#The Manifesto on How to Be Interesting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soleadita · 1 year

Text

the queer pepa diaz manifesto

alternatively titled: thinking about Them (my queer headcanons for pepa diaz <333)(based on nothing but vibes + wishful thinking.)

so i had this silly little thought and it was gonna stay mostly in my head but @scattered-winter and @xjustonemoremiraclex asked (ty besties <33) so i am delivering.

uh. basically, i think it would be cool if tía pepa was queer, and here’s why:

(1) as far as we know, (i think??) pepa is single.

just off the top of my head, i think about 2x04, when abuela breaks her hip, pepa calls eddie to the hospital, and there's a Childcare Situation. not once is there a mention of there being anyone else who is available to help...like, for example, a partner. of pepa's. and then i also think of 5x17, when eddie, pepa, and chris travel to el paso for ramon's retirement party, where there is, again, no mention of...anyone else who might've been left behind in la.

and okay. look. i'm not saying that every presumably unpartnered older woman must be queer. i'm also not saying that there's anything wrong with being an unpartnered older woman, queer or otherwise.

i am saying, however, that pepa's presumed singleness supports my delusions. <3 and if, in my head, there are two pepas (one with a really badass girlfriend and one who is aroace and single and happy <3333)...well, what about it?

(2) how did pepa end up in la? (this is going to be SO long, but it will connect, i promise. just stay with me.)

okay, look. to accurately explain this, i have to tell you: the geographical locations of the diazes are SOOOOO….*screams* THEY PLAGUE ME (affectionate). I THINK ABOUT THEM ALL THE TIME. like, okay, why are pepa and abuela in la while ramon and helena are in el paso? where did ramon and pepa grow up? did they start out in la and then ramon moved to el paso? did they start out in el paso and then pepa (and abuela) eventually moved to la? whAT IS THE BACKSTORY HERE?

furthermore - were isabel and edmundo born in the united states? did they emigrate from mexico? (what part of mexico?) if they did immigrate to the us, did they settle in la and then ramon moved to el paso, or did they settle in el paso and then pepa (and abuela, eventually) moved to la? maybe they didn't immigrate at all; maybe eddie's ancestors have been in texas longer than texas has been part of the us.

(note: i realize this is splitting hairs to a nearly obnoxious degree, but, look. i cannot tell you all how FASCINATING i find the minutiae of this. i definitely don't have the brainspace right now to explain this the way it deserves to be explained, and maybe i'm not making sense, and maybe i'm talking in circles, but, like. regional differences matter. the year/era in which your family immigrated matters. where they emigrated from matters. where they immigrate to matters. socioeconomic status matters. it's absolutely wild to me, for example, that my dad's family immigrated to california’s central valley from michoacán and worked in the fields a la the circuit; and they have cultural differences compared to other families in my hometown who are from the same place in mexico but landed in a different part of california and in completely different occupations.

anyway, all that to say, if i spend too much time thinking about cultures and subcultures and the way some things are different based on region and some things are the same no matter what and the tiny differences in food preparation and recipes and desserts and childhood snacks and tamales (DO NOT GET ME FUCKING STARTED ON THE TAMALES) and slang, and the way all these things interact…i explode my brain. IT'S JUST. SOOOO COOL.

and yeah maybe i’m being overdramatic and silly. this is just humanity. but like. humanity is cool!?)

so, anyway. i've been chewing on this for the last six months or so, and i finally landed on this: abuela isabel and abuelo edmundo immigrated to el paso, where pepa and ramon grew up; pepa moved to la for some reason; and then, when abuelo died, abuela moved to la to live with pepa. this also, i thought, could explain why abuela moves back to el paso (offscreen…hgggghhh). maybe the move to la was never meant to be permanent, maybe she has more family in el paso that she wanted to be close to again, maybe it started becoming too much for her to maintain her own house, etc.

(note: this doesn’t totally account for what we learned in 6x07—after abuelo died, abuela almost lost the house, ramon and pepa stepped in to help, etc, which seems to imply that abuelo AND abuela were living in LA. anyway, i mentally constructed all of this pre-“cursed” and haven’t gone back to rebuild with the new info yet.)

(another note: my original headcanon was that abuela and pepa were sisters instead of mother and daughter, and that abuela moved to la to stay with her sister after abuelo died (yeah, eddie calls her tía pepa, but so what? i have a tía cuca who's technically my great-aunt). i was aware this was far-fetched, but, idk, i have such a fucking soft spot for adult sisters saying, "fuck tradition, fuck societal norms, fuck expectations, let's be single and besties and housemates." anyway, then i remembered that in 5x17, pepa explicitly calls abuela "mami" and refers to ramon as her brother. so, i scrapped that, but the concept is still beloved to me.)

(2.5) which finally brings me back to my original question: how did pepa end up in la?

i'm trying to think of a way to put my thought process here into writing. i'll start with: latinx families are not a monolith, chicanx families are not a monolith, immigrant families are not a monolith, every family and every person and every situation is different, etc. that said, from my **experiential and very anecdotal** knowledge of my family and family friends, our parents and tias and tios around pepa's age and generation stayed somewhat close-ish to their families of origin.

and, again, obviously, this is not the case for everyone. and i don't want to make sweeping generalizations about the diaz family based on my very specific, very tiny, very unscientific sample size. but!! it did make me wonder!!!

so. if i’m operating under the assumption that isabel and edmundo raised their children in el paso, and pepa grew up there, why does she live in la as an adult? what compelled her to move away from her hometown, from (what i presume was) an established emotional support system, from a place where she is known and a place that knows her back? and not just out of el paso, but out of texas, to a city that is states away and over a 12 hour drive?

so, yeah. i feel like after all that buildup, i should have something more substantial to say, but basically, i propose that pepa moved away from home to BE GAY IN LA!!!!! <3333 (and maybe to go to college or something. maybe she was somehow involved in the chicano movement. <3)

(3) i’ve been feeling extra soft thinking about queerness and family and ancestors lately.

disclaimer: this is conjecture and projection; this is me getting (perhaps too?) personal and sentimental; it's very much based on my own personal experiences, and it's not meant to be representative of anything else.

