#coal trading companies

[ashenoaktradingcompany]

All of our off season items are currently 50% off including our novelty Coal Soap!

Something simple and fun, for gifting or entertaining. Goat’s milk soap scented like a smoldering fire.

Coal Soap ingredients: aqua, glycerin, sodium stearate, sorbitol, sodium laurate, goat's milk, propylene glycol, sodium laureth sulfate, sodium chloride, sodium lauryl sulfate, titanium dioxide, stearic acid, lauric acid, pentasodium pentetate, tetrasodium etidronate, fragrance, tea tree essential oil, mica, iron oxide, fluorphlogopite, tin dioxide, black iron oxide, ultramarine

[neyatimes]

COP28 in Dubai: Inside the push to greenwash the next climate summit

CNN  —  The optics of a major oil-producing country organizing the world’s most important climate conference, and appointing an oil company CEO to lead it, are not lost on anyone – including, it seems, the hosts: the United Arab Emirates. The country has embarked on a major PR campaign to boost its green credentials ahead of the COP28 UN climate summit in Dubai later this year, prompting heavy…

[reasonsforhope]

African poverty is partly a consequence of energy poverty. In every other continent the vast majority of people have access to electricity. In Africa 600m people, 43% of the total, cannot readily light their homes or charge their phones. And those who nominally have grid electricity find it as reliable as a Scottish summer. More than three-quarters of African firms experience outages; two-fifths say electricity is the main constraint on their business.

If other sub-Saharan African countries had enjoyed power as reliable as South Africa’s from 1995 to 2007, then the continent’s rate of real GDP growth per person would have been two percentage points higher, more than doubling the actual rate, according to one academic paper. Since then South Africa has also had erratic electricity. So-called “load-shedding” is probably the main reason why the economy has shrunk in four of the past eight quarters.

Solar power is increasingly seen as the solution. Last year Africa installed a record amount of photovoltaic (PV) capacity (though this still made up just 1% of the total added worldwide), notes the African Solar Industry Association (AFSIA), a trade group. Globally most solar PV is built by utilities, but in Africa 65% of new capacity over the past two years has come from large firms contracting directly with developers. These deals are part of a decentralised revolution that could be of huge benefit to African economies.

Ground zero for the revolution is South Africa. Last year saw a record number of blackouts imposed by Eskom, the state-run utility, whose dysfunctional coal-fired power stations regularly break down or operate at far below capacity. Fortunately, as load-shedding was peaking, the costs of solar systems were plummeting.

Between 2019 and 2023 the cost of panels fell by 15%, having already declined by almost 90% in the 2010s. Meanwhile battery storage systems now cost about half as much as five years ago. Industrial users pay 20-40% less per unit when buying electricity from private project developers than on the cheapest Eskom tariff.

In the past two calendar years the amount of solar capacity in South Africa rose from 2.8GW to 7.8GW, notes AFSIA, excluding that installed on the roofs of suburban homes. All together South Africa’s solar capacity could now be almost a fifth of that of Eskom’s coal-fired power stations (albeit those still have a higher “capacity factor”, or ability to produce electricity around the clock). The growth of solar is a key reason why there has been less load-shedding in 2024...

Over the past decade the number of startups providing “distributed renewable energy” (DRE) has grown at a clip. Industry estimates suggest that more than 400m Africans get electricity from solar home systems and that more than ten times as many “mini-grids”, most of which use solar, were built in 2016-20 than in the preceding five years. In Kenya DRE firms employ more than six times as many people as the largest utility. In Nigeria they have created almost as many jobs as the oil and gas industry.

“The future is an extremely distributed system to an extent that people haven’t fully grasped,” argues Matthew Tilleard of CrossBoundary Group, a firm whose customers range from large businesses to hitherto unconnected consumers. “It’s going to happen here in Africa first and most consequentially.”

Ignite, which operates in nine African countries, has products that include a basic panel that powers three light bulbs and a phone charger, as well as solar-powered irrigation pumps, stoves and internet routers, and industrial systems. Customers use mobile money to “unlock” a pay-as-you-go meter.

Yariv Cohen, Ignite’s CEO, reckons that the typical $3 per month spent by consumers is less than what they previously paid for kerosene and at phone-charging kiosks. He describes how farmers are more productive because they do not have to get home before dark and children are getting better test scores because they study under bulbs. One family in Rwanda used to keep their two cows in their house because they feared rustlers might come in the dark; now the cattle snooze al fresco under an outside lamp and the family gets more sleep.

...That is one eye-catching aspect of Africa’s solar revolution. But most of the continent is undergoing a more subtle—and significant—experiment in decentralised, commercially driven solar power. It is a trend that could both transform African economies and offer lessons to the rest of the world."

-via The Economist, June 18, 2024. Paragraph breaks added.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

“Carbon neutral” Bitcoin operation founded by coal plant operator wasn’t actually carbon neutral

I'm at DEFCON! TODAY (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). TOMORROW (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

Water is wet, and a Bitcoin thing turned out to be a scam. Why am I writing about a Bitcoin scam? Two reasons:

I. It's also a climate scam; and

II. The journalists who uncovered it have a unique business-model.

Here's the scam. Terawulf is a publicly traded company that purports to do "green" Bitcoin mining. Now, cryptocurrency mining is one of the most gratuitously climate-wrecking activities we have. Mining Bitcoin is an environmental crime on par with opening a brunch place that only serves Spotted Owl omelets.

Despite Terawulf's claim to be carbon-neutral, it is not. It plugs into the NY power grid and sucks up farcical quantities of energy produced from fossil fuel sources. The company doesn't buy even buy carbon credits (carbon credits are a scam, but buying carbon credits would at least make its crimes nonfraudulent):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/31/carbon-upsets/#big-tradeoff

Terawulf is a scam from top to bottom. Its NY state permit application promises not to pursue cryptocurrency mining, a thing it was actively trumpeting its plan to do even as it filed that application.

The company has its roots in the very dirtiest kinds of Bitcoin mining. Its top execs (including CEO Paul Prager) were involved with Beowulf Energy LLC, a company that convinced struggling coal plant operators to keep operating in order to fuel Bitcoin mining rigs. There's evidence that top execs at Terawulf, the "carbon neutral" Bitcoin mining op, are also running Beowulf, the coal Bitcoin mining op.

This is a very profitable scam. Prager owns a "small village" in Maryland, with more that 20 structures, including a private gas station for his Ferrari collection (he also has a five bedroom place on Fifth Ave). More than a third of Terawulf's earnings were funneled to Beowulf. Terawulf also leases its facilities from a company that Prager owns 99.9% of, and Terawulf has *showered * that company in its stock.

So here we are, a typical Bitcoin story: scammers lying like hell, wrecking the planet, and getting indecently rich. The guy's even spending his money like an asshole. So far, so normal.

But what's interesting about this story is where it came from: Hunterbrook Media, an investigative news outlet that's funded by a short seller – an investment firm that makes bets that companies' share prices are likely to decline. They stand to make a ton of money if the journalists they hire find fraud in the companies they investigate:

https://hntrbrk.com/terawulf/

It's an amazing source of class disunity among the investment class:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/08/money-talks/#bullshit-walks

As the icing on the cake, Prager and Terawulf are pivoting to AI training. Because of course they are.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/09/terawulf/#hunterbrook

[mediocre-tumble]

So we all know that out of everyone in the company, Bofur is the only full-time miner? Yeah, Bifur probably used to be a miner before the ‘axe in the head’ incident, but I think he wouldn’t be allowed to go in the mines full time with that injury.

And I know that being a miner was probably a common job for Dwarves, but what if it isn’t? What if the job for most miners is only temporary due to the amount of risks that can come from it? Since I feel like a lot of people forget about the fact that mining was/is a fairly dangerous job.

In Bofur’s case, the risks would be more around coal dust inhalation, lack of oxygen, mines collapsing, potentially getting injured by the pickaxe, manual labour leading to physical pain, and quite possibly, if you didn’t mine enough, you didn’t get paid enough either.

I thought about this tonight, and wondered if the reason Bofur was taken on the quest was because he would be used to the demanding physical labour, along with potentially not getting a reward by the end of it. I also wonder if miners are treated specially by the Dwarves due to the dangers of their job, and how important they are to Dwarven society, which might explain scenes when Bofur is sitting by Thorin’s right/left side in the first movie when they ransack Bilbo’s home, because fat spot should logically be for Balin- his advisor. It would also explain why- despite being the clown of the company, and I mean that affectionately- he’s also taken seriously, even if he suggests turning back during the beginning of ‘desolation of Smaug’.

And then I found it funny that Bofur would be getting five star treatment, not just by the company, but also by other Dwarves, and I mean Bifur and Bombur fending off unwanted courtships, or people who may only want to marry him for the respect miners receive, etc etc.

Even better, imagine some Dwarves insulting him for his appearance, or thinking he doesn’t do much, only to find out he’s a frigging miner who essentially helps run Dwarven society by supplying materials for trade and personal use.

