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elderbloodlore · 4 years

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Calanthe was not a racist homicidal tyrant: a useless and bitter rant of someone whose favourite character ever got mercilessly butchered.

WHY ARE YOU WRITING THIS?

Well, let me give you a little bit of a backstory. I first read the Last Wish and the Sword of Destiny in 2012, when I was 14 years old. I instantly connected with the character of Calanthe, and after her death, it took me nearly a year to be able to pick up the saga itself. Ever since, she remained my favourite fictional character ever. As a little girl in misoginistic Poland, I was so lucky to have her as a role model. Because she fought for herself, she took no shit from anybody, she had love and respect of the people around her, and yet she had such tenderness and kindness about her that many strong woman-trope characters are missing these days, and that is exactly what happened to Calanthe when she was being translated to the screen. In 2015 The Wild Hunt was coming out and there were rumours of Ciri being included, so you can imagine my absolute glee and the hope I was filled with to have some more content with that one woman that meant so much to me growing up. And you can imagine my disappointment when all we got about her were a couple tiny mentions, even though the events of the Wild Hunt happen not even a decade after her death. Then the show by Netflix was announced and, once again, I had super high expectations. I wanted to see the wise, kind, beautiful Queen brought alive. December 2019 rolls in, and my hopes are being steamrolled. So here I am, 22 years old and crying over a fictional character, because one of the best written female characters ever (in my opinion) entered mainstream as a bullish, racist, homicidal tyrant. So let me address the biggest changes the show made to my beloved Calanthe Fiona Riannon, the Lioness of Cintra.

THE LOOKS

That was obviously the first thing that threw me off. I was quite enthusiastic when the cast was announced, but then as the first promo pictures were released, my enthusiasm was slowly dying down. In the books, Calanthe’s looks are adressed very often:

“As before, the queen wore emeralds matching the green of her dress and her eyes. As before, a thin gold crown encircled her ash-gray hair.” Sword of Destiny.

I tried to convince myself that Jodhi May won’t be a bad Calanthe so hard that I actually made this poor ass EDIT to feed my delusions and cheer myself up. In comparison, HERE is my personal favourite art of Calanthe that I find is the most accurate to the book portrayal.

Even when the first trailer dropped I was still trying to convince myself that even though she has none of her Elder Blood features or her iconic emerald green, that she wore exclusively in the books, she couldn’t be that bad. Right? Wrong.

THE DEMEANOR

This is probably the biggest change. Calanthe was one of the wisest, most gracefully-written characters in the entire saga, and I really hoped to see that on screen. She was quick-witted, calculating, but at the same time caring enough to let her daughter choose her own destiny in the end (even if it was to be with a hedgehog-headed man twice her age). Her smiles were said to always be full of kindness, she was acting very proper and clearly cared about her image. I’m not going to be getting too much into it with my own words, let these examples speak for me:

'Ah, Geralt,' said Calanthe, with a gesture forbidding a servant from refilling her goblet. 'I speak and you remain silent. We're at a feast. We all want to enjoy ourselves. Amuse me. I'm starting to miss your pertinent remarks and perceptive comments. I'd also be pleased to hear a compliment or two, homage or assurance of your obedience. In whichever order you choose.' [...] 'Hochebuz,' said Calante, looking at Geralt, 'my first battle. Although I fear rousing the indignation and contempt of such a proud witcher, I confess that we were fighting for money. Our enemy was burning villages which paid us levies and we, greedy for our tributes, challenged them on the field. A trivial reason, a trivial battle, a trivial three thousand corpses pecked to pieces by the crows. And look - instead of being ashamed I'm proud as a peacock that songs are sung about me. Even when sung to such awful music' Again she summoned her parody of a smile full of happiness and kindness, and answered the toast raised to her by lifting her own, empty, goblet. Geralt remained silent. The Last Wish.

'Aha,' said Calanthe quietly, clearly pleased. 'And what do you say, Geralt? The girl has taken after her mother. It's even a shame to waste her on that red-haired lout, Crach. The only hope is that the pup might grow into someone with Eist Tuirseach's class. It's the same blood, after all. Are you listening, Geralt? Cintra has to form an alliance with Skellige because the interest of the state demands it. My daughter has to marry the right person. Those are the results you must ensure me.' The Last Wish.

‘Very well then. As queen, I shall convene a council tomorrow. Cintra is not a tyranny. The council will decide whether a dead king's oath is to decide the fate of the successor to the throne. It will decide whether Pavetta and the throne of Cintra are to be given to a stranger, or to act according to the kingdom's interest.' The Last Wish.

'Pavetta!' Calanthe repeated. 'Answer. Do you choose to leave with this creature?' Pavetta raised her head. 'Yes.' The Force filling the hall echoed her, rumbling hollowly in the arches of the vault. No one, absolutely no one, made the slightest sound. Calanthe very slowly, collapsed into her throne. Her face was completely expressionless. The Last Wish.

Guards, armed with guisarmes and lances, ran in from the entrance. Calanthe, upright and threatening, with an authoritative, abrupt gesture indicated Urcheon to them. Pavetta started to shout, Eist Tuirseach to curse. Everyone jumped up, not quite knowing what to do. ‘Kill him!' shouted the queen. The Last Wish.

CINTRA, RACISM AND MURDERING HER OWN PEOPLE

In the books, Cintra was often mentioned to be obiding by the rules of the elves:

‘Dear child,’ said Vesemir gravely, 'don’t let yourself get carried away by your emotions. You were brought up differently, you’ve seen children being brought up in another way. Ciri comes from the south where girls and boys are brought up in the same way, like the elves. She was put on a pony when she was five and when she was eight she was already riding out hunting. She was taught to use a bow, javelin and sword. A bruise is nothing new to Ciri—’ Blood of Elves.

There were many elves and dwarves living peacefully within its borders. Calanthe’s two names - Fiona and Riannon, come from her ancestors that are respectively a quarter and a half elf, and known to be that. Calanthe was the one who taught Ciri that non-humans are not dangerous:

‘I’m not afraid at all!’ Ciri suddenly cried, assuming her little devil face for a moment. ‘And I’m not parrotised! So you’d better watch your step! Nothing can happen to me here. Be sure! I’m not afraid. My grandmamma says that dryads aren’t evil, and my grandmamma is the wisest woman in the world! My grandmamma… My grandmamma says there should be more forests like this one…’ Sword of Destiny.

There was no actual reason nor basis for the showrunners to make her racist and make her murder elves. Having her walk into her own daughter’s birthday party, bathed in elven blood, while she knows that the same blood flows in her own veins, at least partially, was completely unnecessary. Even in the polish version of the show from 2001 Calanthe said:

RELATIONSHIP WITH GERALT

This probably hits me the most on personal level, because I feel like Calanthe had a huge impact on Geralt’s growth as a character, and with such a drastic change to their relationship, I’m unsure as to he will now proceed to develop. Calanthe was, in large, one of the first people in the books that treated Geralt as anything more than a mutant. Here are some of my favourite scenes between the two, in comparison with how their relationship was portrayed in the show:

"At times, no, for years at a time, I deluded myself that you might forget. Or that for other reasons you might be prevented from coming. No, I didn't want anything unfortunate to happen to you, but I had to take into consideration the dangerous nature of your profession. It is said that death follows in your footsteps, Geralt of Rivia, but that you never look behind you. Then... when Pavetta... You know already?" "I know," Geralt said, inclining his head. "My sincere condolences..." "No," she interrupted, "it was all long ago. I no longer wear mourning clothes, as you see. I wore them for long enough.” Sword of Destiny.

He slowly pushed the cup on the table so that the clink of silver on malachite would not betray the uncontrollable trembling of his arm. "You don't deny it?" "No." She bent to seize his hand with vigor. "You disappoint me," she said, giggling prettily. "This isn't voluntary," he responded, laughing as well. "How did you guess, Calanthe?" "I did not guess." She did not release his hand. "I said it at random, that's all." They broke out in laughter. Sword of Destiny.

"I will not take it. It is too great a responsibility, one that I refuse to assume. I would not want for this child to speak about you the way... the way I..." "You hate this woman, Geralt?" "My mother? No, Calanthe. I doubt that she was given a choice... or perhaps she had no say? No, she had, you know, enough formulas and elixirs... Choice. There is a sacred and incontestable choice of every woman that must be respected. Emotions are of no importance here. She had the indisputable right to make such a choice. That's what she did. But I think about meeting her, the expression on her face then... it gives me a sort of perverse pleasure, if you understand what I mean." Sword of Destiny.

A rosebush grew next to the gazebo. Geralt plucked a flower, breaking its stem and then knelt, his head bowed, presenting the flower in his hands. "I regret that I did not meet you sooner, white-haired one," she said, accepting the offered rose. "Rise." He rose. "If you change your mind," she went on, sniffing the flower, "if you decide... Return to Cintra. I will wait for you. Your destiny will be waiting for you, as well. Perhaps not advitam aeternam, but for some time, no doubt." "Farewell, Calanthe." "Farewell, witcher. Look after yourself. I... I sometimes feel... in a strange way... that I am seeing you for the last time." "Farewell, my queen." Sword of Destiny.

FALL OF CINTRA AND CALANTHE’S DEATH

We were robbed of so many epic scenes that truly took away from Calanthe’s millitary accomplishments and showed none of the strength and determination she originally had:

"The Nilfgaardians dealt the first blow," he began after a moment of silence. "There were thousands. They met with the armies of Cintra in the Marnadal valley. The battle lasted all day: from dawn to dusk. Cintra's troops valiantly resisted before being decimated. The king died, and that's when the queen..." "Calanthe." "Yes. Seeing that her army had succumbed to panic and scattered, she gathered around herself and her standard any who could still fight and formed a line of defense that reached the river, next to the city. All the soldiers who were still able followed." "And Calanthe?" "With a handful of knights, she covered the troops' crossing and defended the rear. They say she fought like a man, plunging into the thick of the battle. She was impaled by pikes when she charged against the Nilfgaardian infantry. She was then evacuated to the city. What's in that flask, Geralt?" "Vodka. Want some?" "Well then, gladly." "Speak. Continue, Dandelion. Tell me everything." "The city wasn't properly defended. There was no headquarters. The defensive walls were empty. The rest of the knights and their families, the princes and the queen, barricaded themselves in the castle. The Nilfgaardians then took the castle after their sorcerers reduced the gate to cinders and burned down the walls. Only the tower, apparently protected by magic, resisted the spells of the Nilfgaardian sorcerers. Even so, the attackers penetrated inside four days later without making camp. The women had killed the children, the boys and girls, and fell upon their own swords or... What's is it, Geralt?" "Continue, Dandelion." "Or... like Calanthe... head first, from the battlement, the very top... It's said that she asked to be... but no-one would agree. So she climbed up to the crenelations and... jumped head first. They say they did horrible things to the corpse afterward. I don't want... What is it?” Sword of Destiny.

I understand that this happened because of limited screen time, probably, but the whole Fall of Cintra had been squeezed into what seemed to be a single day, a crushing defeat for Calanthe’s forces, and probably in some way, punishment for her pride.

AFTER CALANTHE’S DEATH

While reading the rest of the saga, these little snipits of people talking about Calanthe, mentioning her, often with respect and reverence, mentioning how her people mourned her and swore revange for her, truly kept me going through. I wished that, at the end, Ciri would find it in herself to return home and liberate it, as back then I had no way to spoil myself the ending. In the books, you can really feel the outrage almost all of Continent feels after the murder of Calanthe:

[...] Cintra is a symbol. Remember Sodden! If it were not for the massacre of that town and Calanthe's martyrdom, there would not have been such a victory then. The forces were equal — no one counted on our crushing them like that. But our armies threw themselves at their throats like wolves, like rabid dogs, to avenge the Lioness of Cintra. Blood of Elves.

[...] Bear in mind that these men left their homes and families, and fled to Sodden and Brugge, and to Temeria, because they wanted to fight for Cintra, for Calanthe’s blood. They wanted to liberate their country, to drive the invader from Cintra, so that Calanthe’s descendant would regain the throne. Baptism of Fire.

In the show, there is none of that. In fact, people seem to be full of disdain and hatred for her, saying things such as:

which, in turn, fills me with dread for the upcoming seasons, because I can already feel all the further butchery coming my beloved Queen’s way.

IN CONCLUSION

In all honestly, there is very little the Calanthe from the show has in common with the one from the books, the one I originally fell in love with. Which is not to say that Netflix’s Calanthe is not a great character in her own right, because who doesn’t love a badass sword-wielding Queen, but as a portrayal of the greatest ruler within the Witcher universe, and one of, in my opinion, best written female rules in literature, she falls flat, and that’s what pushed me to write this useless and slightly bitter rant, in hopes to maybe interest more people in the original version of Calanthe and maybe, just maybe, prompt some of you to read the saga or, at the very least, the short stories.

#Calanthe fiona riannon #queen calanthe #anti-netflix #rant #ask to tag

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polandspringz · 3 years

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Request: something about Glory & Asmo vibing . maybe painting each others nails . ill pay u

I know you already got to read this when I finished it, but here you go!!!

Title: Always at the Right Place, at the Right Time

Summary:

Whenever Poland invited everyone to the Human World, there was never any actual obligation to hang out with her. At least not for Glory. Any adventure were moments reserved for them, the Avatar of Lust and the Avatar of Vainglory.

(This is set in my series involving my MC, “Designing in the Devildom”. AO3 Link will be posted in the notes)

Grass. The smell of flowery perfume, too strong and too tacky. It burned the throat and lungs like sugary cotton candy, but they were both immune to the taste by now. A picnic blanket spread over the land, flowers were crushed beneath their weight. They didn’t care. The sun shone down on a chilly spring day in the human realm. Glory held out his hand, and Asmo held it gently in his own as he applied nail polish across it carefully.

“Don’t mess up,” Glory huffed, “I have a date tonight.”

“Another commitment? And here I thought you cleared your whole day for me!”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Why, darling, others do that for me,” Glory rolled his eyes at that, but it was all in good fun, no actual malice, “But, I won’t mess up. Although knocking your beauty down a peg would make me the prettiest in the three realms, I wouldn’t risk my beautician skills being slanders because I decided to be petty.”

“Good, cause if you mess up my nails I will douse you in acetone.”

The little brush moved across the nails, leaving gooey, light blue color behind. It was like liquid lipstick, squishy and shiny but as it dried it would harden into a perfect coating. The clear bottle of top coat rolled around on the picnic blanket as Asmo shifted, knocking into Glory’s knee. The color would be preserved, but protected underneath a thin layer of plastic and gloss.

“You’ve been different lately,” Glory blurted out. Asmo glanced up with surprise.

“What do you mean? Have I been even more beautiful?”

“No, and that’s just it. What you said earlier,” Glory rolled his free hand in the air as they gestured for something, “I’m used to you saying you’re the prettiest- which is false- but normally you don’t leave room for debate.”

Asmo finished the pinky finger, and then blew a soft puff of air over the whole hand before setting it back down on Glory’s thigh.

Glory didn’t like feelings. The only mushy stuff he cared about was makeup or textured fabrics of designer clothes that he knew would look great and help him show others up. But there was a distant look clouding Asmo’s eyes. He was smiling but his mind was elsewhere. He just sat there for a moment, leaning on his knees after he closed up the blue polish and set it down beside them.

Glory couldn’t help but notice the ugly pact mark that decorated Asmo’s skin, the bright pink ring that tattooed his skin, staining his neck, just visible underneath the collar. It seemed to pulsate when Glory stared at it, taunting him.

It disgusted him. He would die before he ever made a pact with any human.

Glory let out a scoff and sat back, tapping Asmo forcefully on the shoulder to knock him back to reality, “You’ll give yourself wrinkles if you keep a face like that. If you turn any uglier than you already are, I won’t hang around you anymore.”

Asmo let out a hearty laugh, his whole body radiant in the sunlight. He reached for the clear polish and shook the bottle as he let himself settle down. When he looked towards Glory’s other hand to inspect the nails, his eyes were brighter again, but also all too knowing.

Glory never needed to say much, Asmo was the best at picking up on the emotions people liked to hide. He could see right through him, but it was still nice of Glory to try and say something to make Asmo feel better. It was all the more genuine when said in his own Glory-way.

The balloons bumped into one another and the strings tangled as they were pulled through the wind and down the street. Two sets of shoes clattered and scraped against the sidewalk as the two ran along the tiny shops of downtown.

Asmo spun around, the balloons swinging with him as Glory rushed passed, taking the other demon's hand as they continued running. They hadn’t stolen anything and weren’t being chased, but there was something different about the human world. The air and the way everything was so colorful and bright as light bounced off everything, from puddles to windows of glass. The way life and the scents of the city were carried on the breeze. It was like Devildom but better.

The two of them stepped off the curb to cross the street, Glory’s heel clicking on the edge of the curb as he skipped forward.

He wished he could stay here forever.

Flashes of a camera interrupted the darkness of the night. The human realm’s night sky was much darker than Devildom’s artificial one, turning completely black even though it was only nine p.m. Glory lowered the polaroid that Poland had let her borrow, and Asmo scampered to take the developing photo from her. Slowly, the image of Asmo holding pink and blue cotton candy formed itself against the golden ferris wheel lights that spun against the black sky.

It was summer now. Poland had invited them all back to her world to visit a fair. Apparently this was a yearly thing where she used to live. It was a little crowded, a little too noisy and full of snot-nosed kids, but there were rides and there was food and strange human world entertainment. Most of it didn’t appeal to Glory, besides using the place as a backdrop for new Devilgram photos, but Asmo was coming with the rest of the brothers, and Diavolo was giving them a few extra days before they had to go back, and Glory would do anything to get out of the boring Devildom.

Poland must have noticed Glory’s disgust at the farm animals, stalls, and dirt paths when they first entered the fairgrounds, because Poland handed the camera over to her almost immediately. She had packed tons of film, handed a bunch of boxes full of starry, rainbow bordered packs that Glory could use to her heart’s content.

Half of the photos were already used up, littering the inside of the mini backpack Poland had given over to her. Random photos of people screaming on rides, humans running around or sitting under the tents. Seeing kids eat popcorn off the ground was gross, but taking pics as they tripped and ate shit and spilled popcorn all over the ground was fascinating. Before their group had split up, Lucifer had watched as Glory photographed the people in the historical tent, feeling the need to supervise the only demon not hiding her horns with magic in case she caused a ruckus.

“Based on your grades, I never suspected you would be interested in history,” he said smugly.

Glory focused on making sure the photo was tucked safely away and developing properly before shooting Lucifer a glare, flipping him off for good measure. The gasps of the historic actors had Lucifer flailing and shoving her hand down, dragging her away before she could cause anymore problems.

“Luce, wait!” Poland yelled, “You’re going to miss out on the old fashioned ice cream.”

Glory debated shouting out Lucifer’s full name, seeing if that would illicit anymore startled gasps from the old men and women sitting with bonnets by the display. That would make for a good picture too.

“Glory, let me take one of you now!” Asmo said, his fingers crawling around the camera as he tried to gently pry it out of her hands, “Go stand in front of that ride over there! The Himalaya!”

He pointed to a ride that was spinning at an unbelievably fast speed (for humans anyway), but it was flashy and colorful, which meant it would look wonderful blurred together, and there were so many humans waiting in the line, which would mean more people to preserve in her collection (she would have to invest in a scrapbook). She started to skip over, her boots digging into the clay, orange soil as the ride’s music was interrupted by a loud siren-like horn.

“Kolia, you stay back there with Belial!” Asmo waved to the other two members of their group. Kolia was the one suffering the most from the atmosphere of the fair. She only tagged along on the trip because it meant she got to see Poland again, but somehow she had gotten separated and nearly lost until she ran into Belial and the others outside a funnel cake stand.

Asmo hurried to take the photos as fast as the camera would allow, Glory striking a few poses and being tempted to take back the camera to snap the faces of the screaming riders behind her, but Asmo signaled the camera needed to be refilled with film and Glory had the bag so…

They rejoined the rest of their group.

“Where do you want to go now?” Asmo asked. Belial pointed towards the tents where all the vendors were in the middle of the fair grounds.

“I want to buy something. I saw shark tooth jewelry earlier.”

“Oh, and sand art!” Asmo chimed in.

“Do we have enough money? How much did Lucifer give us?” Kolia reached for her wallet.

“Hold on, hold on,” Glory mumbled as she finished snapping the new box of film inside the camera, “There! Good to go! Oh, wait a second-”

She leaned in and reached her arm around all of them, holding the camera up to snap what would become a very blurry selfie of them all.

“Alright, let's go!”

It was fall now. Glory sat on a bench surrounded by an expanse of orange colored leaves in the middle of a park. It was almost too picturesque, too cliche. Asmo had run off to get some warm drinks from the coffee shop down the street. It was getting cold again, the human realm had always felt so much colder than Devildom, but maybe that was just because of where Poland lived?

It was their last visit here before winter set in. Poland already had pulled a lot of strings to get the others to tag along on visits throughout the year, especially since she almost never seemed to invite Diavolo along. Glory wasn’t exactly sure what was up with that, maybe the Prince of Hell was just too busy, or maybe there was some sort of feud going on between them. It didn’t matter much to him though.

