The panopticon of the world is, in fact, not real, and you do not need to perform for anyone, especially if it is making your experience in the world worse. You may look fantastic, but is that worth the discomfort? That is up to you to decide.
- are your pants too tight? This will make it difficult to sit down, run, or walk, and will pull at your underwear. If you have to think about pulling up your pants so your bottom doesnât show, you are distracted from the joy of just existing
- do you need to pull up the neckline of your shirt, readjust any straps underneath, or pull it where you want it to sit on your body every few minutes?
- do your socks get wet through your shoes with even the slightest moisture? Do your socks fall off your heels when you try to walk?
- is your hair getting caught on branches, tangled, in your eyes, or generally âruinedâ by humidity?
Im not saying that you need to feel ugly to be comfortable, but i am saying, if you have worn these sorts of clothes and hair styles for many years, you might not realize just how inhibited your ability to move is by the majority of (usually feminine) clothing. And,,, you just, you donât have to wear clothes like that of you donât want to. The birds arenât gonna tell on you if you donât look like a princess, and tbh, men have permission to wear comfortable clothes out and about so why shouldnât you?
All that said: if you want to be confortable outside, especially out in nature, here are some things that have helped me. admitedly maybe im just particularly sensitive to annoying clothing and if this is just a me thing, well, my bad. obviously, the goal is your own personal comfort, which may not be the same as me
- high waisted pants that fit well on your waist. You should be able to fully squat in them without your underwear twisting or them falling off somehow. Cargo pants, or most things with an elastic waistband will work. If going into nature, pants are better than shorts if the weather will permit it, just to keep your legs from getting scrapes and as a layer of protection from bug bites, ticks, or snakes.
Extra points tip: pants with elastic on the bottoms so nothing can crawl up the pant legs!!
If you can sew by chance, these are the best pants, i love them so much đ https://pin.it/wrZj7TWLR
May 10, 2025 - This Patterns & Blueprints item by LeilaMakesShop has 7197 favorites from Etsy shoppers. Ships from United States. Listed on
- close-toed shoes, preferably without âbreathabilityâ if you might encounter some puddles.
- socks that you have tested and know will not fall off of your heels lol. Probably at least ankle-length or longer. Also socks add another protection against bugs
- any sort of shirt with a smaller neckline. Again, provides protection and support and you donât have to worry about adjusting. Literally a normal t shirt is your best bet. I know, not the cutest, but again, i implore you, being cute doesnt have to be your top priority.
- yeah you are gonna want your hair secured in some way probably. Braid, bun, ponytail, hat. âMy hair gets so frizzy outside.â Hi, that is what hair looks like sometimes. It doesnât need to be frizz free. If itâs bothering you, distracting you, or getting caught, maybe put it up. Otherwise, who cares if its not perfect?
Anyway, ive been outside a lot lately, and i just wish someone had told teenage me that i didnt need to be beautiful when camping, or worried about my hair after swimming in the ocean... It has genuinely been detrimental to my health that i spent all of my teenage years unable to run, jump, climb, roll, cartwheel because i was worried about what it would look like. Wearing clothes that made it very difficult to move did not help! But hey i looked cute though right. Who cares if now in my twenties i have lost all the gymnastic skills i had as a child and have such a small amount of muscle tone that i am working from the ground up to get back to the strength i had at 11 yrs old.
I saw a tiktok of someone doing thumbnail value studies while they watched a movie, so I tried it on episode 5 (little bit of 6) of Moon Knight. After that many studies your brain turns into a mush of shapes that is perfect for drawing. I am in love with that shot of Layla and I donât think I could have drawn it if I hadnât spent 2 hours focusing on values over and over
An In the Heights/Hamilton crossover fic no one asked for :)
Summary: There probably wasn't ever a great time to remember your past life, but you couldn't get much worse than the middle of a blackout in Washington Heights.