lately, i've been thinking about this: my dad, as far as i know, is not queer. (and this is not about me secretly thinking he is. i don’t think that, for the record.) but i look at him as an aging adult who is just now getting to know himself better. he's in therapy. he’s realizing he's probably neurodivergent (now that his kids are being diagnosed, lmao). he's figuring out how to have a life that doesn’t revolve around working and meeting everyone else's needs before his own. he laughs more. he's funny. he's such a good dad, and i'm so fucking proud of him. but sometimes i wonder - how would his life have been different, if he'd had the resources to start doing this earlier?

i don't know. i could say so much more. i could talk about how immigrants (and particularly older, nonwhite immigrants who work certain types of jobs) are often dehumanized across all mainstream media forms. i could talk about how they're often portrayed as stern and stoic and self-sacrificing and not as humans with thoughts and feelings and people who love them. i could talk about how this fucking country sucks the life out of people, how you're expected to give all your energy to the economy, to your employer, and it's still not enough, oftentimes, to have resources for living. for thriving.

and then i think about this: under these circumstances, when you're doing everything you can just to keep yourself alive...would you know you're queer?

some people do. i know that, that some people just know, and i love that. i think that's beautiful.

i might not have ever known, though. i needed to do deep-dive googling. i needed to separate myself from my family of origin (ideologically, at least) and unlearn the christian homophobic shit i'd been raised in. i needed to have some semblance of independence before i could explore other possibilities, because as a child, as an adolescent, as a dependent on my parents, i was living under the crushing weight of "i need to be this certain way, so that i know for sure i will be loved and cared for."

and, like...not everyone has the option or the resources or the time or the safety to do all that.

i've also been thinking about this: of my siblings, 3/4 of us are queer. i have too many cousins and second cousins and aunts and uncles to count, and sometimes, at family gatherings, i look around and go, i just know more of us are queer. i know we had queer ancestors. there's just...no way that we didn't. and i just...i don't know. i wonder about them? i wonder if they knew? i wonder if they just assumed everyone else felt like this too, and buried it and kept living life by the prescribed roles. did they rebel? did they challenge heteronormativity in tiny ways, ways that others may have never noticed but that felt personally significant? maybe they never got married. maybe they were forced into marriages they never wanted. maybe they never knew there was another way and found someone they could stand being around and just...ya know. did the thing, because it was the thing to do for survival.

so...i guess i just think. and this is where the projection comes in, because this is so about me being in my own feels, but. i don't know. this is partly why i love thinking about the possibility of a queer pepa. not even in canon, because, yeah, i understand that calling her a side character is generous at best, and who knows if we'll ever see her onscreen again. but just...in my head? in my imagination? what if an older latina, an older mexican american woman, was allowed to embark on a journey of self-discovery and self-actualization that, in media, is so often reserved for young, beautiful, messy people of a certain race and class?

i just.... <3333 wouldn't that be...something?

(4) i just think it would be sweet, ok?

i know it's not like this for everyone. i know friendships and found family is just as tender and sacred. but, on god, my life changed when i found out there are other queer people in my immediate family. other people who just know how it might've felt to grow up queer in your specific cultural context. to grow up unsure and lost and maybe a little repressed and maybe a lot scared. to grow up with religious parents who might not approve or understand (maybe they will, maybe they won't, but how do you know for certain until it's too late to take it back? and how do you cope with that hanging over your head?). it's such a fucking relief!!

my relationship with my queer younger siblings is one of my favorite things in the entire world. and, like, yeah, we’ve been emotional and moral supports for each other, but i’ve also just learned so much about queerness from them. comp het? yeah. classic lesbian ~cinema~? yeah. fuck, they’re the ones who taught me about gender dysphoria and who first talked to me about gender envy. they’re literally the reasons why i know so much more about myself.

so anyway, part of the queer pepa brainrot started because i was imagining something like that for eddie. something where he comes out, and he finds out that this cherished person in his life who has known him and loved him since he was born, who has helped care for his child, who helped make LA a home for him...is also like him? that she gets it? that she understands?

and i just...kept thinking.

maybe eddie has his Queer Realization and eventually comes out to chris and abuela and pepa. and maybe pepa didn't really know she was queer before then. maybe when eddie comes out and starts explaining, things start clicking for her. maybe she learns things from him. maybe he learns things from her. maybe in june, they go to pride together.

or maybe she’s known for a long time. maybe later, she pulls him aside. "i didn't want to take away from your moment, mijo," she says, "but - me too. me too." or maybe she shares it right there, in that moment, so that chris is included. maybe the next night, chris and abuela bake and decorate the most rainbow-covered, pride-filled cake to ever exist.

and maybe she’s already told abuela.

maybe, decades ago, they sat at the kitchen table for breakfast, and over a plate of eggs and salsa and tortillas, pepa finally mustered up the courage to tell her mami. maybe her hands shook so badly she almost spilled her coffee. maybe isabel read the apprehension on her daughter's face, reached out and steadied her fingers, and told pepa she will always love her, that there is nothing wrong with her, that there is nothing to be ashamed of. and then maybe they held each other and cried, and it was beautiful.

in conclusion: the end.

❤️🧡💛💚💙💖💜🤍🖤

#i literally don’t even know how to tag this #it's like *almost* a character study. except it isn't. because most of this is the tía pepa in my head and not the one on screen.#it’s a journal entry and a rant about how the united states sucks and also a love letter to queer family #anyway #i called it a manifesto as a joke at first and then it turned into one of the longest things i've written in a while. whoops.#niche content that caters specifically to me and my interests etc etc #i just think: multiple queer arcs for the diaz family <3 #pepa diaz #eddie diaz #isabel diaz #diaz family #911 fox #long post #leo's void thoughts #queer pepa diaz #queer pepa manifesto

21 notes · View notes

protect-namine · 6 months

Text

"anti software software club is a not-for-profit software company that hates the software industry" okay, fine, you got my attention with that pitch

#mine musings #not really moving to cohost bc i know tumblr will still be around for a long while (though with a skeletal crew)#tbh. i'm more interested about the company than the new social media they're doing lmao #they have a manifesto!!! okay i'm down to check that out #so if they seem alright (will check their website later) i might make an account #less as a tumblr alternative and more because i might want to support them or see how they'll do. not sure yet #at the very least maybe i'll archive my sideblogs there