“I’m back!” Asmo said, walking up with the two, tall cups in either hand, “Sorry it took so long. They don’t have the drink you like here, so I had to improvise to get something similar.”

“That’s fine,” Glory said, plucking the cup from Asmo’s hand with just their finger and thumb on either side of it, “Probably would have tasted gross either way. Human food is bad.”

“Hey, you may have suffered through Solomon’s cooking over at Purgatory Hall, but that doesn’t mean everything from the human realm is bad,” Asmo chided, “Poland isn’t a great cook either, but there are tons of places all over this world with cute desserts and stuff.”

“A shame we won’t get to see them,” Glory sighed, popping the lid open and taking a sip.

Asmo stared at him for a moment before starting to get up, “I actually saw a shop selling some macaroons earlier! Let me go back and get them-”

Glory grabbed his sleeve to stop him.

“Stay,” they mumbled, avoiding eye contact, “We can go get some later.”

Asmo remained frozen for a moment, then slowly sat back down on the bench, “Alright then.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence. They watched birds in the empty park peck at the ground, but it was far too hard and cold for their beaks to find anything beneath it. The carpet of leaves was rustled by the wind, a few brown leaves breaking off to dance in a violent circle, their dried and dead edges scratching against the concrete and making a grating rhythm to the ears.

“It’s only going to be until the spring, you know that, right?” Asmo asked, “It’s not a long time for a demon.”

“It’s a long time for me because I can’t come and go as I please.”

“You… like the human world now, don’t you? I thought with how you always were ignoring Poland, you didn’t like coming here.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea, I only come here to hang with you. Poland is just… well she’s convenient, she’s just my ticket for a new hangout spot. I just didn’t expect to find other humans so interesting.”

“They are interesting, aren’t they?” Asmo laughed behind his hand, “They’re so funny to tempt-”

“-to trip up-”

“-to trick-”

“-to observe-”

“-and to love,” Asmo finished, a deep sigh escaping him as he leaned back against the bench, watching his breath rise with the steam of the drink, mixing together in the air. Glory watched him confused, and although Asmo was wearing a thick scarf, Glory’s eyes shot to where he knew that marking was over his neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Glory crossed his arms, setting the drink down on the bench, “But I’m just annoyed because I don’t like being restricted. I don’t care what’s going on with Diavolo and your brothers and Poland and everyone else. It’s stupid of them to restrain us from coming to this realm whenever we want.”

“You could always walk through the eight layers if you really wanted to get here-”

“You know I would never do that to myself. Horrible idea.”

“It’s just a thought,” Asmo shut his eyes, “I might traverse it if Lucifer lets me. I’m sure I won’t be the only one rushing back up here. Poland has a fashion show in January. I might come see it.”

Glory didn’t respond. They just sat and stared at the city skyline rising just behind the trees at the edge of the park. Eventually, Asmo leaned his head on Glory’s shoulder, his hands unknotting Glory’s posture as he pulled Glory’s hands in his. He cracked open his eyes just a bit as he brushed his fingers along the old polish, humming when he noticed the chips.

“You should let me do your nails again. Or give you a makeover. We’ll have so much time in the winter to hang out. Nothing will change.”

Glory sighed again, and shut his eyes and let his head bonk against the top of Asmo’s gently.

He was right afterall. Nothing would change.

It was winter. Snow was not really a Devildom “thing” but Glory was certain they would be seeing some in the coming days because Diavolo had a knack for using whatever magic he could harness to simulate as much of the human world as he could. Glory had holed themselves up in the bedroom at Purgatory Hall, sitting on the window seat as they watched the moon outside.

Simeon and Solomon were in the courtyard, doing something with Luke. While teasing the young angel did give Glory some entertainment, they really weren’t in the mood right now. They had gone over to the House of Lamentation to hang with Asmo, but realized they had forgotten he had skipped off to the Human World for Poland’s fashion show. Glory had been invited, but had declined because nothing was being made easy through the use of seals, and they had no idea why Asmo would ever want to torture himself taking the footpath there.

So, now they were alone.

Meaning things had changed.

Belial and Kolia were probably downstairs, Kolia holed up in her room no doubt surrounded by books, ugh. But there was no one to compete with or talk aimlessly with. They supposed they could just go outside and steal Simeon aside, the angel was always too polite to decline even if he wasn’t really interested in the things being said, but that sort of genuine disinterest they would sense from him would just continue to make things boring.

They missed Asmo. He hadn’t even painted their nails before they left.

Whatever, they could do it themselves. If only they could find the energy to move.

Glory knew the human world would be unreasonably cold and snowy and blustery right now, and that was no place for demons, but it would be better than the mundane, boring days full of RAD classes that would continue to stretch on for the rest of their eternity. They still didn’t really understand the point of the academy, just knew that if they didn’t attend it Diavolo would probably rear his true nature and execute them for treason or something.

Glory sighed again, something they had been doing a lot since the seasonal depression set in, and got up finally to move back over to their bed. If they were leaving their room that meant getting dressed up, and although they were the Avatar of Vainglory they weren’t feeling the need to fulfill their sin right now. Instead, they flopped over on their bed, face first as they let themselves sink into the blankets, their mind aimlessly drifting through thoughts but never clinging to one.

At some point, they fell asleep.

And were abruptly woken when Asmo crashed into their bedroom from a portal breaking through time and space.

“Asmo, what the fuck?” Glory sat up, rubbing their eyes.

The demon stood up from the floor and brushed himself off, reaching a hand out to Glory immediately as he kept the portal open behind him.

“Hi! Guess I got the teleporting right! Anyway, you need to come with me to the human world, right now.”

“What? I’m not dressed, why?”

“Poland needs another model for her fashion show! It starts in an hour and one of the models broke their ankle. Come on, we have to go!”

Asmo was pulling Glory out of bed, tugging them towards the portal.

“What? Hold on, is this another seal?” They pointed at the portal, “When did you get this?”

“Poland has one for emergencies. Come on!”

Glory was tossed through the portal with Asmo, popping out on the other side. They opened their eyes as the remnants of the seal disintegrated in Asmo’s hand. He shook off the dust before pushing open the door to a backstage area. There were models milling about, people running around holding bundles of fabric and palettes of makeup. Peeking out from behind the curtain, Glory could see flowers covering the walls, real flowers pasted from floor to ceiling all the way through the maze that had been set up for the runway.

Poland rushed by, nearly missing them as she talked into a headset and carried a dress she was still beading. Asmo caught her arm and froze her in her tracks.

“Wonderful! You’re here!” Poland’s face lit up as she shoved the dress to one of the (Glory presumed) assistants, “Let’s get your makeup done right away!”

They both started to guide Glory to one of the vanities, but they dug their heels in and turned around, “Wait, wait, wait. I’m all in for this but, Asmo, how are we getting back to Devildom if the seal broke? I’m not walking all the way back. Do you even know the entrance to how to get back?”

“I don’t have another seal,” Poland said, “That was for emergencies. Guess this just means you’ll have to stay with me until the others can come pick you up?”

“It will take me a few days to get back home on foot,” Asmo laughed, “If you’re insistent about waiting for another portal home, then that would probably give you a good week or so before Diavolo and Lucifer come to drag you back.”

Glory mulled it over for a moment, really not liking the idea of being stuck living with Poland for a few days, but then Poland flagged down someone who was walking by with the rolling rack, picking a hanger off it to show.

“This is what you’ll be wearing, by the way!”

Glory stared in awe as Poland continued, twisting the fabric of the outfit and pulling more accessories off the top of the rack, “...and so you’ll be the beginning and the end of the show, wearing this at the start and then coming back out at the end to transform it by tugging these pieces off. Oh, and then you’ll be the one to walk out with me at the very end because that’s when the designer normally does their walk- uh, is this all okay?”

“Perfect,” Glory grinned, sitting down in the chair, “Asmo, you need to redo my nails while I start the makeup. You owe me after all.”

“Of course!” He chimed, shooing the cosmetologist away as he found a bottle of polish from inside the makeup kit.

“Um, are you really going to be able to do their nails while they’re moving their hands so much?” Poland asked doubtfully.

“Just leave us, love. You interrupting will be the more likely cause of a disaster if anything.”

“Just trust us,” Asmo said, softening the blow.

Poland didn’t mind. She just shrugged and walked off, wheeling the rack away as she went to manage the rest of the show’s set-up. Glory ignored the stares from the models next to them, as there was no way they were hiding their horns tonight. Grabbing a beauty blender and a bottle of foundation, they smiled wickedly in the mirror at their and Asmo’s reflections.

“We’ve got this.”

And they set to work.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me ocs #obey me masters #obey me mc #writing #my writing #obey me asmodeus #asmodeus #om asmodeus #asmo

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emmyrosee · 5 years

Text

Hopping.

On The Run I

Hey guess what.

It’s done! I’m so excited!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m terrified. This definitely isn’t how I thought this would go, but I don’t despise it??? I don’t know. Anyways.

WARNINGS: heavy plot, heavy dialogue, language. No smut in this chapter (don’t worry it’s coming😘)

Gordan Merkel x Fugitive!Reader; after a series of unfortunate events lands you in East Berlin, you fear everyone and everything in your path. And it crosses paths with a stranger who takes a risk on you.

———-

“Do you remember how you got here?”

The question snapped you out of your confused daze, and you stared at the man before you. His piercing green eyes bore into you like you were nothing more than a piece of wood, waiting to be carved.

It was a good question, to be fair. But which ‘here’ was this man referring to?

The ‘you,’ running in Milan?

The ‘you,’ hiding in the deepest, dankest corners of Paris?

Or the ‘you,’ committing the most heinous act that you knew possible all those years ago.

No one would blame you for jumping at the most random of sirens. The warrant for your arrest was out there, and the reward was obscene.

Hell, if you knew you would be given some form of immunity, it wouldn’t be such a big deal.

But this was your life on the line now. The police from home, various government officials, even the people who had once housed you had turned against you at the ridiculous amount of money being offered. And no stones could be left; whether they were criminal or not, their crimes would be lessened if they turned you in, dead or alive.

They weren’t very picky.

The chilled streets of Berlin’s alleys only seemed to make your stress levels grow, heart beating faster and faster as you tried to shield yourself from everyone you passed.

Night after night you wandered, opting it safer than the day. In the day, no one was willing to listen to your story, see another side of you. All they saw was money, and they wanted it.

At night however, stories howled like the wind. People of their own sins had more important things to focus on than you, and you accept and adore that lack of attention.

You’re not sure what tripped you off. A distant siren, maybe? Or maybe just one too many money-hungry eyes?

Whatever it was, you felt the need to run.

Well. Run further that is.

You dug your hands deeper into your pockets and slowly crept faster, walking speed feeling more of a jog.

Then faster.

The feeling grew and your holed, disgusting sneakers squeaking against the pavement.

You felt like you were doing this for your whole life. The same routine over and over and over and over again.

Your legs kick higher and higher as you dash, scrambling around as your weakened body struggles to keep up.

Until a massive force stops you, gripping your arms tightly to steady you.

“Woah, woah, woah,” a voice says, struggling against your fighting form. You shove harder at the chest that’s trying to hold you, unsuccessful with every jerk of your much smaller frame. His large hands grab your shoulders and force you into the brick wall you were closest to. But the fire of fear was still roaring, and whether you wanted to or not, you couldn’t stop.

All you could do was bite, kick and scream, praying someone would hear.

“Relax!” He commanded, giving you one last, hard shove. The bricks bit into your skin, the small pebbles of the flaking wall crumbling in your struggle.

“Please,” You whimper in fear. “Please let me go, I-I-I don’t-“

“Shush,” he demands. You close your lips, though you’re unable to stop your shaking lips from allowing whimpers past. Your eyes creak open to look at the deep voiced, large German man who’s grip wasn’t about to falter.

Despite his demanding, deep voice, his eyes showed no malice or anger; in fact, nothing but sympathy was pooled in his forest green irises. His jaw was tight with authority, and he seemingly waited for you to look at him before continuing to speak.

Shit, you think to yourself, not like this. Shit shit shit-

“We need to get you out of the open,” he says sternly, yet softly. “Come on-“

“N-no!” You protest. “No!”

The man pulls back slightly at your apparent fear, and licks his lips in thought.

“I’m not going to leave you out here,” he explains. “God knows the last time you ate or bathed or-“

You tremble weakly in his grip, and almost on cue, your stomach growls loudly. He tilts his head, “you haven’t eaten recently, have you?”

Against your better judgement, you gently shake your head and avoid his laser sharp gaze. He nods, “so I thought.”

“I’ll be fine,” you spit, shrugging him off of your arms. He finally drops his arms as you spin on your heel, crossing your arms tightly over your chest and walk hurriedly away.

“You don’t have to go with me if you don’t want to,” he calls after you, making you stop. “But I sincerely want to help. Please? Just allow me to feed you, then I’ll sneak you over any boarder you’d like.”

“No,” you say quietly, so softly you’re not sure he can hear you. “I’ve made it this far, I can make it further on my own.”

“Don’t think I don’t know who you are,” he says. “You’re that fugitive, aren’t you?” He asks though his voice is sure, making you screw your eyes shut tight. “The one who’s been on the lamb for, what, three years?” His footsteps are loud as they pound on the pavement behind you. “That little pile of mad money that the government has raised is enough to make anyone an enemy, no?”

You say nothing.

“Lucky for you, I have no reason for the money. In fact, I’d set the money on fire and join you on the run as well before I give into any shit that the government spills to its sheep.

“Just let me take you someplace; a safe place that I know. And then wherever you want to go, I will take you. But just take the help I’m willing to give because God knows how long someone is going to show you this extent of mercy.”

You want to scream at him, ask him how he dares speak to you like that. You want to smack him one, tell him that he has no fucking idea who he’s talking to, and that you’ve survived without the help of anyone for those three years.

But you can’t.

Because everything he said is true. That, and you’re so weak- especially from trying to fight him off- that you literally aren’t sure if you raise your hand high enough to smack him.

“I’m heading to Sweden,” you say softly. “You feed me, you get my name, and you take me to the Swedish border. I go from there. Deal?”

“Deal,” he says with a gentle smile.

——————-

“Do you remember how you got here?” The man asks quietly.

Your fingers clutch at the warm, thick blanket that’s draped over your shoulders. In front of you sits a small plate of cookies and a cup of tea, which of you’ve cleared three of. Each time you clear the plate or drain the cup, the man chuckles and merely refills it.

“Any recollection of how you ended up in East Berlin?” He asks, shifting to lean forwards on his knee.

You avoid his gaze some more, eyes casting away to the plate of cookies as you eye them.

“Go on,” he nods. “Have more. Please. I insist.” He smiles encouragingly, and slowly you reach forwards to take another one.

“I don’t know,” you whisper at your cookie childishly, playing the edge against your chapped lips. “I just.... turned a corner and ended up in Berlin.”

“You and I both know that that’s not the type of ‘how’ I meant,” he teases. “I mean I know your records and I know your crimes, but how did you get here?”

Your heart sinks further into your stomach as you finally look up at the man. His face was soft despite his sharp features, the dim lights of... whatever building you were in (a printing house? Some form of passport office? You couldn’t put your finger on it.) casting shadows on him to make him look statuesque.

And you wanted to trust him.

Desperately.

His reassuring kindness and your endless bounty of cookies and tea brought you a new wave of hope, that someone out there just might want to help you with nothing else in mind.

If he wanted the money, why didn’t he just turn you in?

“Where were you before?” He asks.

“Crossed over from Poland. Settled in Cottbus before the game began again.”

He cocks a brow, “game?”

You grin, “of cat and mouse, of course.”

The man chuckles at your joke, smile bright against the dingy air around you.

“More like fox and rabbit, since you’ve been hopping around like a little bunny, no?”

And you laughed.

You actually laughed.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

It was the first time in three fucking years you’d been able to do so much as chuckle, let alone laugh.

The silence, for once, is comforting to you, and you grasp the blanket higher on your shoulders.

“The sun is rising,” he says softly, bring you back to him. Your eyes traveled upward to the windows of his building, and through the dark grey clouds, you could in fact see the brightness of heavens joy that brought you nothing but fear.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper in worry. “I can’t go out there! Not now. Can I just... stay here?”

The man sighs, “sadly, no. But, I can help you further, if you so desire.”

“How so?”

“Stay in Berlin,” he says, grinning as you tense up. “I’ll figure a plan to get you safely to the Swedish border, exactly as you asked. Then,” he crosses one leg over the other, “home.”

Home.

You missed home.

You missed home. A lot.

You’d rather die than not go home, but after three years you wondered if you could even attempt. And to think this man could?

Hm.

But he hasn’t let you down yet.

“That amount of money is going to keep rising, sir,” you insist.

He grins, “my trust for the government cannot be bought, Miss.” He stands up and slowly creeps towards the door, “if you want to come with me and be served with the utmost protection, we must leave now.”

Your ears perk up and your heart pounds. “I don’t even know your name,” you say, a certain sadness in your voice.

He grins.

“Merkel. Gordan Merkel. Trust me. You’re not my first,” he says, pushing the door open. “I’ll come with the car around.”

He winks.

“It’s time to relax on the hopping, little bunny. You’re safe now. I promise.”

Tagging💕

@peachesandfern

@anxiousamandapanda

@hecohansen31

@blakewaterxx

@w0nder-marie

@babyboy-cody

@kathryn-jane

@kaigitana

@ohhoneyaaaaaaa

226 notes · View notes

sophoreads · 5 years

Text

Annotation notes for Wicked Saints

Attached under the cut are my word-for-word annotation notes pulled straight from my copy of Wicked Saints. Check out my previous post and goodreads review before reading the annotation notes.

I only decided to start annotating this book 115 pages in, because I realized that there were so many problems I was complaining about to my friend Sophie over text that I thought “Hey, I’d better write this shit down so I have receipts/can easily reference my thoughts.” I’d never really done annotations before, so I pulled out a new pack of sticky notes and color tabs that someone gave to me for free when I was in college and got to work. I ran out of sticky notes (started a new pad) and yellow tabs (borrowed last few from a weird tab/highlighter I found at the bottom of my college study stuff bin). I also got so frustrated I had to put the book down several times, because I’d paid eighteen dollars to pre-order this fucking garbage.

Pg 115 Pink tab – Character note --Bitch do you want to kill him or not? This is like bad Reylo fic— (Nadya being ~~inexplicably~~ held back from killing Mal, because she really wants to kill Mal, but just CANT for SOME REASON)

pg 123 Yellow tab – writing/literacy/grammar note --no note written— “He braced himself for the inevitable summons from his father. It arrived immediately by way of servant wearing a plain brown mask that left only his eyes visible. One of his father’s personal servants.”

Pg 137 Yellow tab – writing/literacy/grammar note --WTF is “it commanded attention”?! This whole throne bit is needlessly over-explanatory and could be fixed by adhering to golden rule “show, don’t tell”—

pg 139 Yellow tab --you don’t have to repeat the same thing twice!— “…Serefin paused, swallowing down the anxiety threatening to choke him. He was suddenly unspeakably nervous.”

Pg 140 Yellow tab --you just said they didn’t know who it was and now, not even a page later, you’re literally describing Mal and saying you DO know who it was?! WHO TF EDITED THIS SHIT— (Izak telling Serefin that they don’t know the vulture who escaped, then the vulture lurking behind him describing the backstory of the vulture who escaped)

pg 145 pink tab --what, is she Canadian now?— “You’ve realized your father isn’t so good a father to you, eh?” she [Pelayega] asked.

Pg 146 Yellow tab --For all that Duncan over-explains things in this story I still don’t fucking understand the High/Low prince thing??? Not once has she gone into it. And what the fuck is a slavhka?— (in reference to the first mention of there being “low princes”)

pg 148 Blue tab – Plot note --Why is the church still standing they LITERALLY TORE IT DOWN! THIS PART OF IT COLLAPSED!!!— (in reference to parijahan lying on top of pillows in the church Mal and Nadya just destroyed to get rid of the Vultures)

pg 153 Yellow tab --Are we really still saying “invalid” in the year of our unbridled insanity 2019?— “…Your mother, Estera, is an invalid…” (Mal making up a fake background for Nadya)

pg 153 Blue tab --SINCE WHEN DOES HE HAVE TATTOOS ON HIS HANDS— (in reference to the very first mention of Mal having tattoos on his hands, 153 pages into the story)

pg 155 Pink tab --Anna is so flat a character she could be removed from the whole book and not one thing would change— (in reference to Anna deciding to leave the group to re-join Kalyazi forces. I hold by this statement because Anna had no fucking role in the end of the book, and was therefore a useless character throughout)

pg 157 Pink tab --I’m sorry are we ETHNIC CLEANSING?! IS THIS WHAT WE ARE ENDORSING?! WTF?— “…then we can cleanse Kalyazin of the heretics entirely”

pg 163 Blue tab --this is the first we are hearing about any hierarchy in the vultures, which we should have read many chapters ago, not just when convenient for the author/plot— (in reference to first mention of Crimson Vulture)

pg 164 Yellow tab/Blue tab (overlapping domains) --Inches? FRACTIONS? IN THIS ECONOMY?!— (what is math in medieval Poland)

pg 167 Yellow tab --Still have not defined nobility and what makes a family “noble” or slavhka or whatever “low prince/royalty” or some shit— (In reference to yet another mention of low princes/royalty and somehow differentiating them from slavhka)

pg 168 Blue tab --I am more interested in gay Romeo/Juliet in a blood mage society than I am the entire plot of Wicked Saints— --Also this interaction feels cringey and thrown in for…no real reason?— “You’ve missed so much! Did you know that Nikodem Stachowicz was caught in the palace archives with the youngest Osadik boy?” (Zaneta)

pg 170 Yellow tab --FIRE YOUR COPY EDITOR— He shrugged, burying his tattooed hands in his pockets. “It binds over time, magic does. Especially blood magic. It’s so accessible. You don’t have to have a true affinity for it…” (Mostly I got furious over the fact that we’re only just getting Mal’s tattoo hands, which was obviously written in as an afterthought for his character partway through the writing process and not retconned into the story. I also just hate the sentence “it binds over time, magic does.”)

