#fueled by the author's desire to be built like a mountain

[master-sass-blast]

Let's Call it a Draw Between Us -Chapter One: Defeat.

Author's Note (uploading multiple works tonight, so I'm slapping this on all the fics I'm posting):

Uh... hi.

It's been a very long time. Longer than I'd hoped for, but suffice to say, this year hasn't gone according to plan.

In sum, I had a mental breakdown in Spring, got diagnosed with hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome in July, my husband totaled his car in September, I was sick for the whole month of October, my husband found a new (used) car... and then hit a deer at the end of November, and the insurance company ruled that it was totaled because the repair costs would be worth more than the value of the car.

Yeah.

There's been other shit, too, but part of what I've learned with the new diagnosis is that my body does not regulate or cope with stress well -which I sort of already knew, but it's to a vaster extent than I'd known. Essentially, this past year has just taken me out at the knees, and it will probably take my body a while to regulate and function well again.

I still want to write and post fics, but I now have a lot of anxiety around not being able to write and post fics (along with other things that my befuckened body interferes with), which is just... a lot. And frustrating.

I'm not throwing in the towel. But I also can't promise any sort of posting schedule moving forward. Right now, my body and brain are just too unpredictable, and I have to make sure I'm taking care of my basic needs (like eat and hygiene and sleeping, it's literally that difficult to deal with) so that I'm physically okay.

Thank you all for being so patient. I hope to see you more regularly in the coming New Year, but if not, know that I'm okay and still kicking, but that my body's just kicking back for the time being.

Much love and best of wishes to you all for the New Year!

Summary: Sevika pines. She drinks. Then she competes in some arm wrestling and makes some very sapphic eye contact.

She loses, loses again, and then she wins.

Or maybe she wins all three times. It depends on your point of view.

(Basically just a very self-indulgent fic that spawned from an idea about Sevika and a big, buff Reader that I'll probably never get around to writing in full, so I wrote this as a way of honoring that idea.)

Pairing(s): Sevika/Reader.

Rating: M for some sensual themes and making out.

Word Count: 10.1k. Whoops.

You drive her to drink.

Speaking of… Sevika leans against the bar and snaps her fingers at Thieram. “Whisky, neat. Half a glass.” She narrows her eyes when he raises his eyebrows at her, then scoffs and goes back to staring across the room once he jumps to. Idiot.

She hadn’t expected much out of you after she first met you. Properly met you, that is. Technically, her first introduction to you had been in an underground fighting ring stocked by Stillwater’s hardier, more opportunistic patrons. You’d made quick work of the other prisoners, but Silco had wanted a proper evaluation before deciding whether or not to scoop you up, so in she’d gone. She’d socked you in the jaw, you’d suplexed her through a shitty wooden table. Good times.

She hasn’t had any complaints about you. You’re quiet, compliant. You don’t get drunk on the job, and you don’t start fights with the rest of the crew.

But that seems to be about it. You don’t really hang out with anyone else. You’ll talk to her every now and then, but otherwise you keep to yourself. You don’t play cards with the others, shoot pool, or share drinks. No swapping of stories, or exchanging inside jokes. From what she can tell, you keep to yourself like a hermit in an invisible cave.

Like a shadow, she reflects as you hang back in your usual spot (towards the back of the bar, tucked into darkness, where no one bothers you). If you’re not watching it, you forget it’s there.

She’d thought that was it. She’s seen plenty of people leave Stillwater and fall into violence, or inebriation, or withdrawn sullenness. She figured you were a tragic statistic –yet another to add to Zaun’s tally.

And then…

Her upper lips curls when Jinx comes bounding down the stairs. She tracks the blue-haired sprite across the bar, over to where you’re sitting, then scoffs when you greet Jinx with a small smile before glaring down at her glass.

It’s like watching a flower unfurl after weeks of frost. You smile and open up towards the sun of Jinx’s exuberance like you’ve been doing it your whole life, like there’s nothing more natural to you than beaming at Silco’s brat. And, sure, Jinx is a kid and she’s kind of cute, for a demented gremlin. But she’s still Jinx.

Sevika scowls down into her whiskey. Fucking psycho kid.

You’d called it kismet when she’d asked why you tolerate Silco’s batty brat. You’d lost your baby sister when you’d gone into prison, Jinx had lost Vi after the factory explosion, and then, years later, the universe had brought you two together and balanced everything back out, or fucking whatever.

She supposes it’s a decent arrangement. Jinx isn’t nearly as vicious and off kilter with you around, and you get all soft, and mushy, and happy, and pretty–

Sevika motions to Thieram to top her glass up again. Fuck me.

You’re protective of Jinx, too. Not that the brat can’t handle herself (Sevika has her new arm to prove that). But, she can still remember the night Finn’s gang had crowded into the Last Drop. They’d been obnoxious, and overbearing, and more than a little sloshed. Jacen, one of Finn’s “good buddies,” had slapped Jinx across the ass as a joke.

He’d done it in front of Silco. He was a dead man regardless.

Before anyone –even Jinx–could react, though, you’d lurched out of your chair, grabbed the sledgehammer you keep with you in lieu of a knife or a gun, and taken two long strides across the bar. “Jacen!”

Sevika’s core clenches at the memory. She lets out a harsh breath, then gulps down half her drink.

The crimson, glittering spray of blood through the air had been beautiful. Like gems cascading through the air. Jacen’s face had caved in on one side from where you drove the head of the hammer all but through it. He’d dropped to the floor in a heap, unmoving.

“Anyone else want to have a go?”

She’d gotten herself off to the thought of it that very night. The fury in your eyes, the decisive, powerful movements of your body, the splatter of blood. She’d climaxed harder than she had in a long time.

The whiskey burns her throat –expected and grounding.

She takes it without coughing or gasping. She’s been an expert for decades. Her jaw works as she finishes swallowing, and then she turns her head so she can watch you again.

You’re listening and nodding while Jinx rambles. There’s a certain attentiveness to your expression. Maybe it’s the angle of your eyebrows, or the soft, lax look of your jaw, or the brightness in your eyes. Whatever it is, it’s a total abandonment from both the harsh, dominating fury she’s seen from you, and the skittish, withdrawn apathy.

Something soft and needy aches beneath her ribs as she watches you with Jinx. Sevika grits her teeth and exhales with practiced languor. I’ve gone fucking soft.

Sevika doesn’t consider herself possessive. She visits the brothel far too regularly, and has more than a handful of casual “situationships” with different ladies around Zaun to be possessive. She’s not monogamous, at least. She doesn’t think of other people as property. The children of Zaun don’t have the luxury of such affluent detachment.

But she wants you. It’s like this thing that sits beneath her ribs and crawls around inside her. It’s restless, and writhing, and it gnaws on her bones like a feral dog in the dark corner of an alley. It keeps her up at night with racing thoughts, vivid hopes, and half-formed “what ifs.”

It also keeps her up at night because, more often than not, she winds up masturbating to the thought of you –like some starstruck, gods-damned teenager.

She’s not used to wanting –not for companionship, at least. She wants her freedom, wants her equality, wants Zaun to stand strong against those fucking Piltie pigs… but that’s about Zaun. There’s a certain degree of detachment there. It’s not about Sevika personally, the woman who is renowned at the Gardens, beats everyone’s ass in cards, and can drink any citizen of Zaun under the table. The woman who got blown up and survived, lost an arm and came back stronger, and practically rules the Undercity with a steel spine and a –literal–iron fist.

She doesn’t want for company. Any attention she wants, she can easily get. She doesn’t stay up half the night yearning for anyone, much less a… lover? Companion? Affection?

Sevika knocks back the rest of her drink, but the burning in her throat pales in comparison to the ache in her chest. Janna, kill me. Put me out of my fucking misery.

She wants you. She wants to get her hands on you, get you underneath her (or on top of her, she’s not picky), and crack you open. She wants to drink you down, watch all that rage and goodness and steeliness and softness pour out. She wants to find its source and let it all wash over her. She wants it –needs it–for herself.

She wants it to be hers, even in part. She wants to bask in everything you keep held back by your silent, stoic mask.

There’s a headache forming behind her left eye. Probably from clenching her teeth; ever since the scars on her face crystalized, the muscles on the left side of her jaw have been more sensitive to strain.

She’s not used to this –this, this insipid, endless pining. It’s been going on for months now, and she’s just about ready to put a fork in her eye just to make it fucking end.

She barks at Thieram to get her another glass. Drink until you feel nothing. Zaun’s oldest remedy. She leans heavily against the bartop, then groans beneath her breath. Might as well buy the whole bottle. Against good sense, she resumes watching you. Warmth spreads through her chest when you grin at Jinx, and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

“Y’know, somehow, I don’t think she’s going to figure out you like her just from you staring at her like a creep through a window.”

Sevika tenses, then glares at Ran as they sit down on the barstool next to hers. She picks up her refilled glass with her left hand and lifts it to her lips. “Fuck off. Nobody asked you.”

Ran stays where they are –a credit to their courage, at least. They smirk, then glance across the bar, to where you’re sitting, before returning their knowing, smug gaze to Sevika. “It’d be easier if you talked to her.”

“Shut. Up.”

“I’m just trying to save you the eyestrain.” They grin, thin and sharp, when Sevika flips them off, then lean against the wooden countertop. “Seriously, though. Why not ask her out?”

Sevika scowls and focuses on her whiskey glass, which is suddenly very interesting. “S’not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Sevika nearly kicks them off the stool and onto the floor (just for starters), but when she catches a look at Ran’s face and realizes they’re not teasing, she sighs and scrubs her face with her right hand. “I… I don’t know what she’d say.”

“Since when is that a problem for you?” Ran asks, face twisting with equal parts mirth and disbelief. When Sevika rolls her eyes, they shove her shoulder lightly. “It’s not like you ever have to work for it.” They pause, then smirk devilishly. “Maybe it’s weakened your game. Is that it?”

Sevika glares at them, then kicks Ran in the shin when they start snickering. “I’m gonna smother you in your sleep. And for your information, you giggling bastard, that’s not the problem.” When Ran swallows their smile and motions for her to continue (while rubbing at their shin), she huffs. “I –I don’t know if she likes women.”

Ran’s visible eyebrow arches. “You’ve seen her.”

“...Duh.”

“She likes women.” When Sevika grimaces, Ran narrows their eyes. “You think otherwise?”

“I don’t think she likes anybody,” Sevika admits; doing so is somehow both a relief and condemning all in one. “You’ve seen her around people. She’s not exactly interested.”

“Not everyone likes a girl in their lap the way you do.”

“That’s not the point,” Sevika snarls under her breath as she rolls her eyes.

“Then what is?”

It’s not easy to articulate. Sure, it’s an unspoken, universally acknowledged truth in Zaun, but that doesn’t mean anyone ever says it.

People go into Stillwater, and they come out –if they come out at all–different. Broken. You spent most of your life in that shithole –spent most of your teenage years there–at the anti-mercy of the wardens and other prisoners. It only stands to reason that any part of you inclined towards a relationship –or sex, or human contact–got snuffed out by the need to survive.

She feels bad for you, sometimes. Only when it’s too quiet, and she doesn’t have anything to do, and she’s not drunk and-or high enough to keep her thoughts from wandering to the dark, traitorously soft corners of her mind. She can almost see the child you started as –fiery, but so soft and good and kind–and it all got stomped out by the assholes ruling above them.

Sevika forces herself to loosen her death grip on the glass. Breaking it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but she hates picking shards out of the grooves of her mechanical fingers. “You haven’t seen her around Silver. She touched her shoulder–” she nods at you subtly “–without warning. I thought she was gonna break Silver’s fingers.”

“That’s Silver,” Ran says with a derisive curl of their upper lip. “She wouldn’t know the meaning of ‘boundaries’ if it rammed itself up her ass.”

They’re not wrong; the young woman’s brazen attitude is one of the things Sevika likes about Silver –albeit in small doses.

“She doesn’t talk to anyone,” Sevika murmurs, pathetic by her own standards. She’s worn down enough, though, to speak plainly. “She doesn’t go to any of the brothels, or take anyone home –and, yes, I’ve asked. She hates being touched, or being near anyone.” She presses her lips together to keep a pitiful smile back –she’d never forgive herself–then downs more whiskey. The burn of the liquor grounds her, brings her back to normalcy. “I don’t think she’s interested.”

Ran nods minutely, mulling the evidence over. They watch you for a minute, hawkish in their scrutiny. “She sits with Jinx.”

“Jinx,” Sevika grits out (both because it’s Jinx, and because of the implication of Ran’s observation), “is a kid.”

“She is,” they agree, unfazed. “But, clearly, she’s not entirely opposed to all human contact.”

Like I don’t fucking know that. Sevika clenches her teeth together to keep from snapping. She’s observed the same damn thing, and it’s what keeps that whining, consuming, itching ember of hope burning in her chest.

Ran watches Sevika for a moment, then continues when she doesn’t say anything. “She sits with you.”

“That’s different,” Sevika says on reflex.

“I don’t think it is,” they press. “She never sits with anyone else. It’s either on her own, with Jinx, if she’s here, or with you.”

“I–”

“It’s not like she’s in it for playing cards,” Ran continues, staring Sevika down when she tries to argue. “And she doesn’t drink much, either.” They prop one elbow against the bartop. “Frankly, if you’re not here, then she isn’t. She only bothers hanging around if you’re here.”

“That’s–”

“She talks to you a lot, too,” Ran drawls, tone both teasing and reflective. “The rest of us are lucky to get a word or two from her, but she’ll talk the whole night with you.”

“I’m–”

“She lets you touch her, too. I’ve even seen her touch your shoulder in return.”

“If you interrupt me again–”

“Quit moping,” Ran says, voice flat and final. “Ask her out, or get over it.”

There’s a lot she could say to that. First of all, no one accuses her of moping. But she tucks it away for later; she doesn’t want to start kicking Ran’s ass in front of everyone, because that means the trigger point for said ass kicking will inevitably become common knowledge. Her feelings are nobody’s business but hers. Second of all, no one but Silco tells her what to do, and that’s only for work. She is the only damn master of her personal life, thank you very fucking much. Third, she knows for a fact that Ran spent nearly two years pining for one of Silco’s assassins, so they’ve got zero room to talk shit.

Sevika downs the rest of her drink, then motions for a third refill. “She’s not interested.”

Ran stares at her for a moment. Then, they scoff and shake their head. “You’re an idiot.”

Sevika glares harshly at them–

The door to Silco’s office creaks open, then thumps shut, followed by the man himself quietly descending the staircase to the bar floor. “Jinx.” He finishes buttoning his trench coat shut. “Pack up your things. We’re going home.”

“What?” Jinx’s face screws into the picture of teenage consternation. The baby fat on her cheeks makes her look younger still. “But–”

“It’s alright.” You quickly and neatly arrange her blueprints and drawings into a single stack, then hand them to the blue-haired youngster. “We can talk later, okay?”

Envy curls in Sevika’s gut when Jinx hugs you and you reciprocate with one arm. She turns away and hides her scowl behind her glass. Fucking brat.

Silco addresses the rest of his crew, “I trust that you’re all competent enough to avoid burning the place to the ground?” He arches his good eyebrow, then smirks when a mix of serious answers and half-drunk jokes rise up from the crowd. “Good enough.” He turns to face Sevika and tosses her a key. “You decide when the bar closes.”

She catches the key with her right hand, then flips Petrichor off with her left when they start grumbling under their breath about Sevika being in charge. She raises her glass to Silco in lieu of a spoken fair well, then knocks the rest of it back when he leaves out the rear with Jinx in tow. “Fucking finally. Theo! Put something good on for a change.”

“Are you having another?”

Sevika looks down as Silver –one of Silco’s personal spies–materializes at her side. She eyes the younger woman –her tight dress, high ponytail, and alluring make up–then looks away. Not with you. “Probably not. Best to take it easy.”

“Since when?” Ran mutters under their breath.

Sevika subtly kicks their stool, then looks down when Silver situates herself between her legs.

“You sure?” Silver pouts –which does stir something in Sevika, given Silver’s plush lips and deep-colored lipstick, but it’s not the something that she wants tonight. Silver bats her eyelashes a little, then smiles coyly. “Could be fun.”

Sevika bites back a scowl; she doesn’t want to put Silver off permanently –not yet, anyway. She wracks her brain for some sort of believable excuse that even Silver would accept–

As fortune would have it, one falls into her lap.

“–pretty sure I hit three-fifty yesterday–”

A collective chorus of groans alerts Sevika to the newest problem –chiefly, that Arik is bragging about his “gym gains.” Again.

Nevermind that she could break him over her knee like a fucking twig.

“It’s taken a lot of dedication and hard work.” Arik stretches and flexes, preening while everyone else rolls their eyes. “I don’t want to brag, but I’m probably the strongest member in the crew.”

Sevika arches one eyebrow in judgment; it’s ludicrous, considering that he’s ignoring her, the bouncers, Leon and Boris, and Lock, Silco’s mountainous, tattooed henchman that works security at the Shimmer plants. Why do we even put up with you?

Theo barks out a laugh. “Fat fucking chance, dickwad. No way in hell you’re the strongest person here. Pretty sure Miss Silver could knock you on your ass.”

“I’d take that bet,” Silver chimes in, twirling a lock of her straight, powder purple hair around her finger.

Arik pouts, looking like a spoiled teenager. “Oh, yeah? Who’s strongest, then? You?”

“No.” Theo shakes his head. “I don’t have delusions of grandeur like you. Nah, it’s probably…” He looks around the bar, eyeing the bouncers, then Sevika, before twisting in his seat so he can see the back of the bar. “Actually, it’s probably Mouse, here.”

It takes you a moment to register the nickname foisted upon you by the rest of the crew. You lift your head, blink a few times, then straighten up. “What?”

“Cuntface here–” Theo jerks his thumb over his shoulder at Arik, who sputters and wheezes like a dying engine “–thinks he’s the strongest person in the crew. I wagered that title would probably go to you.”

“Oh.” You look around at everyone, then nod. “Okay.”

Arik huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “There’s –there’s no way to prove that! Size isn’t everything!”

Sevika bites back a smirk as every single woman in the bar glances at each other and rolls their eyes.

“You’re shitting me, right?” Theo sneers at Arik. “Look at her, and look at you. It’s not going to be much of a competition.”

“You can’t prove that!” Arik insists, expression petulant.

Theo swivels in his seat to face you again. “Can you knock him out to shut him the fuck up?”

“No one’s doing that,” Sevika pipes up when everyone starts chattering and laughing excitedly. When people start grousing, she levels the room with a hard, final glare. “We’re not paying to get blood out of the floorboards. Again. If you all want to be idiots and knock the shit out of each other, you do it on your own time and floors, where I don’t have to clean up after your fucking mess.”

There’s a lull, and for a moment it seems like that’ll be it–

Silver perks up. “What about arm wrestling?”

“Hey,” Ran drawls, eyes lighting up. “That could work.”

“Anything to get this moron to shut the fuck up,” Theo grumbles.

Arik pouts, but says nothing.

When she realizes everyone is looking for her –presumably for permission, not that anyone’s ever bothered asking before–Sevika waves one hand dismissively. “Knock yourselves out.”

You watch as a table is cleared and Theo all but shoves Arik into a chair. When everyone looks expectantly at you, you shoot a wide-eyed, somewhat panicked glance her way.

Sevika offers you a half smile, then shrugs as if to say ‘it’s your choice.’

You shrug back, then sigh before standing. You stride over to the awaiting table and sit opposite a very grumpy, red-faced Arik.

Sevika shifts on her stool so she has a better view. Heat unfurls in her core as you prop one elbow against the table. She watches the way the thick muscles in your arm and forearm ripple with each movement. Damn.

Arik shifts in his seat. His eyelid twitches as he eyes your arm and hand. “I– I don’t know–”

“Take her fucking hand,” Theo growls.

Arik swallows hard, then props his elbow on the table and takes hold of your hand.

“On go,” Ran declares –they’ve left the bar and now stand beside the table. “Three… two… one… go!”

It’s not even a competition. If anything, it’s almost pathetic.

Arik tenses his arm –then squeaks when you push his hand down so fast he nearly falls out of his chair. The back of his hand hits the wooden surface of the table with a dull thonk. He lets out an angry snarl, yanks his hand away, then lurches to his feet and storms off with such force that his chair topples to the floor.

Everyone else cheers and claps as the front door of The Last Drop slams shut behind Arik.

“Fucking finally,” Theo mutters before running one hand through his curly hair. He looks at you and smiles appreciatively. “Thanks for shutting him up. Want a drink?”

You lean back and away. “I –I’m good, thanks.”

“That wasn’t even a challenge, though!” Silver pipes up, pouting.

“We already knew it wouldn’t be,” Theo fires back drily.

“But,” Ran interjects with a wry edge to their voice, “if we’re really trying to figure out who’s strongest…” 

Sevika presses her lips into a thin line when they turn and look directly at her. Don’t you fucking dare.

“Do you think you could beat Sev?”

Traitor.

You look at her, then lean back in your seat and grin. “Oh, yeah. Easy.”

Sevika feels her brows rise up, and she grins back despite being annoyed with Ran literal seconds ago. “Really? That’s the stance you want to take?”

“I mean…” You shrug and smirk. “It’s the truth.” You raise one eyebrow as buzzed laughter and inebriated runs through the gang. “What, you're too scared to test it?”

Them’s fighting words. Sevika cocks her head to the side, smirks right back, then shoves off her barstool and stalks over to the table.

Your eyes light up as she sits down across from you. You lean forward, prop one elbow on the tabletop, and grin. “It’s nothing personal, Sev.”

The crooked angle of your grin makes her heart flutter in a delightful, squirmy manner. She swallows hard, forces down the childish feelings of elation, and props one elbow on the table without dropping your gaze. She smirks, and revels in the way your eyes dance in the bar lighting. “Nothing personal, sweetheart,” she fires back, making sure her voice comes out lower and huskier.

Your grin broadens. You clasp her hand and squeeze tight while Theo counts down…

“Three, two, one–”

Oh shit.

It’s like shoving against a wall. Granted, Sevika’s shoved, kicked, and punched a number of walls in her day. She’s left her mark –even broken a few–on nearly all of them. She likes to think that she’s a reasonably strong, generally indestructible motherfucker.

You watch her for a few moments, expression placid –save for the smug, wicked, coy, sexy smirk on your lips. You let her try for a little longer, then inhale sharply and blink rapidly. “Wait, did we start already?”

“Fuck you,” Sevika grits out without any real malice.

You grin, showing a brilliant, alluring flash of teeth –and then you push.

“Shit.” Sevika strains against your arm.

To her credit, she feels your own arm waver slightly; to your credit, you brace your muscles, and it’s like pushing against a wall again.

She grits her teeth and tries to up the ante again. She curses when it doesn’t work, then grunts when you push her arm down another fraction of an inch.

“You okay, baby?” You grin when everyone else laughs (it’s a mix of delight and shock). “It’s okay if you need to tap.”

She grins back. Right now, she doesn’t care if she loses. Frankly, if you keep flirting with her like this, she’s the real winner in this scenario. “Keep it up, baby. We’ll see who taps.”

It’s a lost cause. You take your sweet time, push her hand down smooth and slow, and talk a lot of smack all the while.

She’s got less than an inch between the table top and the back of her right hand, now. You’re not even actively pushing, more just keeping her pinned at that point. She grunts, then laughs when your arm doesn’t budge. “Come on, you cunt. Just fucking finish it!”

You laugh in return and wink. “You’re getting tired in your old age, Sev.”

She grins. “Say that again and we’ll take this out back, bitch.”

You wink –then shove the back of her hand down against the table.

The crowd clustered around the table breaks into cheers.

Sevika can’t find it in herself to give a shit. Yeah, she lost, people are teasing her for it, whatever. She’ll kick their asses later, if she feels like it. Right now, you’re laughing, and smiling at her, and she technically got to hold your hand. That’s all she really cares about.

“What about the other one?”

Sevika blinks a few times, then frowns, confused. She looks up at Theo. “Huh?”

“Her other arm.” He’s talking to you, but he turns and gestures to her mech arm. “What about that one?”

“Uh…” Trepidation flashes across your face as you eye her prosthetic. You cringe and lean back in your chair. “I doubt it.”

It’s fair; her mech arm is reinforced, has motors that work the joints the way her muscles used to, and it’s heavy as shit. She’s crushed bones with her mechanical hand, just by clenching her hand into a fist.

But, still. In for a penny, stupid ways of flirting –all that shit.

She props her metal elbow on the table, resulting in a muted thud.

The table quakes beneath the weight of her arm.

She grins in a way that she hopes is taunting and enticing. She holds up her left hand and waggles her fingers. “You scared, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flash. You run your tongue along the inside of your lower lip. You brace your forearms against the table as you eye her metal hand. You hesitate, pressing your lips together, then say, “Just don’t crush my hand.”

“Nah.” She shakes her head. She’s not out for revenge.

Your shoulders relax. You cock your head from side to side, stretching your neck, then put your left elbow on the table and clasp her mechanical hand. “Bring it on. Sweetheart.”

It’s a more even match; she’d certainly hope so, given the fucking mechanical arm.

There’s a vein popping out on the side of your neck. Your face is pinched, expression one of intense focus and strain. The muscles in your arm and forearm stand out in full, glorious relief, defined and rippling as you fight against the force of her arm.

Her arm isn’t shaking this time, at least; such are the merits of steel reinforcement bars. But she’s not moving your hand, either. Sevika growls. The motors in her arm whir as she pushes harder.

You grunt and shove back. You bare your teeth. Your gaze is locked on where your two hands are joined. Your hands trembles from the sheer force of your exertion–

And then her hand lowers an inch.

Everyone else gasps. Exclamations and expletives roll through the bar.

“Fifty gold pieces says Mouse does it,” Theo says. 

“Bullshit,” Ran fires back. “She’ll get tired, first.”

Kharim pulls out a pad of paper and a pencil. “That’s fifty on Mouse, so far. Do I hear one hundred?”

“I’ll put twenty on Sev,” Silver says with a sweet smile.

“Really?” Sevika grunts as she pushes harder against your hand. “Only twenty?”

You let out a breathless, strained laugh –then push her hand down further.

“Who’s got another fifty on Mouse?” Kharim asks.

Too late, she realizes her prosthetic arm is actually working against her, in this situation. She has to work against the weight of the mech arm –which you can use to your advantage, naturally. The built in mechanical safeties are hosing her, too. Her arm is designed such that, at certain angles or certain levels of exertion, the gears and motors will give to whatever she’s working against. It prevents damage to the internal mechanisms and bending the internal support structures. It’s invaluable for the longevity of her prosthetic, but it also means she can’t mindlessly strain against your hand like she could with her right arm. Her only hope is that her left arm can outmatch yours in raw strength.

Normally, she’d go all in on that bet. Normally –unless her opponent was doped to the gills on Shimmer–there wouldn’t even be enough force in the picture for the failsafes to override the locking mechanisms.

You growl, teeth bared in a glorious snarl, and shove her metal hand lower.

She can’t even find it in herself to be mad. One, she’s not some mealy-mouthed bitch who needs to be the strongest person in the room at all times; she, unlike some people (Arik), is confident in herself and her abilities. Two, it’s frankly impressive. It’s an unrepentant display of raw strength, and she’s not above respecting it. Three…

It’s hot.

She’s torn between focusing on resisting you and watching the muscles in your arm flex. Her mild buzz isn’t helping, either. In hindsight, should’ve stopped with the second glass. It’s taking far too much focus not to just gawk, to grin and simper like an idiot, and she likes to think she still has her pride –which is also why she’s not just giving up. After all, she has her pride. Sevika growls when you force her hand lower, then doubles down and pushes back. Maybe not for much longer, with how this is going. Fuck.

