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youryanderedaddy · 3 years

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Love Fuel

Summary: You were Jason’s first love before you broke his heart and rejected him. It’s all your fault that he can’t move on.

Tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, incel behavior, nice guy behavior, self - hatred, threats of non-con, implied non - con, implied masturbation, bullying based on appearance (not reader), deregatory language, kidnapping, misogyny, generalizations, stalking

this is a hot mess but its 1 am and i am tired, ik that incels are bad irl (obviously), but this is fiction and I kinda wanted to explore the dynamic and shit.

Everyone used to call him JJ or The-Big-Jay back in high school. Well, most of the time his classmates weren’t really calling out to him or even talking to him, the names were whispered behind his back, after he had just passed the hallway, or on bad days - right to his face. The jocks, these dumb motherfuckers, would beat him up, mock him for whatever stupid reasons they had chosen to use as an excuse to torment the smaller and weaker. The popular girls would giggle like brainless bimbos as Kyle or Brad or any other football player stole his glasses or continuously punched him in the guts until he threw up all over the floor. Even the nerds, the kids at the bottom of the school hierarchy, messed with Jason from time to time when they wanted to feel the oh - so desired rush of power they so rarely managed to experience.

Looking back, Jason could see why his classmates hated him so much - he was everything that society deemed as wrong and unattractive. He was thin, pale, “scrawny” as the others called him, on the shorter side, and on top of that the teen was terribly shy and introverted, never having the guts to stand up to his bullies or even tell someone about the abuse. The male spent most of his free time at home, playing hours upon hours of video games, watching anime and reading books he was simply too young to understand or look critically at. As he grew older, the man began to view the world as it trully was - a dark, miserable place that ate up sore losers like him. Men were primitive and foolish, which somehow managed to soften their faults. Women, on the other hand, were calculative and manipulative, greedy and sinful. His whole life they had done nothing but reject him when he needed love and support the most. Of course, there were many other reason why the brunette detested the weaker sex. In his eyes women were evil two - faced sluts, showing off their bodies yet acting innocent and hurt once someone finally decided to use them for the only thing they were actually good for.

But you Jason hated the most. You reminded him that no matter how much he hated the outside world, he would always hate himself the most. He had to admit you were pretty, painfully so, with a perfect little body to match your looks and a sweet sugary smile that almost deceived him years ago. As much as the man regretted his weakness, he had fallen right into your trap at the time.

You weren’t the most popular girl, but you had your fair share of friends, all nice and loyal like puppies. You weren’t the smartest either, but unlike the other stupid giggling sluts you always tried to do your best. You were beautiful just like them but you were actually kind to the pathetic bullied kid no one else bothered to acknowledge even existed outside of being a punching bag. You always asked him whether he was alright and often took him to the infirmary when he looked paler and sicker than usual. You talked to him as if he was a normal human being and despite the initial doubt, Jason appreciated it.

It was the last day of your senior year when the teen finally gained the courage to confess. He was shaking the whole time and by the end of his little speech there were small tears in the corner of his eye. You were the first girl the male cared about, the first one to show him kindness, to offer him friendship without asking for something in return. You were the only one who could make him feel deserving of love, worthy of affection. And then you took it all away in a matter of seconds.

“I am sorry, bud.” You had said that day after giving him a half - hearted hug and an apologetic smile, that started to seem more and more like a mocking grin the longer the teen started at you. “I already have a boyfriend, but I am really flattered. I am sure that you will find a lovely girl once you start college.” You had added quickly, cheerfully, rubbing the salt all over his wounds, honey dripping from your plump red lips. He had wanted to kiss them, bruise them, bite them until your stupid lying mouth was filled with blood. Obviously you didn’t have a boyfriend or he would have known by now, he stalked your social media religiously after all. Even if you had one, he probably treated you like shit. And how could you even suggest him finding another woman? As if he wanted any of the stupid money - grabbing sluts out there. As if some of them could replace you.

The boy was too furious to form a proper response besides “Fuck you, bitch”. His cheeks turned red and he didn’t realise that the bitter words had escaped his lips before he could stop them, then his legs took him far away from that shithole of a school. He didn’t manage to see your reaction before running away but it didn’t matter anymore. You were just like the others.

***

That day Jason swore to show you just how small and insignificant you had made him feel. He wanted to see you crumble, cry and beg for forgiveness, desperate for his love but never good enough to get it. The man formed a plan to change himself and come back for you once he had erased each and every trace of his past. The brunette came to terms with his terrible social anxiety and decided that he needed to gain social abilities more than anything. That’s why, as much as he dreamt of working from home as a boring programmer with an even more boring, but flexible working schelude, the male chose to study something that involved a lot more human interactions. The next step was to hit the gym for the first time and get a monthly subscription. It wasn’t hard to see that females nowadays liked brain - dead athletes with defined jawline and cheekbones, toned chests and strong muscled bodies, so if he wanted to impress you, he had to look his best. It wasn’t easy at first - it felt like everyone in the fitness salon had their eyes on his weak frame, laughing and pointing their fingers at his imperfections, but things gradually got better as time went on. The trainings became easier to get through and from time to time they even helped the man forget about his loneliness and nihilism.

Jason soon returned to his old habbit of spending hours looking through your accounts - Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, he knew all of your usernames, each post, every picture and text. He couldn’t believe how much of a desperate attention whore you had become over the years. The male remembered you in your long brown skirts, cozy sweatshirts and pure-white shirts, all the gray buttons closed to the very top, blushing, laughing, smiling like the adorable Goody-two-shoes you were. Now you were smirking seductively in every photo, overconfident and vibrant, flaunting your tits for every man to see and wearing tight little dresses that barelly covered your ass combined with heels so high and sharp they could be used as a weapon. You were such a stupid slut it was disgusting, and he couldn’t stop himself from jerking off every single time he saw your pretty little face on the screen. He wanted to cum down your throat so badly it was ridiculous, and even after knowing that you had probably already had hundreds of cocks shoved deep inside your pussy, the brunette still wished to see you split open on his, taking his lenght like a good little cocksleeve.

***

The moment when he could see you again finally came. How many years had passed since graduation - five, ten, fifthteen? It hardly mattered. Jason was successful, at last. The male had his own business that was doing surprisingly well, there were some guys from the gym he could call friends and the best thing, he looked absolutely unrecognizable. There was nothing left of the tiny scrawny kid with quiet voice that everyone stepped over, he was now replaced by a strong capable man, determined to get what was rightfully his and his alone.

It wasn’t hard to find you since the brunette knew everything about you - where your job was, what time you finished, how long it took you to go home and what path you took. You lived alone and worked as a barista in a small local cafe even now that you had finished your studies in your dream faculty. Turns out the princess wasn’t so great and smart after all, having to resort to working a minimal - wage job day and night just to be able to pay her rent. Jason was absolutely delighted though, he loved your stupid dead - end job and your endless struggles to survive in the materialistic world honestly and fairly without selling yourself like a common whore. On one hand the male was happy that you had clung onto your last bit of innocence and on the other your pitiful lifestyle gave him the chance to snatch you away much easier. And that’s exactly what he did.

***

You woke up confused just like he had expected, bombarding him with questions, asking him who he was was, begging him to let you go, to at least explain what’s happening. You were so dumb, but God, you were still so pretty, if not prettier than before. You cried so beautifully when Jason told you you belonged to him now and you cried even more when he slammed his cold rough lips over yours in a deep wet kiss. You whimpered and whined while the male sucked on your lower lip and bit down, good, he wanted it to hurt. The stalker couldn’t wait to be inside you, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

He climbed on top of you and pinned your wrists to the floor before tying them up with delicate red rope and tightening it. It wasn’t like the man was scared of you slipping away and hurting him, you were too weak and tiny to stand a chance against his years of power - lifting and muscle - training anyways, he just wanted you to be as uncomfortable and squirmish as possible. Your tormentor wished for you to be in worse pain than he had been during his youthful years, and he knew exactly what to do. Next thing you knew Jason had ripped your dress apart, leaving you vulnerable and exposed in just your plain old panties and bra. Cold shivers ran down your spine when the chilly air hit your naked flesh and you finally realized there wasn’t getting away from this. You had to stay there, limbs bound together, unable to move or fight back, the stranger’s hands caressing your neck before moving dangerously close to your clothed breasts. You felt so sick you were going to throw up for sure if your abductor didn’t step back so you decided to use your last resort.

“Jason, please stop!” You screamed out of the blue, forcing the brunette to freeze instantly at the use of his birth name. You had already called him a pervert and a psycho which didn’t seem to faze him, but the name clearly caught him off guard. This only seemed to prove your theory further - the man really was your former classmate, despite the only similarity between them being the dark distant look in his eyes. “I beg you, don’t hurt me!” You continued, hoping to at least buy yourself more time before the assault took place.

He gulped loudly and stared at your quivering form. The impossible had happened, you had recognized him and now together with fear, there was also pity in your gaze, the one emotion your captor absolutely despised. You used to be the only one who pitied him, and even now that he was bigger, better and stronger than before, you still had the guts to pity him. It drove him insane but any attempt to hurt or touch you was fruitless now - your soft skin was suddenly burning his fingers like hellfire.

“You must be thinking that I am a monster.” Jason started out dryly, chuckling bitterly, humorlessly even. He clenched his fists unconsciously and brought them to the floor in a fit of rage, missing your head by mere inches. Your heart was beating like crazy and you only hoped the mandman couldn’t hear it. “A freak.” The man spat out the word like it was a curse and for a split second his eyes softened before turning into two spinning torches. “Right?” You were sure that if looks could kill, his would have you dead by the end of the night so you quickly nodded your head no.

“You are lying to me again, pretty girl.” The brunette replied feisty, "pretty” rolling off his tongue like an insult. Then he broke into hoarse maniac laugher and lowered his head so his face leveled up with yours, so close you could feel his warm breath on your tear - stained cheek. “When I am done with you, you wouldn’t be so pretty anymore, darling.” Your captor growled and attacked your neck, sinking his teeth deep into the flesh. “You will see exaclty how ugly my love is.”

#yandere #yandere oneshot #male yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere oc #yancore #yandere male x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere smut #yandere x you

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 3 years

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When I saw 'Romanians' mentioned in your last post I had a wtf moment cause I have only watched the movies and I don't think I've ever noticed their existence. Regardless, I just had to read the wiki page and it is hillarious to me cause coincidence or not they seem to be named after the psychopathic ruler 'Vlad the impaler' and his cousin 'Stefan the great'(he might have murdered more people than his cousin known as the impaler, but you know he is great). Also, what do you think of them? Sorry for the rant...

You have no idea what you’ve unleashed.

I love the Romanians because they are, hands down, the trashiest, weirdest, lamest, loser vampires in Twilight canon.

Just, these two are so hilariously beautiful.

First off, while Meyer undoubtedly named them with Vlad Tepish and Stefan the Great in mind, the Romanians are actually much older. We don’t have exact dates, but we know the Romanians (then presumably the Dacians), held great power over their territory for a thousand years before the Volturi had truly established themselves. After the Volturi took on and won against Amun’s coven in Egypt (and took the grateful Demetri off Amun’s hands making Amun still bitter thousands of years later) they waged war against the Romanians and won. (Vlad and Stefan are still very bitter but give us the silver lining of “oh yeah, well, we’re only partly petrified. SO TAKE THAT STUPID VOLTURI!”)

Vlad, Stefan, and Vlad’s wife were the only survivors. The Romanians, being one of the most evil and trashy covens in Twilight, decided to take on Volterra by amassing an army of 100 vampires. Hilariously, they had poor timing, this is a decade after Aro acquired Jane and Alec. The entire army is defeated in a second, Vlad’s wife is murdered, and by 810 AD, it’s just Vlad and Stefan.

They’ve remained losers the Volturi don’t take seriously ever since. Every decade, Demetri pays them a visit to remind them that yes, the Volturi does remember them and can find them any time they want to. Even more hilariously, Vlad and Stefan take this very seriously, and are constantly on the run from the Volturi, never aware that the Volturi actually don’t care. At all.

Point being, given these guys, first it’s entirely likely their original names are not Vlad and Stefan. We see many of the vampires of the ancient world periodically change their name. We have Chelsea and Demetri, who are canonically acknowledged as having done this. Given when and where they were born, we can assume Marcus and Caius were not originally Marcus and Caius. Similarly, we can assume Aro’s name was originally far longer as well.

None the less, it would be just like these two to name themselves after these Romanian human warlords, one of whom serves and the inspiration for the modern vampire myth in Europe. And then, insist, of course, that the human rulers were actually named after Vlad and Stefan, because the humans still worship them, you know.

They’re going to be back on top any day now, you’ll see.

That’s another thing worth getting into. The Romanians are evil. I’m not exaggerating this, of all the vampires in Twilight, they are the most appalling (and this is including James, Maria and the southern war lords, Joham... well not Joham, he’s a special brand of evil). These guys had a thousand year reign of terror in Dacia. Humans were butchered seemingly by entire villages, they made humans their slaves and demanded worship and sacrifice. When the humans periodically tried to overthrow them, they slaughtered them all, presumably placed their heads on spikes, and used them to taunt those few surviving humans.

When they lost power, they made an army a hundred vampires strong, which given what we see of the newborns in Seattle (who were only around twenty and still far too large to control), probably wiped out several large settlements in eastern Europe. Didn’t matter, just as long as they got rid of the Volturi.

And they miss those glory days dearly.

They actively reminisce about in Breaking Dawn to an oblivious Bella, who is just so happy these very important and impressive Europeans are here to help her beautiful daughter and so impressed they they’ve been fighting the corrupt Volturi for thousands of years (which is another bit of hilarity we’ll get into). You know, when/if the Volturi fall, the Romanians will be the first in line to rape the women and enslave us all. Good times, good times.

But back to them being trash people.

Vlad and Stefan are utterly destitute, their entire coven is destroyed, and yet they still insist they’re a Big Fucking Deal. Not only that, but just their every action is beyond weird. They talk in unison like Fred and George Weasley, they’re these ridiculously tiny men dressed as stereotypical vampires, and they show up out of nowhere on your doorstep saying, “So, hear you’re starting an insurrection against Volterra, Carlisle, we want in” (While Carlisle, I’m sure, just dies a thousand times inside).

They then talk to Bella all about how they fight the corruption of the Volturi. What is the corruption, you ask? Well, the Volturi drove them out of their kingdom and liberated the human slaves. Then they imposed this stupid law where you couldn’t eat humans in broad daylight. Then when the Romanians tried to invade Italy they killed them all.

The Romanians will expose the Volturi’s crimes here and now. They stand for justice, peace, and Renezel--Renpunz--Renesmee. (The Romanians decidedly do not come for Renesmee, they hear about Carlisle’s army through the vampire European rumor mill, which just shows how out of hand it all got because now Carlisle’s amassing an army to protect the immortal child his son made. They show 0 interest in Renesmee.)

They give me serious McPoyle vibes.

More, beautifully, everything they touch becomes tainted.

Laurent, another beautiful loser character, starts life as a French courtier in Versailles. When he’s turned into a vampire, he assumes the vampire world works like Versailles. It works nothing like Versailles.

He seeks out those vampires with the greatest power.

Well, vampires in general are cannibalistic homeless nomads who care nothing for power.

This brings him, beautifully, to the Romanians. They insist to Laurent they’re super cool and powerful, Laurent believes them, but either Laurent eventually clues in or realizes something’s not right here. So, he goes to seek out the real power, the Volturi.

Unfortunately, Laurent is a loser, the Volturi is not court, and Aro has no need for some lackey trying to get in his good graces. Plus, Laurent hung out willingly with Vlad and Stefan. And anyone who does that...

So, Aro goes, “Ew, no, leave.”

Laurent is convinced, even when canon rolls around and he’s sunk so low as to hang out with James and Victoria (also loser vampires), that Aro will call him back any day now.

Aro never does. Laurent is eaten by untrained sixteen-year-old shape shifters.

But yes, point being, I imagine that in this modern era the Romanians would have a Go Fund Me for purchasing the blow torches they’ll use to destroy the Volturi once and for all. They also have a YouTube channel which is unintentionally dungeon porn, in which they cover their heads in bags so as not to be recognized, and talk about the good old days in thick Romanian accents. It’s a very popular YouTube channel, nobody understands why they wear so much body glitter.

Oh, right, Bella.

Bella is so beautiful with these guys. So, in Breaking Dawn, Bella actually takes the Romanians seriously. They’re all I describe above and more, they’re not hiding it, they’re full McPoyle (including the taking over the world built). Jake even tells Bella he finds them weird as hell. Bella thinks they’re great.

No, really, she thinks they’re great.

They tell her how they enslaved all the people in their territory, demanded tithes, and would eagerly do so again as soon as they get the chance and she stares at them with wide eyes and thinks about how cool all these vampires who came for precious Renesmee are. (Which, funnily, they actually all came either for Carlisle, because he has a billion friends everywhere, or else as a power grab like the Romanians, or both in Amun’s case. It’s the weirdest, most beautiful, mixture of people.)

Bella has her moments, but loving the Romanians has got to be a top ten for her. My explanation is that she’s so high on vampirism and Renesmee that this is all just great for her. LIFE IS WONDERFUL!

EDIT: I could no longer abide my spelling mistakes, I also edited a bit for cleanliness.

