#clementina ferrer

[voteforintensepuppets]

Wanting! To grow old together!! (bonus points if they actually do) standing on tip-toes/leaning down to kiss a s/o with height difference

Sorry it took sooooo long, Hana, and that it’s probably not what you were wanting! (I actually hacked it out a week ago and just haven’t posted). 

“Belo, what was she like?”

He doesn’t remember most things. No matter how many times they tell him, he forgets what day it is and if he’s already crossed off the date on the calendar, and it takes him an hour longer than it used to for him to get ready because he’ll undoubtedly spend half of it looking for things he just had in his hand.

But as for “Belo, what was she like?” Well, he knows the answer to that. He knows all the answers and their variables, as he should since he spent fifty-five years memorizing them until they were as familiar as the lines on his palms or the way the keys feel when they’re still in his pocket. What was she like? So many things, too many to tell you, but if you’ll pull up a chair, I’ll try even with my dying breath.

000

It was like Creation. First there was darkness, and then there was light. From nothing he shaped his world, trying to leave behind every horror while still clinging to them until there was no use anymore; if he didn’t forget it, he would wallow in the darkness for eternity. And so he left it behind and ran, ran for anything that might not be the dark, ran in a crooked path that finally gave way to a glow.

He remembers her first as a child who was not a child. The girl with the pink cheeks and pink shorts, whose ponytail bounced as much as her step, the girl who could run and run forever, and when he’d looked at her running down the field, waving that she was open with a smile dimpling her pink cheeks, he’d had to smile too. He remembers her as being infectious.

The summer was so clear, clear and bright and fast, and the weeks had flown by, or maybe he’d just been whiling them away until he would see her. Seventeen, maybe, at the most, and he’d felt terrible because when he saw smiles, he could think of hers and hers alone, big, easy, brighter than the rest. He stretched across from her before and after, hiding his own smile when she’d turn hers to whomever she was speaking, and then one day they’d been smiling and speaking to each other, and they just never stopped.

000

Marry the person you’d ride across the country on a bus with, that’s the advice his abuela had given him.

When he thinks about it, and when he considers the time they spent together, they’d been so young then, even though they hadn’t felt young at the time—uncertain of everything they were being handed, maybe overwhelmed by it all, but not young. Yet they had been young the night they’d sat in his car with the rain pouring down around them.

The night was a trainwreck, just like everything else in his life until that point, and he’d silently mourned his future, since first dates meant everything and there wouldn’t be a second after this. They both smelled like beer even though neither had had any, the festival was rained out with a surprise thunderstorm halfway through, and in the time it had taken them to have hot coffee most likely ruin his chance of having children to the time they’d walked out the diner door, his car key had died, leaving them to a mad sprint through the downpour that ended stuck outside the car.

Still, when he opened his door after tucking her into her side, she’d been laughing too hard to wipe her eyes properly, and once she’d calmed down enough, she’d giggled that it was a disaster.

He’d apologized and meant every bit of it. He should have known better than to ask her in the first place.

“I’ve had a really good time.”

So as they’d sat in his car in the middle of a downpour and laughed until the wetness on their cheeks was indiscernible from tears or rain, he unable to tame his curls, she unable to wipe the mascara from her eyes, he’d thought about asking her if she wanted to catch a bus with him.

000

It was like a flower. Closed but hinting beauty, and for the patient, promising.

He remembers the gradual bloom. A night spent telling her he was sorry he’d pressured her into ice cream, though in his defense, he hadn’t known she’d needed lactase; his nose covered, laughing at how foul it smelled, but laughing alongside her as she clutched her aching stomach; and in the morning, he’d bent down first to kiss her nose, then to tell her he’d see her that evening, and finally to catch her lips in his own where they fit so perfectly. There had been days spent trudging up mountains, she a step ahead until she needed a boost, always pulling him along, pulling him after her, inspiring him to keep going and not look back, and they’d reached the tops breathless but finally able to stop and enjoy the view.

And then the explosion as all the petals settled into place, when they’d finally opened up fully, when I’m afraid of hurting you became I will do anything to keep you from hurting. They’d spent the evening in tears, shouting, him begging for her to let him let her go before she turned to dust in his touch, she, in a show of surprising stubbornness, insisting that they would be fine, and eventually the frantic gestures died away until they were clutching one another with I love yous drying in their tears.

They bought a bus ticket and didn’t look back.

000

What was she like? Well, it was like this:

Prim, proper, and pressed by seven o’clock every weekday, he had always known she was coming by the purposeful clicks of her heels, and he had admired the way in which she had walked, chin high, eyes forward, her steps quick and directed by a confidence more often painted onto her face with her rouge and mascara; had admired the sway of her hips for which he’d always been reaching, even as she’d placed an order with a florist while managing to perfectly cook dinner; he had admired her ability to coordinate everything from a gala to her underwear with her outfit.

But once he’d peeled away the layers, what he admired most were the freckles across the bridge of her unpowdered nose and her unlined eyes, big and dark and genuine, unable to hide anything; he liked how, without her heels, she couldn’t reach his mouth without standing on tiptoe, and he was always meeting her halfway, reaching for her as she pulled herself up to him. Away from the sight of others, it had been his privilege to see beneath her mask.

He’d been the one she collapsed into when she’d had a bad day, burying her head against his chest and, he would later find out, steadying her nerves to the beat of his heart.

He’d been the first one she called with any sort of news or, if she could wait, to tell in person, and he’d known if it was good or bad by the tone of her hello or the look in her eye, though it wasn’t quite so bad when they reacted by sitting in the kitchen floor with ice cream and lactase.

He’d been the one next to her in the delivery room and the one to whom she’d whispered, as he was tying back her hair, that she was scared. They were the last words he’d ever expected from her mouth and had probably never uttered before. Yet he was the one who earned them.

He’d been the one to sleep by her side for fifty years. They’d burned dinners and created masterpieces, had folded the laundry and let it sour in the machine, had laughed and cried and bickered over telenovelas in a weekly ritual that was theirs before they had a house and after it was empty.

And she—on midnight rides through the Texas desert, when he could have lost himself in the wind and barrenness, could have thought himself alone and insignificant had he not had her arms wrapped about his waist and her chest to his back to remind him where he was. She was the one to wipe at his eyes when their daughter started school, and she was the only one he’d believed when anyone said how wonderful it was that their son was like him. She had slept peacefully by his side for fifty years because when he’s snored, she’d said it was like he was purring.

She had weathered his foul tempers with a patience and grace that grew synonymous with her name, but she’d been just as quick to put him back in his place. By his side through everything, from moments of annoyance to turmoil, when he got his third speeding ticket to when he’d broken three ribs and treated her unfairly as she’d tried to help him, which earned him a sharp stop yelling at me that hurt more than any of his ribs. Still, she was there.

She had been the one to pull him to her, to match his watering eyes, for once not being the first to cry when their last child was gone and the house he’d built all for them was empty, and it was just the two of them for the first time time in two decades.

It was the two of them, always.

000

When he thinks about her, he thinks about a warm bed and cold feet, little fingers between his own, and the color pink. He thinks about the twenty-odd years of before when he’d made a mess, and then he thinks about the fifty that came after where he’d put it back together. Where they’d put it back together. He thinks about the things he did and didn’t do, and he is content. No regrets. He’d lived his life with so many already that when he’d met her, there hadn’t been room for anymore.  