You grit your teeth. There’s sweat glistening along your hairline (which might be her only other saving grace, since her mech arm can’t get tired). You snarl, then grip her hand tighter.

Sevika swears when her arm suddenly jerks downward. She nearly topples out of her chair, saved only by managing to plant her feet beneath the table. She catches herself, blinks–

It’s over.

You shove her metal knuckles against the table with a thud –hard enough that the wood dents inward where her steel knuckle guard hits the surface.

The crowd goes nuts, loses their minds, whatever. If she’s being honest, she’s really not paying attention to it. A distant fragment of her brain registers the squaring of bets, exchanging of coin, but–

You’re still holding her hand.

A larger, deeply buried part of her is furious that she doesn’t have better sensory input on her left hand. She can detect pressure and temperature, rudimentary shit, but she can’t feel the calluses on your palm, or the precise texture of your skin. She can’t really gauge how thick your hand is in hers.

You’re still panting, somewhat dazed as you stare down at your joined hands. Slowly, your eyes trace up the line of her mech arm, up to her face, where you take in her stunned expression. You swallow, quick, then grin.

You’re breathing hard. Your skin glistens faintly with warmth. Your hair looks tousled, slightly sweat trapped. And your grin practically glows.

It’s the closest she’s ever been to seeing what you look like after sex. Sevika can feel her mind filing every single detail of how you look away for future masturbatory reference. She grins back, slow and a bit dazzled. “Shit.”

You let out a soft, quiet laugh. You drop her gaze for a moment, but when you look back up your eyes shine unabated joy.

You’re not looking away. You’re not pulling away. You’re not letting go of her hand.

Do it, a voice that sounds irritatingly like Ran’s whispers in her mind. Do it, you fucking coward. Sevika licks her lips, then leans forward, hoping that she comes across as conspiratorial and collected. “I–”

“Aw, don’t feel too bad, Sev.”

The sudden intrusion feels more like an assault. Fake, sweet perfume cloys at her nose. There’s arms around her neck, and unwanted weight in her lap.

Silver’s face looms into view. She peers down through her lashes, lips posed in a perfect, alluring pout. “It’s not–”

Whatever else Silver says goes in one ear and out the other. She’s looking over the smaller woman’s shoulder, instead.

You pull your hand back across the table. Your smile slips away, and your shoulders bunch up ever so slightly. Back to the usual mask of the careful, quiet mouse.

Godsdammit. Sevika shoves Silver out of her lap and stands with a snarl. “Fuck off.” She stomps away and up the stairs, to where Silco’s office and a few private rooms are. “Everyone, out! Tonight’s done!” She ignores the groans and jeers following her, storms into Silco’s office, and slams the door shut behind her so hard that it rattles in its setting.

Silco’s office is mercifully dark. Quiet.

Sevika collapses onto the quilted velvet couch tucked into the corner of the office. She drops her head into her hands and scrubs at her face. Janna’s left fucking tit, that was a disaster. She sits up, only to slump against the couch like a dejected teenager. This is never going to work out.

If she was anyone else, she might cry –out of sheer frustration, if nothing else. Since she’s not anyone else, she helps herself to a cigar from Silco’s stash.

She only gets as far as rummaging through his desk for the cutter. (Jinx must have absconded with it. Again.) Something in her hindbrain makes her go still; an old, well-tested instinct that says ‘something isn’t right.’

Sevika freezes. Her eyes scan the darkness for any signs of intruders, or one of Jinx’s traps. She strains her ears; aside from the faint, scuttling noises of stray pests, it’s silent.

Too silent.

There should be more talk coming from downstairs; she hadn’t really expected everyone to listen to her when she ordered them all to clear out. There should be music playing, people arguing, clacks from the balls on the pool table. At the very least, there should be complaining and the noises of a final clear down.

She’d half-expected Silver to follow her upstairs. Or maybe Ran, at least. But there’s no sounds of someone climbing upstairs, or Silver’s high-pitched voices, or even creaking floorboards in the hall outside.

Sevika pulls out a knife she keeps tucked in a sheath hidden behind the waistband of her pants. She creeps forward, deadly silent, until she reaches the door of Silco’s office. She gingerly places her right hand on the doorknob, until it’s completely encapsulated by her grip, then slowly turns the handle. Once the latch is fully retracted, she tucks herself behind the door and inches it open. She waits for a beat, then another, then peers around the corner.

The bar is empty.

Now that the door’s open, she can hear the sounds of someone rummaging around the main bar floor. There’s no conversation, though; it’s too quiet to be the usual crew, for another matter.

Sevika stalks down the hall. She quietly, efficiently clears each room before she passes it, until she reaches the end of the outer wall, where the balcony begins. She tucks herself into the shadows, then peers around the corner.

You’re down on the bar floor, putting the remaining chairs up on the tables.

Sevika watches you for a moment, somewhat dumbfounded. Where the fuck is everyone else? She blinks, until her brain finally processes that The Last Drop has not been broken into by assassins or other hooligans, then steps around the corner and into the full light of the bar. She taps the railing of the balcony with her metal hand to alert you to her presence. When you look up, she gestures around aimlessly. “Where’d they go?”

You look around, then back up at her and shrug with one shoulder. “You said to get out.”

“Doesn’t mean they’d actually listen.”

Your gaze cuts away from hers. You duck your head, then go back to putting up the chairs. “Might’ve pushed ‘em. Enforced the order.” You give a one shouldered shrug. “Thought you wanted ‘em gone.”

Sevika grunts and nods. Fair enough. At least, now, she doesn’t have to deal with Silver lingering around. For lack of knowing what else to do, she watches you as you continue tidying things up for the night. “We don’t pay you to do that.”

You shrug; your back’s to her, now, as you work your way around a circular table. “Doesn’t really matter. Thieram deserves a night off, every now and then.”

There’s not much point in loitering on the balcony and staring at you like a mooning idiot. She strides across the length of the balcony, tromps down the stairs, then crosses the distance to the table you’re working in three strong steps. She grabs one of the remaining chairs, flips it upside down with ease, then hooks the seat of the chair on the table top.

You go still for a moment. You watch her, gaze following her every movement, until you relax again and resume working. “‘M sorry ‘bout earlier.”

She nearly trips over the chair she’s picking up. Sevika stalls, blinks, then sets the chair back on the floor and levels you with an incredulous, confused stare. “What?”

“For kicking your ass.” The corner of your mouth briefly ticks up in a self-satisfied smirk, but it washes away to true contrition. “Wasn’t trying to humiliate you ‘n front of everyone.”

“I–” She pinches the bridge of her nose. Can’t imagine where that narrative came from. “I’m not. You didn’t.” She hangs the chair from the table, then scoffs, indignant. “Fuck’s sake, I’m not Arik.”

You smirk, but stay still as you watch her for a few moments. “You were mad about something.”

“I was mad at Silver,” Sevika grouses, careful to avoid making eye contact. And her lousy sense of timing.

You let her get the last few chairs, opting instead to grab a tray and collect stray glasses and empty beer bottles. “You two okay?”

She snorts. “We’re not involved enough to be ‘okay’ or otherwise. We’ve fucked before. End of story.”

“...Did she do something to you?”

The tight, lethal quietness in your voice gets her attention. She straightens up, meets your gaze, and shakes her head. “No. She just gets on my nerves now and then, s’all.”

You grunt, understanding, then add a couple more glasses to your tray before carrying the lot over to the bar.

Sevika grabs a couple stray, half-empty bottles of whiskey, tequila, and vodka, then follows partially in your wake. She stops at the bar counter, watching as you round the end so you can dispose of the beer bottles and set the used glasses in the sink. She sets the half-consumed bottles on the counter, then leans against the neon light-edged lip while she watches you. “Gotta say, it was pretty impressive.” She smirks when you half-turn, brows lightly drawn together, then waggles her metal fingers. “Figured I’d have you licked.”

You snort, then shake your head. “Might’ve.” You set the last of the glasses in the sink, then drop the beer bottles in the recycling can. “Probably would’ve if we’d gone longer. You’d have me beat on stamina.”

She can’t stop her automatic, teasing, too sultry for its own good reply. “Oh, I doubt that.”

You do a quick double take.You stare at her over your shoulders, eyes the size of dinner plates. Then, your lips press together before quirking upwards in a shy smile. You laugh softly. “Yeah, well, your mechanics would’ve won, in the end.” You toss the last of the bottles into the recycling can, then turn and step to the bar. “Figured it was just best to–” you draw your fingers across your neck in a quick slash and click your tongue “–cut things quick, override the locking mechanisms.”

“Smart,” Sevika purrs.

You lick your lips, then grin. You eye her for a moment, shifting from foot to foot –then, you grab the remaining bottles and crouch so you can stow them beneath the bar counter. “Course, helps that you’re shit at arm wrestling, too.”

“Excuse me?” she laughs, caught off guard and bemused. “Run that by me again?”

“You’re shit at arm wrestling.” You chuckle as you stand. “Your form’s terrible. Makes you easy to beat, even if I wasn’t stronger than you.”

She grins wide, exhilarated. Fighting words. “Oh, is that how it is?”

You plant your palms against the bartop. “‘S how it seems to me.” You smirk –which grows into a smile as she looks you over–then prop your right arm against the counter. “I could show you a couple tricks. Improve your odds a bit.”

She takes the bait like the happiest, dumbest fish that ever lived and sets her right elbow atop the counter. “Teach me your ways, oh wise one.”

“Right off the bat–” You reach forward and adjust the angle of her arm. “‘S really not about raw power. I mean, it helps, but angles are a lot more important.” Your hands slide along the length of her arm, adjusting things until you’re satisfied with how she’s positioned. You nod to yourself, then move to her wrist. You hold her right hand with both of yours. “Gotta think about how you’re holding your hand, too. Too many people wind up pushing with their forearms. Means that they got their hands at the wrong angle, most of the time. You want to be pushing with your upper arm and shoulder.”

“Whatever you say, coach,” she drawls, layering on the sarcasm to –hopefully–hide how breathless she is.

You snort, then lower your left hand and grip her right hand with yours –assume the position. “Alright. Try now.”

She does –not with as much vigor as she used in the initial match, but she still puts decent effort into it. Her eyebrows spike high when she feels less strain than earlier. “Shit.”

You flash her a lopsided grin. “See? Knowing what you’re doing helps.”

“Bite me.”

You fake a grimace. “Not until you shower first. I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“You implying something?”

“I’ve seen how many people you can beat up in a week, Sev.”

She chuckles, then shrugs in concession. “Fair enough.” She grips your hand tighter and smirks wickedly before shoving against your hand, hard. “Hope you’re ready to join the list–”

You grunt –then brace against her onslaught and force her hand the other way.

“Shit!” Sevika strains against your hand, but it’s veritably useless as you slowly push her hand downward (at least you have to work harder for it, this time). “Son of a bitch –motherfucker!”

“Still stronger than you,” you fire back as you finally pin the back of her hand against the bartop. You smile, impish and sweet. “But that was a good try.” You grin when she glowers at you, then toss your head back and laugh when she flips you off with her left hand.

She can’t think of a retort; the wrestling tugged your shirt off kilter, and your laugh exposed something new –fresh, smooth ink along the side of your neck, previously hidden by your collar. She stares, tracing the way the tendrils of the flowers curve around your neck and down your clavicle before disappearing under your shirt. “That’s new.”

You look down at her, blinking rapidly, then crane your neck to look down when she gestures loosely at your chest. “Oh. Yeah.” You shrug with the opposite shoulder. “Wanted to do something for myself. Cover up some of the shit I got inside.” You hesitate, then swallow hard and ask. “Do –do you wanna see the rest of it?”

“Sure.” The meaning of your offer doesn’t really hit until you let go of her hand so you can start unbuttoning your top. Sevika locks her knees to keep from toppling over as all the blood rushes Southward from her head. Janna, help me.

Mercifully, you only undo the top three buttons on your shirt. Unmercifully, that gives you enough leeway to push the right side of your shirt down over your shoulder, revealing more of your chest and your neck.

Oh, and the tattoo.

It’s pretty. It’s a good piece, too, done by someone who knew what they were doing. The design is a dense cluster of flowers that fans up the side of your neck and down over your collarbone.

“That’s real pretty,” Sevika ekes out, voice gone to gravel. She reaches up to touch it, but catches herself before her hand leaves the bar. Don’t startle her. “Do you mind?”

It takes you a moment, but you look down when she gestures with her flesh hand. “Oh.” You let out a soft, trembling breath. Your throat flexes as you swallow. “Yeah –go for it.”

Everything that follows feels like a dream. The world seems to take on a warm, golden hue that overpowers the glaring neon lights and the dark shadow of night outside. It feels like she’s moving through molasses, achingly slow as she lifts her hand towards your neck.

Your skin is unbelievably soft beneath her fingertips. The lines of ink stretch slightly as she traces down your neck and over your shoulder.

“This okay?” Sevika murmurs.

“Yeah.”

Something about your heavy, trembling exhale makes her look up.

You’re staring down at her with wide, dark eyes. Your lips are parted, and you’re practically panting despite standing still.

But you’re not pulling away. You’re not shaking. If anything, you’re practically melting beneath her hand. And your gaze is locked on her face –practically zeroed in on her mouth…

Oh.

She owes Ran a drink. Or another kick in the shin. Maybe both.

This, however, is at least more familiar territory –so long as she plays her cards right.

Various options flit through her mind, but they all desiccate before they reach her tongue. She quickly finds herself locking up instead as she tries to figure out what the fuck to say. Shitshitshitshitshit–

(She’s never been more grateful that you kicked everyone out. Ran would never let her live this down.)

“Ask her out, or get over it.”

Sevika swallows hard. Go big or go home. Not like the world’s gonna end if she says ‘no.’ She clears her throat. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re really fucking attractive?”

“I–” Your eyes go wide as you sputter. Your gaze flicks between her eyes and her mouth. “Not –no. Not really.”

“Shame,” Sevika drawls. She traces her thumb down the stem of one of the flowers inked into your neck, then looks back up at you. “You’d think they’d have eyes. I’ve noticed since the first time we met.”

You snort, equanimity somewhat restored. “What, in an illegal prison fight club soaked in the blood of others?”

She smirks and winks at you. “You made it work.”

You draw your lower lip between your teeth as you smile. You duck your head bashfully, then brace your forearms against the countertop –which puts you closer to her height. “I hope you won’t be offended if I say that I didn’t notice you ‘like that’ from the start.”

Her gut drops. “Oh?”

You shake your head, gaze still glued on the countertop. “I was, uh, a little concerned with surviving –making sure you didn’t knock my teeth out with your metal fist, that sort of thing.” You let out a little laugh, then look at her. “But I noticed later.”

Warmth blooms in her chest and abdomen. She grins, soft and slow. “Really?” Her grin grows when you smile shyly and nod. “Well, shit. Lucky me.” She strokes her thumb along your tattoo again; satisfaction curls in her stomach when you shiver.

“I–” You lick your lips and look at her eyes, then her lips, then back up, then back down again, then back up again. “I don’t…” Your gaze locks onto her lips when she smirks; your pupils blow wide, and you let out a ragged, heavy breath. “I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Heady elation blooms in her chest and quickly spreads through her body. “That,” she murmurs as she slides her fingers beneath your chin and leans in, “sounds great to me.”

Your lips are soft against hers. Hesitant. You freeze, scarcely even breathing.

But you’re not pulling away –or panicking–so she decides to stay the course. She presses her lips a bit more firmly against yours, then smirks when you let out a quiet moan and angle your head towards hers. There we go. After a few moments, she breaks the kiss and pulls back incrementally to assess your interest level.

You’re trembling. There’s a faint glow of sweat on your forehead. Your breaths come ragged and fast, chest rising and falling heavily. Your eyelids are half-lidded, pupils blown so wide that your eyes nearly look black.

Before she can do anything, you lean in and kiss her again; this time, it’s her turn to moan against your mouth.

It’s clumsy. It’s easy to tell that you don’t have much –if any–experience in this department. But your unabashed eagerness more than makes up for lacking finesse.

Sevika gently grasps your jaw with her right hand, guiding you through the series of kisses that follow. She carefully angles your head as she pleases, and pulls back intermittently to both catch her breath and see what you’ll do. When you keep following her lead, she decides to nip at your lower lip –just to see if it’ll draw you out of your shell more.

You let out a throaty growl when her teeth graze your lower lip –and then you pull away.

A mix of disappointment and fear flash through her stomach –but it all drains away when you vault over the counter and land next to her. She smirks as you crowd into her space, but frown when genuine trepidation settles over your face. “What?”

Your brows pinch together. “I–” You clear your throat when your voice cracks. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do with my hands.”

Oh. That’s all. She smiles, lax and confident, then places her hands on your broad shoulders. “Touch me, sweetheart.”

“Where?”

She slides her hands down your chiseled arms, then takes your hands and places them on her hips. “Anywhere.”

You’re too still at first –nerves driven by inexperience. But you loosen up when she nips at your lower lip again. You draw in a guttural breath, then squeeze her hips tighter when she curls her fingers into your waist. You press closer to her when she slides her tongue against yours. When she slides her right hand up the back of your neck and tugs at the soft hair at your nape, you growl, then slide your hands around her ass and squeeze.

Finally. Sevika moans softly and arches against you. She wraps her right arm around the back of your neck, so she can keep you close, and rests her left hand on your hip. She plunders your mouth with her tongue, then moans again when you grope her ass more firmly. She hooks one metal finger through one of the belt loops on your pants and tugs you closer –then gasps when you shove against the bar.

You crowd against her, kissing her fiercely, eagerly. Your hands cup her ass and lift, forcing her onto the balls of her feet so you have better access to her.

Surprise flits up her spine. She’s not used to being in this position; most women come to her to be manhandled, not the other way around. But she can see the appeal of it; there’s a certain giddiness in the gut that accompanies it, like the hang time from jumping across rooftops.

The kiss devolves into something artless and hungry. The two of you meet each other in the middle, pressed against each other like teenagers in a closet.

She’s starting to get into that state where she feels like she’s melting into you, and vice versa. The bar, the faint drone of passersby always present in the Lanes, the buzz of the neon lights that wrap around the bartop, the arm wrestling match less than an hour ago –all of it’s gone, blurred into background coloration like splotches on one of those fancy, impression-type paintings, for which Pilties drop the equivalent of a Trencher’s life earnings (and then some). There’s that familiar, ravenous ache in her cunt. She ought to ask you back to her place; The Last Drop hardly seems poignant enough for your first time. But the notion of stopping your eager exploration of her body is downright offensive –especially when your open mouth catches her jaw and sends arousal curling through her gut.

You pause when she tips her head back. A few ragged pants fan across the sensitized, blood-hot skin of her neck. You swallow, then clear your throat. “I –is this–”

“Yes.” She curls her right hand around the back of your neck, then gently presses your forward until you lean the rest of the way in and press your lips against her throat. Her eyelids flutter as you trail soft, closed mouth kisses over the hollow of her throat. She moans softly, and her fingers curl into your short hair. Fuck. She waits for a bit, letting you explore, but pipes up again when she feels you growing more hesitant –nerves winning out over exploration. “Use your tongue.” She shudders when you lick beneath her jaw. “Attagirl.”

The praise does something for you. You moan into her skin, then repeat the motion again. You swirl your tongue against her throat, mimicking the way the two of you had kissed seconds before.

“That’s it,” Sevika encourages you, eyes rolling back in her head. She rolls her hips against you, then groans when you press closer, neatly pinning her against the bar. “Good girl.”

You whine, loud and broken, then lift. You half lay her out on the bar, then support the rest of her by locking your arms just beneath her ass. You bend over her and bury your face in her neck, devouring her like a starved stray.

Sevika locks her ankles behind your back. She clutches at the back of your shirt with her right hand, and braces herself against the bartop with her left arm. She’s in the perfect position to grind against you, so that’s just what she does.

A small, idle fragment of her mind notes just how great this is. Yes, she enjoys having her way with women –and she’ll get to you soon enough–but there’s something to be said for receiving. It’s a new spin on “being eaten alive,” and she’s never been happier to be dinner.

She slides her fingers into your hair when your mouth trails lower, towards her clavicle. “Good girl.” She gasps, then tightens her grip on your hair when you drag your teeth over her collarbone. “That’s it –good girl, good girl–”

You moan and grind your hips against hers–

Something crashes in the alleyway outside. There’s a loud slam, followed by the crystalline crack of shattering glasses. An enraged, muffled shout ensues, followed by more heavy thudding.

You both freeze.

She recovers first. A few minutes of hearing proves it’s just a couple of angry drunks going at it –she can hear slurred, if muffled, arguing and grunting that accompanies being punched. Idiots. She turns back to you–

You’re completely stiff. Your eyes are wide, gaze flicking around the bar. You’ve gone from holding her to gripping the edge of the bar top.

Sevika winces faintly when she hears your knuckles crack. She opens her mouth to reassure you–

Another thud makes you flinch –and then you press down against her.

Sevika grunts. She tries to sit up, only for you to push her back down. She stops struggling when you use your arm to cover the top of her head. What the–

There’s something so deeply protective about the gesture that it makes her brain short circuit. You’re literally covering her with your body, as though the ceiling’s about to collapse on top of the both of you.

It’s sweet. It’s also bewildering because nothing bad is fucking happening. It’s just drunks in the alley; they’ll probably pass out long before they could ever beat each other to death.

Sevika gingerly splays her fingers against your back, between your shoulder blades. She murmurs your name, but gets no response –not even a glance of recognition. Her stomach drops when another round of shouting makes you flinch. She feels your chest push against hers as your breathing speeds up –and okay, that’s enough, time to divert things. She says your name, louder this time, then carefully cups the side of your face with her right hand. “Hey, baby. It’s okay. Just look at me, alright?”

You jolt when her thumb sweeps across your cheek. You do look down at her, though, and let out a shaky breath when you meet her gaze.

She revels, just for a moment, in how quickly you melt again under her attention. You’re still tense –you haven’t let up your death grip on the bar top–but your shoulders loosen up and your breathing slows a bit. You swallow hard, then lean every so slightly into her touch.

Focus. She can already feel herself getting sucked back into dreamy, brainless bliss. Focus, focus, focus. She blinks hard, then clears her throat. “Hey. Let’s get out of here, yeah? My place is quieter.” She pushes up on her left arm so the counter isn’t digging into her back. “More comfortable.”

“Oh.” Your eyes go wide. “Uh–”

Sevika swallows a grimace. Shit. Maybe Ran was right; she’s rusty, too eager, and now she’s pushing too fast. “It’s okay if you don’t–”

“No, no,” you cut her off. “We can –I just–” You set her down, then lick your lips as you rock from foot to foot. “My bed’s probably bigger.” You shrug and shove your hands in your pants pockets. “That’s all.”

Only several years of playing cards keeps her from sagging in relief. She nods, trying to process as panic flashes and ebbs, then takes a moment to study you. She notes the tightness in your shoulders, the way you’ve got your head ducked, and presses her lips together faintly. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

Your eyes flash, and you step closer to her. “It’s not,” you growl, “an issue of want.” You swallow, then let out a self-deprecating laugh –which, fortunately, prompts you to relax a little. “I just won’t know what I’m doing, s’all.”

“I can work with that.” Sevika closes the distance between the two of you, gripping your hips when you bend down and kiss her again. She savors the feeling of your lips for a moment, then pulls away and grins up at you. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

[terramythos]

TerraMythos 2021 Reading Challenge - Book 16 of 26

Title: Tales From Earthsea (Earthsea Cycle #5) (2001)

Author: Ursula K. Le Guin

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Short Story Collection, Novella, Third-Person, Female Protagonist 

Rating: 8/10 (note: this is an average)

Date Began: 7/2/2021

Date Finished: 7/6/2021

Tales From Earthsea is a collection of five short stories and novellas which take place in the Earthsea universe. In addition, there’s a supplementary timeline of Earthsea’s history, tradition, and cultural details of note. The last story in the collection, Dragonfly, serves as a bridge between Tehanu (#4) and The Other Wind (#6), the final book in the series. 

Of the five stories, my favorites (both 10/10s) were The Finder and On The High Marsh.

The way one does research into nonexistent history is to tell the story and find out what happened. I believe this isn’t very different from what historians of the so-called real world do. Even if we are present at some historic event, do we comprehend it— can we even remember it— until we can tell it in a story? 

Content warnings, individual ratings/commentary, and spoilers below the cut.

Content warnings for the book: Death and violence, child abuse (including implied sexual abuse), police brutality, slavery, reference to torture and execution, brief reference to inc*st, misogyny, animal cruelty, mild body horror, very brief implied mind control via a "love charm" (it doesn't work).

#1 - The Finder (10/10)

In The Dark Time, magic is widely mistrusted. Petty tyrants use the once noble art in pursuit of power and glory. Medra, the son of a shipwright in Havnor, has magical talents honed in secret. One day, he curses a ship built for a warlord’s fleet. Unfortunately, he gets caught and sent to a prison camp. There he is forced to use finding magic to locate veins of cinnabar.

The prison exists to refine quicksilver, a substance the most powerful mage on the island believes will turn him into a god. While in the refinery, Medra feels a spiritual connection to a dying slave, a young woman named Anieb. The two of them devise a plan to kill the mage and escape. Medra’s journey eventually takes him to the island of Roke and the founding of its prestigious wizard school. 

‘The dead are dead. The great and mighty go their way unchecked. All the hope left in the world is in the people of no account.’ 

I really enjoyed this novella. The Dark Time is largely unexplored in the stories of Earthsea, so it was interesting to read about it here. I get the feeling that we’re approaching or in the middle of one such time in the real world, so seeing a version of it on the page is depressing yet hopeful. The story is dark; mass feudal warfare, a literal concentration camp in the opening half, widespread enslavement, and abuse of power. But it also offers hope and the promise of change. The story also explores the integral role of women in not only the preservation of magic in a bleak age of humanity, but the very foundation of Roke. 

Medra’s story spoke to me; how he resists the despotic powers-that-be, his connection with Anieb even after her tragic death, and how despite his disillusionment with humanity, he ultimately fights to create a better world. I also thought Gelluk was a horrifying villain. He’s characterized as a soft-spoken, almost kindly man who loves children and animals— yet his narrative thoughts involve burning hundreds of slaves alive in order to better fuel the quicksilver refinery. “Nice doesn’t mean good” taken to an extreme, and a mirror of many villains in the real world. 

Le Guin was anti-capitalist, but that way of thinking seems peripheral in the Earthsea series. The Finder, however, definitely has a Marxist reading in it. A recurring theme is the disenfranchised rising up against the powerful. Indeed both antagonists, who are despotic wizards of great power, are soundly defeated by groups of people they consider powerless. Magic is only considered relevant for the value and power it produces, an idea antithetical to the rest of the series. The quicksilver refinery also embraces anti-capitalist rhetoric; this section focuses on how mass enslavement and death is used to manufacture a meaningless commodity only one person “benefits” from. That’s not even getting into the prison-industrial complex. 

I dunno. This story slaps. It’s not at all what I expected from a Roke origin story.

#2 - Diamond and Darkrose (5/10)

Diamond, the son of a prosperous lumber merchant, struggles to find his true calling in life. His father disapproves of almost everything he does, including his close friendship with the local witch’s daughter Rose. While he loves music, his father derides his talents and forces him to abandon the pursuit. When Diamond shows some  promise in magic, he travels to a neighboring town to serve as the local wizard’s apprentice. But when this path estranges him from Rose, he grows disillusioned.

Rose had looked after herself from an early age; and this was one of the reasons Diamond loved her. With her, he knew what freedom was. Without her, he could attain it only when he was hearing and singing and playing music.

I did not like this story very much. I gave Diamond and Darkrose a 5/10 because it’s competently written (duh), and the protagonist has a character arc not entirely dependent on the central romance. But that’s about all I can say for it.

