There's A Specific Subset Of Fans Who Headcanon Pete To Have Curtwen Grandparents And While I See The

when i call myself queer, i don't mean queer as in watered down to fit cishet tastes, i mean:

queer as in not your token gay or your gay best friend,

queer as in more bite than bark and proudly so,

queer as in the only thing you need to know about is the pepper pray and switchblade in my pocket from years of fear of the streets at night,

queer as in loud and proud and shouting out fuck you.

my identity is not water color so diluted you'd never know it's there without being told, my identity is spray paint on city walls that makes you wonder how it got there,

my identity is drag shows and men kissing men with passion,

my identity is not going to taste sweet in your mouth,

my identity is sour and bitter and bites back harder.

i do not exist to fit within the confines of boxes drawn by the hands of cishet bigots dreaming of crossing out my life, i exist at riots and rallies and pride parades along side allies; i exist in strength and pride earned by bricks thrown and i will not be silenced:

my trans body deserves to occupy space in any situation and my gay heart deserves to beat without fear.

Happy Pride!

The Least Intimidating bakery in the village has closed for good so now I’ve got to go to the Intimidating Bakery, it’s awful. If you don’t have a PhD in being French I don’t recommend going to that bakery, here’s the humiliating account of the 3 times I’ve visited it so far:

the first time I went in there I pointed at one of those extra-skinny baguettes and said “a flute, please” feeling pretty sure of myself, and the baker said “… that’s a ficelle” (you idiot) (was implied) “a flute is twice as large as a baguette.”

That’s insane, first of all, a flute is a skinny instrument. Call your fat baguette a bassoon, lady—I made some timid remark about how it would make more sense for a flute to be a skinny bread and the baker said, “In Paris it is. I thought you were from the South?”

oh, that hurt

I guess I’m from the part of the South that’s so close to Italy the bread’s waist size matters less than whether it’s got olives in it, but I left the bakery having an existential crisis over whether living in Paris had made me forget my roots

the Least Intimidating Bakery just had normal baguettes vs. seedy baguettes vs. horny baguettes (easy mode, some have seeds, some have horns), while the new bakery has breads that are only different on a molecular level—there’s a good old loaf and then another, identical loaf called a bastard? google told me a bastard is “halfway between a baguette and a bread” but denouncing them like “those are not regulation-sized bastards” would get me banned from the bakery for life

on my 2nd visit (while I stood in line discreetly googling baguette terminology) there was an English tourist who asked for a baguette while pointing at what was either a rustique or a sesame and I felt a bit worried for them, but the baker just clarified “this one?” to waive any responsibility if they found out later it wasn’t a classic baguette, then handed them the bread without educating them in a judgmental tone and I felt envious

I know it’s because she thinks the English are beyond saving but still it made me want to come back with a fake moustache and an English accent so I wouldn’t be expected to play bakery on expert mode just because I’m French. I asked for a pastry this time and the baker asked “no bread with that?” which felt cruel, like she wanted me to sprinkle myself with ashes and admit out loud that my level of bread proficiency isn’t as advanced as I once believed it was

The third time I went, I had lost all self-confidence and I hesitantly pointed at a bread and said “I’d like this, uh—what is it called?” and the baker looked at me in disbelief and said “That’s a baguette.”

God.

for the record, if that stupid bread had been flanked by a skinny bread (ficelle) and a fat one (flute) then yeah of course I would have known to call it a baguette, but in the absence of reference points I now felt lost and scared of being called a Parisian again

it’s hard to express the depth of my suffering so I’ll just let the facts speak for themselves: this morning a French person (me) stood in a French bakery in France surrounded by French people and pointed at a baguette and said “what is this called”

the summer is like well what if it was unbearable outside and you can't wear any cool jackets. and everyone's going to tell you that this is the best time of the year. and you're the crazy one

💯🙏💛🟨👍

are u a “I can only have 4 tabs open or I will spontaneously combust” person or a “I have 83 tabs open and at least 12 of them are exactly the same” person

western cat twitters are like “HoOman” and japanese cat twitters are like “Today I will consider the state of things.”

i think it's time to take a page from the james flint gay agenda manifesto; stop trying to convince people that the queers are not a danger to society, and become a menace to civilisation instead. the real queer agenda should be to overthrow any and all social systems. work in tandem with other marginalised groups and set heteropatriarchy on fire. become ungovernable, ignore social norms, uplift new voices. assimilation should not have ever been the goal. queer people are different. difference is good. the real enemy is conformity. conformity is responsible for every man made horror in history. war, poverty, hate crimes, slavery, genocide, they are all made possible by the existence and desirability of a status quo. remove the desirability of normalcy and you remove the foundation for all systems of suffering. systems work because a majority of people have decided it was in their best interest to uphold them. but is it really? remove the desirability of normalcy and you have no grounds for competition. keep quiet out of fear that the system will decide you are abnormal next, and you are making sure it will. fuck civilisation, fuck normalcy, fuck the status quo.