#ask #anon #twilight

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aidanhnd1bphoto · 4 years

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Catch Me If You Can

SPORTING EVENT..RESEARCH

Adults running about a field chasing a ball, or running very fast, jumping over things of varying heights, throwing things, catching things, hitting various things with a stick. In a small confined space punching each other. Or swimming up and down and up and down. Sitting on the back of a running horse.The list is almost endless. This world of needless physical exercise is called Sport...and is full of drama and emotion, both for those who do it and those who watch it...apparently!!

In this project I will show a selection of these people, both participants and spectators in the “moment”, engaged in their chosen activity.

Using a variety of photographic techniques I will attempt to make a visually appealing assortment of images....So here goes, first things first...

How to do it!

With every sport there will be a differing set of challenges facing the photographer.. The size of the area, is it the size of a boxing ring (for two people punching each other) or the size of a football field (for 22 people kicking a ball) or even bigger.

How close can you get to the action

How many people are taking part..just two or a whole lot.

Is it indoors or outdoors

Natural lighting or specially constructed lighting specifically for the sport in question.

All of these different scenarios will dictate what kind of equipment the photographer will need and the way the camera should be set up.

So before you can really start it’s helpful to know what sport you will be photographing. Sometimes you will just have to learn quick and work it out on the job.

SOUND ADVICE FROM PEOPLE WHO DO THIS FOR A LIVING

Having just read a google’s worth of ‘Top ten essentials for sports photography’ and for the basics there seems to be a general consensus with the preferred functions on the camera. The main factor for professionals is continuous burst speed with some of the present crop of top the range sports oriented DSLR’s shooting 14fps or more. With the speed of the action things are changing in those fractions of a second and having the ability to be able to follow those changes so closely is a highly sought after function. With most prosumer cameras these days the ISO capabilities are becoming increasingly impressive with ISO32000 in the native range of the camera becoming the norm and with that also stunning reductions in the noise at these high ISO levels. These ISO levels really assist in reaching the shutter speeds used in a lot for freezing this high speed action. Starting at 500th of a second and going up. 2000th of a second is not unusual. Along with high ISO the next thing to assist in these high shutter speeds is the next topic of general agreement....

Lenses.....lenses should be fast, as fast as can be. The aperture of a good lens for sport if using a zoom is f2.8. It’s not uncommon for a professional sports photographer to have 3 camera bodies.The most common, and most versatile, setup for most professional sports photographers is to start with the trio of 16-35mm ƒ/2.8, 24-70mm ƒ/2.8 and 70-200mm ƒ/2.8 lenses. These three options provide all the coverage needed to shoot everything from wide-angle shots of a packed stadium through any action happening up to midway down most sporting venues. Though these lenses are not cheap, when it starts to get to the bigger fast primes that will allow you to see the action close up at the other side of a stadium or football field they can cost the same as a nice family car. For those beginning their sports photography there are some great lenses that along with the high ISO capabilities just talked about it will do a great job without having to be so wide open. A 70-300mm f4-5.6 or even 150-600mm f5-6.3 will do a great job of covering that far away action.

Another piece of advice where there is general agreement is in positioning. Get to the venue early and have a good look at all the potential spots and make sure you’re good to go with your settings before the action starts....But don’t stay in the one place and don’t just focus on the action. In the audience there is as much drama as on the field of play, or after some high point of action...the reaction. There are winners and losers and both have equal visual weight and potential to produce the image that encapsulates the moment and the whole event.

Another is ..You are a photographer first and foremost, the subject is sport but the intent is a striking image with light and shadow, composition, balance, colour, story all fundamentals.

WHERE TO SHOOT.

If you are not inclined to sports then it is apparently very easy to block it out of your daily experience and be blissfully unaware but as it happens, open your eyes to sports and its everywhere, EVERYWHERE!

Local newspaper for local events, google to check out what's on in your local area and further afield. Amateur or professional. Check out sporting arenas, sports and athletic clubs, football stadiums. If there is a particular sport you are interested in you can refine your search. If you’re not to bothered which sport to start with then prepare a general polite letter asking whether you can come and take photos. Send it out to as many events as you can find. Cast the net far and wide and the chances are you would be spoiled for choice.

Here we are about two months later...It’s taken a while to get access to sports, longer than I had at first thought but now I have I’m hoping for a variety of sports to shoot. I made contact with Glasgow University Sports Association which is the umbrella organisation for more than 40 sports clubs at the University. The Association has recently been actively seeking Photographers to shoot all the club games.

Seeing as time was running out on the brief I took the first possible opportunity to shoot. It was an inter-university fencing tournament Men and Women. Men against Bath University..cant remember the women's opposition University.

As soon as I was confirmed to shoot I started to watch some YouTube videos on the rules of the sport, the moves and the scoring.

It was quite a challenging shoot. It was in a large, bright gym hall. A long (14m) rubber mat with the essential markings for the game was rolled out and taped to the floor about two meters from the wall. Too close to the wall to be able to shoot from the wall side, just too near the swishing blades. The problem was that this wall was one vast mirror reflecting not just those fencing but the spectators and myself. This made for a challenge to minimise the distraction of everything else in the reflection.

In fencing the action is fast. In Olympic sports second fastest behind shooting I was told by one competitor. I was set to f4 and to get the quick exposures I needed to freeze the action (1/1000th/s) the ISO was pushed up to 6400.

Saturday 8th March. 9am-5pm. Glasgow Caledonia University. Today I shot a trampolining tournament with all Scottish Universities competing. It was in a large high gym hall with what looks like big halogen spotlights. There’s about 200 people in the hall, mostly either competing, judging or organising. Its not open to the public. After some shots my exposure settings settle at 1/320th f4 ISO6400. I didn’t want to push the ISO much higher and had to make a compromise with shutter speed. In many of the images there is movement in the feet of the athletes. I made a decision based on the aesthetics. I liked this slight movement in many of the images, a suggestion of movement. There was no high vantage point so I made do with standing on a chair. It gave me enough of a height advantage to clear the images of the people walking about in the hall. They really didn’t add to any of the images. I did include one or two all the same that didn't distract from the action.

I’m much happier with this set of images than with the fencing from the previous sports shoot. With that shoot the large wall mirror behind the 🤺 that ran the length of the hall was so distracting..reflecting everything in the hall..the fencers, the other competitors...and me! It made it almost impossible to get simple, strong images being much too busy.

This time around it was a far easier shoot to get a more aesthetically pleasing result. Often against a background of a large plain wall with few distractions and with lighting that also had a dramatic quality.

Overall i’m extremely pleased with the results. There are some possible portfolio contenders.

Third and final set of photos for the brief. This time it was outdoors, in the evening, cold and pouring of rain. Bellahouston outdoors ski and snowboarding center. Again it was an inter universities event sponsored by Glasgow Taxis.

It was a difficult shoot. Unevenly lit, there were pools of light and areas of dark. The area was large and the athletes were going at speed. This demanded several skills. The most challenging was to get a handle of the AF system on my new camera. Sports are generally demanding on AF and this was no different. Using 2 camera bodies..Canon 5dmk3 and 5dmk4 with a 24-105 f4 on one and a 70-300 f4.5-5.6 on the other.

The action started just as it was beginning to darken so the exposure needed to be adjusted over the first half hour or so until well after sunset and the only light was artificial. Because of the layout of the slope and the nature of the contest there wasn’t much variety of movement and routes taken down the course. At the end of the ski tournament there was some snowboarding a ski freestyle which promised a lot more exciting images but unfortunately the heavens opened as this began and the rain poured down. Having been out in the bitter cold with no gloves for 3 hours (lesson learned) and the lenses not being weather sealed to a Scottish downpour level I decided to retreat.

This has been a thoroughly enjoyable brief, much against expectation. There have been challenges at every event that I would like to think I have dealt with and overcome to produce many images I'm very happy with. I have become more aware of the reasons why sports photographers need that extra quality in their gear. Proper weather sealing and fast f2.8 lenses are just near essential for any professionals working in this area. Knowing something of the sport you are shooting helps. Getting to the venue early and checking it out, finding where the good light is, also helps enormously. And moving about to get different points of view.

There have been many photos taken for this brief-in total probably near 5000. Of those I have whittled it down to 500 or so. The final challenge is to choose the final 6 for printing and submission.

Of the 3 sports I shot for this brief the trampolining was by far the most enjoyable and i’d say successful. Producing the most images I was happy with. Well lit venue with not too many visual distractions and the sport itself was so conducive to aesthetic interpretation.

The time spent has been quite considerable for this brief with two full days and one half day of shooting and then because of the huge number of shots another 3 full days of choosing, deleting and optimising the images. That said, there has in fact been very little optimisation in post. In all three sessions I have used lens correction, in some a tweak of white balance. And in very few a touch more, lightening shadows or reducing highlights but very little else.

On revising everything I see that after 5000 photos I've forgotten one of the requests of the brief..to have a panning shot!!! This is bad news. Time is very short and to shoot some more sports is a days worth of work. First getting some sports to shoot, shooting and then picking and processing. For not reading the brief properly I’ve lost a day at a very crucial point in time where I need every second. One big lesson learned. Less than 2 weeks to go.

SOURCES .. So Far

https://artsandculture.google.com/exhibit/the-art-of-sports-photography-from-prints-to-images-1835-2017-the-olympic-museum/MwKStrCJtolhKg?hl=en

https://www.amateurphotographer.co.uk/technique/how-to-shoot-action-and-sports-photography-625

https://photographylife.com/getting-started-with-sports-photography

https://improvephotography.com/52236/15-tips-get-started-sports-photography/

https://petapixel.com/2018/12/06/6-simple-tips-for-getting-started-in-sports-photography/

https://expertphotography.com/complete-guide-sports-photography-87-tips/

#catch

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the-foxes-fangs · 5 years

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Warmup fragments with Ikesen/OC’s

I’ve been behind on requests so I promised @otomediary I’d post these little warmups even though they feature my OC’s

***

She had thought it was the wormhole opening two months too soon as the sky split like a rent cloth on the day the warlord’s had taken her out hawking, she had been riding next to Hideyoshi who had the presence of mind to grab her horses reins as it reared and jerked away in terror, nearly unseating her.

That same feeling, nauseating pressure, the crackle of static building to a painful roar, and the sky coming undone as Hideyoshi lifted her bodily out of the saddle and held her protectively, his arm growing tighter around her as the sounds of a massive battle rolled in as if on a wave that broke against them. She held his sleeve, heart pounding as their group bunched up, each of them peering into the midday twilight, turned ochre through a cloud of choking dust that whipped across their faces and twisted into serpentine columns, falling from the broken sky.

And then the noise receded and they appeared, four figures riding hell for leather out of the dust, pursuing something that flashed unnaturally bright even in the haze, a massive twisting mass that reminded her of a huge crumpled thermal blanket whipping and rolling in some way that was horribly alive and malicious, and utterly silent.

They were yelling to each other in some language she had never heard, even in her own time, women crouched low on their horses, circling it, it whatever it was. The language was unintelligible, but the urgency wasn’t.

She saw one of them vault off her horse and into the writhing malevolence, before being immersed in a silence so complete and abrupt that for a moment she felt as if all of the sound had been excised from the world at once. The snorting and stamping of the horses and the buzz of voices started her out of the dull shock of the scene, which had seemed to expand into hours but must have taken no more than half a minute in reality, if reality could still be considered a reliable thing. She had fallen through time, and now time and space were falling around her as she clutched Hideyoshi’s hand.

It was gone, and the dust was drawing back apparently of its own volition, revealing a placid, uninterrupted sky as it receded into the outstretched hand of the woman closest to them, and she felt that same instinct for flight as she had the night she’d arrived at Honno-ji when the two groups faced each other.

“Hey!” Masamune thundered, wheeling his horse out, sword unsheathed, always the first to run toward a fight, “explain yourselves!”

“Masamune, stand down.” Nobunaga said quietly, holding himself quite still and carefully observing the otherworldly invaders.

“Be cautious my lord.” Hideyoshi said protectively.

Ieyasu and Mitsuhide were too busy aiming their respective weapons to speak, and you could almost hear the speed of Mitsunari’s thoughts as he surveyed the scene.

***

She was arrestingly beautiful, he thought, the tallest of the strangers with the darkest skin he’d ever seen, lithe grace in her body and fearlessness stamped into her fine features, from the graceful column of her neck, the gentle smile with no hint of timidity on her full lips to the good natured intelligence that burned in her dark eyes.

He laid out the Go board and watched her pad silently about the Tenshu, hands held behind her back, taking inventory to the smallest detail as she seemed to always do.

“Tiaret.” He said, her name heavy on his tongue. “Why is it that the others call you one thing, but you ask us to call you another?” Nobunaga asked curiously, watching the way the golden cloth of her dress seemed to gather all of the light in the room to itself.

“I am from a place where magic is as common as water, and there’s magic in a name-- power to bind, power to break.” She answered, her voice soft and low, a trace of amusement on her face. She wore her thick curly black hair elaborately braided close to her head, with ornaments of gold and red that gave her face a warm glow even in the moonlight where she stood on the balcony.

Of all their guests from the further shore, she was the most amiable, but he felt as if it were the disinterested amiability of a tiger looking at a falling leaf. He had never believed in the possibility of an unseen world, of anything so childish as magic, until he had seen what she could do. As every challenge ever had, she filled with him a fierce desire to capture her attention, to conquer her disinterest, and to know her.

“And you have my name now.” He said, tapping his fingers against his cheek as he rested his chin on his hand.

“If I wished to harm you with magic, it would be of a far more direct kind. I was elected as intermediary to maintain some semblance of peace while we’re here, not as an assassin.” She said, with an elegant gesture of dismissal.

“I have seen it, and I still cannot grasp the nature of magic.” He replied, searching her untroubled face.

She seated herself elegantly across from him and studied the board thoughtfully. “It is unnatural to you, and thus beyond your grasp.” She said bluntly, but without any incivility.

A faint scent of honey and some flower whose name was as much a mystery as hers drifted across to him, heady and soft, with the warm late summer breeze. “I commend you on your grasp of tactics, it’s rare that I am outmatched in Go.”

“My vocation is to remember, it would be strange if I were so well acquainted with the details of so many battles and yet knew nothing of the general principles of war.” She answered with an indulgent smile as she rolled a white go piece between her slender fingers.

***

“You have a lot of freedom for a prisoner of war,” Ieyasu said, looking askance at the unsettling wisp of a woman, sickly pale as a radish with her face framed by hair the color of an orange autumn leaf and her eyes barely a shade lighter.

“My prison is living, but my hell is being alive to be questioned by the likes of you.” Zenaida replied acerbically as she glanced up from her reading, bitterness in her expression, distant and hard.

“Try to be polite, Zenaida.” Tiaret said mildly from across the library, without glancing up from her book.

“Try to be less sickeningly saintly, Sulwe.”

The entire room seemed to seethe with cold anger, but he saw, or imagined he saw a shadow of anguish flit across her drawn features for a fraction of a moment before it dissipated.

“Well excuse me for breathing.” He muttered.

“Ask the gods for pardon, all I know how to do anymore is spit poison at the world that poisoned me.” Zenaida answered very softly, looking up at him with haunted eyes that said he would get no more of an apology than that.

***

“Darling boy, you couldn’t out ride me if your life depended on it! I was just about born on the back of a horse, and I expect I’ll die there too.” Sankho said merrily, irreverent and flip, with a wildness all about her that made Masamune feel downright conventional.

“Oh you think so? Let’s have a race then. Loser cooks dinner” He shot back amiably, watching as she made another strange dish, with a mouth watering aroma he couldn’t place at all. She had said that since she didn’t know what ingredients were safe for humans it was better that he not try it all, but his curiosity as a cook was killing him.

Of all of them, she looked nothing like a barbarian, she could almost have passed for a resident of the castle if not for the reckless glitter in her eye, her raucous laughter and utter lack of manners that had its own kind of charm.

He couldn’t shake his fascination with her, it was like watching a typhoon coming in knowing that it would blow you halfway to hell and still not wanting to move out of the way.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just have a duel? It would make you look more cool losing to magic, you know.” She said with a crooked smile and a daring wink.

He grinned back at her, and felt the heat rise in his face. “And they say I’m overconfident!”

“You’re reckless, far more reckless than a real dragon ever would be, and I’ve met a few, but I like it. There’s a little of the wild old magic in you, I think. The rest of it has gone to sleep in this world, but I feel the faintest echo from you.” She said, looking him over appraisingly.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you should take my advice.” She said, and reached out to take hold of his chin, her eyes so dark they nearly looked like ink boring into him, into some part of him that he himself didn’t know. “Don’t let it make you cruel. It will make you feel like you can do anything, the mote that lives in you. Don’t always heed the call.”

***

“Play your hand, pretty fox.” Tura said, her voice pleasantly low, and took another drink. Mitsuhide glanced at his cards, and back at her. She was impossible to read, even for him. It was as if she could simply vanish into herself, into some stillness that held no thought or feeling.

Her silky black hair fell down her breast in disarray, and she didn’t so much sit across from him as sprawl. But even in repose she was imposing, as tall as him or taller, with plenty of hard muscle under her curves that gave a serpentine impression.

“My, are you in a hurry to lose, or trying to cheat while I’m distracted?” He asked, peering uselessly into her eyes, grey as ash in her angular tanned face. He fancied he could see the faint red glow of embers in their depths.

“See, that’s why I like you. Half the fun of the game is trying to cheat each other.” She replied with a half smile softening her angular features.

