#desert dwellers are yellow

[liliallowed]

hunter au sketches I made during class

[sixteenseveredhands]

Namib Sand Geckos: these nocturnal geckos have biofluorescent markings that emit a bright, neon-green glow when exposed to the moonlight

This species (Pachydactylus rangei) is found only in the Namib Desert, which stretches across Namibia, Angola, and South Africa; the geckos typically inhabit the arid, coastal region known as the Skeleton Coast.

In order to escape from the blistering heat of the desert, they use their webbed feet to burrow down into the sand during the day, and then emerge only at night, when the temperature has finally dropped. The webbing on their feet also enables them to run more easily across the dunes.

Namib sand geckos are covered in translucent scales, but they also have a strangely colorful appearance, as the colors/shades of their circulatory system, spinal column, internal organs, and optical membranes remain partially visible through the skin, producing various shades of pink, dark blue, purple, magenta, orange, and yellow.

They also have several distinctive markings running along their lower flank and encircling their eyes; these markings are known to fluoresce when exposed to UV light (including moonlight), emitting a bright, neon-green glow.

Some researchers have theorized that the biofluorescent markings may act as a signal to other geckos, allowing them to locate one another in the vast, desolate expanse of the desert, as this paper explains:

The fluorescent areas of P. rangei are concentrated around the eyes and along the lower flanks. This positioning is practically invisible to predators with a higher perspective (e.g. birds and jackals), but highly conspicuous from a gecko’s perspective. As P. rangei is sociable but generally solitary, and occurs at low population densities, such a signal might serve to locate conspecifics over greater distances ...

Encounters in P. rangei might serve purposes beyond mating opportunities: as the Namib desert has extremely low precipitation, fog is a key water source for its flora and fauna. Fog condenses on the bodies of the geckos, and they lick it from their faces. In husbandry, we have observed individuals licking water from conspecifics, taking advantage of a much greater available surface area.

Additionally, after short periods of isolation, the geckos run to meet each other. The combination of vital hydration with socialisation might reinforce signals that enable such meetings, and the cost of visibility to predators with higher vantage points, might constrain the signals to regions best visible from eye-level and below.

The Namib sand gecko is the only terrestrial vertebrate that is known to use an iridophore-based form of biofluorescence (you can find a more detailed explanation of that mechanism in the article mentioned above). The fluorescent dermal markings are also unique to this species.

Sources & More Info:

Scientific Reports: Neon-green fluorescence in the desert gecko Pachydactylus rangei caused by iridophores

Animal Diversity Web: Pachydactylus rangei

Dr. Mark D. Scherz's Blog: A Neon-Green Glowing Gecko!

Australian Geographic: Skeleton Coast - Namibia's strange desert dwellers

[o-craven-canto]

The lizard with five* sexes*

Behold the common side-blotched lizard (Uta stansburiana) (picture source).

In most animal species, male and female individual (and any combinations of such, for hermaphroditism and situational sex shift are common) tend to have slightly different incentives, and thus to follow different reproductive strategies. (See flatworm penis knifefights for a particularly charming example of that.)

This rather unassuming lizard, 5 or 6 cm long and dweller of the deserts of southwestern USA and northern Mexico, takes it one step further. The males and females of this species have each split into different genetically-determined morphs, so that you could say that Uta stansburiana is a species with five sexes, or possibly two sexes and five genders.

Male side-blotched lizards come in three main forms, conveniently color-coded thanks to the bright bands on their throats. (Image from here, ultimately from the original paper) Throat color, and all associated phenotype and behavior, is genetically determined, highly inheritable, and controlled by the concentration of testosterone in blood.

Orange-throated males, the highest-testosterone morph are the largest and most aggressive. They defend large territories, and gather all females they found in a harem that they protect fiercely. Blue-throated males have a lower concentration of testosterone; they guard smaller territories and only mate with a single female, with whom they spend most of the time. Yellow-throated males have the least testosterone of all; they closely resemble adult females, hold no territory at all, and prefer to mate sneakily with unattended females.

(Females are also divided in two morphs: orange-throated ones produce more, smaller eggs, while yellow-throated ones produce fewer, larger eggs. The latter are favored when population density is higher. However, the differences are not so dramatic as between male morphs.)

Do you see the logic? Rock crushes scissors, but is enveloped by paper. Paper envelop rock, but is cut by scissors. Scissors cut paper, but are crushed by rock.

Oranges are the strongest morph; they can take all the territory they want. They can easily beat up the weaker Blues, chase them away, and add their mates to their own harem. However, they can only pay so much attention to each individual female in the harem. Consequently, they are easily cuckolded by Yellows, who show up in an Orange’s harem as soon as he’s looking away.

Yellows can easily pretend to be females to enter an Orange’s harem, and mate with all the actual females in the surroundings. However, this trick doesn’t work with a Blue, who has only one mate that he knows well and carefully keeps track of.

Blues pay enough attention to their one mate to never be fooled by Yellow infiltrators. However, they are easy prey for the bigger and stronger Oranges.

According to the original 1996 paper, Blues were dominant in 1991, but crashed in the following years as Oranges seized their territories. Oranges peaked in 1992, only to lose their gains to Yellow infiltrators in 1993. By 1995, the more guarded Blues had taken over once again. All three morphs thrive in their own niche, and the circle goes around forever, each genotype unable to dominate both competitors. Only in some isolated populations the (I presume) accidental loss of one morph has allowed one to take over completely.

I think it would be neat to see something like this in a speculative sophont.

[tribbetherium]

'A dangerous duel turns into a dance of death as a yellow feesel (Mustelailurumys aureus) grapples a venomous golden-striped piedviper (Xanthophiomys atrox), undettered by its quarry's bold warning coloration. Descended from a few holdovers that survived the end-Glaciocene mass extinction, the carnohams have once again diversified to become Arcuterra's primary carnivores. Many have since grown and reached leonine proportions to become apex predators of herbivorous megafauna, while others became high-speed sprinters, specialized desert-dwellers, and even generalist omnivores that experiment on small amounts of plant matter to a mostly-carnivorous diet. But perhaps the most unusual are some very small and divergent species: the feesels (Mustelailurumys spp.), smallest of the extant carnohams, which have adapted to chase small prey down their burrows with short legs and long bodies. They live side-by-side along other, small slender-bodied carnivores, the basal fearrets that are the ancestral relatives of carnohams as a whole, but are distinguished by one remarkable feature: a mutation of their immune receptors that leaves them extremely resistant to the reactive, allergenic substances of burrowurm para-venom. As such, they regularly prey upon venomous burrowurms--ones that otherwise would have no other natural predators-- dispatching them with a powerful bite to the back of the neck. This resistance allows them to occupy an uncontested niche: by exploiting a dangerous prey species virtually untouchable to all others.'

-----------

[acroagoraphobe]

What Makes a Man a Monster?

Chapter 3: A Unknown Man's Journey to The Town With Every Name.

HIIII YEAB ANOTHER CHAPTER WOO (Sixer playlist on Spotify will probably be unprivated soon guys.)