ââââââ-
Chapter One: Memories
Usnavi knew exactly what was happening and yet had never been so overwhelmed in his entire life. Maybe it was the stress of the night, the heat, or the push and pull of dozens of people that triggered it. He remembered the pulsing lights, red, white, green, blue, and it smelled like sweat and liquor, and he had just a bit too much to drink and Vanessa, she left him behind in the crowd of dancers. What the hell was he supposed to do? Go after her? Did she want him to go after her? Did he want to go after her? She was having a great time, huh? Course she was. Why did he agree to go clubbing of all things? He wanted to sit and talk to her.
And then someone threw a punch, and the crowd of dancers became this roaring, massive creature, rippling with violence. They needed to get out of here. He spun in a circle, ducked away from two men barreling into each other, and found himself, with a thud, against the wall.
Was there an exit? Where the hell did door go? Where was Vanessa? Iâm going to die, he thought, which was irrational. He knew it was irrational. Iâm going to get trampled and Vanessa is gonna get hurt. This is my fault. I shouldnât have made her come with me. A panicked buzz in the back of his brain started up. But then the lights went out, and everything got so much worse.
People screamed. Someone slammed an elbow into his stomach and Usnavi let out a yell. Iâve been here before, he thought. He should have fallen back against the wall, but the wall vanished.
Knee-deep in water and so cold he wished he was dead. Fireworks popped around him, lighting up the pitch-black forest in angry red. No, not fireworks. He dropped against a tree and clung to his own weapon. His fingers shook as he tried to load it. I canât die here. I have so much to do. Other soldiers were running past him. Running away. Why were they running? What was going on?
And then he was in another place. A ballroom lit with candles. The summer night air drifted through the window, and a womanâs hands were in his own. âLook how bright the moon is tonight,â the woman said, and Alexander loved her.
Alexander sat at his desk. His neck ached. He needed more candles. A little metal click startled him out of his half-asleep state and the flicker of a candle finally hushed, leaving him in the dull streetlights out his window. Behind him, he heard the rustle of sheets. Someone lit another candle, and he had an idea. âBetsy?â She looked up from their bed, her hair loose, and she blinked dark, curious eyes. âWould you write for me if told you what to say? I am near expired as it is.â
His brother clutched his hand as they watched a black boy bury their mother in the hillside. âWe canât bury her in the churchyard,â the priest said. âIt simply isnât proper.â Alexander looked past the mahogany trees, down to the sea, while the priest droned on. He felt so weak his legs hurt just standing. What were they going to do now?
He is in his office and there is a pile of gold coins on his desk. He forces a polite smile at the man on the other side of his desk and slides his papers out from under the money. What sort of lawyer does this fool think he is? âIâm afraid, sir, I cannot offer my services.â
A tall yellow hall on a winter celebration. A lopsided wedding hall filled with people Alexander didnât know, and there she was, radiant, finally at his side. My father didnât come. Why did I think heâd come? He should be enjoying this moment. He wanted to so badly be happy.
Seven barrels of salt. Two dozen bags of flour. Herring. The mules weâre expecting havenât come in yet. If they are here by tomorrow, perhaps that will make up for the sugar loss last weekâŠ
Heâs standing on a table in bare feet. âRepeat after me, now,â says an old woman who gives him sweets when mama isnât looking. âWai'da'beyr e'lo'him eyt kol had'va'rim ha'ey'leh ley'morâŠâ
Theyâre pulling into the harbor. The buildings are so much bigger than he imagined. âI am born on this ship. I died, and now I am born anew.â
He canât feel his legs, heâs on his back, the priest looks like heâs going to be sick, and his Bible shakes. âI cannot administer communion in good conscienceâŠâ He didnât think this would actually happen.
He was at the cobblestone seaside. The rain roared. It fell so hard it felt like it whips. He watched in horror as a building collapsed under the strength of the wind and a barrel larger than he was tall flew overhead. He ran, screaming, down a dock, chased by the incredible power of the sea and he thought, God must be furious.
One memory, and then another, like he was falling down a great chasm, or watching the flickering frames of a film run faster and faster until they blurred into a whirlwind. They surrounded him. He looked down the barrel of a gun on a horrible foggy morning. He wasnât finished.
Alexander burst into the street, pressed forward by a wave of people. Sirens rang in the distance.
Washington Heights.
They were.
