storm chaser

He looked for violence and asked only for dissention, where she wanted pathos and drama. They spent their day following the currents to see where the flow came from. What fascinated them was disturbing to others. But while she just followed it and commented, he was an instigator. Yet the uneducated called them both trolls.
If there was a crime to report, he was the white knight who only wanted something out of it to get involved. Mostly sex. And she was the SJW, who ranted and railed and attacked, instead of soothed. But her aim was to get her own name, rather than a bed partner. Both still wanted something other than justice. Justice ended the story.
They both had crowds following them. The people didn’t quite have the nerve to be a chaser themselves, but oh did they love to see the aftermath. When storm and chasers were at their best. From a distance of course, though some were a bit more courageous than others. Not close enough to get hurt, but definitely able to see and hear all the energy of the storm. To see the aftermath.
Some of the crowd were bordering on psychopathology. If not there. They got more and more excited the closer to death the risk was. They laughed at the genuine harm and got bored if there was a lull. A few would poke the storm to get more of a story to follow.
They wanted sex and death, jealousy and greed, wrath and shame. So long as it was on.
A rare group within would follow the storm chasers to be heroes. Maybe to save the victims, maybe to help clean up the damage. But they rarely cared about anyone involved. It was all about their own self worth.
But there was an even rarer group that started the storm in the first place. What would you call them? It was some need beyond human to see chaos and turmoil. Not just drama at normal human levels, but life-ending moments of apocalypse. If they were the kingmaker in an empire, the next thing to follow would be a war. If they were the archbishop in a church, the next thing would be a crusade or inquisition.
Nobody was sure where the first shot came from, but they did see who was enjoying the show. It just wasn’t in them to believe in human evil at that level. The innocent never do see such devilish pranks as even plausible. They figure drama in all it’s phases is natural. But sometimes there are architects. Someone who pulls the stirngs. You just have to know where to look.
But they exist and they are searching for just the right strings to pull. To unleash the storm and draw the attention of the storm chasers again. It only takes a second to build the energy up. Over and over again.

. . . . storm speeds

 

[tornado][https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/capital-weather-gang/wp/2013/06/04/deadly-el-reno-okla-tornado-was-widest-ever-measured-on-earth-had-nearly-300-mph-winds/?utm_term=.7c8fa1df34cf]

[tsunami][http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/12/1228_041228_tsunami_2.html]

[lava][http://geoetc.com/lava-flows-speed/]

[landslide][http://geology.com/usgs/landslides/]

[seismic wave][http://eqseis.geosc.psu.edu/~cammon/HTML/Classes/IntroQuakes/Notes/waves_and_interior.html]

[fire][http://sciencing.com/fast-can-forest-fires-spread-23730.html]
[thought to speech][https://www.livescience.com/5780-speed-thought-speech-traced-brain.html]
[speech to comprehension][http://hearinglosshelp.com/blog/speech-speed-vs-understanding-what-was-said/]

let’s rip HIS shirt off!

(tongue in cheek)

 

