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animefreak1145 · 3 years ago

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For Whom the Bell Tolls(Adler x Bell!Reader)

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Chapter 3| How Little We Know of What There is To Know

Chapter Summary:

Pretending and being numb is the key.

Yet Adler always manages to bring some emotion out of you.

Cold War Reset AU| Undertale Reset AU

Warnings: Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Possible Non-Con/Dub-Con, Trauma

A/N: Where pineapple is the nectar of the gods and scars are lightning.

“Bell”

Second Life

23:09 | February 25, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

You rubbed your dry eyes as you stared at your notes all over the desk you’ve chosen as your little corner, the large bulky computer taking up space but you’ve made do by moving the brick that is the keyboard as much as you could off to the side. Your papers held inks of different colors—although they were only red, blue, and black and yellow highlights—and you had a stack of folders behind the computer that were from the CIA and MI6 archives. You had Kraus’ ledger off to your side, headphones on top of it for you to hear the audio of U.S. cities and numbers. Your fourth mug of coffee of the day was already gone and you would grab another just to enjoy the warm liquid to go down your throat instead of the caffeine itself, you were always one of late night’s either way.

The safehouse was quiet outside the hum of the generator and the lights above. Most of the crew gone. Outside of your absent tapping of a pen against your messy notes and the white of a nearby fan for extra circulation, the main open area of the safehouse was a desert.

If you focused deeply, you can hear mumbles and murmurs that you can’t make out coming from the office. Adler has been in there for awhile talking over the phone. To who, you don’t know but you have your suspicions. You just hope the subject is not about you being suspicious—the talk on the roof was a slight on your part earlier.

You truly don’t know what came over you. But you need to watch your mouth and expressions. Adler is perceptive, deadly and ever watchful of a person’s micro expressions and body language.

You can’t mess up.

A shot rings. And a heart splinters.

“It was never personal.”

You really can’t.

Which is why, you have been focused solely on decoding the entire day. Your eyes scanning and assessing the acquired Intel from the Volkov mission for Operation Chaos and Operation Red Circus. You have the knowledge on how to solve them but you are lacking needed Intel to help finish Operation Red Circus.

Operation Chaos was tricky. With two pieces of evidence outside of the newspaper, it being the audio log and the paper that had the coded message. Earlier in the morning, you wrote down all the possible numbers the missing parts of the code be—trying to find the pattern in the set of red and blue numbers. You were writing down the possibilities, your paper looking chaotic with arrows and numbers and cities that could coincide with said numbers.

After the quick checkup of your head with Adler, all firm and gentle touches with you keeping your eyes to the side or down as he fulfilled why he got the alias Doc—treatments of gun wounds and cuts to bayonets, complete trust he’ll take care of you as he would lecture or tighten a bandage a tad too tight in reprimand due to a reckless action—and kept quiet as he did so outside of a soft yes or no when he asked about the pain, you moved to go to work. Ignoring the feel of his gaze on you as you did so. Park coming to your desk after you moved your stuff from the center table to your chosen corner to begin, papers already everywhere and scattered as you tried to organize it in a manner you could only understand, a mug close to her mouth and a cocked brow at the mess.

“There’s a way to keep it a bit more clean and less like a junk pile,” the British woman said, amused as you made a distracted sound, squinting at the coded language in your hand as papers rustled. “And when I gave you my advice, I didn’t think you would take it so seriously. There’s a better desk you could’ve chosen as your own, Bell.”

You blinked, giving Park a confused look.

“Advice?”

Park making an obvious glance to the center table in front of the evidence board, you automatically following it. Only to turn back to your paper once you noticed Adler’s form by the table, cigarette in his hand as he stared down at his own files.

"From one woman to another, give him a wide berth."

“. . . I just needed some space to focus. I’m sure Adler wouldn’t like all my papers everywhere around him either way.” You could still feel the ghost of his touch on your head and your hand. You wanted to erase it. “But I don’t mind staying close just in case. Easier to hand things to you or him whenever I’m done.”

“Someone sounds confident,” Park commented with a sip of her coffee, making your own lips twitch for a moment as you replied that you are the best as you moved some papers around. Than, in a quiet murmur with a quick dart back to Adler’s direction, “Distractions are best to be avoided. . .”

“What was that?” You asked, placing everything in a pile as well trying to keep some of them up by leaning the papers on the computer screen and failing as they slid down. You heard Park release an exasperated humored huff through her nose just as you heard her step away only for you to have a black leather gloved hand in your face with sticky notes. “What is. . .”

“Oh come now. I am sure it’d be easier if you used these. Make sense of this chaos. I guess there is some fact of what people say about geniuses and their rooms,” she motioned the sticky note pad again as you stared at it. The papers were yellow but new. Unused, outside of a crinkle at an edge.

“Where am I?”

“Who am I?”

“What is happening?”

“Why can’t you remember?”

“D o y o u h e a r i t ? ”

“Who is Perseus?”

“Tell me who I am!”

Blood forms the words, as if with a finger.

“They want to kill you.”

“Make it stop.”

“MK”

Words pressed on the page, over and over and over with harsh penmanship and you don’t understand what’s happening. What is this room? And that man. . . Why does it hurt? Is this helping Russell?

Pain

Pain Pain боль

боль

Pain Pain

боль

Pain Pain Pain

боль боль

It hurts.

GlockeGlockeGlockeG̷̟̩͙̏͌ḽ̸̊̿o̵̦̓͝c̵̭̯̊́ḱ̷̛̼͌͊e—

You turned away back to your papers, jaw tight.

“I’m good. Sticky notes can be a pain. Thank you, Park.” Park lowered her hand, giving you a questioning stare in the back of your head. You sighed, turning your head over your lowered shoulders. “I’m going to try to finish this today but I think I’m missing a few pieces of Intel. You can give me other things to decode for MI6 in the meanwhile.”

Park frowned delicately, lowering her mug.

“That sounds like a hefty workload. And I believe it would be best if we put all our focus into Perseus for now.”

No. You have to be useful.

“It’ll be fine,” you say, searching for a paper and giving it to her while Park grabbed it. “I solved that part of the code already. The other intel we got from Kraus, I’m going to need more information in order to figure out who exactly can be Strong Man, Bearded Lady, and the Juggler. I can’t go forward with that so might as well help with other codes you guys may have trouble with. What did you imply?” You ask with faux curiosity, your lips twitching up before falling as you wrote something down. “That I’m a genius?”

“Smartarse.” Park retorted, although she seemed to still hesitate but eventually she gave you three files where they seemed to be having trouble. You getting to work immediately to help as Park walked away and you hearing later on Park and Adler head to the office.

You did your best to not think too much of it. You have to keep at your work and make sure you’re capable and on task. You rather not get jabbed.

“We got a job to do.”

And although it might be inevitable, you would rather not have those words said to you as well. Even if it didn’t seem to have the same affect as before, the feeling and how your thoughts seemed to blur came back. Being aware you moved like a puppet and were one all along is not what you would like to focus on.

After you finished two of MI6’s files—had to do with KGB and how interesting they would use some quotes of Oscar Wilde’s 1984 hidden in the code as if the man was in support of communism with the work—with a hum mixed with impressed and curiosity from Park as she looked at the solved papers, your nose twitched at the scent of smoke and leather as you worked on the last MI6 folder.

“Stealing away my protege, Park?” Your hand around the pen paused before continuing, a plume of grey gathering above you. “And here I thought we have an equal partnership when it comes to this whole Perseus business. At least tell me you’re not wasting her time?”

“I wouldn’t call it stealing if she’s willing,” Park easily replied before handing him the two files to look over that you did, Adler scanning through it as she continued. “And it still has to do with our red friends. You sure are quick with the ball, Bell.”

“It’s nothing,” you say quietly, “Can’t exactly go forward so might as well help you with other codes that others can’t solve. Just send anymore my way. You too, sir.”

Adler made a distant hum, closing the files and handing it back to Park. You felt his stare at the back of your neck as you stared at the paper in front of you that might as well be nonsense since you sensed him.

Look at him, pup.

“If you wanted a more exciting challenge Bell, you could’ve asked. Always the type to leave no stone unturned and show off.”

“‘More exciting challenge’?” Park repeated, “Think MI6 codes are all flowers and rainbows compared to those in the CIA, Adler? I believe I recall that it was only Bell that could be able to solve the dossier instead of anyone else within your organization.”

Yeah, cause you brainwashed me, you thought bitterly but the two kept going as you could only sit in between. Nice to have to be a witness between these two again.

“Bell is the best CIA decoder we have,” you tightened your jaw in surprise instead of to tense when his hand landed on your shoulder, a gentle squeeze—in comfort, in belief, in trust, in camaraderie, in everything but what you wanted and what you needed, in order to control— as you lowered the paper in your hand. “As well as having a wide range of other skills. You think I would just call in any brain dead desk sitter for this operation?”

You could see in your mind’s eye how dizzy you would get before due to all this praise. Now, you just do your best to press your lips as your chest tightened.

You felt Park shift behind you, her looking at you in appraisal.

“You are one of a kind, Bell. Shame you were born in the wrong country. Having to have Adler here as your superior.”

You huffed through your nose in dry amusement at that. Irony not lost on you.

What a curse indeed.

You turned in your chair finally, lips quirked that didn’t quite meet your eyes as you pointed your thumb towards Adler.

“You should’ve seen him in ‘Nam if you think he’s bad now. Always with the lectures.”

You felt Adler release you, watching as he took an inhale as he did a small shrug in disinterest.

“You can be stubborn, Bell. If I couldn’t beat it out of you, I’ll talk it out of you.” You looked up and you could sense his eyes looking down at you behind those shades. “Although I feel like sometimes I’m wasting my breath. Your recklessness borders on insanity.”

“I think I can see why they put the both of you together than,” Park said, brow arched towards Adler and a certain look in her eyes towards him you couldn’t quite read. It looked like a warning. But what could that look be for? “Insanity breeds insanity as they say.”

They left you after that, you waving off Adler asking if you need a break. He took that as the okay to bring you CIA files for you to decode. Seems he has no trouble using you dry if you’re going to insist on it. Despite that, you took them and you were able to solve three.

Park came back towards your desk and saying you could have a break, again, you waved her off. As well as her concern you wouldn’t want to read into—is it real for you and your body, or is some sort of guilt that perhaps they gave you a strong dose for the memory exercise and you’re running on steam, is it fake or real, don’t break the puppet- so you didn’t. You telling Lazar the food you wish and him dropping it by your desk with his own comment that your brain might fall out and you saying you’ll be fine, even threw in a small joke that with his food your brain will be well nourished. Outside of your favorite brand of pumpkin seeds of course. Sims only made a stray comment about the stacks on your desk, getting tall as the day went on and turned to night. You don’t recall if you said something back. You probably did, Sims was always distant—you have trauma that’s not even real and have the gall to have some nightmares about it when he actually went through that horrible war and sees a therapist for it, you don’t know the war—so you would take what you would get.

Everyone eventually shuffled out, Park—her brows looking creased and a purse to her lips—back to the side of your desk before she left and saying you should rest and leave the rest tomorrow.

“I’ll finish the rest today,” you replied, resolute and determined as you wrote the next possible code from this possible radio station an ally of Perseus may be using. “No rest for the wicked. As they say,” you threw out additionally, an echo of her words earlier which made Park raise her brows. “It’s fine. Once I start something, I have to see it through. It helps I can be patient when it counts—at least with this.”

“You seem to take it literally. You’ve been at it since early this morning. You only moved I believe when Lazar brought your food and to use the washroom.” Once you shrugged and said that seems normal to do and you’re fine with that, you heard Park’s tone grow stronger in reprimand. “Yes, you’re fine. Tell me, is Adler stopping you from taking breaks?”

You stopped, looking at Park and her irritated expression.

“No. . . No, it’s just me.” So none of you stick me with that dreadful drug and dig around my brain. So I can show all of you I don’t need it—that you don’t need to do that. That I’m useful and more than an asset. Unneeded assets get thrown away. “I just—just don’t want to disappoint.”

"Disappoint? You've exceeded expectations at every turn, Bell. Disappoint who?"

You didn’t answer, only turned back around and continued with your pen. You heard Park mutter a curse before walking out, giving you a pat to your back and tell you you’re driving back with Adler than since he’s determined to work as well before leaving. Your eyes round down to your desk.

You’ll be alone together with him again.

You took a shaky breath, focusing on the paper in front of you.

