#i dont think a rattlesnake would be out of place at all

[sassysnowperson]

I love this, I love how earnestly an apparently strangely worded question was engaged with (what does "closest to me" mean? When modified by "favorite"??)

In honor of my utter delight, I pose a follow up question:

In what dessert would you be least surprised to find a rattlesnake?

What sort of desert would you think is your favorite/closest to you?

i love tiramisu

[halloween4life]

Sanders Sides Animal headcanons because I'm bored

I've been having a lot of thoughts about how Janus and Patton canonically have like, animal traits/feature. While Virgil and Remus only really have animals they're associated with as opposed to canon traits (as far as I'm aware/remember). And how Logan and Roman have no animal associations (again as far as I'm aware/remember). So I'm making headcanons for them organized from most to least 'canon' (in terms of the characters)

(also these are all with the intent of the sides being "humans with animal traits" as opposed to them like, animorphing)

Patton

Can jump the highest out of all the sides it's actually kinda scary

He can turn his legs into frog legs to jump even higher like my guy you do NOT need to be doing all that

He will eat bugs and he hates that fact about himself. One time while cooking dinner there was a fly in the room and he just, grabbed it and ate it without a second thought. He then proceeded to completely give up on life for the next 5 hours.

Virgil tried to bond with him over this and it only made things worse for both of them I think.

On a lighter note I think he makes ribbits and chirping sounds when he's happy or excited

but he will start croaking when he's in any kind of distress

He does have spots on his body, mostly on his back

Janus

I dont care what anyone says this I'm giving this man a rattlesnake tail

The tail isn't always visible like his scales, it's something he retract so he doesn't have to constantly deal with it. Honestly most of his traits that aren't his scales he can chose whether to present them or not

Definitely venomous but he doesn't really know why it does. (Logan was studying the sides' animal features and once he found out bout this, asked for a sample of his venom and proceeded to down it like a shot for research purposes. Neither of them had a good time that day)

Anyway his venom is basically an anesthetic, it will knock you out. (or in Logan's case make you horribly sick for the next 3 hours) (these headcanons were thought of before the latest incorrect quotes video I'm just that good)

Remus

He gives me blue ring octopus vibes

His body is definitely covered in ring patterns, generally they're kinda faded and look like old scares but he can make them more prominent and colorful

Also venomous, I think it would be a paralytic because something something sleep paralysis

Only has 6 tentacles 😔

His tentacles protrude from his back in basically the same way/places as Janus' arms

He can and will fit through any gap imaginable because no bones. He once forced his way through the gap under Virgil's door and he(Virgil) still has nightmares about it

he can regenerate his tentacles, this is often a result of his chopping them off for sushi jokes

Virgil

I feel like he's kinda a tarantula but I'm scared of spiders so I'm not very picky about the specifics

He also only has 6 spider legs (arms?)

They ALSO come out of his back in the same way as Remus and Janus' limbs

Can climb walls

CAN produce webs, but the come out of his fingers (sorry Remus), and they're a very light purple and kinda shimmery

He has sharp teeth, sorry I take no criticism

He does actually have fangs and chelicerae but he tries not to present those as much as it's definitely kinda freaky

Also willing to eat bugs 😔

oh oh oh he has stripes on his arms (horizontal)

HE HAS MULTIPLE EYES

Logan

He's definitely a bird

I know a lot of people make him either a crow or raven (which I totally understand), but I feel like he would be an owl, specifically a barn owl but that may just be the Mexican in me talking

Because of that, this man is dead silent when he moves, and has accidently given everyone heart attacks on multiple occasions

His wings are massive like you would not believe

I don't think he particularly cares for his wings much (i.e. grooming and preening), both because it's a really long and tedious process but also he kinda doesn't see the value in having animal traits, because of this he also doesn't really present his traits as much

He does grow feathers on different parts of his body, most notably on his chest/neck area, he's very self conscious about it

he can fully black out his eyes but it's not actually black it's just a really dark blue

Not really an animal traits hc, but Logan has absolutely gone to each of the sides like "I would like to study you 👁👁"

He does sometimes have very odd body language vecause of this, like he just kinda moves around weird (honestly just watch a video with a barn owl moving around and you'll see what I mean

OH he can turn his head around 270°, usually he uses this to scare the shit out of one of the sides if they are standing behind him

Roman

I'm gonna need yall to hear me out on this one but I feel like if Roman was gonna be associated with any animal it would be a deer

I'm specifically thinking a white tailed deer (not initially conceived as a Bambi reference)

He has bright red antlers and loooves presenting them once their freshly shed (fun fact deers shed their antlers)

That being said, he is actually super self conscious when he's shedding the velvet of his antlers (if you are squeamish about blood don't look it up) because it is 'gross and scary.' For a while Remus was the only one who knew about this.

He has a deer tail sorry I take no criticism

The fastest runner of the sides

he really enjoys just running around, like bro is actually the frolicer

He actually has a very faint darker patch of skin running up from the tip of his nose to his whole forehead (it sounds weird to explain in words but yall are just gonna have to trust me on this)

He has light spots on his back like how baby white tailed deer do

[friskdaferret]

you would think that writing about a place you used to live would be super easy but turns out trying to write through the homesickness is like trying to walk through sludge.

Im gonna write about my character living where I lived and have them comment on some of the scenery this'll be fun!

My brain: hey remember the dust? remember the waterbabies and the cigarette smoke? Remember the smell of sunset and how that was different than the smell of twilight? remember the tree sap and the rubber and the rust and the coyotes in the night? Remember the rattlesnakes that you were always warned of but never got to see? remember the tortoise corpse and the pigeon that gradually lost all it toes on one foot over three years, but more than that remember the goldfish cracker crumbs that got smashed but it ate them anyway? Remember the banshee that warned about the flashflood? remember the fake owls and your destroyed flip flops? I know you remember the announcer guy on the radio, you can still quote it, I bet you can! Remember the beam of light that you used to navigate instead of the north star? Remember how chlorine made your hair crunchy, remember the first time you got heatstroke? remember how death seemed so so nice and not at all scary like in the movies, remember how convincing death that you didnt need to be saved by it and that you would be okay and that you could get water and AC soon hurt more? Dont you remember the jungle gym? dont you remember the olyanders and the privet flowers and the train tracks? Dont you remember the watermelon and the girls that did bloody mary in the haunted bathroom? dont you remember the grackals and how for so long you thought they were crows? Dont your remember the dust and how it all turned into dust and the sun and the dust? Dont you remember home I wanna go home. I wanna go home lets go home. home home home home home

Me: Okay so I need them to COMMENT on some of the scenery, can we do that?

[morgana-ren]

+i do feel like we (u and i) would b able to connect w his anger as well as having more sympathy for him, even if sympathy is smthn i dont rlly feel. but as long as ur comfortable then i woulddd like to ask- not specifically for a sexual assault/incest victim but more just someone that can relate to his anger and having (kinda) similar family trauma :] that way it can b more inclusive and ur not goinf out of ur comfort zone but thank u again omg

"You say the term daddy issues like it's some grand insult."

The liquor burns a hole in the back of your throat and you're pretty damn sure it's fermented sharpie water. Drinking rotgut this acidic cannot be good for you, but when you're destitute and down on your luck, top shelf is hard to come by, and it's fair to say you're not drinking for the taste.

Tomura eyes you warily, watching the bob in your throat as you kick back another shot and the sour-apple face that follows. It's not predatory or threatening; just cautious. Apathetic.

This is the dynamic you have.

Tomura is too off-putting and angry for most people to stomach willingly. It's something you both share. Practically frothing vitriol at the slightest provocation. You think you have a certain immunity to his particular brand of biological cyanide because you stomached a hearty internal dosage yourself.

You talk because he understands. He listens because he deigns it acceptable. It isn't friendship or even acquaintanceship— if anything, it's reluctant kinship. Two toxic creatures being the only ones able to withstand each other's specific breed of venom. Hot and cold. Nothing at all and then too much.

"Well it is, isn't it?"

His pale, lithe fingers curl around the rim of his own drink, nursing it rather than knocking it back as you've opted to do.

You don't count it as drinking alone. You've been told that's bad.

"No, not really. Even the most well of intentioned parents leave us with scars. Kids are like playdough. You pick them up the wrong way once and it hardens and stays malformed forever. Everyone has daddy or mommy issues, or grandparent issues, or—"

"Abandonment issues?" He says with a cruel, mocking lilt to his voice. He's firing arrows blindly hoping to hit a sore spot. Unfortunately for him, where he's firing from gives away his own position.

"Sure, that's one of them," You shrug with a practiced air of nonchalance. "There's also 'mommy was an addict's issues, and 'daddy hit me and mommy didn't care' issues—"

There's a slight twitch below his right eye when you say it. You doubt he even notices.

"—All I'm saying is everyone has 'em in some form. Even the ones that are happy."

"Whatever. All of that pathetic shit is just weak. It has no bearing on anything."

He's lying and he isn't even aware. It has everything to do with anything. It's the tarnished silver cast that molded him into what he is today. A bit hamfisted to call that giant, brutish hand he wears like a shield over his face 'father' and not recognize the absurdity of that statement.

"Whatever you fuckin' say, man. Let he without sin and all that."

He doesn't respond to your provocation. Only studies you through slitted eyes, dry mouth pressed firm in a hard line. So you keep talking.

"All I'm saying is to end up here, it's obvious something went wrong along the way. Every one of these fucks here likes to ignore the seed that bore the fruit, but every time they strike at a hero, they're really just striking out at daddy or mommy and the society that failed them—"

He tenses, coiling like a rattlesnake poised to strike. Looks like you hit a nerve.

"What are you saying?" He hisses, laced with venom that he'll mainline directly to your heart if you say the wrong thing. "Sounds like projection."

"You're telling me you think everyone here had a wonderful past and ended up here anyway?"

You say 'here' as more of a nebulous abstract than a reference to any actual place. Fallen so far through the cracks of society that you have no choice but to seal the breech with a mortar of blood and bone.

"I think it doesn't matter," he spits, that trademark brand of disdain rearing its head again. "Heroes are—"

"Literally just a part of society as it was built. The pinnacle of greatness as it's supposed to be seen. Paragons of justice and good—"

"If you believe that, I should just kill you right now."

More tail rattling.

"I don't. I'm parroting propaganda. You said once it's like a disease and heroes are the symptom. Where else is the perpetuation of society born but in the cradle?"

"Hmph."

His muscles loosen and he turns his gaze from you towards nothing in particular.

"You know from an early age that something is wrong. Maybe not at home quite at first, but that there's something wrong with you. If you don't fit the mold; if you act out too much; if you're too violent or angry rather than a bubble faced cherub child, they make damn sure you know it."

"And what were you?" He says, seemingly disinterested.

"Well, I was told once that I was the most negative, angry child they'd ever seen. And then she started bawling uncontrollably for forty five minutes."

He cackles at that. A genuine, rueful laugh that sets your teeth on edge. He doesn't necessarily mean it as an insult— that's just a convenient side effect.

You shrug again. It's not a weak point. In fact, it works in your favor now. Same as his.

"Well, she wasn't wrong, per se."

His laugh peters out and finally dies behind the swallow of his own mouthful of booze. The next sentiment he says with almost a touch of admiration.

"I guess not. You do like to make them suffer."

"Because they fucking deserve it."

Even now you can feel the curdle of molten rage bubble in the low of your gut. Your jaw ticks and teeth begin grinding, spurred onward by the less-than-helpful encouragement of liquid courage. It's like a sun cradled in your ribs, solar flares lashing out and burning anything they touch when you let it. Keeping it contained is almost more painful than just letting it collapse into itself.

You clench and burn everything you touch, and everything Tomura holds with his entire being crumbles to ash and slips between his fingers. Ironic and symbolic in some ways. Acute pain turned defense mechanism.

Tragic, really. Honest.

Tomura has an immunity to his own quirk, but fire doesn't care what it singes, bearer or victim. Some days, the flames are so hot it scorches and clogs your own lungs like a thick, black smoke. Feed me, it demands, but every time you do, it only burns hotter.

Some days, you wonder what will be left of you when that fire goes out— if there will even be anything left at all.

They say anger is a secondary emotion; that it stems from sadness and grief. The fruit is bitter all the same, but when it's all you have to eat, you learn to enjoy the taste.

You have both long since fallen past the point of questioning whether everyone who angers you deserves to die. You've built a life around that questionable belief instead.

He eyes you with a peculiar look. One you've seen before and immediately, the rest of the night is mapped out in front of you like a blueprint.

"I know,"

He says it with a certain softness. As soft as the embodiment of raw glass and sharp edges can be.

"It's part of why I keep you close."

He keeps his heated stare on you, and you know he won't make any moves further than that. He hasn't drank quite enough to just grab you by the throat and take what he wants from you like he often does, but he knows enough to know he doesn't want to spend the night alone.

"And it's part of why I stay."

Negativity feeds negativity feeds negativity. A twisted form of trauma bonding that you've nurtured into some unholy abomination of desire. You will spend the night breaking each other down in violent and suffocating affection, and build each other back up into some more grotesque form than before.

It's cathartic. And extremely unhealthy. You know that.

