#the rest of the year is too hot or cold or we get windstorms or monsoons or fucking summer hail. yes HAIL. in 110F weather

[clownpassing]

man i love being from&living in las vegas but holy shit this city should definitely not exist. why did we build the brightest city on earth in an area that is 120F in the summer and 30-40F in the winter, where there is very limited natural water??!?

[emeraldragonfly]

The Cycle of the Seasons in the Desert

The pagan Sabbats follow the cycle of the seasons, and often, this cycle is easy to visualize. In terms of temperature, of course, we generally have:

Winter/Cold --> Spring/Warm --> Summer/Hot --> Fall/Cool

We go from cold to warm to hot to cool and repeat. In terms of how the plants and animals respond to the seasons, we tend to think of it like this:

Winter/Death/Hibernate --> Spring/Mate/Birth/Growth -->

Summer/Birth/Mature/Growth --> Autumn/Fade/Hoard Food

We say the seasons follow the cycle of birth, growth, death, and rebirth. 

That’s all pretty straightforward. The problem is . . . those concepts don’t apply equally well to all climates on earth.

Now that I’m in the southwest US desert, some of the pagan holidays seem a bit, well, out of step with what’s going on outside. It’s taken me some time to ponder these differences. I’m going to summarize some major ones now.

The Desert Simply Isn’t Well Suited to Farming

A lot of the cycle of life metaphors used are ones about farming. You ‘sow’ new ideas and projects in the spring, nurture them over the summer, ‘reap’ the fruits of your efforts in the fall, and rest in the winter and plan the new year. Also, the pagan holidays often feature feasts that involve crop foods that are in season for those times of the year. 

Here’s the thing though-- I’m in the middle of Utah. This is not a great place to grow crops. It never has been. Do we grow some crops here? Sure, of course. Mostly hay for cattle, in fact. Also certain grains like corn and barley. But really, most of Utah’s agriculture comes from cattle, who can free-graze on the local, desert-tolerant brush. The fact is, the soil and climate are not suited for most typical crops. And growing them requires expending a lot of extra resources.

There’s a reason why the Native Americans who were here long before white people didn’t farm extensively. They mostly relied on hunting and gathering, with some supplemental farming near rivers (which allowed for irrigating crops). So, the idea of huge harvests of typical crops, full of lush fruits and vegetables, and feasts organized around them, isn’t very meaningful here.

A Yearly ‘Death’ or Winter Hibernation Is Not Universal

Many, many animals do indeed hibernate or otherwise enter some sort of state of decreased acitvity during the winter. They do this to conserve energy when resources are scarce. In plants, this can be seen very dramatically when plants die off entirely and go to seed, or when deciduous trees shed their leaves and remain as dormant, bare-limbed creatures for a time. 

The thing is, while a winter hibernation is very common in a lot of plants and animals . . . there’s also a lot who don’t follow that rule. 

Plenty of animals remain active year-round. They may simply shift the emphasis in their diets during winter. For example, the cute little white-tailed antelope squirrels eat a lot of vegetation in spring and summer while it’s growing, but in fall and winter they focus more on fruits and seeds. Cottontails and jackrabbits eat fresh vegetation in spring and summer but focus on woody plants and dry vegetation in fall and winter. 

Other animals may travel back and forth between spring and winter feeding-grounds within their home range. Mule deer feed at higher elevations during the spring growing season and then switch to lower elevations during winter (where there’s much less snow). 

Other animals might migrate greater distances to warmer, wetter places during winter. Birds are especially known for having a lot of species that migrate, and a lot of our ducks are only seasonal residents here.

Whatever method used, for many animals winter is not a time of rest at all, but of steady activity.

This holds true for plants, as well. Many plants are “evergreen.” In the desert, many of the shrubs, cacti, succulents and trees are evergreen. They do not undergo that dramatic death or dormancy, and instead just steadily go about doing their planty business. Many of the typical “signals” to people that winter is coming-- the leaves are falling, animals are vanishing or going to sleep-- just aren’t here. Many of us are just carrying on as usual.

Summer is a More Complex Season Here

The typical view of summer is that it’s a celebration of the power of the sun, of the vitality and abundance of life, a time of handfasting, and of enjoying early harvests. 

It has a different flavor in the desert, though. While summer is certainly a time of growth and power, it’s also other things, too. Summers here are intense. Absolutely scorching, in fact. Temps climbing into the triple F digits is pretty normal-- expect something in the 90s or 100s. It’s genuinely a life-threatening risk for hyperthermia and dehydration for people who don’t take appropriate precautions. Summer needs to be taken seriously. Outdoor activities are . . . pretty hard to enjoy in these conditions. Especially when the windstorms kick in, blasting scorching hot winds and sharp sands and red dirt into your face. Even when the sun sets it can take a long time for the place to cool down. If you want to go for a comfortable walk outside during summer, you pretty much can only aim for a very short window of opportunity in the very early morning-- but better be quick, because it won’t last long.

This isn’t difficult just for people. Animals face the same challenges. How do they deal with it? By being very selective about when they are active during summer. Almost every single animal in the desert avoids midday entirely, staying hidden the shade of shrubs or in underground dens, where things are cooler. (I think the only animal here that braves the raw sun are the ants-- remarkable little creatures.) Animals will be active either in early morning and evening or are completely nocturnal. Many, many desert creatures come out at night, when the world is at a much more tolerable level.

In fact, the summer heat and dryness can be so intense that some animals will even enter into a special type of summer hibernation. This is called estivation. They bury themselves underground and await cooler temperatures and rainfall.

In any case, the point is that summer is a time of rest and sheltering for desert inhabitants. This is normally only associated with winter, but our summer extremes are often a reason to conserve energy and shelter from the sun as well. 

The funny thing is, summer is not just a time of rest and shelter. It’s also a time of growth and activity. Animal breeding is often in full swing during the summer, as well as plant growth and plant reproduction. Why is that?

Our summer has two faces because while it’s our most extreme time of year in terms of heat and dryness, it’s also the growing and monsoon season. Deserts, as you know, get very little precipitation. That’s what defines a desert. A lot of our water comes from melted snow that gathers in the mountains over the winter, which then runs into rivers. But the rest comes from what little rain we do get. Most of our rain occurs in spring, paving the way for a busy summer: Plants grow in the spring, ensuring there’s food available in summer, and thus, it’s a good time for animals to breed. Additionally, there are the summer rains.

The summer rains or “monsoons” (really just thunderstorms) come suddenly and with little warning. They then will dump incredible amounts of water onto the ground. The soils here are very poor at absorbing the water, so we get what we call “flash floods.” There’s this sudden overabundance of water in a place that’s normally starved for it. Animals and plants RUSH to take advantage while they can. Plants suck up as much as possible (cacti and succulents are designed to be huge sponges for these events), as do animals. Frogs and other amphibians, as well as arthropods like dragonflies, quickly breed in temporary puddles while they have the chance. It’s a great frenzy of activity. They don’t have much time because not long after the flood, things will dry up again.

So, in conclusion, our summer has two extreme sides: lots of rest and sheltering from the raw power of the sun, and a rush of activity, fertility and relative abundance. 

Ok. So I’ve rambled on about all these differences in the desert. But what’s the take-away from all this? How can we incorporate it into our pagan or Wiccan practice? 

