#also ive been drawing too many men lately need this one for myself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sailorshadzter · 4 years

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been trapped in my head lately, no motivation to do much, but i still found some energy to finish this piece.

my apologies those that have reached out & ive not responded. <3 im trying. it’s just been a lot lately.

anyways, please accept some jonsa as my apology for inactivity & silence.

The winter air is biting, every breath coming in sharp twists of the lungs.

Even still, she finds herself outdoors.

Standing in the godswood, beneath the canopy of weirwood leaves, she finds an ounce of solace. There, among the trees and whispering gods, she feels at peace; she understands now why her father spent so much time here, sitting beneath the heart tree. Sinking down, she is a heap of black wool skirts in the snow, arms wrapping around her knees as she draws them to her chest. A sigh escapes her in a cloud of white and she leans forward, chin to her knees, sinking down into the dozens of thoughts have have invaded her mind over the last several days.

It's been just over a day since the sun rose, shining light upon the scars left behind by battle, by war. The fight against the Night King was over, but at the cost of what? Of innocent lives, of dearly loved friends and comrades? Sometimes she isn't certain it's ever been worth it, that it might have just been easier to give in... To let the evil win.

"... Sansa..."

The voice is soft, but it startles her from her thoughts; looking up, it's Jon that stands there, the furs she made him wrapped around his shoulders. That alone makes her smile. "Can I sit?" He asks, gesturing towards the space beside her, to which she gives a single nod. When he's settled down beside her, he's close enough that their shoulders brush, that when he moves his hand he feels the soft, yet somewhat scratchy feel of the wool of her gown. "I was looking for you." He goes on, turning to catch sight of her profile, illuminated by the winter sun that has begun it's slow descent towards the horizon.

In moments like this, whatever anger she felt towards Jon dissipates, whatever jealousy she felt towards his relationship with the dragon queen fades. In moments like this, they are as they once were and for that, she is thankful. For that, she is hopeful. Hopeful that someday, things will always feel as they once did, that someday there won't be a queen that stands between them. "I needed some time to myself," she admits, thinking back to the strange dreams she'd woke from that morning. Dreams of belching flames and pieircing screams. A dream that felt more like a premonition than a simple dream woven together by her sleeping mind. "You seem much recovered," she continues, chuckling at his expense, recalling his tired eyes and pale cheeks from that morning, signifying too much to drink and to little of sleep. At her words, he smiles, but it seems forced, so she sobers, reaching out to touch his hand with her own. He feels it too, the spark as skin meets skin, the warmth that flows through him at her touch also flows through her. "Jon... What is it?"

When she stares at him like this, with those big blue eyes, clearer than any sky, with those rosy lips turned down in a frown, he cannot deny her. "I..." He begins, but sighs, shaking his head. If he's to tell her the truth of what's bothering him, then... "I don't know where to begin." He finally says, shifting so he faces her fully, Stark gray eyes meeting Tully blue. That's when she smiles, her hand touching his tightening it's grip, warm and strong, offering him the only sense of comfort he's felt in days. In weeks. "I'm not who you think I am." At these words she tilts her head, surprise taking root, blue eyes widening and then narrowing slightly.

"You're just Jon," she responds with a quick shake of her head.

"Am I?" He asks, wondering if that was even the name he'd been given at birth, or the name Ned Stark had given him when he brought him home. "Sometimes I wonder..."

"There's no need," she says so matter-of-factly that he believes her. He's smile, he cannot help it, but it fades as quickly as it comes. "Jon, please..." She urges softly, hand squeezing his once again, reminding him that despite it all, he's not alone.

"My mother..." He stops, allowing himself to cover her hand with his other one. "My father..." He thinks of proud Ned Stark, with his dark eyes and dark hair, of the the man that raised him as his own, the man who despite what it would say about him, about his wife, risked it all to raise him, risked it all to keep him safe. "My father was Rhaegar Targaryen." He says it without preamble, watching her face as it changes; surprise takes root first, but something like relief fills her eyes in the moments that follow. "My mother was your aunt Lyanna." For a long moment there is only silence. Of all the things she thought Jon might admit to her there in the godswood, it was not this. "It's as I've told you... I'm not a Stark."

"That's not true!" She speaks so suddenly, so quickly, that it surprises him. She's shaking her head, clutching his hand, eyes narrowing as if she dares him to disagree. "I only mean..." She's gentler now, though there is a spark in her eyes that won't seem to fade. "You are a Stark by blood, no matter who your father is." She grips his hand when their eyes meet, he believes her. He would believe any word she spoke when she looks at him in such a way. "You'll always be a Stark to me." She whispers, so close now that he can feel the warmth of her breath when she exhales, so close that he can feel when her lips curve with the slightest of smiles. "This doesn't change anything."

"It changes everything," he whispers before he closes the gap between them, lips capturing hers in a way he's longed for far too long now. His kiss is warm, his kiss is full of everything he's never said to her before. It takes only a moment more before his hand slides into place against her cheek, the curve of it fitting perfectly into his palm. She's sinking into him, warmer than even the brightest of fires, her body pressed into his in a way he had never thought possible, in a way he has only dreamed of. "Sansa..." Her name is on his lips when they break apart, breathless in the cold winter air, his hand still to her cheek. "I have to go to King's Landing." He says, uncertain why, but knowing it's the right thing to say all the same.

"I know," she says, tears reflecting in her eyes, though her lips are still yet smiling. "I'll come for you, if I must," she goes on, her words eliciting a chuckle from him. "I mean it." She stiffens, one hand falling into place against his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "I would go to King's Landing again for no one but you." Once, she swore to never again set foot in the capital, but now she knows, soon, she will have no choice. He thinks of her riding into the city through the gates, an army at her back, a queen that Westeros has never before seen.