Or even a politician tripping over themselves to apologise for bumping into him, accidentally making him drop something or even delaying his break from mining.

The opportunities are endless and I find that hilarious

[nazrigar]

Transformers All-Sparks: Titans of Industry and Heroes of SCIENCE

In Transformers All-Sparks, with the fall of Cobra means an new time of relative peace, and also new opportunities to change the world.

These are the folks that are the movers and shakers in the background of the AU, from robotics to energy. Also Inhumanoid references!

Titans of Industry

Isaac Sumdac: Of all the industries revolutionizing the modern age, few have made an impact that Sumdac has made with robotics. Almost every college and university grad aims to one work on Sumdac System's wonders. Everything from production lines to seamless advanced prosthetics can be attributed to Sumdac. In spite of all this, Sumdac remains dedicated to both his work and trying to be a good person first and foremost. In a world of cutthroat and self serving men, Isaac has a genuine belief in making the world a better place with his inventions. Where and how he was inspired to really push for robotics remains known only to him. Lives in Detroit.

G.B. Blackrock: The man with a hand in almost every energy revolution out there, Blackrock is the owner of Blackrock Enterprises, the company responsible for the production and construction of everything from fossil fuels to renewables in this AU. A strong belief in investing for the long term means that he's very much into investing into alternatives to fossil fuels, not just for energy, but for everything that derives from petroleum. Despite the scope of his company's wealth, he's only "just" a millionaire, for whatever he makes, he donates to causes he really believes, mostly out of a sense of guilt. For what kind of man would he be if he has all the wealth in the world without trying to make it better? Travels a lot, but his company's HQ is in Portland, Oregon.

With the only two unambiguously good business folk outta way let's get to some REAL villains!

Prometheus Black: The OTHER great industralist of Detroit, with far less scruples and morals than Sumdac. A great showman who always makes a new innovation known to the world, and spearheads much research and development in biotechnology and biochemistry. Resents Sumdac, for even he has to rely on Sumdac's work, especially in the field of agricultural sciences.

Blackthorne Shore: A minging magnate and mogul of all things digging up the soil, has an intense rivalry with Blackrock for kneecapping much of the coal trade. Ruthless, with a dominating presence. Currently trying to dig deep into the Earth to try and find… something. Information leaking out since the fall of Cobra indicates a wealth of unknowns that he must find and leave his mark before anyone else. He's not getting younger after all.

World Science Team

In a world… Where the fall of Cobra means the unleashing of unknown variables and technologies to the wider world… one team is dedicated to making sure that they not only don't fall to the wrong hands, but also make all this mad science less mad. They are… WORLD SCIENCE TEAM.

Elise Presser: The team robotics expert. Brilliant in her field of study, but prone to absent mindedness and reckless behavior. Wanted to change the world in her own way, since every robotics whizz is either working FOR Sumdac or wants to bring him down.

Dr. Herc Armstrong: A guy who seemed to be genetically engineered to be a pulp novel scientist and adventurer come to life. The great decisionmaker, outspoken and incredibly courageous.

Dr. Brian Mindbender: Dr. Mindbender was once a peaceful Orthodontist, then an experimental pain relieving device electric brainwave stimulation damaged his mind, causing him to be much more aggressive and easy angered. He joined Cobra out of the promise to "fix" his mind, but Cobra never did, so when Cobra ate itself, he surrendered peacefully, trying to get somebody to hopefully alleviate his pain. As much as modern medicine tried, they never could get him back to his pre-accident days, but at the very least he wasn't going to die, which was was the real risk of his untreated condition. He is World Science Team's resident neurologist, biologist and of course, orthodontist. Cuz someone needs to look over teeth!

Dr. Kenneth Onishi: Dr. Onishi, MASTER OF ENERGY SCIENCES also train enthusiast. Has theories and hypothesis about EVERYTHING. Big Sentai fan.

[scotianostra]

On 22nd November 1869 the clipper “Cutty Sark” was launched at Dumbarton on the River Clyde.

Built on the River Leven that flows out of Loch Lomond and joins the Clyde at Dumbarton at a cost of £16,150. Many people will tell you it was a Clyde built ship, but that’s not entirely true

The Cutty Sark was commissioned by John Willis, a Scots born businessman, in the late 1860s. Scott and Linton were contracted to build the Cutty Sark for a price of £17 per ton, a very low price even in those days.

1869 Scott and Linton were bankrupted due to the low contract price but not before they had completed and launched the hull and named it Cutty Sark.

The hull was towed across the river Leven to William Denny and Brothers on the Clyde for fitting out; she was rigged ready to sail in only 12 weeks. Cutty Sark set sail from London on her maiden voyage to Shanghai on the 16th February 1870 under the command of Captain George Moodie.

It had a dedicated service to the tea and wool trades, until being sold to a Portuguese cargo company in 1895, whereupon it was renamed the Ferreira.

These extremely fast clippers were able to cover long distances without the need of getting to port to reload coal. However, the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 shortened trade routes and made them lose their advantage over steam ships.

The ship’s name comes from Nannie, the witch in the Robert Burns poem Tam O’Shanter, who was dressed in only a “cutty sark” – an old Scottish term for a short nightie. The ship's figurehead, the original of which has been attributed to carver Fredrick Hellyer of Blackwall, is a stark white carving of a bare-breasted Nannie Dee with long hair holding a grey horse's tail in her han

In 1922, retired captain Wilfred Dowman bought the clipper for his personal use before, in 1938, his widow donated it to the training academy at Greenhithe, Kent to be used as a school ship by young cadets. At Greenhithe Cutty Sark acted as an auxiliary vessel to HMS Worcester for sail training drill, but by 1950 she had become surplus to requirements.

In 1953 Cutty Sark was given to the Cutty Sark Preservation Society and in 1954 she was moved to a custom-built dry dock at Greenwich. Cutty Sark was preserved as a museum ship, and has since become a popular tourist attraction.

In 2007 a devastating fire broke out aboard the Cutty Sark, and it appeared that the ship might be completely destroyed. Thankfully total disaster was avoided, but the subsequent restoration lasted until 2012. On 19th October 2014 she was damaged in a smaller fire.

Cutty Sark whisky derives its name from the ship. An image of the clipper appears on the label, and the maker formerly sponsored the Cutty Sark Tall Ships Race. The ship also inspired the name of the Saunders Roe Cutty Sark flying boat.

[kogo-dogo]

Like, okay. In regards to that last reblog: Do you know how weird it is to grow up in an area as bad off as southeastern Kentucky and to not realize it until you just casually start talking to people who've never been? Like, it didn't sink in that the stuff I went through growing up poor in the mountains was not the norm until I left and the responses to my stories was shock/horror/sadness.

I remember once just casually dropping that my childhood best friend had been murdered by an addict (normal conversation back home; you'd usually be met with "Oh, that's a shame, I remember he was a good kid. Same thing happened to [INSERT NAME] a few years ago."), and people just responding way stronger than I expected. There were whole towns without grocery stores and that was normal. The only times I can recall being to the doctor as a kid was when I was severely hurt or couldn't breathe (I had pneumonia and I tried to walk it off because we couldn't afford the hospital bill even with insurance). A lot of my family has died of preventable causes. A lot of our water was unsafe to drink because of mining (mining companies have destroyed a lot of places near my hometown, and as recently as last year left an entire town without potable water). A lot of those preventable causes were caused by the water being poison.

It's truly tragic because the people who live there are, by and large, great people and you can actually trace everything back to big coal execs getting mad about unions and destroying land out of spite (they stripped entire regions of any resource they could take out on a train, which left those regions poor because they had nothing to trade). A lot of people in those areas are doing everything they can to change circumstances but nobody takes them seriously or they face significant pushback (from the coal companies! What a surprise!).

It's just really sad. It's always a big celebration when I see any successes, but I wish people would stop looking at them like ignorant, awful people and actually... care.

[ruiniel]

ok I just thought of this but Alucard x reader where the reader has been turned into a vampire (while he's away or something or during battle)and feeling like maybe he won't love them anymoreeee?

Ouch, anon!

This will be so angsty.

A Place to Hide

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x Reader

Count: 1.5k

Rating: T

Tags/CW: Oneshot, Mutual pining, Angst, Context of battle, Mention of death, Alternate universe, Dark fantasy AU, Alucard POV, Vampirism, Longing, emotional hurt/comfort

Summary: This can be considered a follow-up of sorts set after 'To be free'. The murder of Lisa never happened. Instead, sometime in the future there is strife in the vampire world with an alliance of rebelling war chiefs over territory and Dracula is forced to respond. Reader character is an apprentice learning the doctor trade under Lisa. Trying to seek Adrian out after he left for battle was not a successful endeavor...

All characters depicted are 18+

"And you worry too much…"

Your words ricochet through his mind as he dismounts in haste along with the returning troops, the too-hindering armor singing mournfully with every movement, as it had done all those cold, cluttered days and nights he'd been away.