(Sorry if the sentences don't flow too well btw im just dumping my thoughts abt his story:3 )

Sixer had already well overstayed his welcome in the small town of Goodsprings. Tragedy was bound to follow him in some way, as it tended to do. The people were nice, but they won't be here forever. Time always went so fast and before Sixer would know, a lifetime flashed before his eyes and everything he got used to was gone and rotted. He was the one thing that stayed in falling nations trying to grasp at what he caused to fall.

But it was the present, and although it would only last for what felt like minutes, he had to live in the moment. He walked out the door of the Saloon, clothes still soaked in blood due to his refusal to let the locals be any the more generous to him. They already disregarded his rather ominous entrance. Someone was bound to believe he was an omen of some sort.

Sixer's worn boots caused the floors underneath him to creak as he left, leaving dusty footprints behind him and no doubt, in his future path he was bound to lead. Walking the road to god knows where, he wandered the dusty roads. The heat of the sun hadn't bothered him in Lord knows how long, he wondered if he even felt anything at all anymore. It sounds edgy, but this is an ancient being were talking about here. Those things are THE edgelords.

Sixer could give less fucks about the Platinum chip and the man who shot him, but it was the only purpose he could come up with for himself now. Track down Benny, But do what? Well, He'll fucking figure it out eventually. Trudging on, halfway to the town of Primm, A voice called to Sixer through the quiet of the desert, saying his name so clearly. But he didn't really have a true name. Hallucinating again possibly? The voice whispered words in his ear that veered him off the road and to a secluded clearing in the rocky areas near the roads, and led him to a skeletal corpse, rotted and mottled. But... untouched by animals. When he approached the corpse, The voice stopped. It spoke no more into the ears of the unknown.

The corpse held a Pip-Boy, It looked like a vault dweller. But the yellow and blue garments were long since ripped apart. This corpse must have been here for Lord knows how long. The only peice of the vault suit that the corpse was wearing that was left somewhat intact was the back, the number read 0. Just 0 not 10, not 100, just 0. And Sixer's mind fogged when he tried to consult the forces unknown to him that gave him his knowledge. Perhaps he was not meant to know what was behind this. Or it was something he had to figure out ..

Either way, Something in the back of his head? told him to take the Pip-Boy, an older model that was held together by electrical tape and a dream. But it worked. Sixer wiped it off and put it onto his arm, turning it on and seeing the faded green of the screen fizzle to life. He felt a strange connection to this peice of technology, it knew things it should not know, like Sixer himself.

Sixer turned a dial and the screen mocked him with his lack of equipment. And he saw the perks screen, which read of his perks. "Wild Wasteland" and "Immortal." Which neither made sense on why the hell this thing would know these. But in truth all Sixer could do was accept it. His S.P.E.C.I.A.L stats consisted of a maximum endurance and a suprisingly high charisma. With a lacking perception and... 1 luck. Made more sense than anything else really. His strength was not something that could be considered weak, but it wasn't Herculean either. His intelligence was... Average, which was... suprising considering Sixer's knowledge from unknown sources. But that knowledge seemed to come and go, so It made plenty of sense.

Sixer went back onto the road as he fiddled with the dials on his new Pip-Boy. Radio was broken, Map just wasn't there, and Quests, which there was only one and it read "Accidentally on Purpose: Figure out what the hell to do with your life." Sixer hit the Pip-Boy and It updated to something about finding Benny. Take that bitch. He decided to stop getting distracted by his Pip-Boy and continued on walking to Primm.

At the front entrance to Primm a soldier yelled at him about Primm being off limits. And of course Sixer ignored him and walked past. The soldier too tired and underpaid to really give a fuck, let him past. Sixer realized there wasn't much important here in Primm from his otherworldly sources, so he went back to walking... Again.

[typhlonectes]

Do you know your American goldfinches? 

We don't just mean the American goldfinch, though he's very dapper. North America also has two other species of goldfinch, the lesser (that's not a value judgment) and Lawrence's. 

All three are common feeder visitors where they live. 

1. American goldfinches can be seen across the lower 48 states. They especially love to eat the seeds of native plants like swamp thistle or Maximillian sunflowers. You might hear them call out "po-ta-to chip."

2. Lesser goldfinches are the smallest of the three and have a bright yellow underside with black on their upper parts. They can be seen throughout the Southwest, from California to Texas. 

3. Lawrence's goldfinches are desert dwellers, living in arid parts of California, Arizona, and New Mexico. They have gray bodies with yellow wings and chest, and a black face. These are the goldfinches that might be most difficult to spot.

Photos: all by Mick Thompson, CC BY-NC 2.0 flic.kr/ps/XdAys

via:  U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service

[tiredspacedragon]

So you know how we've discussed north-oriented and south-oriented Fa-Matoran before? I've got a new one, but I need a little help finishing it

Sedimentary Rock = Brown/Tan/Orange Po-Matoran

See Pohatu and the Mata/Metru Nui Po-Matoran, desert-dwellers who spend their lives surrounded by sandstone

Igneous Rock = Yellow/Grey/Black Po-Matoran

See Dekar and also Hewkii, who changed colour when he became a Toa on Voya Nui, an actively volcanic island dripping with sulphur and covered in granite and obsidian

Metamorphic Rock = ???

Discuss

[westley-drawings]

The planet of Luria is populated by an advanced society of reptile-like people, referred to as Lurians. Due to the planets’ large number of deserts, dense forests, and waterways, there are three primary subsets of Lurians.

Over years of evolution, each group has gained different markings, proportions, and common coloring to help them best in their environments.

1. Desert-folk - lean more to having warm colors in the pink to yellow range, with upright stances and large ears to help diffuse heat. They have some small spines, fat tails, and gecko-like paws that help them grip and climb almost any surface.

2. Forest Dwellers - often arboreal, building homes around the wide trunks of rain forest trees. Their ears tend to be smaller, their spines larger and continuing down their backs to their long, thin tails. They have stripes that break up their silhouettes, and arms that grow slightly longer than their legs. Their colors range from yellow to teal blue.

3. Oceanic Nomads - as the name suggests, they live on the coasts of the planets oceans and estuaries, traveling to follow their food sources. They are usually cool colored, ranging from blue-greens to deep purples. They have large paws to help them swim through water, and counter-shading on their bodies.

it is common to encounter a Lurian with a mix of these traits, however, as alliances formed and groups mixed together over the years.

