, mainly, but also to my brother and I. I was sick of it. This place used to belong to my mom, so I ran away from home one night and came here. I keep a low profile so my dad can't find me here."

"That's a pretty far distance to run."

"The further the better."

I stabbed at the food on my plate. Suddenly I was not feeling as hungry as I was before. Something about exchanging traumas left a sour taste in my mouth.

"That's why there's no record of anyone living out this way," I said, mainly to myself but Sergei was nodding along anyways. "Has anyone ever found you out here?"

He shook his head. "I'm not found unless I want to be."

"And...you wanted me to find you?"

"Technically I found you."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, yes, but you brought me back here. And don't say that's because I fainted, because you could've just stayed with me in the woods and left when you knew I was alright. You're okay with me knowing that you're here."

For the first time, Sergei turned away from me. Now it was him who was unable to meet my eye.

"I don't meet a lot of good people," he finally said. "Out here, there's a lot of poachers and hunters. There's never anyone who is just trying to connect with nature. You...intrigued me, for a lack of better words."

I almost wanted to laugh. This man was living off grid in Russia, in a huge sanctuary that once belonged to his mother. He was able to communicate with animals in one way or another, he was completely self sufficient, and, once again, he was probably the most gorgeous man I had ever laid my eyes on. And yet he was saying that I was the intriguing one, just because I wasn't trying to destroy the nature.

When my food was gone, I reluctantly pushed my plate towards him. "Thank you, again. For...well, everything. I guess...I should probably get back out there."

Sergei nodded. "I guess."

I went to stand, when he added, "Or you could...you could stay a bit longer. If you'd prefer. I know it's not exactly camping here, but...there's no jaguars."

"That's a pretty good sales pitch."

He smiled. "It's up to you, but I don't often get company out here that I actually like. I...I wouldn't mind getting to spend more time together."

I tried to seem nonchalant. I shrugged my shoulders, as if I couldn't be bothered with the decision making, and mumbled something along the lines of, "I guess I could."

But Sergei could see right through me. The look he was giving me was enough to completely shatter the facade. "I would love to stay, Sergei."

In fact, I didn't care if I ever left.

[tarotlexa]

PICK A PILE READING- tarot mapping: why has this place been calling you?

welcome back my loves, this reading is for those who might have felt a certain push to visit a specific place/country for a while. i'll be offering some details and insights into what this place has in store for you. as always this is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave what does not. much love as usual <3

⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　. .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　* 　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　 　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　 　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　.　　　　.　　　⠀ 　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　 　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　. 　.⠀　　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀, 　　　*　　⠀. 　　　　　.　　　　　　　　　　⠀✦ 　˚　　　　　　　　　　　　　　* .⠀ 　　　　　　　　　　.　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　    　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　. .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　* 　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　 　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　 　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　.　　　　.　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　 　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　

pile 1: this place feels stable, grounded, structured. you might have felt a pull to work or study here because you're craving fairness and order. possible cities/countries: austria, germany, switzerland, canada, vienna, berlin, brussels, australia, stockholm, oslo, helsinki, ireland, milan, boston, someplace close to water (more like rivers, lakes..). why is this place calling YOU? it's there to help you start a new adventure and ignite passion into your life. this could be a place that you've started thinking about in the last month or so but it's a place that could be really good for you in terms of quick movement, action, chasing your dreams.

pile 2: this location is part of your literal destiny, it is meant for you and it might feel as though the universe is guiding you here! it offers amazing potential for new beginnings and growth (especially if you have found yourself dreaming of opening your own business or getting a new job that's outside of your usual roles). it might be a place where opportunity meets preparedness which in result might give you long lasting luck. possible cities/countries: the netherlands, london, dubai, hong kong, south korea, spain, portugal, los angeles, vancouver, mexico, cuba, could also be japan, i'm getting a kyoto vibe here. why is this place calling YOU? you're drawn to this place because you're currently feeling like an outsider, like you don't belong and you feel more energetically aligned to this place than any other. this place promises you transformation and a chance to prove yourself if you let go of fear about worry and scarcity in particular. this place is ready to shift your perspective towards growth and abundance.

pile 3: oooh this one is quite interesting, this place could bring you lots of clarity, new ideas and mental breakthroughs. seems to be more connected with you on a university/college/school level rather than work. it feels like a place of intellectual stimulation where truth and understanding of something you have been longing for are unlocked, you could get some really good scholarships or aid could be available for you. possible cities/countries: london, the uk in general, scotland, new york, san francisco, tokyo, japan in general, moscow/russia, india, france, nice, copenhagen. south east asia too. why is this place calling YOU? it wants you to stay hopeful about your dreams (especially those you deem as impossible to happen), it wants to bring you guidance and healing. it's the place where you can find your purpose and become your own person.

thank you so much for reading and for all your love on my previous readings! let me know if this resonated with you <3

[kick-a-long]

Stuff like this is why I get so pissed off at accusations of genocide and apartheid.

Why would a genocidal country pause a war to vaccinate at least 90% of Gaza kids against polio as soon as the first case of a two year old paralyzed by type 2 poliovirus is confirmed? If they wanted gazans wiped off the earth they would keep the war going and vaccinate Israeli kids and citizens. If they wanted them dead they would never vaccinate “the enemy.” Russia wouldn’t do that.

I see you dickheads in the comments, “it’s for optics! Plus they must be worried about Jews getting it from them! That’s the only reason they want to vaccinate anyone. Plus vaccines are poison even checked by the WHO! They probably have autism in them!”

If it’s an apartheid why would Palestinians have access to the same places and bodies of water as Israelis? And if they don’t why would Israel vaccinate. The Regan administration didn’t respond to the HIV outbreak in the 80s because they hated gays and drug users and wanted them sick, spreading it, and most importantly dead. During peace time to their own citizens.

All Israel would have to do is ignore the outbreak.

Vaccines work. Polio is one of the most devastating diseases a kid can get. There’s no medication that can stop the damage once you get the virus. Lil kids die from diarrhea, are paralyzed for life and if they’re immune system doesn’t stop the paralysis at their legs it climbs up their bodies and once it hits their diaphragm (the muscle that lets you breath right under your rip cage) kids as young as a few months old to their teens will die from lack of air. Both are the absolute worst and most painful ways a person can die. Waking nightmare delusions from dehydration and low oxygen on top of the physical pain.

Nazis infected Jews with this shit intentionally to study how polio affects children. Israel is stopping in the middle of a war to end the polio outbreak when they are still trying to rescue kids so young they have spent the majority of their lives on earth in Hamas captivity. And after only one kid was confirmed with polio type 2, the one that causes paralysis.

How can it be a genocide or an apartheid when they are literally helping safeguard Palestines next generation of kids?

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

im so sorry for this. i'm not allowed to see the words “mafia 2” and “au” in the same sentence. modern time or canon timeline - decide urself. @cambuznabrigantine its ur fault

Carlo, Rocco and Betty are dentists here

Betty: can you operate on my husband? Carlo: sure, why? Betty: he's my husband, it'd be unethical Carlo (<- Eddie and Lauretta only go to him and get the best materials for free): … ok (later) Henry: arsenic?* You want to put arsenic in my tooth? Is that what they poison rats with? Carlo:😟 (Betty, your husband is fucking stupid) *** Carlo: You've got a cavity on your six, Vito** (later) Carlo: try to smoke less Vito:👌k Vito walks out of the clinic and sees Carlo smoking outside the entrance *** Leo: that's the best anesthesia, isn't it? Carlo: sure, sure Carlo @ Rocco (quietly): give him the cheapest one *** Vinci @ Leo: do you want to exchange dentures?

(fun activities for old men) *** Carlo (sceptically): are you sure you want a gold implant? Eddie: sure. It'll match my costume (later) Carlo: I think it's ugly. Lauretta: no, it's kind of cute. *** Lauretta: can you sharpen my fangs? Carlo:😳of course, love (girl you should've asked this way earlier) *** Rocco: it won't hurt, don't worry (and then pulls the tooth out in the most painful way possible. He's a good doctor, but it's a nightmare to go to him) *** Carlo puts the most romantic songs on the bg while operating Eddie or Lauretta. Betty puts something chilling (she cares about other's comfort). Rocco.. something very specific. Will only change if the patient asks for it (with rolling his eyes) *** Betty is a kind of cheerful dentist that makes jokes and you genuinely enjoy visit her, continuous professional development, participates in scientific conferences (probly w Carlo. Rocco doesn't care, thinks he's good enough already); Carlo can often overprice materials if the patient is naive enough. But for his "own" people, he lowers the price or does it for free; Rocco is too serious & sarcastic & rude and it scares people; both Betty and Rocco would never overprice the materials; Betty became a dentist bc she's genuinely obsessed over this, Carlo & Rocco did it bc it's profitable. And Rocco is sadistic & secretly enjoys when people are afraid of him, bc he feels in control

*arsenic - makes more sense in russian bc it's called "мышьяк" -> мышь = mouse

**"cavity on your six" - only makes sense for a russian translation of m2. Carlo calls Vito "a six" instead of a pawn

m2 dentist au everyone listen & learn

[unhonestlymirror]

Seen an interesting thing:

It's not really clear what anon means by "pro-israel". "Hating on Arabs/Muslims" or "Hating on genocide of Jews"? Let me remind you,

Ukraine is historically the land where Jews could live peacefully until the notorious russian empress Catherine the Second put the Sedentary Band on Ukraine, Belarus and Lithuania. That meant that Jews were deported from villages to cities, the Jews had to take russian-like surnames and names in order not to be arrested or killed - and then, russia organized pogroms all over those cities, including Vilnius, Kyiv, Miensk and Odesa. Jews could not leave the Sedentary Band without being arrested and/or killed. Russia put all sorts of bans and restrictions on Jewish traders, too. As you can see, the soviet union idea has much deeper roots than it seems.