None of the characters are especially appealing. Diamond’s mentor figures are all extremely narrow-minded. Rose, supposedly his true love since childhood, drops him the moment things become difficult. And Diamond himself is a pushover who only grows a spine and pursues his dreams at the end of the story. I understand that’s his character flaw and his arc is about overcoming that. But due to all these factors, I was annoyed by every major character. The only person I didn’t dislike was Diamond’s mother, who only shows up for a couple of scenes.

Someone please tell me there are love stories out there where the romantic tension is NOT based on a fucking MISUNDERSTANDING. That shit drives me up a wall! It’s so overdone and painful to read.

#3 - The Bones of the Earth (8/10)

Dulse is an aging wizard on the island of Gont, reflecting on his life and relationship with his former apprentice, a young man he calls Silence. But he senses something amiss on the island; a massive earthquake poised to destroy a nearby port town and its inhabitants. To avert disaster, Dulse realizes he must turn to an ancient form of magic taught to him long ago— and he needs Silence’s help to save the town.

In there he knew he should hurry, that the bones of the earth ached to move, and that he must become them to guide them, but he could not hurry. There was on him the bewilderment of any transformation. He had in his day been fox, and bull, and dragonfly, and knew what it was to change being. But this was different, this slow enlargement. I am vastening, he thought.

So I’ve always liked Ogion in the main series; I love the idea of an immensely powerful wizard who lives an unassuming life of silence, contemplation, and appreciation of the natural world. In The Bones of the Earth, we get a glimpse of Ogion through his mentor’s eyes. Ogion’s heroism and how he stopped the earthquake is mentioned several times in the main series, but this is our first look at what actually happened.

Dulse is an unexpected and fascinating perspective character. It would be so easy to tell this story wholly from Ogion’s perspective, but I think making Dulse the protagonist was the right call. In particular, Dulse’s mind is starting to go. Le Guin presents this by utilizing flashbacks and connecting them to the present. This technique conveys Dulse’s disorientation and confusion so the reader experiences it alongside him... it’s hard to describe without actually reading the story. I also loved the little twist at the end regarding where Dulse learned the ancient magic that saves the island. There’s also a strong thematic connection to The Farthest Shore; death and becoming one with the rest of the world.

#4 - On The High Marsh (10/10)

A half-mad wanderer named Irioth comes upon a small settlement on the volcanic, marshy island of Semel. A murrain has been devastating the local cattle population, and Irioth offers his powers as a curer to heal the animals. He settles into a calm rural life with Gift, a widow working a small dairy. Though Gift likes Irioth, and the animals instinctively trust him, she senses something amiss with the man. Soon, Irioth’s dark past threatens to return and disturb the peace.

“Oh, yes,” Irioth said. “It was my fault.” But she forgave, and the grey cat was pressed up against his thigh, dreaming. The cat’s dreams came into his mind, in the low fields where he spoke with the animals, the dusky places. The cat leapt there, and then there was milk, and the deep soft thrilling. There was no fault, only the great innocence. No need for words. They would not find him here. He was not here to find. There was no need to speak any name. There was nobody but her, and the cat dreaming, and the fire flickering. He had come over the dead mountain on black roads, but here the streams ran slow among the pastures.

This story is a banger. It has a Western vibe— a stranger coming into a cattle town haunted by a mysterious past. Also cowboys. It’s an atmospheric story, and I think hits on the “small rural town” vibe better than Tehanu did. But there were several writing choices I especially liked.

We don’t learn Irioth’s name until a little while into the story; his physical description, temperament, and ability to immediately identify Gift’s true name just by looking at her makes one assume he’s Ged. He’s also got an interesting redemption arc, because it’s presented in a reverse order. We see Irioth’s genuine desire to do good, and his gentle and patient manner with animals and other people. He doesn’t even consider asking for payment for curing the murrain until Gift tells him he should. But there’s a sense that something is off; he’s paranoid, clearly running from something. The use-name he picks is Otak, a fictional ferret-like creature— which Gift asserts looks nice, but has sharp teeth.

Near the end, Ged actually does show up and explain what happened to Irioth. They have pretty similar backstories; both were powerful, arrogant young mages who messed with forces  they shouldn’t have, then went through great personal sacrifice to right the wrong (oh god the initial deception was intentional they’re narrative foils oh god). Ged embraced the darkest aspects of himself to avert calamity. Irioth came to Semel to escape Roke and atone by helping others. One detail I especially liked was that Irioth once considered healing beneath him, but now he takes a deep joy in using it to help. 

#5 - Dragonfly (8/10)

Irian lives a solitary life-- her father is a drunkard living in the ruins of their family’s once prosperous estate. Her closest relationship is with the local village witch, who named her in secret in the dead of night.  When a disgraced young wizard named Ivory comes to town, he sees Irian as a potential conquest. To gain power over her, he hatches a scheme; disguise Irian as a man, travel to Roke, and sneak her into the male-only wizard school— humiliating the great Masters.

But Irian is restless. She knows she has power, but her true nature is a mystery even to her. Irian sees Ivory’s plan as an opportunity to find answers from the most powerful wizards in the world. When the Doorkeeper actually lets her into the school, she finds herself in a magical and political conflict over the future of Roke— and discovers what exactly she is.

“Dark is bad,” said the Patterner. “Eh?”

Irian drew a deep breath and looked at him eye to eye as they sat there. “Only in dark the light,” she said.

This is one of those stories that has a rocky start, but a great second half. The first part of the novella felt dry to me; I’ve read plenty of tales about social outcasts with weird, unexplainable powers. On top of this, a chunk of the early narration is from Ivory’s POV, and he’s a complete tool. That can be a fun perspective to take, and I like the fact that he thinks he’s manipulating Irian when she’s the one pulling the strings. But since he’s an irrelevant character who disappears from the story halfway through, it feels like a waste to devote a huge chunk of the story to him.

However, once Irian arrives at Roke, the story gets much more interesting. Her presence at Roke causes a huge scandal that divides the Masters. Women being forbidden from Roke is a Series Thing at this point, but Earthsea is in an era of change (although I DO question that she’s the first woman to try it). The Finder demonstrated that women were pivotal in the foundation of Roke, something largely erased from history. Barring women stems from a power hungry bigot codifying it into tradition.

Irian finds some unexpected allies--minor characters in the previous books. The Doorkeeper continues to be the coolest motherfucker there. The Patterner is a major character in this story; he was in just one scene in The Farthest Shore, so I liked learning more about him. The Namer is the kind of guy you’d expect to be a stodgy traditionalist, so him siding with Irian is surprising. The Summoner, a heroic figure in previous books and stories, is a sinister villain here. As for the ending, well… if you didn’t see it coming, I’d wonder if you even read Tehanu. The same hints are there.

There were little particulars I liked, such as Irian moving into a decrepit hut that’s definitely Medra’s old home. My favorite detail is that this story has a parallel scene with The Finder. In The Finder, there’s a scene where an antagonist, Early, invades Roke in the form of a dragon. He lands on Roke Knoll, a site of power that reveals one’s true form. It turns him back into a human, leaving him defenseless when the residents of Roke attack him and repel his invasion. The reversal happens in Dragonfly. Irian gets attacked by one of the Masters while at Roke Knoll — and its magic turns her into her true form, a dragon. Props to whoever picked the cover design, since it references both scenes.

#6 - A Description of Earthsea

I’m not rating this since it’s basically a lore dump. It’s a deep dive into Earthsea’s history, languages, cultures, and other relevant world details. It’s the kind of bonus info a lot of fantasy series tack on as reference material.  According to Le Guin, she wrote this to get some idea of the timeline on each of these stories.

As a series, Earthsea has relatively little worldbuilding exposition. Sometimes characters reference legends or historical events, but usually the reader lacks the context to fully understand them. The focus is more on the lives of the characters and their personal experience of the world. I think something like A Description of Earthsea has benefits and drawbacks for the reader. On one hand it's nice to have some definitive information to tie things together. On the other, this does represent a loss of some of the mystery in the story.

I think this is the first thing in the series that even mentions homosexuality, so props for that I guess?

Closing Thoughts

A short story collection is always going to have high and low points. I tend to look at each story individually and score that way, but an average is always misleading. Diamond and Darkrose dragged the score down since there were only five stories total. But I enjoyed the majority of them. I am interested to see where the human/dragon subplot goes in the final installment; I assume Irian will show up at some point? We’ll see.

[deviant3lover]

The Trio, but what if they were young Gods?

Honestly, these are my own personal headcanons ever since I watched a bit of Okami’s boss battles, but I definitely welcome other ideas on what sorta gods y’all would see them like.

I was primarily inspired by in game artworks such as these:

And I wondered, 

“Hmm. How would people see the trio if they were feared/revered Gods? What kind of deities would they be?”

DISCLAIMER: 

In this list, all three of them had died as mortals.

Genos is a vengeful fire god, whose flames have burned and purified great evils that had come to torment the populace, and just as often, have found themselves extinguished at the hands of a greater threat. Everyday it gets harder to do so, with the deity’s power exploding in growth and size due to his diligence.

His mortal body isn’t one of flesh or blood. Not anymore. Instead, his avatar is created from a mass of metal and burning coal as his fuel, furnaces smoldering inside his body. Magic engravings are carved into the metal, acting as his blood and bones, twining the inorganic materials together just as they would for veins and nerves in a human.

A lone old man is one of his most dutiful attendants, and is his first follower. When the young god departs the mortal world to return to the celestial plane, he repairs his broken avatar, or creates a new one with different metals and engravings to house more of the young God’s power in his fights against the demons that plague the world. Too often has his own flames, or sheer recklessness, had been the cause of his own defeats in battles.

Kuseno should know. He’s seen it far too many times when he was still a mere boy. These same markings and metals were the ones that were tattooed on and built into his burnt and distorted skin; they had saved his life and blessed him with magic. 

But they weren’t enough to protect him from death when the boy had found himself getting swarmed by demons. 

All that was left of him was patches of blond hair, blood splattered all over the scorched open field where he fought, and bits of tattooed skin found beside deformed and clawed metal that had long grown cold when he found him at daybreak.

For his follower, the one that had acted as a father figure to him when he was still mortal, Genos makes sure that he will always come home to a place filled with warmth and good food, no matter the season, taking care to protect his crops from overheat or fires. He’s not known for his blessings, but for the people that he loves, he won’t hesitate to cultivate their quality for their loyalty.

He isn’t a cruel god, but he isn’t a forgiving one either. For those whom have wronged him, he makes their crops die, their residences swelter, their precious metals too hot to touch, much less trade: even with the best rubber gloves.

This is his mercy in the face of their blasphemy. If they refuse to seek forgiveness from one of his shrines or messengers, Genos will burn down the protections they use on their most valuable items and gifts, cursing them to never again be used by their hands, nor by the hands of anyone they conscript or affiliate with. His fire is too damning to be stopped by insulators of the finest quality, too persistent to be stopped by barriers of any kind.

Never again will their treasures be theirs to hold, and even Genos’ messengers cannot be entreated to remove it themselves: they must call upon his name and presence if they wished to dispel it.

The cursed ones who insist on using them will find their fingers burned, the items eventually melting and burning down into nothing.

For this, he’s often a god of good fortune for the unfortunate and desperate, for the displaced victims whose homes have been destroyed. Many people praise him for his blessings, and just as many curse and fear him for the damage he can cause to their lives. 

Farmers who’ve kept a good record in respecting him will see that their crops never overheat or burn, and wouldn’t drown from merciless rains. When winter comes, they will not freeze, and neither will them and their families. 

Merchants and rich lords are careful not to offend him, while the poor and unremarkable make small, heartfelt blessings when he punishes acts of cruelty made by authority figures abusing their power.

For some reason, a wandering bald ronin finds himself in the favor of this God, so much so that his acquaintances balk at the sight of all the blessings heaped upon him. Others joke about how an unremarkable man such as himself had a divine being worshipping him.

He mostly remains oblivious to this, until winter rolls around. His stay at a shabby inn remains uneventful and freezing, until a blond stranger greets him at his door and asks to be let in, eyeing Saitama with an intensity that he’s unused to seeing. 

He attributes the sudden burning warmth in his face as body as embarrassment. He’s not used to this much attention being directed to him after all. Introverted as he was, he didn’t hear the other residents softly exclaiming at how warm their rooms became, nor did he notice them staring wide eyed at his new disciple, knowing exactly what his presence meant.

—

Garou is a fearless and awe-inspiring air god that takes great delight in being a spirited competitor and a trickster, pushing his mind and body to the limits of what he can do: both as a celestial and as a mortal. Man, beast, or demon, Garou had taken many forms to combat and play clever tricks on others, constantly experimenting and learning new ways to become a more formidable threat to his enemies, and an incredible ally to those who’ve won his genuine care. 

He’s more active during the night. Demons and monsters are plentiful under a starless sky, and the quieter nights has him travelling the lands in relative peace: unless he decides he’s bored and finds something, or someone, to play tricks on.

He inspires plenty of respect, awe, and even humor for his exploits. His sense of justice however, is notably somewhat distorted in the eyes of the public. Scholars have written about his achievements and debated at length at how he came to be, who he truly is, for how easy it is to misinterpret or misunderstand his character when writing plays featuring the deity. He’s an attractive and rightfully arrogant man, so it becomes all too easy to paint him in a better or worse light depending on the writer. 

Illusions, tricks, impressive physical, magical, and mental prowess, as well as being notoriously devoted to himself, his beliefs, and the select few he deems to be good, it’s not guaranteed that he’ll work with, or against you. He’s a force of chaos with his own code, for better or for worse.

His former master, an older and wiser god, had taught him how to fight from what he had learned from the flow of water- from the steady stream of a river to the thunderous force of ocean waves crashing against a jagged cliff face. Garou had repaid the lessons with sewing discord in the mortal world with his misguided ambitions, using his lessons to learn how to harness the wind to do his bidding, away from Silverfang’s techniques.

Lessons from other age old masters and their followers has him learning every style of every kind, magical and martial art alike, never paying attention to the philosophies surrounding each one out of disinterest.

His insolence had casted him out from the rank and file of the celestials, and he wanders the mortal plane as a demigod in search of a challenge and purpose after Saitama stops his naïve onslaught against the world.

In another life, maybe he would’ve had a more merciful upbringing as a child. But his mortal life was cut short: how? He can’t remember. 

Maybe it was his tormenters at school.

Was he cursed? Were they just cruel?

Maybe it was a stormy night on a treacherous mountain when he tried to journey to a far off dojo for strength, away from what little he can remember from home.

Did he slip and fall to his death?

Maybe he had an unlucky encounter with a demon or two.

Or three. Or ten. Maybe they swarmed, razed, and devoured his village.

All he can remember was that his past life was filled with cruelty, where the world worked against him. When he awoke at the steps leading upwards to a dojo that gleamed an unearthly gold, the ground being amassed of clouds that didn’t touch his skin, and the skies jet black with stars shining like faraway lanterns, the boy-spirit didn’t hesitate on climbing the steps.

Storms and violent winds are heralds for the oncoming chaos he brings to the lands he wishes havoc on: the young god can be as theatric as he is destructive. He may have expressed the desire to become one with the demons, but his acts against humans are significantly less lethal than the ones he commits against demons, more mischief and punishment than cruelty.

A young boy had saved him when he took on the form of a wolf. Call it bad luck, or underestimating the threat, but Garou had been hunted to near death by man and monster alike. 

Tareo stumbled across his unconscious, bleeding wolf form and took him as close to his home as he dared, housing him in an abandoned den safe from the weather’s damage. From there, he travelled to and from his house as days went by, patching him up as best he can while talking about his life and what today had been like, somehow oblivious to the danger that comes with caring for a wild beast, who’s staring at the kid incredulously, knowing this very fact.

In time after the wolf had disappeared from the den, leaving him dispirited and lonely for some time, he becomes acquainted with a ‘Mister’ who frequents the town he lives in, who teaches him how to defend himself against his bullies.

And in the dark hours of the night, when he ventures too far into the more dangerous parts of the village when his ‘friends’ forced him to, an eerie howling can be heard over the wind. They flee not long after when they see and hear the illusions that Garou had conjured in the dark thickets of the forest.

Tareo learns to associate the cold winds with danger. He may be in awe of gods and folk heroes, but he finds himself wondering who he managed to win the favor of to justify divine intervention. Just how often do cold winds press so insistently against him when he goes to dangerous alleys and areas?

Maybe Mister will know. He’ll ask him about it sometime.

—

Badd is a formidable and intimidating thunder god, whose displays of power have kept enemies in fear of committing cruel acts, lest they find themselves lost in a violent thunderstorm, their meager attempts to return home making them look like lost pieces of cloth getting battered around by the wind as the sound of thunder grows louder in the distance.

A cruel mortal will find themselves nearly dying from a tree almost crushing them on a dark night, with only Badd’s occasional flashes of lightning acting as their sole warnings for their brush with death, searing the experiences into their minds, prompting them to avoid the more vile crimes out of fear. Demons will find themselves stricken right where they stand, instantly killed on the spot.

If his followers have strayed to the dark arts in his name, Badd will angrily strike his condemnations on a surface that can withstand his thunder. If they forget, he strikes down his commandments instead, the words white-hot and glowing from his divine power.

Despite his brash and fearsome demeanor, he is the kindest out of the three, the most paternal figure in the trio. Many families dedicate their offerings to him; in return, he makes sure that they are safe from danger, and that their children aren’t stolen away by demons in the night.

He takes a shine to earnest folk. Good, hardworking people will be safer when travelling into more dangerous situations. There are plenty of books written on the patterns of thunder and lightning he sends down, and what kind of omens they are to prepare accordingly. 

Most of it is psuedo-science. Badd may not be the most cunning god, but he knows that enemies can learn different patterns and work against him. 

Zenko had cried with a grief she had never known when he was killed trying to protect her and their home as a young Ronin. Growing up, the pain dulled, and she took up the mantle he had chosen to take, teaching her students on how to protect their village just as he did, travelling the land to spread Badd’s name.

She knows exactly who her brother is now, and acts as his messenger and regent for his followers. It’s been years and she’s grown up, while he’s a busy god defending the other side of the planet from dangerous threats, so their meetings are few and far in between. 

But every now and again, they cross paths and reunite; he always cries and she always comforts him, sighing with equal amounts of affection and exasperation at how sentimental he always gets. Every time they meet, he thanks her for all the offerings she’s made to him, all the devoted followers she’s inspired to carry out his name and commandments. Every time they meet, she hugs her brother as tight as she can and swears his heartbeat now sound as loud as the thunderstrikes he summons on his enemies, the static crackling on the clothes at his newfound power, but he’s still the same big brother that raised her as best he could when she was little.

Zenko misses Badd everyday when they have to go their separate ways, and know he’ll be left devastated when she lives and dies a mortal life, but they treasure what time they have when they manage to reunite.

All Three

Due to their ferocity and fearlessness, many, many warriors pray to them for power and success. They’re far more popular in young fighters seeking to make something out of themselves, just as old gods are more popular with veterans and experienced warriors. Revitalizing food are often offered to them, with the occasional sweet cakes dedicated to Badd. Trophies of their successes (such as a horn from a slain demon, some scales from a malevolent dragon) are offered to shrines for safekeeping after they’ve prayed to them successfully.

All three have soft spots for children and the victimized, and such, many family offerings and whatever could be spared from folks who have little to offer are often found at their shrines. 

They strike a sense of home for the ones who don’t truly fit in. Badd was not well mannered or refined, Garou was mischievous and disillusioned with the world, and Genos had everything he’d known and loved torn away from him when he was young. All three aren’t the best at socializing, are intimidating in their own rights, and are known to be aggressive at times.

For them, they don’t leave much, except for heartfelt prayers and confessions they’d never dare to tell others. The three fulfill it as best they can: in person if they have to, though they are careful to use a slightly different form each time. Who knows what could happen if people started recognizing you when you take on a mortal form?

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

Hi! I just started reading your fan-fiction, "Adrenaline Rush" and I have to say it is VERY good. I have a question if you don't mind answering it. I am writing fan-fiction of my own and I have been pushing it off for months because I don't know where to start. For this, what was your writing process? Example: Did you write your plot first or did you write as you went to each chapter?

Hi, anon! Thanks for your very kind note and interest in Adrenaline Rush! The story has its issues/tangles, but it’s definitely been a fun and personally meaningful project for me to try writing. It means a lot to hear that you’re enjoying it! And that’s very exciting that you want to start writing as well. :)

Each writer will be different in terms of their creative process, so a part of your question involves learning more about yourself as a creator too! It’s good to know how your brain likes to work and what environment helps it hum along, which may or may not align with what works for me.

Honestly, AR’s design and development has been haphazard. For me, AR all started because I was unable to attend a nearby drag racing competition in 2018, and those races had been a pretty big staple in my life. At the same time, my head was full of Voltron shenanigans because I’d just recently joined the fandom. I was walking the family puppy when it hit me that Blue Lion, Red Lion, etc. would be good names for Top Fuel machines. I was so excited at the concept of exploring drag racing in a fic. It gave me a “race” to look forward to, along with all the drama and adrenaline that came with it. In that moment, I had enough excitement in my brain to convert the Potential Energy of my idea into the real Kinetic Energy of writing/typing.

If you have the energy but are not sure how to “start” your story, then you might consider what it means to set aside the opening or even the assumed first chapter for now. What scene/image/dialogue in your head do you really want to write right now? What happens if you just…start there, and then work backwards or forwards? Sometimes you have to get a feel for the medium you’re working with before you can really start molding the scenes and imagery into something fully formed. My first “scene” I wrote for AR was definitely not the opening one. The first story lines I wrote involved Lotor smoking a cigarette on a pro stock motorcycle, lol. I built around that image, as well as the image of a determined Allura sitting in Blue Lion, preparing to race. The desire to bring these characters and their racing machines to life really helped me hammer out that first chapter in a blur of a few days, where I puzzle-pieced scenes together. 

Other activities that can help you start a story is to look at how other authors start their stories. For example, do they start with a question, or a conversation, or a description of scenery? Do they start at the very beginning of a plot, or in the middle of action and catch you up on the details later? What kind of opening in other people’s stories most engages you? What happens to your story if you start with one element over another? What kinds of plots and story structures make you feel most engaged when you read them? What happens when you try to emulate those things? (Just questions to munch on here.)

I think it also helps to ask yourself why you want to write this story. Do you just want to explore an aesthetic that makes you feel good? Do you have a deep need to explore a certain kind of character or world? Are you hoping to get a catharsis of some kind? Is it a couple of things at once? Are you wanting to write a massive epic or just a short drabble to convey a moment in time? If you know “why” you are doing something, that can help you to know what kind of scenes to write—and what the story’s goal or vibe should be. Silly plot holes and clunky dialogue and some OOCness can be forgiven, especially in fanfic, which is a labor of love anyway—but if your story radically changes its tune or plot and no longer addresses the “why” that made you so excited in the first place, then that can alienate even you from it. Once you know what you want out of your story, then you can start plotting out all the different ways you could potentially achieve that goal. This feeds directly into the types of scenes that appear in a first chapter.

Before I started writing any actual scenes for AR, I did try to feel out more of the story by writing a promotional blurb. Like, if this were a book jacket or a Goodreads summary, what would that enticing blurb potentially look like? What was this story going to be about, aside from Lotor and Allura being pretty while they race machines, lol? I had some people in a discord who were kind enough to let me “pitch” a blurb at them to see if it would be of interest. This was my original pitch, which isn’t terribly different from the story summary as it appears on AO3 today:

The discord members were very encouraging, and so that gave me the push I needed to start writing story content, beginning with the images of Lotor smoking on his bike and Allura preparing to qualify. This tactic might not be for everyone just starting out, but writing a short promotional blurb/story summary can help you identify some initial parameters in terms of characters/conflict/setting. Having those basic parameters can then further target the types of images, dialogue, and scenes that make logical sense for introducing your story.  

If you need more structure than just free-form writing or building off an image in your head, you can definitely use an outline to help you identify scenes or images that you’d like to try working on. While AR did not start off with an outline, it does have a plot outline now to help ensure I don’t drop something important. So I started bulleting ideas, trying to stretch out the story summary to its natural/logical end point.

An outline can help you write linearly if clear, concrete structure resonates with your brain. It can give you an opportunity to “preview” how a chapter opening can affect future events before you even write them, if you’re worried about where free-form-writing can take you. If you want to use an outline, it doesn’t even have to be all that elaborate. It can just be bullet points or explanatory sentences, or pieces of dialogue. It can be notes on a poster arranged in a spider web design. It can be a collection of gifs on your computer that signify the emotions you want to simulate in the story—it can be literally anything, and it can evolve too.

Paradoxically, writing an outline has also helped me move away from having to write individual chapters in a linear fashion, which is sometimes hard for me to do over a long course of time. So readers on AO3 might experience AR as a linear story, but I have dozens of pages of future scenes or bits of dialogue that I felt inspired to write over the last few years. Like, one major scene appearing in the most recent chapter 9, which published here in January 2021—it’s been written since July of 2019, lol. Using an outline to tackle a story can empower you to follow your bliss in a nonlinear fashion. For example, sometimes I’m more in a mood to write racing, and other times, I’m more emotionally invested in writing AR’s background drama or romance. If I halfway know where I’m going based on my outline, I can switch gears to write what I immediately want to write, and then I can later sew scenes and dialogue together later in a fairly smooth fashion.The concept of writing a chapter straight from start to finish just doesn’t have to constrain me with this method, and that’s critical for me. I understand having to trudge through writer’s block for a particular scene, but I like to minimize that pain as much as possible. And sometimes moving beyond that point can remove the writer’s block entirely.

Admittedly, the original outline I wrote for AR doesn’t match 1:1 to what’s currently written. As I started actually writing out scenes correlating to those bullet points on my outline, things changed. The space between bullet point 1 and bullet point 2 expanded with additional scenes, and those additions changed the details in the original bullet point 2. So my outline has gone through several tweaks as well.

This is the “organic” slop that can occur between your true written product and your initial assumptions for where the story should go. There are going to be plot milestones that you likely have to hit in order to achieve your end-goal/correct vibe with the story, but it’s totally okay to let your characters have a voice in how they get there. You might start an outline or a story assuming Road Trip A through the city is the best way to get to the end or achieve a certain vibe, but as your characters grow in your head, they might decide for themselves that Road Trip B through the mountains is the best way to the end. Once you set a story in motion, it’s no longer just you driving it. Your characters should drive the story too. Allowing them to do that will keep you emotionally invested and interested in the story. Sometimes, your characters will even write for you if you don’t know what to write. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure I’m in control of AR—I suppose I’m the navigator with a map sitting in the passenger seat, but I know I’m not the one holding the wheel, LOL.

And while we all do hope to create something quality that we’re immensely proud of, I do think it’s important to keep G.K. Chesterton’s thought in mind: “If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.” In other words, the desire to create something immediately perfect with minimal effort can keep you from doing anything at all. It’s better to accept a messy first draft and to know you may have to revise later, than to sit in fear and end up writing nothing. And sometimes, your brain needs physical content to react to before you feel you’ve found the best option. Like, just getting content down to start with can change your whole perspective. You can revise and mold things as you get a better feel for what you want to convey. There’s always draft 2 for structural changes. Or draft 3 or 4 for polishing and getting a satisfying first sentence down. There’s no pressure to crank out a Pulitzer Prize Winner on a first draft or even after you publish something to a fanfic archive. This is fanfic. It’s supposed to be fun, at the end of the day. Let yourself enjoy the process of messy creation. Let your characters help you out. Don’t be afraid to revise or try out a few different things get to the vibe/end you really want. To do is to know.

If you’re still not confident in yourself or your abilities to make a critical design decision, you can always engage a beta reader or have someone listen to your ideas. Talking things out loud or reading your work out loud to yourself can help you process creative decisions in a new way! There’s also a significant difference between typing on a computer or writing things down on paper. Typing on a computer can take away the fear of permanence, while writing things down on paper can slow you down and make you experience each word more fully.

