#MEXICAN STYLE BATHROOM

[made-to-order]

For a truly immersive Mexican-inspired bathroom, consider using ceramic Talavera tiles for your walls and counters. These vibrant, hand-painted tiles are a hallmark of Mexican design, featuring bold colors and intricate patterns that can transform any space. The versatility of Talavera tiles allows you to get creative, whether you want a full wall of tiles or a more subtle border. Incorporating Mexican border tiles around your vanity or as an accent on your countertops adds a distinctive flair, framing the space and pulling together the various design elements. The combination of ceramic Talavera tiles with copper sinks, iron mirrors, and copper appliances creates a cohesive look that is both elegant and culturally rich, making your bathroom a true reflection of artisanal beauty and craftsmanship. By blending these key elements—copper oval sinks, Mexican copper appliances, handmade iron mirrors, and Talavera tiles—you can create a bathroom vanity that is not only functional but also a stunning showcase of Mexican-inspired design. This approach to bathroom decor offers a unique, luxurious, and timeless style that will make your space feel like a beautifully curated sanctuary.

[rusticahouse]

To complete the transformation, incorporate iron lamps and traditional Mexican decor elements into your bathroom. Iron lamps, whether wall-mounted or as iron pendant lights, bring a touch of old-world charm and durability. Their intricate designs and warm lighting complement the vibrant colors and textures of the Talavera tiles and copper fixtures. Additionally, consider adding Mexican decor pieces such as handwoven textiles, pottery, and rustic wooden accents. Woven baskets, colorful rugs, and ornate mirrors can further enhance the cultural ambiance, making your bathroom a delightful retreat that reflects the soul and artistry of Mexico. By thoughtfully combining these elements, you create a unique and inviting space that not only pays homage to Mexican heritage but also provides a luxurious and serene experience.

[nayimi23]

Mexican style

[mycustomcopper]

On the other hand, the kitchen is often considered the heart of the home, and in a Hacienda style house, the kitchen's centerpiece can be a stunning copper range hood. These range hoods not only serve a practical purpose by improving ventilation but also add a dramatic statement to the space. The rustic appeal of copper, with its ability to develop a beautiful patina over time, complements the warm, inviting atmosphere typical of Hacienda kitchens. Paired with wooden cabinets and terracotta tiles, a copper range hood can transform your kitchen into a culinary haven that exudes old-world charm. Going towards the bedroom and dining room, rustic copper mirrors are a fantastic way to introduce the Hacienda aesthetic into your living spaces. These mirrors, often framed with intricately designed copper, can add a touch of rustic elegance to any room. Whether placed in the entryway, living room, or bedroom, the warm glow of the copper frame enhances the overall ambiance. The reflective surface also helps to brighten the space, making it feel more open and inviting. A well-placed rustic copper mirror can serve as both a functional and decorative element, tying together the room’s design with a cohesive Hacienda flair. The dining room is where family and friends gather to share meals and create memories, and a dining room copper table can make these moments even more special. The robust, earthy quality of copper makes it an ideal material for dining tables, providing both durability and aesthetic appeal. Whether you opt for a sleek, modern design or a more traditional, handcrafted table, the copper surface adds a unique touch of elegance. Paired with rustic wooden chairs and wrought iron accents, a copper dining table can become the centerpiece of your dining room, inviting guests to sit, eat, and enjoy the warmth of a Hacienda home.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Asked And Answered - Luke Newton

Word count: 1237

Summary: When questions are being asked, the only thing left to do is answer, no?

"Hi, y/n! Thank you for having us here. Do you mind if we come in and ask a few questions?"

"Oh hi! No, not at all, come on in." you smiled, closing the door and leading Joe Sabia through the hallway of your house.

"How did you get into acting? Was it something you always wanted to do?" he asked, following you into your living room.

"Well, I have always loved performing. When I was a kid, I used to put on plays for my family in our living room. But it wasn't until high school that I got into acting." 

You took your cup of coffee from your coffee table, turning off your TV.

"Tell us about your journey to becoming an actress?"

"Well, it wasn't easy. I auditioned for countless roles and faced a lot of rejection. But I never gave up and finally got my big break in an amazing Netflix show called Bridgerton." 

You smiled at the male taking a sip from your coffee, opening your blinds, and inviting in the sunlight.

"How did you land the role of y/c/n in Bridgerton?" The man questioned.

"It's quite a funny story. I was in the middle of filming for a different project when I received a call from Chris Van Dusen about an audition for a new period drama." You chuckled.

"At first, I was indecisive as I had never done a period piece before, but my agent convinced me to give it a go. So, I went for the audition, and the rest, as they say, is history." 

 "Speaking of Bridgerton, you act alongside your boyfriend, Luke Newton. Can you tell us more about that?" The interviewer followed you toward your kitchen.

"Yes, we're always together but we try our best to hold our distance on set, but we know each other so well, which made filming even more fun and natural." You answered, tearing off a piece of paper from the 

tear-off calendar.

"What was your favorite scene to film in Bridgerton?"

"That's a tough one as I genuinely enjoyed every scene. However, I think my favorite would have to be the ballroom scene where Colin and y/c/n share their first dance." You placed your cup of coffee in the sink and took a bottle of water from the fridge. 

 "Are you both supporters of each other's careers?" he asked, walking behind you towards the dining room.

"Absolutely. We both understand the demands of this industry and always support and motivate each other," you say, shoving one of the chairs under the table.

 "Can you tell us about your first date?" The male asked.

"Our first date was funny. We went to a Mexican restaurant, and I accidentally spilled my entire and very expensive margarita on his lap, but we look back on it and laugh now." You chuckled, leaning your arms on the chair.

"What is one thing that you're obsessed with at the moment?"

"Commenting on fans their fanart, they're incredibly talented." You said, opening the door towards your master bedroom. 

"If you had a podcast what would it be called?" Joe asked, stepping into the room.

"Dearest Listeners, as a wink to Lady Whistledown." You replied while adjusting the sheets on the bed. "And Nicola Coughlan."

 "what's your favorite playlist you have?"

"Romancing Mr. Newton, sorry not sorry." You laughed, leaving your master bedroom.

"what song have you had on repeat for the past few weeks?" The man asked.

"Spinning out, waiting for ya to pull me in" you softly sang, walking towards your bathroom before looking behind you. "Satellite by Harry Styles."

"what's the hardest thing you ever had to do for a role?"

"Learning how to dance a Quadrille without stepping on my dancing partner's toes." You snorted, closing the bathroom door that was still open.

"do you ever get nervous when being on set?"

"Of course, it means you care and you want to do it good." You shrugged at the man, walking to your walk-in closet.

"Who is your go-to person when you need to talk to someone?"

"Ruth Gemmell, Mother Bridgerton, really knows how to comfort you." You smiled, walking into the room that was filled with clothes and shoes.

"how many awards do you own?"

"One Academy Award for Best Actress, One Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress, and an Oscar for Best Actress," you replied while inspecting your dresses.

"What is something that recently moved you?" Joe asked

"Last month, Luke and I had a chat with a fan in London and spoke about how essential Mental Health is, that truly touched me." You strode out of your walk-in closet and shut the door behind Joe. 

“Who is the most famous person on your phone?” 

"Meryl Streep? Taylor Swift? Both?" You slightly laughed, pushing the screen of the smart thermometer in the house.

“what's your favorite time of the day?”

"Nighttime, just silence and quality time, it's heaven." You opened the door to your home office.

“Vintage or new?” The male asked.

"Vintage," you answered as you sat down behind your desk.

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

"Acting, friends, and Luke." You leaned back in your chair, smiling at the man.

“When was the last time you were starstruck?”

"I'd say, the table read for Bridgerton, season 3." You said, getting up from the chair and getting out of the room. 

“Best gift you’ve ever received?”

"All of this, Bridgerton, everyone I got to know, the fans." You answered, adjusting a painting that hung in the hallway.

“Best advice you’d give your teenage self?” He asked`

"Dare to take the risk, no matter how scary it may seem." walking into your home theatre, you took a seat on one of the huge pillows.

“What’s your wakeup ritual?”

"Sunny weather, the smell of coffee, and a lot of food." You chuckled, running a hand through your hair.

“who’s someone you’d like to work with again on set?"

"There's no good answer to that, anyone from the Bridgerton family." you got up from the chair and walked towards the giant black screen.

“What’s your current TV obsession?”

"The Originals." You smiled, walking out of the room.

“Rate your met gala outfit 1 to 10.”

"A decent 9." You winked at the camera, coming to a halt in the hallway. "You will see."

“Do you have a favorite room in your house?” 

"I surely do! Let me show you." You walked up to the black-colored door, revealing your wine cellar.

“you have 4.2M followers on Instagram, is there something you'd like to say to them,”  Joe asked, while you were inspecting the dusty bottles of wine.

"Never think twice when you want to do something, take a leap of faith." You wiped off the dust from the bottle and placed it back.

“Have you ever googled yourself?”

"Multiple times, the first time was when Bridgerton was being released." You answered, getting closer to your garage.

“Diamonds or pearls?” Joe asked

"Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend" You winked at the camera, chuckling to yourself.

“Favorite accent to do?”

"British, everything just sounds better in British," you answered, opening your garage gate, and stepping outside in the sun.

"Then this was all we've wanted to ask you today, thank you for having us, Y/n."

"Thank you for being here today." you waved one last time at the man before closing your garage gate.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

What a delightfully restored 1860 Mexican adobe style home in La Luz, New Mexico. It's so bright and cheery. 2bds, 2ba, $369K. The name of the home translates to "My Shop."

Enter this lovely large sun room with lots of shelving and a skylight.

From the sun room, enter directly into the beautifully tiled kitchen. Note the ceiling and the colorfully painted cabinets.

Step down from the kitchen to the spacious dining room. It has plenty space for a sitting area near the fireplace.

Off the dining room is this cute bedroom with a wall of shelving and a door to the patio.

The primary bedroom is large with a lovely corner fireplace.

And, it has this beautiful blue tile en-suite.

This is a spacious living/dining room combo that can accommodate a much larger table. It has a corner fireplace and a beautiful chandelier over the table.

Bath #2 has beautiful tile, too.

There's another big sun room at the back of the house.

The front of the house.

Looks like a casita on the property.

This building would make a great studio, work shop, or it could be converted to a guest house.

Patio on the side of the house.

The .29 acre lot is enclosed by a privacy wall.

[fantasylandbitch]

Summary: You stay the night at Sam and Tara’s apartment where Sam gives you her spare clothes to put on before bed when a sudden nightmare strikes you both causing you and Sam to become closer before Ghost Face makes his presents known.

Warnings: Long Story, Fluff, 

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 2.5 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 4.5 Chapter 5 Chapter 5.5  Chapter 6 Chapter 6.5 Chapter 7 Chapter 7.5 Chapter 8 Chapter 8.5 Chapter 9 (Chapter 9.5 Coming Soon)

When Sam wakes up the next day, she reaches out for your body ready to embrace you, only to feel a cold empty space next to her on the mattress, and opening her eyes she realizes that she's alone in her bedroom. A pang of sadness and longing settles in her chest as she sits up, she begins contemplating, wondering if sleeping next to you was nothing but a dream as she walks to the bathroom to wash up before heading to the kitchen to get something to eat.

“Good morning Sam” she hears Mindy say catching Sam outside her room when Tara pipes up.

“Don’t bother with the laundry” causing Sam to look at her little sister with a confused look while she takes a seat at the table.

“Why?” She asks when Quinn chimes.

“Y/n did everybody’s laundry before she left for work this morning”

And Sam mentally kicks herself in the ass before Chad brings over her breakfast and Sam notices that the breakfast is inside a semi thin container, asking everyone a question “Did you guys order these?”