That's why, after the Sedentary Band was cancelled, a large amount of Jews fled away: some to Poland, some to America, some to russia, some to Palestine. In russia, which is originally the biggest antisemit, life sucked pretty much, enough for many already russian-speaking Jews leaving it later and once again migrating to Poland, America, Palestine, etc. So technically, russia, as the biggest sponsor of Hamas, is at fault for both murders of Jews by Islamists and Jewish "occupation" of Palestine, lol.

After soviet pogroms, Holocaust happened, which was followed by even more soviet pogroms, actively financed by russia (go read about Lithuanian Jewish actor Andrei Mironov or Ukrainian composer Isaac Iosifovich Schwartz) - and unfortunately, some Ukrainians actively participated in killing Jews. After Ukraine has gained its independence from russia in 1991, we made sure that Ukrainians will never forget the misery, grief and pain which was brought upon Jews, both by Nazi, communists and just Ukrainian antisemitic collaborants. When I was a kid, every year, we had excursions to Babyn Yar museum - the place where hundreds of hundreds of Jews, including kids and their moms, were brutally murdered.

Ukrainians are "pro-Israel" because we understand what it's like, to be genocided, to be victim-blaimed, when the whole world turns its back on you just because your enemy is richer and more popular. Ukrainians don't hate Muslims or Palestinians - Ukrainians are disgusted by mass murders and rapes Hamas brought upon the Jews and Druzes and random tourists, some Ukrainians actually were killed on October 7, too. Ukrainians know what "Never Again" means. Ukrainians hate rapists and murderers. That's why we are "pro-Israel", бо інакше це треба бути повним дебілом (although it's much more correct to say we are "pro-Jews" since most of us is totally unaware of whatever happens in Israeli government). Despite understanding the anger of those Palestinians, who have to live through war and lose their loved ones because of their idiotic Hamas, we, as a currently genocided nation, actively support the right of Israel to strike its rapist and mass murderer back. We are also thankful to Israel for seriously damaging Iran's production of "shaheds" which kill Ukrainians almost every day.

The idea itself that Ukrainians support Israel because some Israeli happen to know russian language is insane and sounds like a conspiracy theory. Those Ukrainians who believe that "evil zionists are committing genocide" are just either chronically online or those, who didn't study school history properly, or those with prorussian mentality, or ✨️businessmen✨️. Or all of these together. Which is not a lot of people, thanks God. Hope this helps.

P.S. We don't hate Muslims and Arabs. Ukraine has pretty good relations with Turkey, UAE, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, etc. Many Ukrainians I know are fond of UAE in particular because people there are hardworking and like to study and apply the knowledge to make the world better.

[tamamita]

why do zionists always assume its antisemitic to think that zionism a settler colonial idea

Modern Zionists aren't actually well-read into their own history. I could invoke the likes of Theodore Herlz, Ze'ev Jabotinsky, David Ben Gurion, and many other political Zionists and how they were ardent supporters of settler colonialism, yet it wouldn't get through their head, because they genuinely believe the land of Palestine is their right to claim, despite the people inhabitating the area. But to claim that the establishment of the Settler state was necessary due to antisemitism is not correct.

The pogrom of the Jewish people in the Pale of Settlement in Imperial Russia resulted in the mass displacement of Jews. But most Jews did not flee to Palestine, but to the US and Western Europe to live relatively better lives, due to the French revolution and so on. They had no desire whatsoever to move to Palestine due to its harsh climate and environment. Although the repression of Jews in the 19th century added to Zionism's appeal, Zionism did not emerge because of it as is often portrayed.

Jewish historian Michael Stanislawiski explains:

The first expression of this new ideology were published well before the spread of the new anti-semitic ideology and before the pogroms of the ealy 1880s. The fundamental cause of the emergence of modern Jewish nationalism was the rise, on the part of Jews themselves, of new ideologies that applied the basic tenets of modern nationalism to the Jews, and not a response to persecution.

-- Zionism, a short introduction (Stanislawski, 2017)

As was the case for that time, the doctrine of nationalism became prevalent across Europe. Many versions of it gained hold of European intellectuals and the upper-classes. One of these were ethnonationalism, which emphasised common ancestry. Such a view was popular among Germans, Hungarians, Russians, Poles and etc, who saw their "tribes" as being distinct, and therefore needed to be preserved from foreign threats. Zionism would mirror some of these aspects, which was prevalent in Eastern Europe. The founding father of Revisionist Zionism (and the precursor to the Likud party), Ze'ev Jabotinsky stated:

"The creation of a Jewish majority, was the fundamental aim of Zionism, the term "Jewish State", means a Jewish majority and Palestine will become a Jewish country at the moment when it has a Jewish majority".

-- Zionism, and the Arabs, 1882-1948 A study of ideology (Yosef Gorny, 1987)

However, there was another ideology emerging which was far more popular among the oppressed Jewish people, which would propell them to emancipate themselves where they lived. Revolutionary Socialism.

According Ilan Pappe, the doctrine of Zionism was vehemently opposed by Jewish leaders all around Europe on the basis of Talmudic violations, the rise of revolutionary socialism and the rise of Jewish assimilationism. Additionally, in a conference in Frankfurt, rabbis decided to omit the mentioning of "the return" from Jewish prayers as a reaction to Zionism. However, Zionism would face intense opposition from Socialist Jews, especially the Bundists, who openly declared Zionism to be anti-Socialist, opportunistic and reactionary. Zionism was an alien idea, and revolutionary socialism emphasised the importance of the liberation of Jews where they lived, resulting in an ideological feud between the Bundists and Political Zionists. Even the likes of the Chaim Weizmann, the first president of the Settler state, and David Ben Gurion, the first PM of the settler state, would condemn the Bundists for their opposition to Political Zionism.

[vesna-v-irkutske]

In 2014, Artyom Anoufriev registered on a dating site for prisoners.

«"Probably the most uninteresting profile on this site." Posted on Sat, 14/06/2014 - 22:07 by Anoufriev92 Interests: jurisprudence, freestyle, law, music, English language Name: Artyom Gender: M Date of birth: 04/10/1992 Place of permanent residence. Country: Russia. City: Irkutsk Social status. Education: secondary Religion, denomination, faith: atheist Current place of detention. Country: Russia. City: Ognenny Ostrov, 16 The end of the current term: December 2039

Hi, everyone. I'm writing this only because this section of the profile is mandatory. I'm an absolutely versatile person from Irkutsk, who didn't have time to get out of his gray Siberia in the first 18 years of his life. My story is absolutely not exciting, but it's just plain stupid, and there's not much to tell. However, it's worth noting that people are not simply imprisoned for nothing, especially for life. Without touching on the issue of my real misconducts before society, dryly stating what I was found guilty of, according to the verdict of the Irkutsk Regional Court: organization of an extremist community, murder of six people, attempted murder of eight people, theft, robbery, desecration of the body of the deceased, and all this by an organized group motivated by ideological hatred.

I go through the stages (forced transportation of prisoners from one place of detention to another) almost all over Mother Russia and everywhere I hear, both from prisoners and from employees: "So young, and already life imprisonment? Grew up fast…" Or something like that. And I no longer explain to anyone that I am "a victim of the System, and I was convicted under an artificially inflated public outcry," because, by and large, no one cares, and 9 out of 10 newcomers to the colony say that they're not guilty. Or almost not guilty…

So, before my incarceration, I studied at a medical university, sometimes I worked part-time. I became interested in jurisprudence and law only in prison, because I didn't think I needed it at liberty. Freestyle is real texts that are read to the beat, not a sport. Well, as for music, I love a lot of different kinds of it, mostly heavy and electronic. I have 5 years of music school (guitar) behind me. In my free time, I read either classics or whatever I have to, but actually, I don't have time for it yet.

Why did I come to this site? Well, at least for the sake of simple communication with some adequate girl from 16 to 35 years old. Starting a family is, of course, good, but first I need to at least get out of the bad situation I'm in. Legally, this is possible, but time will tell how things will turn out in reality.

Not sending photos because I don't have my own pics and, most likely, so far, their appearance is not expected.

Well, and in conclusion, I'll say this: "I don't care much about the chatter of journalists. When forming an opinion about a person, build it on facts, not stories, and think with your own head."»

[mandoalorian]

parallel paths [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: You and Bucky travel to Russia on separate flights, with your own seperate missions. The emotional distance between you both deepens, with unspoken tension building. Little does Bucky know, that something has shifted in you.

Word Count: 4200

Tags/warnings: an 18+ series, mentions of torture, brainwashing, Hydra related stuff, canon-typical violence, and a lot of angst.

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The jet was quiet, save for the soft hum of the engines and the occasional rustle of gear. Rain painted streaks down the window beside him, blurring the endless grey outside into something formless and cold. Bucky sat still, his hands clenched tight in his lap, metal fingers twitching unconsciously every few seconds. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was punishing.

Across from him, Sam was adjusting his gloves, brows furrowed as he studied the floor plans of the Hydra compound one last time. Joaquin sat beside him, half-asleep, head resting back against the cold wall of the quinjet. They were prepared. Everyone was. Except him.

Bucky couldn’t focus. Not on the map. Not on the plan. Not on anything but the hollow pit in his chest that hadn’t stopped aching since you ran out that door.

He’d told himself not to chase you. Told himself Sam was right—that you needed space, that giving you time was the right thing to do. But every second that ticked by, every mile that passed between your plane and his, felt like a fucking mistake. Like he should’ve run after you anyway.

He wasn’t used to this—loving someone and not knowing how to protect them. Not physically. He could take a bullet for you without hesitation. Break bones. Tear through metal. But he couldn’t seem to talk to you. Couldn’t say the right thing, even when he was trying.

“You should’ve understood,” he thought bitterly. “You should’ve trusted her.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Trust wasn’t something he gave easily. Not when his past was a minefield, not when his instincts screamed to keep the people he cared about away from danger, even if it meant locking them out completely.

Even if it meant losing them.