“Belo, what was she like?” Oh, mijo, she was so many things, too many to begin, I don’t know where to start. Consuming and compassionate and contagious in her consuming compassion; earnest and eager to the point of overwhelming with a heart big enough for all her idealism; quick to laugh and cry but slow to anger; sweet and silly and soft and steady. She was so many things, but only one feels perfect:

“Mi vida.”

[hanajimasama]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnificent Seven (2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Vasquez (Magnificent Seven (2016))/Original Female Character(s), Joshua Faraday/Original Character(s) Characters: Vasquez, Goodnight Robicheaux, Billy Rocks, Joshua Faraday, Elizabeth Faraday, Cassandra Elwood, Clementina Ferreira Additional Tags: Angst, Worry, OCs - Freeform Summary:

When the railroad come knocking, Cassandra isn’t about to sit down and let them through the front door.

[voteforintensepuppets]

Name: Clémentina “Clem” Ferrer

FC: Camila Sodí

Age: Somewhere between 26-32

Family: Her parents, Hector and Valentina, and two brothers, Matías and Sebastián, both older and younger.

Ship: Vasquez

Role in the Movie: Yikes

Role in a Modern AU:

-History: She grew up with her family in Newport, Rhode Island, and then went to college in Boston, where she worked as a night events staff member at an events space. She was going to school for broadcast journalism until she realized how much she loved coordinating and planning events, then graduated with her communications degree and went to work full time. She took a job as a lead coordinator in New York two years before joining an ultimate frisbee league in the park on Sunday mornings

-How They Met: Even though he liked her a lot, it took Vasquez an entire summer of frisbee to ask her out because he thought she was so much younger than him. He thinks she’s cute as can be and loves how he doesn’t feel like he’s ever slowing down for her; that she can match his pace and keep him going while somehow making him feel calm.

-Personality: She’s very warm and soft spoken, and while she’s very pragmatic, she has a hard time saying no, due to the fact she loves to please people and that she’s so soft spoken and looks so young that sometimes people walk over her. She loves trading in her heels for her beat-up hiking boots—they spend the following weekend breaking in her new pair, her first gift from Vas, at a park upstate—and winding down with a Grisham novel or a bad action/horror movie.

-Strengths: level, pragmatic, kind, warm, empathetic, organized, energetic

-Weaknesses: very trusting and naive, people-pleaser, tends to get walked on, looks younger than she is, doesn’t get taken seriously

-Likes: trading her heels for hiking boots, bad action and horror movies, gardening, Vasquez’s friends and spending time with the girls, how Vas stays on the level with her

-Dislikes: unhappy with her appearance because she thinks it holds her back, how quiet she is because that doesn’t help

-Hobbies: drinking wine with her girlfriends, ultimate frisbee, cooking

Headcanons

-sticks her tongue out when she’s concentrating

-has lots of little tunes, sings her own ditties while she works, and Vasquez thinks it’s adorable

-personal area is always spotless

- one of the only people ever who actually uses all her pens and stationary

-the first gift Vasquez buys her when they get engaged is a planner for the new year with Clémentina Vasquez embossed on it

-gets loose-lipped when she’s had a lot to drink

-lactose-intolerant but loves ice cream; early in their relationship, Vasquez convinces her to eat some without lactase pills, and they spend the evening laughing

-“secretly” romantic, but realizes romance depends on the people

-loves the arts

-PTA president

Embodiment of Wonder Woman’s “A baby!”

-loves flowers, and even though he gets them often, she always gets really excited when Vasquez gets her flowers

-her mother took control of her quinceñera and she hated everything about it; she hated her dress that was huge and all the bright colors

she cries when her mother shows Vas her quinceñera photos because she hates them so much

when she gets engaged, she has a breakdown during dress shopping because her mom wants her to wear a huge, blingy dress again, but she really likes the short pink one

Her grandmother and Vasquez’s mom realize it and come up with a compromise; she gets her lace and her trumpet skirt has a pink crinoline; she wears the Vasquez family heirloom mantilla

-Quinceñera is part of the reason she likes planning events; she likes how happy she can make people when their big day comes true, and she likes finding the perfect balance for everyone

-laughs during action movies, and the cheesier the better; Vasquez only takes her to shows in the middle of the day or late at night

-late to bed and early to rise, but she sleeps so soundly; part of the reason why they’re compatible because she doesn’t hear Vasquez snoring

-can do minor sewing alterations, mostly because of last-minute bridal mishaps; usually carries a kit with her

-loves to play sports; likes soccer and frisbee

-wanted to be a ballerina when she was a little girl

Grand Collab OC Aid

Attention Grand Collab

This post can serve as a center for all the oc information. What means, and is not limited

Face Claims

Ages

Family

Ships

Roles in the movie & any aus

Personality traits

Character songs

And any other information you would care!

Looking forward to hearing about them!

@geekyelvenchick @lipstickandbarbedwire @cthulhuwithtea @voteforintensepuppets

[gobqro]

Inauguran 1ª temporada en el MACQ

Con piezas de más de 70 artistas de México y Francia, fue inaugurada la primera temporada del Museo de Arte Contemporáneo Querétaro (MACQ), evento presidido por Paulina Aguado Romero, secretaria de Cultura (SECULT), quien estuvo acompañada por los creadores de las obras que van desde la instalación, réplicas y grabados; algunas de las obras creadas ex profeso para el MACQ. “Nos da mucho gusto estar esta noche reunidos en el Museo de Arte Contemporáneo Querétaro, rodeados de tan grandes artistas y excelentes obras. Son más de 70 maestros que participan con sus creaciones, de Querétaro, Baja California, Sonora, Zacatecas, Oaxaca, Ciudad de México y Francia. Agradezco el invaluable apoyo de la Alianza Francesa que preside nuestro amigo Yann Lepoire; y del Centro Cultural BEMA, por ser grandes aliados en el impulso al arte en el estado”, señaló Paulina Aguado Romero.

La primera exposición: “ADN, tierra ignota” es una muestra colectiva de 22 artistas locales y nacionales, que incluye piezas de arte africano y réplicas del museo regional, donde los autores revaloran los vestigios en el arte. (Permanencia al 26 de abril). Artistas: Alonso Bravo, Antonio Castañeda, Carlos Amorales, Carlos Iván Hernández, Clementina Ferrer, David Manzanares, Fernando Mantilla, Guillermina García, Juan Guzmán, Knut Pani, Mariela López, Mario Maplé, Marja Godoy, Miguel Ángel Salazar, Miriam Salado, Mosaico Gnético en México, Patricia Arriola, Sangree, Silvia Silva, Víctor López, Xawery Wolski, Yvette Malo.

Por otra parte, “Povera mobility”, es una instalación escultórica del maestro francés Matthieu Martin, un artista muy versátil, cuyo trabajo se caracteriza por lo específico del sitio y la performatividad; la obra con la que hoy participa se gestionó en una colaboración entre el MACQ, la Alianza Francesa y el Centro Cultural BEMA. (Permanencia al 29 de febrero). De igual manera, el MACQ en colaboración con la Alianza Francesa y post-California, presentan la instalación “El lobo, el espejo y las banderas”, del artista francés Nicolas Milhé, quien a través de su obra muestra un equilibrio entre los puntos de vista políticos y estéticos. (Permanencia al 29 de febrero). 