Jon tilts his head, leaning in a moment later, touching his forehead to hers. "Say you will come for more than just to save me." He murmurs, to which she blinks, drawing back slightly. "Say you will stand at my side, when all of this is over." He knows what the world will say, but he cares little for talk; he cares only for her, in truth. "I cannot live without you at my side." He's known this since the day they reunited as Castle Black- he's known all this time that his life meant nothing if it weren't for her.

A tearful laugh escapes her, but she nods, squeezing his hand which hers has found again. "You know I will come to save you, though," she says and he laughs, hearty and booming, the truest laugh he's felt in weeks. In months. "I will always be at your side." She speaks when silence has fallen, looking up as the first snowflake melts against her nose. "It's snowing." She observes, hand outstretching, catching the droplets in her palm.

"For now." Jon replies, knowing that before long, spring would come again. He rises up from the ground, his hand stretching out towards her. She takes it, allowing him to help her up onto her feet, though his hand does not stray from hers. "Stay with me tonight... Won't you?" He asks, softer than before, cheeks flushing as soon as the words leave his lips. But she smiles as if she's been waiting her whole life for him to ask her such a thing.

Perhaps she has been.

Arm looping through his, she allows Jon to lead her from beneath the godswood and back towards their home, back to the place they had fought for together and won. Back to the place they had reclaimed, not just for them, but for Arya... For Bran... For Rickon. For their family.

[ x x x ]

When he hears the footsteps in the hall, he thinks it to be the Dothraki.

The door swings open and it is not Grey Worm nor any of his men standing there. It's Sansa, with war braids twisted into her vibrant red hair, such a look on her face that even he's frightened. "Remove his chains," she commands and the man behind her scurries forward, dipping down to do as she's said before he's backing from the room, leaving them alone together.

"Jon!" She's sinking down, arms wrapping around him; she smells of rosewater and tastes of strength. "You are unhurt?" She asks, drawing back, holding him at arm's length, blue eyes wild with worry. Jon grins, shaking his head, hand reaching out to gently tug upon one of her braids, taking in the sight of her there before him. She is bright as the setting sun, her strength, her warmth all flowing into him at the gentlest touch of her hand. "I told you I would come." She smiles and he laughs, as if they have not come to this moment thanks to war, thanks to bloodshed.

"I knew you would." He says and she's in his arms then, warm and soft, the only thing that has kept him going all this time. "I hope you've not made us many enemies." It's her turn to laugh as she shakes her head, pulling back so they might look one another in the eye. He can imagine her there, down in the dragon pit, with her sharp glares and even sharper words. He can imagine her, war braids woven into her hair, every stare daring the most powerful men in the realm to disagree with her. None would, of course. Not that he could blame them. She is a force to be reckoned with, his she-wolf queen with snapping jaws. He cannot blame any man who would cower beneath her.

"None," she promises, but they both smile.

"It's over," he says, hand reaching out, cupping her cheek. To his surprise, she shakes her head, hand sliding over his.

"It's only just begun," she corrects, blue eyes rising up to meet Stark gray.

Silence falls and for a moment, he can only just take in the sight of her there, the one constant in his life, the one thing that's kept him going all this time. Rising up to his full height, he draws her up after him, clutching tightly to her hands. "Stay with me, won't you?" He asks softly, to which she smiles, a single nod her only response. Jon slides his hand into her red hair, relishing the softness of it against his skin, breathing in the sweetness of it as he draws her into his tight embrace.

After all this time, they might finally find happiness.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #i wrote this #my writing

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all-cursed · 3 years

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Meet my first OC to have a specific fandom they’re attached to!

So I’ve never created an OC specifically for the universe of a show before, they’ve always been fandomless, but I was excited to create one for Wynonna Earp. I’m going to give him a proper page on the muse list as well as give everyone more detailed biographies eventually, but for now, this should work.

DISCLAIMER: to anyone who may have concerns, please know that I myself am Native American (Blackfoot and Cherokee), and did a lot of research while creating this character to make sure I do them justice and create an actual Native character that isn’t just a stereotype. Some parts that might seem stereotypical - such as the name this character chooses to go by - just comes with the modern era the universe is set in and the character’s own reasons. Several of the struggles he faces as well are specifically chosen because I hope to raise awareness in some small ways to the struggles that IPOC face even today. None of it is meant to be fetishising or stereotypical - some of it just exists in that space as an unfortunate reality.

Alright! Here we go.

[ i. STATS ]

NAME. meecha wo’i " crow " redwolf .

AGE. 23 as of 1x01 .

DOB. nov 29th , 1993 .

GENDER. gender-indifferent cis male : prefers he/him or they/them pronouns .

PREF. pansexual but has a preference for men and nonbinary individuals

SPECIES. human , witch , skinwalker .

RESIDENCE. the ghost river triangle .

OCCUPATION. former cashier ; former lead guitar in an up and coming rock band ; current bartender .

ETHNICITY. in simple terms: native american. specifically: hopi and creek. some scottish but not by much.

[ ii. INTROSPECTION ]

POSITIVE TRAITS. curious , adaptable , perceptive , creative , passionate , loyal , perseverant , open-minded , compassionate .

NEUTRAL TRAITS. persuasive , withdrawn (at first; nervous about other’s intentions) , secretive , free-wheeling .

NEGATIVE TRAITS. temperamental , unrestrained , spiteful , reckless , capricious , hedonistic .