1 note · View note

zevranunderstander · 2 years

Text

cyberpunk is like. dragon age if anders would have died and came back to live in someones head a few hundred years later. but anders is a massive sexist and a huge fucking asshole in this one

#myposts #idk i just think they have a lot of paralells #bisexual. wrote a manifesto. anarchists. blew up a building of said faction they were rebelling against.#kind of started a massive conflict. etc etc etc.#also its somehow interesting how anders shares his body with justice and johnny has to share his body with V #like. one is in mutual agreement of both parties and the other is the exact opposite #idk did anyone ask me to talk about anders / johnny silverhand paralells? nope

10 notes · View notes

lafcadiosadventures · 1 year

Text

Le principe de la liberté littéraire, déjà compris par le monde qui lit et qui médite, n’a pas été moins complètement adopté par cette immense foule, avide des pures émotions de l’art, qui inonde chaque soir les théâtres de Paris. Cette voix haute et puissante du peuple, qui ressemble à celle de Dieu, veut désormais que la poésie ait la même devise que la politique : tolérance et liberté.

The principle of literary freedom already understood by the world of readers and intellectuals, was no less adopted by this immense mass, avid of the pure sensations of Art that flood every evening the theaters of Paris. This loud and powerful voice of the people that resembles that of God, wants poetry to have the same devise as politics: tolerance and liberty

Victor Hugo, preface to Hernani

#i get it i get it #i get hugolatry now #this is so good I would follow someone who spoke like this to battle #victor hugo #hernani #working my way through the manifestos of romanticism #the cromwell one has some great moments but i think this one’s better #there’s some elitism here #it’s interesting how the theatre audience is thought of as the mass looking for thrills #vs the readers and thinkers and high intellectuals #but i love that about the voice of the people being the voice of god #also censorship was intense in this era #it took balls to write this

6 notes · View notes

cantofworms · 1 year

Text

#it is a bit interesting to see how the dash is reacting to the speedrun stuff like.#old dtblr everyone would be here going insane doomstoping sui baiting making Insane posts etc…… iykyk #but now it’s like. ya everyone’s upset for good reason but there’s no crazy manifestos or just #it’s wayyyyy less intense than what old dtblr would have made it to be I Know that for a fact #it’s just nice idk everyone fr is just chilling now #but it’s still and fuck geosquare !!! tbc ohhhhhh dreamie my dreamie :(

6 notes · View notes

hydrostorm · 2 years

Text

i remember how much i used to love ska- i think if i listen to everything goes numb again ill pass away

#i used to listen to others but i remember streetlight manifesto was what got me into it big time #its the only one i still remember sadly.. sucks how my interests and memories become buried #i used to cry to a moment of silence on the REG

3 notes · View notes

agentromanoffsir · 1 year

Text

neocities guide - why you should build your own html website

do you miss the charm of the 90s/00s web where sites had actual personality instead of the same minimalistic theme? are you feeling drained by social media and the constant corporate monopoly of your data and time? do you want to be excited about the internet again? try neocities!!

what is neocities?

neocities is a free hosting website that lets you build your own html website from scratch, with total creative control. in their own words: "we are tired of living in an online world where people are isolated from each other on boring, generic social networks that don't let us truly express ourselves. it's time we took back our personalities from these sterilized, lifeless, monetized, data mined, monitored addiction machines and let our creativity flourish again."

why should I make my own website?

web3 has been overtaken by capitalism & conformity. websites that once were meant to be fun online social spaces now exist solely to steal your data and sell you things. it sucks!! building a personal site is a great way to express yourself and take control of your online experience.

what would I even put on a website?

the best part about making your own site is that you can do literally whatever the hell you want! focus on a specific subject or make it a wild collection of all your interests. share your art! make a shrine for one of your interests! post a picture of every bird you see when you step outside! make a collection of your favorite blinkies! the world is your oyster !! here are some cool example sites to inspire you: recently updated neocities sites | it can be fun to just look through these and browse people's content! space bar | local interstellar dive bar creature feature | halloween & monsters big gulp supreme peanutbuttaz | personal site dragodiluna linwood | personal site patho grove | personal site

getting started: neocities/html guide

sound interesting? here are some guides to help you get started, especially if you aren't familiar with html/css sadgrl.online webmastery | a fantastic resource for getting started with html & web revival. also has a layout builder that you can use to start with in case starting from scratch is too intimidating web design in 4 minutes | good for learning coding basics w3schools | html tutorials templaterr | demo & html for basic web elements eggramen test pages | css page templates to get started with sadgrl background tiles | bg tiles rivendell background tiles | more free bg tiles

fun stuff to add to your site

web revival manifestos & communities

also, there's actually a pretty cool community of people out there who want to bring joy back to the web! melonland project | web project/community celebrating individual & joyful online experiences. Also has an online forum melonland intro to web revival | what is web revival? melonking manifesto | status cafe | share your current status nightfall city | online community onio.cafe | leave a message and enjoy the ambiance sadgrl internet manifesto | yesterweb internet manifesto | sadly defunct, still a great resource reclaiming online social spaces | great manifesto on cultivating your online experience

in conclusion

i want everyone to make a neocities site because it's fun af and i love seeing everyone's weird personal sites that they made outside of the control of capitalism :) say hi to me on neocities

72K notes · View notes

berryzul · 16 days

Text

haven't studied, don't wanna study, test is tomorrow, in less than 24 hours 🧍🏻‍♀️