“Últimas tendencias del grabado en acrílico impreso a color y grabado en relieve con rayo láser”, es una muestra que reúne los trabajos de 50 artistas de Sonora, Zacatecas, Oaxaca, Ciudad de México, y por supuesto de Querétaro, que fueron capacitados a través de 12 talleres de grabado impartido por el maestro Arturo Angulo, por medio del Programa de Apoyo a Proyectos y Coinversiones Culturales del FONCA. (Permanencia al 23 de febrero) Artistas: Centro Estatal de las Artes Tecate, Baja California: Yair Medina, Sergio Toledo, Rodolfo Obregón. Atelier DLS. Ciudad Obregón. Sonora: Ángel Luzanilla Beltrán, Dora Luz Sarmiento, Evangelina Ley Esquer, Alejandro Ballesteros, Teresa Loza, Perla Jiménez, María Cristina Pérez Valenzuela, Claudia Zubia. Instituto Municipal de Cultura el “El Ágora” José González Echeverría de Fresnillo, Zacatecas: Luis Alberto Camacho, Raúl Puente Zavala, Leopoldo Elías Smith McDonald, Irma Medrano, Iván Medrano, Alejahyt Montoya Rodríguez, Azul Gabriela Salas Ríos, Fernando Jiménez Luevano. 

Taller de Artes Plásticas Rufino Tamayo. Oaxaca: Rohel Cruz Calderón, Abraham Torres, María Elena Tenorio, Moisés García Nava, Citlali Rivera Gómez, Hernán Jaime Valencia Sandoval, Fabiola Glam, Ana Castell, Saúl Vázquez, Paola Sinai Castellanos Manzano, José Montes de Oca, Mireyle Cabrera Santos, Michelle d’Argent, Juliana Ferrari, Ignacio Jerónimo García, Anette Verenice López Nevárez. Centro de Artes Bicentenario Poeta Hugo Gutiérrez Vega. Ciudad de México: José Daniel Manzano Aguilar, Emiliano Martínez Guerrero, Alberto Reséndiz Galindo, Francisco Javier Santiago Regalado “Puga”, Gabriela Sodi Miranda, Oscar Pablo Guzmán González, Guadalupe Carrillo Villegas.

Centro de las Artes. Querétaro: Martha Patricia Ángeles, Fabiola Falcó de la Mora, E. Mizael Contreras Ávila, Manuel Martín Camacho Torres, Hilda Ofelia Serrano Juárez, Guadalupe Pacheco Castro. Autorretratos Grabados en relieve con rayo láser: Sergio Toledo, María Cristina Pérez Valenzuela, Carlos Alberto Sánchez, Ignacio Jerónimo García, José Daniel Manzano Águila, Martha Patricia Ángeles.

[carlosivan]

ADN, Tierra ignota

Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Querétaro

Muestra colectiva con artistas locales y nacionales, con una colección de arte africano y préstamo de réplicas del museo regional.  Alonso Bravo, Antonio Castañeda, Carlos Amorales, Carlos Iván Hernández, Clementina Ferrer, David Manzanares, Fernando Mantilla, Guillermina García, Juan Guzmán, Knut Pani, Mariela López, Mario Maplé, Marja Godoy, Miguel Ángel Salazar, Miriam Salado, Mosaico Gnético en México, Patricia Arriola, Sangree, Silvia Silva, Víctor López, Xawery Wolski, Yvette Malo.   Para ADN, tierra ignota hemos pedido a artistas que revaloren los vestigios en el arte, que interroguen los discursos contemporáneos que criminalizan a migrantes, que abran nuevos espacios de reflexión sobre la información genética que aparece.   Ampliar nuestro campo imaginativo es reconocer la pequeñez del pensamiento neoliberal, pero también restituye una pluralidad de cuerpos, de culturas, de conocimientos, de economías y de espiritualidades que enriquecen nuestras vidas. Son estas imaginaciones que revaloran lo humano, a través de imágenes y saberes que, en momentos de crisis, son esenciales para la continuación de la vida.

[hanajimasama]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Magnificent Seven (2016) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Sam Chisolm, Goodnight Robicheaux, Billy Rocks, Joshua Faraday, Teddy Q, Red Harvest, Vasquez (Magnificent Seven (2016)), Jack Horne, Cassandra Elwood, Archimedes the corgi, clementina ferrer, Rosemary Hennessy, Elizabeth Faraday Additional Tags: Humour, Dogs, Modern AU, grand colab Summary:

Archimedes a small dog on a big adventure meeting his owner's new friends. Featuring various OC's too.

Just some dribble I’m working on between BigBang stuff. Now who to do next?

[hanajimasama]

Ahhhhh this is amazing!!!!

Just Because We’re Friends Doesn’t Mean I’ll Like It

Or, the Grand Collab installment in which the gang becomes Instagram stalkers. For @cthulhuwithtea, @geekyelvenchick, and @lipstickandbarbedwire because they’re nothing but enablers.

Warning: OCs

Keep reading

[hanajimasama]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: The Magnificent Seven (2016) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Sam Chisolm, Goodnight Robicheaux, Billy Rocks, Joshua Faraday, Teddy Q, Red Harvest, Vasquez (Magnificent Seven (2016)), Jack Horne, Cassandra Elwood, Archimedes the corgi, clementina ferrer, Rosemary Hennessy, Elizabeth Faraday Additional Tags: Humour, Dogs, Modern AU, grand colab Summary:

Archimedes a small dog on a big adventure meeting his owner's new friends. Featuring various OC's too.

Chapter 2 is up :) 

[hanajimasama]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnificent Seven (2016) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: red harvest/rosemary hennessy, alejandro vasquez/clementina ferrer, joshua faraday/elizabeth faraday, billy rocks/cassandra elwood Characters: Red Harvest, Billy Rocks, Vasquez (Magnificent Seven (2016)), Joshua Faraday, Goodnight Robicheaux, Jack Horne, Sam Chisolm, Rosemary Hennessy, Cassandra Elwood, clementina ferrer, Elizabeth Faraday Additional Tags: Witches, Mages, all the supernatural fantasy my little heart could desire, maybe not great fantasy but it's mine and i love it Series: Part 1 of Blood and Magic Summary:

Sam Chisolm and his group are famous Mages and witch hunters, when they are tasked with capturing a witch famed for terrorising a small town they find more than they bargained for and discover that witches aren't the worst thing to compete against.

[gobqro]

MACQ recibe nuevas obras, 1ª temporada 2020

Más de 70 artistas nacionales e internacionales participan en las cuatro exposiciones que se inauguran el 29 de enero en el Museo de Arte Contemporáneo Querétaro, como primera temporada del 2020 en el MACQ, así lo dio a conocer Paulina Aguado Romero, secretaria de cultura del estado, acompañada por los artistas Marja Godoy, Víctor López, GuillerminaGarcía, Patricia Arriola, Clementina Ferrer, Nicola Milé y Matthieu Martin.

Se trata de cuatro exposiciones con permanencia en febrero, marzo y abril: 1.- ADN, tierra ignota. (México) 2.- Pobera Mobility. (Francia) 3.- El lobo, el espejo y las banderas. (Francia) 4.- Últimas tendencias del grabado. Grabado en acrílico impreso a color y grabado en relieve con rayo láser. (México). Marja Godoy explicó que su obra tiene como base el molde tomado de un hueso de mujer, algunas otras piezas óseas, con recubrimiento de cerámica, abordando el tema sobre el vestigio del hombre. Al hacer uso de la palabra, Víctor López indicó que su participación está relacionada con la observación de lo que es y lo que le forma, a través de objetos simbólicos que están presentes en la cultura contemporánea, “es una recolección de elementos de la cultura zapoteca por mis orígenes”.