He crosses the barracks area built before the castle and ascends the stairs of his home, a bloodied letter crumpled in his right hand.

"Adrian!"

Like a ghost, a drop of crystal-clear water in a sea of blood, his mother runs towards him, sullying herself against his filthy form as she enfolds him in a fierce embrace. Her dainty fingers curl into his tattered cloak, and Lisa holds on to him with a frenzied relief after, he knows, weeks of fretting.

"You’re safe," Lisa murmurs, "You’re home," she shivers, drawing back to run swift, trembling fingers through his windswept hair. 

"Mother," his eyes press shut, and he falls against her. She whispers to him, and all he wants is to drown in her arms and forget; the missive burns like hot coal, still crushed in his hand.

"Your father arrived ahead of you," Lisa says, holding him fast to her. "...they're still assessing status in the council chamber." 

And Lisa, for her part, had been running the improvised hospice for their human allies. She looks as weary as he feels. "I know." He can barely speak. "Mother I… I received your letter; before the last skirmish."

They won. Careful tactical planning and losses included, there will be peace again in the borderlands without. For how long? None ever know.

He does not care. "... Where?"

Lisa releases him, slowly, holding him by the shoulders. "Adrian, will you not take the time to... to …"

"Where?" His voice cracks, his bones ache. He wishes he'd never welcomed you here, wishes he'd never met you, befriended you, loved you. He wishes, wishes, wishes as fools do.

"Why do you always push me away?"

Your voice, your face: enraged and so desperate. You needed him then, needed him and he was not here, and the closer he is now, the more the truth gains a near physical weight he pushes against with sisyphean misery.

"Adrian," his mother tries again, as he slowly pries her from him, shaking his head.

"Please."

She tells him. She tells him how you insisted on riding after him, two weeks or so prior, with a meager company through war-torn lands. How Lisa had done her utmost to deter you, but the influx of wounded human soldiers demanded most of her time and energy, day in, day out. She failed, and you would wait no longer. "Forgive me, forgive me..." 

He brings Lisa close again, fervently kissing the top of her head, "Don’t. Please. Just... just tell me."

They stay embraced for another moment as the clamor of many rises up to the high, domed ceilings, and figures wade around them like wraiths. "The east tower," Lisa whispers, finally.

By the time he reaches the door, having carelessly stripped and cast off pieces of armor on the way, his vision is blurred. Memories of that day, that last day when you were angry with him but would not leave his side, had been a torturous comfort to his nights through each cut and healing wound, each enemy pierced, each slash of the sword; that day, when he awoke the evening of his departure with you in his bed and in his arms while the chamber's golden light caressed your bareness.

The hinges creak. The door opens, and darkness greets him.

"How am I to learn, Adrian, if you stand in my way?"

He calls to you. He seeks a heartbeat, but there is none; of course, there wouldn't be. The letter falls from his hand like a withered autumn leaf. He calls again, and again, stepping inside the room.

Darkness never posed a challenge to his sight, and as his eyes follow along the richly woven rug, he sees a bare foot, slowly retreating; a huddled shape, in one corner.

"Leave." A broken, barely audible voice.

Never again. Adrian nears and kneels by your side. "But I’ve only just arrived," he says through a forced, trembling smile.

A stir, a rise of hunched shoulders. "... you..."

"Yes, me," he says. "And I’ve missed you… so, so much." 

A sigh his only answer, Adrian curls and uncurls his fists. "Will you look at me?"

"Why?" The shape stirs anew. He cannot tell what you might be feeling, not anymore. The signs are gone, but of course, it is you; wherever you are, whatever you are, he will always know. 

"Because I… you went seeking for me, and I understand. A part of me... longed for you to do so, from dawn to dusk, every hour, every minute and second." He swallows. "Please," he begs even as a pair of glowing eyes meet his.

He reaches; cups your cheek and falls in dismay when you shun his touch, hiding your face away from him.

Your beautiful, determined face. His anger is boundless; he wants to know who, and make them pay. But you would tell no one of it, from what he learned, and it matters not at the moment. An interrogation is not what you need, nor does he. 

"I am sorry. It should have been your choice, if it ever were to happen. I did not listen to you that night where... where I should have."

"Not your fault," he sees half of your face, eternal now, cut by a beam of moonlight. "I was impatient, wanted to reach you, to see you. I was—am, a selfish, selfish fool," you press your knuckles into your eyes "And now, look at me..."

Adrian carefully sits beside you. "No," he objects, poorly, but he's too exhausted, too weak; entranced by you being here, so close, alive despite the shadow imbuing your essence.

"You cannot hear it anymore, can you?"

Adrian shakes his head.

"It is gone."

"But you are not." He reaches, tentatively, and takes your hand, massaging into the knuckles.

"You're so... so warm..." you whisper, close to tears. "I never noticed before, but now, now..." Your words are as cold as your skin. "... what you knew is gone."

He is exhausted, you are hurting. It is over, it should’ve been over, he’d barely convinced you to stay behind back then, to keep safe and continue your work; but here you are anyway. Adrian tenderly pries your other hand away from your chest. He remembers the texture of your skin so well, remembers it soothing his face, his chest, gripping his hips with earnest abandon. Now, it barely returns the slightest pressure. He brings it to his forehead, breathes in deeply and raggedly before pressing the hand to his dry lips. 

What can he say? That he regrets not being there? That it eats him from the inside like rot? That he’s never felt such longing nor such pain, and unless you demand it, he will never let you go again?

"I've not slept in days."

Adrian nods slowly, bringing a tentative arm around your shoulders. "It will be so for a while, from what I know." The freezing nightly air glides through an open window by your naked feet, but he realizes it has long ceased to be an issue for you.

"I hear everything around me; every beat of wings, every sigh of wind or flutter of a living heart. The darkness in all things speaks to me in a language I understand, and yet do not."

Unable to resist any longer, Adrian brings and cradles your head to his chest. "There are other changes, yet to come. It is fresh, and you will… you will hurt for a while longer. But... but I am here now, and, if you'll have me, will... I can help."

You're shaking against him, and he knows, if you had tears to shed, they'd be blood. "Adrian, I regret what I said to you that night, how I pushed you, how—"

"I do not." He tips your chin up, rubs his thumb over your lip. "You spoke your... our truth. And for that, you were much braver than I," he follows. "I missed you," he repeats, like a craven. 

You melt against his side. "You are warm, I am cold."

"You will take from my warmth."

"I've lost… I’ve lost myself, my very being, my humanity, all my doing," you murmur, spent.

"No," he shakes his head, "Humanity consists of much, much more than a beating heart, you know this."

You smile sadly against the black canvas of the room. "So many out there who would beg to differ."

"... and none of them will ever lay a finger on you in this life, or any other."

Adrian dares to bring you more into him, a hand pressing into your back. You feel the same, he feels whole again. Will you see it? Will you understand? 

"I hunger," you speak, the word coated with shame as you melt into him. "I hunger, but I refuse to… to…"

"You must drink to live, now. That is the way of things." 

Your fingers claw at his chest. You are strong, so very strong. "My creed is to save lives, not take them."

Adrian draws you into his lap as you finally meet his gaze fully, a peek of fang between your lips. "And so it will stay," he tells you, soothingly but with conviction, pressing you closer as his hand cups the back of your head, as he reaches and unfastens the collar of his tunic. "... I promise."

MASTERLIST: CASTLEVANIA SERIES x READER

More of my work is on AO3 [many stories not on tumblr]

BLOG MASTERPOST (all you need to know)

Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

[ltwilliammowett]

Fancy a trip? Then welcome to door no. 19, where you can set sail on the SS Great Britain

SS Great Britain

Her history here:

When Brunel’s ocean liner, was built in the nineteenth century the SS GREAT BRITAIN was a bold attempt by a British company to break the American monopoly of the trans-Atlantic passenger trade. Launched by Prince Albert on 19 July 1843, she was the largest and most technically innovative ship of her day, because she was the first iron hulled, screw propelled ship. Her first voyage to America began on 26 July 1845, and she covered 3,100 miles in 14 days and 21 hours.

On the return journey, because of the loss of propeller blades, she used sail only, but still completed the voyage to Liverpool in 20 days. In 1846, however, on her fifth voyage, she ran aground in Dundrum Bay, County Down. It was not until August of the following year that she was refloated and towed back to Liverpool, and, in 1850, was sold to Gibbs, Bright & Co. for service to Australia. She was significantly altered at this time.

In 1854, she was refitted as a troopship for the Crimean War and again in 1857 she carried reinforcements to Bombay to deal with the Indian Mutiny. Returning to the Australian run, she carried the first touring English cricket side. In 1876, she was put up for sale at Birkenhead, but not bought until 1882. Her new owners, Anthony Gibbs, Sons & Co. converted her entirely to a sailing vessel for transporting coal to San Francisco and returning with wheat. After two such voyages, in 1886, she was dismasted by a hurricane off Cape Horn and she put into the Falkland Islands. As repairs were considered too expensive, she became a hulk for storing coal and wool. On April 14 1937, she was towed a few miles out of Port Stanley to shallow water in Sparrow Cove; holes were punched in her bottom and she settled on the seabed. The organisation required to co-ordinate the task of recovery came into being in 1968, led by Dr Ewan Corlett. In April 1970, she was refloated, returning to her original dock Bristol in July that year where she underwent a major conservation programme.

