#abuela knowledge

[cottagecori]

never gonna be over the fact that my abuelo's first language was nahauatl, but he absolutely refused, point blank period, to teach it to his children like I get it I understand but I don't like it

[tofuist]

Passing on traditional knowledge (Suzhou, China. Gustavo Thomas © 2023) by Gustavo Thomas Via Flickr: Passing on traditional knowledge (Suzhou, China. Gustavo Thomas © 2023) Chinese traditions rely on the grandparents, never on the parents. Whenever you see an image like this, you're also a witness of the deep link between generations of Chinese. Proud of their traditions the grandparents pass on the knowledge to the coming new generation and it has been like that for thousands of years.

[amirasainz]

omgg!! could you write baby!sainz going to the met gala and the grid watching the livestream of her walking the carpet 🤍

Omg, I love this story. I'm a huge fan of the Met Gala and Vogue. I hope you enjoy reading and don't forget to send some requests. -XoXo

The Met Gala

Amira’s excitement was palpable. The Met Gala—an event she had always dreamed of attending—was finally within her grasp. As a child, she would secretly stay up late with her Abuela to watch the glamorous affair, hidden from her parents’ knowledge.

When the coveted invitation arrived, Amira couldn’t contain herself. She let out a joyous scream, prompting Carlos Sr. and Jr. to rush upstairs in alarm. “Mijha, what happened?” her father asked frantically. “Papá, Papá! Look! I got invited to the Met Gala!” she exclaimed, her happiness overflowing.

Carlos Sr. breathed a sigh of relief before pulling her into a tight hug. After celebrating with her father and her brother Carlos, Amira wasted no time in sharing the news with her mother and sister. The house echoed with even more screams of excitement, and the two Sainz men exchanged knowing glances. It was a moment Amira would cherish forever—a dream come true at last.

____________________________________________________________

Amira’s long-awaited day had finally arrived. Unfortunately, her family couldn’t be there with her; they were in Spain. Her brother and friends were all in Miami. However, Carlos had promised that they would watch her, which eased her mind.

At 5 p.m., she prepared with her team. Ryan, her makeup stylist, was one of the best in the business. Shanaya, her hair stylist and close friend, was always her go-to for events. As expected, they did an amazing job.

Her dress, a stunning blend of white and blue, was a creation by Dior. It reminded her of the waves in Spain on a windy day—comfortable yet elegant, making her look like a Spanish princess.

“Nervous?” she asked her two friends as she examined herself in the mirror. “Amira, you look—” Ryan began, but Shanaya playfully interrupted, “Perfekt!” Ryan added, “Now, vamos! You want to be fashionably late, not annoyingly late.” Their banter made Amira laugh.

Stepping out of the car, the flashbulbs went wild. Amira tried to maintain her poker face, but when Kim Kardashian and Lana Del Rey greeted her so sweetly, she couldn’t help but grin. They all sat at the same table, and that day marked the beginning of new friendships.

Photographers clamored for her attention, capturing her ethereal presence. With a lovely smile, she waved at one of the broadcast cameras, ready to embrace the magic of the Met Gala.

__________________________________________________________

“There she is! Oh, look at her!” exclaimed an excited George. The drivers gathered in Max’s room, surrounded by snacks. They had banned their girlfriends from entering—knowing that chaos would ensue. For the past hour, they’d been scrutinizing every look, but none of them quite matched Amira’s.

“My God,” whispered a starstruck Oscar. Lando sat silently next to Carlos, unable to put his feelings into words. Carlos himself felt tears welling up, his little sister looked stunning. He couldn’t have been prouder.

Charles and Pierre exchanged excited whispers in French. “Regarde ça, calamar,” Pierre said. “Je sais. Elle est vraiment la plus belle fille du monde,” Charles replied. Pierre teased, “Ne laisse pas Alex entendre ça.” Charles chuckled, “Alex serait d’accord avec moi.” Then he added playfully, “Comme si Kika et toi ne pensiez pas la même chose.” The best friends burst into laughter.

Max was on the phone with Kelly, passionately maxplaining Amira’s perfect look. Daniel busily snapped pictures of her. Even Yuki stopped eating, captivated by her presence. The camera stayed focused on Amira throughout. When it was time to film another celebrity, chaos erupted in the room—they all wanted to see their Amira.

The next day, it came as no surprise that all the Formula 1 drivers bought fashion magazines featuring Amira Sainz. She had left an indelible mark on the Met Gala, and her star continued to rise.

___________________________________________________________

Bonus (+) Amira sat at the table, flanked by her newfound friends Kim and Lana. The Met Gala buzzed around them, a whirlwind of glamour and excitement. Suddenly, someone’s hands covered her eyes, and she instinctively turned around. There stood Lewis, a smile playing on his lips.

“Lew-Lew!” she exclaimed, her joy evident. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “Hi, pretty girl,” he whispered into her ear. “I didn’t know you were here.” Lewis’s possessive arm encircled her waist as he settled into the seat next to her.

The star-studded night continued, and Amira found herself surrounded by both old and new friends. And Lewis? He didn't leave her side the whole night.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Since you're at the doctor's, medical headcanons. Who's afraid of needles, who's the biggest baby when sick, who insists that everyone just let them die, etc. etc.

Short answer before long one bc I have to drive but:

They're all deep, deep into the morass of the horrors and miracles of The Flesh.

---

The Karakura kids are weird because Ichigo's dad is an emergency trauma doctor and Ichigo's family loves above the clinic. Any time his friends come over there's a round of "so what wild shit happened in the ER since last time?"

(continued under the cut)

Uryuu's dad is also a surgeon, and the thing that gets him and Ichigo back on speaking terms again is more or less second-hand shop talk.

Orihime has been obsessed with emergency medicine since her brother died. She wanted to know what she should have done, and can do so it won't happen again.

Keigo has been carrying a first aid kit in his backpack since he became friends with Ichigo and Tatsuki in middle school. He's got an exceptional talent for patching someone up enough to get through English class without the teacher noticing the injuries after a lunchtime brawl.

Tatsuki started peeking over Orihime's shoulder at her notes on joint trauma and developed a talent for targeting her kicks and punches to deal maximum damage in karate tournaments.

Mizurio knows a suspicious amount about neurology and how pain works because his "uncles" keep telling him about techniques used by enforcers to extract payment or information.

Chad got heavily into Oxacan folk medicine because once he stopped getting in fights, he needed something else to occupy him, and his abuela decided to teach him how to cook. There is not a huge difference between good food and good medicine. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of chemoreactive plants and chemistry you can do on a stove.

Every single one of the Karakura kids has had something medical happen to them or a loved one, and every single one is now peering into the mysteries of the flesh about it.

---

The shinigami are worse.

Shinigami broadly have better physical resistance, esp because they're reaping the injury stabilizing benefits Senjumaru wove into the Shinigami Shushako.

But they live in a feudal society that has only SOME of the benefits of modern medicine, and the few instances of disease-mitigating infrastructure are far between. It's COMMON for the souls of the rukongai and Seireitei alike to have a sibling who died in infancy or a parent who died in child birth or of an infection.

Societally, they are still in the very earliest phases of the war against pestilence and it gives one a very warped perspective on all things medical. Especially if you happen to be in the immediate sphere of influence of soul society's greatest warrior against death:

Retsu Unohana.