And Ethan replies “We didn’t.…Y/n..bought us this,” he says stuffing his face causing Chad to finish his sentence.

“Y/n bought breakfast from a store she’s helping in lower Manhattan, it’s called A Mothers Love, A Woman's Bakery” he explains.

Sam nods as she opens her container as she was graced with a Mexican style omelet completed with a side of black beans and cut up sweet potatoes taking her first bite and humming as her taste buds are lit up with different flavors.

“I think it's nice that Y/n bought us breakfast, she's so sweet,” Anika says, causing Sam to lookover in her direction when Mindy voices her concerns.

“Do you guys think it was safe for Y/n to drive this morning?” and Sam tilts her head.

“Why did something happen?” she asks and Tara explains.

“When we saw her last she looked as if she didn’t get proper sleep”

And Sam nods thinking about you now as the conversation ended. After Sam finishes up her breakfast she quickly retrieves her keys and wallet before going to work and on the way out she asks Tara for your number and her little sister nods, picking up her phone and sending it to her “I’ll go check on her after work. See you guys later."

Later that day at the Colonial Lanes Bowling Alley where Sam works and after working for six hours talking to customers about the prices they have, what they do at the bowling alley, and helping resolve customer complaints Sam was able to go on break. The whole day she couldn't stop thinking about what her sister and roommates said about you, and it worried her that you would even think of driving with less than no sleep, so while on break she saved your number to her phone that her sister sent her and called you. The phone rings a bit causing Sam to go out the back door for a smoke before you finally pick up or so she thought.

"Hello who is this?" a woman says with a relatively thick spanish accent on the phone.

"Hi I was just calling for Y/n-" Sam starts.

"Give me a sec to get her honey" the woman interrupts.

As Sam waits on the phone she hears the clanging of pots, something sizzling, and a stove alarm going off in the background before hearing your voice that sounded far away.

"Hey mami!" the woman yells.

"Yes Tía? I'm helping a customer" and the spanish woman sounds a little eager to give you the phone.

"Let me take over before my wife comes back with a chancla and besides there's a beautiful woman on the phone for you," she says causing Sam and you to laugh.

"A beautiful woman on the phone?..Hello?" you say answering the phone as Sam takes a moment to formulate her thoughts.

"Hey it's Sam sorry to bother you at work," she says wanting to hang up the phone now.

"Oh, Erika wasn’t lying there is a beautiful woman on the phone," you flirted playfully as you walk to the backroom of the shop closing the door behind you while Sam smiles behind her phone "What's up? Is everything okay with Tara? I have a spare inhaler for her in the car." You say and that bit of information makes Sam short circuit.

"Tara's fine she's-wait you have a spare inhaler in your car for Tara?" she says with surprise and you nod even though she can't see you.

"Yeah I actually have several but they're not all in my car..but that's beside the point" Sam takes a deep breath "What's really wrong Sammy?" you ask and Sam softens at her nickname.

"Nothing everyone at the apartment wanted me to call you to see if you were alright” she says hiding how she really feels.

And it takes you a bit to think of what to say next “Oh yeah? Thats very sweet of them but I’m fine really I just couldn’t sleep last night but I hope everyone liked their breakfast” you say.

Sam smiles looking down at her shoes “Everyone really loved it actually” she says before you ask her a question.

“Hey Sam, does the number three mean anything to you?” and Sam thought that was a weird question for you to ask but muses you anyway.

“Not that I know of no but depending on which position it's in it could mean either being overthrown or you need to trust your friends for guidance, why?” and you were going to say more until Sam's phone alarm goes off, making her jump “Shit, I have to go back to work. How about we pick this up later okay?”

And you nod “Yeah that would be great, later” before getting off the phone.

"Hey mami," Erika says to you and you look up to find her and her wife by the door smiling softly at you.

“Why don’t you take a nap in the office for now” Luna suggests and you shake your head.

“Maybe after making a few designs” and they nod before bringing you something to eat as you work and that is what you did for the next few hours designing, then redesigning, and then making a good design and then it repeated until you fell asleep. When later came, the door bell sings letting the owners know that someone walked into their shop and when Erika and Luna looked up they see a women clad in combat boots, jeans, and a gray henley, automatically knowing who she was looking for, so they send her to the back where you slept. As Sam enters the office she looks around the room seeing your designs before her eyes land on your sleeping figure in the chair making her smile as she was half holding back from taking a picture of you and half enjoying watching you sleep as she took a seat in front you, when you started to stir awake in her presence.

“Hey you” you say rubbing your face.

Causing Sam to smile “Hey sleepy head.”

And when you removed your hand from your face the sun peers through the window hitting your features just right causing Sam to stop breathing for a moment, as the sun casts a silhouette across your face highlighting your soft jawline and making your e/c eyes look absolutely captivating causing Sam to get up from her chair before asking you a question.

“Would you like to join me to go grocery shopping?”

And you nod while still waking up as you get up from your chair to pack your designs away before walking out of the store saying your goodbyes as you and Sam walk to your car to drive to go to the grocery store where as soon as the cold air hit you were awake. While you were at the grocery store, Sam sends you her half of the grocery list so you both can find the items that she needed for the apartment and after searching around for items, it finally came down to three items. The last remaining items were Milk, tomato sauce and cold cuts. Luckily for you and Sam, you both didn't have to go far, so you both ended up going down the same aisle searching for different perishables when your eyes landed on the tomato sauce. When you find it you call Sam for help.

“Hey Sam?” you call as she was behind you picking up milk.

“Yeah, what's up?” she responds before picking up cold cuts to use for sandwiches.

"Can you get this tomato sauce for me, it’s on the top shelf,” you ask as Sam turns around reaching up for the tomato sauce for you, and as she brings the sauce down to put in your cart she looks down at you with a smile.

“Here you go” and you look up at her smiling back.

“Thank you,” you say while you both look at each other almost getting lost in each other's eyes when someone pushes past her causing her to put her arms around you protectively, shielding you with her body while throwing looks at the offender passing by and after the person disappears she gently turns you towards the direction of the registers with her hand holding onto your waist briefly. After getting the groceries and scanning them you guys headed back to your car so you can drive Sam back to her apartment and when you guys arrive there you two decided to make conversation to the point where you both didn’t realize you were at the front door to which you pull the keys from Sams pocket and unlock the door letting her walk in first, before yourself not realizing that Tara was watching how you were conversing with her older sister.

“Hey, Y/n can I talk to you?” Tara asks as you put the grocery bag on the counter.

“Yeah? What’s up?” you say stopping what you were doing to give her your full attention.

“You can’t date anyone in this apartment…except Ethan and Quinn.”

And you gave her a questioning look “I’m confused, so you're allowed to go after the King of Smiles behind you on the couch and I’m stuck with a Sex Positive Advocate and a Charming Fact Checker?” You say offended before starting to take the groceries out of the bag “That is so unfair Tara” you say not noticing that Mindy and Anika are listening to your conversation.

"Yeah well, while I'm grounded and even when I'm not my sister is off limits" Tara admits to you.

Before your eyes catch the news on the tv as it mentioned Sam's name and a few others like Richie and Amber to which Chad calls Sam into the living room and it dawns on you about why you had the dream. Your subconscious was telling you that danger was close to the people you now call family and this revelation causes you to become silent and withdrawn as the volume of the tv was interrupted by Sam as she mutes the tv telling the core 4 to pack up but they don’t get very far. Everyone's phones in the apartment started ringing causing you to look at your own when the hairs on your skin started to stand up as you saw the picture of Sam's ex show up on your phone when you know he was supposed to be dead. 

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 2.5 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 4.5 Chapter 5 Chapter 5.5  Chapter 6 Chapter 6.5 Chapter 7 Chapter 7.5 Chapter 8 Chapter 8.5 Chapter 9 (Chapter 9.5 Coming Soon)

Tía means Aunt

Mami is a slang word for mommy, attractive woman, close female friend

Chancla means Slipper

Scream 6 : A Love so Understanding Playlist

[baby-alien11]

Procura coquetearme más

Ethan Landry (Kirsch, Bailey or I don't how what his real last name is) x mexican fem reader

warnings: no ghostface (in this universe Richie actually died in a car accident), friends to lovers

I found @katzluvs idea while looking more Ethan fics, and I instantly thought of the entire school year that I spend at quinceañeras every weekend (including mine) and I got a lot of memories

You and Ethan met during a tour of Blackmore University when both of you were still in high school, being you the one who aproached him noticing how he sent glances at you and his shy aura, let's say that for the entire tour he didn't left your side being a little scared to loose himself from the group

After that, the both of you were inseparable spending time together even knowing each others families (and even knowing what happenned with his older brother)

"So, my cousin is having her quinceañera this weekend", you said while the both of you were watching a movie in his house and eating pizza, "They told me I could bring someone, and I thought of you, what do you think?"

"I've never been in a party like that, or even a normal party", he responded a little nervous

"It doesn't matter, it will be fun, I promise, you could say it's like a family reunion"

"It sounds fun, okay", Ethan nodded making you smile, "But, I don't know how to dance"

"It's easy", you shrugged getting up from the rug, "Come on"

A little doubtful, he did the same while you searched in your Spotify for a song, which was 'Criminal' by Natti Natasha and Ozuna

"Let's have a little class, we will start with urban style, this is like freestyle", you instructed, "Try to move your hips and relax"

At first it was hard because he haven't dance in his entire life, but he kinda understood, kinda, following with something a little more coreographed, 'Procura' from Chichi Peralta

"This is a little more traditional, we could call it a cumbia if we want to say, the ones who dance this more are the adults, but it would help, take my hands and follow me"

Nervous, he took your hands following your moves feeling more confident and tought that the dance was fun

"Okay, with this you can dance all the songs in that style, but the more difficult challenge is this", you said playing 'Payaso de Rodeo', "This is indespensible to learn, beacuse everyone is on the dance floor during this, and if you could hold it, we are going to be one of the few people standing"

"Is this a contest?", Ethan asked with confusion

"No", you replied, "But is fun"

Due to being a little more active, both of you made more space in his room to start practicing the dance, often crashing into each other between laughes, not noticing that Wayne and Quinn were watching everything from the door with confusion, Quinn filming the whole thing for fun

The day of the party who was saturday, Ethan had a little breakdown due to the fact that he didn't know what to wear until he asked you, and you answered saying a suit will be fine

"Who wears a suit to a family reunion?", Ethan asked while pacing in the living room

"I was curious and searched for those type of parties", Quinn said, "It's a big deal, like their MET Gala, also, if she has some hot cousin, can you get his number for me?"

"Are you fucking serious right now?", Ethan exclaimed in disbelief

"Kids, calm down", Wayne interrupted the discussion, "Ethan, here you go, is my jacket and Richie's old formal pants and you have a white formal shirt, it should be fine"

"Thanks dad", Ethan sighed taking the pieces of clothes, "Do you think I need a tie or something?"

