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nomorelonelydays · 7 years

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Vegas thing, part 10

(Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9)

(My hockey blog, my AO3)

Note: sick babies, barely-googled medical terminology

While Sid makes coffee and toast, Zhenya takes the opportunity to take a look around the apartment from his spot on the couch. It’s small, dark, and worn around the edges, but it’s so clear that Sid’s tried hard to make it welcoming anyway. There’s a rug with a colorful geometric pattern laid over the threadbare carpeting. There’s Ikea lamps with soft matching rice paper shades. One of the walls has a collection of framed pictures on it, mostly of Avery at various ages. There’s a few seascapes and winter scenes that have to be Sid’s Nova Scotia sprinkled throughout. The frames are mismatched and clearly secondhand, but all painted the same shade of grey. The effect is lovely, actually.

Sid comes in with coffee as Zhenya’s standing by the wall to take a closer look at the photos. Fuck, there’s one of Sid looking terribly, terribly young, with a newborn Avery in his arms.

“Oh, yeah,” Sid laughs self-deprecatingly. “You found the ‘statement wall.’ I watch too much fucking HGTV.”

Zhenya smiles and accepts the mug. “I’m watch too. Good for learning English. Food Network too. Animal Planet.” He’s already imagining, however, setting Sid loose on a lovely Cape Cod three bedroom (Or four? Five? Would Sid want more kids?) somewhere, with as much money at his disposal as Zhenya is able to throw at him.

They eat quietly, Sid stealing periodic glances at Zhenya like he still can’t believe he’s there. When Sid’s toast is gone, he takes a deep fortifying breath and Zhenya tenses in anticipation.

“I tried to ask for time off, and my boss just told me to take off, instead. Said they had dozens of people wanting jobs willing to take my place.”

“Sid!” Zhenya exclaims, torn between anger on Sid’s behalf and relief that he was rid of that godforsaken job.

“Yesterday was my last day.”He pauses for a moment, then with abrupt vehemence: “I hated that job, Zhenya. Literally the only thing good about it was meeting you.”

Well, that necessitates kissing Sid, and manhandling him until he’s sitting in the vee of Zhenya’s legs, where Zhenya can best wrap his arms around him from behind.

“Zhenya, please,” Sid says, but he’s smiling as he says it, and he lays his hand over Zhenya’s where they’re clasped around his waist. At this second use of his name, Zhenya has to bury his face in Sid’s hair and kiss the nape of his neck a few times.

They’re quiet for another moment then, just holding on to each other. Zhenya feels Sid’s shoulders tighten.

“I didn’t— I didn’t ask you to be here for like…money reasons, you know?”

“I’m know, Sid,” Zhenya soothes. “You most stubborn about money. Won’t use card, won’t take present. Most hard, won’t let me spoil.”

Sid makes an argumentative noise and Zhenya moves out from behind him so he can look Sid in the face.

“Sid. Please, listen to me. Avery need you. No room for worry about other things, have enough to worry about. Let me worry about money, ok? Need to let me help person I love, Sid. Otherwise, I’m feel useless. Can’t fix big problems. Can’t make Avery better. But, can love you, and can fix money problems.”

Sid stares at him for a long, long moment. Zhenya gears up for more arguing, but Sid’s expression softens and he slumps forward.

“Ok,” he says in a small voice into Zhenya’s neck. “Okay.”

Avery’s surgery is set for two days from now. Sid’s ragged with worry, stretched to the breaking point. Zhenya can see it in the dark circles under his eyes and the drawn tightness of his mouth.

As they drive, he explains that he’s going to need to be spending most of the time with his son at the hospital, and his tone is nervous and apologetic. Like he’s afraid Zhenya is going to be pissed that Sid’s isn’t up for catering to Zhenya’s every whim. Zhenya quickly puts an end to that particular line of thought. He nods thoughtfully at what Sid says and asks what Sid needs, what Zhenya can do for him.

Sid, predictably, reacts as if no one’s ever asked him that before, and it breaks Zhenya’s heart to see.

It’s not like Sid’s weak. He’s a grown ass man, and the fucking strongest person Zhenya’s ever met. But Zhenya still is overwhelmed with the urge to take care of him. Take some of the load off of his shoulders.

Because he can, he reaches over and lays his hand on Sid’s thigh, palm up.

After a moment, Sid takes his right hand off of the wheel and laces his fingers through Zhenya’s. He holds on tightly to Zhenya’s hand for the entire rest of the drive to the hospital.

It’s worse than the last time Zhenya was here. The bustling staff and colorful murals are all the same, but Avery’s little face is grey, and there’s a blue tinge to his lips. Zhenya almost loses it when he sees that Avery’s holding on tightly to the penguin Zhenya had given him, and that it’s looking ragged and well-loved.

Sid sits next to his son and strokes his hair, and tells him that Zhenya’s here to visit. Avery manages a quiet little smile at the colorful Russian-English book of fairy tales Zhenya had purchased for him during his layover in Moscow. He’s too tired to listen to any at the moment, but he extracts a promise from Zhenya that he’ll read some to him later.

After that, there’s not a lot Zhenya can do besides sit in the corner of the room, hoping his presence is a comfort. He spends time Googling “complex congenital heart disease” until he’s so frustrated with medical English that he wants to throw his phone into a nearby trash can.

The day passes like that. Avery mostly sleeps, and Sid keeps vigil. Zhenya leaves periodically to get Sid food and coffee that he barely touches.

Sid takes Zhenya out in the hall at one point and explains a little more about what’s going to happen.

“Avery had his first heart surgery only a couple days after he was born. If everything goes well with this one, his life is going to be close to normal,” Sid explains. “He’ll even be able to play sports, if he wants. He’s— he’s always wanted to learn how to skate.” Sid smiles faintly but it fades with his next words. “But. It’s a long surgery and he isn’t that strong. Physically. I just— “ His breath hitches, and Zhenya pulls him close.

He doesn’t try and promise Sid that everything’s going to be okay. The sentiment would only be an empty one.

I get down sometimes, and sad media just exacerbates it. I’m feeling that way a little bit tonight (can hormones just…fuck right off??), so if anyone else is the same way, I just wanna promise that the ending to this? Is gonna be so. Fucking. Happy.

And if you want some lovely fluff for any reason tonight, can I direct you to exmanhater’s beautiful, soothing podfic of Game Plan by thehoyden? And if you’re not looking for anything with explicit content, I’m waking up (I feel it in my bones) read by adistantsun is calming and magical, as is this sweet work worth also read by adistantsun.

Be good to yourselves babes,

<3 Dana

#vegas bunny au #fic submission #not written by me #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #submission

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caredogstips · 7 years

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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.