Since I made a special Tolkien pride icon for myself, I thought I might as well make other icons too for my fellow LGBT+ Tolkienites. Happy pride month everybody.
(Feel free to use!)
Category: Uncategorized
Hi brain, you obstinate fucker. I drank the clear splashy stuff. I ate the green things. I went under that bright fucker up there. I did the thing with the moving and sweating and whatnot. Now make the happy chemical, you lump of fuck.
did you do the thing with lying unconscious for 8 hours
James Norrington did nothing wrong. His only crime was being a Jane Austen hero in a Disney movie based on a theme park ride.
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.
It’s interesting hearing ppl be anti-ace in pride month bc I think a lot of people think about ace spectrum as just, not being interested, and that it therefore affects your life to the same degree as not being interested in like, horror movies or a new AAA game might. That it’s a simple “opt-out” of any sort of sexual experience or identity altogether, rather than another set of complex interactions with a highly regimented, scripted societal concept of “normal,” e.g. hetero nuclear family with clear gender roles
You’d think for a community that focuses so much on the topic of representation in media, it would be a little more obvious that like…in almost every story, romantic/sexual love comes up as a theme or sideplot, and in many of them, it’s presented as a critically important key to happiness or success. As a culture, we recognize that anytime a character is in the same room as another character with the chance for there to be sexual tension, then that sexual tension p much automatically exists by default (assumed straight, but if the character’s label is revealed as gay,etc., follows accordingly). When the lead guy meets a woman with more than a few speaking lines and a meaningful interaction, they are a Romantic Sideplot, to the point where a lot of romantic writing is frankly lazy or forced-feeling simply bc it relies on ppl expecting it as default.
And the thing is, that sort of interaction follows you in real life in a lot of ways. It often feels like meeting people starts with the benchline of “am I or can I become sexually/romantically interested in you?” before moving down the lines of other ways to relate. And while I personally never really fell in the “I’m broken, I need fixed” mentality regarding my sexuality (demi-, to be clear), I have felt alienated or kept at a distance in the process of trying to disengage with this unspoken norm, to the point of it kind of becoming my default. As I’ve gotten older, it’s gotten more pressing, and it feels like many spaces for adults come with the caveat of being related to potential sexual/romantic availability
And it’s hard coming to terms with the fact that the world has designated the “most important relationship” as something that’s counter to you in some essential way. Like it’s a bit of a cruel realization to recognize that you’re probably always going to be playing second fiddle or be a step down in status to the people you view as most important to you because your relationship with them is not sexual or romantic. Being ace-spectrum is not opting-out of wanting meaningful relationships, but it sometimes comes with the resignation that you may have to accept that.
But that’s why representation and community matter. There’s a lot more discussion about things like queerplatonic relationships, about very meaningful but non-sexual ways of relating to others, and it’s awesome to see it come up in media, even if it’s just fanfiction. The notion that something like love, or more specifically, devotion, loyalty, commitment, accountability, compassion, or the act of cherishing/being cherished, can still exist for you outside of the realm of romantic or sexual situations, is something I think everyone deserves to see and understand. And I think that’s worth including in the discussion alongside other LGBTQ+ topics
Auditory Processing Problems
• *someone says something* “what?” *repeats themselves* “sorry?” *repeats themselves again* “pardon?”
•"hey, y’see the red thing at the top of the shelf, will you get it?“ “Sorry, what?” “On the sh-” “oh yeah sure, I’ll get it.”
•*doesn’t hear teacher because someone’s pen is making a scratchy sound at the back of the room*
•*replays video 10 ten times to figure out what they’re saying*
•teachers asking, “why do you always stop writing in the middle of a sentence, just write down whatever I’m saying,” followed by the response, “I’m just processing it,” rebuked by, “we’ll stop processing it and just write.”