“You good?” Sam’s voice cut through the silence, calm but concerned.

Bucky didn’t look up. He gave a small nod, jaw tight. “Yeah.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Sam said gently.

Bucky’s eyes stayed fixed on the rain-smeared window. He wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not yet. He couldn’t explain what it felt like knowing you were in the air somewhere, headed into the same hell he was—but not with him. He couldn’t explain the gnawing fear that if something happened to you, he wouldn't be there to stop it.

He thought about the way you cried when you left. The sound of the door slamming. The look in your eyes like he’d betrayed something sacred. And he had, hadn’t he? He hadn’t listened. Hadn’t heard what you were really asking for.

“You think I’m trying to control you? I’m trying to save you.”

That’s what he told you. But the truth was uglier. He didn’t want to lose you. And the second you brought up the Winter Soldier, the second you said he, of all people, should understand—you’d shattered something inside him.

He did understand. Too well. And that’s why he wanted the base gone. Because sometimes, not knowing was safer than remembering.

But you deserved more than silence and fear. You deserved answers. You deserved the truth.

And he’d pushed you away instead.

“We’re gonna hit the ground and split into two teams,” Sam said after a beat, walking over and crouching beside Bucky. “You, me, and Joaquin plant the detonators. We blow that place sky-high. Yelena and Y/N are searching the west wing for records, labs, whatever they can find.”

Bucky nodded silently.

“You trust her?” Sam asked.

The question was simple. The answer was not.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice low. “I trust her. I just don’t trust what they did to her.”

Sam gave him a long look, then placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then let’s make sure we find out what that was. And end it. For good.”

The jet began to descend, the dull roar of the engines rising. Red lights blinked above their heads. Joaquin stirred beside them, reaching for his helmet.

Bucky didn’t move at first. He let the weight of it all sit on his shoulders for just a moment longer—the guilt, the fear, the love. Then he stood, adjusting the straps on his tac vest, sliding a pistol into its holster with precision that came more from instinct than thought.

The sky outside was grey as ash as the Russian terrain came into view—cold, dead, unwelcoming.

Bucky gritted his teeth.

He’d come here to destroy Hydra. But if they had touched you—if they had buried any part of your mind, your soul, your fire—

He would tear the whole world down to make it right again.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The moment you stepped off the private jet, the cold sliced into you like a blade—sharp, merciless, and real. Russia had a particular way of freezing you from the inside out, not just your skin but your bones, your blood, your thoughts. It was like the entire country was trying to remind you that you didn’t belong here. That this place had once swallowed you whole and could do it again.

You pulled your coat tighter and adjusted the straps on your tactical bag. The landscape was a muted gray-blue blur of snowdrift and forest, empty save for the distant silhouette of an old concrete building in the valley. The Hydra base. It looked quiet. Dormant. But you didn’t believe that for a second. Evil like that didn’t sleep—it waited.

Yelena stood beside you, scarf wrapped tight around her jaw, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the mountainside. “Fucking bleak,” she muttered. “Perfect place for nightmares.”

You didn’t answer right away. You were still thinking about the fight. The way Bucky’s voice had cracked when he told you he was just trying to protect you. How his shoulders had slumped when you turned away. The way Sam had to physically hold him back from chasing after you. You’d cried in the car on the way to Yelena’s—ugly, gasping sobs—but now you felt hollow. Like something inside you had been scraped out and left behind.

You opened your phone, thumb hovering over Bucky’s name for a second before you swiped away. Instead, you tapped into the flight radar app and pulled up their plane. “Still in the sky,” you said quietly. “But they’re descending. Looks like they’ll land in twenty minutes.”

“That’s not much time,” Yelena said, leaning over to look. She clicked her earpiece. “Joaquin, come in.”

Crackling filled the silence, followed by Joaquin’s voice. “Copy. You two in position?”

“Just landed,” Yelena said. “We see the target. Going quiet now. But listen—hold the detonators for at least thirty minutes. We’re going in for intel.”

A pause. “Understood. You sure that’s enough time?”

“Not even close,” she said dryly. “But it’ll have to do.”

You looked back toward the compound, your hands flexing in your gloves. The building looked like it had been abandoned for years—concrete weathered and cracked, vines curling up around exposed rebar, windows shattered or boarded. But you knew better. Somewhere inside those walls, someone had kept you locked away like a weapon. You couldn’t explain how you knew that. You just did.

Yelena turned to you. “You stay glued to my side, got it?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Scared I’ll ditch you?”

She gave you a pointed look. “No. I just don’t want to be the one explaining to Bucky Barnes why I let his girl wander off into a Hydra death trap.”

A ghost of a smile flickered at your lips, despite yourself. “He’s not exactly speaking to me right now.”

Yelena scoffed. “Please. Men are all the same. Sulk for a bit, punch a wall, and then do something stupid to win you back.”

“I hurt him,” you murmured. “I said something I shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, well, he hurt you first,” she said without missing a beat. “He should’ve listened. You don’t owe anyone your silence, especially not when your trauma’s involved.”

You swallowed hard, throat tightening as you looked back toward the base. “Let’s move.”

You and Yelena made your way toward the compound, sticking to the tree line. Snow crunched under your boots in soft, muted pops, each step measured, precise. When you reached the south wall, she pulled a collapsible crowbar from her bag and pried open a warped metal vent. It screeched in protest.

“Stay low,” she whispered, dropping into the darkness.

You followed.

The air inside was stale. Musty. It reeked of chemicals and metal and damp concrete, and underneath it all was a scent you couldn’t name—but it made your skin crawl. The hallway was narrow, lit only by the occasional flicker of exposed wiring and broken bulbs overhead. You ducked beneath hanging pipes and sidestepped puddles of oil and meltwater.

Each step deeper into the belly of the building made your chest tighten. This place was alive with memory. Not yours—but someone’s. The walls held onto screams, the floor soaked in sins. You could feel it vibrating beneath your soles. You didn’t just want answers. You needed them. Because the gaps in your memory weren’t just blanks—they were ticking time bombs. And you were tired of waiting to explode.

Yelena held up her hand, signaling for you to stop.

She crouched near a rusted panel on the wall, pried it open, and pulled out a bundle of dusty folders, half-buried under a loose grate. She skimmed the labels, eyes narrowing.

“Intel,” she said under her breath. “And look—this one has your name on it.”

Your stomach dropped.

She handed you the folder, and your gloved fingers trembled as you took it. The name at the top was yours. Typed. Stamped. Real.

“What the hell…” you whispered, opening it slowly.

Inside were photos—some of you unconscious in restraints. Some hooked up to machines. Pages of test logs. Serum markers. Neural rewiring. Trigger phrase development. Everything you hadn’t known you were afraid to see.

You stared at one word printed across the top of a page: Candidate 04. Viable. Responsive. Unstable.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed.

Yelena pulled out her phone and began snapping photos of everything. “We’re taking it all.”

But the moment the shutter clicked, a loud bang echoed from somewhere deeper in the compound.

Your head jerked up.

Yelena tensed. “Shit.”

The trap had already begun to close.

The echo of the bang vibrated through the metal pipes in the walls. You didn’t know if it was a door slamming or a gunshot—or something worse—but your body reacted before your brain could catch up. Your grip tightened on the folder in your hands. Yelena spun around beside you, drawing her sidearm without hesitation.

“Move,” she hissed, grabbing your wrist and yanking you toward the corridor.

You both ran—ducking under beams and debris, boots slipping on slick, oil-slick concrete. Every door you passed now looked like a mouth ready to open and swallow you whole. You didn’t know what you were expecting—Hydra agents? Security drones? Explosives?

What you weren’t expecting was silence.

No footsteps chasing after you.

No shouting.

Just… silence.

That was worse.

You followed Yelena as she skidded to a halt near a reinforced door tucked at the end of a corridor. A red light blinked on the lock panel.

“This must be a main lab,” she muttered, voice low. “Help me with this.”

You shoved the folder into your backpack and crouched beside her, fingers flying over the cracked screen of the digital lock. Whoever had set this up was good—but not as good as Yelena Belova.

Within seconds, the panel clicked green.

The door creaked open.

You barely had time to register what you were seeing. A room like a tomb—low ceiling, sterile lights, computers blinking sleepily from standby mode. Monitors lined one wall, and in the center of the room—

A chair.

Not just any chair.

The chair.

You froze.

It looked just like the one Bucky had been strapped to in those old files from the Winter Soldier program. The metal armrests, the thick restraints, the electrode ports along the frame. You could feel your pulse fluttering in your throat like a trapped moth. You didn’t realize you’d stopped breathing until Yelena touched your back.

“Don’t,” she said softly, her voice stripped of humor for once. “Don’t spiral.”

But it was already happening. Visions behind your eyes. The flicker of machines, the hiss of restraints. Something cold pressing against your temple. A voice—foreign, male, commanding—speaking in Russian. You didn’t understand the words.

But your body did.

“I’ve been here before,” you whispered. “I knew it.”

Yelena moved to one of the nearby computers and began hacking into the hard drive. “We’ll take everything. Download it, burn it, make it public. You’ll get your answers.”

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Your eyes were locked on the chair as your mind clawed back at fragments it didn’t understand. Metal against your skin. A strap biting into your bicep. Voices—foreign, clipped, cruel.

Then a sudden click. A speaker hissed to life overhead, hidden somewhere in the walls.

And a voice—a man’s voice—began to speak in Russian.

“Подчинение.” (Submission.)

Pain sliced through your head like a blade. You dropped the folder you'd been holding and collapsed to your knees with a choked scream.

“Забвение.” (Oblivion.)

You gasped again, louder this time, clutching the sides of your skull as the lights in the room flickered. It felt like something was scraping the inside of your brain, carving tunnels through your memories.

“Одиночество.” (Loneliness.)

“Stop.”You managed to spit the word out with an empty rasp.

“Страх.” (Fear.)

You screamed so loud it cracked in your throat, your body seizing against invisible restraints. Yelena spun toward you.

