trying on a metaphor
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Jules of Nature
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Kaledo Art
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noise dept.
Sade Olutola
Peter Solarz
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will byers stan first human second
tumblr dot com
pixel skylines
izzy's playlists!
Cosimo Galluzzi
macklin celebrini has autism
One Nice Bug Per Day
DEAR READER
occasionally subtle
seen from Brazil
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seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
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seen from Ecuador
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@3s-are-green
I completely missed homestuck the first time around by virtue of being trapped in a cristo-nationalist semi-cult with limited internet access for the entirety of the og comic's runtime. So now you, my dearly beloved tumblr mutuals, get to watch me go insane in real time as I discover homestuck in the year of our lord 2026.
Have fun
I love gay people theres a guy in my neighborhood who named his one singular dog “simon and garfunkel”
When I was diagnosed at age sixteen, after having one period in the eighth grade and then never again till a medically induced one my junior year of high school - my uterine lining measured in centimeters because it was so thick, my mother turned to me in the car. She was upset. Literal tears in her eyes. And she told me her friend had PCOS, but was still able to have kids. That this was still a possibility for me if I did injections and fertility treatments, etc. My mom had never asked me if I wanted kids, she just assumed.
My first conversation about PCOS with my new endocrine/OBGYN was about weight management and how that could improve my fertility when I eventually wanted kids. It wasn't asked what my goals were for my health or if I wanted kids, just assumed.
I was a hormonal, depressed mess. I hated my body. My body dysmorphia was so bad that I cloistered myself away from so much. I wore hoodies and jeans in the 90°F, 80% humidity summers. This was considered fine. I was given metformin and birth control pills and told this was all that could be done. That PCOS wouldn't affect my life until I wanted to be pregnant. I wasn't asked if I wanted to be pregnant, just assumed.
I don't know how many PCOS groups I joined on my early 20s hoping to find community and commonality for body dysmorphia and symptom management, only to be bombarded with fertility treatments and tips and 'inspirational conception' anecdotes. They never asked if I was attempting to conceive, just assumed.
It's a problem. It's been a problem. And thank god I learned to speak up and find medical professionals that would help me with *MY* goals. I shouldn't have had to, someone should have recognized the needs of that sixteen y.o. and protected her, but I can only hope the conversation changes as awareness increases.
the knives out movies are so so important because benoit blanc is a character the current culture fundamentally needed. there was a hole in the hearts of the people in the shape of Detective Guy and the last of the gentlemen sleuths has come to fill it. and he’s gay
Everyone's Friend
Uganda, Rwanda and South Africa are building solutions that richer nations could learn from
Interesting blog post.
I've been saying this for like 3 years now!! Always excited to see more coverage of it!!
If you're interested in the future of solarpunk, ecopunk, and a sustainable, livable future, African, South Asian, Latin American, and Indigenous climate movements are absolutely some of the biggest places you should look.
@hopepunk-humanity
Two men on a mission, united in purpose.
Your wife changes her hair color every season and her personality adjusts slightly. You’re secretly only in love with Autumn wife. She just came home sporting her Winter color.
it’s my fault. it’s just that when we met it was autumn; her red-orange hair and crackling laughter. there’s a little spooky in her, a lot of play. and what a better time for falling?
i didn’t realize it for the first few years - something shifting, something so subtle. the winter makes us all cold, the summer makes us all a little out of our minds. i just loved her, because she was incredible, and i was the luckiest person alive.
it’s just that i realized that spring came with sudden bursts of cold. it’s just that summer frequently raged in with fire sprouting from her lips. it’s just that winter was the worst of all, her eyes dead. it’s just that autumn loves me different; throws herself into it without the clingy sweat of summer. i used to love that summer girl, you know? i loved how wild she was, the way in summer she took every risk she could. but i carried her home drunk one too many times, cleaned up one too many of the messes she made for no reason than to enjoy the sensation of burning. and winter was worse; the shutdown, the isolation. how she became distant, a blizzard, caught up in her own head, unable to tell me what was wrong and unable to think i actually wanted to listen.