DISLIKES. sounds of traffic or loud machinery in general & the sound of metal on metal & the smell of cheap perfume/cologne & hot weather & dust & houseflies & being told (instead of asked) what to do & rap music & wool scarves & fluorescent lights & lack of hygiene & orange flavoured candies/sodas/anything that’s not an actual orange & deep dark waters he can’t see the contents of & mistreatment of animals & having assumptions made about him & mathematics & onions & football .

LIKES. the scent and sound of rain & physical touch & candles , lighters , and controlled flames in general & the smell of cedar , pine , and the forest & music and playing musical instruments & italian food & raving about attractive people with others; intoxication is a bonus & leather; wearing it and the smell of it & glasses clinking together & late night talks & stargazing & drawing / sketching & records and record players & animals & 'stealing’ and wearing the clothes of people he’s close with & running & card games & dancing and singing & creating something out of nothing & getting the last word .

HOBBIES. drawing & singing and playing instruments & exploring / learning as many places as they can like the back of their hand & people watching & drinking and bar hopping & seeking pleasure and adventure wherever he can find it & collecting random things he enjoys / likes .

WEAKNESSES. he’s standoffish until he knows he can trust a person and can come off rude or aloof & the inability to let go of most grudges & his tendency to follow his desires and his heart before logic or his mind & impulsivity when emotional .

STRENGTHS. independence and ability to function and thrive alone (even if he would prefer to have company it is not mandatory) & ability to be resourceful and adapt to new situations quickly & handles time-sensitive situations well due to his tendency to act quick and think later & stubbornness to stick to a task and see it through & quick thinking & agility and speed of inhuman proportions (thanks to his less than human side) .

HABITS. clicking his teeth together repeatedly when annoyed & flexing fingers & playing with his hair in absentminded / lazy moments & silently staring at someone when he’s done with a conversation until they catch the hint and stop talking & if there’s music playing within earshot he always ends up swaying to the beat & will often make less than human sounds (growls, etc.) when angry if he doesn’t catch himself .

EDUCATION. average student throughout elementary , middle & high school . graduated with an equally average gpa of 3.0 , & decided against college, choosing to seek education in less typical places . fed up with his family and much of the treatment of his peers, he began to learn magic from a witch he met on one of his regular trips to wander the ghost river triangle and explore & learnt magic and about the more mystical parts of purgatory - ultimately becoming a skinwalker via the witch’s guidance and training .

[ iii. APPEARANCE ]

FACECLAIM. booboo stewart .

HEIGHT. 5 ' 8 " , though when able to he wears combat boots that add a few inches to his height .

EYES. a very keen and observant hazel when he’s in human form . when shifting , eye colour can range from yellow to red to green to blue depending on many factors - location , how far he shifts , etc . always alert and bright unless intoxicated or in very rough shape emotion-wise . often wishes they were green or grey and has considered wearing contacts to change his eyes (human-wise) to those colours.

EYEBROWS. defined arch but not so much so that it’s dramatic . not too thin and not too bushy , and naturally neat - he rarely has to tend to them and usually only does so to shave a tiny slit or two through them as a stylistic choice .

HAIR. long and dark ; sleek with an ever so slight wave to it . typically worn either down or in a loose ponytail , occasionally sections are braided . falls just a few inches above his ribcage . every so often he’ll dye streaks into his hair but has never dyed his whole head .

SCARS. many . he has a variety of smaller scars from a rowdy childhood; a few faint ones on his hands and arms from scratches borne of cats and dogs . the typical scars that come from falling off bicycles or off swings ; scraped knees and cuts on chins . his forearms especially are covered in scars he prefers not to speak of . there’s a scar on his forehead from a fight with his cousin as well as a few long scars on his back .

DRESSING STYLE. it varies depending upon mood and whatever job he has at the time . especially fond of punk / alternative styles , likes leather , and enjoys the comfort of loose and flowing garments. whatever style he happens to choose at any given time , he wears well and somehow always manages to draw attention - whether from the jewelry he accessorises with (varieties of bracelets and cuffs , rings , pendants with gems , etc.)

LIPS. naturally full , scar at the right corner of his lip , occasionally sore or split when he goes through anxious phases and tends to chew at his lips .

SKIN. smooth , tanned . he doesn’t have much body hair , a fact that doesn’t tend to bother him much. he rarely engages in a skincare routine and much like his eyebrows generally stays neat and well-kempt without much effort . does not wear much makeup but enjoys eyeliner from time to time . if not for his skin tone, the dark circles beneath his eyes would be much more visible .

CHEEKS. defined cheekbones , not easily flushed . sports the occasional scars due to nervous picking when he was younger.

[ iv. ABILITIES ]

LANGUAGES SPOKEN. english [ fluent ] , hopi [ conversational & spellwork language ] , spanish [ conversational ] .

THREAT LEVEL. mediocre to high .

WEAPONS. fairly efficient in his understanding of magic and can easily hold his own with either combative or defensive magic , but prefers when possible to rely on his own physical skills ; is proficient in hand to hand combat thanks to the speed , agility , and strength bequeathed upon him by his skinwalker nature . very skilled in knifeplay , whether throwing or up close . has little to no practise with firearms as of 1x01 .

MAGIC. magic learnt by his mentor was primarily elemental based and neutral in that it could easily be manipulated for defensive or offensive ; he was never extremely proficient and left before he could complete his training so he is still learning his limits and the heights he can reach , and wants to branch out . as for the magical abilities granted by his status as skinwalker - he is able to shapeshift , which saps him of certain levels of energy that depend upon what creature he takes the shape of . he is also granted higher than average speed, agility, and strength because of this which he keeps with him even when not shifting.