In 2006, an appeal was launched to help restore the masts of the SS GREAT BRITAIN. Two of the masts and part of a third needed to be urgently replaced as they had become badly degraded. The vessel was successful in winning the prestigious Gulbenkian Prize as UK Museum of the Year 2006, which brought with it £100,000 in prize money. This was put towards the costs of the masts. The ship also won two awards at the Museums and Heritage Awards for Excellence 2006 conference in the restoration and conservation category as well as permanent exhibition. The project was also awarded the Civic Trust Award 2006 for accessibility. These Awards follow the relaunch of GREAT BRITAIN after work costing £11.3 million to transform her into a major visitor attraction and museum, as well as to preserve the vessel for future generations. The ship saw more than 160,000 visitors between July 2005 and September 2006.

[jangillman]

President Trump's Achievements

Hey!! What has Donald Trump done while he was in office (as at July, 2017)!!!

1.Supreme Court Judge Gorsuch

2.59 missiles dropped in Syria.

3.He took us out of TPP

4.Illegal immigration is now down 70%( the lowest in 17 years)

5.Consumer confidence highest since 2000 at index125.6

6.Mortgage applications for new homes rise to a 7 year high.

7.Arranged 20% Tariff on soft lumber from Canada.

8.Bids for border wall are well underway.

9.Pulled out of the lopsided Paris accord.

10.Keystone pipeline approved.

11.NATO allies boost spending by 4.3%

12.Allowing VA to terminate bad employees.

13.Allowing private healthcare choices for veterans.

14.More than 600,000. Jobs created

15. Median household income at a 7 year high.

16. The Stock Market is at the highest ever In its history.

17. China agreed to American import of beef.

18. $89 Billion saved in regulation rollbacks.

19. Rollback of A Regulation to boost coal mining.

20. MOAB for ISIS

21. Travel ban reinstated.

22. Executive order for religious freedom.

23. Jump started NASA

24. $600 million cut from UN peacekeeping budget.

25. Targeting of MS13 gangs

26. Deporting violent illegal immigrants.

27. Signed 41 bills to date

28. Created a commission on child trafficking

29. Created a commission on voter fraud

30. Created a commission for opioids addiction.

31. Giving power to states to drug test unemployment recipients.

32. Unemployment lowest since may 2007.

33. Historic Black College University initiative

34. Women In Entrepreneurship Act

35. Created an office or illegal immigrant crime victims.

36. Reversed Dodd-Frank

37. Repealed DOT ruling which would have taken power away from local governments for infrastructure planning

38. Order to stop crime against law enforcement.

39. End of DAPA program.

40. Stopped companies from moving out of America.

41. Promoted businesses to create American Jobs.

42. Encouraged country to once again

43. 'Buy American and hire American

44. Cutting regulations 2 for every one created.

45. Review of all trade agreements to make sure they are America first.

46. Apprentice program

47. Highest manufacturing surge in 3 years.

48 $78 Billion promised reinvestment from major businesses like Exxon, Bayer, Apple, SoftBank, Toyota...

49. Denied FBI a new building.

50. $700 million saved with F-35 renegotiation.

51. Saves $22 million by reducing white house payroll.

52. Dept of treasury reports a $182 billion surplus for April 2017

(2nd largest in history.

53. Negotiated the release of 6 US humanitarian workers held captive in egypt.

54. Gas prices lowest in more than 12 years.

55. Signed An Executive Order To Promote Energy Independence And Economic Growth

56. Has already accomplished more to stop government interference into people's lives than any President in the history of America.

57. President Trump has worked with Congress to pass more legislation in his first 100 days than any President since Truman.

58. Has given head executive of each branches 6 month time Frame dated march 15 2017, to trim the fat. restructure and improve efficacy of their branch.

Observe the pushback the leaks the lies as entrenched POWER refuses to go silently into that good night!

I hope each and every one of you copy and paste this everywhere, every time you hear some dim wit say Trump hadn't done a thing!

THANK YOU!!!

Oh, yeah, and there's this..........

[racefortheironthrone]

Why do economists need to shut up about mercantilism, as you alluded to in your post about Louis XIV's chief ministers?

In part due to their supposed intellectual descent from Adam Smith and the other classical economists, contemporary economists are pretty uniformly hostile to mercantilism, seeing it as a wrong-headed political economy that held back human progress until it was replaced by that best of all ideas: capitalism.

As a student of economic history and the history of political economy, I find that economists generally have a pretty poor understanding of what mercantilists actually believed and what economic policies they actually supported. In reality, a lot of the things that economists see as key advances in the creation of capitalism - the invention of the joint-stock company, the creation of financial markets, etc. - were all accomplishments of mercantiism.

Rather than the crude stereotype of mercantilists as a bunch of monetary weirdos who thought the secret to prosperity was the hoarding of precious metals, mercantilists were actually lazer-focused on economic development. The whole business about trying to achieve a positive balance of trade and financial liquidity and restraining wages was all a means to an end of economic development. Trade surpluses could be invested in manufacturing and shipping, gold reserves played an important role in deepening capital pools and thus increasing levels of investment at lower interest rates that could support larger-scale and more capital intensive enterprises, and so forth.

Indeed, the arch-sin of mercantilism in the eyes of classical and contemporary economists, their interference in free trade through tariffs, monopolies, and other interventions, was all directed at the overriding economic goal of climbing the value-added ladder.

Thus, England (and later Britain) put a tariff on foreign textiles and an export tax on raw wool and forbade the emigration of skilled workers (while supporting the immigration of skilled workers to England) and other mercantilist policies to move up from being exporters of raw wool (which meant that most of the profits from the higher value-added part of the industry went to Burgundy) to being exporters of cheap wool cloth to being exporters of more advanced textiles. Hell, even Adam Smith saw the logic of the Navigation Acts!

And this is what brings me to the most devastating critique of the standard economist narrative about mercantilism: the majority of the countries that successfully industrialized did so using mercantilist principles rather than laissez-faire principles:

When England became the first industrial economy, it did so under strict protectionist policies and only converted to free trade once it had gained enough of a technological and economic advantage over its competitors that it didn't need protectionism any more.

When the United States industrialized in the 19th century and transformed itself into the largest economy in the world, it did so from behind high tariff walls.

When Germany made itself the leading industrial power on the Continent, it did so by rejecting English free trade economics and having the state invest heavily in coal, steel, and railroads. Free trade was only for within the Zollverein, not with the outside world.

And as Dani Rodrik, Ha-Joon Chang, and others have pointed out, you see the same thing with Japan, South Korea, China...everywhere you look, you see protectionism as the means of achieving economic development, and then free trade only working for already-developed economies.

[sabotsen]

Dismantling Lighthouses

Brief monster oc introductions.

Warnings: Subtle yandere vibes; Reader/Darling is GN as always.

Synopsis: You are pulled from the sea one stormy night, bereft of your memories and find yourself in a small coastal village home to not a single human.

Your first memory is of darkness.  Heavy — the kind that sunk like tar down to your bones with a chill that thrummed in your veins. Pulled from the brink... That's what they say when the sunlight blinds your eyes. When the blanket settles too heavy upon your limbs despite the thinness of the sheet.  Lucky, they all agree even when the air burns too thick in your lungs and your voice breaks upon your chapped lips.  Are you? Truly?

Aodhán: Fire Elemental. 

Aodhán is the sole power source to the lighthouse and much of the gas lamps / lighting within the village itself. For various reasons, they are unable to leave the village, and even traveling down the cliff to linger by the shore is extremely taxing on them. It’s an unspoken rule that Aodhán is forbidden to leave the lighthouse, even during the day — but this rule is enforced only by Ísveig, and several of the other villagers turn a blind eye when Aodhán wanders down to the sea for brief respites.

It is Aodhán who spotted you that one stormy night. They have a habit of searching the sea and pestering Tovv to investigate anything odd they happen to catch sight of, especially any odd heat signatures spotted. They certainly did not expect that they caught a glimpse of in the dark waters was a human, of all things, but your company has been a fascinating gift in and of itself. 

Aodhán’s body is exclusively fire and flame but they can condense and cool the surface flames to form a makeshift body more tangible. The “skin” is just shy of rough, with bright cracks that glow red along the surface like starry trails in the sky. Occasionally wisps of smoke curl from the cracks in their skin but most of it condenses on their head and tumbles across their shoulders in a facsimile of hair that twists and curls in a constantly changing shape. Aodhán has to concentrate to be sure they maintain the temperature they want so they don't burn whoever they touch or is touching them. Overall, though, the shape they take on is malleable and they can form their molten body into the facsimile of  any creature they desire.