#i am soooOoo good at getting 10s in university #it's not like i don't care about the subject matters either.... though these ones are definitely less interesting 😭#maybe i am in the wrong degree afterall.... not changing for the 3rd time.... wouldn't like the others either im pretty sure lmao #i really don't like studying #I don't want 10s but i do like 12s ...out of 20... equivalent to 60/100 😅 I'd prefer 14s but like.... effort? don't wanna put it in so #no bc I've failed sm at getting 14s that i like 12s now #friend says it doesn't really matter what grade i pass with if im not getting into a masters but... i might want to do a masters idk 😭#thinking of aesthetics and ethics 😃 but who knows... I'll only have those classes next year #another friend talked abt how rational and logical and in a way male oriented our degree is 😭 and im really starting to see it... or maybe #im using it as an excuse?#but i think it maybe explains why my fav subject was ancient philosophy last year and this semester it's philosophy of (our country) bc #i think both tap into an emotional and kind of irrational view of the world... very subjective even ?#politics used to be my fav ? and it's still interesting but not rn.... the comunist manifesto could be cool but i already know it from ear #well enough that talking abt it in class really wasn't anything groundbreaking 😭#well i had meant to read it before though so ig i finally did... but not in full and idr much yaaaaay 😭😭😭😭#maybe i should have turned to esthetician...ism? bc rn all i want is to google skincare 😭 fuck marx and kant and mill and constant #....im obsessed with the topic rn....#if i have time I'd actually maybe like studying that subject but i probably wouldn't like practicing bc 😞 I don't like touching ppl...#so theory ?#also sewing clothes making in general designing included!#...i could have gone to design school but :/ expensive....#IDK #I've missed a lot of opportunities and changed courses a lot and now im here... im not sure i like it and im not sure it matters #like yeah my degree isn't very employable 😭 but I couldn't get any non minimum wage job without one so... im just filling that whole ?#is this wise? I'll find out in a couple years #mya's thoughts

0 notes

alfedena · 7 months

Text

People do not realize that when we say Israel is a settler-colonial state, we mean it was literally devised in junction with European imperialism around the turn of the century.

Political Zionism was founded by Theodore Herzl. Originally, Zionists were not specifically interested in the land of Palestine as a colonial project. In fact, Herzl was debating making Argentina the focus of mass Zionist migration, which is quite ironic considering Argentina's colonial and Aryanist past. British-controlled Uganda was also offered as a possibility by Joseph Chamberlain, a Conservative imperialist.

To encourage mass Jewish migration to Palestine, he worked with the British, who had recently drove the Ottoman Empire out of the Levant, and now boasted political dominance in the region, thanks to the Sykes–Picot Agreement between the UK, France, Italy, and Russia which covertly authorized British influence in Palestine, which had become a target of colonial expansion. He specifically wished to collaborate with Cecil Rhodes, a British imperialist who played a lead role in colonizing Zimbabwe and Zambia, and later took inspiration from his time spent extracting wealth from Africa as the founder of mining conglomerate the British South Africa Company.

Herzl’s personal goals for Zionism were colonial. He said in a letter to Rhodes:

“You are being invited to help make history. It doesn’t involve Africa, but a piece of Asia Minor; not Englishmen but Jews […] How, then, do I happen to turn to you since this is an out-of-the-way matter for you? How indeed? Because it is something colonial […] I […] have examined this plan and found it correct and practicable. It is a plan full of culture, excellent for the group of people for whom it is directly designed, and quite good for England, for Greater Britain [...]”

At that time, Palestine was predominately populated with Arab Muslims and Christians, as well as Arab Jews (Old Yishuv) and Druze. Jews made up around 6% of the population. The Ottoman government specifically released a manifesto at the start of Zionist migration condemning the colonization, stating:

“[Jews] among us […] who have been living in our province since before the war; they are as we are, and their loyalties are our own.”

The Balfour Declaration of 1917 on behalf of parliament, officially established the British Mandate of Palestine, sowing the seeds for the modern state of Israel, by means of the UK's ongoing occupation of the region.

Zionism was never about promoting Jewish culture or safety; it has always been tied up in Western (settler-)colonial expansion. !من النهر إلى البحر

#palestine #since you guys are being obtuse😔#1) the ottoman empire was bad #2) herzl is obviously not the only representative of zionism #3) both zionism and anti zionism have complex discourses within them #4) jewish people are not a monolith

13K notes · View notes

hedgehog-moss · 5 months

Text

I meant to go admire a frozen waterfall yesterday, but I'm scared of driving on slippery roads so I ended up abandoning my car and my dreams and just wandering about by foot, following random roads.

(These first two photos are a little bit blurry because I took them while walking, but it does give them a certain je ne sais quoi... They look like childhood memories)

The soles of my boots had zero grip and were therefore great for sliding, so I ended up taking two sticks and using them like cross-country skiing poles to propel myself forward on the iciest portions of the road. It was fun! Pandolf thought I was insane. He was being extremely prudent on the icy patches, testing each step:

At the beginning of our walk he was prancing as usual but then at one point his front paws slipped forward without warning, turning him into a very long slinky dog. It was pretty funny. I laughed. I admit. He wasn't hurt but definitely a bit vexed.

We did leave the icy road on numerous occasions, to slip under fences and cross promising pastures (promising = lots of footprints; potential friends.) We met several creatures! Like this adorable shetland pony—I tried to take a photo from afar, with Pandolf nearby for scale, to show how scandalously tiny he was, but that turned out to be impossible because he was too friendly. Every time I took a step back he took two steps forward. Clearly he thought he was even better-looking from up close.

We also ran into the darling goat I mentioned yesterday, and I was told by several people on here that she looked more like a ewe.

Sorry for the mistake! But also I tried to look further into this and became more and more confused, as every source that mentioned a foolproof way to tell goats from sheep was disproven by another source—I found one that said sheep had a split upper lip while goats didn't (and my mystery friend didn't), but then another website contradicted it. I ended up with 32 tabs open with photos of goats and sheep of all kinds, some of which looked downright bizarre (what's with the Jar Jar Binks ears), and I began losing my grasp on the concept of animal species altogether. I understood how Darwin must have felt when he tried to figure out the differences between species of barnacles and asked people to send him various specimens and ended up with giant teetering piles of wet smelly boxes full of barnacles in his study that threatened to collapse and bury him alive. Then I closed my 32 tabs.

Honestly ever since learning that some sheep have horns and some goats don't, I've been lost. Not to mention, our mystery girl had a sheep-like tail but a goat-like beard. Are there sheep out there with beards and if yes, how do we make sense of the world? We should be able to point at a mammal with a goatee and say "goat" without doubting ourselves. That's my manifesto.