I love a good bodice ripper! They are awesome for relaxing when almost nothing else will do. You have the standard one where some sexy magazine star is half naked and buff, sexy and ready to take a place in your dreams. Long flowing hair you can yank them about with, soft glowing healthy skin and an imminently kissable mouth. That is usually enough to get the imagination and the juices running.
Then you add in a nice character plot. A dude needs to be saved from his hoard of stalkers, or a runaway horse maybe? Maybe he has a bunch of kids or an elderly mother who needs an attendant. And along you come to take charge. They usually are somewhat idiotic when it comes to care-giving.
Or he has a desk job and just can’t manage to keep his schedule straight, let alone get his coffee and lunch on time. His friends keep stopping by and need to be whipped away from his desk and his secretary’s too. They can’t seem to grasp the concept of work. And the gaggle of geese he thinks are date material is awe inspiring. Really! What would he do without you to chase them away?
Then there are the adventures. He seems to find any situation worthy of a gun or a fight and needs to be shown that love does more to change the world than any amount of guns ever will. You just gotta keep kissing the guy till he settles down, right? The odd one actually needs more than a few good kisses. They need a good pregnancy to get their attention. Sighs! What we women do for
these men!
There is a whole genre of wild west ones, where the settler desperately needs a work mate and writes off to their home land or captures some miscreant or young thing that needs to be shown what a good work day is.
Or historical ones, usually where the queen and her maidens show the menfolk what a court is all about. Taking a ruffian and taming him, or a country bumpkin and civilizing him. Or a rake and putting him into the grasp of a good woman.
I adore the gothic ones, where some therian or otherkin is tamed by love and awesome sex! There are usually a few good capture scenes too. Occasionally she gets out of hand and does more than just tackle him to get his attention.
There are even some mystery cross-overs with romance. Some psycho ex needs to be shown who the bitch of the hood is, once they figure that is the problem- child at the bottom of the stuff going on. Or some company wants to take your life, business and/or home over. And once you know the lengths they’ll go to to achieve that aim, you always come up with a last chance way to stop them. Justice always prevails! AND romance wins the day too!
Nowadays, it’s becoming de rigeur to have some chains and whips added in and who knows. You don’t just get virgin boys in the story for women to educate about sex. And we occasionally allow a man to be less stupid in their life skills. It’s nice to see that for a change. I mean, without a woman, how would they live?? They can’t cook or clean, they have no clue what a household budget or work place kitty requires. And if you asked them to care for an elderly person or child, they’d have a nervous breakdown! Poor sods!
These romances are such a light read, and end on a perfectly romantic moment though. It’s no wonder why they’re so popular. What;’s not to love?

tales from the crib

I don’t know if you believe that objects keep hold of the energy around them or not? But I’m here to tell you… we do.

I can tell you the tale of a single mom who scrimped for four months after her child’s birth to get a crib for her. Why? She had a lot of family around, so there really was no excuse. Between all of them, it might have cost each @ $5-10 max. What was worst was her brother’s ex had his son’s crib still. He said if she gave it to his sister, she would get cut off. No child support payments ever again. Yet that same family started asking that same mom for the stuff she had bought her child and actually believed they deserved it. Harrassed her till she gave in and let them have it.

. . . .

I can tell you about the time a mom got really sick and it looked like she needed surgery. Her child was a year old. Mom could hardly walk upright for 6 weeks, her stomach pain was so bad. Again, family was around, but the only time they helped was to babysit while she attended the OBGYN appt.

. . . .

I can tell you of families who were hardly ever around, except when they had a spleen full to vent. They’d call to dump their emo all over someone who was tired and trying to deal with things like collic, teeth growing, fevers, flus, colds, ear infections. Or worse. They told the person to suck it up. Their problems were worse. And even with baby crying in the background, they’d continue their lecture and/or use parent as their therapist. However they were just too busy to listen when they should have returned the favour.

. . . .

I can tell you of families who blamed the parent for neglect when the child had a learning delay.

. . . .

I can tell you about a family who saw the kid and parent 2-3 x a yr, in the group, yet called CAS on the parent. They claimed they knew stuff that was of concern about the child. They testified in court that the child was unsafe and the parent was mentally ill. The parent and child were separated, and the child as adopted by a person who hardly knew them, just because they were supposedly blood. And they refused access. The adoption was closed.

. . . .

I can tell you of families who used drugs, and alcohol, yet CAS let them keep their kids, while many single moms and dads lost custody, even though they were sober and capable. Often more capable than the people who ended up with their kids. Because CAS has a bias against single parents.

. . . .

I can tell you about a lot of moms who break under the strain, because they get called a slut, a whore, a bad mom, mentally ill, stupid by people who can’t be bothered to help out a little. Then blame the mom. Who did stay, after all. While dad and everyone else buggered off.

. . . .

I can tell you of a lot of adults who were abused by their families as they grew, only to realize in horror that CAS just gave custody of their child to the very people who broke them.

. . . .

Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all

. . . .