Love isn't his hands around your throat until a cosmic spattering of bruises colors your neck or your nails embedded in his shoulders until ghostly skin slicing crimson is all that's left behind in your wake. It's not his fist on your cheek or your wrists ringed red with rope burn with cracked walls and and a broken bed frame. It's not the whiskey tinted breath of 'I love you' he sighs and conveniently forgets the following morning.

He wants to hurt; you know you deserve to be hurt.

That's not love— it's a mockery of it. A twisted reflection of what might have been had it not been burned beyond recognition before the kindling had even sparked.

Happy endings don't come in the form of arson. Happy endings don't end in ash and soot and still-burning cinders.

That miserable fire.

It will consume you both.

[an-angels-blessing]

Song Prompts #1

“Will nature make a man of me yet?”- The Smiths, This Charming Man

“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?”- Lynyrd Skynyrd, Free Bird

“When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her.”- Hozier, Work Song

“I don’t think that we should be alone together, when we’re in a room you get my eyes, you open your mouth I’m hypnotised”- The Neighbourhood, Single

“She looks as if she’s blowing a kiss at me and suddenly the sky is a scissor”- Arctic Monkeys, That’s where you’re wrong

“You think you want to be alone, just wait until you’re crying on the shower floor”

“They’ve got a pretty face, but they’ve got a pretty empty head.”

“But how the hell do you fall in love, the last time I checked you can’t fall in slow mo”- LANY- The Breakup *There were too many good ones in this song, I couldn’t help myself*

“I know it’s mad, but if I go to hell will you go with me or just leave?” - Panic! At The Disco, Do you know what I’m seeing?

“I don’t know who’s protecting me, but we hit it off”- Drake, Sandra’s Rose

“Do me a favour and break my nose, do me a favour and tell me to go away?”- Arctic monkeys, Do me a favour

“Baby just came back around, said she needs time to explore, said I can’t love her no more”- The Neighbourhood, Baby came home

“Just one mistake, you say you’re not in love no more, but was it really love if you can leave me for something so innocent is this the end?”- LANY, Thick and thin

“You can have Manhattan, I know it’s for the best, I’ll gather up the avenues and leave them on your doorstep. I’ll tiptoe away so you won’t have to say you heard me leave.”

“You can have Manhattan, the one we used to share, the one where we were laughing and drunk on just being there. Hang onto the reverie, could you do that for me?”- Sara Bareilles, Manhattan

“You don’t love me, big fucking deal, I’ll never tell you how I feel.”

“I’ll send my best regards from Hell”- Marina and the Diamonds, Starring Role

“I been writing these songs ‘bout how I can’t be with you. I don’t want to be a monster, but I’ve been here for days, drinking too much now I want you, can’t get you off my brain.”- Henry, Monster, Eng. version

“Change lives, get better, yeah that be the plan”

“That’s why you see me winning, yeah, even after I lose”- Jay Park, Ask bout me

“Love is not looking over shoulders, Love is you should trust what I told you”

“Love is not struggling to say I love you”- 6LACK, Disconnect

“All these people taking miles when you give them an inch, all these followers but who’s gonna follow me until the end?”- Drake, Emotionless

“She’s in the rain, you wanna hurt yourself I’ll stay with you, you wanna make yourself go through that pain, It’s better to be held than holding on,”- The Rose, She’s In The Rain *Absolutely love this one, don’t @ me, I will die for the The Rose**

“Sex by the fire at night”- Bruno Mars, That’s What I Like

“I’ve got the good side of you, sent it out into the blue.”- Troye Sivan, Good Side

“Standing by the window, rain falling, I want to have you full in my embrace and tell you, even when I’m born again and love you, even then, will you be with me?”- KREAM, 선물 Gift *Translated*

“It all passes, Someday, For sure, Certainly”- RM, ft. NELL, everythingoes *Translated*

“Please stay as long as you need, can’t promise that things won’t be broken, but I swear that I will never leave. Please stay forever with me”- Sleeping With Sirens, Scene One- James Dean & Audrey Hepburn

“When you move, I’m put to mind of all that I wanna be, when you move

I could never define all that you are to me”- Hozier, Movement

“Wake up and smell the coffee, is your cup half full or empty?”- Billie Eilish, come out and play

“Am I a bad person? Or am I just in pain?”- DEAN, Sulli, Rad Museum, Dayfly *Translated*

“Kiss me on the lips, a secret just between the two of us, deeply poisoned by the jail of you, I cannot worship anyone but you and I knew the grail was poisoned but I drank it anyway”- BTS, Blood Sweat & Tears *Translated*

“When the sun sets and darkness comes, I only remember your warmth, where the stars wrap around us. I’m going there, I’ll be there”- SEVENTEEN, Highlight *Translated*

“I don’t ever wanna feel like anything I do ever had a fucking resonance or meant a thing to you.”- Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes, I Hate You

“You can’t take this away from me, the way I hit the melody, the waves bring clarity, running through me”- Tom Misch, Del La Soul, It Runs Through Me

“It was a lie when they smiled and said you won’t feel a thing”- My Chemical Romance, Disenchanted

“The fog has lifted and things get clear, all the lies pass by like a reel of film. I hate you”- EXO, 내가 미쳐 (Going Crazy) *Translated*

“I’m sorry- no, I’m not sorry, I’m just getting started and my life’s a party”- DEAN, Eric Bellinger, I’m Not Sorry

“Ain’t it fun, living in the real world?”- Paramore, Ain’t It Fun

“Ready or not, we are coming back- yeah, we’re over, we can tell you ‘bout what you need. You can look it up when you’re older”- Evergreen, Cargo Cult

“You, you got so much potential, every moment spent with you I bet was always eventful”- Aminé, Kehlani, Heebiejeebies- Bonus

“Could you imagine the taste of your lips if we never tried to kiss on the drive to Queens? ‘Cause I imagine the weight of your ribs if you lied between my hips in the backseat”- Halsey, Roman Holiday

“Forever isn’t for everyone, is forever for you?”- Arctic Monkeys, Snap Out Of It

“Wish you good luck being lonely, I’mma push red every time you phone me. You vow to be a memory”- Ella Mai, ft. Ty Dolla $ign, She Don’t

“I’ve been dazed and confused from the day I met you, yeah I lost my head and I’d do it again”- Ruel, Dazed & Confused

“I just want you closer, is that alright? Baby let’s get closer tonight”- Paolo Nutini, Last request

“You have no idea how pretty you are when you wake from sleep, you have no idea how beautiful you look as you get ready for bed”- Zion.T, No Makeup *Translated*

“I was thinking I could fly to your hotel tonight, baby, ‘cos I can’t get you off my mind”- Shawn Mendes, Lost In Japan

“She’s soothing like the ocean rushing on the sand, she takes care of me, baby, she helps me be a better man. She’s so beautiful, sometimes I stop to close my eyes, she’s exactly what I need”- Jeremy Passion, Lemonade

“And her lips are like the galaxy’s edge and her kiss the colour of a constellation falling into place”- Arctic Monkeys, Arabella

“It’s how you look, not how you feel. A city of glass with no heart”- Queens of the Stone Age, If I Had a Tail

“I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife”- Hozier, Take Me To Church

“Bitter and hardened heart, Oh, aching- waiting for life to start”- Keane, Bend & Break

“When you move I’m put to mind of all that I wanna be, when you move I could never define all that you are to me”- Hozier, Movement

“She said, ‘Baby, I’m afraid to fall in love, 'cause what if it’s not reciprocated?’ I told her, ‘Don’t rush girl, don’t you rush, guess it’s all a game of patience.’”- Pink Sweat$, Honesty

“Share a casket with you, we’ll be buried alive, me and her playing truth ‘til the day we die.”- Granata Ft. Phoniks, You Dont Need Me

“And hope that I had survived yesterday, and today is jealous of tomorrow.”- Emeli Sandé, Breathing Underwater

“Heaven if you sent us down so we could build a playground for the sinners to play as saints, you’d be so proud of what we’ve made.” Stephen, Crossfire

“Tell me how do you cope with it? How do you sleep with yourself at night? How do you cope with it? How do you sleep with yourself at night?”- blackbear, make daddy proud

“If anyone looks perfect, you look perfect next to me.”- Nick Wilson, Obsolete

“When I meet you after time passes, I’ll know (you were my future), I’ll know (I was your yesterday). When I meet you after time passes, I’ll know (you protected me), I’ll know (I desired you).”- SEVENTEEN (Wen Junhui & Xu Minghao), My I *Translated*

“I need my sex n’ drugs, I need my money first, bless me with all my sins.”- Abhi The Nomad, Ft. Harrison Sands & Copper King, Sex ‘n Drugs

“Naked and fallin’ in love, look here I got you. Safe where there’s no one to judge, keep it insightful.”- Keiynan Lonsdale, Preach

“All alone, all we know is haunting me, making it harder to breathe, harder to breathe.”- The Neighbourhood, Leaving Tonight

“Now I see you get off of the subway, haven’t seen you in months but it’s okay. I’d forgotten but I feel the same, hate that I still wish you were…”- Claud, Wish You Were Gay

“A perfect stranger lying next to me, he’s playing God with broken figurines. He keeps calling me his little queen and I believe.”- Jake Wesley Rogers, Little Queen (This song deserves way more recognition, make sure to give it a listen!)

“Hell is so close to Heaven, hell is so close to Heaven. Hold on don’t look back, you know we’re better- we’re better than that. Lost and thrown away, you know we’re better- we’re better than that.”- Sleeping With Sirens, The Strays

“Alone tonight, I’m drawing my dreams across the sky farther than I can imagine- She wants it.”- CIX, Movie Star *Translated*

“Yeah I mixed words and some whiskey on the flight just to make sure I landed on time and I wrote me a song I could sing just in case I forgot everything.”- Marc E. Bassy, Last One I Love

“Don’t ask questions you don’t wanna know, learned my lesson way too long ago.”

“Deadly fever, please don’t ever break, be my reliever 'cause I don’t self medicate”- Billie Eilish, my strange addiction

“And it’s worth it, it’s divine, I have this some of the time.”- Hozier, Cherry Wine

“And I realize you’re mine, Indeed, a fool am I.”- Queens of the Stone Age, No One Knows

“Look in the mirror ‘til I forget everything I know, everything I did was just a way to make the time feel faster.”- Miya Folick, Stock Image

“Do you feel how I feel? Are you numb? Do you tread crystal waters, bound to be stung? Are you scared? If I see you, we’re upon,

will you dye your hair dark so you’re no longer blonde?”- Isaac Dunbar, Cologne

“Tell me; To you I’m bad & hurtful. Because I’ve been busy, you’re hurting. Bad, bad, bad, I’m bad, bad.”- Crush, NAPPA (나빠) *Translated*

“Just for the record, the weather today is slightly sarcastic with a good chance of: A. Indifference or B. disinterest to what the critics say.”- Panic! At The Disco, London Beckoned Songs About Money Written By Machines

“‘Cause you don’t say what you feel, I’m the one driving but you take the wheel. You wanna wait, 'til we’re older, I’m the one who started this, but now I just want closure.”- Ieuan, Closure

“Our names carved in the pavement, sealed by what’s left of our handprints, now. I told my mom, she’d love to meet you, but it’s too bad she won’t get the chance to.”- COIN, Malibu 1992

“I’m running outta time to hold you close, running outta time to be your man. I’m just lost in this moment, I’ve been zoning.”- blackbear, 4u

“Standing on your mama’s porch, you told me that you’d wait forever. Oh and when you held my hand, I knew that it was now or never”- Bryan Adams, Summer Of ‘69

“I’ll go out, grow my hair too long, sing your least favourite songs at the top of my lungs. I’ll go out, kiss all of your friends, make a story and pretend it was me who made this end.”- The Vamps, Hair Too Long

“Getting my mind right, I’ll wait 'til the time’s right. I’m meaning to tell you why it’s hard to sleep at night. There’s nothing to fear now, girl, we should be here now. So why don’t you hear me out?”- Jeremy Zucker, Ft. blackbear, talk is overrated

“We haven’t spoke since you went away, comfortable silence is so overrated. Why won’t you ever be the first one to break? Even my phone misses your call, by the way.”- Harry Styles, From the Dining Table

“Look overhead at the stars and the ocean, foggy emotions, moments, erosion. This supernova could cause a commotion, my minds of the notion, you’ll still be my motive”- Ansel Elgort, Supernova

“I love that new dress you bought, yeah, you sure look nice. Heard you liked that new restaurant, you know, I’ve been there twice. And the way that you switch up your hair, all of the moments we’ve shared, strolling the streets back in Rome, oh, how I wish I was there. It ain’t fair.”- Ruel, Face To Face

“Welcome to your life, there’s no turning back. Even while we sleep we will find you acting on your best behaviour, turn your back on mother nature.”- Tear For Fears, Everybody Wants to Rule the World

“I’m wide awake, not losing any sleep, I picked up every piece and landed on my feet. I’m wide awake, need nothing to complete myself, no.” Katy Perry, Wide Awake

“If you don’t realize, all of the things your life can do you will be left behind, swept up by the storm of those you knew.”- Meltycanon, thankful

“I always knew that we’d be by each other’s side forever, now our time has come and I’d be satisfied if we died together. Yeah, our climate’s fucked, we might as well enjoy the weather, our time is up and I’d be satisfied if we died together.”- Samsa, Anthropocene

“There’s still so much to say, I’m faded, broken, pretending you’re on the line, wasting my time. Sinking deeper, watching you spend your night,

like I’ll be fine and I’ll be over this.”- NYK, Faded

“I’d rather go to hell, than be in purgatory, cut my hair, gag and bore me, pull this pin, let this world explode.”- My Chemical Romance, Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na)

“I reached for a shooting star, it burned a hole through my hand

Made its way through my heart, had fun in the promised land.”- blink-182, Wishing Well

“Let go of your baggage, but don’t think I don’t understand it’s probably a challenge,”- Isaac Lewis, Fly

“It’s been a long night in New York city, it’s been a long night in Baton Rouge. I don’t remember you looking any better, but then again, I don’t remember you.”- John Mayer, Who Says

Prompts 101-119

[darkangeldesignstudio]

Dark Horse

Since I am depressed af right now and Hurricane Dorian is breathing down my neck....I am posting these next two chapters early. You know, just in case I die in the storm or from sadness over the next 24 hours. Love y'all and I hope you enjoy these.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Death, Attempted Rape, Strong Language, Mentions of Animal Abuse, and Eventual Smut and Fluff

Setting: Post Civil War era USA. Marvel Cowboy AU.

