#just saw a cyclone spawn right in front of me

[cinnabeat]

ok managed to find the workshop or whatever its called...i think heading to the poles is a bad idea when trying to land bc i think thats where the cyclones are concentrated? but they DO move around evidenced by the multiple cyclones passing through. incredibly greatful the nomai created these little pads to stand on when u get yoinked into space it makes it a little less scary although i have nothing to do in that minute whioe i wait to come back. there is also a giant fucking hurrican (?????) constantly in my eyesight so thats fun!

[route22ny]

The split-screen reality of the Trump era became all too real for Stephen Richer recently, and in a very literal way. On May 15, the Arizona election official — a Republican — was looking at two computer screens. On one was former President Trump’s claim that a key election database had been deleted, an “unbelievable election crime.” On the other screen was that very database, quite intact.

“Wow,” Richer tweeted. “This is unhinged. I’m literally looking at our voter registration database on my other screen. Right now.”

A couple of days later, he made his dismay even more explicit.

“What can we do here?” he asked in an interview with CNN. “This is tantamount to saying that the pencil sitting on my desk in front of me doesn’t exist.”

When Richer unseated a Democratic incumbent to become Maricopa County’s recorder in November, he thought he had won the most boring job in politics: maintaining the county’s voter files. But he had not reckoned on Trump, #StopTheSteal, and the most massive, audacious and successful propaganda campaign in modern American history — a campaign that has adapted Russian-style disinformation to U.S. politics with alarming success.

Fortunately, Richer and his local Republican colleagues have refused to be victimized. Instead, they have shown how to fight back.

Information warfare takes many forms, but it has an overarching goal: to divide, demoralize and disorient a political foe by manipulating the social and media environments. As Yuri Bezmenov, a Soviet intelligence defector, explained in a chilling 1983 interview, “What it basically means is to change the perception of reality of every American to such an extent that despite the abundance of information, no one is able to come to sensible conclusions in the interests of defending themselves, their family, their community and their country.”

One potent weapon of mass distraction is the “fire hose of falsehood,” a torrent of lies that aims not so much to persuade as to confuse and disorient. After Russian intelligence services got caught poisoning a defector and his daughter in the U.K. in 2018, the Russian government responded with a blizzard of mutually contradictory lies: Britain did it, Ukraine did it, a jealous lover did it, it was a suicide attempt and so on.

Another standard technique: conspiracy bootstrapping. First you spread a rumor. Then you demand an investigation. Failure to investigate just confirms the conspiracy, but so does an investigation with a negative finding. It’s a trap: either ignoring or debunking the conspiracy theory propagates it.

Those techniques are not new. Intelligence services and propaganda experts understand them well, and master propagandists like Josef Goebbels and Vladimir Putin have used them to powerful effect. What no one imagined was that they could be deployed by an American president and his party — and not against a foreign antagonist, but against the American public.

Pundits often say that, whatever his authoritarian tendencies, Trump is too inept and inattentive to have done much lasting damage to democracy. They are wrong: In the realm of information warfare, Trump is a genius-level innovator. It was he who figured out how to adapt Russia-style disinformation to the U.S. political environment, no mean accomplishment.

His use of the fire hose of falsehood was masterly. In his 2016 campaign, according to PolitiFact, 70% of his checkable claims were false or mostly false, a flood of untruths whose like had never been seen in a presidential campaign. He began his presidency by lying about the weather at his inauguration and also lying about the size of the crowd. By the time his presidency was over, Washington Post fact-checkers had clocked him at more than 30,000 confirmed falsehoods, with nearly half coming in his final year.

Similarly, he was a master of conspiracy bootstrapping. He retailed conspiracy theories and falsehoods on the grounds that a lot of people were saying them, although of course he was the sayer-in-chief. Truth and common decency need not apply; when a prominent cable news host criticized him, Trump peddled an absurd (and deeply cruel) lie that the host was suspected of murder.