They were here, home, in the barrio. Hardly any time had passed, and yet it had been a lifetime. A lifetime did not do it justice, nor would near an eternity. The air was hot, but it wasnât so bad compared to inside the club. He gulped down the air like heâd been drowning. What street was he on? How did he get here?
The crowd, the roar once overwhelming, now fell back, completely outside of him. Everyone was dispersing. Their panic subsided. It was just a blackout. He stood frozen in the middle of the street, eyes up. He wasnât the only one. In the darkness, you could see fireworks peeking between the buildings for miles, and it was one of the most beautiful things Alexander had ever seen. Today was the 4th of July. He couldnât believe people still did the fireworks thing.
âShit,â they whispered. Whatever strength held them up suddenly gave away, and Usnavi dropped onto the curb unceremoniously, catching himself barely with a hand. He didnât dare move for a long time. Instead, he looked at their hands. His hands. He could see them in the red light of the fireworks, but he only got glimpses. He was himself. Same hands, same clothes, same shoes. The same little scar on his thumb from trying to fix Abuelaâs jacked-up swamp-cooler last summer.
Usnavi breathed in shakily and dropped his head into those hands. It was just his luck this had to happen right now. He had a store to run and rent to make and Sonny to take care of and he didnât have time for this!
He needed⊠he needed to get out of the street. Alexander forced himself to stand. His head felt very empty and very heavy at the same time. When he was young, and his mother gave him pomegranates to dig into. Heâd peel open the fruit only to find dozens and dozens of seeds he couldnât see before. Yeah. His head felt like a peeled pomegranate. Suddenly, he panicked. Which mother? Which one had pomegranates? Perhaps both. It was difficult to pin down when you last ate a piece of fruit. Also, he wasnât sure how often he would have had access to pomegranates back then, so perhaps⊠No, no, he was getting distracted. Every thought led to an onslaught of more thoughts, more memories, all hot and bleeding with immediacy.
Alexander rubbed his face with his hands. Off the street. He was trying to get off the street. Something bugged him, something heâd forgotten about, but there was way too much going on in his head right now to place it. Instead, Usnavi squinted at the street around him. This was⊠oh, yeah, this was right by the pawn shop. He could get home from here. The familiarity calmed him immensely, and he started walking. People were running around still. He could hear breaking glass somewhere. His shop was gonna be screwed.
He had a shop.
Huh.
Alexander shook himself and kept walking. He passed through the streets on near autopilot, and only realized where he was going when he reached Abuelaâs doorstep. He didnât hesitate. Usnavi knocked hard on the door. Locked, thank goodness. âAbuela, itâs me. Are you here?â His voice sounded odd in his own ears.
A moment later, the lock clicked back and Abuela ushered him in with a cry and a quick embrace. âCome, come inside, cariño!â It was dark in the stairwell, but Abuela had a flashlight, and the yellow flicker of candlelight beckoned them upstairs. She was wearing her pajama and well-worn slippers.
âI-Iâm glad youâre safe. No oneâs bothered you?â
âNo, no. I locked the door when people started running by.â She flapped a hand dismissively and led him up the staircase to her little kitchen. âI have lots of candles, and Sonny just called.â
Oh, shit, Sonny. He forgot about Sonny. âIs he okay?â
âSĂ, he made it to his fatherâs.â Abuela led him to the kitchen table and sat him down by the wall chair. Abuelaâs kitchen was small and outdated and her fridge was covered in magnets, pictures, and fliers. On a little windowsill, she had half a dozen sort-of alive plants. She was right about having candles. Sheâd dotted the counters and the tables with a variety of them. Usnavi had been here a million times, and it felt more like home than anywhere else on the planet
âWe have all that food left since we didnât have dinner,â Abuela was saying. She bustled from the fridge to the stove. âAy, and now itâll go bad if the power doesnât come back on⊠That man could have waited for us to eat before dropping such news on us all like aâŠâ She pursed her lips. âWell. It is what it is. Are you hungry, niño?
âNot really. I feel kind of nauseous, actually.â
Abuela frowned and looked him up and down for the first time. Genuine concern crossed her face, and she stopped what she was doing. âTea?â
âThat sounds nice.â
She put on a kettle, and then, with a sigh, sat herself down in the wooden seat across from him. Usnavi picked at the tableâs plastic covering. His hand was shaking. Abuela must have seen it too because she grasped that hand in her own.
