#the line read on ‘carnally she says’ kills me absolutely every time

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

this is living rent free in my head

(from the rsc 2019 measure for measure, with sophie khan levy as mariana, antony byrne as the duke, and joseph arkley as lucio)

[mirrorforevers]

silently • graham coxon/reader

this is a direct result of this prompt right here

don’t b sorry love, we’re all horny here. this prompt immediately took me out of my writer’s block so yeah gsdjsdhgsdj it was a blessing! tysm for sending it n i rly rly hope u enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it aaaaa i literally couldn’t stop. this one has a special place in my heart now.

also please tell me whatchu think abt this one on my askbox! unbeta’ed bc i love danger

word count: 2.809

warnings: smut. shameless, fast paced fluffy smut.

You couldn't understand why the hell he was so nervous. On the way to your parents' home he asked more questions than a 4-year-old on their way to a park - what are they like, what do they like to do, do they know Blur? Do you think they will find my shoe ridiculous? I'm sure they'll think I’m a weirdo. What did you tell them about me? Even the many kisses you gave him were not enough to calm him down, leaving you to assure him that even if your parents didn't like him - which would be impossible, Graham was never better and more pleasant to live with - you would continue to like him. Very much.

Couldn't live without him, actually.

When you arrive at the door, your mother greets you with a wide, surprised smile - it didn't even seem like she had been begging to meet Graham for months and meticulously planned every minute of the time you would spend together. Her friendly posture seemed to make him more comfortable, the fact that your father was traveling also ended up making him more relaxed. “Dads are always frightening,” he’d say. He agreed to spend the rest of the night there after having an extremely pleasant dinner.

While he does the dishes, you and your mother clean the table when you decide to stop by the kitchen to talk to your boyfriend.

"It wasn't that difficult, was it?" You ask, a daring tone in your voice.

He smiles sheepishly. "Everything went significantly better than I thought it would, honestly."

“You did well. Not that she is hard to please, but you are really sweet.” You kiss him on the cheek. (It's so cute how he still blushes at these things after months of dating.)

"Thank you, love."

"I mean it. I think you deserve a gift for being like this.”

He looks at you, starting to pay even greater attention to the direction of the conversation. “And what do you have in mind?”

You whisper in his ear in the most seemingly innocuous tone you can feign. “I, for one, think you should fuck me senseless in the room upstairs.” He smiles, gaze a little lost in his surroundings as it usually goes whenever he’s pleasantly disconcerted by your dirty talk. Your hands travel his body subtly under his shirt. He hisses: “Can’t wait.” His voice is weak. You love to tease him like that.

You give him a little peck where his mouth and cheek meet – and then you motion to leave after a wink. “See you in a few minutes.”

“Babies, sorry to interrupt,” your mom arrives at the door, instantly killing off the whole mood you’ve created. “I forgot to tell you, but some other people from our family will be here in a few minutes. We’re not done yet!”

Graham’s really confused. You shrug and give him some context – “My family just loves gatherings in general. And they’re excited that I have a boyfriend now, apparently.” To which your mom points: “Exactly! They want to meet you too, Coxon!”

You can feel the anxiety building in him again already. He’s so uncomfortable it hurts, and you know his head is spinning. He doesn’t want to let you down, and after your mom leaves, you go back to calming him down again. “Baby, it’s okay, I promise. If you­’re too overwhelmed we--”

“No, no. I signed up for this. I’ll be okay. I’ll have a drink or two…”

You completely discard this possibility. No associating alcohol to social abilities anymore after everything he went through because of it. “No. We’ll find other ways to calm you down.” After some seconds of a silent yet intense brainstorm, you have an idea. But you won’t tell him. “Ok, I know what to do to take your mind off the pressure. Just wait and see, and no beers, alright?”

“Alright… I guess.”

After giving him yet another peck while he finishes cleaning the plates, you quickly run upstairs to change from the tight jeans and band shirt you’re wearing to a very light and flimsy sundress. And that’s all the clothing you choose. It fits you well, and leaves not much to the imagination. You know it’s a family gathering, but it’s also summer, so no severe dress codes were being enforced in any significant way.

He reads your mind the moment he sees you in the dress, shaking his head in pleased disbelief at the sight. He mouths a small “you didn’t” while a stupidly joyful smile slowly shines over the tight expression of worry he once had. To which you mouth back: “I did.” You then go back to playfully teasing each other a bit while you take care of the sudden assembly’s preparations.

Your family members arrive and, as expected, they’re really thrilled to meet your guy. Graham answers so many questions, and ends up sharing so much of how he feels about you with them, and bit by bit, the warmth and wholesome aura of your closest relatives makes him feel truly welcomed. He feels like he knows you even better now, now that he knows where your energy and vitality come from. He could see bits of your personality in every single one of them – of course you are still the splendid whole, but still. It made sense.

Also, you noticed he didn’t take his eyes off you the entire time. He was hungry and you’re glad your plan worked. It was easier to forget about how hard sociability is when his mind was somewhere else.

After a while, though, you could sense him getting fidgetier. Even though he was considerably and visibly more relaxed than he was a few hours ago, that amount of social interaction, specially while sober, still drained a lot of his energy. You take his hands, announcing you two were getting something else to eat. You go to the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the lights, and though the house is empty you two could still hear the enthusiastic discussion your family is having outside, slightly drowned by the distance and the walls separating you now.

“You did so great, baby.” You smile, giving him a victory kiss while he envelops you in a tight hug. He’s proud of himself too, and he deserves to feel like that. “They love you already.”

“They’re just like you, in a way. I’m glad everything went well,” he sounds relieved, still tired, but relieved. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that proposal you made me earlier, though.”

“I know,” You plant a chaste kiss on his jaw. “I felt your eyes on me.”

This second kiss he gives you feels different. It’s longer. Famished. Purposeful. His hands are friskier now, traveling hastily throughout your body, and you alternate between giving in and becoming progressively more alert of your surroundings. You can have an idea of where this is heading. The swirling of his tongue around yours makes you dizzy, and the feeling somewhat akin to an electric shock – but milder, and definitely more carnal – that flows through your body when he bites your lower lip and brings your hips closer to his brings you back to reality. “We have to be careful,” you whisper, each of your lips just barely touching while you breathe each other’s air.

“I promise I’ll be. You look delicious in this dress, I… don’t know where to start.” He cups your cheeks while drawing imaginary lines across your lips with the tip of his thumbs.

“Think fast. Never took you for a quickie guy.” You chuckle.

“I like to take my time, yes, but some things can’t wait.”

And with that, with the dexterity and carefulness of a cat, he sinks to his knees in front of you, lifting up your dress with one hand and one of your legs with the other, your leg now resting on one of his large shoulders. He takes hold of your hips, angling you toward him. You hiss in anticipation, and you can feel your core burning in expectation too. Your hands now firmly grab the counter behind you for support while you turn behind you with attentive eyes to see if no one’s coming. You’re safe, for now. The thrill of getting caught is one that will never get old.

His eyes seek yours for reassurance. You, without a word, give it to him. You both look lovely bathed in moonlight. He teases you first, kissing and sucking at the skin on your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to your center until after a couple minutes of that sweet agony his lips graze across that aching part of you.

He flicks his tongue delicately through your folds, playing with your wetness. The way his hands caress your lifted thigh so delicately while his tongue inscribes poems to your clit is something that makes your stomach flutter, you simply can’t ignore those tiny adorable actions that make loving him so addictive and rewarding. Keeping yourself silent and struggling to remain somewhat composed to anyone who might see you from outside is a painfully arousing contradiction to the sensations you’re feeling. He’s doing his best to fuck you up, gradually setting a rhythmic pace to his movements with the intent to release the spring now starting to coil tightly low in your abdomen.

“Jesus, Gra—f-fuck. Fuck.” You whisper, breathlessly, while simultaneously suppressing a moan when he delves his tongue even deeper in your core, your fingers instinctively curling and closing a fist on his hair, making him groan. You buck your hips against his lips and you can feel sweat beading on the backs of your knees, heart threatening to jump out of your mouth by how fast it’s racing.

You suddenly freeze when you hear a voice from outside approaching the kitchen and you lightly tap his shoulder. Graham stops on command, but he won’t get up until he’s absolutely certain he should. He sprinkles your thigh with small kisses again, eyes droopy with the high from giving you the pleasure he knows he’s giving you while he admires you. The person heading for the kitchen takes a turn to the opposite side and you sigh in relief. “False alarm. Go on, baby.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You notice he’s panting, and you can only guess how hard he is, judging by the tone of his voice. The time you spent frozen wasn’t enough to completely burn out the fire he’d already created within you, but he’s determined to give you an orgasm before anyone can interrupt you again – now he had two fingers moving, stroking, curling inside of you in delightful ways while his tongue began to work your clit in tight little circles. You could feel him moaning against your sex, he really liked this. And fuck, he was good at it. He slips one more finger into you, his ring finger, making your pleasure soon explode into a trembling climax. You couldn’t stop the little sound you made and he kisses your thigh in reply while still lazily fucking you with his fingers. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers.

One of your hands move to your mouth in order to cover the sound you really want to make. Graham, once again, looks really proud of himself.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you and cleans them with his tongue before he lifts up again as inconspicuously as possible. You try to look like nothing happened, and you’re both glad that, apparently, no one’s giving a single fuck to whatever’s going on where you are. Given the realization, you look at each other and giggle. He then pulls you in a hug, voice husky when he teases, and confesses, “You can’t imagine how bad I want to fuck you right here. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“We’ll have to take this to the bedroom, love.” You reply, still recovering from your orgasm. You can’t risk more than you’ve already risked. He looks slightly…

Disappointed.

You smile. “You thrill-seeking bastard. You enjoyed this way too much, didn’t you?”

“Didn’t you?” He questions back, tickling your sides, a wide, satisfied smile on his face. God, you loved him so much. He pulls you back to him again, and you turn to the other side so he can grind against you from behind. He’s rock hard. “We have some thick curtains here, after all.” You say, mischievously, before you close the curtains as carefully as possible. He lifts up your dress once again, this time high enough so he can fill his hands with your breasts, and he, agonizingly slowly, teases your nipples with his fingertips while he keeps grinding against you. This, alone, gets you motivated enough for another round. “God, Coxon, you’re going to be the death of me.” Your voice’s painfully needy, just like every other part of you.

You spread your legs a little wider to give him better access to you. Feeling cool air against your bare ass, you bite your lip and screw your eyes shut when his hand squeezes your butt. “Dripping wet for me. You’re glistening.” He quietly notes, giving your butt a little kiss - you then look over your shoulder to watch him get his jeans open. His hard cock bounces against your ass as he pushes his boxers down. You wiggle to get him inside you while he tortuously slowly runs the tip of his cock between the slick folds of your pussy. When it bumps against your sensitive clit, you can’t stop the mewl of his name.

After a few more hard breaths, he was inside you. You’re hungry for him too, and the sound of your body clashing against his is something unbelievable. You begin in a faster pace than the one you’re used to – and that’s not a problem. At all. Speed is of essence, but you’re also starving for each other. It feels like no contact is ever 100% enough.

Your hands keep firmly gripping the balcony and when he lowers his chest against your back you can’t hold back the involuntary gasp that leaves your throat and echoes through the empty house. One of his large hands holds your hips in place while he fucks you mercilessly, the other one covers your mouth hastily – his shaky voice betrays how badly this is affecting him too. “Shhh, love. You don't want anyone seeing you in that state. So fucking tight around me.”

He was sinking more deeply into you with each thrust now, and trying to keep your eyes open while his now awaken dominant side is doing that to you, exactly the way you want him to, is torture. You feel like you’re going to pass out from the all the sensorial and contextual stimulation. “You want me to come inside you, baby?” To which you keenly reply with a nod, not bothering to uncover your mouth. This was perfect.

He edged his hips back so he reaches your most sensitive spot and his grip on your mouth constricts when he notices how loud you want to be. “Feels like a dream inside you but keep. Quiet.” His voice lowers to a breathy whisper against your throat and the hands that were holding your hips in place now snaked to the front of your body to help you get off. And like that, you do, coming a second time, this orgasm even more intense than the last. The way your walls twitch around his dick is enough to push him over the edge too, and you feel him spilling inside you. You milk him of every drop, and after you both ride off your high, you feel a tender kiss that lasts for a while in your scalp, a silent “thank you” while he slips out of you.

You put your dress back on place, trying to compose yourself before you can look another human in the eye again. You have a positively overwhelmed, just-woke-up-from-an-incredible-dream look on your face. “You better not get me addicted to this kind of risky shit.”

He laughs while he also does his best to look like not one hair or piece of clothing ever went out of place. “Sorry, Y/N, I think I already did.”

[ayakashiramblings]

ABC NSFW Headcanons: Koga Kitamikado

So... in my absence, the only time I went on ARR was to vote for Koga and Aoi. And I just realized one of my top boys is literally at the top! Hence, I’m going to do a super late tribute... 

ALPHABETICAL STYLE!!!

... I’m so sorry for ‘D’ though. Click on ‘Keep Reading’ to NOT SEE IT.

A - ‘Aftercare’ (What they’re like after sex)

Once you’ve been intoxicated by Koga… YOU GET EVEN MORE DRUNK WITH SAKE.

Seriously, a nightcap is what ends a nice round of magic… because he has much more in store!

“I’ve rolled the die to give me a one! That’s super odd!”

Goddamnit, kiss this dork, please. 

Because only amongst soft kisses will the both of you be lulled to sleep.

B - ‘Body’ (Body Part of Yours he Loves)

Your head.

… Wait, no, not like that. Sort of. Hmm...

It’s just that he wants to be closer to you and he’s extremely soft for forehead touches during these tender moments. 

Feels like that’s where you share everything, your thoughts, your deepest secrets... everything. 

C - ‘Cum’ (How does his cum taste like/look like)

You know what? I think it’s pretty good.

At first, I wasn’t certain because he is a sake lover and that will affect the taste.

Plus, he didn’t really say what he likes in Hot Pot, although I’m guessing it has to include thinly sliced meat and leafy vegetables. The thing is beef isn’t good but if he pairs it with the right non-cruciferous veggies, it could come out decently.

Another thing I’ve noticed is his regular food intake. Sure, it’s called an old man’s diet like what Kuya says but pickles and rice for breakfast are good if you want extra flavour.

So it’s one of the tops in the list for the fact it has enough volume with a taste that isn’t bitter, salty or sweet. It’s just... 

Warm. 

D - ‘Dirty Secret’ (DUH)

He hates peaches but...

Your butt... is like the only kind of peach he would ever consider eating. 

Brown peach, peachy peach, pale peach, green peach and whatever the colour your panties are today, he’s going to really secretly enjoy the fuzzy texture but also silently HATE that the closest comparison is his least favourite fruit. 

E - ‘Experience’ (Does he know what he is doing?)

He’s had a few partners but that doesn’t negate the fact that he literally takes any challenge by... the horns. 

He does go to the Entertainment sector but honestly, he’d get closer to the sake bottles then the women there first.

That said, he’s very observant and can suss out any sensitive zones you have to get you screaming all night is all I’m saying. 

F - ‘Favorite Position’ (Again, duh)

Don’t kill me. 

But it’s the CowGirl position.

Not only does he get to see you in all of your magnificent, unclothed glory... (or maybe with clothes? It’s up to you, hun.)

But there’s something about a strong woman just topping him that makes him go wild, especially when she uses his horns to guide him to her entrance as she sinks down on him.

G - ‘Goofy’ (Serious or humorous?)

Dude, expect the both of you to burst out in ridiculous giggles if any supposedly sexy line comes out wrongly.

“Hey, Koga, are you feeling... horny?”

“Depends, are we going to be thoroughly... purified in the shower?”

H- ‘Hair under THERE’ (Pubic Hair Treatment, does the carpet match the shades?)

He does get uncomfortable if any hair on him gets too long for... certain reasons. 

So yup, don’t expect a bush.

It’s interesting how the middle is entirely crimson red while the surround curls are black but Koga sometimes wonders if his lower part is bleeding as a result. 

I - Intimacy

Ladies and gentlemen, the #1 in intimacy. 

He really... really... REALLY does not want to ever lose you again so he keeps his body so close to yours.

Every time he recalls the past inferno, he would be sure to drown out the memories by stroking the flames of passion with his fingertips against your skin. 

And he will check that your eyes are still full of life, even when both of you are in the midst of a climax.

J-Jack Off (Masturbation)

Honestly? Maybe once in a blue moon last time.

This man has had to deal with running businesses, establishing connections, terrible nightmares of losing his woman, and controlling his Carnage. As cheery as he is, he’d rather dedicate his free time to helping the Capital.

Until he met you NOT dying in his arms. Now, he had to give in to these sudden carnal urges that are coming at him with full force to make up for his lack of horny times in his teens. Usually, he tries to satiate them with actually having you but if you are busy, he will do so.

K- Kinks (One or two of his kinks)

Get his horns. 

Have I emphasized it enough? 

No? 

GRAB THEM.

L - Location (Favourite places to do the do)

His office. 

A certain spot will be designated, far away from the precious books that he has accumulated but always near the spot where he can nap for just a short while... 

Only to be reminded of your sweet moans, flushed face and great, now he’s wide awake and has to work off that desire... 

BY DOING MORE WORK.

... Kuya decides to invite you more often to the house because he is getting really tired of seeing Koga not actually taking a break. 

M - Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Canonically, he gets jealous easily. Like, he actually beats Aoi in that department. 

Mention Toichiro giving you a beautiful kimono, Kuya sleeping at your place, Past! Koga giving you a book... wait, what?

Yeah, you catch the drift. No matter who it is, he’s going to want to reaffirm your feelings for him afterwards. 

Oh, but the ultimate turn-on is you beating him in a drinking contest.

... God, I’m making him sound like an alcoholic.

N - ‘No’ (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Absolutely. No. Sharp objects. 

Not only will they hurt you, but he’s also worried that if he himself gets pricked, the Carnage will act up.

He IS kinda into the thought of you wielding a sword though.

O- Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

The God of Giving. He gives so, so, so much. 

Whatever did we do to earn this deity?

Ok, to be honest, it was hard at first because he was worried about the horns poking your thighs and tried to do it as a human at first. 

Until you insisted that he be comfortable and try working out the best position for both of you. 

Do suck him right though. He won’t deny his love for a good blowjob. 

He’s even turned the idea of mutual masturbation into a game - who can make the other come first? The winner gets a prize (probably who is going to save everyone else’s asses next time)

P - Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual)

Koga tries not to be rough, considering both of your... er... jobs and shared tragedy together. 

If you grab his horns though... you asked for it. 

Suddenly, he is thrusting into you so hard that you get sent a little higher up the sheets, the bedding getting more wrinkled and... soaked with certain body fluids. 

He’s going to give you make-up kisses to the hip area though because of a guilty conscience... and also to admire how you are still quivering from the aftermath.

Ultimately has a good balance between slow and sensual sex to rough and rapid romping in bed.

Q - Quickies (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc)

Poor soldier. 

Poor COMRADE OF YOURS.

This is his ultimate battle.

To take you right here, right now and bang like there is no tomorrow when technically they only have 10 minutes in some random closet...

Or to patiently and painfully wait for the sake of public decency (and sanitation) where you can be together without being seen? 

Taking you here in the middle of a hallway during a Gala sounds great but so does waiting until you’re behind closed doors so you can be free with those beautiful lips of yours.

Ultimately, the risk factor is what turns him to quickies if he’s particularly flirty but for more serious times, he’s definitely going to whisk you away somewhere for only the two of you.

R - Risks (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc)

... You know... we are talking about Koga Kitamikado, right?

It’s just a matter of what KIND of risk you guys want to take. A public one, a sex-toy related adventure...

The list can go on PROVIDED neither of you gets hurt.

S - ‘Stamina’ (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

The Carnage does take a toll on this aspect but Koga is an entrepreneur for a reason.