Pg 170 Yellow tab --Page 170: “walked on” Page 177: on horseback. WHAT IS THE TRUTH?— “Malachiasz stopped to wait for Nadya while the others walked on ahead” (this note coincides with a future note)

pg 173 Orange tab – blatant parallels to and lifts from Dragon Age franchise --you get a special shame-color for copying Dragon Age (also WHAT IS YOUR MAGIC STRUCTURE HOW IS THIS EVEN POSSIBLE) (it’s just bad writing)— “He was referring to witches—apostate magic users outside the gods’ approval—but there had been no witches in Kalyazin for decades. Their route of magic was considered just as heretical as blood magic…”

pg 176 yellow tab --Emily A Duncan focuses [more] on the little actions of Malacheezit than she does for any other character and it hurts the story— (specific reference to line “He fidgeted, fingers picking at a hang nail” interjected in dialogue. This action-dialogue tag does no service to the story at all.)

Pg 177 Pink tab --What the fuck? Is this about Holy War or is this a romance fantasy? (note the order: not “fantasy romance”)— “In a flash, his hand was underneath her chin, thumb brushing against her jaw…If Nadya hadn’t been sitting down she suspected her knees would have given out on her.”

Pg 177 Yellow tab --SINCE WHEN DO THEY HAVE FUCKING HORSES?! FIRE ALL YOUR EDITORS FIRE THE PUBLISHER— “Nadya let her horse wander instead of tying it up, sending a short prayer up to Vaclav to keep an eye on the animal so it didn’t stray too far.” (These horses were never mentioned before (note connects to a prev. note) and were never mentioned again after this. I literally cannot fathom how or why this book made it to final printing in this state.)

Pg 183 Pink tab --All this romance shit seems so forced for both Nadya and mal. I see no actual attraction on either party?— (I’m not recording the second note as it is a crude remark against the author, a remark of which I still stand by, but would be damaging to both her and myself. However, the emotion of the second note follows the concept of “anyone who knew what they were talking about wouldn’t write this kind of bullshit.”)

Pg 185 Yellow tab --“Per se”? I’m sorry is there LATIN in this world? (it’s bad writing)— “He wasn’t putting it off per se, he…”

pg 186 yellow tab --“It was fitting THAT assassins…” ugh— “It was fitting assassins chose to strike that same evening” (Doesn’t the author have a masters degree? And works in a library? How is her writing this chopped and sloppy, omitting crucial subject/action markers?)

Pg 198 Blue tab --Jesus, are prostitutes of war a NORMAL THING? WE SHOULD BE SAVING THESE POOR WOMEN— “The girl is…” He faltered, convincingly. “Well, you understand.” He winked at the soldier. (the soldier doesn’t even remark on Nadya’s sex slave status) (Also I realize that “prostitutes of war” is not the correct vernacular, however I’m committed to giving you my direct and exact notes. I know that they are slaves of war, sex slaves specifically, and do not receive true compensation or reparation for their suffering.)

Pg 201 Pink tab --HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT NOBLES? YOU LIVED YOUR WHOLE LIFE IN A MONASTERY!— “Nobles are nobles,” she [Nadya] said waving a hand. “Regardless of where they come from. The pettiness of court transcends all cultural boundaries.”

Pg 202 Blue tab --WHAT THE FUCK? EXPLAIN YOUR MAGIC/MYTHS— (referencing the blasé and brief mention of Wolf Changers, which we never hear about again)

pg 203 blue tab --WHAT NECKLACE? WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?— --Oh, that necklace, that was mentioned in the first chapter, forgotten, reintroduced the following chapter, then COMPLETELY forgotten again! Bad writing. Bad props.— “Her prayer beads were safely in her pocket, so she clutched at the necklace Kostya had given her.”

Pg 205 Blue tab --Is her accent suddenly better?— (reference to previous statements of Nadya having a terrible travanian accent, hence the sex slave thing to the border guard so she doesn’t have to talk, but now she’s talking and there was no reference to her improving her accent at all or even working on it.)

pg 207 yellow tab --I can see Emily has a kink for masks + chin grabbing— “He [Serefin] reached out and took her chin in his hand, lifting her face up to his” (Mal has also done this to Nadya countless times and she orgasms almost every time.)

Pg 209 Orange tab --The veil, yet another stolen Dragon Age concept!— “…closed her eyes, letting herself feel the invisible wall separating gods from men. She felt it the moment they had stepped into Tranavia, the weight of the veil pressing down against her, choking off her only access to the divine.” (This is also the very first reference to any such veil being in place. It took 209 pages for this to be mentioned, in a book chock full of a girl talking to gods in her head. Also, they’ve been in Tranavia for awhile. Why wasn’t this mentioned when they first stepped foot inside? (because it’s bad writing))

Pg 209 Pink tab --Nadya’s powers seem almost limitless at this point— “Holy speech whispered through her head and she moved to disassemble the spells woven through the walls. She couldn’t take them apart completely— someone would notice, precautions in place—she was just making them fuzzy, bleeding them out. She dulled them so any information imparted back to the mages who set them would appear mundane.” (If Nadya’s powers (at this point in the book) are tied to the gods, there is no mention of which god provides these powers. If this is meant to foreshadow that Nadya has her own powers, it’s a lazy job. It’s simply overpowered and oversimplified. )

Pg 210 [no tab just a sticky] --oh FINALLY we hear how they met!— “I’ve known him [Rashid] my whole life. And we crashed into Malachiasz about six months ago after getting into trouble with some off-duty Kalyazi soldiers.”

Pg 214 [no tab just a sticky] --also can we acknowledge the whole “brown girl serves a white girl” thing because WOW— (in reference to Parijahan playing handmaiden to Nadya at the palace)

pg 215 Pink tab --“Couldn’t worry about the prince”? wasn’t HE the one she wanted to kill in revenge for Kostya? (IS THAT ALL FORGOTTEN NOW?)

pg 216 Pink tab --First Zaneta is Indian [coded] and now she’s black [coded]? WHAT?— “…a tall girl with luminous skin like onyx threaded with gold…her spiral curls fanned out around her head like a halo.”

Pg 217 Orange tab --The game? Court intrigue? Masks? This all reeks of Orlais and direct theft from Dragon Age— (in reference to basically the whole castle competition, masks, etc)

pg 217 Yellow tab --And now we’re switching perspectives mid-chapter? Just start a new chapter!— (in reference to the very first mid-chapter perspective switch, which will occur more from here on out)

pg 232 yellow tab --I am so sick of these italicized words without any translation or description— (in reference to szitelka which I still DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS)

pg 233 pink tab --what the fuck is Nadya’s perspective? Does she want to kill all Tranavians or not? Emily make up your fucking mind— (in reference to Nadya getting pissed at Mal for killing the other blood mage girl in Nadya’s duel, so that Nadya wouldn’t die and the duel would end)

pg 234 pink tab --literally when has Nadya worried about his safety, esp. when she’s the one always threatening to kill him?— “She hadn’t forgotten, not even while she found herself worrying about his safety and wanting him by her side.”

Pg 235 Pink tab --oh FINALLY we get a description of his tattoos! 235 PAGES IN!!!! BULLSHIT YOU HACK WRITER!— “She found her eyes drawn to the tattoos on his long, elegant fingers. They were simple, straight lines: two on either side of each finger and one down the back that started at the bed of each fingernail and ended at his wrist in a single black bar.” (I literally vomited in my mouth when I read this)

Pg 238 Pink tab --Oh so Mal can’t murder to save you but you can murder Tranavians and its fucking justified? Nadya is such a bad Nazi char.— “It’s not an apology for murdering that girl, she noted. But it was a start. It was something from this boy who obviously had no morals and no regard for anything that didn’t serve his own interests.” (Nadya is the worst hypocrite and I want to punch her in the face)

Pg 239 Yellow tab --Hanged? Since when? Has hanging? Been a threat? Ever? In this world?— “…or else this whole mess of a plan will go up in smoke and we’ll all be hanged for it.”

Pg 240 Pink tab (this is another omitted note because it is a crude comment in part against the author, but the other half does say that Nadya is such a virgin and that I am second-hand embarrassed because this book and the “romance” scenes are so bad)

pg 242 blue tab --If Nadya used blood magic, why don’t the gods cut off her powers for her heresy? It would only make sense— (this is just a general comment on the chapter and how, after the duel and Nadya used blood magic, her gods were still talking to her. This is also before we find out that Nadya has her own powers)

pg 247 yellow tab --the way this is lazily written we’re supposed to assume it’s Ostiya at the door. Could be written much better (all of this could be written much better)— “Serefin hastily wrapped his still-bleeding hand with cloth while Kacper got the door. Ostiya blinked her single eye at the sight of both of them.”

Pg 248 Blue tab --“delicate gov[ernmen]t? we don’t even know how the gov’t is even structured!— “This was too far. It would crumble Travania’s already delicate government.”

Pg 259 Blue tab --Oh good, a love triangle. Good to know Nadya’s type is “blood mage tortured/charming boy” that grabs chin + kisses hands— “…and wasn’t sure what to do with this charmingly awkward boy. That he was one of the most powerful blood mages in Tranavia...She wavered too much already; she couldn’t allow herself to feel any more.”

Pg 260 Pink tab --Literally all that Parijahan does is be soft + comforting? That is literally all she does to Mal + Nadya + Rashid?— “Nadya usually didn’t see this side of Parijahan. It relieved her to see there was a warm softness to Parijahan’s flinty gaze.”

Pg 270 Blue tab --What do you mean? When did you mention that the gods had withdrawn their power from Nadya?— “She had no magic. She had nothing. She had no hope without her gods.”

Pg 275 Blue tab --But they would abandon her for using blood magic you dumbass— “The gods wouldn’t have abandoned her. Not for a few doubts, not for kissing a heretic—not even that.”

Pg 278 Blue tab --Okay this is actually a really cool scene— (when Nadya is first using blood with the pendant to see her way out of the room the rogue Vultures locked her in)

pg 280 blue tab --Calls her “little bird” is this Mal?— (referencing this unnamed god that Nadya is talking to via Kostya’s necklace)

pg 287 yellow tab --sloppy transition makes it seem as though a new person is talking— (Basically for the next two pages Emily incorrectly punctuates her paragraph breaks while Pelayega is talking.)

Pg 294 Orange tab --Velyos=Solas=Mal? Oh my god is this whole plot a regurgitation of DA:Inquisition/Trespasser?— “Have you heard of him? I suppose not. The veil went up, Velyos broke away. Your gods were probably relieved, but here he is once more...”

pg 298 blue tab --fucking called it (“acted like he was dead”? Literally said before that he was “sent to the country”)— (in reference to Serefin seeing Mal and discovering that his cousin is the Black Vulture. Previously, a not so subtle mention of a nameless male cousin of Serefin’s was “sent to the country” when he was young. I immediately pegged it as being Mal. But now it is written that Serefin was led to believe that his cousin died? The inconsistencies are rife.)

pg 308 pink tab --Does Nadya literally have no self control or sense of morality (for her own morals)? What the fuck is this?— “Then her traitorous, heretical hands betrayed her as she reached up and wove them into his hair, pulling his face down to hers and kissing him. Because she was angry with him, furious with his lies, but not even her anger was enough to cool the burning she felt when he was near; the heat that spread through her nerves when he touched her.”

Pg 308 Pink tab --ooh power shift, she’s doing the chin-grabbing now!— “She took his chin in her hand, directing his gaze down to hers.”

Pg 309 Blue tab --except for the vultures that kidnapped her? What about them?!— “Go to the cathedral when you’re finished here,” he said. “None of the Vultures will give you any trouble.”

Pg 313 Pink tab --Didn’t want the fate of nations? She LITERALLY came here to topple the monarchy and uproot Tranavia and start a mass ethinic cleansing— “She was only one girl; she didn’t want the fate of nations resting on her decisions.”

Pg 314 Pink tab --YOU CAN’T HAVE IT BOTH WAYS YOU DUMB BITCH— [the dumb bitch being Nadya] “The war took something important to me,” she said, fingering Kostya’s necklace unconsciously. She couldn’t think about how it had been Serefin who had led that attack. (Nadya literally forgets and completely forgives Serefin for what she believes is Kostya’s murder (we know that Kostya wasn’t killed by Serefin but his BABY BRO WAS). Like, wasn’t Kostya super important to her? And she tried to kill Serefin in revenge but Mal stopped her? And in literally less than a week she totally forgets about it?)

Pg 318 Pink tab --Honestly, Mal deserves better than Nadya. He’s clearly doing his best and she’s just being racist and unwavering.— He opened his mouth, at a loss for words. Finally, he asked, “Will it always be like this?” Would it? She couldn’t say. Would she ever be comfortable with what he was? Or would it always be this constant hot and cold, friends one second and enemies the next? “I don’t know.” (Nadya is so abusive in this whole relationship I feel bad for Mal)

pg 321 yellow tab --He literally said he only told her the truth?! Mal has literally not told one lie?— “He was a liar and she wanted his truths”

pg 322 yellow tab --The whole order of this scene description + the characters is clunky and wrong— (no further comment really, that pretty much explains it)

pg 326 pink tab --Did she literally forget about Kostya? Did Nadya literally just forgive Serefin b/c she thinks he’s cute and tortured? LITERALLY? WHY?— “Serefin. He’s good,” She nuzzled his chest. “I like him. He should live.”

Pg 327 Blue tab --Can Serefin suddenly write his own spells now?! I thought only Mal could do that— “As he sat down at his desk with spells sprawled out in front of him, blood still drying on the pages, he couldn’t shake the feeling…”

pg 335 pink tab --That’s right, bitch! You’re damn nigh abusive to him and for some reason he keeps coming back! I don’t know why since you have the personality of a Nazi but for some reason Mal just really wants to fuck you!— “How could she be the only good thing to happen to him? She had almost slit his throat, had hung him off a railing. She didn’t even trust him, not really.”

Pg 351 Blue tab --since when have we seen a fucking calendar system?— “…turned the tide of a battle in 625 when…” (this is a “Vasiliev’s Book of Saints” entry for chapter 33. There is one more reference to a year in an earlier codex entry (tsk another Dragon Age ripoff) for something like 15XX. We don’t know what year it is, nor do we know when/why they started counting. Maybe it’s not critical for the story but it IS critical if you’re bringing it up.)

pg 357 orange tab --Literally Solas’s plot in Trespasser— “She bit back a cry of pain and shoved her magic harder up at the veil. If this was when she died, then fine. Fine. She would tear this veil down first and bring the gods back to Tranavia with her dying breath.”

Pg 360 Blue tab --How did she get here? Already? These scenes are so lazy, show me Nadya scrambling up the dais to Mal’s waiting neck— “He idly spun a chalice on the armrest and Serefin watched as the cleric stood and darted for a dagger that reseted a few steps away. It was time to test just what he could do with this power. (now it’s Nadya’s POV) Malachiasz’s eyes closed. He tilted his head back, baring his throat to Nadya’s blade.”

Pg 363 Yellow tab --Did we just miss Serefin fighting his father for Nadya’s sexy threatening? Was that really a real choice the author made?— (Nadya looks over at Serefin) “Serefin was on his knees, hunched over in pain, blood oozing from his head, one hand white-knuckled on the ground holding him up. Dead moths littered the floor around him. The stars around his head began to flicker out.”

Pg 368 Yellow tab --you CANNOT call it an “Adam’s apple” when there is no “Adam” or Christianity in this fantasy world! Lazy writing indeed!— “His head tilted back, Adam’s apple bobbing, as he swallowed hard.”

Pg 376 Yellow tab --this line is so cliché and fucking bad why the fuck is it even in here?— “The king is dead, long live the king,” she said, handing it [the crown] to him [Serefin].

Pg 376 Yellow tab --And why didn’t you write that the other vultures disappeared? There is so much missing here— “Where are all the Vultures?” Ostiya asked “Most probably fled with their king,” Serefin said.

Pg 378 Yellow tab --Is what enough? Power? Crown? What the fuck? This is so sloppy— “Will this be enough?” she asked him [Serefin]. “To stop the war?” … [Serefin:] “It will”

pg 380 yellow tab --No clear description of where Mal is. Is this physical or ethereal? What the fuck is happening?— (Mal’s whole epilogue)

#review #wicked saints spoilers #spoilers

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eternal-night-owl · 7 years

Text

Of Anger and Forgiveness

@aph-stress @lietpolsecretsanta

Happy Holidays! This is my secret santa gift for aph-stress. I decided to go with your prompts “Historical Hetalia” and “Reunion.” I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Hetalia

Pairing: Lithuania/Poland

Rated: T

Summary: Twenty years after the Polish-Lithuanian war, Poland is ready to make amends with his ex husband. But can Lithuania say the same?

Read on: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12773741/1/Of-Anger-and-Forgiveness

or http://archiveofourown.org/works/13149045

Knock, Knock, Knock.

Lithuania almost dropped the vase he was dusting when he heard the banging on the door. With shaking hands, he put it back on the shelf while he looked nervously at the source of the sound. It has been a while since anyone had come over to his house for a friendly chat.

What if it's Russia or Germany? The weight in his stomach asked him. He knew they were both trying to take him over again; they had been trying ever since he gained his independence.

I'm not prepared for a fight! They're going to ambush me and take me away and I will never be free again-

A second set of impatient knocking made him snap back to attention, and as much as he tried to quell his nerves, he had no luck.

Slowly, as though his feet were lead, he went to the kitchen and pulled out the largest, sharpest knife he could find. Gathering his courage, he made his way to the door.

Looking out the peephole, he expected the worst: Germany, with hundreds of soldiers prepared to rip the door off its hinges and drag him away kicking and screaming; or Russia, with his cold, cruel smile and even crueler boss, asking him in a sickly sweet tone, "Won't you come with me, so we can be one? It would make me very happy, da!"

As if he had a choice…

However, when Lithuania looked outside, he found someone he wouldn't have expected in a million years.

"Poland!" Lithuania whispered. He cursed under his breath. Why the hell would he come here?

"Like, open the door, Liet," came Poland's valley girl accent, the same as ever. "I totally know you're in there."

Annoyed, Lithuania swung the door open, glaring at his ex husband.

"What the hell do you want, Poland? Why are you here?"

To his surprise, Poland backed away, putting his hands up in surrender. "Relax, there's, like, no need to get violent. I only want to talk."

Lithuania gave him a questioning look until he glanced down and saw the knife was still in his hand, pointed at Poland. He lowered his hand to his side but did not let go of the blade.

"You still haven't answered my question, Poland. Why are you here?"

"I think it's about time we put our differences aside and reestablish our relations to the way they were before… everything. It is now more important than ever to secure our borders to defend ourselves against Russia and Germany."

"You-you're joking?" Lithuania scoffed, incredulous. "If you think you can waltz in here and demand I let you back into my life, you can forget it. Have a nice drive back to Warsaw."

As Lithuania was about to slam his door shut, Poland caught it with his foot.

"I will give you back Vilnius," he offered, with a hint of desperation. Lithuania stopped in his tracks, and opened the door, just wide enough to give him full view of the Polish man.

"Under what conditions?" Lithuania asked, skeptical. An infuriating smirk appeared on Poland's face, and Lithuania felt the urge to slap him.

"Let me in, and I'll tell you all about it."

With a sigh, Lithuania opened the door all the way and stepped aside to let the cocky Polish man in. He made a beeline straight towards the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table like he owned the place.

"You better not try anything Poland, or I'll make you wish you never came here," Lithuania said as he shoved the Polish man's feet to the ground.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm a country. I was never 'born,'" retorted Poland as he draped his feet across Lithuania's lap, smirking at his obvious frustration. Lithuania shoved him off, harder this time.

"Either tell me about Vilnius or get out; I don't have time for this shit."

"Testy, testy," Poland tsked. Regardless, he pulled out a document from his pocket, and handed it to Lithuania. "I think you might change your tune after giving this a looksie."

Liet unfolded it and grabbed his reading glasses. As he was reading it over, Poland couldn't help but to notice how much he missed seeing Lithuania wearing them. As soon as the random thought appeared to him, he shrugged it off. After a few minutes, Lithuania rested the document on the coffee table and turned towards his former friend.

"So, what do you think?" Poland asked, unable to keep the smirk off his face.

"You're taking advantage of me," Lithuania accused. "You know my government is weak right now, that I have little help from outside countries. How dare you try to issue me an ultimatum after everything you did?"