Guillermina García resaltó que su obra “se refiere al cuidado del planeta, el cuidado de los animales, la esencia de la tierra, los guardianes de la tierra”. Clementina Ferrer participa con tres intervenciones: la primera son unas piezas africanas “como origen de todos, el origen del ADN”; la segunda pieza: “La africana” y, su tercera obra es ‘Milpa’ “para mí, milpa es nuestra esencia como mexicanos”. Nicola Milé colabora con una obra que aborda el tema del neoliberalismo, reinterpreta el discurso economista y lo proyecta a través de un video, con aspectos como el colonialismo francés y su lucha de independencia. Matthieu Martin presentará una obra que está desarrollando en México a través del Centro Cultural BEMA; se trata de una pieza basada en una investigación de materiales locales, donde interviene el dibujo, la escultura y la instalación. Patricia Arriola presenta su pieza ‘El lenguaje de los símbolos’ basada en el arte rupestre, “reconociendo el legado milenario que se nos heredaron; quienes nos dedicamos a la cuestión artística entendemos que nuestras raíces vienen desde ahí”.

Por un lado, “ADN, tierra ignota” es una muestra colectiva de 22 artistas locales y nacionales, que incluye piezas de arte africano y réplicas del museo regional, donde los autores revaloran los vestigios en el arte. (permanencia del 29 de enero al 26 de abril). “Pobera mobility”, es una instalación escultórica del artista francés Matthieu Martin; esta obra se gestionó en una colaboración entre el MACQ, la Alianza Francesa y el Centro Cultural BEMA. (permanencia del 29 de enero al 29 de febrero). De igual manera, el MACQ en colaboración con la Alianza Francesa y post-California, presenta la instalación “El lobo, el espejo y las banderas”, del artista francés Nicola Milé, quien a través de su obra muestra un equilibrio entre los puntos de vista políticos y estéticos. (permanencia del 29 de enero al 29 de febrero).

“Últimas tendencias del grabado” es una muestra que reúne los trabajos de 50 artistas mexicanos que fueron capacitados a través de 12 talleres de grabado impartido por el maestro Arturo Angulo. Paulina Aguado agradeció el apoyo y colaboración de la Alianza Francesa y del Centro Cultural BEMA, a quienes reconoció como grandes aliados en el impulso al arte en el estado.

La inauguración se llevará a cabo el 29 de enero a las 19:30 horas, donde se contará con la presencia de los artistas participantes para presentar sus obras. Durante el evento se contó con la presencia de Arturo Mora Campos, director de Difusión y Patrimonio Cultural de la SECULT; Papus Von Saenger, coordinador del MACQ; Yann Lepoire, director de la Alianza Francesa y Triana Zepeda, del Centro Cultural BEMA.

[hanajimasama]

Must be love

A little something for @voteforintensepuppets ft her OC Clem <3 I hope it’s okay >.<

Vasquez was unsure how this turn of events had even occurred. He inhaled deeply on his cigar before releasing the smoke out into the cool clear night air. Never had he been at such a loss for words. He closed his eyes and lent against the wall of the house listening to the muffled sounds of the party coming from within. The girls had invited their new friend to the party and Vasquez had been trying to get Billy to talk to Cassandra but as he laid his eyes on her friend he felt all ability to form a coherent sentence leave his head and a strange feeling in his chest, like someone has stocked a fire within him. Vasquez let out a wistful sigh as her image flooded his mind bringing a little smile tugged at his lips, he moved anxiously from foot to foot and rubbed his jaw before running his hand up through his dense dark curly hair.  How did one talk to a woman as beautiful as she?

“Dios mio...she’s beautiful” the outlaw covered his mouth to hide his wide smile. Shaking his head and cursing his foolishness

How could she love me? An outlaw. You fool.

Casting his spent cigar to the ground he crushed it under his boot and headed back into the large stately home of Goodnight Robicheaux. He found Joshua Faraday and stuck near him, laughing and joking with the permanently drunk gambler.

“Vasquez!” he turned as his name reached his ears, scanning the room he spotted Cassandra waving him over in the distance. He couldn’t see the woman she had been talking to so he made his way over to her.

“What is it chica-” he felt a lump in his throat as he got closer and spoted that the brunette was still present but merely sat down. A clever ploy by the British sharpshooter to lure him closer.

“Vasquez, I wanted to introduce you to Clem, Clementina Ferrer” Cassandra turned to Clem with a coy smile “and this is Alejandro Vasquez.” The blonde quickly made her escape saying she needed to go confiscate alcohol from Faraday lest he vomit on the rug.

Vasquez and Clem were left in an awkward silence.

Say something! Anything!

Vasquez pulled up a chair and sat opposite the beautiful brunette, leaning casually on the table they had occupied.

“eres hermosa” he sighed, the sound of her giggle made him very aware that he had just vocalised his thoughts. She was smiling her eyes cast down towards the floor as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Vasquez notices the flush of her cheeks.

Anything but that! Tonto.

He mumbled an apology and changed the topic. Clementina explained how she had met Cassandra and the others. Vasquez chuckles mentioning that for her size Cassandra was quiet ferocious. He hung on her every word asking her everything and anything, he just wanted to know her better.

Subconsciously the outlaw had slowly started to shuffle around the small table until he was situated in front of Clem and leaning quite far forward.

The pair had fallen into a dangerous cycle. When one of them smiled the other responded with an even brighter smile. No amount of alcohol could make Vasquez as drunk as he was on his love for Clem. She made him feel giddy and light hearted.

“I..should head home. It’s gotten so late.” Vasquez felt the reality of the world around him come crashing down around him, the thought of her having to go home hadn’t even crossed his mind. He watched her stand up slowly, he wanted to reach out and grab her, to hold her and never let her go.

“esperá….” he pushed away from the table and rose to his feet “I’ll come with you.” His tone was short and sounded more like an statement than a request and it caught Clem off guard “it’s not safe..” he added softly.

“It’s no fuss. It’s really not that far-” all the blood rose to her cheeks when the far taller Mexican took her hand gently as if she were made out of china,

“por favor. I wouldn’t forgive myself if you got hurt.” seeing the worry in his eyes made Clem accept his offer. She had been fortunate enough to witness his perfectly heartwarming smile but behind those deep dark eyes and smile she saw a glimpse of sadness and a deep seated loneliness that perhaps she could free him from if he allowed her the chance.

Perhaps.

[voteforintensepuppets]

Just Because We’re Friends Doesn’t Mean I’ll Like It

Or, the Grand Collab installment in which the gang becomes Instagram stalkers. For @cthulhuwithtea, @geekyelvenchick, and @lipstickandbarbedwire because they’re nothing but enablers.

Warning: OCs

Friday

“Are you sure you want to do it?”

When the weight disappears from his shoulder, Vasquez glances over to find Clémentina watching his face anxiously, sincerity and patience written on hers, just like always. She’s wearing one of his old t-shirts that pools around her crossed legs, and he feels biased when he thinks she looks better in it than one of her own beloved soft nightgowns. He rubs at the part of her knee exposed between the sheet and his shirt. She looks beautiful like this, dressed in his old clothes, the smattering of freckles on her nose exposed now that it’s just them, one side of her hair ruffled from where she’d been leaning against him. “You want me to do it.”

