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badboyartem · 7 years

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title: thanksgiving location: witney’s place; thanksgiving evening 2017 characters: artem, witney, gleb, olivia. triggers: mentions of gang. mentions of violence. summary: artem forgets it’s thanksgiving and goes to visit witney, meeting her brother in the process. the two become official. a/n: @witcarson @officersavchenko

Artem/Gleb: Artem didn't celebrate Thanksgiving because there was no Thanksgiving in Russia. When he came to America, he had no one to celebrate with and didn't really learn what the holiday was till several years later. It never really meant anything to him, so most years he just forgot about it until he would see an ad on television or social media posts. Artem had pulled an all-nighter at the base, so he had slept in most of the day. Waking up about 4'o clock, the man took a shower, got dressed, and decided to go and surprise Witney. He'd been keeping a close eye on her ever since the... incident. Artem still hated himself over it and he was going to make sure it never happened again. Driving down to her place, he got there about 6pm and made her way to the front door, knocking. Much to his surprise, another man opened the door. A very handsome man. "Can I help you?" Gleb asked. Immediately, Artem heard the Russian accent. Witney knew another Russian? Was she in danger? Was she seeing someone else? There couldn't be a lot of Russians in Stonecastle that weren't involved in the mafia. "I, uhm, is Witney here?" Artem asked and Gleb raised a curious eyebrow at the matching accent as well. "Witney? Someone's at the door for you?" Gleb shouted behind him.

Witney: Witney was so excited about Thanksgiving. She was making food for her whole family and she was excited about being able to pull it off. The day had gone by pretty well she thought. Her food seemed to go down okay and no one was immediately sick and she as taking that as a win. It was nice to have the whole family there and be able to laugh and joke with them. She tried to dodge the questions about relationships because 1) she was still unsure if she and Artem were official and 2) there had been a lot of explaining to do if it all came out now. After her folks had gone she cleared the table and was relaxing with her big brother when the door went. She let Gleb go and get it, figuring it would be cold callers or something like that. When he shouted it was for her she got up to see who it was. "Artem? Hey." She smiled, appearing from behind Gleb. "I didn't think you were coming. We've already ate..." She explained.

Artem/Gleb A smile came to Artem's face naturally when Witney appeared and he wasn't one to smile very often. "Hi, Witney," the man said, but then knitted his eyebrows in confusion when she said that they already ate. "I- oh. Today is Thanksgiving isn't it? I didn't realize the date. I'm sorry for interrupting your time with your family. I can come back at another time," Artem said, feeling bad he had intruded, but also relieved. This was her family. This must of been the Russian adopted brother that she spoke about a few times. She wasn't in danger and she wasn't dating someone else. Gleb, who had been watching the interaction, cleared his throat. "Want to introduce me to your friend, Wit?"

Witney: Witney smiled back t Artem, happy to see him there. "No!" Witney said, a little too quickly when he said he could come back. She had missed it. It was crazy to think, considering it hadn't been long since they spent time together last but Artem was pretty much all she could think about these days. Artem made Witney happy, when they were together she felt like she could just let loose and have fun. Witney hadn't felt this way in a very long time. "Oh, right." Witney chuckled nervously, this is not how she pictured these two meeting. "Artem, this is my older brother, Gleb. And Gleb this is my..." Witney paused, not sure how to put it, "my friend, Artem."

Artem/Gleb: Artem looked to Gleb as he was introduced and then back to Witney when she didn't know how to introduce him. He didn't blame her. He wasn't exactly the bring home to mom type. Plus, they weren't official. They seemed to be dating, but Artem thought Witney would never want to actually exclusively date someone like him. Especially after putting her through traumatic danger. "Pleasure, Gleb," Artem said, putting his hand out and shaking Gleb's hand. "Nice to meet you, Artem. Glad to know that Witney has.... a friend," Gleb said, raising an eyebrow and looking at Witney. "It's sort of like she is magnet to Russians," Artem commented with a small chuckle. "Well, she didn't have much of a choice with me. Come on in. Our parents just left, but we have pie," Gleb stood aside. Artem obviously didn't want to make a bad impression on Witney's brother and be rude. He also wanted to spend time with Witney. "Uhm, alright. If that's okay with you," he asked Witney

Witney: Witney wasn't sure where Artem fell in the whole labelling of their relationship. She wasn't sure if he even wanted to be official, given his line of work. All she knew was she really, really liked him and it would hurt her to think he was seeing someone else. Witney smiled as the two men shook hands. Witney smiled softly at Gleb when he looked at her. "Really, if I went to Russia I would just have everyone sticking to me." She teased slightly. Witney smiled when Gleb invited Artem in - he wasn't chasing him away so that had to be good, right? "Of course it's alright with me." She beamed, going to give him a hug when he actually came through the door of her apartment.

Artem/Gleb: Gleb could be known for being cranky sometimes, but really he was a teddy bear. He had a stressful job and growing up in Russia everything was no nonsense, but his life in America with the Carson's made him a good man. He was definitely curious about who this man was and what his relationship with Witney is. The way that his sister was acting around him, it didn't seem like he was /just/ a friend. Artem walked into the house that he had been a couple of times, hugging Witney back. "You look beautiful," he said, in a low voice so that only Witney could hear him. "Where are you from, Artem," Gleb asked, closing the door and turning to face them. "Izhevsk," Artem replied, taking his hands off of Witney. "Moscow, myself," Gleb replied. "I'll go get some wine. Give you guys a moment to be... friends," Gleb said, before exiting to the kitchen.

Witney: Witney knew that Gleb and Artem would have to meet at some point but she was expecting it to be like this. Still, she fussed it was easier than actually setting a date to do it. Witney always worried about what Gleb would think of her boyfriends and none scared her more than Artem. She knew Gleb couldn't find out about his line of work but Witney had never felt anything like this before in her life. Witney blushed slightly when he told her she looked beautiful and tried to keep her head down from Glebs stare. "Thanks Gleb." Witney said when he said that he was going to get the wine. "I'm so happy you are here." Witney said to Artem, moving to peck him on the lips. "I'm sorry you had to meet Gleb this way and that I just said you were a friend... I just, uh... I didn't know what else to say and I don't want you to feel any pressure about this." She admitted, pushing her lips together.

Artem/Gleb: Gleb made his exit from the room and Artem turned to face Witney. Artem turned to Witney and smiled as she pecked his lips. "That's okay. It had to happen at some point. I'm sorry for intruding on your Thanksgiving," Artem apologized. "That's okay. I don't... really know what we are either."

Witney: "No, no. You aren't intruding." Witney smiled, glad that he was there. "You just avoided my cooking so you may have had the right idea." Witney chuckled. Witney ran her hair through her hair when he said that he didn't know what they were either. "Well, maybe that is something we should talk about?" She offered, looking up at him,

Artem/Gleb: Artem laughed at her comment about the cooking. "I'm sure it wasn't that bad," he chuckled. "Yeah... it's something we should talk about," he replied, looking over his shoulder to see if Gleb was coming. "Witney... I like you. I really... /really/ like you, but you're... you're better than me. I've already put you in so much danger," he said, keeping his voice low so that only Witney could hear him.

Witney: "Maybe I can cook for you one day and you can see for yourself." Witney chuckled. "I like you too, Artem." Witney said, going to take his hands. "More than I've ever liked anyone, you make me feel so happy." She explained, taking a little step closer to him. "I- I want to be with you. I don't care about the risks. It would hurt too much to let you go or see you with someone else." She explained.

