I think about this a lot...
I just want you all to know, even if you don't see any people in your area with pronoun pins or bright, queer clothing, or with clockable traits, there's a very good chance you're surrounded by queer people who are blending in with the cishets. You're not alone.
Ever since I've started passing, I've had this repeated thought... I'll be in a public place and I'll see someone who's almost definitely queer, and it makes my day, but then I wonder, do they see me? Do they know I'm here? Do they understand that I'm one of them?
To be passing is what a lot of trans people see as the end goal, but, if you're not trying to be stealth but simply not going out of your way to display that you're queer, it can come with a profound sense of sudden exclusion - like you're too passing to count anymore, or like you'll be unrecognizable to your queer siblings
So, for everyone's benefit, I just want to say, remember that there are those of us who don't stand out. Don't assume every person that you don't clock as trans is cis. Don't assume every person that you don't clock as gay is straight. We speak out against cisheteronormativity, but to protect ourselves and remain in the safe bubble of those we expect to be safe for ourselves, we are often times perpetuating it
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the house is definitely feeling like Me™ these days, but it’s so disconcerting when everything suddenly smells like my grandparents. I mean, it’s not surprising, say, when I pull out linens from storage and that’s how they smell, or when I (like last night) turn on the AC for the first time in a bit and the smell of them is again blown through the house. It’s nice? It’s sad? It’s interesting that it’s persisted for a year now? dunno.
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tagged by @arthurianmotifs tysm friend!
hot or cold shower / texting or calling / earbuds or headphones / paperback or hardcover / matte or gloss / 12 hr clock or 24 hr clock / blue or green / sunsets or sunrises / tulips or orchids / candle light or moonlight / sci-fi or horror / pen or pencil / pandas or koalas / gold or silver / sneakers or boots / denim or leather jacket / pink or purple / chocolate or sour candy / deodorant or perfume / drive-in theater or cinema / pastel blue or earth tones / lemonade or fruit juice / past or future
low pressure tagging @i-was-bored-so-this-happened, @stardustloki, @drewsaturday, @applefiend n anyone else who wants to do it!
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i will not let myself die until i drink a glass of ur special chai <3
i will make it w so much love !!!! just for you !!!! sayu & coco chai date when :,(
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My work boots are the most expensive shoes I’ve ever owned.
Also the most comfortable. I chose them after trying on several different brands and comparing lifespan vs usage vs comfort - I needed them for a physically demanding job, not the weekend hiking trails. I could have easily chosen cheaper boots that would have lasted long enough to be worth their low price, but I know the Sam Vimes Boot Theory and knew weaker, less comfortable boots would make my life harder in the long run.
So when the outside edge of the heel started wearing down after three years of heavy use I went to the shop I got them from and said “hey this is a common problem for me with how I walk but now it’s affecting my ankles and knees and I don’t wanna have to buy a new pair, is there a way to fix this?”
The salesman at this very fancy upscale boot store said “oh yeah, there’s a shoe repair place that can give you some heel guards - it’ll keep the rubber from wearing out.”
So at 8am this morning right after my 9hr shift ends I went to the shoe repair shop and it is the most hole-in-the-wall, is-this-a-real-business-or-a-mafia-front, am-I-gonna-get-shot tiny cinder block cube I’ve ever seen in my life. I grew up plenty poor and love me a good hole-in-the-wall business, but going from upscale store to this cash-only repair shop gave me whiplash. Wasn’t expecting this when a guy who wears three piece suits to sell boots said it’s the best place to go.
The skinny kid behind the counter looks somehow 16 and 25 at the same time, but when I tell him this place was recommended he smiles and says to hand over my boots. I hand him the vaguely warm foot-smelling boots, and stand in my socks in the 3’ square entryway surrounded by every color leather polish you could buy and watch as he turns my boots around in his hands, sizes up a crescent moon bits of plastic, and unceremoniously hammers tiny nails through them before handing them back.
The heels are perfectly level again. I can walk without almost rolling my ankles. They don’t clack loudly on the pavement or feel different. This is gonna fix my knee pain. It cost $10.
This kid had every tool he needed within arms reach, worked fast and smoothly, I was in and out the door in less than 8 minutes, and it only cost $10.
I didn’t think anything could cost only $10 anymore. I’m so used to hyperinflation prices I was spiritually thrown back to the 1400’s visiting the cobbler in town square. This kid might have been that cobbler and just decided to never die.
I’m still reeling from the whiplash, and gobsmacked at the price, and thrilled I didn’t have to go buy new, worse work boots (cuz I don’t have that kind of money for a second pair, I’m expecting these ones to last a decade) and it feels like I just experienced one of the rare little chunks of magic that floats around our world.
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