So I guess to wrap all of this up: I have a pretty fluid process, and I’m more worried about not creating at all than I am about screwing it up. Even a screwed-up work can teach you something and help you get somewhere better next time. And if you had fun making it, then maybe it wasn’t a screw-up at all! I really encourage you to soul-search on what gives you joy or excitement regarding this fic idea you have, and to hold on tight to that joy as you begin translating images in your head or outlining plot points, or something in between.

I hope something from this response helps you! <3

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Plots and Planning

Something different for this story.  I have decided to write how the various factions of the different universes that make up the story would react to all these new galaxies colliding.  This particular one is the Imperium of Man and the forces of Chaos from Warhammer 40K.  Why them?  Because they are the most gung-ho and definitely two of the most powerful groups within all of the universes, so I had to find some way to make sure they didn’t go into this new reality all guns blazing.  Divine intervention and brotherly bickering will do that nicely.  It is about to get real complex real quick, so if you have any questions, most definitely feel free to ask.  I will be writing more of this style, so if you have a request about a certain group or government, please feel free to ask.  As per usual, none of these characters or universes belong to me.  Enjoy the story.  

A note on timelines:  This takes place around 950.M41, during the height of the Ciaphas Cain book series.  This is before the the 13th Black Crusade and the Fall of Cadia.  

Warhammer 40k Galaxy

Holy Terra, Throneworld of the Imperium of Man

Holy Terra.  The birthplace of the human race.  Seat of power of the most dominant empire in the galaxy.  The most sacred planet in the galaxy to humanity, for it was here that the Emperor himself sat upon the Golden Throne, here that holy humanity was born, and here that the leaders of the Imperium, operating in the Emperor’s stead, convened.  And today was a most important day, for the High Lords of Terra, the council put in place by the Emperor to guide the Imperium in His absence, would meet to discuss the current situation.  

The gilded spires of the Imperial Palace reached into the sky, towering above all the rest of the structures on the planet as the massive bells of countless cathedrals tolled noon.  The entire planet was one massive city, housing hundreds of billions of people.  And, quite a beautiful city at that.  For here there were no ugly grey skyscrapers or disgusting constructs made of glass and cold steel.  No.  Here, every building was a work of art.  Reaching into the sky, some tens, if not hundreds, of kilometers high, they were all masterpieces, created by the finest architects ever born of the human race.  All had the same architectural style, a mixture of what ancient Terrans had called Greco-Roman and Gothic.  Huge domes, massive towers, and flying buttresses, all ornamented and carved to a ridiculous detail, stretched as far as the eye could see.  But, despite their size, or decoration, the Imperial Palace put all the other buildings to shame.  

Stretching the entire length of what had once been known as the Himalayan Mountains, it was the largest and most beautiful structure on the planet.  Created by the finest architect ever known to man, it was the seat and symbol of Imperial power, and the most protected fortress in the galaxy.  It was here that the God-Emperor of Mankind sat upon the Golden Throne, and it was here that the High Lords would convene.  

  The room was opulent, paneled with wood from ancient and long-extinct Terran trees, and lined in gold.  The ceiling had a massive fresco of the Emperor and his sons, painted in loving detail and framed by statues of cherubs where the walls met the ceiling.  The High Lords of Terra, leaders of the twelve most powerful branches of the Imperium of Man, sat underneath it at a long table draped in a white cloth.  Interestingly enough, for the rulers of an empire whose expressed purpose was to exterminate all non-humans, few of the High Lords looked like normal men and women.  

If one was to look at the table through an overhead view, then the man at the top right was the most easily noticeable, despite being far from the largest or most dangerous-looking person in the room.  He wore elaborate, overly decorated crimson and gold robes, and a human skull, massive reams of paper spilling from its maw, hovered over his right shoulder.  He was the Master of the Adeptus Administratum, the administrative and bureaucratic division of the Imperial government, and currently he was rambling about taxes in the Segmentum Obscurus while the other Lords pretended to pay attention.  

Sitting next to the Master of the Administratum in a clockwise direction was one of the few normal looking individuals at the table.  While his hair was grey and cybernetics were peeking through at the base of his neck, he still looked human, and still looked alert.  He was the Grand Provost Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites, the Imperium’s state police.  He sat quietly, unobtrusively, while his college prattled.  

Further down the table was a figure that towered over the rest and did not look even remotely human.  It was at least ten feet tall, and a mass of augmentations, slithering wires and metal plates peeked out from behind a large red robe emblazoned with a cogwheel symbol.  The rest of the Lords seemed unnerved by his...her...its gaze, as if the lenses built into the lump that could be called a faceplate could see right through them.  (Which, incidentally enough, they quite literally could, if the user wished it)  The being was the Fabricator General of Mars, and the leader of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the branch of the Imperium charged with overseeing, preserving, and repairing technology.  

Next in line was a tall man wearing a deep blue uniform.  Golden epaulettes adorned his shoulders, and cold green eyes surveyed the table from beneath carefully combed grey hair.  He was one of the few completely normal looking people at the table, and his position was Lord High Admiral of the Imperial Navy.  

Fifth from the top was an odd looking man who huddled deep into his crimson robes.  Unlike many of the others, he appeared to have absolutely no interest in the man talking at the head of the table.  An air of moroseness seemed to cling to the very air around him as he huddled into his chair.  He was the Master of the Astronomican, in charge of overseeing the sacrifice of thousands to fuel the God-Emperor’s massive navigational beacon.  

Last on the right side of the table was a petite white-robed woman.  Her hair seemed to shimmer several different colors in the light given off through the room's massive stained glass windows, and her eyes gleamed violet.  A pure white strip of cloth, emblazoned with the Imperial Aquila, covered her forehead.  None of the other High Lords would look directly at her face, and she seemed to take great amusement at this by striving to look whomever she was speaking to directly in the eye.  They would then flinch and look away as quickly as possible.  She was the Paternoval Envoy of the Navigators, the semi-human beings responsible for steering Imperial starships through the miasma of the Warp.  

Continuing clockwise, at the bottom left of the table was a pale faced man in another white robe.  His face was shrunken and seemed to be drawn inwards to his hollow eye sockets.  However, despite his non-existent eyes, he had the unnerving tendency to stare directly at the face of whomever was speaking as if he could see perfectly.  He was the Master of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, the school in charge of training Imperial psykers.  

(Authors note:  If you don’t know what a psyker is and you desire to find out, ask me separately.  It’s too complicated to explain here.)

Next to him was a tall, muscular man clad in a tight-fitting black suit.  His face was completely normal, with strong cheekbones and a jutting jaw, all framed by short cut jet black hair.  His eyes were steely grey, and if one was to look closely, they would see that those eyes concealed a breathtaking malevolence behind them.  He sneered and stared at his colleagues as if they were prey instead of the most powerful collection of beings in the galaxy, for he was the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum, the organization tasked with destroying any threats to Imperial power in subtle, or not-so-subtle ways.  

One up from the Grand Master was a relatively normal looking grey haired man.  His chest was so covered in medals it was hard to see exactly what color shirt he wore underneath, and the left portion of his face was dominated by a metal plate and cybernetic eye, replacing the real flesh he had lost in an explosion long ago.  He was the Lord Commander Militant of the Astra Militarum (more commonly known as the Imperial Guard), the Imperium’s main ground fighting force.  

Farther to the top of the table was a figure swathed in a heavy grey robe and cowl.  The lower part of the figure’s face was feminine in nature, but nothing else could be gleaned about her nature due to the cowl’s shadow.  She sat stock still, eyes moving as if looking for threats from beneath the hood.  She was the representative of the Imperial Inquisition, the dreaded secret police, tasked with finding, hunting down, and eliminating any and all threats to the security of the God-Emperor’s realm.  

Next to her was a tall, imposing woman with hair dyed a silver-white.  A fleur-de-lys was tattooed on both her cheeks, and she radiated an air of power.   She was wearing a massively ornate suit of gold and black power armor, and moved inside of it with the ease of long practice.  She was the Abbess Sanctorum of the Adeptus Sororitas, more commonly known as the Sisters of Battle.  They were an all-female organization of soldiers dedicated to the Imperial Church.  

And, speaking of which, the medium sized man at the top of the table was the Ecclesiarch of the Adeptus Ministorum, also known as the Ecclesiarchy or Imperial Church.  He wore white robes emblazoned with the Imperial Aquila, and perched upon his head was a tall mitre of white and gold.  

“Thank you very much for your report on the tithes, Nuchanldus,” said the Inquisitor before the Administratum head could continue speaking.  “But I believe the reason we’re here is to discuss the current situation.  Eight other, different, galaxies have appeared beyond Imperial space, several of them attempting to make contact with us.  We do know that there are humans in at least several of them.  However, we know nothing beyond that.  We are here today to decide how we shall proceed.”  The Abbess turned to her and scowled.  

“None of this would have happened if it were not for your Ordo Chronos.  They tried to break the laws of time and reality, possibly tried to contact the Ruinous Powers, and most definitely broke almost every single Warp-related law of the Imperium.”  The Administratum head spoke up once more.  

“That is correct.  Article 288731-J of the-”

“Yes, thank you,” shot back the Inquisitor with an annoyed glare.  “The Ordo Chronos has been sanctioned, dissolved, and will be handed over to the Ecclesiarchy for punishment, effective immediately.”  Everyone stared at her with shock.  The High Lords always played power games, vying to have their own group come out on top.  To hand over an entire subsection of your own organization to another, whether they broke the law or not, was not just unheard of, it was completely unthinkable.  The fact that the Inquisition was willing to do so meant that things had gotten very, very, serious.  

“Statement- new galaxies have endless possibilities for the discovery of new technology.  Request- Mechanicus wishes to immediately deploy to uncover new technology.”  The Fabricator General’s voice emitted from a speaker on its faceplate, and sounded mechanical in nature, as if it was coming from a badly-tuned radio.  

“Wait a moment!  We have no idea what sort of threats are awaiting us in these new galaxies!  For all we know, they could be completely overrun by beings of Chaos.  We cannot afford to start another war,” said the Commander of the Imperial Guard.  The Ecclesiarch spoke up.

“How do we know what their capabilities are?  It is our duty to purge the-”

“An Inquisitor by the name of Amberley Vail in the Damocles Gulf region has already dispatched a team to find out exactly what these other galaxies are like.  With that team is an exceptionally noted Commissar by the name of Ciaphas Cain,” interrupted the Inquisitor.  “We will see exactly what these new galaxies are like.”  

“This Inquisitor Vail shows remarkably forwardness,” said one Lord.  

“No she does not!” snapped another.  “The Inquisition has completely overstepped its boundaries.  It cannot be the only organization allowed into these new galaxies!” The table dissolved into bickering before the Commander of the Navy pounded his fist on the table for silence.  

“Enough of this squabbling!  You said that there are humans in these other galaxies.  If any of them were alternate universes to our own, then it is possible that the Emperor is alive and well there.  If so, this could be our salvation.”  Hushed murmurings sounded before a new voice broke the silence.  It was inhumanly deep and resonant, and if one were to listen to it, they would be able to feel the power of its wielder. 

“Unfortunately, neither the Emperor or Imperium exist in any of the other galaxies.  They are all completely different from each other and from our own.”  The High Lords turned in surprise at the being who dared to interrupt them, then went meekly silent.  Standing in the room’s entrance, wearing golden armor so incredibly ornamented it made the Abbess’s look like crude metal riveting, was a nine-foot tall man.  Man, however, would be completely inaccurate and slightly insulting to describe this newcomer.  He was a demi-god, lantern-jawed and brown haired.  Flanking him were two other soldiers of the same height, wearing the same style of armor, and welding spears so large that any normal human would tip over if they tried to carry one.  They were the Adeptus Custodes, the personal bodyguard of the Emperor of Mankind.  Genetically enhanced to a ridiculous degree by ancient sciences created by the Emperor himself, they had no peers, no equals, and no superiors save the Emperor.  Each was a masterpiece, and each created to be able to counter any threat.  And now, their leader had strode into the High Lords’ chambers unannounced.  Many of the Lords inclined their heads respectfully as the Ecclesiarch spoke.   

“Captain-General Launceddre.  An honor to see you here.”  

“The Emperor has spoken to us.”  Launceddre dropped the bombshell without pause or preamble.  Several of the High Lords audibly gasped.  The Masters of the Astronomican and Astra Telepathica looked up in interest.  

“How have we not heard of this?”  

“It is a recent development.  We came here as soon as possible,” replied Launceddre.  

“How did the Emperor speak with you?”  Launceddre frowned.  

“It was all rather strange.  As you may know, the Emperor cannot speak in His current state.  But this time… somehow He did.  He spoke aloud.”

“What did he say?”  Most of the High Lords were leaning in, hanging on the Captain-General’s every word.  Even the massively augmented and emotionless Fabricator General seemed interested.  

“He told us to ‘approach the new galaxies with caution.  Use diplomacy and peace, for we will need allies.’”  

“Diplomacy?” scoffed the Inquisitor.  Every eye (or in some cases, empty sockets and cybernetic machines) turned to her.  

“Are you questioning the word of the Emperor?” asked Launceddre plainly.  The Inquisitor paled beneath her hood.  

“No- no of course not!  I would never…” she stammered.  

“Good,” replied Launceddre.  “Summon the masses of your organizations, for we have planning to do.” 

Within the Eye of Terror, Sicarus, Daemon World of the Word Bearers Traitor Legion

Heavy footsteps sounded on the distorted rock floor.  They drowned out the chanting of prayers to the Dark Gods, drowned out the crash and squeal of the heavy iron gates opening, and drowned out the whispers that came at the figure’s approach.  For there were whispers.  Whispers of fear, whispers of awe.  The figure towered over all of the whisperers, towered over even the super-human guards of the Word Bearers, and almost came up to the very top of the twisted iron gates.  The figure gathered a crowd, all servants of the Dark Gods, who knelt and prostrated themselves at the figure’s feet, for the figure was touched by the gods themselves.  

Mortarion, the Death Lord, Primarch of the Fourteenth Legion, Champion of Nurgle, strode purposefully down the path from the outer gates leading to the Templum Inficio, the home of his brother.  Seven massive men followed him, staying exactly forty-nine paces behind him.  They were his personal bodyguard, the Deathshroud Terminators, and it was their job to sacrifice life and limb to protect him.  Not, of course, that he needed protecting.  His body was beyond that of any human, any alien, any creature of the material realm, even beyond the god-like physiques of any of his father’s creations.  He spat the word out like a curse in his mind.  He was beyond the touch of his father now.  

He stood a full sixteen feet tall, taller than all of his brothers.  Great wings, creaking and rotting, gifts from the Lord of Decay, sprouted from his back.  His flesh, tougher than steel, fused with his armor, creating a disgusting, dripping, mess, another gift from his Lord.  A massive scythe, his preferred weapon, was strapped to his back, and an oversized pistol, glowing with ancient and eldritch power, was attached to his hip.  His eyes, glistening with a thin sheen of mucus, stared out with hate from under a heavy hood.  He was the living embodiment of death.  He was the Grim Reaper made flesh.  And currently, he was very pissed off.  

Why, why, did he have to be here?  He didn’t want to be here.  He could be doing a thousand different things; concocting plagues, gardening, feeding the oversized insects, gifts from his Lord, that always seemed to follow his sons, hell, even perhaps murder some of his loyalist nephews.  He would rather be anywhere else but here.  Here, in his brother’s domain.  He had received summons from Lorgar, whom he hadn’t talked to in 10,000 years, to come here and deliberate the current situation.  Not so much as a “Hi Mortarion, how are you?” in 10,000 years, and suddenly Lorgar needed his help.  That was the reason he was here, he suspected.  Always, he was required to solve problems that his imbecile brothers or his bastard of a father couldn’t.  Never “Mortarion, we really appreciate your help!” or “Hey, Mortarion, I want to talk with you,” it was always “Mortarion, we need your help!” or “Mortarion, we have a problem that we can’t solve.”  Mortarion do this, Mortarion do that.  He was fed up with it.  He was prepared to ignore the summons, but Nurgle, his master, had ordered him, as His champion, to be present at the meeting.  It was then that Mortarion had heard the worst news of all.  All, all, all, of his brothers would be there.  Gods damnnit.   

Lorgar he could stand.  Even though Lorgar hadn’t talked to him in 10,000 years, he could stand him, for Lorgar was level headed and possessed a degree of common sense, which was more than he could say for most of his kin.  Angron he could stand, too, because Angron only cared about killing things, which was fine by Mortarion.  Perturabo, another of his brothers, would be there as well, which he didn’t mind either.  Perturabo he liked, for Perturabo was much like himself.  But the rest… the rest.  Fulgrim was too glitzy, too showing, too pretentious, and was, to put it mildly, a complete and utter deviant.  Magnus, another brother, he completely loathed.  Magnus and himself had never seen eye to eye, and he considered Magnus to be a dangerous imbecile who flung warpcraft and magic around with no thought of the repercussions.  Then there was Alpharius, who no one liked, because Alpharius had made it his mission in life to be as sneaky and secretive as possible.  And, of course, inevitably, unfortunately, there would be his nephew, Abbadon.  After Horus, another one of his brothers, had been killed by father, Abbadon had taken over Horus’s forces.  Horus was a real leader of men, a good general, a good brother, and, at least from Mortarion and the rest of his traitorous kins’ perspective, the true leader of the Imperium of Man. 

Abbadon...left much to be desired.  In 10,000 years, he had launched twelve, just twelve, attacks on the Imperium.  None of them had succeeded, several of them being defeated by mortals.  Abbadon was a complete failure of a general who thought himself equal to his uncles.  That was plainly not the case, and Mortarion had no idea why Lorgar had invited Abbadon to this meeting.  He knew for a fact that Lorgar and the rest of his brothers couldn’t stand the man.  It must be something important indeed for all the leaders of the Traitor Legions to be summoned.  And now Mortarion would find out what.  

Word Bearers, the sons of Lorgar, saluted to him as he walked through the long hallways of the temple to his brother’s chambers.  The boiling, unnatural, red sky of Sicarius could be seen through massive stained glass windows emblazoned with the eight-pointed star of Chaos.  Mortarion walked through endless hallways, some weeping blood and pus from the walls, others distorted to unnatural and horrifying shapes, until he reached the inner sanctum.  Two massive daemons, one a deep blood red, covered in spines and with far too many teeth, the other a mass of necrotic flesh and weeping boils, guarded the door and bowed as he approached.  The heavy black stone double doors opened, souls of the damned trapped inside screaming in agony as they tried to break free.  And inside, his brother.

Lorgar Aurelian, Primarch of the Seventeenth Legion, his form twisted by the powers of the Dark Gods and his face illuminated by unholy light emanating from within him, rose from his seat with what could be described as a smile on his face.  

“Mortarion.  A pleasure to see you after all this time.”  Mortarion gave a half agreeing nod, half respectful bow.  

“I can say the same about you as well.”  He looked past Lorgar and nodded affably at the two other forms seated at the massive stone table.  

“Perturabo, Fulgrim, good to see you.”  He glanced at Fulgrim and did a double take.  “I must say, you’ve changed since I last saw you.”  Fulgrim smiled dazzlingly.  The effect was rather ruined by the odd, unnatural perfectness and violet hue of his face.  

“I have been blessed by the Dark Prince.  I am now more beautiful than any other.”  He paused for dramatic effect as Perturabo rolled his eyes.  “I am perfect.  You must have obviously noticed my face, which is-”  Mortarion cut him off.  

“No,” he stated bluntly.  “Why do you have four arms?  And why in the name of the gods do you have a snake tail?”  Fulgrim glanced down at the lilac tail that had replaced his lower body.  

“I… uh… it’s a gift from Slaanesh. Whom, of course, I serve, as you all well know.  It represents-”

“Yes, thank you Fulgrim,” said Lorgar before he could say anything else.  Apparently Fulgrim had been rambling before Mortarion arrived, something he most definitely did not regret missing.  

“Now we have Mortarion here.  Where’s everyone else?” asked Perturabo tiredly.  Before anyone else could answer, an ear splitting crack filled the room as everyone inside was dazzled by a flash of blinding light that seemed to be every color in existence, yet at the same time had no color.  The air cleared, and, standing where the flash had appeared, was a tall figure in ornamented armor.  His skin and hair were both pure crimson, and his one good eye glowed with eldritch power.  Magnus the Red, Primarch of the Fifteenth Legion, had arrived.  Mortarion promptly gave him a glare that had, on occasion, wilted plants.  

“Still so unnecessarily dramatic,” Mortarion sneered.  Magnus shot him a glare that could literally kill.

“Mortarion.  Still so extraordinarily obtuse.  Tsk, tsk.  How are your psychic powers working out for you?” replied Magnus.

“They are not psychic powers!” exploded Mortarion.  He settled uncomfortably into a chair.  “It’s science.”  Magnus rolled his one eye, which rather spoiled the gesture.

“Oh yes, of course.  Creating an entire planet with your mind and killing things with a gesture is science.  Please tell me more.”  

“It is not your pathetic and dangerous sorcery, you moron.  I’ve seen sorcery growing up.  It ruined my adoptive homeworld.  My science does not destroy or rend reality as yours does.  It complies-”

“You still are so incredibly stubborn as to think that is not sorcery?  I’ve seen infants with a higher I.Q. than yours!”

“You’ve just been sour ever since I was proven right at the Council of Nikea,” said Mortarion.

“I am not!  I was not wrong then, and I am not wrong now!  Father just listened to you because he wanted to limit my greatness!” 

“Or because you can’t cope with the fact that Leman and I were right.”

“Do not ever say that fucking name!”  

“What? Leman?  Leman, Leman, Leman…”

“Shut up!”  

“Would you two please stop?  The Council of Nikea was ten thousand years ago.  Get over it,” said Lorgar, exasperated.  He sighed.  “While you two were bickering, Abbadon arrived.”  Mortarion and Magnus looked up to see a figure, much shorter than the rest of them, encased in black armor, sitting at the edge of the table.  “Now we’re only missing Angron and Alpharius.”

“Let’s get on with it, Lorgar,” said Fulgrim, looking bored.  

“But Angron and Alpharius haven’t arrived yet!”  

“Angron is now so consumed by bloodlust that I doubt he could even form coherent sentences, let alone plan for the future.  And Alpharius is probably around.  Somewhere.”  

“...fine.  Right, let's go,” sighed Lorgar.  “You are probably wondering why I summoned you all here today.  Recently, through the bending of time and space, nine different galaxies, from nine different realities, have come together to exist in one universe.”

“None of this would have happened if it wasn't for your sorcery, Magnus.  Again, I’m right.”

“It wasn’t my fault!  It was my idiot first captain, trying to reverse his Rubric.  He was conducting an extremely delicate psychic ritual.  The Imperial Inquisition arrived, two extremely powerful points of energy originated from other galaxies, the ritual went to hell, and here we are,” said Magnus.

“Which still proves my ten thousand year old point that sorcery-”

“Mortarion, shut up,” interjected Lorgar tiredly.

“Thank you!”

“Magnus, you too.”  Magnus harrumphed and crossed his arms.  Lorgar rubbed his forehead.

“This is why we never get anything done.”

“Hey, I actually get things done.”  Abbadon spoke for the first time.  “The rest of you just sit on your planets, doing nothing, while I-”

“Shut up and let me talk,” said Lorgar.  “Anyway, as I was saying, nine different galaxies came together.  It is our job to spread the truth of Chaos to all of them.  However, the problem is, none of us can do it alone.  So, the question is, how do we proceed?”  The room exploded.

“We attack now, get the false Imperium out of the way, then destroy anything that dares cross our path!” said Abbadon.

“No, we bide our time, marshal our forces, and wait for the perfect moment to strike!” shot back Mortarion.

“I disagree.  The Warp in the other universes is calm and uncorrupted.  We use this to our advantage.  We hold psychic mastery over everyone except Father.  With the power of the Immateriums of the other dimensions, we can finally tear down Terra's psychic defenses and destroy the Astronomican, thus dooming the Imperium forever,” stated Magnus.

“No!  I will not partake in any of this psychic nonsense.  I-”

“You’re a psyker, Mortarion.”

“No I’m not!  It’s… different.”

“No it’s not!”

Two Hours Later

“Okay.”  Perturabo interrupted Mortarion, Fulgrim, and Magnus, who were currently bickering over whose legion had better-looking armor.  “Lorgar.  Thank you for making me sit through another gods-damned family reunion.  It’s been fun, everyone, but this is pointless and I’m leaving.”  He got up and walked out of the room.  

“Wait!  You can’t leave!  We haven’t even come up with anything yet!” yelled Lorgar to his retreating form.  

“Enjoyable as it has been watching some of the most powerful individuals in the universe bickering like schoolchildren, I must say I agree with Perturabo,” idly intoned Fulgrim.  “I have better things to do with my time.”  With a snap of his fingers and a puff of sweet smelling lavender smoke, he disappeared.  Lorgar turned helplessly to his remaining brothers.

“We can’t just leave with nothing!  We have to come up with some form of plan.”  Magnus sighed.  

“I have a feeling that even if I came up with the most brilliant of plans, some of my brothers wouldn’t follow it just out of spite.  Do what you want.  I’m leaving.”  He snapped his fingers and disappeared with a loud pop! and swirl of color.  Mortarion turned to Lorgar.

“Sorry we couldn’t come up with something.  But if we did, I would probably end up doing all the work anyway.”  And he, too, strode from the room, leaving the servants of Chaos with no plan.  As per usual.

That’s it.  I must admit, it was quite fun writing the Primarchs arguing with each other.  Again, if you have any requests, comments, criticisms, or concerns, feel free to ask.  Also, if you like the “governments interacting” more than the Scoundrels, or vice versa, please tell me.   

[outboard02]

Muzzle your multi (and mono too)

This description is unapologetically multihull-centric, due to the fact that's what we sail. lamentably, we can not have the funds for to concurrently very own a monohull. There are installations on monohulls the use of the gadget described right here, however the development paintings, plus this author’s experiences, are all on a catamaran. Our catamaran is 38 toes with a 22.five’ beam and draws three.25’; weighing in at about seven ton in full cruising mode: water and fuel 600 kilograms, full meals provisioning plus our group of two.   outboard motor covers to position this into a monohull evaluation, our cat is equivalent in windage to a 45’ cutting-edge monohull, say a Bavaria 45, which might weigh 13t of which 6t might be ballast. 

This bridle system, as described underneath, may be changed to apply on a monohull in which bridles aren't not unusual, however should and must be used greater regularly.

Why bridle? You ought to not rely on the chain on the windlass because the ultimate backstop need to your snubber/bridle fail. There have to be some manner of keeping apart the windlass such that, if the anxiety transfers from the snubbers, the anxiety does not effect the windlass.

You need a few form of chain prevent; we've got used a Dyneema strop connected to a sturdy point with a galvanised claw and, extra recently, swapped to a stainless claw. however a conventional chain hook from a chandlery works well.

We use the equal association to comfortable the anchor and chain while on passage. you could buy chain locks, you can arrange to cozy the chain the usage of a bow cleat; there are normally masses of alternatives so long as none of them depend on the windlass. A windlass is pretty indestructible, or most of them are, however it's miles the attachment to the deck that may not be quite so sturdy; plus the seals inside the windlass do not enjoy being overstressed.

Bridles, instead of single line snubbers, help to proportion the weight, however one arm can also take most of the burden at someone time. due to the fact they are able to percentage the burden they lessen the tension imposed at the securement factor. Nylon, the cordage typically used for snubbers and bridles, has a finite lifespan; element dictated with the aid of the ancient quantity of strain: the quantity of snatch or load cycles.