I cannot overstate the impact this woman has had, and you don't do things like "decimate the nationwide infant mortality rate" or "pioneer organ transplant surgery" without being a bit mad, and she has lived so long and done so much that the madness has clarified into a single extremely dense point of determination and she warps the reality of those around her. Woe and Blessings alike to those within her event horizon.

---

The Arrancar are even worse.

Hollow resilience to injury allows them to body much, much worse injuries than the humans and it has an impact on etiquette. Biting off a hand because someone won't stop bothering you is a normal way to establish a boundary. Limb loss and regrowth is common, and disembowelment about as serious as a bad cold.

The food situation is even more dire. Smaller hollows, ones that used to be plants or animals or human-hollows who have a modicum of self control are weak, but lucky. They can survive off the ambient reiatsu in the atmosphere of Hueco Mundo, or the naturally cleaving fragments of soul that fall off the living.

Everyone else needs to hunt. And the more powerful a hollow becomes, the more it needs to consume, and the richer it's prey must be. The only really rich souls are other sapient beings. Any hollow at the level of Shrieker or Grand Fisher or higher is trapped in a hellish metabolic cycle of cannibalism, and the only way out is through.

The primary killer of hollows is other hollows. They know what they're doing. They're looking their fellow beings in the eye, the ones who understand them best, and deciding that their own life is worth their friend's. For all their ability to handle the slings and arrows of physical trauma, hollows are worse at handling the emotional consequences of this cycle. Monstrous Egotism is a best case scenario for them.

In practice, this means that while it's perfectly acceptable to bite someone's hand off for annoying you, it would be rude of you to spit it back at them. At least eat it!

I realize this last bit is not, strictly speaking, medical, but you can see how the ability to survive being turned into an anatomical Venus and having to live on a diet of the flesh of others would completely recontextualize how hollows think about Illness.

---

I will do the fun individual headcanons when I get home, but this is a good broader framework to consider for now.

[lonelychicago]

fuck it friday! 💌

tagged by the lovelies @devirnis @theotherbuckley @wikiangela @bidisasterevankinard @bekkachaos <33

okay so, idk if I'll ever finish it or post this fic. but! i had this idea of abuela suddenly coming out to eddie bc she found a gf that makes her so so so happy and eddie spending time with them and realizing he could have that too!! that second chances are possible!!! that it's okay!!!

anyway, i have a lot of thoughts and feelings and ideas so here's a lil snippet + a moodboard <33

“I wasn't expecting Abuela to introduce me to her girlfriend,” Eddie says, tilting his head and grinning softly. “But after seeing you two together? It makes sense. You make her happy.”

“She makes me happy, too.” Ruth giggles, like a schoolgirl talking about her crush. “And to be honest, Isabel was a surprise for me, too. I think that's just her effect.”

Ruth gets this look, talking about Abuela. A look that's so familiar to Eddie like the knowledge of breathing— the same look his Abuelo used to have when telling Eddie the story of how he met one Isabel Diaz, and how eventually he managed to marry her and form a beautiful family. The look that's on every inch of his parents’ faces on their wedding photos that are hung all around their home in Texas. The same look Bobby gets when Athena drops unannounced by the station. The look Chimney and Hen get when talking about Maddie and Karen.

The look Eddie knows as a fact it's on his face when someone mentions Buck or when the guy enters a room and Eddie can't help but to feel immediately drawn to him, like a magnetic force, like a moth to a flame.

Ruth shakes her head and turns around, gazing towards where Buck and Iaabel are dancing in the middle of the bar. Buck is laughing hard, with his head tilted back and his cheeks a rosy tint, Abuela chuckling as she tries to twirl the too tall man around.

“He’s special too, y'know. Your boy.” Ruth says so low that Eddie almost doesn't heat it over the music of the bar. “He reminds me of an old friend I had.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ruth smiles softly. “He was a good man. The kind of man that shines brighter than the sun, you know what I mean?” And then, Ruth turns to him, a knowing glint in her eyes. “The kind of man you'd be a fool to let get away.”

tagging (np): @monsterrae1 @bi-buckrights @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @rogerzsteven @bigfootsmom @usersiren @spotsandsocks @the-likesofus @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @thewolvesof1998 @excuseme-greentea @underwaterninja13 @father-salmon @saybiwithme @loveyouanyway @daffi-990 @messyhairdiaz @elvensorceress @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @diazsdimples and anyone else who wants to do it <33

[anyoldfandom]

I am actually. I am so emotional over the Salazar parents and I need to share this to tumblr too.

A lot of stories where the MC is adopted I feel. Either dismiss the biological parents and the impact they have on the kid's life, or makes them evil and abusive, framing the loss of the bio parents as a good thing, or at least something we shouldn't think about just look at this new family.

But Genrex doesn't do that. From the start, Rex wanted to find out more about his parents - it's one of his primary character motivations, next to helping people. He loves them, even though he doesn't know them.

And the more he finds out about them, the more he realizes they loved him. Rylander is consumed by guilt but as Rex's first connection to his pre-Event life, the first thing he does is hug him. And when he tells Rex about his parents, the two things Rex knows is that 1) they were scientists, and 2) that when he was in danger, they were desperate enough to use their secret, experimental technology to save him. Technology built from their desire to help the world, to save countless lives and end countless suffering.

And then. When he finds out that they were dead, he doesn't stop caring. It'd be so easy, too, to tie it up there - his parents were good people, he got his answer about them, the end. But they don't. He doesn't. Because the show is saying once again that they are his parents. He still calls them mom and dad, even as the show makes it clear Holiday and Six adopted Rex as their son. Even as the show even parallels Six and One with Rex and Six (and I will talk about that more later if I don't forget, trust me), to really drive home how much they're family. Rex even says he considers the two of them family, and later that he considers Noah, Claire and Annie family.

He has new family, the show tells us, but his old family still matters to him. He's upset that he never has the chance to meet his parents, that everything he hears about them, about his time with them, is secondhand knowledge. It tells us clearly that not only does Rex still love them, but that he still wants to know them. And everything we find out about them reinforces the love that they had for each other.

We see Abuela and the family in Mexico, who connect him to his birth family and tell him that he was so loved back then, and still is now. We see their office in Abysus through Rex's eyes. The picture of him and his dad on his desk. The drawing Rex drew, proudly pinned to the wall.

We see it in the familiarity of the drawing. That that robot, that build, was what Rex created when he was lost and scared and alone - that it was made to keep him safe. That it first appeared in his mind in a place he felt safe.

The show says, tenderly and softly, that the love is still there. That the fact these people died was nothing but a tragedy, that their love is a big part of what made Rex who he is today - that every molecule in his body is filled with their final gift to him. That every time he cures someone, every time he uses a build, every time he makes a machine - we see the love that they had for him.

And the way he quietly absorbs his father's face. The way he freezes and whispers "Mamá?" when he finds out Zag-Rs has their mother's voice. The fact that she even has her voice as a testament to Caesar's love, too - that it was meant to bring comfort and safety. The way Rex yells at Caesar when he finds out they have a family property, a connection to their past, the way he fights to protect it.