she comes home, her hair bleached white. a dark smile on her lips. the shadowy parts of her are back. they loom like icicles overhead. she kisses me with her body held at a distance, a peck on my cheek that feels like an iceberg. she makes polite conversation and we go to bed early, our bodies untouching.
it is a lonely season, i think on the ninth day of this. winter is cold. winter is known for the death of things. when i look at her, i see the girl i fell for, inhabited by an alien. she was the first women i loved so much i felt it would kill me. i can’t leave. when i wake her up with my crying, she tells me to shush and go back to sleep. she’s different like this, quiet, doesn’t eat.
three days later i stare at myself in the mirror. i wonder if it’s me. if the fat on my body or something in my face or the wrinkles and she doesn’t love me. i try prettier lingerie, lean cuisine, i try different hair, more makeup, try harder. it doesn’t work. she looks at me the same; that empty gaze that neither loves nor condemns my actions.
somewhere in februrary i lose it. we’re fighting again, from car to restaurant to car to home again. we fight about stupid things, small things; i tell her i feel she doesn’t love me, she says i’m not listening. the circle goes around and around, old pain peeling back, new pain unhealing. i sleep on the couch.
i wake up when i hear her crying, white hair around her all messed up. the kind of sobbing that only comes at two in the morning, heavy and thick and hurting. my winter girl. my heart is breaking. she looks up at me like i’m her anchor. “i’m sorry i’m like this,” she says. and i start saying, it’s okay i’m here we’re married, but she just shakes her head and says, “I know this isn’t the real me.”
i hold her cold hand. she stares at the blankets. “i am different in winter,” she whispers, “i know i am and i’m sorry.” she looks at me. “why do you think i dye my hair? cut it off? get rid of the old me?”
i tell her it’s okay. we’re together and it’s okay, and then she whispers, “i’m sorry you married four of me.”
we lay there like that, her head on my chest. she falls asleep. i stare at the ceiling, thinking of the way she sounded when she was crying. how i helped put her in that pain. how i promised in sickness and in health and everything in between.
the next day i spend at the library. there aren’t enough books on how to love someone with seasonal affective disorder so i make my own, notes and pages and little ideas on post-its. and i take a deep breath and make myself a promise.
she comes home to her favorite dinner and we kiss and she’s uneasy but that’s okay. the next day i bring home flowers and the next day she finds little love notes in her pockets. i love her quiet, the way winter demands, understand her sex drive is faltering; spend more time just cuddling. we drink wine and we kiss and some part of her starts relaxing.
the truth is there is no loving someone out of their mental illness. the truth is that you can love someone in despite of it; love them loud enough to give them an excuse to believe they can make their way out of it.
and i learn. i remember the rebirth of spring, when she starts thawing. we kiss and have picnics in pretty dresses. i remember her joy at little birds and her rain dancing. i fall in love with the flowers in her cheeks and the little bursts of cleaning. i fall in love with summer’s slow walks and milkshakes and shouting to music playing too loud on the speakers. i fall in love with her dancing, with the sunfire energy. and when winter comes; i am ready. i remember that snow used to look pretty. i fall in love with the hearth of her, with the holiday, with the slow smile that spreads across her face so shyly. i fall in love with how she looks in boots and mittens and every day i find another reason to love her the way she deserves - they way i always should have.
she comes home with her white hair and dark smile and a package in her hands. i ask to see what it is and that small shy grin comes creeping out. it’s a sunlamp packed in with medication. she looks at me with those wide eyes and that beautiful winter blush. “i’m trying to get better,” she whispers, “i promise.”