“Hey! What’s happening?! What is this?!”

You wanted to answer. You tried. But your mouth wouldn’t move. Your body was no longer yours.

“Служи.” (Serve.)

“Забудь.” (Forget.)

You convulsed again, tears leaking down your cheeks as you writhed on the floor, agony cracking through every nerve in your spine. You could feel your identity unspooling—thread by delicate thread—as if someone were erasing you line by line.

“Y/N!” Yelena shouted, bolting toward you.

But before she could reach you, a shadow appeared in the doorway.

Tara.

Calm. Collected. A glint of victory in her cold eyes.

“You really came back here,” she said softly, stepping inside as the speaker cut off. “How poetic. I do love a full-circle moment.”

Yelena lunged for her. “You—”

But a dart from the shadows embedded into her neck mid-sprint. Her eyes widened. Her momentum faltered.

And she collapsed to the ground.

You were still trembling on your knees, chest heaving. Your mind had been stripped raw, your name dissolving somewhere inside you like ash in water.

Tara crouched down in front of you, brushing a gentle hand across your clammy cheek.

“You remember this feeling, don’t you?” she whispered. “The serum did its job. We knew it would—eventually.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

But your eyes locked onto hers.

Unblinking. Cold.

She smiled like the devil himself had kissed her brow.

She stood, brushing herself off, and looked down at your still form.

Then she said it—

Softly. Sweetly. Like a lullaby for monsters.

“Are you ready for your mission, Soldat?”

The room hummed with silence.

And deep inside… a switch finally flipped.

Smoke bled through the halls like a living thing.

Bucky’s boots slammed against the metal floors as he sprinted down the last corridor, his rifle at the ready, chest heaving. Joaquin was just behind him, and Sam flanked his left, wings tucked tight against the low ceilings. The detonators were armed. The base was on its last half hour.

But none of that mattered.

All that mattered was you.

“Yelena said they were in the northwest wing,” Sam called out, tapping at the tracker in his hand. “We’re two turns away.”

Bucky didn’t answer. His gut was already doing the talking, twisted up into knots that refused to ease. Something was wrong. He’d been in too many Hydra facilities, too many goddamn hallways like this one to ignore the tension crawling up his spine like barbed wire.

The door at the end of the corridor was already ajar.

Smoke drifted from the cracks.

Bucky burst through first.

And stopped cold.

You were standing in the middle of the room. Not looking at him. Not looking at anything. Just standing. Still. Like a statue carved from flesh and ice.

“Y/N?” he said, voice rough with relief—and confusion.

You didn’t turn around.

His eyes shifted past you.

Yelena lay unconscious on the floor.

Bucky cursed and dropped to a crouch beside her, checking her pulse. It was steady, but shallow. A tranq dart protruded from her neck. His jaw clenched so tightly it popped.

“What the hell happened here?” Joaquin muttered.

The chair was still there. The machine. The monitors blinking dimly. An entire hard drive missing from the wall. The restraints on the chair were open, the scent of sterilized leather and metal still fresh.

“Tara,” Bucky growled, standing slowly. “She was here.”

Sam knelt beside Yelena too, checking her vitals. “She must’ve ambushed them. Took something. But what?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bucky asked, turning back to you.

You blinked once. Slowly. Then turned your head—just a little. Mechanical. Controlled.

“I’m fine,” you said quietly. That wasn’t even the answer to the question he asked. You didn’t look fine.

There was no tremble in your voice. No breathless relief. No frantic energy from being found.

Just stillness.

It was wrong.

Everything about you was wrong.

But Bucky didn’t want to push. Not here. Not now. You’d been through hell. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was trauma. Maybe the fight from earlier still weighed too heavy on your heart.

He walked toward you anyway, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. He placed a hand on your shoulder.

You didn’t flinch.

“You’re safe now,” he said softly, trying to find your eyes. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded.

But the emptiness in your expression cut him deeper than any Hydra bullet ever had.

“I owe you an apology,” Bucky huffed out, his eyes glazed with unshed tears. He took hold of both of your hands. “What I said before at the office… fuck, I was so scared of losing you. I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you. I was wreckless and you were right, I was being controlling and I didn’t even realise it.”

You stared at him blankly.

“I’m just glad you’re here, alive, safe, you’re okay,” Bucky continued. “You are okay, right?” He asked with uncertainty in his voice.

“I am okay.” You said.

Bucky didn’t look so sure, but he accepted it, for now. “Okay. Then let’s go home.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The sight of the Hydra base crumbling behind them was a bitter one—smoke billowing into the sky like an unstoppable storm, its dark clouds twisting in the wind. It was hard to be proud of what they’d just done, even though it had been necessary. The weight of the destruction still settled on Bucky’s chest like a lead blanket, suffocating, even as the helicraft carried them away from the wreckage.

But it wasn’t the explosion, the victory, or even the aftermath that Bucky’s mind was consumed with. It was you.

You hadn’t spoken a word since the base had fallen. Your eyes were vacant, fixed on the floor of the helicraft, your body curled slightly into itself like you were trying to shrink away from the world. He could feel the tension rolling off you, thick and suffocating, and it made his throat tighten.

Bucky couldn’t sit still. He kept moving his gaze from you to the others—Sam was leaning back against the wall, arms folded tightly across his chest, looking like he was already preparing for the political mess that lay ahead. Joaquin was at the far end of the cabin, hovering over Yelena, who lay unconscious on the floor with oxygen tubes snaking around her face. The air was thick with the buzz of machinery and the low hum of the helicraft's engine, but all Bucky could hear was the beating of his own heart—faster now, heavy with worry.

He glanced back at you. Your fingers were barely brushing against his, but you weren’t holding on, not like you used to.

He could feel the cool distance in your skin. You were there, but you weren’t really there. Bucky wanted to reach out, to pull you close, but the words were stuck in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if anything could make it better.

It was Sam who broke the silence first, his voice a low murmur. “You good, Buck?” He looked over, his expression unreadable.

Bucky nodded, though it was a lie. He wasn’t good. Not by a long shot.

“Yeah,” he said, trying to make his voice steady. “Just… gotta figure things out. Get back to the White House tomorrow.”

You didn’t even look at him.

Bucky swallowed hard. "The snap election is tomorrow. All the votes are going to start rolling in the second the polls close. And then, it’s a waiting game."

His voice was low, almost to himself as much as it was to you, but still, you didn’t react. You didn’t even move.

“I’ll be at the White House all day. Ethan will be there too.” Bucky's chest tightened at the mention of his name, the mention of him—Ethan Halloway, the man who was running against Bucky for president. He was going to be there, under the same roof, as Bucky waited for the nation to choose its next leader. The stakes were higher than ever, and yet, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, not when you were this distant.

“I want you there, though,” Bucky continued, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Not for the press. Not for the cameras. Just... for me.”

You lifted your gaze then, but it was distant. Your eyes didn’t hold the warmth they used to, the spark that had always been so you. It was hard for Bucky to swallow, the empty space that used to be filled with your strength, your humor, your love.

“Okay,” you said, your voice soft but not quite there. No bite, no fire.

Bucky’s heart cracked just a little more.

“You don’t have to come for the speech or the media bullshit. I just…” He paused, looking for the right words. “I just need you there with me, us. Please.”

The silence between you felt like it stretched across the whole world.

A heavy sigh escaped him. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to ground himself in something solid. He couldn’t keep up this charade. His mind was a mess, and if he didn’t fix things with you, he was sure everything would fall apart. Again.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Bucky said softly, his eyes locked onto yours. “Back at the base. When I apologized for everything.” His chest tightened. “I never wanted to control you. I never wanted to hurt you. But God, I was scared. I was scared of losing you. Losing you, again, after everything.”

His voice cracked slightly at the last word. The raw emotion made his chest ache. He never wanted you to be this hurt, this unreachable. He wanted to protect you, yes—but not from your own choices. Never from your own choices.

You looked at him then. It wasn’t a warm look. It wasn’t a cold one either. It was just... empty. Silent. Distant.

“I’ll make it right,” Bucky added, his words coming out in a rush. “After tomorrow—no matter what happens with the election, I’ll make it right.”

There was a brief pause before you finally spoke.

“Okay.”

The word was barely a whisper. It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t a statement of trust. Just... acceptance. And that terrified him more than anything.

Bucky squeezed your hand, feeling the lack of grip on the other side. The coolness in your skin sent a shiver down his spine. He held you tighter anyway, desperate for something—anything—to break the silence, to bring you back. But it didn’t happen. You didn’t pull away, but you didn’t lean into him either.

“I’m gonna do everything I can to fix this, to make sure nothing like this ever happens again,” he promised, his voice strained with the weight of the burden he felt pressing down on him.

But there was no reaction. No spark in your eyes. Nothing.

Bucky's fingers tightened around your hand, still not letting go. Not yet.

But inside, a cold fear spread, deeper than anything he’d felt before. What if you weren’t coming back?

The helicraft hummed steadily, carrying them toward Washington.

And Bucky Barnes sat in the silence, holding on, waiting for you to come back to him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog @bellamoret @mrsnikstan @greatenthusiasttidalwave@pancake-05 @theylovethesky @avengersfan25 @nydubs @abitofblues @ferretferretferret @helen-2003 @notreallythatlost @opheliagreenaway @flowerluvr @calzone-d @lil-riddle-kiddle @nameless-ken @ladyvenera @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @josis-teacup @marissa8208@houseofaegon

[is-today-tomorrow-in-nz]

Why Nikolai is more of a villain than Aleksander

This post is an inspiration from one of anon asks.

Time and time again antis have accused Aleksander of several hideous crimes without understanding the monarchy of 19th century Feudal Russia and what serfdom entails. Due to this lack of understanding(or willful ignorance), Aleksander is studied under a harsher light than Nikolai and other characters. I blame the author entirely for this, as she never gave Aleksander a voice until much later. In books 1-3, he is only projected to us through Alina who had nothing but disdain for him.