And, none of this takes away still from Six and Holiday being Rex's family too. None of this removes the work either set of parents did for him, the love either set has - the show says that it was unfair that the Salazar parents were lost. That Six and Holiday are not replacements, that they still love him as parents but play different roles in his life. They can not, and have no desire to, replace the Salazars. But Rex needs parents, he needs protectors, and so they will do what they can for him - at first out of necessity, to keep this kid they barely know safe, but then out of love. They aren't replacing what was lost, but are doing their best to do what Rex's bio parents would do. And they do mess up in it - they mess up in ways Rex's bio parents might not have. Six is clearly bad with showing affection, affection we saw the Salazars give Rex so easily, and Holiday is overworked and stressed constantly, sometimes breaking under the pressure and snapping at Rex and Six, things we never saw the Salazars do.

It's just. It's about how sometimes things will not be the same. They will be different. That doesn't mean the people you lost aren't still with you.

[miracles-and-butterflies]

New AU

The age/role swap AU.

No significant family changes, as I have decided not to play around with the birth order and the triplets were voted to stay as Alma’s children, so I’ll get right into the changes in character for the grandkids.

(Also, just to say, the triplets’ lives have not changed).

The Warm Siblings:

Dolores (21) takes the role of Alma’s favourite, she is the golden child and considered perfect in all that she does. She is the acknowledged successor to her abuela and one day will become the matriarch for the Madrigals. With such a glorious future ahead of her, a charming fiancé-to-be, and no flaws on her record, life must be nothing short of a dream.

Camilo (19) is easily following in his sister’s shoes. The first grandson afforded him a lot of favour which is only backed up his cheerful and helpful nature. He is considered a brother/father/friend figure to all of the children in town, he jokes that he may know them better than he knows himself. Possibly more than their own families do, he sure does spend a lot of time with them.

Antonio (15) believes he is the disappointment of his siblings. He has no great skills and no magical gift of his own, resulting in him often fading in to the background. He works on a neighbouring farm, helping to tend to the animals, but not even they seem to fully appreciate his efforts. He is currently keeping his fingers crossed that his primita won’t become like him.

The Cold Sisters:

Isabela (21), though the slightly older one, does not receive the same praise Dolores does. Which is understandable, given the fact she is so rarely seen by the public on a day-to-day basis. She spends most of her time in the greenhouse or meeting with the few scientists Encanto has. A true biology enthusiast, she is eager to fuel their research with her plants and botany knowledge.

Luisa (15) is determined and as hardworking, but not to the extent of canon. Her gift is put into use for only the most necessary tasks, primarily construction and mining/geology, both fields she is very passionate about. She admires Isabela for being a woman in a male-dominated industry, using her interests to help grow the community, and longs to be able to do the same.

Mirabel (4) the youngest child of the Madrigal family, soon to be turning five. The hopes are high that her door will not fade like Antonio’s had and that she may be able to serve her community and make her family proud, just like her cousins and sisters. She is full of excited butterflies at the thought of her ceremony; so much so, it makes her feel sick. …That’s normal, right?

[galaxysupreme17]

Rainy Day

Y/n = Your Name

AgathaRio x daughter!reader

The sound of rain against the windows had been steady since morning, a soothing rhythm that filled the quiet house in Westview. Outside, the skies were dark, a curtain of mist hanging low over the town, and the streets were empty save for the occasional gust of wind. The storm had moved in overnight, bringing with it a chill that lingered in the air.

Inside, though, it was warm and inviting.

Y/n sat curled up on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket. Her legs were tucked beneath her, and she held a steaming cup of tea between her hands. The soft light from the fireplace cast flickering shadows across the living room, and the scent of burning wood mixed with the fresh, earthy smell of rain. It was the kind of day that made the world outside seem far away, as if time had slowed down just for them.

Agatha sat beside Y/n, casually leaning back with her arm draped over the couch. She wasn't holding a book just yet, but her eyes kept wandering toward the shelf as if she were contemplating which one to grab. Meanwhile, Rio stood at the tall bookshelf on the far side of the room, her fingers lightly tracing the spines of the many volumes there.

"Today feels like a day for something special," Rio murmured, pulling down a large, worn book. The cover was old and soft to the touch, its pages weathered from years of being passed down through generations. The title, written in gold script, shimmered in the dim light. She held it up, a small smile playing on her lips. "This was the first magical tome my abuela ever gave me."

Y/n's eyes widened as she leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued. "I've never seen that one before."

Rio crossed the room and settled beside Y/n, holding the book out for her to see. The pages crinkled softly as she opened them, revealing intricate illustrations of water, wind, and fire spells. Small, handwritten notes were scribbled in the margins, adding a personal touch from whoever had used them.

"You never told me about these notes," Y/n said, pointing to a faint scribble next to a drawing of swirling water. "Are these yours?"

Rio chuckled softly, shaking her head. "No, those are from my mother. And some are from my grandmother before her. They taught me magic through this book when I was your age." She turned the page carefully, her fingers brushing over the text. "This one here," she said, tapping a spell, "is for summoning a gentle rain. It's good for keeping crops healthy or when you need a calm atmosphere-like today."

Y/n smiled, leaning into Rio's side as she listened. The warmth of her mother's presence, combined with the knowledge she was sharing, made Y/n feel deeply connected to the magic of her heritage. She loved how Rio's lessons always carried more than just the practical side of magic-they were filled with stories of family, of generations before her who had wielded the same spells. It made everything feel more alive.

"Magic isn't just about the spell," Rio continued, her voice soft but full of meaning. "It's about understanding the balance, the energy behind it. That's why I wanted to wait until now to show you this. You're ready to learn how to respect it."

Y/n nodded, her eyes fixed on the pages as Rio explained more about elemental magic. There was something so calming about Rio's way of teaching-her words were gentle, almost like the rain outside, and Y/n soaked up every bit of it.

As they sat together, Agatha stood up from the couch and stretched. "I'm feeling left out over here," she teased, though her voice was full of warmth. "But I think I'll leave the magic lessons to you two for today. I've got something else in mind."

Y/n glanced over at her mama, watching as Agatha walked over to the bookshelf and pulled down a familiar, well-loved book. A grin spread across Y/n's face as soon as she recognized the cover.

"You're not too old for this, are you?" Agatha asked, raising an eyebrow as she held up The Secret Garden.

"Not even a little," Y/n said without hesitation, her voice filled with excitement. "I love it when you read that to me."

Agatha chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling. "Good. I was hoping you'd say that."

She settled back onto the couch, this time pulling Y/n closer so that Y/n's head rested comfortably on her shoulder. Agatha flipped open the book, and Y/n felt a sense of nostalgia wash over her. The Secret Garden had been one of her favorite stories as a child, and listening to her mama read it had always made her feel safe, especially when she would curl up in Agatha's lap.

Rio smiled at the two of them, but the fire in the fireplace needed attention. She stood up, crossing to the hearth to stoke the flames. The fire crackled as she added another log, and she gently poked at the embers until the flames danced higher. The warm glow spread across the room, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Once the fire was roaring again, Rio returned to the couch. This time, instead of sitting beside Y/n and Agatha, she eased herself in behind her wife. Gently, Agatha shifted her body slightly, turning so her back rested against Rio's front. Rio wrapped her arms around Agatha, resting her chin lightly on Agatha's shoulder as she settled in.

