#cause hector wrote songs for coco

[themusicofthespheres]

Un poco loco is about coco

[moonahstone]

Ernesto de la Cruz could of wrote a fake letter, for Imelda, that imitated his friend’s handwriting saying that he is dumping her and their child like Francis Button wrote fake letters to his cousin and his girlfriend; both of them pretending to be each other. Remember Ernesto stole Hector’s handwritten songbook. So Ernesto could’ve easily mimic his friend hand. Imelda could of had her heart broken by a fake letter just like Isabelle. The fake letter could also be the source of the music ban. Just imagine Ernesto pretending to comfort Imelda saying that he feels sorry of Hector dumping her; just like what Francis comforting Isabelle after his cousin died. Also the cause deaths of Hector and Thomas involve pain in the stomach.

Thinking about it that’s really quite likely I think. I mean it would be completely in character and if Francis his parallels did it then he probably did too. I haven’t actually seen Coco in ages so really must rewatch it, especially with all the asks about it so I completely forgot about the song book. I had thought maybe he wrote a letter but couldn’t think how he could of done it accurately. I don't know which is worse honestly, comforting the love interest and escorting her away as your wife instead or deceiving her into banning the entire thing that kept her lovers memory alive. I just want to throttle them both for what they did to my beans. Also the stomach thing is a really clever connection, Thomas was after all shot in the stomach and hector poisoned.

[sweetiepie08]

Musician with the Poison Tears (Chapter 9)

Miguel Rivera’s been fascinated by the story of the legendary ghost, the Musician with Poison Tears, since he was a kid. He’s always wanted to know the full story behind the weeping specter that haunts the train station with its invisible guitar. Now 18, the travels to Mexico City to try to observe the ghost from afar and get some clues about its origin. Who knows? He might even get a song out of it.

This story is based on the art and ghost!au created by @melcecilia14​. Go check out her artwork here, here, here, and here. It’s really awesome.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Epilogue.

Bonus.

Little Coco ran to Miguel as soon as he came in the door. He dropped his bags and swept her up in a hug. She squealed and laughed as he swung her around.

“Careful,” his mama said, dodging her daughter’s flying feet.

“I’m fine Mama,” Coco answered, her face still squished in her brother’s chest. He brain suddenly switched gears and she started squirming out of his arms. “Put me down! Put me down! I have to get my picture!”

Coco’s feet touched the floor and she bolted down the hall. Their parents wore amused smiles as they watched her go. “Welcome home, mi’jo,” his mother said, kissing him on the forehead.

His father pulled him in for a hug. “I can’t wait to hear all about your trip.”

Miguel smiled.  His parents, it seemed, were back to normal. At the very least they weren’t angry with him anymore. He looked over at his aunts and uncle hugging Rosa and Abel and asking about their trip. At least they were trying to over the rapid-fire questions from Benny and Manny. Papa Franco was even in the mix. Only one person seemed to be missing.

“Where’s Abuelita?” Miguel asked.

His parents locked eyes and shared the same concerned expression. So, she’s still mad.

“She’s in the kitchen,” his mother finally offered.

Miguel thanked her, picked up his things, and made his way to the kitchen. There, he found her sitting at the table with a cup of tea. “Abuelita, look who’s back,” he said as he entered the room.

She barely glanced up at him then went back to her tea.

“Abuelo Roberto said he’s been working on his poker game, so you better watch out next Christmas.”

She ignored him still.

“Abuelita, can you please say something?” Miguel sat down next to her and rested his guitar case by the table leg.

Abuelita glared pointedly at it, stood up, and left the room without a single word to Miguel.  

Defeated, Miguel slinked off to his room. He parked his suitcase by the door and rested the guitar case on the bed. Now what? He sunk down onto the bed with his guitar. The rest of his family didn’t seem to be angry anymore, though they did seem to be a little nervous about the topic of music. He saw them glancing at his guitar, like he was carrying a bomb or something. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t like he had a drug problem or was getting into fights. All he wanted was to be a musician, but his abuelita seemed ready to disown him just for that.