"What are you getting so upset about? I'm giving you Vilnius back!" Poland pointed out, confused. "You should be thanking me. You've been whining about it for years, and now I'm handing it to you on a silver platter."

"You shouldn't have taken it in the first place!" Lithuania shouted. "Vilnius is mine, it always has been. You don't get to steal something, keep it for twenty years, and then give it back expecting to be hailed as a hero!"

"Oh my God, what's your problem?! I'm trying to make amends with you and all you can do is bitch. You can never let anything go!"

"That's because you hurt me!" Lithuania exclaimed. "I trusted you. I thought you would never hurt me, at least not like that. You were the one person I thought I could count on, and you betrayed me. You stole my capital right after I became independent and was trying to get myself together!"

Poland's lip quivered for a split-second before he lashed out with words once again.

"Oh, you just love playing the victim, don't you? Well, you weren't the only one hurt!" The blond cried, tears streaming down his face. "I loved you; I wanted us to be together! The thought of you was the only thing that kept me sane while I was being passed around by Russia, Prussia, and Austria." Poland dried his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

"I just gained my independence from Russia then. Did you expect me to want to live under another country's rule right after everything I went through?"

"Live under another country's rule?" Poland asked, confused. "I didn't want to rule you, I wanted to rule beside you. I wanted us to be a Commonwealth, like we were in the old days."

Lithuania snorted. "Do you even remember the Commonwealth, Poland? You always told me what to do, what to wear, and how to talk. You always got the final say on all our decisions, and treated me like a second-class citizen."

"No, I didn't!" Poland protested. "We were equals, we loved each other. I wanted us to be as happy as we were back then. Just because you insist on seeing everything as my fault-"

"It is your fault!" Lithuania exclaimed. "You made me speak Polish, eat your foods, and adapt to your culture while you dismissed everything about mine! I just wanted to be on my own for a while, but you were too selfish to even allow me to do that much. You just can't stand it when everything isn't about you!"

"Well, you're a stubborn old man with a constant stick up his ass!"

"You know what? Just get out!" Lithuania exclaimed, rubbing his temples together. "I'm done with dealing with you. We will never see eye-to-eye, so this is pointless."

"What about the agreement?" Poland asked. "You can't be stupid enough to turn an offer like that down. If you refuse, not only will you lose Vilnius, but all the other countries will know how much of an unreasonable moron you are!"

Lithuania looked hesitant for a moment, but shook his head and looked Poland straight in the eye.

"I couldn't care less about what the other nations think of me... and Vilnius will always be mine, whether or not you or anyone else recognizes that."

Poland looked on in shock at the stubborn man for a moment, then balled up his fists while trying to hold back another flood of tears.

"If you hate me that much, fine! But I'm leaving the agreement here, just in case you get over yourself. You have 48 hours to decide." Poland stormed out of the tiny house, using his hair as a curtain to cover his face. The last thing he needed was for Lithuania to see him cry. Again.

As Lithuania watched Poland slam the door to his house and heard him break down into tears on his front porch, he felt his anger soften, just a little. He thought about going after him for a moment, but soon dismissed the idea.

It's his own fault for being so presumptuous! Who does he think he is?

And yet, Lithuania eyes the document on the table once again. He sighed as he walked over and read through the conditions once again.

Well, the demands aren't too out there, especially for Poland. It couldn't hurt to at least show it to my boss and see what he thinks…

Poland was sitting all alone in his bedroom in Warsaw. The 48 hours he had given Lithuania to agree to decline his ultimatum were almost up, and still he hasn't heard a word from the other nation.

Why is he being so stupid? the blond asked himself. He should jump at such an opportunity! Does he still hate me that much? As much as he didn't want to admit it, Poland still loved Lithuania and cared about what he thought of him.

Maybe I overreacted when I took Vilnius, but I'm giving it back! The least Liet could do is accept my apology…

Wait… I never apologized, did I?

...Well, it doesn't matter, anyway! This agreement would benefit us both, and if Liet is too stupid to see that…

Just then, he heard his phone ring. Startled, because no one ever called him except his boss and two other nations he would rather not think about ever again, he took a moment to answer it.

"F-Feliks Lukasiewicz, personification of the free Polish state speaking," he said, cringing at the tremble in his voice.

"Poland, it's Lithuania," the voice on the other side responded.

"Liet?" Poland asked, confused. "Why are you calling me?"

"To give you my answer regarding your ultimatum." Lithuania paused. "While a good number of my people are against it, my boss, parliament, and I have accepted your conditions. We will reestablish diplomatic connections with you."

"Y-you have?" Poland asked, unable to keep the glee out of his voice.

"Er, yes. We have decided that this will be beneficial for both our nations."

"Liet?"

"Yes?"

"... I'm sorry. About… well, you know."

Lithuania was silent for a moment before answering. "I'll see you soon to drop off the documents."

Poland felt a smile growing on his face. "See you then."

After they ended their conversation, Poland couldn't help but feel relief wash over him. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he and Liet could be friends once again.

#aph-stress #lietpolsecretsanta #aph lietpol #aph lithuania #aph poland #fanfiction

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newstfionline · 4 years

Text

Thursday, December 10, 2020

GOP may wait for January to say Biden won (AP) Americans waiting for Republicans in Congress to acknowledge Joe Biden as the president-elect may have to keep waiting until January as GOP leaders stick with President Donald Trump’s litany of legal challenges and unproven claims of fraud. Tuesday’s deadline for states to certify their elections—once viewed as a pivot point for Republicans to mark Biden’s win—came and went without much comment. Next week’s Dec. 14 Electoral College deadline may produce just a few more congratulatory GOP calls to Biden. Increasingly, GOP lawmakers say the Jan. 6 vote in Congress to accept the Electoral College outcome may be when the presidential winner becomes official. Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell has signaled Jan. 20 as the certain date when the country is “going to have the swearing-in of the next president.” The result is a risky standoff like none other in U.S. history. The refusal to agree upon the facts of the election threatens to undermine voter confidence, chisel away at the legitimacy of Biden’s presidency and restack civic norms in still-unknowable ways.

Last-ditch dinner (Foreign Policy) British Prime Minister Boris Johnson has called the likelihood of reaching a deal between his government and the European Union “very, very difficult” ahead of a make-or-break dinner meeting in Brussels with European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen today. The prime minister’s trip comes as EU chief negotiator Michel Barnier told a closed-door meeting of the bloc’s ministers that it was now more likely that the United Kingdom would exit the Brexit transition without a trade deal. The British government has shown signs of a desire for compromise after it dropped controversial clauses in legislation that would have breached the initial Brexit terms. “Hopefully this is a signal that the British government is in deal-making mood,” Irish Foreign Minister Simon Coveney said.

Bionic soldiers (Times of London) The French army has been given the go-ahead to develop bionic soldiers resistant to pain and stress and endowed with extra brain power thanks to microchip implants. The approval came from the ethical committee of the armed forces ministry, which said in a report that France needed to keep up with countries that were already working to produce super-soldiers. The committee gave details of some lines of research, including pills to keep troops awake for long periods and surgery to improve hearing. Other areas in the “field of study” involve implants which release anti-stress substances or “improve cerebral capacity.”

France to press on with law on “unrepublican” behaviour (Reuters) France’s government decided on Wednesday to press ahead with a law it says will crack down on practices that go against the values of the French Republic. Prime Minister Jean Castex told reporters the law would give authorities tools to “combat political and ideological undertakings which go against our values ... and sovereignty and sometimes go as far as criminal acts.” The debate around the law has become more charged since the Oct. 16 beheading of schoolteacher Samuel Paty by a man who said he wanted to punish the teacher for showing cartoons of the Prophet Mohammad in a civics class. French officials say it is no longer enough to police acts of violence and that there is a need also to sanction behaviour which they say is not explicitly criminal but is out of step with the values of the French state. The proposed law includes tougher measures against online apologists for acts of violence, the risk of expulsion for foreign nationals with multiple wives, and checks on anyone who educates their child outside mainstream schools.

Europe’s ‘rule of law’ standoff with Poland and Hungary becomes test over defining values (Washington Post) Hungary and Poland appeared close to a deal with E.U. partners Wednesday to end an impasse that has blocked $2.2 trillion in funding and deepened a crisis in the 27-member bloc over the fundamental liberal democratic values it is supposed to represent. The contention for Poland and Hungary is a clause that links the money to upholding the “rule of law”—judicial and political norms that underpin democracies—at a time when Brussels is censuring both for letting it slide. The deadlock has come at a critical time when European economies sorely need the aid after months of lockdowns and closures. But more is at stake than delays to the $900 billion in emergency funding and a $1.3 trillion seven-year budget. The spat has struck at the heart of a rift in the European Union, engineered as a border-busting alliance of democracies that has struggled to deal with the question of what to do when member states stray from the shared values required to join. “It’s a fight for the soul of the E.U.,” said Heather Grabbe, director of the Open Society European Policy Institute. The confrontation between Hungary and Poland and the rest of the European Union has been brewing for years. Both governments have taken step after step to weaken the independence of the judiciary, undermine political opponents and entrench their own power and views, which include laws aimed at blocking refugees and erosion of press freedoms. E.U. money has helped fuel the takeover of the systems in both countries—with Poland the biggest net recipient of E.U. funding in recent years and Hungary not far behind.

Some perspective on immigrants (Internazionale/Italy) They carry disease. They live in overcrowded neighborhoods. They spend evenings listening to the sweet sounds of their music, but in filthy courtyards with rotting air. Their houses are small and rundown, where dozens of people share no more than two or three rooms. They come in waves, irritating people and attracting far too much attention. Sure we know they may have escaped bad governments, bloody wars, poverty. But they’ve arrived with strange superstitions and we’ve seen how they exploit their children, sending them on the streets to beg and forcing them to hand over whatever they make at the end of the day. And yet it’s true that when they do their agricultural work, they’re quite good. They are lean and muscular, capable of withstanding prolonged physical effort. They have a certain dexterity and a developed artistic sense. Their women are valued for their domestic virtues. Thanks to their sense of family, they are very generous with relatives who have stayed back in the home country. Still, their presence ultimately compromises our living standards and undermines the very quality of the nation. They share so little with a country that must seem to them the paradise of well-being. (The words you’ve just read were used in the international press between the 19th century and today to describe millions of those who had emigrated abroad from Italy.)

India’s Police Detain Opposition Leaders As Farmers’ Agitation Grows (NYT) Aligning themselves squarely with India’s angry farmers, opposition leaders on Tuesday accused the government of cracking down on dissent, saying they had been detained while seeking to join broadening protests against the country’s new pro-market agricultural policies. The growing agitation of India’s farmers, which is galvanizing support from nearly all sections of the heavily agricultural country, has increasingly rattled the government of Prime Minister Narendra Modi. For the last couple of weeks, hundreds of thousands of farmers from all over the country have been camping outside New Delhi to protest Mr. Modi’s new farm policies, which they see as his government’s effort to hand farmers’ land over to big business. The protests, which have gradually spread throughout the country and increasingly mirror the protests over a contentious new citizenship law, have become a test of Mr. Modi’s grip on power in the world’s largest democracy.

Trade record (Foreign Policy) Trump’s trade war with China has finally produced … a record high for the Chinese trade surplus, which hit $75.43 billion last month. China has failed to meet most of the goals set during the part one of the trade deal at the start of 2020, while tourism and education—which normally help the U.S. side of the balance sheet—have been shut down by the pandemic. Meanwhile, as Americans hunker down for the winter, they’re buying electronics and other Chinese goods in record numbers.

No stamps for you (Foreign Policy) Sometimes the affairs of state between great nations are weighty—but sometimes they are extremely petty. Amid the diplomatic crisis caused by the border killings earlier this year, China has canceled a set of stamps to commemorate the 70th anniversary of the establishment of diplomatic relations with India. The move is another signal that Beijing has no desire to mend the many fences it’s trampled this year

Hong Kong democracy fighters face a dire choice: Go abroad or go to jail (Washington Post) Facing charges related to his activism, Ted Hui, a former Hong Kong pro-democracy lawmaker, flew to Denmark last week ostensibly to discuss climate and sustainability issues—topics innocuous enough for a court to release his passport and allow his departure. The climate talks were a ruse. Last Thursday, three days after landing in Copenhagen, Hui announced he would not return and would instead go into exile. Coming alongside daily arrests of democracy campaigners in Hong Kong, Hui’s flight demonstrated the stark choice now confronting those who have fought for freedoms here: Go abroad or go to jail. As China targets those who resist its crackdown on the city, stalwarts who have dedicated their lives to Hong Kong’s democracy struggle are increasingly opting to leave, along with numerous others. Even overseas, continued harassment and persecution are a testament to the reach of China’s new national security law for Hong Kong, which criminalizes vague acts such as “collusion with foreign forces” and which Beijing asserts applies to everyone, everywhere. “It is a grave situation, with what seems to be only two ways out: Either leave Hong Kong or stay here and wait to be arrested,” said Sam Yip, vice convener of the Civil Human Rights Front, a group that has organized massive pro-democracy marches. Its convener, Figo Chan, was among eight people arrested Tuesday.

U.S. Leaves Behind Afghan Bases—and a Legacy of Land Disputes (NYT) At harvest time, as neighbors and relatives reap their crops, 80-year-old Jamal Khan can only look in despair on the plot of land that was the source of his family’s livelihood—until the American forces arrived over a decade ago. Just before sunset one day, armored vehicles drove into fields of knee-high corn stalks, claimed about 30 acres that were co-owned by about as many families and quickly cordoned off the area with barbed wire. This was now Combat Outpost Honaker-Miracle, one of the roughly 1,000 military installations the United States and its coalition partners would prop up across Afghanistan. “In the whole vastness of the lord’s world, I had this plot of land and this house that I am living in and nothing else,” said Mr. Khan, who lives the Watapur District of Kunar Province, in eastern Afghanistan. “We told them this is our private land, how do you suddenly put up here? They said nothing.” Mr. Khan is one of countless Afghans whose land became a casualty of the U.S.-led war and the sprawling military infrastructure born from it. Despite the drawdown of American forces in Afghanistan from more than 100,000 in 2011 to fewer than 5,000, some of the property they occupied has not been returned. Instead, the bases and the land have been transferred to Afghan security forces. The Americans have left Watapur but Mr. Khan does not have his land back, and similar conflicts linger across wide swaths of the country.

Iraqis slowly rebuild Mosul, with little aid from government (AP) Anan Yasoun rebuilt her home with yellow cement slabs amid the rubble of Mosul, a brightly colored manifestation of resilience in a city that for many remains synonymous with the Islamic State group’s reign of terror. In the three years since Iraqi forces, backed by a U.S.-led coalition, liberated Mosul from the militants, Yasoun painstakingly saved money that her husband earned from carting vegetables in the city. They had just enough to restore the walls of their destroyed home; money for the floors was a gift from her dying father, the roof a loan that is still outstanding. Yasoun didn’t even mind the bright yellow exterior—paint donated by a relative. “I just wanted a house,” said the 40-year-old mother of two. The mounds of debris around her bear witness to the violence Iraq’s second-largest city has endured. From Mosul, IS had proclaimed its caliphate in 2014. Three years later, Iraqi forces backed by a U.S.-led coalition liberated the city in a grueling battle that killed thousands and left Mosul in ruins. Such resilience is apparent elsewhere in the city. Life is slowly coming back to Mosul these days: merchants are busy in their shops, local musicians again serenade small, enthralled crowds. At night, the city lights gleam as restaurant patrons spill out onto the streets.

#headlines #news

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blacklister214 · 7 years

Text

Second Son Chapter 7: Lucky

I checked and apparently it has been almost a year since I’ve updated this one...so sorry about that and thanks for sticking with the story! Here’s the url for the whole story on Fanfiction.net. Enjoy!

Jacob glanced at the dashboard clock and found to his dismay He’d only been on the interstate for eleven minutes. It felt much longer. His gaze traveled to the grim-faced occupant of his passenger seat. Jacob’s stomach clenched in an unfamiliar way.

This should have been a good moment for him. It had been less than an hour since Jacob and Elizabeth Scott had left the Nebraska Department of Health and Human Services and begun the drive to the girl’s home. She hadn’t argued with him, or tried to renege on their deal. In a few hours all of his efforts will have paid off and he’d be returning to Reddington’s side with his mission accomplished. This should have made him happy. He was going back to where he belonged.

Over the past few weeks Jacob had found that he missed the older man’s company. He missed Reddington’s quirky anecdotes. He missed being prodded to try some seemingly inedible dish. He missed sharing a quiet drink after a successful business negotiation. Despite wishing to return to his long-time companion however, Jacob’s feelings about leaving Nebraska were muddled.

Elizabeth Scott shifted slightly in her seat and Jacob forced himself keep his eyes on the road. He knew exactly what was wrong with him, of course. It was the girl. He was unhappy because the girl was unhappy. Why was anyone’s guess.

According to the file he’d once stolen from his social worker, Jacob had an ‘attachment disorder.’ He ‘lacked empathy’ and ‘struggled to form emotional bonds’. For the most part Jacob couldn’t argue with that assessment. Even with Dembe, the caring had come gradually. With Liz it was different. He only spent a few hours in her company and yet somehow it had been enough for him to connect with her. It was probably for the best he’d be cutting with the farm girl sooner rather than latter. If she had this effect on him now, he couldn’t imagine what would happen if he stayed.

Jacob shook himself. He couldn’t believe he’d even allowed himself to entertain the thought. Jacob Phelps, settling in Nebraska, just to be close to some girl? It was beyond ridiculous. He had to do something, distract himself from his errant thoughts.

“You okay?” Brilliant opening line. Reddington would have been so impressed with his conversational skills. Liz didn’t even bother to turn her head away from the window.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jacob’s mind flashed to Elizabeth as she’d been inside Reeves’ office. The caseworker had been jumpy when he’d passed the file into Liz’s eager hands. Jacob had forced himself to respect her privacy and not read over her shoulder. Instead he’d kept his eyes on Reeves, who he’d been concerned might pass out from the terror over breaking department policy. He’d been sweating like he’d just turned over nuclear missile codes to the Russians. They’d all sat in silence for ten minutes as Elizabeth read and re-read the documents. At last she’d stood, put the envelope on Reeves’ desk and told Jacob she was ready to go home. That was the last thing said to him in the past forty minutes.

“You seem quiet.”

“Unlike some people, I don’t talk unless I have something to say.” Jacob was silent a moment as he weighed his options. Clearly Elizabeth wasn’t eager to share her thoughts with him. On the other hand she was obviously having some kind on internal struggle. If he kept prodding she might change her mind and choose to vent to him.

“Do you regret reading the file?”

“None of your damn business.” Jacob smirked at Elizabeth’s increasingly spiky tone. If he kept going, she was definitely going to explode.

“I’m just saying if you wanted to talk about it-” Elizabeth suddenly turned to Jacob eyes flashing dangerously.

“I don’t, so stop bugging me!” Jacob glanced at his passenger’s face and registered that the expression was very similar to the one she’d wore before she’d flipped a table over and attacked him. Under ordinary circumstances he wouldn’t have minded sparring with Elizabeth Scott, but given that he was currently driving at over 60 miles per hours, now probably wasn’t the best time for a physical altercation.

“Copy that.” It was time to change tactics. Fortunately he had a plan B already in place and Liz’s comment had inspired him.

Jacob kept his left hand on the wheel of the car while his right groped for the top of the storage compartment between his and Liz’s seats. He flipped the lid open and withdrew a plastic case.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting in a CD. You clearly don’t want to talk. We have two more hours on the interstate, and radio reception tends to be unreliable.” He slide the metallic disk into the player and advanced to the fifth track. He grinned as the rapid beats blasted out the car’s speakers.

“Are you serious?” Jacob turned to her, his face a picture of innocence.

“What? I like this song.” It wasn’t a lie, technically. Admitted he’d had hadn’t been an immediately convert to Destiny’s Child, but there was something catchy about the rhythm of this track at least.

“Bullshit.” Jacob’s smile widened. If she didn’t believe that he was indeed a fan, he’d be more than happy to demonstrate for her. He started bopping his head to the music.

“I wanna put your number on the call block. Have AOL make my emails stop, cause you a bug a boo. You buggin what? You buggin who? You buggin me, and don’t you see it ain’t cool.”

As Jacob sang, he watched Liz out of the corner of his eye. He could see the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought to suppress a smile at his antics. This spurred him on to an even more impassioned performance, until finally he had her laughing.

“You’re an asshole.” There was no venom in her insult, in fact it was almost affectionate. A warm feeling washed over him, as he looked at her chuckling over his clownish behavior. He’d made her happy, if only for this brief moment. He took a strange amount of pride in that.

“Come on, you know you want to...” He nodded at the speakers.

She rolled her eyes, then began half-heartedly, “When you show up at my door you're buggin me.”

Jacob joined her, “When you open up your mouth, you're buggin me. Everytime I see your face you're buggin me, you're buggin me, you’re buggin me.”

By the time the song finished they were both in stitches. Jacob was perfectly willing to continue their car karaoke, but Liz reached out and hit the stop button on the player.

“Why’d you kill my jam?” He was genuinely confused. He had thought they were both having a good time.