Let his fingers & tongue please you during the moments he has to recharge in between 3 rounds. 

T - ‘Toy’ (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

… Good god, he knows the owner.

But that’s the thing. 

Just because he knows it, unless you’ve expressed interest, he’s going to take things into his own very, very, very capable hands.

U - ‘Unfair’ (How much they like to tease)

Oh, he does tease you if you are acting particularly shy despite being completely nude and fully invested in intercourse.

He’s not going to be as bad a certain fox but he does love seeing you flustered if he hits a certain ticklish spot.

V- Volume (Do they moan/grunt?)

He really hates to admit it but you’ve been the only one to get ANYTHING out from him.

It’s even worse because even Koga can’t deny how animalistic he sounds.  

Growls, grunts, & groans, everything rumbles from him through you in the closest moment.

W - ‘Wildcard’ (Random Headcanon)

Medicine is not the only thing Koga is getting from Yura once you come in. 

No, but seriously, ever since you have given him those tea leaves, he has been hooked on aromatherapy and would like to incorporate that in your sex lives. 

It helps that there are some nice essential oils and massage lotions that help both of you get slick and ready.

Yura can’t judge him because... huehue...

X - ‘X-ray’ (How is the package?)

… I am too embarrassed. Let’s just say he has hit the double-digit integer in inches. 

But if you look at how I ranked him amongst the Dawn and Twilight factions, you know it’s gooD.

Yes, that ‘d’ letter was capitalized. A Capital D for the Man who loves the Capital.

Y - ‘Yearning’ (How high is his sex drive?’)

Before meeting you? His yearning was high… particularly, the yearning to die.

Same, my boy, same.

So honestly, it’s been sort of turned off although he could feel the biological urge and go get someone to relieve him of the ‘baggage’.

Upon meeting you, suddenly he has to adjust his sword hilt and... his other sword.

Z - ‘Zzzz…’ (How fast do they fall asleep?)

Honestly, he’s going to have trouble sleeping the first few times. 

Man is busy and working off that sexual energy just converts his strength to do something else.

Hence, the introduction of sake to share a lovely drink, a lovely moment and a lovely MOMENT TO FINALLY REST... with you!

[what-you-dont-surrender]

Killing Eve 2x07 Analysis

At V’s: Reflections reflections…with a camera pan to V and Eve that has to turn away from the sight. She’s almost there, but not quite.

“Do you want to talk about it? You’ll feel better if you do.” This is coming from the woman who’s heard people beg for mercy, who’s heard people tell her they have kids who depend on them, who never ever cares. Yet this time she wants to listen, she’ll encourage someone to speak, so long as that person is Eve. Sympathy, which in V’s case could be a progression to empathy, seeing as she already feels a connection with Eve strong enough to use the term “us”. For once, Villanelle doesn’t care about whether or not this is a fun activity, whether or not she’ll be bored listening to Eve, what she cares about is Eve being “ok”.

“Two AA meetings and suddenly you’re the expert on honesty?” “Yeah”

Thing is, she just might be. Let’s not forget that V is exceptionally intelligent, shall we? She may not understand the concept of honesty (which she’s self-aware about) but what she does understand now is that it is important to Eve. She’s so well-versed with honesty now, in fact, that she knows enough to be able to say the following lines: (“Do you mean it?”) “I don’t know” (“You don’t know if you’re telling the truth or not?”) “Not really.”

Add to this her facial expression:

Our murder baby is trying so hard to reach within herself to know because she knows that, to Eve, honesty is important. She’s learning the weight of her words, she’s learning that even if she doesn’t understand honesty, she needs to try to be as sure of what she says to Eve as she can be. There is even a mild sense of insecurity, perhaps? A worry that this is something that will turn Eve away from her? But by god, she will admit that she can’t tell the truth apart because it’s the least she can do. The next part, I’ve already written about so I won’t delve into so much, feel free to read it here.

What I do want to add is how utterly sure V is of her next sentence: (“You don’t feel anything?”) “I feel things when I’m with you.”

The smallest pause…

Absolute certainty…

Vulnerability, if she had a face.

That small pause in the first image, it was so brief, to be honest I don’t think V was thinking. I think she was feeling. She understood why that question mattered, she understood why Eve had to ask. She understood its implications, the way their dynamic hung in the balance by the answer to that question alone. But the second image, she doesn’t have to even think because she knows. Because there is a boy in a grave who knew that to Villanelle “Eve” was synonymous with the word “love”, because her first clean kill was titled “love in an elevator”, because the dance floor in an underground club knows, because the bathroom stall in which she almost choked a girl to death knows, because her hotel bed, her hotel bathroom, that damn mirror – all of Amsterdam knows. She doesn’t have to think twice before telling Eve: she feels things when she’s with her. And on that third image, that stare, that certainty. V is no expert at being vulnerable, but she will she try, if only with Eve, to make sure she gets just how honest and true she is being here. Honestly, I think watching a 3 second clip of this moment makes it more clear than still images but it’s the best I could do.

And then my favorite line: “I’m not with them when I’m with them.” I talk a bit about that on the link above as well. 

Restaurant scene:

“It’s the best thing on the menu,” homeboy Aaron is obsessed with the concepts of best, perfect, exact, etc. And honestly he’d be worthy of a diagnosis if I was more interested in him as a character beyond his interactions/comparisons with V.  For now lets just say he’s somewhat of a “social voyourist” per se; he likes to watch, to live vicariously through others, it’s so much safer. I love the way this interaction initiates because

Otherworldly pasta!

So much so, Sigh by Unloved starts playing in the background. This song, by the way, played during the Niko and Eve scene from 206. It implies arousal and carnal desire, lust, if you will. But this time it’s not V who’s aroused, it’s

homeboy Aaron

Also, notice how the moment this scene is initiated we get close ups; this implication of intimacy, along with Sigh playing in the background, but felt by Aaron instead of V. (thank the gods)

And then it begins to switch back and forth from them to

My sexual senses are tingling, must call my gf - I mean V. Sigh continues to play through this constant scenery switches, by the way.

We then get the wide pan as V and Aaron begin to talk about Amber, only for the camera to slowly begin zooming in as we get:

“I like buying things” “Go on,” “I like owning them…I like looking at them” “You’re a collector then?” “I guess so” “Of what?” “All kinds of things, things that make me feel something.”

One of the goals this episode set out to achieve was to create a parallel between Aaron and V, to show just how similar they can be. They are not reflections however, as we will see later on in the episode.

And here V reaches an understanding, she knows exactly what it is he wants. Whereas at first she had assumed he wanted to sleep with her, she now sees he just wants to observe, it is the only thing he craves.

“Lets go out and see something, that’s something we can do.”

And so, V begins to perform.

At V’s apartment:

“Cancel what I’ve been through and now I’m changing my world and now I’m changing my world…”

The song continues to play as V listens to Eve’s voicemails, smiling like the smitten dork that she is. And this is telling because V really is changing her world. She’s feeling for the first time, she is exhibiting behaviors she never has before, she feels compelled to do things for someone else, she is learning to control her impulses, she is trying to understand the concept of honesty…she is somewhere much different than where she was back in that opening scene, mimicking behavior before dropping ice cream on a little girl after having murdered an old man in Vienna without knowing why she was getting paid to do so.

And then:

Worried I’ve been murdered? Me? World’s deadliest assassin?

Yeah, really, worried, murdered, all of it. I see people saying this was funny cause, come on, Eve’s just being awkward. But no. I think this is very honest of Eve, she really does worry about V, we see this when she talks to Martin too. She might’ve gone along and spoken to Martin about herself, but she means it when she says she worries about V and her well-being. And this must be strange for both of them, I mean look at V’s face. No one’s worried for her before, hell, they pay her to put herself in these situations in the first place. She’s a weapon, its what she does. But here is Eve calling her 9 times, leaving 3 voice mails, sounding anxious and then forcefully collected, wondering if V is okay. Just wanting to hear her voice and be sure she’s safe. And though new and strange, well:

It’s also nice.

At Carolyn’s:

“You weren’t listening?” “Not this time, no.” And she says this with a straight back, head held high; someone’s proud.

“What’s her state of mind? “She is excited”

Konstantin cutting Eve off here, I’m sure Eve wouldn’t have said that to Carolyn if she had had the chance to answer, which he probably knew. “Have you been razzing her up, Eve?” “Razzing?” “I’m counting on you to keep her calm.” Interesting choice of word here, indeed. Have you been teasing her Eve? Teasing? Carolyn didn’t even have to think, it was her go to word here. And Eve is confused.

“Villanelle? Sit still?” “She will, she just needs to think that she’s in charge” I mean, yes, which is something Konstantin hasn’t quite figured out how to manage in his years with her, but also, no. Did ya catch him looking at Eve when she says this? This would work if Eve wasn’t actually falling for our dear V, so while she’s right in theory she’s wrong in practice. V is a master manipulator, I don’t think she’s quite gotten that yet.

Its interesting to me how Eve is okay with the concept of a team up until Konstantin say he can “supervise”. She’s more than okay leading a group, but having someone above her? Not interested. Honestly, this plays into her own psyche, as she believes herself to be more capable than others.

“Don’t forget what she did to Anna.”

You mean, nothing? V thought she loved Anna, and while her courting method sucked, she never actually hurt the woman. Sure, she isolated and pursued her, hoping her fixation would be reciprocated but she didn’t pose an actual threat to her even after she was rejected. But the thing is, Eve has shown to respond to V’s courting: she’s thrilled by V’s kills, she gets a high from the little messages V leaves her, she becomes aroused by the adrenaline she feels when V imposes herself on her. And Carolyn knows this: “Well, maybe you do need a bag man, take Hugo.”

Storage unit:

“You’re a hoarder” / “You’re a collector, then?”

Eve has a type, with one huge difference: V likes to look at them, Niko just likes to keep them. “I like owning them…I like looking at them.” Niko only owns; he only keeps Eve. Sure, he claims to love her, but only the parts of her he deems appropriate. He likes to keep her, but he’s not an active participant in her life, barely even for sex. He likes to go to Bingo night, come home, have Indian food, and read a book before falling asleep with the certainty that Eve will be there to do it all over again tomorrow. But V? She wants Eve in every aspect of her life: she wants to come up with intricate kills that Eve can admire, she wants to leave little hints only Eve can decipher, she wants to buy gifts in every country she visits and surprise Eve while she’s away, she wants to pick outfits only Eve is worthy enough to see her in, she wants to learn how to do things that are innately difficult for her because they matter to Eve. She wants to look at her, yes, and interact with her too, as we’ll see later on in the episode.

Boy, do I love cocky Villanelle. Asking for a thank you, bless, rub it in his face some more. And then her face when she says “Eve likes it, so…” As if “my baby likes it so of course I’m going to hold you at knife point and demand you tell me how to make it cause, trust me, I’ve tried and it’s just not worthy of Eve at all. Oh, Worcester sauce? Of course!” I mean it’s such an “duh of course, absolutely” moment. Eve likes it. That’s all the reason she needs to be doing this. Eve.

At Carolyn’s:

“Any escalation? Increased attention-seeking, recklessness?” A chuckle and a no for V and then “How about you?” Sadly, we’re interrupted by Kenny, but we know the answer. For one, the answer for both is a resounding yes. I mean, as they’re speaking V is in a storage unit interrogating Niko and Gemma about Shepherd’s Pie, for god’s sake. But also, that very morning Eve was sitting on V’s bed, leaning into her, dancing around words, trying to figure out if V also feels something for her before storming out after finding out she slept with 2 other women.

She mustn’t kill anyone but ya know, there goes Gemma lol

Back at the storage unit:

“Do you love Eve?” Cue the trembling voice, because this is the question that matters. I know some may wonder why Niko didn’t lie but let’s be honest, V would’ve known and that would’ve been worse.

“Of course I’m sure, she’s my wife.” I HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THIS SENTENCE. Niko knows V knows Eve’s his wife, she’s still asking him if he’s sure, this response only serves to establish his territory. Being married to someone isn’t a guarantor of love. V doesn’t care so much that Eve is married as much as them being in love. It’s also a lazy answer, why are you sure Niko? There’re so many aspects you can’t stand about Eve, why are you so sure you love her? Cause of a paper you signed years ago? Do better.

“But Eve would never forgive me if I hurt you, Niko.”

Ugh, that delivery! The tremble at the “me” the emphasis on that “you”. V knows that as long as Niko chose Eve there would be a possibility of them getting back together, she was so willing to let them both go if he only said he loved Gemma, because Eve wouldn’t be able to forgive him loving someone else. But as long as he still loves her, as long as he feels comfortable enough calling her his wife, well, V feels like her place in Eve’s life is a fragile one.

“But Eve would never forgive me…” What is V’s concept of herself? What makes up her image of “me”? A murderer, a liar, a deceiver, someone who doesn’t understand the concept of honesty, someone who sleeps with other people to redirect her desire for her, someone who’s been impossible to love as far as she knows, someone who can’t settle and build a home, someone damaged. Her concept of “self” (or ego in psychology) is as fragile as her voice here. Why would she forgive her? Of course she wouldn’t.

“…if I hurt you, Niko.” You, her husband, the person she’s spent most of her life with, build a home with, someone who understands the concept of honesty to the point of risking their life when threatened by one of the deadliest assassins in the world, someone who she comes back to even though he drives her crazy sometimes, someone who makes her feel empty yet she still willingly shares a bed with.

Why would she forgive me if I took her concept of safety away? She wouldn’t.

And this level of self-awareness? It’s outstanding. Villanelle has gone from the overt narcissistic psychopathic murderer with APD to someone who questions her worth. V is a narcissist through and through and yet – AND YET – has now reached the ability to question her self-worth and her past decision-making. Talk about a character arc, my god, this is monumental. She could have very well killed Niko here, considering he poses a possible threat to her courtship of Eve, but making the decision to kill Gemma instead shows her ability to understand that that is not how people work. When she did this with Anna she though that by removing Max she would have what she wants, but now she refuses to make that same mistake even though she’d love to kill Niko. For one, she manages to frame him, punish him for straying from Eve (which, how dare he), and shows growth. I mean yes, is this a tactic to get to Eve? Sure, it lets Niko know that as long as he chooses Eve he will have to deal with V because she isn’t planning on going anywhere. But also, it shows how much she cares about Eve to place Eve’s feelings before her own urges. It is, perhaps, one of her biggest gestures of love so far.

At V’s:

“Maybe we’re soulmates.” Okay, so I’m not interested in V’s little joke as much as her ability to use the concept adequately. The woman who’s struggling with the concept of honesty is able to understand and apply the concept of soulmates. This caught my attention because if she can understand what the implications of that word are and if she can apply it for comedic value, then she can do this in the privacy of her own heart and mind as well. So then, does she think Eve is her soulmate? She’s already used the term “us” with Eve before, is this also something she’s considered? Does she really consider Aaron her soulmate or is this really just a joke?

The little eye-roll when asked if she’s planning something, her smile at the concept of being alone with Eve, giddy like a schoolgirl. I think this concept of soulmates might be more real to V than we’re being shown just yet.

Martin’s:

“He could kill the shit out of me” Eve, you truly identify the best with those who aren’t psychologically stable, huh?

“Aren’t they already [out of hand], putting a psychopath, possibly two, in a high-risk situation, and just…hoping for the best?” This is LITERALLY a summary of Killing Eve, folks. That’s it, that’s the show, we can all go home.

“I want her to be safe.” “Sounds like she can take care of herself” “No, she can’t”

Eve is doing two things here: 1. Speaking of herself through V, which Martin notices, and we’ll go into in a sec 2. Being honest.

We’ll see more of this throughout the episode, Eve goes through great lengths to make sure she’s sure V will not be harmed. She really does want V to be ok and the only safety she can provide is physical safety. She has yet to figure out V’s emotions, which she only just learned this morning exist, so what she can do to care for V is to make sure she’s safe. Eve worries for one of the world’s deadliest assassins, how endearing.

Now, Martin dismisses this second point mostly because he’s ignorant to what we’re privy to as the audience, and he also ignores her dismissal at being here for a “work thing” and that’s when we get:

“How much of the day do you pend thinking about her? “Most of it” “Are you two in a relationship?” “Define relationship.” “Are you having sex?” “No” The mistake Eve and some of us as viewers might make here is assume that “are you having sex?” is a question used to clarify Eve’s “define relationship” when it isn’t, it’s its own question. If Martin is as good as we’re led to believe he will notice how telling it is that Eve’s answer to “are you two in a relationship?” is “define relationship.” If the dynamic Eve and V have now is so complex and intertwined that the boundaries that define what a relationship is have been blurred then it’s safe to say that yes, they are in fact in one. Whatever the terms of it might be have yet to be established but a mental health professional must recognize that once these concepts require situational specification then we’re in trouble. Martin uses Eve’s request for clarification as a way to find out how intimate and safe they feel with one another at this time, because having sex would require them both to finally let their guards down with each other completely.

However, this may also give Eve the false idea that as long as they don’t have sex she hasn’t fully surrendered herself to her attraction to V. To Eve, as long as she can say she hasn’t slept with her, then no one can say she’s in too deep, as long as she doesn’t sleep with her she can keep crossing every line there is. And that’s simply not true, of course. Villanelle knows this though, she knows that sex is something Eve will not simply allow nonchalantly, she knows it’s not something she can charm her way into. She can’t just flirt with Eve, arouse her, and lead her to her bed, because Eve doesn’t work like that. Eve needs to bring down her walls on her own, on her own terms, at her own time. So yeah, V is definitely playing her cards in just the right way to get closer to Eve, but ultimately Eve will be the one who has to cross that threshold. @lesbianmoonlobster and I have previously spoken about my theory of The Threshold, for lack of a better term. I’ve mentioned to them how, if PWB was still writing, I’d be skeptical of Eve’s capacity to kill someone until next season, but now with Emerald, it has become clear that we’re driving at a faster speed, turning this into a possibility. At the very least, I do believe that Eve will reach a threshold this season and that, regardless of what form it takes, it will cause Eve’s grey morality to get a shade or two darker. My point is here, that V is playing her role in slowly coaxing Eve into her bed. “How are things at home?” “My husband left me.” “Are you behaving differently, doing things you normally wouldn’t?” “Yes” A vocal tremble on that “yes” “Do you feel unsafe?” “Yeah” A whispered response. “How else do you feel right now?” “I feel…wide awake.” Cue teary eyes.

The way I observe this part? “behaving differently” = subway man, using Niko, etc “unsafe” = herself “wide awake” = a realization A lot of people have mentioned how “bitchy” or cold Eve has been acting with V despite V’s attempts at casual get-to-knows (for lack of a better term) but part of this, I’m sure, has to do with Eve realizing that yeah, she’s very much like V. She’s scared of herself, of the things that she does, of how much she enjoys them and how much more she wants to do. But boy, does she feel revitalized – does she feel more herself.

“I recommended that you be taken off this operation, I said you were too involved and too compromised, but my recommendation was ignored.”

Eve’s eyes search, her tears begin to gather, she ponders.

“I’m telling you for your own safety.”

She looks up, she leaves.

This part, to me, is her moment of confirmation. Hearing Martin reveal what he had observed in their previous meeting, a professional, and expert, affirming that yes, you’re at risk of plunging into the very thing you’re dreading, only serves to confirm Eve of her realization. Perhaps even encourages her to continue on that path.

At the restaurant:

Number of things going on here but one I’m leaving alone ‘til its culmination point later in the episode. For one: here’s Eve trying to keep V safe again, risking being seen and blowing their operation because the only way she can protect V is by making sure she’s listening in so, all be damned, she’s gonna get her a back-up mic if it’s the last thing she does.

Little bit of light teasing from Hugo before this but it does tie in nicely with the way V caresses Eve’s hand as she takes the bread:

Because V knows what this looks like, Aaron buying her things, taking her to Rome, dinner at an expensive restaurant. All things V could want without the need to kill anyone. All reasons she could be charmed by Aaron, so yeah, she’s going to reassure Eve. Also, such a cute little way of saying “the creation of Eve” considering V has been the catalyst, or god in this sense, which has spurred Eve’s change. Except their hands are touching, unlike in the painting, implying they’re equals, Eve becoming in V’s likeness.