Sharing the load shares the snatch load and results in an extended lifestyles for all affected parts. Sharing the load also enables centralise the yacht and decreases yawing. in case you lessen yawing you lessen the take hold of masses, wherein a snatch load on the yacht is a grab load on the anchor: a true win/win. Yawing can be debilitating, lessen yawing and you may lessen irritability of group. A similarly win/win!  outboard motor covers

start line when we offered our catamaran, almost 20 years ago now, it got here with what is in reality a reasonably general little bit of kit: a bridle with  short arms, 5 metres each of a 20 millimetre 3-ply. In our case it changed into secured to flanges welded to the ends of the ahead crossbeam. The rope arms were nicely over electricity and the device had minimum, elasticity.

We suspect the complete tool become sufficiently strong to raise the entire yacht out of the water!  however, on the time, we had masses of other objects that seemed more vital so this incumbent bridle set-up remained.

one in all our first priorities turned into finding a extra reliable anchor. it is tough to trust that twenty years ago the choice become citadel and the poorly-advertised Spade, each introduced past due ‘80s/early ‘90s; or the vintage stalwarts: CQR, Bruce or Delta. How things change.

Now we've got Rocna, extremely, ideally suited, Excel, Spade, citadel and Kobra. we have Lewmar’s LFX, a castle clone, plus a Vulcan, Mantus M1 and M2 and Knox. With Viking and Lewmar’s new steel iterations waiting inside the wings for market release, we are, actually spoilt for preference.

Who could have notion anchor making would be so famous, or is that worthwhile? It deserves point out some anchors have appeared and sunk with out trace: XYZ, Aqua-Bubble, Bulwagga, to name however some.

Contemporaneous with anchor trends our 2x5m bridle regarded a easy bit of kit offering little room for improvement. How wrong we have been.

Bridle tendencies What a difference 20 years makes. Now our bridle arms are each 30m long with elasticity to break of over 40 in line with cent. They quell chop, subdue yawing and can absorb large grasp masses. In our case they do all this with a rode of light-weight, high tensile, 6mm chain whilst our primary anchor weighs 8kg, an aluminium alloy.

extraordinarily, bridles on new catamarans nowadays are not plenty distinct to 20 years ago. The vessels have modified and improved, at the same time as the rode has been left inside the dark a while.

Dashew pioneered using G70 chain on sailing yachts many years ago and affords it as fashionable on his excursion motor yachts. but the industry wherein it was evolved i.e. sail yachts, has absolutely disregarded the development. If whatever, bridles have got worse, the usage of even heavier responsibility cordage which has no elasticity at all.

manifestly, as we concept two decades in the past, the general public suppose the identical: ‘now not an awful lot room for development’. We trust and desire to expose, this is incorrect!

We aren't singling out multihulls for complaint, you will be lucky to be provided a snubber in any respect for any yacht commissionin. whilst, if one is obtainable, it is going to be inelastic, short and have a crude and dated layout of hook, at risk of bending or probably negative to your chain.

If you make a decision to install a snubber for your monohull: you are for your own. you'll want to think it thru your self. We do recognise of options: we can help if requested.

permit’s get started out the primary indication that we needed to pay more attention to the bridle was while one among our bridle palms failed with a daunting sound like a gunshot. The bridle should rub at the bobstays and that is in which the cordage failed; even though there was no visible fraying prior, simply an insignificant rub mark.

It become at the moment we had been turning into conscious of elasticity, so we brought rubber surprise absorbers to the replacement snubber, like the ones canine bone matters. We ended up with a bridle that primarily relied on rubber and changed into inordinately heavy.

At this factor we were given into trying out to locate that the canine bone matters, which aren't reasonably-priced, have been the equivalent of 2m of nylon cordage. It become 7c5d89b5be9179482b8568d00a9357b2: we discarded the rubber and moved to nylon for the snubber/bridle. The rubber snubbers are super for mooring lines, so now not wasted.

Now, we come from a Scots historical past with a function presbyterian heritage: frugality is a key watchword. This need to no longer be careworn with meanness, it is approximately no longer spending cash unnecessarily. It is easy to throw cash at a hassle, which does no longer imply you have got the right answer, only a slimmer wallet!

Circumnavigator Evans Starzinger’s recycling of mountain climbing rope for his snubbers geared up the invoice. We were avid rock climbers over a lot of the UK, the Alps, Norway and Corsica whilst we had been younger and had been going to live forever, so we knew climbing rope and it turned into a painless introduction.

We sourced retired mountaineering ropes from rock climbing gyms. mountain climbing rope is ideal for snubbers, gyms should retire mountaineering rope to a agenda: it is able to no longer be appropriate to cozy human life, but it really works nicely for a yacht snubber.

these days’s hiking rope is a kermantle construction made with sizes from approximately 8mm to 12mm, though you may have it custom made for large sizes. The rope is mainly made to be elastic, by virtue of its creation and the usage of nylon.

mountaineering gyms, of which we are conscious, simplest use 12mm rope proscribing desire. however you could hardly ever whinge if you are getting the rope without cost.

Twelve millimetre rope as a snubber is ideal for yachts from approximately 35’ to 45’. it's far possibly too inelastic for yachts beneath 35’ and insufficiently strong for yachts over 50’.

mountaineering rope is not built for power as such, it is designed to save lives of climbers falling, which is why it has elasticity like a bungy cord utilized by bungy jumpers. The strength is incidental. when used as a snubber the electricity seems puny; but you aren't using it for its power, like a climber you're the use of the pliancy.

due to the fact you will over strain the rope, its lifestyles is finite. while obtaining hiking rope from gyms we've offered to reinforce its pantry or xmas party fund, both gives have always been declined however it appears an excellent idea to make the provide so you will be remembered while you go back.

In Australia the gyms have to make certain the ropes are not going for use for top protection, so you'll be quizzed. Recycling mountain climbing rope is a effective flow, the opportunity is landfill and the breakdown of artificial rope can also take many centuries.

The ropes we sourced at first had been 15m lengthy, many will point out having 15m of rope sticking out beyond the bow does now not look ‘proper’.  moreover, 15m snubbers might rub at the seabed when the winds are light. So we altered our snubber for a bridle to start at the transom using our horn cleats. We did this as opposed to the same old arrangement on a catamaran, or any yacht, of taking off on the bow and straight away going outboard and forward.

So we then had 10m of snubber rope along each deck, plus 5m beyond every bow. these two snubbers terminated with a common chain hook, to shape the bridle.

It merits underlining: mountain climbing rope can't be spliced; or, if it can, we do not recognise how, its production is inappropriate. We to begin with used a halyard knot and currently have used sewn loops, which might be quite desirable and not unusual but we're watching for put on and failure.

Our preliminary association was: a halyard knot on the quit of every snubber arm onto a shackle, the 2 shackles shackled collectively and attached to a chain hook. Clumsy, not pretty, but it labored.  outboard motor covers

manifestly, having 10m of rope walking down the side decks is unpleasant and uncomfortable to walk on, so we routed the snubbers through the bottom of our stanchions, which had an accomodating hollow. There are plenty of devices available for routing manipulate strains thru components clamped to the stanchions. They paintings as well if now not higher as our technique, however the custom devices do now not in shape the scale of our pockets! Of route it relies upon on the construction of your yacht, however you could run snubbers outboard of the stanchions but inside the toerail, maybe tidied up with smooth shackles.

on the bow first of all, we simply secured turning blocks with tape to the bow horn cleats. Later we delivered reinforcing to the bow and set up a pad eye for every bow to which we connected a small block with a largish sheave. Having a devoted pad eye frees up the horn cleat.

We had looked at hooks as strategies of attaching snubber to chain and located a lot of them trying. The satisfactory hooks undoubtedly come from the lifting enterprise wherein hook design is notably more advanced than anything the marine enterprise offers.

Lifting hooks are painted or powder covered metal or very luxurious duplex stainless. it's far possible to have the hooks galvanised, we had a number of covered with Armorgalv. however for most galvanisers treating a hook is a massive nuisance, so you pay hence.

The hassle with maximum hooks sold to the entertainment marine enterprise is that they can stress the individual chain hyperlink or harm the galvanising of the hyperlink to which they're connected. many of the marine devices to join snubber to chain are not guy enough for the task, as an instance the maintaining pin on some hooks are vulnerable to bending; ours bent in use, which then became risky as we could not launch the chain. Ketten and Waelder make a neat hook of their Cromox variety, but it's far duplex stainless and expensive.

The lifting enterprise has recognized this problem for many years and feature increasingly more supplied more sophisticated generations of designs to triumph over the dangers. The lifting industry could chortle at our marine offerings. It charges no more to make a properly designed hook; the ideas are there, why not do it?

Many human beings locate success using gentle shackles to connect snubber to chain however we determined them too fiddly to apply on our high tensile TDG 6mm chain; the hole inside the hyperlinks is genuinely too small and a few file too small even on 8mm chain. link holes on imperial chains are larger and perhaps simpler to insert a gentle shackle.  however we, accordingly, haven't any long time usage on soft shackles used within the rode to skip remark.

similarly improvement At this point a colleague, Drew Frye, within the US entered the equation and together we together developed two simple bridle plates. Frye wanted to use his plate with a carabiner we desired ours to be used with shackles, so the two plates differed barely however the principle changed into the identical.

I made them each the use of an perspective grinder and drill from Bisplate 80, an 800MPa, quench and tempered metallic. Bisalloy had supplied us with a 0.5m x zero.5m x 10mm plate for precisely this sort of developmental reason.

We constructed our anchor chain boomerang (Cruising Helmsman April 2015, or Google ‘boomerang your anchor proper lower back’), a tool to self right an anchor that arrives on the bow curler inverted, from the identical metallic. The boomerang and bridle plates had been Armorgalv covered in Australia.

We both used our bridle plates for a number of years, then Frye sold his, so we in addition developed the bridle plate independently.

A later development of the plate changed into designed such that the tension turned into taken by using two chain links, one link used the crown and one the ‘lengthy’ of the hyperlink. this is really an try to reproduction current state of the artwork lifting hooks.

We did strive claws from the lifting enterprise, but they're precisely made and we observed them very tough, if not impossible, to release underneath anxiety. just one in every of our many false avenues of investigation.

Our new device labored properly, but in the back of our mind changed into the worry of whether or not this would all paintings under extra extreme conditions. We read of humans claiming to sit out named storms; our view is everyone anchoring their yacht uncovered to the whole fury of a typhoon is exaggerating or truely demonstrating appalling seamanship. although we do receive there might be exceptions.

today, bad weather is well forecast.

next step An early thought was to have two bridle systems: an regular and a hurricane bridle. So we made a bridle plate designed to take 4 ‘palms’, however this turned into all too bulky and complex, the plate became huge!

We also tried to lessen the load of the entire machine by way of working with the 7075 alloy of aluminium. The 7075 alloy required tough anodising, however labored extremely nicely on a two-arm bridle.  outboard motor covers

as soon as the design was honed we had two professionally made with the aid of a manufacturer of low friction jewelry. We used the anodised 7075 plate for six months with success.

The concept, however, become in the end discarded even though it can be resurrected, by no means say in no way! We suppose 2205 duplex stainless is probably a better desire than either Bis 80 or the 7075 aluminium alloy.

Duplex is certainly luxurious but the processing charges may be no specific plus it does now not want a supplementary coating procedure, each person who wanted to shine it may do it themselves.

Prompting and using the snubber development we had also replaced our hot-dipped galvanised (HDG) 50m x 8mm x G30 primary rode with 75m x 6mm excessive tensile chain: G80 Armorgalv covered. The raw chain became sourced from Gunnebo but we additionally made up a 15m brief section using 6mm x G80 from China for our second rode, which has 40m of 12mm three ply nylon connected to it.

We additionally TDG coated all the connectors, Omega hyperlinks, hammer locks, some state of the artwork lifting hooks from Kito, Italy, plus claws from China. eventually, we had organized the Armorgalv coating of a 100m rode from chinese G100 x 8mm with Omega links for a unfastened go with the flow 50’ catamaran in build in Thailand, because of launch later in 2020.

We also made a bridle plate for a Thai cat built to the Frye/Neeves design; however this can be replaced primarily based at the developments defined beneath. The Armorgalv lined 6mm x G80 chain has now been in use, correctly, for four years; utilization may be defined in a later article.

The 6mm chain brought new issues for us; one being the problem of attachment of bridle to chain with gentle shackles: every other development abandoned. however the fundamental problem become that we had discarded catenary and the energy absorbing characteristics of catenary had to get replaced with something.  See graph page forty two.

We had already defined that all the chain of a rode lifts off the seabed at between 15 and 20 knots, a crude common. via 30 knots, but barely lower wind speeds for 6mm chain, the rode appears as straight as a billiard cue; not absolutely immediately, however as appropriate as.

Chain for this reason has finite limits of usefulness. as soon as the chain begins to look directly and the wind gusts increase in pace, you can expect an increasing frequency of grasp masses.

you may bring more and heavier chain, as a way to do nothing in your yacht’s crusing capacity. maximum of us now own fairly gentle yachts, all the greater weight has been squeezed out of them and any extra weight within the bow is a ‘no, no’.

Elasticity, inside the shape of nylon, can update chain as a mechanism for soaking up energy; however, there is constantly a ‘but’, you need extra nylon than a 2m snubber.  Nylon also a while, the extra you strain it the shorter the life. however, an extended duration of rope could have the equal demands of power absorption imposed on it as a shorter period so the longer the higher as the lengthy period may be much less burdened.

Our 15m of snubber could have been top for 8mm chain, even though on mirrored image there is no purpose why we could not have prolonged well beyond that 15m however we had handiest sourced free 15m lengths. Now that we had 6mm chain the inducement became there to increase the bridle.

With our demands of frugality, we searched and discovered a climbing fitness center with higher partitions than the one we had sourced our unique 15m lengths and we acquired some 30m lengths.  outboard motor covers

we've an aversion to reducing rope, a part of that frugality, so we desired to apply the total period if it changed into practical. managing long rope is a commonplace issue on a yacht and there are plenty of alternatives. 30m of bridle wanted a few idea and we came up with this solution.

We started out the snubbers with the palms of the bridle, starting at the bridle plate via halyard knot, or sewn loops, connected to shackles then connected to the plate. Run from there to the turning block on the bow, via the stanchion bases to a seize on the transom, to a turning block at the transom, a spinnaker or screecher block is right, then to a sheet winch without problems positioned on our boat in the cockpit.

You do now not always need a grab, you can secure direct to a cleat, but we had two spare clutches so we used them. The sour end of the rope we stored as you do any sheet: in a bag hung from the lifelines.

normally we really install 15m to 20m of snubber rope. If the anchorage is much less sheltered or subject to cut or swell, it is easy to set up greater rope. We go away our snubbers completely attached, they may be now not obtrusive.

With this new association and further duration we could have 15m to 20m of snubber extending from the bows and be relaxed. If the wind were given up we should install the full 30m.

the principle trouble is while the wind drops, your snubber rubs at the seabed doubtlessly decreasing snubber life and the chain hook would possibly disengage from the snubber. So locating a way in reducing this immoderate length was the final part of the jigsaw.

final piece the answer become quite simple: low friction jewelry; LFRs, at the side of soft shackles, are currently very fashionable. they are usually attached with tender shackles or dyneema strops but we did not just like the idea because the arrangement might then be floppy. There is probably different solutions, eg. clutch blocks, however we chose to comprise LFRs into the bridle plate.

it is viable to buy two-part, threaded LFRs to insert into bulkheads, there are some of producers: Allen, Antal and many others. but those are inordinately steeply-priced to shop for off the shelf.

So we designed bridle plates modified from the Frye/Neeves authentic layout to accept two-part, threaded LFRs plus with an attempt to additionally contain the advantage of lifting hooks.

We drew up the threaded LFRs to our personal design and had these custom made in China, each in a 6xxx alloy and 316 stainless. the previous to in shape our redesigned 7075 and anodised bridle plate and we had a comparable plate made in 2205 duplex stainless.

inside the intervening time, instead of the LFRs we had been having made, we used stainless shackles attached to the original and simple design base plate with  stainless tubes, one loosely inside the different, through which the clevis pin become inserted; as a consequence making a crude rolling surface. This had proved the idea and is every other solution that would revel in further optimisation.

Having retired the usage of Bis80 and the 7075 alloy, our new arrangement uses more of the snubber and carries the 2205 duplex bridle plate with 316 stainless LFRs. The snubbers start on the pad eyes on the bow at the waterline to which the prodder bobstays are attached. We had already added reinforcing for the bobstay pad eyes, so no issues there.

The bridles run to and thru the LFRs at the bridle plate and back to the turning blocks at the bow after which through the stanchion bases alongside the aspect decks to the snatch and so forth. we are able to now have 10m in use down the side decks and 5m extending from the bow; but, as the snubber returns to the bow, we're using 10m, so at the least 20m is continually in use. Importantly, it extends forward no greater than 5m, even if stretched.

So, how does it work? incredibly well. The part of the bridle forward of the bow, from each waterline pad eye, to plate to turning block at the bow creates a vertical ‘V’, which tremendously cushions some of the actions generated from chop and swell. This works in the same way that a horizontal ‘V’, a ordinary bridle, stems veering.

moreover, as the higher segment of the bridle that portion down the deck and to the bridle plate, extends preferentially over the short section from bridle plate to bobstay pad eyes, the bridle while under a gust or capability snatch in reality lowers the bridle plate, which markedly improves the scope.

maximum of the time the bridle plate is underneath water decreasing the scope calculation to that of depth, no longer intensity + distance to bow roller. In deep water this makes little distinction. however in shallower water the scope (ratio) improves.

Scope is a ratio: the ratio, with catenary, determining the perspective of the rode at the seabed. if you energy set, or the wind is powerful, the catenary straightens. The ratio is derived from depth of water + the peak of the bow curler above sea stage. if you use a snubber this in reality desires to be modified to the vicinity of the chain hook in relation to sea degree and the period of chain deployed among anchor and hook.

typically we would install 20m of snubber, 10m alongside the aspect decks and a couple of x 5m past the bow. in case you anticipate the wind to select up the excellent concept is to plan beforehand and feature a long sufficient ‘lazy’ loop between bow curler and bridle plate - then it's miles sincerely a depend of liberating extra length the usage of the sheet winches.  you can do all this from the safety and luxury of the cockpit; to your pyjamas if its 3am, which continuously is!

If the lazy loop is insufficiently lengthy you do want to challenge to the bow, launch the chain hook/lock, the remaining back up if the snubber fails, installation more chain, update chain lock, retire to cockpit and deploy extra snubber. we have located it is quite viable to launch the snubbers naked-surpassed, the tension on the cockpit is notably low.

using a sheet winch guarantees anyone can do it. when you launch extra rope it flows without difficulty via the LFRs, no guide intervention essential.

another gain of a realistic snubber/bridle is a phenomena that has largely long gone unreported. we've got stated that after we dive on our anchor while we do not have a bridle and all the chain has lifted off the seabed, the anchor fairly twitches with each movement of the chain and yacht. In truth, all of the moves of the catamaran, yawing, horsing and vibration of the rigging is transmitted along the chain.  outboard motor covers

you can feel with the aid of touching the chain when you set up an anchor to understand if it has set or is dragging over difficult rock. A twitching anchor will reduce the shear energy of the seabed in close proximity to the anchor: having a bad effect on hold.

quick bridles, or short snubbers, do improve the situation, however if you need to reduce the vibrations and twitching absolutely a long bridle seems to provide the pleasant solution.

Now this may read all very subjective, however you may strive it for yourself. We honestly try to bury our anchor completely after which dive on it to locate it; the use of a protracted screwdriver prod till you find the anchor and you'll experience the twitching.

think of a trowel in wet cement, ‘twiddle’ the trowel and watch the cement round it liquidise. depart the trowel on my own and the cement will settle and preserve. however once you start twiddling again and have the cement liquified spherical the trowel it will continue to be liquid even though you can lessen the frequency of twiddle.

that is what your chain is doing for the anchor when the chain is all off the seabed. The twitching will increase with a brief rode and also with accelerated wind velocity, little wonder anchors drag!  Do not be complacent, set an anchor alarm.

There are other approaches of lowering twitching,, as an example having a deep setting anchor that buries chain, every other gain of downsizing your chain. Buried chain, plus even chain on the seabed, does now not transmit, or reduces, the vibrations along the chain to the anchor. thankfully, many contemporary anchors bury chain ’automatically’ by way of virtue of their layout.

however shallow placing anchors, anchors that do not bury chain, are a whole lot greater vulnerable to ‘twitching’. Anchors with a hinge, Danforth and fort, are plenty much less vulnerable to twitching due to the fact the vibrations do now not skip thru the hinge.

Even proper anchors, but, will warfare to bury chain if the rode contains a swivel, mainly oversized swivels or even outsized shackles. None of these negative elements via themselves, will make much difference to the safety of your anchor however, upload longer bridle or snubbers, downsize your chain, do away with that big swivel, use respectable Crosby G209a shackles as opposed to the outsized large one and you are well on the way to maximising your security. every little adds up to be a bigger complete.

many of us who have a look at anchor performance are of the conclusion that a vast cause for anchors to drag is due to interest-horsing, veering and too low a scope ratio; plus awful success and operator incompetence. we are able to add twitching to the list. it could be that anchors with higher preserve are much less vulnerable to veering, horsing and twitching due to the fact they are more deeply set: so use an anchor with a high keep.

If there may be no keep data to be had comparing your desired new anchor with a acknowledged and independently tested anchor: Rocna, ideal, Spade, Excel, extremely, citadel; marvel why no longer and wonder why are you even considering buying it.

the relationship among maintain plus veering/horsing/twitching has no longer been conclusively connected however it has common sense, even supposing it's miles an untested good judgment. establishing a realistic snubber/bridle machine increases your opportunity of a terrific night time’s sleep and offers the exceptional aid viable on your anchor.

outcomes We have been sufficiently inspired with our new arrangement that casting aside frugality we invested in 2 x 30m x 12mm of new dynamic hiking rope with sewn loops  at one cease of each length. On reflection, we possibly should have offered 10mm, rather than 12mm rope for our very own new snubbers.

The sewn loops attach to the waterline bob stay pad eyes.  We retired the opposite ropes, which we now deliver as spares or shoreline. The Freeflow 50’ catamaran additionally sold new snubbers and we organized to have 14mm snubbers particularly made, again 30m long.

One advantage of getting a loose stop to every bridle arm at the cockpit is that you may modify the orientation of the yacht, have one arm longer than the other, to suit conflicting wind, tide or wave path. This permits you to better balance the vessel and make it substantially extra relaxed at anchor.

one of the fears of lengthy, elastic snubbers or bridles is that the yacht will yo-yo: surging fore and aft like a demented dinghy being towed in seas. thus far this has no longer, in any way, been our experience and we have obviously been in a position to check it.

we've seen this difficulty debated some of instances on net boards. humans appear to overlook that a couple of generations in the past you had been very lucky to have the funds and time to sail and also you nearly absolutely used a blended rode of chain and nylon, unless you had been appreciably rich. electric windlass were expensive and unreliable, as had been manual windlass; chain became highly-priced and the commonplace solution changed into the blended rode with hand retrieval. No-one ever involved about a yo-yo effect. human beings still use mixed rodes and do now not whinge of yo-yoing.

some other worry is if/when a snubber fails the whiplash will be dangerous and is the purpose the usa navy do no longer use nylon for mooring lines. once more, we've got not heard of accidents purpose with the aid of a failed nylon/chain mixed rode. Our bridle hands are limited in duration and largely aimed off the bow nowhere near everyone at the deck or retained by means of the routing via the stanchion bases.

Our bridle improvement is still a work in development. We recognize we can improve the simple design of the plate itself. we have not got some of the size pretty proper.

we've got discovered some of the dimensions are important however no longer glaringly so, others are greater obvious, like the slot length for the chain link. We additionally suppose casting the plate as one piece, all 2205 duplex and, in all likelihood, polished, could be extra realistic and appealing and will more without problems permit incorporation of the trends of lifting hook designs.

The complete gadget is consequently a challenge in improvement. it works as is, however it is going to be better!

The gadget can, fantastically easily, be installed on a monohull, in complete or in part.  maximum yachts have a few form of fairlead on the bow or amidships and these, with sensible use of LFRs and brief strops, could have a realistic ‘V’ for a everyday horizontal bridle. Having a pad eye at the stem is manifestly important to accessing the nice vertical aspect, which might be without problems established with careful use of below-deck reinforcing.

The graph truely suggests that chain has a finite limit to take in clutch masses, as soon as it's far as immediately as it can be it behaves like a metal rod, even as nylon maintains to work, i.e. continues to be elastic.

Chain and nylon rope paintings together, but while the chain has reached its restriction the rope maintains to offer an capability to absorb seize masses. brief rope is elastic but the longer the rope can be spreads the load smoother and increases beneficial life. ≈   outboard motor covers

[newstfionline]

Tuesday, January 12, 2021

Records show fervent Trump fans fueled US Capitol takeover (AP) The mob that showed up at the president’s behest and stormed the U.S. Capitol was overwhelmingly made up of longtime Trump supporters, including Republican Party officials, GOP political donors, far-right militants, white supremacists, members of the military and adherents of QAnon. The Associated Press reviewed social media posts, voter registrations, court files and other public records for more than 120 people either facing criminal charges related to the Jan. 6 unrest or who, going maskless amid the pandemic, were later identified through photographs and videos taken during the melee. The evidence gives lie to claims by right-wing pundits that the violence was perpetrated by left-wing antifa thugs rather than supporters of the president. Steven D’Antuono, the assistant director in charge of the FBI’s Washington field office, told reporters that investigators had seen “no indication” antifa activists were disguised as Trump supporters in Wednesday’s riot. The AP found that many of the rioters had taken to social media after the November election to retweet claims by Trump that the vote had been stolen.

Parler, Free Speech, and bans (NYT) From the start, John Matze had positioned Parler as a “free speech” social network where people could mostly say whatever they wanted. It was a bet that had recently paid off big as millions of President Trump’s supporters, fed up with what they deemed censorship on Facebook and Twitter, flocked to Parler instead. On the app, which had become a top download on Apple’s App Store, discussions over politics had ramped up. But so had discussions that the election had been stolen from Mr. Trump, with users urging aggressive demonstrations last week when Congress met to certify the election of President-elect Joseph R. Biden Jr. By Saturday night, Apple and Google had removed Parler from their app stores and Amazon said it would no longer host the site on its computing services, saying it had not sufficiently policed posts that incited violence and crime. Early on Monday morning, just after midnight on the West Coast, Parler appeared to have gone offline. Parler’s plight immediately drew condemnation from those on the right, who compared the big tech companies to authoritarian overlords. Parler has now become a test case in a renewed national debate over free speech on the internet and whether tech giants such as Facebook, Google, Apple and Amazon have too much power.      (Worldcrunch) The moves by the tech giants didn’t sit well with many, including critics of the president. “We understand the desire to permanently suspend [Trump] now,” Kate Ruane, a lawyer for the American Civil Liberties Union, wrote in a statement on Friday. “But it should concern everyone when companies like Facebook and Twitter wield the unchecked power to remove people from platforms that have become indispensable for the speech of billions—especially when political realities make those decisions easier.” French Economy Minister Bruno Le Maire went further, telling France Inter radio this morning that he was “shocked” that the social networks could take such action: “The regulation of the digital [space] can’t be carried out by the digital oligarchy itself. The digital oligarchy is one of the threats that weighs on our nations and our democracies.”