“Oh? Is that why I’m your favorite?” He asked, a little more seriously than he intended.

She looked at him and smiled and there was a little of the wolf in her white teeth, as she laughed good humoredly. “I’d feel a little bad trying to cheat the Chatelaine or her man, but you can take it.” She drained her cup in one go. “Maybe it’s just that you haven’t got the good sense to be afraid of me.”

The incense she always kept burning sent up a ribbon of smoke that drifted between them and gave him the discomfiting sense that he had been there before, and had waited a long time to return.

“I could say the same to you.” He said and filled both their cups.

“Everything I ever feared has already come to pass.” She replied with no particular feeling.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen x ocs #warmups #fragments

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queenlegacyproductions · 5 years

Text

Royally Bitter Tension

Summary: Riley Carter is back again in the Mixed Match Challenge to defend her crown as the first and reigning Mixed Mixed Challenge Champion. Unfortunately for The Goddess Queen, her partner Kevin Owens is currently out of action due to a severe knee injury caused by Bobby Lashley, one of her opponents in the first round, Country Dominance with Mickie James. In order for Riley to compete and defend her title as the Mixed Match Challenge Champion, she would have to team up with The Bruiserweight, Pete Dunne to do so. However, it’s a lot harder than it sounds. And it gets even harder when Riley tells him off one too many times about his bad attitude. Is the tension between The Raw Women’s Champion and The United Kingdom Champion really animosity?

‘I’m gonna kill both Bobby and that little mothball of his when I get my hands on them.’ Riley thought as she fiercely marched to the office of the acting general manager Baron Corbin with the fury only a Goddess Queen is capable of having after watching what had happened just a few minutes ago.

Bobby had attacked Kevin viciously after he beat him. But that’s not even the tip of the iceberg that sunk this whole Titanic into the sea of Bullshit. It was the news of Kevin cannot compete in The Mixed Match Challenge due to not one knee injury but two knee injuries.

Yeah, The Raw Women’s Champion is not a happy camper.

Riley finally makes it to Baron’s office when she walks in without knocking, seeing Baron texting.

“Corbin!” Riley yelled at him as she walks into his office. “You want to explain to me what the hell that was out there?!”

Baron rolls his eyes at the irate strawberry red headed woman that now stood in front of him. “Explain what, Riley?”

Riley sputtered in disbelief at his question. “Really? Did you not watch the show? The show that you’re running until Kurt comes back? And you’re helping the show run lot more smoothly than Kurt.” Riley guffaws sarcastically at the last statement. “Jesus christ.”

“I would watch what you say next, Riley.” Baron threatened her. “I don’t think Stephan-.”

“Corbin, stop. Stephanie doesn’t scare me. I scare her, okay? Pretty sure she wouldn’t want to confront me after the shit I put her through.” Riley laughed. “Besides, she’ll tell you that I’m not the one to try because I can be a pain in someone’s ass, especially ones of authority figures.” Riley warns him. This quiets the once-was lone wolf. “Now, be a good boy and tell me what do you plan on doing about lashley and that little moth of his?”

“Well, I’ll tell he can do.” An annoying voice said behind Baron. Riley rolled her eyes in annoyance as Lio Rush appeared behind Corbin with Bobby and Mickie behind him.

“What my man, the acting general manager of Raw can do is have my man, my man who looks like money and smells like money, the man that came back to dominate, my man Bobby Lashley and his Mixed Match Challenge partner Mickie James proceed in the tournament since you, Ms. Carter, do not have a tag team partner.”

“So you want me to forfeit?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh, you must be out of your damn mind if you think i’m gonna forfeit to those two losers behind you, ya little-.”

“Riley, stop it.” Baron cuts her off. “Lio does have a point. You don’t have a partner for the challenge. But i’m not gonna have you forfeit.” He said quickly before she could protest. “Instead, i’m gonna tell you who your partner will be for the Mixed Match Challenge.”

“Who?” Riley asked before there was a knock at the door. Baron smirks at her.

“I think it’s best if I showed you.” He tells her before he tells whoever’s at the door that it’s open. The door opens up to reveal Pete Dunne, Tyler Bate, and Trent Seven. Riley quirks up an eyebrow in confusion.

“British Strong Style?” She asked.

“One member of the British Strong Style will be your partner for the Mixed Match Challenge since the NXT UK division will be apart of the Raw brand. And since Tyler and Trent are currently busy with the tag team tournament that’s taking place tomorrow, that leaves Pete to be your partner.” Baron explained. Lio laughs at the news.

“Really? You’re gonna have Pete team with Riley?” Lio laughs. “You sure you don’t want to forfeit?” Before Riley could respond to the Man of The Hour, a voice beats her to it.

“That’s a good question, Rush.” Pete spoke as he stood beside Riley, title over his shoulder. “You sure you guys don’t want to forfeit before we break your fingers?” The question made Riley snicker.

“I think you should be careful, Bobby. This one likes to bite.” She playfully warns him with a giggle. Bobby steps closer to Riley threateningly but Pete steps in front of her. The two men stare each other before Bobby and Co. walk away. Riley and the boys leave as well. As the fellas start to walk away from her, she speaks up to Pete.

“Hey, Pete.” She says as she grabs his arm. He turns around, annoyed at the contact. Riley quickly releases her grip on his arm, suddenly intimidated. “I just wanted to say thank you for standing up for me in there. I appreciate it.” Pete then turns to face her head on.

“I wasn’t standing up for you. I didn’t want them getting any ideas that they should take me lightly. I was making a statement, not watching your back.” Pete said with a harsh edge to his words. The gaze he held on her made her nervous which she hated thus pissing her off.

“Hey, no need to get snippy, Sourpuss.” She snapped at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re gonna be teammates which means we have to get along. And in order for this ship to sail in Shit’s Creek properly, I’mma need for you to check yo attitude before ya board because it ain’t allowed on Captain Carter’s Ship Of No Bullshit. Okay, Sweetiekins?” She asked him before she twists her face in a snarl. She didn’t wait for him to answer as she turns around and walks away from him, hips swaying fiercely as she heads over to her locker room. Pete’s upper lip turns up into a similar snarl as he watches her walk away from him as Tyler and Trent laugh at him.

“That’s like the first time I ever have heard absolute silence from you in a confrontation.” Tyler says as he laughs harder with Trent.

“Shut up.” Pete mutters lowly in his deep voice and walks away from his best friends who were still laughing like hyenas.

The next day, Pete arrives at the arena. Since Riley told him off, The two members of Mustache Mountain had noticed that Pete hasn’t been the same since then. The man was more non-approachable than ever before. He’d grunt a response for every question thrown at him more so than usual. The 5’5” Goddess Queen had rubbed The Bruiserweight the wrong way. Pete had walked into his locker room, shut and locked the door as he shed his street clothes and snapback to get ready for the mixed tag match. His mind then goes back to Riley.

‘Just who the hell she thinks she is? She thinks she can talk to me in any kind of way?’ He thought as he walked into the bathroom, turning on the shower. He growled as he remembers the confrontation between him and his tag team partner.

‘Fucking woman with her big mouth, her attitude. But she is cute.’ Pete smirks at he remembers her shape. ‘Her lips, her tits, her hips, her ass, her thighs. Everything about her is so plump. I just wanna bite all of it. Just eat her up. Maybe she’d be less attitudinal when I’m head first between them thighs.’ Pete chuckles at the thoughts of her as his early Thanksgiving meal as he strips out the rest of his clothing and gets in the shower. Meanwhile, Riley was in her locker room, changing into her costume ring gear that was inspired by DC Character Zatanna Zatara. As she grabs her top hat, there was a knock on her door.

“It’s open!” She yelled out as she dusts off her hat. She turns around to see Tyler and Trent walk in. “Oh, hey fellas.” She walks over to Tyler to hug him before she goes to hug Trent. “Where’s Pete?” She asked.

Tyler sighs before he answers. “Pete’s here but he’s a little more bitter than usual. I think he really didn’t like being told off like that.” Riley rolls her eyes at the news.

“Well, he better start liking it. I heard of his bad attitude before. I’m not dealing with his attitude nor am I babysitting his goddamn ego. It’s hard enough work to properly stroke and maintain my own damn ego.” This gets a chuckle from another voice. The trio turns towards the door to see Pete standing at the door with a smirk.

“I’m pretty sure that’s true, Carter.” He said as he steps into the room. He stops right in front of her.“But you are aware of pride coming before the fall, aren’t ya sweetheart?” he asked, his tone getting lowly in a threatening yet teasing tone in his voice. He smirks as he notices her shiver at the question but just as quick she shivered, her brown eyes lit up with fury.

“Oh, I know, Petey. That’s why I’m the Raw Women’s Champion and I won it in the first tournament that Raw had when it was first vacated. Until some people who lost in the first-ever United Kingdom Championship Tournament to his best friend in the finals.” Riley gives him a sickly sweet smile as she speaks her words of venom at the current United Kingdom Champion. Pete squares up his shoulder as his upper lip turns up, that signature snarl of his making its presence be known. Despite that feeling of intimidation coming to rear its ugly head back in her mind, she pushes it down as she smirks at the now fuming Bruiserweight. She tilts her head to the side in a feint innocent motion.

“Aww, what’s the matter, sourpuss?” Riley says the mocking nickname like Daffy Duck this time. “Don’t like me taking the piss out of ya? It gets under your skin, doesn’t it? You want to hit me, do ya?” She asked, taunting him. Pete steps closer to her, their faces now just at least than an inch away from each other. They hold that position for a few moments before a stagehand knocks on the door. Pete ends up growling at the poor soul before he stomps out of the room to head for gorilla. Trent and Tyler looks to Riley with deep concern. Riley playfully rolls her eyes at the two men’s faces.

“If things go right, Petey will be so mad at me to the point that he takes it out on little Bob.” Riley smirks at the two brits before she grabs her title and walks over to gorilla. She wraps her title around her waist before she hears the first few notes of Six Shooter by Coyote Kisses rattles the arena to its core at the crowd’s reaction. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkFZn4oPMqE

“And here comes the first ever Mixed Challenge Champion. The Raw Women’s Champion. The Goddess Queen, Riley Carter.” Michael said at the commentary.

“Riley, the champ, here to defend her crown here tonight…” Renee said as Pete’s theme song plays as Riley waits on the stage for him, smirking at Country Dominance. “....but she has new backup in the form of The United Kingdom Champion.”

“That’s right, Renee. It’s not Kevin Owens, her original partner since Kevin suffered severe injuries in both knees at the hands of one Bobby Lashley who Pete will face tonight on Mixed Match Challenge.” Vic said as Pete did his usual bit with his fists to his chin with the title between his teeth as Riley takes off her hat, giving the crowd a bow before she puts it back on.

“The two teams facing off against each other tonight are Country Dominance, the team of Mickie James and Bobby Lashley and The new team of Pete Dunne and Riley Carter who calls themselves The Bruiser Legacy.” Michael speaks as Riley sits on the ring ropes as Pete poses again in the ring right beside her. They both looked at each other with a smirk as Pete helped her inside the ring, glancing at her ass as she steps inside.

Riley and Pete managed to take control of the match since Peter bend, yanked, snapped, stomped, and even bit Bobby’s fingers in the very beginning of the match. However, Lio had distracted him which allowed Bobby to take control for the rest of the match but Riley turns the tides when she tagged herself in much to Pete’s displeasure. At some point in the match, she manages to tag Pete back in who takes the reins smoothly from where Riley left off, gaining some much needed momentum. Pete was setting up for the bitter end when Lio got on the apron to distract the ref. As Lio was distracting the ref, Riley quickly dispatches of Mickie at ringside as she slides in the ring. Riley then picks up Bobby and sets him up and hits her version of the GTS which causes Bobby to pop up to his feet which allows Pete to hit the Bitter End for the victory for The Bruiser Legacy. While Riley goes to raise Pete’s hand in victory, he snaps away from her.

“What the hell was that, Carter?!” He yelled at her. Riley rolls her eyes at him.

“A victory, Petey. You know winning?” she sarcastically replied.

“I meant that GTS, Carter. I didn’t need that! I had him-”

“-Almost beat us! Yeah, I noticed that. That’s why i got involved. After all, I was just making a statement.” Riley snapped at him using his words. “And my statement is that in this partnership, I am the one wearing the pants, okay? After all, they’re too big for a little boy like you.” Riley walked away from him again, leaving him in the ring as she goes back to her locker room which thankfully was empty.

About an hour later, Riley arrives at the hotel that everyone was staying and checks in at the front desk before going to her hotel room which was the penthouse suite.

‘Nice…’ Riley thought as she walks to the elevator. ‘Spacious place and a big comfy bed. Yes.’ She waits for the elevator and gets on when it arrives. Right before it closes again, a hand gets in between the door which makes the elevator to open again and reveal the last face Riley wanted to see right now. At least, that’s what she wanted to believe.

“Couldn’t wait for the next elevator, Dunne?” Riley asked him dryly. This gets a smirk out of him.

“No. Not really.” He responded as he boards the elevator. “Besides, i believe this is the perfect place to do this.” Riley’s face turns to one of confusion as he stops the elevator.

“Do wha-?” Before she could ask the question, she squeals as Pete manages to back her up against the wall of the elevator with one hand around her jaw.

“To do this.” He taunted her as he makes her look at him, that same look that had intimidated her in the past. Pete chuckles at her frightened reaction.

“Oh. Is someone scared now if what I gonna do to you, Queenie?” Pete taunted her, pleased with her reaction. However, Riley’s eyes hardened with defiance but Pete continues.

“No, you’re not scared.” He leans closer to her. “You’re turned on.” Riley’s eyes widened at the statement.

“What?” She asked breathlessly as Pete moves his hand from her jaw to her neck. He tightens his grip a little which makes the strawberry redheaded women’s champion whimper much to his amusement.

“You heard me, Queenie.” Pete said as he presses his hard body against her plump body, making her breath quicken. “You’re turned on. You’re turned for me, aren’t ya?” He chuckles again well he doesn’t get a response from her. “I bet you’re so fucking wet for me, my little luv.”

Riley’s fiery attitude makes its appearance for the first time in the encounter. “Probably not since you’re not anything spec-.” She gasps out suddenly cutting off her sentence due to Pete’s knee rubbing against her pussy through her panties.

“There you go again, trying to give Daddy lip.” Riley whines and bit her lip as Pete simultaneously squeezes her neck and presses his knee harder against her pussy. “I know you want this, Riley. And I’m willing to give it to you.” Pete takes hold of her jaw again this time gently to have her look at him. “But only if you’re willing to be a good little girl and listen to Daddy.” He could see the conflict in her eyes. “It wouldn’t be weakness if you do give in, Darlin’. In fact, you’d be showing strength by letting me take the reins and you know why?”

“No..”

“Because that shows me that you trust me with your pleasure, luv.” Pete runs his thumb across her bottom lip. “And that’s all I want, baby. All I want is to please you. That’s why I was so upset earlier. I wanted to beat Bobby on my own to impress you. To prove that I can be there for you. For anything, my darlin’ goddess.” Riley sighs at the news, now feeling like an asshole. She goes to apologize but Pete stops her with a soft kiss on her lips. She whimpers into the kiss and she runs her fingers through his hair as she pulls him closer. They pull away once their lungs began to burn due to lack of oxygen.

“It’s alright, luv. I’m not mad anymore. Not after I figured you out. But you still..” He pauses to kiss her lips again. “..Haven’t.” Kiss on her jawline. “Answered.” Kiss on her neck. “Daddy.” Kiss behind her ear before he sucks on her earlobe.

“Yes. Yes, Daddy. Please, Daddy.” She begged him, clawing at his shoulders.

“Mmm, good girl.” Pete restarts the elevator as it takes them to the penthouse suite in the hotel. Pete picks her legs around his waist as he kisses her lips again. He takes her off the wall of the elevator and carries her to the bedroom to place her on the bed. Pete moves his kisses down to her neck and collarbone as he undos the buttons on her shirt. Riley moans loudly as Pete bites her neck when he gets her shirt. This makes him laugh, his voice becoming deeper with lust as he admires the red lace bra that currently housed her huge breasts. He runs his hands gently over them, making the redhead moan and squirm under his touch.

“Red looks really good on you. Makes your skin glow.” Riley whimpered when he cups them, squeezing them. “But then again, knowing you, you could make anything look good.” He leans down to suck her nipples through her bra.

“Pete…” Riley whines as he gives both nipples a pinch before he sits back up. She shrieks as he rips the bra from her, her breasts bouncing at his roughness. “Peter!”

“I would apologize for that but it wouldn’t be sincere.” He laughs before he kissed her lips which were frowning since he just ruined her favorite bra. “It’s ok, luv. I’ll buy you more.” He continues to kiss down her body to her skirt. “Especially since that’s gonna be my new habit of mine.” He smirks at her shy reaction. “Does Queenie like that idea?” he smiles.

Riley nods her head, returning his smile. “Yes, I do.” She moans as Pete bites her hips by the waistline of her skirt. “Hey, what am I? A piece of candy?” She asked him as he pulls off her skirt.

“Well, you do look like caramel candy.” Pete complimented her as he kisses up her legs to her inner thighs. “A wet caramel candy at that.”

Riley throws her head back as Pete licks a strip from her opening to her clit. “Ah, fuck!” She screamed as her back arched up in pleasure when Pete sucks on her clit.