The black arts of disinformation had the intended effect, at least from Trump’s point of view. They exacerbated the country’s divisions, commandeered the country’s attention, dominated his opponents, disoriented the media and helped him establish a cult of personality among followers who trusted no one else.

Still, he saved the worst for last. His pièce de résistance was the propaganda attack on the 2020 election. Beginning months before the election, he launched a drumbeat of unfounded attacks on mail-in voting. Pundits were puzzled. Many Republicans vote by mail, and the pandemic was especially dangerous to older voters who lean toward Trump; why discourage them from voting safely and conveniently?

But Trump was aiming for the post-election. He saw he was in electoral trouble. With the anti-mail campaign, he was organizing, priming, and testing an unprecedented propaganda network, ready for use if he lost.

And then came #StopTheSteal itself, a disinformation campaign whose likes the country had never witnessed. It mobilized the White House, Republican politicians, social media, conservative cable news and talk radio, frivolous litigation, and every other available channel to broadcast the message that the election was rigged. The Big Lie, as it was aptly named, failed to keep Trump in office, but it succeeded at its secondary goal: turning the Republican Party itself into a propaganda organ.

In April, only a fourth of Republicans believed Joe Biden was legitimately elected, and GOP politicians who insisted on truth were persona non grata.

With that as background, we can see more clearly what is going on right now in Maricopa County, Arizona’s largest. In 2020, Biden carried Maricopa by more than 45,000 votes, and with it the state. The result was certified by the Republican governor, double-checked twice by the county’s election officials, and then confirmed by two independent audits.

But in classic bootstrapping fashion, Trump and state Republican leaders seized on conspiracy theories, such as that phony ballots had been smuggled in from Asia, to launch an unnecessary recount conducted by an unqualified company whose boss had promoted uncorroborated charges of election fraud. In textbook fashion, the controversial recount drove yet more public attention to the conspiracy theories, engendering yet more suspicion and spawning me-too demands for partisan “audits” across the country.

The Arizona shenanigans will not change the outcome of the 2020 election, but that is not the point. A great propaganda campaign is cyclonic and self-propelled: once unleashed, it takes on a life of its own, heedless of any underlying reality. By that yardstick, the Arizona recount is a great propaganda campaign.

Americans have never been exposed to Russian-style disinformation tactics, at least not coming from a major political party and deployed on a national scale. We are thus dangerously vulnerable to them. What can we do? There are no quick or simple answers; developing immunity requires everything from more sophisticated journalism and better-designed social media platforms to teaching media literacy, and much more.

But here is where to start: Do what Stephen Richer did. Insist loudly, unwaveringly and bravely on calling out lies, even at the cost of partisan solidarity.

Once it became clear that the #StopTheSteal campaign was escalating instead of dying out, Richer went public with a no-holds-barred denunciation of what Trump and his enablers were up to. “Just stop indulging this,” he told CNN. “Stop giving space for lies.”

At his side were all five of the Maricopa County supervisors — four of whom are Republicans. Calling the recount a sham, a con, and a “spectacle that is harming all of us,” they declared they “stand united together to defend the Constitution and the republic in our opposition to the Big Lie. We ask everyone to join us in standing for truth.” They also wrote a blistering 14-page letter shredding the alt-audit in detail.

Propaganda attacks succeed when critical points of resistance collapse; they stumble when trusted voices expose lies for what they are. Individuals and small groups may not be able to shut down a propaganda campaign or neutralize all its effects, but they can strip away its facade of legitimacy and act as an anchor against runaway fabulism. That was why the Soviet Union struggled so mightily to silence Andrei Sakharov and other dissident voices, and why those voices ultimately brought down the evil empire.

And it is why Rep. Liz Cheney made a difference when she chose truthfulness over her job in the Republican congressional leadership. The day she was booted, she read her colleagues John 8:32: “You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free.” She could not end #StopTheSteal, but she could, and did, dent its credibility and embarrass Republicans whose equivocation and silence abetted the Big Lie.