[ v. DETAILS ]

➣➣ he was born in georgia originally to a loving but struggling mother and father - his mother was hopi and his father was creek, and while both parents had originally lived on their own respective reservations, they had met one another by chance during a trip and fallen in love, eventually deciding to seek out their own home outside of the reservations. his parents loved him but struggled financially; eventually his mother’s sister offered to take him in. as that was the better option rather than the three of them becoming homeless, crow’s parents sent him to live with his aunt in arizona on the rez. while they stayed in touch, his parents needed to stay in georgia, and as such he only would see them on the occasional holiday.

➣➣ while his aunt meant well, his cousins were another story. living with his aunt and uncle would have been fine had it not been for their two children; a son and daughter who constantly bullied him behind their backs for not being pure hopi as they were, often harassing him about being a ‘halfbreed’. a quiet boy at heart to boot, he faced bullying in school as well all the way through high school. his cousins, in tenth grade, snooped in his room and found his journal - which they used to out him as pansexual to the school.

➣➣ the moment he graduated, he spent as much time off the rez as possible, avoiding his cousins. on one of his frequent trips to simply explore nearby cities and towns, he found himself in purgatory. one drunken night led to following a mysterious woman into the woods. as it turned out, she was a witch. intrigued and excited at the idea of learning magic and having a way to defend himself, he quickly took her up on her offer to teach him. after a few months, she let him in on her secret - she was a skinwalker.

➣➣ she talked up how powerful she was because of it, and how no one would ever hurt her again. the more he heard about it, the more he wanted it. still unhealed from the way he was treated growing up and too caught up in the concept of never having to be beneath someone ever again, he agreed to let her hold the ceremony that would make him one as well without thinking of the consequences. when she told him that the final task he needed was to kill a family member... he almost faltered but agreed and went back to the rez.

➣➣ he almost didn’t do it. it was night when he returned, and he could see his male cousin drinking on the porch. the concept of killing someone - even someone like his cousin who had treated him so poorly - was daunting. he might have changed his mind had his cousin not seen him arriving and was immediately being malicious; using homophobic slurs and accusing crow of having run off with a lover, talking about how disgraceful it was. and it all was a blur from there.

➣➣ bringing back a lock of his cousin’s hair to the witch, she finished the rituals and he became the creature she had promised - powerful but at what cost? still wrought with guilt despite having made the ultimate choice, crow left the forests on the outskirts of purgatory where he had been training and into the ghost river triangle itself, unable to go home after what he did and unable to stomach facing the witch. living out of his truck, he went from odd job to odd job, eventually landing a stable job as a cashier at a grocery store. around this time he chose to begin going by the name crow - both to distance himself from his past, and because if someone were to want to control or destroy him now as a skinwalker, they could do so if they knew his true, personal name. as such, a nickname seemed the safest bet.

➣➣ fastforward to present day (1x01). after a few years of cashiering and attempting to rent rooms and apartments without success, as well as a stint playing guitar for an up and coming rock band, crow landed a job as a bartender at one of the local bars and instead of attempting to rent rooms or apartments, ended up moving into the trailer park. it was sketchy to say the least, but he couldn’t afford anything fancy and clearly didn’t handle having roommates well. a trailer seemed like the next best thing, outside of living in the woods or in his truck. his tendency to mind his own business and expect that of others meant that he mingled with normal purgatory residents and the revenants equally, pursuing his hedonistic nature as he pleased. which was all well and good, until things began to get... a lot more chaotic due to a curse and an heir he had originally had no knowledge of.

[ MORE TO COME THROUGHOUT CHARACTERIZATION DEVELOPMENT ]

#temporary biography tag

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aliasimagines · 5 years

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heyo, can i possibly have a marvel and harry potter ship? i’m a quite short guy (into men), 5’5” and kind of chubby too. i have brown hair that’s literally a mohawk and piercing blue eyes. i love all arts (plays/musicals, music, drawing/painting, etc) and enjoy doing all those things as well. i also enjoy curling up and reading a good book too, and ive been told by many that i’m highly emotional and care about others before myself, also im an introvert. who do you ship me with?

Hi, I am so, so sorry for responding this late.

I ship you with Steve Rogers & (young) Sirius Black

Steve loves that you're such an art loving person because he loves art too. Both of you like to curl up on the couch and while you are reading he makes sketches of you. He appreciats that you care for him, he really needs it after everything he's been through. He loves you with all his heart and would protect you at any cost.

I think Sirius loves art, drawing sketches of students, teachers and objects in class (instead of paying attention), but he doesn't really shows them to people. One day you caught him looking at you so you went up to him after class. Turns out he was drawing you. He gave you the drawing and asked if you would like to gou out with him on a date. Ever since you are always there for him and vice versa. You like to take him to the theater to see plays and musicals while he loves to bring you with him to his favorite rock concerts. Also I'm 101% sure he is a fan of Queen so the two of you listen to himthat all the time.