Artem/Gleb: "I'd like that," Artem said, smiling at her and then taking her hands as she reached for his own. "You make me happy, too, Wit," he said, sighing out. It was such a predicament. He cared for her more than he had cared for any woman. She was a game changer. She knew about him and she had yet to turn him into the police or run screaming. She was the first thing that made him want to be a better man. She was already the most important thing in the world to him. "I don't want to see you with anyone else, either. Witney.... I want you to be my girl, but you have to understand the risks of what you're signing up for. My life is all danger and all illegal. I'll corrupt you."

Witney: Witney couldn't help the smile on her face when he said he wanted to be with her in return. Witney put her hand up to caress his cheek as he expressed his worries. "Look. I want this. I want you. And everything that comes with that." She explained, looking at him. "I'm in." She said. "No matter what comes along. We got out of the first thing together, we can do it again. You don't have to be alone in this anymore." Witney knew it was a risk. She knew what she was getting into but at this point, she was here, for all of it.

Artem/Gleb: Artem sighed out, slightly because he was disappointed in the predicament and what he had to offer, and slightly out of relief. She wanted to be with him despite the fact that he was a criminal. Despite the fact that she was in danger with him. "You're incredible, Witney. You're incredible," he said, putting his hand to cup the side of her head and leaning in to kiss her deeply. At that moment, Gleb stepped back into the room and cleared his throat.

Witney: It didn't matter where she ended up now, if Artem was taken from her it would kill her, whether or not she was with him or not. She knew it was going to be hard, especially with Gleb being a cop, but she wanted this, she wanted him. Witney kissed him back, her arms resting on his shoulders. She jumped back when she heard her brother. "Gleb." She chuckled nervously. "Hi." She added. "So, who wants pie?" She offered, trying to break up some tension.

Artem/Gleb: Artem felt his face go warm. He looked down and scratch the back of his head, " yeah, I could go for some pie," he commented in a sort of mumble. " just a friend, huh?" Gleb asked, going into protective brother cop mode. Witney was his only sister and his younger sister as well. Gleb always felt like it was his job to protect her whether it was from bullies, broken hearts, or physical injuries. If that meant interrogating her boyfriends even when she was 24 then so be it. " why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend?"

Witney: Witney took a step towards Gleb, knowing what he could be like. "I didn't lie to you." Witney said. "When Artem got here we weren't... official." She tried to explain. "We have been like seeing each other and I really liked him but I didn't know how he felt and I didn't want to say anything to you until I knew for sure." She said. "But, just then, we talked and," She said, going to take his hand, "I guess now he is my boyfriend." She couldn't help the smile. "So, Gleb, meet Artem, Artem, meet Gleb." She said, looking between the two men.

Artem/Gleb: Gleb narrowed his eyes a bit. It was an awfully convenient story, but Gleb did know Witney well enough to know when she was lying for the most part and this didnt seem like she was lying. "Yes, we just made it official," Artem said, taking her hand in return. "Well, then-- I guess I better get to know you. Have a seat," Gleb said, offering the couch as he took a seat as well. Artem did as he said, taking a seat across from him. He had faced some of the scariest and most dangerous men in the world. Surely he could handle a brother? "Why don't you join us, Witney," Gleb said.

Witney: Witney looked at Gleb. He wasn't just her brother, he was her best friend and if something was happening she would have told him but so far it had just been coffee dates and hotel rooms - something he really didn't need to know about. "Uh, yeah sure." Witney said, walking past Gleb she leaned in closer and whispered, "Be nice." Witney took a seat next to Artem and was worried about what he would ask. This wasn't like any of her other boyfriends, Artem was in a whole different league.

Artem/Gleb: "So, Artem, was is it that you do?" Gleb asked, laying his arm across the back of the couch. "I am a used car salesman," Artem responded immediately. It had been his cover career for many years, he was used to answering it. The mafia owned the car lot. It was one of their cover businesses. "Hmm, a cars salesman. So you are good with words," Gleb challenged and Artem opened his mouth, unsure of what to say. "I'm not very good with words at all. My English isn't the best. I mostly work in the back. I work there for a few years now," he replied. "A few years? How old are you?" Gleb asked. "I am...," Artem considered lying, knowing the age difference was significant. "35," he answered honestly. Gleb turned to Witney. "35, Witney? Really?"

Witney: Witney watched the pair exchange words, her heart beating faster. More than anything she wanted these two to get along. Witney watched as Artem just talked about the cars sales. Witney almost felt bad for not letting Gleb in on what happened to her but she knew if he did I would be game over and Gleb wouldn't let her leave his side ever again. Witney couldn't help but smile when he said his English wasn't good, remembering the few fluffs he had with her. "Oh, Gleb." She rolled his eyes when he brought up the age. "It's not that bad." She said.

Artem/Gleb: Gleb grumbled to himself at Witney's reply. She was an adult now and could date whatever age she wanted, but he still felt that he was too old for her. Witney did always seem older than she was, but her boyfriend was even older than he was. Artem sat there, unsure of what to say. There wasn't much he could do to defend his age. He knew that Witney was young, but he never thought about their age when they were together. "I know you have concern, but I promise I would never ever do anything to hurt Witney or take advantage of her. "Glad to hear it, but I feel the need to warn you that I am a police officer and I will arrest you if you break her heart," Gleb stated. Artem immediately tensed up. Witney's brother was a police officer? He swallowed thickly and nodded.

Witney: "I said be nice." Witney warned. Witney loved her brother, she really did but when he went into over protective mode it was always hard for her. Witney never saw their age being an issue and that was that. She had to grow up quicker than her age let her do it seemed right she ended up with someone in that age. Witney smiled over at Artem when he said he wouldn't hurt her, she already knew just how safe that she was with him. "Gleb." Witney hissed when he said he was a police officer. "You don't need to drop that line anymore." She said, worried about what Artem would do now.

Artem/Gleb: "I'm just trying to look our for you, Witney," Gleb said, shrugging casually. It was unbeknownst to him that the word police was having such an effect on Artem. Artem was sitting there silently, but his brain was going a hundred miles a minute. Whitney's brother was a cop. Why didnt she tell him? Was this some kind of set up? No... Witney wouldn't do that... would she? Artem was always conditioned to believe that he could trust no one. Even his mafia brothers who he trusted the most, he couldn't trust. It was all a game of what can you do for me. It was so hard to see the best in people sometimes when you were so used to the worst in people. "Artem?" Gleb called, and Artem snapped out of his train or thought, realizing that he had missed something. "Sorry, what did you say?" Artem asked. "Do you have any kids?," Gleb asked again and Artem shook his head no.

Witney: "I know but let's just cool it." Witney said, scared of what Artem would think. Witney wanted to be the one to tell him but this had all happened so fast, her head was spinning. She needed time to talk to them both and the fact they were just thrown into to this together didn't seem right. Witney looked at Artem and she could see him lost in thought so she gently nudged his knee. "But Gleb has a kid. My niece, Olivia. She's amazing." Witney beamed, loving being an aunt more than anything and she wanted to try and shift some focus.

Artem/Gleb: "Well, Artem. I look forward to getting to know you further as time goes on. Welcome to the Savchenko-Carson's," he said, deeming Artem acceptable to give a chance. He was still wary about the age, but he wasn't going to write him off completely on that. "Thank you," Artem said simply, still trying to process every thing. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom?" Artem asked and Gleb pointed him in the direction down the hall. Excusing himself, Artem exited the room and Gleb turned to Witney. "You guys really just got together?" he asked.

Witney: Witney smiled as Gleb welcomed him and breathed a little sigh of relief. Witney looked up at Artem when he excused himself to the bathroom, she probably shouldn't point out to Gleb that he had been there before and did know where it was. She felt worried that now he knew her brother was a cop it would change things. "Yeah." She said with a laugh. "We hadn't really spoke about anything like that and I didn't know if he wanted to be with me or not so I really didn't know how to introduce him and then when you went to get the wine we talked and it kinda happened." She explained.