In the same way, Richer and his colleagues in Arizona laid down a marker. They risked their political standing and even their personal safety (Richer has needed security protection) to expose their own party’s propaganda and shame those who spread it.

The deployment of Russian-style information warfare has allowed Trump and his authoritarian cult to usurp the Republican Party. And they are not finished. Now that they have succeeded with mass disinformation, it will be a fixture of American politics for years to come.

Countermeasures begin, though do not end, with personal integrity: standing up for facts and staying reality-based, whatever the short-term political costs. Think of it as epistemic patriotism, and pray for more of it, especially from Republicans.

***

The author, Jonathan Rauch, is a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution, and the author of “The Constitution of Knowledge: A Defense of Truth.”

https://www.nydailynews.com/opinion/ny-oped-arizona-dreaming-20210522-uyd6ivuv75hd5gof2geyd5adtu-story.html

[lothirielswanmarvel]

“Pure Sunshine.” (Sneak Peak)

Word Count: 1614

Love interest: Thor (+ Peter Quill love triangle)

Summary: This is the last sneak peak of EVANGELINE GREEN: THE ETERNAL HORIZON! Join Peter Quill in this sneak peak on a showdown with the force of nature. Entire story will be released soon, stay tuned! Feedback is still deeply appreciated. Your words matter, and I’d love to hear them.

—EVANGELINE GREEN, PLANET C-506—

I stood with awe as I stared at the deadly spawn of mother nature. Tornadoes were supposed to be small—at least compared to hurricanes and other natural disasters. It didn't feel small. Wind ripped at my clothes. It screamed in my ears as it threw dirt in my eyes.

Then the memories came.

I remembered sirens. Wailing sirens—I had heard them, a lifetime ago. Dammit! Where was it? It was a warning: terror had gnawed at my insides from the sound, anticipating the real terror I would feel later. And the twister itself; there was a sick familiarity to it…

My mouth opened and it was filled with stinging specs of dirt.

Texas! I'm from Texas. The impact of the name made my body jerk. That’s where the sirens were from.

The cyclone before me twisted up in the air. More ribbons of white were entwining around the base.

But there was more. So much more. As I stood there, watching, my body alive with adrenaline, I remembered him. The one with blond hair and the huge smile. The blue eyes that stood out like stars in the night; the accent that made my knees weak. Everything was so unique about him. He was like the cyclone; intense and breathtaking and stood out against the serene surroundings.

Thor.

I shook my head as I stared at the monstrosity attached to the sky, pounding on the earth. Thor could be dangerous; I never forgot that. I never forgot his job, his higher calling to protect the nine realms. I respected that part of him. But there was so much more to Thor than that. He was like a rare cloudless sky: that soft blue that stretched on and on, promising a perfect day. The warmth of the sun on your back on those days, like a comforting hug or caress. That was him, too. Pure sunshine. Strong and soft.

The wind was tugging harder. I planted my feet and channeled my power over gravity, feeling my limbs grow heavier, more attached to the ground. My hair was all around me; lifted up, to the side. I squinted to see through the chocolate brown mess. I picked a strand away from my face, even though I knew it wouldn't make a difference.

If I stayed like this, and the tornado ran over me, would I survive? No, stupid question. Even if I could still stand with my manipulation of gravity, there was still the force of wind and whatever was flying around in there. No. I wasn't that careless with my own life.

I peered through my eyelashes as the tornado inched closer. What if there was a flash of red inside? I slept with the God of Thunder—I remembered that much now. Would the winds tear me to bits? It all seemed too real. When Thor was in control, I didn't feel like the wind was trying to rip off my arms. My mouth didn't taste like dirt, and I could see more than this. This was too real. There was no Thor, no director of the symphony of catastrophe. There was no control. Just terror.

“ANGEL—!”

Only Thor could make me ignore my impending doom. Quill’s voice brought me back to reality. The wind was harsher. The air was venomous with dirt.

I searched to see where Peter was, only to feel his arms wrap around me tight from behind. His grip was strong. He took a step backwards, dragging me with him.