I have a few ideas.

Reduce Farming and Feasting Metaphors: Replace With Foraging

We aren’t usually wandering along plentiful apple orchards here, or fields of potatoes, or filling our larders with cheeses, or slaughtering loads of lambs, or any of that. The traditional Celtic foods and feasts don’t really fit in here-- nor does the lifestyle. Does that mean you can’t be a pagan in the desert?

No, I don’t think that’s what it means. I think it just means maybe adjusting things a little. Maybe lean less on these farming metaphors for sowing and reaping, and less on those traditional foods. 

They can be replaced with the kind of story that this desert tells us. This is a different story, a lot less about the hard labor of planting large quantities of crops, all the anticipatory waiting for it to grow, the praying for good rains and sun to nurture the crops. A lot of the story of living in the desert comes from foraging. Foraging in an arid desert is not an easy affair. Survival itself in the desert is often not an easy affair. Life is more scarce in the desert because resources are more scarce here. Things are more spread out and scant. You must forage and eat what you can find, often traveling and working quite a bit to gather up enough food. 

Native Americans found things such as roots (wapato, wild onions, sego lily bulbs), seeds (bulrush, goosefoot, pine nuts, sunflower), grains, and other plant parts (wild rice, ricegrass, pickleweed, thistles, cactus flower buds, cactus fruits). There also were berries (raspberries, chokecherries, strawberries) and insects-- a very healthy source of protein (grasshoppers, crickets, ants). Of course, there was also small game (rabbits, mice, squirrels, waterfowl) and occasionally larger game. 

This may not sound very glamorous to you, or very tasty. But it is very resourceful, and sometimes the focus was more on survival than on being gourmet. 

What I propose is that desert pagans think about foraging metaphors and not just farming ones. The steady work of gathering up lots of little bits here and there-- that’s a useful metaphor too, in my mind. Sometimes projects aren’t just about sowing, nurturing and reaping. Sometimes projects are about the steady daily work of foraging, making progress bit by bit. Making use of what you can find, crafting useful things out of them, and ultimately accomplishing something surprisingly huge at the end. Remember, Native Americans even in this harsh desert built incredible, massive apartment-like structures into the cliffs. The “slow and steady” work of foraging (or of erosion!) is a useful metaphor too.

As to celebratory foods . . . why not draw inspiration from Native Americans or early white settler’s ideas on cuisine? Here’s a link to a great article about some Native American recipes (from, you know, an actual Native American). Of course I am not suggesting you treat these things like you “own” them. These inspirations may not come from your personal direct ancestors. But it’s still valid to respectfully borrow cuisine ideas from others! These are foods that grow naturally here or are more easily farmed here, so it makes sense to celebrate with foods that connect you to the land here.

Consider Alternative Seasonal Cycle Ideas

I have been trying for months now to develop an alternative to the traditional season cycle. The traditional one is something like this:

Winter (Death/Rest) ---> Spring (Birth/Growth) ---> Summer (Birth/Growth) ---> Fall (Mature/Wane)

What if we consider our ideas on how many plants and animals here are “evergreens,” and the fact that summer here is a little bit different? Maybe it would look more like this:

Winter (Rest/Forage) ---> Spring (Birth/Growth) ---> Summer (Birth/Growth/Rest) ---> Fall (Mature/Forage)

This suggestion gives two seasons of rest, during the most extreme times of year; winter and summer. It gives two seasons of growth and fertility, during the “light seasons” of spring and summer. And it gives two seasons of “foraging” during the “dark seasons” of fall and winter.

I’m using the word “foraging” as a moderate word that can fit in-between the life energy extremes of “death/rest” and “growth/reproduce.” For animals, foraging is the calm, steady work of searching for and gathering food. It’s a time when you are not hibernating but you also are not putting out the explosion of energy that comes with new growth and reproduction. For evergreen plants, “foraging” is the steady work of photsynthesis that continues even in dark seasons. You’re not doing much new growth or blooming flowers/etc., but you’re not in total dormancy either.

Ultimately these suggested changes are not huge. But I think they’re tweaks that help us connect more! We can see winter as a time of rest for some, enjoying the old traditional metaphors of winter. But we can also see winter as a time of steady progress for the ‘evergreen’ among us. For summer, we can see it as a time of much growth and vitality, but we can also acknowledge that resting and recovering in between moments of intense energy is a good thing and a part of the desert’s cycle.

[rueclfer]

better // bakugou katsuki

No one’s got to know what we do, hit me up when you’re bored.

Summary: When your friend across the street invites you over whenever he needs a quick fix.

TW: NSFWish

“Walk faster, shrimp.” Katsuki grunts in annoyance as he speeds up further ahead of you.

You two had been walking to school together since you first moved into the neighborhood when you started primary school, but the only thing that had stayed constant throughout the year was his ‘above all’ complex and his quick paced walking. He would often ignore you once you two had stepped foot onto campus, but you knew better. You knew you were one of his closer friends. 

“Slow down, blasty.” You huff as you quickened your pace to match his. “Would it kill you to respect my short legs every now and then?”

“Walk by yourself then.”

“Yeah? And what would Mitsuki say about that, huh? What if I get kidnapped?” You pout.

“Then oh fucking well.” He quickens his pace once you two have arrived to UA, leaving you at the entrance.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and go your own pace to your shared classroom. Katsuki had always been on and off with you. Despite the years of ‘friendship’ you two had under your belt, he had troubles opening up to you, but easy to be vulnerable to at the same time.

“Y/N! There you are!” Denki exclaims. “Sheesh for living across the street from Bakugou, you’re always so far behind him when it comes to getting to class.”

“Because the little bitch doesn’t like to wait for me.” You stick your tongue out at the inattentive boy sitting in his desk.

“She can’t keep up. Why should I wait for her?” He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t worry about him, Y/N. I’ll walk you to school.” Denki flirtatiously suggest.

“Come anywhere near our neighborhood and I’ll kill you, sparky.” Katsuki narrowing his eyes at the blonde boy.

“Well there you go, Y/N. He does care about you.” Denki laughs,

You chuckle nervously and eyed Katsuki at his random outburst.

“It’s not that he cares. Just territorial.”

-

Your relationship was odd. You weren’t sure if he hated you, but the marks left on your neck and shoulder, the tingling sensation he would gave you behind closed doors. and the waves of pleasure all spoke different words.

“Hey, I can’t go over until later tonight. Mom’s having friends over and I have to be there.” You say as you two started your way back home.

“That’s fine.” He shrugs.

“You’re going to make it through the night?” You teasingly nudge his shoulder. “No more whining?”

“You act like I need you, shrimp.” He huffs. “I’ll just invite the boys over and maybe we’ll go terrorize you”

“Do that and you’re dead. Even your mom’s coming over.”

“Yeah, whatever. Do what you need to do I don’t care.”

You spent the rest of the rest of that afternoon having tea with your mom and her friends. You had to admit that it was pretty uneventful several hour. However, after several hours, the afternoon tea turned into an evening glass of wine. At that point they had started talking about the neighborhood gossip and were quick to shoo you up to your room.

“Since you guys are having fun down here, I’m just going to head over to Katsukis, is that okay? He has the other guys over.” You lied.