"First go take a shower and dress, we'll disscus it later", Wayne instructed gently pushing him towards the bathroom

"Do you think he's going to kiss her today?", Quinn asked her father Ethan entered the bathroom

"I hope so", Wayne sighed

A few hours later, Ethan was still in his room getting ready with Quinn's help, deciding that a tie was no needed, when they heard how the front door was being open follow by your voice, so they hurried to the living room

When Ethan saw you in a light pink jumpsuit and golden high heels with your hair in small waves and golden accesories, he stopped for a moment before Quinn moved his arm in a sign to come back to this reality

"Ethan, hi", you exclaimed hugging him, "You look great"

"Thanks", he smiled with shyness, "You look gorgeous, well, you always look gorgeous"

Laughing a little because of his nervous tone, you took the time to notice he was wearing a black jacket and pants with a white formal shirt with the first two buttons undone, no tie in sight

After a few minutes of Quinn taking photos of both of you, you and Ethan were free to go towards the entrance of the building were your family car was waiting in the street

"Ethan!", your little sister screamed running in his direction, at what him took her in his arms, "I'm so happy your coming"

"I'm too", he responded with sincerity, "You look like a little princess"

"Y/N help me to choose it", she said gesturing the bright pink puffy dress

"¡Niños, apurense!", your mom screamed from the passenger seat, "¡Vamos a llegar tarde!"

Making your way to the car, the six year old child was the first to enter followed by you and Ethan

"Mijo, te ves guapisimo", your mom said turning to watch Ethan

"Gracias", Ethan smiled with his cheeks burning red understanding what she said due to the fact that you teach him some spanish

The moment the car parked outside the building of the events room and Ethan saw all the cars in the parking lot, he knew his sister was serious about the topic

"Here's what you need to know", you said while walikg behind your parents, "La quinceañera will enter after everyone is here, it will probably take an hour, right know they are en la misa de celebración and they will take a lot of photos, after her arrival she will make her gran entrada, following with the waltz and her surprise dance, the snacks and desserts table is closed until after the dances, the little ones had their own menu which is like fast food or something like that, the adults have fancy food, only the adults get to drink the alcohol, gracias a Dios que ya tenemos dieciocho, usually the teens are on the dance floor during the reggeatón songs, and they are outside after that, mostly the couples, during the part were the teens are on the dance floor, the DJ usually gives ballons, hats with funny phrases, funny accesories, it's crazy, don't mind the kids sleeping in chairs it's normal, ¿alguna pregunta?"

"I think not", Ethan answered while the both of you sit in the lounge area, "I tought you only said family only"

"By family, I meant everyone alive from both sides, friends of the family, friends of the quinceañera, and also her brother's friends, oh, and be careful with the aunts", you explained while a waiter aproached to the small sofa, "Dos daiquiris de fresa con vodka, por favor"

"What do you mean to be careful with the aunts?"

"They usually made uncomfortable questions to people that they don't know, in this case, you, don't worry, I'll be by your side", you smiled while taking one of this hands

At first, that gesture took him by surprise but he eventually felt confident enough to bring your hand to his face to leave a kiss on the back, making you blush

Not noticing your parents watching from afar

"Definitivamente van a besarse para el final de la noche", your mother commented

"No estoy listo para que tenga novio", your dad argued with your little sister in his arms

"Me agrada Ethan", the six year old said while playing with a doll, "Cuando va a casa juega a las muñecas conmigo"

Back at the lounge, you and Ethan were enjoying your drinks or taking photos with your hands still together in his lap

Just like you said, some aunts aproached to say hi and ask about Ethan, some uncomfortable cuestions, some not, but the most common was if the two of you were dating, which both of you denied

Just like you said, soon, the entire room was full of people of all ages, everyone dress in their best clothes, when a group of teenagers aproached the both of you to ask if they could use the extra space in the couches, both of you ended up sitting in a corner with you almost on his lap for the lack of space

During the waltz you recorded part of the dance, not noticing the loving look Ethan was giving you, but some younger cousins did, gigling of how cute that was, but neither of you noticed that

After the dances and speach, Ethan was quick in running to the food tables to grab something for the both of you before the other teens ended it

After the dinner was done, all the teenagers filled the big dance floor leaving empty the lounge area, but even after that, you and Ethan stayed together just enjoying the party

"Do you want to dance?", Ethan asked suddenly making you to look him with surprise, "I-I mean, you teach me how to"

"I would love to", you interrupted him

Smiling in confidence, Ethan took your hand to lead you to a free area in the dance floor to dance without bumping onto someone, but you noticed his nervous self looking anywhere but your eyes, in which you took his chin between your fingers connecting your eyes

"Sueltate, ¿esta bien?", you said smiling, "Diviertete"

His body was a little stiff at the beggining, but seeing you move your entire body at the rythim of the urban and reggeatón music made him do the same taking your hands at first, moving them until they ended in your waist, while yours were in the back of his neck

Even when the more "traditional" songs came, both of you still dance with the song while laughing because all the fun both of you were having

"Do you want to get some air?", Ethan asked watching how you were sweating and gasping for air

"Por favor", you nodded

After telling your parents that you were going to get some air, both of you went to the terrace were you sit on one of the bunks in front of the pool, noticing the cold night, Ethan was quick to put his jacket in your shoulders

"So, what do you think?", you asked taking your heels off

"This is wild and fun", Ethan responded, "I definitely want to come to another"

"Well, you are lucky that another cousin is turning quince in a few months"

"But, I don't want to came as only your friend", Ethan said causing you to look at him in surprise, "I like you, since that day we met at the Blackmore tour, and I'm glad you aproached because I honestly couldn't have the courage to do it myself, and..."

Interrupting him mid-phrase, you leaned over to kiss him at what he was surprised at first but soon he circled your waist with his arms, while your hands were in his curls and neck

The lack of air was the thing that made both of you break the kiss, but your foreheads were still together, during those moments, one of Ethan's hands travelled from your waist to the back of your neck

"In that case, do you want to come to the next ones as my boyfriend?", you asked softly tugging at some strands of his hair

"Me encantaría", Ethan answered with almost perfect pronuncation

For the next few minutes, you and Ethan stayed in the same position sharing small pecks and holding each other, enjoying each other's company

That was until the first melodies of Payaso de Rodeo started sounding, causing the both of you to run inside the room to join the dance

[wordsmithwhumpsandfluff]

Okay you'll forgive me being sooo self indulgent with this ask, but: Sickie Aiden + Caretaker Spirit + tummy rubs. I NEED to see this girl be a softie towards him, I've been thinking of them all week

First request from the ask game!! Love this so much! Thank you, Soup!!

————————————————————————————————————

The brewery/restaurant that was only a five-minute walk from campus had been a bold choice for Aiden’s lunch.

The place had those Mexican-style egg rolls and insanely good jalapeño burgers with thick patties. On any other day, Aiden would have been smart enough to know better than to get such a heavy and greasy meal. But after two morning exams and no breakfast or snacks, he had been too exhausted and too hungry to be smart.

Two Mexican eggrolls, a jalapeño burger, garlic fries, and a large Sprite is what he got himself. In the moment, it didn’t seem like a bad idea to him. But as soon as he finished his Sprite, he realized it was a major mistake

Thankfully, he didn’t have any more exams that day, but he did have to sit through a long and painful lecture while his stomach was gurgling horribly. He kept burping quietly into his fist, being as quiet as possible. He broke into a cold clammy sweat before the lecture ended, and he immediately left as fast as he could once the class was dismissed.

He found himself in the bathroom, on his knees in a stall while gagging dryly over the toilet. Nothing came up, even though he stayed for twenty whole minutes.

When he gave up on trying to puke, he was pasty as a ghost. He splashed some water on his face and went on his way. He felt like a zombie with a stomachache. He just wanted to go home, take some tums, and sleep.

He was so thankful that he didn’t live too far from campus. On the drive over and while going upstairs to his apartment, he kept letting out small airy burps that didn’t bring him any relief. Once inside, he immediately got the box of tums from his kitchen, popping two in his mouth on his way to his couch. Laying down, he used his fist to muffle a string of burps that burned in his nose and made him grimace.

He was dizzy with nausea, and just needed to close his eyes. It’ll pass, he told himself while planting a hand on his bloated stomach. It was straining against the black sweatpants he wore to class, and he pushed the waistband down to relieve the pressure.

Despite feeling tired and just wanting to sleep, he just couldn’t. He was so nauseous, but all that kept coming up was little annoying burps. He felt so shitty.

He stayed on the couch for so long, wishing to just fall asleep. But suddenly, he startled and his eyes opened when he heard a knock at his door.

He groaned, figuring it was one of his neighbors or something and hoping that if he ignored them, they’d just go away. More knocking. A bit more.

Then Aiden’s phone began to ring, and with an annoyed sigh he took it out of his pocket and looked at it. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he sat up too quickly, causing him to clamp a hand over his mouth as he felt his stomach leap. Nothing but a long, wet burp came up.

He’d forgotten Spirit was coming over. Over the last two weeks, they’d had maybe two or three more little movie hang-outs. And tonight was one of those hang-out nights.

He mentally cursed at himself for forgetting. He didn’t answer the phone and forced himself to get up and go the door, pulling his pants back up on his way there. Lo and behold, Spirit was standing there, holding something rectangle-shaped and wrapped a page from the school’s newspaper.

“Hey,” she said, and Aiden couldn’t help but get caught up on how beautiful she looked with her hair in messy twin-buns and wearing a ‘I SHOULD HAVE STAYED HOME’ t-shirt that went all the way down to her knees. The scars and bruises on her face hadn’t gone away completely just yet, but they added a sort of dangerous aspect to her beauty.

Meanwhile, he knew he looked pathetic in comparison to her. “Hey,” he said tiredly.

Spirit slightly raised her brow. “Were you asleep?”

He put on a smile and shrugged. “Um. . . not exactly.” He stepped aside so Spirit could walk in. “What’s that?” he asked, nodding to the rectangle-shaped thing in her hands.

“Oh,” she said, looking up at him with a smile. “I got you something.”

They went over to the couch and she handed him the gift. He ripped open the newspaper-wrapping and smiled as he looked down at 3 different books.

“They’re all thrifted, so the covers are a bit worn and there’s some fold-lines in the pages, but there’s no stains or notes or missing pages. I thought you’d like these.”

The books were ‘Wild Bird’, ‘Jellicoe Road’, and ‘Magnolia: Flower of Death’. Aiden had never seen or heard of any of these.

“There not super popular,” Spirit said with a shrug, “but I like them.”

“They look interesting.”

“‘Jellicoe Road’ and ‘Magnolia’ both have a little bit of a romantic sub-plot, so you might not be that into it, but—”

“Nah, I like romance,” Aiden said with a shrug. “I once read ‘The Summer I Turned Pretty’ because my mom wouldn’t shut up about it, and I actually liked it. Romance is cool.”

Spirit’s eyes widened with genuine surprise. It took everything in her not to smile because it was lowkey adorable to think that this big guy was a fan of romance books! Spirit blushed and prayed it wasn’t too obvious.

“This one doesn’t have any of those newspaper or author review things on the cover,” he said, holding up ‘MAGNOLIA: Flower of Death’.

“Yeah. It was written by some teenager who self-published. It’s not that popular, but it’s really good.”

Aiden nodded, putting the gifts on his coffee table. “Thanks so much,” he said, smiling at Spirit.

She smiled back.

They wound up putting on an action movie rather than a horror one this time. Aiden was thankful that Spirit was so enthralled by the movie that she didn’t notice him muffling a few small burps. However, she did notice something wrong with him when his stomach abruptly growled loudly, and he went about two shades paler.

“You okay?” Spirit asked, studying him.

Aiden tried his best to smile reassuringly. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Clearly, he was lying. That was the moment when Spirit learned this boy was a horrible liar.

“You look off,” she said, pausing the movie. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he assured her, but he looked anything but and he wound up muffling another burb against his fist while Spirit was still studying him.

She frowned. “Are you sick?”

Aiden was about to deny it, but he realized there was no point. With a sigh, frowning, he nodded reluctantly. “It’s not a bug or anything. Lunch just didn’t settle right with me, but that’s my own fault.”