“Are you insane—? We gotta go! Come on—!” Peter spun me around, then took hold of my hand. We ran across the endless stretch of flat land. We chased the last tendrils of sunlight in the sky.

The wind carried away most of Peter’s words, but his tone and the tight grip he clasped my fingers with helped me put the pieces together.

“What were you thinking—? Shit! Shit shit shit! We should’ve never taken this job—! Keep running!”

I glanced down at his boots. It was hard to make them out as we ran, but his feet were bulkier with the jet boot attachments.

“What about your boots!” My throat hurt as I struggled to be heard over the wind.

“You wanna go airborne with that thing behind us? We’re better off on the ground,” The tail of Peter’s red coat flailed out behind him.

“It was just a suggestion!”

“Here’s a suggestion: don't stand in front of tornadoes trying to die!”

“I wasn't trying to die!” I snapped. Peter glanced at me longer than necessary. Only then did I realize that what he said was rhetorical.

Peter pointed with his other gloved hand. “There!”

The ground was starting to rise before us. Hope rose in my chest. It was a cave—sort of. More like a cliff, and we were at the bottom of it. The top jutted out just enough to throw shadows over the jagged wall, but it was the closest thing to shelter on this stupid flat planet.

“Come on!”

I wanted to glanced behind us, to see if we were actually being followed. I didn't need to look back for clarification: I felt the winds at my back, pulling at my strides as I ran. The tornado was still there. If I looked back, I would only slow us down. I didn't want to endanger Peter more than I already had.

Peter and I skidded to a stop before the wall of rock. Some parts of the stone were protruding out more than others.

We looked back. The tornado loomed, an omen of death. I could feel my fingers shaking—or Peter’s. Or both.

“It's not stopping,” He muttered. Peter’s eyes scanned the rocky fixture before us. “There!”

There was a small wedge in the rocks. Peter pulled me into the niche with him. His features were dimmed with a shade of darkness.

“Here,” Peter’s hand went to his ear to offer me his helmet.

“No,” I swatted his hand away. Even in our makeshift shelter, I still tasted dirt in the air. The winds were drowning us out again, even as we stood close. “That's yours.”

“Angel, you won't be able to breathe—safety,” He claimed.

“What about your safety?” I racked my brain for a quick solution. I glanced down. Underneath his coat, he still wore his red leather jacket.

Peter followed my train of thought and nodded. “Right. Come ‘ere…”

I grabbed a fistful of my hair and pressed my ear against his chest. Peter started to zip up his jacket around me, pressing us closer together. As the darkness gathered around me, I inhaled, and was relieved when I wasn't greeted with a mouthful of dirt. I barely heard the metallic click of his helmet being activated.

For the next few minutes, I strained to hear Peter’s heartbeat over the shrieking wind. I could feel his chest moving rapidly beneath my touch, from each breath he took. Life was so incredibly vibrant, and death was so incredibly horrifying. The two shouldn't be allowed to mix.

My face scrunched up as I reminded myself that I was the idiot who got us into this mess. I never intended to be this close. The memories were too overwhelming—and my stupid theory was literally flung to the wind. Thor couldn't control every storm. Nature was a beast. Thor knew how to control it, but it was still untame in his absence. And it certainly wouldn't favor me.

My legs ached from standing and my throat was raw. Peter’s arms hugged me tight. My ears ringed in the silence.

Silence.

The storm had ended.

Again, I heard the metal trickle of Peter’s helmet.

“Still alive?” I heard him croak.

“Have to be. Too much pain to be dead,” My lips brushed against his shirt. Even with the tornado gone, his chest still moved up and down. I could hear his heartbeat. It was staggering.

Peter unzipped his jacket and I pulled away. I leaned back on the wall to our secret niche. I pushed my hair back, still tasting dirt in the air. It made me sick.

“I had a lecture prepared on how reckless and irresponsible that was...but can I give it later?” Peter’s voice was raspy.

I nodded. “Sure. I have an apology to go with it.”