Ever since you and Katsuki had reached the age of puberty, your mothers had been more nosy and suggestive with your relationship with Katsuki. They always adored you two together but it was never like that.

You were just friends

“That’s fine. Tell him I said hello.” Your mom waves off. "And don't be home too late either." She calls as you slip out the door

The trip to Katsuki's front door felt like a cold windstorm. Chills raced up and down you bare arms and legs, leaving you shivering once you had made you way inside.

"Katsuki, do you not know how to turn on the lights?" You call out as you put your arms out in front of you to avoid bumping into sharp corners and furniture. You hated how he practically existed in the dark despite his fiery personality and explosive temper.

You were able to find the stairs and quickly made your way up them before reaching his bedroom. The cold doorknob warned against your palm as you pushed in. In the dark room you see his black silhouette standing in front of the window. Once the door closes behind you, he finally turns to face you.

"Did you hear me? Turn on the lights ever now and then." You chuckle, reaching for the switch near the door.

He audibly scoffs and pulls you closer to him by the arm before you could successfully switch the lights on.

"Everything's more fun in the dark." You hear the smirk in his voice. You feel his hot breath against your neck as he slides his hands under your shirt and around your waist.

You had gotten used to the gentle touches coming from his rough hands, but ever movement felt so foreign at the same time. The hot kisses against your neck send shivers down your spine every time, and the way he gripped you as if you would melt from between his fingers any second.

These sporadic hook ups started earlier in the year when you two attended a large family party where you two got heavily intoxicated and suddenly forgotten about your boundaries. That night after you had sobered up, all you could do was laugh.

“Hey Kat, toss me my shirt.” You pointed to the pile cloth on the floor near his feet.

“Get it yourself, lazy ass.”

“But I’m naked.” You huff. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

You two never talked about that night. He would invite you over whenever he was home alone and lonely and it would eventually lead to a hook up. You weren’t bothered by it, but it left a gray area in your friendship. You didn’t know how to define it, but you found something thrilling about the lack of clarity.

As your back fell against the cold sheets, you could hear the low sudden footsteps coming from the first floor, moving up the stairs.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” He whisper-yelled, searching around for his shirt.

“This is why you have the lights on you stupid ass bitch.” You scold, trying to feel around for your own shirt. Eventually, you decided to slip on a nearby hoodie laying on the bed.

“Bakugou!” You hear a familiar voice echo from behind the door before it slams open and switch the lights on. “Oh?”

“Why‘s it so dark in here? Y/N? What were you guys-” Denki started.

“God, Denki. Lean how to knock, much?” You yawn, faking your own grogginess. You rub your eyes as they adjusted to the light. You look over to see Katsuki coolly sitting at his desk, unfazed.

“Oh shit, were you asleep? My bad. Why are you taking a nap in Bakugou’s room?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“Because her mom has friends over and they were being loud.” Katsuki answers before you were able to. “Why the fuck are YOU here?” 

“I left my phone, you idiot. I tried calling but you wouldn’t answer so I figured I would just come back and get it.” He walks over to the desk and grabs his phone before waving it around in the air. “See? And plus your front door was open, so I took it as a welcome.“ He smugly smile.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes to you in annoyance before turning back to Denki. “It’s fine. Whatever, just get out of here. It’s late.”

“That’s the plan.” He starts for the door. “Sorry about waking you up too, Y/N. We still on for next weekend?”

“Absolutely.” You smile, waving him off.

Once the door closes behind him, you flop down on the bed before releasing a long sigh.

“So? What what that about.” Katsuki turns to you in his chair. “What’s next weekend?”

“He asked me to get lunch with him. No biggie.” You shrug.

“So a date?”

“In mean, if you INSIST on calling it that, then sure. A date.” You roll your eyes.

“Okay? And what about...this whole thing?”

“What about it? Are you worried about getting sexually frustrated once I get in a relationship?” You tease.

Though he stayed quiet, causing you further more question the integrity of this dynamic.

“Kat, we’re friends. Close friends. Good friends. Best friends. We agreed to keep this between us and not let it affect us outside of our bedrooms.” You say sternly. “If you’re all of the sudden falling in love with me then you gotta let me know.” You teasingly toss the pillow at his head.

“Yeah whatever, just don’t break his heart.”

-

After weeks had gone by, Katsuki had not once texted you. He would ‘walk’ with you to and from school as per usual, but even then, you eventually found yourself walking by yourself.

He had been ghosting you nonstop. No matter how often you blew up his phone, thrown things at him in class, or talked to his other friends- he promptly keep his distance from you.

You initially assumed that he was starting to focus on school due to midterms coming up, but you knew he would have told you to fuck off or something of that nature instead of cutting you off cold turkey.

You spent the last couple of weeks feeling lonelier than usual. Not as sexually frustrated, but more like you’re stuck in a void.

One day you decided that you were over it. You were fed up with his immaturity and you were tired of having your calls ignored. You ran home right after school and decided to wait on his front porch for him.

He never showed up. It was dark out and you had been waiting for his arrival since school ended. You were nearly falling asleep on his doorstep as you were waiting for him.

“Y/N? What the fuck are you doing.” His booming voice snapped you out of your dozing state.

“Kat.” You say, jumping up to meet his eyes. “Why the fuck have you been avoiding me?”

“Have you been sitting here this whole time? Fucking idiot. You should have called me or something.” He scolds, pushing you to the side so he could unlock the door.

“No.” You grab his hand and stand in front of the doorway. “We are talking right now. Why are you avoiding me? What did I do wrong?” You ask, looking for any bit of emotion in his eyes.

“Can we not fucking do this out here?” He rolls his eyes.

“Was it because I went to get lunch with Denki? It wasn’t a big deal, you know. I didn’t know you would get pissy if I went out with one of OUR friends.”

He runs a hand through his hair before letting out a long sigh. 

“You say we’re just friends...but I swear when nobody’s around...” He starts. “I just don’t know. Is this was friends do? I hate the whole ‘what are we?” bullshit, but god fucking damn it, Y/N, I’m not sure if I want to be friends.”

You realize that his fists are white. You realized how he kept the lights off to avoid catching your gaze when he bore his eyes through your nude body. You realized the pangs of jealously when you talked about other guys. You realize how he always came to you when he felt vulnerable.

“Can friends do this? Can they sneak to each other’s houses to share a bottle is liquor together? Can they cry on your chest when their parents are fighting again? Can they feel jealous over the more intimate things? Can they connect through their bodies? Can they go through all of these stages of lust just to call each other friends?” He rambles on. “If that’s what friends do, how come we can’t do that outside of our own bedrooms?”

You could see your wide eyes through the gloss of his own. You could see his hurt and confusion and jealously through his pupils.

“So there’s your answer. I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you and I fucking hate it. I fucking hate what we created our ‘friendship’ to be. I fucking hate how I can’t handle you the way you can handle our whole dynamic. Casual. Cool. Collected. I can’t do that.”

“Katsuki..” You begin. “I don’t know what to say.”