Preface: Your home is attacked by the Hydra gang and you are rescued by Steve, Bucky, and their group. The government agency, known as Shield, wants them captured and Hydra wants them dead. With nowhere else to go, you join their ragtag group and set out on the adventure of a lifetime. Helping those less fortunate along the way, your small group grows and so does your affection for these two rough and tumble outlaws. When the chips are down, will you all be able to escape unscathed? Or will the boot drop and leave you heartbroken and alone again?

Song: Zombie (Acoustic) by Bad Wolves

Previous / Next

Chapter Six: Esa and Coyote

You motioned for Steve to take a seat as you began your story. This one would take a while and it would be best if he was comfortable for it.

“My ancestors, my people, walked with the animals and the spirits. They respected them greatly, but most of all they respected Esa, the Wolf God. He was hailed as one of the creator Gods and like many of the other animal he could walk and talk like man.”

Bucky and Steve sat quietly, listening intently with intrigue sparkling in their eyes as your story began to paint pictures of old. “Wolf’s brother Coyote could also walk and talk, but the people didn’t respect him. He was a Trickster, always up to no good and out to double-cross others, the people stayed far away from him.”

Bucky chuckled a bit. “Sounds like Tony.”

Steve shushed him, leaning forward in his chair, waiting eagerly for you to continue.

You giggled a bit before continuing with the story. “Time passed and Coyote began to resent the Wolf, jealous of how respected his brother was. Being the Trickster he was, Coyote wanted to teach Wolf a lesson. So, he devised a plan to make the people lose their respect for Wolf. A plan that would make them hate him, or so he thought. You see, Wolf was wise to his brother’s ways and so, when Coyote enacted his plan, Wolf created his own plan. A plan to finally teach his wily brother the lesson he deserved.”

Steve sat back in his chair as a bit of trepidation coursed his spine. “This sounds like it’s gonna get dark, doll.”

You smiled sadly, nodding a bit. Steve was right, the story wasn’t a happy one, but it was essential to the prophecy you would tell them later. Drawing a deep breath, you looked between the men in front of you as a shiver ran the length of your spine.

Bucky jumped from his chair. “One second, Y/N.”

He disappeared into your room, emerging a moment later with a blanket. You thanked him as he draped its warmth over your shoulders. When he took his seat again, a huge grin on his face, you continued the story.

“One day, Wolf and Coyote were out on a walk over the land, they talked about the people that lived there and when Wolf claimed that if someone were to die, he could bring them back by shooting an arrow under them. Now Coyote, having heard this boast before, told his brother that if he brought everyone back to life, there would be no room left on Earth for new life. ‘Once people die, they should remain dead.’ He believed that if Wolf took his advice, the people would hate him. Wolf, irritated by Coyote’s constant questioning of his wisdom, decided now was the time to enact his plan. He said nothing, just nodded wisely and went on about his day.”

Bucky and Steve looked at each other as the tension built. The tone of your voice didn’t bode well for Coyote.

“Days later, Coyote came running to his brother, his fur was ruffled and his eyes were filled with panic. Wolf already knew what had happened; Coyote’s son had been bitten by Rattlesnake, whose powerful venom was deadly to all. No-one could survive the bite. Coyote begged and pleaded for Wolf to bring his son back to life as he claimed he could do, but Wolf refused. He reminded Coyote of his own remark that people should remain dead, that he was no longer going to bring people back to life, just as Coyote had suggested.”

You propped your elbow on your knee, supporting your head in your palm as you told them the ending. This was always the hardest part to tell, but it was especially hard as the loss of your brother still lingered in your chest. The wound still fresh on your heart.

“They say that was the day Death came to the land. As punishment for his mischievous ways, Coyote’s son was the first to die and Wolf never raised anyone from the dead again. The people came to know the sadness that accompanies death and, despite Coyote’s efforts, the people did not hate Wolf. Instead, they admired him, his strength, wisdom and power, and we still do today.”

You all sat for a moment, in total silence. The firelight danced across your eyes as the two men pondered your story.

Steve wasn’t sure what to say. He had never heard such a story, as his family had raised him a Christian. But the look in your eyes spoke truth and he was unwilling to question you on it. Story or not, it had sent shivers through his body as you spoke. The embers of red that reflected in your eyes made you appear old beyond your years, as if another Spirit spoke from within you. When he looked at Bucky, he could see the same thoughts reflected there.

Bucky turned to you first, flames danced in his gaze as a sense of warmth traveled through your body. There was understanding in those blue depths and, when you turned to Steve, you saw the same thing. It brought tears to your own eyes as the feelings from the past few days came crashing down on you. It finally dawned on you that you were the last one left. The only person in your family still alive on this Earth.

Just as you began to break, each man took one of your hands in theirs, bolstering you with their strength, their friendship. It was comforting, helping you to smile through your tears.

“It’s okay, darlin’. We can wait for you to finish your story after you get some rest. There’s no rush.”

Steve’s voice was soothing as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. You smiled up at him. “That would probably be best. As long as you two don’t mind.”

Bucky shook his head as he stood from his chair, never releasing your hand. “We don’t mind, Y/N. You just take your time. We can revisit this after you sleep.”

Steve nodded, following Bucky’s lead and helping you slowly from your chair. Holding each arm, the men led you back to your bed, carrying your blanket with you. Soldat followed at their heels, skirting around them to jump onto the foot of the bed and wait for you to settle yourself in.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, they each said goodnight before exiting the room. Laying down, you pulled the blanket up your body, settling into the mattress as Soldat settled into place overtop of your feet, keeping them warm with his body heat. You were asleep before your head hit the pillow.

_______________________________________________________________________

You awoke the next morning as light streamed through your window curtains, lighting up the room. Soldat jumped from the bed with your stirring, trotting from the room. You could hear Bucky’s voice as he greeted the overgrown pup.

“How you doing there, boy? There’s fresh meat for you in the barn.” Soldat made a little grunting noise, soon followed by the sound of a door as Bucky let him outside.

The sound of heavy boots grew louder as they reached your door. Knocking, Bucky poked his head through the door with a smile. “How you doing this morning, Y/N? Feeling any better?”

You smiled back at him, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear in a bit of a nervous gesture. “I’m doing good? Right as rain.”

“That’s good,” he said as he sat on the foot of your bed. “Bruce said, as long as you were feeling up to it, you could get up and start moving around today.”

Glancing around the room, he cupped his hand around the side of his mouth and whispered conspiratorially to you. “Dont worry, Steve and I didn’t spill the beans about you being up last night.”

Your face grew hot, embarrassed about your little private midnight powwow, but you smiled nonetheless. It had been an experience you never wanted to forget. “Thanks for that.”

The beaming smile on your face made Bucky want to clutch his chest, it was so beautiful and pure. He hoped he would get to see you that way more often from now on.

Another knock came at the door as Natasha walked in with a set of clothes for you. “Knock, knock. A little birdie told me our girl was ready to go out. So, I brought you some clothes.”

“Thanks, Nat.” You smiled at her, it was the first time you had seen her since the night she helped you change into your night clothes. “I’m gonna need the help with my shoulder bandaged up.”

With a nod, Natasha walked over to you and began to help you up until she remembered Bucky was there. Shooting him a glare over her shoulder, she hissed something at him in Russian.

Bucky raised his hands in surrender and backed swiftly from the room. “Okay, okay. Jeez, Natasha, you are so scary sometimes.”

Hearing your giggle made him grin from ear to ear. Sending a sly wink your way, before turning to the door, Bucky chuckled. “Just meet me out here when you’re done, Y/N. Can’t keep Boda waiting too long, I made a promise.”

You had almost forgotten about Bucky’s promise to bring you to see Boda and thinking about keeping him waiting any longer in this strange new place made you anxious. How bad had he been while you were bedridden? You honestly hoped he hadn’t caused too much trouble.

“Don’t worry much about it, hun.” Nat’s voice made you jump a bit, you had almost forgotten she was there with all your internal stressing. “Boda’s been the sweetest gentleman since you were down. I think he has a bit of a crush on Star.”

You smiled at that. “It doesn’t surprise me that he’s falling for the feisty filly. There’s a fire in her soul that rivals even his own.”

“She definitely hasn’t made it easy for him.” Natasha giggled as she helped you don your coat. “That first night, I thought she would tear his ears off. He ended up rooming with Duke in his stall.”

“Smart girl.” The smirk on your face matched Nat’s as you walked outside together. “And it’s perfectly fine to house them together, they have been like brothers for as long as I can remember.”

“What stories are you telling her now Nat?”

The teasing note in Bucky’s voice made you smile, he was leaning against the wall across from your door. Decked out in his winter coat once again. The shirt underneath was the deepest of blues, making his eyes shine all the brighter, even in the shadow of his signature black cowboy hat. How was he so damned handsome?

“You ready to head out Y/N?”

His deep voice made you jump a bit. “Y-yeah, sure.”

Looking to Natasha, you could see the sly grin on her lips and it made you blush. There was no way she could know what you were thinking. But, when Bucky turned his back and she winked at you, you weren’t so sure about that.

Bucky opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch, holding his hand out to you. “It’s still pretty slick out here, so be careful.”

Natasha smiled before walking back towards the interior of the house, leaving you alone with the intimidatingly handsome man. You tried to control your blush as you placed your hand in his and stepped out onto the porch.

He smiled as he released your hand and walked towards the stairs, you followed close behind, trying your best to follow in his footsteps. You were managing the slick terrain of the deck pretty well, until your foot connected with a patch of black ice. The world pitched backward as gravity pulled you back-first towards the hardwood. Unable to catch yourself, you yelped with fright before you clenched your eyes shut. You sincerely hoped that the fall wouldn’t add to your injuries as your impact seemed inevitable at this point.

Luckily, your fall was interrupted as you felt warmth envelope your free hand and a hard jerk had you pitching forward again. A rush of cold wind was followed by warmth as your forehead connected with something hard. You dared not open your eyes for fear of what you would see, until Bucky’s muffled curse graced your ears and his strong arms wrapped around your waist, helping you keep your balance.

“Shit.”

When you opened your eyes, you were staring at his broad chest, covered in soft cotton and a midnight black winter jacket, your hand was unconsciously running over the soft material at his heart as you finally mustered up enough bravery to meet his steely gaze. A beautiful smile curled his lips as he gripped the hand you had placed on his chest. His thumb ran over your knuckles as he seemed to assess your wellbeing, you could feel your blush growing with every second that he looked into your eyes and tried to look anywhere but his beautiful blue eyes.

Being in this position made you feel small and vulnerable, similar to the way you had felt in Steve’s arms a few nights ago. It was a surprisingly pleasant feeling and that thought made your blush grow hotter. Peeking up through thick lashes, your eyes connected with his once again and heat travelled the length of your spine. He wrapped his arms tightly around you when you tried to pull away, unwilling to release you.

“If you step back, you might actually fall this time. Let me help, Y/N.” Tilting your head back to meet his gaze, you felt his  warm breath caress your face. Your noses were almost touching, the steam from his breath twining with your own, creating a whirlwind of fog comparable to the emotions swirling in your gut. Truly, his care for you made him all the more desirable and you would have been more than comfortable staying in his warm embrace for longer. It had been the same with Steve at your home.

After another moment, you nodded your agreement, not trusting your voice to speak allowed. The last thing you needed was to say something truly embarrassing.

Bucky reluctantly released you from his grip, immediately missing the warmth, but unwilling to make you uncomfortable by overstepping. Assured that you wouldn’t fall again, he gave you a bit more room, but not too much as catching you mid fall had been lucky. If he wouldn’t have turned towards you in the exact moment that your foot touched ice, you could have hurt yourself pretty badly in the fall. He gave you a moment to compose yourself before reaching for your free hand. Gripping it tightly, he placed it into the crook of his elbow. You smiled, amused as you were no high society lady, but he made you feel as important as one would.