Whatever she was, the goat-ewe was very sweet, and she baa-ed a lot—at first I thought she was making conversation and I politely baa-ed back, before realising she was calling her horse bodyguards, just in case. Two horses soon showed up from behind a tree, very "What seems to be the problem ma'am?"

I offered nose scritches to the friendliest of the two and she went to report to the goat like "We've neutralised the threat."

Let me insert another (blurry) photo of a travelling Pandolf to symbolise the passing of time before moving on to our last encounter:

... I also had trouble taking photos of this one at first, because she kept coming closer to inspect my scarf—I thought she wanted to explore my pockets for potential treats like Pirlouit often does but no, she was very interested in the smell (texture?) of my scarf specifically.

The sky had cleared as we went down from 1300 to 1100m, as if we'd slipped under the clouds, so I tried to take a photo of this nice late-afternoon sky, and the horse finally stopped focusing on my scarf and instead started insistently positioning herself between me and my beautiful landscape.

Look at this lovely golden light in the snow over there which I was almost able to capture!

Meanwhile her pasture mate was eating a whole broom plant, slowly and thoughtfully, which makes me jealous because my llamas are supposed to eat brooms and they mostly don't, they think they're too good for brooms. They eat the very young ones but not adult brooms, so I have to do the work of three llamas and cut them myself. I wish I could send the Pampses as interns in this pasture, to learn the art of brush-clearing from this wise old horse.

I tried to take one last landscape photo and gave up when the aspiring model came to pose again.

Where was Pandolf, you might ask? Pandolf doesn't trust horses, especially large farm horses, and was quietly and insistently trying to convince me to leave. When Model Horse tried to greet him (it looks like she's chasing him but no, she was just stretching her neck to sniff him) he beat a hasty retreat toward the icy road, his former enemy. Some guard dog.

It may sound like Pandolf didn't have a very fun time on this walk, slipping on ice and running from horses, but don't worry, he found plenty of suitable empty pastures to practise his favourite hobby! Though I think at this point he has moved beyond a hobbyist and is ready to play in professional leagues. He does this thing now where he jumps up a bit to gain momentum; I don't remember him doing this last winter. He's an entirely self-taught dog (in the art of snow diving) and I'm proud of him.

#crawling along #(* edit because the first sentence said 'today' but this was yesterday)#(i got distracted by my goat vs sheep studies last night and didn't have time to finish this post!)

1K notes · View notes

frail-and-freakish · 1 year

Text

today, april 11th, is the anniversary of Mel Baggs' death. Mel Baggs was one of the early founders of the neurodiversity movement and believed that no one was too disabled for human rights, something that modern nd movements fail to understand to this day. sie was so instrumental to my understanding of literally everything. sie died from medical ableism and neglect during the beginning of the pandemic. we would be nowhere fucking near where we are now without hir. i've decided to make a masterlist of some of my favorite posts of hirs, organized into different categories.

(some of these are listed in more than one category because they overlap so much)

here are some of the "essentials" (what you might have already read by hir/should read first):

hir memorial site hosted by ASAN:

In My Language

the oak manifesto

There is ableism at the heart of your oppression, no matter what your oppression might be

Getting The Truth Out (many pages, parody of bad autism awareness campaign called "getting the word out")

the meaning of self-advocacy

what makes institutions bad

aspie supremacy can kill

here are some of hir beautiful writings on perceiving/communicating with hir environment as an autistic person, and on communication in general:

up in the clouds and down in the valley: my richness and yours

distance underthought

the naked mechanisms of echolalia

empty mirrors and redwoods

the fireworks are interesting

hir tumblr tag #sensing (@withasmoothroundstone)

on personhood and who has the authority to take it away:

being an unperson

what it means to be real

empty mirrors and redwoods

on institutions and the I/DD service system:

caregiver abuse takes many forms

"i don't know that person's program"

what my home means to me

dd service system tag

god help the critic of the dawn: glamour and its fallout

what makes institutions bad

post on the JRC

outposts in our heads

on online social justice communities/their inaccessibility:

Your politics have a problem when they contradict the real-life experiences of the people they're supposed to be about.

politics, ethics and mental widgets

hir tumblr tags #outside the wall and #little packages (@withasmoothroundstone)

misc:

The Bones My Family Gave Me

Please violate only one stereotype at a time

My sort of people, just as real as theirs.

Reviving the concept of cousins

gender tag

this is hir poems and creative works:

this is hir writing on autistics.org:

may hir memory be a blessing/revolution.

1K notes · View notes

evanchantingpeters · 10 days

Text

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 1)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff, Romance

Summary ─ Y/N is fresh in East Hollywood, LA. After a major life overhaul, she’s ready to dive into a new chapter. So, when she hits the town for a night out with friends, she unexpectedly crosses paths with none other than actor Evan Peters. Y/N tries to keep her cool and act all nonchalant, but damn, Evan’s interest throws her for a loop. Their first meeting? Total tension and flirtation, hinting at an evening full of surprises.

Disclaimer ─ In Part 1 of the series, the main characters are introduced, setting the stage for the encounter of Evan and Y/N to unfold and the sexual energy between them to build up. Things get super steamy and smutty in Part 2.

Warnings (for Part 2) ─ Obscene language, semi-public, dry humping, oral (both receiving), fingering, overstimulation, handjob, nudes, handjob, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, rough sex, extra smutty—you guys know the drill :)

Word count ─ 3.8K

18+ > If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

You step out of the shower, steam stirring around you as you wrap your hair turban-style in a towel. The anticipation of a proper night-out since you made the bold move to quit your job in Europe and pursue another life in the US tingles in your veins. It feels like forever since you’ve let loose, and tonight promises to be nothing short of epic.

Plopping down onto your bed, you grab your go-to jar of coconut body butter from the dresser. You squeeze a generous dollop onto your palm and rub your hands together. The creamy texture blends in as you work it onto your skin, leaving it smooth and oh-so-soft.

As you immerse yourself in your ritual, you hear the familiar buzz of a FaceTime call. Glancing over at your bedside table, you see “Adria,” your friend’s name, glowing on the screen. You pick up your phone, still coated in moisturiser, and her face pops up. A look of desperation is written all over her features.