On the other hand, we see Nikolai, who was a prince and then a king, who did not do much for the country or Grisha. However, his actions are softened by LB and antis. He is considered a 'flawed' human who did his best. His manipulative actions are treated as an act of strategic brilliance while his mistakes are treated as an act of desperation/helplessness.

So, let me first start by explaining some of the vile accusations thrown at Aleksander and then contrast it with some of Nikolai's actions.

He sex-trafficked Genya.

In Book 1, the author herself says two key points 1) Grisha are no better than serfs and 2) After their training, Grisha are either posted in the borders or sent to serve in affluent households. So Genya was not a unique case. This, again, is the price Aleksander had to pay for the Grisha to live. Genya had to be sent as a child because an adult Genya could not get as close to the Queen as a child would and it worked for a while until the Queen turned on her. This were an understanding of serfdom is needed. A serf can be released only by the master not by anyone else. Aleksander cannot take her away and relocate her somewhere else. And if the antis had read the 'The Tailor' they would know that in spite of the challenges, Aleksander did give her a choice- to disappear forever or exact her revenge and it was Genya who chose to stay.

He committed genocide in Novokribirsk.

Even if we ignore Alina's unreliable POV, Zoya's POV tells us that only a part of the city, near the docks was destroyed. So what Aleksander did was just a warning and not a 'genocide'. Antis keep forgetting that Grisha's enemies were not just Fjerda and Shu Han but Ravka itself. Had the coup had succeeded, he not just wanted Fjerda and Shu Han to back off but the First Army soldiers as well. Book 2 shows how his paranoia were not unwarranted. Through Fedyor's story we learn how they were attacked in their sleep and how First Army conducted sham trials and slaughtered them. This alone shows how Ravka's sentiments about Grisha was not much different from Fjerda or Shu Han. So in the event of the coup, Aleksander had no choice but to issue a warning all of his enemies.

He is a predator/abuser.

This is the one that makes me laugh the most. Girl, he is an immortal. He has no choice. All his age-appropriate past lovers are long dead and buried. What is he supposed to do? Remain celibate? They often bring up the kiss near Baghra's hut as an example of his predatory nature. But what manipulation happened? That dummy fell for Alina and high-tailed from there.

Let me draw a comparison to show what actual manipulation and predatory behaviour looks like. (1) Nikolai who is about 7-8 years older than Alina, forcibly kissing her, against her will, in front of hundreds of people just to better his chances for the throne. (2) Mal who punishes Alina for flinching at his advances by getting it on with Zoya. (3) Baghra, who preys on Alina's fears/insecurities and turns her son's one true immortal companion, against him. These are actual manipulations, not the one Aleksander did.

A predator/abuser needs to have constant access to his victims. In LB, own words, Aleksander rarely stayed at the Little Palace. Compared to him, Nikolai, Mal and Baghra had more access to Alina and they did actually succeed isolating her.

The Stag amplifier

Then the stag incident is treated as a sign of his manipulation and perversion. This where we need to apply our critical thinking and ask the important question who benefits from this act? It certainly was not Aleksander.

Let's rewind the clock a bit, Alina who was the Sun Summoner and a key political figure ran away from the Little Palace. Aleksander did not know if it was an enemy attack or something more sinister. He lies to King, who would have his head for this mishap and, searches for her only to learn that she run away on her own violation. So the girl, he hoped to be his ally became a threat. He was forced to reveal his hand sooner and speed up the coup. People need to understand that Aleksander is not an ordinary, lovesick boy, he is a war general and Alina has proved herself to be unworthy of his trust. So he put a leash on her. This not a question of morality but a question of ethics, much like the trolley problem.

He turned on his own Grisha.

They were deserters for god's sake! and was fighting opposite him. They forfeited his protection the moment they joined hands with the enemy. So he was treating them as a normal enemy.

He stole Grisha children.

He did what Charles Xavier did in X-Men. Grisha powers were tied to emotions and are instinctive. Without proper training they are bound to hurt normal people. Not to mention, if the Grisha were born outside they were either killed or sold to pleasure houses. And considering Ravka's anti-Grisha sentiments, he did what he had to do to keep them safe from actual predators.

Now let's talk about some of Nikolai's actions and let's not forget that he was the King/Prince of Ravka.

Sent his father on a luxury retirement instead of punishing him for his crimes.

Used Genya's trauma to make himself the king instead of offering her justice.

Did not care or investigate the genocide of the Second Army soldiers even if the said soldiers were serving the crown. He punished none of the First Army soldiers and was happily brown-nosing them.

Was happy to start a Civil war even after knowing the kind of king his father was. For a 'peace-loving' person (we have seen him in KoS and RoW ass-kissing useless feudal lords instead of using his authority), he did not attempt to negotiate with Aleksander.

Starved his people so Aleksander would have no choice but to use his Grisha to cross the Fold to get supplies. Again for the antis crowing about Novokribirsk, what do you call this?

Stole Grisha inventions like corecloth etc in the name of unification and supplied it to First Army. Read point 2 once more to understand the cruel nature of this act. He felt Grisha were hoarding better supplies but did not question why the First Army were having subpar things because if he did then the blame would rest on his father and his corrupt noble supporters. So he chooses to steal using the unification propaganda. How noble!

Sent Grisha who were not of age to war fronts and missions. Why not send the First Army? Are there no highly skilled people in the First Army for such things?

Manipulated and used Alina to establish himself. Atleast Aleksander 'manipulated' her for the betterment of Grisha, Nikolai did it for himself.

Destroyed everything Aleksander did for Grisha in the name of unification. Or should we call it erasure? He erased centuries of progress and left them without protection.

He claimed Aleksander used his Grisha selfishly for 'his' wars and then shamelessly sends his minions to recruit them from other countries.

If Nikolai was indeed a just and kind king as the antis claim him to be, why didn't he announce Grisha as a protected class? Why didn't he offer them equal rights as a Ravkan citizen? Through his own spies he knows what is happening to them in Fjerda, Shu-Han and Kerch and yet knowingly he lets Zoya abolish the rule of finding and securing the Grisha children (which mind you, saved Zoya from child marriage).

Aleksander was not just a person, he carried the history of the Grisha that was rapidly being erased. He built a place to pass down that knowledge, their culture and practices. If Grisha were not tested and found, who would save them if they died from wasting sickness, who would offer them protection from slavers and Fjerdans? Once again in the name of 'liberation' Nikolai had truly pushed them into hiding. Without these laws what happens when anti-grisha sentiments raise again after a few centuries? He removed every true protection and erased a targeted group's shared history in the name of liberation.

In the end, Nikolai did not protect his country nor the Grisha. He is in no way the hero of this story nor is his echo chambers whom he calls friends. I could go on and on. Truth is, it is not my intention to minimize things like SA or genocide. These are heavy topics and should be treated as such. Readers or antis who throw around such words should know the weight of such words. I hope this sheds some light on the hypocrisy that resides in this fandom.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk!

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: giant Pacific octopus

Its actually wild to me that's I've been doing this series for almost 2 years and somehow haven't covered a single octopus yet. I've done squid, cuttlefish, nautiluses, and the vampire squid, but somehow the most famous corner of the cephalopod family reunion has eluded me. Time to change that. And why not go big and cover the biggest (maybe) octopus of them all?

(Image: a giant Pacific octopus crawling on the seafloor. It is a large, red, soft-bodied invertebrate with wrinkly skin. A bulbous head contains the eyes and opening to the mantle. Attacked are eight long arms lined with suckers. End ID)

Enteroctopus dofleini is the giant pacific octopus, though genetic studies have indicated that there may be multiple distinct subspecies based on location. They are considered the largest octopus species in the world, though that may not actually be the case. Adults usually reach an arm span of 4.3 meters (14 ft) and weigh up to 15 kg (33 lbs), with some large specimens getting up to 50 kg (110 lbs). That held the record for a long time, but in 2002, a dead specimen of Haliphron atlanticus, the seven-armed octopus was pulled up and while it was incomplete, its size while alive was estimated to be 3.5 m (11 ft) from top to arm tip and 75 kg (165 lbs). Seven-armed octopi are much more elusive than giant Pacific octopi, so we don't have nearly as many specimens to go off of, but if that sample is anything to go by, they are even bigger than the GPO.

(image: divers next to a giant Pacific octopus shown from below with its arms spread, showing off the suckers and the radius of the tentacles, which is larger than the diver. End ID)

The giant Pacific octopus's anatomy is typical of an octopus, just scaled up. It has two body segments: the head and the arms. The head is bulbous and contains the organ systems, including the brain, digestive system, renal system, and all three hearts, and is covered by the mantle. The arms (not tentacles as commonly thought) are eight limbs lined with powerful suckers, each of which can be moved independently. The only hard part of an octopus's body is the beak, used to chop up food. Because the rest of the body is so malleable, an octopus can squeeze its body through any hole large enough to fit the beak. The beak is also venomous, though only a few octopi possess venom potent enough to harm a human and the GPO is not one of them. Octopi (I can rant about what the proper plural is later, but as far as I'm concerned, octopi is perfectly acceptable) along with their squid and cuttlefish relatives, have special pigment-filled cells called chromatophores lining their skin. Using muscular action, the octopus can individually widen or shrink each chromatophore to radically change its color. This is used mostly as camouflage, but can also be used as a threat display in some species (such as the blue-ringed octopus) or for communication. The GPO is usually a ruddy red color when resting. Skin texture can also be altered with muscles, but in the GPO it is usually uneven, with long lateral folds that give it a wrinkly appearance. Octopi have a siphon concealed in the mantle that is used to pass water over the gills and for propulsion.