You weren’t expecting this sort of outburst of him. You wanted him to curse you out, tell you you’ve been doing everything wrong and that you weren’t a interest of his anymore.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same way. Tell me you want nothing more than my body. Tell me you don’t want anything to do with me other than the late night invitation. Tell me, and then we can go back to that. If you can’t, then we’re ending it. All of it. You can lose my number, tell your mom we had a falling out, you can ignore me in the halls, anything. I just can’t walk you to school, talk to you everyday, have you hold me in your arms, and do this all at the same time to just call you my friend.” 

You stayed silent. You couldn’t come up with of the correct string of words that could sum up the thousands thoughts running through your mind.

You saw the confirming disappointment in his face as he continues to move you away from the door to unlock it. Before he could step instead, you quickly grab his hand.

“Wait, Kat.” You say. “I don’t know what to say, but I don’t want to leave it like this.”

“Then what do you want me to do, Y/N. Tell me what the fuck you want me to do? I just poured my heart out to you and I don’t wan-” He starts before you were quick to cut him off with you own lips.

You had no idea what you were doing. The thoughts in your head didn’t halt to a stop, though you feel your hand slowly gravitate towards the nape of his neck.

You pulled away his a flushed red face and sweating hands.

“Fuck you, Katsuki. Fucking FUCK you.” You groan. into your sleeve. “I don’t know what to say I just...you know. Fuck okay. Just. Stop being like this, okay? Just. Please.”

There it was. That shit eating grin. It was almost as if he hadn’t just confessed his feelings to you a moment ago.

“How are you usually so bold in the bedroom, but when it comes to this, you’re a stuttering mess?” He inches closer to your face, cupping your chin between his thumb and index finger.

“Shut up!” You cry. “I’m going home.” You turn on your heels and start walking home.

“You better be on time tomorrow morning too, unless you plan on walking to school alone again.” He calls out from behind you with the same smirk playing in his tone.

[lucytara]

lilac; I'm not strong enough to stay away

Atlas is hostile, treacherous, and unforgivingly cold.

Despite the hero’s escort Ruby’s silver-eyed powers and the end of the attack on Argus had granted them, the rest of the population doesn’t seem to believe it owes them anything. They’re forced to stop on the outer reaches of the border - airspace is too tightly controlled for exceptions to the military’s top general - and then only allowed the rest of the trip to the capitol via the national lines. In some ways it’s preferable not having to make the journey on foot, roofs above their heads in between storms and blizzards.

In other ways - they all shift uncomfortably outside of a restaurant with a sign that reads no faunus allowed - it’s unquestionably worse.

Blake crosses her arms, turns away with her ears flat; Yang’s vibrating at her side, anger so palpable her semblance is likely a hair-trigger away from firing on its own. Ice fights with her, struggles to solidify against the drips from the tips of its spikes, but doesn’t seem to be winning that battle. Just because something flourishes does not mean that it should be allowed to.

“Disgusting,” she spits viciously, and the rest of them only hum in agreement.

“I’m tempted to set it on fire,” Weiss says conversationally, fingers twitching, “but I know better than to think it ends here.”

“It’s fine,” Blake says, resigned. “Let’s just go.” She rests a hand on Yang’s arm, begs her forward without a word. Yang acquiesces to Blake’s touch as she always does, follows her lead. She’s not above making scenes, but sometimes they’re not worth the energy.

Yes, the racism’s the worst part of Atlas, no question about it; Blake’s faced with an onslaught of cruel murmurs and appalled stares from the moment they get off the airship, finding solace only in the few moments they’re spared some time alone, and then, alone. It’s said with implication. There are two sides to it, as there always are.

With that said, the second worst part of Atlas is her relationship with Yang: intense, undefined, and completely, totally secret.

She isn’t weak. She’s prided herself on that in recent time more than she has previously, and she wants it to stick, to hold, to mean something, but–

Filthy, a man whispers to his wife as he passes them down the cobblestone road, and sometimes all Blake wants to do is curl up in Yang’s arms and cry.

She’d known this about Atlas, that’s the thing. She’s been treated like this for most of her life. It’s the frustration that wears her down now, runs her over and through more than the actual hurt does. Atlas is the proof that in spite of everything, there are still places that seem as if they’ll never, ever change; that somewhere, she’ll always be unwanted.

Yang subtly tugs at her jacket, slowing her walk to a halt. “Hey,” she says shortly to the rest of the group as Blake pauses beside her, confused, “you look for somewhere to eat. We’re going to stop here and grab a hot tea. We’ll meet up with you.”

She says it so firmly and matter-of-fact that nobody questions her, let alone dares to invite themselves; her expression, her posture, her tone - she’s the ground before it splits, the fire before the windstorm. Ruby offers them a sad, half-smile before continuing their trudge along, glancing at windows, menus, and finally fading away.

Yang links their fingers together, tugs her gently to the door of the teahouse. She pushes it open and the bell chimes, the hostess glancing up with a polite smile already in place. “Hello,” she greets nicely, and crooks an eyebrow at the way Yang hovers, Blake just behind her. “Can I help you?”

“Are faunus allowed here?” Yang asks bluntly, her voice barely tempered, flat with a sharp edge.

The hostess blinks once in comprehension. “Oh, yes, of course,” she says nicely, and Yang opens the door wider, makes room for the two of them to enter. It’s mostly empty, only a single other woman sitting in the corner reading a book. “We don’t allow discrimination here. Of any kind.”

It’s warmer inside, lighter, smells like jasmine and honey. Blake says, “That’s a relief to hear, after the day we’ve had.”

“Would you like to sit, or have something to go?”

“To go, please,” Yang says. She’s relaxing somewhat under the less-oppressive atmosphere, tension unwiring from underneath her skin. She flexes her fingers in Blake’s, glances down at her. She’s already so much softer. ”Go ahead.”

The hostess takes their orders, directs them to a small window where they can wait; Yang pays with minimal objections. It was my idea, she says, so don’t worry about it. It’s all a group fund at this point, anyway. She isn’t wrong and Blake allows it without further argument.

“I’m sure it’s difficult, being here, surrounded by - by - these people,” the hostess says, quiet and empathetic, “but good ones exist, too. They’re out there, I promise.”

Blake smiles, tightens her grip around Yang’s hand. “I know they are.”

They step off to the side, waiting for their orders. Yang doesn’t pull away from the display of affection; not that she would, regardless of who was staring at them - it’s always Blake, keeping their secrets to herself until there’s no possible way they can be used against her. She sighs, shifts her weight to her left, shoulders brushing through their coats.

“You okay?” Yang asks gently, heat from her never gone, only subdued. The lilac of her eyes is too vibrant amidst a colorless sky, a wall-less room. The snow coats the ground outside, unchallenged until it found itself beneath her feet. Atlas, Blake thinks, has never seen anything quite like her.

Yang’s still waiting for an answer, but all Blake can do is claim their moment of peace for herself instead of fight it; it’s been weeks, months, years, and it’s something she’s tired of. She slips into Yang’s arms, wraps her hands around Yang’s shoulders, lets her eyelids flutter closed. Yang doesn’t speak, merely hums and pulls her closer, casually, candidly - this - this could be a scene, but she won’t make it one. Blake isn’t weak. Yang’s aware of this fact better than anyone.

“Yeah,” Blake murmurs, breathes against the fleece collar of her coat. “I am now.”

Yang curls a single arm around her waist, drops a kiss to the top of her head, and for a few tranquil minutes they’re content to go unnoticed.