[a-smol-storm-gt-blog]

A kings snack

Tw for noms they are safe with the usual unwilling Grian, but I’m dabbling in 3rd life now. :D

Grian slid? Honestly the best way to describe how he got down the giant stairs. The avian was a green name, or human sized. He lived with Scar, a red name or a giant in this case. It wasn’t as difficult as it was scary, having a giant person walking around can be scary for different reasons. Back to the matter at hand though, Grian was heading out to fish. They had a lot of food, but bread and butter only can be interesting for so long. They had some cows, but Scar tends to make short work of the ones they aren't using, making steak a rarity for the avian. Placing the buckets down by the river, Grian pulled out a worm and attached it to the hook before tossing his rod in. A group of salmon swam around nearby, eyeing the wriggly creature. The thought of a fish or two with a couple chopped up cooked vegetables sounded amazing to the avian. He could probably work out a deal with his neighbors. Their two neighbors Jimmy and Scott, although living on a pond, have many more crops than the desert dwellers do. The water is used for farms and the few tropical and koi fish they own. They also have a very pretty house inside the mountains. The fisher reared backwards pulling out a large red fish. It wriggled violently as Grian tried to unhook it, but the avian put the rod between his legs. Grabbing the fish’s head with one hand he dug his claws in holding it as the other took the hook out. The desert hawk then gently picked up the large pail he had with him and filled it up with some water before sliding the fish in. Another worm was put on and the line was sent out again. It took a bit, but the fish came back, soon enough Grian had another one on the line. It was smaller than the last but food was food, the avian wouldn't complain. So then another, and another. A 5th gripped on starting to struggle, so Grian pulled it off. By now the fish knew there was food and so a good amount of them were swimming around. Grian didn’t get to them though, as a giant mouth dove into the water surprisingly catching most of the salmon. The jaws closed and the head leaned back swallowing the mouthful of fish. The avian froze watching the bulge in the giant’s throat disappear downwards. Once it left visibility the hawk could finally look away wincing to himself. “Thanks for that, Grian.” Scar said, wiping the water that spilled from his jaws. “Yeah, yeah you're welcome.” He said still frightened from the near nipped experience. A hand reached for the bird out of the corner of his eye causing them to back up. The giant let out an upset noise before sitting down himself. Grian looked over at him for a little before starting to pick everything up. “What?? Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” “Ha ha.” Grian sarcastically laughed, annoyed. “What’s wrong birrrrddy?” Scar asked moving to lay down as he watched the avian start his journey back to the base. “Can’t really fish as you ate or scared everything away.” The desert hawk shrugged. The giant just let a huff out of his nose. “What are you going to do then?” Scar asked, Grian paused for a moment thinking but easily knew what he had to get. “Wood most likely, I keep putting off getting some and it’s not doing us much good right now. I think I’ll visit Scott and Jimmy too.” Scar nodded, going back to lazing around, getting bored from the lack of reactions by the green name. For Grian it was relaxing, not that he hated Scar, he hated that Scar was a red name. They were huge, and unpredictable. No green or yellow name could control them, it was just terrifying in its own way. So Grian took his gear back into the house. There were separate areas in the building. A large part for giants, but Grian headed into a much smaller door. It was still a large door, but Grian got through. Now it was a mini giant’s area, once again Grian found a smaller door and headed through that area into his house. The bucket was placed on top of the counter while the rod and bait were placed back into their respective places. When Grian returned to the kitchen he took out a knife, starting to cut the scales off. Same with the innards, although Grian didn’t have much of a problem eating them himself he didn’t want to deal with cleaning the bloody mess they left behind. One fish was cleaned, packaged and put away into the freezer and he was onto the next. The bucket didn’t take long to get through, soon all the fish but one were placed in the freezer. The last one would be Grian’s dinner tonight, now he was going to get trees while it was light out. So Grian headed over to the closet taking out his enchanted iron ax checking it for damage. It had some wear to it, but mended sturdy so it would do. Next a large bag was dragged out and put on his back. Before heading out the door he grabbed the bucket of remaining salmon. The avian would like to take pizza, but Scar would most likely not allow it. So Grian just took the bag, it would leave them with a good amount of wood anyways. Scar doesn't need to cook anymore, giants never need their food warmed, all the wood just went towards making a place Scar could comfortably live in. Soon the hawk was back outside taking a look around and checking the time before heading back towards the stairs. Sliding down once again he shimmied his way through the thorny wall and into the shaded tree line pressing his hand against the bark of a nearby oak. The walk wasn’t long, but It wasn’t the most enjoyable. The land was full of large hills making travel slow and very obnoxious. The avian kept his eyes open for the dark oak trees or the wooden wall that surrounded the husbands’ houses. After more walking and complaining the stripped wall emerged. The avian let out a happy sigh speeding up his stride once again. Once at the door he paused for a second to get some air, before gently knocking on the door. “One second.” Scott called from his house, Jimmy peered over at the gate checking who had come. “O-oh hey.” The giant said waving to Grian before calling back to Scott. “It’s Grian.” Not long after saying that the other green name stuck his head out the door. “Hey Grian, sorry about that.” The avian watched as the blue haired man ran down the stairs pulling his jacket back over himself. “It’s cool, also the place looks great.” “Thanks, come in, come in.” Scott said, gesturing with his hand. So the avian entered, raising the bucket of fish up slightly higher. “Is Scar with you?” “No, but I have something for you both.” Grian said, holding out the bucket of salmon to Scott. “Sorry it’s not a lot, Scar ate everything.” Scott didn’t lift his eyes from the bucket while answering. “Seems like a Scar thing to do.” Grian let out a snort at that. Both green names look up at Jimmy when he accidentally creeks his doors entering his house. “Sorry.” He says quietly before entering and closing the doors behind him. “Do you want something in return?” Grian thinks for a second but nods. “Got any leftover vegetables? Maybe something I could steam with my fish.” Scott nods and leads the avian up towards his house. The hawk takes a quick glance over his shoulder at the giant’s house across the field. “Is he bad?” Grian asks Scott quietly, confusing the other builder a little. “What do you mean by that?” “Like does he grab at you all the time?” “Oh no, he’s actually really nervous about it, he gives this little look and I’m always like yeah it’s fine just ask.” Scott laughs a little. “He never does.” Grian nods understandingly. “Is Scar really that bad?” “OH YEAHH.” The avian says in an over exaggerated tone. “He gives NO warning and just RANDOMLY picks me up, half the time I feel like I’m his stress toy.” “Have you talked to him about it?” “Yeah, he’s better at it now, but rarely asks. I just don’t like it. He’s not bad, but it can be a little scary without warning.” “Awwww can’t handle your big man’s arms?” The blue-haired man teased. Grian stuck his tongue out in response getting a laugh out of the other Green name. Scott turned, handing Grian his bucket back full of vegetables. “Thanks.” The hawk said maneuvering to carry it with one hand. “What’s with the bag?” Scott asked, pulling a mug up to his mouth Grian didn’t know he even had. “Oh I was planning on going wood chopping.” The avian responded, turning around to look at the bag as well. “Take the trees near the desert then I want our side of the forest to still look nice.” The other man joked before taking another sip from the mug. The hawk just snorted a little, but nodded. When silence settled between the two Grian spoke up. “I think I’ll go then, you know where I am if you need anything.” Scott nodded. “Have a safe trip home.” The other green said giving a small wave. Grian gave one back before heading out the door. “SEE YOU AROUND TIMMY!!” The avian shouted towards the giant on the far side of the lawn. “YEAH HAVE A GREAT DAY GRIAN!!” The red name shouted back, not stepping out of his building. So Grian left, heading back towards the desert stopping near the edge. Heading over to a nearby oak the builder gave a gentle loving look over of the tree before backing up, raising his ax and swinging. It didn’t take super long to knock the tree down, Grian started moving onto chopping it into smaller bits before getting it into his bag. Then he headed for the next tree, swiping at the bottom, and moving as it fell over. The avian stopped for a second to breathe and wipe the sweat from his forehead. Soon enough Grian’s back to chopping starting at the thicker end of the tree. Only part of the tree was cut when a shadow fell over the small man. "Not now Scar." Grian said, hacking away at the logs.