Cut to Eve’s hotel room:

“She’s having a great time.” Someone’s jealous. Someone’s doubtful. Despite V’s reassurance, the possibility of V finding someone else who watches her (“do you like to watch her or do you like being watch?”) scares Eve.

“I knew she wouldn’t let me down.” Oh boy, Eve. Development of trust, that’s a biggie (understatement of the year, worthy of a complete essay). Eve believes in V, she trusts her, she counts on her. The woman she professed she’d find what she loves and destroy it, the woman she stabbed, all of a sudden is worthy of her trust.

Also, V choosing One Way or Another? Subtle V, real subtle.

With Aaron:

“You’ll be bored stiff” “I’ll be fine” “You’ll be bored” “Ok, I’ll be bored” “Good”

Remember how I said Aaron would be worthy of a diagnosis if I cared enough about his character beyond his relation to V? We’ve reached that point. The beautiful thing that the show has been trying to do this entire episode is reaching it’s culmination point.

Aaron doesn’t only function as a parallel but also helps create a spectrum for the viewers. It is no longer just grey morality, it’s no longer just a psychopath, a dysfunctional MI6 agent with failed marriages, and a possible sociopath. Now it’s a spectrum because now we have that absolute black, or, as Aaron describes later, that “void”. Now we can line them all up.

Does that stare look familiar?

The very thing Aaron wants to see in V is what she once was, what he is: devoid of expression, devoid of her ability to interact with others in the manner she has now achieved.

“They’re both cold-blooded psychopaths…” “She’s just doing her job”

Well Hugo is right about one thing, as far as we’re shown, and as far as the show wants us to believe, they are both candidates for an Antisocial Personality Disorder diagnosis, albeit they fall in different categories. And Eve, though she may be basing her answer on her feelings, is right about her observation. Ultimately, V and Aaron would not function well together as they both have different needs and different understandings of the world, which we’ll see later on.

Russian meeting:

“…all this information is yours.”

“Language is information and information is everything.”

Look at V’s smile, she likes the sound of having access to all of this. Can’t blame her, really, it’s what she’s been lead to believe ever since The Twelve broke her out of prison, it’s the only way of life that’s really worked for her.

After:

I…love this scene.

“I told you you’d be bored”

Oh, but she wasn’t Aaron, she was thrilled.

What follows is, similarly to Eve, V’s own revelation.

“You’re the only person in the world I know nothing about. Nothing real. A void.” “That’s me” “I thought so, me too.”

But let’s look at V’s response:

She says it with so much certainty, the only thing she’s ever been really sure of. Everywhere she goes it’s all anyone perceives her as:

“You should never tell a psychopath they’re a psychopath, it upsets them.”

All she’s ever been told is how unstable, how cold, how different she is from everyone around her. So yeah, she sees herself as a void, we’ve established that V has gained a sense of self-awareness this season.

But Aaron is not privy to her development, he does not know that much of where V’s statement is coming from is no longer sound, and so he misidentifies himself with her.

And I say misidentifies because:

“Do you ever get lonely?” “Never” Because V does! V gets lonely, she gets bored, she craves attention and gratification. Loneliness, in particular, is something she mostly feels when away from the object of her fixation, now affection, such as Anna, Nadia, and now Eve. “You don’t want to…talk to them…touch them, sleep with them? “God, no.” “Do you?” “Yeah! I do, all the time.” She is so animated here, so surprised. Consciously or not, V seems to have formed this idea that she and Aaron were the same side of the same coin. “Soulmates” if you will. Cut of the same threat, both loving money, loving items, loving to watch. Both willing to discard people when they’re bored, both doing anything to pass the time, both valuing information, seeing those around them as less than. But here, this monumental difference. This desire to create connections and relationships with others, to not only watch but to engage in what we refer to as play in psychology. This is V’s revelation: they are not the same, she is capable of so much more than she’s allowed herself to believe.

Look at that smile!

What the show achieves here is the establishment of a spectrum for all of their characters. Something that shows who wish to portray psychopaths often do is create this robot-like person who is most often a sadist who lies and cheats and is the epitome of all things immoral and evil. Psychopathy is just a symptom of people who fall in cluster B personality disorders, often a mix of APD with a few others. Something I’ve mentioned before is how some psychologists have theorized that APD patients can actually feel emotions but often struggle with actively feeling them or identifying them because they feel them much more fleetingly or to a much lesser degree than most people. There is no exact depiction of a psychopath or APD patient because there is no one way in which this disorder presents itself, it is a spectrum. And here we see this established, we see Aaron as the one who can only function through I-it relationships, whereas for V there is an I-you, however mild and chaotic. And this revelation to her is a doorway; it opens up so many possibilities that she may now have the strength to aim for, particularly Eve because, all of a sudden, there is validity in her desire for their connection.

And who knows that now?

THAT scene:

It was sexy, I know. I won’t take the sexy away but I do want to point out a few things here:

1.       Eve making sure her girl – I mean V – is safe, again. She’s ready and willing to listen all night if she has to. Whether it’s because the last time she left her alone V slept with 2 chicks or because extreme-end-of-the-spectrum-psychopath Aaron is around, Eve is making absolutely certain she’s there should V need her.

2.       Remember that relationship/sex question from Martin? The way Eve deflected by asking him to define “relationship”? Remember how I said she might fool herself into thinking that as long as she doesn’t sleep with V they’re not together, she hasn’t gone too far? Eve is so close to crossing her own blurred line. V is more than aware of just how far she can push Eve, just how to inch her closer little by little over that line. Notice the progression here: Eve’s sexual drive revived with the arrival of V in her life, of course, but notice the way it has escalated over time. At first it was the excitement of her new job, the gifts V sent her, the thrill of danger, the flowers at her doorstep, Niko angered by V’s presence, and now V pleasuring herself. It began by situations, then items, then their dynamic, V’s show of affection, V vicariously through Niko, and now its her on own voice. She’s been easing her way into Eve’s bed, slowly fixing herself as the object of Eve’s desire. Eve has begun to embrace this longing; she did not put up a fight the moment she realized V was ready and willing to spend the night with her through Hugo’s body. Eve understood that she too has been with others without being with them. And does she care?

 Not one bit. Not as long as she gets to wake up hearing Villanelle’s voice, it seems.

Good for them.

[eurynome827]

Quoting Shakespeare: That Man That Hath A Tongue

An HBC Drabble! Part 2 of Quoting Shakespeare, by popular demand (or just @cchellacat telling me she would kill me if I didn’t write it...I love you, thanks for reading this over and always telling me nice things and feeding my praise kink)

Sebastian Stan x Reader

Warnings: language, SMUT SMUTTY SMUT SMUT SMUT (oral m and f receiving, protected sex) More smutty than usual. I’m getting worse. 

“That man that hath a tongue, I say is no man, if with his tongue he cannot win a woman.” William Shakespeare, The Two Gentlemen of Verona

(sorry about using your quote in such a smutty manner, Will, but you were a horny bastard too, so you probably don’t care)

BY CLICKING THE READ MORE LINK BELOW YOU AFFIRM THAT YOU ARE 18+ AND UNDERSTAND THAT THIS STORY CONTAINS ADULT CONTENT.

You looked at your feet, and then back up to meet his eyes with a smile. "Hey, Romeo. You here to take me up on my offer?"

He returned your smile, and you pulled him into your room by his arm, closing the door and turning to face him. The room was silent as you watched each other, both nervous about taking the next step. Finally he stepped forward to close the distance and as his hands went to your waist, yours circled his neck as his nose nudged yours. You closed your eyes, waiting for the kiss that must be coming, but opened one eye and raised an eyebrow at him after a minute.

He was smirking at you. "How are you feeling?"

You blinked twice. "Fine."

"So...you remember what you said at my balcony," you nodded, "do you remember what you said on the phone?"

His hands held your waist, keeping you at a distance, and you whined. "Yes, I remember."

He must have taken some semblance of pity on you and pulled you closer, his mouth next to your ear now, and you shivered, "Do you remember what I promised you?"

You took a deep, shaky breath. "You said you wouldn't let me out of bed today."

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

"I'm absolutely sure." You could feel his hesitation, feel him start to pull away, and before he could talk himself out of anything you gripped one hand in his hair and snapped, "Seb, shut the fuck up and kiss me already."

You pressed your lips to his and he kissed you back, for a sweet moment, until he couldn't stop himself from mumbling against your mouth as you attempted to continue the kiss, "I ...just need... To know you're sure."

Throwing your head back with a groan, you held his wrists to keep his hands at your waist and then leveled a glare at him. "Sebastian. I'm running out of ways to say 'take me, I'm yours'. I won't beg, you know."

Now he kissed you with an almost bruising force, and you squealed when your back hit the wall and you opened up to him, allowing his searching tongue to find yours. His hands cradled your jaw and you started to feel light-headed. Your hands reached under his shirt to feel along lines and ridges of muscle and soft skin. When he stopped kissing you to breathe you pulled up on the hem.

"Off!" You demanded, and he complied, pulling the shirt over his head quickly and searching your lips out again. Grabbing his hand and moving it to the belt of your robe, you directed between kisses, "pull!"

He pulled and the robe opened, and then he stopped kissing you, surprised to feel your bare skin under the robe. You watched him, his eyes drinking you in, and you took a step forward as he took a step back.

"Don't you dare stop," you demanded, and tried to pull him toward you by the waistband of his gym shorts, but he shushed you with a finger pushed against your lips.

"I'm not stopping. Just," he let the finger on your lips trail over your chin, down your neck and stop at your collarbone, "let me take my time, please."

You shrugged the robe off your shoulders and watched his eyes follow the movement. Stepping back to brace yourself against the wall, you took a deep breath in as the finger paused at your collarbone continued it's journey south between your breasts, over your tummy and detoured to grip your hip instead of ending up where you desperately needed him. He stepped closer to you, caging you in against the wall, and leaned forward to whisper in your ear, "you're just as beautiful as I always knew you would be."

Smiling and turning your head towards his, you captured his lips again as he raised his hands to cup your breasts and you moaned into his mouth as he brushed his thumbs across your nipples. Your breath started to speed up as you wrapped one hand around the back of his neck to keep his lips close to yours and let your other hand wander down in search of the waistband of his shorts. Remembering your request from the previous night, you used all your strength to switch places with him, pressing your body against his to press him into the wall and giving his lip a little nibble before trailing kisses down his neck and chest and dropping to your knees. He took a shaky breath and pressed his hands into the wall as you pulled the shorts down and watched as his cock bounced out, hard and ready. You looked up at this gorgeous man you had at your mercy and could hardly believe the words that came out of your mouth.

"I'm gonna make you come so hard, you're gonna see your past lives."

He closed his eyes and moaned as you gripped him and licked from base to tip before engulfing him in your mouth with a pleased hum. Resting a hand on his muscular thigh you bobbed your head and feasted, wanting nothing more than to take him apart piece by piece. Above you he was a babbling mess.

"Baby.... God....so good... don't stop..."

You hummed again in response, and he moaned again, a call and answer of the most carnal kind.

His hand threaded through your hair but he let you direct your pace and you didn't plan on letting him catch his breath. Almost too soon he was gasping out, "close, so close," and you prepared to take everything he had to give you. With a final gasping moan he was coming and you were swallowing and you knew you would never get tired of the expression on his face.  

You sat back on the carpet, looking very pleased with yourself, and watched Sebastian try to pull himself together while leaning against the wall. "I hope that was worth the wait."

He slid down from the wall and crawled over you as you laid back, his hands on either side of your head as his lips hovered over yours. "I'm never letting you go, I hope you realize that."

You grinned up at him. "I'm kind of counting on that."

He kissed you and you opened up immediately, sliding your tongue against his as his hand sought out the wet heat between your legs. You sighed into his mouth as he slid a finger inside you, and he broke the kiss to whisper, "my turn."

You thought he would just travel down right there, but he stood instead and pulled you to your feet and then up into his arms as you squealed. He carried you to the bed, laid you down gently and settled between your legs, pulling one over his shoulder and taking a moment to admire how wet and ready you were for him. 

"Gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart."

His lips, his fingers, his tongue - all were conspiring to drive you to the brink of madness. You wanted to push yourself closer to him but his free hand had a tight grip on you, fingers splayed across your hip, caressing every so often with the same rhythm as the fingers inside you.

"I always knew you'd be amazing at this," you gasped out, and felt his smile against your skin. You could have sworn he blushed at your praise. He doubled his efforts and you mewled, arching your back and warning him, "so close, don't stop," and he responded by sucking your clit into his mouth and shaking his head gently. No, he wouldn't stop.

You came on his fingers, crying out his name and seeing stars. You felt his fingers pull out of you and his tongue reach down to gather your wetness. He purred against your hot skin before sitting up, and you watched him clean both fingers in his mouth, savoring your taste. Still coming down from your high, you smiled at him, words for once eluding you. You glanced down and saw this his cock was hard for you again. 

He saw you notice and leaned over you to kiss you, and you licked across his bottom lip first, so pink and swollen from his enthusiasm between your legs. "Be right back," he kissed you quickly and left the bed, and walked to his abandoned shorts on the floor. He pulled a condom out of the pocket and strolled back to you as you rolled onto your side and rested your head in your hand.

"Just one?" You arched an eyebrow at him. 

He unraveled the strip and waved them at you, his insufferable smirk returning. "Think this is enough?"

"Let's find out."

You opened one package, rolled the condom on and pulled Sebastian back onto the bed, falling onto your back and wrapping your legs around his waist as he moved closer. 

He took one of your hands in his, and with his other hand he lined up to push inside you. The feel of him entering you was exquisite. The two of you moved against each other slowly and deliberately, short and soft kisses punctuated by heated breaths and sighs. 

"Gonna take care of you," he said, his thrusts picking up speed as your hips rose to meet his.

"Make me come, make me come for you, gonna be your good girl."

"My girl. Gonna keep you in this bed all day."

"You promised."

"Yes, babygirl, I promised."

You looked up into his eyes, as blue as that tropical ocean outside your door, and then that wave crashed over you and you dragged him over with you.

This was the best vacation ever.

* All day, in bed and out of bed, the rest of the condoms were used, and your phones lay untouched in your hotel room collecting texts from your friends.

'Are you okay? You missed breakfast.'

'Hey man, you missed the gym.'

'Is Sebastian with you?'

'We're all going to the beach. See you there?'

'Girl, you better spill.'

As the late afternoon sun drifted through your open window, you giggled as you scrolled through all the messages on your phone while Sebastian sat next to you, leaning against the headboard. The last message made you pause.

'So is this a vacation fling? Or is this A Thing now?'

Sebastian's eyes flicked down to your phone and read the message. Sensing your hesitation, he pressed a kiss to your temple, took the phone out of your hands and typed a response. You watched, a slow smile crossing your face.

'This is definitely A Thing.'

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, SIDNEY! You’ve been accepted for the role of LADY MACBETH. Admin Rosey: Ah, my dear Lady Macbeth. Sidney, you capture her so effortlessly, it almost scares me a little bit. Her voice simply flows so easily, so dangerously easy that it enraptures us all. What with her purr that could make any person fall to their knees, and the way that she strikes terror with little to no mind for the psychological fractures that she is likely to cause. Your plot points in particular had us all practically salivating for the drama that you are promising to bring. Bring the terror, the brimstone, and the damnation, Sidney. We are ready for it all. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Sidney Age | 21 Preferred Pronouns | She/her Activity Level | I’m fairly active! I’m usually here when I’m not working or sleeping, and most likely mobile and available to plot. I get to replies within 1-3 days depending on muse and time management! On a numerical scale, I’d say I’m a 6-7/10. Timezone | EST Current/Past RP Accounts | This is my most recent, and this is another from the past few months! And of course there’s my old DV account here!

In Character

Character | Lucrezia Falco / Lady Macbeth (I do plan on sending in a Cressida app (hopefully) by Saturday, but I’d be happy to potentially play either so I will defer to your judgement upon acceptances! Thanks so much for reading, love you all <3)

Lucrezia Carina Falco (née Ricci) LUCREZIA:“profit, wealth”, a name she’s taken quite literally since the day she looked up its meaning. To say it gave her a complex would be a vast understatement. If it had been anyone else who had discovered such a thing — that their given name means pure profit — it surely wouldn’t have created a monster. But the same cannot be said of the little princess who bore it one fine January morn. Thirty years in the making, and Lucrezia suits her better now than it ever has, as she walks the marbled floors of Falco Manor, donned in the finest of silks from the best of designers. A name can mean so many things, and in her case, she turned Lucrezia into gold. CARINA: “little darling”, once her mother’s name and cherished tenfold since the day she died. It fits you, mi carina, her mother would say before tucking her into bed at night with a kiss to her temple. Little darling, she’d coo despite her daughter turning into anything but. Though it became a persona she’d wear whenever she was feeling particularly cautious. Carina, she’d whisper with a small, calculated smile as she introduced herself to new strangers. With a bat of her lashes and lips painted a blushing pink, Lucrezia became a different woman. Someone her mother would have loved, someone she would have approved of. It’s a comfortable mask, one easily slipped on, but a mask nonetheless. It fits, but it doesn’t feel quite right. FALCO:It sits atop her shoulders in a black shroud, casting long shadows and grasping throats tightly with its wide reach. Mikael’s surname once tasted like candied cherries atop her naive tongue, sweet and rife with possibility—but it’s long since turned rotten in her mouth. Still, she wears it. Like a shield, pieces of armor she’s nailed and stapled to her chest with triumph. He may have been born with it but it was her who made it anything to bow before. It had no power, no fear or fealty attached to it with him in tow for there are only two uses for rabid dogs: annihilation and worship. He’s good for both, not much else. She’ll don it for now, milk that wretched man for all he and his name are worth and, by God’s gracious graces, that’s still something. For now.

What drew you to this character? | Lucrezia’s just so unapologetic; she is who she is and ever since birth, and never has she wavered. She knows what she loves: power. She knows what her best assets are: her sexuality. Instead of spending her life fighting to rise above everyone simply seeing her as this unattainable object, she embraces this so-called stereotype and uses it to her benefit. Manipulation is not only her best skill, but it’s her way of life. Since she was a child, she’s been told to change nearly every fundamental aspect of herself, to mold and shift and evolve into this delicate flower everyone thinks she should be, but she refuses. She is who she is—like it or not, and if you don’t, well, then she’ll convince you. Lucrezia derives true pleasure from making people squirm, bending and twisting their will just so she can get what she wants. Through pain or through pleasure, it doesn’t matter as long as they offer up exactly what she wants to hear. What it all boils down to is that reaction. Ranging from igniting pure, unadulterated rage from an enemy or sparking an animalistic, carnal desire in a lover’s eyes, all that matters is what they give her. With the smirk of her ruby-coated lips coupled with the sultry sway of her hips, or the hard slap of her leather encased hand followed by the sharp heel of her boot, people will kneel. They will obey.