(Image: a GPO crawling through an aquarium tank. Purple sea urchins and anemones are in the background. End ID)

The giant Pacific octopus live in (surprise, surprise) the Pacific ocean. Specifically in the northern regions from the Yellow Sea in southern China, up through the eastern coast of Russia, across to Alaska, and down as far south as southern California. They are found in reefs and rocky bottoms with plenty of places to hide. The GPO occupies a middle portion of the food web. They are predators who feed on hard-shelled invertebrates, fish, and smaller cephalopods. They hunt prey as large as the spiny dogfish shark, which can grow up to 1.2 m (4 ft) and have been reported to attack and drown seagulls. In turn, they are fed on by sharks and marine mammals. Octopi are especially skilled at eating hard-shelled invertebrates like bivalves, as their powerful arms and suckers allow them to pry open the shells to get at the meat within. Octopi need to bite their food into small chunks as their brains are donut-shaped and circle the esophagus. Swallowing something too big can give them brain damage. The GPO prefers to dwell in dens, but will also hide amongst kelp or camouflaged among rocks. Dens can be spotted by looking for the discarded shells of meals piled up outside them They spend most of the day motionlessly resting (something anyone who has ever been disappointed at the octopus exhibit in the aquarium can tell you) and are most active between midnight and early morning. When active, they hunt and search for new hiding spaces. Large GPOs can travel lond distances in search of habitats and mates. Populations in Asia are known to migrate to shallow water in winter and deeper water in summer. They can remember where they've been by using visual stimuli. When threatened, they can release a cloud of toxic ink to blind attackers while they flee.

(Gif: a GPO crawling along the seafloor, showing off how the arms work together to move it. End ID)

Giant Pacific octopi live for up to five years, which makes them ancient by octopus standards. Most species only live for one year. Like all cephalopods except for nautiluses and possibly the vampire squid, giant Pacific octopi are semelparous, meaning they reproduce only once in their lives. This happens in fall and males will seek out females to mate with. Males have a modified arm called a heterocotylus that they reach into a hole in the female's mantle to deposit a packet of sperm that can be over a meter long. The female can then hold onto the packet to fertilize her eggs up to several months later. Genetic testing indicates that both males and females will mate with multiple partners. The female must find a suitable den and will lay up to 400,000 eggs in clusters attached to a hard surface. For the next 6 months, she will stay with her eggs to protect them, blowing oxygenated water over them and cleaning them of algae and other contaminants. She does not eat during this period, subsisting on her internal fat stores. By the time the eggs hatch, she will either have starved to death or will do so shortly. Males also do not survive past mating season. They also stop eating and become more prone to acting in the open, leaving them more vulnerable to predators. The newborn octopi are called pseudolarvae and are roughly the size of a grain of rice. Once hatched, they enter the water column and live amongst the zooplankton. Only a very few of the peudolarvae will survive to adulthood. The majority will succumb to disease or predation. Sexual maturity is regulated by a gland called the optic gland, which is analogous to the pituitary gland in vertebrates. Experiments have shown that females whose optic glands have been removed stop brooding their eggs and resume hunting. They also resume gaining weight and have longer lifespans.

(Image: a female GPO in her den. clusters of small, white eggs hang from the ceiling. End ID)

(Image: GPO eggs about ready to hatch. They are transparent, oblong capsule with the juveniles visible within. They have similar anatomy to the adults, but with visible ink sacs. End IS)

Octopi are the most intelligent of all invertebrates. They are capable of solving puzzles based on trial and error. Indeed, those living in aquariums are often given puzzles to solve as a form of enrichment. Aquarium workers have reported that giant Pacific octopi can recognize individual people and can hold grudges. Captive octopi are notorious for doing things like disabling mechanisms in their tanks, pranking certain people, and even escaping their tanks to visit other ones, then returning to theirs before anyone comes by to catch them. They are capable of tool use and can use shells and human-made objects to build defensive structures around their dens and some small species use shells or other objects as armor. Brain surface area often correlates to intelligence in areas and octopi have the highest ratio of all invertebrates. They are a rare example of an invertebrate whose brains are wrinkled the way those of tetrapods are. Only about a third of all the neurons within the nervous system are located in the brain. There are also major nerve clusters in each arm. It has been said that the arms have brains of their own, though this is not entirely accurate. The arms are capable of independent action, though learning happens in the brain. The arm brains also work to process the massive amount of sensory data they gather. Even a severed arm can act independently until it starves. There are videos out there of uncooked or undercooked octopus arms moving around on plates or grabbing onto diner's faces.

(Image: a GPO in an aquarium being given food in a jack-o-lantern as a form of enrichment. End ID)

The giant Pacific octopus is classified as least concern by the IUCN, meaning they are not at risk of extinction. They are considered abundant through their range, though they are at higher risk in some locations. GPOs are also harvested for seafood, being popular throughout their range and beyond. The GPO, along with the big blue and common octopi, are the most commonly eaten species in the Pacific. Pollution, climate change, and ocean acidification are also known to be threats to octopi. A threat that doesn't exist anymore is the "sport" of octopus wrestling. This involves divers grabbing octopi and trying to pull them to the surface, with GPOs targeted due to their size. The octopus was an entirely unwilling participant in this, they are very shy animals that prefer to flee rather than fight. Fortunately, this form of recreational animal abuse doesn't really exist anymore.

(Gif: a GPO in an aquarium crawling along the glass. This shows how each sucker can move independently and work together to move the animal. End ID)

[stonesilhouette]

Feline Fiasco

Hetalia x Reader

This is written for a female reader but there isn't really anything specific that would suggest that besides a few references. If you want to read, I'm not going to stop you.

Also (Y/n) is completely uninterested in the countries for the majority of this, all she's interested in is the cats. This is way fluffier than anything else I've posted, which is two things, and this part is relatively America-centric because (Y/n) works for him. This is also way less quality work than those two posts but idk deal with it?

There is more to this but it's unfinished and I'll probably never post it. My friend also helped with the cat names so if you don't like them... uh assume that they chose them. One last note, I thought it would be funny to write the accents so you also have to deal with that.

As one of the many secretaries working in the White House, it was actually quite a surprise to you that you ended up as the main secretary to the human personification of the U.S.A.

Because of this, you had become quite close to Mr. F. Jones and more importantly: his cat.

You couldn't help but coo at the adorable and floofy feline. Sure, you should probably finish filing those papers, but national security can wait a few more minutes. Besides you couldn't resist the allure of the purr. It would be an understatement to say, when you learned that the other personifications also had furry friends of their own, you were excited.

America didn't want you interacting with the other countries, especially not Russia. But you honestly didn't care and you weren't the recording secretary for those meetings, so it's not like you were in attendance anyways. That somehow didn't stop you from having to tag along and meeting more nation cats; of which you weren't sure why they had brought them along in the first place. It's not like you were complaining.

Ball of fur after ball of fur. No cat went un-petted. Except for Germany's cat; he had evaded you time and time again. But no longer! For today was the last day and you were going to pet that cat if it was the last thing you did.

There it was. It's sleek black fur, the ribbon in Germany's signature colors around its neck, and that always alert look on its face. He would evade you no more. You crouched down in your very inflexible pencil skirt and prepared to pounce.

"Vhat are jou doing?" A voice thick with a German accent called out, startling you and the cat who decided to bound back towards him and into his arms.

"Uhhhh." You blanked.

"You're America's secretary right? Vat vere jou trying to do to my cat?" He questioned, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

You gulped and tried to explain your actions in a way that didn't sound absolutely ridiculous.

"I-uh. I wanted to pet your cat and… he kept evading me and I thought if I snuck up on him that I could pet him." You looked away and pitifully whispered, "Sorry."

"If jou vanted to pet him, all you had to do was ask."

"Really!?" Your eyes lit up and you looked up at the German with pure and unbridled excitement. He coughed and looked away with a slight blush resting on his cheeks.

"Of course." He held the cat out. You, with no hesitation whatsoever, immediately started to adore and love the cat, even shifting it from Germany's arms to your own.

As you continued to pet the cat, who despite his earlier refusal, seemed quite happy, you asked Germany a question. "My name's (Y/n). What's yours if you're willing to share? No pressure though."

His eyes widened a bit before he shook it off and gave you an answer. "Ludwig Beilschmidt." He responded, studying his cat. "Germouser seems to like jou."

You could barely stifle a laugh at the name he had given to the black cat. He sensed your amusement and gave an explanation.

"Feli- Italy named him. I vas going to name him Johann or something similar. Italy was zoroughly horrified by my suggestions and vould not rest until I vent vith his."

You smiled at the Italian's antics and shook your head with amusement. "Germouser is a fine name for an absolutely wonderful cat."

Germany seemed to get flustered again as he watched you coo at his cat, completely ignoring his presence. He would have just left him with you, but the meeting was starting soon and he didn't want to be late. Luckily for him, America decided to pop around the corner, demanding your attention. So you were forced to give up the precious kitty cat and return with Mr. Jones.

Alfred was annoyed. Not at you but at everyone else. Why did they have any right to be around you? You were an American citizen. His citizen. Sure, all you were really interested in was their cats. But what if you thought that they and their cats were so cool that you left him and went to live in a different country instead? He couldn't let that happen.

"So, (Y/n), dude, broette." He said on the way to the meeting room. "Here's the deal."

You gave him a look and raised an eyebrow.

"I need someone to watch Hero for me and my sitter flaked so you're gonna be watching him." He fingered-gunned at you and stars seemed to shine in the air around him. This, of course, was nothing new to you. It wasn’t like you would have rather been attending the meeting anyways.

So you stayed in a different unoccupied meeting room with a lovely, furry friend. It wasn't until he started hissing at a corner that you were in trouble.

"Hero, what's wrong?" You asked, concerned at the agitated cat. His tail bristled up and his ears flattened down as he took a defensive position. Out of nowhere another fluffy cat waltzed in from the very corner that Hero had been hissing at. It was Boris, a cat that belonged to Russia.

You hadn't actually gotten to pet him yet because to be honest, you were also scared of Russia. But… He wasn't around… and his cat was. And his cat was purring.