Pete growled as she bucked her hips in his face. “That’s it, luv. Ride my fucking face. Feed me that sweetness.” He smacked her ass which made her wetter and pant faster. “Fuck, you’re fucking dripping everywhere, Darlin’.” Pete then licks his fingers and puts them in her pussy. “And it’s fucking tight, too.”

Riley moans wantonly as Pete fingers her pussy faster, making her legs shake as she suddenly cums hard on his fingers. “Oh, shit Daddy! Daddy!”

“Yes, good girl! Good girl.” Pete said as he slows his pace down to clean up her juices. “Fuck, you taste so good.” he mutters as he takes off his jacket and shirt before he kisses up her body, climbing on top of her as he does. Riley runs her hands up Pete’s chest and shoulders before he takes them in his, intertwining their fingers as he pins them to the bed.

“There will be another time for you to survey the goods but right now, I just want you.” Pete said, kissing her again before he slips inside her. Riley gasps as Pete stretches her out. Pete smirks at her face. Her eyes were half-lidded and she was panting heavily.

“Daddy, move. Please, please fuck me. Fuck me hard. I want it. I want it rough.” She begged him as she wraps her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back. Pete growled as he pulls out her pussy before he thrusted hard back inside, making her squeal with his rough pace. “Oh, fuck yes Daddy! Yes!”

Pete growls as he moved her legs from around his waist to his shoulders without once losing his pace. “Fuck, luv. You’re squeezing m’ cock so good. Shit! You like it? You like it when I fuck you like this? Huh? When daddy fucks you like a little slut?”

Riley giggles, loving his dirty talk. “You mean your little slut, Daddy?” She asked him which makes him smirk.

“That’s right, my beautiful slut.” he said as he puts one of his hands around her neck, squeezing it and groaning as her pussy squeezes him tighter as he does. “Bloody hell, Riley! You’re squeezing me tighter. You wanna cum for me?” Riley nods her head but it was enough to please Pete. Instead, he smacks her ass and squeezes her neck tighter. “Answer me, Queenie.”

“Y-Yes! Yes, Daddy. I wanna cum! Please let me cum!” Riley whimpered. Pete lets go of her neck and leans closer to her face.

“Look at me as you cum for me. Right now. Cum for me. Right. Now!” He commanded. Riley screamed, fighting the urge to close her eyes as she reaches her peak, drenching his dick and the bed sheets with her juices. Her intense orgasm was enough to trigger Pete’s as he fills her pussy with load after load of his seed. He kissed her as they both come down from their prospective highs. The silence was broke by Riley who speaks in a sleepy tone.

“I love you, Sourpuss.” Pete smiles at her before he kisses her again, rolling off of her.

“I love you too, Queenie.” He responds as he spoons her from behind.

“I guess we’re together then?” She playfully asks as she looks at him with a smirk.

“Looks like we’re gonna round two because apparently I didn’t hit that pussy right for you to still be awake.” She shrieks before she giggles as Pete snatches her up on top of him.

@gold--gucciempress @tacoshu @evilangel84 @nerdlife0612 @melinated-moon-goddess @wwevampireamongkpop @littledeadrottinghood @superrezzy00 @caramara3 @ladytea19 @pikapuff316 @bucky-bliss @scuzmunkie

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laundryandtaxes · 6 years

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do you still have disordered eating habits? if not what helped you overcome it?

First of all, the answer is no. I eat what I want, which is sometimes “junk food” but usually not, I don’t count calories, I don’t eat according to anything other than general health concerns (as in, not eating a pint of ice cream a day and a bunch of pie like I was doing at the height of my disordered eating habits, making sure I eat enough veggies and especially green stuff because I have stomach issues and leafy greens seem to help, NOT LIMITING HOW MUCH FRUIT I EAT OVER CONCERNS ABOUT MUH CARB INTAKE) and hunger, and nowadays trying to ensure I eat enough protein to support muscle-building since I am trying to pack on some muscle and working out on top of a very physical job. I don’t obsess over food at all, which at one point I was certain I would never be able to say. The next thing I should address is my definition of disordered eating- I do not care at all for categorizing trauma responses with diagnoses, and do not pay any credence to diagnostic criteria. I have zero interest in framing the discussion as about anorexia, or bulimia, or binge eating disorder, or “ED-NOS” or whatever. Sure, the women (and I will only discuss women because this has been the experience I understand personally, but also because I think it is so standard for us to have food issues) who come to fit into those categories have distinct ways of coping with their food trauma from each other, but at its core I think what I call disordered eating is functionally about trauma with food and patriarchal body expectations, and very often explicit instruction in how to develop a disordered relationship to food from our mothers or aunts or older sisters, or sometimes from male authority figures as well. I use the term pretty loosely to refer to any number of maladaptive relationships to food, the way I might refer to a maladaptive relationship to a drug- relying on it for emotional regulation/to self-soothe (as is common for alcohol abuse), obsession over food intake to the extent that it affects quality of life, believing there are certain off limits foods, feeling unable to control yourself around food for reasons not just related to being very hungry on a particular day/hormone fluctuation around menstruation and so on, obsession with controlling food intake for the purpose of controlling what one’s body looks like, relying on your control of your food intake for self esteem, strongly connecting your food intake to your sense of self worth and even sense of self, etc. By this metric it is pretty clear that, in my opinion, not only is it common for women to struggle to various degrees with unhealthy eating habits in their life, it is actually very UNcommon for them not to.

For me what was really critical is being able to honestly face all the trauma I had around food as a child. And I had a LOT of it. I mean a LOT, to the point that some of it still comes back in flashbacks even now that I’ve had a generally good relationship to food for a good 4 or 5 years. It meant remembering one of the most important women in my life dieting with me when I was 12 so that I could go into high school not being chubby- in fact, I saw a recipe for cabbage soup a few weeks ago and I cried like a baby because I remembered the smell of the cabbage and tomato soup that was the only thing I was allowed to eat my fill of for two weeks as a 12 year old girl. It meant remembering another important woman in my life telling me lovingly that the reason she didn’t let me have another sandwich, as I watched a male cousin scarf down another and as I was still hungry as a pubescent child whose body also needed nutrients to grow, was because she didn’t want me to “end up like [her]” and then seeing her shake her arm fat in front of me as a cautionary tale. It meant remembering being told I couldn’t have seconds and eating out of the trash, and the sheer shame of it, and bingeing on shitty snack cakes in high school because of what was probably, again, a pubescent body being denied food at home under the guise of portion control, etc. It meant having another important woman in my life tell me that “hunger is the feeling of your body burning calories” and I should be happy, at 12 years old, to go to bed hungry every night. It meant sitting down with my mother and watching things like the MTV show “Made” and “Biggest Loser” which taught me that being fat was the worst thing someone could be, and instilled in me the sense that everything I could do in my life should be centered around the goal of Not Becoming Like That. My mother will probably die unhappy with her weight, unhappy with her body, and having what I will always consider disordered eating issues. I was passed these issues as a female right of passage. This happens to a lot of girls. It happens to too many of us. It is understandable that women would pass this on, having themselves gotten it from their mothers’ instruction, but it is not acceptable. My mother and I have only recently been able to even passingly talk about that- she’s genuinely sorry that I ended up with her obsession with food, she’s doing a significantly better job with my sisters specifically as a result of my having said “Hey that really messed up my relationship to something I need to put in my body every day to survive,“ and she is really trying not to externalize in the same way. I think this is all it is fair to ask of her- to not externalize, to not enforce this on other women, to not coach girls in how to starve themselves. More than one of the examples of traumatizing incidents I mentioned was an interaction with my mother- I have not said which because I feel it is inappropriate to sort of drag her through the mud publicly when I know she did what was her absolute best at the time, that everything she did was done out of love because she believed it was the best thing to do because she believed a fat girl to be a worst case scenario. I hold not bitterness or anger there anymore, and I genuinely mean that.

What I mean by remembering is not just recalling the memory, but sitting in how it made me feel, remembering the shame of not losing the right amount a certain week, etc. From the years where I had the most unhealthy relationship to food my primary emotion when it came to food was shame. I was ashamed of eating too much, ashamed of eating the wrong foods. I was 18 and falling asleep eating cookies to self-soothe because I lacked emotional coping skills, and I was waking up ashamed of the empty box and crumbs on my bed. But above all, after and during the recall of all of these memories, I would make a conscious effort to reach into myself and to shake the 10-year-old version of myself and to tell her, actively, that she did not deserve what was happening to her. This was critical. For me it has been key to achieving emotional stability after a number of kinds of abuse- child abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse, etc. The way I think about trauma is this. Say I have a traumatic experience when I am 9 years old. I may have flashbacks, I may cry about it, I may never forget it, but if I leave the experience there I have only ever had one perspective on it- that is the perspective of a 9 year old girl. A 9 year old girl does not understand that the things adults do to her can be wrong, a 9 year old girl does not understand that she deserves to be treated decently, a 9 year old girl does not really have any understanding that she deserves even to eat food until she is no longer physically hungry. So what I needed for all of my general trauma was to relive the experience with an adult’s understanding, and an adult’s emotional skills. I was able to look back at being instructed to go to bed hungry and really truly understand that I didn’t deserve that, in a way I could not understand when it was happening. And to some extent I was able to comfort the little girl who was never comforted about any of this. That’s what helped me move forward. I don’t know if this sounds weird or woo-ey or like nonsense. I can tell you it’s what saved me from being really deeply emotionally unstable and suicidal. It’s a method I developed because when I was 18 I was just kind of at the point, uninsured, working a shitty job, depressed out of my mind to the point where I eventually worked almost never because I couldn’t get out of bed, newly off psychiatric medication, that it was either get better or kill myself. I’m not trying to imply that everyone in emotional turmoil just hasn’t made the decision to get better, obviously- I didn’t want to suffer when I was suffering, for the most part- but I personally just really got to a point where I realized I had to figure something out or I wasn’t going to be able to continue living a miserable life.

Certainly I used food as an emotional aide in a way that I do not have to anymore because I have developed real emotional skills. I can name my emotions now. I can talk about them. I am not ashamed of having them. I believe I am a good person who deserves good treatment from the people in my life, and I demand it of them. I can have minor life setbacks, or even major life setbacks, now and not think I am just fundamentally a bad person and let it get me down and keep from moving forward with my life. I think it’s a major mistake when people say, “Ohhhh you don’t hate yourself- that’s the depression talking” and things of that variety. I thought hateful thoughts about myself when I was depressed because I genuinely believed hateful thoughts about myself. I remember being 16 in therapy and writing a list of pros and cons about myself and coming up with almost no pros- that’s astounding to me now, as an adult with a lot of self love and a healthy sense of self esteem! So I don’t think I could have stopped using food as an emotional aide until I replaced it with real emotional skills and real self-worth. If I was upset at a friend, I would binge. If I was upset at myself, as I often would because I hated myself, I would binge. And in order to stop doing that I had to actually find an alternative. Just not bingeing, which I had obviously tried before, did absolutely nothing for me when I had no other way of making myself feel good or at least better. So I had to develop the ability to self-soothe. I’ll be honest here and say I don’t really remember how I did that- I don’t remember a whole lot of that point in my life because I was pretty out of it emotionally- but talking myself down, not allowing myself to indulge in thought spirals about how I was a bad person, and actively working on my emotional responses to the world around me and all my own internal sort of trauma stuff helped a lot. I don’t think I could have done one without the other.

For a long time part of me was obsessed with trying to find out WHY I would engage in certain food behaviors to begin with, and honestly I don’t really care. Maybe I binged as a teenager because it made me feel better because chocolate tastes good. Maybe that was just my body trying to get me to pack in extra calories to physically grow- this actually only occurred to me recently, but I am significantly shorter than one would think the child of a 5′10″ woman and a 6′4″ man would be, and it’s possible this was due to not eating enough, although it’s also possibly just because the women in his family are short. I have no idea why I picked the coping mechanism up other than it helped me cope. I don’t really care why. I don’t need it anymore to regulate my feelings for me, and it’s in the past. I’ve let it go. I’m not saying I have NEVER since I was 19 looked at a food and thought I wasn’t allowed to have it, or considered counting calories, etc. But I no longer feel that I have an unhealthy relationship to food, and what’s most important I am no longer obsessive about my intake of it. If I am hungry I eat. I try to eat stuff that is relatively nutrient dense, and tasty. I don’t worry about too much when it comes to my food intake. That’s fine by me.

I hope this wasn’t too much, and I actually started typing this expecting to save it as a draft and finish it tomorrow, but I kind of got on a roll and just finished it up. I hope this helps you some. I am sending you lots of love and strength and support, and if you ever want to talk to me I always have anon off. Best of luck to you moving forward.

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elliemarchetti · 6 years

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Winter Olympics RQ AU - Week 1

@maveicen hope you like this.

I have to admit I’m not the best in writing about sports because the last sport I practiced was hip hop dance and I was in middle school, but I know a little about jealousy, about fear of losing and most of I know how people feel when they’re afraid to disappoint others but mostly themselves.

Words: 2463

Getting to be summoned for the Olympic Games had never been Diana's great ambition, at least until her sister had had to stop on cross-country skiing and her mother had not died during a flood. The media had not even wasted time trying to find out her name: it had been a fatality, and the wave had been so small that it had only caused damage to homes closer to the riverside. It was not news, just one broken life. Yet the loss of her mother had left a deep scar in Diana's heart and had pushed her to commit herself more, to let go of those futile battles she tried to fight every day, and she had put body and soul into sport. She did not care that biathlon was not the most beloved discipline; it was what she did best, and she would do it until one knee broke, just like had happened to Madeline. At least, this was what she believed: it was the first day of competition, and fortunately, they had decided to start with hockey, so that she could rest, at least twenty-four hours, after the long journey. The Olympic village was beautiful, although she did not particularly appreciate the choice of accommodation, but it had to be all to make a scene, to give journalists something to talk about; you do not put near two bitter enemies without wanting to create a bit of havoc. As if she had called some members of the opposing team, she saw the two favorite ice dancers of that year, Evangeline Samos and Elane Haven, emerge from nowhere. They were the first couple of women to skate together in the history of the Olympics, but times had changed, and Volo Samos, the trainer of those two vipers, and father of the youngest, was very influential in the world of skating and knew how to be really persuasive. Or maybe it was his money? In any case, he had joined the best ice dancers in America and created that wicked match.

"Diana Farley." called Evangeline, making the direct interest roll her eyes. She did not want problems in general, and certainly not with them; they were the most loved, the favorites, while she could only hope for the bronze. With any kind of confrontation, she would have destroyed her public image with her own hands, and that was not what she wanted: being an Olympics athlete gave her the possibility to talk about real issues, it had given her visibility that a girl who came from nowhere would have had no other way of having, so she was not meant to lose it only because of two stupid spoiled girls.

"Ready to shoot on the public?" Elane asked, with a malicious smile. Diana did not say anything, but she wondered if someone really, other than her evil companion, would never laugh at her jokes.

"I was wondering," continued Evangeline, accelerating the pace to stay by her side "if your father would not have preferred a son, you know, with two females and both mediocre in what they do ..."

Diana turned and Evangeline smiled victoriously. She had touched an open nerve. Diana bit her tongue and reminded herself she was near the hockey center; she just had to be patient, and that torture would be over quickly.

“No one likes biathlon.” said Elane, putting herself on her left, so as to appear, in case they were approached by journalists, a simple group of athletes who was heading towards the upcoming hockey game of the group a. “Neither your mother, if she was still alive, would watch you.”

Diana knew she had just set herself good intentions, but any attempt to keep the perfect athlete's facade went to hell when that little bitch named her mother.

“How dare you?!” she exclaimed, turning to shove the girl.

Evangeline was immediately at her side, but two brats with thin arms and delicate faces would not have stopped Diana.

"Diana!" someone called her, distracting her. It was a boy from her own team, but she did not remember what discipline he was competing for. Neither did he really have to be among the favorites.

"Do you think it's worth it?" he asked, once he was close enough. "They just need attention, I'm sure their boyfriends do not have much time for them now that they have to prepare to lose shamelessly against our team."

Diana smiled at her savior, but still tried to avoid the two girls' eyes. Shade, or at least was what she thought his name was, was right. Evangeline was frequenting Cal Calore, the captain of the American hockey team, and Elane had been with her partner's brother, an older member of the same team, for a long time, now.

“Look” replied Evangeline faking amusement, but both Diana and Shade saw she was shocked “the best couple of losers I’ve ever have the misfortune to lay my eyes on. Skeleton, right?” she asked to Shade. He didn’t answered, so Diana thought she was right.

“No one likes skeleton either.” added Elane, and Diana hoped she could punch that girl, one day or another. She was even worse than Evangeline, and it was she the strongest part of the couple.

"Come on, let's leave the two lovebirds to share memories of their sad families." said Evangeline, taking her friend arm in arm. Elane gave them a victorious smile, and Diana had to concentrate on the back of her savior so as not to chase those two witches and remind them of what respect was. Only when they were gone Shade turned, looking at her with his big amber eyes.

"I think from now on you need an official escort." he joked, but Diana passed him without even thanking him.

"I can handle it very well alone."

"I see." he replied, laughing. "If I had not stopped you, you'll have to be expelled for a fight."

Diana froze and turned to face him.

"Can they do it?"

Shade nodded, but did not say anything else. They walked together, silently, up to the hockey center.

The hockey center was packed. Mare squeezed between a couple to reach Kilorn, who arrived before her. The game had already started, but they could not prevent the current best female snowboarder to enter to see the game of her team, where two of her brothers played, one, moreover, as captain.