I’m so drawn to her and all the power she has, whether it’s been created and cultivated by her through the Falco name, or entirely imagined simply because of her inflated sense of self worth. As a writer, it doesn’t matter to me because her motives are so crystal clear. She just wants more. That’s all she’s ever wanted, and I so desperately want to give it to her by any means necessary. There’s a reason they whisper Lady Macbeth behind her back; and she wears the pet name with pride despite the ashen taste of Mikael’s name being attached, but the lady always comes first.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | ONE: All her life everyone around her has told her exactly who she was supposed to be: delicate, tender, angelic. Characteristics that, if you truly knew Lucrezia they wouldn’t describe the raven-haired, irresistible dame by a long shot. While she could mimic these attributes, they did not come naturally. And it was those completely opposite traits which define Lucrezia that Mikael was first drawn to. Though she may still not be sure whether she truly love(s)d Mikael, she keeps him around. His attractiveness comes from the power the Falco name now elicits—all due to Lucrezia and her hunger for notoriety. Can’t find a man who will make you a queen? Then make one. And so she did. From the moment she saw him, she saw opportunity. But that only got her so far, unfortunately. At the moment, Mikael is just as useless as his rank. Not a single soul fears the name Falco—no—and with fear comes respect. Lucrezia has worked hard to change this, shaping and molding Mikael into a man who can command a faithful following, burrowing his insecurities behind a false sense of confidence from simply being her husband. Lucrezia’s affections can do wondrous things—turn simple people into leaders, mere men into gods. She turned Mikael into the perfect soldier for the Capulets and they should adore her for it. They should want to be her. But is adoration enough? No — never. Still very low in the ranks of the Capulet’s, she has her sights on something better: a crown. One clad with the finest jewels in all of Verona, dripping in the blood of whomever dares to step in her path. The only things Lucrezia pledges full loyalty to are herself and opportunity. She’ll need to decide quickly whether or not Mikael could be useful in helping her climb the ranks or if she would benefit from finally putting the poor dog to sleep.

I’d love to explore her specific manipulations of Mikael and his rank. He pushed her (and his own) feet through the door, but he is still only just a soldier and she is still only just an emissary. If he has nothing more to offer, then she would not even blink at the thought of killing him, or even carefully orchestrating such a tragedy. People always pity and underestimate a poor and young widow, a role she’ imagines she could play perfectly.

TWO: Where there is death, there is opportunity—at least to Lucrezia. With the news of Alvise’s demise spreading like the plague, she can’t wait to see how it all unfolds. Undoubtedly, the Capulets will be accused of committing such a horrible act, igniting a war among the feuding families, creating absolute chaos. And there’s nothing she loves more than a little mayhem. If she was a betting girl, she’d put her money on the very side Alvise pledged his allegiance to as the guilty party for the crime of putting an end to his very, very important life. There’s nothing like the hunger for power; Lucrezia is all too familiar with such a craving. Being an emissary has its perks. You’re given a direct line to the Boss’ needs and therefore delegated with the tasks deemed too dirty for the them. There’s something pure about being in the trenches, getting your boots wet (with blood), so to speak. You always know where you stand when you’ve got your heel to someone’s throat. Breaking and bending the enemies of Cosimo Capulet has its benefits. Lucrezia is free to do what she wants as long as the job gets done, but freedom is dangerous when a guard dog is given the opportunity to rip out its owner’s throat. All they’d have to do is offer her a particularly delectable bone as incentive. She wouldn’t give it a second thought, lunging at the opportunity to betray her so-called “family” if it meant ending up that much closer to a throne.

One of the only things she’s loyal to is opportunity. I can see her figuratively splitting herself in two. One side reaching toward Vivianne or Rafaella, going straight to the source and attempting to seduce them—platonically or romantically—by any means necessary. Mikael is, after all, only a soldier and Lucrezia is hungry. Her other half would be seeking any and all opportunities to inch her way into bed with a Montague and work her way up. Defecting would be a betrayal by anyone’s standards except Lucrezia’s.

THREE: Love can bring anyone to their knees—except Lucrezia. After all, the person she loves most is herself. While she finds lust and infatuation entertaining, and may even develop real feelings from one of her many, many trysts, they can all be reduced to ash in the palm of her hand as quickly as they were sparked to life. Nothing and no one will stand in her way—not even herself. Legally, her heart is tethered to Mikael and for that, he’ll remain loyal and grateful, despite his jealous tendencies. He has every right to be possessive, of course, because Lucrezia belongs to no one—not even her him. Assuaging her husband’s envious passion is easy, though; all she has to do is smile. She’s found a great friend in Delilah, but deep down she’s still unsure of whether or not the girl can cut it. If she cannot instill in her the same selfishness that’s gotten Lucrezia this far in life, she may have to cut ties with her as well. No matter the cost. Lucrezia will always blow through people’s lives like a tornado leaving only obliterated hearts and the burning embers of betrayal in her wake.

I’d love to explore a new relationship in her life, one where she sets her sights on someone with every intention of completely devouring them. Perhaps they will surprise her at every turn, matching her witty remark for witty remark and keeping her on her toes.  Maybe they’ll be easy prey, weak and naive and capable of great manipulation. While there’s no doubt she’d be absolutely fascinated with someone just as devious and unapologetic as herself, Lucrezia would still ultimately throw them to the wolves to further her own personal interests. God help the lover who stands in her way, or worse tries to change her for the better. Lucrezia’s already perfect the way she is; this she knows. But they can surely try.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes.

In Depth

In-Character Interview:

What is your favorite place in Verona?

“Mmm… The Dark Lady,” she purrs, the words pouring from her mouth like molasses, beckoning the interviewer to lean in closer as if she’s going to reveal a secret meant just for their ears.

“Music echoing off the walls and swirling with the soft chatter of Verona’s most notorious gluttons and the city’s biggest hedonists—it’s wonderful.” Her eyes fall shut for a moment as she settles in and leans back on the sofa, stretching her arms out on either side of the pillows behind her.

“There’s something about the smell of depravity in there I just love. The gambling, the liquor. And lust just hangs in the air like a thick fog,” she chuckles wryly, but her eyes shimmer, igniting with a mischievous wanton eagerness. “You never know what’s going to happen,” she leans forward once more, crossing her legs and winking at the interviewer.

What does your typical day look like?

“It’s rare that I wake up alone,” she mutters quietly, twirling a curled strand of her hair around her index finger—a tic she’s picked up along the years, usually stemming from boredom.

“I wake, I dress, I stumble—depending on how drunk I still am—back to my room and sleep or change and then leave the Emelia.“ She rolls her eyes carelessly, tossing her hair over her shoulder and leaning forward to take a sip of the tea the interviewer offered her when she sat down.

“Depending on the day, I either head to the Cathedral for work or I wander the streets, looking for entertainment. I can’t stand days sitting around doing nothing. I need to be moving,” she emphasizes her words with her hands dramatically, “I need to live, but you know, you can always find me at The Dark Lady or The Tempest come dusk.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

“War,” she deadpans, brushing away a few stray strands of blonde hair from her face. “It’s a waste of time, if you want me to be honest.” She doesn’t wait for them to ask her to expand. If Lucrezia is known for anything, it’s for speaking her mind whether it’s warranted or not.

“You’ve got one side, filled with — by anyone’s definition, especially their own — do-gooders. Saints, if you will. They’ve worked so hard to re-brand and re-build their name so it not only invokes respect, but one of generosity as well,” leaning forward, Lucrezia reaches for her silver cigarette case and lifts it from the coffee table in front of her. In one swift motion, she pulls one out, lights it, and takes a long first drag.

“Y-y-y-you can’t smoke in here,” they chirp, stuttering as if they’re afraid to scold her for fear she may tear out their throat. She chuckles and exhales, blowing the smoke up and to the right as she leans back once more into the plush cushions of the couch.

“Anyway, like I was saying, you’ve got the Saints, right? A real underdog; a redemption story. But then you’ve got the other side — the Sinners. Debauchery courses through their veins. I mean, it has to if you’re going to be in their line of work, doesn’t it?”

She takes another long drag, narrowing her eyes at the interviewer across from her. Their pen shakes ever-so-slightly in their hand—tremors from being in the presence of someone so domineering, if Lucrezia had to guess. The assumption brings a devilish grin to her wine-stained lips.

“But Saints always rely on Sinners to do their dirty work. The promise of becoming a Saint is all a hopeful Sinner needs to surrender their free will and execute orders deemed too evil for a Saint. But in my opinion…” she lingers, taking one last drag from her cigarette, before leaning in again. The interviewer leans forward in tandem, hanging on her every word.

“I love guns just as much as I love drugs,” she whispers, tossing her cigarette into the cup of tea atop the table, pushing herself to her feet and walking out.

In-Character Para Sample: Ten years ago —

A doe-eyed, fresh-faced, twenty-two-year-old Lucrezia stepped out of the cab into the cool summer air. She took in a deep breath, savoring the moonlight as it bounced off her caramel skin and basking in the light breeze rolling through from the west. Soft giggling echoed off the balconies above and she could hear a distant, yet very loud thumping of the bass all the way down onto the street. She could practically feel the pavement vibrating beneath her Louboutin sandals.

She lived for nights like these, nights filled with luxurious outfits and promiscuity. In fact, she spent all week looking forward to this very night—Saturday. The one night a week she can afford to venture out to Tempest. It was her guilty pleasure, indulging in the obscenity and carnality. She loved it; she lived for it.

But tonight felt different.

She quickly slammed the door to the cab shut and waved a thanks to the driver before heading in. Immediately, the door was held open for her and she smiled at the man, giving him a peck on the cheek as she brushed past him. Her heels clicked atop the marble as she sauntered over to the elevators, ever step radiating sovereignty—as if each touch of her toe to marble meant she was that much closer to becoming royalty. She knew it was a far off dream, but still her heart yearned and ached for such notoriety. She already had the following of a queen; people fell at her feet, worshiping the very ground she walked on. But something was still missing—a crown.

She rode up alone, but she liked it that way. Entering a party with a man immediately eliminated any and all opportunity, and that was the last thing she wanted. The silence, however, was deafening—something she detested—and by the time the elevator dinged and the doors opened, she was relieved. Noise traveled down the hall and bounced off the walls behind her, enveloping her in a warm embrace, beckoning her.

And she obliged.

Anticipation coursed through her veins as she headed toward the entrance of the Tempest but her brows knitted immediately at the people gathered in a line along the wall. Her face fell, her lips forming into a subtle pout as she stepped behind a brunette and proceeded to wait impatiently. Minutes passed and she inched forward with the line, growing angrier by the second.

A queen never has to wait, she thought, letting out a frustrated sigh and tightening the maroon pashmina draped across her shoulders. Her attention was so fixated on the clipboard holding, large, bald man in a black suit at the front of the line that she nearly missed the opportunity of a lifetime. She caught him though, thankfully, out of the corner of her eye.

Dressed in Armani from head to toe, he swaggered past her—and everyone else—in line, heading straight for the bouncer, who greeted him with a smile. He shook the man’s hand as his friends brushed past him. Lucrezia was transfixed. Such confidence. Such power. A few kind words to the man in front, and he was granted all access. No wait. No line. Amazing, she mused.

And that’s when he turned to face her.

Their eyes locked immediately and Lucrezia batted her lashes instinctively. Invite me in, she beckoned. She shrugged her shawl slightly, letting it slip naturally down her shoulders, revealing the spaghetti straps of her gold Dolce & Gabbana dress. A chill ran up her back and she shivered lightly, goosebumps covering her skin as the shawl fell farther down her arms, hooking in the crook of her elbows. As if in tandem, he took a few steps toward her as she rolled her right shoulder back slowly, reeling him in. Methodically, as if checking steps off of a list, she broke their eye contact, turning her head away and tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear.

“I must say,” he started, approaching her, and with no discretion he continued on, “you are the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on.”

She blushed, letting out her perfected adorable giggle and shook her head ever-so-lightly. He didn’t wait for a response, and instead proceeded to lean in, his lips hovering just inches from her ear.

“You must let me buy you a drink,” he whispered, reaching around and placing his hand on the small of her back. Once again, he gave her no time to object — not that she would — and lead her out of line. Breezing past everyone, she reveled in the envious side glances and resentful snickers. Everyone wanted to either be her or kill her. It was the kind of attention she’d wished for all her life and the power gave her a bigger rush than she’d ever had.

She wanted more.

Minutes passed and they reached the bar. He pulled out her seat and even held out his hand to assist her in sitting. He was such a gentleman—easy on the eyes and strong in the jaw. Lucrezia was used to such treatment, of course. Men of all shapes, sizes, and backgrounds fell at her feet in all corners of the world, but what she really wanted was to bring men to their knees. She wanted them to bow.

“Mikael Falco,” he strained to make himself heard above the overly rambunctious Saturday crowd, but she nodded and smiled. Mikael, she repeated it again in her head slowly, taking it in—trying it on for size. She wasn’t sure if she liked it…yet.

“Lucrezia.”

“What would you like?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Everything,” she purred, the corners of her mouth pulling her lips into lascivious smile.

He let out a chuckle, naivety clearly evident in his eyes, and hollered down at the bartender. She watched him carefully; he was meticulous in everything he did. The way he walked, talked, even smiled. It was calculated—a show. For her benefit? Perhaps. Indicative of his future ability to follow orders? Absolutely. Lucrezia wasn’t one to express her feelings, let alone speak them aloud, but by some miracle she was absolutely smitten. This man could take her places. She was sure if it.

Extras:

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HEADCANONS:

ASTROLOGY: Born January 13th, 1990, Lucrezia is a capricorn.    — Element: Earth, practical while valuing material things.    — Ruler: Saturn, well-established boundaries and icy exteriors.    — Colors: Brown, black

STRENGTHS: Responsible, confident, strategic, charismatic, disciplined, passionate, practical, independent, decisive, determined.

WEAKNESSES: Arrogant, cruel, stubborn, judgemental, distant, controlling, impatient, condescending, aggressive, cold, overly critical.

MBTI: INTJ, the Architect - a very strategic thinker and always has a plan, believes wholeheartedly that with intelligence and perseverance anything is possible, radiates self-confidence as well as irresistibility, a natural born leader.

ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Evil, the destroyer - greedy to a fault, loves to watch destruction just for the hell of it, quite hot-tempered and vicious, has a tendency to lean toward violence, often labeled as demonic which she embraces with a smirk.

GENDER/SEXUALITY: Cis-female, using she/her pronouns. Lucrezia is bisexual, having shown great attraction to any gender since she was around 14. She has no preference and rather enjoys heated encounters with especially interesting people. She has excellent taste, of course — only the best of the best — but she never turns down a good time despite the diamond that rests on her left hand.

STYLE & HABITS: She smokes unapologetically — any place, any time — but this habit increases exponentially when she’s intoxicated. And peaking of, Lucrezia drinks heavily to keep herself sane. She prefers whiskey to scotch and red to white wine, not caring for the sickly sweet taste and preferring an oaky coating of her viper’s tongue instead. She doesn’t care for mind altering substances; that would require her to enjoy letting go of control, and that’s something she’s nearly incapable of doing. However, Lucrezia will indulge in anything at least once, be it a new drug from Theodora, a new liqueur at the Tempest, or a new pretty face that catches her eye. Because of this, she rarely wakes up alone; always found in bed at her regular room at the Emelia with whomever she’d sank her teeth into the night before sprawled across the hotel’s luxury king-size bed. She’s often donned in the best outfits from the classiest of shops within Verona, loving vintage designer the most above all else. She prefers stark tones, wearing mostly blacks and whites with a few colorful accents, mostly red, but if there’s no top-five label on the item, she won’t wear it. And when in doubt, a pair of black pumps goes with most everything.

CAPULETS: Her goal has always been to climb to the top, and for a while now, that’s exactly what she’s done. She’s surpassed Mikael, even and was rewarded with one of the most coveted positions: emissary. She is the eyes and ears for Cosimo, her and his other little favorites, each with their own skill and proficiency. But greed is a funny thing and a deadly sin for a reason. If she were to use this opportunity to seize any sort of power, she’d have to be quick. She’d have to undoubtedly trust people to come to her aid. She’d have to tie up loose ends that call themselves her beloved. The more she thinks about it, the more strings emerge into her purview that tie her to the Capulets. But that doesn’t mean they cannot be severed for the right price. Loyalty, it’s supposed to mean something, isn’t it? Especially with a bloodied C pinned to her chest for all of Verona to see. It draws a line in the sand wherever she walks, that sweeping letter. Stand back, it says. Obey, is always what follows. And that’s a sentiment Lucrezia can get behind. For now, she’ll remain loyal. She’ll do Cosimo’s bidding and she’ll listen as Vivienne drones on in his name, but watching and waiting in the wings Lucrezia will be. It’s an easy thing to fake, loyalty. Especially for her, just ask her husband.

[bearfacewean]

A Reason for Wearing Nice Undies

I was looking through some old stories and I found this one that I wrote AGES ago. It made me laugh reading it back. Hope you enjoy! 🤗

............

Now, how’s this for a crappy situation?

    I want to make this clear, I was the victim, me.  Not her.  I was the one minding my own business while her boyfriend was feeling me up.  I didn’t ask for it!  Sure I enjoyed it and hoped it would happen every night I went to bed but it wasn’t like I had any choice in the matter!  He was a ghost for Christ’s sake!  How do you tell a poltergeist that no means no?  I mean, what was I supposed to do?  I thought I was dreaming the first few times.  I thought they were just really, really, graphic, intense, vivid, erotic dreams that ended in an almighty awe-inspiring orgasm.  And when it became a bit clearer that actually, I was getting played with by the invisible man (if the invisible man had no actual flesh or understandable substance to speak of) or a ghost, then as far as I was concerned there were only a few things I could think of to do.  One being, this is absolutely fantastic, let it continue.  It beat any so called kinky blind-fold session I ever had.  I wouldn’t know when or if, how or why it would happen.  Talk about spontaneous.

    And then little thought number two; say I didn’t want it to continue, that the fact that I was getting an intimate tickling session by a ghost was a little more like getting raped than getting what I’ve been after my whole adult life (a bloody fantastic sex life which at fifty two years of age is about time) then what?  Am I to flail about wildly and punch at the open space that supported the whatever it was with the great fingers?  Was I to run away only to lock myself in another room considering the fact that he was able to walk through doors and walls?  Because he wasn’t in the room to start with and I checked.

    Then moving onto little thought number three; would it make him hostile?  Now, that tongue was somehow warm and wet when it toyed with my pussy and that dick was hard, hot and throbbing.  The hands were firm when it grabbed my tits and gentle when the fingers rolled my nipples.  Am I not to think that those same hands could be firm gripping my larynx and ripping out my throat?  

    Now I’ve never had great sex.  I married twice and both men ended up fat and flat.  Foreplay was something you might read about in a golf magazine and the clitoris was something that women made up to make men feel insecure!  So yes, I’m sorry.  I let him feel me, touch me, lick me, fuck me.  Arrest me officer, I’m guilty as charged.  I’m not saying I’d let anybody fuck me, because and I’m sorry for the poor taste of joke, but he had no body so I had no beer belly or back beard to be put off by.

    So each night, I’d be lying there and ridiculous as it might seem but yes, I’m washed, and in pretty lacy underwear and no pyjama bottoms (and I know for a fact that that nosy old cow Martha Fairweather from next door is gossiping and storytelling about my range of kinky panties that hangs from my whirligig.  No doubt I’m a scarlet woman), and I’m waiting for absolute bliss.

    Sometimes I knew he was there from a sensation down at my toes.  I think he had my toe in his mouth.  I could feel my foot being stroked and it would feel tickly but I would will myself not to let it away that I was still awake.  I did that once and it stopped for a whole week.  I would self service myself every night that week hoping that as I lay post self induced orgasm he would come along and do me off properly but it wasn’t to be.  So I would only ever be allowed to moan and breathe very lightly.  My legs would only open and my pelvis rock just enough to show that I was absolutely 100% loving it while pretending to be completely unaware.  Very, very difficult let me tell you.  Upon orgasm, and it was an oh, oh, oh, oooohrgasm, I could not help but make a very significant and triumphant “whooooopeeeee!” noise and bend almost completely in half.  I was left then to shudder and gasp and then make “oh I’m so confused, what a wonderful dream” faces.  