That was about all the reasoning that you needed to brush past Hero and scoop Boris up into your arms. The former started yowling for your attention and followed you as you went to sit down with the Russian cat.

You laid down on the plush carpeted floor and lifted the cat that you were holding up above you. Boris’ fluffy body was placed onto your chest and he immediately started purring louder once he got comfortable. He nuzzled his face into your neck, much to the annoyance of the American cat. Hero yowled at you and pawed at Boris, desperately trying to get him off.

Boris only gave him a smug look in return and kneaded into you, further solidifying his spot. Hero decided that it wasn’t worth the fight and that he was going to get his owner to remove the Russian cat and put him back into his mother’s lap: aka you.

The surprisingly smart and agile cat leapt around the room and pushed down the door handle, slipping out through the crack. You didn’t notice this as you were currently immersed in the bliss of a cat sitting on you and letting you pet it.

Eventually the purring lulled you into a peaceful and warm slumber, the two of you deciding to take a cat nap.

It would be Russia who found you first. Ivan realized that his cat had gone missing and he honestly didn’t care enough about the meeting to stay. It's not like anyone would try to stop him.

So as Hero bounded down the halls towards the meeting room, Mr. Ivan Braginsky came from the other direction; his sense of where his cat was at any one moment was completely uncanny.

The Russian gradually opened the wooden door and it quietly opened without any resistance. He turned his head towards where he heard purring and was met with a surprising sight. It was America’s secretary, with his cat, lying, with his cat.

You were breathing softly and the movements of your chest moving up and down also moved Boris. Ivan couldn’t help but faintly smile at the sight. Said cat opened a singular eye to acknowledge the new presence in the room. He flicked his tail and settled back into his spot. Not wanting to bother you or the cat, Ivan pulled out a chair and sat down. 

He pulled out some paperwork, seemingly from nowhere, and began to work on it. The sounds of your quiet breathing, combined with the light purr from Boris, made for a calming work environment. 

As the three of you remained in peaceful bliss, another kitty cat was running around the corner on the never ending search for food. Itabby trotted up and down the corridors looking for an open door that might lead to some food that didn’t come from England. Her golden fur glimmered as the sun shined through the many windows in the building. She looked over at a door that had opened slightly and was too blinded by the thought of food to notice the scarily familiar scent coming from the room.

Itabby scampered over to the door but screeched and meowed as she was sent flying by an American blonde and his equally irritated cat. She tentatively peered around the door at the scene forming.

“HEY!” Alfred yelled, startling both you and the cat. You shot up straight, Boris falling into your lap. “What are you doing with her?!” He yelled again, getting his face up into Ivan’s. The other man gave him an unamused look and stood up, towering over him. Alfred, despite this, did not back down and continued to stare angrily at him.

“Go away.” The white-haired male said, his accent heavy as he crossed his arms. “You have startled them with your unnecessary noise. You are just like the rest of your country.”

The air tensed and became heavier as the seconds went on. They began to size each other up as Hero, ironically, “heroically” walked proudly over to you and with his front paws, pushed Boris off of your lap. He quickly took his place and started purring. Boris’ fur began to puff up as he hunched down and prepared to pounce. His back legs flexed and he made the jump, sending both him and Hero flying towards their fighting owners, who were remarkably somehow not in a physical fight. Yet.

You very quickly realized that you did not want to be in the middle of  two superpowers fighting and quietly took your leave. (E/c) eyes met feline amber ones and you swept up the cat and made your escape, leaving behind the feuding men and cats.

Itabby snuggled into your arms as you finally slowed down to catch your breath. Her round tail whooshed back and forth as you tiredly walked through the long hallway. The two of you eventually ended up in the rose gardens of the meeting building. The area was well taken care of and beautiful if you did say so yourself. The meeting was taking place in England and Mr. Jones had told you about how the Brit enjoyed gardening, so it made sense as to why it was here.

Speaking of the British, you spotted a fluffy feline shape from the corner of your eye. It was deeper into the gardens and among the trees. Itabby finally decided that it was time to go and return to her owner. She gracefully leaped out of your arms and landed on all fours and trotted off to beg Italy for some pasta. You instead continued your approach to the cat, which at this point, you could tell was a Scottish Fold.

The left side of his face was brown and so was his tail. Alike to his owner, he seemed to have what you assumed were some kind of eyebrows and when he opened his eyes to look at you, his olive eyes stared into yours. He flicked his tail and layed back down onto the wall that he was laying on. His collar jingled as he moved and you quietly moved up to him. On the gold circle attached to the same olive color collar, was a name.

‘Scone’ You thought. ‘Oh my god. This is the most English cat name I have ever seen.’

You almost started laughing but the smoldering glare the cat gave you made you think otherwise. The stone wall was surprisingly cold for the summer sun and as you sat down, you took a look at Scone. He seemed to still be quite grumpy, but he knew you from earlier in the week, so he was not alarmed. You lifted up and moved your left arm forward to start petting him.

Scone was soft and clearly well-taken care of. His fur was clean and had no knots or dirt insight, despite laying around a garden for half a day. You continued your actions and the both of you started to fall back into slumber. Your hand hovered on the back of the feline and your head slumped alongside your body.

It was peaceful. With birds chirping and the wind lightly blowing. There was a river babbling somewhere in the background and it made for a serene scene. The only reason he had let you pet him was because you had fed him earlier in the week. He didn’t have his collar at that point so this was the first time you had gotten his name. Your eyes closed as you recalled the event from a couple of days prior.

The day after the plane landed you were on the hunt for felines. Armed with some cat food, a retractable mouse-on-a-stick and hope, you made your way around the building England had set aside for housing the rampant countries, and byproduct, their cats. France’s cat, Monsieur, was an absolute attention wh-. He really liked attention, and would rub himself against your leg anytime the two of you crossed paths. It’s not like France, or Francis, was much better.

It’s not like you minded petting him. He was adorable after all. The cat, not Francis. But you had wanted to meet as many other cats as you could and so you had to stop by Francis’ room multiple times to drop off Monsieur.

“Je suis désolé.” He said, taking Monsieur out of your arms. “He keeps getting out. But I guess he knows when there’s a lovely lady around.”

You ignored his attempts at flirting and instead scratched Monsieur’s chin one last time before leaving. He purred at you and while you felt bad about leaving him, you were on a mission! Besides, you had a certain Japanese cat to track down. Monsieur meowed at you as you walked down the hallway and if you didn’t know better you’d say so did Francis.

Either way, nothing was going to stop you from petting Tama, Japan’s cat. He was an adorable little black and white feline with the cutest little bob for a tail. You had actually spotted him earlier and was about to go up to him before Monsieur literally jumped into your arms, demanding attention. Of course you weren’t going to say no so Tama quickly left your sight as you went to return Monsieur. 

Wait, isn't Monsieur just sir in French? Oh well there was no time to think about questionable cat names, this building was full of them.

Monsieur wasn’t the only attention whore of a cat. Prussia’s cat, Purrussia, wasn’t much better. He would follow you down hallways and meow with his scratchy meow at you while Austria’s cat, Allegro, whined behind him. He literally tried to jump up at you a few times.

Of course both of them were interrupted when Hero ran straight at you and tackled you like a professional linebacker. You had thought that it was mostly fluff, but no, apparently Hero could pack a punch. He knocked the wind out of you as you fell backwards onto the tiled floor. The cat sat proudly on you and looked around like he was waiting for something or someone. Whoever he was waiting for, however, wouldn’t show up fast enough to see Purrussia return the favor and tackle Hero off of you, much to Allegro’s horror. 

The white cat had a German ribbon as well but it looked like it was fraying at the edges. The reason you were bringing this up was because Hero was currently using one of the edges to try to choke Purrussia and Allegro was using the other to try to pull Purrussia away from Hero. Neither was really working and all it was really doing was making Purrussia more and more agitated.

“PURRUSSIA!!!” A shrill voice yelled out from down the hallway.

The cats stopped their roughhousing to see two of the countries barrelling down towards them. Well Prussia was. Austria was slowly walking over, looking more inconvenienced than anything else.

“Purrussia! Purrussia!” Prussia reiterated, pulling his cat up by its arms. “Did jou vin?!”

Everyone but the two Prussians stared in disbelief at his statement. The albino feline furiously nodded his head and if he could have talked you would have imagined that he would have been saying, ‘I’m awesome!’

Hero angrily meowed down below, as if to oppose Purrussia’s non-verbal statement. Allegro just haughtily licked his paw and stuck his nose up as if to pretend that he was disgusted with their fighting as if he hadn’t just been a part of it. Austria picked up his in-denial cat and you picked up Hero who calmed down as soon as you did. 

“Sorry about him.” You said, brushing his unruly fur down with your hand. “He gets a little competitive.”

“Ja. It’s fine.” Austria said, petting his own cat. “Purrussia is not much better.”

“HEY!” Prussia yelled. “My awesome Purrussia is doing his best! And besides, at least he actually does something!”

“Jour cat picked a fight vith a vall (wall) Gilbert.” Austria sassed.

“Vell jour cat’s piano playing is trash!”

Austria gave a gasp of horror before inching closer to the Prussian.

“Jou take zat back, RIGHT NOW!”

Prussia just laughed, still letting Purrussia’s back paws dangle as he held him like one would a toddler. He got in close to the Austrian’s face, smiling deviously at him.

“Nein.”

He suddenly, while still holding Purrussia, took off, running away from Austria. He wasn’t far behind though and you could hear the man yelling in German all the way down the far corridor.

“Well Hero.” You said, looking down at the cat who had made himself very comfortable. “That was weird.”

He just snuggled closer to you and you sighed. You scratched him once more before heading down the opposite hallway. The destination was clear, before you could continue your cat quest, you’d have to get this one safely back to its owner.