âWhatâs wrong?â she asked. âWhat happened?â
Usnavi didnât even consider not telling her, but it was still hard to say. So hard, that it took him several attempts where heâd open his mouth, almost start crying, close it again, and grip her hand tight.
âI just remembered some, um, things.â This was, in no way, an adequate explanation, but Abuela must have understood.
She sat back in shock, momentarily taking her hands away, before returning them immediately. âDios mĂo.â
âYeah. I was, dancing, ya know, with Vanessa, but then a fight broke out and it was like super-hot in there, and then the power went out and, and I guess it- well, I donât know. I just started remembering and it was a lot, like a lot-a lot to take in at once, and I thought I was gonna die, and I almost did die a bunch of times, back then, I mean.â He broke off and bowed his head quick, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
Abuela murmured, and her thumb gently rubbed up and down the back of his palm. âCĂĄlmate, cĂĄlmate.â
âItâs just, I mean, I know this happens sometimes, but its rare, right? You donât think, or, I never thought I was, and, andâŠâ
âShh,â she rested a hand on his cheek. Usnavi leaned into it with relief.
âLo siento,â he said. He pulled back with a sniff and scrubbed his face with a hand. He was a grown man. This was embarrassing. âIâm fine. Iâll be fine.â
Behind them, the kettle began to whistle. Abuelaâs lips were pursed tight. Her eyes shone as she rose to fetch it. When she turned back with two cups, sheâd composed herself.
She set the steaming cup in front of him, and Alexander watched the steam rise and brown seep and swirl into the water. Careful, he cupped the warm thing between his hands. âThank you.â
For a moment, they just drank their tea, and Alexander tried to think about nothing. He was not very successful. He sipped. It was sweet.
Finally, Abuela took a deep breath. âI worked with a woman who used to live in India in the 13th century,â she said. âShe was a very quiet young woman, but she worked hard.â She drank some of her tea and squinted her eyes. âAnd I met a man on the subway once who told me he used to kill cats back in the 1800s.â
Usnavi blanched. âWhat, for fun?â
âNo, they paid him, I think.â Abuela shrugged. âHe could have been crazy though, I donât know.â
âIs this supposed to make me feel better?â
âI just mean that in a city this big, there are lots of old souls.â She patted his arm. âYouâre still my Usnavi.â
Alexander breathed deep, took another long sip of tea, and nodded. She was right. This happened all the time. Well, not all the time. But like, one out of five hundred or something. He wasnât any different than before. Probably. He just needed to calm the hell down. It wasnât like he was dying right now. He swallowed thickly. âSorry to spring this on you.â
âAy, no, no. It is good you told me.â She smiled. â⊠do you want to talk about it?â
Talk about it? Usnavi could barely comprehend it all, much less put it into words. But, then again, maybe talking would help. He learned better out loud anyway. Usnavi considered the new space in his head, where all those damn pomegranate seeds hid. âI⊠donât know. I think it might just make you sad, Abuela.â
Perhaps this wasnât the best thing to say, because she looked sad anyway, but Abuela nodded. Then a spark lit in her eyes. âI have something that is going to make this night a little better.â
âWhat, good wine?â
âAy, no, no,â she tutted. âYouâve had enough to drink.â Fair enough. âLet me get it.â She stood and made her way to the bedroom. When she returned, Abuela held a large freezer bag in her hands, the sort they used for taking lunch to the zoo when Usnavi was younger. It was full of⊠something, and heavy enough, apparently. Abuela dropped the bag on the table with a huff and gestured for him to open it.
Curious, Usnavi stood and unzipped the bag. He peered inside.
So, I keep seeing ÏĄīáčŹĂ âȘïžwashed fanart of the Madrigal family and itâs driving me up the wall in frustration. Please spread this. And, of course, feel free to use this and share it! You can also repost this as long as you source! Thank you! đ
(Also, I love Bruno, didnât mean to leave him outâI hope to do Bruno laterâbut I was too tired to edit him into the family portrait today)