•*gets really focused on staring out the window and goes through four songs without hearing a single on*
someone is whispering to their friends in the library, you don’t even know who this person is but you know their major, what state they grew up in, and their hobbies during high school. you just wanted to find a quiet spot to do your chemistry homework.
wanting to chime in on other people’s conversations all the time, but don’t, because you’re not suppose to be “listening” to them.
being the only person in the house that can hear that awful buzzing sound certain electronics make
hiding in your room because everything is too loud.
motorcycles were invented by satan
being told that you have dog-like hearing by friends and family
being yelled at for “not listening” by friends and family.
God. God. God. God.
This entire post is so fucking relatable it hurts
“You just need to learn to tune it out.”
Forgetting how to think because ambient noise is drowning out your internal monologue.
“No, I don’t need the volume up, I’d just really like to put on subtitles. No, I don’t need to move closer, I just…”
Leaving the room whenever someone starts talking on the phone.
Pausing your video whenever someone starts talking but trying really really hard not to seem passive aggressive about it.
Struggling to explain why this one sound is the most horrible thing in the world while other very similar sounds are fine.
you’re trying to listen to what some very important person is trying to say, but you can only focus on the conversations of the ppl around you
sitting in a restaurant and thinking the people sitting next to you are being SO loud because you can hear everything they’re saying, but when you mention it you get weird looks so obviously you’re just overreacting.
not being able to handle the little keyboard sounds as your mom types a text from across the room, but when you ask your mom (who is a quadruple texter) to put her phone on silent you get a murderous look, like you’ve asked her to kill her cat.
turning on ambient noises and trying to relax, only to end up turning it off because it’s not actually helping you fall asleep.
“the speakers are making this high pitched noise”
“what the hell are you talking about?”
“THE SPEAKERS ARE PRACTICALLY SCREAMING HOW DO YOU NOT HEAR THAT??”
“Just ignore it, and focus on the show.”
Holy cow, i thought this was just me? Other people have problems like this too?
@permanentlyhighonlife it’s extremely common with autism and ADHD among other things, often part of a broader sensory processing disorder (SPD) category.
I… I just thought this was my ADHD or that everyone could hear the really weird buzzing sounds…. What the actual fuck?
Does ringing in your ears all the time happen to? Like when the power’s out I nearly die because there’s literally no noise (I have fish tanks so it helps keep my brain from going nuts) and my ears start ringing so badly I have to put on headphones and listen to music or a cd or something or I’ll get a headache.
Not so much for most of this but the buzz-hum of electronics OH MY FUCKING GODS. Also: it’s not the volume of the noise; it’s the amount of it. I can deal with music no matter the volume levels; I cannot deal long-term with ambient noise on the commute because it’s innumerable car engines and footsteps and conversations and the bus bell going *ding* and traffic signals beeping to let people cross and it is SO MUCH NOISE. I also can’t deal with quiet at home because all the little sounds – car alarms down the block, neighbour kids playing in the corridor outside my door, the family of foxes in the green out back, church bells chiming the hours… It’s just way too much.
I can relate so hard to most of this. Constant background music is an unending smear of noise that’s unbearable. Turning on my own music breaks up the pattern of the other sound, but it has to be the RIGHT music or it just adds to the smear. It’s feeling as if you can’t quite breathe normally because your coworker is tapping away and the music is on and the phone just rang for the fourth time and someone’s having a conversation on the other side of the office and it’s so much. It’s getting slowly angrier because you can’t quite breathe right while there’s SO MUCH noise and yet no one around you seems to hear any of it and then getting jumpy and feeling foolish when someone comes up behind you in bare feet (and that reminds me – this is something that can be related to PTSD too).
some oddly specific advice from Hesiod (c700 BC)
which thicc girl hurt you (and stole your grain)
Looking up makeup tutorials for How To Paint Pretty Symbols on Your Own Ass (To Look Like The Slayer of Men and Deceitful Acquirer of Grain That You Really Are Inside)
This has to be some kind of ancient euphemism for what we would now call a gold digger, but it’s so much more…colorful.
Meg's Mumbles 