Y/n watched them, her heart swelling with affection. She loved how naturally they fit together, how their small movements showed just how deeply they understood and loved each other. Moments like these made Y/n realize just how lucky she was to have both of them.

"Now," Agatha said, her voice soft as she began to read aloud. "Mary Lennox was a sour little girl..."

As Agatha's voice filled the room, Y/n snuggled closer to her mama, resting her head in Agatha's lap now. She felt Rio's hand gently brush against her hair, a comforting gesture that made Y/n feel even more at home.

Agatha read slowly, letting the words wash over them, while Rio's fingers gently traced patterns on Agatha's arm. Every so often, Agatha would pause to share a memory or make a playful comment about the story.

"Do you remember when you tried to create your own secret garden in the backyard?" Agatha asked with a grin. "You were so convinced it would grow overnight if you used enough magic."

Y/n groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I was so sure it would work."

Agatha chuckled softly, leaning her head back against Rio's chest. "We ended up with more mud than flowers. I had to save the poor plants with a quick counterspell."

Rio smiled, gently brushing a strand of hair from Agatha's face. "That was the first time we knew you were going to be just like us," she teased, her voice filled with pride.

Y/n laughed, her cheeks flushing. "I'm still learning. But I had a pretty good example to follow." She glanced between the two of them, her heart full of love for the way they had both shaped her life.

As Agatha continued reading, the room fell into a peaceful silence, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire and the steady rhythm of rain against the windows. Y/n felt the warmth of the fire and the comfort of her mother's presence surrounding her, wrapping her in a cocoon of love and safety.

Eventually, Y/n closed her eyes, letting Agatha's soothing voice lull her into a state of calm. She wasn't paying attention to the story anymore-not really. Instead, she focused on the quiet, intimate moment they were sharing. The way Rio's hand rested gently on Agatha's shoulder, and the fire's gentle glow all made Y/n feel so loved and so completely at home.

In the stillness of the room, as the rain continued to fall and the fire crackled softly, Y/n realized just how much these quiet moments meant to her. They weren't about magic or lessons or grand gestures. They were about the love that filled the space between them, the quiet, steady kind that made everything else fade away.

As Y/n nestled deeper into the blankets, she smiled softly to herself, feeling utterly content.

This was what home was-three of them, wrapped in warmth, love, and the quiet beauty of a rainy day spent together.

[lover-of-mine]

Ramon at least looked a little remorseful whereas Helena seemed like she couldn't wait to get Chris out the door? Maybe I'm being too harsh but does she care about Eddie, like at all? Just even her moments of comfort like touching his face or squeezing his hand felt so weird? Not quite cold but it didn't have much warmth in it either, I guess? Esp if I think about all of Eddie's interactions with Abuela or Pepa. Pepa set him up on a date with a woman he didn't know & Eddie was like ??!!?!! and she managed to offer him more comfort & love than his mother did while he was reeling from the knowledge that his son wanted to run away from him like????? I mean I guess I shouldn't be surprised since she was the one who said "don't drag him down with you" or whatever but my god. I can't stop thinking about it.

Okay, but here's the thing, Ramon seems to actually think they are doing what's best for Christopher, Helena seems like she's having the I told you so moment of her life. Her attitude the whole episode was as if she was ready to say "I told you you're a bad parent, I told you you were gonna screw up, I don't care what this is gonna do to you but I am taking him, better luck next time" and I wanna fistfight her more than I want to fight Buck's parents (and if you've been around here long enough you know I'd do anything for the chance to run the buckley parents over with a car) because throughout the whole thing it seems like she's trying to hurt Eddie. It's like she believes Eddie needs to be punished for his grief and was happy to be the bringer of said punishment. It's insane a parent would act like that toward their child. I genuinely questioned if she cares about Eddie at all or if he's just the screw-up who got his high school gf pregnant and she just wants to be over while raising her second chance. It was so insane to watch dude.

[idolatrybarbie]

odd couple

pairing: established francisco "frankie" morales x reader

word count: 2.5k

rating & summary: explicit, mdni! | frankie can't cook, to put it lightly.

tags: no trigger warnings needed for this one, porn with (little) plot, rated e like woah, frankie needs a win, very unedited as of initial posting, stubborn!frankie, premature ejaculation, handjobs, cumplay, overstimulation, sub!frankie moments, multiple orgasms, spit kink/drooling, #petnames4frankie, praise kink, slight dacryphilia, reader calls frankie "wet" in this idk that might not be your thing i guess. look man it's been a hard week.

notes: it's not wednesday and i am struggling a lil' bit (might make a personal life update soon idk ?) but i am being such a brave little toaster about it! writing this definitely made me feel better. when it comes to music, this weezer song is a little generic within their discography but whatever, i like it. hope you enjoy! also everyone go read @wannab-urs sub!max phillips fic because i say so and it's awesome.

You listen to Frankie move around the kitchen from your spot on the couch, trying your very best to ignore the occasional clang and clattering noise that flows out from the distant doorway. Tonight, he has taken on the task of making the two of you dinner. Or trying to, anyway. You don’t cook much either. Your job, like his, doesn’t lend much time to it. Takeout is more than often what’s on the menu—Burger King, of all things, is his favourite.

You know how to cook though. Every once in a while you have the spare time to whip together something truly delicious; slow-roasted pork belly, or maybe a nice pasta with garnish. Frankie doesn’t seem to know his ass from the oven.

The two of you have had this conversation hundreds of times. You stating that he can’t cook, and him pushing back, insisting that he can. Or he could, before the service stuck him with single meal MREs for a number of years and he lost most of the culinary knowledge given to him by various tías, his abuela, and of course Mrs. Morales herself.

His stubbornness spurs the occasional urge to throttle him. It’s fine you can’t cook, you always tell him. Not like he can’t still learn. Still, he insists, and insists on insisting on top of that.

Honestly, you couldn’t be more of opposites. Even excluding skills of domestic labour, he and you are a bit of an odd couple. Frankie’s an early mornings guy, always, while you enjoy a sleepy Sunday—or just about any day that ends in Y. He hates the horror movies you fawn over, while you can’t stand the nature documentaries and sappy celebrity biopics that he eats up year over year. Frankie is highly detail-oriented, the engineer instinct in him always angling towards rigid preparedness; you’re a bit more goal-focused, letting any plan morph and adjust according to the situation.

Another such cooking conversation had taken place on the drive home after declining Frankie’s offer of McDonald’s for the fourth night this week, and now here you are: listening to the man curse under his breath, muttering complaints from the kitchen as he tries his hand at homemade spaghetti.

The kitchen is silent for a moment. You go back to channel surfing, clicking past reruns of Golden Girls and M*A*S*H*. Stopping at a channel playing the cinematic masterpiece Grease 2, you focus your attention on the open doorway behind you again. It feels almost too quiet…

A string of hushed, panicked curses from Frankie confirms your suspicions. Getting off the couch, you use the soft overhead light to guide you through the dark apartment. Frankie is standing over the stove when you see him, quickly moving away and towards the sink. Water splashes into it, surely scalding as steam rises into the air. Or maybe that’s coming from his ears?

You clear your throat in the kitchen doorway, and Frankie turns to you. His face is slightly red, a silver pot held in his grip by the towel-covered handle.