“Hey, girl! What’s up?” you chirp, propping the phone on your desk to finish off your pampering session.

She lets out a dramatic groan. “Send help,” she whines, her voice tinged with panic. “I’m having a meltdown over here. I swear, I got nothing to wear.”

You can’t help but giggle at her faux-crisis. “First-world problems, brain rot,” you tease, sneaking a peek at the heap of clothes behind her. “I see you’ve got quite a selection to pick from.”

Adria pouts, swatting playfully at the camera. “Nah, these don’t count. I need everyone to be ‘she ate and left no crumbs.’ What’re going for tonight? I need some inspo!”

You chuckle sympathetically, holding the phone aloft as you pivot to show her your fit for tonight laid out on your bed. “I’m going for less is more—my thrifted mini satin dress and racing black leather jacket with my military boots and white tube socks for a touch of sass.”

She gives you a strained smile as she takes in your outfit. “Ahh, you pull off that casual vibe effortlessly, babe.”

You flip the camera back to you, shrugging nonchalantly, “I’m casual and proud!”

Adria rolls her eyes with a teasing glint. “Okay, but what about makeup? You gotta glam it up… you know the LA sparkle! That’s how we do it in East Hollywood, at least!”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Nah, I’m feeling the au naturel look. You know I suck with makeup big time—I’d probably end up looking like Pennywise.”

Rather than rehashing your “Why makeup should be banned” manifesto, you choose to dig further into the evening’s plans. “So, who else’s joining us tonight, Ad?”

She rattles off a list of names, both female and male—some known, others unknown—and you nod along. “Gotcha. I’ll be ready by 10.”

“Perf. I’ll swing by to pick you up then. Buckle up for a wild night, biyyyatch!” she exclaims, wiggling her brows at you.

You let out a choked laugh as you observe her grimacing. “Alrighty, catch you soon!”

Once you hang up, you slip into your outfit and let your hair fall loose, fluffing it up for a bit of volume. No need for fancy blowouts tonight—you’re all about that breezy, air-dried look.

With a spritz of perfume and a final check in the mirror, you grab your essentials and head out into the dazzling city lights.

As you strut into the club with your gang, the uplifting beats hit you like a wave of energy. The nostalgic tunes of early 2000’s R&B thump in your chest, urging you to groove with every step. You all weave through the sea of nightclubbers, the party mode building up inside you like a pressure cooker ready to explode.

“Let’s hit the bar!” Tommy, one of the guys and Adria’s boyfriend, shouts over Missy Elliot. You all nod in agreement, eager to keep the high spirits flowing with some booze.

You slither through more partygoers who dance erratically, all while juggling their drinks. Some move smoothly to the rhythm, while others simply jiggle around out of tune.

Neon lights flash and strobe, casting an electric glow over the bartender as he polishes a row of whiskey glasses with cool confidence. A cheeky smile plays on his lips as you hop onto an empty stool before him.

“What can I get you started?” he roars over the music, his voice cutting through the din.

“Coronas all around,” you holler, matching his tone with equal fervour. You hand him a wad of cash chipped in by everyone.

“Coming right up.” With a flick of his wrist, he expertly pops the cap off the bottle, sliding them your way with a wink.

“Thanks,” you mouth, shooting him a grin before heading back to your friends with a tray.

You take a long, satisfying gulp, the crisp taste of beer quenching your thirst. With your beverage in hand, you pace to the dance floor, your friends in tow only metres away.

Your hips swing in harmony with the melody, and your feet glide effortlessly across the ground. Heads turn and whispers follow your path. Some even reach out, uttering unintelligible words, or brush against your shoulder as you pass by.

Ignoring the distractions, you grab Adria and Jasmine, dragging them into the heart of the dance floor while the rest of the group forms a circle around you. The music engulfs you, momentarily sweeping away the grim memories of your pre-relocation life.

With each song that blares through the speakers, your body twists and twirls with fluid grace, each move perfectly timed to the tempo of the music. In that moment, you feel more alive, more liberated than ever before.

As time trickles by, the music continues to pump and the lights swirl around you. You notice Joseph, the lone blond dude in the squad, inching closer and closer to you as the night stretches on.

“Heyo, Y/N! How’s it going?” he greets you with a tap on the shoulder, his voice rumbling near your ear.

“Hey! All good now. How’s you?” you retort with a tight-lipped smile, bringing your Corona to your lips for another sip.

“Now that I’m chatting with you, much better!” he quips back, a hint of mischief in his tone. “How are you liking the States?”

Just as you’re about to respond, joyous screams erupt from Adria and a couple of other girls from your group, catching your attention. Before you can fully process what’s happening, Adria dashes toward you and jumps into your arms, nearly knocking you off balance.

“Girl! Are you on Molly or something? What’s going on?” you mock, smoothing out your dress on the cleavage before you start flashing whoever’s at close vicinity.

“Omg, you won’t believe it!” Adria squeaks, frantically clapping her hands.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Try me.”

“Ahh, my fangirling is through the roof right now! Evan Peters is here,” she cries out, bouncing up and down, squeezing your hand tightly.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “Who?”

“Evan Peters, Y/N! The hottie from American Horror Story… Kai Anderson, Cult? Kit Walker, Asylum? Seriously, don’t these ring any bells? Umm… Dahmer? Come on—you’ve watched that series!” she insists, her voice pitch rising as she tries to jog your memory.

A flicker of recognition crosses your face as your friend’s description sinks in. “Oh, right, Evan Peters,” you concede with a faint smile. “I remember now…And?”

Adria’s eyes widen, her mouth falling open in disbelief. “And?? He’s in the same space as us, breathing the same oxygen, Y/N!”

You shake your head, trying to inject a dose of reality into her Hollywood-induced haze. “Okay, but let’s be real here. He’s a mega star, so totally out of league. I mean, we’ve got about as much chance with him as a blue whale does with climbing Mount Everest,” you quip and fold your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. “And you’ve got a boyfriend, in case you forgot.”