“I want you to be comfortable,” she says, and then drops her eyes. “Although I would like to meet your family. Families. Especially after this weekend.”

Vasquez sighs and leans his head against the plastic headboard of the hotel’s bed, and only when he feels her tangle her fingers in his free hand does he open his eyes. Which is his mistake. He might could have talked himself out of it if he hadn’t looked at her, if his heart hadn’t squeezed so tightly it feels like it’s threatening to stop altogether. They’ve let this go on for too long, and if he doesn’t do anything about it, he’s a coward. “Mi hadita, I love you. You know that, right?”

“Of course.”

“So I have to do this. It’s not fair to you for us to keep this up. Look, here—” Vasquez taps the button and watches the bar at the top load. And then there’s no going back. “There. It’s done.”

“Cielo,” she says, her voice so soft it hurts, eyes mirroring her every emotion. Clem couldn’t play poker if she tried, and he loves it. But he doesn’t want to see it.

Reaching for the lamp, Vasquez clicks off their bedside light, and even in the dark, before his eyes can adjust, he lays down next to her and lets his body wrap around her tiny one. Her hair tickles when he buries his face into her shoulder, where her perfume still lingers with the smell of flowers that she loves and which will always remind him of her, but if it’s his last weekend sleeping with her, as it most likely is, he can’t think of any other way he wants to spend it.

Saturday

There’s nothing more disorienting, Vasquez thinks, than waking up in a hotel room. With the curtains drawn, it’s hard to tell just what time it is and for how long he’s slept, and when he manages to crack open his eyes, he finds himself alone in the bed and the room mostly dark except for the light coming from the bathroom. Clem stands in its wake, trying to use as little as possible to iron what appears to be his shirt, and as his mind wakes up enough to register the scene in front of him, he wonders if anyone’s ever woken to a better sight than a bathrobed-and-turbaned Clémentina Ferrer ironing in the dark, tongue stuck out in concentration, the music she usually sings along to now forgotten even while it plays softly from the edge of the board.

“I was going to get that,” Vasquez tells her thickly, and she glances up quickly, startled, tongue retreating back into her mouth. She gives him one of her bashful grins, which it’s much too early for. If he could just rid himself of sleep, he’d get up to help her.

“I was ahead of schedule and needed to do my dress. You can sleep in. You deserve it for coming this weekend.” A puff of steam obscures her face for just a moment, and when it clears, she’s watching him with those earnest eyes. “I’m really grateful you’re doing this, cielo. It means a lot.”

“Anything for you, mi hadita, but I would have gotten that.”

“Well, you didn’t,” she says matter-of-factly, and he loves it, “so say, ‘Clémentina, mi amada, you are truly a treasure, and I love you.’”

“Come back to bed, and I’ll whisper it in your ear.”

“We’ll be late if I do that.” She shakes out his pressed shirt, and Vasquez scrubs his face to hide a smile. It’s such a stupid thing to be happy about—stupid for him, but just the type of thing for her to do; she’s honest and thoughtful, unabashedly so until someone points it out, with a schedule forever adapting to whatever disaster she’s so easily skirting.

He reaches for his phone to see just where the are on her schedule, and only then does he remember last night. Stomach sinking, he presses the home button, but the only message he has is from his mother reminding him, in impolite terms, to be polite. It’s not what he’d been expecting at all; he’d thought for sure that Goodnight, infamously insomniatic, would have sent him something along the lines of, I hope you like that face you’re making because if I don’t have an explanation in ten seconds, you’re wearing it into your coffin. But there’s nothing from Goodnight, and nothing from Josh, and nothing from any of his other prying friends.

He looks back up to Clem, who’s now singing along quietly to Thalía as she towels her hair, and takes a deep breath before locking his phone. He still has her for now.

Red Harvest has this adorable little habit of going to the gym. Or at least, it’s adorable when he’s walking around in his tank tops and lifting her everywhere, but when he’s waking her up at the asscrack of dawn? Rose isn’t so thrilled anymore.

“Get back in bed, or get out of here,” Rose says into her pillow, “and remember that only one of those is the right answer.”

“You’re going to be mad if I get back into bed,” Red says. Rose sighs. She spares a moment to peek at him, finding him sweaty and his clothes wet, and knows that he’s right; he needs a shower before he gets back into bed, and she hasn’t even smelled him yet.

Without any regard to their conversation, Red keeps on banging around the room, and Rose rolls over onto her back. He’s doing this on purpose. Just because he’s up means she needs to be up. He’s worse than her cat.

“You better be making me breakfast,” she grumbles as he disappears into the bathroom. For whatever reason, she feels wide awake—or not wide awake, but too awake for what she wants to be at this hour, and with every passing second, she has a sinking feeling she’s not going back to sleep. Reaching out a hand that is not yet as awake as the rest of her, she pats her nightstand until she meets the coolness of her phone and tugs it towards her, opening Twitter first after a few notifications that her last out-of-context Faraday quote had gotten quite a few hits. She reads for a moment, and when the shower cuts off, she switches over to Instagram, scrolls and then—

“Oh my God,” Rose mutters, the light of heaven suddenly clarifying every strange thing she’d just assumed had been because of her strange friends. All the disappearances, all the questions about them he’s shrugged off, even the way he bopped around weirder than usual—how stupid could she have been not to see it? Everything’s perfectly clear, and she’s losing her touch if she hadn’t realized it. “I’m going to murder this bastard.”

“Which bastard,” Red asks, starting to climb back into bed next to her, and Rose tosses her phone to him. He turns it up to his face just as he’s climbing into bed beside her and promptly halts mid-climb.

“Joshua Faraday, you lying piece of shit, how could you do this?”

“Rose,” Eliza gasps when Rose comes barreling down the stairs. Although, really, why is she surprised?

“First of all, how could I do what,” Faraday says, “and second, if we’re going to have this kind of conversation, would you at least put on some pants?”

“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Paying no attention to either of them, Rose thrusts the phone into his face so he can see the horror, and the morning goes from bad to worse.

Take away his cards, and Joshua Faraday can’t lie to save his life, so when he sees the picture and his face goes from surprised to confused to hurt all within seconds, Rose knows it’s genuine when he says, “I—I didn't know about this.”

“Oh come on. You know every shit he takes, and yet you didn’t know about his fairy?”

“I don’t—maybe it’s a cousin or something, I don’t know who she is. Besides, she looks like she’s twelve.”

It’s a lie, and a poorly-concealed one at that because with Vasquez, Faraday leans more towards hermano than amigo, but he’s grasping at the same straws as Rose to explain why Vasquez has posted a picture of himself on a strange couch with a strange person. In a moment where she’d tried to give Vasquez the benefit of the doubt, Rose had considered Faraday’s excuse too, but they’re too cozy to be cousins.

There’s nothing remotely dainty about Vasquez, who’s never without a leather jacket, his dark curls matching his coyote-wild smile, rough hands from endless days of hard work, the type of person who would cool in a forest fire, and sprawled across a couch with his lanky limbs, he’s just as cool as ever—sprawled across a couch with the Sugar Plum Fairy tucked into his lanky arms.

When Rose thought of the girl Vasquez would have brought around—and there have been a few who fit the image—she imagined that she’d be tall and tough a no-nonsense spitfire, but maybe that explains why they’ve never stuck around. This one, whoever she is, looks like she couldn’t sit up on her own if she wasn’t propped up against Vasquez, her rosy cheeks matching her rosy sweater, big brown eyes personifying naive.