Since maintaining form for extended periods takes a lot of energy, Aodhán predominantly only forms a body from the torso up when he is lounging in the large cauldron that houses his flame in the lighthouse. 

Aodhán is friendly at heart, bright and always full of energy. They immediately feel a sense of kinship with you over the shared loss of memory. Despite their long time in service to the village, Aodhán has no memories of their time before they awoke in the lighthouse. They are always happy, and perhaps too eager, to pull you close and watch you try something new — be it a food, or a story, or new sights found around the village. There’s a certain sense of joy they get watch you laugh and smile. 

Perhaps it’s because they are the single power source for the village but Aodhán is almost always hungry. Their diet is primarily the coal and ore Raksa sends up with you, but they are particularly fond of the occasional geodes that can be found in the mines or traded for with the occasional visiting sea merchants. Their flames and heat get noticeably weaker and dimmer the longer they go without fuel. 

Due to his forced (almost total) seclusion, Aodhán has not seen any humans, so they are fascinated by your (weak) body heat and the softness of your skin. Long are the hours they spent in the middle of the night, while operating the lighthouse, trying to perfect control of their own body heat. After all, they can’t risk burning you — no, no, no, you’re too delicate, too fragile like the daisy growing on the cliff. They have to reign in their heat and cool the surface of their molten body just enough that when they press against your soft flesh it leaves only bruises and not scorched skin. They master it well enough — but not fast enough to their taste, those days they could not touch you were long and torturous. Thereafter, whenever you venture to the lighthouse, Aodhán is quick to pull you into a hug, quicker still to press against you and curve their form against yours as they bask in the unique heat that is yours and yours alone. 

Aside from Raksa, who provides their fuel, and Tovv, who they have pestered long enough to befriend, Aodhán is not particularly close to anyone else in the village. Perhaps that’s why when you miss a day or two without stopping by, they are that much more clingier when they do finally see you. Their touch on those days edges right on the edge of tolerable, their heat just a little too warm as they clutch at your clothes and arms. 

Warnings: Obsession runs extremely deep, as does their curiosity and fascination. The malleable feature of their body is something Aodhán is all too happy to use if it means pulling a reaction from you. Unlike Raksa, Aodhán does not like to see you cry but tears from overstimulation are quickly and easily written off as pleasure, which they then take as encouragement to continue. Their greatest thrill is service and worship, to a frightening degree. 

Easily Jealous of: Tovv, Raksa — whatever you need, whatever parts of them intrigue you, Aodhán can be. You need only stay here in the flames, starlight.

Bad End Jealousy:  Ísveig. 

Raksa: naga (gaboon viper markings; trademark long fangs) 

Runs the village’s smithy and prepares the coal and ore for Aodhán to use for lighthouse operations. 

With a sharp grin and a tilt of his head, it is Raksa who takes you under his wing and shelters you from Ísveig’s ire by providing you a means to contribute to the village. All you need do is help around the smithy and deliver a few things to the lighthouse daily. Easy, he had said with a grin too wide to be genuine kindness. 

 Steady with a passing appearance of easy-going, like the deceptive lazy pace of a river winding through a valley, Raksa never gives the impression of someone in a hurry. Focused, perhaps, but never rushed. Even when he works, bathed in the bright flames of the forge, his strikes are precise, controlled – not a single swing of his hammer in vain or miscalculated. 

When he is not working, he is oft found coiled around or near the forge, basking in the heat from the flames. His long serpentine tail winds around the base of the forge and he himself rests on a pile of coils beside it. It is only when he sleeps like this, braided hair half loose from his slumber and tossed over his shoulder, that the golden scales tracing his spine are most easily seen.  The first time you saw them, shining like shimmering stars against his skin, you nearly traced them without thought. But the cold touch of scales against your ankle just as your fingers neared stopped you in your tracks. The tip of his tail lazily flicking against the inside of your ankle like a kiss as his voice slithered over his shoulder, clear as a bell in winter’s chill air, “Careful, little mouse.” 

Raksa isn’t one for chatter usually and unlike Viellhym, he has no interest in gossip. But what he will do is listen, to a frightening degree, perhaps. Of course, his hearing isn’t the best compared to the other villagers so it’s only natural for him to drape himself over you like a willow when you speak. After all, you speak so quietly, little mouse, how else is he supposed to hear you? You don’t mind when he rests his head on your shoulder or leans against your side when speaking, right? If you let him maintain some physical contact while conversing, Raksa is happy to listen all day long, especially if he can slowly pull you into his coils by the end of it. 

Raksa absolutely loathes the cold and will cling to anything with heat that passes by. This habit of his isn’t as noticeable when he is in the main workroom of smithy, half coiled around the forge. But if you catch him elsewhere — either in town or even in his own bedroom, your body heat becomes addictive to him. You made the mistake, once, of entering his room one morning to wake him up. Between the twisting nest of blankets and his ever shifting coils tripping you up as his hands grasped at the soft plush of your hips, you did not escape his sleepy hold — let alone his room — until evening. 

He doesn’t speak of it often, but it seems he gets occasional bouts of homesickness, particularly when he spends time with Aodhán for long periods. The naga has a soft spot for the fire elemental, though, and as such tends to keep a tight lip about Aodhán’s adventures down to the shoreline. 

Warnings: Raksa loves to see you cry and loves it even more when you do so against his coils. Be careful where you tread and the distance you keep, as Raksa’s reach is further than you think and he will not hesitate to strike when you least expect it to pull you into his binding embrace. Squirm, thrash, scream if you like, it will not change your fate, little mouse. You’re right where you belong and he has waited just for this moment when you foolishly believe you are safe in his company. 

Easily Jealous of: Aodhán, Tovv — You’re having too much fun with those children, little mouse. The stars in your eyes are beautiful but come back, little mouse, come back. 

Bad End Jealousy:  Ísveig. 

Tovv: Sahagin.

Scales are a deep indigo that bleed into an ink black on his limbs; spine and fins are a bold crimson. Eye is a cloudy, soft pink on land but deepens to the bold red of his fins in the water. 

Tovv serves as the village’s protector and primary ship guide for the wharf, as passage inland can be tricky with the rocky outcroppings. He does not venture far from the waters and tends to stay away from the village proper unless absolutely necessary. He primarily lingers near the caves at the base of the cliff that the lighthouse overlooks. 

Tovv has long since been a (begrudging) friend of Aodhán, despite their opposing elemental natures. He once gave Aodhán a pearl sahagin utilize for long distance communications and has absolutely regretted it ever since. Aodhán oft syncs up to the pearl Tovv wears around his neck and asks (read: pesters) Tovv to venture out to sea to fetch odd items they spotted heat signatures of. This, of course, is how the two of them found you. 

It is Tovv that swims out to sea and coaxes your cold fingers to release the driftwood you’d clung to so desperately. It is Tovv who carefully carries you ashore, your face tucked against his neck — your breath so warm, warm, warm against his scales. It is Tovv who bundles you in his arms and carries you to the inn, despite his loathing of the land. And it is Tovv’s claws that mar your arms when you wake, bloodied by his touch. 

After you wake, it takes several days and attempts to catch the creature that pulled you from those cold salt waters. He saw you, of course, every time you ventured down to the wharf and every time you abandoned the wood planks and wandered the sandy shore. Tovv kept his distance at first, a shadow in the waters just out of your sight. You were strange and smelled different. He’d seen humans before, of course, glimpses really — most of them had huddled on the ships he inspected: they were but wares to be sold elsewhere. Not here, though. Ísveig would not suffer a human.  Getting caught up in the meddlesome headache for when you finally are either killed or tossed aboard a ship to be sold was not his type of enjoyment. So he kept his distance. 

But you were foolish enough to befriend Aodhán, which meant Tovv had to, eventually, suffer your company as well. You came with the fire elemental one night, trailing behind them as if you were afraid to get lost in the dark. You came right up to him and, unafraid of his claws and sharp teeth still bloodied from his meal, you held his hand in your smaller ones and thanked him for pulling you from the sea. The warmth of your touch lingered that night long after you left and Tovv found it increasingly hard to ignore you thereafter whenever you ventured close to the waters. 

You find that he is quite blunt by nature and there are several things about both creatures (including humans) who live on land and their way of life itself that is a mystery to him. His curiosity is innocent enough, but it is framed by the sharp edges of his claws and teeth. More than once, he has drawn your blood — an accident — and each time he has offered to clean it for you. There’s a numbing agent in his saliva, he explained once; it makes it easier to eat from his preferred fish while they still yet lived. You had asked once, what he typically ate, and he merely held your injured and bloodied arm in his large grasp, thin lips pulled back in what was supposed to be a smile. But it was too sharp, too threatening, and you could not deny the chill that lances through your spine. 