Adria’s enthusiasm deflates slightly as she’s reminded of Tommy. “It’s not the same,” she protests sheepishly, fiddling with her bracelet. “You know how celebrity crushes work. How can I not crave Evan when he’s graced the world with his Tate Langdon role?”

You can’t help but laugh at her delirium. “Ugh, Adria, it’s giving obsession and borderline restraining order from Peters if you keep this up. Let’s just focus on having a blast tonight and drop the celebrity fantasies, okay?”

A couple of hours melt away, and the energy of the dance floor begins to wane. Most of your friends retreat to a nearby table to freshen up. But not you. With two others by your side, you’re on a mission to keep the party alive, letting the music guide your body with a fierce determination.

Mid-twirl, though, your eyes snag on something unexpected—a figure lingering at the fringes of the dance floor, his attractive gaze burning into you like a laser beam, sending a bolt of lightning down your back. It takes a moment for you to register who it is, but when you do, your heart kicks into overdrive.

Evan Peters.

You try to play it cool, biting down on the inside of your cheek to stifle the grin that’s itching to break free. You try to pass it off as just a coincidence, a trick of the light or a delulu figment of your imagination, but when you steal another glance in his direction, you find his eyes still trained on you. This time around, he offers a timid smile.

Your throat feels like it’s swallowed a golf ball as you sense his eyes fixed on you. Desperate to shake off the sudden self-consciousness, you rummage through your tiny shoulder bag for your phone. Your fingers jitter as you feign interest in your screen, scrolling aimlessly through your main menu or typing out gibberish in your notes app.

But even as you try to stay composed, his stare weighs on you like a ton of bricks. Are you tripping? Feeling more awkward and exposed than ever (you don’t have Evan Peters laying eyes on you every day), you motion to your friends that you’re heading to the restroom. Anything to escape the spotlight, even if it’s only for a sec.

This time, you bulldoze through the crowd, head low, with the toilets being your last glimmer of hope for salvation. Or so you think. Just as you’re about to slip away, a warm, soft hand gently closes around your wrist, halting you in your tracks.

Every muscle in your body tenses as you slowly turn to confront the person obstructing your way. And there he is, Evan Peters in the flesh, standing before you with an enigmatic grin playing at the corners of his lips.

Your heart leaps into your throat when you face him, every nerve in your body suddenly on high alert. Your mind races a mile a minute—Is this real life? Did you manifest this? Is Evan Peters actually in front of you?

Fuck, Adria’s right. He’s hot as hell, you ruminate, feeling your breath clutching in your throat.

Before you can even gather your thoughts, he greets you with a seductive rasp. “Hey.” His eyes seal with yours in a way that makes your knees turn into jelly.

I just saw you and heard you in person, Evan! Scrap everything I said to Adria. Forget the restraining order. Just slap the handcuffs on me, and do whatever you want... Erhm, I mean, take me into custody cause staring at you should definitely be illegal.

You freeze, unable to tear your eyes away from his handsome dark brown (almost black) eyes and silky tousled curls. A feeble “Hi” is all you manage, your voice barely above a whisper as a nervous flutter stomps onto your stomach.

“Having a good time?” he checks in, his smile widening by the second.

“The asphyxiation I feel right now must be a sure sign that I’m enjoying myself, right?” you reply, fanning your hand in front of your face for dramatic effect.

His throaty laughter bubbles up from deep within him, the sound instantly cranking up your heartbeat. It’s genuine and infectious, like he’s letting down his guard and inviting you into his world, flashing those perfect teeth like they’re on a billboard.

“If you’re suffocating from excitement, then you must be doing something right. But don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out on you. If you turn purple, I’ll dial 911,” he teases, gently lifting your chin with his index finger and giving you a full inspection with feigned seriousness. “Nope, we’re good. So far, all I see is beauty, no signs of death.”

You can feel your cheeks heating up with embarrassment, so you instinctively lower your head, hoping to hide your rose-tinted face.

You battle to keep it together, but the fact that his hand hasn’t budged from your wrist since your eyes met screams, ‘fainting spell incoming.’ As if that’s enough, his thumb traces soft circles on your skin, sending goosebumps up your arm. “You make me cringe, do it again,” you joke, and you both share a laugh.

“Alright, let’s see what card I should pull next. Here it comes, drumroll—on behalf of everyone in here, I testify to your: ‘I got some serious moves and conquered the dance floor, but I need a breather now.’” he rambles and raises his free hand in mock ovation, his grin laced with mischief.

You chuckle, a surge of confidence brewing within you. “Well, it takes the greatest of them all to verify this. A lifetime of dancing lessons didn’t go down the drain, I guess. I appreciate your testament, sir, and the panel’s verdict,” you coo, bowing theatrically.

Once again, his laughter fills the space between you, warm and hearty.

After a few minutes of silence and a staring contest that makes it agonising for you to breathe, you finally utter, “I said this would be my night, and, apparently, I meant that,” discreetly eyeing him from head to toe, semi-drooling.

“Yeah? Any highlights of the night?” he inquires, his tone dripping with curiosity, and you can’t resist playing along after letting your thoughts slip out loud.

“Nothing yet. But I’m counting on your highlighter to illuminate my way,” you spill out, playfully tilting your head to the side. A sly grin spreads across your lips as you throw the bait, hoping he’ll keep up with your pun game.

His “strike” is immediate as he edges closer to you. “Believe it or not, I’ve got one on me that can change your night from the inside out,” he shoots back, his smile growing, clearly on the same innuendo-laden wavelength as you. You’re a match made in flirtatious banter heaven, true that.

“I need some inside work, that’s for sure. Glad you’re volunteering,” you reply, feeling a rush of heat flood through you at his words. Then, you quickly transition, turning his wrist stroking into a handshake as you introduce yourself.

He hums, gently taking your hand in his, his smile stretching wide enough to reveal his adorable dimples that only add to his charm. “Evan.”

“I know,” you admit, unable to contain your broad smile. “But just an FYI, I haven’t binged-read your fanfics or analysed our astrology charts to see if we’re soulmates. I’ve gone as far as watching Dahmer. Stellar performance, by the way,” you blurt out, still shaking his hand.