You’ll be fine. Just keep what you’ve been doing. Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend his concern—the touch on your shoulders burned as he shook you, as if to erase your dark thoughts out of you, lifting you up with his hand easily with words of a concerned reliable friend commanding officer—is real. And his kindness—why did they save you, you’re useless, what use is an untrained dog—is real too.

Just don’t question it. You’ll go mad.

Mind your tongue as well—control yourself. You used to tease before with faux confidence when the both of you bantered, but you have to watch your spiteful and petty comments. You really don’t want him to give you a dose.

But if you feel like the path is leading you there, you have a way to get at least a semblance of control back.

Puppets don’t control the puppeteer.

“Bell.” You turned in attention, Adler by the center table as he motioned his head towards the garage door, cigarette in hand. “Time to go.”

You nodded once, getting up after fixing up your desk a bit. Grabbing your beanie turned ski mask and placing it back on your head instead of your face and walked over obediently as the both of you walked out through the side door.

Good dogs come when they listen.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Come on, you know I hate fruit cake! Just give me your pears, Singer!”

“Sorry, Bell,” Singer grinned, taking a big purposeful spoonful of pears from the can, teeth flashing. “Guess you have to deal with all of that yourself. Too bad you don’t have a connection to those who pass the MCI’s, huh?”

You quietly glared at him with no heat, the act almost making Singer choke on his precious pears that he could’ve given you. The choking action making him spit out some and towards you, you making a noise of disgust as you punched the laughing man harshly to his shoulder as vengeance. It made him wince as the others around the campsite laughed at the two of you—the sun still above and the Vietnam jungle loud with birds and the trees moving against the wind. Although not really a campsite you would say since there no fire. Can’t have any eyes on them to go towards smoke.

‘They know these jungles better than us’ as Adler says.

Speaking of Adler, you turned towards him where he leaned against a thick great Banyan tree local to this country—the trunk thick just like the branches that spiral even to the floor. They were all actually hidden in the alcove of this tree, the space enough for them until they kept going to their destination. A beautiful yet haunting tree with its dark and smooth bark all around. You overheard once by Lee and other South Vietnam soldiers in base that these trees can have spirits inside. Dangerous they said for some of them. You don’t think these ‘spirits’ ever met Adler.

You could see Adler’s lips were up in amusement due to your predicament despite his war paint, raising his brow over his black shades when he noticed your gaze.

Before you even fully lifted your hand with the can of horrendous fruit cake, he shook his head at you, lips going even more into a smile.

“Don’t even try, kid. I fucking hate fruit cake myself,” he adjusted himself against the tree and the gun in his lap. The food of his MCI basically gone outside the crackers and canned pineapple. “Disgusting things. I don’t know who’s bright idea was it to have hard pieces of fruit and dry raisins in cake.”

That’s what you’re saying!

“Please, Adler. I gave you my cigs already, at least give me some of your pineapple?”

Sims laughed beside you, nudging your shoulder with his and shaking his head in disbelief.

“You think Doc is gonna give you some of his golden nectar away? Might as well have asked him to give his cigs along with his lighter.”

“Not happening, Bell.” Adler answered casually, finishing up his crackers and swiping his hands against his pants before moving to the can. “Besides, not like you smoke anyways. The cigs would just sit there pretty in the box if you don’t hand it to me. Unless you want to try to smoke again. It went well last time.”

“Didn’t she choke?” Singer teased around a mocking grin. It made his youthful face boyish and eyes bright. “Almost hacked out a lung didn’t you?”

Larson, who was quiet between Singer and Adler, spoke up. Already finished with his food since he’s been mostly keeping to himself. This is the first official mission he’s had since he got the news. Poor guy.

“I remember that,” Larson said softly, looking towards you and you just took all their teases. You blame Adler. “It was after the drinking game between Butcher and Hamilton. You wanted to see the big deal about why everyone liked the nicotine.”

“Only for Doc to come to the rescue after Bell took one of his cigs,” Sims ended with a shit eating grin. You’ll kill him. “Surprised you’re still here and alive. Not from just avoiding choking on nothing either, but that you took a cig from him.”

“You guys bet that I couldn’t. . .” You muttered with narrowed eyes towards Sims who shushed you.

“What was that?” Adler asked, cocking his head only for Sims and Singer to shake their heads animatedly. Adler hummed doubtfully but dropped it.

“Never mind that! Just—“ You groaned, putting your head on your hands as you still held the can of fruit cake. “You think I can eat this shitty cake? The ‘raisins’,” you said the word doubtfully, “could be actual pieces of shit for all I know. It could explain the taste. And how hard it can be.”

Singer and Sims snorted next to you, on both sides while Larson actually cracked a grin as you raised your head and told them strongly to think about it! Adler shook his head, watching the jungle periodically in the open spaces of the alcove which all of you did to be cautious but the fruit cake debacle must be solved.

You turned your eyes towards Sims, spotting his fruit cocktail. Only for his hand to block it.

“Nope.”

“Come on!” Sims shook his head, opening the can and eating the fruit cocktail and you scowled. “All of you are shitheads. Now I’m gonna have to eat this.”

“Damn straight you do,” Adler reaffirmed, stern yet you could spot he found your curse to all of them, him included, funny based on his arched brows. “No wasting MCI’s. You know the drill, Bell.”

You grunted unhappily at Adler, but you knew he was right. Which is why you wanted to trade in the first place. Food shouldn’t be wasted, no matter how heinous.

You took a spoonful after managing to cut into the hard cake, Sims laughing in your face and you could spot Larson keeping his smile at your disgruntled expression only for it to deepen when you took a bite.

You tried to distract yourself through bites by asking Adler how far away they were from their destination. Adler answering after they reach the next nearest foxhole which is two hours away, it will be another six till they reach where they need to be.

“Hue is a mess right now. With us additional reinforcements, we’re going to aim for stealth and go around and take out as much as we can.” Adler explained as they all attentively listened. They can’t mess up. “We’ve been able to give them a lot of damage last I heard, with one final push of us taking out some of them when they’re scrambling—we’ll consider the Battle of Hue a win. Of course, if there’s more than we can handle, we’ll stick to recon and head back around to tell command at the Hue MACV compound we have there.”

“And the civvies?” Larson asked.

“Don’t shoot ‘em.” Was all Adler said before they all moved to clean up and move on after you and Sims finished up.

You having to force to swallow and chew the cake and packing up the trash. They can’t leave anything else it can be used to track or find them.

Larson, Sims, and Singer were outside the alcove—waiting for you to finish as you smacked your lips as if that could take away the taste in your mouth as you grumbled. You moved to go out where Adler was as he stood by the opening to head out. You spotted something on the ground where he previously sat.

“You left something, sir,” you say, growing near to pick up the can. Huh, it’s not empty.

Adler turned his head over his shoulder, expression questioning.

“Whatcha mean, kid? That’s yours isn’t it?” You frowned, looking down at the can only for your eyes to widen. There was some pieces of pineapple left, a little less than half of the can gone but it’s something. He turned his head back as he muttered. “Don’t expect this to happen again. Not here to spoil you, Bell.”

“Don’t expect you to, sir.”

“Just pick up the trash and move it, kid.”

You grinned, knocking back the can and easily and quickly eating it. The juices spilling down your chin and neck but you didn’t care as you licked your lips. The taste of disgusting shit cake gone.

You packed the can quickly, swiping your chin with the back of your hand as the both of you walked to where the others were.

“Thanks,” you said to him softly.

“For telling you to pick up your trash?” Adler answered easily and you smiled knowingly but let it go.

Such a hard ass.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

The car ride was silent, passing street lights and empty cafe’s whizzing by and enlightening the car for a mere moment before it would be enveloped in darkness once more until the next light comes. You were staring out the window as they passed the streets of Berlin, the sounds of the wiper periodically occurring due to the light rain occurring. Not many people out at this time of night, nearing midnight unless you were a working girl or at the local bar. Some wisps of smoke remained in the car despite Adler on his side having his window slightly open. Your eyes watching as it moved lazily and glancing towards the quiet, relaxed man next to you before you would turn to look back out. Curious to see more of the city besides in the backstreets and being stealthy.

You didn’t see much last night after Volkov, you falling asleep in the car as Park drove you. You were too out of it when they arrived at the hotel, just absentmindedly listening and nodding along to Park’s directions and promptly knocking out once you reached your room on the bed. Only to awake once more at the alarm you or someone else must’ve set early in the morning.

You were focusing on that instead of the last time you were in the car with Adler.

“You’ll like where we’re going. Trust me.”

You took a sneaky glance towards the man once more, just as the man exhaled out a cloud of smoke that you watched. Enraptured in how it moved to and fro lithely, easily as your nose took in the smell before you glanced back at Adler, the side facing you being his ‘good’ side.

You wonder once more of his scar that accentuated this man’s beauty—all harsh lines that created a map that even now you wish to trace. For someone like this to earn the title America’s Monster, all styled wheat hair, suede shades, and an easy, wry tone—it should at least match the title.

Than again, you thought with faltering wax wings and of another—the fall of a devil with none. It was never about his looks was it?

“It’s a small price to pay.”

What does that make you?

“Alright, kid,” he says, taking out of your stupor as you stared fully at the man now. Smoke releasing out his mouth as he spoke, making you lower your gaze to it. “I’ll bite. What do you want to ask me? Must be a juicy question since you keep burning holes to the side of my face.”

Embarrassment colored your face, caught, as you quickly adjusted your gaze to straight ahead and instead watching raindrops going down the windshield.

“It’s nothing.”

“Mmm. For some reason, I can’t believe that. What did I say before?”

You said a lot of things before, you thought with a sad frown. But you knew what he was referring to. Always wants to be the one you tell all your worries and concerns to. Before, you thought it was genuine. Now, you just see it as how it was—a cloak to observe and make sure if your true real memories came or if they needed to give you a dose.

“Your scar,” you began as he tilted his head towards you, hair moving as he did so as he kept his one hand casually to the wheel while the other was leaning against his door. You didn’t get distracted by it. “How’d you get it? There’s a story there.”

“Scar?” He asked in false confusion, still stoic outside of a cocked brow and making your lips twitch up despite yourself. Before motioning with his cigarette hand towards his face. “You mean this? Is it noticeable?” At your unamused huff though your nose, he continued. “Back in ‘73, I was nearly killed by a tiger while on a mission in Malaysia. But human ingenuity still runs the animal kingdom.” He turned his head towards you when they reached a light, his brows rising above his glasses. “You ever been attacked by a tiger, Bell?”

You stared at him in disbelief before releasing a surprised snort. The nerve of this man.

“You’re lying. That’s not from a tiger, it would be worse than that. You and your need to tell stories. . .” You mumbled the last part, you don’t think he heard that.

“Didn’t know you were an expert on tigers, Bell. Got a degree in zoology under your belt that I don’t know about? What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Because—“ That’s not what you said last time. You stopped, a realization going through you. Because of course he’ll lie to you about this too. Worse kind of crowd, your ass. “If you got that from a tiger than I must be a distant cousin of Joseph Stalin.”

“That unbelievable, huh?” He said more than asked, amused at your sarcasm as you looked at him with crossed arms as the car moved once more. “Fine. I’ll give. I jumped on a roof in Calcutta back in ‘75 while chasing a Soviet agent. The jump was successful . . . the landing not so much. Advice: always know where the utility poles are.” At your deadpanned look when he glanced at you, his lips quirked into a humored smirk. “That one didn’t hit the mark for you either? Was it the jump?”

You shook your head, a small groan leaving your lips as you leaned your head against the dashboard.

“Anybody who’s anybody can jump from roof to roof,” you replied, staring at your leather boots—forehead pressed against the dashboard and maintains it there even as they turned or there was a bump. “You know that. Just like you know a utility pole would’ve either choked you or electrocuted you. At least with electrocution it’d be more scars throughout instead of that part of your face.”

“Watch the cockiness, kid.” He reprimanded but than, “You’re right though. Roof jumps the standard when it comes to our work. But you’re really confident that I don’t have any other scars throughout the rest of me. Know something I don’t?” Your eyes darted towards him, wide and as they passed a street light, you noticed he was peering down at you in turn. Your skin burned as you looked away and mumbled no while staring at your very interesting shoes. The man hummed. “How about this. You know what they say about kids falling in with a bad crowd? Let’s just say I fell in with the worst part of a bad crowd. The girl wasn’t worth it, believe me.”

At your silence, he glanced at you.