He led you down the stairs and into the fluffy white wonderland of snow around you, but he never released you once as you walked the yard with him. In his mind he was acting the gentleman, the way his momma had taught him to be, but in his heart he only wished to prolong his contact with you and you seemed unwilling to stop him. You would never admit the fact out loud, but you enjoyed his touch, however minimum it may be. You only wished you didn’t feel like a burden for needing so much help. “Thanks, Bucky. You keep rescuing me, even though it seems I can only cause you trouble.”

Turning to look at you, a smile lit up his features as you walked together, but a hint of some other emotion swam in his blue eyes. “You aren’t any trouble, Y/N. It’s my pleasure to assist you in any way I can after everything that happened.” Turning your attention back to your surroundings, you tried to hide your blush. “If anything, I’m happy you wanted to stay with us after all that, not to mention falling for me so literally.”

Gasping, you felt your blush grow to a raging inferno on your face as you whipped your head around to look at him. “I didn’t fall on purpose! I-I-I…” His grin was a teasing one, but there was still something else there. Something that he wasn’t ready to share.

He chuckled at your flustered state, you truly were so cute this way. “I know, Y/N. I’m only teasing you a bit. The others say my teasing nature is a less than desirable trait, but I enjoy it. Makes life more interesting.”

You giggled along with him, calming slightly. “Be careful. You are starting to sound like Coyote.”

He laughed outright, causing his shoulders to shake and a beaming smile to erupt on your face. That laugh was surely something special and you assumed he didn’t make that sound often, especially after hearing the story about his past.

A few yards from the barn, Bucky came to a stop and faced you. A bit of worry coated his features. “I need you to know, we are planning to move pretty soon. We don’t really have a lot of time to waste, so we can’t wait for you to finish healing before we saddle up again.”

You nodded. “I will be fine, Bucky. I’ve ridden with worse injuries than this. Besides, that’s not what you are truly worried about is it?”

His body jerked a little, was he really that obvious? Or were you just that good at figuring him out? “Does this story of yours, the one your grandmother told you… I-I guess what I’m trying to say is, we’re not going to have to fight a dragon or throw a ring in a volcano or anything dangerous like that, right? I mean I can take gunfighting any day, but dragons and volcanoes are a hard limit.”

You tried, really truly tried not to laugh at his question. There was real worry in his tone, even if his analogy was meant to ease your own fears. He knew you were scared to share your story, just as scared as he and Steve were to know what it entailed, but even after all of that, he still wanted to keep a smile on your face.

“No, there are no dragons, rings, or volcanoes, Bucky. You don’t have to worry about anything as fantastic as that, where did you even get the idea?” His feigned sigh of relief almost broke your stoic composure. It was getting harder and harder to stay serious, how the hell did he do it?

Just as he was about to put the figurative nail in the coffin, the sound of Steve’s voice cut through your surroundings, followed by a bellowed challenge from Boda.

A bit of fear shot through you, what the fuck was that demon up to now? Nat said they were on good terms. You went to rush away, but Bucky stopped you. “Don’t, Y/N. Steve can handle it.”

You were a bit skeptical, but Bucky’s grip on your hand was inescapable. His gaze begged for your trust, even as a twinkle of amusement still lingered there. “What have you all been up to, Bucky?”

“Come with me and you will see. Just stay silent, wouldn’t want to interrupt them.”

Slowly, Bucky placed your hand back at his elbow and you walked together to the back of the barn where a large wooden round pen stood. What was happening inside the pen made you gasp as tears welled in your eyes. The scene before you was absolutely breathtaking and made you happy beyond belief. How did they both manage such a feat in so little time? Looking to Bucky, you realized he was watching you with a bit of concern.

“It seems you are both due more of my gratitude, Bucky. Thank you so much for this. It makes me so happy to see him like this.”

Your smile lit up the already bright morning, causing Bucky’s heart to stutter in his chest. “Just watch, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

Turning back to the round pen, you watched as Steve and Bodaway played around one another. Steve would jump towards the stallion before jumping away and Boda did the same. It was an elegant and powerful dance between friends. A give and take of pressure that built respect and camaraderie. It was absolutely beautiful. Bodaway’s raven black coat shone in the light of the sun, reflecting blue and purple as he trotted around the man in the ring. There was a spring in his step that you hadn’t seen in a long time and it made your heart soar.

Steve jumped around the ring with Boda, it was the most fun he had had in a long time. Not to mention a great bit of work that helped to warm the body on such a bitterly cold day. It was good for the both of them. “Come on big guy, let’s see what you got.” He put a bit more pressure on the stallion, pushing him into an elegant canter before Boda turned again to return the pressure. “I can do this all day.”

A laugh from the fence line caught his attention. Tony sat atop the railing, watching the goings on. “I thought that saying was reserved for battles you were losing.” Laughing a bit at his own joke, Tony didn’t notice when the stallion turned his attention to him. Nor did he notice when Boda pinned his ears.

“Just don’t hurt him, buddy.”

At that, Boda charged the fence. Tony caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, just in time to topple off the top rail and fall into a deep drift of snow. Boda snorted at the man on the ground before going back to join a laughing Steve in the middle of the ring. “Thank’s friend. You really are somethin’ special. Just like your momma.”

At the mention of you, the wind changed direction, carrying your scent and the sound of your laughter with it. Boda whickered a happy sound when your eyes connected. You watched him with a smile, he was waiting patiently, but you could see the strain it was taking on his body to stand still as he was. So, you gave him a reprieve and whispered the single word he was waiting to hear. “Come.”

Steve was on his way to open the gate when Boda took off at a gallop towards the fence. “Wait, Bodaway!” But, he didn’t stop, just took off from the ground and flew as if he had wings. It was an astonishing sight to behold as the fence was chest high on the stallion.

Bucky, Steve, and Tony gaped like fish as the beautiful black horse landed, continuing at a full gallop towards you. He slid to a stop only inches away from your body and gently pulled you into one of his signature hugs, careful of your injured shoulder. You immediately wrapped your free hand around his neck as tears began to flow freely down your face. His little sounds of comfort made you giggle through the tears. “I missed you too, Fire Starter.”

You stood like that for a few moments as the men gave you both space to reconnect. Steve exited the round pen, helping Bucky who was currently digging Tony’s frozen ass from the snow drift. “How the hell did he do that?”

Bucky pulled Tony to his feet, brushing the snow off of the man’s shoulder. “I don’t know, Stevie. But it’s pretty obvious that he was humoring us all this time. If he wanted to, he could have escaped from here whenever he wished. She really is special to tame a beast like that.”

They talked for a few more minutes, but you ignored them, more keen on loving the sweet boy in front of you. It seemed he was just as unwilling to release you. “Hey, Boda? Thank you for being so good while I was gone. You are the most perfect horse a girl could ask for. I love you.” You placed a kiss on his cheek and then on his nose as you backed away a bit. Turning back towards the men, you realized Tony had gone into the barn. Steve and Bucky stood against the wall, waiting and watching the two of you with fond smiles.

You approached the men with Boda at your side, constantly brushing up against your shoulder with his own. It reminded you of the days you spent together in the pastures, inseparable from the first moment you met. If only the world could always be that peaceful.

“You feel like stretching your legs a bit more? Well, stretching Boda’s legs would be more accurate, I guess.” Steve’s happiness was palpable at seeing you up and about again. Seeing you so broken in that bed had been slow torture for him.

“Sure, where are we riding to?”

The men looked between one another, Bucky reached out to stroke Boda’s neck. “I know just the place. I’ll saddle this big guy up for ya.” With a nod, you followed them into the barn and watched as they saddled up their mounts and yours. It took only a few moments before you were all on your way.

[b4kuch1n]

Rules: answer the questions in a new post and tag 10 followers you want to know better!

Tagged by @hydrachea (you think the gokaiger OP is catchy. oh boy. ooohhh boy. wait until I forcibly drag you into TOQger. also thanks for the tag ilu uwu)

Age: 19 or 20, depends on how you count it

Birthplace: Hanoi, Vietnam

Current time: 10:16 AM

Drink you last had: instant matcha milk tea this morning

Easiest person to talk to: the dude, the senpai, and internet friends

Favourite song: right now? probably Loki by Mikita P. I blame @crescentmoonrider for showing me Amatsuki leading to my coming across his cover of this song, killing me instantly

Grossest memory: got peed on by the little brother when he was like. two and I was seven. we havent seen eye to eye ever since and Im also afraid of holding babies

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor. my official Rowling-assigned Patronus is a rattlesnake tho which probably means I would either die before the story takes place and enter school lore of become the main character

In love: nah

Jealous of people: I think I beat that out of me in eighth grade, but recently I did suddenly get style envy exactly once. its like accidentally eating red meat after being a vegan for a decade, but like mentally. sucks man

Killed someone: maybe, if seeing someone on the road with their bike’s kickstand still down and not reminding them which leads to a fatal accident counts

Love at first sight or walk by again: look, man,

Middle name: Đan, but it doesnt work the way middle names in english does

No. Of siblings: one younger brother

One wish: to actually get shit done instead of laying in bed worrying about not getting that specific shit done

Person you last called: apparently my dad. remember none of that conversation. huh

Question you are asked most: people dont really ask me that many questions lmao. I look absolutely clueless and answer-less all the time

Song you last sung: Heartthrob by Superfruit. I. I think. I hum a lot of songs doing stuff

Time you woke up: 7:30 AM today. a week ago I kept waking up at six and couldnt go back to sleep. jetlags a bitch

Underwear colour: black

Vacation destination: I wanna go down south with a cousin this summer.

Worst habit: procastination. also does breaking one’s own sleep schedule count

X-rays: never. my everythings still here if a bit rotten

Favourite food: chocolate, apple, and sweet corn. Im like a horse with the taste for flesh replaced by a craving of chocolate

Tagging @crescentmoonrider (since I already mentioned you, might as well), @marimo-stuff, @owlsshadows, @cosbeans, @whatevsbla, @zoosa47, @crazyflyingspip, @lynslayer, @riseandshineinthewest, and @carriemebags. be brave stay wild

[cezimbra-nuclear]

Alternative Stories - Consolidated reflection

The Alternative Stories was one of my favorites to do, again because it consisted of drawing and I love drawing. The projects consists in making a zine with a narrative given by the tutors in an A3 paper, We had to choose one of the available short stories, and I chose the one called Snake Rattles, it is about a man that used to work as a lineman for a small telephone company driving through the roads of west texas, and his relation to the wild rattlesnakes, He would kill them and bring their rattles to his sons when he got home. That is something that was kept as a heartwarming memory after the father died, the snake rattle, as a memento. I wanted to have a more abstract approach to the narrative, since it is not a linear story, the main things I wanted to get clearly were the ambient the father was in, the main symbol that was the snake, and something to set the story in the adult son’s life. I first wanted to make a linear representation, a more literal story, but after some thought my wills changed, I then proceeded to make some sketches of how to symbolize this ideas, and thought that something symmetrical would be nice, after some testing I chose the best illustrations that could respresent the most and diagrammed, I then test printed and solved some issues regarding image placement, sizing and color. I think I should print it in an already yellow/ocre paper, since all the pages have this color as background, I dont think I will end up doing this at the final outcome mainly because I didnt manage my time very well, but Ideally that would be the proper result. I thought of a very simple cover that I really liked, a one-point perspective of a road at the sunset, that’s what i’d see when i think of the “Wichita Lineman” lyrics “searchin’ in the sun for another overload” , and all the time I was reapeting in my head “rattlesnake rattle” and found out that the word rattlesnake, if placed twice side by side, there is a “snake rattles” in between, like rattleSNAKERATTLESnake, that was a nice wordplay that became the title. 

I am satisfied with the result, but in an ideal world, I would make more drawings, maybe 6 instead of 3, so that it would be a more richer narrative to understand as an outsider.

[beehuts]

Pokemon of the California Chaparral!

I was inspired by a recent field trip i went on and couldn’t stop thinking about it until i made this post. Be warned: some of these aren’t completely scientifically based. As diverse as pokemon are, some of these just straight up dont match with local fauna, but i had an empty niche that was bugging me. This is by no means meant to be comprehensive, it’s just for my personal enjoyment. Also im a lazy typer so if you want an explanation on some of these that dont fully explain it, feel free to send me an ask and ill explain my reasoning. Also they arent in any particular order, just the order that i thought of them. ANYWAY!!!!! I put it under the cut cuz it big

Ponyta and Rapidash

Who woulda thought i would have a fire pokemon in the chaparral huh. For those of you that don’t know this extremely specific habitat, the chaparral is characterized by lots of flammable flora that facilitate wildfires. The idea behind this is that herds of ponyta and rapidash were accidentally released when they were brought to the Americas by settlers and, being fire pokemon, gravitated toward the hot chaparral regions. They have a particular taste for manzanita.