She was first classified in the elimination of the half pipe and as soon as her father had given her permission to run to the hockey center she had called a taxi, paying even more than necessary to make him exceed the speed limits, albeit slightly. She was not the kind of young athlete whom success gets to her head, or pretends that everything is due, but she had privileges, she recognized it, and in some cases, she certainly did not mind exploiting them.

She was sure her brother’s team would win such an easy match, and they surely didn’t needed her support, Bree had also played in the previous edition of the Games, while Tramy had nevertheless been summoned, even though as a reserve. Mare was proud of her family, and certainly one of the most devoted fans of the Canadian hockey team. She knew that the most important match would be against the US, which since Cal Calore had been elected captain seemed unstoppable. Mare knew all the gossip about that team, mainly thanks to her sister Gisa, who never spared an opportunity to throw a few newspaper under her nose and to blame her that no one speak of the Canadian just because their lives were monotonous and boring. Mare, honestly, was fine like that: of course, her father was her coach, but he did not pressurize to get her into the Olympic hockey team. Not that Cal Calore was not good. At home, she had found herself searching on internet for a video of his team's matches, to understand what the whole world saw in that young boy, barely twenty, and found herself thinking that, indeed, he had talent. He had talent on the ice and, as she noticed during that match, he also had talent as a strategist. It all happened by chance: Mare got up at the end of the second time to go to the bathroom, and took more than expected to find it, partly because of the fatigue caused by the eliminations, partly because she was definitely distracted by all the people who seemed whisper her name. It did not happen often to her to be recognized on the street, but it had to be simpler there. Snowboarding was not skating, people have to wear big jackets and protections that make them barely recognizable and the faces of the participants are only seen at the awards, if they win a medal. Yet those people seemed to recognize her anyway, and at first, she was flattered, but in the end, she ended up being annoyed. However, during her wanderings, her gaze fell on a tall and muscular boy, with the posture of a soldier. He was writing on a block notes, and Mare just leaned forward to read; he took notes on the game and not on both teams but only on the Canadian one. Only when he turned, feeling observed, she noticed whom he was.

"Honored to know that the future half pipe champion is interested in what I do." he commented, amused. How presumptuous!

"Do not you bet on your compatriot?" she asked.

"Not even a penny." the boy answered, with a broad smile. He was nicer when he smiled.

"I hope you'll come see my game too."

Mare shook her head, and he seemed disappointed.

"Tomorrow at midday I have the first knockout rounds."

"Then do not let me down." he answered, and without even saying goodbye he returned to focus on the Canadian team's tactics.

Mare came back from the bathroom a few seconds before the third and last period started.

"Why did you put so much?" asked Kilorn, barely giving her a glance. He was really taken from the game.

"I met Cal Calore." she answered, trying to show off a casual tone. Hearing that name, Kilorn turned wide-eyed: he said he hated him, but Mare was convinced that he had a kind of veneration towards him.

"What was he doing on our first game?"

"He took notes." replied Mare, and she felt stupid for not having thought of it before him. She should have advised her brothers.

“It’s unfair.” said Kilorn, disgusted.

“It’s not unfair, it’s just he’s smarter than us.” replied Mare, interrupting the conversation, and starting to act as the crazy fan (and sister) she was.

The Canadian’s new goalkeeper was capturing Maven’s attention. He was terribly good, and the opponent team hasn’t scored a goal. He must’ve been older than him, but not too much, maybe a couple years.

“Who has the puck?” asked his mother, and he replied it was the host team. He didn’t wanted to stop looking at that guy. Usually, he did not like hockey, mainly because his half-brother played it since he was still in swaddling clothes and then because it was such a disdainful, physical sport. He preferred skating, where maniacal precision was everything. But the movements of that boy, as he had even stopped that wrist shot, were phenomenal.

"Mistaken." his mother corrected him. "What do I bring you here to do if you're not even attentive about the game?" the woman asked, but Maven, for the first time, did not feel the need to apologize, or at least he did not do so until she kept hissing his name all the time.

"What is it that distracts you so much?" Elara finally asked, following her son's gaze.

"The Canadian goalkeeper is definitely stronger than ours."

The woman's eyes narrowed to two slits and without saying anything she stood up, ready to move away from the track. Maven was glad for that moment of breath and continued to look at that boy whose name he was sure would soon discover. It took very little time: the following day, a blurred but decidedly reconciled picture portrayed the boy talking to the American team's trainer, appeared in every newspaper. The new Canadian goalkeeper had sold himself? Or had he sold the whole team? What shady deals revolved around that picture? Maven had no doubt that it was her mother who orchestrated everything: she was a sorceress in that sort of thing.

Two days later, Thomas Smith was excluded from the Canadian team, despite the protests of his comrades: they were all ready to swear that he would never do such a thing.

On the fourth day of the Winter Olympics, the accused released an interview where he revealed that the coach of the American team had approached him only to compliment his skills as a goalkeeper, and to remind him that, if one day he got tired of Canada, he could always move to America, being sure he would be able to quickly get citizenship and a permanent position on the team. Tiberias Calore tore his words to pieces, in world vision; no one seemed to care who spoke the truth, the reason was given to the most powerful man, and Thomas's career was cut short before it can even start.

On the second day of games for the hockey American team, Ptolemus Samos, the best striker, began to complain of intermittent cramps in his right leg. Diana, who had certainly not decided to give up with her revenge, waited until the end of the match, and hid in the crowd, just to hear the instructions of his coach. She did not trust that man, who had managed to break the career of one of her teammates with a few words and a few smiles, so she followed one of his best athletes, trying not to be seen. She knew that eventually Shade, who had really come to follow her wherever she went, would have noticed her too long absence, but she still had a good amount of time.

She noticed, not without a certain amazement, that while the boy was approaching the room where the physiotherapist was waiting for him, the leg seemed to feel better, and his limp diminished visibly, almost disappearing.

She stood hidden behind the corner, when she heard him knocking at a door. She didn’t needed to see the whole scene: their shadows can’t lie. A tiny figure threw herself on the young man's neck and he grabbed her with his hands and kissed her passionately, and Diana was sure it could not be Elane: the two witches were skating just at that moment.

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 6 years

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Life Story Part 74

I found it harder and harder to focus on reading like I had in the past after my attacks. I would just stare at the page, or sometimes have trouble identifying with the dialogue in the story. I don't know if I picked up some overrated literature or if something in me was just different. I felt quite dead inside. I closed in on myself even harder. I rarely left my cold, dimly lit bedroom. There were certain thoughts I monitored myself not to have. I didn't go outside at all anymore unless it was very dark out. Allison and David would hang out with me, we would walk down to the pop machines and buy cans of soda if we could afford it. I spent more time hashing out my manga story. I still tried to make art when I could. I wrote Sarah often. But a good deal of my life at this was hiding. I felt broken, and I didn't even want to identify with anything that would wind up hurting me more.

I remember it being a fairly cold winter that year. I attempted to sleep as much as I possibly could. Nothing seemed worth being awake for anymore. I felt like a total loser – now back in Kendrick as though I had never even left. A part of me was starting to resign myself to the reality that I was never leaving. It was a bitter pill. Sometimes life seemed gray and blurry. I suppose I could have stayed living with Maria, or I could have chosen to stay with my grandma. But I hadn't. I had put on a lot of weight. I've heard people who have always been thin their entire lives, how people let themselves get overweight. Let me say – it's amazingly easy given you have the right DNA and life circumstances. Unless you are naturally hyper and love eating raw cucumbers all day, it can happen to anyone. And when you don't feel like there is anything in life that is meaningful or good and you have lost all hope, but you don't have drugs or money or transportation and suicide is too frightening to actually go through with, food is an outlet. Not that I ate that much – at least not by comparison to how I ate as a teenager. I really didn't need to eat that much anymore to gain weight. My metabolism was shot. I didn't feel good. The skin all over my body became covered in these bumps. I don't know why, though my guess is it had something to do with my endocrine system falling apart. Maybe it was because I was developing lactose intolerance.

Sarah went and saw Tom Waits live. It would be his last tour – for Orphans. She described it as this amazing experience – one of the best things she had ever seen in her entire life. His stage set was like this moving dilapidated carousel. When he stomped his feet billows of dust rose from the ground into the air. I now and forever will be jealous of her for having this opportunity. Tom Waits is my favorite. I didn't love him as much then as I do now, but I can listen to Tom Waits for days on end and it never gets old.

I often times would write to this website that may or may not exist still, called Elderlywisdomcircle. Basically, it's a bunch of volunteer elderly who try to give you advice about life problems for free. You just write a letter to them, and someone will get back to you within a few weeks. I would often write to them about how my father was preventing me from leaving by not helping me get a Social security card, about Roxanne and her drug use and her marriage to Jeremy, how depressed and isolated I was, how I was afraid to feel things because if I let myself feel things I would go insane and lose what little grounds I had in the world, about my brother. I don't know what I expected to find. I guess it was my grounded version of prayer. It was something to look forward to I guess, as I thought that maybe someone might have the answers to the issues I was facing. Out of all the letters I received back from my issues however, I essentially got little conclusive response, and only one of them seemed really legitimate. They always told me that I wrote well. They would basically tell me to seek help – though they also had to contest that I didn't live in a state or an area that was really generous about giving out help. A few of them were very religious and they told me that I needed to pray more. One cantankerous responder told me that I was essentially to blame about every bad thing that had ever happened to me, and I needed to take control over my life. The nuance in their professional opinion was that I was a bit on the pathetic side. They would always link me up with a suicide hotline.

David was in Hastings one day in the book section. David was beginning to read a lot independently, and I had shown him the places in Hastings that sold the classics and how to search the novels. As he was examining the selection, a stranger walked up to him, a man with a familiar voice. He had a gruff New York accent. He congratulated David for being a reader, that there weren't too many kids in these modern times who read anymore and it was very refreshing to see a young man such as himself choosing to do so. David nodded politely. Later on, David put a face and name to the guy. He was Michael Savage, the conservative nationalist political commentator that my father sometimes listened to. For whatever reason he had been in Moscow Idaho. Which is funny because David probably adamantly disagrees with just about everything Michael Savage stands for. I certainly think he's repulsive, and even my father doesn't really care for him anymore, mostly being a listener because he enjoyed the aggression and was amused by the extremism. It would have been so much cooler had the person in question been something more than some regressive asshole.

That New Year's eve, my father went out to drink. I knew he planned on getting totally wasted because he spent a lot of time trying to justify going out that year, when I honestly didn't object in the least, as that seemed like a totally natural thing to do. I didn't really look forward to him drinking however. It made me very nervous. Up that point, he mostly seemed to hold back on his drinking around us – though I knew he was still getting drunk other places. I was just starting to comprehend that part of the reason he was starting to say things that made no sense, or get irrationally emotional, or starting to make good food and then mess the food up by means of some obscure decision that made no logical sense was because he was starting to drink every night.

Allison, David and I stayed up of course, probably snacking and watching Fight Club or the Shawshank Redemption for the millionth time. After midnight came and went, David went upstairs to check in for the night. Allison and I were still up when one am rolled around. I was getting a little nervous that maybe my father had been in some kind of accident, as he said he was going to be home before midnight. So Allison and I stayed up watching an anime show that I wasn't really getting into Wolf's Reign or something like that, I believe it was called. It was around one or so that my father suddenly burst through the door belligerent. And he had this very weird guy with him who had this beautiful Husky with him. They were both so drunk they could barely walk and everything they said was a scream, particularly my father who was ranting in a way that made my stomach hurt with anxiety. My father was professing his undying friendship to this guy in his inebriated state, and this other guy who's voice was nothing but an inaudible display of indecipherable gurgles and croaks would say something back and I couldn't understand. They were both raving about something that had happened at the bar. I had never seen my father this drunk in my life, and I was kind of nervous. For one, he was saying some horrible base stuff about women. And though my father I would say was sexist, he had never really went off about women being easy sluts or being defined primarily by their bodies and if/how those bodies benefited the male gaze.

So I was horrified to be listening to him say probably some of the worst stuff I had ever heard him say. He was ranting on how him and this strange drifter that he met at the bar (Jordan was his name) were going to go out and get themselves laid that night in gross vivid detail. Even if one night stands were a person's thing, what he was saying and how he approached it was very lewd and offensive. He even joked about them finding hookers. Jordan more or less just went along with whatever my dad was saying, who kept patting his back. The fact that Allison and I were still awake and very aware of how he was behaving didn't really seem to do much to phase him. If anything, he seemed annoyed that the two of us were awake. Then again, he got mad when he heard that David was asleep.

Eventually, the two of them went down to the bar in Kendrick. It worried me that he had been driving. Honestly, as drunk as my father was, he had a DUI coming. I am really opposed to drunk driving. When I hear someone I know has done it I get almost personally offended. How could you put other people's lives in danger like that? You could literally destroy other people's realities simply because you couldn't make plans ahead of time. It's profoundly selfish to me. I wanted to go to sleep, but my heart was racing out of my chest. Jordan left his lovely Husky at the house. The dog was nice overall, kind of serious and distant. I felt like something bad would happen if we didn't stay up. I was in shock, because just when I thought I couldn't lose any more respect, here I was losing even more. Granted, alcohol brings out the worst and pushes that worst a little farther than you would have ever taken it, but I didn't think my father was this pathetic. And it really struck home with me that I didn't like alcohol. I saw it as being extremely destructive.

Eventually they came back, and they were ranting about how the two of them both deserved to fuck some fat ugly bitches. Allison and I looked at each other, grossed out. My father kept saying 'FAT BITCHES' FAT BITCHES' over and over again. Even though I know his mind was completely disconnecting this statement from his own daughter which was me, I felt personally offended and disgusted by this statement. I was fat, and I guess to some people I knew, I was probably considered a bitch as well. I felt there was something really double-horrible about that statement. The nuance being, fat women are disgusting and easy and something that you fetishize and want to both use for sex and violently humiliate. It was around this time when I just figured that if Jordan stabbed him in the night or either one of them choked on their own vomit then so be it. I tried to distance myself from it all, partially to process what I was hearing. He then decided to take his Nickelback collection out of retirement and start blasting it throughout the house – making it impossible for anyone to sleep. I decided that it was probably for the best if Allison and I went to bed. I was extremely tense about the surreal ugliness and the entirely negative vibes that had spoiled an otherwise mundane night.

The next day, Allison and I just stayed in the bedroom until we both just absolutely had to pee come hell or high water. Nobody was up, and the whole feeling of the house was really dead and gray. It kind of scared me a little bit. Outside was frosty and cold and the typical temperature of ten degrees. We walked around the house timidly and distantly. We found David still in his room, more or less confused. David got up in the night at some point and was completely baffled by a random Husky being in the house. David had been phobic of dogs as a little boy until he was eight or so, and seeing the dog in our house messed with him, causing him to question his own sanity a little bit. It would have been slightly funny had the whole thing not already been so appalling.

I could tell by my father's body language when he did come up that he felt ashamed of himself and was sort of afraid to see us. He tried to play it off like the entire thing hadn't happened. Being coy and distant to anything we had to say pertaining to the night before. Jordan was asleep on our couch till the afternoon and he smelled awful. The Husky had literally chewed a good portion of one of the couches to bits. It was totally destroyed. I hadn't even realized that furniture chewing could get that way. There were pieces of our couch scattered all over the house. I had to laugh a bit. I thought it added a nice touch to the absolute chaotic reality of that night. My father ended up driving Jordan back into Lewiston. He didn't seem very warmed up to Jordan like he had in his drunken moments that night. And we never heard from or saw Jordan or his dog again.

My father seemed to deal with his shame by doubling down on us about how the house was messy. It was just his way of feeling some semblance of control when it was becoming clearer and clearer to us all that he had none. Perhaps he suspected mutiny. I suspect he was onto something, because I was tempted not to at all in protest for having to put up being totally disgusted. But Allison and David felt the need to and sitting out would just be putting that much more work on them so I joined in ultimately. It really smelled in the corner of the couch, and we came to discover just what it was. Jordan had vomited out a ton of McDonald's food on the couch, and rather than clean it up, he had flipped over the couch cushion. It was deep in the void of the couch, but it was also sort of poured out over onto the floor, which he had of course taken one of our pairs of shoes to cover up, getting it on the sneakers. Allison was about to clean it up herself. But I said no. Instead, I told my father about the vomit. He just went 'oh' and walked away. I told him we weren't cleaning it up, which was both directly pertaining to the vomit, but just the situation in general. It was tiring and cowardly that he wanted us to be the ones that did the hard work of making our slowly disintegrating family ties work, and all he had to do was pretend consistently that he had done nothing wrong.

He ended up not cleaning the vomit up that night, or the next or the next. So we just stopped sitting on that couch, and we held our breath whenever we walked past that area. We were all painfully aware it was there, but it felt like nobody was allowed to talk about it. When he thought I wasn't around – six days later, he instructed Allison to clean it up for him. I found out about it, and I coached Allison not to. I could see this sort of frustration with it all, and I think she felt like, if she just cleaned it up then the whole negative experience would go away and she could move on. But for me, her cleaning that up was taking it in a way I didn't feel she deserved to have to do. If she gave into what he wanted, then he would feel better about himself, like he was still in control. I noticed too that he didn't want David to clean it up. He wanted it to be either me or Allison, and there was something very telling about that. I felt so belittling to make her have to do something like that. I felt like the mere act of having to do something like that was the kind of thing that ruins a young girl's self worth. Allison felt like I was holding onto the past, and the best thing to do is mindlessly scrape up the mess of yesterday, be it hers or someone else's and start out anew. It spelled a difference in how we coped with life I guess. I believe in quiet protest and have issues with authority that does not respect me, and Allison takes on responsibility that isn't something she should have to, and in doing I think she finds herself in a position where she feels she has more control over any given situation whereas I am more likely to bury my own grave due to my defiant attitude – but ultimately feel like I was more true to myself as I walk away.