Oh Romeo Romeo wherefore art thou sweet Romeo

(a story) Oh Romeo Romeo, wherefore art thou sweet Romeo

She was looking for a love like she read about. Written by the bards! The old poets!
A man who cherished her and protected her. A man who loved her more than she loved herself. Who provided for her. So she could be his damselle, his princess.
What did she find? The men around her were guys she had watched grow up and had listened to all their fart jokes and watched their butts when they mooned out of the bus window. Yep, no prince or hero amongst them!
Then there were her dad’s pervy friends who watched her bug-eyed as she walked thru the house and called for beer or sammies whenever she managed to relax for a few minutes. They pinched her butt or dragged her across their laps and joked with her dad about what a great wife she would be. Blegh…she shivered in disgust! Not theirs!
She watched her older sisters walk away from their small town with a bad boy and come back a few years later, either an addict or pregnant. So yeah, that aint happening either!
Her brothers! They were growing up to be a chip off their dad’s shoulder. And frankly, she pitied!!! the girls who got these misogynistic cretons! EWWWWWW!! All she could say about them was they could handle their tools well. (No she DIDN”T mean the ones between their legs!)
But wherever she looked, there was no Romeo to be found. And seriously, she wasn’t too sure she wanted to die at 16 for a grand romance, anyway.
GET THEE TO A NUNNERY, JULIETTE!!
That would work a lot better if she were Catholic! Did girls really do that, pining for love?
She’d much rather be single than have any of these options in men around for the rest of her life.
So she waited…till she could wander into the bigger world and see if it was just her area that was barren of princes and heroes.
She found artists, musicians, chefs, factory workers, waiters, bartenders, male nurses,… but no princes or heroes. Le Sigh!! A bunch of guys who wanted fun and not romance or commitment. GROAN!
Or they wanted to be friends, just friends! She was starting to pick up some really really cute friends. BUGGER!!
(I know you’re getting as bored as she was!)
Only in a gothic romance does this lead up to a werebeast, vampire, demon or angel showing up.
She spent her life in a lonely search for her prince or hero who never showed up. Taking care of herself as HE should have. Saying no every time the guys she knew growing up offered her marriage and family. All she saw in them was the mooning boy who told fart jokes. She somehow missed that they had hair on their chests now. If she saw a beer in their hands, she thought they had leaped into their father and wouldn’t even hang around long enough to see if they liked her. There would be no drunken leches in her life or her daughter’s!!
So the day came when she took her last gasp, having lived a life spent wishing for a prince or hero who never came to save her….

She Was EVERYWHERE!!

In the kitchen, I met her cookbooks, because she was the perfect chef. So brilliant at sauces and desserts. None could surpass her! So why would I try? I was beaten every night, cuzz compared to her, I had given him a burnt offering. And now she had educated his palette with their taste, he could tolerate nothing less than she had given. I would never measure up to her. So why even try?

Yet I was a master chef

In the garden, I met her tools and cuttings, because she was an amazing botanist. None could surpass her! So why would I try? I was beaten every night, cuzz compared to her, I had raised weeds. And now she had educated his senses with their aroma, he could tolerate nothing less than she had given. I would never measure up to her. So why even try?

Yet I had raised award winning orchids.

Thru the house, I met her cleaning and decoration skills, because she was an amazing housekeeper. None could surpass her! So why would I try? I was beaten every night, cuzz compared to her, I had left a mess. And now he knew what a good airing was, he could tolerate nothing less than she had given. I would never measure up to her. So why even try?

Yet my designs were in national magazines

With his family and friends, I met her stunning beauty and entertainment, because she was a lovely person to know. None could surpass her! So why would I try? I was beaten every night, cuzz compared to her, I was a mouse in the corner. And now he knew what a good companion was, he could tolerate nothing less than she had given. I would never measure up to her. So why even try?

Yet people paid to attend the soirees I put on for a good cause

In our bed, I met her inner war between slut and lady, virginal till him then his whore. She lay between us like a bolster. None could surpass her! So why would I try? I was beaten every night, cuzz compared to her, I was a frigid piece of work. And now he knew he could make her a good lover, he could tolerate nothing less than she had given. I would never measure up to her. So why even try?

In death, I met her. Such grace and beauty, taken too soon. He had crawled into her coffin. His friends had had to drag him out before her odour took over the room. At my wake, he slapped me for being selfish and such a failure. Then he looked around the room to see if he could find someone to take over where she had left him. As if I never existed.

Funny thing is, I had loved him. Not her.