Vulpix and Ninetales

I bet ur starting to see a pattern here. These would be the equivalent to the gray fox, just… fire type. Hey, I never said all of these entries would be exciting

Cyndaquil, Quilava, and Typhlosion

Before anyone gets on me, i know they are supposed to be badgers. If you didnt know, the california state flag has a grizzly bear on it. The california grizzly. Who wouldve guessed? Anyway, i needed two things in this ecosystem : a small mammal and a friggen bear. This gives me the best of both worlds let me live also i may have wanted an excuse to include one of my favorite starters

Fletchling, Fletchinder, and Talonflame

Im only on my fourth entry this is going to take forever. I think these ones are pretty self explanatory

Houndour and Houndoom

Now i understand these are a bit of a stretch. My idea is that theyre the equivalent to coyotes. Sue me

Spearow and Fearow

Did you know theres a shit ton of birds that call this place their home? Well I do and what better birds to represent this rough back country than these mean ass birds right here

Doduo and Dodrio

These are your roadrunners. Maybe more of a southern thing than a foothills thing, but it didnt feel right not to include them

Vullaby and Mandibuzz

In heat this bad, you can expect a lot of dead things. Bon appetit

Rufflet and Braviary

Little known fact: in Wallace, CA along hwy 12, theres an eagle nest right on top of a power pole. Its neat. If you ever find yourself in buttfuck nowhere, CA make sure you keep an eye out

Noibat and Noivern

I already know this is the one of the ones im gonna get shit for and i was so so close to not including them. There are pretty extensive cave systems in the sierra foothills though so i feel like im justified 

Zubat, Golbat, and Crobat

You can never have too many bats

Tauros and Miltank

At least in the sierra foothills, you see a lot of cows. Its good ranching country and i cant say those gold miners didnt utilize it after the spanish had the valley mowed down of its natural grasses

Bunnelsby and Diggersby

Jack rabbits are very common in this area and of all the rabbit pokemon, these seemed the most hardly and likely to live in satans playground

Deerling and Sawsbuck

These pokemon would only appear in the chaparral during the spring and autumn. In Spring, they would pass through on their way to the sierras in order to avoid the hot summers of the valley and in fall they would head back down to avoid the cold mountain winters. This was a common practice of the native tribes in the area, who based their behavior off of the migrating sawsbuck

Bonsly and Sudowoodo

Idk to me they are reminiscent of certain shrubs that can be found here and thats their whole shtick is to mimic trees 

Grubbin, Charjabug, and Vikavolt

Now i know i know these are stag beetles and i know they dont belong in california. i just wanted some shit cool beetle and this is like the quintessential shit cool beetle

Scattterbug, Spewpa, and Vivillon (continental)

Butterflies are a pretty big thing in california. I just dont see the wurmple line being here (no silkworms) , but you could probably put the caterpie line and weedle line too. Maybe even venonat and venomoth. Use your imagination, i just didnt feel like putting a million different bugs in here that are basically the same

Joltik and Galvantula

There are ticks and tarantualas here. nuf said. and there ARE pokes for joltik to feed on they just arent mammals idk throw an electric mammal in there if it really bugs you (pun unintended) that much

Hoppip, Skiploom, and Jumpluff

When i thought of these, I really had the cottonwoods of the riparian and mixed conifer habitats in mind. They have wind dispersed seeds so i can just imagine these guys just floating on through not staying too long. It just felt lonely with no grass pokemon.

Helioptile and Heliolisk

Yes i see these more as desert pokemon, but chaparral is just a step above the desert. Game freak really needs to diversify their lizard selection but tbh i didnt look too terribly hard after i picked out these dudes it was getting late and i was getting tired

Seviper

This is another one i almost didnt include. I wanted something to represent the rattlesnake, but the only snake with a rattle was ekans and thats clearly a constrictor. Anyway, finally a place seviper can be free from harassment by zangoose

Dunsparce

And to conclude our list is everybodys favorite burrowing bee snake thing!

If you actually read through all of this, thanks so much! I dont expect this to get much attention, but it was fun to make so thats what matters ^-^ and like i said before, if you think i missed anything or want a deeper explanation into one of my picks, just let me know!

[possibly-meaningless]

Dailies - Home from home

23.07.19

It’s technically morning, with the fans snoring like pirates in hammocks, or alternatively white rattlesnakes, and the water outside taking it’s turn to blow unevenly on my singular body which cannot sleep. Someone is fading in new lights at the window, just fast enough to get your attention. New Haven, picking an outfit. Not for us, mind you. Never for us. For logics unknown and in no need of explaining, for no sake at all, but certainly decided.

24.07.19

You walk out into the morning which is like drinking from a stream., putrescence consistent, insect karaoke, packed lunch of sandwich and plumb. Your career is waiting in the howling tunnel, but for now you are walking errands and eating sunscreen. Answer your own question, if no one else can, buy what you want for breakfast. I’d rather a life than your kind of efficiency, the grind of a waiter scraping your own. 

Je suis complètement larguée, perdue, levée d’ancre, un petit rafiot qui traverse la rue dix fois pour en retrouver un grand, vide, rudimentaire, à peine construit, alors que la nuit grésille et présente des étoiles. Il n’y a pas de maison en mer, et quand vient la fatigue, les seules certitudes qu’il y a ne sont pas reposantes. 

25.07.19

It was one of those moments you know can exist, where you receive a long and genuine moment of practical kindness from a cook vinyl collector whose girlfriend sold you plates and glasses, who knew New Haven so pretty well and drove to your street without a GPS, and helped you pick up a table and chairs, and when you listened to music to remantle the table you found your apartment beautiful, and when you left you talked to someone fixing something big and funny in the grass with tape, and walked past the smell of fresh pizza. And if you pay attention you’ll notice your gait is wider, your shoulders back, that loud cars are listening to music they like, and that the power poles sing just as well as cicadas.

26.07.19

Blasted be this bus– bad day I suppose. Learn from mistakes only. I’m torn between a headache and a dedication to being Buddha-like, to mourning the unlikely refund, the upcoming exhaustion on the Uber, Lis’ exhaustion at her work. I chose to be here, yes. And I will make of it what I can. There is no reason not to be, once I have cradled my little suffering, to coo like the toddler in the yellow dress and earrings, you are traveling, you are traveling, your time is never wasted. 

It’s as if I cannot be on this Jersey Turnpike at any time but at eye-hitting sunset. As if the world will not allow it. Perhaps it was the first loving thought I had for this place that assigned me to it, and that I am now the sole designated lover of the gold cutouts on the Passaic river, this residence of cars where mere accumulation forms our departing products in the dust. If so, I am to see it as itself, not as a shallow safari of white and red metal birds, not as a child’s toy-strewn floor, the working hand on a veiny body. I am to see it strange billboards and all, a land bent to utility, understanding of its own gas-fumed complexity, tarmaced and bolted, where flatness is walls, having picked me.

27.07.19

Auntland is just so damn well written. And Lis is working god knows where but always impressing me. My friends are beautiful in a way that simply means I love them. She stops in the antique store where I do not, tells the Roman coins to me. How does one organize a store like this, where paintings are stacked, unnamed, painted wood and cursed carved jade? What went on in a Mayan mind, in this unpolished mosaic mirror? We should buy a castle together. We don’t recognize the Manson murders. We eat cumquats from the branch, and figure out how we are gods. I paint, and Eli knows government secrets. The buses are socialist free. Ten meters of crying DiCaprio, whose girlfriends are never over 25. I decide who lives or dies, who gets to take the scooter home. What a delightful Chekov’s gun, what a connection of inanities. And with the would-be limes that glued circles into my palm so that I must fill them with wisteria fuzz, we took to the painted wood and wrote: OAI. And in the Georgetown chalk dust of the building we found nothing exciting at all but sent off our exploring nonetheless, we took the eraser and wrote: OAI. 

28.07.19

We buy plums, small and mottled, skin the best, and get them in a plastic bag. We joke about the poem, freezer plums, while the heat gets at my shoulders you touch, use your neck to protect me. The juice flecks our elbows with purple paillettes, and the lace at my breast. I’m intrigued that you like me, intrigued if you like me. A line of sweat rolls down your back from your bra and another from of the fold of my butt. I say, not to you, “see what I meant about fruit?” with the slit of the plum open at my thumb and use my tongue to finish the fleshy pit.

29.07.19

É, T, ohielleu. Je m’appelais comme ça avant. Maintenant il y a à ma place quelqu’un de très bien, mais de complètement différent, en chemises rayées, les yeux fermés au soleil, riant ou riante selon le jour, montant une étagère seul(e) et repensant à ce que moi j’ai senti en me disant ayant sept ou huit ans. Ça me va. Cette person ferme les yeux et voit une photo qui n’existe pas, d’un balcon espagnole en sépia. Elle s’amuse à habiter n’importe comment, et aime beaucoup, tout court, d’une manière que je ne pouvais imaginer que par le biais de moi même. Elle pose toujours des questions, ça c’est bien. Elle pleure d’autres choses que de désespoir. Elle a fait la paix avec elle même, et sait que tellement d’autres trucs vont venir lui foutre dans la gueule. Celle dont elle a le plus peur de voir en colère c’est moi. 

30.07.19

The dump outside my apartment seems to be getting fuller every time I go home. Every day, I encounter a new insect. I think « I’ll come back for this later, and if it’s gone, then it’s gone » almost as if I’m thinking it was meant to go. The world has been trying to make me believe in predestination. My bottle of Gamsol spills in my suitcase, but it pools entirely into the dustpan at the bottom. When I lift it up, it spills, but only into the suitcase cover. And it cleans the spray paint off my hands. The ruins of cardboard valleys smell, that is the clearest reminder. They enter a state of being trash and immediately start to smell. I reach into the dumpster for what I need— magpie mind, magpie means. This is the sink I will be drinking in for the next year, and the stove doesn’t work. I walk the cupboards into the house like Easter Island heads.

31.07.19

Warm and sticky, legs and teeth, rain or percussion, swipe and reloading. Misspell a dinosaur. Cool yourself down, cold brownies in the fridge, muggy but just muggy, not hot, waiting for imaginary clothing, talking about drawing clothing, think of opening the window to the wet air, stay pinned by your laptop like by an at-home cat. Film over your teeth, laugh track in a song, chattering gutter, TV-show noises, waiting to go to a task, ignoring the pressing one, pick up your phone, write down a number, stand up, be light headed, sugar nourished.

Skill number one: drink water when you are drunk. Ceaselessly gulp, breathe like a bull into your glass. Why drink, when you are embarrassing enough sober. Blind men would find you bottomlessly stupid. Find the time to find this funny. Laugh about what matters. Think about going dry. See yourself stumble, again and again and again, off the walls, into bed, into formless conclusions.

01.08.19

Something not quite like a headache leaning against the side of my head. It’s the screens, I know that, and maybe the lack of sleep that I intent to maintain, and the beer today after the last night’s Old Fashioned, the earbuds I stole from a lost and found just parsing sound through my ears. My phone screen is sick now too, necrotic pixels growing only when you check, like the pea plant on the windowsill. A vision clouding while I continue to smile, not to sound morbid, of course.

02.08.19

If your body has decided you are going to cry, and no amount or quality of your usual thinking is going to save this (remember, this is also matter of luck and means) find yourself a comfortable place or places to do it. Jaywalk and scowl at the cars, ask the sun for cancer-freckles, worry your music with volume, drop yourself from finger-height like a pill into a glass— any form of cutting off will do. Don’t actually hurt yourself. Learn to recognize the good habits from the bad, the healthy from the fucked, palpate your own side, train yourself to make the right decision.

03.08.19

This place is one big noxious noise and I am not using it to its full effect. I am the one white Bollywood dancer who goes on the dance floor to think. I do this during sex too. My thoughts take monster forms on the dance floor, legged, entering. I dance like a writing, like a thinking, like unlocking the heart of an encyclopedia: Americans dance on their heels, and I would stomp if I wanted to be masculine. Eye contact changes everything, not only for you, especially for others. Look at the two women grinding— couldn’t that be you? Would you know how to give yourself properly to that hand? Would you squirm? Would you fear? You’ve stopped asking if you seem awkward or brave. The question has been eradicated. You’re working out of line, and doing nothing at all. You are looking at the halo lights and watching your carrousel mind melt in a black plastic shape where you’ve decided to put yourself for nothing. Couldn’t you do more? White woman you are, cleavage-key, dancing sexy for the Hindu gods? What a waste.

04.08.19

The sea reminds us the strongest, because every ripple is a mountain where one crest is the sand and another is the sky, because a half of you is pushing through jade hip by hip, because you are driftwood-sun-dried and the water takes your breath in weight or in drowning lap. We are reminded when we sit on rock, and the wind and heat does the all of us, when our bodies are just another thing for the world to be on, when the being there is just being at all, smelling seagull fallings (fish, shit) while the ocean talks to itself.

05.08.19

We dolly our furniture in dark processions, clack and bonking from pavanent to pavement, sweating evenly. Once again a ferry, this time two-manned, this time jolly, stopping traffic like spirits on the street, chatting shotgun through the tower of trays, legs, drawers, scraping wrists and ankles, puzzling at our load on a corner then off again. Simone can’t tell if she pisses Matan off. In living with strangers she doesn’t mind being bossy. Dish towels are clean and not for cleaning. She refutes claims of her dirtiness. I find she is someone who is very sensitive to gender roles. Abby Adult says adult beds are not in corners. I climb up the walls to give myself a red canopy. Stash and steal and crowd and clutter, Howl’s bed, magpie’s mind, treasure box. Let me live somewhere I can get lost.