[foreverlilaclies]

His Games: A Prequel

A prequel to His Games.

Thank you to @binegan for letting me use their hoodie concept!

The thing about growing-up in the deep south was that sometimes people could suck. Really, Rick supposed it was the same in a lot of places, but the deep south tended to hold onto anger a bit more tightly. Like a toddler unwilling to let go of a security blanket. If they let that go, then they have to move forward. Sometimes, Rick guessed that was too hard.

Shane was popular. He had that easy grin and handsome face that had many girls giggling. His approachable personality and easy going nature made it easy for people to like him. Sure, he had a temper, but what kid didn't in high school? Somehow, he and Rick managed to gravitative to each other. Rick was reserved and painfully shy in school. He didn't have the coordination or abilities in sports that Shane had, so he had found his niche in art. The art student and the sports star. Seemed an odd match, but it worked.

Shane was loud and abrasive, a windstorm in human form. He liked touching. Not in the groping weird sort of way, but like a friend. An arm around Rick's shoulder, a hand through his hair. He liked touching Rick and Rick liked the comfort of Shane's touch. Rick went to all his games. Football, baseball, hockey. Rick never missed one. If he had to do his homework, it came with him. When his team lost, Rick was there to offer Shane a word of comfort. When they won, Rick was the first person Shane sought out. Even above whatever girl he was dating at the time. It didn't matter, it was Rick his eyes sought and Rick he lumbered to, pulling him into a fierce hug, grin wide and eyes sparkling.

It didn't take long for rumors to start. Jokes about Rick being Shane's boyfriend, or even his girlfriend by some. Some of the jokes were good natured and gentle, some not so much. It didn't matter to Rick. He wasn't worried about what anyone thought and apparently, Shane wasn't either. Considering the day he dumped his hoodie in Rick's lap after noticing him shivering.

"You're gonna catch a cold. Wear this." Shane had gruffly said as he pulled the sweater over his head. Rick had accepted it without hesitation. Not even Shane's girlfriends were given his hoodies.

"Don't want 'em getting stolen." Shane had explained when his girlfriend of the month had asked for it. Yet, here he was giving it to wore Shane's hoodie like it was a badge of honor. It swallowed him since he was much smaller than Shane. He had to double to sleeves back and if he wanted he could hide his whole body in the hoodie with just his feet poking out. Shane's hoodie quickly became their hoodie.

It was Shane and Rick. That would never change. Where one of them was, the other was not far behind. Let the assholes whisper what they wanted. Shane could easily take them and although Rick often lost at the fights he got into, the point is he still got into them.

One day, Shane didn't walk to school with Rick. He wasn't in school at all so Rick assumed he was skipping again. Earlier that week one of Shane's teammates on his hockey team had made a joke about Rick sucking Shane's cock after a game, right in front of Shane's then girlfriend. The girlfriend had not taken the implication well and broke up with Shane, while Shane had stared hard at his teammate. Something dark appearing in his stare. Something that always made rick pause and hope that it would never be directed at him.

"You wanna repeat that?" He drawled out, slow and the teammate seemed to realize his mistake and backed down. Rick had avoided their eyes, suddenly and uncomfortably aware that he was wearing Shane's hoodie and Shane's had had still on his shoulder. Shane's girlfriend hadn't taken that well, either. For the rest of the week, Shane had avoided Rick, finding excuses to leave and generally just not being around. It hurt, but Rick supposed he understood. Shane had a reputation and by hanging on Rick...Rick didn't want to continue that train of thought.

It was in art class that Shane finally found him. Rick glanced over from his work to see a familiar mop of dark hair coming through the window. He chanced a glance towards the door to see the teacher was still out. He glanced over to the window again to see Shane half way through, grinning at him. Rick smiled back, exasperated but unsurprised by his friend's actions. There was a weight being lifted off his chest by seeing that smile. Maybe things would be okay. He returned to his work, sketching out the shadowing on the owl. He heard Shane finally make it through the window and hot the floor with a thud, startling several students to look over at him. Rick didn't bother, accustomed to Shane's antics.

He was jolted out of his drawing when Shane reached him and slammed something onto the table. Dirt scattered across Rick's sketch and a moment of dismay and annoyance had Rick's mouth falling open. He stared down at his ruined sketch, dirt staining the owl's body. Then he noticed that it wasn't just dirt that Shane had slapped onto the table. It was tiny little blue flowers with yellow centers. Forget-me-nots, Rick realized. They were forget-me-nots. He absently brushed the dirt aside, feeling eyes on him. Shane was grinning, eating up the attention like candy.

"We're official bitches!" Shane crowed to the class, arms spread wide and grin daring, ever the showman. He looked around at the staring students before suddenly and unexpectedly swooping down, tilting Rick's head up and slating his mouth against his in a deep kiss. Rick's eyes went wide, his hands going slack. He heard his pencil hit the floor. Then his hands were moving towards Shane's face, cupping it as he kissed back. The class was staring. Rick heard someone gasp, but he didn't care. All that mattered was Shane. Shane kissing him; Shane holding him. Shane's lips were chapped and he kissed like he was trying to take Rick's taste to memory. Rick leaned into it, dazedly realizing that this was his first kiss. With his best friend in the middle of art class. His eyes remained shut, allowing Shane to control the kiss. As he always allowed Shane to take charge.

Slowly, they separated. Shane pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide and smile slowly slipping from his face as he stared at Rick in a daze. Had he anticipated Rick kissing back? Had he expected to kiss him in the first place? Rick's heart hammered against his chest as he stared at Shane, unblinking. Rick held his breath, face feeling all too hot. "I uhhh, I got these for you." Shane awkwardly indicated to the forget-me-nots. Rick blinked, looking down at them. He could hear whispering. He could feel eyes on them. Neither boy cared. They were too focused on each other.

"Uhhh, thank you." He managed to speak up, offering Shane a small smile. "Where did you even get them?" His heart was still hammering and his palms were still sweating. Shane blinked, staring for a moment before pilling out of it.

"Oh! I saw them on some lawn, decided to grab them." Shane shrugged and Rick fought down a laugh at the thought of Shane stomping into someone's garden for their flowers. "We walking home after school?" Shane asked, finally managing an easy, lazy smile that had Rick feeling dumb. He had recovered quickly enough, now Rick needed to. He carefully cleaned the dirt off the paper, taking care to not jostle the flowers. Shane watched him with eyes too dark. The students around them slowly began returning to work, eyeballing them as they listened in.

"Yeah," Rick replied with a nod, lifting his pencil off the floor. "I'd like that." Shane smiled at this, expression open and earnest and so very much like Rick had come to expect of Shane.

The kiss was never discussed again. Instead life continued. They joined the police force and Shane married a beautiful woman he met at a bar, having a son. Shane quickly became Uncle Shane. Then, the world turned to shit. As Rick Grimes lay comatose in a hospital bed with a barricaded door and flowers at his side, as Shane Walsh helped Lori and Carl Grimes escape their home, above their heads in the attic, there was a box in the corner.

In the box sat several books. High school year books and pamphlets from another lifetime. There was one notebook with a dirt splattered owl, half drawn and forever unfinished and pressed between its' pages lay a bouquet of forget-me-nots, dried and dull, but never forgotten.