Artem/Gleb

Artem began to make his way back from the bathroom, walking down the hall. He was trying to process all the information, but it was a lot and the more he thought about it, the more paranoid he got. As he was walking, a little girl emerged from one of the rooms. "Who are you?" she asked, looking up at Artem. "I'm Artem," he replied, looking down at her. "You must be a friend of my dads," she said, since he had a Russian accent. "Actually, I'm friend of Witney's. You must be Olivia," Artem answered the little girl, figuring it was Gleb's daughter. "I am! Are you aunt Witney's booooyyyffrrieeennnddd?" the girl cooed, rocking on her feet. "Something like that," he shrugged, unsure what he should be telling the little girl and what Witney and Gleb would want her to know. "That's cool. Do you know how to braid hair?" she asked and Artem shook his head no. "That's okay. I'll teach you," Olivia grabbed his hand before he could say anything and she pulled him to the room she had just emerged from. "You sit here," the girl said and Artem did as she said. Olivia handed him a doll with yarn strands of hair and took one for herself. "Now just copy me," she said, braiding the dolls hair. Gleb told Witney that he just wanted her to be happy and that he just wanted what was best for her. After awhile, he realized it had been a bit since Artem had disappeared. "Do you think he got lost or did we scare him away?" Gleb asked.

Witney: Witney and Gleb spoke about it and it was nice that they could end up on the same page. Part of her knew it was wrong to keep what happened to her away from Gleb but she had to do it for the safety of Artem. Witney scrunched up her nose when he said he had been taken a while. Did he just up and leave? Was that it? "I'll go check." She said, walking down to the bathroom she called out his name, doing a double take when she saw him in her bedroom. She opened up the door and smiled at the scene she saw. "Hey Livvy. What you guys doing?" She asked.

Artem/Gleb: Artem and Olivia both looked up from what they were doing when Witney entered the room. "I'm teaching him to braid, Aunt Witney," Olivia answered simply before loudly whispering, "he's not very good." Artem scoffed and looked at the slightly braided, slightly twisted, slightly knotted doll hair in front of him. "What you are talking about? I am great at this," Artem said, with a silent bashful laugh which caused Olivia to laugh as well. "Aunt Witney, you're going to have to teach your boyfriend to braid like you taught me."

Witney: Witney couldn't help the smile on her face. She was pretty sure Artem had been roped into it but still, it was adorable. "That sure is... something." Witney laughed at Artems doll. "How do you know he is my boyfriend?" Witney asked with a raised eyebrow.

Artem/Gleb: "He told me, duh!" Olivia said, a laugh to follow. "She asked if I was your boyfriend. I promise I don't just go 'round announcing it to small children," Artem replied, still trying to make something of the twisted doll hair. "I am not small! I'm the tallest in my class!" Olivia said, standing on her chair. "I'm going to go see if daddy will give me a cookie," Olivia jumped down and moved forward. She whispered loudly to Witney. "I like him. Good job," she said, before giggling and running out of the room to Gleb. "I think I am hopeless at this braid thing," Artem said, holding the doll up by her hair.

#conversation: para #{ witney c }#{ gleb s }

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aliyaandaly · 7 years

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Walk Through Fire

Chapter 3: Won't Go Home Without You

Every night you cry yourself to sleep thinking: "why does this happen to me?"

—

Ring, ring, ring…

“I’m here.”

Silence encompasses the room and the only sound that can barely be heard is the sound of their collective breathing. Aly presses her phone as close as she can to her ear, believing that in some universe it’s her way of getting closer to Aliya.

This had been turning into a bad habit. Calling each other and not saying anything. Neither of them knew what to say, every time Aly thought she knew it got caught in her throat and she felt like choking.

She assumed it was the same for Aliya. But, here they were. Almost everyday at the same time on the dot.

Aly or Aliya’s phone would ring and they didn’t even have to look at their caller ID’s to know who it was.

They never said anything, sometimes it was a “how are you?” or a “I’m well”, but otherwise complete silence beyond that. Aly didn’t know what it was, just sitting in those few moments and knowing Aliya was on the other end of the line.

The girl had broken her damn heart and yet the best part of her day was knowing this phone call would happen.

Knowing Aliya was there, knowing she was alive, breathing, listening. Yet despite all of that there was still a gaping hole in Aly’s chest and she was determined to fix it.

She was determined to not let them fall back into the pattern that they went through four years ago, she wasn’t going to let Aliya slip through her fingers, they could make it she knew they could they both just had to believe it and she wasn’t sure if Aliya did.

“I’m with Masha, in Moscow. I’m safe.”

Aly swallows hard, her fingers gripping her phone tighter as she brings a hand to her mouth. Aliya’s voice floods her ears and into her brain, making her feel like she can’t breathe a second longer without her.

“Y-You are?”

She can feel Aliya tense on the other line like she has more to say and Aly is on the edge of her seat, about to fall or stay and Aliya is controlling all of it.

“I…I don’t know why I’m here.”

Aliya’s voice comes out small, withered, like its been through so much and just making the effort to say these words to Aly is slowly killing her.

In a way she does know why she’s in Masha’s kitchen, thousands of miles from America, but a part of her also cannot bring herself to realize her current situation.

“Then come home, just come home.”

Aly doesn’t want her voice to sound desperate but she can’t help it, everything about her lately just screams desperate but she doesn’t care, this is what she amounts to without Aliya.

“I…can’t.”

It shatters Aliya to say the words and she hadn’t realized until now that this wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought. She couldn’t just go back, not now. The miles between them were tearing her apart everyday but she didn’t have the strength to face Aly.

“Then I’m coming to Moscow.”

“Aly—“

Aliya can’t even get a sentence out before the line goes dead and she’s left with silence on the other end.

—

Aliya stares down at the paper in front of her, her hand holding her pencil faltering a bit as she tries to take the words from her head and put them down. She bites her lip in thought, scrunching her forehead together.

“You’re doing really well, babe.”

Aly smiles proudly at her, ghosting her hand over her girlfriend’s as she rests her palm on top of Aliya’s knuckles. The younger girl visibly relaxes but her expression still remains tense. There are good and bad days with learning English.

Somedays she’s on a streak and she can physically feel herself grasping the language then other days it’s like she hits a brick wall.

Aly can see it, see her struggle and it tugs at her heart strings but she reassures her even on her bad days she’s learning.

Seeing Aliya put this much effort into something that wasn’t a sport surprised Aly at first, the amount of dedication that came from the Russian was overwhelming emotionally for her because she was doing this all for her in the end; to be able to communicate with her, her family and friends.

“Why don’t we take a break from adjectives for a little?”

Aliya gratefully drops her pencil onto the paper and sits back with a long relieved sigh, running her hands over her face in exhaustion.

Aly bites her lip and shuffles the note cards in her hands absently, Aliya giving her an affectionate smile from behind her hands.

“I’m really proud of you, Alka. So proud.”

Aly’s beam of pride makes Aliya’s heart jump out of her chest, even after all this time it’s still the best fucking feeling in the world. A high that nothing else could ever compete with.

“Give me some more.”

Aliya sets her jaw determinedly and motions to the cards in Aly’s hand, raising an eyebrow. Aliya was a lot of things, some good, some not so good but she definitely at the core of being was not a quitter.

It’s then that she notices there’s a small shake in Aly’s hands, her eyes follow her arms up to her face and she gives a small inquiring look to her girlfriend. She sees the creep of a smile tug at the American’s lips and she knows it all too well.

“Aly?”

The other girl gives a shake of her head and a small smile before sliding a notecard to Aliya. There’s a small blush to her cheeks and her eyes are following Aliya’s every movements but her smile is genuine.