“Is everything okay?” You already know the answer to that question—aggravation rolls off of him in waves, permeating the space between the two of you like a mirage in the Mojave Desert.

Frankie opens his mouth to respond, but the words never come. He does this a few times, wracking his brain for the proper way to put it as he parts and pleats his lips, living up to his call sign.

Eventually, he settles on, “No.”

He heaves a deep sigh, tossing the pot onto the counter. Getting a closer look at it, you see the charred spaghetti noodles stuck to the shiny bottom.

“Don’t, okay?” Frankie says before you look up again.

“What?”

“I know what you’re gonna say. I told you so, blah blah blah. I know. You’re right. I can’t fuckin’ cook.” The words are rushed, like he’s half-embarrassed to even say it.

You frown, reaching an open palm out to him as you shake your head. “That’s not what I was going to say.” You motion for him to come closer and he does, slipping into your arms as you hug at his tense shoulders. “It’s okay. You can take a class, or we can work on it together. I think that’d be kind of fun,” you say.

Picturing making something with Frankie—maybe bowties and broccoli, something simple—has you smiling into his shoulder. For his birthday last year you made red velvet cupcakes with sour cream frosting. The recipe is a little more complicated, but baking them with him this time is a pleasant idea. You already know he’s the type of person to lick the batter off the beater.

“I don’t want to do that to you,” he says.

You pull back from the hug to look at him, those big brown eyes of his crinkled at the far edges. “You’re not doing anything to me,” you say. “At least, not right now.”

A small smile comes to his face then, creeping and dopey before Frankie gives you a soft kiss at the tip of your nose.

“They should really give you a Netflix special or something,” he says.

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all night,” you muse.

Still in your arms, Frankie glances over at the pot of blackened, noodle-shaped mush. “What are we gonna do for dinner?”

Right now, he’s in the closest proximity to you that he’s been all week. At least, while you’ve both been conscious. Work has you staying later and later at the office these days, while his shifts handling flight operations have him drained, in bed and fast asleep well before you even get home. Tonight is special even if it hasn’t gone the way either of you planned.

You hum, dipping your head to nose at the patchy beard along his jaw. “I’m thinking we skip dinner.”

“Come on, seriously,” Frankie says.

“I am serious.” Leaving a wet kiss on his cheek, you whisper, “Don’t you want your dessert, Francisco?”

A hum rumbles low in his chest. “Of course, but—”

“But nothing.” You move your left hand to cradle the side of his face, his skin smooth under your touch. He leans into its warmth. “I’m hungry.”

You know that he is too. At your words, Frankie practically jumps you, a kiss pressed to your lips hard before your brain can catch up with what’s happening. He holds you in his arms tight, like if he loosens his grip even a bit, you’ll float away. The pair of you move out of the kitchen and back into the living room, the horrible 80’s movie still dancing across the pixels of the TV.

Frankie falls onto his back, bouncing against the couch cushions. The remote is underneath him, the mute button conveniently hit upon his landing. The cheesy show tunes cut out immediately. You move to straddle him as he lays horizontal. Frankie cranes his neck a bit to watch you as you settle over the crotch of his sweatpants. He’s half hard under the fabric already.

Frankie pulls you down into another bruising kiss. You hunch over to meet his lips, his hands circling around your waist. You’ve decided to take the Frankie approach to tonight’s activities; cool and calculated in your plans and decisions on how this is going to go. Grinding your hips down, you watch his face carefully. He huffs out a breath, soft and peppery like the cinnamon gum he keeps in his car.

You reach between your bodies to feel him in his pants. Frankie kisses at your face, quick and sporadic as you palm at him. He moves to lift your shirt off your body and you let him, raising your arms to help him. He tosses the thing to the floor and lets his hands rove over your skin. Continuing your ministrations, you slip your hand beneath the elastic waistband of the grey sweats. Frankie has no underwear on, a pleasant surprise.

“Fuck,” he groans, nosing at your neck.

“What’s wrong, honey bun? Doesn’t that feel good?” you ask, slowly pulling your hand away.

“Yes, please. Do it again?” His voice strains deliciously, the muscles in his arms held taut.

Frankie relaxes only slightly when you return your palm to where he’s hot and achy, cock wet at the tip. You run your thumb along the head of his dick as he pushes his hips up into your touch. You slide the pad of your finger along his shaft, spreading the dampness.

“Aw baby, you’re already a little wet. Isn’t that sweet?”

You start to stroke him in earnest, the tight circle of your hand moving up and down his cock. The movement is a little dry, your skin dragging against the sensitive velvet of him. You push his shirt up his belly, pulling his pants to his knees easily. Then you spit into your palm, jerking him off easier this time.

“Fuck baby. Just like that,” Frankie pants. He’s moving his hips with your hand now, fucking up into it on every down stroke. With your free hand, you prod at the small dip at his hip, feeling the muscle tense beneath the skin.

“Bet you feel so good, baby. Nice and easy for me,” you coo.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey.”

You twist your hand at the end of every movement upwards, fingers rubbing over Frankie’s tip as he leaks steadily onto himself. The glide is easy now, lubed with your saliva and his precum. The squelch makes your mouth water as you watch his cock disappear and reappear in the shadow of your fingers.

He puts one of his hands over yours, urging you to go faster. Your hands move together over Frankie’s dick, picking up the pace as the sticky noise turns into a slap with every thrust of his hips.

Frankie breaks pace, stuttering on a caught breath before he spills over your hand and onto his belly. You pause to watch his chest tense and then loosen, his eyes shut tight as he comes down. Raising your hand to your lips, you lick a bit of his cum from the edge of your fingers. It’s the first thing Frankie sees when he opens his eyes again, making him groan. The noise sounds almost painful.

“That was—”

“Amazing?” you supply.

Frankie wheezes a laugh. “Something like that.”

“What about a second helping?”

He furrows his brow, then looks down at his dick. It lays limp and spent on his stomach. “I don’t—”

“Please,” you implore oh-so-sweetly. Frankie sees big eyes batting at him, a twinkle of adoration. The intent behind it is a little more Kubrick, but he doesn’t know that yet.

He can’t say no to you, doesn’t want to anyway. Frankie nods, mumbling a yes at you. His cock twitches with interest when you drag a finger through the pool of cum on his belly and pop it in your mouth. You smile at Frankie as you take him in your hand, strokes slow as he hardens again.

Leaning into his body, you flick your tongue against the shell of his ear. “So, so wet honey. This all for me?”

“Yeah, shit—I can’t,” he mumbles.

“But it feels so good,” you say. “Wish you could see your cute little face. I love seeing you like this.”

Frankie’s face waivers between tightly wound and relaxed in pleasure. You’re using his own cum as lube now, hand practically sloshing across his cock. He tries to keep his eyes open, watching your movements as you sit patiently in his lap, jerking him off.

Your underwear is ruined, the cotton soaked through as you discreetly rock yourself against the rough seam of your pants. You’ll take care of yourself later. Right now, all of your attention is on Frankie. This reward is his punishment. It’s the slightest bit petty, but you can’t let his stubborn behaviour go quite yet. You aren’t an I told you so type of person, but this? This is perfect.