"I'm afraid I'm not Scar." Grian's eyes shot up in panic. Crouching in the tree-line was a giant red Ren. Grian swallowed nervously, backing up. "Aww leaving so soon?" The king asked, reaching out and grabbing the large bag on the avian’s back. 

The smaller tried to turn and run but the heavy bag slowed him down enough to be hoisted up in the air. The bird grasped on to the arm strap as he was lifted higher and higher. 

Turning towards the giant a smile grew on Ren's face. "Well look at this." He teased as the bird's feathers fluffed out, a small whimper escaped the hawk's throat. He almost dropped everything when a tongue slipped over the werewolf’s lips.

Ren proceeded to move the bag more towards his face and Grian had to let go. The bird spread out his wings to fly, but that just helped the jaws slip around him easier. The avian let out a loud scream calling for the giant in the desert. Ren just laughed, well, as much as he could with the bird man in his mouth. The tongue the bird fell onto pushed towards him, the avian’s face turned trying to avoid being licked. Using his elbows Grian attempted to push the tongue down and away. Ren just flipped the bird on his side pressing the builder against his teeth. Grian let out a startled whimper but the giant hybrid was pleased. The next thing Grian knew the large muscle pushed back stronger into the avian’s chest, wetting the hawk’s face and lower body. The builder let out a whimper at the action before once again calling out for Scar. This seemed to upset the giant a little who flicked the bird onto his back. The hawk let out a surprised squawk, pausing as he felt the mouth around him tilt. Grian fought back, stopping his descent. He pushed back at the hard palate above him nearly slipping twice. The giant’s mouth filled up with light as the jaws were split open. The avian looked up when he heard a shocked grunt leave the king's mouth. He sure wished he hadn't though, as his eyes caught sight of the giant’s throat. The hawk froze terrified, unable to move his eyes from the large gullet as the walls pushed in and out from the red name’s breathing. His attention was dragged away as the roof started to push down on him a little more. So the builder pushed back, groaning. “SCARRR!!!!” Grian shouted at the top of his lungs in his last attempt to get the friendlier giant’s attention. A growl now escaped the dog hybrids throat startling Grian a little. The avian forced himself to look away from the giant's throat trying to calm his breathing. “Ren, c-can we please talk about this?” The avian pleaded, he was answered by the roof of the mouth pressing in on him harder. Grian let out a near silent pained gasp “please, R-Ren.” He tried, just ending up with the jaws forcing their way down on him more. The avian pushed back harder, forcing them back. Then Ren just stopped fighting, instead his jaws split wider causing the avian to lose his balance. A well timed push with the tongue sent the hawk onto his back. “REN!!!-” Grian was quickly cut off as his face was forced onto the king's hard palate. The hawk couldn’t do much as he was licked until Ren got tired of it. Once again the werewolf tilted his head back letting the avian slide. Grian did his best and got a good kick on Ren's hard palette, but the king only growled a little before forcing the avian’s legs into his throat. The hawk struggled, thrashing as best as he could, the tongue behind him was once again lifting up pushing his tired body upwards. Grian could feel a little bit of his leg get lifted out of the throat and so attempted one last strong kick. There was a grunt from the giant, it echoed causing the avian to cover his ears. He waited, expecting it, but instead of a swallow he was blinded by light for a second. Just as he opened his eyes a large rough hand curled their fingers gently around his body. Grian froze from the touch but could see as he was lifted back into light a familiar scar on the hand holding him. The hawk let out a sigh, and for the first time felt happy in the giant’s hands. “ScAR!” The avian happily called, the giant flashed him a toothless smile before turning his attention back to the other red name. Grian relaxed as he was lifted against his giant’s chest getting a good view of the situation. Scar had Ren pinned down with a hand curled around the king’s neck. The werewolf still seemed to be breathing, but the hand must have made it hard for the giant to swallow the avian. The thought of that made the hawk look, smiling, back up at his Hero. Grian froze though at the sight of the giant's bared teeth. The king beneath Scar’s feet said something causing Scar to look up with a look of apology. The king then shot a hand out reaching for the avian. The desert giant didn’t let it happen though, the hawk just wasn't prepared. The next thing the smaller builder knew he was being tossed into his friend's mouth, barely even able to blink before the pearly whites closed around him. “W-wait.” Grian said weakly as his body slid down Scar’s tongue. The avian could feel the slight dryness compared to the last mouth he was in, but that still didn’t change the fact he was in a giant's mouth. Only when his feet hit the far too familiar throat did his body finally react. “Sc-SCAR NO DON-” He was cut off as the slightly dry tongue pressed into his face pushing the avian into the red name's open throat. 