“Try to read this one…”

Aliya rolls her eyes in response, knowing Aly too well it was probably a difficult sentence because she liked to push her. She knew it was so she would learn and take on challenges but Aliya was tired, her mind is a jumble of Russian and English; it was overwhelming and sometimes too much.

She gives Aly a reproachful look but smiles and lifts the notecard, turning the piece of paper over in her fingers her breath catches and her eyes widen. Her mouth goes dry and suddenly everything slows down and it’s just her and the card.

“Will you marry me?”

Is written across the lines in Aly’s neat handwriting. Aliya may not have been studying the English language for too long but this was a phrase she didn’t even need to know a single English word for. She had been waiting to hear these words since she met Aly Raisman.

She lifts her eyes up just in time to meet Aly’s, hers shimmer with unshed tears and her smile has never felt wider across her face.

Aly’s knee bounces anxiously under the table and she gives Aliya a look like she’s waiting for an answer and the gears have to start moving in her head again when she realizes she never said anything in response.

“…Yes! Yes, of course! Aly I have never wanted anything more…!”

The watery giggle that escapes from Aly’s throat is contagious and Aliya soon finds herself laughing as well and she doesn’t even know why. Before she knows it she sees Aly remove a small box from her coat pocket and open it.

The diamond ring that stares back at Aliya is something she’s needed her entire life but just never knew it. Not so much the ring but the symbolism of it is what grounds her in this moment. This promise that the both of them are making; never to repeat the same mistakes they both made prior.

She holds out her hand eagerly and the ring slips effortlessly onto her finger like it was made just for her and no one else. She surges forward and frames Aly’s face in her hands, kissing her with everything she has, giving her everything she is.

“I’ll always say yes. Always.”

She whispers her words into their kiss, against the lips of the woman she loves and she means them. She means them with her entire being.

—

“So you’ve decided to go for Tokyo?”

Aly looks up from her phone to Jordyn who’s standing a couple feet away from her. She’s sat in the bleachers of the gym, chewing her lip anxiously as she reviews a rather long email from her dad.

“How did you hear?”

Jordyn fiddles with the tie on her sweatpants and scoffs gently, giving Aly a condescending look that bothers her more than it should.

“Word travels fast you know that, Aly.”

She nods and sets her phone down, surveying the girl in front of her with curiosity. There was a time where her and Jordyn were inseparable, a time where the two of them were practically glued at the hip but that had all come crashing down the moment Aly had knocked Jordyn off the spot for the all around in London.

The other girl insisted it wouldn’t effect their friendship, she was hurt but it wasn’t Aly’s fault, she insisted that everything would be normal but nothing had ever been normal for them from then on.

When Aly had decided to go for Rio and Jordyn decided to retire from her elite career things had changed even more for the two of them.

Things were cordial between them, there was never any cattiness upfront or in front of coaches, parents or other gymnasts but the animosity that had grown between them had cut Aly at the seams and down the middle.

She hadn’t only lost her best friend in London she lost a confidant, someone she could tell everything to. The loss seemed to effect Aly a lot more than Jordyn. When it came down to it Aly blamed Jordyn and vice versa.

She didn’t really know what she would blame the other girl for, but she had tried everything but just like a flame burning out slowly their texts to one another had become scarce, their phone calls non-existent and their dinner dates a distant memory.

It wasn’t until Aly and Aliya’s relationship came semi-public with her friends and family that Jordyn had started to slowly creep back into her life. When the team had returned from Rio with Aliya in tow Jordyn had been one of the first people to reach out to Aly and offer her support and commend her bravery.

She wasn’t offering her support in a best friend type of way, the way that Aly wanted it, but it was still better than nothing. It had been a bit of a shock to some people on the team, getting used to the idea of a Russian and an American talking let alone being together as a couple.

“Have you told Aliya?”

Aly frowns a bit, slightly taken aback by the question. What gave her the right to even inquire about that?

“Not yet…why?”

Jordyn tries to shrug it off but takes a seat on the bleacher one step down from Aly, still fiddling with the ties of her UCLA sweat pants.

“She’s your fiancé, doesn’t she have the right to know? Training basically controls your life for the next four years.”

Aly’s next words come out a little more aggressive than she intended but it doesn’t seem to effect Jordyn.

“Of course I’m going to tell her, it’s not like I’m keeping it from her, for fuck’s sake Jordyn…”

The other girl just blinks and gives Aly a slight nod in response. Her flippant behavior somewhat pisses her off and for a second she has the idea to ask her what the fuck has been up with her but she stops herself.

Today had been a long training session and the last thing she needed was to get into it with Jordyn Wieber right now.

“I’ve got it under control, thanks.”

Aly stands, slinging her back over her shoulder as she walks towards the end of the bleachers to the exit of the gym.

“Don’t wait, Aly. It won’t end up well, I just want what’s best for you.”

She doesn’t turn around with one hand on the door to push it open, she doesn’t owe Jordyn anything and especially anything about her personal life. She takes a deep breath before pushing through the door and into the parking lot.

—

“I feel naked without it.”

Aliya holds up her ring finger and examines her hand closely, like looking at it will magically make her ring reappear. All Maria can do is nod and watch her friend, as they sit there she wonders if she’ll ever find love just as Aliya had, if she will ever be able to look at her own hand and see a ring there one day.

“Why did you leave it with Aly?”

She doesn’t have an answer right away, the wounds are still so fresh but it’s a valid question if anything she should have taken it with her but she couldn’t bring herself to in that moment.

“I wanted her to have a piece of me…”

Maria raises an eyebrow and presses a little further,

“So you could get it back from her one day?”

She knows that Maria wants her to say she’s going to go back, that she’s going to make things work and even for a second she convinces herself she will but then she remembers everything and it’s like a weight has suddenly been dropped straight back into her stomach making her want to vomit.

“I don’t know Masha, it’s not that simple.”

“It seems like it is!” Maria bangs her hand on the table, not meaning to sound angry but she can’t help it, she can see her best friend going down the same path and she won’t let her this time.

“You sit here and tell me how much you miss her, so go back to her god dammit, Alka! You love her, I know it, everyone knows it!”

“It’s not that simple Masha—“

“Love is never simple but that’s why you work on it...I will not let you and Aly fall apart while I am around, I will not let you be this broken person again!”

They make eye contact and Aliya blinks back the tears threatening to spill. Maria’s right, there’s not a word she’s said that was wrong but it’s still not that simple.

“Love is supposed to make you happy Masha, not tear you apart from the inside.”

Aliya’s voice is firm, her face is stoic, her throat bobbing up and down as she tries to swallow.

“Love doesn’t always make you happy but you can’t run away from it. Stay and fight...”

She shakes her head, her tears falling freely now as she lets them, her vision clouded slightly but she feels Maria’s hand on her shoulder before her arms encircle her into a hug and she holds on tightly, not willing to let go.

She cries into Maria’s shoulder while she tries to whisper comforting words to her but her body is wracked with sobs, everything hitting her at once. She’s out of words, she’s tired of talking, she’s spent.

“I-I don’t know if I can this time…I don’t know if I have any fight left in me.”

—

It's not over tonight, just give me one more chance to make it right

#raistafina #fanficition #walk through fire #stay #:)

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avengerswetrust · 4 years

Text

I’m Always There For You CH.1

pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: from being one of the world’s deadliest assassin to being SHIELD’s top Human Behaviorist/ Rehabilitator life seem like it finally on this lonely track. Perhaps a certain super soldier will turn your life around and show you that being alone isn't what you deserve.

Click. Click. Click.

This shouldn’t bug you. This should be your proudest moment. You should be excited. But why is this bugging you?

Click. Click. Click.