“What? That’s the one you believe?” You gave a small shrug. When he first told you that, you didn’t ask any more questions. It sounded personal the way he said it. Truthful. Adler always lies. “What makes this one believable? The lack of a specific date or are you a sucker for romance, Bell?”

You threw him a meaningful look up at him. Not feeling the need to say anything. At his arched brow though, you opened your mouth.

“Your ex-wife.” His brow flattened at that. Something shifting in the air. “Was she worth it?”

A beat. A passing of street lights. The pitter patter of rain against the car.

“A romantic than. . .Never saw you as the type.” At your probing stare and his silence, you turned away. Seeing he won’t answer—too private. You’re a fool to even think he will say the truth at all. “Once.” You blinked, turning your eyes back up and lifting your head in attention as America’s Monster—a secret, a peek through the shades, a hint of something real besides the cold, black abyss, what are you Russell Adler—spoke ever so softly. A sardonic turn of chapped lips. “You can say we had a difference of opinion. Not much to it.”

There was more but you will take what you can get.

You thought of the memories you had, of friends you once believed were your own. Of little moments in beaches and camps and villages when all was calm and not chaotic with smell of burnt bodies or blood or how it feels to stab a bayonet through someone’s chest in defense. You could see them as clearly as any other memory you had. And feel it.

You thought of the poor soldier leaving a war only to get into another one in his home country.

“Larson. . .” you murmured, Adler hearing as he released a dry chuckle.

“Sort of like Larson. The poor bastard.” You watched him take a deep inhale, the cigarette almost a near stub. And you realize when that happens, he’s stressed. As stressed as a man like him could be. You’ve seen him in many moments in Vietnam. Not always the best. You wonder if that was another reason for your death. Adler exhaled a puff before having to throw the cigarette out the window with a flick, putting the window all the way up. “I don’t see why you’re so interested either way. Scars aren’t that impressive. Unless you always had a habit about asking for one’s ugly mug.”

You darted up at his eyes, shaded as they were, trying to sense if he was being serious.

Because he couldn’t be.

Not this man, with strikes of lightning upon his face as if Zeus did it himself. All power. Grace. Strength. Different from your barely functioning wax wings as you struggle to fly. Only able to watch and hope a falling demon crashes to its death—all harsh and slow.

What are you, Russell Adler?

Perhaps he is Zeus himself.

Perhaps how Adler got his scar was harsh retribution to control lightning, his scars even mimic those powerful strikes across his face. All strength. And all beauty. Those who survived struck by lightning always have the most beautiful marks upon their skin indicating their survival—you are selfishly bias though. Even now, you admit with self-loathing. The rougher marks on his face is all grace and you could wonder how he truly got it instead of fantasizing him as a God Of Lightning who mistook his own power upon his face.

It would only make sense. Both beautiful men, although you’ve never met the Greek God.

They both also have a habit of hurting women.

He’s all of that, while you could only hope with your squeaky levers and ropes and feathered wax can go up to said Mount Olympus where he was. A naïveté where you think you’re close with tired and sore arms only to be burnt away. A free fall down to the abyss.

Good pups stay in their place.

“You’re joking.” You accuse seriously as you stared up at him, your head against the dashboard but tilted slightly in his direction.

Adler tilted his head down slightly to stare down at you, a brow arched at your look.

“About?”

You didn’t say anything.

Just meaningfully looked up at him through your lashes, staring at his jaw that was strong as if Michaelengelo carefully carved it himself with minute details with his trusted mallet and chisel until dawn with a candle on his head due to determined ingenuity. Observing how the collar of his shirt did not do a good job in hiding his neck, his favorite jacket failing in that too so you could take it in. Not one strand was mussed or out of place on his head, all volume and thickness as your gloved hand twitched by your knee.

You than met the shades, in turn meeting his eyes as your heart seemed to pound as he stared down at you back. A look passing through his eyes too quick for you to catch, besides what you saw in your peripherals. The hand on the wheel tightening an iota as the air shifted to something heavier, blood pumping as your mind thought of reasons as to why which you pushed away. Impossible.

You licked your dry lips nervously, Adler’s expression seeming to tense when his eyes followed the action. You turned away, looking back down except to play with the ends of your gloves, neck hot and spreading.

You still felt his stare before he focused back onto the road.

They didn’t speak the rest of the ride.

Foolish dog should mind their eyes.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▷ ▷ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You couldn’t sleep much when you reached your room, another floor to Adler’s and near Park’s, and not just due to how you were more one with the night.

You opened Pandora’s Box—something forbidden coming out into the world as you thought back to the meaningful stare between you and Adler in the car. That even the thought makes your heart pound once more. Your brain further muddling and melting away the more you spend time alone with that man. Whether in being caught in his pace or just the mere thought of what he’s done.

Although, you suppose you already opened a Pandora’s Box. Possibly even darker than the one you discovered.

If the monster in man’s skin was Zeus—he created the box in the first place. Except he wished to hide it from you and keep you willfully ignorant instead of tease you to release envy and greed and disease out in the world. You managed to open it—and it was none of those things, it was cruel and inhumane to you all the same.

Take this needle and follow the story, do the trick.

If only that box stayed close.

Zeus always did like to confuse.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ◁ ◁ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You let out a heavy sigh, hand mussing your hair harshly as you chewed your lips, staring at the paper on the center table of the safehouse.

“Having trouble?”

You slightly jumped as Adler, who was quiet in the seat across and to the side of you, spoke. Looking mildly curious at all the papers on your side of the table before taking a small puff. You sighed, looking back down at the paper in slight frustration.

“Just a little. Whoever made this code created a difficult to encrypt language. I have some of the numbers though already, it’s just the rest. I’ve never seen such an elaborate one before. . .” You said in thought as you tapped your pen against the paper. “I have to say, it’s impressive.”

Adler hummed idly, taking note of your words.

“Perhaps you need a sort of incentive.”

You moved your eyes up in confusion, wondering what that could mean. Only to stop once you noticed what was in his opposite hand not holding his precious cigarette.

It was a picture—a polaroid specifically. But not just any one. You stared at your oldest friend in the picture, taken on the rooftops in East Berlin, his face tilted down and a level of focus and calm as he stared down below in his crouched position. The lights behind him giving him an ethereal glow, a mix of white, red, and blue as those shades on his face gave a little glint due to it.

You reached a hand to see it better only for Adler to click his tongue, taking the picture back closer to him with a shake of his head.

“Sorry, kid. Can’t exactly be incentive if I gave it to you easily like that. You seem eager though.” Adler arched a brow at you. “Any reason as to why?”

Your cheeks prickle as you cursed in your mind. Why didn’t you get the film from the red room or Park yourself? You thought of a T.V. turning on it’s own, flashbacks to what happened in Vietnam on the screen, the memory sobering you up. You still. . .haven’t told Adler about that. He’ll call you soft and put you solely in the safehouse with no more field missions. You hate his disappointment. Still though, you recall you were determined to get it. A quick in and out but than. . . something? Something. . . happened?

At your brows furrowing deeply, Adler’s own brows furrowed and you answered his silent question as you touched your head.

“Sorry. . . That coma I woke up from still has done a number on me.”

“You did get shot twice, Bell. You have issues with always trying to push me out the way, even back in ‘Nam.” You smiled at his tease. You did have a protective streak. But only for certain people—even if you knew Adler could handle himself, you would do what you must for him if he told you an order. Or even go against it if it involved him doing something stupid like a sacrificial mission. You’d follow him anywhere. “Don’t think too much on it. I’m sure the rest of your memories will come back soon enough. Just remember in the end that mission was a success.”

“Whatever it takes, sir.” You said, a phrase that he spoke often back in the war. Which you would repeat. You would always do what you must.

Adler’s expression shadowed as he nodded once.

“Whatever it takes,” he glanced at the polaroid in his hand, it facing him as he seemed to stare in thought before turning his gaze towards you. Your expression curious as you wondered what he was thinking before he turned the picture back towards you, brow up inquisitively. “Well, Bell? Don’t think you’re going to dodge the question as to why you want this? I went through a bit of trouble to let Park let me have it. She’s stubborn when she wants to be.”

You slightly scowled at him, feeling the blush once more.

You hated when he did that blasted rhyme!

You also had a sense there was more to him asking Park but you were too busy trying to defend yourself. Not think about their daily quiet pissing match.

“I like taking pictures. It’s an art form. Every artist would like to have their own paintings,” you said, tone even and you wanted to pat yourself in the back for that.

Adler rose both his brows now.

“Really?” The way he said it made it seem he doubted you. “Not a photographer. Was never really interested in art either so maybe that’s why I can’t relate. Still. It’s a good picture, my good side and all. Can see why you would want it.”

You restrained yourself from saying what you wanted like last time. That basically you would want that picture even if it was on his scarred side.

“It had good lighting.” You added as Adler stared at his picture, cigarette being held in his lips. He turned back towards you, glasses slightly falling from his nose and you could see a hint of his eyes. A tease. You stared. His lips curved around the cigarrette, amused and indulging. You panicked. “I-It does!”

“I didn’t say anything. But say, the sooner you finish that code, the sooner you can have this—“ he paused, waving the hand with the polaroid”—piece of art of yours. Never thought I would say that but I guess there’s a first for everything.” He pocketed the picture back in his jacket, blowing his smoke away from you before he stood up and headed towards Sims only to add over his shoulder, “I’ll leave you to it. I know you got this.”

You stared as he walked over, the belief he had in you with those words moving around in your brain. You moved back to work, pointedly ignoring Lazar’s whistle—him able to hear some of what occurred no doubt. You threw him an impolite gesture that only made the man laugh as you focused on the code. It took you three tiring and near sleepless nights, but you finished. Adler handing you the photo in between his fingers as you took it gently, trying not to crinkle the photo further as Adler watched you behind his shades as you held the photo, taking a thoughtful inhale of his cigarette before looking away. Looking around their surroundings outside the safehouse. Their break time spot.

“You sure got talent, kid.”

“You should know by now to not doubt me, Russ,” you replied, your eyes still on the photo between your gloved hands. “Only the best of the best with you. Just took me longer than I thought.”

“Watch that confidence doesn’t blind you one day, Bell.”

“You first.”

He chuckled at that, breathless and surprised making you stare up with wide eyes. The sound rare. Adler tapped the end of his cigarette, ash going on the ground as he stared towards the doors of the safehouse, an echo of a smile on his face. Barely there. Others wouldn’t see it, but you’ve known Adler for years.

“You got guts. And spunk. Met my match with you it seems, kid. You know me too well. . .” Adler took a puff, deep as he trailed off, shades dark.

“That’s not a bad thing,” you say, lowering the photo in your hand. “Sims does too. Can’t exactly get rid of us that easy.”

“Sims has been through many missions with me, but not as much as you.” Adler explained calmly. “Some of those, I’m taking to my grave. If I breathe a word about it, I’ll have a bunch of people up my ass.”

You sense as if this was like a conversation from years ago, on a beach. Quiet and away from everyone in the camp, just the two of you talking about realities and soldiers. You think about that memory a lot.

You recall some of the memories he’s referring to.

You half shrugged, pocketing the photo in your bomber jacket as you leaned against the wall of the safehouse.

“What can you do? It was necessary. Besides, I can’t exactly tell anyone else either, Adler. Brutality is sometimes necessary. That’s all I know.” You paused, tilting your head and throwing a teasing smirk his way to get him out this weird mood. “Don’t tell me America’s Monster actually cares what other people say?”

Adler deeply exhaled in exasperation, smoke coming out his nose.

“Don’t tease me, Bell. You know I can’t give a shit.”

“Than what’s the problem? You do what needs to be done. Make the tough calls. You know. . . you know I understand right?” You asked carefully. “I’m with you when it comes to doing what we must. To protect what we need to.”

Adler was silent. He never answered.

You didn’t push him. Didn’t feel the need.

You understood him the best.

Only monsters can see one another, after all.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▌▌✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Monsters, you’ve come to know, are also a certain kind of creature that takes what they need.

To want. Selfish and uncaring and you should be concerned at how easily you take in those traits.

Too busy to worry about regular people—the mundane. There are bigger things to be focused on than other’s opinions on what actions are necessary.

You and Adler can give not one fuck about others. They know what they are and will accept the titles from others with a nod.

What you’re coming to find however, that even with monsters, there’s different breeds.

You basically reiterated to him that what he did with you was necessary. Needed. Sound brutality at its finest. You feel like you can’t even argue.

What is better—loyalty to a country or to people?

You’re trapped.

I have a problem. This story is going to be long when it was supposed to be short. Oh well.