Spirit now noticed that Aiden’s belly was clearly bloated underneath his shirt. Now it made sense why he looked so tired when she got there.

“Do you want me to leave so you can sleep?” she asked. Aiden’s eyes widened at her question (or rather because she sounded a bit disappointed when she asked it) and he immediately told her he didn’t want her to leave.

“Let’s finish the movie,” he said to her. “Really, I don’t want you to leave yet.”

Spirit couldn’t help but smile a bit at him. “Okay.”

She pressed play on the movie. Now that she knew Aiden was sick though, she was more aware of him hesitantly rubbing his own stomach and the little burps he kept muffling. Eventually, an idea came to her that had her blushing just from thinking it.

“Hey,” she said to him, getting his attention. “Do you. . . would you want me to rub your stomach?” Just asking that made her blush with embarrassment. His eyes widened a bit, surprised by the offer, and Spirit noticed his pale cheeks turning a bit more pink than usual. She prayed that her own face wasn’t too flushed. 

He nodded, and Spirit wound up grabbing a cushion from the side of the couch and putting it on her lap. She patted the cushion, signaling for him to put his head there. 

Aiden hesitated for a second before moving down a bit to lay his head on the cushion, laying on his side. Spirit turned red, but thankfully Aiden didn’t see her at that moment.

She reached her hand down to his stomach, rubbing it over his shirt. She could feel how bloated and gurgle it was, and she let out a sympathetic sigh. “That probably feels gross,” she said, and he hummed in agreement.

Spirit kept trying to watch the movie, but her focus kept getting drawn to Aiden’s head on her lap. She had the overwhelming urge to run a hand through his tousled hair. She got lost in the motion of rubbing his stomach. She pressed in a bit, making his stomach gurgle louder than it had before and they both startled when a loud belch came up, and Spirit saw Aiden’s ears turn red and he sat up, covering his face with a hand. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “That was so gross. I am so sorry, Spirit.”

Spirit put a hand on his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades. “It’s okay,” she assured him. “A bit gross, yeah, but it really is fine.”

Aiden, still completely embarrassed and beet-red, looked at her. “You sure?”

Spirit smiled and patted the cushion on her lap again. “C’mon. I’ll keep rubbing your belly.”

Still red, he laid back down and Spirit kept rubbing, pressing in and making him burb a few more times, each time making him redder.

Eventually, Spirit was able to focus on the movie while still rubbing Aiden’s stomach. He eventually stopped belching, but Spirit didn’t stop massaging his upset gut.

”You feeling any better?” Spirit asked him eventually. She got no answer.

She leaned forward a bit to get a look at his face, and she had to bite her cheek to keep from grinning too much when she realized he was asleep with one of his limp hands on her knee.

She didn’t dare to wake him. Thankfully, she could grab the remote without moving. Still rubbing his stomach, she let him sleep and stayed.

There wasn’t any part of her that wanted to leave.

[ereardon]

Part One: The Night Before

Summary: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw has been your best friend for a decade. He’s also your fiancé’s best man. So when he shows up at your hotel room the night before your wedding, it’s just because he’s your friend, right? 

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader 

Warnings: Angst, pining, weddings, cursing 

WC: 2.9K

Series masterlist here; part two here

There was a knock at the door. 

You sighed and stood up from where you had been sitting at the desk writing your note to Jeremy for tomorrow. 

Maybe it was Anna with the steamer for your veil. Or your dad asking about the schedule for the forty-ninth time. Or your mother with an emergency that definitely wouldn’t warrant her reaction: the florist only has medium pink not light pink roses or the wedding planner accidentally wrote cream china instead of bone-colored china and now the three-hundred person reception hall would be wrong. 

Except you didn’t care. You didn’t care about any of the details. 

Not anymore. 

The knocking continued. 

“One second!” you huffed, scurrying barefoot across the bridal suite. It was enormous and you simply flung the door open without looking through the peephole first. “Rooster?” 

Bradley gave you a small grin. He was still wearing his jacket and tie from the rehearsal dinner, but the tie was now loosened and hanging around his muscular neck. “Hey Ace. Can I come in?” 

You nodded and stepped to the side of the door. Bradley stepped inside carefully, walking into the living room of the suite. 

“Shit, nice room,” he murmured. 

You shrugged. “Dad said to do whatever I wanted. And how many times do you get married? One night in a hotel suite isn’t going to break the bank.” 

Rooster nodded. “Yeah.” 

You crossed the room, brushing a hand over his back as you grazed past him toward the wet bar. “Want a drink?” 

“Sure. What do you have?” 

“Wine, gin, bourbon, vodka, whiskey, soda, champagne. Whatever you want, babe.” 

“Bourbon on the rocks.” 

“You got it.” You grabbed a rocks glass and dropped in a few large cubes from the built-in ice maker before splashing a generous pour of Blanton’s over it. Despite the fact that you had promised yourself you were done drinking after the rehearsal dinner, you poured yourself a glass of champagne and sunk down on the couch next to Bradley, holding out his glass. “Cheers.” 

“Cheers,” Bradley whispered, tipping the glass back and pouring half of it down his throat. You sipped carefully at your champagne flute, eyes wide. 

“What’s up, Roo?” you asked softly, hand reaching out on the back of the white silk couch, touching him. He curled his fingertips around yours. 

“Do you remember the night we met?” he asked. 

You laughed. “Of course I do. You spilled an entire tray of tequila shots on my shoes.” 

It had been a hot June Saturday. You were out with a few girlfriends. You had just finished your junior year at Georgetown and were back home in Annapolis. 

You were standing at the bar, ordering another round, when the oaf next to you turned too quickly, taking down a waitress and her entire platter of tequila shots. They rained down on your feet. Thankfully you were wearing sneakers, so no glass penetrated your skin, but you smelled like the inside of a Mexican brothel. 

“Dude?” you exclaimed, looking up at him. 

Bradley Bradshaw looked back with wide eyes, cheeks flushed with pink embarrassment. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed and before you realized it, you were swept into his arms and he was carrying you bride-style into the unisex bathroom in the back. 

“Hey man?” you asked, tapping his shoulder. “Want to put me down?” 

“Sorry, yeah,” he said, setting you down gently. You tugged at your denim shorts and gave him a funny look. 

“Why’d you do that?” 

“In case there was glass,” he said softly. “Didn’t want you to step on it and hurt yourself.” 

You peeled off your white Keds, which were soaked and now a faint yellow color, and lifted one leg to dunk your foot into the gross sink. “You just go around pouring tequila on girls and then scooping them up and hauling them into dark bathrooms?” 

“I, uh,” Bradley stuttered and you laughed. He caught your gaze in the mirror and laughed with you. “I’m Bradley.” 

“Y/N,” you said. “Now are you gonna help me wash my shoes or what?” 

He picked up the Keds from the floor and took them to the other sink, rinsing them under cold water and pressing soap against the cloth sides. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see that waitress standing there.” 

You shrugged. “It’s fine. Not the first time I’ve had a drink spilled on me. I’ve been to my share of college parties.” 

He grinned. “Where do you go?” 

“Georgetown,” you replied and he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be a senior in the fall.”

“Georgetown,” he repeated. “Impressive.”

“Not really.” You switched feet, lathering the cheap pink soap over the toes of your left foot. “How about you, tequila boy? What’s your story?” 

“Naval Academy,” he said and you peered at him. It made sense, you guessed. He was tall, lean, and muscular. He had deft hands, you could tell just from the way he was cleaning your shoes. And he had a quick reaction to scooping you up and hauling you into the bathroom, despite your protests. 

“Just at the bar trying to sleep with townies?” you asked. 

Bradley practically choked on his own spit. He caught your cackle in the mirror and turned to you with a grin. “God, you’re something, aren’t you?” 

“I’m drunk is what I am,” you replied. 

He held the shoes under the automatic hand dryer and you watched in silence as Bradley rotated them evenly. After a few minutes, he held them out to you. “Not perfect, but it’ll do.” 

“Thanks,” you murmured, reaching out and grabbing them. You leaned against the cool white porcelain sink to slide each shoe on, bending over to tie the laces. When you straightened up, Bradley was staring at you. You crossed your arms in front of your chest, leaning back against the sink. “So, sailor,” you said softly and he grinned. “Buy me a drink to make up for the truckload of tequila you dumped on me?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Bradley placed his hand on your low back and steered you out back into the bar. Someone had cleaned up the tequila catastrophe and you stepped right back to where you had been standing before the incident, Bradley’s fingers still warm on your back. They slid off as he went to grab his wallet to open a tab and you looked up at him. He was attractive in an entirely unexpected way. There were small scars that peppered the left side of his face and you wanted to reach out and trail your fingers over them. 

He handed you a glass — a vodka soda this time — and you smiled at him. Bradley smiled back. 

And then a hand appeared on his shoulder and you looked up. A guy with the whitest teeth and perfect Dr. McDreamy hair stared back at you. “Bradshaw, who’s your friend?” 

He was gorgeous. You felt your blood freeze for a moment. 

And then Bradley’s voice pulled you out of your coma. 

“Y/N, this is Jeremy. He’s my roommate at the academy.” 

Jeremy smiled and you felt your heart speed up. “Nice to meet you.” 

You left that night on Jeremy’s arm. He brought you back to his room at the academy; you were staying for the summer with your parents and bringing a boy home that you had met two hours earlier would have sent up red flags to your father. 

After, you got dressed and left Jeremy asleep on his bed. You cracked the door open carefully, closing it behind you with a soft thud. 

And then you almost tripped on a leg jutting out into the hallway. 

“Fuck!” You stumbled but righted yourself at the last moment. Bradley gazed up at you with tired eyes. “Bradley?” 

He nodded and stood up, wiping at his eyes. His Hawaiian shirt was rumpled and it looked like he had been asleep against the wall. 

“Were you sleeping?” 

“Just closed my eyes for a second,” he whispered. 

You looked down at your watch and groaned. “Shit.” It was almost four in the morning. Your dad would definitely be looking for you. You looked back at him. “I’m sorry.” 

Bradley shrugged. “It’s fine. Happens.” 

You looked back at the door, forlorn. So it happened a lot. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You had slept with Jeremy after three rounds of drinks. Why would you think that wasn’t a regular occurrence for him? You nodded. “I see.” 

“Y/N,” Bradley reached out and grabbed your hand. You looked up at him. “That’s not what I meant.” He sighed. “Jeremy, he’s a good guy. You should know that.” 

You smiled. “I needed to hear that. Thanks.” 

Bradley smiled back at you. “Well, I should probably get some rest.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I should go.” 

“Do you need a ride or something?” 

“I’ll just get an Uber.” 

“I can wait with you.” 

“You’d do that?”

Bradley squeezed your hand. You hadn’t even realized he had never dropped it. “Of course.” 

The two of you stood in silence outside the dorm building. You were cold in the early morning fog. You shivered and Bradley shrugged out of his ugly Hawaiian button up and handed it to you. 

“Here.” 

“Oh. Thanks.” You slid it on. It smelled like suntan lotion and beer and it was warm from where it had hugged Bradley’s boxy form. 

A Honda rolled up slowly and you checked your phone, reading out the license plate. 

“This is me,” you confirmed. Bradley nodded. You stepped to the curb and pulled open the door. “Hey, Bradley?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” 

He smiled. “I hope so.” 

“Why is that what you’re thinking of?” you asked softly, taking another sip of champagne. 

Bradley leaned back against the white couch, sliding his arm down to his side. You combed your fingers through his hair at his temple and he shut his eyes. “How’d we get here, Ace?” 

“Get where, honey?” you asked. 

Bradley sat up and looked at you. “Here, Y/N. With you marrying my best friend tomorrow, in the ballroom downstairs.” 