“Destiny’s Child is not your jam. You got that CD because of me.” Jacob considered lying, but found he didn’t really want to. Instead he decided on the route of verbal ambiguity. It was a technique he’d learned from Reddington, who was a great fan of obscure truth.

“I noticed their poster in your bedroom, but that doesn’t mean I can’t like them.” Jacob answered Liz’s sceptical look with a shrug. “It’s true. I travelled a lot growing up and the man who raised me believed in embracing a broad range of cultural experience. Have you ever heard of Tuvan throat singing?”

“No.”

“It’s impressive. These guys can sing two to four notes at a time. Of course it isn’t always melodic. At certaining points the singer can sound like they are burping for a really long time.” Jacob’s mind flitted back to the festival Reddington that dragged him and Dembe when they were 15 and 16. At one point they’d looked at each other and burst out laughing. Reddington had scolded them, but the glint in his eye had told Jacob that he hadn’t really been angry.

“You’re making this up. I bet Tuva isn’t even a real place.” He wasn’t surprised Liz hadn’t heard of it. American public education didn’t really bother with world geography, at least beyond the “big name” countries.

“It is...though now it’s called Tyva. It’s on the northern border of Mongolia.” Jacob’s seven years with Reddington had been much informative than a high school and college education would have been, at least were global knowledge was considered.

“And you’ve been there? To Tyva?”

“Yes.” They’d spent two weeks hiking, rafting, and trekking through the Sayan mountains. Jacob had appreciated the aesthetics of the landscape, but he was thrilled when they had finally returned to civilization. He could only take so much tranquillity, not to mention time away from hot showers.

“Where else have you been?”

Jacob shrugged. “A lot of places. Greece, France, South Africa, Pakistan, Papua New Guinea, Thailand, England, Argentina, Poland, Columbia-”

“You bullshitting me right now?” He could understand why it would sound far-fetched. Elizabeth was seventeen and she hadn’t yet left her home state, let alone the US. Jacob was only four years older than she was and had already visited six of the seven continents.

“I was raised by an international businessman. We travelled a lot.” Of course most of the places he’d visited hadn’t been for vacations. There’d been quite a few times they’d been crossing borders to evade police authorities and then departing immediately for a destination across the globe.

“You’re telling me, you’ve been around the world and yet you choose to set up shop, here, in Nebraska?” Jacob paused a moment, wanting to be careful with his answer. Elizabeth believed he was a local private eye hired by her father. Reddington had made it clear that no one know should know anything about his investment in the girl, including the girl herself.

“You don’t think much of your home state do you?” Liz snorted, apparently accepting his deflection for the moment.

“We both know Ohama isn’t exactly Paris.” Jacob smiled. Why was it girls were always so obsessed with Paris, like it was some romantic Mecca. The reality wasn’t quite what they imagined.

“Which frankly is a good thing. Paris smells like pee.” The horrific odor was the number one thing that tourist brochures did not advertized about the ‘City of Lights’.

“What?”

“If you’re a man it’s totally legal to urinate on the street, so the city smells like pee.” Jacob was pretty sure people peed in the streets in every city in the world, but at least in most of them it was frowned on, if not illegal.

“But it’s not legal for women?”

“I know. Sexism, am I right?” Liz laughed, then her express sobered.

“I still rather be there than here. Nebraska feels so small sometimes I can barely breath.” Despite the miles of nothing currently surrounding them, he understood what she meant. Nebraska was in many respects a nice place to live. It was scenic. It was safe. For many people it would be idyllic. Unfortunately for her, Liz clearly wasn’t ‘many people’. It was too static, too dull for someone like her. She needed a challenge, an adventure.

“Do you mind if I give you some advice, as someone who has travelled pretty much anywhere you can imagine?” Liz made a face as though she’d swallowed something sour.

“Let me guess: ‘There’s no place like home?’” Jacob smirked at the Wizard of Oz reference. Having never had a home, he was in no position to assess the veracity of that statement.

“No. Traveling is great, but where you go doesn’t matter nearly so much as who you go with.” Jacob thought of Reddington, Dembe, and Mr. Kaplan. Any memory of wonder, discovery, or joy that he’d possessed had been with one or all them beside him.

“You really love them, don’t you?” Jacob glanced over at Liz sharply, “Your brother and foster Dad.” Love? Liz threw out that word like it was so simple. It wasn’t, at least not for him.

“I’d have nothing without them. I’d be nothing without them.” If Jacob had never met Reddington he would have probably spent his life on the streets, until the police eventually caught him. Then it would have been off to Juvie for him. He wouldn’t have met Dembe. He would have grown up alone, with no one caring if he lived or died.

“I get that. Sam is...my whole world.” Jacob felt a wave of mutual understanding pass between them. As different as their childhoods had been, they both knew what it was to be saved.

“You’re lucky. We both are.”

“You never finished the story about your brother. What happened after he threw you into the dresser and cracked your skull?” Jacob was surprised she remembered what he’d said to her in the waiting room, let alone was interested in hearing more. Even more astonishing was that he wanted to tell her. He let his mind drift back to the day that had changed the course of his life.

The address on Dembe’s card didn’t belong to a doctor’s office or a clinic. Instead he found himself sitting in basement of a Brooklyn brownstone. There was medical equipment, and what appeared to be a patient table, but somehow Jacob doubted that this practice was listed in the phone book. That probably wasn’t a bad thing. Reddington clearly had money, and he wouldn’t have instructed Dembe to use this physician if the man didn’t know what he was doing. A competent doctor willing to overlook legal restrictions was a good acquaintance to have.

“You’ve been to this guy before?” Dembe nodded once. Jacob waited a moment before determining his babysittee wasn’t planning to elaborate.

“Why?”

“I was unwell.” Before Jacob had a chance to deliver a sarcastic retort, the door opened and a large bearded man strode in. Dembe stood immediately and extended his hand in greeting.

“Dr. Koslov.” The bearded giant laughed, crossed the room in two bounds, and seized the offered limb.

“Dembe, my fine lad. It is good to see you looking so robust. Mr. Reddington was right when he claimed you had a strength many growth men would envy. Your recovery is nothing short of miraculous. I am confused to see you here alone, without him. He is well I trust?” The man’s English was perfect, but his ascent was definitely foreign. Definitely eastern European.

“Yes, he is well, but Jacob is not.” The doctor turned his attention toward Jacob, who pulled off his cap.

“Come here, boy.” Jacob complied and the man began removing the bandages Dembe had wound around his head. Jacob winced as Koslov inspected his head wound.

“You are fortunate. I think we can get away with two staples. I assume this will go on Mr. Reddington’s account?” Dembe opened his mouth to speak, but Jacob cut him off.

“Actually no, I’d like to cover this myself...assuming we keep this visit between us.” Dembe’s face darkened with disapproval.

“You should not ask Dr. Koslov to lie to Raymond.” Jacob shoot a return glare toward Dembe.

“I’m not asking him to lie, just to not to volunteer the information. That’s covered in patient confidentiality, isn’t it?” Jacob twisted his head to check the doctor’s expression.

“For ordinary doctors, yes, however I am not an ordinary doctor, nor is Mr. Reddington an ordinary patient.” Jacob’s stomach sunk. Of course this guy was in Reddington’s pocket. He should never had come here.

“So you won’t do it?” The doctor studied Jacob’s face for a moment before sighing.

“Given that the injury isn’t too serious and that you are not Mr. Reddington’s ward, I’m willing to hold my tongue on two conditions: 1) You can pay me the $500 fee and 2) You can convince Dembe to likewise maintain his silence. I’ll give you a few minutes alone to discuss it.”

Jacob waited until Koslov had left the room before turning to Dembe. Everybody had a price, Jacob just needed to find his. “How much is going to take to keep you quiet? $100? $200?” Dembe’s glower became even more pronounced.

“My honor is not for sale. I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions.” The ward of the shady Mr. Reddington was a damn choir boy. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Easy for you say. What’s the worst Reddington’s going to do to you? Ground you? That will a real hardship for the guy who didn’t even want to leave the hotel room. Versus me, who will be out of the best paying job I’ve ever had. The job that was going to keep me fed for months. Have you ever been starving, Dembe? Not hungry… but starving?” Self-righteous was easy for people who had nothing at stake.

“Yes.” Jacob blinked. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. It was hard to imagine the huge boy having ever missed a meal. Then again the doctor had mentioned Dembe’s ‘miraculous’ recovery. Maybe the kid’s life had been harder than Jacob had assumed.

“Then do you get why I might not be real eager to feel that again?”

Dembe was silent a moment before nodding. That was a promising start. What else could Jacob say to convince the guy not to rat him out? Would an apology work? Dembe had cracked his skull, but Jacob had deliberately provoked him. They both shared the blame for what happened.

“Look...I was a dick. I know that. And I get that you don’t want me around. That’s fine, that’s nothing new for me. If you want me to not say another word to you for that rest of the week, I’ll do it, but I need this job. Please.” Jacob couldn’t remember the last time he’d used that final word with anyone. He only hoped it would pay off here.

Dembe was quiet for nearly thirty seconds before reaching a decision. “I won’t lie to Raymond...but I won’t expose any falsehood you tell. You can even tell him we left the hotel, if you’d like. Get your $200 bonus.”

“You know about that?” Had Raymond told Dembe before Jacob’s had arrived about the details of their deal?

“I was listening at the door.” Yet again Jacob’s massive charge surprised him.

“Kind of sneaky for someone as honest as you.” The kid clearly had layers, Jacob would give him that.

“Raymond is honorable is his own way, but I have found him less than forthright, on occasion.” For a non-native English speaker. Dembe sure knew some fancy words.

“Forthright? Seriously? Do you read the dictionary for fun, or something?” For a moment the older boy looked almost embarrassed.

“I enjoy books. Raymond reads to me, when he has time.” Jacob pushed down the unexpected feeling of jealousy. It was stupid to envy Dembe his relationship with Reddington. He wasn’t a little kid anymore. He certainly didn’t need anyone to read him bedtime stories.

“There’s a library near the hotel. I can bring you some books tomorrow, if you want.” Jacob had ‘borrowed’ one or two in the past and had yet to be caught. He could probably sneak out a few more if Dembe was interested.

“I would appreciate that. Thank you.” The older boy smiled at him, and Jacob unexpectedly found himself smiling back. Maybe the week wouldn’t be a nightmare after all.

“So then what happened?” Liz’s voiced pulled Jacob back into the present.

“The doctor fixed me up, good as new.”

“And your brother kept your secret?” Jacob nodded. When Reddington had returned that night, Jacob had told him that they’d hung out in the room all day. Dembe had seemed surprised, given that he’d agree not to contradict any story Jacob came up with. He’d assumed Jacob would want to take advantage of the opportunity to get the extra $200.

Jacob had considered it, but in the end he’d decided not to. He told himself it was for practical reasons, that such a lie would be more easily exposed, but in reality it hadn’t felt right, particular after Dembe had reimbursed Jacob for the money he’d spent at the doctor.

“Yeah. First time anyone ever did anything like that for me.” Dembe had shown him mercy that Jacob had done nothing to deserve.

“He sounds like a good brother.”

“The best.” Jacob felt an unwelcome pang of loneliness. It had been over a month since he’d spoken to Dembe. He hoped his brother was keeping himself safe. Jacob didn’t know what he’d do without him.

“You’re lucky. I always wanted a sibling. A part of me was hoping that maybe I already had one.” It took a moment for Jacob to realise Liz was talking about the file. It was funny that she wanted to discuss it now, when less than thirty minutes go she’d nearly bitten his head off for asking.

“You were an only child?” Liz nodded.

“As far as the State of Nebraska knows I am. Although apparently my biological father was a con man who ditched me to go the lam, so who knows.” Jacob could hear the undercurrent of anger beneath the flippant tone.

“And your mother?”

“Died in a fire, that she may have started herself. The report was ‘inconclusive.’” No wonder Liz hadn’t felt like sharing what she’d found in the file. She was probably expecting him to respond with an ‘I told you so.’

“Could have been worse. She could have been a negligent crackhead like my birth mother.” Liz turned sharply to look at him. Jacob shrugged, feigning a nonchalance that after all these years he wished he could actually feel. “Family isn’t blood, and blood isn’t family. I think we both made out alright.”

“Yeah, I think we did too.” They fell into a companionable silence, very different from the one they begun the trip with. Jacob found that he no longer dreading the length of the ride, but rather it’s conclusion. He didn’t want to drive away from Liz, knowing he’d never see her again. Stupid and sentimental of him, but it was what it was. Jacob looked over at Liz and found her looking out the window, smiling at the seemingly endless fields stretching to the horizon. She was happy. They were both going home. It was enough.

#blacklist fanfiction #Second Son #keen2 fanfiction #I finally updated!

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libertariantaoist · 7 years

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As the “Russia-gate” farce continues to dominate the American “news” media, and President Trump’s foreign policy veers off in a direction many of his supporters find baffling, one wonders: what the heck happened? I thought Trump was supposed to be “Putin’s puppet,” as Hillary Clinton and her journalistic camarilla would have it. The Russian president, in his extended interview with filmmaker Oliver Stone, has an explanation:

“Stone: Donald Trump won. This is your fourth president, am I right? Clinton, Mr. Bush, Mr. Obama, and now your fourth one.

“Putin: Yes, that’s true.

“Stone: What changes?

“Putin: Well, almost nothing.”

Stone is surprised by this answer, and Putin elaborates:

“Well, life makes some changes for you. But on the whole, everywhere, especially in the United States, the bureaucracy is very strong. And bureaucracy is the one that rules the world.”

This is a reiteration of something the Russian president said earlier in the context of Stone’s questions about the US election. Stone asks what he thinks of the various candidates: Trump’s name doesn’t come up, but Stone does ask about Bernie Sanders. Putin replies:

“It’s not up to us to say. It’s not whether we are going to like it or not. All I can say is as follows … the force of the United States bureaucracy is very great. It’s immense. And there are many facts not visible about the candidates until they become president. And the moment one gets to the real work, he or she feels the burden.”

So it doesn’t matter who wins the presidential election, and inhabits the White House, because the national security bureaucracy is forever, and their power is – almost – unchallengable. And so, given this, Putin’s answer to Stone’s somewhat tongue-in-cheek question, “Why did you hack the election?”, is anti-climactic. The answer is: why would they bother? Putin dismisses the question as “a very silly statement,” and then goes on to wonder why Western journalists find the prospect of getting along with Russia so problematic.

Trump and his campaign, says Putin, “understood where their voters were located” – a reference, I believe, to the surprising results in Michigan, Wisconsin, and Pennsylvania. Clinton’s supporters “should have drawn conclusions from what they did, from how they did their jobs, they shouldn’t have tried to shift the blame on to something outside.” This is what the more perceptive progressives are saying – but then again I suppose that they, too, are “Putin’s puppets.”

This section of the interviews occurred in February, and so it’s interesting how Putin predicted what would happen to the Trump presidency and the conduct of his foreign policy:

“And I think that Obama’s outgoing team has created a minefield for the incoming president and for his team. They have created an environment which makes it difficult for the new president to make good on the promises he gave to the people.”

To say the least.

There is much more in this series of interviews, including some real news that has been ignored by the “mainstream” media, including

Putin tells Stone that the Ukraine snipers who shot at both the government forces and the anti-government crowds in Kiev – an event that signaled the end of the Yanukovych regime – were trained and financed in the West: “[W]e have information available to us that armed groups were trained in the Western parts of Ukraine itself, in Poland, and in a number of other places.”

Putin has evidence of Turkish support for ISIS: “During the G20 summit, when the journalists left the room, I took out photos … and from my place where I was sitting I showed those photos [of ISIS oil being transported to Turkey] to everyone. I showed it to my counterparts. I showed them the route I mentioned earlier. And we have shown these photos to our American counterparts…. Everyone knew about everything. So trying to open a door which is already open is simply senseless. It’s something that is absolutely evident. So it’s not about one single truck – there are thousands of trucks going through that route. It looks as if it were a living pipeline.”

At one point, Putin takes out his cell phone and shows Stone a video of a Russian attack on ISIS forces, remarking “By the way, they were coming from the Turkish side of the border.”

Putin reveals how US aid reaches jihadists: “According to the data we received, employees of the United States in Azerbaijan contacted militants from the Caucasus.” In a letter from the CIA to their Russian counterparts, the Americans reiterated their alleged right to funnel aid to their clients, and the missive “even named the employee of the US Special Services who worked in the US embassy in Baku.”

And then there’s one specific instance in which the news is anticipated: Stone brings up the Snowden revelation that the Americans have planted malware in Japanese infrastructure capable of shutting that country down, and he speculates that Washington has surely targeted Russia in the same way. Which brings to mind a recent Washington Post story reporting that this is indeed the case.

There’s a lot more in these interviews than I have space to write about: my favorites are the instances in which Stone’s leftism comes up against Putin’s paleoconservatism. At several points the issue of “anti-Americanism” comes up, and the debate between the two is illuminating in that it reveals the Russian leader’s instinctual pro-Americanism, despite his objections to the policies of our government. I had to laugh when Putin asked Stone: “Are you a communist?” Stone denies it: “I’m a capitalist!”

There is also a lot of humor here: Stone insists on showing Putin a scene from “Dr. Strangelove,” the part where the mad scientist rides a nuke, laughing maniacally. The sardonic expression on Putin’s face speaks volumes. Early on, Stone asks “What is the US [foreign] policy? What is its strategy in the world as a whole?” To which Putin replies: “Certainly, I am going to reply to this question very candidly, in great detail – but only once I retire.” In speaking about Washington’s unilateral abrogation of the ABM Treaty, Stone remarks:

“You know, the American Indians made treaties with the US government and they were the first to experience the treachery of the US government. You’re not the first.”

To which Putin replies: “We wouldn’t like to be the last.” And he laughs.

Putin’s sense of humor is a bit dark, and things get darker still as he predicts what the consequences for Stone will be when “The Putin Interviews” is released:

“You’ve never been beaten before in your life?,” says Putin. “Oh yes, many times,” says Stone. I think Putin was talking about being physically beaten, but, anyway, the Russian leader goes on to say: “Then it’s not going to be anything new, because you’re going to suffer for what you’re about to do.” “No, I know,” says Stone, “but it’s worth it. It’s worth it to try to bring some more peace and consciousness to the world.”

Stone has been pilloried in the US media, by all usual suspects, but what’s very telling is that none of his critics delve into the content of the interviews: they simply accuse Stone of being a “useful idiot,” a phrase from the lexicon of the cold war that’s being revived by the liberals who used to be labeled as such.

And yet when you get down in the weeds, as I have tried to do in this series, one begins to realize the enormity of the hoax that’s been perpetrated on the American people. Putin is routinely described in our media as the principal enemy of the United States: our military brass has been pushing this line, for budgetary reasons, and the Clinton wing of the Democratic party has been pushing it for political reasons. And yet the lasting impression left by “The Putin Interviews” is of a man who greatly admires the United States, and sees the vast potential of détente between Moscow and Washington, a potential he would like very much to bring to realization.

What we have witnessed in the past few months, however, is that this potential benefit to both countries is being denied by some very powerful forces. The entire “Deep State” apparatus, which Putin is very much aware of, is implacably opposed to peaceful cooperation, and will do anything to stop it. But why?

There are many factors, including money – the military-industrial complex is dependent on hostility between the US and Russia, as are our parasitic “allies’ in Europe – as well as cultural issues. Russia is essentially a conservative society, and our “progressive” elites hate it for that reason. Which brings us to the real reason for the Russophobia that infects the American political class, and that is Putin’s commitment to the concept of national sovereignty.

Nationalism in all its forms is bitterly opposed by our elites, and this is what sets them against not only Putin but also against President Trump. Their allegiance isn’t to the United States as a separate entity, but to the “Free World,” whatever that may be. And their foreign allies are even more explicit about their radical internationalism, bitterly clinging to transnational institutions such as the European Union even as populist movements upend them.

This is the central issue confronting the parties and politicians of all countries, the conflict that separates the elites from the peoples they would like to rule: it is globalism versus national sovereignty. And this is not just a foreign policy question. It is a line of demarcation that puts the parties of all countries on one side of the barricades or the other.

In his famous essay, “The End of History,” neoconservative theorist Francis Fukuyama outlined the globalist project, which he saw as the inevitable outcome of human experience: a “universal homogenous State” that would extend its power across every civilized country and beyond. But of course nothing is inevitable, at least in that sense and on that scale, a fact the elites who hold this vision recognize all too well. So they are working day and night to make it a reality, moving their armies and their agents into this country and that country, encircling their enemies, and waiting for the moment to strike. And Putin, the ideologue of national sovereignty, is rightly perceived as their implacable enemy, the chief obstacle to the globalist project.

That’s why they hate him. It has nothing to do with the annexation of Crimea, or the alleged “authoritarianism” of a country that now has a multi-party system a few short decades after coming out of real totalitarianism. Even if Russia were a Jeffersonian republic, and Putin the second coming of Gandhi, still they would demonize him and his country for this very reason.

As to who will win this struggle between globalism and national particularism, I would not venture a guess. What I will do, however, is to remind my readers that if ever this worldwide “homogenous State” comes into being, there will be nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, no way to escape its power.