Scar didn’t leave much time for the avian to complain again as he instantly swallowed once again. Grian couldn't tell if he hated Scar or the gullet he was trapped in more. “P-please.” The hawk begged, fighting back his tears. The giant must have heard him because he paused for a second. Though that just made the next swallow honestly feel nice, as if being stuck halfway in the tight tube had made it hard to breathe. Grian could feel the tight spot open up quickly and he thrashed as much as he could. His legs kicked out wildly and his wings pushed against the tight walls. The hawk curled up his legs as much as he could and pushed himself back up, but the next swallow just nullified all his efforts and shoved the rest of him into the stomach. Grian went to thrash again, but knew it would cost too much energy. Instead he pushed himself as far away from the small pool as he could. Grian shuffled around doing his best to find a dryish spot. The avian’s attention switched as he heard Ren’s voice. It was muted, and the builder did his best to listen. Scar came out much clearer though. “He owes me his first life.” The giant snarled back, causing Grian to stop all struggles. He heard Ren make a muffled laugh and Scar started to stand back up. The red king said something else but the hawk found it hard to listen. The builder slid as the giant carrying him started walking, most likely back to the base, to relax for, well, however long this lasts. Grian pushed himself up against the walls listening to the shifting of sand and the slight crunch of the path as Scar headed up the stairs. “G man?” The red life asked, the avain gave no response besides curling in on his body. He could pretty much feel the disappointed stare of the giant, causing Grian to shiver. “G please, you’ve been giving me the silent treatment all day, what's wrong?” “YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT THAT?!?!?!?! OF ALL THINGS RIGHT NOW, THAT’S WHAT YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT!!!” The giant let out a surprised gasp before quieting down himself. Did Grian feel bad for it? Well yeah Scar is- was his friend, as much as the hawk was, and is, terrified. “Grian?” Scar asked in a quiet voice, the builder just responded by giving the walls a small kick. “Grian please, what's wrong?” Scar’s tone started to change, along with his breathing. This time the avian didn’t respond, so the giant pressed a hand on one of the walls, freaking the hawk out when it touched him. Grian shot up and onto the other side of the stomach fluffed out as if it would do anything. “G you good?” Scar asked again, the bird let out an angry huff. “Why are you bothering with that?” “With what?” “The ‘Are you okay??? Not like I just ate you or anything.’” Grian could make out what he assumed to be the giant opening and closing his mouth a few times. “Is that what this is about?” The red name asked quietly, the avian sighed out his nose. “Yes.” “I- well I’m sorry.” Grian rubbed his face in annoyance before wiping as much of the slime off his head as he could. “Sorry doesn't keep me green.” The hawk said, the bitter tone fizzling away a little. The giant went quiet for a little, “oh OHHHHHH.” Scar laughed, and very loudly. Grian just looked confused as the walls shoved him around due to the fit the larger was having. “You think you’re in my stomach don’t you.” The avian let out a couple upset huffs while the giant continued to laugh for a little. “You’re in my storage, not my actual stomach.” Scar said, eventually making Grian nearly punch himself. When he made the server he coded the red names as giants, but he didn't know that would mean they got their exact anatomy. So the avian sat there shocked for a little. “I- how do you know I’m in your storage though?” Grian asked nervously, but not as much as before. “I can feel it, besides I still had the fish in my actual stomach, you don’t see fish skeletons up around your legs do you?” “I can’t see anything Scar.” “I- oh.” “I think you’re right about that though, I don’t feel my legs burning either, so I suppose I’m not in your actual one.” “See?” The giant said, the hawk could hear the smile on his face. “Why did you say the thing though, about how I owe you.” “To keep Ren quiet.” Grian let out an understanding huff at that. “Why did you eat- er uh swallow me then?” The red name let out a deep, sorrowful sigh. “I was scared that Ren would try and get you again.” Scar said softly before moving to sit down. 

“I can agree with you on that, can you spit me out now though?” “I would, but I think you’re keeping me pretty full right now.” “I- what?” “Yeah, I haven't lost hunger, not even when running. I think you have something to do with it.” “Oh, oh god, oh lord.” “What’s up?” “Please promise me you won’t make this a common occurrence.” “I- what?” “Please.” “Okay uh yeah, sure?” It wasn’t the most confident answer, but Grian knows Scar would respect his space. There was silence for a little after. “Sooo has it been long enough?” “Seriously?” “What?” The avian snickered, at least he could poke some fun back at the giant.

[foxilayde]

Would you ever write something for jack from mojave 🥺👉❤👈 he's my guilty pleasure...

If you have time, would you share any nsfw thoughts to leave us with?

The Stranger [Jack from Mojave x Fem!Reader]

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: Uhhhh.... I mean it's Jack from Mojave, so... dark themes. Knife threats.

A/N: Jack ain’t a guilty pleasure brother, he’s simply a pleasure.

There’s a hand around your ankle and it tugs you just hard enough to shake you from your slumber. You usually sleep so well camped out in the desert under the stars, never waking till morning usually. So it shocks you to see the dark blanket of night when you open your eyes. The fire you built earlier that evening is nothing but glowing coals now and the man crouched at the foot of your sleeping bag looks like a phantom in the red pulsing light. He’s got a long, thick knife in one dirty paw propped on his knee, the other grips your ankle and he’s grinning at you with a graveyard smile. 

Your scream catches in your throat and your bowels twist and sink when you realize that even if you were to scream, there’s no one around for at least four miles to hear your cries, and any sound you might make would be brushed off as a coyote or the like. There’s no one to save you. It’s just you and the stranger.

He’s dressed like a desert dweller. Long protective layers and calf-high lace-up boots tied halfway up his shins. He tilts his hat to you with his knife-hand and then removes it completely. His hair is long and matted like a wolf, tied round with a sweat-stained bandana. He tosses the leather hat over to where your backpack is, next to your small cooler and you eye your backpack with alertness. Your adrenaline has spiked and you know you have to make it to your sack and get your hatchet or blade or spray or anything if you have a chance of making it through the night. 

The stranger squeezes your ankle once more, to get your attention.

“Don’t go gettin’ any ideas, girlie.” He licks his bottom lip, revealing more of his ragged mouth. “Hold still now. Wanna show you somethin’.” 

Your eyes widen in panic as he lets go of your ankle and reaches into his large coat pocket to pull out your spray and knife. 

“This ain’t ol Jacky’s first rodeo, sister.” 

You gulp and scan your sparse campground for the hatchet and just as you do, he stows your defenses back in his coat and holds a finger up.

“Oh, almost forgot”. He reaches behind him, to the back of his belt, under the large overcoat and produces…. The fucking hatchet. 

He twirls the hatchet in his hand and points it at your nose, far too close, and you whimper. 

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a big bad desert like this, huh? Doin’ some soul searching are we? Did you just get your heart broke and now you’re eat, prary, lovin’ it out in the fucking Mojave?” 

You can’t find words, you’ve forgotten how to speak it seems, but The Stranger, or “Jacky” by his own naming, doesn’t seem to mind that you haven’t uttered a word. 

“Well, sister, I hate to break it to you, but there ain’t much to eat out here… sides the rare cacti and whatever the buzzards haven’t picked clean.” He chuckles and tucks the hatchet back into his belt loop and rises, he makes his way over to the fire, crouching to add a log from the pile, the flames lick up the dry wood quickly and the yellow glow makes his black eyes glitter and his skin look sickly. 

“And praying?” His mirthless laugh is trilling and smokey. “Ohhh, girlie, if you weren’t praying before? You should be now. Although, you know what they said about the son of God when he went out to the desert: daddy made him wander for forty days without a fucking how’s-it-going-pal.” 

Jack tosses on a second log and then makes his way back to his position at the foot of your sleeping bag once more. The sides of his coat fan out like buzzard’s wings in swift descent.

 “And then, at the end of that perilous walkabout, it wasn’t God that appeared to Jeshua, no ma’am. It was the devil.” 

Jack, it seems, cant help his grin. You are reminded of the pair of leering vultures from Snow White, and it’s obvious what character he’s cast himself as in this scenario. 

“As for the ‘love’ part of the journey, well. That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? Love can take all forms. For Jeshua it was charity… and for ol’ Jacky? It’s something more akin to ‘obligation’”.

Jack pulls your sleeping bag taut and you clutch the lip of it while he uses his knife to cut a seam up the middle, exposing your socked feet and sweat pants. He grabs the toe of one of your socks and pulls it off your foot oh so slowly. Once it’s off, he drops it to the dirt and snatches your heel in his rough palm. 

“No kicking, girlie. Or I’ll chop off these little piggies… one, by, one.” He pulls and wiggles each toe individually with every word. You try your best to hold still, brain and heart a flutter and a panic. “And trust me, you’re going to need these little piggies where you’re going, sister.” 