Hope you like it

#qayforqueen #ship requests #marvel ship #harry potter shit #alias imagines

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hellogreenergrass · 7 years

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Signy Island - Week Seven

22nd Jan – Sunday

Lie ins are lush. I feel renewed. This last week Ive been firing on ½ my cylinders I think. Not sure why, but after a month of full speed, I think I needed to take my foot off the peddle. I’ve been effectively part time this week, with days out to help Stacey not counting as work. But today I will end an easy week with a flourish. I will have A WHOLE DAY OFF. No lab, no thinking of work, no field treks. Just cooking, some rowing, writing and photography. Stacey took my early this morning as she had to get up early anyway to sort out some krill samples (she does this so the rest of us dont have to endure the stench that seeps out from her lab!). I owe her bigly. Oh yes, and Donald Trump was sworn in on Friday. I feel like we are entering a dystopian novel. He was greeted by ½ million people marching in protest through Washington DC. It will be an interesting presidency. A few weeks ago, we all made wishes as we threw wood into a fire and collectively decided that we wished a rapid and ultimately dooming impeachment upon him…

I’ve been drawing most days, but on the whiteboard in the living room as well as my sketch book. It started as a small pic of something for whoever was on earlies that day. Then Stacey asked for a woodland as she missed trees, and I drew a landscape of a birch stand next to a river that wound down from some hills in the distance. On the other side of the river stands an old oak tree with branches that reach out over a waterfall. Since then, each day I add something else at the request of whoever is on earlies. We now have bluebells and harebells, sheep, a wolf, a peacock, a monkey, highland cows, a llama, a rabbit, and a bear. Iain & Stacey drew me a small hedgehog and some butterflies last night. Looking at it one night, Matt said he’d like me to do something for the new base they are building in the next few years. He will give some thought to what. Nice to think my work would be here even if I am not!

Meowntains - new word combining two of my loves, cats and mountains. If there is a heaven …

24th Jan

This month is flying by! Cant believe its almost February. And Im almost 34. Jeez. Have been a bit slack at writing in this lately. I put my diary in a drawer in my room and whenever I have the presence of mind to remember it, I either couldn’t be bothered or get distracted en route. So now Im making an effort over brekkie.

The last few days have largely been lab/office based. I spent Monday trying to update my field plan for the coming month and reworking some experiments. The grid plan has had a reboot, less elegant now, but also less work. I hope. I’ve been reading the work of a chap called Smith (we don’t do first names in scientific literature!) who has been working on Marion Island in the sub-Antarctic Indian Ocean area. His work spans 30 years from a word mapped food web to today, actual raw data on the energy and nutrient flow on the island. I’d love to do something like that here on Signy. He compiled data on all the input from major wildlife contributors and how the plants use it or lose it. Where it runs off the Island or gets blown back in, and the likely fate of it in the oceans. Science like that makes me heart all a flutter!

Aqlima and I went out to look for adult midge on Monday, to no avail. Although she really enjoys looking for them as she works with essentially invisible bacteria, so bugs are massive and remarkably charismatic for her! I think the adults are finished now. Where they go to die I couldn’t tell you as I’ve stopped seeing them in my soil samples too. Add that to the bank of mysteries and unanswerable questions I am accruing this season. I’ve also started going out to collect a species of mite for Scott (my boss back in Brum). He wants to do some population genetics on them. But whilst Ive started collections, Im not sure we can amend my permit again to take them off the island. Can but ask though.

Iain and I spent a few hours out yesterday getting in the last of the soil cores. Sun shone, the wind blew and the innuendo flowed! Down at the site in the unfortunately named Gash Cove, we went down onto the rocks and stood in the sun watching the huge swell roll up a slope of glistening rock the colour of titanium and almost iridescent. It was a slab of mica-schist, mica being the mineral that gives the glitter to eye shadow. It had been buffered smooth by the waves who slid up the slope many meters and then recoiled back to the ocean excessively exposing an area of rocks and shore rarely seen, like the draw back of a tidal wave, or the curled snarl of lip. It was hypnotic. No furries around here, which is odd. In fact numbers have dropped off again, which Im told is unusual.

Im off to Gourlay today. Day out on my todd. The sun is shining, but its still blowing a hooley. I’ll collect that mite (Alaskozetes antarcticus) and spot sample the route for my midge along the way. Have lunch at the huts out there and see the penguins, then pop down to Cemetery Flats on my way home for more samples. Just me myself and I. Should be a nice day out J

26th Jan

I twisted my ankle!! Not even a little bit, but a proper sprain with swellings and everything! I’d been to Gourlay, hiked back and collected all the samples. Then as I stood at the top of the Stonechute, the final rock and scree descent to base, I recalled Stacey’s recent tale of her twisting her ankle just meters from base whilst carrying a heavy load. It was just a 2cm drop off a rock, but put her off her feet for weeks. I pondered this as I heaved my loaded rucksack on, weighed down by kilos of soil samples, decided not to withdraw my second walking pole and dove down the chute. Despite being just a few hundred meters from home and the first and last part of everyone’s day out, it is one of the riskiest bits. Not least because as well as being steep and loose, it is often full of fur seals. And it was furries that I was checking for as I misplaced my footing and went over on the side of my foot.

I knew immediately that it was not good as I sat trying to catch my breath that had just been dragged from me by the rushing and unweilding pain. Not again I thought. Just last July, I’d gone over on my left leg and torn any remaining shreds of ligament and cartilagein my knee whilst up in the mountains of Norway and out on my own. At least this time I had VHF radio and base in sight. I realised I was going to need help. No way was I carrying that bag across the boulders of the high-tide route. I called in and Alex and Stacey came out to help me back down. I slowly and carefully negotiated my way back, and an hour of ice and elevation followed by a shower seem to have eased it a bit. As have the painkillers. And the 2 glasses of gin I just had. So now I feel just fine!