You stroke at him on autopilot, watching the middle distance between the fine thatch of hair at Frankie’s pelvis and his skin coated milky white. He comes with a flinch before you even realize, still moving as he hisses. He’s still hard when he’s done, solid under your touch, so you continue.

“You’re doing so good for me,” you say softly.

“Oh god,” he whines, eyes rolling back.

“Does it hurt baby?”

Frankie doesn’t speak, can’t, nodding frantically up at you.

“You want me to stop? All you have to do is tell me.”

He doesn’t—not with words or the shake of his head. He likes this, and both of you know it. Frankie gets off on the pain, a pleasure so hot that it burns; water blazing to the point that the sensation runs cold, delicate skin held close over a candle flame.

Frankie starts to squirm. You hold him down by the shoulder with your free hand, fingers spread over his overheated skin with a firm press. His whole body is sweaty, soaking a runway down the front top half of his t-shirt.

“Please, please, please.”

He breathes your name, barely getting the syllables past his lips. You never find out what he’s begging for. He probably doesn’t quite know either.

His dick and his mind can’t seem to agree on what they want. You watch this war play out, a losing battle. Every few seconds he presses his hips to the couch, trying to stay out of your reach. Then he slots his hips forward again, seeking out your hand directly.

Finally, Frankie seems to find his words. “Fuck, please. I can’t, I can’t. I’ve got no more, baby, please.”

“One more, honey. You can do that, can’t you? Just one.”

“Mm, shit. It’s—it hurts. It hurts,” he says.

“I know, baby. You’re so sweet for me, so good. I know you can do it,” you assure him.

Leaning down, you position your mouth over him. You let the spit sitting in your mouth pour past your lips, drooling onto his throbbing cock. The saliva slides down his length slowly as Frankie moans at the sensation.

The added slick makes everything wetter, truly soaking as you jerk him off faster. Frankie starts to babble nonsense between short, tripping moans. A split-second decision, you breathe hot air over the head of his dick. The slightest change in contact pulls his third orgasm of the night from him. Frankie cries, groaning loud as fat, wet tears roll down his cheeks. You hunch over him to give his face a kitten lick, collecting them with your tongue.

You let him go when he finishes coming, letting his dick flop against the plush of his tummy. Dragging your own shirt off the floor, you wipe at his skin and clean up your hands before tossing it back down.

Frankie finds the strength to tuck himself back into his sweatpants. He pulls at your elbow, sending you crashing gently into his side on the couch. It isn’t really big enough for the both of you to lay down. You squish yourself against his chest and shoulder, feeling his arm rest over the length of your back.

“How was that?” you ask after a while.

“A five course meal and then some,” he says. Frankie scoffs at himself, like he can’t believe what just happened. “Jesus Christ.”

You kiss his chest through his shirt, his body warm and solid against your cheek. “Nope, just me.”

[yellowcry]

All of you song analysis

I said I was doing this, right?

First. I often heard people saying that Mirabel encouraging everyone to start rebuilding is a symbol of her having leader skills. Which I think isn't accurate. One of the things people ignore is context. Mirabel talked with her sisters and Abuela. It gave her more understanding of their struggles. Of why they all were victims in different way. That it was way more complex than just "Abuela is bad, we are suffering" To say Mirabel did encourage them, you have to ask a question. Wouldn't anybody else do the same in Mirabel's place? I think they would. In a different way sure, but person who had context would still be more open in trying to help. You need to asknowledge how the amount of information and points of viem gave Mirabel wider amount of the family situation.

Then comes another fact. Mirabel didn't start rebuilding either. Her entire talk was about her family specifically. Saying that everything will be fine and they will get through it. Mirabel's first verse is about the family solely, it doesn't touch anything related to rebuilding. She says look at this home, not at the house. And while they can be used as synonyms, Mirabel is clearly referring to her family. And how the toxic foundation of perfectionism and expectations was discovered and ruined. Not only that, but Mirabel actually STOPS Luisa from working. Not in a sense of "You shouldn't work" but in "You don't have to do this". Showing that they don't have to relate on family roles. As Luisa moving things was definitely caused by her gift and role that came with it. "You more than just your gift" is referring to everyone. But it was said to Luisa specifically, as a way to say that she doesn't have to be the strong one anymore.

There is no chance a teenager would be in charge of rebuilding. We're talking about a giant house. You need at least some form of qualification/a lot of knowledge that Mirabel clearly doesn't have. We know in fact that there's at least two Madrigals who has an expirience in building. Alma who helps with building a house in the beginning and observes how it's being made. And Luisa, while not mentioning anything before AOY in the movie, is being asked to repave the plaza in TOTS book. Which caused "AGAIN?" reaction, while it's not a house building, it's as close as we can get. And it is very likely she had at least some experience with building things too. Taking her gift Luisa had a good chance to build things earlier. And it's not even mentioning how she was the one to move debris first. Oh, and then we have Bruno who was patching the cracks.

Okay, I'm over with my "Mirabel didn't start rebuilding" agenda. Probably.

The songs starts with Mira assuring her family that everything is fine and they'll get thought it, no matter how bad it looks. "It may seem hopeless, but we'll get it by just fine." Not being loud and pushy, but way sublte and understanding. She doesn't say everything is fine right now, but that they'll get better together. She also asknowledge how her family isn't set in stone. Saying that constellation shifts she days that her family is changing too. In reaction to what happens around them.

Abuela also doesn't mention rebuilding. Instead, she prioritizes what she should had all along. Her family. "I'm sorry I hold on too tight" can mean many things. From Alma being controlling towards her family. But it also can hugely relate to how Alma held onto the miracle, magic and roles that came with it. Forcing her family to fall into a dysfunction. Confirming her fear of losing anyone ever again how she did with Pedro to the rest of her family. She is also the first to say that her family is special to nobody in particular unlike Mirabel. Confirming that they are miracle and not some magic. And also introducing Bruno(who was previously roasted for his gift) to the rest of the family.

Also an interesting fact that Bruno had probably heard his song. As his first action is to apologize to Pepa for something that happened years prior his departure. For one specific incident that was mentioned just recently. Which makes me wonder if he would've apologize to Isabela and Dolores too if he wasn't interrupted. Also showing that Bruno can take the blame and apologize when he had upset someone. And, he's also shown to work with the townspeople that blamed him during WDTAB. Which means he's either cleared things up with them like with Pepa or they weren't that pissed off all along. (Probably both)

The townspeople are being the ones who had actually start rebuilding. While not saying anything about it, the tools and their amount makes it clear. Firstly, it shows how grateful they are for all the service that was done to them in years ("We'll do anything for you!") And also being the second mention of actually working on Casita after Luisa. And also showing the family that they aren't alone in their trouble. Which is a good continue of Mirabel assuring that they'll get through it and Alma saying that they are all important even without their gifts.

The moment between three sisters shows that Isabela is the most talkative and outgoing out of three now that she doesn't hide who she really is. Being the first to start their united chorus and talk the most during it. "It's a dream when we work as a team" is a good showing that neither of them weren't close before. Being close was something they all could only dream of prior the thing. "Yeah, but sometimes I cry." can tell us that Luisa wasn't open with her emotions prior the movie and didn't collapse in tears before. As there would be no need to say that otherwise. "I might be not as strong but I'm getting wiser" tells how the family is growing up, realizing why the thing were bad before and how they need to change themselves and everyone. Isabela, again, reminds that she (and therefore the rest of the family) can do amazing things even without a gift. What interesting is that Mirabel doesn't have her personal lyrics but only sings with Isabela and the three older girls during the chorus. Showing how she's a huge listener and a support for them.