Peter leaned on the wall to our side. He massaged his temples. “I've seen a lot of things. But when I saw you there, standing in front of it...not moving...that was one of the scariest moments of my life.”

I winced. “Yeah...I think that one might be in the top ten.”

I got a smirk out of him. That made me feel a little better. “I remembered something, during that disaster.”

He looked at me expectantly.

I smiled, “I'm from Texas.”

Peter laughed. It sounded wounded after all we’d been through, but it was sincere. “That explains it. Only girls from Texas stare down twisters like that. That means we’re neighbors.”

“We are?”

“Yep. Born and raised in Missouri.” Quill winked dashingly at me, his hair above him in a hazy mess.

“We’re not neighbors, Texas and Missouri aren't even next to each other.” I replied, crossing my arms.

“They’re close! Gotta give me that, it's been years since I’ve looked at a map of Tera. It's a wonder I remember, but you Texans always liked to stand out in history.”

I shrugged. “We love whiskey and the second amendment. It's our charm.”

“Ha!” Peter was grinning now. “What do you say, Texas? We done with Tornado Alley for one day?”

“Unless you wanna go another round, Missouri.”

Quill shook his head with disbelief. “Texans.”

[godsandvillainsrpg-blog]

Congratulations, PHEOBE! You have been accepted as CATERINA GIORDANO.

Note from Admin Jade: Caterina is truly chaos personified, and you did such a wonderful job of showing me both who she is, and why she is. You managed to reflect the influence of nearly every member of her family in your application, and I’m telling you, it’s got me feeling pretty shook up. From her loathing of the weak souls who bore her, to the one soft spot that exists for her sister, to the fact that her only semblance of routine is one imposed on her by Stefano, you completely understand the way the girl’s upbringing has shaped her present and future. You showed me just how primal she is, ruled by the powerful emotions she feels far too strongly — with a sprinkle of just how twisted her mind can be when allowed to roam free. I’m admittedly a bit terrified of her, in the absolute best possible way. I’m thrilled to welcome you and Cat to the GAV family!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Phoebe, but do not hesitate to address me as Pheebs.

Age: 18 years (19 in May)

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Timezone: GMT+10 yas she is aussie

Activity Level: I would say I would be able to definitely make it only every second day, if not every day. When I join new rp groups they tend to take up my life and I get way to invested and care about their life more than my own, i thrive for the drama. To give a number, I would say a 6-7 out of 10?

Triggers: REMOVED

Anything Else? Lowkey blessed that you guys took your time getting out the bios and not rushing because i was able to come back from Europe in time for opening lol

IN CHARACTER

Desired Character: I know ya’ll assumed it would be Alessia but SIKE IT’S CATERINA GIORDANO (i fell full in love but who knows you might get multiple apps off me I’m a wild card ya kno)

Describe this character in your own words: As we all know, a person’s backstory is so important to their character and that remains true with Caterina, and to me, I interpret that the most significant part of Caterina’s history is her relationship with her family; specifically her mother. I could write another few paragraphs about the impact her relationships with her siblings shape her but that will come through so much stronger in her character development in the rp as she interacts with her half-brother and sister on the dashboard so right now I want to focus on her mother. As you guys created, she is literally the polar opposite of her mother. Everything that her mother is, Caterina wanted to be reverse of that. When she watched her mother, all Caterina saw was weakness, vulnerability. And being of the Giordano family, knowing all too well of exactly what her aunt and uncle were up to, her mother embarrassed her. How could any self-respecting woman allow herself to be so open to command? How could she even be a mother to Caterina and to Bella if the damn woman couldn’t even leave the house without her father’s approval? Not for Caterina, she would never be like that. And don’t even get me started on her father. To Caterina, who thrives off the game her uncle built, who looks into the eye of destruction and licks her lips, who would literally go to no stop to reign supreme in the name of chaos, her father all but walked away from the opportunity. Her parents are weak. Weak is a word Caterina never wants to be associated with, and the reason of that lives in her DNA. She was raised by weak, and she only came out stronger than both of her parents put together. If anything, the only time Caterina’s eyes brightened up in the conversation with her father was when he spoke of his first wife, Adelia. Caterina felt like she was robbed of the vicious mother that Stefano got to be the spawned from. At least he got to have at least one respectable parent.