Perhaps you should talk to Fury, maybe convince him she isn’t ready.

Click. Click. Click.

Just maybe... Click.

A groan was heard from the corner, the sound of crumpling papers and muttering of profanity that only a certain Russian spy can master.

Click. Click. Click.

You felt something hit your head. You snap out of your little inner crisis and glared at the culprit.

“Don’t give me that look! Enough with the pen Y/N, you shouldn’t worry.” Nat turns and sighs as she sees the worry lines forming on your forehead. After many years of knowing each other, Nat isn’t use to seeing Y/N so stress. Always so calm and collected no matter the situation. But to see this side always throws her off.

Y/N whined and laid her head against the cold metal desk. Maybe this will help her think clearly, since she wasn’t getting any help from her Russian friend. Nat walked towards Y/n and gently rub her back.

“Why not tell agent 14 that you can help her if she needs it just in case?” Nat whisper as she continue rubbing your back. Moving your head to the side to look at Nat straight into her green eyes.

“I already offer my help but agent 14 doesn’t want it. Saying she’ll probably do a better job.” Y/n groan and pressed her head even more to the desk.

She heard Nat scoff and patted your back and teasingly said “Well how about you tell Fury what might go wrong with agent 14’s plan.”

You perk your head up and gave Nat a dazzling smile. “Now that’s a wonderful idea. And here I thought you weren’t going to be helpful.” You shot up from your seat and quickly went out your office. Yelling over your shoulder “I’ll be back! I still want to hear about your mission!” You can hear her chuckle and mutter to herself that she was always helpful.

Once you made it to Fury’s office you knock on the door knowing he had a meeting with agent 14 about her set up for the assignment. The door open and there stood Fury with an amuse look and agent 14 with a sour look on her face. “Sorry am I interrupting something?” You ask all innocently.

Fury open the door wider to let you in. You took a seat and waited for Fury to start. “Well your mentee was just letting me know what she was planning to do with her assignment.” Fury stated and gave agent 14 a look to continue.

Y/n stared at her and notice she was gripping the chair too tightly, her right foot twitching, heart rate slightly elevated, and jaw was tensing. Common signs of being Frustrated and tense. Y/N smirk and settle into her chair. “As I was saying before Y/n grace us with her appearance, I would like to set up a recovery room make him believe that he is still in the 40’s before letting him know that he was asleep for 70 years.” Agent 14 look like she hit the jackpot with her little plan.

You can already tell her plan was going to back fire. Steven Grant Rogers AKA Captain America isn’t going to fall for this idiotic plan.

Before Fury could open his mouth you cut in “And just how are you going to convince him he is still in the 40’s? Forget about the recovery room cause anyone can make one.”

She glared at you and shifted her body towards you. “Well for starters I will have a very convincing backdrop behind the widow, a radio playing something from the 40’s and finally I will be dress as a 40’s government agent.” She snapped at you.

You can see that she was trying to hold her anger in, but this is going to be messy real quick. You looked at Fury and he nodded to you knowing that you were going to give your opinion on this matter. You sighed “I honestly think this is going to end badly. This is Captain America he isn’t going to fall for this. He will figure it out and be prepared to have some injured agents Fury.”

Agent 14 cross her arms and sneer at you “What is it that you don't like? Oh wait it doesn’t matter cause this isn’t your assignment it’s mine.”

You just shook your head and stared at her. “First off the radio isn’t going to work cause you don’t know what he listened to already. Second he’s a super soldier he’ll know its a backdrop and lastly how are you going to break it to him that he’s been asleep for 70 years?”

Agent 14 was fuming, you can see her knuckles turning white. You were about to continue but you heard Fury clearing his throat. You both turn your attention to Fury, he was leaning back in his chair fingers intertwine pressed against his chest. “As much as I want to hear your opinion on this matter, it is agent 14 assignment and it’s up to her if she wants to take your advice agent Y/L/N.”

Agent 14 was beaming with pride thinking she finally stump you. You scoff and got up from your seat to lean forward over Fury’s desk. Pressing your hands firmly on the steel cold desk and sporting your best “don't fuck with me” face.

“Just know this is going to end badly and when it does, you know where to reach me” you hissed, slightly pushing back from the desk and stalk your way out the office.

On your way back to your office you still felt off about agent 14’s set up. How can they deceive Captain America like that. The man who saved our lives by giving up his to the freezing Arctic. You sigh and slam your door open. Nat look up and notice your worry lines again.

“Want a hug маленькая смерть?” She cooed with her arms wide open.

You softly nodded and wrap yourself around her torso. You huffed and rested your forehead against her shoulder.

“Let’s go to lunch, you can finally tell me how your mission went.” You murmur softly as you let go of her and grabbing your purse.

“Fine by me маленькая смерть” Nat swiftly walked ahead of you holding the door open with teasing eyes. Glaring back you shove her out of the way and lock your office. You can hear her chuckling as she ruffled your hair. You playfully smack her hand away and laugh a little at the teasing Russian.

“And how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that Nat?” You whined but quickly laugh when she rolled her eyes at you. Perhaps after all that have been said hopefully agent 14 took your advice.

A couple weeks later you were in your office getting ready for a meeting with the new agents of SHIELD. Your job consist of weeding out the impotent, bad intentions, and down right evil of agents which happens once in awhile. You can read a person so well that in one glance you can tell what’s their behavior patterns are and what they will do next before they can even think about it. Were you a psychic? Absolutely not you just happen to make this job easier to reduce any rogue agents. You also help agents that defective from opposing countries and settled in to their new lives. Did you enjoy your job? Of course! Does it feel like something is missing? Maybe....

All the sudden you hear the over COM blasting out. “ALL AGENTS, CODE 13! I REPEAT ALL AGENTS, CODE 13!”

Your eyes widen quickly jumping from your seat, you felt your heart racing as you got to your door. Ripping open the door with great force that it barely tore off from its hinges. You look down and saw a couple of agents disperse across the floor. Your eyes located on agent 14 as she was trying to keep her composure, but you can tell that there were tears in her eyes, her heart booming, and her face completely red. Not everyone can handle this job.

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

Reaching into your pocket you answer your phone. You already knew who was calling didn’t even bother looking at the caller ID.

“Agent Y/L/N you were right. We need you to come in as soon as possible you’ll be handling this assignment.”

A/N: маленькая смерть means Petite mort. feedback is always welcome

#steve rogers #steve rogersxreader #captain america #captain americaxreader #marvel #steve x you #marvel mcu #mcu #avengers #steverogers #natasha romonova #nick fury #natasha romanoff #black widow #captainamerica fanfic

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nicholemhearn · 7 years

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Anti-Democratic Populism Caused the Dreamer Impasse

Trump planted a ticking DACA time-bomb in September and announced that Congress had six months to defuse it with a permanent legislative fix. Americans overwhelmingly want a fix. 87 percent think Dreamers should be allowed to stay in the U.S. Among Republicans, two-thirds support a path to citizenship. In an era of extreme partisan polarization, this level of cross-party consensus is exceedingly rare. A straight-up vote on a bipartisan bill limited to the terms for legalizing Dreamers would easily pass both houses of Congress. Moderate Republicans have offered multiple proposals capable of getting to the president’s desk with bipartisan support. So why don’t we have a fix already?

A couple weeks ago, Damon Linker, a columnist for the Week, provoked a controversy when he wrote:

[A] surprisingly large number of liberals are … not claiming that cuts to legal immigration shouldn’t be made, but that the very act of proposing and defending them in the first place is morally illegitimate. These liberals appear to believe that immigration restrictionists should be excluded on principle from participating in public debate and discussion about immigration policy in the United States.