recovery doesn’t look immediate. sometimes it isn’t neat. i can’t say we never fight or that we’re suddenly complete. but each day, that tiny girl’s strength gives me another reason. i love her. i love her while she tames the roller coaster of spring; i love her for reigning in the summer storms; i love her for taking her winter and trying to be warm. it is hard, because everything worth it is hard. she spreads out her autumn leaves; mixes the best parts of her into everything. learns to take winter’s silence for a moment before yelling in summer. learns to take autumn’s spice and give it to spring. we are both learning.
one day she comes home and her hair is different, but it’s a style i don’t know. i kiss it and tell her that she’s beautiful and the inside of me swells like a flood. i’m so glad that she’s mine. every part of her. the whole. i am the luckiest person on earth. and i always have been. but she’s hugging me and saying, “thank you for helping me,” and i can’t explain why i’m crying.
this is what love is; not always an emotion but rather your actions. the choices we make when we realize our lives would be empty if the other was absent. this is what love is: letting them grow, helping them find their way in out of the cold. this is what love is: sometimes it takes work to see how the thing you planted together actually grows.
this is what love looks like in an autumn girl: it is winter and she glows.
I’m actually sobbing jesus christ
if you are a parent, or may become one, or you are otherwise likely to arrive in the situation of caring for a child while they eat, promise me this: if a child doesn't like a certain food or food group, you will ask them WHY. and specifically, you will pay attention to either confirming or ruling out "it makes my mouth itch" or "it makes my stomach hurt," both of which are medically important info that children may not provide unprompted. which i know because this PSA has been brought to you by "i spent my entire childhood and much of my early teens eating peas and lentils while wondering why everyone else liked the Violently Itchy Mouth Sensation so much, like were they a bunch of legume masochists or something, before i finally realized that Violently Itchy Mouth Sensation was in fact a sinister demon appearing only to me, and her true demonic name was: Legume Allergy"
washing dishes is evil because you go "oh fuck there's so many dishes this is gonna take foreverrr" and then you enter the dish abyss and emerge with your abdomen somehow covered in water and your hands all wrinky and then you look at the clock and what felt like half an hour was actually 10 minutes
you literally shouldn't be allowed to set off fireworks.
originally that sentence was going to be longer and say "you literally shouldn't be allowed to set off fireworks within a certain distance of a hospital because it needlessly frightens patients" because my mom, who's in the hospital, said the fireworks were so loud last night it sounded like someone banging on the windows. but i don't think we need fireworks, actually, at all.
tumblr is great bc its like a diary where I can take other peoples diary entries and glue them into my own diary
it's sorta funny (ignoring the horrors) that cis people can't be trusted with a deadname. any time someone tells me theirs I've forgotten it five minutes later, if you had names for your toes that would be far more interesting to me, but cis people get real "if you give a mouse a cookie" about it it
I'm terrified of people even knowing it, because I know that some people will instantly lock that into their heads as my "real name" and eventually slip and say it instead
Something something that charlottan post about how even if people have only ever known you as the gender you transitioned to, they're still gonna think "oh they're just a boy that I need to remember to call a girl"
Most people won't slip up like that, the average cis person walks on eggshells so they don't accidentally reveal they're just humoring us out of a sense of obligation, they'll think about it and get even more anxious while doing that. This reinforces the wall between them and any insight into the situation.
a wild strawman appears
does someone stand behind these people with a gun forcing them to type this shit where everyone can see it. what in the fuck is even going on
like IMAGINE just admitting this, under no duress
Yeah a comment like that goes in the tags, which are considered private. Fortunately that’s where it was
I get a notification for every note, including this one. They are very much not considered private, if anything you are sending them directly to me.
private area do not read
"the tags, which are considered private"
during my 2,000 years in military service upon the wartorn world of Bantok, we had a member of our unit named Private Tags who was so covered in skin tags you couldnt see his real face. Saying the tag arent private dishonors his memory in incomprhensibly vile ways, youre all going ot mega hell
ah PFC Tags. we miss him every day. war is hell
great post! funny how all the trans women are deleted
Would you rather have a Phineas and Ferb summer or a Gravity Falls summer?