When his focus is not narrowed to a fine point on something of interest, Tovv is rather calm for the most part. He is oddly stuck in his ways and habits, however, and is loath to try something new. He’s more likely to break something while bending it to his needs and habits than to change himself. 

Warnings: blood. Tovv is fascinated by your softness and both the scent and taste of your blood rile the more primal side of him. There’s an almost predatory obsession with keeping you within range of his jaws the moment he gets even a hint of your blood in the air or waters.  

Easily Jealous of: Aodhán — the fire elemental may have spotted you but it was him that pulled you from the sea. From its waters you came and with the sea — and him — you will always belong. 

Bad End Jealousy: Erlind & Margott. 

Viellhym: drider. 

Viellhym is the village’s innkeeper and the very one who allows you to stay under her roof. She is also the one who wove a special web to act as bandages while you were recovering from being adrift at sea; your sprained ankle and the various bruises and cuts covering your body healed much quicker under her tender care. You’re so fragile as a human, though, so Viellhym worries about you — which takes the form of her hands lightly flitting across your clothes and bare skin. Just checking, of course. Do you hurt anywhere, darling? 

Since the village does not often have many visitors aside from the occasional seafarer crew staying a few days while offloading at the wharf, the first floor of the inn doubles as the village’s bar. As such it is one of the best places in the village to hear local gossip. Viellhym prides herself on being in the know of the goings on, both local and across the sea. What you offer to trade for her knowledge is a different matter altogether. Information does not come cheap, especially from her. 

Viellhym comes across as soft spoken, despite her large appearance. Her touch, too, is light and barely noticeable, awareness of her touch prickling your skin in the wake of an alien coldness she leaves behind — her hands brushing your hair back or fixing your clothes. Oh darling, it’s nothing, just a stray thread on your clothing. You can’t keep wearing these rags forever, though — won’t you let her weave you some new fabrics? Oh no, no, no trouble at all. You need only hold still for a while — it’s important to get the right measurements, after all. 

She is always mindful of both herself and her surroundings; it’s nearly impossible to hear her approach unless she intentionally makes noise.  It’s uncanny almost how many times you’ve glanced up when helping clean the inn’s tables to see her suddenly there at the bar, crimson gaze locked on you with that small smile of hers visible between her mandibles. She’s startled you in the hallways more than once, as well, and her gentle coos when she picks you up effortlessly into her arms does little to chase away your nerves. Poor thing, you just startle so easily. How ever did you last this long on your own? 

Viellhym likes to prod, regardless of whether it’s for information or entertainment. It’s subtle, too, entirely unnoticeable when she does it unless an observant third party is paying close attention. Perhaps then they might notice the sharpness behind her gentle smile or the precision of her seemingly innocent comments. Slow and gentle, like a spider winding the web around prey. 

Warnings: Master manipulator. She thrives on power, which usually comes in the form of information when it pertains to others. Oh, but for you, power doesn’t mean anything unless you’re completely reliant upon her.  It has been a long, long time since she last saw a human — she’d forgotten just how soft and delicate they are, and you are just too adorable to leave alone. You would look just adorable wrapped in silk and threads she’s woven — into clothes, blankets, or even just the simple, pure sight of her web pressing against your soft flesh. So come, dear, have a meal, take a rest. Stay a while. You’re home now, after all. 

Easily Jealous of: none. 

Bad End Jealousy:  Tovv — as the guardian of the wharf, he is the only way you’d ever be able to escape the village. She can’t risk you getting too close to him or him to you least you realize the temptation of the land beyond the sea. 

Ísveig: Ice dragon.

Ísveig is the current village “elder” or chief, as some call them. They have stood guardian over the village for longer than anyone can recall. The villagers know them for their stern protection of the land and its people, as well as the fierce distrust they harbor of outsiders. 

While Ísveig can change forms between masculine or feminine when shifting to something more humanoid in appearance, they prefer a feminine form. There is little difference between the two, however. Their tall stature, firm muscles covered with silver scales, twin horns curling from their temple, long white hair, and those thin rimmed glasses remain unchanged regardless of gender. 

Most of the villagers are accustomed to it by now, and Viellhym tried to ease your worries, saying Ísveig simply has a rather harsh expression by default. Perhaps that is true for the most part, but the dragon’s distrust of you to begin with did not help matters at all. Your sudden appearance during a stormy night, with nary a memory or clue to your name or origins spells trouble that the dragon would highly prefer stay far away from the village. When you start busying yourself to help the village folk, though, Ísveig is hard pressed to chase you off. 

It takes a while and more than a little help from Viellhym, but you manage to catch glimpses of something softer beneath the ice exterior of the village chief. It’s the small twitch of their lips, a flicker of smile you miss if you blink. It’s the long stare they watch you with, too sharp to be friendly but too heated to be distant. It’s the ‘orders’ you receive to come to their abode in the village, tasting teas and other samples Ísveig is adamant about testing first before fully allowing into the village. It’s the brush of touch swiping along the curve of your hips only to vanish as you turn around.  

Warnings: Ísveig is not one to share, nor are they one to take risks. If you needle your way too deep beneath their scales, you will find yourself trapped in the mountains, where the dragon makes their home during the long winter months. The truth of your origins and the hope to recover your memories will become irrelevant in the cradle of the mountain, trapped beneath silver claws. 

Easily Jealous of: None. 

Bad End Jealousy: Aodhán.

Erlind [Harpy] & Margott [Werewolf] 

Erlind and Margott are long standing partners that have kept each other afloat and alive throughout many years long before they ended up in the village. The bond they share is special and extremely deep. 

They also balance each other extremely well. Where Margott is upbeat and easily excitable, Erlind is typically steady and grounding. Where Margott loves to tease with a quip and sharp grin to get a rile of someone, Erlind is quicker to soothe ruffled feathers.  Margott will take a chance on a whim and luck, whereas Erlind will hesitate and try to find a vantage point. There are times, of course, where Erlind gets swept up in something or another and falls in over his head; Margott always has the widest grin and it’s with a hearty laugh that she pulls her lover out of trouble.  

Erlind acts as a courier for the village, though his work sometimes takes him to areas beyond the mountain range and forest. Margott patrols the village forest and acts as an overall guard when dealing with outsiders (primarily at the wharf). They are two peas in a pod and rarely do you see them separated for extended periods. While there is a companionship they share with much of the other villagers, there is a distinct distance they place between them and the others. 

Margott was originally tasked to keep an eye on you during your first few days upon waking and wandering the village. She does a fine job at it, as the first time you ran into her, dwarfed by her shadow as she leaned close — those fangs of hers so close to your neck — frightened more than a few years off your life. Erlind is kinder in his approach, perching on his lover’s broad shoulders and offering to give you a tour of the village. The two of them are quick to warm up to you, though. You’re not the first human they’ve met, but you’re certainly the kindest. It soothes the colder, darker memories of your kind that they keep tucked away. When you’re not hidden away in Raksa’s smithy or hiding in the lighthouse with Aodhán, Margott is quick to sweep you up with a laugh and run off with you in her arms, Erlind trailing close behind in the wind. 

Despite his calmer appearance, Erlind is easily teased by those he cares for. Margott is quick to give pointers on how best to ruffle his feathers and bring out the prettiest blush across his face, which highlights the freckles dusting across his cheeks. Margott is hard to ruffle, of course. Despite her constant energy, she slows down when she finds something entertaining to trap between her jaws — and oh, how fascinating you are beneath her, little bunny. 

It’s innocent enough at first. Margott’s claws firm as they sink into the soft flesh of your hips when she lifts you up, shifting you in her arms to carry because you simply cannot run as fast as she can. Of course she’s going to carry you, she can’t leave you behind, can she? Or when Erlind rests his chin on your shoulder as he presses his chest to your back. A hug, he says, since he can’t exactly give you one with his wings — not an adequate, warm one anyway. If his lips trace the curve of your neck as he pulls away, it’s just simple skinship between friends, little bunny. But as your stay in the village stretches on, their touches linger. It isn’t long before they sink fully into tender flesh, claws and fang alike, trapped between the two.  

Easily Jealous of: Tovv — Why are you so interested in the sea and the ships? You’re not planning on leaving, right? 

Bad End Jealousy: Extended interest in the wharf or Tovv. 

[arrozaurus]

One of the primary driving forces of the particular trade system designed in the 1980s and 1990s was always to allow multinationals the freedom to scour the globe in search of the cheapest and most exploitable labor force. It was a journey that passed through Mexico and Central America’s sweatshop maquiladoras and had a long stopover in South Korea. But by the end of the 1990s, virtually all roads led to China, a country where wages were extraordinarily low, trade unions were brutally suppressed, and the state was willing to spend seemingly limitless funds on massive infrastructure projects—modern ports, sprawling highway systems, endless numbers of coal-fired power plants, massive dams—all to ensure that the lights stayed on in the factories and the goods made it from the assembly lines onto the container ships on time. A free trader’s dream, in other words—and a climate nightmare.