The verse with Julieta and Mirabel is very interesting. First, it shows how similar they are. Julieta was the one to heal physical injuries and Mirabel's actions were a start for the family's mental healing. "Starts don't shine, they burn" is being repeated. Which possibly tells us Julieta had learn about everyone's problems too. (Remember how I said about context that only Mirabel had?) And now knows how everyone was struggling too. "The constellation glows" says that the family is still wonderful, gifts or no gifts. Which took them some time to figure out, ("The season change in turn")

Doloriano verse shows how talkative and social Dolores can actually be if she's comfortable. Just look at her! The girl is so excited she can't shut for a second. But also patient and not as swift as Isabela (Who had embraced her new powers in WECID very fast). And we also see that Isabela and Dolores have a good relationship again! As Isabela is the one supporting Dolores with Mirabel. "Yes!" couldn't be happiness from getting out of marriage, as it would logically be broken by that time already. Isabela is genially happy for Dolores finally getting her boyfriend. Another interesting moment is how fast Mariano jumps onto Dolores. Almost instantly suggesting marriage. Which may hindsight that he loved Dolores' all along at least to some extent. (And, convindering how he always goes to help her in the books first, It can actually be the case)

We're getting to the emotional end!

"Home, sweet home. I like the new foundation." is a reprise of the first line of the song. Again, it seem like she's talking about Casita. (And it's actually very likely this time). But it also tells how the new family, who has grown up so much and healed is a far better foundation to a healthy dynamic. While still being imperfect. Which is okay. The Madrigals accept their flaws and how impossible the perfection is in reality.

The doorknob moment is vey important for one reason. Touching it is what gave them Magic. What made them "A Madrigal." And even if they don't have gifts now, it made Mirabel finally asknowledge herself as a part of the family. As one of the mighty Madrigals. It was the way the family told her. "You're one of us too. You're special the way we are."

And oh gosh, the lyrics! "We see how bright you burn." Is another the warm family referring to how starts burn according to Mirabel's own words. Again, also telling her how important she is, how she is special just like the rest of the family. Which, if you think of it, is very powerful. As they refer to the way Mira encouraged them. "We see how brave you've been!" says how much Mirabel had done to her family and how they appreciate it. Which is sung by both of her sisters, who were previously supported by her. "Now see yourself in turn" is a direct continuation. With family returning the favour and showing support that Mirabel needed so much. She showed them how important they are even without their gifts. Now they are showing how important she is. Gift or no gift. Telling her how she's the part of the family all along.

"Abre tus ojos." hits so hard. It was the first line in the movie. When Alma was shown to be very sweet with a toddler Mirabel prior her ceremony. And now returning back to this. Showing how better they are now, and how Alma appreciates Mirabel. Even without a gift.

And, oh, God! "I see me. All of me." Should I even tell anything. First, Mirabel finally asknowledge who she is. That she is loved, that she is special just like the rest of her family. This time for real. The whole song had repeatedly told us that everyone is special. (All of you). But the last words of it is MIRABEL saying "All of me." finally looking inside herself. It's not about the whole wide family anymore. It's about the only person who might've needed to hear it the most for years. Mirabel supported them all during the way, and now they are supporting her. And Mirabel gets a chance to see herself, the same way everyone else did, thanks to her. I will never tell enough of how symbolic/sweet it it. She doesn't need a gift, she doesn't need a magic role to be special for who is she just like the rest of her family

[the-sky-queen]

WAIT I JUST GOT AN IDEA-

Amy as Isabela

Silver as Bruno

Tails as Antonio

Maybe Knuckles as Luisa?

Oooooooooooooooooo wait I like where this is going.

These castings fit really nicely! Wasn't quite sure about Amy at first, but it's growing on me the more I think about it. (You guys should know me by now. You should be aware my brain is planning for Sonamy here.)

And Tails as Antonio!!! With Sonic as Mirabel!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAA MY HEART IS MELTING I LOVE THAT SO MUCH!!! Also Silver as Bruno is kinda genius. XD He's from the future! Of course he'd have knowledge of what's going to happen!

Now there's just a few things left to figure out. Why are these characters are being bound together? Who's playing the adults? Where did the 'gifts' come from in this AU? Does Sonic still have his speed and if he does, why isn't he considered to have a gift?

GAH WAIT I'M GETTING IDEAS. SOMETHING SOMETHING SHADOW IS ABUELA SOMETHING SOMETHING GUARDIAN OF THE MAGIC OR SOMETHING. BUNCH OF KIDS. PROTECTED BY SHADOW. I THINK. It's a bunch of disconnected thoughts right now but I'm loving where this is going AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[cricketnationrise]

500 Followers! Congratulations!!!

Oooh .. for a ficlet . .

a time stamp - 1:30 pm

location - a panaderia somewhere in NYC (maybe https://donpacolopez.com/pages/press-don-paco-lopez-bakery - since its in Brooklyn?)

character - Alex Claremont-Diaz

a song title/lyric for vibes - Many the Miles ( Sarah Bareilles) https://youtu.be/L-0uUSHa8wY?si=oHzEPF8AprRM4fcB

Rating - leaving it up to your discretion

Hi hello first of all I fucking love Sara Bareilles and this song in particular is one of my favorites :D second of all writing this made me want conchas really badly. that being said - all Spanish mistakes are my own, so if anyone notices any, please let me know and I'll correct them 💜🦗

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

1:30pm, nyc panadería

Don Paco Lopez, Panadería, established 1991, in the heart of Brooklyn, New York, smells absolutely fucking amazing.

The air is thick with the smell of dough and cinnamon and chocolate and something about the mix of aromas has Alex’s choking up a little – caught in the memories of his abuelas kitchen. The place reminds him so much of summers and Christmases in Mexico that he has half a mind to book a ticket down there right now, the nostalgia is so powerful.

Through the window, Alex can see illuminated baking cases — almost empty at this hour — and a man and woman dancing and laughing behind the counter, each covered in both wrinkles and flour. He can just make out the sound of Selena through the glass door.

Without a second thought, without any regard for his carefully structured schedule, Alex steps inside, the bell over the door jingling merrily. 

The dancing couple breaks apart at the noise, smiles still firmly in place, and moves to their stations before freezing in place, mid-greeting, as she recognizes him as the son of the President.

“¡Hola! Bienvenido a— ¡Dios mío, eres tú!”

Alex slips into Spanish as easily as breathing. “Culpable de los cargos,” he says, a sheepish grin on his face. “Huele increíble aquí. Al igual que recuerdo la cocina de mi abuela.”

“Muchas gracias.” They both still look stunned he’s in their shop. “Estamos horneando para la próxima orden de catering.”

The knowledge that this panadería does catering has Alex’s brain going a mile a minute. He scans the cases, searching for his favorites. Pan de muerto chico, tamales dulces, rosca de reyes, churros, cuernito, niditos—and there, in the far corner, Alex’s favorite: conchas.

“Bueno, quiero esa última concha de chocolate, pero también voy a hacer algunos pedidos de catering.”