You reeled back. There was a fire in Bradley’s eyes. You had seen that look before. “Brad,” you whispered. “What’s going on?” 

“Why are you marrying him, Y/N?” he asked. “Why him?” 

Your mouth popped open. Suddenly, it felt like the entire suite was devoid of air. You wanted to gasp but there was nothing to suck into your lungs. All that existed in that moment was Bradley.

“Roo? You’re not gonna believe it.” 

Bradley took a deep breath. “What is it, Ace?” 

“Jeremy asked me to marry him!”

He looked at your face. How fucking estatic you were. It had been seven years since the night the three of you met. Well, since the night you and Bradley had met, Jeremy had shown up out of the blue. Swooping in. Stealing the girl. Doing what he had always done. 

But this time had been different. You were different. 

You should have been his. 

“Bradley?” 

He looked up into your eyes. “What did you say?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I said yes, Brad. Of course I said yes.” 

And then you launched yourself into his arms, his hands wrapped around your waist, your fingers pressed tightly around his neck. 

You whispered into his ear. “I’m getting married, Bradley. How crazy is that?” 

He pulled you in closer. “It’s insane,” he murmured against your neck. “I can’t believe it.” 

“What did you say?” you asked, aghast. 

Bradley’s eyes were trained on yours. There was a hardness in his features that you recognized from all the times the two of you had been in difficult spots before. The first time he and Jeremy deployed together and you held both of them on the tarmac, tears in your eyes, your voice hoarse from spending the entire night before crying. It was the same look he had when Carole died and you had stood in a black wrap dress under an umbrella in the rain next to Bradley as they lowered her casket into the ground. It was the way he looked at you when you said the doctor found a mass on your ovary, only for them to remove it and confirm it was benign a few weeks later. It was the way he looked the night you had fought when he accused you of throwing your life away to follow him and Jeremy around the country from base to base. 

You had never been able to let him go. It was always the three of you. It had always been the three of you. 

Even when it was supposed to just be you and Jeremy. Bradley had always been there, in the shadows, never out of reach. It’s how you wanted him. It’s how you needed him. 

“Brad?” 

“Don’t marry him,” Bradley said. “Please.” 

You had loved Bradley Bradshaw for years. He was the best friend you had ever had. He fit so seamlessly into your life that you could barely remember a moment when he wasn't in it. 

He was the person holding your hair when you drank too much on your twenty-fifth birthday in Las Vegas. Bradley was there when you ran your first marathon. He was there when you and Jeremy bought the house. He was there the day you brought home Buddy, your labrador rescue. Somehow every single memory over the last decade has Bradley on the edges of it. 

He was also Jeremy’s best friend. 

“Most of you know me. I’m Bradley Bradshaw, best friend of the groom and best man.” Bradley paused while there were cheers from the tables of other Naval aviators. You grinned up at him from where you sat next to him. “But you might not know that I’m also a best friend of the bride’s.” He gazed down at you. “Y/N isn’t just the best thing that happened to Jeremy. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, too. So it’s the greatest honor of my life to be here with you all as they commit themselves to each other. I’ve been the third wheel for most of their firsts.” There was laughter in the audience but Bradley didn’t notice. His eyes were still on yours. You held his gaze, unblinking. “Tomorrow is just another first for these two. Here’s to a lifetime together. I love you both.” 

Finally he lifted his gaze from yours and raised his glass. 

“A toast to Jeremy and Y/N. Thank God I spilled tequila all over her shoes a decade ago or we wouldn’t be here now.” 

More cheering. Bradley gulped down his entire flute of champagne and sat down. You leaned over and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love you, Roo,” you whispered into his ear. 

His hand came out and brushed against the white silk of your dress where it sat on your hip. “I love you too, baby.” 

Bradley’s soft brown eyes bore into yours. You suddenly felt exposed in your thin white lace nightgown that you had been wearing when you answered the door. You stood up and crossed the room, shrugging on the matching robe, cinching it tightly around your waist. So tight it hurt. 

Everything hurt. 

“What are you saying?” you whispered. “I’m getting married in less than twenty-four hours, Bradley. Why are you doing this?” 

Bradley stood up. “Because I can’t watch you get up there and walk down the aisle to him.” 

“Why?” you wailed. “Why the fuck not, Bradley?” 

“Because it should be me!” he shouted and you froze. Bradley froze. The air in the room froze. 

“What did you say?” Your voice was barely a whisper. It was so thin it could break. The way Bradley was breaking but you just couldn’t see it. Maybe it had always been like this and you had never seen it. 

Bradley strode across the room until the two of you were only inches apart, his hands on your neck, tilting your head up to look at him. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you since that very first night at the bar. I kick myself every night for not making you mine before Jeremy could.” 

“Bradley.” 

He dropped his hands and took a step back. You felt tears start to well behind your eyes. “I wanted to tell you, Y/N. I started to. A hundred times. A thousand. But then I saw how happy you were with him and I stopped myself. I care more about you being happy than anything else in the world.” 

He paused. You wiped at the tears beneath your eyes, the heavy diamond on your left hand grazing your cheek. 

A reminder. 

Bradley took a breath. “I’ll walk away, Ace. I’ll go back to my room and pretend I never came here. And tomorrow I’ll stand up there next to Jeremy and watch you walk down the aisle like the most beautiful bride on the planet and I’ll try to forget that I’ve loved you for a decade and nobody else can compare to you. I’ll do all of that, if you can answer one question for me.” 

You raised your eyes to his. 

“Does he make you as happy as I would make you?” 

A/N: This is a two-part series!

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[ashlingnarcos]

blood on vacation

David Barrón/F!Reader

written for @narcosfandomdiscord's smut alphabet, namely the July 2 prompt blood

tags: fistfight, absolutely unhinged preoccupation with bloody knuckles, fingering, oral sex

warnings: blood, probably unsanitary, reader is an OFC (Sabrina Tanaka), violence, this was not beta read and it kind of sucks ngl

length: 1.8k words

You’ve only been Mexico City for a week, and you’re already all vacationed out. It’s not Marcela’s fault. The two of you make no sense as friends—she, the trust fund kid formerly known as Marcelo who initially met you at your dad’s jiu jitsu academy, currently partying her way across the globe with an increasingly dodgy set of cousins, exes, and assorted other rich vagabonds, and then you, the standoffish sparring tutor forever known as Mr. Tanaka’s kid, with an unhealthy penchant for taking your skills to street wanderings, just to see if you could. She was whimsical and merry, spiritually curious and given to bouts of dangerously committed romantic pining, and you were stolid and practical and highly suspicious of anyone as eager to please as a car salesman, much less a preacher or supposed future lover. The one similarity between the two of you is that you both were born and raised in São Paulo, and could both kick hard enough to break bones. But the rest? Pure opposites attract chemistry. 

She’s been generous on this trip, doing the rich girl thing in splendid style, and footing the bill for your part completely. She translates for you whenever she sees you getting lost—Brazilian Portuguese is similar enough to Mexican Spanish that you can kinda sorta understand what people are saying if they’re saying it slowly and doing overtime with the nonverbal cues—and does it naturally, not like it’s a chore or an opportunity to show off. She introduces you to her club kid friends with excitement, like she’s showing them someone really cool. She’s a sweetheart, Marcela is, and you’re more than happy to wingwoman her into a spot sitting on the lap of some baby narco named Ramón. But the good food aside, you’re still so alienated and bored that when a fistfight breaks out in the club, it come as a welcome change of pace.

There’s broken glass on the ground—Ramón’s older sister smashed a bottle over somebody’s head, good for her—so no ground fighting for you. And there’s too many people around to dedicate yourself to a hold. So you fall back on a motley bag of street fighting tricks, plus what you learned from a misspent summer at a boxing club, mostly just trying to stay upright and get your licks in where you can. It’s all fun and games until one of them slaps you, open palm. A punch would’ve been fine, but this? You hit his nose with the base of your palm, driving up to break it, then follow that up with a jab. Not satisfied yet, you sweep one of his feet out from under him, shove hard, and finally get him on the ground (broken glass be damned) in a hold that has him gasping fruitlessly for oxygen, his neck in the crook of your arm, his body trying to wriggle round and find an angle at which his elbow shots to your ribs will actually mean something. Unfortunately for him, when you’re pissed off, you could take it all the way to fully broken ribs and not care. Fortunately for him, nobody there actually wants anyone to die, so after a bit, several people pull you off him. One of them is Marcela, so you give it up. The fight has died down anyways; both sides are separating into bloodstained, wary-eyed groups. 

Keeping steady eye contact with the man who slapped you, you lift your bloody-knuckled hand to your mouth, part your lips, and lick a long stripe of his blood off your skin. Slow and intentional and savagely self-satisfied. 

As you turn to talk to Marcela, ask her where the bathrooms are so you can clean yourself up a little (Ramón is already yelling about partying the whole night through, and Marcela seems completely unruffled, so you doubt you’re all about to leave now), you catch a glimpse of something. Everyone here is preoccupied with their injuries, or other people’s, or the retreating crowd of interlopers, except for one man who seems to have witnessed your last threat. He’s dressed a little different than the others, in an oversized polo shirt. You remember getting a glimpse of him in the fight, thinking you might need to take him on next and grimly assessing that prospect as a dangerous one before he easily elbowed a guy who was heading for Ramón’s brother. So he’s not useless, and he’s not easily cowed. Just now, he’s looking back at your challenge of a glance with a flat-eyed expression that you can’t quite parse.

Hm.

No language in common and barely any friends, but you wanted a kill and you didn’t get one, and here’s another man. You’ll have to make do with another kind of death.

.

.

.

Inside the club bathroom, he hooks his fingers over the top of your jeans and tugs you forwards a couple inches. Commanding, but not a threat. Not trying to make you stumble, just getting you that much closer.

Regarding him with a curious, almost lazy look, you’re almost inclined to let him have his way, but then, as he goes to unbutton your jeans, his knuckles smear blood along your stomach. You close your hands over his wrists, and he pauses. 

“Go wash your hands,” you say, slow and clear, lave as mãos. And he gets it.

You know he gets it, because he looks down at your hands, your bruised, swollen, bloody hands, and then back up at you in a way that makes his blank expression rather pointed. Oh, does the international man of mystery have a sense of humor after all?

“Do it,” you say, faça isso. That must not be close enough to Spanish, because he frowns a little. You give up. 

You pull his hands out of your jeans, feeling a shiver go through you at the friction, and then you let go of him, walk over to the sink, and turn on the tap. As you lean back against it, the countertop digs into your thighs, suggestive. The dull pulsing thump of the club music outside gives the tiny bathroom a cloistered, cocooned quality. His dark eyes meet yours evenly. 

You don’t move, don’t so much as lift an eyebrow. Silent. Yeah?

Yeah. He takes a couple steps forward and washes his hands, and as he does so he mutters something to himself in yet another language, English, maybe. As he dries his hands, he smiles. It’s a wry, private smile. 

Two can play at that game. In your mediocre, third-generation Japanese, you say, “I have every intention of eating you whole” in exactly the same voice another woman might’ve said something sexy.

As he steps towards you, you could swear he says something that sounds like gostaria, dangerously close to I would like that, almost like he understands you.

You decide: no more talking.

Zero to a hundred. He tastes like beer and you, unfortunately, can’t get enough; your hands cup the back of his head, his neck, fingertips digging in as he finally unbuttons your jeans and shoves them and your panties down your thighs in one impatient motion. You could hop up onto the countertop, but why do that? This way is so much better, his wet hands gripping your ass, the swift coolness of droplets sliding down the back of your thighs, the low grunt he makes when he lifts you. 