“The liberal position,” Linker went on to say, “amounts to saying that the U.S. should be forbidden from changing this policy, with the country locked into continuing on our current course, no matter what voters think or want.”

I believe this is completely backwards, and I’d like to explain why. The liberal position is simply the mundane small “d” democratic position. In a democracy, when a clear majority of the population and a clear majority of their democratic representatives in the legislature support a position, that position ought to win the day. The problem is that this mundane democratic principle has been implicitly rejected by conservatives in the grip of populist thinking that is, at bottom, hostile to ideals of political equality and equal democratic representation.

Our impasse on DACA, and immigration policy more generally, is driven in no small measure by the populist conviction that the majority position on immigration lacks legitimate democratic authority, and that the restrictionist minority—which sees itself as the authentic and authoritative source of American identity and American political authority—is morally entitled to prevail.

Populism is hostile to democracy, especially multi-ethnic democracy

DACA concerns the legal treatment of a special class of illegal immigrants—young people, known as Dreamers, brought to the United States as children. The Trump administration has used the threat of stripping Dreamers of their limited rights under DACA, making them vulnerable to detention and deportation, as leverage to negotiate changes to the legal immigration system, including cuts to annual admissions. This hostage-taking strategy would not have been necessary were Congressional majorities in favor of cutting legal immigration. But they aren’t, and it is easy enough to see why. According to Gallup 73 percent of Americans want immigration levels to remain steady or rise. Just 35 percent wants cuts.

This minority is intensely motivated, however, and its constituents make up majorities in a number of GOP congressional districts where representatives risk primary challenges if they aren’t restrictionist enough. Immigration coverage on restrictionist outlets such as Breitbart, the Daily Caller, and Fox News makes it abundantly clear that this intense motivation is driven by alarm over the fact that the increase in Hispanic immigration since 1965 has been reshaping American culture and national identity in a way that challenges the centrality and dominance of white Americans.

These are the concerns behind Donald Trump’s ethno-nationalist populism, which is slowly taking over the Republican Party and the American right. For white-identity populists, such as the president, many non-white Americans, though technically citizens, lack the ethnic and cultural attributes that entitle them to full and equal standing as members of “the people.” As the Princeton political theorist Jan Werner-Muller has explained, populism is an anti-democratic impulse disguised in the garb of romantic democratic notions about “the people” and its exclusive claim to political authority. Populism is anti-democratic because it is anti-pluralistic, reserving full inclusion in the national community and the democratic public to a relatively culturally and ethnically homogenous population of true Russians, true Poles, true Hungarians, or true Americans. Populists gerrymander “the people” in a way that denies legitimacy to their electoral rivals’ claims to an equal share of democratic political authority.

Citizens who fall short of the populists’ exclusive ideal of national identity tend to be cast as alien, criminal, disloyal, corrupt, and corrupting. They don’t count. Those who do fit the mold of authentic national identity, but nonetheless oppose the populist agenda, are cast as faithless, degenerate, deracinated “elites” driven by a self-hating contempt for their countrymen. They don’t count, either.

Donald Trump is a master of the populist trick of the plausibly deniable denationalization of less-than-fully-loyal and less-than-fully-American Americans. He performed the populist’s sleight of hand again and again over the course of his State of the Union Address, a speech that was advertised as “unifying,” but was so only in the sense that it was engineered to unify the Americans who count against the Americans who don’t.

In his address to Congress, Trump ramped up to his offer on DACA with repeated, vivid fear-mongering stories about death-dealing Latin American drug gangs, communicating his low general regard for Hispanic people and supplying a clear and simple explanation of his desire to spend lavishly on a wall meant specifically to keep them out of American territory. To make the thrust of his remarks clearer, but not too clear, Trump threw in a healthy helping of classic populist identity politics doublespeak. “My duty,” Trump said, “is to defend Americans—to protect their safety, their families, their communities, and their right to the American Dream. Because Americans are dreamers too.”

Uncloseted white nationalists, fluent in dog-whistle, heard the president loud and clear and responded with gratitude.

Why did these lines so please Richard Spencer and David Duke? Because they correctly grasped the not-very-sub subtext of Trump’s remarks and took it to articulate their own position: Dreamers, who have grown up American alongside Americans, don’t count as Americans, and count less than Americans, because they lack the right ethnocultural pedigree.They don’t even deserve a sympathetic name and should have that taken from them, too, because they are, after all, mostly Mexican by birth, and that, as Trump is always quick to suggest, makes them dangerous, more like MS-13 machete murderers than the salt of the earth they may seem to be. Therefore, neither the president nor Congress is duty-bound to defend their rights, their safety, their families, or their communities. On the contrary, to defend so-called Dreamers would be to fail in the defense of real Americans, whose dreams matter.

Populist are always a majority of the gerrymandered people

Trump’s relatively overt embrace of an exclusionary, ethno-nationalist conception of political membership and democratic authority helps explain why Congress has failed, again and again, to pass immigration legislation supported by both a majority of the American people and a majority of Congress. From the populist perspective, the elements of the populist agenda can never really lack a democratic mandate, because the voices of those who oppose their platform are removed from the chorus of the authoritative democratic will. Therefore, despite the fact that nativist immigration restrictionism is indisputably a minority position, in Gallup’s sense, it is, for the populist, the majority opinion of Americans whose voices and votes count.

In the rigged anti-pluralist moral math of populism, the position that deserves to prevail is the one with the most Americanness behind it, not the one with the most so-called Americans. A majority made up of subpar citizens can technically win, but only with votes that should count less, or that maybe shouldn’t count at all. A legislative compromise that grants legitimacy and weight to the concerns of a dubiously American majority amounts to the surrender of the authentic people’s sovereign right of democratic self-determination. That’s why the nativist right is so fiercely resistant to allowing a clean DACA fix to go the floor for an up-or-down vote. It’s not just that they’d lose their leverage. For the populist, clearing away their artfully sinister Hobson’s choice and allowing a clean vote to go forward would amount to a sort of moral/cultural voter fraud, permitting the will of the people who don’t count to prevail over the will of the people who do.

The fact that nearly 80 percent of Dreamers are Mexican helps explain why taking their rights hostage to negotiate a more restrictive immigration system, including a “wall” along the Mexican border, just makes sense to newly empowered ethno-nationalist populists. The problem they are trying to solve is that, by their lights, America has become too brown, too un-American, due in no small measure to immigration from Mexico, which has disrupted the cultural and political primacy those of us of European ancestry are entitled to.

If you lack the power to literally disenfranchise the un-American majority, the least you can do is to turn the majority’s will against itself. The fact that the majority is so determined to protect a huge group of “illegals” is, for populist restrictionists, evidence of the illegitimacy of majority rule on the question of the level of immigration. The majority is illicit precisely because it refuses to put the interests of real Americans first. Because cutting immigration and slowing the pace of America’s transition to a majority-minority country is the first priority of the ethno-nationalist populist agenda, it makes all the sense in the world to use the threat of stripping a huge group of mostly Mexican immigrants of their rights to legally exist in America as leverage to compel agreement to the populist minority’s demand for cuts. It’s a savvy strategy because, as long as they’re able procedurally to force this choice, it works out for them either way. If the populists manage to exploit the majority’s sentimentality about Dreamers to get permanent cuts in legal immigration, which an un-coerced majority would otherwise never affirm, they win. If they run out the clock, having blocked every proposal that doesn’t include cuts, and leave Dreamers bereft of DACA’s legal protections, they will have sent a clear and chilling message about who does and does not belong in America, about whose lives matter, whose rights are empty, and whose rights have worth. This would be a lesser but still substantial nativist win.