27th Jan

Woke to stiffness and a substantial amount of pain this morning, but thankfully this eased as the day went on. Although the swelling has peaked and there is some bruising coming through now. I’ll be a few shades of purple soon. At least I actually did something, hate to think Im being melodramatic! I have to try and go out to do some field work tomorrow though, not sure how likely that is, I can’t walk properly. I’ve prepped the ion-exchange membranes already and they have a limited amount of time to be used you see. I did the last of the work whilst watching Seven Years in Tibet tonight in anticipation of being able to at least stagger along in the field with some back-up tomorrow. Great movie, and by God that man. I swear Brad Pitt must have hovered up all the good-looking genes in his family for the best part of a century. The mind boggles. Speaking of good looking men, I spoke to K today. He’s been offered a new job! Interview was at 11am, with two others to follow him and by 2pm they’d made up their mind and called to offer him the position. I’m not surprised, he has that effect on people ;-)

Wind is still blowing hard and finding its way into the cracks and gaps in the seams of the cabin. Makes the whole place scream and whistle all the time. Some flights from Punto Arenas in Chile to Rothera on the Peninsular have been delayed. I wonder if they have the same weather system. Few thousand km away though. Its been quite unstable the last few weeks, but we are about to enter the warmest month of the year soon, so at least it may stop snowing even the wind keeps up its run of 20+ knots!

#antarctica

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notsoaveragjoe · 5 years

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#2 Bad Hair and Purple Tie-Dye Sweaters

Hello, Cruel World. Welcome to another late night from the mind of Joe. I feel as though I should start with an apology for not making my second post more than a week after my first. Then again, I promised you nothing. (MUHAHAHA)

But seriously, it is my goal to try to get into a regular schedule posting on here in order to experience the freedom to write just for the love of it. As a musicology student currently working on the beginnings of a large research project looking on toward a graduate degree, I have done and plan to do a heck ton more academic writing. Just looking at the last semester alone I wrote hundreds (with an s) of pages of lit reviews, document-based research projects, conference papers, and much more. For the last three months I have not written much more than “2 Chicken & waffles-1 no sugar, Hot brown, + kids omelet” on my server pad in scribbled and illegible shorthand. Actually, who am I kidding, I know the menu well enough at my serving job back home that I haven’t written an order down in years. (Go check them out here. Great food, wonderful staff).

I digress..

Setting the Stage: Currently sitting in a dimly lit corner of my apartment, sipping a cup of tea and whiskey-- a bold choice. In the process of trying to not hear the passionate clamor of my roommate and his main girl during “euphemisms”.

During my homeward commute this afternoon, I was in a mood and took a detour to the supermarket where I subsequently purchased the following items:

Hair Texturizer

Dental floss

Bananas (Thanks Gwen)

Purple Tie-Dye Sweater.

Who You Are, Mannequin Pussy

As a black person, my whole life has been plagued by a complex relationship with my hair. Though of a complicated racial background and identity, one definable feature and large conundrum in my personal identity has been figuring out the best way to ‘keep’ my hair, maintain it, and style it in a way that is authentically me. Whoever the hell that is. Regardless, my hair has been a struggle to understand for as long as I can remember understanding things. Over the last year, I have began the process of growing my hair out. Though I have never had long hair before (or big hair... I guess?) I figured that the best way for me to understand what I want is to go from a large chunk of something, and then wittle it away until I find the “sculpture within”, sort of like this.

After about the first six months, I realized that I was constantly irritated the coarse texture of my hair as it became increasingly difficult to wash, comb out, and style on a day to day basis. I did know that I would not be happy with a fully relaxed hairstyle, but I hope that my hair would be more manageable with texturizer treatments to slightly loosen the curls. Applying the treatment every few months to the new growth, as recommended by numerous hairstylists, I had begin to develop a slightly softer, but still curly hair texture.

Between moving twice and adjusting to a new city while doing lots of new and exciting things, I had not had the time nor the patience to do one of these treatments on my hair for quite some time. That was, until tonight. This evening, I began the process as I usually do: I apply the texturizer to the most course parts of my hear, near the roots, and begin to go on to less coarse points of new growth. Once I had finished applying the stuff, one corner of my head began to BURN like none other. Though I had experienced this pain before, it had never been to this extreme extent. As I quickly applied the neutralizer and rinsed my hair as thoroughly as humanely possible, moaning in discomfort to match my the euphemism going on across the hall. Though my skin is a little tender, I now realize that the air in this city had non only been drying out my face, but my scalp was also as dry as a chip and beginning to crack. Upon this realization, I began to long to speak to someone about my experience, but on a greater level, it reminded me about how difficult my struggle with my hair has been.

Growing up, the culture to which I was accustomed incorporated going to a barber shop across town from my home to get my hair cut by a man named Sid or his son-in-law Rodney. Though it was a cool place, the only thing I learned there was to always get my hair cut really short, oil it occasionally, and comb it every day. Nearly every black man in my community kept their hair like this, so I thought it was the norm. I had always been raised to believe that guys with afros were either novelties or punks, and any other hairstyle was either dirty or unnatural for a man to have. On the other hand, my mother and sister either had their hair relaxed, or it was in a complex braid style that took them entire weekends to get put in. In any case, it wasn’t something that I was taught.

Now, this is not a knock on my parents, who did their best to raise me with many privileges that they did not have. With them both working full-time careers my whole life, I am not angry with them for not taking the time to teach me about hair when they spent so many countless hours teaching me to read, write, and appreciate music. Still, it is wild to me that in order for me to get questions answered about my hair, I have always turned toward online forums and hair magazines to educate myself. It is also more astounding to me the sheer volume of hair care products, advice, and advertisements that are marketed toward white people. Even though there are black people literally everywhere, it is sad to see the inaccurate representation of people of color in this medium, as well as insufficient selections of hair-care products in most beauty supply aisles.

Vegabond, Beirut

As I feel a chill from the ceiling fan, I draw my hands into my newest oversized sweater. Then I remember I need to type.

In addition to the scalp burning hair texturizer, I also purchased dental floss (for obvious reasons) and four bananas (for the potassium... of course). Practicality aside, I now believe that the real reason my wayfaring soul drew me into the store was this sweater in particular.