Ultimately, in this situation, Allison didn't clean up the puke however, since for one, she really didn't want to. She was afraid at this point that cleaning it up would just ultimately cause her to puke, and secondly, I promised her that if she didn't clean the puke up and our dad had problems with that, I would personally jump in and my father could scream and freak out at me rather than her. I really didn't want Allison to have to clean it up, and just the thought of it made my blood boil. So she cleaned around it. My father was on the phone at that point with one of his online girlfriends and he was bragging about himself in this way that he always did. Allison asked if things were clean enough and he pointed to the corner of the couch. I looked him straight in the face and told him with factuality but not without some bit of attitude that that was Jordan's vomit and he needed to clean it rather than her. He was on the phone and I think my statement embarrassed him, so he said 'FINE RENEE' and then explained to his phone girlfriend that his eldest daughter was basically having hormonal issues and freaking out at him for something for no reason. The crazy in me thought of ripping the phone out of his hand and explaining to Jane Doe that he was trying to make his thirteen year old clean up this homeless guy's vomit on the couch from a week previous, but I thought better of it. He ended up cleaning it up a day or two later with some strong chemical soap, and a shampooer.

I guess things were building for me with my dad. The hurt I had felt was starting to turn into disgust. I don't remember at all how this fight went. I probably told him he cared about his online women more than he did his own family. He resented me because everyone in the household respected me more, including himself. Over the years I had been there for Allison and David and he hadn't. I had gained respect, and he had lost respect. He was threatened by me – not that I wanted his position in the house. I wanted out but couldn't get away on account of him. And I saw through him, and knew his vulnerabilities. Both of my parents, despite everything, considered me to be their best friend in their own individually weird way. I guess it's because I was curious about who they were. The older I have become, the less I tried to see them as the power structure I was meant to rely upon and I became curious about how they functioned. So when they did something really messed up, they would get insecure about me judging them – because I had seen what it was like for them behind the veil. And this sometimes threw my father in a rage, particularly when he personally felt like a failure.

I don't think he dealt with anything that had happened to him properly. He was messed up by the death of Patty, the death of his mother, the police investigation and being eventually long-distance-dumped over and over again. The more I lived around him, the more I realized that almost none of this was about me at all. He just hates himself that much and isn't emotionally stable enough to recognize or acknowledge his own failure without flying off the handle so his everyday life is this repetitive factory floor induced circular attempt to draw people and activities into his life that will distract him from himself, and when that fails he loses his fucking mind. And at times, I wondered why he hated himself to begin with. He was granted, not the best person in the world, but most of his flaws were in direct relation to how he responded to his own self loathing, which kept the cycle ongoing and out of control, and it ruined every relationship he ever had with anyone in his life – and this was why he had doubled down on preventing me from leaving. He felt like if he lost me he lost the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally. I don't see my father as a sociopath. The few people I have met who also know him see him as a part time total fuckface, but also someone who has legitimately the best of intentions with most of what he starts off doing. Just a very flawed person, and an emotional coward who used anger, and dominance to subjugate anything in his outer world that might challenge him or made him feel disappointed in himself. And as it happened, I have a challenging personality. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down. Of course, eventually, we are all nails sticking up in my father's world. He can't keep anyone around.

During this fight, I felt this flash of certainty. For years, I felt like he just pretended that nothing bad. I always felt this weird urge to walk up to him and punch him in the face and walk away for no reason. I didn't understand how he could go along as if nothing had happened, that he hadn't beaten me as a teen, forced me to babysit and essentially do half of a parent's work, or neglected my needs, or kicked me out for allegedly being gay. Since the fight was on anyway and something I wouldn't be able to walk out of unscathed, since I was afraid I might have a panic attack if I didn't keep myself focused and angry during this altercation, and since I had always wanted to call out the elephant in the room, I just decided to tell him for the first time what he had done to me as a teenager, specifically the day he had taken me home and beat me. So as he was screaming at me – telling me I was a spoiled brat – me in all my one of two oversized t-shirts and pajama bottoms who was lucky to afford seventy-five cents twice a week to go down to the pop machine and get a pop, burst out and asked him why he had given me a fat lip and bruises on my arm in high school. He looked honestly mystified for a moment and really put off – and started saying WHATTTT?. I reminded him of the circumstances, and I saw something weird snap in his face with guilt and then contort into this look of denial like some grand moment in a theater performance. He was still yelling, and then kind of stammering, and then I asked him again. He suddenly began wailing and screaming. It was kind of an attack at me and it was a bit scrambled to me. He then started screaming LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!! I HATE MYSELF!!!!! I WANT TO DIE!!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!! I HATE MYSELF!!! I HATE MYSELF!!!! I HATE MYSELF!!! over and over again. He sounded entirely deranged and broken. His eyes had sort of blanked out, and I don't even feel like he was seeing anything around him anymore I just stood there dumbfounded. I had never really gotten to this point in an argument before. He continued to yell this even as I got my coat on and my shoes and decided to leave the house for awhile and I could hear him as I walked up the street.

I had always thought that making my parents realize what they had done to me would bring some closure for me, or some satisfaction. I felt pushed down and weak, and they always came out the strong winners. Perhaps if the roles were reversed? As a little girl, I used to believe that before God let you into heaven, he made you watch a movie of your life and wired you up to the movie so you felt every emotion you made someone else feel. Whenever I got upset, if Roxanne pulled my hair or I was sent to my room or whatever, I would cry and then sit in bed and imagine this scenario until I felt like the world made sense again. I imagined God grabbing my parents or sister with his big hands (I imagined he was King Triton from Little Mermaid). He would force them to make eye contact when they looked away in shame, and the eye contact would be fierce and they would learn their lesson. It was of course a testament to my sensitivity as a child, as well as my early onset of a God complex of sorts and egotism, but also my need for a sense of understanding and equilibrium to exist. I had gone for years thinking that karmic justice would make me feel better. When I had seen my father confronted with his own deeds, it broke him. And I didn't really feel the way I thought I would. He seemed mentally unwell, disconnected, and ultimately weak. He seemed small to me, and scared – a creature too dumb to comprehend it's own actions. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. If God held him down and forced him to watch his life-movie, he probably would have blown his brains out. He was an irresponsible coward, and there was nothing I could do or say to change that. I felt disconnected from him, and a little sad for him. How empty it would be to live your life afraid of honest introspection? It would feel so much better just to be honest with yourself. He couldn't humble himself to the slightest insult, and this ultimately limited growth for him. And as he failed to grow as a person, he ultimately decayed.

The realization of this didn't make me feel good at all. I didn't like the power I yielded for those moments of realization. It made me a little bit sad. Not just for him, but for everyone. I guess it was hitting me then that not everyone is emotionally capable of change. Maybe understanding isn't for everyone. You can put stepping stones down for people to follow, and no matter how clearly they are put down, no matter how tiny the step, some people will fall in and drown anyway. I think in this moment my father's position in my life began to alter a little bit. If things were never going to get better, then I didn't want to hate him anymore. I realized that I had reached a point where I held some virtues and character that he lacked, rendering him the child and me the adult. If he was capable of suicide, then I didn't want to push him over that edge either. He wasn't going to help me forgive him. I was just going to have to forgive him myself – and in so doing I took the personal responsibility out of his hands and some of his credit as a father figure. He was too weak to know better, and if he couldn't be held responsible for his actions, than I guess I was going to have to eat that karmic debt. I believe there was a point at the end of one of Robert Pirsig's books where he talked about just that. And I really understood it at that moment.

Allison and I were sitting on the rocks by the Kendrick bike path at sunset one day. We had taken a walk. Allison was talking absently about school, and I was more or less listening distantly, as it was the kind of stuff that seems important to you as a preteen but actually isn't, like who is dating who or what one girl said about another. It's important to listen to thirteen year olds who talk about this stuff though, because it ultimately is very real to them and a huge growing point in their life. It's also an age that isolates you from both children and adults, and even older teens, and I feel like it's important to understand the spirit of these mundane high school dramas even if the events themselves are mind numbing. I get tempted to blurt out the obvious thing that isn't obvious to a younger generation of girls, 'She should dump him, she's too young for a relationship and even if they do try to have sex it's going to be a disappointing experience', 'that girl is just jealous of the other girl. 'She's probably going to party a whole bunch and then make some serious mistakes. She seems cool now, but her life will be a mess in four years if she doesn't stop' 'That over-the-top cordial Christian boy is going to probably get married when he is twenty and stay married for twenty more years because fundamentalist Christian people are weiiiird..' Just random opinions that I would generally have about whoever she was talking about. It felt strange to be judging all these kids and their little lives back in the school I used to suffer in.

We were sitting there that day though, talking besides the bike path. I was looking out absently at the path, and I started seeing this odd glimmerly form. It looked sort of like a person, but his body movements were completely erratic, like he was wounded and falling. His walking seemed shock induced and senseless, like someone who has just crawled out of bombed building. He looked like he was in agony, and like his leg was messed up. I got up to move, and then suddenly he was gone. I thought perhaps my eyes were playing tricks on me, so I sat back down, and there he was again. I moved again, and he wasn't there, but then I moved to another area and I could see him even more visibly, details in his clothing and facial expression. He seemed to be laboring towards us, but at the same time he wasn't coming any closer. For some reason I wasn't even scared when perhaps I should have been. What I was seeing was something that shouldn't exist. But it didn't seem like it was there on my account in the same way that the voice from my house had screamed my name at me. It was almost like a movie playing in the distance, though obviously more surreal.

I had to interrupt Allison and point the guy out to her. At first she couldn't see him from her position, but then I had her move to where I was, and she could see him too. We both watched him, and just to be clear, we made out his details and clarified it back and forth to one another. He was not aware of where he was. His leg seemed injured. He was extremely dirty, almost like he had been covered in dried mud. He had blonde hair that was also incredibly dirty. He was wearing boots and overalls. His blonde hair was a little longer and spilled out in his face. He looked like someone from another time era. We both just sat there and watched it, and neither one of us was actually scared. We just couldn't believe it. It seemed real and unreal at the same time. I felt badly watching him suffer, but at the same time he almost just seemed like data or something. We watched him for about ten minutes. He started fading and getting harder to see, and eventually he just became this space where he looked more like a mirage than a person and then he was gone. Allison and I walked home. We tried to tell David, but he seemed more confused. David for whatever reason has never had a very ghostly experience in his life. For this reason, when either Allison or I told him stories of things we had both seen (Allison and her best friend Jessica had once watched a hand come out of a door inviting them to come inside with it's finger during a stay-over), and it wasn't that he didn't believe us, but his reality was not the same as ours. He just didn't get it. I think at times he was prone to believe us, and at times he didn't really, but it was hard for him to have the depth of belief necessary to fully take in our experiences since nothing of the sort had ever been present in his own perception.

This incident was something Allison and I occasionally talk about when there are people around. Everyone has opinions of the supernatural and it's entertaining to see the reactions of those who believe us and don't. It really kind of got me though. It would have been one thing if I had been the only one who was seeing it. If that had been the case, I would have doubted my own judgment, though maintained that it seemed real to me at the moment. One person cannot verify anything, even if that one person was myself. But for one, the situation happened for one, at a time when neither Allison or I were scared or stressed. It was still daylight, and we were in a peaceful area talking about far removed subjects. We weren't freaking each other out with ghost stories, or even upset. We were both relatively feeling okay. Secondly, we both had quite a few minutes to study the situation. The mind can play tricks for a few seconds, but it's much harder to really have those kinds of moments when you have time to reflect on it, particularly if you aren't scared. And we were verifying things with one another like a few curious scientists when it happened. And third, we both saw it. We both saw it for several minutes.

So, from this experience, I have to gauge that life and reality is not what we think it is. I don't want to sound like the monologue in the beginning of Tales From the Darkside or the Twilight Zone' but really what we saw should have been impossible. There was nobody there. And yet there was. The way I see it, we were either getting a glimpse into the past, or some alternate reality. That felt the most true for what we were looking at. He had no idea we were there, and there were only certain angles where we could see him at all. And why were we seeing him? Why weren't we seeing a past that was nothing but the trees? Because we were almost exclusively seeing this guy. Well, maybe our thoughts and feelings leak into the world around us. Maybe those feelings stain reality. I have no idea of knowing if that is true or not, but it might make sense for those who get strange feelings at places like Gettysburg. We were seeing something that was either happening in some other dimension, or seeing something that had already happened. Why Allison and I were tuned into it is very strange – seeing as we aren't seeing past car crashes being relived on the sides of roads. This isn't some daily Sixth Sense thing for either one of us. Why did this present itself to us exactly? I can only think it's because we were in the right time and place, and we were in some collectively correct state of mind where we were open to it. And I think the fact that this person – whoever, or wherever he was, was suffering a great deal.

This notion is something I have really taken to. It makes me see the world in a different and much more poetic way. Places come to life with the feelings we have on them. The events of our existences create a show on all that is around us, and essences of our existence can be felt beyond time and space. Some part of me will always be laying in the grass by the creek with Zack back in 04', I will always be holding my grandmother's hand watching television in some dimensional reality. Every thought I think, everything I do or say, every connection I make with the world around me is being printed into the world around me, the beautiful and the ugly. And together, all of us are creating this complex mosaic and added meaning to every inch of our reality. In essence our thoughts are painting and sculpting what is real – and not vice versa. We are creating art through the act of living and experiencing. And that is a very beautiful thought. I can't say I believe in it to the same extent I believe in the computer screen in front of me, and I think that blind faith isn't the charming characteristic it is made out to be. I couldn't sit at a dinner table with Richard Dawkins and expect to be taken seriously. But I know there was something to this, and this is my number one suspicion about life. I think people have vibrations that transcend everything we understand. Is there a reason behind this or any concrete way to prove my theory? No. But I see a place on the sidewalk, and I don't just see that place. I see it as a place where people went back and forth to work on, children played and drew chalk on, drunks vomited on, people held hands on. It's not just a chunk of concrete shaped along the earth. It has taken on and transcended it's utilitarian purposes. I don't just see that as symbolic. I see it as very real. I realize that there are flaws in this thinking, and I also realize it's painfully human and self important in a universe that pretty much demonstrates human beings as temporary, obsolete, and destructive in a very petty way. And yet, I can't unsee it.

I guess it's remotely just as possible that what we saw was a ghost, or a demon or that reality is just something I make up in my own head. Perhaps the government or aliens implanted the memory into Allison and my collective skulls. Maybe I invented it all in my mind, maybe it's all a matter of accepting solipsism. I don't really think so. I am open minded to anything, but it didn't feel like any of those things. I don't buy the religious implications of an all out demon – and in any way, it wasn't being very good at being a scary demon as neither Allison nor I were overly frightened, it didn't seem like a ghost but maybe. I highly doubt the government would waste it's time and precious technology on me or my sister – that's more absurd to me than a wiggly reality, and an alien race wasting it's tech on me or Allison for something so meaningless and also seemed equally if not more ludicrous. Though the world could be something I invented in my own thoughts, I really doubt I am capable of that. I just don't think I could create quantum physics and write millions or songs or secretly understand how the universe operates but just fool myself that I am not capable so there is still an element of surprise to living. It just feels like I would do something a little more interesting that waste my youth like this. It's quite possible we are living in a simulation of some kind – which is one of the more probable suggestions I have heard of, but if that is the case, it doesn't really stamp on my previous ideas about reality. And it was still equally just as much of an anomaly.

PART 73 - https://tinyurl.com/y6vy2jeu

PART 72 - https://tinyurl.com/yaegqs9x

PART 71 - https://tinyurl.com/y6v3ln9a

My Life Story in Chapters, PARTS 1-70 (this link below will lead you to a list of all the chapters i have written thus far).

http://aleatoryalarmalligator.tumblr.com/post/168782771574/life-story-sections-1-70

#text #life story

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shanastoryteller · 7 years

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Can you do a gods and monsters based on Ares? (This series is amazing!! Thank you for writing it!!!

a continuation of this

Ares, the God of War, has a throne on Olympus, has followersand temples and tributes.

Ares, the God of War, has the screams of the dead and damnedechoing around in his skull, and has not had a moment’s peace since his fatherdeclared his dominion over battle.

He tries to ignore them. He can’t stay on Olympus, notanymore where his father’s proud gaze follows him and he can’t help but flinchfrom it. At first he hides in his mother’s rooms, curling up on her lap andcrying like he hasn’t since he was very small. “I can hear them,” he says,tears dripping down his nose and onto her dress, “I can hear them calling forme.”

She combs her fingers through his hair and drops soft kissesonto his forehead. “I’ll kill him. How dare he – how dare he.”

“You will do no such thing,” he says, and turns so he’slooking up at her. He presses his hand to her cheek, and she leans into histouch. Her eyes are alight with fury and grief, and it soothes him just to seethem. Her eyes are his eyes, are his brother’s eyes. “You are the goddess ofmarriage. To kill your husband would be to kill yourself. Would you make me anorphan, Mother?”