Presidential Disqualification (NYT) If the House impeaches President Trump this week, it will still have almost no effect on how long he remains in office. His term expires nine days from now, and even the most rapid conceivable Senate trial would cover much of that time. But the impeachment debate is still highly consequential. The Senate has the power both to remove Trump from office and to prevent him from holding office in the future. That second power will not expire when his term ends, many constitutional scholars say. A Senate trial can happen after Jan. 20. And disqualifying Trump from holding office again could alter the future of American politics. There is a significant chance he could win the presidency again, in 2024. He remains popular with many Republican voters, and the Electoral College currently gives a big advantage to Republicans. If he is not disqualified from future office, Trump could dominate the Republican Party and shape American politics for the next four years.

As spending climbs and revenue falls, the coronavirus forces a global reckoning (Washington Post) Costa Rica built Latin America’s model society, enacting universal health care and spending its way to one of the Western Hemisphere’s highest literacy rates. Now, it’s reeling from the financially crushing side effects of the coronavirus, as cratering revenue and crisis spending force a reckoning over a massive pile of government debt. The pandemic is hurtling heavily leveraged nations into an economic danger zone, threatening to bankrupt the worst-affected. Costa Rica, a country known for zip-lining tourists and American retirees, is scrambling to stave off a full-blown debt crisis, imposing emergency cuts and proposing harsher measures that touched off rare violent protests last fall. Around the globe, the pandemic is racking up a mind-blowing bill: trillions of dollars in lost tax revenue, ramped-up spending and new borrowing set to burden the next generation with record levels of debt. In the direst cases—low- and middle-income countries, mostly in Africa and Latin America, that are already saddled with backbreaking debt—covering the rising costs is transforming into a high-stakes test of national solvency. Analysts call it a “debt tsunami”: National accounts are sinking into the red at a record pace. “I consider the risk to be very high of an emerging-market debt crisis where a lot of countries run into problems at once,” said Harvard economist Kenneth Rogoff, former chief economist at the International Monetary Fund. “This is going to be a rocky road.”

Schools shut as Madrid clears record snow (AP) Schools in Madrid were closed on Monday while most trains and flights resumed as the Spanish capital tried to return to some form of normalcy after a huge snow storm on the weekend. While many in Madrid enjoyed the rare snow fall, skiing right at the heart of the city and holding mass snowball fights, a cold spell was set to turn the snow into slippery ice this week, and authorities rushed to clear more streets. With most streets still covered in snow, many workers stayed home. A Reuters reporter saw a number of empty shelves at several central Madrid supermarkets.

Pope, in new decree, allows more roles for women in Church (Reuters) Pope Francis, in another step towards greater equality for women in the Roman Catholic Church, on Monday changed its law to allow them to serve as readers at liturgies, altar servers and distributors of communion. In a decree, the pope formalised what already has been happening in many countries for years. But with the change in the Code of Canon Law, conservative bishops will not be able to block women in their diocese from those roles. But the Vatican stressed that the roles were “essentially distinct from the ordained ministry”, and were not an automatic precursor to women one day being allowed to be ordained priests. In a big shift last August the pope appointed six women, including the former treasurer for Britain’s Prince Charles, to senior roles in the council that oversees Vatican finances. Francis has already appointed women as deputy foreign minister, director of the Vatican Museums, and deputy head of the Vatican Press Office, as well as four women as councillors to the Synod of Bishops, which prepares major meetings.

Populist, Prisoner, President: A Convicted Kidnapper Wins Kyrgyzstan Election (NYT) A populist politician and convicted kidnapper won a landslide victory on Sunday in a snap presidential election in Kyrgyzstan triggered by a popular uprising against the previous government. Sadyr Japarov, the winning candidate, got nearly 80 percent of the vote, according to the central electoral commission of the mountainous country, the only democracy in Central Asia. More than 80 percent of voters also supported Mr. Japarov’s proposal to redistribute political power away from Parliament and into the president’s hands. In September, Mr. Japarov, 52, was still in jail, serving a lengthy term for orchestrating the kidnapping of a provincial governor, a charge he denounced as politically motivated. A violent upheaval that erupted in October over a disputed parliamentary election sprung Mr. Japarov from a prison cell to the prime minister’s chair. A few days later, he assumed the interim presidency before resigning to run for that office. The country’s main investigative body quickly canceled Mr. Japarov’s conviction. A landlocked former Soviet republic of 6.3 million people, Kyrgyzstan has suffered recurrent political strife. Three of its presidents, including Mr. Japarov’s immediate predecessor Sooronbay Jeenbekov, have been toppled in violent revolts since the country’s independence from Moscow in 1991.

A Year After Wuhan, China Tells a Tale of Triumph (and No Mistakes) (NYT) At a museum in Wuhan, China, a sprawling exhibition paints a stirring tale of how the city’s sacrifices in a brutal 76-day lockdown led to triumph over the coronavirus and, ultimately, rebirth. No costs appear to have been spared for the show, which features a hologram of medical staff members moving around a hospital room, heart-rending letters from frontline health workers and a replica of a mass quarantine site, complete with beds, miniature Chinese flags and toothbrush cups. But the exhibition is also striking for what is not included. There is no mention of the whistle-blowing role of Ai Fen, one of the first doctors to sound the alarm in Wuhan, where the virus is believed to have originated, or the decision by Zhang Yongzhen, a Shanghai doctor, to share its genome with the world against official orders. Visitors are invited to lay a virtual chrysanthemum at a wall of martyrs that includes Li Wenliang, the ophthalmologist at a Wuhan hospital whose death from the virus led to nationwide mourning. But missing from his brief biography is a crucial fact: that Dr. Li was reprimanded by the government for warning colleagues about the virus from which he later died. China has spent much of the past year trying to spin the narrative of the pandemic as an undisputed victory led by the ruling Communist Party. The state-run news media has largely ignored the government’s missteps and portrayed China’s response as proof of the superiority of its authoritarian system, especially compared to that of the United States and other democracies, which are still struggling to contain raging outbreaks. Those efforts have taken on new urgency as the Jan. 23 anniversary of Wuhan’s lockdown draws closer. In recent weeks, the government has deployed an army of censors to scrub the internet of critical coverage of the Wuhan outbreak.

Daily Low Flying Israeli Jets Over Lebanon Spreading Jitters (AP) Israeli military jets carried out several low flying flights over Beirut as reconnaissance drones also buzzed overhead Sunday in what has become a daily occurrence. Israel regularly violates Lebanon airspace, often to carry out strikes in neighboring Syria. On Christmas Eve, Israeli jets flew low late into the night, terrorizing Beirut residents who are no strangers to such flights. They were followed by reported Israeli strikes in Syria. The frequency of low flying warplanes over the capital has intensified in the last two weeks, making residents jittery as tensions run high in the region on the final days of President Donald Trump’s administration. “Of all types of panic I experienced in life in Beirut, the panic that accompanies the Israeli warplanes flying this low in Beirut is very special,” Tweeted Rudeynah Baalbaky, who said it brought back memories of the 2006 war with Israel. “When the drone leaves, the warplanes come. When the warplanes leave, the drones return. They have seen us in our PJs, filmed us in our PJs and surveilled us in our PJs. Now what,” quipped Twitter user Areej_AAH.

Lebanon tightens lockdown, imposes 24-hour curfew, as hospitals buckle (Reuters) Lebanon announced a tightening of its lockdown on Monday, introducing a 24-hour curfew from Thursday as COVID-19 infections overwhelm its medical system. The new all-day curfew starts at 5 a.m. (0300 GMT) on Thursday and ends at 5 a.m. on Jan. 25, a statement by the Supreme Defense Council said. Lebanon last week ordered a three-week lockdown until Feb. 2 that included a nighttime curfew from 6 p.m. to 5 a.m. But tighter measures were now necessary as hospitals run out of capacity to treat critically ill patients, President Michel Aoun said in the statement.

In Trump’s final days, Netanyahu orders more settler homes built (Reuters) Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu ordered construction plans advanced on Monday for some 800 Jewish settler homes in the occupied West Bank, anchoring the projects in the final days of the pro-settlement Trump administration. Palestinians condemned such construction as illegal. The timing of the move appeared to be an attempt to set Israel’s blueprint in indelible ink before Joe Biden, who has been critical of its settlement policies, becomes U.S. president on Jan. 20. Moving ahead with the projects could help shore up support for Netanyahu from settlers and their backers in a March 23 election, Israel’s fourth in two years, in which the conservative leader faces new challenges from the right.

Saar, longtime Netanyahu ally, emerges as his top challenger (AP) For years, Gideon Saar was one of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s most loyal and vocal supporters, serving as Cabinet secretary and government minister. Now, the telegenic Saar, armed with extraordinary political savvy and a searing grudge against his former boss, could prove to be Netanyahu’s greatest challenge. After breaking away from the Likud Party to form his own faction, Saar is running against Netanyahu in March elections and has emerged as the long-serving leader’s top rival. A secular resident of culturally liberal Tel Aviv with a celebrity news anchor wife, Saar, 54, is a hard-line nationalist long seen as an heir to the Likud Party leadership. After unsuccessfully challenging Netanyahu in a leadership race and then being denied a government position as retribution, Saar last month broke out on his own. He said his aim was to topple Netanyahu for turning the Likud into a tool for personal survival at a time when he is on trial on corruption charges. Saar’s chances of becoming prime minister in the next elections are far from certain and polling forecasts his New Hope party coming in second place after Likud. But his entry into the race reconfigures the playing field and could complicate Netanyahu’s task of forming a coalition government, perhaps sidelining the Israeli leader after more than a decade at the helm.

Pompeo Designates Houthis as Foreign Terror Organization (Foreign Policy) The U.S. Department of State designated Yemen’s Houthis as a terrorist organization on Sunday, potentially complicating efforts by an incoming Biden administration to bring an end to a war that has become the world’s largest humanitarian crisis. Because the Houthis don’t appear to have foreign bank accounts, a terrorist designation will do little to affect the group’s operations. The designation is likely to complicate and at best delay humanitarian relief efforts, however, with charities and international groups wary of facing prosecution for working in Houthi-controlled territory. Pompeo’s statement attempted to head off humanitarian concerns surrounding the designation, adding that the U.S. Treasury Department is “prepared” to issue licenses for “certain humanitarian activities conducted by non-governmental organizations in Yemen” and “certain transactions and activities.” Scott Paul, Oxfam America’s humanitarian policy lead, is skeptical that the State Department has done its homework. “No responsible humanitarian agency or private business can afford to rely on these assurances. We’ll need to prepare for the worst,” Paul wrote on Twitter.

[dfroza]

respect for proper authority and living in Light

being patient & kind and learning to not take offense, is not always the easy path, but it is part of walking in Love

and we see this reflected upon in Today’s reading of chapter 13 from Paul’s Letter of Romans that has been written down to conserve spiritual truth:

[To Be a Responsible Citizen]

Be a good citizen. All governments are under God. Insofar as there is peace and order, it’s God’s order. So live responsibly as a citizen. If you’re irresponsible to the state, then you’re irresponsible with God, and God will hold you responsible. Duly constituted authorities are only a threat if you’re trying to get by with something. Decent citizens should have nothing to fear.

Do you want to be on good terms with the government? Be a responsible citizen and you’ll get on just fine, the government working to your advantage. But if you’re breaking the rules right and left, watch out. The police aren’t there just to be admired in their uniforms. God also has an interest in keeping order, and he uses them to do it. That’s why you must live responsibly—not just to avoid punishment but also because it’s the right way to live.

That’s also why you pay taxes—so that an orderly way of life can be maintained. Fulfill your obligations as a citizen. Pay your taxes, pay your bills, respect your leaders.

Don’t run up debts, except for the huge debt of love you owe each other. When you love others, you complete what the law has been after all along. The law code—don’t sleep with another person’s spouse, don’t take someone’s life, don’t take what isn’t yours, don’t always be wanting what you don’t have, and any other “don’t” you can think of—finally adds up to this: Love other people as well as you do yourself. You can’t go wrong when you love others. When you add up everything in the law code, the sum total is love.

But make sure that you don’t get so absorbed and exhausted in taking care of all your day-by-day obligations that you lose track of the time and doze off, oblivious to God. The night is about over, dawn is about to break. Be up and awake to what God is doing! God is putting the finishing touches on the salvation work he began when we first believed. We can’t afford to waste a minute, must not squander these precious daylight hours in frivolity and indulgence, in sleeping around and dissipation, in bickering and grabbing everything in sight. Get out of bed and get dressed! Don’t loiter and linger, waiting until the very last minute. Dress yourselves in Christ, and be up and about!

The Letter of Romans, Chapter 13 (The Message)

with the closing verses repeated in The Passion Translation and The Voice:

[Living in the Light]

To live like this is all the more urgent, for time is running out and you know it is a strategic hour in human history. It is time for us to wake up! For our full salvation is nearer now than when we first believed.

Night’s darkness is dissolving away as a new day of destiny dawns. So we must once and for all strip away what is done in the shadows of darkness, removing it like filthy clothes. And once and for all we clothe ourselves with the radiance of light as our weapon. We must live honorably, surrounded by the light of this new day, not in the darkness of drunkenness and debauchery, not in promiscuity and sensuality, not being argumentative or jealous of others.

Instead fully immerse yourselves into the Lord Jesus, the Anointed One, and don’t waste even a moment’s thought on your former identity to awaken its selfish desires.

The Letter of Romans, Chapter 13:11-14 (The Passion Translation)

And now consider this. You know well the times you are living in. It is time for you to wake up and see what is right before your eyes: for salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed. The darkness of night is dissolving as dawn’s light draws near, so walk out on your old dark life and put on the armor of light. May we all act as good and respectable people, living today the same way as we will in the day of His coming. Do not fall into patterns of dark living: wild partying, drunkenness, sexual depravity, decadent gratification, quarreling, and jealousy. Instead, wrap yourselves in the Lord Jesus, God’s Anointed, and do not fuel your sinful imagination by indulging your self-seeking desire for the pleasures of the flesh.

The Letter of Romans, Chapter 13:11-14 (The Voice)

and paired with this chapter is A family Tree from ancient History in the repopulation of earth after the global flood from the reading of chapter 10 in the book of Genesis:

[The Family Tree of Noah’s Sons]

This is the family tree of the sons of Noah: Shem, Ham, and Japheth. After the flood, they themselves had sons.

The sons of Japheth: Gomer, Magog, Madai, Javan, Tubal, Meshech, Tiras.

The sons of Gomer: Ashkenaz, Riphath, Togarmah.

The sons of Javan: Elishah, Tarshish, Kittim, Rodanim. The seafaring peoples developed from these, each in its own place by family, each with its own language.

The sons of Ham: Cush, Egypt, Put, Canaan.

The sons of Cush: Seba, Havilah, Sabtah, Raamah, Sabteca.

The sons of Raamah: Sheba, Dedan.

Cush also had Nimrod. He was the first great warrior on Earth. He was a great hunter before God. There was a saying, “Like Nimrod, a great hunter before God.” His kingdom got its start with Babel; then Erech, Akkad, and Calneh in the country of Shinar. From there he went up to Asshur and built Nineveh, Rehoboth Ir, Calah, and Resen between Nineveh and the great city Calah.

Egypt was ancestor to the Ludim, the Anamim, the Lehabim, the Naphtuhim, the Pathrusim, the Casluhim (the origin of the Philistines), and the Kaphtorim.

Canaan had Sidon his firstborn, Heth, the Jebusites, the Amorites, the Girgashites, the Hivites, the Arkites, the Sinites, the Arvadites, the Zemarites, and the Hamathites. Later the Canaanites spread out, going from Sidon toward Gerar, as far south as Gaza, and then east all the way over to Sodom, Gomorrah, Admah, Zeboiim, and on to Lasha.

These are the descendants of Ham by family, language, country, and nation.

Shem, the older brother of Japheth, also had sons. Shem was ancestor to all the children of Eber.

The sons of Shem: Elam, Asshur, Arphaxad, Lud, and Aram.

The sons of Aram: Uz, Hul, Gether, Meshech.

Arphaxad had Shelah and Shelah had Eber. Eber had two sons, Peleg (so named because in his days the human race divided) and Joktan.

Joktan had Almodad, Sheleph, Hazarmaveth, Jerah, Hadoram, Uzal, Diklah, Obal, Abimael, Sheba, Ophir, Havilah, and Jobab—all sons of Joktan. Their land goes from Mesha toward Sephar as far as the mountain ranges in the east.

These are the descendants of Shem by family, language, country, and nation.

This is the family tree of the sons of Noah as they developed into nations. From them nations developed all across the Earth after the flood.

The Book of Genesis, Chapter 10 (The Message)

[chocolate-brownies]

Ten years. It’s not accidental that we humans are fascinated with numbers ending in zero. A decade is long enough to have a perspective, and usually one that stands the test of time. Now, with more than 20 percent of my life spent enthralled by (and sometimes in thrall to) Wanderlust, I have a perspective. Unsurprisingly, it’s not the one I started out with.

Wanderlust (the concept) was born out of a few currents swirling around my fellow co-founders and me back in the late aughts. Schuyler (Grant)—my college friend and spouse of Jeff (Krasno), my partner in a startup music company—had gotten the yoga bug years earlier, after dance and a childhood injury left her with a wonky back. Yoga worked its magic, and she launched the quirkily-named Kula Yoga Project upstairs from our Tribeca music offices. Upstairs yoga led to destination yoga retreats in Costa Rica, where, much to our surprise, a jungle yoga retreat turned out to be just like a festival, only with more fauna than actual attendees.

The co-founders in 2009.

Though Schuy’s retreats were the spark of the idea, Jeff and I had been dying to try our hand at a festival of our own since watching our good friends successfully launch Bonnaroo, Outside Lands, and other cool festivals. Around the same time, our friend Scotty Nichols floated the idea of doing a music festival at a ski area in the summer. He had in mind something more traditional, but the idea of a festival built around yoga, music and nature, in an incredibly beautiful setting, with blissed out yogis and no fences required, seemed more compelling than another beer-fueled slopeside reggae smokeathon.

I will fast forward past the many eurekas and tribulations from there… Jeff’s couch-borne epiphany that yielded our name, Wanderlust… the ill-fated decision to book a full lineup of music during the heart of the yoga program… the delicious irony of raising money for a progressive wellness business right after the crash of 2008… the wonderful support Jeff and Schuy got from Shiva and other top teachers when they pitched the very unproven idea for a yoga+music festival… the hilariously bad decision to truck a stage up to the top of Squaw’s funitel, recreating a mountaintop concert experience that even Bill Graham never dared to repeat. Then there was Michael Franti’s appendicitis, taking out our dream Year-1 headliner (he returned several times a few years later)—and Common’s amazing willingness to fly in to replace him. The first one is always the hardest (as we learned from Wellspring this year), but this was a beast.

The co-founders in 2017.

We learned a few things right at the start: yogis loved the event, but didn’t want to have to juggle their favorite teachers and bands. People who weren’t into yoga hated Wanderlust, and simply didn’t show up. And pretty much no one, including ourselves, had any idea how to explain the event. This festival where you practice yoga, hike, meditate, eat local food, then get down under the stars? Maybe it was something for Burners heading past their youth, but it sure wasn’t for the rest of us.

As our current would have it, the rest of the world drifted towards us in ways that we didn’t anticipate. Yoga went from a burgeoning fringe activity to a Gwyneth-induced frenzy (ask her) in only a few years, growing at an annual rate of more than 30 percent. At the same time, the financial crisis of 2008 had a profound psychological impact on our nation. Many people turned to yoga and meditation for solace, and many more decided that the whole cluster was an opportunity to rethink their entire career path (which is always easier when you don’t have a job). The ongoing wars (still ongoing) and political dysfunction of the early Obama years also played its part. Perhaps most importantly, the stunning rise of Facebook and other forms of social media—perhaps the only industry to grow faster than yoga since 2008—led to a surprising dark side that’s only recently been understood. Turns out that social media replaces in-person human contact in about the same way as cocaine replaces the need to eat.

The idea of a festival built around yoga, music and nature seemed more compelling than another beer-fueled slopeside reggae smokeathon.

As we floated along with the zeitgeist, we began to think more and more about our role in it. In truth, we reverse engineered our mission from our guests, rather than creating it. True, it took Jeff’s particular brilliance to crystallize our mission in the beautifully aspirational phrase “find your true north,” but that moment (in 2014) took place years after we’d realized our place as part of a tribe characterized by a singular trait: We are all seekers. Seekers are people who live in state of perpetual motion towards an elusive goal: becoming our best selves. One’s best self isn’t a destination—it’s a journey. It changes, so we must be restless. We wander not because we are uncomfortable, but we will not accept complacency. We yearn. In short, we have wanderlust, both literally (as that word has been passed to English from its romantic-era roots) and figuratively. We have an innate desire to travel or roam within our own consciousness.

Heady statements aside, I think we can all agree on some things that the world could use a little more of. Practice, because any meditative practice reduces stress, increases compassion, and makes us healthier and happier. That’s just hard science—no woo-woo or 9-day stays on the Playa required. Community, the in-person kind, because so many of the institutions that corralled us around the proverbial campfire have fallen victim to scandal, science, clannishness, or mistrust. Purpose, because it turns out that humans literally can’t live without it (ask our friend Roy Spence). Inspiration, because, with all due credit to Margaret Mead, a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens is the only thing that ever has changed the world. And celebration, because who doesn’t need more of that?

We realized our place as part of a tribe characterized by a singular trait: We are all seekers.

We at Wanderlust are trying, however imperfectly, to satisfy those very basic human needs. Over the years, we’ve become very clear on how we are doing it—and it’s not in the way I would have expected a decade ago. We are trying to build the world’s most beautiful, spacious, delicate container (let’s call it a cup), something worthy of housing the incredible people that have been willing to fill it. They’re my guides and yours, teachers like Seane, Shiva, Rod, Elena, Eoin, and our co-founder/muse, Schuyler. They’re musicians, who do so much more than play: Michael Franti, Moby, Nahko, Drez, MC Yogi, Garth. They’re speakers, from Wayne Dyer to Deepak, from Russell Brand to Paul Hawken. They’re performing artists, from Quixotic to Shakti Sunfire to the homegrown Wanderlust Spectacular. But most of all, it’s all of you, because Wanderlust has always been, and always will be, a participatory event. You don’t fumble your way towards true north by passively observing as life passes you by—you fumble your way along by doing. And almost everything that exists at Wanderlust is something you can do, and do with others. That’s a full and tasty cup.

The late renowned author and speaker Wayne Dyer speaking in 2012.

So whither Wanderlust in 2019 and beyond?  I’ve spent a decade thinking about that, and a few days ago I sent around some musings to our tireless, dedicated and truly amazing team, if only to distract them from their post-NYE head throbbings.

Bravery 

Wanderlust was a crazy idea when it started, and for it to stay vital, it needs to remain a crazy idea. We have to be unafraid to try new things, create new events, rejigger existing events, confront-isms in wellness and beyond, and offer up the most insightful leaders in the space of mindful wellness, even where that might court controversy. We jumped into the rapids in 2018 with the launch of Wellspring, but looking back I’d say it’s the best thing we’ve done since we put a music stage on top of a mountain (OK, that’s a low bar—but it felt like just as much of a leap). In 2019, we’re excited to offer Passport (what could be better for wanderlust than that?) and our new 2-Day city festivals.

Excellence

The world has changed since 2009 when Jeff, Schuyler and I launched our idealistic roadshow. We know there are lots festivals offering you quality yoga, wellness and fitness experiences—heck, even Coachella will offer up a halfway decent yoga class to sweat off your hangover. If Wanderlust is going to continue to have a place in your heart, we’ll need to offer the best teachers, the best venues in the greatest locations, the smoothest operations, the best experience—and be really good at 20 other things, from music and food to whimsy and innovation to cool local vendors. We’re committed. We have to continue to seek our true north as a company, not just as individuals.

Inclusion

Wellness and practice cannot be something just for the privileged, any more than democracy can be. While we do not pretend that Wanderlust’s destination festivals are affordable for all, we are equally committed to working to make them so. While it may be counterintuitive, the very concept of scale, the bringing together of a large community at once, is what makes it possible to deliver a great experience at a price that most people can afford—that and the support of our sponsors, many of whom are themselves B Corps and purpose-driven companies. In an age of ever-smaller an more expensive elite wellness events, we’ve remained committed to our original vision of creating premium but democratic wellness events.

When we realized that not everyone can attend a Wanderlust Festival, we responded by introducing Wanderlust 108, which is now taking place in more than 20 countries at very accessible pricing. We’ve also worked to ensure that our talent lineups include diverse voices from a multitude of backgrounds. In 2018, we created Wander for All, which is a bundle of initiatives like discounts for students and those under 25, military discounts, free access for kids under 18, and a scholarship program rewarding those who bring yoga and mindfulness practice to their communities. We know there is more to do, but we are inspired to keep pushing.

In closure—for now, and just for this decade—I can only hope that Wanderlust has been as transformative to you as it has been for me. I am a different person because the tides washed me up on Wanderlust’s shores, and while true north will always be somewhere out there, I’m better for the search. I’m blessed to work with the experts, artists and creators who grace our events, studios, and more recently, our media, on a daily basis. I feel incredibly lucky that I can wake up and feel that in some small way, this company—our company, our events, your events—are a net positive for the human condition. I’m grateful to you, my fellow seeker.

Happy decade, Wanderlust, and happy new year to you all.

With love,

Sean Hoess CEO + Co-Founder

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The post 10 Years of Wanderlust: A Co-Founder Looks Back appeared first on Wanderlust.

[janniaragon1]

Asheville’s Lee Walker Heights, born out of segregation, social improvement desires

(Photo: David Baker Architects and McMillan Pazdan Smith)

ASHEVILLE – As a neighborhood, Lee Walker Heights has been a contradiction since its first brick was laid.

Now the city’s oldest public housing development is about to go through a historic transformation fueled by federal and local taxpayers and a desire to break up decades of concentrated poverty.

The mid-20th century apartment complex was born from the notion of social improvement: The desire to help people mired in the Great Depression’s squalor. But it was also rooted in the institutional idea that people with darker skin should live apart from whites.

The original plan for Lee Walker Heights built in the early 1950s.

(Photo: David Baker Architects and McMillan Pazdan Smith)

The complex provided residents with safe structures, modern bathrooms and other amenities. Meanwhile, "slum" razing initiatives destroyed homes, businesses and other buildings at the heart of Asheville’s African-American community.

Perched on a hill, residents have had a bird’s eye view of an economic frenzy of buying, selling and building while they have been knee-deep in poverty and crime.

It’s been a place of community and despair and has produced working people, criminals and a college president.

With its demise imminent, many of Lee Walker’s approximately 200 women, men and children are excited at the prospect of better and safer lives. But they are anxious at the loss of neighbors who are their social safety nets and early warning systems.

Others fear the planned transformation won’t include them — or won’t fix underlying problems.

Maria Taylor and her 5-year-old son, Zyheim Ponder, go inside their home at Lee Walker Heights.

(Photo: Maddy Jones/mjones@citizen-times)

Families: 94

People:194

Ages: 0-17 years: 86, 18-61 years: 94, 62+ years: 14

Race/ethnicity of heads of household: Black: 73 percent, White: 23 percent, Multiple: 3 percent, Latino: 6 percent

Average annual income: $8,854

Families with disabilities(at least one disabled adult): 38 percent

Length of residence: 0-1 years: 48 percent, 2-5 years: 14 percent, 6-10 years: 20 percent, 11-20 years: 14 percent, 20+ years: 7 percent

Source: HOUSING AUTHORITY OF THE CITY OF ASHEVILLE

Resident Crystal Reid has supported the plan to raze the aging and dated 96 apartments and replace them with a 212-unit mixed-income neighborhood. Public and nonprofit developers announced Feb. 6 that they had secured funding for the $36.5 million overhaul. The announcement represented a success after recent failed attempts to win federal rebuilding aid.

Reid praised developers for using resident feedback in the new complex design and spoke before City Council members in 2016, encouraging them to contribute city tax dollars.