You see, for years I have lived in a world of toxic masculinity where it had been frowned upon to like anything ‘girly’ or ‘feminine’. Much of the dark parts of my life had previously been blocked out of my memory. Since beginning therapy, I have slowly began to have repressed memories return to me at the strangest of times, like a certain group rudely interrupted my internet browsing the other day. Upon seeing this purple tie-dye sweater in the store, my initial thought was “Thats pretty, but not my style”. Though a ‘correct’ statement, I remember how a drag queen had read me a few weeks ago, calling me a ‘heteroconforming, midwestern, plain-jane’. I can’t lie, she got me there. The majority of my wardrobe consists of dark earth-tones, some varieties of the color blue, and the occasional floral shirt for when I want to be ‘extra’. Oh, and black. Lots.Of.Concert.Black.

This dominoed into a number of thoughts reminding me of a statement one of my friends made, “For someone who LOVES the color purple, you don’t seem to ever express that love very much”, in response to a discussion about a mutual friend who loves the color green and rarely has the color too far away.

Hello, this is therapy talking. OTHER PEOPLE’S OPINIONS OF YOU SHOULD NOT VALIDATE/INVALIDATE YOUR SELF WORTH. We’ll work on that next week...

When wandering the store, all of these thoughts went swirling around my head, much like the storm brewing outside. Upon further internal inquiries, I circled back to the mens clothing aisle to surprisingly see it was on sale, since it is July after all. The only sizes available were larger than my petite Sm-M that I usually wear, but I managed to find a medium size that fits as comfortably as an oversized sweater. Im sitting in bed right now swimming, but not drowning in thousands of threads of purple and white cotton. As I have always thought of myself as best in earth tones, wearing the color makes me both feel bright an happier, but also makes me look more pleasant in the mirror than I have in the past. Instead of hiding from the stereotypes of gay men, I think this is a better gateway into a life of being content liking what I like without further reasoning past I Just Like It. This impulse buy was likely one of the best purchasing decisions Ive made in a long while.

Fuck Toxic Masculinity,

~Mojo

#purple sweater #conforming #stereotype #toxic masculinity #fuck toxic masculinity #black hair #texturizer #relaxed hair #black hair magic #vegabond #burnt scalp

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adambstingus · 7 years

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Whats Worse For Your BrainDrinking or Playing Football?

Our correspondent drinks for a living. Is he putting his brain at more risk of damage than a football player?

I woke up Sunday morning with a throbbing headache. Id spent the previous night heavily sampling a selection of rare whiskeys with some friends.

That may have been fun, but now here I was, still in bed at 11 a.m., barely able to keep my eyes open, hardly able to think, certainly not wanting to turn on the days NFL games.

A parent cant consent to giving their kids a cigarette or a beerwhy can they consent to him playing tackle football?

And I thought this cannot be good for my brain.

The effect of NFL action on the brain is one of the hottest topics of the moment, with the movie Concussion opening this Christmas weekend.

In that film Will Smith portrays Bennet Omalu, the forensic pathologist who first brought to light the appearance of CTE (chronic traumatic encephalopathy) in American football players.

Thanks partially to Omalus work, nowadays when we watch the constant brutality on the football field, when we see players crashing their heads into each other down after down, when we notice aging players getting dementia (and worse) once retired, many of us have even started to wonder, Can I ethically enjoy football any more? Myself included.

At the same time, though, I often put my own brain in serious jeopardy too.

Yes, I am a professional drinks writer. Mid-day cocktail tastings. Evening scotch samplings. Beer festivals on the weekends. Trips to breweries, distilleries, and wineries. You should see how much free liquor gets delivered to my house on a daily basis!

People often tell me I must have one of the best jobs around. But they arent the ones that have had to drink literally every single day for hell, who knows how many days in a row it has been now. They arent the ones that wake up many mornings with a hangoverjust another occupational hazard.

So, with all this in mind, I decided to ask some football concussion doctors about the effects of my equally dangerous profession on my own precious brain. I wondered, how bad is my drinking compared to playing football?

Was a single whiskey shot equal to a QB sack?

A night of heavy beer drinking equal to a half of football?

Did my brutal Sunday morning hangover feel worse than it did on a Monday morning for a running back?

Neither Dr. Omalunor Will Smithreturned any of my calls, but luckily I had other accomplished doctors willing to answer my questions.

Dr. William Barr is the Director of Neuropsychology at NYU Langone Medical Center.

He is a clinical expert on epilepsy, forensic neuropsychology, and sports concussions. He has testified in numerous cases involving forensics and in civil cases involving MTBI (mild traumatic brain injury). More importantly, from the mid-1990s until 2004, Barr was a neuropsychological medical consultant for the NFLs New York Jets.

He quickly understood the somewhat silly concept behind this piece, and even why a professional drinks writer had reason to be concerned.

I used to think about boxers, he told me, noting that this was before all this concussion talk was in the mainstream. People used to say boxing was the only way for a kid to get out of the ghettobut he had to put his brain at risk. How terrible it was that society forced them to do this! But I also thought about the typical Mad Men-era businessmen. They had to do the three-martini lunches for their workthey too were pickling their brains just to get ahead!

Barr is a bit of a firebrand when it comes to talk about concussions. In fact, he believes concussionswhether from football or otherwiseactually have a fairly minimal impact on future cognitive functioning.

When you look at the studies and what happens three months after a concussiondo you know what meta-analysis is? he asks. I dont. He explains that, In science, rather than making conclusions based on a single study, you look at all the literature. Put it into a similar metric. Whats the overall effect based on many, many studies? So now, maybe, youre looking at 300 people over 10 studies. What it shows is the overall effect (on your brain) of a concussion after 30 days is lower than the effects of intoxication.