    I mean, this was happening to me.  He came to me in the middle of the night.  I could only wonder why.  Was he sexually repressed while alive?  Was he a sex maniac and even after he died, probably of a heart attack from too much fucking, he still had the same carnal urges.  Was he maybe in some kind of hell, only able to pleasure another while he got no release?  I have to admit, I did have a look and feel about the bed to see if there was any ghost-like semen, some fucktoplasm.  If he went it must have squirted into some other ghosty dimension.  Was he maybe an angel from sex heaven, sent by God?  Did he look down upon me standing in the queue of Ann Summers buying my Rampant Rabbit and think to himself; that woman needs a pity fuck, because he really was all about giving.  Or maybe he was one of those fetishist guys who liked to do it to sleeping woman.  I saw that once on a documentary on sex I watched in the hope of some arousing content.

    So yes, I loved it.  I wanted it.  I hoped it would keep happening because apart from the reasons given, I also couldn’t stop it if I wanted to stay in this house and I had searched for this house for a long time.  This was the house I wanted throughout both marriages and now it was just me, a horny ghost and it was wonderful.  Until, of course, when the girlfriend came on the scene.

    One night after a particularly hot session, (I had started taking pretend sleeping pills.  I labelled an old medicine bottle Temazapam just in case he was a hot horny doctor or anaesthesiologist when he was alive) I was lying on my front, legs splayed like a frog mid hop when suddenly he just stopped.  One second he was pumping away, his hands squashed between my breasts and the mattress and the next he was perfectly still, his dick still deep, his fingers still holding my aching boobies and then it was like he was whisked away.  I couldn’t fain sleep because his departure was so sudden and dramatic, his cock was wrenched out of me so directly that I gasped and turned, almost to see where he had gone.

    Needless to say I was left feeling somewhat confused and very unsatisfied so felt some chocolate digestives and hot milk was in order.  So I trundled my still quivering body to the kitchen.

    She was in there and she was very angry.

    Now, tell me this; why is it when the girlfriend or boyfriend walks in on their lover getting it on with another person do they never attack the cheater?  Why do they go for the innocent other party?  

    So like Samara from The Ring movies she comes crawling along the kitchen ceiling.  No “see no evil, hear no evil” with this bitch, no!  She’s all wavering black lines and silver flashes.  I could see the outline of her eyes and her mouth and they were open and shrieking.  She sounded like she was underwater, a raging gurgling spitting curses at me!  So I’m petrified, needless to say, and by the time her shaking, juddering, furious form gets directly above me, I’ve gone and had a heart attack. Well, let me tell you, I didn’t know he had a girlfriend, dead or otherwise so why it should be me that is scared literally to death, yes to the point where I am actually dying, is just beyond me and honestly, a bit extreme.

    So having let out a scream I’m surprised didn’t shatter my windows and laying there, somewhere between a hellish, suffocating, horrified agony and a lighter, floatier, sweeter place, she becomes fleshier.  Her intense colours fade to plain old light beige with hair dyed blond to within an inch of its life and a tight black dress.  Her screams that sounded like something from the pits of hell became a squawkish caterwaul.  

“You fucking slut, fucking old whore-bag.  You get your fat, swollen mitts off my man.” This was then followed by;

“Nicola, for God’s sake!  What are you doing?!  Nicola!”  But Nicola was now on the floor and pinning my purple dying body by the shoulders having a massive hissy-fit, apparently completely ignorant of my convulsing physical body and completely unaware of my spectral body floating a few feet above her.  It was him that noticed me.  By this time I’m standing or to be more literal, floating in the middle of the floor, still in my pretty pyjama top and heavily stretched thong panties and he was hunkered down sitting on his ankles in nothing more than what looked like black cycling shorts, his dick still rock hard making a miniature tepee out of lycra.

    Now I’m not going to go into details about my feelings and subsequent actions of seeing my own dying, twitching body but needless to say my attention rather quickly turned to another.  And, yes I know that I’m being a hypocrite because you would think the “person” that I would go for first would be the bitch that just killed me but no.  I went for him…and then she went for me which honestly I think only turned him on, the bastard.

    So what am I supposed to do now?  I’m getting attacked by a shrieking she-bitch I’m laying there, my final breaths are fizzing out of me and the whole thing is happening in very disagreeable circumstances.

    Until a ghost-like face suddenly appears at my kitchen window.

    Martha!  Thank the heavens (if that’s what awaited me) for your being one nosy old cow!  Now small and frail Martha might be but she kicks like a mule and in comes my kitchen door, chain lock and all.  She’s on top of me like a pro, breath, breath, punching down on my chest as if she had actually heard me call her all those horrible names before and was getting her own back.  I even heard one of my ribs break and through flab as thick as mine that’s saying something.  She was obviously really determined.  Meanwhile, those two bastards have finally turned the fight on one another, completely ignoring this crazy scene around them.

    “You fucking, cheating prick!  And with a heffalump too.”

    “You’ve got a cheek you fucking nympho…”

    “Nympho?!  I’m not the one fucking a fat…”

    “Don’t you dare say another word about her, Nicola.  At least fucking her was comfortable, not like fucking you.  I felt like I was going to get a splinter rubbing up and down that body.”

    “Oh so that’s it, the no body thing again.  You don’t do spirits, huh?  It’s not my fault we died!”

    “Back to this, again?!”

    “We’re going to be going over this for all eternity!”

    So meanwhile, Martha has resorted to harsh language and grabbing me by the shoulders to shake the life back in.  Mr Cotton, my neighbour from the other side has heard her screaming and has rushed in and now has the telephone trying to figure out these new cordless phones work.

    “Dial and then press the green phone button, Peter, not the red one, no that hangs up…BREATHE damnit!!”

    So now all I can think about is that clearly, that’s my dead body lying in my nice new kitchen and that yes, Martha, dear Martha has got to me super quick and the ambulance is on its way but, what if none of it works?  What if my scared out of its wits 50-odd year old heart really has given up the ghost, which in hindsight is a terrible joke.

    What if I’m left to roam this house for the rest of eternity?  I can guarantee I’ll be left hovering about this bloody house now too with less than perfect house mates?  He’ll barely be able to look me in the eye and she’s just going to make the atmosphere really uncomfortable.  Eternity is just too bloody long for that kind of childishness.  It’s like; you killed me so bloody well take responsibility for it.  We have to live – in a manner of speaking – together so can we make the best of it please?

    And I have so many questions!  Like, if the whole Christianity thing is real, then my murderer should be sent to hell, but what if an already dead, floating about limbo ghost kills someone?  Is that worse?  And will we always be around one another?  Can we totter off to another plane between the worlds of the living and the dead, or hell in their case because they deserve a bit of a roasting for what they did to me.

    And then what will happen to my house?  Will new people move in?  This is after all a really nice house, newly decorated, good area, close to all amenities.  Am I going to end up a horny ghost too and try to get it on stealth style with the new tenants?

    Ambulance people start pushing their way inside, contraptions and cables and shouting all included.  Completely ignorant, sex god and bitch from hell just casually move out of the way, arguing about whose idea it was for attempting an orgasm through suffocation.  She keeps casting glances at me with a look of pure contempt and he, still with his massive erection, has a look of total embarrassment and apology, which I refuse to accept for as long as I live, which may be, about ten minutes ago.

    But all of a sudden my body jumps up off the floor a clear foot and a half as they pass a crazy amount of electricity through my heart.  Now I’m yelling at my body and I have to admit it, I’m getting pretty hysterical. Another huge burst of electricity pulses through me, sending my body arching into the air and then the strangest thing happens where my floaty self suddenly feels like it’s on a rollercoaster as it tips over the edge and then I’m opening my eyes to see the faces of the paramedics and my body feels like I’ve just ran a marathon only to get hit by a bus as I crossed the finish line.

The rest is a bit of a blur but I was aware of I’m being hoisted up onto a very hard stretcher, whisked away into the ambulance with Martha, Peter and the rest of the street looking on, including two funny wiggly shapes that I saw through the bay windows of my sitting room.

    So, tonight has been pretty horrible.  I’ve been left horny and unsatisfied to the point of needing biscuits and then scared to death by the dead girlfriend of my ghost booty caller.  At the very least I can say I took my mums advice.  You should always make sure you have on nice clean underwear because you never know what may happen and you’ll get rushed into hospital.

    I wonder if he will visit me in hospital…

The End

[sixmorningsafter]

How Gabi Ruined Me: A SMA Review of Ch. 15

GUESS WHO’S BACK AND READY TO REVIEW THE EFF OUT OF THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE OMG THIS IS STRAIGHT GOLD.

It’s me, hi Gabi, you’re a blessing.

REPLY:

Hi Cassie, it’s me, you’re hysterical. Also, I’m going to start indenting my parts instead of y’alls parts because I’ve realized that’s way easier and I’m dumb.

Overall, I really like this “episode” style you’ve got going on. I know it’s problematic word-count-wise (it’s actually not a problem at all, I have no idea where you got that from, but if you say so). And your style is really unique, so it’s always a delight to see what you’ve created.

REPLY:

lmaoooo I’m glad you benefit from my misery. (No but real talk, this format’s new for me so I’m super happy it’s working for you, man.)

Steroline Sex

Nice. But also, unrelated to the actual sex, how you wrote it without being cringey or too graphic is a great feat. Like good job dude. And forget the sex again, but the intimacy was also nice. Like nice. Like, in the carnality of it, I find it interesting that in this moment, you read Stefan for who he is—the guy who looks for intimacy over physicality, the guy who craves the relational over the carnal. Like, nice, dude, A+ with extra credit. It’s hard to pull off, I think, but it so mirrors what the real world is like? Also your writing style, again, is some really great stuff. Like, maybe you should quit your day job?

REPLY:

LMAO idk why but every time you say nice I just imagine you doing this dude bro nod and the 👌  emoji and I love it. Tyler approves. But also, GIRL, writing smut was friggin’ uncharted adventure time for me so you don’t even know how happy this feedback makes me. I’ve been pulled right out of stories before because things suddenly take a really porny turn (and I start laughing because I’m an infant), so I really wanted to avoid that without skimping out too much on details. And gah, all of your notes on Stefan and his instinctive search for something deeper (even in the face of a sex contract and hot girl on his lap) are so perfect, and I’m happy as hell that’s what came across because that’s definitely what I was aiming for. And AW, girl, psh - right back at you re: writing style! Like I’m pretty sure this review is funnier and better written than the fic itself but whaaaaatever.

Beginning of the Bonkaimon (is this the right ship name???) Date

Kai’s apartment: lol, much like Damon, I was no expecting this Christmas wonderland (horror) either. But also, LOL at what Damon was expecting lol.

REPLY:

lololol I sat in Starbucks and stared blankly into space for like 20 minutes to come up with all the things someone might expect from Kai’s apartment, and I’m pretty sure I terrified at least three people because I’d just suddenly start villain cackling. Imagining a room full of nothing but shelves of blinking furbies made me laugh for like five minutes. 

Kai + Pinterest: not a big factor, but I find it hilarious that he was even on it??? Like could imagine, between gutting a swan, he’s casually scrolling through DIY Christmas décor?

REPLY:

‘between gutting a swan, he enjoys casually scrolling through DIY Christmas décor’ is totally on his online dating profile somewhere

The Bamon back-and-forth is too much. Like way too much, in the best way possible. They are literally children. Bonnie’s “villian origin story” quip is literally my fav. Damon’s “our thing” is sooooooooooooo like him what the heck, you pegged it; Damon saying “Like I know we have a thing and all, but—“ just made me laugh so hard.

REPLY:

Aren’t they the dumbest? So happy you enjoyed that part because it was fun as hell to write. If writing was just zippy dialogue I’d have finished this fic 200 years ago.

KAI’S FREAK OUT ABOUT THE COATS: dude you did a good job with that. Like a really good job. You can really see the distraught.

Kai’s “the stuffed mushrooms are fluffy and delicious… just like me” bit was very cute, like too cute for a psychopath.

The chit-chat: yes, it was a sneak peek, no, it didn’t affect the hilarity of it within the chapter at all.

Sniper love, I kind of love it. Like that Kai has a date at all? Like how did he even manage that? Omg and is his date just as crazy as him? Idk if you watch B99, but Holt and Kevin lol, that’s what I’m imagining.

REPLY:

HOLT AND KEVIN YEEEESSS. Love that. I think in this case, Kai’s pretending to be breezy and confident about his date in front of Bonnie and Damon, like ‘happens all the time just another Saturday in Kai-town’, but he actually has literally no idea what he’s doing and is a little panicky about it, lololol. He was probably just at work looking all cute and brilliant and some hotshot sniper made the mistake of thinking he was just a quirky nerd instead of a legitimate threat to the planet. I have a plan for Kai in terms of romantic entanglements down the road that I think’ll show just how painfully awkward he is in those situations, loooool. Should be fun for sure.  

Bonnie’s true self coming through, and Damon noticing? Damon noticing in general? My heart can’t handle it. You know bamon is my main ship, main otp, main everything? But like, this part is everything (and another part later). I like Bonnie’s true self tbh. Like yeah, she made some mistakes with it, but it’s also a little more interesting than the self she created.

REPLY:

Bonnie’s such a messy tangle of flaws and virtues, and I think her problem is that she’s spent so much of her life living in extremes. Like she’s either pure light or a total eclipse - she’s never actually let herself exist as a collage of light and shadow, or rather, doesn’t realize she even can. I think a lot of that has to do with the degree to which she indulged in her darkness during that teen rebel phase, like her anger and hurt were so all-consuming (and the people she surrounded herself with were so intent on stoking the flames of it) that she feels like she can’t let any part of that in without it taking over. She’s afraid of that darkness being all that she really is, and that’s why her mom left, that’s why her dad was a checked out alcoholic - they somehow saw that in her and it’s only a matter of time before everyone else does, too. I think where Damon comes to play is that he’s an instinctive observer of people, and he’s obviously taken an interest in Bonnie and making sense of her. So far, he’s picked up on the light (brave, empathetic, optimistic, kind, a fierce instinct to help) and he’s picked up on the dark (angry, self-sabotaging, competitive, a taste for danger) and at first glance, the two seem so wildly different that he’s like ‘which one’s real’. But I think what I’m really trying to build toward with Bonnie is that she’s not one or the other, she’s both. In harmony. And that ultimately, letting in her ‘dark side’ wouldn’t take anything away from her compassion and optimism and impassioned drive to make the world a better place - if anything, it’d just make her light side shine even brighter, you know? 

And likewise, Damon’s a character with a similar but inverted complex - he’s somehow grown up with the idea that he’s not a good guy and doesn’t care about anything, but he’s actually done some pretty heroic shit? Like, he turned in his own parents because of the things they were doing to people - parents who grown ass hardened criminals were terrified of. And he was ten. He went through foster home after foster home of neglect and abuse, all of which calcified his alleged numbness to the world, and yet couldn’t help himself from becoming a constant buffer between Tyler and his abusive dad. He was more in love with Katherine than she ever was with him and yet his awareness of that never stopped him from being there for her, even when he kind of hated her, because the weight of their shitty lives mattered more than the weight of his feelings. When he accidentally pushed Bonnie into a spiral, he dove in to deal with it, in large part because it was his fault, but also because he knew he was the best option for her, and he didn’t want to see Caroline and Stefan take that on. And there’s more hero-revealing things ahead for him in the story, which kind of begs the question, ‘why are you so convinced you’re this hedonist who doesn’t care when you actually do more good than a lot of people who do care?’ And Bonnie is absolutely starting to piece this all together, so it’s a similar dynamic on either side.  Anyway, that’s my dissertation on how to go into an entirely unsolicited rambling meta in response to wonderful and pertinent feedback. 

Kai’s “you two must have a crazy sex life”, I think it’s funny ‘cause he could have left it at that and gotten away with it, but continuing with details just killed those chances (and it also killed me).

REPLY:

looool right? Kai’s one of those characters that’s always right on the cusp of having a normal moment and then nope, never mind, hail mary throw to loony land right at the last second. 

Caroline’s Freakout

I love how chaotic you write Caroline’s internal struggle. Because, like she realizes, she’s being irrational, and that’s exactly how her thoughts come across. Excellent work with that. “Everything about him was a goddamn error,” superb line, dude. That’s how exactly how I pegged the sma Steroline relationship (and the sma Bamon one, but on the side of Bonnie being the error anomaly to Damon). Like, honestly, when Caroline’s like “he’d known what he was doing”, I’m like,” y’all were having sex? You must’ve looked like you were liking it???” Caroline frustrates me sometimes, but like, she’s frustrating herself (and Stefan), so that makes sense and also kudos.

And then she lashes out at Stefan, and Stefan’s like, “I know”. Yikes.com. And I like how she realizes the physicality of what they did isn’t much different from what she and other guys did. It’s just him that’s different. And oh man, I love how Stefan’s like, “I didn’t mean to hurt you”, and she’s like “dude wait stop you’re not supposed to apologize for this”.

So many emotions dude. Mainly ‘cause I can relate to avoidance thing (yikes), but also ‘cause you can tell she’s trying to figure herself out, trying to correct her behavior (kinda), but then she reverts. A+.

REPLY:

Gaaah, all of that makes me so happy because that’s exactly what I was going for. You’re frustrated with her, but you know you’re supposed to be frustrated with her ‘cause even she’s frustrated with herself, you know? I’ve always found that I’m really forgiving of flawed characters when they’re aware of their flaws (and when other people are allowed to get fed up with their shit), so going into that scene, that’s what I tried to keep in mind - she’s going to be irrational and defensive and I need to make sure everyone knows that I know that this isn’t cool. It isn’t intriguing or exciting. It’s frustrating and repetitive and I know it, Caroline knows it, and Stefan knows it, and because of that, it’ll be confronted, you know? And yeah, that ‘he knew what he was doing’ line was exactly for that reason - Caroline clearly played a role in what happened, like it takes two to tango gurl, so I hoped that would hammer in how unreliable her narration was in that second. That, and the fact that when he starts apologizing, like you said, she’s like ‘stop’ because obviously he really didn’t do anything that bad and she knows that. Super, super stoked that the scene played out for you the way it did, man. Best feedback ever. Eloquent af. A+ goes to you.

Bamon’s first trip to Wine Cellar

Touching + promixity + commentary = horny Bonnie + smug Damon + heaps of hilarity

REPLY:

They’re like X-rated toddlers.

“You’ve been in love?” conversation was really good. I mean it was short, but I loved it. Like, called out much?

REPLY:

I literally had no idea I was going to write that until it just showed up on the word doc, but it ended up being one of my fave exchanges, so I’m so happy you liked it, too!

And then the “earthworm” argument: LOL.

“Like your entire face is rebelling against it—you look like you’re about to have a stroke.” LOLOLOLOLOLOL. What’s even funnier is I imagine Damon coming back with a doctor comment lol.

REPLY:

‘Uh-oh, better give me a full physical.’

The kiss/attack. Kai’s probably right, their sex life is will probably be crazy.

REPLY:

Definitely won’t get bored.

Bonnie’s flashback. Gotta know more dude. Like, in theory, you wrote it out a bit, but more more more.

REPLY:

More ahead! I have an ask about it that I’m going to answer but more’s coming in the actual fic, too. I think. So excited you want to know more, though!

“Merriam Webster” lol

OKAY HERE’S THE OTHER LIFE-GIVING PART: “Are you worried about me?” and “She turned around to leave and he caught her wrist again./’Seriously. Anything at all.’” YOU’RE MURDERING ME GABI HOW DARE YOU (please keep it coming).

Jesus Crisco lololololololol

REPLY: 

:D

Soon-to-Be Ms. Cuddles

It’s kind of scary how much of myself I see in Caroline lol (that’s kind of fucked up right?) especially when her eyes are shut because the cat is near her omg.

REPLY:

lmaoooo a little scary but she turns out alright so *bonnie voice* there’s hope for you.

My heart at “none of it was worth it”. At first, I was like Caroline’s not worth it? But then he’s like Caroline’s fear/hurt isn’t worth it, and I’m like, Stefan you IDIOT STOP HURTING ME.

REPLY:

LMAO ISN’T HE THE WORST.

And then him realizing what the real issue is with “Like maybe that contract hadn’t just been for him”.

But then him fucking it up with “something stupidly, recklessly hopeful”. BOY BYE WITH THIS DISNEY PRINCE-NESS.