There is a war raging within him now, soldiers and generalsand widows crying out for him, but for now all he is worried about ispreventing a war within his home.

Nothing would tear apart the pantheon so firmly as to pitZeus against Hera.

She doesn’t say anything, but her grasp on his hand becomesalmost painful, so he will take that as agreement.

He can only stay away for so long. He must go to whoeverinvokes him most strongly, to who builds him the biggest altars, to whoprovides the largest sacrifice. He is not a god who is lucky enough to be ableto watch his domain from afar, to simply provide blessings and guidance. Thescreaming inside of him quiets only when he joins them on the battlefield, onlywhen he is in the thick of it with a sword in his hand is it quiet enough forhim to think.

Only when his battle fury turns the tide of a war is he,even just briefly, free from the crushing weight of his followers and hisdomain.

He does not get to choose which side to support. Whoeverworships him more, whatever side invokes his name the strongest is the one whogets his aid.

He shows up sobbing at his mother’s door, whole bodyvibrating in pain because the soldiers shout his name in a glorious chorus andhe should be with them now, but instead he’s here. Hera grabs his upper arms tokeep him upright, eyes wide and concerned.

“I don’t want them to win,” he confesses, the words makinghis lips burn, “the soldiers are simply soldiers, but the generals and lordsand kings seek glory for money, for profit, for nothing but selfishness. Theirenemies only want to live.”

“I will take care of it,” she swears to him, and he has noidea how she expects to do that. Yet he trusts she’ll find a way, because shealways does. He comes to his mother, asking her to help him, and she alwayshas. “Now go, before you are hurt even more.”

He goes.

Hera had no influence on the battlefield.

But it is not solely the battlefield where tributes aremade.

She is the goddess of marriage and family.

She goes to wives and husbands, to sons and daughters, tosisters and brothers. She whispers in their ears, speaks of devotion andfealty, makes them all wail for their missing family members caught up in a warnone of them wanted.

Hera brings their grief and desperation to the fore, untilthey’re nearly mad with their need to have their family brought home.

They build a temple to Ares, sacrifice gold and food andanything of value they can spare. They cry prayers over hearth fires, and burnmessages to the god of war to bring their family members home.

The tides change. He’s midway through the battle when the hefeels the shift, when he realizes his mother somehow did as she promised and heno longer has to fight for these people, that now he can fight against them.

He doesn’t want to fight at all. But if he must, then atleast he can fight for those he believes in.

Ares doesn’t allow himself to fall into bitterness or angerat his father often. But he wishes, not for the first time, that Zeus had namedhim the god of justice, of peace, of fairness, of loyalty. That Zeus had namedhim the god of something he believed in, something he could believe in fightingfor.

All war does is kill good men and women, all it does is breedresentment and anger in the victors and losers both.

Although. Ares is of the opinions that wars never have anytrue victors. Just people that lose less than the people they’re fighting.

There is a lull. No one is invoking him powerfully enoughthat he can’t ignore their cries.

He goes to Haephestus’s volcano and slides into a magmapool, the burning heat of the lava the perfect temperature to work out theknots of stress in his back and thighs.

“It’s unnerving to see you in there,” his brother says, andAres opens his eyes to see Hephaestus looking down at him in concern. “You looktired.”

Permanent purple bruises have formed under his eyes. He can’tremember the last time he saw himself without them. Everything hurts, it alwayshurts, even when there is peace there are people who covet war and call out tohim and it tears at him whenever he leaves a tribute unanswered. He’s exhaustedand rode hard, stretched so thin that he’s terrified he’ll snap at any moment.

He looks at Hephaestus’s concern and admits to him somethinghe hasn’t told anyone, something he’s too afraid to say to his mother just incase she decides to smite Zeus for it. “I think that these wars might bekilling me.”

His brother’s face goes tight, but he doesn’t say anything.That’s all right. Ares hadn’t expected him to – there really is nothing to say.

He wonders if the screams will still find him in death.

“I need a favor,” Hephaestus says the next time Athena comesto visit, wringing his hands, anxious in a way he usually doesn’t let anyonesee.

Athena tilts her head to side. “I’m listening.”

Ares is resting, the moon high as he lays back in the middleof the battle camp and tries to quiet the cries in his head enough to catcheven an hour of sleep.

“War is not just about fighting, about blood and battle.”

His eyes pop open and he looks over to see Athena sitting byhis side. He pushes himself up cautiously. “Sorry?”

“You should pay more attention to the generals,” she says, “warisn’t won with blood. It’s won with strategy. With planning, with tactics.”

“I don’t know much about all that,” he admits, “it’s enoughof a struggle just to keep up with the soldiers.”

Her face softens, “I know. That’s why I’m here. No oneexpects to win wars alone, Ares.”

This is how Athena, goddess of knowledge and weaving,becomes a goddess of war. She is a master of strategy, of planning campaigns,of ensuring that a victory on the battlefield remains a victory at home.

Some of his tributes go to her. Some people pray to Athenanow instead of him.

He still hears the screaming. He still doesn’t sleep.

But it relieves just enough pressure that it feels like hecan breathe again.

Ares and Athena are not the only names that get invoked onthe battlefield.

Hades’s name has constantly been on their lips. They damntheir enemies to a torturous afterlife, to thrice the pain and suffering theyreceive on the battlefield.

He tries to ignore it. It is not his domain. But the more hehears it, that more it stabs at him. Most of these people are soldiers. Cursinggenerals is well enough, but most soldiers didn’t choose to be here. He didn’t choose to be here.

Ares has never been to the underworld. It’s the one placehis mother never let him venture.

He knows that the smart thing to do would be to go to hisbrother and ask him to speak to Hecate, the woman who raised him. Or even Hadeshimself – he doesn’t know how well Hephaestus knows the gods of the underworld.For all that he grew up there, he doesn’t speak of it much.

But if Hades’s wrath is to fall on anyone, Ares would ratherit be him.

It’s easy enough to follow the souls of recently departedsoldiers to the River Styx. Charon presses a hand to his shoulder and asks, “Whatbusiness do you have here, God of War?”

“I knew a child who was called Kore,” he answers, and hedoesn’t expect this to work, but he hopes it will. “I wish to speak to a womanwho calls herself Persephone.”

He can’t see Charon’s face, but the air around him turnsthoughtful. “It is summer. The Lady is with her mother.”

Oh.

He’d forgotten about that.

“Then I request an audience with her husband,” he says, andhe clasps his hands behind his back so that Charon can’t see them shaking. Hecan’t turn into a mess here. People are screaming in his mind, but he can’t letit get to him here, not if he wants anyone to take him seriously, not if hewants to help his fellow soldiers instead of hurting them.

“You are not dead, and so I cannot ferry you across theStyx,” Charon says, almost apologetically. “But – hold on.” He turns to theriver, “Goddess Styx, could you come here?”

A little girl with skin even darker than Hephaestus’s andeyes and hair of soft grey appears in front of them. “Yes?”

Charon points to him, “He wishes to speak to our lord.”

Styx turns her grey eyes on him, and he can’t help but feelunnerved. She circles him, looking him up and down, seemingly looking into him.“Very well,” she says at last. She moves her arms together, then apart. Twosides of the river flow in opposite directions so that a dry walking path isrevealed in the river bed. “Move quickly. The longer I maintain a break in myriver, the longer things besides you may be able to sneak across.”

“Thank you,” he gives her a shallow bow, and then goessprinting across the riverbed. It takes him longer than it should – the riveris not overly wide, and it should be quick, but it seems like he runs nearly anhour to reach the other side. He heaves himself onto shore, panting, and assoon as he’s across the river comes crashing together once more, flowing backinto the proper direction.

He makes it to Hades’s palace, but once again it takeslonger than it seems it should. It takes too long, he’s been away from thebattle field too long, and it shows. He tries to pull himself together, he’scome too far to fall apart now, but it seems to be a wasted effort. Thescreaming of people crying his name is so loud he can’t hear anything else, andit paralyzes him, he can’t move, he can’t feel, his muscles are tense enough tosnap because he needs to answer thepeople calling for him, but he can’tthere’s no easy way out of the underworld so he’s just stuck here –

Suddenly it all cuts off to a dull roar, and he gasps as hecomes back to himself, squeezing his eyes shut to keep from crying. Hands cuphis face, and calloused thumbs wipe the tears from his cheeks. “You must beAres,” a soft voice says, “Charon said you were coming. Are you all right?”

He forces his eyes open, and Hades, King of the Dead, swimsinto focus. “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” his eyebrows dip together. “What are you doinghere?”

He grabs Hades’s hands, and pulls them from is his face, butleaves their fingers tangled together. Luckily Hades doesn’t pull away. Aresdoesn’t know what would happen if he did. “I – I know that they invoke you topunish their enemies, on the battlefield. They dedicate some of the pyres toyou and ask you to burn their enemies in death, for eternity.”

“I hear them,” he says, “I know what they say.”

“Try not to,” he begs, and he can hear the screaming still,he’s shaking and can’t stop and he wanted to appear strong while asking the godof the dead for a favor but he’s barely able to keep standing. “I know they askof it, I know they erect tributes and we must all answer the call of our names,but they’re not evil. They – some of them are, I mean, but don’t – try not to –please,” he ends on, and it’s just not fair that the soldiers must continuefighting after their death. Most of them hadn’t wanted to fight while they werealive.

Hades still looks confused, and Ares will beg if he has to,he knows it’s hard to go against what worshipers demand but this is important.He’s about to try again when Hades says, “I am the god of the death, lord ofthe underworld. Ares, I hear their cries but I am not bound by them. I rule thedead. The dead do not rule me.”

He stares. He – he’s never heard of something like thatbefore. He answers the call of war because he must, his mother is bound by thechains of her marriage because she is the goddess of family. Demeter’s power isfrom the earth and of the earth, and when it suffers she suffers, even Poseidonis not immune to the sea’s temperament. Their powers are all double edged, halfblessing and half curse.

“Oh,” he settles on finally. “Kore – I mean, Persephone?” Theytell tales of the punishments she inflicts on those that have upset her. Heknew her as a child, and he’s less surprised than most by what she became.

“My wife does what pleases her, and nothing else,” Hadesanswers. Ares doesn’t understand. She is Queen of Life and Death, how can thatnot pull at her, how does it not twist her into a shape she doesn’t recognize?

“Okay,” he says, and he has to leave, but at least he no longerhas to worry so much after fallen soldiers. “I apologize for the intrusion. Ishould go.”

Hades slides his hands up his arms, and settles at hisshoulders, and oh, Ares becomes distracted enough by those hands on him thatfor a moment it’s almost quiet in his own head. “If you like. You may stay aswell. It seems as if you could use some rest.”

He drops his head forward on Hades’s shoulder, and he likesthe solidity of him, the undercurrent of strength and power he gives off. He’snever met the man before, this is entirely inappropriate, but when Hades’shands settle onto his hips he wants nothing more than curl up in his arms andignore the war for a little while.

Hades feels like peace. He’d forgotten what that felt like. “Ican’t stay.”

The god of the dead presses a kiss to the edge of his jaw thatignites something in Ares that has been absent since before he was declared the god of war. Hewonders what Hades would do if he kissed him properly, he wonders if he pulledoff his blood and war stained clothes if Hades would touch his too-hot skin. “ThenI request that you return,” the god of death says.

He shouldn’t. The time he manages to not be on a battlefieldshould be spent with his mother, or Hephaestus. He shifts enough to press theirforeheads together. He looks into Hades’s dark eyes, and says, “I will.”

Ares returns to the midst of war feeling lighter than he hasin a long time.

gods and monsters series, part xviii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

#gods and monsters series #ares #hades #hera #kore #persephone #charon #athena #hephaestus #gods #greek myths #greek mythology #once again i started off trying to write the love story of ares and hades #and got sidtracked #and just managed to get their meeting in there at the end #the love stor of hades and ares is a story that will get told at some point #Anonymous

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megacircuit9universe · 4 years

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Relative Charisma & the Incel

WED SEP 30 2020

So the first of three debates between Trump and Biden happened yesterday, and it was... as CNN’s Jake Tapper so aptly put it, “A hot mess, inside a dumpster fire, inside a train wreck.”

I didn’t see it, because I was at work, but I’ve heard enough sound bytes, and seen enough post debate coverage to know that... history will remember this one and play back those clips for centuries to come... of Trump, behaving like an angry, wounded animal.

For some context, despite my last entry, in which the indy left media (TYT mostly) was crying that Biden was losing the election, based on two stand alone polls that had Trump up a tick in two states... Biden’s lead in those and all other states is actually holding, or slightly growing.

I should disclose that my information is coming from an independent YouTube polls analyst whom I’ve come to trust over the past few years. There are many such channels on YouTube, but this guy eventually won me over, because he’s thorough, transparent, always has receipts, and pretty good at calling trends, while keeping expectations grounded in reality.

In my experience, news outlets... be they mainstream media, or indy news sources, only present polling data that they can sensationalize.

Right wing media just deny reality and convince their viewers all news of Trump being behind is fake. But Mainstream media always wants you to think it’s a dead heat... because that gets ratings. Meanwhile, the indy left news wants you to think Biden is losing, to fuel more activism and more participation.

And none of this is the subject of the entry at hand, but... it’s important to get this out of the way as we move into October, when the polling data is really going to be indicative of what happens on Election Day.

I vetted a lot of different YouTube analyst channels and settled on the one I have, because... I trust this guy.

So... when I sit here an say that Biden has a significant lead in all critical states, has several paths to 270, is ahead in national polls, etc... I’m getting that from a trusted source. It’s not just me being blindly optomistic based on some things I happened to pick up here and there.

Okay...

Back to context for Trump behaving like a wounded animal in yesterday’s debate...

On the one hand, yes, Biden is still way ahead, and looking like he’ll be the clear winner... which I’m sure Trump doesn’t like. But on the other hand, Trump was also deeply humiliated this past Sunday when The New York Times published a bunch of his tax returns... going up to 2017 and 2018, when he was, of course, President.

And the story reveals that he’s drowning in debt, and has been for quite a long time... with most of it being owed to mysterious unknown parties... which is a security concern. It also exposed how little taxes he’s paid... which may or may not be tax evasion, technically, but is not a great look for a populist President.

Quick sidebar here... Presidential tax returns are never normally news, because all Presidential candidates since Nixon have willingly published theirs upon declaring their candidacy... until Trump.

So it’s not like he’s being singled out by the New York Times for exposure of his private business.

On the other hand, the tax returns weren’t exactly a bomb shell. More like a fizzling sparkler. No personal check from Putin, with, destroy democracy, written on the memo line.

Yeah, he pays almost no taxes, but... we already knew that’s par for the course for all billionaires. It’s kinda the reason the progressive left exists.

But in terms of context for Trump being a wounded animal... it’s the drowning in debt thing he never wanted to go public. For Trump... it’s an unspeakable humiliation, like getting pantsed in public, only to reveal that you like to wear Wonder Woman Underoos or something.

It’s a massive blow to the image he’s created for himself, and defended so dearly... of being a legitimate billionaire, who used his shrewd instincts, and financial brilliance to amass deep pockets of untouchable wealth... self proliferating, tax free, multi-generational wealth.

Instead, he’s just an idiot, billions of dollars in debt, forcing the US government to pay millions to his Mara Lago resort, for hundreds of golf outings (around 200 to date) and he’s still in the red... at Mara Lago! Forget his other debts and failing ventures!

A quote from Iron Man 2 is very apt, here...

Ivan Vanko : [laughs] If you could make God bleed, people would cease to believe in Him. There will be blood in the water, the sharks will come. All I have to do is sit back and watch as the world consumes you.

That was Ivan’s rationale for attacking Tony Stark at the racetrack. It’s also been interpreted as a foreshadowing of the scene in Infinity War, several years later, where Tony Manages to punch Thanos hard enough to scratch his cheek and get a single drop of blood out of the mad titan.

Here in 2020 reality, the New York Times did get that single drop of blood... on Sunday.

And going into his first debate with Biden... who has been stubbornly leading in the polls all summer long... Trump was so furious, he could not keep his composure.

And this, at long last, brings us to the matter of relative charisma.

I’ve talked about it several times in the past, saying that, if you want one simple rule of thumb for predicting the next president... it’s that, whoever has the most relative charisma will win the election.

Relative, in this model, meaning... relative to the opponent.

A great example of this would be George HW Bush (Bush1) who had way more charisma, relative to stodgy, stuffy, Michael Dukakis, in 1988. But four years later, the same George HW Bush, looked himself, quite lacking in charisma compared to his new opponent, Bill Clinton.

It’s happened in every election of modern times. Carter had more relative Charisma than Ford, but far far less relative charisma than Reagan... and on and on back to FDR.

It was also, obviously true that in the match up between Trump and Hillary Clinton... Trump had all the relative charisma. PT Barnum levels of charisma!.. as the happy, quippy, rude, outsider... to her... boring gramma persona saying, “Pokemon Go to the polls!”

And early this year, during the primaries, when Bernie Sanders was still in the running, I said several times that Trump would, “mop the floor,” with Biden in a debate.

But... that was before Covid19... and 200,000 dead. Before record unemployment and record evictions. Before the Black Lives Matter movement caught fire in the streets, facing off with fascist police with tear gas and batons all summer. Before Biden sailed through all the insanity, staying ahead of Trump in the polls, to get the nomination.