Also, hot take maybe, I love both Soft!Adler and Dark!Adler so let’s just have both sides of him shall we? Wait…is Adler truly soft here? Who knows.

DM me if you wish to be tagged please. ^////^

Tags:

@quizzyisdone @zulema117-blog @efingart @pinkpinkboota @nuclear-boston @lifeisthemoments @jintana-critical @eclectriccanoeseven @hurricanesyd-blog @parkeepingparker @moonchild365-blog @aurora-windu @imperfectophelia @dvesinthewind @holy-crap-i-am-russlle-adler @i-will-give-you-love @adlerboi @preciouslilcreature @saynotohydra @mayaibnlaahad @smokeywhalee @0shuni0-blog @multi-fandom-imagine @littlepotatowizard @direwolfspostsrandomshit @darlingor @collinnmckinley @kayalect @nikkibell1937 @fuzzybonkeggsopera @ppfedd @bro0kebxrter @actuallyilya @stayb1ack @frankwoodsmalewife @tr1ppylady @danjer

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babbushka · 4 years ago

Text

Gentle & Soft

(not my gif, i’m very sorry i can’t find credit for it)

007!Reader x Bond Villain!Kylo Ren

3.4k; Cw for injury, hurt/comfort, NSFW (body worship, oral sex, PIV sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation)

Also available on AO3!

----------------------------

It happens too quickly, all at once.

Your vision blacks out as your body hits the ground, and you hold on to the last lingering sensations before slipping under. Your memories retain nothing but this moment -- the picture of Kylo Ren’s face twisted with rage as he turns his fury in the form of guns and bullets into the side of an enemy helicopter, the sound of the world whipped in a frenzy around you wind howling in your ear, the feeling of pain as it throbs through your back.

Of all of it, the look on Kylo’s face when he watches you fall, has to be the most striking, but then it’s over, as your eyes close and you soak in the dark warmth of unconsciousness.

You’d been sent to infiltrate the deepest bowels of the Royal Exhibition Building to prevent the theft of a priceless painting which hung in the adjacent museum’s halls. For the first time in a long time, Kylo Ren wasn’t the suspected target, suspected thief, and for that you were thankful – Ren was far too smart, had far too many backup plans should anything go array.

Whoever this newcomer was, this new criminal on the scene, they weren’t nearly as refined, weren’t nearly as polished. Which is how you found yourself running at top speed after this henchman, a man with shockingly red hair hidden behind a black knit cap, bolting across the roof of the building. You know he’s not the main target, the mastermind they call Snoke is hiding behind the scenes, but you figure this redhead is worth enough to bring in for questioning, if only you can catch him.

“You won’t get away!” You shout after him, and he throws you a glance over his shoulder as he jumps from roof to roof, you right on his heels.

He’s quick, but you’re quicker, and though he can climb well, so can you. You chase him, blood pounding pounding pounding in your ears as you shoot a grappling hook out of the gun on your artillery belt, your black bodysuit doing wonders to protect you from the rough texture of the brick architecture as you climb climb climb after him.

You’re close, so close, there’s nowhere for him to go you, think with a sense of victory as you force him to climb the spire of the dome, when suddenly out of nowhere, twin helicopters race towards you. You recognize neither of their designs, but you assume that one must be for you, and one must be for him, this redhead.

Their choppers whip up the wind fiercely, and the force of it knocks both you and the redhead henchman off your feet. You both lose your footing and fall down the sloped walls of the dome, your hands scraping and scrabbling for purchase.

“Shit! Shit – no!” You grunt out in pain as your body slams into the side of the building, your built-in climbing harness yanking you around from the tension of the grappling hook as it works to prevent you from falling entirely.

You manage to grab a hold of the rim of the dome as the helicopters circle you and the henchman where he too is dangling by his own rope rig. The sound is deafening, the circulating whoosh of the chopper ringing in your ear, especially as it comes closer. Mi6 couldn’t have had better timing you think, until you spare a frantic glance to the man hanging out of the helicopter and extending his hand out to you, and you recognize him as no one from the Agency at all.

“Agent – climb in!” Kylo shouts over the noise, headphones protecting his ears as he reaches for you.

“What – ? Fuck!” Your eyes are wide, not expecting to see him whatsoever – until the world becomes a blur, the grappling hook unlatches from its purchase.

The force of the winds from the chopper are enough to make your arms lose their purchase too, leaving your body to fall fall fall down the side of the building.

And as you scream, everything goes black.

----------------------------

There’s no way of knowing, how long you’re out for. It could have been days, a week, or a month for all you knew. At first, you’re not entirely sure you’re alive, not entirely sure you’ve made it – but then you remember you’ve fallen off of higher buildings, have scaled more dangerous heights, and really, you think as you wince and blink awake, it’ll take more than a three-hundred foot fall to take you out.

But you do blink awake, and you are thankful for that, even more thankful when you see you are not in a hospital, but instead in a grand master bedroom suite. Around you the world is a soft and diffused white, a product of curtains around the canopy bed frame made of sheer mosquito netting, light reflecting off the crisp white sheets made of a beautifully high quality thread count.

That same light forms around the silhouette of a man you’d recognize anywhere, a man brought to your side by the sounds of subtle shifting around as you try your best to sit up. Kylo gently pushes you back down to rest for a while longer, ducking through the canopy curtains and sitting on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Thank god you’re awake.” He whispers, afraid to talk too loud, not wanting to startle you. “How do you feel?”

You’re not so delicate though, and you sit up anyway, lean against the headboard for support. Surprisingly, you’re not sore at all, and when you look down at your limbs you don’t see any bruising. You must have been knocked out for a long time then. Still, you groan because you’re just so emotionally drained, even after just waking up.

“Like I got hit by a truck.” You reply honestly, cracking your stiff joints in a way that has Kylo wincing, the popping loud in the quiet of the room, the room in…You look at Kylo and frown ever so slightly, curious enough to ask, “Where am I?”

That’s a gamble, the asking. Usually he doesn’t tell you, on the occasions where he kidnaps you and whisks you away to some remote place. He seems to be in a good enough mood to tell you this time though, because he runs his fingers through your hair and sighs, divulges this secret information rather easily.

“My house in Tasmania, it was the closest place I could take you after the Melbourne fiasco.” He sounds remorseful, which you find interesting. In the years that you’ve known Kylo, you’ve never seen him so glum, not even when you locked him up in prison.

You slide back under the covers enough so that you can shuffle over, patting the recently vacated space in the massive bed, an invitation for him to join you. It’s then that you realize you’re wearing a silk nightgown and nothing else, and if this were any other man, you’d be embarrassed at the realization that he dressed you. However, this is not any other man, this is, for all intents and purposes, your man, and he happily sheds the layers of his suit until he’s wearing nothing but his boxers and sock garters, and slides under the covers with you.

“Are you angry with me?” Kylo has to ask, as he pulls you gently to rest against his chest, your face tucked underneath his chin.

“Hm? No, not angry.” You huff out a little laugh, because you really should be. You should be furious with him, for compromising your mission that way – except…he hadn’t compromised it, not really. He had saved you, and for that, “I’m grateful.”

Kylo pulls away a little to look at you for that comment, that admission. Poor thing must have been worrying about that the entire time you were knocked out, you realize. You give him a soft smile, as your hand comes up to cup his scarred cheek.

He turns his face into your palm and kisses the pads of your fingers, his eyes closed, lashes thick and soft as they brush against your wrist when he kisses down down down your arm.

“I didn’t think we’d ever be here, like this.” You whisper, growing fond, sentimental. The more you think about it, the happier you are that you’re here with him, with him and not in some stuffy hospital with Mi6. You’re not so sure they would have come to your rescue the way that Kylo had, the way Kylo always seems to do.

“Me neither, but I’m glad we are. I’m glad we’re here together.” Kylo agrees.

You’re both so soft in this moment, so soft spoken, as the morning light spills into the bedroom. Nothing but beautiful hazy white fills the large expanse, and the domesticity of it all doesn’t slip past you. You can’t help but let a dry laugh exhale through your nose as he combs your hair back with his hands, wraps pieces of it around his fingers.

“We’re not very good at this whole, sworn enemies thing, are we?” You hum, letting your eyes close, letting yourself bask in the beauty of being alive, of being alive with him.

“Well that’s not my fault.” Kylo mutters, making you crack open an eye again and look at him expectantly. “It isn’t! It’s all yours.”

“Me?” You laugh, making him roll over on top of you, cage your body underneath his massive arms.

“Yes, you, and you know, sometimes I can’t believe it was you. Out of everyone, you just had to steal my heart.” He presses a wet kiss to your neck, right where your jaw meets your throat, and the sudden sensation tickles enough that you’re laughing louder, your lungs filling properly with air as you gasp down giggles as he continues, “That’s very rude, you know. To steal.”

“Please don’t say you love me.” You grin, a cheeky teasing playful thing you do back and forth. Of course he loves you, of course he does. Just as you love him, wholly and completely, stupidly, dangerously.

But it’s against the rules to say it, so neither of you do.

Neither of you have to.

“Who says I was going to?” Kylo teases back, and you grin at him, smiling at the way his dimples and his teeth light up his whole face, gorgeous body backlit by the sun as the birds of the Tasmanian jungle begin to chirp, the world waking up around you.

“You were always more than just a one night stand to me.” You admit softly, your own way of saying thank you.

“Let me kiss you, please? I want to kiss every inch of your body before I fuck you.” He replies, his own way of saying you’re welcome.

You nod, and Kylo sets to work, dropping open mouthed kisses all across your skin.

He means it when he says every inch, means it when he gathers you in his arms, when he pushes your nightgown over your head, leaving your body naked against the sheets, when he trails his lips up and down your skin. He lavishes love onto your chest and stomach, your hips, your arms and shoulders. He sighs against your legs, whispers sweet nothings into the divot of your ankle and the arch of your feet, the crook of your elbows and knees.

He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, until it’s all you can do to let your legs fall apart, all you can do to ask him to kiss you there, invite him to lick up through your pussy, for it’s been neglected for far too long. And he goes eagerly, tenderly holds your thighs and presses them apart so he can suck your clit into his mouth.

“Oh!” You sigh happily, biting at your lower lip. Your hands twist in the white cotton sheets, in his hair, in the pillowcase, in everything and anything you can get in your grasp as you lift your hips up up up to better rock against his mouth. His tongue is blazing hot and thick and firm and and and, you sigh and gasp out your pleasure a litany of nothing but his name, nothing but,

“Kylo! Kylo please, please, more.” You plead, and he only hums in response.

He hears you, but it does nothing to make him go quicker, rougher. No, he won’t be rough with you now, not so soon after the injury your body has sustained. This sex will be gentle and soft, will be healing, for your body and your soul. He licks and sucks up your cunt, hands kneading in your thighs, moaning into your pussy as he tastes you for the first time in what has to be ages.

“Oh shit I’m – I’m -- !” You come once, a blissful wash of pleasure over your nerves, relaxing you and making you shudder out, trembling softly, sweetly.

Kylo wastes little time, doesn’t let you recover, before he’s climbing back up your body. Pulling out his cock from his boxers, he rolls you over onto your stomach, your face nestled against the downy-feather pillows as he takes one from the other side of the bed and props your hips up with it.

“I’ve missed this, missed you.” He groans, his cock feels like heaven as he rubs the head of it through your slicked up folds, your come shining and sticky on your inner thighs as it drips onto the sheets. He catches one oozing drip with his cock and pushes it back into you with a groan, using your come as lubricant to thrust all the way inside.

“I’m here, I’m here with you, oh Kylo, yes, please – ” Your body is pliant and relaxed enough for him to have no trouble fitting that massive cock of his in your pussy, a feeling of fullness so wonderful that you gasp and moan just because you love the sensation of it, especially so soon after coming.

He’s just as affected, because now that your back is exposed to him, he kisses all across your shoulder blades. One of his hands rests near yours to hold himself up, and he twines his fingers through yours, the other smoothing around to cup your lower stomach where he fucks you.

It’s not really fucking, no, something this sweet is making love, but all the same, there’s a throbbing pulsing rush of pleasure as he pulls out and thrusts back in, over and over again, kissing at your open mouth, jaw dropped from how good he feels.

“Mm, oh, oh fuck,” Your eyes are closed and little tears cling to your lashes and Kylo comes in you right there because the way the light refracts off your tears, little rainbows scattered across the pillow is too much for him to bear, you’re too beautiful, he’s struck with awe from it.