A nightmare because there is a close correlation between low wages and high emissions, or as Malm puts it, “a causal link between the quest for cheap and disciplined labor power and rising CO2 emissions.” And why wouldn’t there be? The same logic that is willing to work laborers to the bone for pennies a day will burn mountains of dirty coal while spending next to nothing on pollution controls because it’s the cheapest way to produce. So when the factories moved to China, they also got markedly dirtier. As Malm points out, Chinese coal use was declining slightly between 1995 and 2000, only for the explosion in manufacturing to send it soaring once again. It’s not that the companies moving their production to China wanted to drive up emissions: they were after the cheap labor, but exploited workers and an exploited planet are, it turns out, a package deal.

A destabilized climate is the cost of deregulated, global capitalism, its unintended, yet unavoidable consequence.

This Changes Everything by Naomi Klein

[toxicrayofsunshine]

What the Mountain Provides

I have been binge watching Outsiders, the show from 2016 with Joe Anderson, Ryan Hurst, and Kyle Gallner, and was dismayed to learn it was canceled after only TWO seasons. Now I love Supernatural, it's one of my comfort shows, but if I could trade a couple seasons of it for new seasons of Outsiders, I would.

Well of course this news was disappointing but I figured I could read the fanfic that surely followed suit. Even Kyle made a tweet about it. However, I'm finding that stories are few and far between. Sasil seems to be the main type and while I love the ship and the characters, I also have a love for reader inserts or other OCs. So I guess the only thing I can do is write my own... without further ado here's my first Outsiders Fanfic. At the moment it's a one shot but because it's me, it will more than likely become a multi-chapter. Either way, I hope you enjoy.

What the Mountain Provides

Pairing: Asa Farrell x Female OC

Words: 2550

Warnings: Slight Spoiler, Swearing, Talk of death and dying

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Summary: {set after Asa shoots Big Foster} Asa finds himself being taken care of by a young woman from his childhood.

There hadn’t been a set plan when he’d come back down the mountain. All he knew was he could never go back home and the pain that hit him was like a shot to the heart. At first, he tried telling himself to just hop a train and go wherever life took him, but the wolves descending told him that this was the end of the line for him. He couldn’t have G’win, he’d killed Big Foster, and he couldn’t see the light at the end of this tunnel. Perhaps he should’ve pulled the trigger that night rather than return to the mountain; maybe things wouldn’t have gotten so bad at home. Sure, the coal company was still a problem, but the internal war that was waged… was that all his fault? Was he cursed? Had he brought some sort of evil back home with him?

At least giving himself to the wolves would provide sustenance for the creatures. Perhaps they’d even carry parts of him back up the mountain. His spirit might not be fully at peace scattered about, but did he deserve peace at all? Standing, facing the three predators, he resigned himself to death, closing his eyes and holding his arms out as though he were embracing a friend... but then the sound of soft humming reached his ears, and he could see the soft light of first morning behind his eyelids, the smell of coffee and bacon assaulting his nostrils, and when he reached down, his hand was met with the softness of nice sheets.

The humming became softer, but he could tell the person behind the noise was coming closer, and he managed to crack one eye open as the door slowly opened. When the owner of the voice and the room came into view, his breath suddenly caught in his throat. She reminded him of summertime on the mountain; her hair shimmered like the soft glow of a summer evening, kissed by the sun, yet cool as the pale beams of a full moon; a gentle fusion of warmth and ethereal light, a tapestry of blonde that seemed almost otherworldly in its delicate brilliance. She had a fae-ish look about her, and all of the stories his kin would tell of the Fae didn’t seem so farfetched after setting eyes on her… and then she smiled at him, and he was positive this must be some kind of heaven because he was certainly looking at an angel.

“Glad ta see you awake.”

She had the same accent as most folks around here, but hers sounded closer to music than simple conversation, and it was taking his brain a second longer than usual to realize that this wasn’t a hallucination and he wasn’t dead. The woman waited for a moment before stepping closer, the tray of food held out in front of her, and he could see that she was being cautious but was unsure what the caution was aimed towards. Was she afraid of him? Possibly, but he didn’t think she’d bring him… wherever they were if that was the case. He was so lost in his head that it didn’t register that he was full-on staring at her, his eyes tracking her every move, but if she was bothered by it, she didn’t say anything. Simply placed the tray on the bedside table and stepped back to give him space.

“I hope you like bacon. I wasn’t sure if you ate meat, but figured it was a pretty safe bet since most folks around here do. If I got it wrong, I’ve got something else I can make ya. Got some cinnamon rolls coolin' in the kitchen if you’ve got a sweet tooth or”

“This is fine. Thanks.”

She gave him a small nod, and while she wanted to ask him about a million questions, she didn’t want to overwhelm him. When she’d found him, he’d been delirious, screaming about wolves coming to devour his soul. He didn’t swing at her or react violently when she helped him to his feet, but he’d sobbed the entire way to her truck, asking if she was the angel of death and muttering about the mountain never allowing his spirit to rest. It would be considered odd if she hadn’t been raised in the area; her mother and Meemaw taught her that as long as you respected the mountain and the magic within it, it would bless you and keep you safe. When she’d hit her 20s and gone to college, she’d tried writing it all off as superstitions, but since being back she’d seen things she couldn’t explain. Fae playing in her garden, shapeshifters at her back door, her name being called while hiking… she wasn’t sure if this type of magic only resided within the Appalachians or not, but she’d spent the past 12 years learning how to work with that magic and lived a peaceful life. Something she didn’t think her guest could relate to.

“I’ll leave ya to it then.”

She turned to leave when he reached out and grabbed her wrist, causing her to pause and turn back to look at him. She was close enough that he was given a better look at her and was mesmerized by her eyes: one hazel and one blue. She had full lips and a slightly upturned nose, and for the first time in a long time, his thoughts weren’t stuck on G’win.

“What’s your name?”

“Ivy Rae Calloway.” She could see the glimmer of recognition but didn’t think he could fully place her. “You can call me Ivy.”

“Asa. Asa F-”

“Farrell. I know.” He was caught off guard by her knowing, at the very least, his last name. Most people in this town had a hatred for his kin, but she didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. “My Meemaw used ta be friendly with your Bren’in. I’d go up with her from time ta time. You taught me how ta swim.”

He searched his memories for this lovely woman and stumbled upon a memory of him at 12, a 10-year-old blonde girl chasing after him and begging him to teach her how to swim. He’d refused at first, having better things to do than befriend a townie, but he told her he’d help if she could keep up, and she had. Even when he’d purposely taken a difficult trail to the pond, she was right on his heels, and by the end of the day, they were well and truly friends. Whenever she’d come with her Meemaw, the two of them would go off on some adventure, often with a few of his cousins in tow. They’d spent five summers running all over the mountain, and he was ashamed to say he’d forgotten all about her. He’d recognized the name when Lady Ray had mentioned her in passing but didn’t truly remember until this moment.

“I heard tell you moved.”

“For a little bit. I went ta college for a few years, but it wasn’t for me; I was back home by 23. Things I learned from my ma and Meemaw have done more for me than anything I learned in university anyhow.”

That was something he could relate to: college and the outside world not being for you. He’d tried it for ten years, but the mountain called him home, and now he was wondering if she had something to do with that. At first, he assumed G’win was the pull he’d felt, but with how things worked out on that front, he had his doubts. Ivy though… he didn’t believe in love at first sight, but there was definitely something special about her.

“I know the feelin.”

“I know ya do.” She smiled softly but didn’t expand on the statement. “I’ll let ya eat in peace.”

He gave her a thin smile, but the way he tucked into the food was thanks enough for her. She had no idea why the mountain had placed Asa in her path but she knew better than to ignore such a blatant sign. She’d sent offerings to the spirits, praying that they’d send someone her way so she didn’t have to be so alone. Her ma had been gone these past 4 years, the cancer took her too quickly, and if she hadn’t had her Meemaw, she didn’t think she’d have survived that… but there had been no one here when the older woman had passed. Ivy hadn’t understood what happened to her then, just that she hadn’t seen it coming. One morning, Meemaw woke up and told her she had to accompany someone important to her to the other side. She’d said similar things in the past, helping a spirit cross over, showing them to the light. As a death witch, it was her job to lead the lost souls to their final destination, so Ivy hadn’t batted an eye when she started talking like that. However, she hadn’t expected her Meemaw to walk into the forest and not back out. The police had found her body a mile from the Farrell homestead with no sign of trauma, and the coroner said she hadn’t had a heart attack or anything like that. For all intents and purposes, she fell asleep by the old oak and hadn’t woken up.

Ivy found out a week later that Lady Ray had passed on, and everything clicked into place. She had been her Meemaw’s best friend, and while they hadn’t visited the home in many years, the older women would often meet in the forest and spend the day swapping stories and sharing the bounty of whichever harvest they were in. Ivy had always loved their friendship and wished she’d had something like that; unfortunately, while Meemaw was Lady Ray’s best friend, that didn’t mean Ivy had been allowed to hang around the family. The moment they found she’d gone to college, they’d shunned her… if they only knew the reason behind her departure was the man currently eating in her guest room.