[sciencespies]

Millions of Americans have no power in this extreme, nation-wide storm. Here's why

https://sciencespies.com/environment/millions-of-americans-have-no-power-in-this-extreme-nation-wide-storm-heres-why/

Millions of Americans have no power in this extreme, nation-wide storm. Here's why

Amid record cold temperatures and skyrocketing energy demand, utilities across the central US have ordered rolling blackouts to ration electricity, leaving millions of people without power. Energy expert Michael E. Webber explains why weather extremes can require such extreme steps.

1. The Plains states have a lot of wild weather. Why is this cold wave such a problem for utilities?

The central US has freezes, heat waves, windstorms, droughts and floods. All of these events stress the electric grid, pipeline networks, roads, rail and waterways.

Right now in my state of Texas, ERCOT, a nonprofit corporation that manages the power grid for most of the state, is imposing rolling blackouts because demand for electric heating is very high. So is the Southwest Power Pool, which serves customers in 14 states from North Dakota to Oklahoma.

About 60 percent of homes in Texas have electric heat, and most of the rest use natural gas or propane. Normally our peak electric demand is on summer afternoons for air conditioning. But in this sustained cold, electric demand is spiking to keep homes comfortable and pipes from freezing. This storm is more extreme than the most severe winter conditions that ERCOT typically plans for.

At this time of year, power plants that run on coal or natural gas often shut down for planned maintenance ahead of the summer cooling season. That means we have less capacity available than usual right now.

To meet the difference between high demand and low capacity, utilities are cycling power on and off to different neighborhoods or regions of Texas in a methodical way to keep things in balance.

If they didn’t do this, there would be a risk of a much wider-scale blackout, which would be catastrophic and life-threatening.

2. How do utilities plan for this kind of extreme weather?

Utilities everywhere follow the weather very closely. Temperature changes affect the need for heating and cooling, which drives demand for electricity and natural gas. Meteorological conditions affect the availability of wind and solar power.

Thermal power plants – which burn coal, natural gas or biomass – also need a lot of water for cooling to run efficiently, as do nuclear power plants. If climate change warms rivers or reduces their water levels, it could force those power plants to turn off or reduce their output.

Weather forecasting has improved as satellites become more abundant and computer models become more sophisticated. Utilities can take steps in advance of a major storm, such as asking customers to preheat their homes. For ratepayers who will do this, the utility may adjust their thermostats to reduce power flow when demand is high.

Power providers can also ask large industrial customers to temporarily shut down factories to reduce electricity demand. And they can give hourly or minute-by-minute updates to customers about rolling blackouts and provide real-time maps of power outages.

Utilities work year-round to harden the grid against extreme weather. They may build berms to protect power plants against floods, fill reservoirs in preparation for droughts, replace equipment that can get overheated in the summer or weatherize power plants for cold conditions.

Almost exactly a decade ago, in February 2011, Texas suffered a significant series of rolling blackouts when cold weather forced dozens of coal and natural gas power plants offline. This cold snap is testing the upgrades utilities made after that event.

3. Does having a diverse fuel mix protect against energy crunches?

Texas is blessed with multiple energy sources. Much of it is produced locally, including natural gas, wind and solar power. Over the past 15 years, the state has diversified its fuel mix: Coal use has dropped, wind and solar have grown, and nuclear and natural gas use have held steady.

Each of these options has pros and cons. Wind and solar do not require water cooling, so they work fine during droughts and floods. But they vary based on wind patterns, cloud cover and time of day.

Nuclear power is reliable, but sometimes nuclear plants have to reduce their output during heat waves or droughts if their cooling water is too hot or scarce.

Natural gas is a high performer, but in the 2011 Texas cold snap, gas plants struggled to keep up with demand because many homes and businesses were using the fuel for heat.

That reduced the pressure in gas pipelines, which made it hard to physically move gas to turbines that needed the fuel to generate electricity.

Much of the coal burned in Texas power plants comes from Wyoming over a sprawling rail network that can be disrupted if a bridge or section of track is out of commission for repairs. Utilities store 30 days or more of coal in piles near their power plants, but those piles can freeze or be flooded, as occurred when Hurricane Harvey swamped Houston in 2017.

Because all of these options fail in different ways, a diverse mix is the best basis for a robust system. Today Texas has three times as much wind power-generating capacity as it did in 2011, which may help stave off the worst risks of a statewide blackout.

This extra wind will be especially important because about 30 percent of ERCOT’s generating capacity is offline right now, reportedly due to natural gas shortages.

Some West Texas wind turbines have also shut down due to icing, but turbines in other parts of the state are partially offsetting those losses. ERCOT will investigate all power losses after this storm passes and use what it learns to make new improvements to its system.

4. California has had rolling blackouts recently, too. Is this a national risk?

California is a big state with power sources in many locations, so it relies on a sprawling network of wires and poles to move electrons from one place to another. Those power lines can sag when it’s hot out and fail when high winds blow trees down onto the wires.

Aging transmission and distribution networks can also spark wildfires, which is a growing risk as the effects of climate change worsen drought conditions in the West. To manage those risks, California grid operators will preemptively turn off the power to prevent wildfires.

They also did this in August 2020 to ration power during a heat wave.

Weather-related power outages are increasing across the US as climate change produces more extreme storms and temperature swings.

States that design their buildings and infrastructure for hot weather may need to plan for more big chills, and cold-weather states can expect more heat waves. As conditions in Texas show, there’s no time to waste in getting more weather-ready.

Michael E. Webber, Josey Centennial Professor of Energy Resources, University of Texas at Austin.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

#Environment

[toldnews-blog]

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/travel/the-anxiety-of-the-2300-a-night-hotel-room/

The Anxiety of the $2,300-a-Night Hotel Room

Carbon Beach is a beguiling and exclusive crescent of sand along the Pacific Ocean in Malibu, famous — infamous might be a better word — for the long and mostly losing battle conducted by its wealthy homeowners to keep the public off this stunning mile of coastline.

It is also known as Billionaire’s Beach, a fitting reference to the Californians who have staked their claims there, a cast that has, over the years, included David Geffen, Larry Ellison, Jeffrey Katzenberg and Eli Broad.

Still, you don’t have to be a billionaire (or even a millionaire) to wake up in a room with floor-to-ceiling glass that makes you feel like you are sleeping atop the sands of Carbon Beach, to settle in for breakfast on a deck with views up and down the Pacific, to cast open the sliding doors and let the smells and sounds of the ocean wash over your room.

But it is going to cost you. A lot.

In 2017, the Nobu Ryokan Malibu, a homage to the serenity of a Japanese inn, opened on Carbon Beach, offering 16 rooms discreetly set in a maze of teak and glass, with two private walkways leading to the sand. It’s part of a chain of Nobu hotels and restaurants, whose owners include Nobu Matsuhisa, the chef, and Robert De Niro, the actor. Mr. Ellison, the billionaire co-founder of Oracle, whose home is just up the beach, is the principal owner of this West Coast Nobu venture. There are eight Nobu hotels across the world, but this is the only Ryokan.