That’s a good sign, if he’s telling the truth. If you need your toes where you’re going, he can’t have plans to kill you just yet, right?

“Where… where am I going?” You croak out.

“She speaks! Oh, speak again bright angel!” 

Jack rubs your instep with his thumb and there’s nothing sweet about it, the caress, the Shakespeare, it’s all taunting and goading. The way a bull is riled up before a rodeo. 

“What are you going to do to me?” Your voice is soft and meek in a way that your biology must be dictating, knowing it’s the last line of defense against attack. Supplication. Meekness. An appeal to the monster’s better angels. If he possesses them. 

“Well, sister. That’s entirely up to two things.” His hand slides up under the ruched elastic of your sweatpants and he drags his filthy fingers up and down your quaking calf. “How smart you are, and how quick you can run.” 

“How quick I can run?”

“That’s what I said, mynah birdie.” He squeezes your calf and bends over you, scooting his knees to cage your fragile legs. Your bones are hollow and your mouth is as dry as your surroundings. 

“Ol' Jacky doesn’t make a habit out of making wagers or killing pretty women. But I figure, in this case, two wrongs can make a right.” 

He scoots back and raises himself up from his haunches, pointing his knife down at you. 

“What’s going to happen is, I’m going to shut my ojos and count to a hundred. You understand?”

You nod. He bends over you and drags his cool blade, flat-side against your cheek. 

“It’s like hide and go seek. Sister hides. Brother seeks.” His breath is hot and musky, you’re tilting your head back as far back as you can from his shining blade and sharp smile. You nod. A hundred second head start is better than the position you’re in now, burrito-d up in a half shorn sleeping bag with him above you. 

“One, two, three, you better get to steppin’, four—“

Oh fuck, oh fuck, he’s already started. You twist over into a crawl, kicking the shredded bag off your legs, you get a face full of dirt before you’re able to stand and waste ten more precious seconds grabbing your water, pack, and boots. No time to put them on, not here. You sprint as fast as you can through the prickling terrain, over the crest of a sparsely shrubbed hill. Your eyes are on the ground, careful not to fell your feet on anything that might slow you down and his howl at your back in the night is like a coyote gaining speed, “see you real soon, sister!” 

[sunstormbudgie]

Life in the desert isn't easy for Avelevians, but with the help of modern technology, these semi-aquatic aliens have managed to live there anyway.

Avelevians have thin, sensitive skin that is prone to water loss, so desert dwellers will typically wear clothing made of a water-retaining material that covers as much skin as possible, usually with lighter colours to help reflect heat.

While there are many clades on Avelevia that have adapted to living on land, two stand out due to their great size and diversity: the first is the terrapods, a group which includes the sapient Avelevians. The second is the endoostea, also known as "featherspiders", a group including the livestock seen in this image.

The plants of Avelevia are typically yellow or orange, as seen here. Plants on Avelevia are divided into two main groups: The plumaphytes, or "feather plants" and the arthrophytes, or "segmented plants". These plants here belong to a grass-like clade of plumaphytes.

[thesopwithcamel]

APswap AU: Subcon forest & Sandy Sails.

Subcon Forest, a name many haven't heard unless in tales told in whispers around a campfire, otherwise known as the Forest of Lies the Subcon Forest is an overgrown forested area covered in a thick sheet of pack ice featuring some of the largest trees in its area with the largest reaching over 55 meters tall. It was once a minor power during the medieval era but circumstances involving wayward rituals, out of control magic and basic jealousy have caused a catastrpohy.

The Small Desert Settlement of Sandville has had some ups and downs, with the locals desperate for money they banded together and created a scam-um uh, I mean tourist attraction known as Sandy Sails.

Subcon major characters:

Princess Vanessa was the former wife of King Micheal Juvitz and the current ruler of Subcon's Ice wastes, she is a ruthless ruler although she deeply cares about her suspects (the dwellers) quite a lot. In life Vannie was a niave and sensitive sort and she fell for Micheal, in death Vanessa is a ruthless sort, haunting her portion of Subcon giving royal directives to Dwellers to do her bidding.

Prince Luka was Micheal's brother and a much quieter and polite sort than his brother, he was charming and very creative with a passion for animals and plants. Luka had Rizz but now he is trapped in the horizon, possessed by an evil spirit due to a ritual performed by his Brother and forced to interract with the world via his puppets. Problem is he is still alive while being possessed.

King Micheal Juvitz is the ruler of Subcon manor and a massive overarching threat to everything else in the forest, he is directly related to every incident involved in Subcon's dramatic downfall. First by trying to kill Luka in a botched ritual (who barely survived by a thread) and then by having his wife burned at the stake when a misunderstanding caused him to accuse Vanessa of being unfaithful to him.

Toilets of Doom is a pair of sentient outhouses nearby to where Subcon village is located, he has to be awoken via a sacrifice and once he is awoken fighting him is Jane and Laura's only option, the second one has Laura's soul trapped in it and must be battled to retrieve that.

The Dwellers are spirits of the original Subcon Forest before the incident.

Sandy Sails major characters:

The villagers of Sandville are while a group of scumbags are often very informative about their desert home and are often not seen outside the village unless on a Sandmobile or on Camel, They are friendly and can be helpful but are found by the most part either scolding prideful tourists or trying to sell their wares.

The Narrator is the, well, Narator of the Ancient Clock Tower, he speaks in a posh British accent and is often very snarky. Not much else is known about him.

Bird companion is a small yellow bird which can be directed to grab items.

Mafia Archeoligist : The Mafia Archeoligists are a mafia group who recently showed up to visit the ruins to take samples, artifacts and document the huge ruins. Why they aren't overtly hostile they can be rude and brash towards the Nomads which only seems to reinfoce the fact that this was maybe not such a good idea after all...The only excception to this rule is their boss who is an arsehole.

[monochrome-sunsets]

HTTYD x The Gaang

Zuko

Dragon Name: Haruto ((Japanese, meaning flying)) Dragon Type: Common Rockstomper Colour Variation: Orange Why I Picked Rockstomper: My immediate impulse was a Stoker Class dragon, but they tend to be loud and aggressive, and need a loud and aggressive trainer, which would NOT help Zuzu’s redemption arc.  So I thought about it some more, and settled on the Rockstomper, a Tracker Class dragon.  As a Tracker Class, Rockstompers are naturally intelligent, which definitely line up with Zuko.  Rockstompers are desert dwellers, so Zuko would have first encountered his during his redemption arc, likely just after he left the small desert town after defending it from firebenders.  Rockstompers are also super curious, which means once he first sets his eyes on Zuko, he will be immediately attached, and follow the poor boy around everywhere.  Zuko would be deeply annoyed by this at first, and constantly get the Rockstomper to leave him alone, but eventually he’d come to enjoy his companionship. Also he seems like the type of dork to name his flying dragon "flying" and I didn't want to reuse Druk.