Lee Walker Heights resident Crystal Reid has been a supporter of the plan to tear down and rebuild apartments at Lee Walker Heights.

(Photo: Maddy Jones/mjones@citizen-times.com)

"I always tell people with time will come change, like it or not," she said.

Examples of improvements are safer play areas so children aren’t in the road and better connectivity for the isolated complex through car, bicycle and bus access.

Construction is set to start in 2019 and be finished by 2021.

The new development will include 96 "deeply affordable" units for the current Lee Walker residents, who have average incomes of $8,854. Those would be reserved long-term for the city’s poorest residents.

An additional 116 units would be reserved for people making 60 percent of the area median income — $25,763 for a single person or $36,780 for a family of four. Rents could rise with changes to the area median income, but calculated today, they would be $660 for a one-bedroom apartment and $1,120 for a three-bedroom unit.

The apartments will provide affordable homes for cashiers, bus drivers, nursing assistants, child care workers, servers, cooks and others working in the tourism and service sectors, said officials with the Asheville Housing Authority and the nonprofit Mountain Housing Opportunities.

"There is a deficit in our community of over 7,000 affordable homes for the average working family," said David Nash, housing authority chief operating officer.

The North Carolina Housing Finance Agency, which awarded the federal tax credits, requires a third-party manager, and that will be Partnership Property Management of Greensboro. The private for-profit company has an office in Asheville and manages other tax credit properties by the housing authority and MHO, said Nash.

The current layout of Lee Walker Heights, plus land to the east owned by Duke Energy that will be used for a second access road.

(Photo: David Baker Architects and McMillan Pazdan Smith)

Starting in 2019, demolish 96 apartments dating to 1950

Build 212 apartments with high-efficiency heating systems and lighting fixtures, low-flow plumbing fixtures and Energy Star appliances.

Build a second access road to Biltmore Avenue to the east.

Include 9,000 square feet of common space, including play areas, and 237 parking spots.

Finish by 2021

Developers hope property to the east, 319 Biltmore Ave., will become a second phase of the project with nearly 200 apartments and retail and other commercial space. Owner Duke Energy has granted a right-of-way for a road in the first phase and an option for the city to buy it for $5.3 million for a second phase.

Development nearby

In the last five years, there has been hundreds of millions of dollars in development planned and built near Lee Walker Heights.

Commercial development permits or orders: 377 in the South Slope, including construction of the $2.6 million Green Man Brewery and the $3.2 million Banks Avenue building anchored by Catawba Brewing.

Housing permits or orders: 25 in the South Slope, including the planned 145 Biltmore Avenue project with one-bedroom condos starting above $500,000 and penthouses at more than $1 million. At the foot of Lee Walker is the Southside Townhomes development with units starting at $615,000.

Also: Mission Hospital is doing a $400 million expansion along Biltmore Avenue.

The layout for a new development at the current Lee Walker Heights complex

The housing authority said it will help with moving expenses and getting people temporary homes. When it’s finished, residents are guaranteed a spot in the new development, but they don’t have to move back.

"(The housing authority) has committed to assist with any relocation activities in a sensitive and responsible manner in order to minimize the disruption to families’ lives," said the 2016 project master plan, a document presented to the council.

Some residents have remained wary, though, pointing to the privately-run subsidized housing facility, McCormick Heights that was torn down in 2006 in East End/Valley Street neighborhood. A mixed-income development was planned to replace it, but that fell through and residents found themselves permanently displaced.

On a mild winter afternoon, Keykey Ellington sat on one of the small porches attached to the low brick apartment buildings. She was with a man and another woman, all watching a flurry of three children spinning and tumbling around a steeply sloping yard.

The mostly dirt area was fronted by the one-way narrow winding loop road that is the only vehicle access through Lee Walker. It’s so narrow that city buses can’t navigate it to reach the complex.

Ellington said she had lived at Lee Walker from 2013-16 and had been back again for six months. She had missed the resident meetings about the changes because she’d been at work, she said.

Apartments in Lee Walker Heights are worn and dated and don’t warrant renovation, Asheville Housing Authority officials say.

(Photo: Maddy Jones/mjones@citizen-times.com)

Ellington didn’t volunteer a lot of personal information and her eyes shifted occasionally from the children to group of men gathered down the street.

Once relocated, she wouldn’t want to move back, she said, even to the promise of newer apartments with better access to buses and other amenities.

Ellington questioned whether some problems would go away.

"Like crime. Is it going to be the same? Like all the drug dealers up here and stuff. Is it going to be same?" she said. "It might be the same."

The Asheville Housing Authority in 2009 announced that Lee Walker saw the highest number of police calls per housing unit for any of the subsidized complexes in the city.

Residents make up 0.2 percent of the city’s total population, but in 2017, the complex accounted for 2 percent of all of Asheville’s reported aggravated assaults, police data shows.

Reducing concentrated poverty and new buildings with a better layout can make a difference, said Nash, housing authority chief operating officer.

"As a general rule, attractive, mixed-income tax credit properties…do have lower crime rates in Asheville and around the country," Nash said.

A view of the southern part of the proposed new development at Lee Walker Heights.

(Photo: David Baker Architects and McMillan Pazdan Smith)

In 2003 one of Asheville’s most notorious homicides happened at Lee Walker Heights when 13-year-old Danquon Brown during a daytime shooting killed 18-year-old Odell Dixon Jr. in the middle of the street with a bullet to the head. Lee Walker Heights had the most calls per unit of Asheville Housing Authority apartments in 2009. In 2017, the neighborhood of less than 200 people had 0.2 percent of the city’s population of 89,121, but 2 percent of its reported aggravated assaults.

Asheville

2016: 281 aggravated assaults, 143 robberies, 9 homicides

2017: 284 aggravated assaults, 183 robberies, 7 homicides

Lee Walker

2016: 2 aggravated assaults, 0 robberies, 0 homicides

2017: 5 aggravated assaults, 1 robbery, 1 homicide

– Residents of the current 96 apartments or others who qualify for deeply subsidized public housing. Average income at Lee Walker is $8,854. Residents pay rents equal to 30 percent of their income.

– To qualify for the other 116 apartments residents must make no more than 60 percent of area median income. Currently, that is $25,800 for a single person or $36,780 for a family of four. At today’s economic conditions, rents would be $690 for a one-bedroom apartment and $957 for a three-bedroom unit.

Here’s the breakdown of the money behind $36.5 million project

$12 million – private investment through tax credits

$4.2 million – City of Asheville

$4.2 million – Buncombe County

$13 million – Mortgage paid by Asheville Housing Authority and Mountain Housing Opportunities from the new development’s revenues.

$3.1 million – Housing authority

Other costs of public housing

To get federal money, the federal government required that "slum" units be knocked down on a one-for-one basis for each unit to be built.

In a Dec. 21, 1978 letter to the City Council, the Rev. Wesley Grant presented this list of demolished buildings in the "East Riverside Area":

More than 1,100 homes

6 beauty parlors

5 barbershops

5 filling stations

14 grocery stores

3 laundry mats

8 apartments

7 churches

3 shoe shops

2 cabinet shops

2 auto body shops

A hotel

5 funeral homes

A hospital

3 doctors’ offices

1929 – Great Depression begins. Slows growth of Asheville homebuilding for decades.

1940 – Asheville initiates a slum clearance plan to remove 5,473 dwelling units "unfit for habitation."

1950 – Asheville’s first public housing project, Lee Walker Heights apartments for blacks, opens. Named for educator Walter Smith Lee and tuberculosis specialist Dr. John Wakefield Walker. It cost $893,400 to build ($9.4 million in today’s dollars).

1951 – Pisgah View Apartments for whites opens.

1950s – Complex gets nickname "Diaper Hill" after black WWII veterans and their families help fuel mini-baby boom.

1969 – $1.3 million in mostly federal money goes to renovation projects at three public housing complexes, including $400,000 for "day nurseries" at Pisgah View and Lee Walker.

1983 – Asheville Housing Authority begins $23 million physical improvement project.

1991 – Housing authority secures $5.1 million in federal money for public housing programs. $1.6 million to remove lead paint from Lee Walker. $312,000 for drug elimination program and $223,000 for rental assistance.

1992 – Congress passes legislation establishing the Hope VI program to provide funding for razing public housing and building mixed-income neighborhoods.

1994 – $2.5 million renovation completed at Lee Walker Heights.

2003 – In one of city’s more notorious homicides, 13-year-old Danquon Brown kills 18-year-old Odell Dixon Jr. in a daytime shooting in the middle of Lee Walker’s main street.

2009 – Housing authority pursues federal HOPE VI funding through a competitive to tear down Lee Walker and rebuild it as mixed-income neighborhood. The authority does not win funding.

2015 – In another attempt to build a mixed-income neighborhood, Mountain Housing Opportunities and the housing authority pursue federal housing tax credits through a competitive process. The proposed initial phase 120-unit project is estimated to cost $20 million. The authority does not win the funding.

2017 – MHO and the housing authority expand the scope of the project to 212 units and reapply for another federal tax credit program. Project costs estimated at time of application are $36.5 million.

July – Phyllis Worth Dawkins, raised in Lee Walker, becomes president of Bennett College in Greensboro.

January – MHO and housing authority mixed-used project awarded $12 million in federal tax credits, giving go-ahead to historic transformation.

SOURCES: Historian Rob Neufeld; Housing Authority of the City of Asheville, U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development

Source Article

Read More At: http://www.janniaragon.com/ashevilles-lee-walker-heights-born-out-of-segregation-social-improvement-desires/

[shanicewaldon3-blog]

This Is Currently The Fastest Automobile In GTA Online.

Sleeping in a freshly created bed is the important things probably to create individuals believe excellent, baseding on brand new research. The steering force responsible for Google.com's practices is verification of principle instead of universal usage, yet the availability from low-cost sensor innovation is a significant factor in the driverless vehicle going mass-market. All used-car consumers desire a hassle-free cars and truck that matches their budget as well as way of life. That is actually the first actual physical incarnation from Google's sight of what a self-driving cars and truck of the near future might be. Through declaring that CarPlay will certainly be actually on call in motor vehicles coming from a myriad of car suppliers this year, Apple has handled the competition coming from OAA as well as Microsoft a massive first-mover perk blow. There's no laser-radar or LIDAR like in Google's self-driving cars and truck It is actually only common radar and also cams. 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Gotten hold of a few phrases along with Peter Denton, managing director of Maserati North Europe, which confirmed that the Levante SUV will definitely happen sale in the UK this October, valued coming from ₤ 52,800.

[micahsmusing]

Identity of One Millennial

I am 27 years old and just beginning to unlock my desire to milk life dry of experience and dream chasing. It took years of tangible life experience to figure out that I did not want the future that others had planned for me. I was greater than the glass ceiling projections that had been so coercively placed inches above my head. From a young age I had been a dreamer and doer but years of being told to fit in a mold of idealism left me without confidence, courage, or hope. Yet, through all the pressures of socialization, I always knew that I looked at the world differently than the people around me. My mother was born the middle child in a family of six children. She was raised during the 1950’s and 60’s when women’s domestication was being challenged and rivaled by the realization that we could achieve any dream we cherished in our hearts. I believe this sentiment of freedom unnerved my mother. She drifted backward across decades of hard won battles fought by both men and women to free women from the restrictions placed on them by both the patriarchy and social pressures women forced upon each other. Instead of embracing the challenge of freedom she shrunk back into a comfortable existence. One in which she always had to hold herself back from upstaging her husband by learning both to manipulate his ego and detract from her own natural ability. My father was a victim of the patriarchy as much as my mother was self imprisoned by it. Though he was a large man, strong and fully capable of any task, he was never quite masculine enough, or rich enough, or influential enough to fit the ideals of being a “real man”. He spent his life trying to prove his worth to people who simply didn’t care or to sharks who devoured his efforts and left him with even less confidence than he started with. That left me, their oldest child and only daughter in a lifelong defensive position. For my mother, I was never “pure” enough or modest enough. I was always challenging my father when he would fly into a rage and mistreat my mother and little brother. For my mother, that meant I was not demur enough and this would be a greatly unmarriageable trait in a woman. For my Father, I regretfully realized only much later, it only challenged his masculinity further. I broke their hearts because I didn't understand who they were or where they were coming from. Instead, challenge I became only served as a great source of energy for my father to tame his little shrew and after many explosive interactions I was broken into silence. By the middle of high school I was dragged about by both parents and paraded in the faces of each of their friends as a trophy of etiquette and humility. I had to be a Sunday school teacher, and sing in the worship band. I had to be smart but not so smart that I had my own mind. Little by little my individual identity was stripped away and I became a porcelain doll; painted perfectly but truly hollow inside. I hated the world of humans. To me, no one wanted anything for free. There were rules in the world of people. Rules you had to conform to in order to survive day to day life. As often as I could, I would sneak away and find refuge in nature and in my own imagination. I wasn’t allowed to have my driver's license until I was 18 because my parents wanted me close to home and “safe” from the treacherous world. When I finally learned to drive I would leave home for hours on end. I would drive through the fire-kissed sequoias of the Sierra Nevadas and I would discover every possible access road to my safe havens in the hills. These long drives gave me time to wonder what was wrong with me. I often mulled over the problem that I felt more kindred a connection with the wildness and freedom of the mountains, summer meadow flowers, and free roaming animals than I did with the members of my species. When I attempted to fight for justice I failed. When I sat quietly, I forced my own forfeit. I was the girl on the outside. Girl on the outside could never fit in. She didn’t fit at home, she didn’t fit as a wild thing. She had no one who looked at her without seeing a quantitative pay out. Girl on the outside was hollow and without purpose, identity, or connection. Through all of this confusion, I did the only thing people do. I adapted. I learned the social game I'd been taught and tried my hardest to play by the rules. I squeezed and pinched myself into this prefabricated box of the ideal and I never looked up to see the glass above my head. Even now my self consciousness says that telling this story breaks my look of strength and says I'm good enough to play like the others do. But I learned that showing weakness and being transparent shows much more courage than hiding the dark spots away. I learned this lesson in much the same way that I had learned others. This time, I did something different. Every once in a while, life throws something at you so hard it shakes the foundations of every construct you’ve built around you. Life gave me some powerful blows that knocked me so far off everything I had built that I had to start squeezing and pinching to fit in again. But life gave me something else. It gave me a Professor. This man treated me as an intellectual equal. He challenged my ideas and welcomed my challenging of his. He encouraged me to push through the limitations I had set in my own mind and drove me forward with a hungry curiosity to really understand the world like I never had before. He gave me books that confused me and made me frustrated at the darkness in the world and then showed me that these authors felt the same pressure of idealistic boxes that I did. Instead of asking me to think about the words on the page or regurgitate the information I’d read, he asked me to understand how the author was trying to insight change in the world. Literature and Professor Fritz changed my life. I was no longer girl on the outside. Instead I was a person of valuable thought. I read everything I could get my hands on and the more I read, the more I realized that every one has felt this societal pressure in a multitude of ways. The more I read through eras of history, philosophy, and social change, the more I realized that simply embracing yourself and being courageous enough to tell your story can change the way people look at the world. It can change the way they behave and it can inspire others who’s hearts have been broken by human greed and human pride to break free of their respective chains. It can stir a generation into action and fuel a revolution. I have been practicing this notion of freedom and I have many kindred spirits. The people who frown at our ideas and ridicule our desire to reshape the world are people like my own parents, broken, afraid, demoralized, and locked away in the comfort of their constructed reality, and knowing no better. I don’t hate those people, I pity them. To be locked away, hating everything that challenges your ideals because if one block in their wall is revealed as false, their who facade comes tumbling down. These are the people who blame millennials for changing the status quo. They tell us we are weak and distracted by technology, incapable of human interaction, and clueless about the mechanics of the world. The reality is that together we have build some of the biggest interpersonal networks of knowledge, cultural exchange, information, and human connection in the entire history of the human race. We have banded together to become empathetic and understanding and no longer tolerate corporate creed, racism, sexism, or even extreme nationalism. We have learned that no matter what you look like or where you come from, you are just like me. Struggling people on the outside. Battling their own wastelands of isolation, We, as a generation, have learned how to reach out and support each other from around the globe. THAT is the change we are bringing. We are here to shake up the establishment of social constraint and economic oppression and eradicate the comfort of constructed reality. THAT is why we are so often railed against. Because we no longer accept the glass ceiling. We thrive on innovation and new ideas and we realize that we have to fix ourselves in order to save ourselves rather than tear down whoever we perceive to be our competition in a survival of the fittest. We are truth tellers and we refuse to wear blinders or be canaries in a cage. I am 27 years old and I am just beginning to tap into my talents, my dreams, my gifts, and my humanity. I am telling my story because I will no longer be silenced by the “ideal”. I am no longer a hollow porcelain doll and I have realized that my beauty is the light within my own unique heart. I am girl unchained.

[kakoliberlin]

Where Things Stand A 100 Days In

A Hundred Days Later, A New Reality Emerges Under the Trump Administration

In just the first one hundred days after taking office, President Trump and his administration have already created a tectonic shift in priorities and policies for natural resource conservation. A flurry of Executive Orders, memoranda and other actions have not merely broken with the policies of the previous administration, but rolled back decades of bipartisan lawmaking, purposefully impede or diminish public input in decision-making, and attempt to set new precedents for the power of the president to assert unilateral authority over conservation and management of public lands, waters and wildlife.

The convention of sizing up a president’s first one hundred days as a barometer of their administration extends back to President Franklin Delano Roosevelt. When he first ran for the White House in 1932, FDR leveraged the lack of swift action by the incumbent, President Herbert Hoover, to alleviate the severe and widespread poverty facing the nation in the wake of the Great Depression. FDR campaigned successfully on his New Deal vision and his promises to show measurable actions within the “first 100 days” of his administration. In July of 1933, FDR gave his own self-assessment of his first 100 days as part of his fireside chats, establishing the custom of grading this “honeymoon period” in our cultural consciousness.

First Impressions

President Trump and his administration have made no secret of their ambitions to reset the playing field to favor exploitive, extractive industries and other special interests over environmental protections. This deliberate shift in priorities could have perilous effects on wildlife, public lands, clean air and water, human health, and our ability to adapt to climate change.

Following is a brief timeline of the Trump administration’s actions during the first 100 days that could have major implications for our land, water, air and climate—and especially wildlife conservation.

All “Access” Pass for Pipelines

President Trump issues two separate memoranda on the contentious Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL) and the Keystone XL Pipeline. The DAPL memo called for an expedited review and approval of the previously denied request to construct and operate the pipeline.

The Keystone XL memo invited TransCanada to re-submit its application to the Department of State for a permit to construct and operate the Keystone XL Pipeline, and directed that no further environmental review of the project be required.

President Trump also signs an Executive Order (EO) claiming that high-priority infrastructure projects “have been routinely and excessively delayed by agency processes and procedures,” and instructs the Chairman of the White House Council on Environmental Quality to expedite procedures and deadlines for environmental reviews and approvals for these projects.

Constructing the Keystone and Dakota Access pipelines, and cutting down environmental review of massive construction projects would have major and irreparable impacts on both wildlife and human communities.

Walling Off Wildlife and Communities

As part of his larger strategy of immigration reform, President Trump signs an EO directing the Secretary of Homeland Security to begin planning, designing and constructing a wall along the U.S.-Mexico border. The construction of such a physical barrier could jeopardize the existence of at least 89 endangered or threatened species and 108 migratory bird species.

Regulatory Chaos

President Trump signs an EO that arbitrarily requires any executive department or agency that proposes a new regulation to identify two regulations to be eliminated. The order also requires agencies to offset the costs of any new regulation by reducing costs of other rules, without any consideration of the benefits the regulations provide to the public. This kind of thoughtless approach demonstrates the president’s lack of understanding of regulatory processes, and negates the public input and decision-making that contributed to the development of rules that could now be summarily dismissed.

We’ll Be the Judge of That

President Trump nominates Neil Gorsuch to fill the Supreme Court justice seat held by the late Antonin Scalia, and held vacant for nearly ten months by Senate obstruction. Judge Gorsuch’s record does not inspire confidence about his views of federal government’s crucial role in protecting our environment. (Gorsuch was confirmed by the Senate on April 7.)

Oily Diplomacy

Rex Tillerson is confirmed as Secretary of State. Before taking the reins at the State Department, Tillerson served as the CEO of ExxonMobil.

  Environmental Law Foe Heads Justice Department

Senator Jeff Sessions of Alabama is confirmed as Attorney General. Sessions, in addition to believing that carbon dioxide is “really not a pollutant,” built an impressive Senate record opposing many of the environmental laws that the Justice Department is charged with enforcing.

Moving Mountains (into Streams)

President Trump signs a Congressional Review Act (CRA) resolution rescinding the Stream Protection Rule, which prohibited mountaintop removal mining waste from being dumped into local waterways.

Industry Lapdog Takes Over as Watchdog

Scott Pruitt is confirmed as Administrator of the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). Pruitt is the former Attorney General of Oklahoma who, while serving in office closely coordinated with major oil and gas producers, electric utilities and political groups to challenge and roll back federal environmental safeguards. He is a close ally of the fossil fuel industry, and previously sued the agency he now leads 13 times, publicly calling for the elimination of a number of its regulations to protect the public. He even referred to himself as “a leading advocate against the EPA’s activist agenda” on his LinkedIn page. Although he has attempted to temper his rhetoric a bit, Pruitt continues to publicly doubt the human contributions to climate change.

License to Spill

Trump issues an EO instructing the EPA Administrator Scott Pruitt and the Assistant Secretary of the Army for Civil Works to review the “Clean Water Rule: Definition of ‘Waters of the United States’” a rule that was developed to address the fact that what gets dumped into small streams like sewage, manure, pesticides and other pollutants is carried downstream to larger streams and rivers, degrading aquatic habitats and our sources of drinking water. Given that this was one of the rules Pruitt had sued to abolish, we don’t have much confidence that stronger protections will emerge from Trump’s ordered review.

Fox Reports for Duty at Henhouse

Ryan Zinke is confirmed as Secretary of the Interior. The former U.S. Representative from Montana has repeatedly favored increased logging, drilling, grazing and mining on federal lands at the expense of wildlife and habitat. He has also consistently supported harmful, anti-wildlife legislation that would severely undermine the Endangered Species Act and remove or block protections for hundreds of imperiled species.

He has repeatedly called climate change an “unproven science,” though in his confirmation hearing he admitted he believes the climate is changing and “man has had an influence.” When pressed, he remained steadfast that the level of human contribution is unknown and that energy industry jobs need to be considered in balance with climate actions.

Energy Gets Its “Oops” Moment

Rick Perry is confirmed to head the Department of Energy. The former Texas governor famously proposed scrapping the department he is now charged with leading. Perry, who reportedly took the job believing his main responsibility would be as an “ambassador for the American oil and gas industry,” will actually be in charge of nuclear safety and energy development research.

Skinny Budget?! Try Starvation Budget

Trump issues his so-called “skinny” budget proposal for fiscal year 2018. While the President doesn’t actually control the purse strings, the budget proposal provides an annual glimpse at the administration’s priorities—and it’s an ugly picture. His wish list for federal spending proposes drastic and sweeping reductions across multiple departments and agencies, including draconian funding cuts to science, climate, and conservation programs. Although, Congress a budget to fund the government for the remainder of FY 2017 that spares these popular and vital programs, President Trump’s desire to slash federal agencies to their core remains on the table for 2018.

That Just Happened

Trump signs a permit for TransCanada to build the Keystone XL Pipeline.

    Putting Public Lands Back in Dirtied Hands

Trump endorses a measure revoking the Bureau of Land Management’s “Planning 2.0” rule, an inclusive, science-based, landscape-level approach to planning for and managing our nation’s largest system of public lands. The repeal was supported by and favors the fossil fuels industry and other special interests that benefited the old planning process first created in the 1970s.

Courting Climate Chaos

President Trump signs an EO that cripples America’s ability to do take the urgent action needed to address the global threat of climate change. The EO immediately rescinds the Climate Action Plan, the Obama administration’s overarching blueprint for both reducing emissions and improving resilience to impacts like extreme weather events. The EO also takes aim at numerous of policies and regulations that individual agencies had adopted: it directs the EPA to rescind or rewrite the Clean Power Plan, orders the Council on Environmental Quality to withdraw its guidance for addressing the impacts of climate change under the National Environmental Policy Act, and revokes existing presidential direction supporting mitigation and climate change adaptation.

In addition, Trump’s order directed the Department of the Interior to end its moratorium on the federal coal leasing program, threatening wildlife and their habitat with new coal mining on public and other land ownerships out West, and as far east as Pennsylvania.

Wolves and Bears in the Crosshairs

President Trump signs a CRA resolution (H.J. Res. 69) rescinding a vital rule that helped protect bears, wolves and other native carnivores from extreme hunting practices on 76 million acres of national wildlife refuges in Alaska. Throwing out the rule is also a disturbing attempt to give away federal control of our public lands and resources to misguided state interests.

Good Thing Climate Never Impacts Agriculture!

Sonny Perdue is confirmed as the Secretary of Agriculture. The former Georgia governor has not only questioned climate change science, but has specifically railed against the link between climate change and extreme weather.

Perdue received campaign funding from the timber industry when he ran for governor of Georgia. He also developed deep ties with the chemical industry during his tenure and fought the EPA over clean air standards.

Making Antiquities a Thing of the Past

Trump issues an EO that directs Secretary of the Interior Zinke to “review” at least two dozen national monuments designation under the Antiquities Act since 1996—and potentially dozens more—that might hinder resource development. This order seeks to undermine the Antiquities Act and threatens the protected status of more than a billion acres of national monuments in the interest of allowing oil and gas industries and other special interests broader access to public lands and waters.

Mixing Oil and Water

In one of the last actions of his first 100 days, President Trump withdraws protections for areas in the Arctic, Atlantic, and Pacific oceans previously off-limits to oil and gas drilling and paves the way for potential oil and gas drilling in these vital wildlife habitats. The order specifically instructs the Department of the Interior to revise the current five-year schedule for oil and gas leasing in federal waters in the Arctic, Atlantic and Pacific oceans, and directs the Secretary of Commerce to “review” all marine national monuments and national marine sanctuaries designated or expanded within the last decade.

This order illegally revokes President Obama’s actions withdrawing sensitive areas in the Arctic and Atlantic oceans from oil and gas leasing. President Obama withdrew those areas using the 1953 Outer Continental Shelf Lands Act, and there is no provision authorizing a subsequent president to reverse such a ban under the Act.

Preparing for the Next Hundred Days and Beyond

President Trump’s first 100 days have demonstrated a zealous commitment to expand fossil fuel and other development across the country, without any apparent concern for the environment, our public lands and the wildlife that depend upon them. His administration appears driven to appease special interests and prioritize profits over our natural heritage. In doing so, they have shown a dangerous willingness to silence government scientists, remove important data from agency websites, and exclude important public values in decision-making.

The standard President Trump has set in his first hundred days is nothing short of alarming as his multiplying orders, directives and actions seek to not only sidestep Congress, but to expand the authority of the office of the president and eliminate public input from federal regulatory processes. We urge President Trump to change his course and embrace his responsibility to protect our air and water, conserve public lands, and restore healthy ecosystems for wildlife.

Now more than ever, we invite you to follow us on social media to stay up-to-date on our work to protect wildlife and their habitat. Don’t forget to sign up for our emails where you will get all the latest news and action alerts to support wildlife conservation

The post Where Things Stand A 100 Days In appeared first on Defenders of Wildlife Blog.

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[topsolarpanels]

China builds world’s biggest solar farm in journey to become green superpower #GlobalWarning

Vast plant in Qinghai province is part of Chinas determination to transform itself from climate change villain to a green energy colossus

High on the Tibetan plateau, a giant poster of the Chinese president, Xi Jinping, guards the entrance to one of the greatest monuments to Beijings quest to become a clean energy colossus.