would you rather have endless fun forever or have satan attack you every day
“i never see you at the club” ok well i never see you on ao3 at 2am reading about the same two bitches falling in love for the 1000th time in the 500th way
things I love about my country, because it's the 4th of july and why shouldn't i get to love this country where i have lived for all my thirty years. he's the one who sucks
ice water
the common use of dryers for your clothes
carbon beach in malibu california
fall foliage in boston massachusetts
central AC
that thing where if you pump your arm at a passing 18 wheeler they'll honk their big loud horn just for fun
your ability to attend college/course of study/subsequent career isn't locked in by the results of one exam you take at 16 years old like in most of eurasia
that it's appropriate to wear blue jeans almost anywhere
rock music, and all its parent genres
these really beautiful string art earrings i bought on the agua caliente rez
mexican, italian, and chinese food all on the same street
no official national language or religion
how we smile too big and shake people's hands too hard and immediately give ourselves away in foreign countries by our gregariousness
broadway musicals
the james baldwin quote "i love america more than any other country in the world, and exactly for this reason, i insist on the right to criticize her perpetually." actually james baldwin in general. he was so fucking rad even when he got too drunk at parties and screamed at other guests about their systematic white privilege in a way that brought the vibe down. because that's also deeply american
16. the carnegie library of pittsburgh
17. the way that when the monroeville council ordered the library to take down the pride display of childrens books the librarians read them all for storytime cover to cover
18. the sensory rooms at the pittsburgh airport
19. my grandfather
20. the protestors standing at the corner day in and day out
21. little free libraries
22. the neighbor at my old house who was just so unfailingly nice
23. the random immigrant communities. pittsburgh has a huge (proportionate to the population of bhutan) bhutanese community. why? who knows
24. the fact that george washington wrote a letter to a bunch of scared jews and said that america wasn't going to be like europe and we could be safe here and so far it hasn't been like europe not really
25. the view you get driving around pittsburgh because you'll just be going to some random game store and then you'll be like dang this is beautiful
26. because i was born here
27. we have birthright citizenship
28. the book loft of german village in columbus ohio
29. striking up a conversation with someone who you don't know and complimenting them on things and you can just. do that.
30. the immigrants who believe in america even when we don't believe in ourselves. who come to america even when we're convinced there's nothing good here.
31. The ADA.
32. American foodways being complex, beautiful, and informed by EVERYONE who lives here.
33. Frybread.
34. Related, Navajo tacos. So fucking good.
35. Fireflies on a soft June night
36. The calling boom of massive summer storms that rise above the prairies as far as the eye can see.
37. The Rockies. The Uintahs. The remains of Lake Bonneville. The majesty of mountains that have always known people.
38. The dedicated coalition of people determined to bring back the American Bison- related, every video of them roaming free and thriving.
39. American and Mexican flag crossed pins on airport workers in silent but visible protest in SLC, because it was Mexico first and some of us do remember that fact.
40. Every little old boomer lady who comes to my library to make protest signs, because she's done it all before and by god, she'll do it again.
41. The Book Cliffs.
42. New Orleans Mardi Gras.
43. The indomitable spirit of Detroit.
44. Y'all.
45. Mukuntuweap/Loogoon/Zion National Park
46. Gas station employees calling you darling, sweetheart, and honey.
47. Bruce Springsteen and Clarence Clemons.
48. The dedication to fixing what we fucked up environmentally. Even the stodgy old conservative farmers by my uncle's house want to do better, and we have! We can do it! We can!
49. Dark sky parks.
50. Every single person who worked, fought, bled, and died, and more importantly continues to do so to ensure EVERYONE gets a vote, because they dare to believe in the ideal that all men are created equal means ALL, no matter what those old ass dudes in wigs intended. We have so far to go. The work continues regardless.