“¿Algunos? ¿Cómo en múltiples?”

“Sí,” Alex says, letting his grin go a little wicked. “No puedo dejar que los niños del Refugio Okonjo tengan todas las golosinas, ¿verdad?”

The Lopezes laugh, albeit a little hysterically, as a timer goes off in the back. Paco excuses himself to the ovens with a gesture to his wife. “Mi esposa puede ayudarle con su pedido, Sr. Claremont-Díaz.”

“¡Llámame Alex!” he calls after Mr. Lopez. He lowers his voice back to normal volume as he turns to Mrs. Lopez. “Por favor, insisto.”

“Bueno… Alejandro. ¿Qué podemos hacer por ti?”

He chuckles, visions of piles of pastries dancing in his head. “¿Tienes un bolígrafo y papel a mano?”

Mrs. Lopez’s eyes crinkle with amusement as she clicks her pen and hovers over an order pad. “Estoy lista.”

Alex lets the words fly, making up the order for the shelter on the spot. Día de los Muertos is coming up, and there’s enough kids at the shelter who haven’t gotten a proper celebration of the holiday in a while that will practically die with happiness when he drops the baked goods off.

For his own order, he’s been homesick for Mexican baking for a while. He can make a mean mole, throw kick-ass enchiladas in the oven, even put together a salsa that June said was on par with their abuelo. But Alex doesn’t have as much time, or frankly the patience, to turn out conchas and other sweet breads that his abuela still makes once a week. He orders way more than he’ll ever be able to eat before it goes stale, but he doesn’t care. Henry will at least try each variety, and Alex can always bring any extras to class or his review session. 

Mrs. Lopez won’t hear of him paying full price, and Alex can’t fathom paying anything less. Mr. Lopez finally interrupts their standoff with a suggestion of thirty percent off for the shelter. That, Alex will accept—he’ll do anything for Henry and Pez’s dollars to stretch further to help queer kids. Mrs. Lopez still looks grumpy, but she concedes to Alex paying full price for his own order as well. (Alex will leave a big tip when he picks up both orders, whether she likes it or not.)

He thanks them again, setting a pick up time for both orders and leaves with his chocolate concha and a wide smile on his face. Henry and the rest of his family are going to make so much fun of him for the sheer volume he ordered, but in Alex’s defense, he was left unsupervised.

Translations: Hello! Welcome to— Oh my God, it’s you! Guilty as charged. It smells amazing in here. Just like I remember my grandma’s kitchen. Thank you so much. Well, I want that last chocolate concha, but I'm also gonna place some catering orders. Some? As in multiple? Can’t let the kids at the Okonjo Shelter have all the goodies, now can I?  My wife can help you with your order, Mr. Claremont-Díaz. Call me Alex! Please, I insist. Okay, Alex. What can we do for you? Got a pen and paper handy? I’m ready.

[hippolotamus]

Hi!! For the make me write challenge ❤️!

🌞🌞🌞 and 🔮🔮🔮

Thank you, lovely! Please ignore that you asked for this 2+ months ago 😘

🌞🌞🌞 weather and time

She tips her chin towards the vacant seat and he nods in return, accepting her invitation. 

“I’m Evan. New in town. And who do I have the pleasure of joining tonight?” He purposely flicks his gaze between the two of them. 

“Hey, Evan New-in-town,” she answers, grinning at her own joke. “Shannon.”

She tucks her medium length hair behind her ear with one hand and loops her other arm around the man’s shoulder.

🔮🔮🔮 some bonus witch!Eddie for you

Today had seemed as good a day as any to browse the shelves. He’s secretly hoping that his decision to be a decent human being doesn’t prevent him from still being able to do that. When he decided to cut through the park, he didn’t anticipate saving a cat would be part of the plan. Certainly not one who also happens to be a shifter.   In his family, shifters aren’t uncommon. To his knowledge there aren't any directly in the Diaz bloodline. However, his abuela and tias have told him plenty of stories about the various ones they’ve met in their own lives.

@diazsdimples

[miracles-and-butterflies]

Dolores: Well, it’ll have to be one of us. Antonio is still a child and I have it on good word that if Camilo takes over Abuela’s leadership position, everyone will be leaving Encanto.

Mirabel: With such knowledge, it should be you, Dolores.

Isabela: I think Luisa should do it. I mean, you enjoy helping people and providing community service.

Luisa: Hey, you’re the one Abuela spent all her time training for this! Why don’t you do it?

Dolores: No, that would be a terrible idea.

Mirabel: I agree, Isabela is only a marginally better option than Camilo. Also, she gets enough power in being the eldest of our generation, I’d rather die than see her get any more.

Isabela: Honestly, fuck both of you! I’d make a great leader! I just don’t want to do it.

Luisa: Why? It’s not like you have a real job that will keep you busy.

Isabela:

[cloudypariah]

omg glass blower Rudy!! Tell us more please there is not enough love for this man

Gladly. We simp for Rudy on this blog, end of story. Speaking of which, here’s a little bit of his backstory.

Glass blower!Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

Warnings: none, just fluff and slight angst

A/N: My blog (and its contents) are 18+ only. Minors DNI. Link to the Task Force 141/Los Vaqueros Artist AU masterlist here!

Rudy learned everything about glassblowing from his abuelito. The patriarch of the Parra family is a very disciplined and knowledgeable man who - when his grandson showed an interest one day by sneaking into his workshop after hours - took the time to pass on that knowledge to a young and curious Rodolfo.

Rodolfo apprenticed under his grandfather for years, building his skills and perfecting his techniques. And thought there were many occasions where Rudy wanted to give up after watching one of his creations crack, his abuelito pushed him to continue, reminding him that nothing great was ever achieved without repeated perseverance.

He noticed early on that his grandfather sometimes worked well after the workshop was closed, but it was never on a customer order. And when Rudy finally had the courage to ask him what he was working on, his grandfather would tell him sharply, “It’s for your abuela.”

And every single time, the creation was a flower.

Just one flower.

Rudy means to find his muse, the one theme or topic that most artists capture and focus on for their careers, but all he can focus on is flowers and how his grandmother’s eyes would light up every time her talented husband gifted her a glass flower - a fragile but vibrant thing of beauty that she would always cradle and cherish no matter how big or small.

The flowers are scattered around the house like fond memories; tulips, roses, marigolds and more decorated the house, casting wonderful colours whenever the sunlight hit them.

Rudy never doubts his grandfather’s devotion to his grandmother, for he had seen up close (and attempted on several occasions) the process for making such a pretty but delicate thing.

Yet Rudy quickly noticed the lack of sunflowers. He asked his grandmother about it at dinner a few years back, who grasped his shoulder gently and with a small, soft smile said simply, “The first time your abuelo saw me I was dancing through a field of sunflowers. That flower is just for us. Now eat up.”

And when he hears the senior Parra refer to his wife as ‘mi girasol’, Rodolfo begins to understand what it means to love someone to the point of creation.

At some point his grandfather asks him to take over management of the workshop and its few employees, and without hesitation he says yes.

His abuelito still pops in from time to time to make more flowers. Rudy would never dare to put a stop to that.

But every day that he puts on his leather apron, he thinks about the love his grandparents share and wonders when he will find his own girasol.