He rolls his lips into his mouth to suppress another giggle. “Okay, chill. No need to prove you’re not a psycho. Wanna grab a drink to cool off?”

“No need to ask,” you fire back with equal enthusiasm, both of you grinning like kids in a candy store. Without hesitation, you just follow his lead, diving headfirst into the moment with a reckless abandon, thinking, ‘I’m all in, no matter what crazy idea you’ve got up your sleeve, baby boy.’

He cups your hand in his, his palm firm and reassuring, as he guides you through the throngs of people toward a quieter bar setup located upstairs in the club. The touch makes your head spin, feeling the familiar sensation of heat pooling between your thighs, leaving your undies all moist. You’ve felt sparks like this before, but never quite so intensely, and certainly not so quickly with anyone else.

As you trail behind him, you can’t help but lightly graze the back of his hand, mapping the pathways of his veins with your fingertips. You love a baby face paired with strong arms—he’s exactly your kind of man.

“Maybe it’s better…” he begins once you reach the bar, but the music swells out of the blue, drowning out the remainder of his sentence.

You involuntarily scrunch up your nose and squint, struggling to concentrate and hear him over the blasting tunes. “Come again, sorry?”

Before you can react, he draws closer to you. His breath is warm and tickly against your ear, causing a tremor through your entire body. Not to mention his voice: husky and velvety, making your cunt pulsate for him already.

Damn, things are moving at lightning speed, and you’re struggling to keep pace.

As Evan gets nearer, you catch a subtle yet alluring whiff of cinnamon and cologne. But, actually, it’s the natural scent exuding from his body that has a chokehold over you. Those pheromones he unleashes are like full-blown intoxication, making you lightheaded, your pulse thudding.

You lean in to mimic his gesture and whisper to his ear, but you’re pleasantly surprised when he gently clasps your hand, signalling for you to hold on. As he removes his earplugs, he explains, “Sorry I’ve got very sensitive ears.”

You chuckle, a wicked spark in your eye as you lift a tuft of hair to reveal your own ear protectors. “Great minds think alike,” you cheer.

“No, you didn’t,” he exclaims, eyes widened as you burst out laughing in sync.

As your laughter subsides, Evan’s expression shifts. His eyes bore into yours with a smouldering intensity as if he’s on the verge of revealing a long-held secret or daring to make a move.

But before you can form coherent thoughts or pluck up the courage to speak, Evan blinks fast, breaking the spell. “Shall we get those drinks at last? What’d you like?”

You clear your throat, trying to snap out of your nasty thoughts with Evan being the main character. “I’m down for another Corona, thanks.”

He flashes a quick two-finger salute to the bartender before turning back to you, his lips curving up in a cute, crooked smile. “So, who are you here with tonight?”

“Just some friends,” you confess, your voice trailing off as he raises his bottle to clink it against yours in a toast. His eyes remain glued on yours as he takes a sip, his defined jawline and slender neck at full display begging for your kisses. The intensity of his gaze makes your legs all wobbly. “A-and yourself?” you stammer, breaking eye contact to nervously trace a circular pattern on the rim of the bottle glass with your fingers.

“Same, I came to visit friends during my break. I’m flying back to Vancouver in ten days to carry on filming Tron.”

Your grip tightens around the cool glass of your drink as Evan drops the bombshell. You feel the liquid catch in your throat as you choke, a sudden surge of panic hitting your chest. You cough, the sound harsh and uncontrolled, your body reacting instinctively to the news.

“Canada?” you manage to croak out between coughs, your voice hoarse. You struggle to swallow past the lump, your throat raw and constricted. Your chest heaves as you fight to regain control.

“Y/N, are you okay?” he asks with a sense of urgency, his forehead creased with deep lines of worry. Leaning in, his eyes search yours for any sign of distress. His hand reaches out to steady you, giving you comforting back rubs.

You nod weakly, your eyes watering from the effort of suppressing another coughing fit.

“Let me fetch some water for you,” he offers, his voice soft and soothing. He sprints to the bar, returning seconds later with a glass of water and a concerned frown etched on his forehead.

“Thanks,” you mumble, accepting the glass with a trembling hand, keeping the bottle of beer in your other hand. The cool water soothes your parched throat, and you feel a sense of relief wash over you as Evan tenderly ruffles your hair and massages your scalp to calm you down. Hint: his hands on you work wonders.

“I’m okay,” you assure him, looking up to meet his gaze again, your heart hammering. Everything else fades away, leaving only the reassuring presence of Evan before you.

You can practically sense the sexual tension between you. His stare flickers between your lips and eyes, his own mouth slightly parted. It’s like a silent invitation that hangs between you like a charged wire ready to ignite, daring you to take a plunge and smother his face with kisses. And then suck his dick so hard that his stomach caves in like a Caprisun.

It doesn’t matter that you’ve just met; he has you at hello and you’d spread your legs for this man without a second thought…

You gulp as you realise he’s almost inches away from you. You shudder when his fresh breath—an irresistible blend of mint and alcohol—wafts into my mouth, blowing stray strands of hair off your face. “You’re leaving in ten days?” you sigh, puckering your lips and giving him a puppy-eyed look.

“Yes, but I’m still here,” he whispers, his eyes fixed on your lips as he leans into your stool. With a single knee, he slowly splits your legs and slides in between them.

“You’re here now. Wanna be at my place next?” you suggest, and he stares back at your eyes with a crooked smirk, his lips curled mischievously.

Without warning, his lips brushed against yours, throwing your arousal off the chart. The torturously slow pace that his lips slide along yours makes your sex leap, pop, and drip. Soft moans escape your bodies as he grabs your ass to pull you in, squeezing it along the way as his chest cushions firmly against your breasts.

He smiles against your lips as you tangle your fingers in his hair and part your mouth, giving him the green light to roughen the kiss. His hard rock boner already presses against your wet centre when his tongue invades your mouth with primitive force, swirling and twirling with yours in a passionate dance.

“How long to get to yours?” he grunts out of breath, wincing from the uncomfortable angle his stiff cock has now taken in his trousers.

“It’s roughly a ten-minute ride, give or take,” you pant, adjusting the hem of your dress.

“Off we go.”

167 notes · View notes