In either case, there’s an insidious subversion of basic ideals of democratic equality and majority rule. That’s why it is so important that Mitch McConnell and Paul Ryan allow a straight up-or-down vote on a bipartisan compromise DACA fix. In particular, the House’s “Hastert Rule,” which requires a majority of the majority party to support a bill before sending it to the floor for a vote, offers the populist minority a powerful tool with which to stymie democratic majorities and extort changes to policy that most Americans, and most members of Congress, don’t support. There is no remotely defensible justification this kind of minority-veto thuggery.

None of this suggests, as Linker contends, that liberals believe that the “U.S. should be forbidden from changing this policy, with the country locked into continuing on our current course, no matter what voters think or want.” Because the beliefs and desires of voters are so important to liberals, who tend to be enthusiasts for democracy, most of them have come to the unremarkable conclusion that a third of the electorate shouldn’t get to shut everything down until it can finagle whatever it wants from a stoutly opposed majority. Healthy democracies don’t work like that. But that is how populists, committed to the moral de-nationalization and disenfranchisement of political opponents, need our democracy to work.

American democracy is already two wheels in the ditch. If Republican leadership refuses to permit a clean vote on a bipartisan DACA compromise, it will have capitulated to the noxious ethnocentric, anti-democratic populist ideology driving restrictionist demands. Moderate Republicans need to pressure their party’s leaders to bring a bipartisan DACA fix to the floor, whether or not the White House has signed off in advance, whether or not there is clear majority-majority House support. Republican leadership are duty-bound to let the legislature legislate, to let our representatives to represent us. To refuse to do so is to affirm and strengthen the pernicious and divisive idea that some Americans count more and that the votes and rights of others hardly count at all.

—

Will Wilkinson is Vice President for Policy at the Niskanen Center

The post Anti-Democratic Populism Caused the Dreamer Impasse appeared first on Niskanen Center.

from nicholemhearn digest https://niskanencenter.org/blog/anti-democratic-populism-caused-dreamer-impasse/

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nedsecondline · 7 years

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Jenna Abrams, Russia’s Clown Troll Princess, Duped the Mainstream Media and the World

Jenna Abrams had a lot of enemies on Twitter, but she was a very good friend to viral content writers across the world.

Her opinions about everything from manspreading on the subway to Rachel Dolezal to ballistic missiles still linger on news sites all over the web.

One website devoted an entire article to Abrams’ tweet about Kim Kardashian’s clothes. The story was titled “This Tweeter’s PERFECT Response to Kim K’s Naked Selfie Will Crack You Up.”

“Thank goodness, then, that there are people like Twitter user Jenna Abrams to come to the celebrity’s wardrobe-lacking aide,” reads a Brit & Co. article from March of 2016.

Those same users who followed @Jenn_Abrams for her perfect Kim Kardashian jokes would be blasted with her shoddily punctuated ideas on slavery and segregation just one month later.

“To those people, who hate the Confederate flag. Did you know that the flag and the war wasn’t about slavery, it was all about money,” Abrams’ account tweeted in April of last year.

The tweet went viral, earning heaps of ridicule from journalists, historians, and celebrities alike, then calls for support from far-right users coming to her defense.

That was the plan all along.

Congressional investigators working with social-media companies have since confirmed that Abrams wasn’t who she said she was.

Her account was the creation of employees at the Internet Research Agency, or the Russian government-funded “troll farm,” in St. Petersburg.

Jenna Abrams, the freewheeling American blogger who believed in a return to segregation and said that many of America’s problems stemmed from PC culture run amok, did not exist.

But Abrams got very real attention from almost any national news outlet you can think of, according to a Daily Beast analysis of her online footprint.

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Abrams, who at one point boasted nearly 70,000 Twitter followers, was featured in articles written by Bustle, U.S. News and World Report, USA Today, several local Fox affiliates, InfoWars, BET, Yahoo Sports, Sky News, IJR, Breitbart, The Washington Post, Mashable, New York Daily News, Quartz, Dallas News, France24, HuffPost, The Daily Caller, The Telegraph, CNN, the BBC, Gizmodo, The Independent, The Daily Dot, The Observer, Business Insider, The National Post, Refinery29, The Times of India, BuzzFeed, The Daily Mail, The New York Times, and, of course, Russia Today and Sputnik.

Many of these stories had nothing to do with Russia—or politics at all. Instead, stretching back to 2014, Abrams’ account built up an image of a straight-talking, no-nonsense, viral-tweet-writing young American woman. She was featured in articles as diverse as “the 15 funniest tweets this week” to “#FeministAMovie Proves Why Twitter Can’t Have Nice Things.” Then, once she built her following, she would push divisive views on immigration, segregation, and Donald Trump, especially as the 2016 election loomed.

Abrams’ pervasiveness in American news outlets shows just how much impact Russia’s troll farm had on American discourse in the run-up to the 2016 election—and illustrates how Russian talking points can seep into American mainstream media without even a single dollar spent on advertising.

***

Remnants from some of Abrams’ most elaborate conspiracies and xenophobic opinions still remain in replies from celebrities sparring with—or agreeing with—her account.

Roseanne Barr responded to one of Abrams’ tweets on Feb. 2, 2016, to call a common enemy “pro-pedophile.” Abrams’ tweet earlier in the day about a Saudi Arabian Starbucks went viral, meriting pickup from The Telegraph and Russia Today, and even a response from Starbucks’ corporate Twitter account.

Barr elaborated in a tweet later in the month, saying “dems repubs libertarians indies greens, black white yellow red-all religions” are “#PEDOPHILES.”

Even Michael McFaul, the former U.S. ambassador to Russia and an expert in Russian propaganda, got into a number of Twitter spats with Abrams. McFaul responded to Abrams’ posts in 10 separate months between February of 2015 and August of 2016.

Before they knew the account was run by paid disinformation agents, Abrams’ ahistorical slavery revisionism irked journalists and historians alike.

Al Letson, the host of the Center for Investigative Reporting’s Reveal podcast, received over 65,000 retweets and 153,000 likes when he refuted Abrams’ incorrect Civil War claim.

“It’s much easier to say the Civil War was about money, when your ancestors weren’t the currency,” said Letson, whose tweet is still pinned to the top of his Twitter page.

Historian Kevin Kruse’s quote-tweet of Abrams accrued over 41,000 retweets.

“No, the Civil War was about slavery,” he wrote. “Sincerely, Historians.”

“I responded to the tweet because it echoed an argument I’ve heard many times: that the Civil War was somehow not about slavery, even when the seceding states and the Confederate government made it quite clear, in their own words at the time, that it was entirely about slavery,” Kruse told The Daily Beast.

That argument was echoed once again just this past week, as White House Chief of Staff John Kelly claimed the Civil War was only fought because of “the lack of an ability to compromise.”

Kruse said both Kelly’s thoughts, and the Kremlin-funded viral tweet that preceded it on Abrams’ account, “are deeply at odds with the historical record.”

“The Confederate statues across the South that [Kelly] and others in this administration now defend were a vital part of the ‘Lost Cause’ myth constructed in the early 20th century to obscure the basic truths about the Civil War,” he said.

***

While the the typical image of a Russian troll may be a hastily put together Twitter account blaring out non-stop political messages, Abrams’ account went to great lengths to simulate a real, American person who existed outside of Twitter fights and amplifying racist disinformation.

Her Twitter account was created back in 2014. She had a personal website, a Medium page, her own Gmail, and even a GoFundMe page.

When The Daily Beast attempted to email Jenna’s email address, [email protected] (“Yes, there are 3 Ns,” her Twitter bio read), an automatic reply from Google stated that the “account that you tried to reach is disabled.” Google refused to comment when asked if the company had pulled the account for its ties to the Kremlin troll farm.