And Vasquez looks like he can’t get enough.

Which is the worst part. It’s one thing for Vasquez to have a fairy, but it’s another for him not to tell them, especially when his coyote-wild smile crinkles his eyes until he doesn’t seem half as rough as usual.

If he weren’t surrounded by snoops, Faraday would have called Vasquez the second Rose took the phone out of his face, would have called him and tore his ass about three new ones for not giving so much as a hint as to where he might be and who he might be with. That said, he is surrounded a horde of snoops, and he already feels stupid enough as it is. He shouldn’t have to be just as clueless as the rest of the snoops when it comes to Vasquez, not after half a lifetime together, and he hadn’t thought he was. Or not until he went sneaking around with Little Miss Teeth Rotter.

“Did you know about this?”

Faraday turns to find Cass in the doorway with what can only be the picture on her screen. Great, fantastic, the gremlin knows too. Now he’ll never live it down. “No, I didn’t know about it, ok? Happy?”

“No,” Cass says simply, and Faraday wants to strangle her. “I’m not happy. Now who’s going to tell me her name and age and personality and—oh yeah—what the hell she’s doing with Vasquez.”

“I think that’s pretty clear. You see, that’s what us normal folks call cuddling, or snuggling, or whatever other goddamn word you want to use to describe being all cozy with someone you like a whole lot. Not that you’d know, being a gremlin and all.” He’s being unfairly mean, and he knows it, but it’s not like it’s anything new. Something about Cass just rubs him the wrong way, and today is just the wrong day to be rubbing him...or whatever.

He tightens his grip around his coffee and locks his jaw and hope the little gremlin takes the hint, but she doesn’t, of course. She just keeps standing there in front of him with that damned picture turned out towards him, right where he can see Vasquez’s big, doofy smile. Smug bastard. If it were anyone else, it wouldn’t be half as infuriating, but Faraday is an honorary member of the Vasquez family, and he knows for a fact it’s not a cousin; and even if it was a cousin, as tactile as he is, Vasquez wouldn’t have his hand that close to her ass, and she wouldn’t have her hand that close to his belt.

“Well,” Cass says, and only then does he realize he’d been staring at it. Faraday turns his scowl back up to her. “Aren’t you going to find out who it is? Is anyone?”

Glancing around the now-filled room, Faraday finds Red looking over Billy’s shoulder at his phone, Rose with Red’s phone at her ear and her own in her hands, and even Eliza has hers pulled out, though she sheepishly locks it when she catches his eye. Bunch of nosey goddamn snoops, the whole lot of them.

To say the Ferrers don’t like him would be an understatement. Vasquez has met Clem’s family exactly twice, once on her birthday and once last night at the rehearsal dinner, and both times had been excruciatingly painful, silent encounters, at least where he was concerned. But she’s the baby of the family, and the only girl, so really, what can he expect? It shows too that she’s the baby and only girl, spoiled beyond belief; not that Vasquez doesn’t make that worse, although, in his defense, it would be harder not to spoil her. If he could just show them that, show them how much he wants to rain down adoration, then maybe they could move past this hostility. Still, family is family, of which he is not.

He’s trapped in the middle of hostility at the moment. Anything for you, mi hadita had included pulling around the car for Clem’s cranky abuela, and he’s now stuck in the hotel lobby with her father, two brothers, and four cousins. He’s always thought of himself as a nice guy, sociable, easy to get along with, but with his his third failed attempt at starting conversation this morning alone now behind him, he’s starting to doubt it quite seriously.

When the elevator around the corner dings and Clem’s laugh comes floating through the lobby, the relief is fleeting, for there comes Clem, and there comes the pillar of hostility herself. Slowly. Save for her gunmetal hair, the only sign of Fidelia Ferrer’s age is her lack of speed, a ramrod back floating her across the ground imposingly, cat-eye glasses shielding sharp and scalding eyes, and her tongue sharper still. If he has any hope of winning over the family, it’s with Fidelia. Too bad she’s his biggest opponent.

Just as quick in her heels or in her hiking boots, Clem runs him ragged, so to see her toting her abuela ever-so-slowly on her arm is only a testament to her patience. She’s happy doing it, chatting excitedly with an equally-excited version of Fidelia that Vasquez has yet to see, though it quickly changes when she catches sight of him.

“Bela, Alejo pulled the car to the door,” Clem tells her when she notices the shift, sending Vasquez an apologetic look first. “That was sweet of him, wasn’t it?”

If it’s sweet, Fidelia will never tell. She just looks over her glasses at him, nose high in the air, and wraps her thin hand over Clem’s, not bothering to wait on him as she keeps going straight for the door. Vasquez takes two steps before he’s caught up to their shuffling and, forgetting the automatic doors, makes a fool of himself when he moves to open it for them. Great start, mano, great start.

He does successfully hold open the car door for her, though she ignores the hand he offers to help her inside. Once she’s settled and he’s closed the door, he turns to find Clem next to him with a small smile. She fiddles with his coat lapels. “You look so handsome.”

“I have to if I’m with you,” Vasquez says, and he starts to reach for her face, which he knows will get him a scolding, when his pocket vibrates. Incoming call from Rosemary Hennessey.

Vasquez almost laughs aloud. She’s not who he expected first, not so early in the morning, but he’s not surprised either. Declining the call—because that’s not the impression he wants to make—he slips the phone back into his pocket and opens Clem’s door. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Clem whispers when she comes scurrying to rejoin Vasquez in the pew, trotting down the aisle surprisingly agilely for her stiletto-ed height, but he assumes that comes from training. “Sorry to abandon you, but in good news, the bridesmaids don’t have ripped dresses anymore.”

As she settles herself next to him with a recollecting sigh, it’s automatic when his arm falls across her shoulders, and she tucks herself into him, popping a spool of thread and a needle back into its kit, then tucking it into her bag, a little clutch that looks like it wouldn’t hold, as Goodnight would say, a sack of beans. But it’s Clem, small and dainty and unassuming herself, so he can’t help but ask, “What else you got in there?”

Clem pauses where she’s closing it and, peeking back in, and says, “Let’s see...here’s a nail kit, Tide To-Go, tampons, condoms, chapstick, lipstick, gloss, concealer, tissues, Pepto, a comb, and—oh, the most important thing: lactase!”

At this, Vasquez laughs, too loud for the hushed church, and presses a kiss to her temple, trying to ignore the feeling of Fidelia’s eyes like lasers trained at the back of his head. “You’ll never repeat that night, huh?”

“I was so sick, Ale,” she giggles, “and just imagine if there’s ice cream here.”

Even with Fidelia’s and half of the rest of the Ferrer family’s eyes burning on him, Vasquez can’t control the smile on his face when Clem grins up at him, sincere, bashful when he holds her eyes for too long, unbothered by bridesmaid disasters and excited about the prospect of ice cream, which he’ll now take her out for if none is served. He kisses her temple once more and rubs his knuckles along her arm; ill-wishing family or not, he’s still having fun with her.

Alejandro Vasquez is just enough of a teasing asshole that when the next post pops up, Eliza knows he’s doing it on purpose. With all the texts and voicemails they’ve sent, there’s no way he can be posting pictures and not know what his friends are thinking, but it has to be exactly what he wants. You have our attention, you sonovabitch, Eliza wants to shout at him, but she thinks Cass sent him a text with something along those lines already. Not wanting to be the Freer of Hell again, Eliza clicks on the notification as discreetly as possible and hurries to hide her phone in her lap.