06.08.19

I am folding myself into this house like into a blanket, filling every corner with some hand-sized glee. The moving and choosing fires off the part of my brain that is a mouse pushing levers, saving grains, planning for later, living like cooking, by habit and precaution. Cameron had nothing in their room. These are two sides extreme, both beautiful, both in their own flavor correct. My choice is to be fret-tired and worn in a moment; rather than lacking or scavenging later, bumped and familiar with frustration or money-spending. I like the bartering, the cooking with nothing, the piling and stringing things up. “Your DIY aesthetic” says Matan, strange and insightful again. Birds will make a nest to see it torn down the next year.

07.08.19

The storm like me back it seems. I talk about her incessantly, of when the kites fly low and remind me of the sea, of the way the sky presses on the city and makes you notice it, doing what you’re doing but doing it with your eyes on a corner between roofs were you see her scheming the rain, first drizzle then pour. And I make my ferry way, pressing my umbrella between my fingers and phone, braced and ready for the trick to fall, eager in the waiting like happy prey. And when you do start love, you have humor: you growl somewhere to the side-ear and fall just on the chorus of Don’t Let Me Down while I join in and soften just as it stops. You have me laughing clamorous and soaked and clear.

08.08.19

I dream that I am Theo, lost and boyish and cut-off from everything and especially myself expect girls and history and whatever excites the mind to marvel. Let me read again, now that I am slightly weak, now that my mind is playing tricks on me again, listlessly making me believe I am worth no one’s time. I want something to sparkle for me or damnit I will go and find it. I will go to a play tomorrow and I will be in New York and I will read on the train. By God I will be good at this if nothing else.

09.08.19

“Pay attention” says Ethan, “to how your body feels.” Is your phone less reactive, or is it the cover screen? The chord, the block, or the device? I stand evenly on both feet in the line at UPS. I return every eye that meets me, insistently— look at me, I am looking too. Pay attention. My face feels gathered like a half-raised first. My step clacks, my back is straight, I am no floater, Theo. Where is my benevolence? Why must it depend on, vaguely, if Adrian is sleeping with Lis, if Holly cancelled on me, how my body decides to wake up? Who am I being so cool for, so impenetrable, when I have said so often that I refuse to defend myself against people?

10.08.19

C’est drôle comme rapidement je me remets à aimer. Il faut aller trouver ces choses: la pièce de théâtre indépendante et un peu étrange, l’établissement au nom russe, la tartine un peu brûlée. Florence me pose les questions comme il faut: non pas, comment vas tu faire (qui est une bonne question, mais pas la première) mais que vas tu faire. Je sais déjà ce qui me fait frémir. Tout ça je le sais. Il s’agit d’être radical. De savoir être radical. De choisir. D’aller chercher. Savoir rester heureux est vraiment un art— étrange d’ailleurs, vu que le monde a tellement à donner pour être heureux.

The AC in the train starts up again. There’s a helpfulness in the air today, like the summer doesn’t want to end, is sunny, and sea-like, glowing and streaked with clouds. But the movies are closed until September, and I don’t understand it. The coast has put on its best, I can tell, but doesn’t dare ask me to stay and I am ignoring it— going home. Never have I felt so invited to roam little Connecticut alone. But I am going back to my duties, sad-no smiling to the sun, as if I am an adult who truly must. How symbolically heart-ending if I were to sit inside today! I’ll go, no I will. I’ll take Natalie or no one but I will. You cultivate what you want to be, Caleb said it, we all agree— nothing has so clearly been that occasion for a good habit.

11.08.19

And we didn’t go to the beach in the end— we will, because we have a car now, but we have not yet. Instead we took the car to Lowe’s and the storage unit, and made a copy of the keys. I sat in the back seat with the sea in my hand like a toy I’d been told to be quiet with. Trent slid his hand over the wheel and he and Natalie held arms over the front seat like parents, in a way signaling to one another they’ve just felt affectionate, but must for now keep it seemly for the children. I take Natalie in, big eyes on her for long moments. Bare-chested Trent eating strawberries over a chair makes me stare. I want a moment with Nat alone (walking to the car, at home while errands are run by Trent and her mom) to raise the back of my hand up and point to my finger: the ring? As if to ask: how are you? How much of who you are with me can I still expect to see? And then, no matter the response, to say: alright, I’m glad.

12.08.19

The walk to work is always interesting. I face the sun both ways, cross like an accomplished idiot, stride as if to prove to the summer session students, and the tourists, and the construction workers, that this place is mine. The air is carpeted with the hum of HVAC and wired with cicadas, cool and rustling near the graveyard and parking-lot hot near the Whale. A painter camouflages a new building into the sky and an old man coughs on the steps of his house, wearing all red. New Haven calls for climate emergency, and for gun lessons, and for a twin pack of cigarettes (and of course, to Tax Yale). I am only a certain amount of native here.

13.08.19

Last night called for rain which came and stood, grey boots in the window at my awakening. Thanks to it now I am under the burbling skylight, wedged into the service stairs like a young délinquant, barefoot, sandal-tanned and flecked with black with but only waiting for my flats to dry. Donna Tartt narrates over me in alliterative phrases stuck there since high school English: “widow Dido,” “Popchik, Popchik.” She makes the packing of my lunch seem frantic. I am misted in parts and soaked in others. I contend with the parts of my commute I have the least affection for when they offer me shelter. Boring duties are renewed with care (I check my bag like a friend) and the umbrella surprises me with a watery caresse. The pour stops and starts in uncaring moods, while I marvel at the fleck of dry sand on my fingernail, as expertly dropped as a seagull’s bird shit.

Making food, spiked-seltzer drunk, feels like something I should be doing in my early twenties. Still in my shoes, not quite bumping into our move-in mess, navigating to the stove where my peppers are patiently cooking. Technically drinking alone, I suppose, although Nat and Trent are in the room next door. They’re as if teenagers had gotten married, playing locked-up video games, eating pop tarts and pop corn. I’m being mean, but still. Give me a friend other than myself to be arrogant and drunk with. 

14.08.19

The day has felt like a skipping record. I sit with my shoes awkwardly up on the bar of the old geology classroom table where we have our lab meeting, legs apart, changing the position of my hands to look more like the men on the team. I’ve been wanting to project to them, and to convince myself, that I am confident, and unashamed of myself as a researcher. The flattened squamate skull Kelsey has been segmenting all summer spins evenly on the projection screen like a rainbow screensaver. “It took me a lot longer than I’d like to admit to figure out how to make it loop in PowerPoint,” she says, in the bored and awkward silence preceding Anjan’s arrival, “does anyone hear that ominous beeping noise?”

As the meeting goes on I feel bad for my cynicism. Anjan is helpful, and full of feeling; he kicks his voice into a fury about how the auditorium in the new science building will have no exhibits for modern research, only stupid, dead, drunkard white guys, dried out carrions in their graves whose work we refuse to shut up about. Pisses him off; he’ll go up and give them a piece of his mind. “How about you Alice?” eventually he turns as he does for each of us to ask about my progress, paused and attentive, a gooey ring of white exposed all around the iris. “That’s good!” I flicker my eyes around the room, unsure if I have ended my explanation. “If you’re working on vomeronasal projections you should look up nervus terminalus– nerve zero. It’s kind of an old theory, might be totally wrong but you never know. It’s worth looking up. Some of those old dudes tend to say more interesting things than some people in the field nowadays.”

I think back to the ominous beeping at the apartment, poked through my reading by the musical sting of Trent’s medieval strategy game a room away. He and Nat hadn’t realized I was home at first, and had cooed at one another in a way I knew I would only hear now as they would never do it around me again, and talked about how mushrooms tasted like cum, Trent explaining that he had, yes, sampled his own cum which is why he knew what it tasted like. I made myself coffee, which I never do, half milk and three spoons of sugar, feeling like a thief for taking from Nat’s Knick-knack teapot. Worse, I catch myself wanting a drink, in pathetic emulation of Theo’s own self-seriousness, the brooding, world-bereaved young man, for whom defensiveness is not only perfectly reasonable, but noble.

15.08.19

Jack, you came up in conversation with Nat. There’d been a build up to it all week, me thinking about morality and self-image, feelings of guilt, feelings of rancor. I sat on the couch, wrapped up into myself, furrowing my brow because I wanted to feel myself do it, wanted to put myself here, guilting profusely over every movement and word I said. I was too arrogant, didn’t notice when Nat stormed out that morning, I steered the conversation wrong (“how do you learn to do that right?” had asked Max) toward myself, or towards the wrong kind of comfort or advice or recognition, sloppy, really. Just sloppy, when you can be deft. And I thought about how guilty I felt for what I’d done to you I said, “if I forgive myself for what I did, then I am no better than him for forgiving himself, for absolving himself of the need to think of the pain he’s caused, and the pain he might cause in the future.” The difference, of course, and I don’t need a shrink to remind me, is that I need to hold us both to the same standard. That does not mean I’ll happily dismiss you to my advantage as deranged, or a dick, as you surely do me (I can almost hear it) but it does mean that I can expect for you to think on your behavior as much as I have mine, and when you do not (I have no way of confirming that you do) work accordingly. Same standard for you and I Jack— simple as that. For me and you and everyone else. Mix and match.

16.08.19

The next day I wake up thinking “let’s try impunity” and what an immediate delight. I walk and I see: GMC pickup, electric pole panel, security camera, parameter, when was this constructed? Are they working on Payne Whitney? Yale facilities vans have reference numbers. Brick patterns on the windows, tinted glass, where does this bus go? My voice picks up, I am un-embarrassed to speak, I listen to rap and move around the lab. I work. On the way back the air is breath-hot, and mercury light pushes out from behind the clouds in blingy prelude to a storm. I’ve selected a song of Lis’ that pulls my confidence all the way up through my spine, two gender-fucking voices, one slapping and modern, the other age-old and trilling.

17.08.19

I didn’t think I wanted to swim until my feet were in the water. Perhaps it is like weighted blankets and hugs that make you cry: being held never uses the front door of the mind. There is movement, my froggy propulsion through the water, and then there is the off-handed way the ocean sloshes to the shore with you still in it. I cannot conceive of the volume in any other way but the sea. Knowing what it is like to drown can change everything. Barnacle cuts are pink and radiant but impossible to feel, the opposite of paper cuts, which I suppose makes sense in more ways than one. I tie my ribbon around my hand like a tribal fisherman, hung up by all limbs in the water. I accost the dead skin on my heel. I speak and sing to myself. I do not notice the fog until it is in.

18.08.19

Shovel-fulls of visions arrested on their way to meaning. The day is jumpy and bored until. I am marvel-bound until I am talking, at which point I am stringing conversation and looking at your tattoos. Your eyes are clear, like lemon beer. The walls flake, and your photographs are grainy with dark, looking for fish in the deep. A sense of light, an understanding not semantic. A re-wiring. I climb and make, I sit in your smoke, I show the different angle which is absurd and funny, makes us tiny toys. You are from Moldova, I have to remember. I hold your hand on the backseat. You were talking yesterday about the moving holes of LSD. 

19.08.19

The sequence of the day has seemed completely natural— something a hobbit would set their watch to from the porch, looking out into the turning of the world. Chris was around, and will be for the next few days since his New York conference got cancelled. We both understood the afternoon so well before carrying it out: we would both get chai lattes and bump around the Willoughby's unembarrassed when our orders get messed up, say we should “make the usual walk to the Div school” and stop to sit in a tree by the observatory, perch in the stormy wind like two academic birds in the Marsh Hall belfry, and chat about efficiency, and language, and morality. At work, it storms. I pack up to walk home some half hour after the rain and head to Stop and Shop in the gold-dripping postdiluvian afternoon: an excuse to see a neighborhood that isn’t mine, where streets fan out into the unknown, sparse with people and rife with churches, a zone I’ve not yet added to my mental map. I buy bread, hair ties for my roommate, “nice” jam for the other, slot them in my technicolor backpack, and glide home on the sound of crickets and seagulls beaming through the limpid air.

20.08.19

I’ve decided not to go to work (Laurel hasn’t asked for me, I’ve figured out the extraction problem on my own, I’m getting lunch with Chris and Julia near the med school, I’m not even getting paid anymore, I have other things to do, and if she needs me she can just text). The only thing I’ll be missing is the chill of the lab, without which we are faced with an unclenching strip of hot, humid weather than I scroll across the weather app on my phone. The apartment is still as whispery as a wood: spoon tinkling once against my chosen mug of tea, Trent or Natalie taking a rising sip from the vape pen, mindlessly clicking at a video game, against the faraway in-and-out of chittering cicadas.

21.08.19

Around 1:30am we left Viva’s and dropped Jenna off with her three-year-faithful, less-successful-than-her boyfriend (Andrew? It would be weird if Chris slept over with him walking around the one bedroom apartment in the morning) but the rest of us had other prospects. I guarded Christina like a puffed bird while she changed in the trunk of the car from a black striped shirt to a black striped sweater, and helped list the roofs in the area. I could do Dwight, Kris had the password to the Howe Street roof, and Cameron still technically had keys to the whole building, but their first suggestion had already taken it: the creepy, stony walls of St Lawrence Cemetery mausoleum. 