REPLY:

Disney Prince-tervention. 8 o’ clock. Scott McCall can come too.

“It means is there anything on the planet you don’t avoid dealing with?” YIKES STEFAN DO YOU LIKE PLAYING WITH YOUR LIFE LIKE THIS OR

REPLY:

LOLOLOL I laughed when I wrote that line. I was like eating Smart Pop and going ‘BOY’ as if I wasn’t the one writing it, it was all super sane.

Avoiding!Caroline #relatable dude.

“Easy to mistake for serial killers” LOL STEFAN AGAIN ARE YOU READY TO DIE OR

REPLY:

Danger Zone Stefan.

The part with the cat coming near her, lol, is so damsel-in-distress, and it makes me laugh so much at how cliched/tropey this is, but I also love it, and I tried to imagine her with either Bonnie or Damon in the same situation, and Bonnie being similar to Stefan but taking her out of her misery, but Damon being a shithead about it. Ah yes.

REPLY:

LMAO that scene is pure, unadulterated, damsel-ly TROPENESS and I love forcing Caroline I’m a Force to be Reckoned With and Need No One Forbes into those scenes because she tries so hard not to be that way and like, for what? Girl, be afraid of the dark. Run away from cats. Be jumpy and hide behind people. None of that means you can’t singlehandedly take down the Emory football administration, you know? You can run away from spider-rat hybrids in the same stilettos you slam into the toes of drunk dudes harassing girls on the subway. Do you. And LOOOL to Bonnie and Damon in Stefan’s place - Bonnie would definitely let it go but would be subtly trolly about it, like putting the cat on her bed when she’s in the shower or buying it a bunch of costumes to wear around the apartment. Damon would probs be every inch as insufferable as you’d imagine. 

The Not-All-Animals conversation. You don’t have to answer this, but is this supposed to be a foreshadowing, because the window was wide open for you (or Stefan) to state it clearly. And lol I cried when he says “there’s a cuddly little fur ball who seems really interested in getting to know you” and I’m imagining him talking about himself *dies of laughter*

“You’re going to love this cat”. Subtle, Stefan. Subtle.

REPLY:

CAN YOU IMAGINE HIM CALLING HIMSELF A CUDDLE LITTLE FUR BALL ON PURPOSE #BYE. I mean, it’s true, but still. I did the parallel on purpose, which I’m sure you know by now because I take forever to reply and have answered tat a few times, but I think it was more subconscious on Stefan’s part. Like his dedication to getting her to open up to the cat was definitely motivated by his own frustrations with her in that department, but I don’t think he saw the direct parallel or anything. Muahaha. I kind of want him to now though because CUDDLY LITTLE FUR BALL. That’s his street name. 

Bonkai/Damon’s return from the cellar

Kai flirting

Bonnie feeling bad for Kai for not having any friends. (can I just note that Kai doesn’t seem bothered that he doesn’t really have friends—or rather, he seems the type not to mind it. Like I’m sure there’ll be a part when Kai says something ‘jeez Bon, stop being so obsessed with me’ when she tries to be his friend)

AKA ME now feeling bad for Kai, just in general (or that might be the copious amounts of Bonkai fics I’ve been reading recently…)

Bonnie teaching Kai to “flirt” AKA just be a human being

REPLY:

lololol Kai’s just a dude doing his best impersonation of humaning and failing miserably and not being too bothered about it.

“Maybe a little less… carnivorous” lol

Damon calling Kai “bud” (like, him actually picking up on the fact Kai enjoyed that). Too sweet.

REPLY:

I didn’t get a chance to get too into it in 15, but if all goes according to plan, Kai x Damon should be a pretty unexpectedly adorable brotp, so I’m super happy you picked up on that!

Bamon kiss #3 : “his stare was dark, humming, glinting with a hint of self-satisfaction” hehehehehe

“but I feel like maybe I should’ve asked you instead. Cool move.” lmfao Kai is a cutie pie (I know what I said, I’m not taking it back).

“Honestly, he could go back to the murder cellar now” lolololol. You’ve got a lot of golden lines in this one.

Almost Bamon kiss #4: nice

“She exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the buried, messy part of her that was turned on by the idea, that buzzed from the risk of it all.” Same, Bon.

Bless Bonnie’s insane self-control.

REPLY:

Damon’s a smug little shit. There’s just no getting around it, tbh. And YAY for cutie pie Kai (it even rhymes! Destiny.) - definitely trying to hone in on the more delightful sides of him from canon. And lmao, Bonnie must be so tired.

 Caroline vs. the Cat

Obsessive Caroline is something familiar and safe to all. I like obsessive Caroline a lot lol.

Okay, unrelated, but can you expand a little bit on the Maroline situation again because, from what you’ve already explained (sorry if this is ruining the story, you obviously don’t have to explain if it is) Matt was sweet when it suited him, not sweet when he was angry or whatever. So, like, Stefan has none of these telltale features, like not even lowkey. I mean, he gets mad at her that one time, but it’s not malicious, you know? But it also triggered her to breakdown, but I read that as she’s already dealing with internal shit, so the internal is being external, and has very little to do with Stefan. So, I guess my question is, why is she not realizing Stefan is a Disney prince and he’ll always be one? Or is it just the overwhelming fear that’s clouding her judgement? I’m rambling.

REPLY:

GIRL, join the club. Rambling is a way of life. Re: Matt, I think a key thing I haven’t gotten to in the fic yet is that Matt started off as a bit of a Disney Prince, too. He was this humble, small-town star quarterback who was a little shy around girls and didn’t know what to do with all the attention on him, and when he met/got to know Caroline, he fell hard. Like haaaard. She was this confident, brash, outgoing ray of light that drew him in and made him laugh and added so much joy to his life, and he was just totally smitten. Built her things, wrote her crappy love letters that made her smile, etc., and for a year or so, they were this fairytale of a couple that everyone in town loved. And then Vicky got into drugs and his family situation went from not great to really bad - his mom was constantly off with some new guy, so a lot of the responsibility fell on him - and things just slowly started changing. He was angrier. Stressed out all the time, and he wasn’t someone who did well under pressure. He started checking out from school more and more because he didn’t see it as a priority. And in that context, larger-than-life Caroline with her sunny optimism and big ambitions went from endearing and inspiring to naive and a lowkey reminder of everything he didn’t have the luxury of being. Resentment started creeping in, and it’d come in the form of him being snide or putting her down, and it just kind of spiraled from there. Like you said, it wasn’t all the time, he could still be every inch as sweet and loving as he was when she first met him, but the bad moments started cropping up more and more often, and Caroline was just kind of frozen because they had years of magical history to indicate that this wasn’t the real him, and she just needed to wait it out and be supportive. And if she’d only done that to a certain degree, I think she would’ve been okay, but she stayed for way, way longer than she ever thought she would’ve. And she started coming up with insane ways to justify everything because their relationship meant so much to her. And all in all, that’s the real damage for her - the fact that she can’t trust herself to one: see people for they are when she has feelings for them, and two: know when to get out of something. Not when she’s in love. Any other context, sure, deuces, bye, but she doesn’t trust herself in love. So that’s why Stefan, without really showing any real Matt-like flaws, is scaring the hell out of her, if that makes any sense.

SPEAKING OF RAMBLING HI HELLO YES WHERE IS THE SUPPORT GROUP 

Caroline and the cat is really cute. We don’t see many soft moments of Caroline, except the baroline apology scene, so it’s cute to see her just calm down a little bit. Calm in the storm.

And her being like “You’re lucky Stefan’s here.” Oh, dude, that really got me. Like, before she goes into the physicality of him/them, I read that line as like, “he’ll take care of you, he’ll be good for you” and that struck me.

REPLY:

So happy you liked that softer side of Caroline! Definitely going to be seeing more of that now that she’s gotten most of the defensiveness out of her system (in large part because I’m just tired of writing it, lmaaaaaoooooo #authoroftheyear). And yeah, that’s exactly how she meant that line, which I think shows just how much her opinion has changed of him over these past few days. Progress!

“And it was terrifying, because for that brief glitter of a moment, for better or for worse, she’d been Caroline Forbes in all her complete, defenseless, messy glory”: nice.

REPLY:

👌

“And closed hearts, apparently”, awwwwwwww. You know my general feels about steroline, but this fic, man. Well played, Gabi, well played.

REPLY:

lmao you know mine too. thanks, boo. 

Bamon Snooping

Initial and overarching reaction: LOL

Damon saving Bonnie’s life: *heart eyes*

“I’m not talking to you”/”Why ‘cause I didn’t feel you up in the kitchen?” LOL Damon knooooooows, Damon’s got you cornered (you’d like that wouldn’t you, Bonnie) (but also, same)

REPLY:

#READ

Like this idiot really thinks she’s fooling anyone? She’d totally like that. Let’s make another support group.

The flamingo tarts LOL

AND AND AND “Stefan’s not even going to be able to look at yo—“ crying

Kai going to hunt swan. Again.

REPLY:

So rude, pulling the judgy Stefan card. And yeah, Kai’s really into casual evening strolls with crossbows. 

The snooping. Okay, so first, Bonnie’s reaction of “yeeeeeeeeee” and Damon’s reaction of “k let’s do it”. I love it so so so much. This is a moment I can see Matt Daddario being Damon (I started watching Shadowhunters, pardon me). But also the things they find??? Like, if this were a tv show (where’s the petition, my pen is ready), then this would be that one weird/sci-fi episode. Like a musical episode, but sci-fi-y.

Damon “how much you want to bet one of these opens a hidden passageway”/I’m a big nerd too Fell/Whitmore (who tf is this guy)

REPLY:

LMAO coming up with the things they find was another case of me staring dead-eyed into space for 20 minutes and cackling at random, so I’m glad it was entertaining. And yessss, I can totally see Matt pulling off that line. I see him as a slightly sleepier Damon, like his blithe charm goes from obnoxious to a little slyer and lowkey, and he has more of a playful laziness about him. It’s a really fun/unique fit, especially since some of the other actors I’ve imagined as Damon have more of a brash/sharp quality to them that would enhance the showman aspect instead of downplaying it.

Bamon talking about Damon’s job: real bonding about real things!

REPLY:

WOOT. More of that ahead :)

Steroline Avoiding

“He could navigate picky eaters like a pro”:  I love that you made him this way, and that you made her that way, and that their ways are like puzzle pieces.

REPLY:

Ahhh, I love that you put it that way. That’s their new tag line.

And also for this beaut: “the Human Grimace” lmfao.

“I feel annoyed”/”Why?”/”I don’t know.” – is that their tag line or?

REPLY:

JK that’s definitely their tag line. 

Steroline bonding in general, bless.

“I can’t do this”: yikes. At first, I thought this was going to be a repeat of every sexytimez moment these two had before the ultimate one

but I really like how you placed that bit about Elena in there. Nice. Like how he can’t handle not knowing, and that’s very Caroline of him, and he could just tell her this please that’d help everyone???? I’m not ranting.

REPLY:

IF EVERYONE COULD JUST TALK IN THIS GODFORSAKEN FIC IT WOULD’VE ENDED TEN CHAPTERS AGO AND MADE MY LIFE SO MUCH EASIER. lmao but I’m glad you liked the Elena nuance - I’m trying to build their experiences in bits and pieces so that when they finally talk about everything re: the exes, it’s not too much of an information dump. 

Damon’s Panic Attack

Jesus Christ, Gabi. Right in the heart, dude. Like chill out. His avoidance of the very inevitable killed me. And Bonnie not picking up on the signs. Omg and Damon’s “I’m fine”, parallel to Caroline’s, and the whole “I can do this, I can get through this, I’ve only had myself before, and I only need myself now”, but Bonnie’s there and she’s all “I got you, you can do this, we’ll get through this together” and she’s talking him through, but he’s doesn’t want to even talk and  she’s just trying to bring him out of him successfully, but ultimately fails and goes with the distracting that is an old Stefonnie story. BUT THEN, her fourth-grade poem reminded me of The Punisher’s “one batch, two batch, penny and dime” in Daredevil (you watched that right?) and I was like oh shoot, you right. What you were right about, not sure, but it worked, and Bonnie did a good job (but also YOU), and Damon’s “she was a ridiculous person./Tangled and dark and simple and light.” And my heart wept. “He let himself stay”. Oh my poor baby. You wrecked me, Gabi, you really did.

REPLY:

‘and I was like oh shoot, you right. What you were right about, not sure, but it worked’ - LMAOOOOOO, dead. Like 50% of my excitement for posting this review is just people reading it and realizing how hilarious you are and then going to check out B&B. (GO AND CHECK OUT B&B). For real though, gaaaaah, everything about this is making my friggin’ day because this is always the toughest stuff to write for me. I never know if I’m building it well or if the emotions are transitioning fluidly and it makes me want to break my laptop (jk it’s already broken JOKE’S ON ME), so I’M SO HAPPY I WRECKED YOU. All of your observations are perfect. I didn’t even think about The Punisher but shoot, YOU RIGHT, that’s such a great parallel. I’ve always found that angsty situations are super unpredictable in real life, like the things you expect to happen seldom do and it’s always the most random thing that ends up shifting the mood, so I tried to translate that into this scene. Like Bonnie’s pulling out all the stops, all the things she’s trained to do, but what ends up cutting through the air is a random ass poem from fourth grade. And it’s just thoughtful and spastic enough to grab his attention, especially once he realizes why she went for poetry, and suddenly, the situation’s quelling. So I’m super, super happy that it worked for you, and that the ‘tangler and dark and simple and light’ stood out. I think that’s one of the first instances of him starting to realize she’s not one or the other, she’s both at the same time, so yeah, this feedback is all wonderful and now you’re wrecking me so we’re even.

Steroline Confronting

Is Caroline… confronting the problem? Is Caroline… actually fixing this? Is Caroline… actually being a person? Nice, good job, I’m proud of you, girl. Slay.

REPLY:

LOOK AT HER GOOOOO.

I like how she gets how fucked up the whole thing is. Like, she knows she’s being irrational, and that he shouldn’t have to put up with this mess, and damn, I feel for her.

REPLY:

Yesssss, totally what I was going for. Like the person most done with her shit is herself, and she’s likely going to be way harder on herself about it than you or me or Stefan or anyone else, really. So happy that came across.  

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that wasn’t the first time that’s happened to me?”

“What did you do? Actually—don’t tell me now.”/“I’m not telling you ever.”

”Tell me when it doesn’t hit so close to home.”/”Or never.”

”It’s still too soon.”/”It’ll always be too soon.”

These are gems.

REPLY:

Gotta sneak some fluff into every scene you know how I roll.

Oh goodness, but Stefan wanting to know her as a person. Ughhhhhh.

And the ruse of “for the sake of Bonnie.” I’m calling bullshit.

“Who was he, Nicholas Sparks?” Lol, I mean, it worked out, though, dude.

REPLY:

Stefan’s a lost cause.

As always, my friend, you’ve done a phenomenal job. Your writing style is so unique and fabulous, and it just adds to the storyline itself, like, it’s own entity in this whole thing. Bless. So excited for the next chapter. Did I hear more sexytimez for the bamon babes? 

REPLY:

GIRL I COULD SAY THE SAME DAMN THING ABOUT YOURS. Like even in this review alone - hysterical and eloquent af. I know you probably know this, but no one ever thinks that of their own writing (or at least I don’t think they do lmao, if they do LEMME HAVE A HIT OF THAT CONFIDENCE BOO ‘cause I didn’t even know I had a style), so it’s legit amazing to hear that the style stands out to you, and know that I’m boomeranging that comment right back atcha. Next chapter is sloooowly chugging along, by which I mean I’m writing at a regular pace but I’m trying to cram a legitimately concerning/insane amount of scenes into it. Like 15. LMAO. RIP Gabi. But hopefully it won’t take me too long! Also, it’s the last of the intensely emotional chapters for a while (just a lot of big moments I need to get right), so even if this takes forever, the rest should be a little faster. I feel like I say this after every chapter and nothing changes, looooool. BUT ANYWAY, you’re a marvel, this review is everything, I’m feelsy, you’re hilarious, write a book, bye. 

[clubofinfo]