La parte más hermosa de la noche, his caption reads, and something about it twists at her heart. Eliza assumes the part he’s talking about is the same woman from his last post, this time the main focus of his picture. She’s seated at a table with a wine glass in her hand, poised mid-conversation with a smile and her lovely heartfelt eyes aimed the photographer. And while Vasquez is right that she is pretty, at least in a soft, sugar-and-gumdrops sort of way, dark curls escaped from their updo framing her dewey face, her cheeks pink from something other than wine and rouge, what stops Eliza the most is the way she’s looking past the camera; whatever she’s wearing on her face reminds Eliza of how she thinks about Josh.

When she’d started dating Josh, Vasquez had more or less come with him, and now, all these years later, she feels like a sister watching her brother suddenly fall in love; or maybe not suddenly fall, but come Kool-Aid Man-ing in with the news. She’s happy for him, really, but...well, she’d be happier if he hadn’t sprung it on them like this. Still, she seems like a nice girl, whoever she is.

Whoever she is that this time, Vasquez has been fortunate enough to tag.

Without checking to see if anyone’s around, Eliza clicks the tag, and that’s when she takes the Freer of Hell title from Rose, for as soon as the page loads, Cass is shouting, “You found her!”

Clémentina Ferrer. Or that’s what her name reads on Instagram, at least.

For the past hour and a half, everyone has been scrolling through Instagram on their various devices while Faraday sits pouting on the couch. And what they’ve discovered makes Rose halfway sick.

She likes hiking. She likes camping. She likes flowers and the gardens at the park. She likes pink way too much. She likes to throw a lot of parties. But the worst part—she really likes Vasquez. To find the beginning of him, they have to scroll back all the way to August, nearly seven months earlier, and then he consumes her profile: Vasquez working on a campfire at night, Vasquez decked out in slacks and a tie Rose didn’t know he owned, the two of them cozied up with steaming mugs, a pink bouquet on a spotless desk. As if to add insult to injury, Vasquez has been tagging her in his own posts since September, yet none of them had cared enough to see who it was he had tagged.

He’s such a bastard, Rose still thinks. She clicks on an image of two sets of skis set against a perfect snowy backdrop, only to find Clémentina  Ferrer tagged once again, and the date of his post matches the date of Clémentina Ferrer’s one of a goggled Vasquez and his big stupid smile. “This is bullshit!”

“It just doesn’t seem right,” Eliza agrees, flailing her hand at her laptop. “I can’t believe they’ve gone this long without us noticing, I just can’t.”

“I think it’s a joke. He probably just went in and tagged her in everything last night. Since when does Vasquez date anyone this long,” Cass says. When everyone spares her their attention, Cass glances around. “Think about it. Remember the last girl he brought around? Melody something or other?”

Rose clicks her tongue and nods. “Oh yeah. Melanie Harold. Josh got drunk and tried to pick a fight with me, and then I asked her if she thought my tits were a problem, and we never saw her again. But hey, this isn’t just on me. Cass stabbed the one before that.”

“It was on accident, and you know that,” Cass snaps back. Behind her, Billy snorts and tries unsuccessfully to mask it with a cough as Cass rounds on him. “Oh, don’t get high and mighty with me, mister. You told one she was dirty, and then how did Goody remedy it? By waltzing through the door and singing about his fancy soap.”

“Now let’s not start pointing fingers,” Goodnight says, and he looks ready to launch into one of his soliloquies until Faraday snarls, “Yeah, because we’re all such good friends. We get it. Don’t take a rocket scientist to figure that out.”

In whatever way he so chooses, Joshua Faraday never has any problem silencing a room. Usually when he does it, he’s drunk off his rocker, but at the moment, he’s frighteningly sober and scowling with all the clarity that undiluted hotheadedness allows. If it wasn’t Faraday, Rose might have the decency to look away when he catches her eye, but it is Faraday, and he’s throwing insults.

“Speak for yourself,” Rose says, “but I—”

“You ask his girlfriends about your tits and make out with your meathead boyfriend next to them, and you stab them and call them lightweights when they won’t drink gin, and you,” he says, rounding on Eliza. “You told one she might have bacterial vagosis.”

“Bacterial vaginosis, but that...well she might have, what do we know,” Eliza says, but she says it with less conviction than they usually hear from her, so Rose assumes Faraday got his point across.

Rose clicks back to the first damning picture that started the whole ordeal, with Vasquez and Clémentina Ferrer all curled around each other. She wants to make a comment about where his hand is, but she can’t focus on it, can only focus instead on Vasquez’s smile, how easy his whole jittery being seems. Was he sitting there quietly and running his thumb over her hip, or were they talking excitedly, her voice matching his own animated one? Whatever they’d been doing, he was happy.

“He’s kept Red and I together,” Rose says before she knows her mouth is moving. “He’s the reason we’re dating in the first place, honestly. Talked me out of being stupid and talked Red into it.”

He’s a downright bastard at the moment, just like he is in most moments, but he’s Rose’s downright bastard. For a giant of a man, he’s anything but rough and mean; his smiles are genuine and infectious, and when he asks how you’re doing, it feels like he really cares. It was no wonder, really, when he sat her down for a good talking-to before setting off to give Red a pep-talk of his own, and no wonder still when he third-wheeled their unofficial first date, for which she’ll be forever grateful that he kept the evening easy and the conversation flowing. He’s a good guy. He’s—

“He’s the reason I’m married.”

And there he goes again, silencing the room. Rose glances up to where Faraday is clenching his jaw at a spot on the floor. “I wanted to call the whole thing off at the last minute, and before the ceremony, he just kept talking about Eliza and me and how much he admired us. Two hours later, he was standing next to me at the altar.”

“You never told me that,” Eliza says softly, and Faraday snorts.

“Yeah, that’s something you want to tell your wife. ‘Hey, honey, funny story, but I almost left you at the altar.’ You’re missing the point, Eliza.”

“No, I got the point. Vasquez is a great friend, and we’re…”

“Shit,” Cass offers. Eliza looks ready to scold her, though Rose doesn’t know why. It’s not like she’s wrong.

Two in the morning, and Clémentina Ferrer is posting pictures onto Instagram. Shouldn’t she be asleep? She looks like the kind of girl who sleeps with a face peel and eye mask and gets crabby if she doesn’t get ten whole hours. Which, now that Faraday thinks about it, Vasquez is probably all too happy to oblige, considering he’d sleep on the street in a tornado.

He’s laying in bed, supposed to be asleep himself, assuming it’s what Eliza is doing next to him, but when she groans and turns over, he guesses not. “Josh, will you please put that away and go to bed?”

“Sorry, darlin’. I was just…” Eliza lays her head on his chest and peers at the screen, hopefully noticing the caption Clémentina Ferrer has added: Mi cita perfecta. “What’s that one word there?”

Instead of answering, Eliza taps the translate option, and then Faraday is definitely not looking at Vasquez’s cousin, or if he is, they’re going to have to have a long talk if he’s willing to date a girl who calls him her perfect date. He’s assuming they’re dating, though he might have to be stupid not to assume.

“He doesn’t look like the guy we left with, does he,” Eliza asks, and it sends a pang through Faraday’s chest because she’s right. Whoever this is, he wears suits and does weird shit like skiing when he hates the cold and secretly dating fairies, if hadita means what they’d looked up.

“Yeah, and it doesn’t look like him either.”