Luckily, he thrusts and rolls his hips against your ass enough while he comes comes comes inside you to massage at your clit and get you coming again, your ach arching and toes curling from it, head lifting off the pillow in the shock of pleasure. He clamps his teeth down into the crook of your neck and pulls your hips as flush against his own as he can, to make sure not a single drop of his come leaks out, not wanting any of it to go to waste.

“Kylo, please I can’t – I can’t – I need – ” You wriggle in his grip, whining and whimpering as his cock throbs inside you, hips continuing to seek out pleasure even as he gives you everything he has, empties himself inside you. The head of his cock nudges ever so gently back and forth over your gspot, again and again and again, and your elbows cave in, shoulders pinching back as you collapse down against the mattress from a third orgasm, one that takes you both by surprise.

“Ffffuck, thank you, thank you Kylo.” Your pussy clenches and flutters around Kylo’s cock as tears slip down your cheek, and Kylo shushes you softly as he licks them up, massaging and kneading at your breasts, your nipples rubbing against the sheets and spurring your orgasm on longer.

It’s a beautiful sight, and eventually Kylo pulls out, rolls onto his back with a heavy sigh, pulls you to rest onto his chest.

Your hands are pleasure weak, but you lift one anyway to begin drawing little patterns on his chest. You wonder if he would guess what they are, but neither of you have the mental capacity for guessing games at the moment. So instead, you simply trace over his broad and firm chest, over all the scars.

You also throw one of your legs over his waist, and he takes the opportunity to lazily finger you, wanting to keep your nerves alight with pleasure. He slowly, carefully, pushes your mixed come back into your pussy where it begins to slide out, smears it up to your clit. The tip of his finger swirls around the throbbing little bundle of nerves, and he wonders if he can get you to come again just like this.

“I don’t want to go, I don’t want to leave you yet.” You hiccup out a moan, something soft and gentle as he kisses your eyelids.

“You don’t have to, not for a while. We’re completely off the radar, you could stay as long as you’d like. Mi6 won’t know, they won’t find you.” He whispers, as if they’re listening anyway, his fingers massaging your clit some more, smiling against your cheek with the way your breathing is shallow, the way you gulp down air.

“I have to go back eventually, they need me. I’ve got to rid the word of evil criminal masterminds.” You moan, angry with reality, angry with the world. You don’t want to go, you don’t, not when he takes care of you so well, when he lets you be here, when he touches you like this.

“That’s okay, because you know what?” He asks as he thrusts his fingers back into your pussy, thumb still working on your clit as your leg curls around him, as you grind against his muscular thigh, wanting to be closer.

“What?” You gasp, before your entire body tenses up for a moment again, again again again as more pleasure coaxes more tears and more blinding white hot stars to dance behind your eyes as you come on his fingers, “Oh – oh Kylo just a little more – just – yes!”

Kylo grins and just holds you close, holds you through it, his cock hard again from the sounds you make, and he fits it so nicely inside your pussy. He doesn’t thrust, not this time, doesn’t do anything really, just plugs you up with it, a warm reassuring weight inside and out.

He kisses your cheek, kisses your face all over, the corner of your mouth forehead temple nose, anything he can reach as you tremble underneath him.

“One day we’ll retire from these lives we’ve built, and we can be together and not have to worry about anything, maybe you’ll still like me enough to want to be mine, maybe we can build a family together. Raise little evil geniuses and world class spies and terrorize the world with them.” He jokes, except it’s not a joke, not really.

You can hear the truth in his deep voice, baritone thick and beautiful, like syrup in the jungle morning.

“I didn’t take you to be the settling down type.” Is all you say, and he breaks into a handsome grin.

“I wasn’t, not until I met you.” He rolls his eyes dramatically, as if you’re the one constantly being obtuse, “Now, all I can think about is simply holding you.”

It’s his way of saying it, of saying he loves you, you know. Everything about this, everything about the way he treats you is him saying it.

“I’d let you do a lot more than just hold me.” You reply, making him smile.

Because he knows, that as you tuck yourself against him and breathe in time, heartbeats synching up together, that it’s your way of saying it back.

----------------------------

Tagging some pals! If you’d like to be added or taken off the taglist please just give me a shout :) @steeevienicks @heldcaptivebychaos @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler @whiskey-bumblebee @magikevalynn @tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov @helloimindelaware @autumnlovesadam @peterisparker @goodboybensolo @the-marvelatic @miasera @emily-strange @proxyfoxy @disaster-rose @hazydespair @yosoymuyloca @1-800-choke-that-snoke @ktellmeastory @anongirl007 @zimmerxman @okk--maaan @flapjacques @aweirdlookingtree @callmemania-pls @theold-ultraviolence @og-selene @schopenhauerdeathsquad @nekonaomitard @feminine-machinegun @contesa-lui-alucard

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren/you #kylo ren smut #kylo ren angst #kylo ren fluff #james bond au #bond au #summer wine au #kylo ren fanfic #x reader #reader insert #adam driver character #my writing #kylo ren fanfiction

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sunaddicted · 8 years ago

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One Of A Kind 1/2 (00q, Omega!Bond)

One Of A Kind 1/2 Q wasn't a morning person, no matter that he was woken up at the weirdest hours more often than not because of the job, but still his mind seemed to have tuned his biological watch to naturally restart his body around 6:00 am if a preset alarm hadn't done that already. Though, he had to admit that waking up surrounded by James' scent and warmth was nicer and did a lot to tone down his grumpiness. Sleepily, Q rubbed his cheek over the omega's chest, covering himself in his scent: it had grown slightly sweeter in the past few days and, with only a month left to James' heat, it wasn't the only subtle change Q had noticed happening to the other man's body: if he let his hand wander to caress the underside of James' abs, he could feel a softness that usually wasn't there and that made his protective streak ramp up almost absurdly; his chest had grown more sensitive to caresses and kisses, something Q unashamedly exploited in the bedroom to bring his lover to a higher plane of pleasure; James' body produced slick almost without any stimulation and Q knew that it happened also when he wasn't aroused, which made James grumble about having to go around with spare pants to quickly change. Q too had gone off of his suppressants, since they had decided to bond after a year of dating and finally moving in together, but he didn't dare to even mention the itchy feeling that came from the hormones finally rushing freely through his bloodstream - he didn't fancy having his head bitten off by his cranky omega. And he honestly acknowledged that his symptoms weren't that bad, if compared to what James was going through as his body slowly prepared for the heat. Warm fingers slipped in his messy curls, carefully petting them away from his face and Q let his lips curl in a soft smile even as he kept his eyes closed and didn't utter a word, enjoying the quiet and sweet moment. James too wasn't a morning person and he was not-so-secretly glad that he and Q were compatible in that way: in fact, even if Q's mind wouldn't let him rest as much as he would have liked, he understood how deeply he disliked waking up early and let him sleep the mornings away if he had no work to do - which was almost every day during downtime in between missions. That morning, Q had accidentally woken him up with rubbing his stubbly cheek against his chest which was growing annoyingly sensitive; he wasn't particularly upset about that, since Q wasn't the kind of person who started chattering as soon as his brain turned on and that meant he'd be able to fall back asleep. Though, the cats that had been slumbering at the bottom of the mattress, immediately perked up at the barest hint of conscious movement and purred loudly as they climbed up to butt their heads against them in a clear plea for breakfast. To be honest, James had never particularly been fond of cats - what with having spent his childhood in Skyfall around hunting dogs and their puppies - especially since their inborn evil streak led them to shed their hair on his suits; but Q and the cats came together as a package deal and James had welcomed them all in his flat, which no more was depressingly bare. Q sleepily pushed the cats away, hand awkwardly flying through the air, and the little beasts relented - for the moment. James had had enough time to study their behavioural patterns to know that they'd come back soon, louder and more indignant than before - Turing, a ginger beast that weighted far more than it should have, in particular. James gently brushed the pad of his thumb over Q's forehead, as if trying to smoothen a crease that wasn't there "They're like the plague, they always come back" he murmured, voice twisted with light humour. Q swatted James' stomach half-heartedly, too tired to gather the strength to hit him properly "Don't compare my babies to the plague" he mumbled, voice rough with sleep and an endearing pout blossoming on his lips. James couldn't help chuckling a little at the sight, his thumb swiping down Q's cheek before going to absentmindedly rub over his lower lip that, sometime during the previous day, Q had gnawed upon almost to the bleeding point; it didn't happen often, but it was a sign that a stressful day had taken its toll on the usually cool Quartermaster - it also explained the.. vigour Q had displayed the night before. Not that James minded, not at all: the closer he got to his heat, the more appreciated fast and hard sex was - his patience for long teasing momentarily cut really short. Q puckered his lips, sleepily kissing the pad of James' thumb before giving it a little nip - just like his cats would do to get rid of the cuddles once they had enough of them. He just wanted to trick his brain into sleeping some more, since he was expected at work only in the early afternoon - even lightly dozing half-curled over James' warm body would be enough. Then, both of their mobiles went off. *** "For how long has he been screeching like that?" Bill inquired, a wince on his face: not even the heavy wooden door of M's office was enough to completely muffle the shouting coming from inside the room "He's got a pair of lungs on him that I wasn't aware about" Bill added, shrugging at his own useless observation. James just offered a grimace in answer: Q had been in a foul mood since they had received a text about an upcoming mission for which they had been both required. Normally, Q was more collected than that; in fact, even if he didn't like the idea of sending his lover in the most dangerous situations often armed with just a gun, he didn't act like an alpha might when his omega risked being harmed - that was what James loved about Q the most: he didn't coddle him, nor was he annoyingly overprotective and possessive. "I'm close to my heat" the agent added in the end, leaning against the wall. Bill frowned: it certainly wasn't the first time that James was off of his suppressants to give his body a rest from the chemicals before being called for a mission "You can take suppressants" he pointed out, not really seeing the problem. "Q requested bonding leave for the next month" "Oh" Bill's mind took a couple of seconds to realise what the words meant "You were going to bond, I see. Well, that and Q being off of suppressants too explains a lot about... That" he waved towards M's door. James hummed in agreement, not particularly keen on discussing his private life so out in the open. Plus, he was feeling a little guilty: he wasn't as enraged as Q was about the possibility of skipping the heat and having to wait for his body to stabilise again before bonding; he liked the idea of having more time to be completely sure that he was ready for bonding - even if he definitely wanted to bond with Q, James wouldn't mind having a couple of months more to let the idea fully settle in his brain. "I'm sorry" James frowned at his colleague "What for?" "For your bonding" Bill was sorry that, once again, the agent had to give up on a little piece of normal life because of the job. Q's rage was completely understandable and Bill would have tried to find another solution, if only the mission didn't require the experience of a seasoned agent such as James. "We can do it when I come back" James answered, dismissing the unnecessary apology: that was the nature of his work, unpredictable - and Q knew it as much as he did "He's making this into a bigger deal only because he's a little high on hormones" As soon as the words left James' throat, the door opened with a loud bang and Q stormed out of the office, body wired with nervous energy and his scent so strong and menacing that, had James been a typical omega, it would have reduced him to whiny mess on the floor. "007, come and pick up your equipment" Q snarled, barely even looking at his lover and Tanner as he angrily strode to his branch. Shame and anger were curdling in his veins: he wasn't used to his alpha nature taking the wheel and Q knew that he had probably offended James too with his little scene - it wasn't as if Q had any say in whether James wanted to accept a mission or not and, certainly, an approaching heat wouldn't have been a reason for the omega to turn down a job. Sighing and breathing deeply in an attempt at calming himself down, Q entered his branch and valiantly tried to ignore the minions who stared at him because of the rumors already circulating and the aggressive scent hanging around him like a poisonous mist. He could smell James following closely behind so, Q ducked in his office in order to have a little privacy. While Q darkened the glass walls of his office, James closed the door behind his back and sat down on the battered couch the Quartermaster slept on quite often. Q sighed, going behind his desk to rifle in his drawers and cabinets to find everything he needed to put together the agent's kit "I'm sorry" James was honestly getting tired already to hear those words; his stomach twisted a little when they came from Q, though: what if it wasn't an apology but only the start for a break up? Maybe the alpha, usually so understanding and patient, had gotten fed up with his being so.. atypical "It's okay" "No, it's not" Q slipped a radio and a earwig in the usual case, gently putting it in the foam "I know that this is the nature of our jobs - I shouldn't have lost it like that" he apologised, looking down at his fingers fiddling nervously with the equipment before he slipped a hand in his pocket and put on his desk a bottle of suppressants that he had grabbed from home when they had been called into MI6; he had known that James was going to accept the mission and, for no reason in the world, Q would let his omega go to Medical when there was no real necessity. James walked up to the alpha, arms going around Q to hold him close to his chest "I know it's frustrating" he murmured against his temple, lips brushing the soft skin. Q smiled "Not worse than having me falling asleep on any available surface, I suppose" he turned his head slightly to the side, tilting it up to kiss James' cheek "Let's get to work"

#my writing #my fic #00q #007 #james bond #Q #quartermaster #omegaverse #omega bond #alpha q #bonding #domestic fluff #fluff and angst #sleepy cuddles

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roguenewsdao · 7 years ago

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British Empire’s Russiagate Operation In Open Disarray

The FBI continues to face harsh questions for its negligent role in the Florida school massacre. Florida’s Gov. Rick Scott insisted again on Monday that the FBI must

"immediately release all details surrounding the Bureau’s failure to act on a tip it received, including all details and protocols. Last week, I called on Director Wray to resign, and the FBI should release all records involving this terrible error. People in Washington tend to want to investigate, hold hearings and put off what truly needs to be done. Instead, someone needs to be held accountable,"

he stated.