Expert: When I was a young boy completing catechism in preparation for my first communion, I had to learn the proper procedure for auricular confession, a primary ritual of Roman Catholicism. At that age I did not really understand what I was supposed to do or really why. In fact, catechism, save for the fact that it offered about two hours leave from regular school instruction on Thursdays, would have been a torture except that I liked my teacher. I was just never good at memorising things and learning long texts like the Apostles’ (Nicene) Creed posed an insurmountable challenge. However, a first confession must be performed if I was to get my first communion—a sort of graduation ceremony in which we got to wear something like priestly or academic vestments (and I always liked getting dressed up). In preparation for the confession we had to learn things like what “sin” is and why our sins have to be forgiven before we can take the host (a wafer that tastes like plastic, perhaps calculated to avoid cultivating carnivorous appreciation of the deity). The concept of sin is at best abstract for an eight-year-old. Although there was a kind of primitive devotion in our family—my grandmother was very faithful to the church calendar—I cannot recall sin or morality playing much of a role in our home. Things were handled very pragmatically. A few rules and some decorum were stated and if you violated these there was summary judgment: confinement to quarters or a few lashes with father’s belt. Back then men at home still wore proper trousers instead of athletic attire from some high-end sweatshop magnate. So the morality at home was very secular and utterly lacking in celestial allusions. This made confession into a ritual of inventing things to tell the priest which somehow conformed to the language of the catechetic catalogue of proscribed acts or thoughts. In essence this was an exam to be passed to get the white robes for the first grand ceremonial wafer feast at high mass (still Tridentine rite). After passing the exam in the first part I struggled to remember the lines of the Ave Maria and Pater Noster we had to repeat to ourselves for penance. I found myself grateful that I was never told to recite the Credo or I would never have left the pew. Following the first grand communion, when one feels almost like an acolyte, if not a priest, the whole ceremony gets boring. The flavours never change. One had to avoid breakfast before Sunday mass and wearing an ordinary suit and tie just did not make one feel “part of it all”. Later it was explained to me that we really didn’t have any sins to confess when we were eight. I had not killed any classmates with my father’s shotgun while medicated for not paying attention in class. I grew up with sisters, so girls were just normal company and the term “Carnal Knowledge” (a risqué film of that era) meant nothing at all to me. I also learned, but maybe that was dubious or disputed theology, that the Eucharist was itself a sacrament of higher rank than the act of contrition so I only had to be truly contrite to take the host without any conversation with an unnamed source of grace in a little wooden cubicle.1 But there was a valuable social lesson in all this early psychological training. Namely, confession is a tool for manipulation of the parishioner. It is a complex tool. On the one hand the parishioner learns in childhood that a proper confession is one which tells the priest what he wants to hear. Already as a child one is told what to confess and how to say it. On the presumption that one must have sinned—whatever that means—the verification that a sin was, in fact, committed came when the priest said, yep, yep, followed by some inscrutable Latin words, concluding with “go my son, and sin no more”. Then one heard the screen slide closed in the little box and off it was to the pew to repeat some lines five or ten times, after which one could finally go back home and play. I would say I was as honest and sincere as any child my age in such an environment. Nonetheless I learned another lesson. What one did in the confessional to get the absolution was just as effective outside. Lying outright is simply too much work. You just have to know your confessor and what he (or she) wants to hear. This was my first lesson in the power of euphemism and circumlocution. So when I knew that I was coming home too late and that my mother would be quite cross with me (my father had died too young to enjoy this phase), I began to consider along the way home what my mother would find to be ameliorating circumstances or a valid excuse. In order that I would not lie outright I reviewed all the events of the day, all the people I had met, what could be checked and what was impeachable. When I arrived home I knew the first question would be “where have you been?” This was just another way to say, “you are late and you are in trouble!” So I would choose the least incriminating or least objectionable answer that would either excuse my tardiness or result in a misdemeanour rather than a “felony”. Years later as a teacher I would tell my pupils this too. First, I wanted to discourage outright and stupid lies, and, second, I wanted my pupils to grasp that not every factually correct statement is a true answer to the question being asked. In fact, the sensible critique—back when there was a critique—of formal education argued the same point for all exams. Blacks did disproportionately badly on exams in white run schools because they did not know what the real questions were—not because they were incapable of giving correct answers. Hence the much-praised (mainly by white folks) return to standardised testing was really a return to the same psychological manipulation I was taught as a young catechist. It was a ruse to separate the rulers from the ruled. Passing the tests—whether an IQ test or an SAT—was a ritual to keep those not deemed adequate from those who were best susceptible to indoctrination. Like the SCUM say when they explain that Parris Island is intended to assure that they get just “a few good men”—to kill on command. Robert Gibb, The Thin Red Line (1881) displayed in Scottish National War Museum Now before getting into the meat of this argument, let me make a historical note. The term “thin red line”, a bit of British military sentiment, is supposed to have originated during the Crimean War. On 25 October 1854, the 93rd Highland (Sutherland) Regiment faced a Russian cavalry charge in the Battle of Balaclava. There some five hundred foot soldiers stood in two lines to face the charge. It is important to understand infantry tactics and weaponry of the day to grasp the significance of this. (If any one wants to see this today then I recommend watching the Trooping of the Colour at Horse Guards Parade held every year on the official birthday of the British monarch—it can be found in the Internet.) Since the machine gun had not yet been invented four lines of massed infantry produced “rapid fire”. The first line fires, drops to its knees and reloads while the second line fires and so forth. By this method (graphically demonstrated in the film Zulu), single shot rifles can be brought to a very deadly rate of fire—very effective against men with spears and swords. A further elaboration of this tactic is the square. The line can be turned outward or inward—should the enemy breach the line—and fire directed at any side without interruption and with relatively little risk of troops shooting each other (assuming the inward square is not too tight). The Sutherlands did not have enough soldiers for a classic four-line infantry barrage so they stood their ground with two lines. They managed—at least this is the report—to deter the Russians and protect the unprepared troops in the rear. The battle is deemed heroic because of the meagre contingent facing a full cavalry assault. However, it has been written that the Russians withdrew because they believed that such a small force had been deployed as a diversion. Not wishing to waste their strength against the Sutherlands they went in search of the main force. Hence the heroism of the individual soldiers actually meant an unintended feint—using a small force to create the impression of more might than was actually available and fooling the enemy. Of course, even unintentional deceit is often just as useful as that which is planned. Moreover deceit does not necessarily rely on a falsehood but upon knowing, or being grateful as if one knew, how to create an impression in the mind of the target to which he or she is already susceptible. And that brings me to today’s homily. An article has been posted throughout the alternative media that has led to a serious dispute. Ironically the piece is called “Trump’s Red Line.” The apparent reference is to what under a previous POTUS was called “the red line”. The implicit meaning of this term “red line” is that of the “line in the sand”—the kind of schoolboy-bully dare usually leading to a serious fight. I think this is the wrong way to understand the term in the current situation. Not that bullies—with a schoolboy mentality—are not involved but also, that the historical use I describe above is not only more appropriate to describe the principals but that the ruse is analogous. First publication of the article is attributed to Die Welt am Sonntag, a newspaper in the German Axel Springer publishing group, which posted it on 25 June 2017 in English. On the same day Die Welt posted another item from the author in German titled “So einen Scheiß kann ich mir nicht mal ausdenken” (roughly “I could not even dream this shit up.”). It is described as the protocol of a “chat” between a former US “Sicherheitsberater” (presumably one of those “national security advisers” described in Trump’s Red Line or the senior adviser from whom the reader will read a lot below) and a US American soldier (of unspecified rank or grade). The subject is events in Khan Shaikhoun, Syria. Die Welt editors advise the readers that the places where the parties to the exchange are assigned are known to them but that personal statements that could provide information about military operations have been abridged so as not to endanger sources. As a result of the dispute arising from the publication of the article “Trump’s Red Line”, another article was posted defending the author of the first.2 The defence lodged, however, is not a counter to the criticism but underscores the problem—extending the “thin red line” so to speak. In what follows I will describe the “Battle of Khan Sheikhoun” as it is recounted by the regimental scribes whose task it is to present the battle in the most favourable light—for the regiment that is and those who deployed it. In Trump’s Red Line, posted here on 4 July 2017, the author begins by stating that: On April 6, United Stated President Donald Trump authorized an early morning Tomahawk missile strike on Shayrat Air Base in central Syria in retaliation for what he said was a deadly nerve agent attack carried out by the Syrian government two days earlier in the rebel-held town of Khan Sheikhoun. Trump issued the order despite having been warned by the US intelligence community that it has found no evidence that the Syrians had used a chemical weapon. The available intelligence made clear that the Syrians had targeted a jihadist meeting site on April 4 using a Russian-supplied guided bomb equipped with conventional explosives. Details of the attack, including information on its so-called high-value targets, had been provided by the Russians days in advance to American and allied military officials in Doha, whose mission is to coordinate all US, allied, Syrian and Russian Air force operations in the region. Some American military and intelligence officials were especially distressed by the president’s determination to ignore the evidence. “None of this makes any sense,” one officer told colleagues upon learning of the decision to bomb. “We KNOW that there was no chemical attack… the Russians are furious. Claiming we have the real intel and know the truth… I guess it didn’t matter whether we elected Clinton or Trump.” Within hours of the April 4 bombing, the world’s media was saturated with photographs and videos from Khan Sheikhoun. Pictures of dead and dying victims, allegedly suffering from the symptoms of nerve gas poisoning, were uploaded to social media by local activists, including the White Helmets, a first responder group known for its close association with the Syrian opposition. I take the liberty of citing this article’s first paragraphs in full because it is necessary to examine the way this story is told from the very beginning. For what follows I will refrain from lengthy citation where possible and refer the reader to the piece itself. As to the scene-setting first paragraphs some questions arise which are by no means trivial. * While it is a matter of record that the attack occurred one must ask: How does the author know or how should we know that the order issued by Trump was actually based on the stated grounds—alleged use of a chemical weapon? The US is at war with Syria and has been for a long time. Bombing countries is the weapon of choice for the US. Ask any Korean, Vietnamese, Laotian, Cambodian, Iraqi, Afghani, et al. When the US is at war it bombs. It has given all sorts of excuses—Tonkin Gulf comes to mind. It even bombs its own citizens when they are deemed belligerents as anyone in Philadelphia or Waco can attest. So what difference does it make whether the alibi was a chemical weapon or a fantasy attack against a US destroyer violating territorial waters of a sovereign country? * Who is the US intelligence community? The police red squad in Washington, the FBI, Naval Intelligence, a Homeland Security fusion centre, the CIA, et al., their wives, retired officers? * What is “available intelligence”? From whom? Of what nature and for what purpose? * Who are jihadists? * What is a “high-value target” in a sovereign country where the US has no authority under any colour of law to aim? * Which American military and intelligence officials? Those assigned to Fiji or in Venezuela? * Why is the outcome of the last presidential election of relevance to this story? * If the world’s media was saturated with photographs and videos, who verified that they are of or from Khan Sheikhoun? * If the depicted injured and dead—unverified—are allegedly suffering from the symptoms of nerve gas poisoning, who alleges this and what credibility do these allegations have without substantiated image documents? * Who are “local activists”, the rebels? “Including the White Helmets…” The White Helmets is not known “for its close association with the Syrian opposition. It is known that they were organised by a British defence contractor for the so-called Syrian opposition. The principal funders of the organisation are the same as those who finance the mercenaries themselves. They are, in fact, a part of that so-called opposition. That opposition is also known to comprise bands of mercenaries funded by the US, Saudi Arabia, Israel and the rest of the countries allied with US-Israeli efforts to topple the Assad government or Balkanise it (here the comparison is appropriate since the CEO of the company that created the White Helmets cut his teeth—and who knows what else—in Bosnia).3 In the following paragraph we find the sentence: “The provenance (jargon) of the photos was not clear and no international observers have yet inspected the site, but the immediate popular assumption worldwide was that this was a deliberate use of the nerve gas agent sarin, authorised by President Bashar Assad of Syria.” * Perhaps I am not on the same planet but I did not wake up one day in April and assume that Mr Assad used nerve gas. So where does this popular assumption originate? * The sudden use of Mr Assad’s full name is purely rhetorical. It is clearly intended to reinforce the impression that such an act would be a highly personal order issued from the US archenemy. It is certainly not intended to educate the reader as to the correct name of a head of state against which the US happens to be at war. Or is this equal time because the article begins with “United States President Donald Trump” thereinafter just “Trump”? * Why would Trump refer to “Syria’s past use of chemical weapons”—apparently referring to a time prior to his presidency? A reasonable person would be excused for concluding that Trump merely followed an assumption that his predecessor propagated based on precisely the same “available intelligence”. Then come the handkerchiefs again: “To the dismay of many senior members of his national security team, Trump could not be swayed over the next 48 hours of intense briefing and decision-making. In a series of interviews, I learned of the total disconnect (jargon) between the president and many of his military advisers and intelligence officials, as well as officers on the ground in the region who had an entirely different understanding of the nature of Syria’s attack on Khan Scheikhoun. I was provided with evidence of that disconnect (again jargon) in the form of transcripts of real-time communications, immediately following the Syrian attack on April 4.” * Who were the senior members in dismay? * What was the nature of the briefing and decision-making? Did it have anything to do with the public statements rationalising the attack? How do we know that the alleged intelligence had anything to do with the briefings or decisions to be made? * With whom were the interviews conducted? * What is “disconnect”? Is Trump on a dialysis or heart-lung machine? * What is “an understanding of the nature of Syria’s attacks”? Is it an opinion? Is it a report of observations of the scene? Or is it perhaps just a word because maybe the people concerned have no understanding of the case? * Who provided “real-time communications”? Why should these be considered reliable testimony of the facts—if there are any? The article follows with a quaint press release explanation of what the US regime has said it is doing to avoid outright war with Russia. I think it is fair to say that it can be treated with all the credulity applied to any government press release. Or are we to believe that the US war establishment is more honest now than it ever was in the past? Then Michael the Archangel enters the scene in the form of “a senior adviser to the American intelligence community, who has served in senior positions in the Defence Department and Central Intelligence Agency. Does the author mean someone of the rank of Richard Helms or William Colby—with the same established credibility?4 Michael the Archangel then proceeds to tell the author minutiae about the supposed target of Syria’s bombing raid. We get some more jargon; e.g., POL. This shows that the author is versed in the terms of the trade, as if he were one of them, and can translate daily war operations like an Edward Murrow—naturally without even the pretence of being at the front (a point to which I will return).5 Then comes the real fun: “One reason for the Russian message to Washington about the intended target was to ensure that any CIA asset or informant who had managed to work his way into the jihadist leadership (again who are they?) was forewarned not to attend the meeting.” This is third rate Ian Fleming. It has been established and even acknowledged that the CIA funds, directly and indirectly, these mercenaries and has done so since the dean of Carter’s covert wars, Zbigniew Bzrezinski, helped create them in Afghanistan. Bzrezinski never ceased to brag about this—because he felt it promoted his war against Russia (then called the Soviet Union).6 It is more likely that the Russian message to Washington—assuming there was one and that it had anything like the character the author’s St. Michael alleges—was intended to enforce the ostensible agreement to combat these mercenaries by forcing coherence between public statements and actual conduct. To date Russia has been rather unsuccessful in achieving that goal. We only have the senior adviser’s word for it that the Russians have anything to say to the US regime, which it feels obliged to respect. The recent destruction of a Syrian Air Force combat aircraft by US Forces ought to be sufficient proof of that—without input from St. Michael—who then gets quite folksy by telling the author about the Russians: “They were playing the game right.” The language is offensive on its face. Since 1945, the Russians and most of the rest of the world has “played the game right.” It is the US regime that does not. Of course, that is the fact that cannot be stated openly. Only the Russians can be suspected of perhaps “not playing the game right.” That is what is meant too, so the author lets this remark stand as if it were a sign of “fair play” on the part of the US regime—for whom the senior adviser still works. Then the author throws in some other meaningless words: “a time of acute pressure on the insurgents” and people “presumably desperately seeking a path forward in the new political climate”. This is just State Department boilerplate. What is “acute pressure” from what or whom? What is “a path forward” in what direction, where and with what aim? Then we get some names finally—but not of people in the “intelligence community”. Trump and “two of his key national security aides… Rex Tillerson and Nikki Haley”. First of all, since when is the Secretary of State “an aide”? The Secretary of State is a member of the cabinet and heads the entire US diplomatic corps and Foreign Service, and even in the line of presidential succession, hardly an “aide”. Even if UN Ambassadors, with the notable exception of former Deputy Director of Central Intelligence, Vernon Walters, are not usually identified as members of the “intelligence community” (if that term has any meaning under statute), Nikki Haley also has cabinet rank.7 She is not listed in the Foreign Service List with the rank of an “aide” to the president. The author’s only reason for this blatant inaccuracy is to suggest that Trump and his senior cabinet members are not fully competent or qualified to participate in the serious business the author wishes to explain to the readers. Then we get another jargon-laced description of martial skill and military superiority. The story that follows purports to be an analysis of the situation at the scene (in Syria, where our author is conspicuously absent). To spare the reader the details, which can be read in the article itself, I just list the questions I had. Others could be asked: * If the gas in question is or can be made undetectable how are the “locals” to identify the weapon with anything even approximating certainty? * Who provided the Bomb Damage Assessment and why should it be believed? Body counts in Southeast Asia come to mind. * If there is no confirmed account of deaths what deaths are at issue here? Whose “intelligence estimates” does the author use and what good are they? * Who are the “opposition activists” reporting? Why is CNN an authority? * What significance can the observations or reports by MSF (Médicins Sans Frontières) have from a clinic 60 miles north of the target? Recently we have heard how fire brigades and other emergency personnel in London were unable to provide reliable information in the immediate vicinity of the Grenfell Tower. Sixty miles in Syria where inland transport and communication are interrupted by war can scarcely be called on site. * If all of the indicators cited to imply the use of some kind of chemical weapons are taken as a whole, then it is entirely possible to infer that the mercenary forces in the course of their operations caused such injuries. So why is it even necessary to consider the Syrian government forces as potential perpetrators? Of course, one purpose of detailed description of a weapon that may not even have been used is to implant in the readers’ minds the expectation that it could be used—to support in other words what the author initially calls “the immediate popular assumption”. Then the perpetuum mobile upon which this entire story relies—the Internet—“swings into action” all by itself, of course, like divine providence. This is another ruse because the target readers have been trained for years now to see the Internet as a truth machine instead of the largest weapons system in the US arsenal—after atomic bombs, which it was designed to complement. That US intelligence is at it again—“tasked with establishing what had happened.” Isn’t this curious? We still do not know who this is. Despite the fact that the past decade has been full of apparent exposures of how large, differentiated and competitive the bureaucracies are that are formally constituted (we don’t know how much is off the books) to perform what are euphemistically called intelligence functions, we are supposed to attach meaning to this statement. Then we find that “those in the American intelligence community understood, and many of the inexperienced aides and family members close to Trump may not have…” Translation: St. Michael’s employers versus the Secretary of State, UN Ambassador and people holding positions of trust in the Trump administration who are members of his family (as if the US regime, like the medieval papacy, only now was rife with nepotism). St. Michael, the “senior adviser”—whom an attentive reader will sooner or later notice is the ONLY source for this story—wants the author to say—and he does throughout—that the “intelligence community” should be making the decisions not the president or his cabinet. The only reason for this slight of hand is to distract the reader from the fact that the “intelligence community” is nothing of the sort and it already does make the decisions—including what Trump is to say or not to say. Then follows some more sobbing. Thereafter we learn that Trump is a “constant watcher of television news”. The author is not describing a unique Trump attribute but something all presidents have done. So what is the point—to compare him with St. Ronald or LBJ or the last Bush in the White House? Or put another way, was the author watching television with Trump and the king of Jordan? Or was this an episode of reality TV and everyone could see the two of them sitting in front of the screen? The purpose of this is to soothe the consciences of the McNeill – Lehrer News Hour (later The News Hour with John Lehrer) fans and other PBS addicts. Then the senior adviser tells us about the national defence apparatus instructed by Trump. Now who or what is this? The National Security Act of 1947 created what was called The National Defence Establishment. This was later renamed the Department of Defence. Has Congress created a new instrument and no one bothered to announce it? Then we read that “planners” asked the CIA and DIA for some evidence that Syria had sarin. Who are the planners? Again the question ought to be why is this important? If the US is at war and it is going to bomb—which is what it always does, both for doctrinal and business reasons—then the only point of this question could be “can we use sarin as an alibi?” The psychological profile of Assad given in brief by unnamed persons is a “throwaway”. It is already part of the official language that all US enemies are willing to use atomic, biological and chemical weapons (ABC in the house jargon). It is part of the strategy of deniability. By planting in the public consciousness the presupposition that all US enemies are willing to use such weapons—even if they do not have them—the actual deployment of those weapons by the US regime can be plausibly denied by attribution to the enemy. This strategy is as old as the US regime’s annihilation of Native Americans. It has done little or no good to show for over a century now that it was white settlers and militias under US control that introduced scalping—not the Native Americans. This is school bully tactics at its finest. The reader should be more than irritated that the author insists on writing “provenance” when he means “source”. I leave it to the sensitive reader to consider why. The late George Carlin in his wonderful routine on “euphemisms” explained how “shell shock” in WWI became PTSD after Vietnam. “More syllables less meaning” was his conclusion.  