“No,” Eliza agrees, “I think it looks like who he wants to be.”

Faraday stops at that. When they’d left, Vasquez had been a walking skeleton, just a little meaner than he meant, always on edge, too rough, too wild, his leather jackets letting everything slide off him unfazed. Now here he is, his beard neatly trimmed, clad in a fitted suit and a floral tie that perfectly matches dress of the woman in his arms who’s smiling just as widely as he is. He’s dancing with her. Despite all their years together, Faraday can’t recall one time where he’s known Vasquez to offer a dance, but sure enough, he has her flush against him, her little hand obsolete in his, his dark eyes trained on her and nothing else. In some ways, it feels like the Vasquez from before they’d needed to leave, when he was carefree and silly, and maybe that’s what’s making him so happy. If it is, who is Faraday to stop it?

Eliza tips his chin towards her and away from his phone. “I think he’s ok, Josh.”

Sunday

Thank goodness Clem will chatter to him the whole time, because Vasquez doesn’t know how he’s going to drive without falling asleep and killing them. It’s been a long time since he’d been to a Mexican wedding, and he’d almost forgotten just how long the party could last—which only ended at three in the morning for them because Fidelia had wanted to go to bed and he’d tried, unsuccessfully, to score a few points by driving her back to the hotel.

Now it’s too early in the morning to be of use, so he’s standing next to Clem and trying to be as unobtrusive as possible while she kisses everyone goodbye. At the moment, she’s just as bright-eyed as ever, bouncing around in her little way, but he’s waiting for her to sit down this evening and crash. Not that he’s complaining; maybe he’ll just extend their weekend and crash right alongside her.

“Adiós, Bela, te quiero,” Clem says, reaching up to kiss Fidelia one last time, and her abuela pats her cheek with a warm smile that seems too out of place to Vasquez, who she rounds on next.

“You take care of my granddaughter,” Fidelia commands, her black eyes watching him so sharply that he swears they’ll peirce him at any moment and he’ll die. It’s a command he wouldn’t dare break even if he had any inclination to do so in the first place.

“Absolutely, señora, of course,” Vasquez says, meaning every bit of it, and perhaps Fidelia realizes it, for then she offers him a sight he never thought he’d ever see, or at least not directed towards him: Fidelia Ferrer smiles up at him. 

And, even more, she reaches up to pat his cheek, saying, “You’re a good boy.”

Next to him, Clem’s face goes as red as his feels, and though she smiles just as wide, she allows herself to be used as Fidelia’s support as the older woman starts her trek to her waiting car.

He might as well have won the lottery and found a pot of gold all at once, he’s floating so high he’ll never come down. Out of everything she could have said to him, that was nowhere near what he’d expected, but he’ll take it, he’ll absolutely take it, even if it means a month’s worth of her hard looks and scowls, even if he has to drive around all of Rhode Island a hundred times with her silent animosity radiating from the backseat.

Across the parking lot, Clem tucks Fidela into the backseat of her parents’ car and passes Fidelia’s bag to her, pausing to lean on the door. She’ll probably be there for a while in that case, if how much she adores Fidelia means anything. Maybe this is the moment he needs. He pulls out his phone.

“Hey.”

One word, and it’s just straightforward enough that Vasquez doesn’t know what to make of it. No name calling, no insults, no furious demands. Nothing. He sighs, “Hey, güero. How...how mad are you?”

“At you,” Faraday asks, and he pauses with a sigh of his own. “Not as much as I want to be.”

It’s not what Vasquez was expecting at all. His best friend is hot headed and prying, and...well, his best friend, and this is the type of thing one doesn’t keep from a best friend. “I was going to tell you.”

“I understand why you didn’t. We all do.”

“We—wait, what,” Vasquez stammers. We understand was as likely to be a reply as We knew the whole time but wanted to respect you and your decisions as a grown adult. His friends aren’t understanding, they don’t do the whole understanding thing, they just grudgingly get over or ignore it. And what is this whole tone he’s using? It’s soft and tired and just the sort of tone Vasquez gets when he’s apologizing. But since when does Joshua Faraday apologize?

“We took a long, hard look at everything. And we understand why you didn’t tell us. But, if you wanted, we’ve all agreed to behave if you want to come over tonight.”

“Been a long weekend, and it might be late when we get back. What about tomorrow?”

Faraday laughs, “Hey, we’re all still walking around with our tails tucked right now. I can’t guarantee you tomorrow.”

“I—she’s important, güero.”

“She looks like it.”

If Faraday wasn’t so somber at the moment, Vasquez would tell him no, they’d just spent the weekend at one of the most romantic events a person can witness and they’re going home to celebrate their own relationship, which he’s sure Faraday can understand, and they’ll come another day when they’re good and ready. But Faraday is terribly somber, and Vasquez is still riding the high of Fidelia’s blessing. Maybe it’s a sign. “I’ll let you know when we get back into town.”

“I’ll see you tonight, you asshole.”

Without a proper goodbye, the line goes dead, and eyes closed, Vasquez tips back his head towards the sky, imploring whatever’s up there, if there’s anything up there, to please, just this once, be on his side. Let them not be wild, and let Clem not be too scared, and let them please like each other enough to tolerate joint events. He has one side of his family’s approval. Now for the other.

Pressure at his knee makes him open his eyes, and then he’s met with Clem and the little grin that’s always on her pretty face. In the sunlight, pure and unadulterated, the trace of freckles across her nose pops out so vividly without the hindrance of makeup, her cheeks still as rosy as ever. She feels thin and fragile beneath his touch, but it’s what he likes about her, the dainty exterior that masks so well her fire and vigor, and he can’t help but pull her to him, let her lips warm his own until he feels her same fire.

“Thank you for this,” she says against his mouth.

“Will you do something for me?” Clem backs away only enough to look him in the eyes, her small, soft hands on either side of his face, which he covers in his own; he can do it if he just has her hand. “My friends are having dinner tonight. Would you—could we—”

“Go?” He nods and watches as she breaks out her dimples, giving him the little shrug she always does when she can’t smile wide enough. “Only if you’re sure.”

Is he sure that this won’t turn into a dinner filled with terrible word choices and immature actions, that Faraday won’t stick his foot into his mouth or Cass won’t be stingy with the food or that Red won’t be able to pick a worse makeout moment, that they won’t be such assholes that she’s overwhelmed, that she won’t be confused about how or why they’re his friends or why he could love them so much, that she won’t completely change her opinion of him and be gone in the morning, and that this is, by far, the worst mistake of his life? No, not at all. But is he sure that he wants to do absolutely everything with her? Without a doubt.

When Vasquez smiles back, it’s all the answer Clem needs. She does her little tiptoe-rock of excitement and scurries away from him so that he can open her door. Then he’s getting in too, and starting the car, and they’re really doing it.

Trying not to crash, Vasquez fumbles to pull up a picture on his phone—though they’ve already been through this before, the last thing he wants to do is send her in unprepared—and then passes it to Clem with a feeling in his stomach that isn’t completely and utterly terrible. They’ll be fine. Hopefully. At least, he feels hopeful.

“Ok, so starting on the left. That’s mi hermano Josh, and no matter what stupid thing he comes up with, he doesn’t mean anything, so don’t be offended by a single thing he says. And that’s his wife Eliza, who I have no clue how he landed—kinda like us—because she’s the complete opposite. She’s most likely to be friendly, except for her brother, Goodnight, who’s right there. And he—you two will get along, trust me…”