An ocean-front room with a deck clocked in at $2,300 a night, not counting another $300 or so in taxes. During the off-season. And there is a two-night minimum, though the hotel was willing, at least on one occasion, to waive that. (The reservation was not in my name and the hotel did not know about my connection to the Times.) With a 4 p.m. check-in and noon departure, that comes out, pretax, to $115 an hour.

For that much money — figure $5,200 for two nights, taxes included — we probably could have jetted off to Japan and experienced a real ryokan, or, more practically, rented an entire house in Malibu for a few days. But instead we booked a hotel room. There are rooms that go for as little as $2,000 a night for a first-floor garden room (don’t expect to see the beach out your window). And if $2,300 a night isn’t enough of a splurge, an ocean front suite with skylights goes for $3,500 a night.

Was it worth it? Along with my spouse, Benjamin, I have, over the years, occasionally indulged in splurge hotels: the Post Ranch Inn in Big Sur, a Singita in South Africa. These can be enriching, even if your stomach drops when confronted with a tab that exceeds the cost of your first car. They can also make you wonder, when that credit card bill comes due, what on earth you were thinking.

And this is a year when California in general, and this part of California in particular, has been battered by mudslides, fires, windstorms and torrential rains. The Woolsey Fire that ripped across Malibu late last year stopped a few miles short of the Nobu Ryokan.

Drive a few miles north of the hotel on the Pacific Coast Highway and you’ll soon encounter grim reminders of the destruction: the burned-out shells of a cluster of homes on Point Dume — normally, a beautiful place to stroll the bluffs, looking down on the sea lions and tidal pools — and the wildflowers poking through what were hills of smoky embers. The hotel was forced to close during the worst of the fires; the Pacific Coast Highway was a stream of emergency vehicles and evacuees, and a thick and ominous bank of smoke rose above the horizon.

And the wildfires weren’t the end of it. A bank of cold, whipping rains followed, causing mudslides on the hillsides that had been stripped of greenery, closing down parts of the highway. The day we were originally supposed to check in, hotel management was exceedingly accommodating when we called to inquire about changing the reservation after waking up to torrential rains and a round of mudslide warnings.

There is a reason billionaires chose to make their homes (or one of their homes) in this part of Malibu. It has some of the most seductive coastline in the country: the hills, swaying with bright green grass, which will be brown before long, slope gently to the ocean. The waves are dotted with surfers, lit up in the seductive golden light that is California. Much of Malibu is wild and undeveloped; you can cross four lanes and take off into the hills, hiking trails that give views up and down the coast. An early morning jog through the mist on the beach can be a bracingly solitary experience.

All that, of course, is free.

Getting behind the doors

The Ryokan rests at the north end of a stretch of high-design exclusivity — a blur of low-lying teak and glass alongside a palette of sand and ocean — which includes Nobu Malibu, its sister restaurant, and the Little Beach House Malibu, a West Coast outpost for the London-based, members-only Soho House.

When we pulled up to the hotel one Saturday afternoon as motorcycles whizzed by us, the front doors were locked, as is the practice, to keep out the celebrity-seekers and tourists. After we identified ourselves as paying guests, a click of a switch at the front desk slid the doors open to reveal five hotel workers stationed in the lobby, welcoming us with bows, hot towels and a tour.

The lobby opens to an outdoor Japanese garden, lush with greenery and flowering trumpet vines, and a deck built from ipe wood overlooking the beach. It was empty when we were there; perhaps the guests preferred the wicker chairs set out on their private decks. During our time there, we did not run into another guest, though there was no shortage of housekeepers, groundskeepers and butlers. Off to one edge of the property, through a passageway that leads to a small, well-equipped gym, a lap pool glistened invitingly in the daytime sun, it too overlooked the beach. But it was also, unfortunately, closed because of what we were informed was a permit issue involving the city of Malibu.

But who wanted to swim?

Our room was up a flight of stairs, in a corner with a wraparound deck that faced the ocean to the west, and the Little Beach House and the Malibu hills to the south. A bowl of fresh fruit awaited us: pineapple, blackberries, raspberries, passion fruit and carved cantaloupe, as well as his-and-his pots of green tea.

Rooms here are designated by name. Ours was the Suiheisen room, which is Japanese for horizon. (It is known among staff as the Rock Star Suite.) It was not particularly large, but it was dramatic, with the walls of windows and a television screen hidden in the ceiling that lowered at the push of a button. The bathroom, in a nod to the hotel’s Japanese design influence, had a toilet seat that lifted automatically upon sensing motion in the bathroom; amusing at first, annoying before long.

And there was a Japanese teak soaking tub set on the deck facing the ocean, complete with a bowl of aromatic Himalayan salts to sprinkle in before drawing the water. Thick towels were draped over the back. Sitting in the tub, steam rising in the air, glancing at the boats bobbing on the swells as the sunlight faded was so serene (detoxifying was, I believe, the word of the day) that we almost didn’t want to leave for dinner.

But we did, of course, walking five minutes to the restaurant, where I had made a reservation on my own, though the hotel did volunteer, after we booked our room, to get us a table.

And there are few restaurants anywhere that match the dramatic setting and sheer verve of the Nobu Malibu, with its open-air dining room set right over the ocean and under the stars. We closed the place, along with Jack Dorsey, of Twitter and Square, who was eating a few tables away.

A ryokan in name only

In a traditional Japanese Ryokan, guests sleep on futons set on tatami mats on the floor and share a common bathing area. They are known as fairly humble accommodations. Breakfast and dinner are often included.

Humble is not the word that came to mind ocean-side in Malibu. The rooms at the Nobu Ryokan are equipped with cashmere robes by Loro Piana and custom-made yukatas, a kind of lightweight Japanese robe. Forget futons. These beds are done up in 800-thread count linens by Anichi. Though the room bar is well-stocked and the snacks, most from Dean & DeLuca, are included, alcohol is not.

Breakfast was in keeping with the open-your-wallet spirit of the hotel: Tacos with scrambled eggs and avocado was a fine way to start the day on the deck — but came to $22 for three bite-size tacos. Coffee was another $12, but at least it was French-press. (And it was punctual: ordered for 10 a.m., the knock on the door came at 9:59).

By the time we had eaten, it was nearly noon and the clock — and meter — was running on our stay, as I was only too keenly aware. At this price tag, a night like ours can be as much a source of anxiety as an escape. What if it rains? What if I’m late arriving? What if I don’t like my room?

For this much money, dare I wander off for a stroll up the beach or should I stay on the deck and take another soak in the Japanese tub?

Sometimes too much really is too much.

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[biofunmy]

The Anxiety of the $2,300-a-Night Hotel Room

Carbon Beach is a beguiling and exclusive crescent of sand along the Pacific Ocean in Malibu, famous — infamous might be a better word — for the long and mostly losing battle conducted by its wealthy homeowners to keep the public off this stunning mile of coastline.

It is also known as Billionaire’s Beach, a fitting reference to the Californians who have staked their claims there, a cast that has, over the years, included David Geffen, Larry Ellison, Jeffrey Katzenberg and Eli Broad.

Still, you don’t have to be a billionaire (or even a millionaire) to wake up in a room with floor-to-ceiling glass that makes you feel like you are sleeping atop the sands of Carbon Beach, to settle in for breakfast on a deck with views up and down the Pacific, to cast open the sliding doors and let the smells and sounds of the ocean wash over your room.