“Sorry, was that hard for you?” you say, but he’s two steps ahead of you. Got his palms warm on the inside of your knees, spreading your thighs and catching sight of just how wet you are for him. It’s his turn to be smug, clearly, but you can’t even be mad at it when he wears that smile so well. 

He gets on his knees. 

You should’ve known it’d be like this from the second you caught his eye in the aftermath of the fight. You really should’ve known, but it still punches an unwanted sound out of you, a small sound in the back of your throat, when he gets his face between your thighs in seconds, no hesitation, and starts to lick your cunt like it’s ice cream and he’s starving. 

With the countertop digging into your legs and the mirror hard against the back of your head, your body throbbing with new bruises, you have no right to feel this good, but you do. With your fingers sunk into his hair and your eyes half-lidded, you feel like you could melt and slip right down that drain. For his part, he’s got you just how he wants you, with your legs parted wide to accommodate the width of his shoulders, his right forearm a bar across your belly. You have no fucking idea how or why he’s doing this—men who see you gone full destroyer don’t usually think to themselves, I want to make her feel good, they tend to think along much darker lines. They want to dominate you, and you get what fun you can out of the process of denying them that. But this? He got on his knees like it was his first choice. You do not know what this is, but you’ll take it. He slips a finger inside you, and you’re so wet that it barely burns at all. Two fingers. Fuck. He leans his weight into your stomach, across your thighs, to stop you from bucking up into his mouth, and that’s—that’s fair. It’s all you can do not to whimper, and your heavy panting sounds desperate enough. Three fingers and you do whimper.

He looks up, and you’re already bracing yourself, but no. There’s no sneer in it; there’s something else. All night, this nameless man has been quiet, unnoticeable, and then, once noticed,  mysterious, but now you see him. The first look is caution, but the second? The second is all appreciation, like he could drink the sight. 

That look hits you hard. You close your eyes, because you don’t want to see it, don’t know what the hell to do with it, and choose instead to sink deep into the sensations in your body as he wrings you out. A wave of euphoria hits you as you come, and it’s just the body, you know it’s just the body, but when it’s over and he has his chin propped up on your thigh, both of you looking exhausted, neither of you done, you get the weirdest urge to push his sweat-damp hair off his forehead. Little killer, you want to say. Damn near affectionate. (It’s just the body.)

.

.

.

The cops arrive at the club before you can manage to return the favor, and Marcela hates all interactions with the cops with a flaming passion, so you have to get her out even though in all likelihood Ramón will just have to flash them a medium-size wad of bills. Later, though, when you can, you confess all (most) of the strange encounter to her, and she gets the message out to him. Through which of the tiny terrors, you don’t want to know. Probably Ramón, a thought that does not fill you with confidence. But he gets the message anyway.

The message is: I owe you one.

[rusticahouse]

Extend the Mexican theme to your sink vanity by using narrower Talavera tiles such as Mexican border tiles. These tiles can be used as a backsplash or to decorate the entire vanity area. The result is a cohesive and visually striking design. As smaller accents, consider framing your bathroom mirror with decorative Talavera tiles to tie in the theme. Hang Mexican artwork or prints on your bathroom walls to add character and cultural depth. Use Mexican pottery and textiles for functional and decorative purposes, such as soap dishes, towels, and curtain accents. Mexican interiors often incorporate natural elements, like succulent plants and rustic wood. Bring these elements into your bathroom through potted plants, wooden shelving, or even a driftwood-framed mirror. Adding Mexican style to your bathroom is a fantastic way to infuse color, culture, and character into your home. From the eye-catching patterns of Talavera tiles to the warmth of terracotta flooring, every element can play a role in creating a vibrant and inviting space.

[softle0]

hiiii, i hope you’re well. if you don’t mind could you show the floorplan for your “Residences for Ciudad Enamorada” lot?

Hello, sure! :) HOWEVERRR, this is nowhere to be finished so these floorplans may change.

And before, let me give you some historical context of the build so you can understand it a little better.

This build is pretty much a big square with a courtyard for privacy and a big outdoor hallway connecting different key points in the residence. Also known as classic Andalusian style. Originally from Spain. This type of home was very common before the XVI century if I'm correct. In the heart of Mexico City, build for the higher class from the New Spain (when Mexico was land of Spain) By XVII the higher class started moving from downtown to more exclusive areas. These residences started being home to the middle-lower class and got converted in a home for multiple families. These were called "Vecindades" (in English is basically neighborhood? cause there's not an accurate way to say it I believe) They used to share bathrooms and kitchen but later in history... (lol) They were converted in separate apartments. Sadly, these types of places are disappearing to give place to modernity UGHH and the few lefts are very expensive to live nowadays. So, what better thing to recreate in the sims so my simself can live my dream LMAO

Every side looks pretty much the same. A big hallway to the patio and a second hallway for the residence entrances.

Since I only did this floorplant placement really quick in order to help me place the inside windows. I suggest you come and ask me like in two weeks 😂 but this is how its looking so far. As you can see it's a pretty big residence. I'm building in the 50x40 lot in Britechester. I placed different wallpapers and floorings so you can see better how the apartments were separated. As you can see it's pretty big. I already have 6 apartments on the first floor. Right now, the second floor still an empty shell but I spect to add at least 5 new apartments. So yeah, it's a pretty big residence. I'm not sure if I'm going to share this since is already using quite a lot of different cc packs and nowadays, I prefer sharing no cc builds only so idk... it would be nice if you try to recreate it! If you need any idea of the facades, you can look for Mexican colonial architecture so you can have a better idea :)

but yeah, please please ask me in two weeks lol I'm pretty sure I have a lot of changes to make in some of them, since I'm still investigating how they look on the inside, because it's been so difficult to find a lot of references 😭😭 I'm literally watching a lot of mexican movies I remember watching before and having this type of homes to see if I can find accurate floorplans 😂

[pencilpat]

Sanders Sides: College AU - Part 6

Character sheets | Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“Did you not enjoy meeting me?” Patton tries to ignore the sweat on their skin as though these simple questions are an interrogation. “I did enjoy meeting you, J! You’re fun to talk to.”

Patton continues to be tangled in the coils of Janus's not-well-thought-out revenge plans. Virgil is struggling over the changes his partner is exhibiting. Remus and Roman decide some things matter more than drama from high school.

3,012 words

[CW: manipulation, drug mentions, character experiencing psychosis, mentions of panic attacks, alcohol mentions, discussion of holiday related trauma, abusive father mention, abusive mother mention, codependent familial relationship]

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The charms on Patton’s phone clack against each other as they walk down the street, glancing hurriedly around for a particular park bench between a bakery café and a bar. They glance at the texts from their new friend J one more time, scrolling up slightly through several days of messages just to check they have everything right. It’s midday on a weekend, and Patton may or may not have had to tell a small fib to get time away from the others; nothing terrible, they just told them they had some shopping to do.

They clutch their phone at their chest, nervously glancing up at a bakery with the correct name. They look around the sidewalk as they come up to it, landing on a bench right outside. The green painted wood stands out cheerily in an area of town where most color comes from neon signs promising your wildest of parties. It’s empty, however, and they hum to themselves and sit down, smoothing out their overall-dress with a heavy sigh.

Pat: Hey J! I’m here, where are u?

They fire off a confused text, rubbing their forehead and adjusting their glasses. The bakery wafts warm smells out at them that nearly, almost, cover the reek of the bars all around it. It’s a quiet little spot that seems so out of place… It’s kind of cute, with a wood cabin façade on the front of the brick building and rows of pastries in the window.

🍏❤: Look up

Patton rereads her message twice, glancing up and blinking rapidly around. From the glass door of the café, they finally see her, waving them inside with a glimmering smile and black gloved hands. Patton sighs in relief and enters the store, face to face with her.

“Hi J! I thought you might have bailed on hanging out for a moment.”

“Oh, Pat, please. I would never turn down an opportunity with you.”

Patton giggles slightly. “You say that like we’ve been friends for years instead of this being our third time even meeting up!”

J shrugs at them, a wry grin crossing the corners of her lips. She gestures around at the incredibly cozy looking bakery with armchairs and coffee tables instead of restaurant tables. “Is this more your thing than the bars we tried last time?”

“Oh!” Patton touches their chest, appreciating being thought of like that. “Um, yes, this is nicer and calmer. Those bars were a lot for me. So was being drunk.”

J smirks. “Yes, I could gather that considering you almost threw up in the bathroom.”

“Hey, don’t kick someone when they’re down, J!” Patton jokes, patting at her arm repeatedly. Looking over at the counter and the menu above it, Patton sees pastries, several coffees, and a whole separate menu of hot chocolates. “I guess it is getting close to the holidays,” they murmur as the two of them approach. Janus glances at them, but just proceeds with ordering a mint cocoa. Patton ends up settling on a Mexican style hot cocoa, which has never let them down in deliciousness before.

As they both sit down, Janus leans her chin on her hands. “So, what is it about the holidays that made you look like a shellshocked war vet all of a sudden?”

“Oh!” Patton tries to wipe anything but a smile off of their face. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to worry about it!”

“Hm, who said I was worried. Curious would perhaps be a more accurate word. Don’t you enjoy them? Sitting down with those you love and pretending, for just a moment in time, that all is well…” Janus trails off in thought, eyes closing.

“I think it’s all that pretending that I don’t like about it, actually. I had to pretend everything was just fine one too many times on Christmas day.”

“Oh?”

Patton flinches at their own revealing words. The distant image of their dad’s used needles on the coffee table alongside wrapping paper rotates in their mind, a thought they can’t banish. They knock their knuckles on the wooden armrests three times, taking a breath and holding it for a moment. The image moves on. “Yeah, the holidays weren’t… the best of times, growing up. Well, nothing was really the best of times back then.”

J says nothing for a moment, before realizing Patton has stopped. “Leaving me on a cliffhanger, Pat?”

“I don’t really like talking about it-“

The conversation is cut off by the appearance of a barista who sets their drinks in front of them with a wave. Patton picks up the red mug they were given, blowing on the steam and floating around a lone cinnamon stick inside of it. Decidedly not making eye contact. J stares at them, resting her gloved hands over the warm mug and drinking in the heat on her cold limbs. She massages her throat, deciding on a tone of voice to use. Concern? Guilt tripping? Passive aggressive? ‘Genuine’ kindness?

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” she says, settling on a compassionate, slightly upset tone. “But I just want to help, in any area I can.”

Patton shifts in their chair, and meets her eyes again with a tired sigh. “No, it’s okay, I know you just… just want to help. I don’t like talking about my childhood a lot of the time.” Janus nods, preparing to catalogue information for later. “It wasn’t a good one. My dad wasn’t a good guy, honestly, but- but he was very good at pretending to be. Went to church every Sunday, did substances in his free time, you know, typical hypocritical religious man.” Patton laughs uncomfortably, and Janus tilts her head, raising an eyebrow. Patton sips their still scalding cocoa, trying to hide or divert somehow. “A-anyways, he’s gone now. I don’t talk to my mom either, so… yeah.”

“Seems like you have a storied past, Pat. Does your… boyfriend take good care of you, at least? Did you take him out somewhere like I suggested?”

“Oh, he does take good care of me, yes! We both help each other with our mental health a lot.” Patton rubs their hand over the side of the mug anxiously. “I tried taking him somewhere during school hours as a surprise like you said might work, but I don’t know, I think it just upset him. There’s been some personal drama in our friend group.”

“Oh, has there?” she says. Janus represses the urge to be pleased with herself, because Patton seems upset in a way that even she doesn’t feel comfortable toying with.