Sen. Bill Cassidy (R-LA) told Breitbart news on Saturday that Congress should hold hearings on FBI failures in the Florida massacre.

"Here we have the FBI, not with subtle findings, but with horrible findings of a young man who the police have been called on 39 different occasions, posting YouTube videos. Someone within a month or even sooner reporting to the FBI that he was prone to danger, fellow students at the school identifying him as someone who was incredibly troubled, and it wasn’t followed up on. Why not? And how systemic is that issue? I think that’s something Congress should be interested in."

In the midst of this fight, The Atlantic published an article reviewing the FBI’s "ruthless tactics of espionage and falsification ... deployed against civil-rights and Black Power activists" and every black-owned book store in the country. Joshua Clark Davis’s Feb. 19th article, "The FBI’s War on Black-Owned Bookstores," tells the story of the "highly invasive" surveillance of black-owned book stores ordered by J. Edgar Hoover on Oct. 9, 1968. Hoover’s one-page memo ordered every FBI office

"to determine the identities of the owners; whether it is a front for any group or foreign interest; whether individuals affiliated with the store engage in extremist activities; the number, type, and source of books and material on sale; the store’s financial condition; its clientele; and whether it is used as a headquarters or meeting place."

Nunes Opens Next Flank against Steele Dossier: Questions for All

Feb. 20, 2018 (EIRNS)—House Intelligence Committee Chair Devin Nunes today sent multiple current and former officials from the intelligence community, law enforcement and State Department, a list of 10 questions about their knowledge and use of the MI6 agent Christopher “Steele dossier, funded by the Democratic National Committee and Hillary for America (Clinton campaign) and used in a Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) application targetting Carter Page,” several media reported this morning.

Nunes gave the recipients until March 2 to voluntarily provide complete written answers, or face a subpoena. Various press were given a copy of the letter with the names redacted of the 11 to 24 officials receiving it (accounts vary), but James Comey, James Clapper, John Brennan, Victoria Nuland and Jonathan Winer have been named as recipients.

Nunes is zeroing in on when and how the Steele memo was shopped around within the Obama administration and to the press. The questions get to the heart of the act of information warfare carried out by British intelligence through the Obama administration against the United States during the 2016 U.S. Presidential campaign—and lay the basis for indictments against U.S. officials participating in this British act of war. The officials must answer:

“When and how did you first become aware of any of the information contained in the Steele dossier?

“In what form(s) was the information in the Steele dossier presented to you? By whom? (Please describe each instance)

“Who did you share this information with? When? In what form? (Please describe each instance)

“What official actions did you take as a result of receiving the information contained in the Steele dossier?

“Did you convene any meetings with the intelligence community and/or law enforcement communities as a result of the information contained in the Steele dossier?

“When did you first learn or come to believe that the Steele dossier was funded by a Democrat-aligned entity?

“When did you first learn or come to believe that the Steele dossier was funded by the Democratic National Committee (DNC) and/or Hillary for America (Clinton campaign)?

“When did you first become aware that the Steele dossier was used to obtain a FISA order on Carter Page?

“Was President Obama briefed on any information contained in the dossier prior to January 5, 2017?

Did you discuss the information contained in the Steele dossier with any reporters or other representatives of the media? If so, who and when?”

The Mueller Dossier Revisited: How the British and Obama Diddled the United States by Barbara Boyd [email protected]

On September 29, 2017, LaRouchePAC published the original version of the dossier Robert Mueller is An Amoral Legal Assassin: He Will Do His Job If You Let Him. To date, that dossier, now being circulated nation-wide by LaRouchePAC, represents the most thorough and the most accurate assessment as to the character of Robert Mueller, as well as the utterly fraudulent nature of the ongoing treasonous effort to bring down the Trump Presidency.

This present report is an update to that dossier, with the emphasis on the dramatic significance of two documents which were released in the first days of February. The first is the House Intelligence document known as the “Nunes Memo,” and the second is the—by far more substantive—un-redacted document authored by Senators Grassley and Graham.

We shall examine the importance of these two documents in depth, as well as significant other developments which flow from the impact of their release. Before doing so, however, it is of critical importance that a matter of primary overriding concern be re-stated here, at the beginning of this update.

The British Origin of the Coup

Nothing of any truth about the current assault on President Trump can be understood, unless one addresses the question of why all of this is occurring, along with the subsumed question of “cui bono?” This requires transcending the world of partisan politics and inside-the-beltway gossip, and the necessity for examining the strategic setting and implications surrounding the coup plot.

Everything that is now transpiring must be viewed within that truthful strategic context. During the eight years of the Obama presidency, and the prior Administration of George W. Bush, a profound shift in U.S. strategic policy took place. Obama, working closely with—and often under the direction of—the British, committed the United States to enforcing a global policy of Anglo-American hegemonism, what is sometimes referred to as a “uni-polar world.” This took the form of escalating provocations against Russia, and more recently the targeting of China. Currently, this imperial Anglo-American faction is determined to thwart China’s gigantic Belt and Road Initiative infrastructure development of Eurasia, Africa, Southwest Asia (the Middle East), and nations in Central and South America. This largest infrastructure development project in human history now involves more than 68 countries.

For the British, such geo-political designs are nothing new. British strategic policy since before World War I has been based on geopolitics. Under the theories of Lord Halford Mackinder, completely embraced by today’s Anglo-American foreign policy establishment, control of Eurasia dictates strategic mastery of the world. China is now establishing vast transportation and other infrastructure throughout Eurasia, a region which Anglo-American policy up until now had reserved as a primitive looting ground.

Unable to break from imperial axioms and join China’s offer of win-win cooperation, let alone offer a viable alternative model which promotes the general welfare, Barack Obama and the British adopted a strategy of geopolitical containment and provocation, a New Cold War policy. It began with the Anglo-American coup in Ukraine in 2014, pushing NATO right up to Russia’s borders, and involves hostile encirclement strategies against both Russia and China, employing color revolutions, economic sanctions, overt economic, cyber, and information warfare, provocative military maneuvers, development of new nuclear and other warfare capacities, and military support of insurgents and terrorists in states friendly and/or trading with Russia or China, such as Iran and Syria. All of this, of course, threatens the extinction of the human race.

In November 2016, it was the intention of Obama and the British that Hillary Clinton would continue this dangerous geo-political gambit. Donald Trump’s victory in that election stopped this mad drive to war just as it was turning very hot.

As we detailed in our original Mueller dossier, “Russiagate,”—which has roiled our nation since Summer 2016, has driven most members of Congress into a McCarthyite insanity so severe that you can literally picture them braying at the Moon at night, and has critically undermined Donald Trump’s presidency—has absolutely nothing to do with any hostile action by Russia against the United States. Its origins are to be found in the desperation of the British and American establishments, among individuals and interests who are frantic to re-impose the strategic outlook of the Obama Administration.

The Nunes Memo: Unraveling a British Fraud

Let us begin by examining the so-called Nunes Memo, a four page document by U.S. Representative Devin Nunes (R-Calif.), which was released to the public Feb. 2, 2018. That Memo concerns the documented fraud on the FISA court by the DOJ and FBI in obtaining surveillance of Trump foreign policy volunteer Carter Page. That fraud involved the DOJ/FBI use of a dirty dossier claiming ties between Trump and Russia, a dossier which was authored by British intelligence agent Christopher Steele. Steele, we now know, was working simultaneously for the FBI, MI6, and Hillary Clinton’s campaign, while providing salacious and bogus copy about Russia and Trump to numerous U.S. journalists. Steele told the journalists he was working with the FBI and other intelligence agencies to wrap his fake cash-for-trash allegations in an aura of legitimacy. He told the FBI he was not speaking to journalists and was reporting to the FBI out of a sense of duty and patriotism.

According to the Nunes Memo, the Obama Justice Department and James Comey’s FBI affirmatively misrepresented what they knew about Christopher Steele’s operation to the FISA Court and, instead, touted his credibility in order to obtain surveillance of a U.S. citizen, Carter Page, and the Trump campaign. The Page FBI surveillance was then used to feed a media frenzy based on a magical mystery tour of mainstream media by British Intelligence Agent Steele. The big lie generated, that Trump was a compromised agent of Vladimir Putin, became the theme of the last months of Hillary Clinton’s presidential campaign, Clinton having paid for the bogus claim lock, stock, and barrel, with Obama’s CIA Director John Brennan fanning the British lie.

Steele’s dirty dossier was not only used to abuse the FISA law and attempt to swing an American election. It was and is the centerpiece of the entire FBI counterintelligence investigation of Trump and Russia—the subject that Robert Mueller is supposedly diligently investigating.

Far from being a competent intelligence product, Steele’s composite of 17 memos written from June through December 2016, is a British fraud, a hoax, an amateurish hodgepodge created and deployed for British strategic purposes. After more than 20 months of intense investigation, few, if any of its claims have panned out. Even former FBI Director James Comey admits that its claims are “salacious and unverified.” To take but one example, the claim that Donald Trump romped with Russian prostitutes in Moscow on a bed used once by the Obamas (Steele’s most depraved and salacious offering), appears to be the product of a drunken bar conversation between two wannabe hustlers, Sergei Millian and George Papadopoulos. Their conversation was overheard by another human being who reported it to Steele, or, alternatively, their conversation was recorded on a wire.

Another drunken conversation involving Papadopoulos, this one with the Australian Ambassador to London, Alexander Downer, in which Papadopoulos claims that the Russians have thousands of Clinton emails, was used by the FBI to corroborate Steele’s claims about Russian hacking.

Earlier, in 2001, it was another “sexed up” dossier that led to the Iraq War tragedy, that one based on the incredible and unbelievable claims of a hustler, the informant called “Curve Ball.” Analysts in both the CIA and MI6 doubted Curveball’s charges concerning Iraq’s possession of weapons of mass destruction, but those doubts were ignored by an Anglo-American chain of command bent on war. Following the war, both the UK and the U.S.A. finally admitted that Curveball was a con man and that his story, leading to tens of thousands of unnecessary deaths and the birth of ISIS, was all a convenient lie, a hoax—information warfare at its finest.

It is no accident that the man intimately involved in concocting the 2001 sexed-up Iraq dossier, Sir Richard Dearlove, also counseled Christopher Steele regarding Steele’s dirty dossier against Donald Trump, according to The Washington Post. Dearlove, the former head of Britain’s MI6, is portrayed as a mentor to both Christopher Steele and his business partner, Chris Burroughs. The former British Ambassador to Russia, Sir Andrew Wood, is an associate of Steele and Burrows in their London-based firm, Orbis Business Intelligence, Ltd.

This British effort has been portrayed, accurately, as a “full-spectrum [british] information [warfare] operation”1 aimed at determining the result of the 2016 American election, and, following the election, poisoning the early Trump presidency and setting the stage for Trump’s impeachment. Since the techniques for such an operation are well known by spies on both sides of the Atlantic, there is little room to argue that the participating American intelligence personages working with Steele were somehow “duped” by his actions. Everything points to those in contact with Steele as being witting participants in a conspiracy against the United States. This is why the British government is prepared to invoke Britain’s “Official Secrets Act” to prevent Christopher Steele from testifying in a libel lawsuit brought against him in London by Alexander Gubarev, and in a similar suit brought against the publication BuzzFeed in the United States. The seventeenth Memo of Steele’s dirty dossier, published by BuzzFeed, falsely accuses Gubarev of conducting cyber-attacks against the Democratic Party and others on behalf of the Russian government.