I would even recommend listening to Carlin’s complaints before reading the rest of my argument. Then Michael, aka the senior advisor, tells a true fairy tale of bureaucratic life. “Intelligence analysts do not argue with the president. They’re not going to tell the president, ‘if you interpret the data this way, I quit.’” This may be true of certain retired intelligence professionals who loyally briefed Ronald Reagan and now complain about the service. However, there are numerous people who quit the service because they saw what it does and what the president does together with the service. Of course, they have names and have made their cases in public, even in print, but they are not sources for the author of “Trump’s Red Line.” After that come unnamed national security advisers (presumably not the national security adviser since he has a name).8: “Trump wanted to respond to the affront to humanity committed by Syria and he did not want to be dissuaded…” This is the smoking gun so to speak. The author complains through the voices of the unnamed advisers that Trump was not to be dissuaded from a response. However, the author leaves the reader to agree that Syria committed an unproven or unnamed “affront to humanity”. The author tells the readers that the “popular assumption” really is correct and should still be held dearly. Then Trump meets with unnamed people again, this time in Florida. And now he gets the options. St. Michael phrases the options carefully to fit the readers’ well-cultivated prejudices: an affront to humanity that is ignored. That is impossible. “The available intelligence was not relevant.” We still do not know what that was and what, if any, bearing it had on the discussion. That must mean that none of Trump’s staff was able to recommend action. So who did? The CIA director was absent. Hmm. Getting a tan at the beach or was this for plausible deniability? Tillerson is again described in terms fitting with his previous designation as an “aide”. Option two is “a slap on the wrist”. Since when is the head of one sovereign state entitled to “slap the wrist” of another? Oh, let’s just bomb a pharmaceutical factory or a peasant village or an airfield in a foreign country. The senior adviser said the Russians should be alerted first—“to avoid too many casualties.” Given the fact that no reliable body counts have ever been alleged or proven—who is to say how many is too many? Then we are told about the impressive sounding “strike package” presented to Obama in 2013 and that it was rejected. This option was, in jargon again, “decapitation”. This is actually prohibited by national and international law. But the author sees no more scruple here than his provenance the “senior adviser”. Finally Trump is quoted as having said, “You’re the military and I want military action.” The rest of the alleged discussion is too obscene to repeat. But clearly the quote is intended to portray Trump as a simpleton. Whether he is or not is unimportant. However, the author needs this redundancy because it is part of his and St. Michael’s story. St. Michael, true to the trade whose patron saint he is, tells the author “The lesson here was: Thank God for the military men at the meeting. They did the best they could when confronted with a decision that had already been made.” That may be true. What we do not know is who actually made the decision. We are left—without any substantiation—to believe that it was Trump. However, to anyone familiar with the history of the US regime this is simply nonsense. Here I have to ask a silly question? Why were only fifty-nine missiles fired? Why not sixty? Why not ninety-nine? One answer is statistics. An odd number appears more realistic as detail than an even number. It is also like going to the hypermarket and buying something for 1.99 instead of 2.00. Gives you the feeling you saved something. So maybe the author thought 59 missiles sounds more restrained than 60 or 100. St. Michael continues: “It was a totally Trump show from beginning to end. A few of the president’s national security advisers viewed the mission as a minimized bad presidential decision and one that they had an obligation to carry out. But I don’t think our national security people are going to allow themselves to be hustled into a bad decision again. If Trump had gone for option three there might have been some immediate resignations.” Here we see the other real message of the author’s article. Does St. Michael ask the reader to believe that some of his fellow knights would fall on their swords if Trump authorised what those same people recommended to Obama? Which national security people does he mean? If they are employees under the authority of the president, then they have no business even talking about being “hustled”—they have orders and they are to be executed. The president is the supreme executive authority in the US—at least that is what the country’s Constitution says. Or does he mean that there are national security people (now are they in the “intelligence community” or the “national security apparatus” or the “US intelligence community” or where in hell) who are not subject to presidential authority? Now we are getting to the point. As Fletcher Prouty already wrote years ago, there most certainly are “national security people” for whom the office of the president is a legal fiction.9 However, if this is what St. Michael really means—then the attempt to make all of this supposed error “a totally Trump show” must be deception. Then the author finally appears to be writing on his own account and continues by placing the Trump show in the long line of presidential testosterone secretions by pointing to Trump’s poll results after the attack. This follows with an utterly revisionist platitude, which is the stock-in-trade of the US war propaganda apparatus (the national security establishment + 99% of the mass media + 99% of academia): “America rallied around its commander in chief, as it always does in times of war.” This is simply false. Throughout most of US history only the white elite and its acolytes have rallied around the US war machine. Wars have cost nearly every US President votes and popularity—to the point of election defeat or impeachment. Only the enormous power of the propaganda machine, to which the author of the article under review belongs as a highly decorated veteran and reserve combatant, has been able to make the US population support the wars US presidents nominally lead. I have covered that history elsewhere.10 Suffice it to say that almost exactly 100 years ago this machine was inaugurated as the Committee on Public Information aka as the Creel Commission.11 Five days later we are told, there was a background briefing given by the Trump administration on the Syrian operation. Now it is no longer a bombing. We do not know who issued the invitation (what office?). Instead we learn that a senior White House official “who was not to be identified” gave everyone the official talking points. He points out that none of the reporters present challenged or disputed the background briefing. He does not say a) was he in attendance? b) did he challenge or dispute the official assertion? Finally—yes, we are almost done with the author’s story—three criticisms are mentioned that arise from this unofficial official event. They are inconsequential. The author praises “the briefer” for his careful use of words like “think”, “suggest”, and “believe” during the 30 minutes of the event. The briefer refers to “declassified data” from “our colleagues in the intelligence community”. Then comes the clincher which is made just for all those who believe that they do not follow the mainstream press: “The mainstream press responded the way the White House had hoped it would: stories attacking Russia and ignoring the briefer’s caveats. We read that the author senses a “renewed Cold War”. Then there is some obfuscation about the putative importance of calling something “declassified information” or “a declassified intelligence report” and “formal intelligence” and a “summary based on declassified information”. Of course, one can detail semantic differences but it is more important how and in what context and for whom the words are used—but our author says nothing of this because that is a trade secret. “Trump’s Red Line” ends with some boilerplate from official policy talking points. Then ends with a deceptive disclaimer. Since by now it should be apparent that this is a very crafted and crafty propaganda piece addressed to precisely those who pride themselves on not believing the journals of record (at least not in public), it is once more necessary to show that the author is a sincere investigator who, like a few other professionals in the political warfare field, is sometimes frustrated in his search for truth, we learn that the author sent specific questions to the White House via e-mail on 15 June and received no answer. We do not know what questions and to which office in the White House or even what answers he expected. This should all be superfluous if St. Michael the Senior Adviser was a reliable source, one would think… In the by-line, the author of “Trump’s Red Line”, is identified “as an investigative journalist and political writer who first gained wide recognition in 1969 for exposing the My Lai Massacre and its cover-up during the Vietnam War”. Presuming that there were any of the statements made in open source references like Wikipedia false or unsubstantiated the author would have directly or indirectly effected their correction and because this is a common source of information today, I would like to call attention to some points that at best qualify the acclaim implied by the 1969 reporting. I have written elsewhere on the mythical status of Vietnam War reporting and the reader is directed to those articles for further background.12 In the English language Wikipedia entry about the author there is a passage about My Lai 4. The story is attributed to a tip (since he was not in Vietnam at the time) from Village Voice columnist Geoffrey Cowan. Now when one reads Cowan’s biography one finds that after leaving the Voice his jobs were at VOA and USIA. My Lai Massacre According to Wikipedia: On November 12, 1969, Hersh reported the story of the My Lai Massacre, in which hundreds of unarmed Vietnamese civilians were murdered by US soldiers in March 1968.  The report prompted widespread condemnation around the world and reduced public support for the Vietnam War in the United States. The explosive news of the massacre fueled the outrage of the US peace movement, which demanded the withdrawal of US troops from Vietnam. Hersh wrote about the massacre and its cover-up in My Lai 4: A Report on the Massacre and Its Aftermath (1970) and Cover-up: The Army’s Secret Investigation of the Massacre at My Lai 4 (1972). For My Lai 4, Hersh traveled across the United States and interviewed nearly 50 members of the Charlie Company. A movie was also produced, based on this book, by Italian director Paolo Bertola in 2009. Hersh had been directed to the Calley court-martial by Geoffrey Cowan of The Village Voice and later remarked, “Yeah, part of me said, ‘Fame! Fortune! Glory!’ The other part was very pragmatic [in thinking] about, ‘How are you going to prove this?'”  A critical attitude to Hersh perceives him as the mere instrument by which the My Lai massacre became public knowledge and a part of the machine with which the army built its case against a scape-goat. According to this view, Hersh served in this way to shape the memory the military wanted—an exceptional atrocity, an anomaly, that was dealt with. So let us imagine that the author was introduced to a St. Michael or some other “senior adviser”, someone who needed to get a story into the public domain. The author is still relatively new in the business or at least he has not hit it big. He is offered a story based on a tip by Cowan. It had been decided (by the “intelligence community”) that a leak must be arranged to again tar the Army with atrocities and distract from the actual command element (CIA) and this was done through Cowan, who then gets Hersh to do the writing. The Hersh Wiki page (in German but not in English) says Cowan had published an article on the Phoenix program in the Voice and that Cowan had given him (Hersh) the tips.13 Yet apparently neither Cowan nor Hersh see (or are supposed to see) a connection between Phoenix and My Lai 4. The German version of the Wiki entry says: Ebenfalls im Jahr 1969 erlebte Hersh seinen Durchbruch auf internationaler Ebene. Durch den Journalisten Geoffrey Cowan, der seinerzeit in einem Artikel über die Operation Phoenix Details berichtete, unter anderem, dass die CIA vietnamesische Zivilisten ermordete, die im Verdacht standen, dem Viet Cong zu helfen, bekam Hersh einen Tipp. Cowan hatte einen Informanten im Pentagon, der ihn und somit Hersh in Kenntnis setzte, dass ein US-Offizier wegen Mordes an Zivilisten in Vietnam angeklagt war und dieser Fall vertuscht werden sollte. Note that in the German Wiki entry it is the CIA that is killing Vietnamese civilians, while in the English entry it is the US Army. In the German Wiki entry, Cowan had an informant in the Pentagon that gave him and hence the author the information that a US officer was charged with murder of civilians in Vietnam. In other words, the German version points to our St. Michael—while there is no mention of a Pentagon informant in the English version. So if one were to give Hersh the benefit of a doubt that before his article on My Lai he may have been doing legitimate investigative journalism (I find that hard to believe since that is no way to make a career) then Cowan was essentially the conduit (cut out) for a bribe (a chance to become famous and advance one’s career) and a distraction. (If Cowan were genuine why wouldn’t he have done the story in the Village Voice, which at least in those days had a certain impact beyond maintaining New York’s pretensions to cultural radicalism?) Hersh goes after the Army (not the CIA) and gets famous. One reason why Cowan might not have pursued the story himself– even as an agent or collaborator– was to protect his position in the Village Voice. Another reason could have been that someone else needed to place the story in the NYT and the key establishment media– to which at that time the Voice still did not belong. The fact that Cowan spent the rest of his career in government service at the Voice of America (VOA) and United States Information Agency (USIA/ and USIS abroad) does not prove but does lend plausibility to a strong undisclosed relationship to the other government agencies that worked with VOA and USIA in political warfare.14 Here it ought to be recalled that Die Welt am Sonntag, as a publication of the Axel Springer Verlag, has always had close relationships with the secret services, especially those of the US. This is not to rule out domestic German political motives for presenting the war in particular ways or Trump in an unfavourable light. Germany is the most powerful country in Western Europe and the support of its electorate is important to US policy aims in Europe. The German mass media in the past years has supported almost without qualification US anti-Russian policy although much of Germany—albeit for various reasons, is far from anti-Russian. Hence psychological warfare in Germany is a very important part of NATO strategy. The encouragement of the strong pro-American factions is needed to counter those who see—logically and historically—Russia as the preferred trading partner. But the significance of first publication in Germany ought to be clear to those who are familiar with Operation Mockingbird. The CIA and other propaganda activities in the US government would release through various channels stories to the foreign press in the certainty that they would be picked up by US media and reprinted, quoted or rebroadcast. The point is that normal means would make it very difficult to trace the provenance back to the US government and the story would appear as if it were independently produced and therefore merely borrowed from abroad—giving the colour of objectivity if not the substance. The author enjoys respect, especially on the Left, bordering on canonisation. He stands for loyal opposition. The Left imagines that he is in opposition and the rest know he is loyal. Moreover celebrity in the US is a kind of wealth and it endows people who enjoy it with power that others do not have. The condescending compatible Left has its Ellsberg and Hersh from the “good old days” when the white middle class imagined they toppled the government and ended the war in Vietnam. It needs these celebrities because they distract from the necessity to think for oneself. There are a few international saints and some who have only reached the rank of venerable or blessed. The differences can be seen in the lecture fees and the book receipts or how often they appear on TV—mainstream or otherwise. Like with my grandmother, there is a kind of primitive devotion that has to be served and so it is almost irrelevant who does it, but it has to be done. But some of these venerated are not just ordinary celebrities; they are knights of the church militant. They wield their celebrity as a weapon to elevate or suborn others who might threaten the realm of which they are a part. These “knights Templar” who wield the pen as a sword on behalf of the Establishment are both martial and priestly. They have learned the creed and know all the sacraments, especially the pseudo-sacrament of confession. The journalist of this type has his/her code of honour but it is a military code and as such strictly hierarchical. They have learned professionally what I only learned by accident of catechism: confession is a transaction between a willing deceiver and a willingly deceived. This consent is maintained by highly structured ritualistic language and jargon, which allows the deceiver to conceal his desires and motives and the deceived to ignore or so distort them that they satisfy expectations. The Central Intelligence Agency subjects its personnel, especially those officers who work outside headquarters, to regular polygraph tests. Like all military-type organisations (including the Catholic Church) the hierarchy exercises an absolute authority which, given the highly selective nature of recruitment, assures almost absolute control throughout the ranks. Just like in the Church every officer has his “confessor”. So the executive management knows in detail what information is moving in and out through its public interfaces. There must be a presumption—willingly denied on the Left—that “leaks” are authorised if they have not been punished. Conspicuously the two most important insider stories of how the CIA works, Philip Agee’s CIA Diary and John Stockwell’s In Search of Enemies, are almost entirely ignored by the Left and absolutely ignored by Sy Newhouse’s star investigative reporter. The CIA harassed Agee until the end of his life. All the proceeds of Stockwell’s book were attached and awarded to the CIA as damages. We have yet to hear the name of someone punished by the Agency for breach of his or her secrecy oath in revealing something to the star investigative reporter. “Trump’s Red Line” was written by a thin red line comprising a small regiment of propagandists who by deliberately positioning themselves visibly but in apparent weakness deceive their targets into believing they are greater and truer than they actually are. They serve as a front for the massed but often poorly managed viciousness of the ruling class. Their job is to make the rest of us think that we are basically on the “right side” on “the side of good and the brave”. They provide the intellectual pageantry, which flatters and induces people to want to join, “for king and country” as it was a century ago. They do this by means of the confessional, for Catholics a cubicle, for white Protestant America, the Oprah Winfrey show or for the highbrow, The New Yorker. The “exposure” or “disclosure” or “whistleblowing” are all forms of eroticism, often oral, which titillate and relieve the pressures of daily self-deception. The narrative is one of sin and guilt. The compatible Left is deeply implicated in the maintenance of white supremacy and imperialism in the US (and throughout the NATO member-states). They need occasional absolution for this complicity and that is what the confessors deliver. It is a dialogue that has little to do with truth or accuracy or change—and nothing in common with democracy. Quite the contrary it is a dialogue between the State and its loyal subjects aimed at purifying consciences while maintaining the system itself, even reinforcing it. The compatible Left is bound to its confessors—and the confessors know that. It is a dance of mutual deception by which the rest of the world’s population can continue to be starved, robbed and bombed. This reporting has no other function but to distract people from what the US regime is actually doing, to maintain the illusion that stated policy is actual policy and thereby maintain the criminal enterprise of which the CIA—in the widest sense of that term– remains one of the core elements. As I have argued above, it is not necessary to lie to be a propagandist for liars—it is only necessary to do exactly what Robert McNamara did when he said “I never answered the questions others asked. I made it a rule only to answer the questions I think they should have asked.”15 The task of the “thin red line” is to control the range of questions and assure that everyone learns the right answers. The regiment of journalists is like the 93rd Highlanders at Balaclava, they are there to pose like truth before the hordes, but unlike the Sutherlands, they do it with other people’s blood. * Henry Lea, A History of Auricular Confession and Indulgences (1896) This book by the US historian who documented the real reasons for the Catholic Inquisition, demonstrates that the theology of confession was in fact a dubious justification for church espionage and just good business for the Church—and often clearly seen as such. * Jonathan Cook, “Useful Idiots Who Undermine Dissent on Syria” posted here also on 4 July, 2017. * We must start from the fact that ISIS and all the groups in the US-Israel-Saudi Arabia-managed terrorist coalition against Syria are a creation of the CIA. The beginning of the ISIS “regimental history” was when the CIA created the Mujahdeen in Afghanistan and that has never been denied. Therefore it is ludicrous to say there are “embedded terrorists” in the “White Helmets”. The accurate formulation is that the White Helmets is a part of the terrorist organization. The technical term for this is “armed propaganda”. When US Special Forces are deployed in pacification they have people who perform what are technically called “civil affairs” operations: starting and running schools, clinics, SAR teams etc. Civil affairs operations are still subordinate to military/paramilitary control, the people involved may just happen not to be carrying weapons or killing at that particular time. Since there has been no serious discussion even in the alternative media about the actual organisation and structure of “civil affairs” and “armed propaganda” (Phoenix-type) operations, a lot of time and ink or bytes describing things out of context. Hersh and others exploit this ignorance or incomprehension. Civil affairs operations are designed to conceal military operations and as the reporting on them shows — very successfully. * For those too young or ill-informed to know, former CIA director Richard Helms was convicted of perjury because he lied to the Congress in testimony under oath during investigations into CIA activity. He made it clear to those in power that he was not going to jail for implementing government policy and indeed he did not. William E. Colby, while CIA director, gave testimony to the United States Senate Select Committee to Study Governmental Operations with Respect to Intelligence Activities, also “Church Committee” after its chair, which if followed carefully, indicates the function of information and the role of “intelligence” in the US “intelligence community”. Helms lived to a ripe old age. Colby drowned while fishing. A parallel investigation by the US House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence (Pike Committee) has been virtually ignored. Its final report was suppressed. The final report eventually became available in the UK, but not in an official version. * Edward R. Murrow (1908-1965) was a broadcast journalist for the Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS). He became famous for his radio broadcasts during WWII. He was treated as a mentor and/or icon of broadcast journalism well into the TV era. * “What was more important to the history of the world? The Taliban or the collapse of the Soviet empire? Some stirred-up Muslims or the liberation of central Europe and the end of the Cold war?” * Vernon A. Walters (1917-2002) served not only as US ambassador to the UN and Germany and Deputy Director of Central Intelligence (1972-76), he was military advisor for many (if not all) of the military coups d’état (overthrow of the government by the armed forces) and other covert actions now popularly called “regime change”, instigated and supported by the US during his professional career. It is very likely that his appointment as ambassador to Bonn in 1989 was for the purpose of coordinating the collapse of the democratic GDR government to facilitate its absorption FRG, including what became known as the “donation scandal” (Spendenaffäre) by which massive illegal funds were delivered to Helmut Kohl’s CDU, just around the time of the GDR elections. Kohl, who died this year, will have taken many of those secrets with him. * First there was Michael T. Flynn. He was encouraged to resign and Lt Gen H R McMaster USA was appointed in his place. * L. Fletcher Prouty (1917-2001) served as Chief of Special Operations for the US Joint Chiefs of Staff under President John F. Kennedy. He published his book The Secret Team: The CIA and Its Allies in Control of the United States and the World in 1973. * See my Viet Nam series: here; here; here; and here. * George Creel (1876-1953) also among other things an investigative journalist and writer was chairman of the Committee on Public Information (hence Creel Commission). He detailed the commission’s propaganda functions and operations, many of which were covert, in his 1920 book How We Advertised America. The committee was constituted in July 1918 and its activities (including foreign operations) ended officially in August 1919. * See Footnote 15. * The definitive work on the CIA’s Phoenix Program was written by Douglas Valentine (also reviewed in DV). In it he documents and explains how Lt. Calley’s unit was part of Phoenix—that is a CIA operation. The intimate connection between war crimes committed by regular US soldiers in Vietnam and the CIA’s overall initiative and guidance of the wars in Vietnam and the rest of Southeast Asia were not disclosed in any of the work for which Hersh is credited in respect to Vietnam. * See description of USIA/ USIS and one of its officers during the war against Vietnam. After graduating from America University he went to the CIA-sponsored East-West Centre which Scotton said “… was a cover for a training program in which Southeast Asians were brought to Hawaii and trained to go back to Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos to create agent nets.” (This is also where Obama’s parents met.) When he had finished his training and passed the Foreign Service exam he was advised by his patron/ confessor to join the USIS, “which dealt with people”… see Valentine (2000, 2014) p. 49. In Frank Scotton’s memoir Uphill Battle (2014) it is clear that he was a close friend of Daniel Ellsberg. He writes in his memoir that he had cognisance of Ellsberg’s private possession of documents from the report on which Ellsberg had worked to produce an internal history of the war in Vietnam which he would later supply to the New York Times. (page 247) Ellsberg’s leak became the famous Pentagon Papers. However the documents leaked and those chosen for publication in the New York Times omitted any mention of the CIA role in the war or that the CIA was the principal agency driving the war from the 1950s when they were advising the French in Indochina. Both Prouty, in his 1973 book, and Valentine, in numerous articles, shed considerable doubt as to the real motives and actions behind the ostensible leak. * Errol Morris, The Fog of War: Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara (2003). McNamara gave this explanation for how he performed in public; e.g., at press conferences. http://clubof.info/