Editorial note: This is the third and last part of a three-part series on Oliver Stone’s “The Putin Interviews.” The first part is here, and the second part is here. You can get the book version – which contains some material not included in the film – here.

#justin raimondo #antiwar.com #the putin interviews

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political-fluffle · 5 years

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Hey Donald Trump, apparently you want to mix it up with me, son of a Holocaust survivor because I don’t agree that Israel—another sovereign nation—should be able to act as an oppressive occupier of Arab-owned land.

I’m not impressed with your offensive but limp, stupid statements about “Jewish Democrats” all because you think it plays well with your re-election campaign. You want a piece of me, bring it. You have done enough to piss me off.

Even given an extra day of reporter questions to suggest that you had missteps in accusing Jewish Democrats who don’t back the kowtowing policies of right-leaning Benjamin Netanyahu to remain as Israeli prime minister, you doubled down.

My children and my grandchildren are forever going to know you as one who hates Jews and everything for which Jewish values stand.

You driving the dividing rod into the American psyche to split Jewish voters – people who are already very split on this question – by insulting whether I owe dual-loyalties to Israel and the United States. You say I am disloyal because I don’t like Netanyahu – or you – to be acting as an authoritarian racist who wants to quash Muslim votes in each country, who wants to pick who wins and who loses in the economy and education, who wants Muslims to live a life of second-class status.

It’s going to take a lot more of your empty arguments to hurt me, but let me be clear that my children and my grandchildren are forever going to know you as one who hates Jews and everything for which Jewish values stand. You can’t even tell the difference between Jews and Israelis. The fact that no Israeli politician can currently pull a majority vote in the Knesset ought to tell you that even among Israelis there is no uniformity about the direction of Israeli-enforced policy.

Your white supremacist supporters do a much better job of anti-Semitism than you; they want to kill me or drive me and all people who are The Other into exile to leave them a whiter, homogeneous Christian nation. Your Christian evangelicals want us to find Christ. Your friends in Poland, whom you are about to visit, have passed a law to imprison anyone who says out loud that Poles killed Jews. The neo-Nazis, in whom you find plenty of good people, don’t need much extra oomph; they just grew into their hate-filled polemics and worse from the Daddy Nazis.

Those were the good Germans who spit on my Mom as she walked on the street, who forced her into a Jewish school on the top floor of a building in British bombing runs, who locked her up for weeks separate from her family on a trumped-up charge, who forced her to flee with parents and a young brother half a world away to China just in time to be locked up for the rest of World War II by the Japanese Axis allies, open to tuberculosis, scorpion bites and hunger. Oh yeah, there was no escape possible to America because the borders were summarily shut down to them, even as the same nostalgic America was corralling Japanese-Americans into containment camps.

My grandfather’s attempt at a family tree was fine until it hit 1945. The generations just stopped at the Nazi death camps. An older uncle and aunt spent the winter iced into the Danube, only to get out and have to run the British blockade of Palestine to find safety. I don’t need any lecturing about how I view 70 years of Israeli independence either.

Perhaps closing borders sounds a little too close to your own policies? It does for me, but then I’m disloyal – to something. To you, for sure. To capitalism that operates without empathy and fairness. To Netanyahu? Guilty as charged. To American values, I am loyal. To the Israeli government, particularly as aimed towards the right, nope. I care because relatives and a lot of Jews live there, understanding that there are fewer Jews there than in New York and Los Angeles.

I come by my disloyalty naturally, the son of Jews whose very lives were held, hungry and sick, at the point of German Shepherds and a gun on the other side of the barbed wire.

You’ve called me a Socialist and a Commie before, you’ve used anti-Semitic advertising in your campaign, you’ve attacked me a disloyal journalist, someone weak on immigration and an abortion rights nut. Now we can add verbal anti-Semite. How else do we explain singling out Jewish Democrats from all Democrats, or recognizing that there has been plenty of specific criticism from Jewish America of the words used by those two House Squad members?

Israel itself has Jews and Arabs in its tax-paying population and in its Knesset, the legislature where there are lots of arguments about settlements and occupation and shooting unarmed Gazans in the name of security. The right-wing Orthodox in Israel don’t think most American Jews are even Jews. That small minority of Jews who are your circle, people like casino owner Sheldon Adelson and Seagram’s original owners, the Bronfmans, and your former lawyer David Friedman whom you named as ambassador, don’t represent me. So, let’s knock off the stereotypes, shall we?

You think two U.S. congresswomen are going to overrun all the entrenched political interests in two nations? You’re not only anti-Jew, anti-Muslim, and anti-woman, you are anti-knowledge.

So, if you think this is your political fastball, to pick on two Muslim congresswomen but blame Jewish Democrats, you have a few things to learn.

Real anti-Semitism, the kind you try to wash your hands of as you sling you anti-Jewish tropes, meant telling my dad where he couldn’t teach, or my father-in-law from being able to practice medicine in the largest area hospital. Nice way to treat military veterans, right? How about all the Green Book-like hotels that refused my parents entry, along with every black and brown person in the country. It is about control and labeling The Other problematic and disposable – you know, deplorable. It was what pushed me as a young reporter to the newspaper publisher’s office to deplore an editorial cartoon about Israel that used figures with Der Stormer-like big noses.

Sometimes you just need to be disloyal, because that’s the right thing to do.

How do you explain your own behavior? You’re the one disloyal to the ideas of America, the guy who loves America but hates Americans.

If you want to shill for Netanyahu, go right ahead. But leave the Jewish tropes about dual loyalties home. If you can’t tell the different between anti-Jew and anti-Israeli right-wing government, don’t say anything at all.

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gracewithducks · 6 years

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Doers of the Word (James 1:17-27)

In our family, we are big fans of the TV show “The Amazing Race.” If you’ve never seen it, basically, it’s a reality show that follows several teams of two as they race around the world. At the beginning of each leg of the race, the team members open an envelope with a clue – which leads them to another clue, which gives them a task they must complete in order to receive their next clue, which then leads them to another clue, and on and on it goes. Every so often, the teams “check in” at what’s called a pit stop – a mandatory time to rest, eat, and record all those little interviews they pepper throughout the episode. And most of the time, the last team to check in is eliminated from the race. Eventually, after many legs, many countries, many clues and many challenges, one team is named the winners – and because it’s a reality TV show, they’re awarded a prize of one million dollars.

One of the reasons I enjoy the show is because it gives me an opportunity to see the world – at least vicariously. Ask my family sometimes, and they’ll tell you that at least once during just about every episode, I’ll say, “We should go there.” Pristine beaches in Bora Bora. Moscow’s Red Square. Norway’s midnight sun. The hustle and bustle of downtown Shanghai. Bavarian fairy-tale castles and the timeless beauty of Botswana – the world is such a vast and diverse and beautiful place, and I know I’m never going to see it all in person, so I’m grateful for the glimpses I can get along the way. And it’s also lovely to see teams move from ignorance or even prejudice as they encounter people who are kind, and compassionate, and generous – in every country – and realize people are people, all the world over.

Of course, that’s just a side effect of the race. The contestants aren’t there to be goodwill ambassadors or to make friends, and they certainly aren’t just sightseeing. Though they do find themselves in some of the most impressive places around the world, they’re always busy looking for a clue box or trying to get to their next task. They play Japanese game shows, try to identify bowls of tea, unroll haybales and build wooden toys and race on donkeys and learn traditional dances and jump out of airplanes – things they would never do in their normal lives, sometimes things they never thought they could do, overcoming fear and stepping outside their comfort zones along the way.

And again and again, the teams get into trouble when they fail to read their clues. “Find the marked counter” – “wear your costume” – even the difference between “take a taxi” and “walk on foot” to your next destination, gets teams into trouble over and over again. Sometimes teams are so excited just to be on the race, so eager, so anxious, that they end up getting in their own way. They miss details. They forget to pick up their gear. They leave their bags, miss their trains, even lose their passports, as they run off enthusiastically in the very wrong direction.

Pay attention, work together, keep going, and follow directions: those are the lessons of the Amazing Race.

This week, as we were watching an episode of the Amazing Race, as I watched team after team tear into their clue envelopes and then take off running – I found myself thinking about the words we heard from James this morning: “Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves.”

Can you imagine an episode of a show like “The Amazing Race” where a team stood at the starting line, full of excitement and anticipation – so delighted to be on the show at last – and then they opened their first clue, and it says – I don’t know, “Drive yourselves to the airport and fly to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, and make your way to Copacabana beach, where you must search for your next clue.”

And imagine a team that says, “Wow, it’s an actual Amazing Race clue! Oh, it’s so beautiful! Wow, wouldn’t it be incredible to go to Copacabana beach?” And then that team ran to their car, and drove home. And they framed their Amazing Race clue, and they hung it on the wall. And every day they’d read it again, until they’d memorized it. And maybe they looked on the internet for a lovely picture of Copacabana beach, and they used some photo editing software, and they put the words “Make your way to Copacabana Beach” across the top of the picture, and they framed it, and they hung it up on the wall next to their clue… and they made tee shirts that said “Copacabana beach” and put “Rio de Janeiro” bumper stickers on their cars, and everyone who met them just had to hear the story of the time they ripped open a clue and it said, “Fly to Rio de Janeiro and find Copacabana Beach.”

Except they never actually went there. They never went to the airport, got a ticket, boarded a train, hailed a taxi – never actually saw or set foot on the beach. And they never found the next clue there, which told them to go parasailing, or to build a sandcastle, or to learn to mix cocktails, or to go tango in Argentina, or fly over Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe, to learn a French song in Paris, to search windmills in the Netherlands or stand at the Schindler memorial in Poland, to receive a traditional blessing in India or learn a water dance in Hong King, or to run to the finish line at the end of the race.

Imagine a team who was given this chance at a once-in-a-lifetime adventure, and they never even made it past the starting line. Imagine if they opened the first clue – and ignored it. Imagine if they loved the race – but when it came time to take off, they so completely missed the point.

It’s a bizarre and unrealistic scenario, sure. And no, I’ve never seen it happen. I’ve seen teams freeze and panic many times, but they always find a way to keep going; they refuse to give up, even if they end up limping to the finish line.

I don’t think any team would ever be so careless or so clueless to never even leave the ground. But it sure seems to me that we as Christians make that same mistake more times than we’d care to admit. We know what we are meant to do… we just fail to actually do it.

Through the month of September, we are going to be spending time with the epistle of James.

James is a tiny little book, shoved way in the back of the bible. Most of the New Testament is made up of either the gospels – the stories of Jesus – or the letters of Paul, who wrote to the early Christians trying to help them make sense of their faith now that Jesus had risen from the dead. Because he wrote so many letters, and because those letters hung around, Paul’s voice has pretty much dominated Christian theology since just about the very beginning. Which is ironic, because Paul himself was a second-generation Christian – which is to say, he never actually knew Jesus when Jesus was on earth. And while Paul did some amazing things to open the church to new people in new places, while Paul advocated for a good news that really was for all people, while Paul followed Jesus by breaking rules and crossing borders – Paul did some great things, but Paul wasn’t the only one.

Way back in the end of the New Testament, there are a handful of tiny little letters: letters from Peter, and John, and from James, letters that may actually be from disciples who walked alongside Jesus, who were there at Pentecost and who went out into the world to share what they had seen and heard.

Paul’s voice predominates – Peter, John, and James, whose voices reach back to the time of Christ directly, are shoved into the back. Peter warns against false teachers, and encourages perseverance in the face of persecution. John talks about love, love for one another, which is the mark of our discipleship. And James? Well, James is emphatic: how you live, what you do, matters.

Over the centuries, the little letter of James has been quite controversial. When it came time to set the canon, to decide which of the many early Christian writings would be considered authoritative scripture for the church for all time, James almost didn’t make the cut. The great reformer, Martin Luther, once dismissed James’ letter as an “epistle of straw” – that is to say, flimsy, unstable, and essentially worthless.

James is controversial because he never talks about the death of Jesus, or the resurrection of Jesus, or the divinity and humanity of Jesus, or the Trinity, or any of the other themes we might expect from an early Christian preacher. And unlike Paul, who emphasizes again and again the primacy of grace – who writes one letter after another to combat the idea that, in order to be forgiven, we have to do good works, to earn our salvation, to be circumcised, and so on. Over and over again, Paul proclaims: God’s grace is enough. We are sinful, we are weak, we can’t help ourselves, but the very good news is, we don’t have to. That’s what Jesus came to do.

James, on the other hand, James says: that may all be true, but it’s also true that how you live matters. James was writing to deal with a completely different set of problems: not to people who added rules and laws and burdens to the gospel, but to those who had so fully embraced this idea of grace that they believed they were free to do anything and everything they want. It’s as if they thought, God loves me, no matter what, and I’m in, no matter what – so why should I worry or care about anyone or anything else?

And James says: no. That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. Yes, God loves you freely; yes, God forgives your sin… but Jesus also said things like, “Be perfect” and “Go and sin no more” and “Love one another as I have loved you” and even “Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers and sisters, you do to me.”

We know those words. We’ve heard those words. Some of us even have them underlined in our bibles, we sing them, we repeat them, we nod our heads whenever the preacher comes back around to them… but James reminds us, Hearing the words – underlining them – memorizing them – agreeing with them, that’s not enough. Because what we are really supposed to do is to follow them, to obey them, to put them into action in our lives.

“Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves.”

It’s a theme we will hear again and again in James: how we live matters, because how we live reveals what we truly believe.

It’s far too easy to look around these days and see people who profess to be Christian – with crosses around their necks and crosses on their cars and bible verses on their walls and on their shirts and rolling out of their mouths… people whose lives have all the “trappings” of Christianity, but who by their lives call into question whether they’ve ever gotten acquainted with Jesus at all – Jesus, who knew that hurting people are always more important than rules and tradition; Jesus, who said only the one without sin should cast a stone; Jesus, who didn’t stand apart from the hungry or the lonely, who welcomed strangers and identified with outcasts, who sought out the people everyone else had written off as untouchable, and invited them to share his bread and share his life; Jesus, who called out the comfortable and comforted the oppressed.

James writes, “If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless.” If you use the words of Christ to wound the very people he came to heal, if you use the words of scripture to justify excluding the very people God’s arms are open to receive, if you use the bible to try to argue that it’s God’s idea for the rich to get richer while everyone else hopes to scrape by, if your faith is lived out by dismantling education, by taking away opportunities, by propping up evil and unjust systems… well, you may have faith, friends, but it’s not faith in any Christ I’ve ever met.

James writes, “But those who persevere, not as hearers who forget but doers who act – they will be blessed in their doing… Religion that is pure and undefiled before [God] is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.”

And “unstained” doesn’t mean untouched; it doesn’t mean we lock ourselves away so we can keep our hands clean in order to satisfy some impossible ideal of purity. After all, Jesus was born in a stable, and he slept alongside dusty roads, and he bled on a criminal’s cross... this is not a God who is afraid to get dirty.

But “unstained’ means that, as we wade into the dirt and dust of a world full of sin and sorrow and suffering, that we don’t let it define us, and we don’t forget who we really are. We are made in God’s image; we bear the image of the God who so loved the world that he could not stay away – and we are called to do the same. The faith that God delights in, the faith that’s worth living, is the faith that leads us to care for the most vulnerable people around us, to help the powerless find their voice, to love the lonely, and to believe that when we do, God will meet us there.

As we journey through the book of James, we will find that James has no time for casual disciples; and James is quite insistent that how we live matters… not because we’re so weak we need to protect ourselves from the world, but because we are so powerful, we have the power to reshape this world, to impact lives, to bring hope and work for justice and make the world around us look more like the world God longs for it to be.

We know the words. We have met the Word in flesh. But let’s not just let the words be words, words we underline and scrawl across pretty pictures… let’s not let our faith be no more than slogans and bumper stickers…but may our faith be written on our hearts and lived out in our lives.

O Lord, may our faith be more than words. May we not just hear, not just speak, but live with faith, with love and with grace. In Christ’s name; amen.

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minnievirizarry · 6 years

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The Top 25 Instagram Apps to Produce Killer Content in 2018

Nothing stays the same on Instagram for long. Especially for marketers.

The platform grew by a staggering 200 million users in 2017 alone. This growth combined with the company’s decision to go all-in on Instagram Stories signals the platform’s status as the prime place to promote visual content.

But with increased competition comes the challenge of standing out. And the pressure to promote more eye-popping content.

Luckily, there are a ton of Instagram apps out there to help you do exactly that. Don’t consider yourself a creative type? Not exactly a master photographer? No worries.

Below we’ve broken down 25 Instagram apps (free and premium) to ensure that your visual content doesn’t go unnoticed.

Types of Instagram Apps

For your convenience, we’ve split the Instagram apps up into these categories:

Instagram Engagement Apps

Instagram Photo Apps

Instagram Video Apps

IFTTT Formulas for Instagram

Instagram Story Apps

Instagram Engagement Apps

The more you focus on Instagram as a marketing channel, the more shortcuts you need to find to save time. From increasing how much content you share to responding to users ASAP, all marketers should consider having a tool to manage their presence from one place.

1. Sprout Social

The ability to queue up posts in advance is a game-changer for serial Instagram users. Instagram scheduling allows you to plan out your content calendar without having to worry about crafting posts in real-time.

Additionally, Sprout aggregates your Instagram notifications so you never miss any shout-outs from your followers.

Nice, right?

Also, Instagram analytics from Sprout clue you in on your top-performing posts. This allows you to keep creating the content your followers are hungry for, time and time again.

Update: With the latest Sprout Social update, you can now schedule and post your photos directly to Instagram!

Post to Instagram, Engage with Comments and Analyze Success

Learn More

Get in touch with our team today to learn how you can schedule, post and analyze Instagram content from one platform!

First Name Last Name

Business Email Phone Number Company Name Country

Select OneUnited StatesUnited KingdomCanadaAustraliaMexicoSouth AfricaAfghanistanÅland IslandsAlbaniaAlgeriaAmerican SamoaAndorraAngolaAnguillaAntarcticaAntigua and BarbudaArgentinaArmeniaArubaAustraliaAustriaAzerbaijanBahamasBahrainBangladeshBarbadosBelarusBelgiumBelizeBeninBermudaBhutanBoliviaBosnia and HerzegovinaBotswanaBouvet IslandBrazilBritish Indian Ocean TerritoryBritish Virgin IslandsBruneiBulgariaBurkina FasoBurundiCambodiaCameroonCanadaCape VerdeCayman IslandsCentral African RepublicChadChileChinaChristmas IslandCocos (Keeling) IslandsColombiaComorosCook IslandsCosta RicaCroatiaCubaCuraçaoCyprusCzechiaDenmarkDjiboutiDominicaDominican RepublicDR CongoEcuadorEgyptEl SalvadorEquatorial GuineaEritreaEstoniaEthiopiaFalkland IslandsFaroe IslandsFijiFinlandFranceFrench GuianaFrench PolynesiaFrench Southern and Antarctic LandsGabonGambiaGeorgiaGermanyGhanaGibraltarGreeceGreenlandGrenadaGuadeloupeGuamGuatemalaGuernseyGuineaGuinea-BissauGuyanaHaitiHeard Island and McDonald IslandsHondurasHong KongHungaryIcelandIndiaIndonesiaIranIraqIrelandIsle of ManIsraelItalyIvory CoastJamaicaJapanJerseyJordanKazakhstanKenyaKiribatiKosovoKuwaitKyrgyzstanLaosLatviaLebanonLesothoLiberiaLibyaLiechtensteinLithuaniaLuxembourgMacauMacedoniaMadagascarMalawiMalaysiaMaldivesMaliMaltaMarshall IslandsMartiniqueMauritaniaMauritiusMayotteMexicoMicronesiaMoldovaMonacoMongoliaMontenegroMontserratMoroccoMozambiqueMyanmarNamibiaNauruNepalNetherlandsNew CaledoniaNew ZealandNicaraguaNigerNigeriaNiueNorfolk IslandNorth KoreaNorthern Mariana IslandsNorwayOmanPakistanPalauPalestinePanamaPapua New GuineaParaguayPeruPhilippinesPitcairn IslandsPolandPortugalPuerto RicoQatarRepublic of the CongoRomaniaRussiaRwandaRéunionSaint BarthélemySaint Kitts and NevisSaint LuciaSaint MartinSaint Pierre and MiquelonSaint Vincent and the GrenadinesSamoaSan MarinoSaudi ArabiaSenegalSerbiaSeychellesSierra LeoneSingaporeSint MaartenSlovakiaSloveniaSolomon IslandsSomaliaSouth AfricaSouth GeorgiaSouth KoreaSouth SudanSpainSri LankaSudanSurinameSvalbard and Jan MayenSwazilandSwedenSwitzerlandSyriaSão Tomé and PríncipeTaiwanTajikistanTanzaniaThailandTimor-LesteTogoTokelauTongaTrinidad and TobagoTunisiaTurkeyTurkmenistanTurks and Caicos IslandsTuvaluUgandaUkraineUnited Arab EmiratesUnited KingdomUnited StatesUnited States Minor Outlying IslandsUnited States Virgin IslandsUruguayUzbekistanVanuatuVatican CityVenezuelaVietnamWallis and FutunaWestern SaharaYemenZambiaZimbabwe

Company Size

Select OneWe’re an agencyMyself only2-10 employees11-50 employees51-200 employees201-500 employees501-1,000 employees1,001-5,000 employees5,001-10,000 employees10,001+ employees

I agree to Sprout Social’s Terms of Service. I acknowledge that Sprout Social uses my personal information in accordance with its Privacy Policy. Learn More

{ "animations": [{ "duration": 300, "easing": "ease-out", "iterations": "1", "selector": ".Snackbar", "keyframes": [ { "transform": "translateY(100%)", "opacity": 0 }, { "transform": "translateY(0)", "opacity": 1 } ] }, { "duration": 300, "delay": "10s", "fill": "forwards", "easing": "ease-in", "iterations": "1", "selector": ".Snackbar", "keyframes": [ { "transform": "translateY(0)", "opacity": 1 }, { "transform": "translateY(100%)", "opacity": 0 } ] }] }

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Someone from our sales team will contact you shortly.