But it is going to cost you. A lot.

In 2017, the Nobu Ryokan Malibu, a homage to the serenity of a Japanese inn, opened on Carbon Beach, offering 16 rooms discreetly set in a maze of teak and glass, with two private walkways leading to the sand. It’s part of a chain of Nobu hotels and restaurants, whose owners include Nobu Matsuhisa, the chef, and Robert De Niro, the actor. Mr. Ellison, the billionaire co-founder of Oracle, whose home is just up the beach, is the principal owner of this West Coast Nobu venture. There are eight Nobu hotels across the world, but this is the only Ryokan.

An ocean-front room with a deck clocked in at $2,300 a night, not counting another $300 or so in taxes. During the off-season. And there is a two-night minimum, though the hotel was willing, at least on one occasion, to waive that. (The reservation was not in my name and the hotel did not know about my connection to The Times.) With a 4 p.m. check-in and noon departure, that comes out, pretax, to $115 an hour.

For that much money — figure $5,200 for two nights, taxes included — we probably could have jetted off to Japan and experienced a real ryokan, or, more practically, rented an entire house in Malibu for a few days. But instead we booked a hotel room. There are rooms that go for as little as $2,000 a night for a first-floor garden room (don’t expect to see the beach out your window). And if $2,300 a night isn’t enough of a splurge, an ocean front suite with skylights goes for $3,500 a night.

Was it worth it? Along with my spouse, Benjamin, I have, over the years, occasionally indulged in splurge hotels: the Post Ranch Inn in Big Sur, a Singita in South Africa. These can be enriching, even if your stomach drops when confronted with a tab that exceeds the cost of your first car. They can also make you wonder, when that credit card bill comes due, what on earth you were thinking.

And this is a year when California in general, and this part of California in particular, has been battered by mudslides, fires, windstorms and torrential rains. The Woolsey Fire that ripped across Malibu late last year stopped a few miles short of the Nobu Ryokan.

Drive a few miles north of the hotel on the Pacific Coast Highway and you’ll soon encounter grim reminders of the destruction: the burned-out shells of a cluster of homes on Point Dume — normally, a beautiful place to stroll the bluffs, looking down on the sea lions and tidal pools — and the wildflowers poking through what were hills of smoky embers. The hotel was forced to close during the worst of the fires; the Pacific Coast Highway was a stream of emergency vehicles and evacuees, and a thick and ominous bank of smoke rose above the horizon.

And the wildfires weren’t the end of it. A bank of cold, whipping rains followed, causing mudslides on the hillsides that had been stripped of greenery, closing down parts of the highway. The day we were originally supposed to check in, hotel management was exceedingly accommodating when we called to inquire about changing the reservation after waking up to torrential rains and a round of mudslide warnings.

There is a reason billionaires chose to make their homes (or one of their homes) in this part of Malibu. It has some of the most seductive coastline in the country: the hills, swaying with bright green grass, which will be brown before long, slope gently to the ocean. The waves are dotted with surfers, lit up in the seductive golden light that is California. Much of Malibu is wild and undeveloped; you can cross four lanes and take off into the hills, hiking trails that give views up and down the coast. An early morning jog through the mist on the beach can be a bracingly solitary experience.

All that, of course, is free.

Getting behind the doors

The Ryokan rests at the north end of a stretch of high-design exclusivity — a blur of low-lying teak and glass alongside a palette of sand and ocean — which includes Nobu Malibu, its sister restaurant, and the Little Beach House Malibu, a West Coast outpost for the London-based, members-only Soho House.

When we pulled up to the hotel one Saturday afternoon as motorcycles whizzed by us, the front doors were locked, as is the practice, to keep out the celebrity-seekers and tourists. After we identified ourselves as paying guests, a click of a switch at the front desk slid the doors open to reveal five hotel workers stationed in the lobby, welcoming us with bows, hot towels and a tour.

The lobby opens to an outdoor Japanese garden, lush with greenery and flowering trumpet vines, and a deck built from ipe wood overlooking the beach. It was empty when we were there; perhaps the guests preferred the wicker chairs set out on their private decks. During our time there, we did not run into another guest, though there was no shortage of housekeepers, groundskeepers and butlers. Off to one edge of the property, through a passageway that leads to a small, well-equipped gym, a lap pool glistened invitingly in the daytime sun, it too overlooked the beach. But it was also, unfortunately, closed because of what we were informed was a permit issue involving the city of Malibu.

But who wanted to swim?

Our room was up a flight of stairs, in a corner with a wraparound deck that faced the ocean to the west, and the Little Beach House and the Malibu hills to the south. A bowl of fresh fruit awaited us: pineapple, blackberries, raspberries, passion fruit and carved cantaloupe, as well as his-and-his pots of green tea.

Rooms here are designated by name. Ours was the Suiheisen room, which is Japanese for horizon. (It is known among staff as the Rock Star Suite.) It was not particularly large, but it was dramatic, with the walls of windows and a television screen hidden in the ceiling that lowered at the push of a button. The bathroom, in a nod to the hotel’s Japanese design influence, had a toilet seat that lifted automatically upon sensing motion in the bathroom; amusing at first, annoying before long.

And there was a Japanese teak soaking tub set on the deck facing the ocean, complete with a bowl of aromatic Himalayan salts to sprinkle in before drawing the water. Thick towels were draped over the back. Sitting in the tub, steam rising in the air, glancing at the boats bobbing on the swells as the sunlight faded was so serene (detoxifying was, I believe, the word of the day) that we almost didn’t want to leave for dinner.

But we did, of course, walking five minutes to the restaurant, where I had made a reservation on my own, though the hotel did volunteer, after we booked our room, to get us a table.

And there are few restaurants anywhere that match the dramatic setting and sheer verve of the Nobu Malibu, with its open-air dining room set right over the ocean and under the stars. We closed the place, along with Jack Dorsey, of Twitter and Square, who was eating a few tables away.

A ryokan in name only

In a traditional Japanese Ryokan, guests sleep on futons set on tatami mats on the floor and share a common bathing area. They are known as fairly humble accommodations. Breakfast and dinner are often included.

Humble is not the word that came to mind ocean-side in Malibu. The rooms at the Nobu Ryokan are equipped with cashmere robes by Loro Piana and custom-made yukatas, a kind of lightweight Japanese robe. Forget futons. These beds are done up in 800-thread count linens by Anichi. Though the room bar is well-stocked and the snacks, most from Dean & DeLuca, are included, alcohol is not.

Breakfast was in keeping with the open-your-wallet spirit of the hotel: Tacos with scrambled eggs and avocado was a fine way to start the day on the deck — but came to $22 for three bite-size tacos. Coffee was another $12, but at least it was French-press. (And it was punctual: ordered for 10 a.m., the knock on the door came at 9:59).

By the time we had eaten, it was nearly noon and the clock — and meter — was running on our stay, as I was only too keenly aware. At this price tag, a night like ours can be as much a source of anxiety as an escape. What if it rains? What if I’m late arriving? What if I don’t like my room?

For this much money, dare I wander off for a stroll up the beach or should I stay on the deck and take another soak in the Japanese tub?

Sometimes too much really is too much.

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