And it was before Trump, in recent months, sent thugs to kidnap protesters in Portland, threatening all other democratic cities with the same, began knee-capping the post office, was exposed for calling our soldiers suckers and losers, refused to accept the election results if he wasn’t the winner, refused to commit to a peaceful transition of power unless we, get rid of the ballots, and... was exosed as swimming in debt.

So in Tuesday night’s debate... while he did try his level best to mop the floor with Biden... Trump came off as... well, an incel*.

We all, sadly know how incel’s debate, having suffered them like a bed bug infestation in every comment section on the internet for the past ten years, and in last night’s debate... Trump was, incel personified!

Moderator Chris Wallace, of Fox News, even gave Trump the chance to back away from the event horizon of the black hole that is at the heart of incel culture, by asking him to simply denounce white supremacy.

And not only could Trump not denounce white supremacy... after dancing around the quesion, he wound up saying that a group of white supremecist incels known as the Proud Boys, should, “stand back, but stand by!”

In other words... he’s not only banking everything on the incel vote... he’s calling on the incels to join Beta Force, and be ready... to intimidate voters in person on election night... and to create mayhem when he loses.

Please stand by, incels... but you understand, this is not a paid gig, right? I’m kinda tight on money right now, so you’ll need to be fighting for me out of the prematurely ejaculating spite in your sexually inadequate hearts!

The point here, is that the question of relative charisma between Joe Biden and Donald Trump has finally been answered.

Incel vibe, is not charisma. It’s the opposite of charisma. It’s a combination of wounded spite, bitter frothing at the mouth, and indefensible stupidity... all the things that make normal people want to puke.

So, while Biden may not have much in the charisma department... he does have a few charming attributes above the base line for a decent human being capable of empathy and logic.

And in a match up with the Trump of October 2020... that means, Biden has all the relative charisma... and he now has it on lock down.

We can talk soon about Trump’s incel chances of stealing the election by incel force, and the true threat that his army of incels present to our democracy, but for tonight... Trump is an incel... and incels have zero charisma.

I’m going to bed.

*Incel is a portmanteau for, Involuntarily Celibate.

It refers to straight, cis boys or men, most often white, from 15 to 35 who, despite deeply craving to engage in sexual activity with counterparts of the opposite sex, fail to attain it. Such males believe they are entitled to sex with the partner of their choice, and are thus baffled and aggrivated by their inability to obtain it consentually.

Incels are characterized by their extremely toxic interactions, which go beyond the mysogyny one might expect, to encompass all of society. For, in their mindset, it is not simply women who are to blame for their lack of sex, it is the entire framework of society... and that framework is also to blame for every other wish they perceive as being unfairly denied to them.

Incels resort to harassment, often thinly veiled as debate or argument, in order to torment those (most) who will not recognize their entitlement, and dream of reforming the societal order, such that their bullying rules the day... often waxing nostalgic for imagined times in the past when men such as themselves ruled without question.

They are thus, quite attracted to all forms of fascism, including, but not limited to white supremacy.

In the modern day, incels are widely regarded as a scourge, and considered by nobody outside their circle to have anything resembling charisma.

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swedna · 4 years

Link

It was early in Joseph R. Biden Jr.’s vice-presidential search when he asked his advisers a sensitive question about Senator Kamala Harris. He kept hearing so much private criticism of her from other California Democrats, he wanted to know: Is she simply unpopular in her home state?

Advisers assured Mr. Biden that was not the case: Ms. Harris had her share of Democratic rivals and detractors in the factional world of California politics, but among regular voters her standing was solid.

Mr. Biden’s query, and the quiet attacks that prompted it, helped begin a delicate audition for Ms. Harris that has never before been revealed in depth. She faced daunting obstacles, including an array of strong competitors, unease about her within the Biden family and bitter feuds from California and the 2020 primary season that exploded anew.

Though Ms. Harris was seen from the start as a front-runner, Mr. Biden did not begin the process with a favorite in mind, and he settled on Ms. Harris only after an exhaustive review that forged new political alliances, deepened existing rivalries and further elevated a cohort of women as leaders in their party.

ALSO READ: Democratic VP candidate Kamala Harris hit by 'birther' conspiracy theory

Ms. Harris was one of four finalists for the job, along with Senator Elizabeth Warren of Massachusetts, Gov. Gretchen Whitmer of Michigan and Susan E. Rice, the former national security adviser. But in the eyes of Mr. Biden and his advisers, Ms. Harris alone covered every one of their essential political needs. Ms. Rice had sterling foreign-policy credentials and a history of working with Mr. Biden, but was inexperienced as a candidate. Ms. Warren had an enthusiastic following and became a trusted adviser to Mr. Biden on economic matters, but she represented neither generational nor racial diversity. Ms. Whitmer, a moderate, appealed to Mr. Biden’s political and ideological instincts, but selecting her also would have yielded an all-white ticket.

Other candidates rose and faded in the process: Senator Tammy Duckworth of Illinois powerfully impressed Mr. Biden’s search team, but his lawyers feared she would face challenges to her eligibility because of the circumstances of her birth overseas. Representative Karen Bass of California emerged as a favorite among elected officials and progressives — Speaker Nancy Pelosi spoke glowingly of her to Mr. Biden — but the relationship-focused Mr. Biden barely knew her.

In the end, Mr. Biden embraced Ms. Harris as a partner for reasons that were both pragmatic and personal — a sign of how the former vice president, who is oriented toward seeking consensus and building broad coalitions, might be expected to govern. Indeed, Mr. Biden has already told allies he hopes a number of the other vice-presidential contenders will join his administration in other roles.

This account of Mr. Biden’s decision is based on interviews with more than three dozen people involved in the process, including advisers to Mr. Biden and Ms. Harris, allies of other vice-presidential prospects and Democratic leaders deeply invested in the outcome of the search.

Mr. Biden’s instincts were not destined to lead him to Ms. Harris: He and members of his family had long expressed discomfort with the way she attacked him at a Democratic primary debate, and his political advisers remembered well the seemingly constant dysfunction of her presidential campaign.

There was a particular distrust in the Biden camp for the sharp-elbowed California operatives with whom Ms. Harris has long surrounded herself, fearing that they might seek to undermine Mr. Biden in office to clear the way for Ms. Harris in 2024.

Yet no other candidate scored as highly with Mr. Biden’s selection committee on so many of their core criteria for choosing a running mate, including her ability to help Mr. Biden win in November, her strength as a debater, her qualifications for governing and the racial diversity she would bring to the ticket. No other candidate seemed to match the political moment better.

ALSO READ: Harris remembers mother; says learnt not to sit, complain but do something

Harry Reid, the former Senate majority leader, said race had been essential to Mr. Biden’s decision. “I think he came to the conclusion that he should pick a Black woman,” Mr. Reid said. “They are our most loyal voters and I think that the Black women of America deserved a Black vice-presidential candidate.”

Ms. Harris worked to soothe misgivings in the Biden family, including from Jill Biden and Valerie Biden Owens, Mr. Biden’s sister and longtime adviser. But Ms. Harris also drew upon a family link unmatched by any other candidate: her friendship with Mr. Biden’s elder son, Beau, who died from cancer in 2015.

The potential for conflict between Biden and Harris advisers was resolved in another way, at least for now: Mr. Biden and his advisers conveyed to Ms. Harris that they expected to have the same understanding with respect to staff hiring that Mr. Biden had followed with former President Barack Obama. During the campaign and, if they win, during a Biden-Harris administration, Ms. Harris’s staff hiring would be approved by Mr. Biden.

Jennifer O’Malley Dillon, Mr. Biden’s campaign manager, told Ms. Harris plainly after she was picked that they would be one team, and that she would have the full support of the Biden staff. In a statement Thursday night, after this story was published online, Ms. O’Malley Dillon said some Harris aides would be coming on board.

“We’ve already begun welcoming members of Senator Harris’ team to the campaign and are all moving forward together, as one unit focused on beating Donald Trump this fall,” Ms. O’Malley Dillon said.

But other Biden advisers made clear that selecting Ms. Harris for the vice presidency did not mean selecting her full political entourage for jobs in the campaign or government — a reality Ms. Harris is said to have accepted.

Within the Biden team, it was understood that rule would apply even to her sister, Maya Harris, a former Hillary Clinton adviser who is Kamala Harris’s closest confidante. But a Biden spokesman said on Thursday night that the matter of Maya Harris did not come up in conversations with the senator.

ALSO READ: Who is Kamala Harris and why she is Biden's best bet for vice president?

Searching for a Partner Having been through a vice-presidential search himself, Mr. Biden was clear from the start about what he wanted in a running mate — and in a selection process. He wanted a full partner in government with whom he felt personally “simpatico.” He did not want a “Survivor”-style process of elimination whereby a large pool of candidates would be gradually slashed down, with the losers identified as such in public, according to people who spoke to him about the process.

And for the most part, that is what Mr. Biden got — a discreet search team, led by four Democratic dignitaries, that held interviews with about a dozen women, a smaller number of whom were then asked to turn over a huge volume of private documents for review. To ensure the contenders’ privacy, he did not allow even his senior staff members to see some of their most personal vetting information.

Mayor Eric Garcetti of Los Angeles, one of the members of the search team, said Mr. Biden had been emphatic that the process should unfold in a dignified manner that would leave all the participants better off.

“He was committed to this being a career elevation for everybody, and finding the right running mate, and he did both,” said Mr. Garcetti, who declined to comment on the details of the search.

The interviews conducted by Mr. Biden’s search team were revealing and, in some cases, surprising — not because of confidential and damaging information that came to light, but because of the personal candor and raw political ability that some candidates brought to the conversations.

Two of the standout interviews were with Ms. Duckworth, an Asian-American veteran of the Iraq war, and Gov. Gina Raimondo of Rhode Island, a centrist with formidable academic and business credentials. Both left the search committee dazzled, but they faced other obstacles — in Ms. Raimondo’s case, her limited national profile and adversarial relationship with influential labor unions.

Ms. Duckworth was regarded by Biden advisers as among the candidates likeliest to help him achieve a smashing electoral victory in November. But legal advisers to the campaign expressed urgent concern that Ms. Duckworth could face challenges to her nomination in court: She was born overseas, to an American father and a Thai mother. While Mr. Biden’s team believed Ms. Duckworth was eligible for national office, campaign lawyers feared that it would take just one partisan judge in one swing state to throw the whole Democratic ticket off the ballot.

ALSO READ: Colour code: Does Kamala Harris see herself as Indian? Or as a black?

Ms. Warren, too, was persuasive and compelling to the search committee in her interviews, pleasantly surprising a largely moderate panel, including several members who had looked askance at some of the policies and language she adopted in her own presidential campaign. But Ms. Warren told the committee she fully appreciated that the role of the vice president was different, and that the agenda of a Biden administration would be Mr. Biden’s. “He won; I lost,” Ms. Warren said in one interview, according to people briefed on her comments.

What’s more, Ms. Warren noted that she was past her 70th birthday, and would not be looking to advance a long-range political career in the vice presidency, leaving some members of the search team convinced she did not aim to run for president again. The search team told Mr. Biden they believed they could rely on Ms. Warren as a cooperative governing partner — an assessment Mr. Biden shared.

Of all the interviews conducted, only Ms. Harris’s burst into public view as a matter of controversy, when one of the members of the search team, former Senator Christopher J. Dodd of Connecticut, told associates that he had been dismayed by what he regarded as an inadequately contrite answer by Ms. Harris about her searing denunciation of Mr. Biden at a Democratic primary debate in June 2019.

Ms. Harris recognized from the start that her attack on Mr. Biden — for having worked with segregationist senators to oppose school busing — was a liability for her as a potential running mate, and she spent considerable time reaching out to Biden allies to seek their advice about how she should approach the former vice president.

One longtime Biden supporter told her bluntly that she should make clear she would not upstage Mr. Biden in the campaign, telling her, “You don’t need to be Sarah Palin to his John McCain.”

Another Biden ally, who served with him in the Obama administration, urged Ms. Harris to at least implicitly engage on the topic of their debate clash, proposing that she bring up George H.W. Bush’s criticism of Ronald Reagan’s “voodoo economics” in the 1980 Republican primary — an attack that did not stop the two from serving beside each other for eight years.

But Ms. Harris’s interviews covered far more ground than just a single debate, and like the other candidates, Ms. Harris faced intensive scrutiny of her personal and political history. Biden advisers asked, for instance, about contributions she received as state attorney general from Steven Mnuchin, President Trump’s Treasury secretary, who at the time was running a bank, OneWest, that was accused of violating foreclosure laws. Ms. Harris declined to pursue prosecutions in the case.

ALSO READ: Biden raises $26 million in 24 hours after announcing Harris as VP nominee

Ms. Harris has said consistently that political donations played no role in her legal decisions as attorney general. In her interviews, and in a final-round conversation with Mr. Biden, Ms. Harris was emphatic on one point: that she would be loyal to Mr. Biden and support his agenda without reservation, according to a Biden aide briefed on their discussion.

Deliberation and Debate

By July, Mr. Biden and his team were converging on a theory of his decision, if not yet an actual vice-presidential pick.

There was broad agreement among his advisers that Mr. Biden should choose a woman of color, though Mr. Biden remained drawn to both Ms. Whitmer and Ms. Warren. There was unanimity that he needed someone with unimpeachable governing qualifications: Private Democratic polling and focus groups found that voters were keenly aware of Mr. Biden’s advanced age, and the possibility that his running mate could become president by medical rather than electoral means.

In some Democratic focus groups, too, voters expressed skepticism that Biden would choose a candidate with strong qualifications: By making gender a nonnegotiable requirement, they wondered, was Mr. Biden indicating he cared more about identity than experience? To Democratic strategists who have studied the obstacles for women in politics, the presumption that there would be better credentialed men available was not a surprising concern.

At least two women besides Ms. Harris seemed capable of matching all those criteria: Ms. Rice and Ms. Bass, the former speaker of the California Assembly.

Ms. Rice benefited from her close relationship with Mr. Biden and a concerted push on her behalf by other alumni of the Obama administration, though not the former president himself. But she had never been a candidate for office before, and Mr. Biden was more familiar than most with how much of a vice president’s time is typically spent on political errands. He concluded it would be too risky to pick a running mate who had never been on the ballot.

Ms. Bass emerged late in the process as a formidable rival to Ms. Harris. Though she was little known outside California and Congress, Ms. Bass impressed the vetting committee, and Mr. Dodd took steps to elevate her during the search process. Several people close to Mr. Biden sang her praises to the former vice president, including Ms. Pelosi and Senator Chris Coons of Delaware.

But Ms. Bass knew she had political liabilities, according to people who spoke with her directly throughout the process. She had visited Cuba repeatedly as a young woman and at times had made somewhat admiring comments about the government of Fidel Castro. She discussed those matters openly with the vetting committee, recognizing how politically damaging they could be in the crucial swing state of Florida, with its large and politically active immigrant communities from repressive Latin American countries.

Mr. Biden was aware of Ms. Bass’s Castro-era baggage well before it spilled into the news media. He told one longtime friend that her history with Cuba could cause political headaches, though to other people he suggested he did not see it as politically disqualifying — he intended to win the election in the Midwest, Mr. Biden told them, even if he were to fall short in Florida.

For Mr. Biden, Ms. Bass’s greatest shortcoming as a candidate was simpler: He did not really know her, and the coronavirus pandemic made it difficult to establish a close personal connection in short order.

One candidate who did forge such a bond with both Joe and Jill Biden was Representative Val Demings of Florida, a former Orlando police chief whom one adviser said the Bidens “loved.” Ms. Demings’s background in law enforcement may have hindered her in the vice-presidential search — Mr. Biden was briefed on specific allegations of police misconduct on her watch — but some Biden advisers are hopeful she will challenge Senator Marco Rubio in the 2022 election.

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As Mr. Biden’s private deliberations wore on, the public dimension to the process began to grow ugly. A report in Politico on Mr. Dodd’s criticism of Ms. Harris enraged her admirers, and this week some of Mr. Biden’s top aides, still irritated at Mr. Dodd’s apparent lapse in discretion, sought to downplay the selection committee’s clout, suggesting its members had no more pull than his other advisers. Supporters of Ms. Harris saw the late surge of advocacy for Ms. Bass — another, more liberal Black woman from California — as the equivalent of a torpedo aimed at Ms. Harris alone, while allies of Ms. Bass and Ms. Rice privately complained that they believed Ms. Harris’s political advisers were circulating negative information about them to the news media.

Mr. Biden and his top aides were cognizant of the sniping, but advisers stressed to the former vice president that there was no way of knowing if it was authorized by Ms. Harris or was being done on a freelance basis — and that they shouldn’t let it color their decision.

Some Democratic women were uneasy, though, about how much criticism all four finalists faced, and made little attempt to hide their frustration.

“We need to be celebrating these women,” said Representative Debbie Dingell of Michigan. “They are all talented, passionate, capable people.”

Mr. Biden’s mind was nearly made up by the end of the weekend, but he kept talking with advisers into Monday. On Tuesday morning, the campaign set in motion the announcement that became public within hours. And Mr. Biden went about the hard business of letting down the runners-up that he had come to value as allies and friends.

One by one, Mr. Biden told them he hoped to have them “on the team” in one way or another, according to people briefed on his calls.

To Ms. Harris, he placed a video call and asked, “You ready to go to work?”

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