Instagram Photo Apps

The era of smartphones has made us all amateur photographers, but that doesn’t mean we snap flawless photos.

Thankfully, there are plenty of editing apps to help us deal with anything from touch-ups to adding visual flair with effects and text overlays.

1. BeFunky

BeFunky is a robust web-based photo editing tool, perfect for cleaning up pictures and designing graphics alike. The full suite of editing tools includes the ability to crop, resize, tilt, soften, sharpen 2nd much more.

As an added bonus, you don’t even have to create an account to use the free version.

2. PicMonkey

Sometimes an otherwise perfect photo needs a bit of touching up. PicMonkey is great for fixing selfies, allowing users to remove wrinkles and reduce shine. Given that images on Instagram that feature a face get 38% more likes, PicMonkey can help you get the picture perfect photo every time.

PicMonkey isn’t just for pictures of people, though. For example, the “Adjustments” feature is awesome for creating epic, landscape-style photos.

3. Adobe Aviary

If you’re using an editor by Adobe, you know your photos are in good hands.

Aviary is a straightforward yet powerful Instagram app with a ton of one-touch tools on deck. Creative touches like softening, sharpening and playing with the saturation of photos may seem subtle but can be the difference to make your photos pop.

Another awesome feature of Aviary is the ability for the app to actually suggest edits on your behalf.

4. Canva

If you’re looking to create social graphics from scratch, look no further. Canva boasts several templates for inspirational images, text-based photos, announcements and everything in-between.

5. Piktochart

Infographics get plenty of love on Twitter and Facebook, so why not Instagram? Piktochart providers you with attractive templates for those times when you want to hit your followers with a data-driven post.

6. Framatic

With over 20 million downloads, Framatic is another raved-about Instagram app for sprucing up your images. The app sports 36 adjustable layouts, 32 vintage borders and 92 effects to apply to photos in an instant.

7. Landscape by Sprout Social

Landscape is Sprout’s very own social media image resizing tool.

How does it work? Upload any photo that you’d like to share on Instagram, choose which post size you’d like to create, then guide the cropping and presto. Now you have a freshly optimized image to download.

After you’ve cropped your images to your exact specifications, start sharing them with your Instagram following!

Start Scheduling Instagram Posts Today

Learn More

Get in touch with our team today to learn how you can schedule, post and analyze Instagram content from one platform!

First Name Last Name

Business Email Phone Number Company Name Country

Company Size

Select OneWe’re an agencyMyself only2-10 employees11-50 employees51-200 employees201-500 employees501-1,000 employees1,001-5,000 employees5,001-10,000 employees10,001+ employees

I agree to Sprout Social’s Terms of Service. I acknowledge that Sprout Social uses my personal information in accordance with its Privacy Policy. Learn More

Thank You for Requesting a Demo!

Someone from our sales team will contact you shortly.

8. Square Sized

One of the most-downloaded resizing apps, Square Sized allows users to import photos from personal albums or Facebook to be optimized for Instagram. The app gives you the option to edit your newly sized photos too.

9. No Crop and Square

This app does exactly what it’s advertised to do: post full-sized pictures on Instagram without cropping. Extras such as stickers and filters are also available to give your resized photos even more creative flair.

10. Layout

Layout is Instagram’s very own collage creator. You can create collages from photos taken on the spot or from your camera roll. Layout also has a handful of creative tools, such as the traditional Instagram filters, for making your collages even more, well, you.

11. LiPix

LiPix is a social tool currently being used by over tens of millions across Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Flickr and Tumblr. The application boasts 90 adjustable templates, 54 different borders and 20 photo effects.

Instagram Video Apps

No longer restricted to 15-second clips, videos are a prime place to let your creative side shine on Instagram. The good news? You don’t need to be Spielberg or Scorsese to pull off a good-looking Instagram video thanks to the apps available today.

1. Boomerang

Instagram’s native Boomerang allows you to create super bite-sized videos that are essentially like GIFs moving forward and backward.

Creating bite-sized “videos” out of burst photos, these pieces of content are great for storytelling or just having a bit of fun.

Office dog Lenny's pulling out all the tricks for #Boomerang's arrival! #OneTwoStep

A post shared by Purina (@purina) on Oct 22, 2015 at 2:44pm PDT

2. InShot

Borders, filters, voice-overs and everything in-between. This comprehensive editor can quickly step up the style for any of your videos, making them Instagram-ready in an instant.

3. Video Editor (formerly vStudio)

This 4.5-star rated app provides you just about everything you could want to edit your Instagram videos. Features include the ability to adjust brightness, contrast, saturation, exposure and more. You can also choose from over 80 different filters to use.

4. Hyperlapse

Hyperlapse is yet another one of Instagram’s own native apps. In short, Hyperlapse allows you to take time-lapse videos (even while you’re in motion). The built-in stabilization technology gives users the freedom to move around while they direct, which is a huge advantage of the tool as demonstrated by this video:

vimeo

5. Lapse It

Another time-lapse app for Instagram, Lapse It provides a variety of editing options to make your time-lapse content gorgeous. From backward looping to adding visual effects, eye-popping video is only a few taps away.

6. Quik by GoPro

GoPro is well-known for their own breathtaking Instagram content. Through Quik, Instagram usrers with GoPros can edit their high-def videos via smartphone without having to run through another editing app.

7. Crop Square Video

This editor makes it quick and easy to crop the framing of a shot, adjust video position, resize and rotate videos, and to fill with background colors. A key feature that Crop Video Square touts is the ability to pinch to crop and zoom.

IFTTT Formulas for Instagram

IFTTT –short for “if this then that”–is a tool that uses “applets” to connect products and applications. For instance, you can set an applet to email you a daily digest of Instagram Photos posted in your area. There are thousands of different applets that can save marketers time, but here are some of the best for Instagram.

1. Share Photos With a Specific #Hashtag to Slack Channel

This IFTTT formula will pull all of the Instagram photos with a specific hashtag into a Slack channel. So if you use Slack, this is a quick and easy way to find the photos you’re mentioned in, which you can then go on to Regram with your followers.

21. Automatically Post Your Instagram Posts as Twitter Photos

This is an incredibly efficient way to share your Instagram photos to Twitter, which is a great source of content for Tweets.

22. Automatically Post Your Grams to a Facebook Album

This formula provides another quick and easy way to re-purpose your Instagram content on your other social networks. Automatically pull your Instagram photos into a Facebook album, so fans without Instagram can still see your content.

Instagram Story Apps

Remember how we said that Instagram Stories are booming right now? If you want to spice up your stories, these three Instagram apps are must-try.

1. Hypetype

Hypetype’s motion typography is enough to make anyone scrolling stop and stare. With the ability to emphasize and animate multiple phrases in a photo, this app is awesome for visually striking stories.

2. Over

Designed specifically with stories in mind, Over positions itself as the be-all, end-all for brands pushing storytelling content. The power of the app’s creative design suite speaks for itself in terms of awesome imagery.

Go with the flow. ⠀ ⠀ #madewithover #bestofover #photoedit #photography #graphicdesign #digitaldesign #designinspiration

A post shared by Over (@over) on Nov 7, 2017 at 6:49am PST

3. Adobe Spark

And finally, another entry from Adobe. The Spark suite, which works across mobile devices and desktops alike, is a graphics creator and editor for those with limited knowledge. Easy-to-use, just about anyone can make their stories stand out with this one.

Which Instagram Apps Are Part of Your Arsenal?

And that concludes our list! There’s an absolute goldmine of Instagram apps out there for brands of all shapes and sizes.

Fine-tuning your photos for the sake of creativity is becoming more of an expectation as brands scramble for ways for their photos to stand out. That said, consider any of these apps above as a prime place to start experimenting.

Which Instagram apps are you already using to tweak your images and videos? Anything we missed on our list? Let us know in the comments below!

This post The Top 25 Instagram Apps to Produce Killer Content in 2018 originally appeared on Sprout Social.

from SM Tips By Minnie https://sproutsocial.com/insights/instagram-apps/

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365footballorg-blog · 6 years

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Tenorio: Inside the dramatic, historic deal that brought Barco to Atlanta

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May 8, 20181:58PM EDT

MARIETTA, Ga. – Atlanta United technical director Carlos Bocanegra knew what the phone calls meant before he picked them up.

In a months-long negotiation that necessitated multiple trips to Argentina, more than a few stop-and-go discussions and plenty of near-misses, a call from Atlanta’s vice president of soccer operations Paul McDonough or another figure in the negotiations around prized target Ezequiel Barco usually meant something had gone wrong.

“There were a lot of those,” Bocanegra told MLSsoccer.com. “There was some, ‘Alright, we’re making progress … oh man, it’s never going to happen’ [moments].”

Atlanta president Darren Eales classified the transfer as the most difficult deal of his career, but one he said was worth it because of what it could mean on multiple levels – to the club, to Major League Soccer and to the player.

The implications for Barco are only beginning to reveal themselves. The teenage star’s MLS career is only now truly ramping up – he scored his first MLS goal on Saturday in a 2-1 win over the Chicago Fire – and the value of the richest transfer in league history is starting to be measured on the field.

How Barco got to MLS, however, and what it signals about the league’s growth is a chapter already written, and it’s one that will mean as much to the 19-year-old Argentinian’s legacy as anything he accomplishes with the ball at his feet.

It was groundbreaking not just in its financial cost, but also in the stature of prospect heading to a still-growing league.

“Perhaps five years ago,” Eales said, “the deal doesn’t happen.”

Unwavering in the face of pressure

Barco with Independiente

What is pressure if it’s not stepping up to take a Cup-deciding penalty kick in front of 62,567 people in the storied Maracanã, the hopes of an entire club on your teenage shoulders?

Is it throngs of media outlets writing that you’re too good for a move to MLS? Or influence exerted from every and any angle – on you, on your family, on your agent – to scrap a deal that was already agreed in order to facilitate a higher-profile transfer?

The attributes that make an 18-year-old kid special – $ 15 million special – go beyond on-field skill and goal-scoring ability. Atlanta United is confident Barco has that something else. It is a quality that’s not easy to put a finger on, but it screams “exceptional.”

It was that exact makeup that both confirmed to Atlanta that Barco was worth every penny asked – and also nearly tanked the deal that brought him to MLS. It was on display when Barco stepped up to the penalty spot in the second leg of the Copa Sudamericana final and buried the kick to lead his club to the title. It was also there when Barco held his ground against what can only be delicately described as less-than-ideal levels of pressure exerted on him during the transfer process.

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It is there even now, when the quiet teenager is asked about his ability to ignore all of those ugly outside forces in order stick with his word and go to Atlanta.

“I distracted myself so I wouldn’t be involved in the deal,” Barco told MLSsoccer.com in his native Spanish, barely a shrug to acknowledge a trying few months. “I went on vacation for a few days with my girlfriend and was distracted, I didn’t use my phone, and that’s why, luckily, in one day it all got done.”

It was hardly a one-day deal.

It began months earlier, during MLS All-Star Week, when Atlanta’s top decision0makers flew down to see Barco play and then meet him after the game in an Argentinian steakhouse in the late-night hours. It continued through months of negotiations, with McDonough making several trips down to Argentina to negotiate the price tag.

By the time Barco took that penalty, it only confirmed to Atlanta’s decision-makers that the midfielder had “it.” That career-defining moment also made them worry they had lost him. Eales said he tried to explain to Atlanta United owner Arthur Blank that their target had played so well in the tournament he might have played his way out of the deal to come to MLS.

Team officials joked the price “certainly didn’t go down” after Independiente’s Copa Sudamericana run. They wouldn’t confirm just how far it went up.

The price wasn’t the only thing that increased. Speculation around the deal blared loudly, as did the voices and influencers who wanted to see the star head to Europe, not to MLS. This was a player good enough for an early call-up to train with Argentina’s senior national team. Good enough to lead Independiente to a title. How could MLS be the right destination?

Carlos Bocanegra with Tata Martino | Atlanta United

But as newspapers dispatched stories about why Barco was a better fit for Europe, and as other voices tried to turn Barco’s eyes away from North America, the midfielder did not waver in the word he had given Atlanta. Not even when top European teams like Atletico Madrid and Borussia Dortmund were reported to have entered the picture.

He was so committed to honoring the deal, he gave a significant amount of money – reports pegged it at around $ 1 million – to build fields for Independiente in order to seal the transfer.

“I was fair to Atlanta,” Barco said. “And I said I wanted to come here.”

Barco’s unshakable vision of coming to, and succeeding at, ATLUTD, made the club feel confident that there would be nothing MLS could offer that would shake him. Not even being tagged with the label of “biggest transfer in league history.” Barco’s resolve only doubled down Atlanta’s determination to seal the move.

“The fact that he had the [guts] to take that penalty in the final, whilst it prolonged the deal, it further emphasized his mental toughness,” Eales said. “That has shown both in the way he handled himself in the transfer and what he’s done on the pitch.”

When the official transfer finally came through as team officials sat at the team’s table at the MLS SuperDraft in Philadelphia, officials joked Eales got a tear in his eye.

It was a sense of relief more than a celebration – and the hardest part may be yet to come.

A new tier of prospect

Barco (L) with Miguel Almiron and Josef Martinez | Atlanta United

Atlanta United’s three top front-office officials sat in a box in Argentina watching Barco play last fall. Over their shoulders a TV in the suite was showing the Five Stripes’ game against the Philadelphia Union.

The moment perfectly encapsulated the growth of MLS over the last few years. The access to the league has changed around the world, escalating along with the level of play on the field. The success of Atlanta, and players like Miguel Almiron and Leandro Gonzalez Pirez, has raised awareness of the league in South America.

It’s a reason why the Five Stripes could insert themselves into the discussions around one of the country’s most prized prospects.

“This league has grown to a level where you can have that conversation and not get laughed out the door,” Eales said. “There is a sense of going from strength to strength. The TV presence it has, there is a real sense this is a league where you can develop. … This isn’t the cul-de-sac of a career, this is a league you can come to and get better.”

An injury just before the season allowed Barco to quietly slide into Atlanta’s lineup without much fanfare last month. It was hardly a grand welcome for a player who might be the most prized prospect ever to play in MLS.

Barco is already on Argentina’s senior national team radar, having traveled with the team last year to integrate within the group. His career trajectory could explode sooner than later, especially if he features for Argentina’s squad at next year’s U-20 World Cup in Poland. While his teammate Almiron may be the first to head to the big stage in Europe, Barco may not be far behind.

“Hopefully he goes down [to Argentina] and is a big part of the Under-20 squad and there is hype around him and he becomes a young player within the full team of Argentina,” Bocanegra said. “The possibilities are endless.

“That’s the hope and goal, but we’re not going to put pressure on him that he needs to be the Golden Boot winner at the U-20 World Cup and be called into the Argentina selection directly after that. It might go a little different way, but we know the quality he has, he’s shown it in glimpses here, what he can do on the field, and with the amount of interest and the type of clubs interested in him before coming here, we’re proud to have landed him. Hopefully we can continue to push him and be a part of that development process while he’s here with us.”

If MLS can act as a springboard for a prospect like Barco, it could change the league’s place in the global soccer market. The capacity to purchase a top prospect is one thing. The ability to further develop and sell that player on is another.

“Once you’ve demonstrated you can do it, all you’re doing is opening the door to other possibilities,” Eales said.

Barco’s record transfer was only the first step. What happens over the next few years will be as important. The pressure is not only on Barco to live up to the hype, but on Atlanta and the league to nurture it.

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Tenorio: Inside the dramatic, historic deal that brought Barco to Atlanta was originally published on 365 Football

#Atlanta #Barco #brought #deal #dramatic #Historic #Inside #Tenorio

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muzaffar1969 · 7 years

Link

http://ift.tt/2ricfeA

Authored by Mike Krieger via Liberty Blitzkrieg blog,

Last week was interesting for me. I spent about half my time getting up to speed with the latest happenings in the crypto-coin world, and got really excited about a lot of what I saw. In fact, this was the first time I became totally consumed by the space in several years, going back to when I first investigated and started becoming involved with Bitcoin.

What really caught my attention is the booming ICO market, and while it’ll invariably produce its fair share of total scams, I find it nonetheless captivating. I’m attracted to its dynamic wild west spirit, as well as its capacity to function as an alternative funding mechanism for startup projects utilizing a wider participatory structure consisting of anyone with a bit of crypto currency and a high-risk tolerance. It’s an entirely new experimental ecosystem funded by crypto currencies (mostly ethereum, but also bitcoin). It’s pretty mesmerizing (for more see: A New Financial System is Being Born).

Spending so much time on this esoteric world kept me away from following U.S. politics as closely as I typically do, which was a great thing.

The level of discourse from nearly all sides of the political spectrum has turned so toxic, divisive, hysterical and counterproductive, leaving that environment for several days made me feel great, as if I had taken a vacation from idiot island. As such, today I once again decided to spend some time reading up on the crypto-coin space and getting further up to speed on ICOs and how they work. That said, I realize I still need to pay attention to the crazy happenings in the wider world around me, so I thought I’d share an interview with a rarity in today’s political discourse, a voice of reason.

What follows are excerpts from a Slate interview with Stephen F. Cohen, professor emeritus of Russian studies and politics at NYU and Princeton:

Stephen F. Cohen has long been one of the leading scholars of Russia and the Soviet Union. He wrote a biography of the Bolshevik revolutionary Nikolai Bukharin and is a contributing editor at the Nation, which his wife, Katrina vanden Heuvel, edits and publishes. In recent years, Cohen has emerged as a more ideologically dexterous figure, ripping those he thinks are pursuing a “new Cold War” with Russia and calling for President Donald Trump and Russian President Vladimir Putin to form “an alliance against international terrorism.” Cohen has gone so far as to describe the investigations into the Trump campaign and Russia “the No. 1 threat to the United States today.”

Cohen has been criticized by many people, myself included, for his defenses of Putin. (He once said the Ukraine crisis had been “imposed on [Putin] and he had no choice but to react.”) He scolded President Barack Obama for sending retired gay athletes to Sochi and recently went on Fox News to speak up for Trump’s war against leakers.

I spoke by phone with Cohen, who is also a professor emeritus of Russian studies and politics at NYU and Princeton and the author of Soviet Fates and Lost Alternatives: From Stalinism to the New Cold War. During the course of our conversation, which has been edited and condensed for clarity, we discussed why Cohen won’t concede that the Democratic National Committee was hacked, whether it’s fair to call Putin a murderer, and why we may be entering an era much more dangerous than the Cold War.

I heard you recently on Fox News. You said that the “assault” on President Trump “was the No. 1 threat to the United States today.” What did you mean by that?

Threat. OK. Threat. That’s a good word. We’re in a moment when we need an American president and a Kremlin leader to act at the highest level of statesmanship. Whether they meet in summit or not is not of great importance, but we need intense negotiations to tamp down this new Cold War, particularly in Syria, but not only. Trump is being crippled by these charges, for which I can find no facts whatsoever.

Wait, which charges are we talking about?

That he is somehow in the thrall or complicity or control, under the influence of the Kremlin.

I think it would help if he would admit what his own intelligence agencies are telling him, that Russia played some role in …

No, I don’t accept that. I don’t accept that at all, not for one minute.

People in the Trump administration admit this too.

Well they’re not the brightest lights.

And the president is?

No. You didn’t ask me that. You asked me, you said, some of the president’s people. You’re referring to that intel report of January, correct? The one that was produced that said Putin directed the attack on the DNC?

I was referring to that and many news accounts that Russia was behind the hacking, yes.

The news accounts are of no value to us. I mean you and I both know …

No value? None?

No. No value. Not on face value. Just because the New York Times says that I don’t know, Carter Page or [Paul] Manafort or [Michael] Flynn did something wrong, I don’t accept that. I need to see the evidence.

OK, let’s just go back to what you were saying about Trump being hamstrung.

You need Trump because he’s in the White House. I didn’t put him there. I didn’t vote for him. Putin’s in the Kremlin. I didn’t put him in the Kremlin either, but we have what we have, and these guys must have a serious dialog about tamping down these cold wars, which means cooperating on various fronts. The obvious one—and they already are secretly, but it’s getting torpedoed—is Syria.

So we come now with this so-called Russiagate. You know what that means. It’s our shorthand, right? And Trump, even if he was the most wonderfully qualified president, he is utterly crippled in his ability to do diplomacy with the Kremlin. So let me give you the counterfactual example.