One of Abrams’ earliest media mentions came well before the 2016 election, in a June 2015 BBC article that aggregated Twitter users’ feelings about women choosing not to shave their armpits. Later that year, British newspaper The Telegraph picked up one of her Twitter jokes about punctuation.

But in the run-up to Election Day, Abrams’ account, and the people who were in control of it, became much more political.

In September 2016, Abrams wrote a now-removed Medium post titled “Why do we need to get back to segregation.”

“Humanity has gone full circle. Never mind how many activists of any color died to get rid of segregation, and fought for inclusion, black people want it back. 100% free people made their choice, and their choice is segregation,” Abrams wrote.

She also posted a summary of former FBI Director James Comey’s public testimony, writing “Comey admitted Hillary is a liar,” plus a picture of black and green olives, mocking the Black Lives Matter movement. CNN subsequently picked up the photo.

This sort of content seemed to become Abrams’ niche, and it tended to accrue the most replies and shares.

Abrams’ Confederate flag tweet was one of her most viewed posts, with a slew of journalists, commentators, and other high-profile Twitter users catapulting Abrams’ rhetoric to new heights. Even if those users were attempting to engage or argue against Abrams’ views, they likely did not know that, in fact, these were manufactured opinions of a Russian manipulation factory.

When Abrams joined in with an anti-Clinton hashtag, The Washington Post included her tweet in its own coverage. One outlet used an image of a terrorist attack sourced from Abrams’ Twitter feed.

As The Daily Beast reported on Wednesday, Michael Flynn Jr. retweeted Abrams at least once to his 30,000+ followers shortly before the election.

Still, Abrams went to great lengths to tell most people that she was not a Trump supporter, just a real person with an email address who wanted Americans to send her a message.

“Calm down, I’m not pro-Trump. I am pro-common sense,” Abrams’ biography read on Twitter. “Any offers/ideas/questions?”

***

The Twitter user Ironghazi couldn’t remember what Jenna Abrams wrote in April that made him pose as a news reporter so he could call her a “dumbass moron,” but he knows whoever wrote it was pretty vacant.

“If she got the ‘Hi, I’m Ironghazi from (CBS News)’ treatment, she must’ve been [a moron],” he told The Daily Beast.

It was Abrams’ Civil War tweet that prompted this reply from Ironghazi, which racked up over 1,000 retweets and 5,600 likes:

“Hi Jenn, I’m a reporter with CBS News and I’m doing a story on dumbass morons,” it reads. “Do you mind if I feature your tweet and avatar?”

Ironghazi, who declined to give his real name for this story because “when you make people mad online, they tend to try to find you for some reason,” is a notorious Twitter troll in his own right. In his most viral tweet, he shrank every continent with Photoshop to make them fit inside a map of the USA so he could illustrate “just how vast our great nation is.”

In other words, one of Twitter’s most infamous American trolls had been out-trolled by a state-sponsored Russian influence operation.

Now, over a year later, he says he didn’t suspect a thing. From one troll to another, Ironghazi thought Jenna Abrams, the sometimes funny, often stupid, always angry American, was a natural.

“The key to being a good troll is being just stupid enough to be believable, keeping in mind that the ultimate goal is making people mad online,” he said. “To that end, this Jed Abraham account succeeded.” He then clarified that the misspelling of Abrams’ name was intentional.

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johnbutlersbuzz · 7 years

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New Post has been published on http://www.johnbutlersbuzz.com/go-directly-to-the-emergency-room/

"GO DIRECTLY TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM"

A different view than watching a sunrise from the sailboat as I returned from Cuba a few days ago. And more threatening than being close to the gators in the Everglades just hours before arriving at the ER.

The doctor’s voice came through the phone firmly. “Do not drive yourself. Have someone drive you directly to the emergency room.”

Before my cell phone rang, I had been going thru musty boxes of old photos, notes my wife had written before she died, college notes, writings, etc. Each box was being reduced to a handful of things I thought would be nice to keep for the proverbial day of sitting in the rocking chair in my old age reflecting back on life someday. Since I flew back to Dallas for Easter, I thought I would take a few hours to clear out some of the “memory boxes” taking up storage space.

I stayed over an extra day and had some extra time. Had a routine CT scan the day before related to slightly bulging disk that gives me a little discomfort periodically. No big deal.

My cell phone rings with a NO CALLER ID on the screen. Probably a telemarketer I think putting the phone back down. The NO CALLER ID is either a junk call or a very important call. I decide to answer. It’s the doctor. “I have good news and I have bad news.” I immediately assume he is setting me for a joke since I know him.

“Okay, good news first,” I say playing along.

“The good news is the spot we were watching is not a problem. The bad news is you need to go to the hospital … to the emergency room … immediately. You have a blood clot … a pulmonary embolism. Do not drive yourself. Have someone drive you directly to the emergency room.”

“You realize of course,” I said still with my sense of humor radar out and not comprehending what he was telling me, “I don’t have time for this.”

“John, you’ve heard of a widow-maker … well, ah, you have a serious situation … and you are lucky to be here. You could die on the way to the hospital. Again, do not drive yourself and do not delay,” he stated authoritatively to drive the point into my thick scull.

“I get it … I hear you. I will leave now.”

His words bounced around inside my head. An out-of-the-blue bit of shocking news.

A surrealist moment walking downstairs where my son had just entered. He drove me to the Presbyterian Emergency Room. I was still processing the phone call. My son was also.

Hospitals are not my idea of a place to hang-out especially if you are sick. The Emergency Room was filled with cold and flu sufferers. People coughing, spitting into cups and an occasional moaning. I felt for all of them, but the whole place struck me as a Russian Roulette germ exchange.

So, boring details aside, I went through questioning, a series of tests, scans and, of course, several blood draws. I’m convinced it’s a scheme by the head nurse to take enough blood to weaken each patient into submission. Just a hunch.

When the ER doc appeared, the verdict: Blood clot or clots had passed through the right side of my heart, then into my right lung, lodging there. “You are lucky to be alive,” he said.

The next day, after more tests, scans, and, of course, more blood drawn I got the best of the bad news. My heart was NOT damaged. A little stressed, but no long term damage. What damage it caused was in the right lung and it would heal as the clot dissolves with a new med. Had the clot been slightly larger it would have stopped at my heart. I could have dropped dead on the spot. The fatality rate is as high as 80% with this type of condition depending on factors such as the size of the asteroid, or rather, the clot.

This one apparently came from my leg. It can happen to anyone. Take note if you are going on long flights or long car rides. The sitting/driving part for long periods in ARGO this year put me in the high risk category.

I didn’t want to write till I was sure I was in the clear. I had been in intense pain, but was trying to power thru it. My daughter gave me a stern lecture about not doing that again when she came to help me. She is a good caring daughter and I pay attention to her advice.

I am out of the hospital and laying low. Good news: There is no long term damage to my heart. So, instead of a game over scenario for me, it’s back to where I left off. Flying back to Florida to continue my American discovery journey project as I mental process my near miss with the staircase to Heaven. Grateful I can continue the project of talking with folks across America and filming stories for the documentary.

So the take away from this for me, AND FOR YOU: 1. Stay hydrated by drinking extra water (as a double benefit the extra water will motivate you to get up sooner) 2. Stop at least once an hour and walk around if you are driving or flying long distances. 3. In between stops, rock your feet back and forth and wiggle your toes. . These simple things help will move the blood around to help you avoid a blood clot. Not doing so puts us at risk for blood clots for a few weeks following driving/flying long periods.

I found that out first hand. Even though I have no history of any clotting or heart problems and I work out regularly … it happened to me.

Fortunately I get to hang around a bit longer to continue my project Discovering America One Story At A Time and my blog: JohnButlersBuzz.com.

“Life is a near death experience.” – George Carlin

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