The study Barr is citing is Grant L. Iversons 2005 paper Outcome from Mild Traumatic Brain Injury.

Iverson didnt study alcohols traumatic effect on the brain per se, but he did find chronic cannabis use to be worse on overall neuropsychological functioning than an MTBI (mild traumatic brain injury) was on a person just one to three months after the injury had occurred. Likewise, he found chronic cannabis use to be slightly worse on future memory functioning than an MTBI.

For Barr, that was enough for him to deduce for me that alcohol abuse would be probably likewise worse on the brain than head injuries from playing football. Uh oh.

Barr isnt completely speculating, as he has co-authored his own significant studies. With a team of other doctors and PhDs he helped pen Cumulative Effects Associated with Recurrent Concussion in Collegiate Football Players and Acute Effects and Recovery Time Following Concussion in Collegiate Football Players.

Ive studied athletes more than the general population. With them we can get information before their injury and then after, he tells me. And what that shows is that 95 percent (of athletes who have a concussion) recover back to normal in 7 days or less.

He tests alcoholics brains in a similar manner to how he tests concussed athletes. He interviews them and then gives them a series of tests, ones mainly based on memory functioning (they have to remember a certain story).

So I might notice, this person has problems with attention and remembering things. In the past theyve been a 10-drinks-a-day alcoholic and now it looks like theyve pickled brain.

Though well-honored and quite thorough, you can probably see how Barr is considered a bit of a contrarian for his thinking on concussions.

Barr was even dismissed from the NFLs MTBI committee in 2004 by then-chairman Elliot Pellman, another former New York Jets team physician who is not without his own controversy.

I wanted another doctors opinion on my potentially pickling brain. Dr. James Paci, a professor and orthopedic surgeon, specializes in sports medicine at Stony Brook University Medicine. Hes also the football teams doctor.

First, he clarified that he was neither a neurologist nor brain physician. Despite that, he was trained to deal with concussions on a day-in, day-out basis in his own role as team doctor.

My expertise is how do we treat these athletes, Paci told me. What do we look out for? How do we prevent long term consequences?

However, unlike Barr, Paci somewhat struggled with the comparisons I was hoping he would draw for me.

Certainly there is some connection between alcoholism and Alzheimers, brain diseases. Drawing a parallel between drinking and football though? I dont think anyone has made that correlation. Though he does note, The rock n roll lifestyle and athlete lifestyle certainly do have some comparisons.

A man like Paci believes that both football and drinking are inherently dangerous, but thats OK, so long as we acknowledge the risk involved in both activities and, thus, let potential participants make informed decisions.

Ive had concussions before, Paci tells me. Anyone who plays sports has had one before.

Paci is about my age, having played football at Yale University in the late-1990s, while the slightly-older Barr played during a time head injuries werent treated all that seriously.

Back in the day when I played high school football, Barr tells me, you pretty much had to be in a coma before they did anything about it.

So both men had played football at a fairly high level, had head injuries on the field, and were still able to become prestigious doctors. But did they drink?

Not routinely, but I do, Paci tells me. Most doctors do. There are certainly benefits to some alcohol.

(Ive been saying that for years.)

I do, Barr also tells me. Everything in moderation. A little bit of alcohol can be good for the heart. Theres good data for the red wines. Some scotch in moderation, a finger a day maybe.

So you guys drink, but now knowing what you know, would you let your own children play football?

On that point Paci is fairly strict, believing young children simply dont have the body control and should stick to flag football or two-hand touch.

A parent cant consent to giving their kids a cigarette or a beerwhy can they consent to him playing tackle football?

Barr has a six-month grandson he absolutely wants to play football some day.

Should that boy play football or not? My take, from what we know right now: the chance of getting dementia, the prospect of a 13-year-old boy who starts football getting dementia one day is, lets say, 1 to 2 percent. Im being liberal, Barr tells me. But lets say that boy is not allowed to play football. Instead junior becomes fat and gets diabetes and high blood pressure. Now he has a 30 percent chance of dying of dementia.

So to Barr inactivity in this country is a much bigger problem than helmet-to-helmet contactinteresting, because drinkers on the whole are statistically much more active than non-drinkers according to the Center for Advancing Health.

That papers lead author, Michael French, a professor of health economics at the University of Miami, found that alcohol users not only exercised more than teetotalers, but the differential actually increased with more drinking.

I dont fully understand the relationship, Barr admits, though he has a speculation. Maybe people feel like after visiting the gym, they deserve to do something bad.

Its true enough anecdotally for myself, though Im a bit more of the reverse. I do something bad the night before, then feel the need to go jog five miles the next day.

I ask Barr point-blank, It seems like you ultimately think its safer to play in the NFL than to drink heavily?

Yeah, you could say that, he confirms.

This did not sound good for me. But what exactly did heavily mean? This week alone I sampled new whiskeys on Monday, drank wine with dinner on Tuesday, visited a hot new cocktail bar on Wednesday, went to a brewery opening on Thursday, and hit happy hour with friends on Friday.

Luckily, Barr relieved some of my concerns about any sort of future with dementia, simply telling me, You would not be on the phone with me, or even able to write this story, if you were drinking too much.

Regardless, I think Ill start trying to be more cognizant of my intake. As Paci ultimately summed up for me: The brain is an amazing thing. Your head hurts when you bang it. So you try not to bang your head again. With a hangover, theres obviously something similar going on there.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/09/28/whats-worse-for-your-braindrinking-or-playing-football/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/165813833432

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samanthasroberts · 7 years