Next, drinks: I had half a bottle of mango-nectar orange juice in the fridge, and a flask of vodka that’d last been used at dinner on Friday for one of Christina’s mosquito bites. Nat and Trent had moved in with a dreg of Maker's Mark, which was waiting on the kitchen counter, and Kris, of course, had more vodka at home. Halfway out of the apartment, waiting for Natalie to get dressed and join us, I couldn’t help but laugh at our situation: we’d pulled into the parking lot like a bunch of gangsters, crouched over the giant electric fan in the back seat, Kris smoking and blasting some dark, full, floor-of-the-mind Witchhaus for the entire tenement to hear. We were making things exactly as we wanted them, speeding off onto a road that was empty and ours with the arrogance of a Neo-Tokyo biker gang. 

Campus, which had felt like a kingdom until yesterday, has been retaken without a breath of effort. The air smells like a firecracker, and the dorms like shoe-box houses. People have started partying, and practicing, and working, as if they had spawned there already in the act.

22.08.19

I am drunk and sober enough to write. We are magnificent tonight, you would see it. Our kisses barely hold back— I kiss Kris on her rough, shorn head, I rasp at her slenderness, the meeting angle of smile and cheek, I kiss Keduse on his good man’s t-shirt, on his Egyptian locks, the enamored look in his eyes and hands, I kiss Cameron with hands around the waist, into bony rebellion, hated and going, spirit that knows me in a pair, dyed hair. 

And for those who are not with us, I have planted a kiss on your neck— feed me more alcohol. For those who are too lost to stay— you are guiding yourself, and we are here waiting. For those who are trying us, getting their feel— our love extends to you too. We are the city, that much I can tell. She is in the blinking foreign, she is in the dollhouse lights, she is in the streets of police and the things out of their sight. The drug dealer, the broke, the roped-up nervous boy, and those who’ve got nothing to lose, and everything to look for. 

She is the stage for us, the in between. She knows I see her— she is the mint I bring to my lips with inexpressible longing: wilderness of love. I cannot smell it without knowing it exists. After all, she is here: kiss them, she says, for I cannot quite do it in a way they will understand. Dutifully I do, and imagine hers, smiling sadly, pearled horizon, born dressed. I will miss you, Christ! God I will miss you! How much I owe, and this fantastic longing, it stands for all the rest of it! What tender love I will feel until I am torn from this.

[middleagedangst]

...But Our Trucks are Naked Without It

Putting the Gadsden Flag out to sea

It’s time to retire the Gadsden flag. If you don’t know what that is, it’s the other flag flapping on the back of a pickup truck opposite a Confederate battle flag. I’m talking about the bright yellow flag with that smug-looking rattlesnake and the phrase, “Don’t tread on me.” It’s a flag meant to display passive-aggressive defiance of the government adopted by “patriotic” libertarians and other sects of the far-right political spectrum and the occasional human rights activist.

The flag itself dates back to the American Revolution, created by one Mr. Colonel Christopher Gadsden, one of the first Naval officers under George Washington, and used by Continental Marines as a statement of purpose. Throughout the flags lifetime, it has flown on battleships and other arms of the war machine hangs on walls and in windows, became emblazoned on t-shirts and beer koozies, and shown off as tattoos and Facebook profile pics. The flag has had a long and storied life without question. And now, just like an old sick dog, we need to take it to “live on a farm,” or maybe in the new American tradition, kill it with a drone strike.

The flag depicts a smug-looking rattlesnake coiled and ready to strike. Underneath, is the phrase, “DONT TREAD ON ME,” in all caps of course, because if you have to say it because some whiny liberal is oppressing you, you might as well fucking yell it at the top of your lungs to get your message across. Snakes have been used as a symbol of the American people since the early days of discontent for the crown, representing vigilance, courage, generosity, and the ability to be deadly when provoked. History has proven all of these things true without question. Snakes were a symbol of strength and liberty, the utmost qualities of a people with a desire for liberty, a positive affirmation, maybe. Nowadays, snakes are more representative of the slimy, venomous dickheads that rule over us like an alcoholic step-father that pulls his dick out at family functions.

I argue that a new emblem is in order, an update to the symbol that has been representative of our culture for hundreds of years. America isn’t that America anymore. It’s changed with the advent of social media, divisive identity politics, and economic inequality. A new United States needs a new symbol of the American zeitgeist- ladies, gents and all those in between, I present you with a new image emblematic of contemporary American culture- a symbol of vigilance, pride, and ego - the ouroboros.

I know, I know, the Ouroboros is a sign that throughout history meant perpetual rebirth according to the hippies so let me put this into a different context for you. When a snake is too stressed, the temperature of its habitat is wrong, or is blind, that dumb bastard will start eating its tail thinking it’s the enemy. See, the snake isn’t smart enough to see that what it's doing is actually harmful to the body as a whole. I mean, who gives a shit about a tail when the head is still attached, right? I can’t think of another image that describes the mentality of the people of the United States more completely and with more brevity than that.

The United States in the past few decades, especially since 9/11 has been gnawing away at its tail while the head is too filled with ego to know when to stop and lick the wounds, to let the tail be, or you know, stop treading all over the fucking thing. We’ve seen a rise in public displays of hatred (looking at you, Nazis), overbearing political correctness coupled with nonsensical censorship (looking at you, liberals), unabashed hypocrisy from those in charge as well as bending of the rules to gain political power outside the will of the people (shout out to government). Ok, so maybe the last one is more of a U.S. tradition instead of a new fad, but, now with all the world’s information at our fingertips, it is more apparent that we as a people are being trodden all over.

One example as to why our precious Gadsden flag is of no use to us anymore is the most obvious one- government. The assholes in expensive suits have forgotten what Colonel Gadsden and the founding fathers even fought for, getting out from under the boot of an oppressive regime. Sure, we’re not ruled by the crown anymore and nobody is going around collecting taxes at gunpoint, but the fact that every new Congress, every new president has absolutely not enacted any laws increasing our freedoms and right to privacy. Instead, these assholes do the opposite for only what I can assume is an effort to consolidate and strengthen their own power. Even though we can have a revolving door in all government bodies, the body itself can only exist with steadfast self-preservation. Without it, the institution would crumble and the nation would be in a constant state of chaos.

The United States government has always engaged in trampling on the rights and privacy of its citizens. In the early days, it would quash rebellions because the noisy wheel gets the grease, only in this scenario, the grease is the might of the U.S. Army. Then, of course, there is the overt oppression of the Native Americans. The government forced them from their native lands, set them up with “prime” real estate in fucking Oklahoma of all places and killed the ones that dared to stand up for themselves. As everyone witnessed in late 2016 and all of 2017 the government still wants to piss all over the right of the natives by shooting them with water cannons and send the dogs out because the indigenous wanted to protect their land from a private corporation running a messy pipeline through their sacred ground.

We can move along to the 20th century and see the imprisonment of Japanese Americans during World War II. The only thing that separated us from the Nazis is that we didn’t gas anyone. That was shortly followed by the attempts to snuff out various civil rights movements. When that didn’t work they resorted to a crusade against drug users. They figured, “Hey, it would be wrong to imprison them for exercising their right to free speech and assembly, but if we find a roach in their car’s ashtray…” All of this was done while parts of the government were working with and smuggling drugs for various cartels around the world. Guess what, it still happens.

The 21st century isn’t just continuing the practices of the preceding one but amplifying them. The prime example is the actions of the U.S. government after the events on 9/11. Whether or not you believe the attacks were an inside job isn’t important here, but the way the government responded is. Systematically, the government has been making shit harder for damn near everyone. Airport security, the militarization of the police, illegal warrantless wiretapping, continuing to fight seemingly unwinnable wars, Trump and his goddamn border wall, attempting to repeal laws making healthcare more accessible, cracking down on whistleblowers, non-investment in infrastructure, divide and conquer mentality… Do you feel as safe and secure as you did just 10 years ago? Has your life gotten easier as the size and scope of government have grown in tandem with the advancement of technology? If you’re like me, the answer is certainly, fuck no. Have you heard of the Patriot Act? Probably, but you don’t care because if you’re not doing anything wrong then you have nothing to worry about, right? The worst part is that as a society, we don’t have the balls to truly take on the established order and get out from under the boot of this oppressive regime made up of not just the government but all the oligarchs who fund it.

I would expect governments taking steps to hinder the rights of its citizens, power corrupts and all that shit. What’s upsetting though is that the people of these United States would seemingly rather spend their time arguing on Facebook than standing up for the values they preach about. The Land of the free. The home of the brave. Remember that shit, you hear it all the fucking time. Is that even the case any longer? Did we forget that’s part of our anthem, our musical mission statement? Take a look around. We’re not that free, or it least it seems we aren’t. The question is though, are we still brave? Protesting speakers at university campuses, escalating an argument when someone has a different belief, revoking friendship on social media, telling people they don’t have any right because they’re a man- or white- or both, not wanting others to do with their body as they choose, telling people where they can or can’t worship… not really brave to me. Looks like we’re just scared of words when sticks and stones are still the real threat. And behaving like this is certainly not allowing people to exercise freedom. But one thing I know about people (myself included) is that we’re all assholes.

Should we as sovereign citizens really hinder a person’s right to free speech and group’s right to peacefully assemble? Short answer, no. Long answer, hell fucking no. It shouldn’t matter if the speaker is a Nazi, they have their audiences. It shouldn’t matter if it’s a Klan rally downtown. The thing about America is that even though you may not agree with whatever bullshit they’re trying to push, everyone is allowed by the constitution to peacefully assemble and say what they want to say as long as physical violence isn’t involved.

Free speech and demonstration shouldn’t be limited to those you agree with. It’s for everybody, like oxygen and taxes. You might think you’re brave for taking a stand and fighting to get that hate monger fired from their speaking gig, but you’re not. You might think you’re brave for shutting down your asshole uncle for praising Donald Trump at Thanksgiving dinner, again, probably not. Your rage and your yelling and your stupid signs, that’s not bravery. Sure, the act of protesting can be brave and defiant, but when you use that right to get a guy fired because he said one time that affirmative action is bullshit, c’mon… That’s cowardice. You’re scared of hearing differing viewpoints. Is the big bad talker scaring you? Have their words caused you harm? Did someone’s facebook post have you instantly hitting the unfriend button? If you answered yes to any of these then I say to you, quit being scared of facts or opinions and learn to debate them in a civilized manner. Hear people out with opposing viewpoints. You might learn something of you might just see how ridiculous what they’re saying is. We can’t be considered brave when safe spaces are a thing. Be nicer to each other is all I’m saying.

We’re scared of people on the other team, willing to subvert constitutional law-given rights and be ugly to each other, and allow a government with its media mouthpieces keep us divided. And just like that crazed, blind snake eating its tail, we can’t tell of the actual harm were are doing as a nation. If we want to continue this ride we’re on we need to stop and think about how this shit should be. Have a talk about what a society is, what a community is and see if there’s a better way forward. A little more kindness and an understanding of the fact that we’re all in this together can go a long way. Elementary school history tells you that Lincoln said, “A house divided cannot stand,” before the Civil War. History might not repeat itself, but it does rhyme. So let's have a flag that closely represents what we are now. A snake that is less of a danger to others and more of a danger to ourselves.

[caredogstips]

Appear the scorch: why do we cherish chilli?

Its not just about the aroma or even the sorenes. In this extract from his new volume, Bob Holmes discloses the pharmacology and psychology behind humanitys heat-seeking desire

Ive been postponing. On my breakfast nook table I have lined up three hot pepper: one habanero, flame-orange and lantern-shaped; one skinny little Thai chicks gaze chilli; and one relatively innocuous jalapeo, ogling by comparison like a big light-green zeppelin. My mission, should I choose to accept, is to eat them.

In ordinary life, Im at least moderately fond of hot pepper. My fridge has three kinds of salsa, a bottle of sriracha, and a container of Szechuan hot bean glue, all of which I use regularly. But Im not extreme: I pick the whole peppers out of my Thai curries and adjust them aside uneaten. And Im a habanero maiden. Its honour as the most wonderful pepper you can easily find in the convenience store has me a little bit unnerved, so Ive never cooked with one, let alone ate it neat. Still, if Im going to write about hot pepper, I ought to have firsthand suffer at the high discontinue of the compas. Plus, Im curious, in a vaguely spectator-at-my-own-car-crash road.

When people talk about flavor, they are generally places great importance on savor and bouquet. But theres a third major flavour sense, as well, one thats often overlooked: the physical perceptions of signature, temperature and sting. The blaze of chilli peppers is the most familiar precedent here, but there are others. Wine mavens speak of a wine-coloureds mouthfeel, a hypothesi that includes the puckery astringency of tannins something tea drunks likewise notice and the fullness of quality that commits figure to a wine. Gum chewers and peppermint devotees recognise the sentiments of minty coolness they get from their confections. And everyone knows the fizzy burn of carbonated drinks.