Imagine that Kennedy had been accused of somehow being, they used to accuse him of being an agent of the Vatican, but let’s say he had been accused widely of being an agent of the Kremlin. The only way he could have ended the Cuban Missile Crisis would have been to prove his loyalty by going to nuclear war with Russia. That’s the situation we’re in today. I mean Trump is not free to take wise advice and use whatever smarts he has to negotiate down this new and dangerous Cold War, so this assault on Trump, for which as yet there are zero facts, has become a grave threat to American national security. That’s what I meant. That’s what I believe.

To use your Kennedy example, there was no evidence that Kennedy was an agent of either the Vatican or the Kremlin—

No, but Isaac you’re not old enough to remember, but during the campaign, because he was the first Catholic, they all went on about he’s an agent of the Vatican.

I know that. I’m old enough to have read “news accounts” of it. Anyway, there was a hacking of the DNC and—

Wait actually no, Isaac stop. Stop. Now, I mean we don’t know that for a fact.

That there was a hacking of the DNC?

Yeah we do not know that for a fact.

What do we think happened?

Well …

So you’re really going to argue with me that the DNC wasn’t hacked?

I’m saying I don’t know that to be the case.

OK.

I will refer you to an alternative report and you can decide yourself.

Can we agree on this much at least: that Trump said there was a hack, refused to say who he thought did it, encouraged the hackers to keep doing it, at the same time that he was getting intelligence reports that it was the Russians, and that he continued to talk very positively about Putin after he was told this?

You’ve given me too many facts to process, but if Trump said he knew it was a hack, he was not fully informed. We just don’t know it for a fact, Isaac.

So we don’t have any forensic evidence that there was a hack. There might have been. If there was a hack, we have no evidence it was the Russians, and we have an alternative explanation that it was actually a leak, that somebody inside did a Snowden, just stuck a thumb drive in and walked out with this stuff. We don’t know. And when you don’t know, you don’t go to war.

Let’s turn to Putin and America. Why do you think we have entered a new Cold War?

My view is that this Cold War is even more dangerous. As we talk today, and this was not the case in the preceding Cold War, there are three new fronts that are fraught with hot war. You know them as well as I do. The NATO military build-up is going on in the Baltic regions, particularly in the three small Baltic countries, Poland, and if we include missile defense, Romania. That’s right on Russia’s border, and in Ukraine. You know that story. That’s a proxy civil war right on Russia’s border, and then of course in Syria, where American and Russian aircraft and Syrian aircraft are flying over the same airspace.

And there is the utter demonization of Putin in this country. It is just beyond anything that the American political elite ever said about Khrushchev, Brezhnev, and the rest. If you demonize the other side, it makes negotiating harder.

In 2017, being a voice of reason has become a revolutionary act.

May 31, 2017 at 09:15AM http://ift.tt/2qzlia1 from Tyler Durden http://ift.tt/2qzlia1

#Business

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newstfionline · 4 years

Text

Thursday, October 29, 2020

Rent and debt problems (WSJ) A new study from the Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia found that outstanding rent debt in the United States will hit $7.2 billion by the end of 2020, and without additional stimulus spending Moody’s estimates that it could hit $70 billion. They estimate that 12.8 million people will owe an average $5,400 from missed payments, which is significantly higher than the 3.8 million homeowners foreclosed on from 2007 to 2010. Across the U.S., 30 million to 40 million people face possible eviction once moratoriums expire.

A Divided Nation Agrees on One Thing: Many People Want a Gun (NYT) In America, spikes in gun purchases are often driven by fear. But in past years that anxiety has centered on concerns that politicians will pass stricter gun controls. Mass shootings often prompt more gun sales for that reason, as do elections of liberal Democrats. Many gun buyers now are saying they are motivated by a new destabilizing sense that is pushing even people who had considered themselves anti-gun to buy weapons for the first time—and people who already have them to buy more. The nation is on track in 2020 to stockpile at record rates, according to groups that track background checks from FBI data. Across the country, Americans bought 15.1 million guns in the seven months this year from March through September, a 91 percent leap from the same period in 2019, according to seasonally adjusted firearms sales estimates from The Trace, a nonprofit news organization that focuses on gun issues. The FBI has also processed more background checks for gun purchases in just the first nine months of 2020 than it has for any previous full year, FBI data show. “The year 2020 has been just one long advertisement for why someone may want to have a firearm to defend themselves,” said Douglas Jefferson, the vice president for the National African American Gun Association, which has seen the biggest increase in membership this year since the group was formed in 2015.

The ‘Right to Repair’ Movement Gains Ground (NYT) If you buy a product—a car, a smartphone, or even a tractor—and it breaks, should it be easier for you to fix it yourself? Manufacturers of a wide range of products have made it increasingly difficult over the years to repair things, for instance by limiting availability of parts or by putting prohibitions on who gets to tinker with them. It affects not only game consoles or farm equipment, but cellphones, military gear, refrigerators, automobiles and even hospital ventilators, the lifesaving devices that have proven crucial this year in fighting the Covid-19 pandemic. Now, a movement known as “right to repair” is starting to make progress in pushing for laws that prohibit restrictions like these. The goal of right-to-repair rules, advocates say, is to require companies to make their parts, tools and information available to consumers and repair shops in order to keep devices from ending up in the scrap heap. They argue that the rules restrict people’s use of devices that they own and encourage a throwaway culture by making repairs too difficult. They also argue that it’s part of a culture of planned obsolescence—the idea that products are designed to be short-lived in order to encourage people to buy more stuff. That contributes to wasted natural resources and energy use at a time when climate change requires movement in the opposite direction.

Peru’s Machu Picchu reopening Sunday after pandemic closure (AP) Except workers repairing roads and signs, Peru’s majestic Incan citadel of Machu Picchu is eerily empty ahead of its reopening Sunday after seven months of closure due to the coronavirus pandemic. The long closure of Peru’s No. 1 tourist draw, which has hammered the local economy, marks the second time it has been shut down since it opened its doors to tourism in 1948. The stone complex built in the 15th century will receive 675 visitors a day starting Sunday, the director of Machu Picchu archaeological park, José Bastante, told The Associated Press. The site is accustomed to receiving 3,000 tourists a day, though it recently passed regulations limiting visitors to 2,244 visitors a day to protect the ruins. Still a large number given experts belief that in the 15th century a maximum of 410 people lived in the citadel on the limits of the Andes mountains and the Amazon.

Evo’s return (Foreign Policy) Evo Morales will return to Bolivia on Nov. 9, the day after President-elect Luis Arce is sworn in. Morales’s return will come just over a year after he was forced out of the country. An outstanding arrest warrant for sedition and terrorism issued for Morales was annulled on Tuesday, paving the way for his return. Meanwhile, hundreds of supporters of the right-wing opposition marched on a military barracks on Tuesday asking for “military help” to stop the Movement for Socialism (MAS) party from regaining power.

New protests loom as Europeans tire of virus restrictions (AP) Protesters set trash bins afire and police responded with hydrant sprays in downtown Rome Tuesday night, part of a day of public outpouring of anger against virus-fighting measures like evening shutdowns for restaurants and bars and the closures of gyms and theaters—a sign of growing discontent across Europe with renewed coronavirus restrictions. It was a fifth straight night of violent protest in Italy, following recent local overnight curfews in metropolises including Naples and Rome. All of Europe is grappling with how to halt a fall resurgence of the virus before its hospitals become overwhelmed again. Nightly curfews have been implemented in French cities. Schools must close at 6 p.m. Schools have been closed in Northern Ireland and the Czech Republic. German officials have ordered de-facto lockdowns in some areas near the Austrian border and new mask-wearing requirements are popping up weekly across the continent, including a nationwide requirement in Russia. Yet in this new round of restrictions, governments are finding a less compliant public. Over the weekend, police used pepper spray against protesters angry over new virus restrictions in Poland. Spanish doctors staged their first national walkout in 25 years on Tuesday to protest poor working conditions. In Britain, anger and frustration at the government’s uneven handling of the pandemic has erupted into a political crisis over the issue of hungry children.

Cake Lady helps wounded soldiers heal, one treat at a time LONDON (AP)—David Wiseman heard Kath Ryan before he met her. He was at the far end of Ward S-4 at Selly Oak Hospital in Birmingham when shouts of “Cake Lady’s here! Cake Lady’s here!” began rolling through the room full of wounded soldiers, bed by bed. Who was this Cake Lady, he wondered, until he saw a middle-aged woman in a “strange dress” pushing a trolley and handing out cake. “When all you’ve seen is doctors and nurses and the odd relative, it was just a bit of an assault on the senses,” Wiseman remembered. “And she was doling out hugs and, you know, cakes. … She just brought joy into that place.” Since 2009, retired nurse Ryan, 59, has made some 1,260 visits to British hospitals, bonding with the patients as she fed them an estimated 1 million slices of cake. But Ryan brought more than treats. She brought herself—bubbly, irreverent, and fearless. As she could see that most of the injured were in a terrible state, she never asked, “How are you?” “I would go in with the trolley and apron and stand at the end of the bed, and say, ‘Can I lead you into temptation this evening?’” Ryan recalled. “Straight away, they would scream laughing.” One soldier got into the spirit and asked, “What’s on offer, love?” “Anything you want,” Ryan replied. “As long as it’s legal, moral, and on the cake trolley.”

With eye on China, India and U.S. sign accord to deepen military ties (NYT) India and the United States signed a pact Tuesday to share geospatial intelligence, paving the way for deeper military cooperation between the two countries as they confront an increasingly assertive China. The agreement will give India’s armed forces access to a wealth of data from U.S. military satellites to aid in targeting and navigation. The two countries signed the accord in New Delhi during a visit by Secretary of State Mike Pompeo and Defense Secretary Mark T. Esper a week before the U.S. presidential election. The agreement is the latest example of how India and the United States—the world’s two largest democracies—are drawing closer together to respond to the challenge of China’s rise. For India, that challenge is no longer theoretical. In June, India and China engaged in their deadliest clash in more than 50 years high in the mountains near the unofficial border between the two countries. Twenty Indian soldiers died, while the number of Chinese casualties remains unknown. India and China are still locked in a dangerous standoff, with tens of thousands of troops preparing to wait out the harsh Himalayan winter.

Typhoon, landslides leave 35 dead, 59 missing in Vietnam (AP) Typhoon Molave set off landslides that killed at least 19 people and left 45 missing in central Vietnam, where ferocious wind and rain blew away roofs and knocked out power in a region of 1.7 million residents, state media said Thursday. The casualties from the landslides bring the over-all death toll from the storm to at least 35, including 12 fishermen whose boats sank Wednesday as the typhoon approached with winds of up to 150 kilometers (93 miles) per hour. Vietnamese officials say it’s the worst typhoon to hit the country in 20 years. At least 59 people remain missing in the landslides and at sea. The toll may rise with many regions still unable to report details of the devastation amid the stormy weather.

Scale of Qatar Airways scandal revealed (Foreign Policy) Female passengers on “10 aircraft in total” were forced into invasive physical examinations at Doha airport on Oct. 2, Australian Foreign Minister Marise Payne said on Wednesday, as the Qatari government apologized publicly and began an investigation into the incident. The women were removed from flights after a newborn baby was found abandoned in one of the airport bathrooms. The Transport Workers’ Union of New South Wales, whose members service Qatar Airways planes in Sydney, condemned “the brutal attack on the human rights of Australian female airline passengers” and is considering industrial action in response. Australian Prime Minister Scott Morrison pledged a “further response” after reviewing the results of an investigation. He told reporters, “As a father of daughters, I could only shudder at the thought that any woman, Australian or otherwise, would be subjected to that.”

Australia’s second-largest city ends 111-day virus lockdown MELBOURNE, Australia (AP)—Coffee business owner Darren Silverman pulled his van over and wept when he heard on the radio that Melbourne’s pandemic lockdown would be largely lifted on Wednesday after 111 days. Silverman was making a home delivery Monday when the announcement was made that restrictions in Australia’s second-largest city would be relaxed. He was overwhelmed with emotions and a sense of relief. According to the Victoria state government the lockdown changes will allow 6,200 retail stores, 5,800 cafés and restaurants, 1,000 beauty salons and 800 pubs to reopen, impacting 180,000 jobs.

Nigeria considers social media regulation in wake of deadly shooting (Reuters) Nigeria’s information minister said “some form of regulation” could be imposed on social media just a week after protesters spread images and videos of a deadly shooting using Twitter, Instagram and Facebook. Images, video and an Instagram live feed from a popular DJ spread news of shootings in Lagos on Oct. 20, when witnesses and rights groups said the military fired on peaceful protesters. The protesters had been demonstrating for nearly two weeks to demand an end to police brutality. The army denied its soldiers were there. Social media helped spread word of the shootings worldwide, and international celebrities from Beyonce and Lewis Hamilton to Pope Francis since called on the country to resolve the conflict peacefully. Information Minister Lai Mohammed told a panel at the National Assembly on Tuesday that “fake news” is one of the biggest challenges facing Nigeria. A spokesman for the minister confirmed the comments, and said “the use of the social media to spread fake news and disinformation means there is the need to do something about it.”

#headlines #news

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viralhottopics · 7 years

Text

The pensioner who was a Bridge of Spies cold warrior – BBC News

Image caption Frank Meehan has retired to Helensburgh on the west coast of Scotland after years as a Cold War diplomat

If you ran into Frank Meehan strolling along the banks of the Clyde estuary near his home in Helensburgh, you wouldn’t notice much that was remarkable about him. He looks like any other pensioner enjoying a peaceful retirement.

But, now in his 10th decade, Frank can look back on a life spent at the heart of some of the most dramatic moments in the 40-year nuclear stand-off between the Soviet Union and the West.

Frank grew up in Clydebank, a town about eight miles west of Glasgow, famous for shipbuilding.

But he spent four decades as a US diplomat living, almost exclusively, behind the Iron Curtain in Communist Eastern Europe.

Image caption Frank was born in the US but grew up in Clydebank

As a teenager he survived the Clydebank Blitz, an aerial bombardment by the Luftwaffe during World War Two, which killed 500 and destroyed thousands of homes.

“There was a bad attack on the shipyards in March 1941,” he told me.

“I was 17. We were in a shelter and the bombing started quite far away but you could hear them getting closer. The house next door got incendiary bombed and was destroyed.

“I worked clearing the rubble of houses that had been burned. I carried a bricklayer’s hod. I was not much good at that. Maybe that’s what made me think of the Foreign Service”.

The event that changed the course of his life was his call-up.

Frank had been born, in 1924, in the United States, during a brief period when his Scottish parents were living there.

This made him a US citizen, and in 1945 he was drafted for military service. As a young GI he was posted to occupied Germany.

Image caption Frank Meehan joined the US State Department as a diplomat after the war

Frank had a degree from Glasgow University and was already a fluent German speaker.

On a whim, he applied to join the US State Department as a diplomat – and got in. He became fascinated by Russia.

“I think once you get the Russia bug you never lose it,” he said.

“It’s the unknown that lures you when you’re young, you know?

“I just thought ‘what is this world?’

“‘Who are these people who had almost collapsed under German attack and then fought their way from Stalingrad to Berlin?’ I wanted to understand.”

So Frank learned Russian too – and it became a lifelong passion.

He was based at the Moscow embassy in 1960 when Soviet forces shot down a top secret US spy plane and captured its pilot Gary Powers.

Image copyright Central Press/Getty

Image caption The U2 high flying spy plane developed by America

The US officially denied the existence of the so-called U2 spy programme. But the Soviets now had the proof.

Powers was put on trial and given a long prison sentence. The wreck of his plane was put on public display.

Frank was despatched by the US ambassador to go and take a look.

“I was pretty tense,” he said.

Image copyright Keystone/Getty

Image caption The remains of the U2 spy plane flown by American pilot Gary Powers, which was shot down over Soviet airspace

“I thought there might be some kind of manufactured incident. But I went to the head of the long line of people waiting to view it and the Russian guard looked at my pass and grinned and said, in Russian, ‘Be my guest! It’s your plane after all!'”

Two years later, Frank was back in Berlin.

Moscow had offered to swap Gary Powers for a Soviet agent called Rudolf Abel, who’d been caught spying in Brooklyn.

Image copyright Keystone/Getty

Image caption Gary Powers, accused of espionage over Russia in his U2 airplane, on trial in Moscow

They asked for the release of a young American student called Frederic Pryor as part of the deal.

Pryor had been studying in East Germany and had been arrested by the Communist regime there and accused of espionage. Pryor now became Frank’s responsibility.

This is the incident that was dramatised by Steven Spielberg in the 2015 film Bridge of Spies, starring Tom Hanks and Mark Rylance, as Abel.

“The swap [of Powers and Abel] was to take place on Glienicke Bridge,” said Frank.

Frederic Pryor would be handed over at Checkpoint Charlie in the centre of Berlin.

“There were tense moments obviously,” Frank said.

“When I was walking over [into East Berlin], I didn’t know how the kid, Frederic Pryor, would be.

Image copyright DPA/AFP/Getty Images

Image caption The Glienicke bridge in Berlin after US pilot Gary Francis Powers was swapped for Soviet spy Rudolf Abel in 1962

“He’d been in prison. I didn’t know whether he’d be well, whether we’d get him out, whether I would be able to get out myself.”

Frank found Pryor sitting in a car with an East German intelligence agent called Wolfgang Vogel, whom Frank knew. The two would become lifelong friends.

Frank recalls: “Vogel said ‘Frank we’re not ready. Get in the car and wait’.

Image copyright Express Newspapers/Getty Images

Image caption American tanks and troops at Checkpoint Charlie, a crossing point in the Berlin Wall

“He was waiting for word from the bridge that the Powers-Abel swap had taken place.

“We were in the car waiting. I was getting more and more nervous.

“The car was surrounded by a group of East German goons, security people.

“Eventually one of them came over to me and said ‘It’s OK’. And Vogel said ‘Frank – you can go’.”

Frank walked Frederic Pryor the few dozen yards that separated east from west Berlin – and from captivity to freedom.

Had he seen the film, Bridge of Spies?, I asked.

“Oh yes it’s very good. As you’d expect.”

Is it accurate? A wry diplomatic smile. “Oh yes. Mostly.”

Frank became US ambassador in Czechoslovakia and then, in 1980, in Poland.

Image copyright AFP/AFP/Getty Images

Image caption Friends and relatives of striking workers listen to the news given by Lech Walesa outside the gates of the Lenin Shipyard in Gdansk

His arrival in Warsaw coincided with the birth of Solidarity, the democracy movement that had emerged from protests and strikes by workers at the Gdansk shipyard.

The movement’s leader, a shipyard electrician called Lech Walesa would become one of the great figures of 20th Century European history. In the early 80s he was a dinner guest at Frank Meehan’s table.

Frank said: “Walesa was very smart. Politically very clever. Moderate, too, and careful.

“He had to deal with militants in his own movement and he had to try to control them so that they didn’t push things too far too quickly. He was very good at that. I was impressed.”

Image copyright Keystone/Getty Images

Image caption Lech Walesa, leader of the Polish trade union, Solidarity, on strike at the Lenin Shipyard in Gdansk in 1980

Luck wasn’t on Frank’s side. He was on a working visit to Washington DC when, in the winter of 1981, the Polish Army declared martial law and seized power.

Frank’s bosses at the State Department wanted him back in Warsaw immediately. But the coup leaders had sealed the borders.

He laughs about it now but at the time it was no laughing matter.

“If there’s going to be a revolution in Eastern Europe and you’re the ambassador, you’d better be in the country,” he said.

“I was told to get back in quickly.

“I flew to Berlin and travelled overland to the East German-Polish border. The embassy sent a van for me. Travelling back [after the coup] was sad. Everything had changed.”

Image copyright Keystone/Getty

Image caption Polish General Jaruzelski who declared martial law as Secretary of the Communist Party to crush the Solidarity movement

We look back now and see that moment as the beginning of the end for Communism in Europe. But it didn’t seem so to those who, like Frank, lived through it.

He said: “It’s one of the great mysteries as I look back on it and on my own work.

“I still have difficulty understanding exactly what happened to the Russians – why they decided to pack in and leave Eastern Europe. It’s to me an inexplicable decision”.

But it’s a decision that still shapes our world.

Frank Meehan is as engaged now with world affairs as he ever was. He has never shaken off his Russia bug.

Image copyright Frank Meehan

Image caption Frank met Pope John Paul II in his role as a US ambassador

“What strikes me about Russia today is the tremendous sense of loss they have – of power and position,” he said.

“That explains Putin’s hold over them. But Putin can’t last forever. The more I look at Russia today the more I’m reminded of the last days of the Czars, Russia between 1900 and 1917.”

And I asked him about his unusual dual identity.

Does he feel Scottish or American?

“Oh no I’m an American. I love Scotland and I came back to retire here because it’s what my wife wanted.”

His wife Margaret died two years ago.

He told me: “When we came here, we worked out that this was our 23rd home since we were married.

“When you’ve dragged your wife around Eastern Europe for all that time, you owe her something.

“But I miss America. I’d love to be in Washington now watching what’s going on there up close.”

Scotland’s Cold Warrior will be shown on BBC One Scotland on Monday 3 April at 19:30.