To Xis right, on the road leading to what is reputedly the biggest solar farm on earth, a billboard greets visitors with the slogan: Promote green development! Develop clean energy!

Behind him, a sea of nearly 4m deep blue panels flows towards a spectacular horizon of snow-capped mountains mile after mile of silicon cells tilting skywards from what was once a barren, wind-swept cattle ranch.

Its big! Yeah! Big! Gu Bin, one of the engineers responsible for building the Longyangxia Dam Solar Park in the western province of Qinghai, enthused with a heavy dose of understatement during a rare tour of the mega-project.

The remote, 27-square-kilometre solar farm tops an ever-expanding roll call of supersized symbols that underline Chinas determination to transform itself from climate villain to green superpower.

Built at a cost of about 6bn yuan (721.3m) and in almost constant expansion since construction began in 2013, Longyangxia now has the capacity to produce a massive 850MW of power enough to supply up to 200,000 households and stands on the front line of a global photovoltaic revolution being spearheaded by a country that is also the worlds greatest polluter.

The development of clean energy is very important if we are to keep the promises made in the Paris agreement, Xie Xiaoping, the chairman of Huanghe Hydropower Development, the state-run company behind the park, said during an interview at its headquarters in Xining, the provincial capital.

Xie said that unlike Donald Trump, a climate denier whose election as US president has alarmed scientists and campaigners, he was convinced global warming was a real and present danger that would wreak havoc on the world unless urgent action was taken.

When I was a child, rivers usually froze over during the winter; heavy snowfall hit the area every year, so we could go skiing and skating people werent very rich, and nobody had a fridge, but you could still store your meat outside, the Qinghai-born Communist party official remembered. We cannot do that any more.

Sheep graze amid the panels at Longyangxia Dam Solar Park in Chinas Qinghai province. The plant has the capacity to produce 850MW of power. Photograph: Tom Phillips for the Guardian

Anders Hove, a Beijing-based clean energy expert from the Paulson Institute, said that as recently as 2012 solar power was shunned as a potential source of energy for Chinas domestic market because it was seen as too expensive.

No more. Costs have since plummeted and by 2020 China which is now the worlds top clean energy investor hopes to be producing 110GW of solar power and 210GW of wind power each year as part of an ambitious plan to slash pollution and emissions. By 2030, China has pledged to increase the amount of energy coming from non-fossil fuels to 20% of the total.

Earlier this month, meanwhile, Chinas energy agency vowed to spend more than $360bn on renewable energy sources such as solar and wind by 2020, cutting smog levels, carbon emissions and creating 13m jobs in the process.

The numbers are just crazy, said Amit Ronen, director of the George Washington Universitys GW Solar Institute, who described feeling awed by the scale of the Chinese solar industry during a recent trip to the country.

Activists now hope Beijing will up the ante once again following Trumps shock election.

Amid fears the billionaire US president will water down attempts by his predecessor, Barack Obama, to fight global warming, campaigners are calling on Chinas rulers to seize the mantle and position their country as the worlds number one climate leader.

As Mr Trump drops Obamas legacy, Mr Xi might establish one of his own, Greenpeace campaigner Li Shuo told the Guardian on Wednesday .

That campaigners are now looking to China for green leadership underlines the once unimaginable changes that have taken place in recent years.

While China remains the worlds biggest emitter, thanks to its toxic addiction to coal, it has also become an unlikely figurehead in the battle against climate change.

Longyangxia Dam Solar Park in Chinas Qinghai province. Photograph: Tom Phillips for the Guardian

Last September campaigners hailed a major victory in the war on global warming when China and the US jointly announced they would formally ratify the Paris agreement.

Our response to climate change bears on the future of our people and the wellbeing of mankind, Xi said, vowing to unwaveringly pursue sustainable development.

Ronen said: A decade ago, Chinas attitude was: You guys put all that carbon in the atmosphere growing your economy, we should be allowed to put a lot of pollution up there too to grow our economy. Now look at where we are.

Sam Geall, the executive editor of China Dialogue, a bilingual website on the environment, said Beijing viewed having a climate change denying US president as a rare and unexpected opportunity to boost Chinese soft power by positioning itself as the worlds premier climate change fighter.

[China sees it as] an opportunity for them to show leadership, he said. Ive already heard that from people who work in environment bureaucracy in China. They see this as an opportunity for China to step up.

Ronen said Chinas renewable revolution, which has seen sprawling solar and wind parks spring up across its western hinterlands, was part of a dramatic political U-turn that culminated in Beijing throwing its weight behind the Paris climate accord last year.

He said part of the explanation was air pollution repeated episodes of toxic smog have convinced Beijing it must take action to quell public anger and part was climate change.

They are very much impacted by a lot of these climate change weather patterns that are particularly troublesome: drought in the north, flooding they are very vulnerable to, Ronen said.

But Paulson Institutes Hove said the key driving force behind Chinas low carbon quest was economic.

Most of the things that China is doing related to the environment are generally things that China wants to do for the economy as well, he said, pointing to Beijings desire to rebalance the economy away from investment-led heavy industry-focused growth while simultaneously making itself the key player in an industry of the future and guaranteeing its own energy security.

Hove said Beijing saw a huge investment opportunity in exporting low-carbon technology such as high speed rail, solar power or electric vehicles to developing nations in Africa, south Asia and Latin America. This is a 20-30 year mission to develop [clean] markets, he said.

A recent report captured how China was already dominating the global clean energy market, pointing to billions of recent investments in renewables in countries such as Brazil, Egypt, Indonesia, Pakistan and Vietnam.

Xie, the Huanghe chairman, said his company was now making its first steps into Africa with solar and hydro projects under development in Ethiopia.

We are actively going global, he said, warning that the developing world could not copy the wests dirty development model without bringing about the destruction of the world.

Geall said one indication of whether China was prepared to become the worlds premier climate leader would be if it was seen helping to finance more low-carbon projects beyond its own borders such as a huge Chinese-built solar park in Pakistan.

Youd hope to start seeing more of those sorts of projects around the world being financed rather than [China being] just a source of cheap finance for dirty energy projects.

Not all are convinced China is ready or even willing to become the worlds top climate leader in a post-Trump world.

Zhang Junjie, an environmental expert from Duke Kunshan University, believed China would stick to its Paris commitments out of self-interest, particularly since the fight against global warming empowered its environmental agencies to crack down on toxic smog despite strong resistance from vested interests.

[But] if China needs to do more, to commit more, I dont expect that is likely, Zhang added, noting that China wanted to be a climate leader but not the climate leader. Leadership is not just power it is responsibility.

With Chinas economy losing steam, Zhang said tightening regulations on greenhouse gas emissions further would inflict major trouble on its manufacturing sector. Chinas clean industries were not sufficiently developed to provide jobs for all those who would be made unemployed as a result. I would say, dont count on [China to fill the gap left by the US], he said. China has its own troubles now.

Chinas push to develop renewables has not been entirely plain sailing either, with concerns about over-capacity, falling demand for electricity and curtailment, the amount of energy that is produced but fails to make it to the grid.

Hove said despite the rapid growth of the sector, wind still accounted for just 4% of Chinas electricity last year and solar for about 1%. Government subsidies meant many of the biggest solar and wind parks had been built in sub-optimal locations such as Qinghai, Gansu and Xinjiang, far from the southern and eastern metropolises where the energy was most needed.

Those behind the worlds largest solar park admitted obstacles such as energy wastage and transmission had yet to be overcome, but said there was no looking back as China forged ahead towards a low-carbon future.

New energy is surely the future … Its hard to predict the future but I believe that solar energy will account for 50% of the total in 50 years, said the engineer Gu.

Xie said authorities in Qinghai were now so confident the future of China was green that they were planning two massive new solar parks on the Tibetan plateau, with the capacity to produce 4GW of energy.

In a sign of the central governments support for the renewable revolution, Xi recently visited Xies company, urging staff to make every reasonable effort to develop the PV industry.

Xie, who hosted the Chinese president, scoffed at Trumps suggestion that climate change was a Chinese hoax and said such claims would do nothing to dampen his countrys enthusiasm for a low-carbon future.

Even if President Trump doesnt care about the climate, thats Americas point of view, he said. The Chinese government will carry out and fulfil its international commitments as they always have done in the past, and as they are doing now in order to try to tackle climate change.

Xie concluded: I dont care what Mr Trump says I dont understand it and I dont care about it. I think what he says is nonsense.

Additional reporting by Wang Zhen

Read more: www.theguardian.com

The post China builds world’s biggest solar farm in journey to become green superpower #GlobalWarning appeared first on Top Rated Solar Panels.

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[dfroza]

At the conclusion of an ancient Letter

sent out to friends in my reading for the 5th of july as chapter 6 of Ephesians in writing that is still applicable to us who are alive on earth, right here & now:

Now to you, children, obey your parents in the Lord because this is right in God’s eyes. This is the first commandment onto which He added a promise: “Honor your father and your mother, and if you do, you will live long and well in this land.”

And, fathers, do not drive your children mad, but nurture them in the discipline and teaching that come from the Lord.

Slaves, respect and fear your earthly masters. Obey and serve them with the same sincerity of heart as you serve the Anointed One. Don’t put on a show just because they are looking (as if you were a people pleaser); but as a slave of the Anointed, do the will of God from your heart. Serve them in good faith as if you were serving the Lord, not men, because all good deeds are gifted back from the Lord, and they are yours whether you are a slave or not.

Masters, hear this: act in kind to your slaves. Stop terrorizing and threatening them. Don’t forget that you have a Master in heaven who does not take sides or pick favorites.

Finally, brothers and sisters, draw your strength and might from God. Put on the full armor of God to protect yourselves from the devil and his evil schemes. We’re not waging war against enemies of flesh and blood alone. No, this fight is against tyrants, against authorities, against supernatural powers and demon princes that slither in the darkness of this world, and against wicked spiritual armies that lurk about in heavenly places.

And this is why you need to be head-to-toe in the full armor of God: so you can resist during these evil days and be fully prepared to hold your ground. Yes, stand—truth banded around your waist, righteousness as your chest plate, and feet protected in preparation to proclaim the good news of peace. Don’t forget to raise the shield of faith above all else, so you will be able to extinguish flaming spears hurled at you from the wicked one. Take also the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

Pray always. Pray in the Spirit. Pray about everything in every way you know how! And keeping all this in mind, pray on behalf of God’s people. Keep on praying feverishly, and be on the lookout until evil has been stayed. And please pray for me. Pray that truth will be with me before I even open my mouth. Ask the Spirit to guide me while I boldly defend the mystery that is the good news—for which I am an ambassador in chains—so pray that I can bravely pronounce the truth, as I should do.

I am sending to you Tychicus, my dear brother and faithful minister in the Lord. He will tell you everything that has been going on here with me so you will know how I am and what I am doing. He’s coming with news that will hopefully comfort your hearts. Brothers and sisters, let me leave you with a blessing:

May peace and love with faith be yours from God the Father and the Lord Jesus the Anointed. May His grace surround all who love our Lord Jesus the Anointed with a never-ending love.

The Letter of Ephesians, Chapter 6 (The Voice)

A chapter paired with Isaiah 44 that contains a picture of a pine Tree and the alphabetic number of the word “pine” is 44:

Eternal One: Nevertheless, listen to Me, My people:

Jacob, My servant; Israel, My chosen.

The Eternal who made you,

who formed you in the womb and promised to help you, has this to say:

Eternal One: Don’t be afraid, My servant Jacob,

My dear Jeshurun—My chosen.

Like a devoted gardener, I will pour sweet water on parched land,

streams on hard-packed ground;

I will pour My spirit on your children and grandchildren—

and let My blessing flow to your descendants.

And they will sprout among the grasses, grow vibrant and tall

like the willow trees lining a riverbank.

One will call out: “I belong to the Eternal.”

Another will say, “Jacob is my people; Israel my honored name.”

Yet others will write “Property of the Eternal” on their hands.

The Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies,

King of Israel, who paid their ransom, has this to say:

Eternal One: I am at the beginning and will be at the end.

There is no God except for Me.

If you know any God like Me, tell it now.

Declare and demonstrate any who can compare to Me.

Or if you know and have announced events before their time,

told what is to come, then speak so now.

Don’t be afraid. Let your minds be clear of fear.

Haven’t I announced events and revealed what is to come?

From the earliest days, I have done so. You know it—you have seen and know.

So, go ahead, My witnesses: is there a god out there other than Me?

Witnesses: There is no other rock like God. I don’t know a single one.

But whoever does make an idol is not improved or enriched. On the contrary, their passing fancies contribute nothing of value or purpose. Those who look on at such misplaced attention don’t understand what they’re seeing, and the idol-makers will end up embarrassed at best. It’s easy to say, “What pathetic idiocy! Who would do such a thing—make gods that are by definition worthless?” The people who worship them will be shamed and humiliated. After all, people made those gods. Yet it happens all the time. So, let’s put these images, these figurines all together; stand them up—they will tremble with terror and be ashamed.

A metalworker shapes the raw materials into tools and then uses them to make little gods by hammering, bending, heating, and cooling the materials. And in the process, he gets tired and hungry; without water he soon grows faint. Likewise, the woodworker measures and marks the wood, chisels and planes it down, marks it with a compass, and carves it until it looks a bit like a human—lovely, maybe—in order to put it in a house. To take it back a bit further, perhaps he cuts down cedars or he carefully selects the cypress or oak himself, watches it, nurtures it until it is ready for his purpose. Perhaps he plants a pine; with sun and rain, it grows tall. When it’s time to harvest, he uses some of the wood for fuel to stay warm, some to heat the oven and bake bread, and some to craft a god. Then the woodworker bows down and worships before the image he just made. Do you see the irony? He sits around, warming himself and roasting dinner with wood from the same tree from which he crafted a god to which he bows and worships and prays—one time saying, “I am warmed by the wood fire”; another time saying, “O dear god, save me.”

So we see again how it is that they’re blind—their eyes shut to the truth in front of them, their hearts and minds refusing to think and really understand what’s going on. So without stopping to think about it, the fool says, “Gosh, I used half of the wood to build a fire, and baked the bread and roasted the meat over its hot coals. After I eat, I think I’ll use the rest of it to make a repulsive god. Maybe I’ll bow down to this leftover lumber.” A fool like this is feeding on ashes—his addled mind and deceived heart lead him nowhere. He can’t figure out how to save himself, much less see the error of his ways and say, “Is this idol in my right hand just a lie?”

Eternal One: Let that be a lesson to you, My people.

Don’t forget it, Jacob; O Israel, remember—you are Mine.

I made you; you are My servant; I will not forget you.

I have swept away your wrongdoing, as wind sweeps a cloud from the sky:

I have cleared you of your sins, as the sun clears the morning mist.

I have rescued you; come back to Me.

Sing, starry sky and every constellation, for what the Eternal has done.

Shout for joy, dark soil underfoot and deep caverns below;

Erupt in joyful songs, mountains and forests, and every tree in them!

Sing joyfully, for the Eternal One has rescued Jacob, His people;

The splendor of God will be revealed in Israel.

The Eternal, your rescuing hero who formed you before birth, declares,

Eternal One: I am the Eternal, Creator of all there is and will be.

I alone stretched out the heavens and spread out the blue earth.

I confound the lying swindlers who claim to tell the future,

and I make the fortune-tellers look like fools.

I stop the highbrow intellectuals in their tracks,

and I show the fault of their reasoning.

But I stand behind the words of My servants,

and I accomplish what they predict.

The one who says about Jerusalem, “This place will be built up again”;

about Judah’s cities, “They will be restored”:

I confirm their predictions. They will rise from their ruins.

After all, I am the One who needs only to say “Dry up” to great waters,

and your rivers run dry.

I am the one who says of the Persian victor over Babylon,

“Cyrus is My shepherd. He will accomplish what I determine.”

My word goes out concerning Jerusalem:

“It will stand, a glorious city, again”

and of My house within it, “Restoration will begin at once.”

The Scroll of Isaiah, Chapter 44 (The Voice)

A commentary included for this chapter in The Voice Translation:

All of the nations that Israel encounters are involved in some form of idol worship. They imagine these gods and fashion these images in order to satisfy a desire—a God-given desire—to connect with something, with someone out there. Human beings know at some deep, intuitive level that God exists, life is sacred, and there are mysteries more profound than the daily grind. This is why every human civilization exhibits some form of religious life and devotion. But instead of seeking the God who is, people have a tendency to create the gods they want, gods that give them control over the complexities and problems of life. Israel is elected by God for a number of reasons. Perhaps two of the most significant are to bear witness to the one True God and to warn the nations against idolatry. According to Scripture, idol worship is not some neutral, unfortunate habit people get themselves into; it is more than just a waste of time, hope, and effort. It is a dangerous substitute—a counterfeit experience—that adversely misshapes and disorders their lives. To persist in idolatry is to give way to malevolent evils and to miss out on a relationship with the one True God.

with this set of paired chapters from the Testaments accompanied by the reading of Today’s Psalms:

[Psalm 5]

Song of the Clouded Dawn

For the Pure and Shining One

For her who receives the inheritance, by King David

[Morning Watch]

Listen, Yahweh, to my passionate prayer!

Can’t you hear my groaning?

Don’t you hear how I’m crying out to you?

My King and my God, consider my every word,

for I am calling out to you.

At each and every sunrise you will hear my voice

as I prepare my sacrifice of prayer to you.

Every morning I lay out the pieces of my life on the altar

and wait for your fire to fall upon my heart.

[Making It Right]

I know that you, God, are never pleased with lawlessness,

and evil ones will never be invited as guests in your house.

Boasters collapse, unable to survive your scrutiny,

for your hatred of evildoers is clear.

You will make an end of all those who lie.

How you hate their hypocrisy and despise all who love violence!

[Multitude of Mercy]

But I know that you will welcome me into your house,

for I am covered by your covenant of mercy and love.

So I come to your sanctuary with deepest awe

to bow in worship and adore you.

Yahweh, lead me in the pathways of your pleasure

just like you promised me you would,

or else my enemies will conquer me.

Smooth out your road in front of me,

straight and level so that I will know where to walk.

[Multitude of Sins]

Their words are unreliable.

Destruction is in their hearts,

drawing people into their darkness with their speeches.

They are smooth-tongued deceivers, flattering with their words.

Declare them guilty, O God!

Let their own schemes be their downfall!

Let the guilt of their sins collapse on top of them,

for they rebel against you.

[Multitude of Blessings]

But let them all be glad,

those who turn aside to hide themselves in you.

May they keep shouting for joy forever!

Overshadow them in your presence as they sing and rejoice.

Then every lover of your name will burst forth with endless joy.

Lord, how wonderfully you bless the righteous.

Your favor wraps around each one and covers them

under your canopy of kindness and joy.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 5 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 15]

A song of David.

Eternal One, who is invited to stay in Your dwelling?

Who is granted passage to Your holy mountain?

Here is the answer: The one who lives with integrity, does what is right,

and speaks honestly with truth from the heart.

The one who doesn’t speak evil against others

or wrong his neighbor,

or slander his friends.

The one who loathes the loathsome,

honors those who fear the Eternal,

And keeps all promises no matter the cost.

The one who does not lend money with gain in mind

and cannot be bought to harm an innocent name.

If you live this way, you will not be shaken and will live together with the Lord.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 15 (The Voice)

[Psalm 36]

For the worship leader. A song of David, the Eternal’s servant.

Sin speaks in the depths of the soul

of those who oppose God; they listen closely to its urgings.

You’ll never see the fear of God

in their eyes,

For they flatter themselves—

convinced their sin will remain secret, undiscovered, and so unhated.

They speak words of evil and deceit.

Wisdom and goodness, they deserted long ago.

Even as they sleep, they are plotting mischief.

They journey along a path far from anything good,

gravitating to trouble, welcoming evil.

Your love, O Eternal One, towers high into the heavens.

Even the skies are lower than Your faithfulness.

Your justice is like the majestic mountains.

Your judgments are as deep as the oceans, and yet in Your greatness,

You, O Eternal, offer life for every person and animal.

Your strong love, O True God, is precious.

All people run for shelter under the shadow of Your wings.

In Your house, they eat and are full at Your table.

They drink from the river of Your overflowing kindness.

You have the fountain of life that quenches our thirst.

Your light has opened our eyes and awakened our souls.

May Your love continue to grow deeply in the lives of all who know You.

May Your salvation reach every heart committed to do right.

Give me shelter from prideful feet that hunt me down

and wicked hands that push me from Your path.

It is there, far away from You, that the wicked will be forced down,

face to the earth, never again returning to their feet.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 36 (The Voice)

to be concluded with wisdom from the ancient book of Proverbs about the purity of sex in marriage:

My son, stay focused; listen to the wisdom I have gained;

give attention to what I have learned about life

So you may be able to make sensible judgments

and speak with knowledge.

You see, the lips of a seductive woman speak honey-sweet words;

they are smooth like oil and enticing.

But in the end, she is bitter,

turning the stomach and rotting the soul;

she cuts as deep as a double-edged sword.

She leads you down a path that can only end in death;

her steps lead eventually to the grave.

She does not travel the road to life and truth.

She follows a wandering path—

a rocky, pit-filled road that twists and turns—and she doesn’t even know it.

So, my children, listen to me.

Do not stray from my advice.

Stay away from her, far away from her path;

don’t even go near her door

Unless you are ready to hand over your reputation to someone else,

unless you want to spend the rest of your years at the mercy of some cruel person.

If you do, strangers will help themselves to your wealth,

and everything you have worked hard to acquire will end up in someone else’s hands.

Your life will end with groanings of remorse, of opportunities missed,

and your flesh and bones will be eaten up with sorrow, regret for worthless efforts.

Then you’ll say, “Why did I hate being taught?

Why did I turn my back on correction?

I disregarded all that my teachers said to me;

I turned my ear away from my instructors!

Now I am on the edge of complete and utter ruin

in the midst of the community.”

Here’s what you should do to be satisfied:

go home and drink in the pleasures of your own cistern, your wife;

enjoy the sweet, fresh water that has been there all along, flowing from your own well.

Take care. Should your own springs, your body, be freely shared?

Should your streams of water satisfy anyone in the streets? Absolutely not!

They should be kept pure for you and you alone,

not for sharing with strangers.

May your fountain, your sex life, be blessed by God;

may you know true joy with the wife of your youth.

She who is lovely as a deer and graceful as a doe—

as you drink in her love,

may her breasts satisfy you at all times.

My son, why get caught up in some other woman

and embrace the breast of a stranger?

You see, the Eternal sees our ways before Him.

He watches every move we make and knows where those paths lead.

The wicked will be snared by their own wrongdoing.

Their flaws will tie their own hands, and they will be dragged through life by the cords of their sins.

Because they have no discipline, their spirits die and their bodies will soon follow;

because they are immensely foolish, they wander lost and confused.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 5 (The Voice)

my reading in the Scriptures for the 5th of july, day 15 of Summer and day 186 of the year

(thank you for reading along with me)

[the-christian-walk]

THE PERPETUAL SPIRIT

Can I pray for you in any way? Send any prayer requests to OurChristianWalk@aol.com. In Christ, Mark

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The scriptures. May God bless the reading of His holy word.

 Then the angel who talked with me returned and woke me up, like someone awakened from sleep. He asked me, “What do you see?”

 I answered, “I see a solid gold lampstand with a bowl at the top and seven lamps on it, with seven channels to the lamps. Also there are two olive trees by it, one on the right of the bowl and the other on its left.”

 I asked the angel who talked with me, “What are these, my lord?”

 He answered, “Do you not know what these are?”

 “No, my lord,” I replied.

 So he said to me, “This is the word of the Lord to Zerubbabel: ‘Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,’ says the Lord Almighty.”

 “What are you, mighty mountain? Before Zerubbabel you will become level ground. Then he will bring out the capstone to shouts of ‘God bless it! God bless it!’”

 Then the word of the Lord came to me: “The hands of Zerubbabel have laid the foundation of this temple; his hands will also complete it. Then you will know that the Lord Almighty has sent me to you.”

 “Who dares despise the day of small things, since the seven eyes of the Lord that range throughout the earth will rejoice when they see the chosen capstone in the hand of Zerubbabel?”

 Then I asked the angel, “What are these two olive trees on the right and the left of the lampstand?”

 Again I asked him, “What are these two olive branches beside the two gold pipes that pour out golden oil?”

 He replied, “Do you not know what these are?”

 “No, my lord,” I said.

 So he said, “These are the two who are anointed to serve the Lord of all the earth.”

 Zechariah 4

 This ends today’s reading from God's holy word. Thanks be to God.

 Zechariah had a total of eight visions, each described within the text of the book that bears the prophet’s name. We have looked at half of the visions so far and as we turn to chapter 4, we see vision number five revealed. Look again at that vision here:

 Then the angel who talked with me returned and woke me up, like someone awakened from sleep. He asked me, “What do you see?”

 I answered, “I see a solid gold lampstand with a bowl at the top and seven lamps on it, with seven channels to the lamps. Also there are two olive trees by it, one on the right of the bowl and the other on its left.”

 I asked the angel who talked with me, “What are these, my lord?”

 He answered, “Do you not know what these are?”

 “No, my lord,” I replied.

 So he said to me, “This is the word of the Lord to Zerubbabel: ‘Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,’ says the Lord Almighty.”

 “What are you, mighty mountain? Before Zerubbabel you will become level ground. Then he will bring out the capstone to shouts of ‘God bless it! God bless it!’”

 Then the word of the Lord came to me: “The hands of Zerubbabel have laid the foundation of this temple; his hands will also complete it. Then you will know that the Lord Almighty has sent me to you.”

 “Who dares despise the day of small things, since the seven eyes of the Lord that range throughout the earth will rejoice when they see the chosen capstone in the hand of Zerubbabel?”

 Then I asked the angel, “What are these two olive trees on the right and the left of the lampstand?”

 Again I asked him, “What are these two olive branches beside the two gold pipes that pour out golden oil?”

 He replied, “Do you not know what these are?”

 “No, my lord,” I said.

 So he said, “These are the two who are anointed to serve the Lord of all the earth.”  Zechariah 4

 Think about the people of God and the kingdom work they are called to carry out. This vision represents a good representation of how that happens.

 First, the Lord needs people to be His hands and feet, His light in the midst of a world where so much darkness exists. The seven lamps on the gold lamp stand are representative of the servants of the Lord sent forth by His Spirit to do His will.

 This leads to the second important part of what Zechariah sees because the lamps are being filled with oil from a bowl that is kept constantly replenished by the two olive trees. In other words, the burning lamps would give our perpetual light always fueled by oil just as a servant of the Lord will always be fueled by the Holy Spirit to do whatever the Lord wants.

 Thus, this is why the Lord proclaims to Zerubbabel that what he will accomplish will not be done by his might or power but rather by the Spirit of the Lord. Through that Spirit, Israel’s governor will be able to do what the Lord desires and specifically not only lay the foundation of the holy temple but to see the construction through to completion. The end result will be all glory to God for it was by His Spirit that the temple was able to be built, a truth that would be celebrated in great rejoicing when the last stone (the capstone) of the temple was laid.

 In the end translation of this vision, the Lord wants us to remember that as His will is sought and carried out throughout creation, it is being dictated and driven through His amazing Holy Spirit which an extension of God Himself and thus the same yesterday, today, and forever. Through that Spirit, we, like Paul, can discover that we can so all things (Philippians 4:13) for God will always bring us through what He brings us to in life.

 Even if He commands us to rebuild His holy temple like Zerubbabel, Joshua, and the Israelites were called to do in the time of Zechariah.

 Amen.

 In Christ,

Mark PS: Feel free to leave a comment and please share this with anyone you feel might be blessed by it. Send any prayer requests to OurChristianWalk@aol.com