None of these sensations is a matter of fragrance or flavour. In fact, our third primary flavor feel wings so far under our radar that even flavour wonks havent agreed on a single appoint for it. Sensory scientists are apt to refer to it as chemesthesis, somatosensation, or trigeminal feel, each of which covers a slightly different subset of the feel, and nothing of which intend much at all to the rest of the world. The common theme, though, is that all of these whizs are actually manifestations of our sense of touch, and theyre surprisingly crucial to our experience of smell. Feeling, smell, touch the flavour trinity.

Sensory scientists have known for decades that chilli burn is something different from smell and stench something more like suffering. But the real breakthrough in understanding chilli shine came in 1997, when pharmacologist David Julius and his colleagues at the University of California, San Francisco, eventually distinguished the receptor for capsaicin, the active ingredient in chilli heat. The chore demanded a lot of fortitude: Julius and his team took every gene active in sensory nerve cadres, which respond to capsaicin, and swapped them into cultured kidney cadres, which dont. Eventually, they found a gene capable of doing the kidney cells answer. The gene turned out to encoded a receptor eventually identified TRPV1, and enunciated trip-vee-one that is activated not just by capsaicin but likewise by dangerously red-hot temperatures. In other paroles, when you call a chilli pepper red-hot, thats not just an analogy as much as is your brain can tell, your opening really is being burned. Thats a experience , not a fragrance or flavor, and it delivers to the mentality through nerves that handle the sense of touch.

Like other touch receptors, TRPV1 receptors are received all over the inner layer of your scalp, where they warn you of shine peril from midsummer asphalt, cooking dishes straight-from-the-shoulder from the oven, and the like. But they can only gather up pepper scorch where the protective outer surface is thin enough to let capsaicin participate that is, in the mouth, sees, and a few other situates. This excuses the old Hungarian saying that good paprika flames twice.

Further measures showed that TRPV1 reacts not just to heat and capsaicin but to a variety of other hot meat, including black pepper and ginger. More lately, various more TRP receptors have turned up that open other food-related somatosensations. TRPA1, which Julius calls the wasabi receptor, causes the awarenes of hot from wasabi, horseradish and mustards, as well as onions, garlic and cinnamon. TRPA1 is also responsible for the back-of throat ignite that aficionados appreciate in their extra-virgin olive oil. A good petroleum extradites enough of a ignite to effect a catch in your throat and often a coughing. In knowledge, olive oil tasters charge petroleums as one-cough or two-cough petroleums, with the latter going a higher rating.( One intellect wasabi feels so different from olive oil is that the sulfur-containing substances in wasabi are volatile, so they deliver wasabis characteristic snout ten-strikes, while non-volatile olive oil merely ignites the throat. Olive oil are also welcome to prompt TRPV1 receptors to some extent .) Curiously, TRPA1 is also the hot receptor that rattlesnakes are sufficient to spot their prey on a dark night.

Chilli aficionados get moderately passionate about their pods, picking precisely the right various kinds of chilli for each application from the dozens available. The gap among chilli smorgasbords is partly a matter of smell and flavour: sometimes there sweeter, sometimes there fruitier, some have a dusky profundity to their feeling. But there are differences in the way they appear in your opening, too.

One difference is obvious: hot rank. Chilli experts step a chillis stage of scorch in Scoville heat units, a magnitude first descended by Wilbur Scoville, a pharmacist and pharmaceutical researcher, in 1912. Labor in Detroit, Scoville had the luminous plan that they are able to evaluate a peppers hotness by diluting its remove until tasters could no longer see the burn. The hotter the pepper was initially, the more youd have to dilute it to wash out the blaze. Pepper extract that are required to be diluted exactly tenfold to quench the hot tallies 10 Scoville work unit; a much hotter one that are required to be diluted one hundred thousandfold tallies 100,000 Scovilles.

Nowadays, investigates often avoid the need for expensive boards of tasters by evaluating the chillis capsaicin material instantly in the lab and altering that to Scoville groups. The more capsaicin, the hotter the chilli.

However you weigh it, chillies contradict widely in their heat degree. Anaheims and poblanos are quite mild, tip-off the scale at about 500 and 1,000 Scovilles, respectively. Jalapeos come in around 5,000, serranos about 15,000, cayennes about 40,000, Thai birds see chills near 100,000, and the habanero on my table somewhere between 100,000 and 300,000 Scovilles. From there, gallant minds can endeavour into the truly red-hot, topping out with the Carolina Reaper at a staggering 2.2 million Scovilles, which approaches the potency of police-grade pepper spray.

Many chilli foremen claim that a peppers hot is defined by more than merely intensity. If anyone would know about this it would probably be Paul Bosland, the director of the Chile Pepper Institute at New Mexico State University. As a weed breeder by commerce, he has a keen professional interest in all the minuscule details of how chilli hot distinguished from one cod to the next.

Bosland says he and his colleagues recognise four other components to chilli heat in addition to hot height. The first is how fast the heat starts. Most beings, when they pierce the habanero, it maybe takes 20 to 30 seconds before they experience the hot, whereas an Asian chilli is immediate, he articulates. Nippies likewise differ in how long the scorch lasts. Some, like jalapeos and many of the Asian smorgasbords, fade relatively quickly; others, like habaneros, may loiter for hours. Where the chilli stumbles you also runs. Often, with a jalapeo, its the tip-off of your tongue and lips, with New Mexico pod types its in the middle of the mouth, and with a habanero its at the back, responds Bosland. And fourth, Bosland and his gang is the difference between sharp and flat qualities of flame. Sharp is like rods protruding in your opening, while flat is just a paintbrush, he enunciates. New Mexico nippies tend to be flat while Asian ones tend to be sharp.

Its time to take the plunge. First up, the jalapeo. As youd expect from its comparatively wimpy position in the tabasco pepper abides, it imparts merely a mild incense, which builds gently and mostly at the figurehead of the mouth. Tackled with such a tame incense, I have spate of tending left to focus on its thick, crispy body and dessert, nearly bell-peppery flavour. The Thai birds-eye chilli, second on my register, is much smaller, and its flesh substantiates to be much thinner and tougher. Despite that, though, it almost immediately tells liberate a smash of heat that explodes to replenish my opening from front to back, establishing me gasp for breath. No gradual construct to this one its a sledgehammer blow. If I think hard, I might imagine that the chilli hot is a little bit sharper, pricklier, than the jalapeo. But I could just be fooling myself.

Finally, the one Ive been dreading, the habanero. I cut a tiny slice and start chewing. The first thing that strikes me is how different the aroma is. Instead of a vegetal, bell pepper flavour, the habanero gives me a often sweeter, fruitier impression thats astonishingly pleasant. For about 15 or 20 seconds, anyway and then, gradually but inexorably, the heat erects. And builds. And constructs, long after Ive swallowed the slice of pepper itself, until I cant think up much else besides the volley that crowds my lip. It surely hits farther back in the mouth than the Thai chilli, though theres a late-breaking flare-up on my tongue as well. The whole know lasts five or 10 instants, and even a good half hour afterwards its as though coals are gently sketched in my mouth.

Having set my lip afire, Id now like to quench the burn. Astonishingly, scientists cant give a whole lot of help in this regard. A cold suck certainly helps, because the coolness calms the heat-sensing TRPV1 receptors that capsaicin rouses. The only difficulty as youve without doubt find if youve is seeking to cope with a chilli flame this route is that the effects goes away in exactly a few seconds, as your lip returns to ordinary body temperature. Youve maybe heard, extremely, that carbohydrate and fatten facilitate douse the fire, but health researchers themselves arent entirely convinced.

The best event out there is probably cold, whole milk, reads John Hayes of the department of meat discipline at the University of Pennsylvania. The cold is going to help mask the ignite, the viscosity is going to mask the incense, and the fatty got to go pull the capsaicin off the receptor. When pressed, though, he notes that theres not a lot of data to back that up.

Making a meat more viscous has been shown to damp down flavor probably just because it furnishes a contesting sensation to confuse our tending, Hayes observes, but he cant think up any person who has experimented whether it also increases chilli scorch. And hes not entirely sure that sugar really helps, either. Im not convinced that it actually knocks the hot down, or whether it precisely prepares it more charming, he pronounces. Even the value of paunches or petroleums which sounds like they ought to help wash capsaicin, who the hell is fat soluble, off the receptors is in dispute. If youre feeling the ignite, enunciates Bruce Bryant of the Monell Chemical Senses Center in Philadelphia, the capsaicin have so far been probed your tissue, so a superficial gargle of whole milk or olive oil isnt able to help much.

Millions of parties actively seek out the sorenes of red-hot breezies as a word of gratification. The ignite features prominently in more than a few of “the worlds” great cuisines, with more than a quarter of “the worlds” person ingesting hot peppers daily. Britain spends 20 m yearly on hot sauce.

We dont take pleasure in eating food thats still searingly red-hot from the oven, even though that gives exactly the same superstar we get from nippies: same receptors, same nerves. We dont have decided to chemically ignite our tongues with strong battery-acids. So why do we happily, even eagerly, inflict hurting by breezies? Whatever the secret is, this appears to unique to humans. No other mammal on the planet has a similar taste for chillies.( Chick eat them enthusiastically, but only because they lack receptors that respond to capsaicin. To a parakeet, the most wonderful habanero is as bland as a bell pepper .)

One possible explanation is that chilli lovers simply dont find the anguish as intensely as those who shun hot peppers. In the laboratories, its surely true that people who are repeatedly exposed to capsaicin become less sensitive to it. Genetics may play some place, extremely. Surveys of identical twins( who share all their genes) and dizygotic twin( who share only half) suggest that genes account for 18 -5 8% of our liking for chilli peppers. Some parties may have most sensitive TRPV1 receptors, for example though Hayes, whos looking into who are currently, says: The jury is truly still out on whether there is meaningful TRPV1 variation.

Its abundantly clear, though, that chilli lovers arent immune to the ache. Just request one. I like it so all my holes open up and weepings are rolling down my appearance, does Hayes. But with two young children in the house, I dont get that quite often. For now, Hayes becomes do with a handy bottle of sriracha hot sauce. My children refer to it as Daddys ketchup, he says.

Its clear from listening to Hayes that he and probably most other chilli eaters actively enjoys the suffering. That inconsistency has attracted the attention of psychologists for several decades now. Back in the 1980 s, psychologist and pioneering chilli researcher Paul Rozin of the University of Pennsylvania proposed that chilli eating is a figure of benign masochism, like watching a unnerving movie or journeying a roller coaster. After all, most forms of anguish are admonishes of imminent impairment. That roasted potato still steaming from the oven is red-hot enough to kill the cadres rowing your mouth, potentially making permanent detriment. But chilli burn except at its uppermost, million-Scoville extreme is a false alarm: a route to get the excite of living on the edge without the risk of disclosing yourself to real danger.

A few years thereafter, Hayes and his student Nadia Byrnes( perhaps the best reputation ever for a tabasco pepper researcher) took Rozins ball and ran with it. If chilli presidents are looking for stimulates, Byrnes and Hayes reasoned, youd expect them to have sensation-seeking temperaments. And, for sure, when they came to the enormous arsenal of tests that psychologists have developed to measure facets of personality, they discovered several measures of hotshot searching, of which the most recent and best was the Arnett Inventory of Sensation Seeking. Then they set out to see whether chilli lovers really do pray excitement.

When Byrnes and Hayes measured roughly 250 voluntaries, they found that chilli lovers were indeed more likely to be agitation seekers than people who shunned chills. And its not only that perception seekers approach all of life with more gusto the effect was specific to nippies. When it is necessary to more boring foods like candy floss, hot dog or skimmed milk, the awarenes seekers were no more likely to partake than their more timid confreres.

Chilli eaters also tended to tally higher on another aspect of personality called sense to reinforce, which quantifies how drawn we are to praise, tending and other external reinforcement. And when health researchers appeared more closely, an interesting pattern developed: superstar searching was the best predictor of chilli eating in ladies, while in souls, sensibility to reward was the very best predictor.

Hayes thinks thats because machismo play-acts a role in the chilli eating of men, but not dames. For women, theres no social status to being able to eat the hottest chilli pepper, while for men there is, he theorizes. Without the heavy hand of machismo on the scale of assessments, womens chilli eating is more strongly governed by their internal drive for excitement.

Incidentally, while chilli lovers laud the charge they get from a spicy bowl, and sometimes claim the peppers wake up their palate to other tones, youll often hear chilli-averse parties complain that the incense keeps them from enjoying other feelings in their banquet. Which is it? The affair has received surprisingly little science studies, but the bottom line seems to be that if capsaicin obstructs other aromas, the effect is small-minded. Most likely, when people complain that they cant experience as well after a spicy sip, its predominantly because theyre paying so much attention to the unfamiliar blaze that the other tones move for the purposes of the radar. In other words, its not red-hot but too hot that intervenes with the happiness of feeling and the threshold where red-hot becomes too hot is a very personal one.

Removed from Flavour: A Users Guide to Our Most Forgotten Feel by Bob Holmes( Ebury Press, 20 ). To prescribe a facsimile for 17, going to see bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p& p over 10, online tells exclusively. Phone orderings min. p& p of 1.99.

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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