You suddenly snapped back to reality, still sitting on the wall. The sun was now high in the sky and the spot underneath you was no longer cold. You were especially warm as you now had a Scottish Fold sitting comfortably upon your lap. Quietly cooing at the cat, you looked to see if there was any way to escape your furry prison. The most important rule of cats: once a cat sits on you, you’re not moving until they do.

You sighed, legs uncomfortably stiff. Scone was far more content and his bushy tail occasionally brushed against your leg. It was incredibly cute but it didn’t make your back stop hurting from being hunched over for the last half hour.

Voices came from farther within the garden. There were two people currently engaged in a soft conversation. You caught bits and pieces of it; there was a man with a British accent and a man with what you thought was American until you heard him say ‘aboot.’ You couldn’t help but snicker at your own observation, disturbing Scone in the process.

He scornfully meowed at you and you offered pets in an apology. Around the corner turned Scone’s owner and a man who looked incredibly similar to America. They both turned to look at you when the Scottish Fold you were fondling stretched out to impossible lengths and complained like a cat while he did it. England looked down at your lap to see his cat very happily cushioned on your thighs. The man next to him was also holding a cat who again looked very similar to America’s.

They were clearly different though. This man’s hair was more auburn and his eyes were a shade of impossible purple. There was also more of a wave to it whereas America’s hair was as straight as hair comes. Familiarity lit up in your eyes, not for the man however.

“Maple!” You exclaimed, wanting to go to the cat but also not willing to disturb the one on you. “How have you been?”

The men stared at you, wondering if you were talking to them or the cat. Of course Maple himself answered this as he jumped out of his owner’s arms and darted over to you. He gracefully climbed up the small wall and placed himself down by you. Scone was on your lap and he was nicer than Hero so as to not push him off. You moved one of your arms to pet Maple and kept the other on Scone. They were so cute you felt like you were going to explode.

“Oh.” A quiet voice spoke out. It came from the man behind England. “You’re Alfred’s secretary right?”

You smiled and nodded at the man. “And I assume that means you’re Canada, right?”

He looked a tad taken aback before nodding himself. “Yeah…” He trailed off and England instead picked up the conversation.

“I thought you were supposed to be watching his furrball cat, Hero.” He walked over and leaned against the wall.

“I was. But then he and Boris got into a catfight… and then America and Russia got into a catfight.”

Canada laughed in the background but quickly covered it up. England stared at Scone, looking to see if there was anyway to get him off of you without being scratched himself. He had enough injuries, that should have scarred had he not been a country, from the cat. He shivered a bit, though also began to pet the feline, scratching his under the chin.

“That sounds like those two.”

You hummed in agreement, continuing your affections. Canada also came over to pet his own cat who ironically did smell like maple syrup. 

“Can I make you the villain of this story?” You asked England, gesturing to Scone. “I do actually have somewhere I need to be.”

“Oh I suppose I can assume that role.” He mused, carefully picking up his cat. He was not happy to be moved but England just shushed him.

Canada also picked up his cat who was slightly nicer about the whole thing. He fidgeted with Maple’s ear as he held him.

“I’m Matthew.” He said, carefully shifting Maple so he could put one arm out to shake your hand.

You finished the formal greeting. “I’m (Y/n).”

The other blonde butted in from the background. “I’m Arthur, love.”

“It’s very nice to formally meet both of you. Seeing you from across a meeting room doesn’t really count.” You smiled and gave a small pat to each of the feline’s heads. “Well I wasn’t kidding about needing to get somewhere. I really didn’t mean to get stopped as long as I did.” 

You playfully glared at the Scottish Fold sitting comfortably in his owner's arms. He promptly ignored you, instead turning around cutely. England apologized but you told him it was fine. You were at least 50% sure that Mr. Jones was probably still fighting with Russia. Those two really were like angry cats. You waved the two men off and went on your way to find out the answer to that question.

Instead of coming across two feuding superpowers, you came across two of the Asian nations’ cats. You had already met them both but this was the first time you were seeing them together. Tama was sitting up high on a shelf while China’s cat, Meowzedong, was angrily meowing at him from down below. Everytime he tried to climb up, Tama would use a paw and swipe a book or other object down at him.

You flinched as a very breakable, very expensive-looking, vase crashed down. It was this movement that alerted the two cats to your presence and Meowzedong wasted no time at all to come over to you and complain. Now you couldn’t exactly speak cat but you got the jist.

Bending down, you carefully picked up the cat. Meowzedong always had a weird clump of fur that looked almost like a ponytail that, no matter how much China cut it, always grew back. He yowled at you and pointed a furry paw in Tama’s direction. The other cat had already loafed on top of the high shelf and you looked at him, back at Meowzedong, back at Tama, and then back at Meowzedong again.

“I don’t know how tall you think I am but I’m not that tall.”

Meowzedong just narrowed his eyes and meowed at you again. You sighed, looking back at Tama. If he had a long enough tail to flick it at you he would’ve. Sensing the futility of his quest, Meowzedong instead spread himself out in your arms and if you didn’t know better you would have said that he was mocking Tama. And if you really didn’t know better you’d say that it was working and that the bobtail was getting more irritated by the second. The personifications might have had to act cordial but their cats had no such qualms.

Finally, Tama de-loafed himself and gracefully hopped down a few other layers before reaching the bottom. He gracefully walked over to you and sat on your foot… Well shoot. What were you supposed to do now?

So here you were, from one cat prison to the next. Standing in the middle of some random, out-of-the-way hallway because the nations’ cats were all attention-hogging, though very adorable, brats.

You didn’t know how much time had actually passed. There was no clock in the hallway, you didn’t wear a watch, and both of your hands were occupied so you couldn’t check your phone. As cute as they were, your legs felt like they were about to collapse in on themselves. You couldn’t even shift how you were standing because Tama had taken it upon himself to lay across both of your shoes. Your arms also felt like they were going to fall off at any second. Meowzedong wasn’t a particularly heavy cat but try holding anything over five pounds for longer than five minutes.

You were desperately hoping that either they would finally get bored and leave or someone would come to save you. Wow you guessed you really did need a “Hero” right about now… Dammit you thought that referencing needing a hero in your head would magically summon America or his equally hotheaded cat.

“Tama. Meowzedong.” You murmured. “Can you please get off?” You hoped to whatever god or gods were out there that they didn’t hear the desperation in your voice. Never show weakness to a cat.

The two cats made eye contact with each other for a moment and seemed to come to an agreement. Meowzedong stretched his body out before jumping onto the ground. Tama did the same but instead greeted Meowzedong when he landed.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration if you said that you collapsed onto the wooden floor below. You quickly got up however as you didn’t want them to see it as another chance to sit on you. At least not right now. You pulled out your phone to see all of the messages and calls you missed. You had put it on silent while watching Hero and forgot to turn it back to vibrate.

‘Oh my god Mr. Jones called me twenty-three times.’ You thought, frantic. ‘I’m gonna be in so much trouble!’

You raced down the hallway, startling a group of micronations as you went. There was no time to apologize! You had to keep your job! If not for you then for the cats!

Not even thinking to knock you burst open the door where America was staying, side note why wasn’t it locked? And were greeted with the sight of!... Mr. Jones… crying? His cat looked pretty dejected too and was currently hanging himself off the side of the bed like a rug.

“Sir?” His head shot up to look at you.

He quickly snapped his head back away, mushing at his face in an attempt to try to make it seem like he wasn’t crying.

“(Y-Y/n)” He stuttered for a second, before immediately going back to the hero persona. “Where’ve you been!?”

“Are you okay?” You ignore him, instead asking your own question.

You titiled your body to look at what he was looking at… Was that a framed picture of you?!

It didn’t matter because he was very quickly all in your face again. You could see what seemed to be a rapidly healing black eye and a tooth that hadn’t fully regrown in yet as he smiled at you. Just how long was he fighting with Russia for?

You sat him down on his bed, considering if you should even bother getting a medkit for him. Either way you ended up spending the rest of the day with him, watching movies and sitting what you considered a good ways away from each other on the plush couch. He apparently had a nicer room in all of England’s properties from when he used to live there during parts of the year.

Hero filled the gap in-between you of which America was mildly annoyed about. He kept trying to get you to use ‘Alfred’ but you insisted that it was unprofessional. He’d close the gap one day.

[snovyda]

Historically, some of the biggest Russian opponents to domestic repressions are imperialists. Solzhenitsyn, most famously, is, on the one hand, bravely fighting the GULAG, and on the other hand - a vile imperialist with a sense of fascism. These aren't new phenomena, in many ways. Somehow one feels that [moving away from imperialism] is unlikely in Russia, because it goes so deep. This is just the latest Russian invasion of Ukraine, this is not just one war, this has been going on for centuries. Russian imperialism is embedded in Russian humour, Russian literature, codes of thinking. It's not about statements. It's not just about policies. When Pushkin writes, I don't know, "Кавказ подо мною" ("The Caucasus lies below me"), one of his famous poems... the amount of imperialist psychology that goes into saying that - that goes very, very deep. So until those much, much deeper sort of deep cultural roots of Russian imperialism, racism and oppression are addressed, nothing is changed. So let's think what we have agency over, in a way. [...] we can change the way Russia is perceived globally and in the West. Because this idea that Russia is a great power that has the right to a sphere of influence and that has the right to suppress others because it's great - that sits very deep in people's heads across the world. We can start working on that. So why don't we start working on that? Let's get people in my world - Britain, America - to re-read the Russian classics and understand how much imperialism and oppression of others there's there. Let's start de-mystifying this idea of "the Russian mystic soul" and really start rooting it to very specific histories of violence and oppression. Let's start changing the way Russia is perceived, so it's no longer seen as inevitable and so vast and huge that you have to drop on your knees in front of it, which still sits in people's heads. That means changing the way the universities overfocus on Russia studies and completely silence the voices of Ukrainians, Georgians, Kazakhs... There's so much we can do that will make people's perceptions of Russia rooted in reality. And they will help gain self-confidence to say, "Stop, we're not dependent on you".

Peter Pomerantsev