Two Senators Continue the Case

Following the release of the “Nunes Memo” Feb. 2, and apoplectic fits over the nation’s airways and in its newspapers from those caught up in the British operation, Senators Chuck Grassley and Lindsey Graham secured a less-redacted version of their criminal referral of Christopher Steele to the United States Department of Justice for prosecution, releasing it Feb. 8. The criminal referral provides even more facts about the astonishing fraud on the FISA Court conducted by former Deputy Attorney General Sally Yates, James Comey and others. Senators Graham and Grassley believe that Steele lied to the FBI about his contacts with the media. Lying to the FBI, 18 U.S.C. § 1001 false statements, is the same felony Michael Flynn was charged with.

According to a February 11 article by Paul Sperry in Real Clear Investigations, the House Intelligence Committee will follow its explosive Nunes Memo detailing FBI and Justice Department’s illegalities while pimping Steele’s British product to the U.S. FISA Court, with a memo tracing the use of Steele’s dirty dossier by the State Department. That will be followed by a memo detailing the relationship of various Obama Administration intelligence officials to the Steele Dossier, including Leon Panetta, Susan Rice, Samantha Power, CIA chief John Brennan, and Director of National Intelligence James Clapper. Sperry, citing a House Intelligence Committee source, notes that the Committee is particularly focused on Brennan, who “did more than anyone to promulgate the dirty dossier” and then lied to Congress about what he knew about it. It is anticipated that this investigation will lead, inexorably, to the center of the conspiracy against Trump which was hatched by the British in collusion with the Obama White House.

As our Mueller Dossier emphasizes, Christopher Steele’s dirty dossier is the foundational document for the coup being run against the President. Tracing its use, like a red dye, provides a reasonably complete map of the criminal conspiracy at issue. It leads from MI6 to the Obama White House. It involves the heads of the Obama national security apparatus including the FBI, the CIA, the DNI, the NSA, the Justice Department, the Department of Defense and the State Department and the Russian and Eurasian desks of all of these agencies. It involves practically everyone who ran the coup in Ukraine. It also obviously involves the Hillary Clinton Campaign and those forming her shadow government had she won the election. All of these people intersect British intelligence and Christopher Steele. All of the activities of British intelligence in the 2016 election need to be put under an investigative microscope. As for the journalists who worked with Steele—they have, for years, had a difficult time demonstrating that they are anything other than paid stenographers and copy editors for a wide variety of intelligence agencies.

In our Mueller dossier, we focus on the motive for this crime, without which the list of names and events now under scrutiny loses its meaning. By their own report, in the Guardian, the British war against Donald Trump began in 2014-2015, with concerns about alleged Trump’s “softness” on Russia based on years of surveillance of Trump by MI6 and GCHQ. The Guardian claims that Robert Hannigan, the former head of GCHQ, was the principal whistleblower concerning an alleged Trump/Russia connection in 2015 based on GCHQ surveillance.

Whether such surveillance actually occurred, or whether the leak to the Guardian was designed to provide Christopher Steele’s shoddy claims the aura of gravitas for information warfare purposes, remains an open question. According to the Guardian account, Hannigan personally passed the evidence compiled by the GCHQ on Trump and Russia to CIA Director John Brennan in June 2016. It was then that Brennan launched a "major inter-agency investigation," which included both the FBI and DNI James Clapper.

Steele's first memo was completed June 20, 2016, and his first meeting with an FBI official was July 5, just weeks before Trump received the Republican nomination. Steele, a source for the FBI in Eurasian organized crime investigations and the FIFA (Fédération Internationale de Football Association) criminal prosecution, met with Michael Gaeta, then working for the FBI liaison office in Rome. Gaeta and Steele had collaborated previously on Eurasian organized crime investigations. Under FBI procedures, Gaeta became the case agent, overseeing Steele in operations against Trump beginning in September of 2016, operations which the FBI, at least on paper, controlled.

The Recent Weeks’ Developments: Big Problems for the Coup

Beginning in December 2017, the seemingly relentless drumbeat of the coup against the President began to slow. First, Justice Department Inspector General Michael Horowitz allowed the publication of text messages exchanged between Peter Strzok, the number two agent in the FBI’s Counterintelligence Division in charge of both Russiagate and the Clinton email investigation, and Lisa Page, his mistress, an FBI attorney. Both had served on Robert Mueller’s team until the summer of 2017, when the Inspector General briefed Mueller and Deputy Attorney General Rod Rosenstein that text messages exchanged between them revealed bias against Donald Trump.

Horowitz is examining the FBI’s handling of the Clinton email case as well as the actions of former FBI Deputy Director Andrew McCabe. McCabe did not recuse himself from the Clinton email case after his wife had received a campaign contribution in the hundreds of thousands of dollars from Clinton moneybags, then Virginia Governor Terry McAuliffe. McCabe attended the meeting which arranged the contribution and then campaigned for his wife Jill as she sought a seat in the Virginia State Senate, a big problem under the Hatch Act and normal FBI procedures. It is claimed by FBI agents working the Clinton email case that McCabe stalled key steps in the Clinton email investigation. It is widely reported that a briefing from Horowitz about his preliminary findings was the major reason McCabe was abruptly fired from the FBI Jan. 29.

The texts between Strzok and Page reveal a seething anti-Trump bias and speak of an “insurance policy” against Trump emanating from a meeting in Andy McCabe’s office. It is widely assumed that the “insurance policy” was the Trump/Russia investigation, although Strzok had previously texted Page that there was “no there, there” with respect to claims that Donald Trump colluded with Russia.

This was followed by revelations that Mueller’s lead prosecutor, the ethically challenged Andrew Weissman, had met with reporters to discuss the case against former Trump campaign manager Paul Manafort, well prior to Manafort’s indictment. This is hardly the untraceable leaking for which Mueller is famous, and contravenes both Justice Department and ethical rules. As reported in our Mueller dossier, Weissman is famous for inventing new rules for criminal culpability, a practice he used throughout the Enron cases and the Arthur Anderson prosecution resulting in stunning rebukes from federal judges and from the U.S. Supreme Court. Weissman’s fawning praise of former Deputy Attorney General Sally Yates for her grandstanding act of “resistance”—her refusal to defend the Trump Administration in court, which is the actual job of the Department of Justice—had also been revealed in December as the result of an FOIA lawsuit.

On Feb. 2, Devin Nunes, the Chair of the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence, released his committee's memo regarding the FBI and Department of Justice use of the Steele dossier in surveillance requests to the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court regarding Trump volunteer foreign policy advisor Carter Page. On Feb. 6, Senators Grassley and Graham released a redacted version of their referral of Christopher Steele to the Department of Justice for criminal prosecution, providing further details of the shocking FBI/DOJ fraud on the Foreign Intelligence Court.

Christopher Steele: Con-Man Extraordinaire

In using the Steele dossier in the first, October 21, 2016 FISA application for surveillance of Page, the FBI/DOJ officials, including James Comey and former Deputy Attorney General Sally Yates, left the fact that Steele’s work had been entirely paid for by the Clinton Campaign and the Democratic National Committee to a non-specific footnote referencing some generic “political” origin.

The FBI also attached a Yahoo News article by Michael Isikoff to its FISA application concerning Page. The FBI affirmatively told the Court what Steele had apparently told them, that he only shared his work with Fusion GPS and the FBI, not the news media. This created the highly misleading impression that Isikoff’s article independently validated Steele’s allegations, which otherwise were uncorroborated, when, in fact, Isikoff’s article was based on a briefing by Steele himself. Moreover, Steele had already briefed the Washington Post, The New York Times, CNN, and The New Yorker, in addition to Isikoff, at the time of the October 21, 2016 initial application to the FISA Court, for surveillance of Carter Page. Steele had also briefed David Corn of Mother Jones in October.

According to the Graham/Grassley account, when Corn published his Mother Jones article on October 31, it was clear to the FBI that Steele had lied to them about contacts with the news media. His informant status was terminated, but the FBI kept in contact with him through a very high-ranking back channel in the U.S. Department of Justice, Deputy Associate Attorney General Bruce Ohr. Ohr’s wife, Nellie Ohr, worked for Steele’s U.S. business partner, Fusion GPS, which, with Steele, was heavily funded by the Clinton Campaign and the DNC for opposition research against Donald Trump. Steele confided to Ohr that he would do “anything” to prevent the election of Donald Trump, a fact which the Justice Department never revealed to the FISA court.

When the FBI/DOJ returned to the FISA Court in January 2017 to extend the Page surveillance, it engaged in yet another affirmative misrepresentation to the Court. While disclosing that Steele’s informant relationship had been terminated because of his contacts with the news media, the DOJ/ FBI claimed to the Court that Steele only talked to the media in anger when the Clinton email investigation was reopened, and the Trump investigation seemed stalled.

As Byron York notes in his excellent analysis for the Washington Examiner, the whole point of the “Chris-was-angry-so-he-talked-to-the-press story was to allow the FBI to claim that Steele’s pre-anger work—the dossier—was entirely credible.” In the renewal application, the FBI again affirmatively asserted that it did not believe that Steele was the source of Isikoff’s Sept. 23 article (which would, of course, call the bona fides of the entire FISA application into question).

Page has claimed publicly that he regularly briefed both the FBI and CIA about his dealings in Russia. According to the FBI, Page was targeted for recruitment by two Russian spies in 2013 who were subsequently prosecuted by the FBI. Page served as an FBI source in that investigation, during which the Russians repeatedly characterized Page as an “idiot” and not worth their time. The FBI cleared Carter Page of any wrongdoing in 2015 concerning the Russian spies. Yet the same FBI, knowing that the Russians considered Page an “idiot” and “not worth their time,” asked the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court to credit Christopher Steele’s absurd assertion that in a deal negotiated by Carter Page, the Russians offered Page and other Trump associates a 19% stake in the state-owned oil company Rosneft, if Trump lifted sanctions against Russia.

While the Democrats argue that Page’s prior Russian involvement provides a basis for probable cause, independent of Christopher Steele, for a FISA warrant, the fact that the FBI cleared him in that prior case destroys that claim. The fact that Page has never subsequently been charged or attracted any significant interest from Robert Mueller also should tell you that the whole exercise was for a different purpose—using the fact of the surveillance and investigation to provide credibility for Christopher Steele’s black British lies to the news media about Donald Trump. The media reports, in turn, were heavily utilized by the Clinton campaign to discredit Donald Trump.

The Carter Page scandal is only one aspect of FISA abuse by the Obama Administration and the FBI. According to a heavily redacted report from the FISA Court itself released in April 2017, there were repeated and escalating abuses of FISA by Obama’s FBI and Justice Department. In December, Obama and crew substantially loosened the restrictions on receipt of raw surveillance intercepts, providing a cover and a defense to the leakers who attacked the Trump transition.

And Now, the State Department

Nunes, Grassley, and Graham have made very clear that the next target of their investigation of the use of the dirty British dossier will be the U.S. State Department. One target already exposed is Jonathan Winer, the Obama State Department's special envoy to Libya. Winer, a long-time number two to John Kerry, dating from Kerry’s Senate days, is a significant anti-Putin fanatic who says that he has collaborated with Christopher Steele since 2009-2010, the point at which Steele went into private business in Britain, and the point at which Glenn Simpson founded Fusion GPS and began partnering with Steele here in the United States. Winer, Steele, and Simpson were in the business of selling intelligence—most of which centered on Russia—to private clients.

According to interviews of Steele by British journalist and foreign correspondent for the Guardian newspaper, Luke Harding, the lucrative part of this partnership involved providing dirt to competing Russian oligarchs and gangsters in their wars with one another. This, obviously, is a perfect cover for intelligence operations conducted by the British into Russia. This is also why it is such a fatal mistake to pursue the tragic red herring of partisan Republican cries that the “real collaboration” with the Russians occurred via the Clinton campaign because Christopher Steele had a relationship with such as Russian oligarch Oleg Deripaska. The real issue is war and peace, and the British are gambling on a strategy of tensions and possible war as the means to maintain their power. The British have been playing this game with Russian oligarchs, who have compromised themselves to the British, financially and otherwise, since before the collapse of the Soviet Union. It is the British, not the Russians, who have diddled the United States.