Sokka

Dragon Name: Naddy Dragon Type: Deadly Nadder Colour Variation: Blue and yellow Why I Picked Nadder: Nadders are vain and prideful, and spend loads of time grooming themselves and making sure they look perfect.  This lines up fairly well with Sokka, I think.  He would insult Naddy a bit towards the beginning, which she would not like (Sokka would learn very quickly not to get snappy at her), but he’d also shower her in compliments, and Nadders fucking love that shit.  Deadly Nadders are not only vain, but incredibly smart, which, once again, fits Sokka very well.

Aang

Dragon Name: Akar ((Tibetan name meaning flowing stream)) Dragon Type: Screaming Death Why I Picked Screaming Death: Listen, LISTEN.  I know Screaming Deaths have a super intimidating name, and they look incredibly creepy and aggressive.  My immediate thought for Aang was to give him the four mythical dragons (Boneknapper, Lycanwing, Smothering Smokebreath, and Foreverwing), but… that’s a lot of dragons, and we’re not even sure if the Lycanwing exists.  It’d be stupidly difficult to hide not only the avatar, but also four dragons that are huge and not supposed to exist.  My next thought was the Whispering Death, which was a fantastic fit personality-wise, but has an extreme aversion to sunlight, which… would not work for Aang.  So I went for the next best thing:  The Screaming Death. Screaming Deaths are a mutation of the Whispering Death, and one is only born once every hundred years or so (which already fits Aang SPECTACULARLY).  Screaming Deaths have wicked intimidating appearances and reputations (befitting of an avatar), but are actually very sweet dragons.  They’re very community focused, and are one of the only dragons who are known to bring food and water to their injured and sick loved ones.  All they really want is to be with their family, have their teeth brushed, and have their itches scratched.

Toph

Dragon Name: Yánshí ((Chinese for rock; pronounced yen-shee)) Dragon Type: Catastrophic Quaken Colour Variation: Dark grey Why I Picked Quaken: These things are huge Boulder Class dragons that are often called the ‘bullies of the dragon world’.  Despite the moniker, Quakens are very amicable and loyal.  They need mutual respect from their trainer, and anything else will not work.  They’re exceedingly difficult to tame and train, but if anyone could do it, it’s Toph Beifong.

Katara

Dragon Name: Gale Dragon Type: Skrill Colour Variation: Lavender and blue Why I Picked Skrill: Katara was so hard to figure out a dragon for.  I wanted a pretty Tidal Class dragon that was also intelligent and not afraid to throw down.  I thought maybe I could find a Tracker Class instead, but the only water-related ones I could find were the Mudraker and the Submaripper, both of whom were decidedly not a good match for Katara.  Mudrakers are big old chonky dragons that prefer warm swamps, and are highly playful creatures, something that wouldn't really suit Katara for the vast majority of the show.  Submarippers, on the other hand, live super deep in the ocean, and aren't encountered very often.  They're also highly aggressive and don't allow anything or anyone anywhere near them.  So, no Tracker Class dragons for Katara. Then, while I was scrolling through the dragon classes, I came across the Skrill. It’s a Strike Class dragon, making it pretty intelligent, and though it’s not a water dragon, it does like to live in tundras and storms.  They’re super aggressive, which means that it’d take a while for Katara to tame Gale.  They’re also highly territorial, loyal, and impulsive- all things that fit Katara pretty well, I think.  Miss Katara having a Skrill would also be a great show of how powerful she is, since Skrills are “nearly untrainable.”

[eclecticcollectics]

Each of these unique hair accessories is crafted with a delightful array of nature-inspired charms & beads to help you bring out your inner faerie~

⇢ Only 1 of each available! ⇠

Which is your favorite?

I. The Faerie & the Fungi 🧚‍♂️💜🍄

↬ This piece is adorned with three lovely Silver charms, a lovely Faerie charm, little Mushroom & Butterfly, real Peacock butterfly hindwing that’s been preserved in laminate, along with Amethyst crystal & faceted Jade beads to tie it all together

II. Sunflower Frolic 🌻🐸🐚

↬ This piece has a darling, bronze Sunflower charm with teal colored leaf accent, a brown Frog bead made of Czech glass, along with pinkish, pearlescent Shell beads, & faceted Apatite beads to accentuate the teal color in the leaf

III. The Archeologist 💀🌵🥾

↬ This piece features a little laced-up Boot charm, yellow bead made of stone carved into a Skull, silver blooming Cactus charm, along with beads made of Amber & yellow, glass Heart beads to compliment the other colors

IV. Butterfly Tea Garden 🫖🦋🌸

↬ This piece is adorned with two gold-rimmed Teacup & Saucer charms made to look like real China, a silver Butterfly charm & baby Butterfly bead, two Heart-shaped, pearlescent shell beads, along with Rose Quartz & faceted Peridot beads to accentuate the rose & leaf design on the teacup

V. Summer Skies 🦋🪶⛅️

↬ This piece has a golden Butterfly charm with teal-colored accents, a silver Feather charm & silver Butterfly bead, along with several faceted Amazonite beads & nugget of Turquoise to really bring it all together

VI. Astral Traveler 🌞🌚✨

↬ This piece features a purple, glass Heart bead, silver Sun charm, bronze Crescent Moon charm with silver plated-Hematite Star dangling off of it, along with star-shaped Tiger’s Eye beads & faceted Labradorite beads with sparkly iridescence to compliment the celestial theme

VII. Afternoon Tea Time ☕️🐸💕

↬ This piece includes a pinkish, glass Heart bead & black, glass Flower bead, a green Frog bead made of Czech glass, silver Butterfly charm, bronze Teacup charm & faceted pink & green Ruby-Zoisite beads to accentuate the other colors

VIII. Desert Dweller 🏜🔫🧡

↬ This piece has an ornate, metal Revolver charm with dangling stone ‘bullet’ bead & green, enamel Cactus charm along with several nuggets of reddish-orange Carnelian beads to bring this desert-inspired piece to life

↳ Each of these hair accessories comes attached to a snap clip barrette, as shown in photos. Any of these pieces can also be put on a large lobster clasp keychain (shown on bottom left in photos) for an added $3 🙏

[lizardtracks]

Barefoot

A monsoon sunset, Red Rock, Arizona

8/20/22: The Sonoran and Chihuahuan Deserts are in a rain-shadow environment. Our house seems to be in a micro rain-shadow of its own. Our last two monsoons have been wet. At our house, though, not much rain has fallen. Until yesterday. Now the earth is wet enough to remind me that I once wrote this:

The desert is no place to be barefoot. Not this desert anyway. Tarantulas, scorpions, vinegaroons, cone-nosed kissing beetles, centipedes, velvet ants: every creeping thing is poisonous. And those are just the invertebrates. Thirteen of the thirty-two rattlesnake species that inhabit the Americas call Arizona home. That includes the Mojave rattler, Crotalus scutulatus. Smaller than the western diamondback, the Mojave delivers a venom payload with toxicity second to none in its genus. And they are always agitated. Then there is our poisonous lizard, the Gila monster. No one in Arizona has died of a Gila monster bite in a century. Maybe because their bite is not a sudden strike. Instead, they clamp onto your foot with their tiny, putrid, infected teeth. Then, grinding through your skin to the bone, release their load of toxins. If you're ever lucky enough to find one, that is.