“Yeah… Our housemate’s brother had to be kicked out.”

“Really?” she says, faux shocked. “And what caused that?”

“He was… involved with drugs,” Patton whispers. “And it was really- It- It could have put my friends in danger. We were being harassed by his dealers.”

“Was he not your friend as well?”

“Not… not in a real, genuine way. We would argue more than actually enjoy being around each other. We had very different ideas about right and wrong.”

“And what are your ideas on right and wrong, Pat?”

Patton chuffs out a light laugh. “Well, the main point of contention we argued on was that drugs are absolutely never a good thing, especially if other people are involved too.”

“Right, and that’s why you were out drinking alone when we met.”

Patton tenses up and hides in another sip of too-hot cocoa. “That was my first time ever- I do not go out. Not, at least, before we met.”

“Did you not enjoy meeting me?”

Patton tries to ignore the sweat on their skin as though these simple questions are an interrogation. “I did enjoy meeting you, J! You’re fun to talk to.”

“Well, at least I have that going for me. God forbid I secretly be a drug dealer or something, could you imagine?”

“You’re… not, are you?”

Janus’s smile falls dramatically into a near cartoonish disappointed frown, and she raises an eyebrow at them. “I was joking, no, I don’t do any substances but booze.”

“Okay, good, ha,” Patton relaxes a slight bit, breathing out a low breath. “How about you, J? I revealed some childhood of mine – how was yours?”

“Definitely just as bad as yours, sweetie.” It’s Janus’s turn to awkwardly sip at her mug, feeling small all of a sudden, as though the entire world is watching her rather than the single, spectacled gaze of her new 'bestie.' Patton stares at her curiously until the silence is making her uncomfortable. “I haven’t talked to either of my parents since I was 15 if that tells you anything.”

“Why’s that?”

Janus sighs through her nose, eyes closing tiredly for a moment as she picks her words carefully. “I got kicked out to put it simply. My parents were very traditional, only second-generation immigrants with a whole lot of strong ideals and desires about my future. They didn’t take kindly to having a trans kid, to say the least.” Patton nods, eyebrows creased sympathetically, encouraging her to keep going. “I made it on my own from there. Now, here I am. Voila.”

“That was a lot of words to tell me almost nothing at all, J,” Patton teases her lightly.

“I don’t prefer divulging so much information when I’ve met someone all of three times.”

Patton shrugs, humming. “That’s fair, I won’t pry! I don’t have a crowbar anyways.”

Janus chuckles, rolling her eyes just slightly. “Ugh, wordplay. Anyways. How is your drink?”

“Oh, it’s very nice! Hot cocoa never misses though, so it’s to be expected,” Patton smiles across at her. Janus hums, drinking deep from her mug, letting the warm feeling replace her pain just for a moment. She needs to remain unrecognized, but damn is it rough to get around without her crutches. The mint and chocolate taste does a good job of flooding her sense out. She sighs out a breath, peeking at Patton through one eye.

“This is nice. Very relaxing, quiet. Never thought I could enjoy an activity that is basically just sitting there.”

“Well, just sitting there can be nice! Especially with a friend.”

Janus smiles, though whether it’s a reaction to the kindness or a grim nod to how far from friendship this really is, even she couldn’t tell you. “I’m glad you feel that way, Pat. I suppose we can do more things at ‘your pace’ from here on; I’ve realized I just might need the relaxation. Plus, you are ever-interesting to learn about.”

Patton smiles at her sheepishly, and her lips split into a smile as well, teeth bared and glimmering under her thick black lipstick.

--

They’ve attempted to practice this song before, so Virgil lets himself get very, very into it, banging the drums like he has a personal vendetta against percussion instruments while Roman attempts to keep up on his bass guitar. Roman sweatily plays the last notes of the song, but Virgil doesn’t stop playing, seemingly just starting right back into the drums for the chorus in a loop, his eyes closed and face scrunched up.

“Virgil!” Roman attempts to call out to him four times, and eventually just walks up to him and catches the cymbal as he was about to hit it, muffling it and finally startling him out of his trance. “Earth to emo, the song’s over already!” Virgil just stares at him for a moment, panting with wide eyes.

“Uh- Sorry. I got caught up in it.”

“No kidding,” Roman snarks, leaning against his kit. “How are we supposed to have a successful recording if you are dead set on becoming the next Def Leopard?”

“Sorry, jeeze,” Virgil mumbles. He begins getting up and moving towards their water bottles, and Roman can’t help noticing how stiff and uncomfortable he looks.

“Virgil?” he stops him. “Hey, is something amiss?”

Virgil sighs, chugs a large gulp of water, and then wipes his brow. “Yeah, it’s- I’m fine, it’s nothing serious.”

“You are acting fishier than sushi Sundays, just tell me what’s up.”

Virgil groans. “I dunno. Patton’s just been… weird lately. Have you noticed it at all?”

Roman tries to think, tapping his chin. “Nothing outside of their usual oddities.”

“They’ve been veering into really upsetting territory for me lately.” Roman makes an inquiring hum, and Virgil grimaces. “Really quick to tell white lies and immediately assure me it won’t have any consequences. They also stay up in the living room most nights instead of coming to bed with me early like they used to. And they keep leaving the house for seemingly no reason.”

“Not necessarily the most unlike them they could act, but it is odd. Do you think it could be new rituals? Do they need their meds adjusted?”

Virgil shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t know. They haven’t needed their meds changed in at least half a year; they’ve been really stable anxiety-wise? It’s just- just weird, and I don’t like it. It keeps making me have panic attacks.”

“Well, we certainly can’t have that. Have you spoken with them about it yet?”

“No, I’m too nervous that I’m just being… being over-cautious.” Virgil pulls up his hood, gripping the sides of it and worrying with the fabric. “What if I bring it up and they think I’m being crazy?”

Roman touches his hands with his, for once gloveless, fingers, looking at him seriously. “You know for a fact Patton would never in their life call you crazy, especially when you are just concerned for them. Whatever it is, I know they’ll let us know when they feel like they can. Until then, I know it’s asking much from you, but trust them.”

Virgil grimaces, but it fades into a soft smile. “Thanks for reassuring me, Rom, I’m sorry. Just get a little anxious sometimes.”

“Oh please, in another universe, the name on your birth certificate is ‘Anxiety’ Addams instead,” Roman teases. Virgil scoffs, then swipes Roman’s bangs into his face, leaving him sputtering on his own hair as they both laugh.

--

Roman is already settled cozily in bed and half asleep when his phone begins ringing, and he groans at it dramatically for ruining his sleep. He fumbles on his bedside table and pulls the bright light into view. He nearly drops the phone in his urgency to pick it up the second his sleepy eyes register Remus’s contact name.

“Remus! You’re calling me?! You dick, just text me when I te-“

“Do you hate me, Roman?”

Roman just kind of freezes in place, listening to his twin’s very heavy breathing. “Remus? Are you okay?”

Remus laughs shakily on the other end. “Change of environment finally caught up with me. The stress of ignoring you did too, I guess.”

Roman cups the phone against his ear as though it could count as comforting Remus across the phone line. “I don’t hate you, no. I don’t think I could manage it as much as I like to pretend I can.” Roman replies to him with as much sober sincerity as he posed the question. “You’re my brother, you know?”

“Being their son didn’t make them love me. I don’t know why you’d uphold family ties so much after everyone else got rid of me.” Roman hears Remus’s breath hitch, and he knows instantly that he must be feeling things grabbing his legs again. It’s a common but very distressing hallucination for him.

“Remus, mom and dad can suck shit,” Roman declares, and to his happiness, it draws a more genuine sounding chuckle from his twin. He can’t help smiling at the sound of his stupid laugh. “Maybe family ties are bullcrap, but whatever you and I have isn’t anything like how mom and dad ‘showed love.’ We actually love each other, like real fucking family.” Roman pauses, listening to Remus breathe again, proving his twin is there to himself. “I did promise I’d always take care of you. Nothing about that has changed.”

“It has though, y’know?” Remus’s voice shakes slightly. “We’re adults, like fully now, and we can’t be that close anymore.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be healthy for two 20ish bros to share a bed, no offence but I don’t like you like that,” Remus jokes, making Roman snort out a laugh and roll his eyes.

“Remus, you’re such an idiot. I do concede that I never want to share a bed with you again because you stink,” Remus laughs on the other end, but Roman continues. “But us doing that isn’t the extent of brother-ness. You were sick, like really sick, back then. We can care for each other… outside the context of suffering, too.”

“Even though I went and stayed with her? Do you really think Virgil could handle you still talking to me regularly?”

Roman sighs. “Look- Just- Some things are more important than that stupid godawful fight from high school. You and I weren’t even involved, we just had to physically put ourselves between them.”

“Didn’t know Virgil was capable of being that scary TBH,” Remus mutters, pronouncing each letter of the acronym.

“Yyyeah, me either up until then.” He sighs. “We couldn’t exactly not take his side, you know?”

“We could have not taken sides at all!”

“Remus, look, Janus isn’t – or at least wasn’t – a good person or a good friend, and even if you’re talking to her, don’t bring her into me and Virgil’s lives if you can help it. Please?” Roman listens to him breathe in deeply.

“I won’t, don’t worry about that. Look your highness, I need to go and smoke a joint, or else this episode is just getting worse for the night, but Roman?”

“Yes Remus?”

“I promise I won’t ignore your texts anymore. See you never, loser.”

“See you in tartarus , you jerk,” Roman says playfully, rolling his eyes. “And… Love you.”

There’s a pause of silence and shifting for a bit longer than comfortable. “Love you too, Rom,” Remus says, quickly hanging up and leaving Roman alone in the darkness again.

[fleckcmscott]

Before

Summary: Released from Arkham State Hospital, Arthur works towards returning to his normal life. With a big item checked off his to-do list, his romantic soul spends the evening dreaming of the future to come.

Words: 2,300

Warnings: None

A/N: This oneshot is the result of a collaboration with @sweet-nothings04​. 💜 After coming up with a few basic parameters, we went off to compose our own pieces. Our stories turned out to be similar in ways both big and small! @sweet-nothings04​, thanks for agreeing to this fun project! Here's a link to her story: Finding Rhythm. Hope you all enjoy our work! 😃

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Penny's thin voice rose behind him, a hair above her Grizzly Adams rerun. "Happy, did you mail my letter?"

Arthur shut the door, slid the chain lock into place. The deadbolt gave a confident click. Shrugging off his mustard jacket, he answered as he had a hundred times before. "Yeah. I dropped it in the mailbox on the corner."

"You should've put it in the lobby for the postman."

Mr. Wayne's not gonna answer any of them, anyway. Lips flattened, Arthur shoved his hand in his pocket. Jittery fingers plucked at a loose thread. Three long inhales later, he pushed aside the assumption by walking towards her armchair. The television's dull blue lent his mother an austere look, sharpening her cheekbones, bleaching the blush she wore. He switched on the floor lamp to the left.

"Sorry, mom. Here." He held out the trinket he'd found at Helm's pharmacy, a shop full of panicked men who'd forgotten today was The Big One.

A foggy blink at the offering, then at him. "What is it?"

"It's a present. For Valentine's. It's a-" He flipped over the pink, scalloped tin to squint at a label. "Pot-porey. It smells real nice. I thought you'd like it in the bathroom." The plastic air freshener on the toilet tank was one item he hadn't yet replaced. The list of chores to do after his release from Arkham a couple weeks back had been as long as a sermon he didn't want to hear.

"Oh, Happy. It's pronounced 'potpourri.'" She traced the lid's embossed doily, the tiny roses and pearls. When she popped it open, artificial florals floated. Strong enough to imprint on his smoker's nostrils. Penny smiled, soothing the smart of her correction, making him smile in turn. "What time is it? We don't want to miss Murray."