There’s a line from Caterina’s biography “she’s the kind that laughs at your pain, and cries at your happiness.” I literally would go ride and die with this. Cat, as stated, is a very primal character. I wouldn’t place Cat as being the type of girl who has no emotions, no. Caterina’s emotions are powerful. They’re passionate, and strong and the size of fucking tsunamis. I view Cat as a very jealous person, when it says cries at your happiness, she is literally the type that when an other succeeds at anything, something that has nothing to do with Cat or her motives, it still drives her insane. Another person’s success is another threat to Caterina and her ambition. When someone else is smiling, she wants to take it away. She’s the destruction, she’s the hurricane. She’s Caterina fucking Giordano and she is what you are afraid of.

I live for the quality in Caterina that drives on impulse. She isn’t like Stefano, who is calculative and thinks his actions through; she is like a lion in the jungle. When she sees her prey she will lunge and rip into its throat before she has time to think anything else about it. Her actions strive purely on instinct, and that’s why she’s so lethal. Granted, you have to be wary of those who plan their attacks, who take time to think it through and know exactly where to bite; which is why her and Stefano make such a powerful team. But who wants to be inside a cage with a loose jaguar and not know at what moment they decide it’s time to kill you?

What are this character’s motives? What drives this character? What are their goals? It’s the fire inside Caterina that creates such a chaotic character and her own ambition that feeds the flame. Her main goal is to lead the empire her family built. She is the only one who could master the game better than the creator himself. Her aggressive emotions and her undeniable love for chaos would lead the Giordano name further into history and not leave any cracks in the mix for anyone to screw up their family again, as her uncle had already allowed. Caterina and Stefano are a team, as fearless and unpredictable as the girl might be, she wouldn’t abandon the power that her and her half-brother created together. Her motives are engraved into their plans, into their success, and as unattainable as she knows herself to be on her own, she knows that with Stefano’s qualities, that could be what leads her to her success on the thrown.

What potential plots do you foresee for this character? Where do you see this character’s story going? What potential storylines would you like to explore, both with the character themselves and as a part of the group as a whole? REMOVED

Would you be open to this character’s death? Though we’d love to keep all characters alive and well in an ideal world, the nature of this group may put some characters’ lives in danger at one point or another. Should your character’s death be necessary for the furthering of the plot, would you be open to the idea of killing them off and working with the admin team to create a new role for you to take on? REMOVED

PARA SAMPLE

“They send me away to find them a fortune..” The words poured out of Caterina’s lips as smoothly as the blood would sweep from a victim’s body. The lullaby she sang electrified her nerves, exciting the blood that flowed through her veins as she thought of those she would visit tonight. Unlike her usual struct that she possessed as she walked through the kingdom that was the Giordano empire, the assertive and self-aware walk that demanded it’s own respect, Cat now would practically dance through her bedroom, her feet light and delicate as she handled her belongings.

Moving through her closet of the extensive range of attire for the multiple occasions that being a Giordano requires of one, Caterina hummed along to the tune of her preparation song, pulling out small, dark, tight pieces of clothing and carrying them out to lay on her bed. “..a chest filled with diamonds and gold,” Caterina wasn’t exactly the most organised dame in Rome; she was more known for her sporadic nature and impulsivity. Although, when it came to this night, to the nights when the darkness wasn’t dark enough and her heartbeat made more noise than the screams of those people who’s voices she stole; tonight she was organised. Stefano taught her this. If things weren’t organised, then everything could go very wrong, very quickly. Caterina of course thought that her brother was over-exaggerating, being a little too serious for her liking. But after awhile, she got used to this routine, and then she started to love it.