If those don't send you scurrying to the medicine cabinet, or the emergency room, we have an assortment of spiny plants. Sharp sticks or leaves or pads drop from teddy bear cholla, prickly pear, agave, sotol, and ocotillo. And then there is my nemesis: puncture vine. Tribulus terrestris is an invasive ground-hugging exotic. Its shiny green vines and cheerful yellow flowers give no hint of seeds sharp and hard enough to puncture a tire. Common names for the drought-loving caltrop include devil's weed, devil's thorn, and devil's eyelash. Here we call them goat heads. Don't wonder if you've ever stepped on its mature ovule. You'll know.

All that is still not enough to keep this hillbilly in shoes. But the hot, dry dirt is. High in clay, and low in oxygen, it is inorganic as well as alkaline. That alone is unpleasant enough. But it compacts into near mineral hardness. To top it off, the surface is strewn with sharp tiny bits of volcanic rock, a friable, decomposed granite. In short, it is unpleasant to the touch. To the sole.

So the typical desert dweller wears Chacos or Tevas. The cholos and hipsters and frat boys scuffle around in shower sandals and white socks. The hippie chicks strap on Birkenstocks. Hardly anybody who hasn't been out in the desert seeking psilocybin goes barefoot.

And then the rains come.

Sometime in July, the planetary weather gears click into a new pattern. Over the preceding months, a subtropical ridge has shifted north from Mexico. Now it forms a sweeping curve from the Rio Grande's Big Bend to the Sangre de Christo Range in southern Colorado. This creates a large high-pressure system over the midwest, turning their weather hot and dry. That rotation sweeps air off the Gulf of Mexico up across the Chihuahuan Desert into Arizona. Flow from the Pacific joins it, bringing humidity to the desert. Then, a few other things must come together: The midwest must be drying out from a wet spring. Rain must have fallen further south along that Gulf flow. The snowpack in the western Rockies must have, for the most part, evaporated. A low-pressure system must develop over the Four Corners area. And the Pacific cannot be too cool. When that all comes together huge convective storms visit our desert. This is seasonal. A true monsoon.

The rising heat picks up the low-level moisture sending vapor upward. Clouds form, appearing at first as wisps over the mountains. Then the chubascos build in earnest. Thunderheads rise to 40,000 feet, from a base of huge, roiling clouds. Lightning sends jagged, crackling veins of electricity skyward. The thunderheads collapse, sending down drenching, bone-chilling rainfall. Those downdrafts create updrafts, generating more storms, some over the valley now. This goes on all afternoon, storm clouds and storms, rising and falling, now here, now there. And sometimes, if you are lucky, where you are.

This happens once or twice and now the dirt under your feet takes on a different feel. It cools. It breaths. It feels looser, more organic.

It is time to go barefoot.

My time is evenings after work. While I wait for a bed of coals to heat on the grill, I nurse a beer and sit with my feet in the dirt. My bare feet in the wet dirt create a connection. That connection follows a sinuous line back through time and across a continent. My mind won't pick up any particular temporal threads, or settle in one place. But my jangled nerves are soothed by a cosmic vibe where boys in dungarees wade in ponds or relax in shaded woods. A word rises up through my brain like a bubble in a creek: languid. I give in to a state of languor.


If the chicken takes long enough to cook I read. After the most recent rain, I started again through a cheap PDF copy of Pablo Neruda. Neruda wrote in one poem:

"I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees."

You cannot ignore a line of poetry like that--so charged with passion, hope, sensuality, and an almost unbearable gentleness. So I didn't ignore it: I sought more Pablo. He rewarded me with a line he must have written about my own lover:

"As if you were on fire from within / The moon lives in the lining of your skin."

And tonight because... Because the air carries a light warmth. Because the mesquite trees are pregnant with beans, the weight pulling their boughs down. Because the clouds are scudding away to make room for the sunset. Because my mind relaxes enough to feel it, he rewards me with this:


 "I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, 
 or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. 
 I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, 
 in secret, between the shadow and the soul. 
 I love you as the plant that never blooms 
 but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; 
 thanks to your love for a certain solid fragrance, 
 risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body. 
 I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. 
 I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; 
 so I love you because I know no other way 
 than this: where I do not exist, nor you, 
 so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, 
 so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep."

At some point, the chicken stops spitting fat into the coals. As the smoke clears, the sun sails below the burned-out porphyritic hills. It paints the clouds, mixing salmon and peachblow with other colors too delicate to name. Then comes a pause, like a pendulum at the top of its swing. The sun reels in its masterpiece. The colors fade. The din of cicadas tapers off. The air shifts from warm to the slightest hint of cool, as if a child unwrapped a popsicle in the next yard. The pendulum starts down, pushing the day into darkness.

I turn off the e-reader screen and collect the chicken from the grille. Tomorrow will be a tangle of frayed nerves, the metronome of the clock, the rush of the deadline. But tonight I am barefoot.


[polarfarina]

The fires have started again.

I live in the west. To the east, it's always drier, less rainy. east is where the deserts are. But this heat wave was the last straw on the camel's back, and everything got too dry. Fires have been raging for weeks.

Thursday there was an air quality warning. The power company declared there would be power shutoffs to reduce risk of sparks creating new wildfires. The air was crisp, and the window open. We closed it that night and knew we wouldn't open it again for at least a week.

Friday, it was windy. Dust got in my eyes wherever I went. It blew harder than I'd seen in a long time. But these winds were familiar, just as it was two years ago. They brought smoke with them, just as before.

Saturday, the sun shone through my window a glowing orange, like when the sun is sitting on the horizon at sunset. But it was 10 in the morning, the sun high in the sky. You could smell the smoke in the air when you went outside, and more people were wearing masks than usual. In the evening the sun was blood red, and you could stare directly at it. It was very beautiful, but we knew what it meant.

The town felt still, like in the middle of a forest. Not abandoned, but quiet, as all the dwellers inside waited. Waiting for it to pass, or the signal to evacuate. Waiting to know if we would lose power.

Today looks overcast, but we all know there are no clouds. The air is too dry for there to be clouds. I think smoke got in my lungs on Saturday, even though I only left my apartment for an hour, to get food. At work this morning I couldn't stop coughing, needing more deep breaths. Maybe I'm just weak to the smoke.

The sky is still yellow, and the sunlight falls on the concrete more orange than it should. But you can't smell the smoke today. I saw a star this morning when I was walking to work, before it was hidden again. The sun is too bright to look at and people are coming back out of their houses. They never shut the power off for our town after all.

Last night I knew it would fade quickly. But I still wondered, "How long will this really last? When will it come back?" The truth is, it's never over. I'll only relax after it rains. But for that you need clouds...