⸸

A couple of weeks passed, and Asa was finally beginning to relax around Ivy. Initially, he’d been so sure she’d end up treating him like everyone else, intimidated by the Farrell name, but she was at complete ease around him. She’d explained where she’d found him and the things he’d been saying, and he’d admitted to having hallucinated wolves. Ivy had listened to him talk about the things happening within his family and the coal company. It hurt her heart to hear about all that chaos weaving its way through the Farrell land, but she’d told him that it wasn’t his fault it had happened. She believed that Big Foster had been the one to set things in motion, the darkness in his heart tainting what she knew to be an important ceremony in their clan. His actions against Lady Ray only solidified, in her mind, that the mountain was now punishing the family for his actions. It didn’t sound like anyone was trying to make amends with the spirits, and one of the biggest things she’d been taught was never to disrespect the spirits and expect to be let off the hook.

“So, you’re tellin’ me that even after goin’ to college, you still believe in magic and all that?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Most townies don’t.”

“You callin' me a townie Asa Farrell?”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Their teasing tones showed how easily their friendship had picked back up. They fit so perfectly together, and it helped that Ivy was as honest as Li’l Foster; Asa wasn’t sure either of them was even capable of lying. She didn’t see any sense in spreading falsehoods or saying what you didn’t truly mean; all that got anybody was heartache, at least in her experience. They’d even played two truths and a lie, a way to get reacquainted, and her poker face was completely non-existent. It didn’t matter that her truths were things others would find insane, he knew she was being completely honest with him. She wasn’t raised as far in as he’d been, but Ivy was still a daughter of the mountain.

“Good. Now, I gotta go into town today… it’s not my favorite activity, but I’ve run outta flour and yeast and have a dozen or so loaves of bread ta bake by the end of the day. Wanna come with me?”

“I uh, I better not. It ain’t been that long since… I don’t wanna cause you no trouble.”

“Ain’t no trouble.”

“Ivy.”

He thought for sure she’d push this. G’win always did whenever she wasn’t getting her way, but Ivy just smiled and left it at that. The townsfolk weren’t exactly thrilled with her existence either, but the shit they’d say about the Farrells…

“No worries.”

“I don’t mean ta be callous or nothin'. I just”

“I get it, Asa. You ain’t gotta explain yourself ta me.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, besides, havin' you here gives me an even bigger reason to hurry.”

“Bein in town ain’t enough?”

“You might be surprised.”

He thought she sounded sad, and it wasn’t a tone he enjoyed hearing come from her. One of the best things about Ivy was her happy spirit. She was quick to smile, and though he’d seen her get cross at her vegetable garden, whenever he stepped into view, she lit up like a firefly.

“You alright?”

“I’ll be fine. Just been a little harder than usual after Meemaw passed on. Gets kinda lonely when I’m all by myself.”

“You’re not by yourself no more.”

“For now.” She shrugged, shaking herself out of this funk. “I’m sure you don’t wanna stay around these parts after everything.”

“At one time, I’d agree with you, but now… was thinkin’ about stickin’ around. If you don’t mind me crashin' in your guest room?”

“Not at all. You can stay forever if ya want.”

“I’m gonna hold ya to that.”

“I’m a woman of my word.” She promised, reaching her hand out and shaking on it. “Are you a man of yours?”

“I try ta be.” He answered honestly, surprising her when he gently yanked on her hand and pulled her into a hug. “Be careful today, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t know where these feelings were coming from, but he didn’t fight against them either, kissing the top of her head and refusing to overthink this. He hadn’t expected to find his savior in a fellow lostie, but he was thankful for it all the same. She also lived in the in-between, too mountainy for townsfolk and too townie for the mountain folks, but she didn't seem to loathe it like he did. Of course, he had a pretty damn good reason to feel the way he did. Unlike his kin, hers had welcomed her home and taught her in the old ways. He couldn't fault her for their different experiences though, and while she felt more strongly about the magic aspect of the mountain than he did, they still had a lot in common, and it didn’t hurt that she was damn pretty.

“You got a favorite candy or somethin?”

“Nah. Ain’t nothin' gonna compare to your cinnamon rolls anyway.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She teased, going on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “See ya later, Asa.”

He watched her all the way from the kitchen to the front door, giving her a small wave as she left the house. The impossible had become possible: Asa Farrell had caught feelings for someone other than G’winveer.

[jupitersrising]

The Foxes Hunger Games Districts

So I recently did this with Divergent factions and I thought it’d be fun to do it with another franchise I was obsessed with as a preteen (i say this as though I don’t re read the books every year during spring break)

anywho long post under the cut

Neil Josten: he was raised/born in District Two, Military, but when Mary ran away they traveled all over. I think after she died (assuming she did in this au) he’d settle in District Six, Transportation. Partly because he could stow away in the next bullet train out of the station to get to the Capital or the coal trains and head further out. Plus it’s mentioned in the books that D6 has a morphling (drug victors used/abused to forget their trauma) problem, which as terrible as that must be, would work in Neil’s favor. If all, or the majority, of the people around him were high out of their mind or prone to hallucination or whatever other effects the drug has, it’d be hard to question them about the newcomer kid who they swore didn’t actually live here all his life. They couldn’t hold up being questioned because of the effects.

Andrew Minyard: I feel like Andrew would live in a place where he had A) access to weapons and B) a desensitization to violence. Which leads to three options District 7, 10, 12. District 7 is lumber—which would give easy and constant access to axes and saws. District 10 is livestock which shows that desensitized aspect to blood, gore, and butcher tools. District 12 is interesting because it's not technically a District where he could be desensitized or have weapons. Unless he was trading at the Hob, sneaking out of the fence to the forest, and somehow had access to said materials in the first place. I could see an argument for each of these Districts but I'm leaning more towards 10 or 12.

Kevin Day: Kevin was born in District One with the Moriyama's and was sent to a Hunger Games Training Center on the border between D1 and D2. Also he most definitely won the games and is a victor at some point in this au.

Aaron Minyard: He lived in District 8, Textiles. It was where he first learned how to do stitches (though it was for fabric originally). I could see him working as a doctor/healer after hours since D8 is probably (i think canonically?) just one big factory where a lot of hazing happens. Also D8 in usually squished in between or near Districts 9 and 11—grain and agriculture respectively—which I could totally see Aaron sneaking past the border/fence to collect herbs/plants and opening a secret medical practice. (Which I think it'd be cool if Katelyn was in D9/11 and help sneak plants to him and that was how they met and they had a reluctant friends to friends to lovers romance).

Nicky Hemmick: District 3, 100%. Even though it's far away from the twins there's no way Nicky doesn't live in D3. District 3 is the Technology District and considered far more wealthy than the twins' Districts. It's mentioned a couple times that Nicky's major is marketing and he's going to work for a marketing company in Germany right out of college. If we want to loosen the rules a bit here he could be from District 5 originally, power/electricity, and interned in D3 with Erik's family as this au's version of going abroad. idk.

Allison Reynolds: She would be the Effie of this universe. She'd be born to influential Capital parents who had a bunch of shady shit going on under the surface. I feel like she'd work for the Rebels in District Thirteen as a spy within the Capital as well.

Renee Walker: Another character who would 100% be a victor in this universe. She would live in District 7 and be like...the anthesis to Johanna Mason. She would go into the games as someone calm and collected, knowing that she would win. She would go in presenting herself as someone who could do damage and did. But when she came out she tried desperately to be a good person. To fade into the background. Her mom helps her immensely in their secluded cottage in the woods. For a while, when she's away from the Capital and the lumber yards, Renee can almost pretend she's a good person.

Dan Wilds: She grew up in District 12, coal mining and refused to go into the mines. She probably worked for the Hob or some other illegal trade through the District to keep herself and her aunt and cousin afloat. She promised herself that she would make it out of the poverty D12. She'd probably strive to be someone in the government of D12 and being offered a job as a representative of the rebellion in D12.

Matt Boyd: He would grow up in District 1, luxury items, due to the fact that his mom is a victor and his dad works for a big company. His mom probably came from a smaller District but got stuck with Matt's dad in D1. She taught Matt the ideals of smaller, poorer Districts as though he'd grown up there too. He was very vocal about things like that which probably got him drawn in the reaping. Though in D1 everybody volunteers so he was okay.

Seth Gordon: Seth grew up in District 12, I know this in my soul. He grew up with too many siblings and poor as shit. Possibly more than Dan only because he had so many siblings. He likely traded with Peacekeepers at the Hob in exchange for Morphling, which is the main difference between his and Dan's circumstances. Dan is trying to get better and get out while Seth is ready to cause as much chaos and shit as he can before he goes. (I could also see him getting drawn in the same reaping as Kevin and either dying by his hand. Or almost dying and then some other Career killing him.)

This was fun...I might do another for the Trojans and the adults!