Christopher Steele, Jonathan Winer, Bruce Ohr, Glenn Simpson, former FBI Deputy Director Andrew McCabe, Lisa Page, Nellie Ohr, Roy Godson, Michael Gaeta, and other figures who have taken the stage as part of Russiagate, have all known each other and worked together for a very long time. This is the result of a long-term intelligence focus on Russia, coalescing in Barack Obama’s Transnational Organized Crime initiative focused on Eurasian organized crime. Lisa Page, former Trump Russiagate FBI case agent Peter Stzrok’s rabidly biased mistress, advanced her career as a result of the FBI’s investigation of Ukrainian oligarch Dmitry Firtash, a major investigation within this initiative. Christopher Steele’s previous relationships with the FBI stem from the Eurasian Organized Crime Strike Force and the FBI’s investigation of FIFA corruption.

Obama’s July 2011 National Security Policy named Transnational Organized Crime (TOC) as a threat to U.S. national security. The Obama Administration forged an alliance with the British to combat this “threat” and opened the funding spigots for projects in this area. Fighting TOC, is, in reality, simply another tool for attacking governments, institutions, and people whom the Anglo-Americans disfavor, rather than a serious effort against drugs, drug money laundering, or terrorism.

Jonathan Winer, who formerly played a leading role in John Kerry’s Senate investigations of drug money laundering by the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation (HSBC), Edmond Safra’s Bank of New York, and the Bank of Credit and Commerce International (BCCI) has, in his later incarnation, drifted to the British side. Winer is credited with coming up with the idea for the Magnitsky Act sanctions against Putin and Russia for his client, British intelligence operative Bill Browder, who is but one of many City of London operatives responsible for looting Russia following the collapse of the Soviet Union. Browder is a protégé of Edmond Safra.

Browder and Winer have collaborated ever since in a world-wide campaign to extend the Magnitsky sanctions against Putin and Russia as part of the new Cold War. Both Sen. John McCain (R-Ariz.) and Sen. Ben Cardin (D-Md.) were instrumental in this campaign. Both are in the dirty chain of people who have worked with Steele. McCain and McCain Institute director for Human Rights and Democracy, David Kramer, became the cutouts for December 2016 efforts to bring the entire Steele dossier forward into full public view through Buzzfeed. Cardin, according to word on the street, became a leak point from the State Department of classified dirty memos against both Russia and Trump, a leak campaign coordinated with Hillary Clinton and the Obama White House.

Glenn Simpson’s career has focused on gathering dirt against Putin. But, to illustrate the type of actual master employing him, he was also a critical piece in hedge fund monster Paul Singer’s destabilization attack on the government of Argentina.

From 2014-2016, Christopher Steele wrote over 100 memos concerning Russia and Ukraine which were provided to Victoria Nuland, the case officer for the Ukraine coup, and to Winer and Secretary of State John Kerry. Nuland has previously stated that U.S. agencies, all working with the National Endowment for Democracy, spent over $5 billion to organize the Ukraine coup which employed neo-Nazis as military shock troops. On Feb. 11, Nuland appeared pre-emptively on national television to deny any use of the Steele memos by the State Department, because doing so would violate the Hatch Act. However, Winer contradicted the suddenly virtuous Victoria in his account, stating that the memos were circulated by State, including Secretary of State John Kerry in the mix.

In addition, it is claimed that notorious Clinton dirty trickster Cody Shearer fed fabricated dirt on Russia and Trump to Steele through Winer. Steele, in turn, fed it to the FBI, as corroborative of Steele’s own feral musings.

Another State Department activity in the coup centers on the infamous June 2016 Trump Tower meeting. That meeting involved Donald Trump, Jr., Paul Manafort, Jared Kushner, and the Russian lawyer Natalia Veselnitskaya. According to the emails setting up the meeting, Veselnitskaya was carrying “dirt” on Hillary Clinton provided directly by the Russian government. In the Mueller dossier, we outlined at some length why this meeting bears all the trappings of a sting operation against the Trump campaign in pursuit of corroboration for the Steele dossier’s claims.

Veselnitskaya traveled to the United States on a highly unusual State Department business visa issued over the objections of the Justice Department. Robert Otto, the top U.S. intelligence guy on Russia, according to Foreign Policy magazine, works at the State Department’s Bureau of Intelligence and Research. Otto’s emails were hacked and posted on the internet. They show surveillance of Veselnitskaya’s house in Russia prior to her visit to Trump Tower. She claims her children had been threatened. The strange circumstances of this Russian lawyer’s visa, the surveillance of her house and her story about threats, suggest that she was under the control of Washington operatives with respect to the Trump Tower affair. Additional Otto emails show Otto working with David Kramer, former State Department coordinator for Project Democracy and the aide to John McCain who many believe leaked the Steele Memo to Buzzfeed.

Finally, there are the three Chalupa sisters: Irene at the State Department’s Radio Free Europe, Radio Liberty, Arlene the social media maven in the Ukraine coup, and Alexandra, who coordinated the Clinton Campaign’s work with Kiev’s intelligence agencies targeting Donald Trump and Paul Manafort. Alexandra claims to have been hacked directly by the Russians while working at the DNC for Clinton because of her research on Paul Manafort. She coordinated her Manafort work with none other than Yahoo’s Michael Isikoff.

How Does All This Affect Mueller?

I have characterized Robert Mueller as a modern day Grand Inquisitor, a Torquemada, and a Captain Ahab. But one thing is certain: Strait-laced Bobby Three Sticks, the font of prosecutorial rectitude portrayed by Washington D.C.’s public relations gurus, he most certainly is not. All of the names I have called him reference a ruthless amorality in service of those who have asked him to go to war for them, including the Bush family and other scions of the Anglo-American elite. As detailed in our Mueller Report, our experience with him is up close and personal. Mueller led the immoral, corrupt, and lawless prosecution of Lyndon LaRouche, in which the British and their American satraps called for LaRouche’s head on strategic and political policy grounds. As with Donald Trump, they framed LaRouche as a crazy Russian dupe. As with Trump, the primary weapon against LaRouche was an information warfare campaign, endlessly and relentlessly cycling fake news. And, as in the current targeting of President Trump, the British hand was all over the prosecution of LaRouche.

A classified letter from the British government to the FBI in 1982 demanded LaRouche’s head. An FBI investigation was launched under Executive Order 12333, in collaboration with the CIA, with full use of the nation’s counterintelligence authorities, including surveillance, infiltration, and black propaganda conducted through the news media. A media salon of propagandists from major publications working under the auspices of the Bush family, James Jesus Angleton, and CIA active measures operatives John Train and Walter Raymond, was assembled and pumped out a barrage of salacious lies about LaRouche over a two year period. This “weaponized” information warfare and media campaign was designed to set the stage for a “solution” to the LaRouche problem by either assassination or prosecution. That solution became operative Oct. 6, 1986, with a 400-person raid, under Robert Mueller’s direction, on the place where LaRouche was staying and the Leesburg, Virginia offices occupied by LaRouche’s associates. The assassination gambit failed, so Mueller prosecuted LaRouche in Boston for obstruction of justice. True to type, however, Mueller’s Boston prosecution of LaRouche collapsed in 1988 amid judicial findings of “systemic and institutional prosecutorial misconduct.”

The same lack of a moral compass and complete infidelity to the U.S. Constitution resulted in Mueller’s coverup of the British/Saudi murder of 3,000 Americans September 11, 2001, his coverup of the depredations of such drug and terrorist financing fronts as BCCI and Banca Nazionale de LaVoro (BNL), his coverup of the cocaine financing of the Bush Administration’s adventures in Central America, accomplished by pinning it all on Panama President Manuel Noriega, and his brutal prosecutions of other innocents like former biodefense researcher for the U.S. Army Dr. Steven Hatfill. Mueller bears much responsibility for the unconstitutional surveillance police state under which Americans have lived since September 11, 2001. We detail all of this in our original the Mueller dossier.

As many have pointed out, Mueller has multiple conflicts of interest. He was considered a mentor by the chief witness in his obstruction investigation, James Comey. He ran the FBI for years and has repeatedly stated that he will not countenance criticism of the Bureau. The man in the Department of Justice ultimately responsible for vetting Christopher Steele, John Carlin, is Robert Mueller’s former Chief of Staff.2

Alan Dershowitz and Andrew McCarthy have argued, persuasively, that Mueller’s investigation violates the Constitution and that Rod Rosenstein’s letter appointing him was ultra vires, that is, lacking in legal authority.

Under Article II, Sec. 2.2 of the U.S.Constitution, the President controls the Department of Justice, like it or not. The remedy for an abuse of the President’s authority is in an election, not turning the Justice Department into some sort of independent star chamber bereft of control. Moreover, independent counsels are appointed to investigate crimes, not allegations of collusion, which is a counterintelligence and national security function. The President has the authority under the Constitution to oversee all counterintelligence investigations and to fire anyone or to end their operations as he deems necessary. It is not only an authority, it is an obligation of the President of the United States.

Further, Rod Rosenstein’s grant of authority to Mueller in his appointment letter to investigate “any other crimes” he discovers in the course of his counterintelligence investigation is a de facto hunting license, which Congress sought to prevent when it refused to renew the Independent Counsel statute. The regulations under which Mueller is operating dictate that he is to investigate specific crimes where the Department of Justice is shown to have a conflict of interest.

This does not mean that Mueller should be “fired” by the President in any of the crazed scenarios floated by the moral and intellectual dead heads presently constituting the leadership of the formerly great party of Franklin Roosevelt and John F. Kennedy. It means that the Congress—and others with access to the classified documents and subpoena power—should pursue each of the stages of the criminal conspiracy against Donald Trump outlined in our Mueller dossier. The truth, finally exposed, will leave Mueller with nothing to investigate or prosecute. The truth, finally exposed, will put the actual criminals, like Christopher Steele, in the dock, as requested by Senators Grassley and Graham.

Cornered, Snarling Dogs

With the story of Russiagate falling apart, defenders of the FBI and CIA are resorting to blatant threats against the President. Philip Mudd, a former CIA officer whom Robert Mueller personally moved to the FBI to supervise Mueller’s huge informant program, told CNN in August 2017 that “this government is going to kill this guy,” referring to Trump. On Feb. 2, Mudd, now a CNN consultant, lashed out against the Nunes memo on CNN. Parroting the line of Congressional Democrats about the memo, he said it is an attack on the FBI’s “ability to conduct an investigation with integrity…. The FBI people are ticked.… You think you can intimidate the director? You better think again, Mr. President.” He added, “I know how the game is played. We're going to win.”

The media has gone out seeking reinforcements, as the pubic continues to reject Russiagate as a myth and a hoax. CNN just hired Josh Campbell, a former top aide to Comey, to join their team, while NBC television hired John Brennan to provide “commentary.”

Additionally, there is Laurence Tribe, Barack Obama’s Harvard law professor and a formerly respected Constitutional scholar. Tribe’s inner alien has been running loose ever since he succumbed to Trump derangement syndrome in November 2016. Now he has sallied forth to claim, on the pages of The New York Times, that Devin Nunes and other members of Congress are guilty of obstruction of justice because they undermined Robert Mueller’s phony investigation. As President Trump quipped, if you fight back, you are obstructing, in the opinion of those who have criminalized political debate.

What you are really hearing in the protests against Nunes and Grassley and against the unraveling of the Russiagate charade are the snarls of people who have been caught and are about to have to face the music. They can’t stop themselves because they are too exposed. In a Fox Television interview, Devin Nunes spoke of the serenity which comes from knowing that the facts and the law are on your side and about watching how cartoonish and comical those caught by you react to being exposed. The would-be emperors truly have no clothes.

But, the danger remains and will intensify. After all, a shift in the way the world has been run since the death of Franklin Roosevelt is at stake. Our so-called intelligence gurus rave about dictatorships while they surveil everyone and seek wholesale censorship of social media and news publications so that only one viewpoint impregnates the American mind. The Truth Ministry of George Orwell was fully implemented under George Bush and Barack Obama. The disclosures of recent weeks and the trail left by Christopher Steele create the potential for a real challenge to the London/Washington “narrative,” a real potential to drain the swamp.

As Devin Nunes said, we can win this fight because the facts and the truth are on our side. We can win this fight now, but we need you to join it. If you haven’t read the full Mueller dossier, please do so. While you are at it, read and endorse LaRouche PAC’s 2018 electoral platform, which can bring true prosperity back to our country. How to create such, I guarantee you, the British agents and coup participants do not have a clue. That is, ultimately, their fatal flaw. As the Chinese would say, they have lost the mandate of heaven.

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