"Murray isn't on on Saturdays," he said. Her absence tended to worsen in the evenings, as though the simple act of sitting in a chair wore her out. He padded to the kitchen, flicked on the fluorescent above the sink, and spoke to her over the breakfast bar.  "And it's time for you to eat."

Two frozen dinners stared at him, four course meals in a sturdy teal box. A Mexican style entrée or meatloaf. Beans and rice were easy for Penny to chew, though the beef enchiladas risked a mess. Oh well. A pile of laundry already awaited in the bathroom. The addition of a slopped-on nightie wouldn't break his back. He popped the aluminum tray in the oven and made a note to get groceries tomorrow.

He cut the enchiladas into bite-sized morsels. The pepper and tomato fiesta sauce made his mouth water. A shock since he couldn't remember the last time eating had been more than survival. He snuck a sample, made a small sound of approval. Once he'd arranged the fork, knife, and paper napkin on the wooden lap tray, he brought it out to his mother.

"Tuck your napkin in your collar," he said, perching on the sofa. "Yesterday went really well, mom. If I get this job, I'll have my own locker." He'd told her this the night before, but with her lack of reaction, he wasn't sure if she'd heard him.

Slow, steady spoonfuls of beans. Focus lost to the TV, where a bearded man conversed with a bear. "That's nice."

Arthur grabbed Gotham Today from the coffee table and uncapped a ballpoint pen. Flipped past the front page and its perpetually dour headlines, sped by Global News, the Arts, Sports to reach the classifieds.

Life insurance salesman would be a real laugh, considering what'd led to his remandment. Commodities system analyst was a riddle he wasn't interested in solving. Typist and legal secretary? Those sounded like women's professions, and even if they weren't, he couldn't spell well enough to do either. And sitting at a desk for eight hours bordered on the never ever.

He circled a blurb for an assistant for a children's show at Gotham Public Broadcasting, and one for what was described as a "driven media consultant." Plans B and C. With any luck after his interview at HaHa's, they wouldn't come into play.

Hoyt Vaughn's office had had the aura of a disorganized closet. Jammed with circus posters, musical instruments, stacks ready to topple. A fifth of whiskey stood on his personal microwave. Aspirin bottles and paperwork littered the man's desk. A giant jack-in-the-box underneath grinned at Arthur's knees.

The interview had been quick as a flashbulb. What was his work history? (Clowning on and off, jobs that required overalls and staying out of sight.) The question of why he'd been out of work had caught him off guard. When Dr. Kane had said she'd assist him with gaining employment, he'd assumed that'd meant she'd explain. Arthur had tried to answer honestly, stated he'd been in the hospital - no, not that one, the other one. Whether Hoyt's laugh had meant derision or connection hadn't been clear, so Arthur had cackled along with him.

Performers had to supply their own costumes and props, and they were to be available any time, any day. Most clowns worked the day shift. Ladies entertainment filled the nights. (Hoyt had thrown him a withering look. "You're not stripper material, are ya?" "No. I wanna be a comedian.") Arthur wouldn't mind being an independent contractor. A job was a job, and it seemed like this was one he could love. Where he could fulfill his purpose while bringing money in. Money sorely needed.

When Penny had taken her last bite of rice, he wiped the spots around her mouth her napkin had neglected. Washed crumbs and splats from the lap tray. He went through the routine of soaping a washcloth to cleanse her face, putting toothpaste on her toothbrush. Once she was tucked beneath her purple, velvet quilt, he patted her cheek.

"Don't stay up too late," he said. "I'll be in the other room." Then he slipped out and sighed the sigh of the overburdened and underpaid.

He loved Penny with all his heart. And it often dawned on him that she was about all he had. She'd been the one to call the doctor, have him committed, ensure he received the treatment he'd need. There was no one else who cared to keep him around. But it could be a challenge, not have any space. Not having a break from responsibilities to tend to himself, to learn to tend to himself the way Dr. Kane had outlined.

He shut off the TV and headed to the kitchen. He prepared his hundredth tray of ready-made meatloaf, tater tots, peas, and dessert. He cut a one inch slit in the foil over each side and uncovered the brownie, a guaranteed path to a crunchy crust.

Eager to enjoy the evening's programming, he turned the windowsill radio to 1080 WGCR. But Sears Radio Theatre had been supplanted. A call-in show had stolen its throne, a show for people to request songs and dedicate them to their sweethearts. It made sense, given the day, but Arthur wasn't sure he liked it. A silly program would've entertained.

The DJ's voice dripped like honey. "Here's Stevie Wonder's 'Signed, Sealed, Delivered,' going out to Mark from Linda." The funky beat slithered into Arthur's white sock, wiggled his right big toe. Greg attempted to win back his ex with "Don't Make My Brown Eyes Blue." And then a recorded message, an earnest plea from starstruck lover Brian. "Donna, I hope you're listening. I love you. I can't imagine my life without you. Would you marry me?"

Arthur spun the dial to a middling frequency.

Umami sodium wafted through the kitchen, the familiar fragrance of food on clearance. Bracing himself on the counter with both hands, he allowed subconscious meanderings to filter to the surface. He thought he understood the nature of love. What would it be like to love someone enough to want to marry them? All of it was supposed to start with a date, right? Dinner and a movie? With his new job, maybe he'd get the chance to meet a pretty girl. A nice break from the pendulum that swung between the apartment and appointments. His eyelids fell shut at the chance at serendipity. The idea of preparing a homecooked meal for her.

A magic wand would fall from gloved hands, roll down the sidewalk to collide with pointy-toed high heels. "Of all the shoes in all the cities in all the world," he'd say, "it rolled into yours." A stolen line that masked earnest longings beneath a veneer of playfulness. She'd return the wand with a smile, sweet and as open as his own heart. He'd thank her. Be brave enough to inch forward. Enclose her palm in his.

Given the possible interactions with his medications, Arthur didn't keep alcohol in the house. Now he'd have to take that risk. Helm's had inexpensive bottles, the nice looking ones with gold foil on the cap. Not a red, though, or a white, but a vibrant pink to match the occasion.

When she'd knock on 8J's door, the peas wouldn't be done. He'd've misjudged the timing of the instant potatoes and the meatloaf. But she'd be too kind to hold it against him, for kindness would float all around her. Rather, she'd peck his cheek and follow him to the kitchen, where they'd roll up their sleeves and shell them together.

Women in movies always dressed up for dates, and this dream girl of his would be no different. Slacks that flattered her hips, hugged her slim waist, flaunted a dip perfectly shaped for cupping. A sweater, perhaps a fiery orange or sophisticated brown, ended at the belt line, teased a flash of her oval navel. She'd wear a gold charm around her neck, a sun to match her smile, which he'd replace with a scarf by the night's end. One of his future props, a memory of what'd brought them together. It knotted his insides, thinking how near he'd have to stand to tie it. And she'd wear perfume, a scent a thousand times lovelier than the potpourri tin.

Dinner would be at the breakfast bar, not the dining table. Sitting side by side would make it easier to bump his knee to hers. Butter melted over the peas, a dollop of sour cream and black pepper enlivened the potatoes. She'd take a bite, roll her eyes into the back of her head, tell him what a good idea it'd been to double the Worcestershire sauce in the main. When she asked for seconds he followed suit, even though he rarely wanted firsts.

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

Arthur cracked the oven door, welcomed heat into the room. The motion reminded him of a bow. He held the oven mitt as if it were Dream Girl's hand. "May I have this dance?" Nah, too formal. He wasn't approaching a stranger. He gestured with the glove again. "Would you like to dance with me?" That was better, closer to how a man would ask a friend. Straightening up, he smiled down at the face in his mind. "I'd love it if you danced with me. This is one of my favorite songs. Do you like it, too?"

Whether a waltz or cha cha, the steps themselves wouldn't matter. The simple nearness of her would suffice. He could almost sense the weight of her hand on his shoulder. The graze of her hair at his jaw. Fire in his cheeks forced him to pretend to study her feet while actually admiring her breasts. Giggling, she spun once on her heels and flew into his arms. The most beautiful sight he'd even seen. The most wonderful feeling he'd ever felt.

His fingers trembled at the small of her back. If he wasn't careful, she'd slip through them. Shrugging one shoulder, he shook his head. "Dancing with you seems like a dream."

Music wrapped around them, pressed them closer. No light passed between their forms.

Beam a billow of affection, she sighed and craned towards him. "Kiss me before we wake up."

Lips poised to capture hers, he bent to meet her, caress her silken-

"This is a song for all you lovers out there," the radio said. A pin prick breaking a spell, returning Arthur to a world of gold-flecked formica and solitude. "Whether you've found your special someone or are still searching, here's a cut for you tonight."

Ella Fitzgerald's mellifluous half soprano came to subdue the sting. He tore the foil from the tray, swaying and singing under his breath, hums replacing forgotten words. "...Shouldn't we fall in love...hearts are made of it...take a chance..." The song's opening made his mouth twitch. It encompassed all he desired, everything he'd just imagined. A trickle of what might be called hope quivered his belly. It couldn't be a coincidence.

Fork in hand, he settled on the stool at the breakfast bar. Pulled his journal across the counter and opened it. The negative thoughts he scrawled mornings, noons, and nights wouldn't knock him down. He grabbed his pen and scarfed a hunk of meatloaf. Grinned and nodded approval as he wrote.

"I met my new boss. I have big shoes to fill as a clown. I would love this job. I think a lot of peeple work there. It'll be eazier if I half money coming in - and I coud pay for a date! I'd like to meet my special someone. I wonder where she is a lot. Its so weerd but today everybody's thinking about it, so I'm just part of the crowd. I should write some jokes for her in case she works there, too."

~~~~~

Ella Fitzgerald - Let’s Fall in Love

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[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is the classiest hacienda style mansion I've ever seen. It's in Los Angeles, California and if you can spare $15.5M it can be yours. Built in 1924, 7bds, 7.5ba, 1.04 acres of land.

The entrance hall. That molding isn't wood, it's like a sculpted plaster.

This sitting room is stunning. Look at the artwork on the beams. Beautiful windows and doors let just enough sunlight in, and that fireplace matches the molding. This home is quality.

This wood doorway matches the ceiling beams. The details in this home are amazing.

Absolutely delightful sunroom that they have set up as a cool office. Love the Mediterranean light fixture.

Beautiful wood walled library. Look at the gold ceiling and that light fixture.

The dining room has a beautiful ceiling, wainscoting, and big windows to the garden. You can see the fountain in the smaller window.

The everyday dining room opens to the patio and look at the built-in planter.

Light, airy kitchen. The lighting choices in this house are superb.

Gracefully curving stairs in a rounded stairwell with lovely stained glass windows.

What a pretty color scheme in the primary bedroom. It's certainly a huge room.

Sitting area opens to a patio.

What a fabulous vintage bath. The tile is so beautiful. Everything looks original.

Large secondary bedroom has doors that open to a balcony.

And, look at this marble bath. Just incredible.

If wasn't for the sofas this would look like a real theater.

Sunken bar open to the pool. I know it doesn't rain much in California, but gee, if it does, that banquette is going to get wet and everything.

This is magnificent.

What a property.

The Mexican tiles are amazing. I bet they're handmade.

Fabulous pond.

The grounds alone are stunning.

Plus, there's a modern studio/library.

Nice sauna, too.

Such attention to detail- look at the clay flower pots going up the stairs.

Outdoor space similar to the glass-enclosed sunroom. Look at the light posts.

Gated entrance with earns lining the wall.