It thrilled Cat, seeing it all laid down in front of her. Her own little creation of the chaos that scared most but seduced her own unattainable nature. As she laid down the clothes she was sure would be drenched in blood in a few hours, Caterina’s teeth felt like fangs between her lips. Her eyes moved from the clothes to what sat next to it on her mattress. Her eyes lit up as she sang the lullaby, the weapons her instruments as she bent over to lightly drag her hand over the cool metal. Three machetes laid beside each other, each one bigger than the last as her fingers danced, feeling the curve of the blade. “I’m bigger than my body..” Cat’s hands moved further up the bed, curling around the handle of her G18. The power she felt surge through her body from merely holding such death in her hands brought her more pleasure than most of her lovers. These weapons were where Cat felt normal, comfortable. The only time Caterina Giordano was happy was when she was standing in the middle of complete chaos, and these little things that she held in her hands were Cat’s ticket onto the train to her cyclone. She picked up the handgun, turning around in her chambers to look into the mirror that hung on the wall opposite her bed. “I’m meaner than my demons, I’m bigger than these bones..” Raising her arms, Caterina pointed the gun at the reflection in front of her. She looked at the way her face smiled in response, the way her arms looked as strong as tree trunks with no fear of the death that she held between her palms. Cat welcomed it.

She dropped her arms and placed the gun back onto it’s rightful place on the bed. Running her fingers through her blonde hair, Cat walked over to her dresser. There stood only one picture in her bedroom, it was taken years ago and given to Caterina as a gift. Usually, she would have thrown out such a sappy present but it was the only picture that she considered allowable to keep in her home. Stefano, Caterina and Bella stood side by side, the bright smile on Bella’s face where her lips went practically ear to ear almost blinded Cat whenever she looked at it, or at least that’s what she would tell Bella every time she commented on Cat’s keeping of it. Her own smile in the photograph was gorgeous, yet extremely fake and filled with dark thoughts of how much she wanted to stick that camera up her mother’s ass as she made the three siblings stand together on her father’s birthday. Stefano stood taller than them all, broad and straight with a faint, almost unrecognisable smile, although he still looked handsome with those infamous Giordano traits. Cat looked at the photograph, thinking of Bella and her unchanging innocence, surely one of these days that was going to come and bite her in the ass and Cat would be the one cleaning up the pieces. She turned the photograph down and continued on her routine, picking her lullaby back up into tune and finishing off the ballad.

“And all the kids cried out, ‘Please stop, you’re scaring me’..” The words made Cat’s lips twirl into a evil grin as she sang. Digging down underneath her bed, Cat fetched out one black, large bag and placed all her weapons of choice carefully into it’s body. Turning to look at the time, it wasn’t long before she heard a knock at her bedroom door. Perfectly on time, she could never expect anything less from her half brother. “God damn right you should be scared of me..” Cat purred as she walked to open the door. Unlatching every advanced lock that sat on her main entrance, she pulled the door apart and it revealed none other than Stefano on the other side. His face looked as it always did this time of night on this special day; calm, controlled and ready to fuck this city up alongside his sister. Caterina’s lips smiled softly in greeting at him, leaving the door open as she went to her bed and picked up the bag. “..who is in control?”

“Do you still sing that wretched song?” Her brother asked as he stepped inside, looking around the place. Cat always managed to change something about her home in the time before anyone made a second visit. Whether it was throwing away furniture she had grown sick of or painting all her walls into a deep red, Cat never let anything settle in her life for too long.

“You were the one who said I need to have a routine.” She pointed out, moving toward the door and waiting for her brother to join her. “Are you ready?” She asked impatiently, one hand on the doorknob, her feet barely keeping still as her excitement seeped through her lack of composure. Stefano turned back to look at Caterina, his expression obvious.

In those moments, between Caterina locking her door behind her and Stefano and her walking down the hallway and out into the city of Rome, Caterina could swear she felt the city tremble.

EXTRAS

http://tylerfxckingdurden.tumblr.com/tagged/caterina