And what was the problem, anyway? In this day and age? Sure, back when his great-great grandfather left, it was harder to stay in touch. But now? He had all sorts of ways to contact them and he could travel much faster. It wasn’t like the old days. He wouldn’t end up like his great-great grandfather. Why couldn’t they see that?

“Mama Coco, what do I do?” he said to the picture on the dresser. “They don’t trust me. They think if I leave, if I try to become a musician I’ll never come back, but I know I will. You know I will. I remember, you used to sing to me in secret. You loved music too. You would have wanted this for me. How do I convince abuelita that this is what’s right for me? How do I get her to trust me again?” He let out a heavy sign and slunk down onto the floor. “I wish you were still here.”

He let his forehead thunk against the dresser and felt something hit him on the top of his head. When he looked up, he found Mama Coco’s gift laying beside him on the floor. Maybe she is still here, he thought as he reached for the gift. Maybe she wants to tell me something.

He carefully undid the yellow ribbon and unwrapped the paper, making sure not to tear it. Pulling the paper away revealed a very old book. It was bound in brown leather. The pages grown yellow and brittle with age. He opened the cover. The first page contained a happy birthday message from Tio Oscar and Tio Filipe, Mama Coco’s uncles. Very small, on the bottom of the page, they wrote, “Our little secret. Don’t tell your Mama.” Was it a journal? A secret journal not even Mama Imelda knew about?

He opened to the first page, dated 1932. Reading on confirmed his suspicions. She wrote about her uncles giving her the journal in secret and in a typical teenage rambling, she went on about wishing her Mama gave her more freedom and privacy. She only wanted something all to herself, away from the prying eyes of her mother. She loved things she knew her mother would never approve of: music, and dancing, and her father.

The following pages were like stepping into a time machine and watching Mama Coco’s younger days play out. She wrote almost every day. She wrote about her friends, and wishing she didn’t have to lie to her mother whenever she went to the Plaza with them. She wrote about the sweet boy, Julio, who her friends were sure was taken with her. He shyly gave her a handful of wildflowers one day and she felt embarrassed and flattered and excited all at the same time. She wrote about sneaking out to go dancing with him and the massive fight she had with her mother on the day she got caught.

She also wrote about her father. She could still remember him, though her mother tried hard to make her forget. He used to dance with her, sing to her, and play for her. She could remember him playing a new song he wrote and asking her if she liked it, though she was barely more than a toddler at the time. More than that, she could remember how he used to hug her as tight as he could, how he made her laugh until she squealed, and how much Mama used to smile around him. He promised her he would never leave her for good, and he’d always come back. He loved her so much and she knew it even then, which was why she never believed he meant to disappear. If he didn’t come back, it was because something happened to him.

Once, she wrote about hearing an Ernesto De la Cruz song on the radio with her friends, and not being about to explain her sudden change in mood to them. An idea began to creep in the back of Miguel’s mind. No, it couldn’t be. He read on:

               Gloria was the first to notice I was upset. I told her I was fine. Then Ana Maria and Alicia starting asking what was wrong. I kept saying I was fine but they wouldn’t let it go. Finally I told them I was worried about my Mama finding out I was listening to the radio and they just laughed and dropped it. They all know about her rules, the whole town does. It wasn’t like they’d believe the real reason anyway.

               But I remember Tio Ernesto. He was Papa’s friend. He’d been to our house. He was there as far back as I can remember, at least until Papa disappeared. They’d call me a liar if I told them this, even worse, they’d call me crazy. Saying the biggest star in the world stole my Papa’s songs? Maybe even hurt him? No proof, no evidence, just a feeling? No one would believe me. Not even Mama believes me.

Miguel’s stomach slowly turned as he read this. The pieces came together in his mind. Could Mama Coco’s father, the one who left, be the ghost in the train station? Could he be Hector? No, it was too much of a coincidence. Of all the people in the world… Why can I talk to him, then? And Rosa and Abel? Why can we talk to him when no one else can? This couldn’t just be a coincidence. There had to be more to it.

He flipped through the pages, hoping to find something to confirm his newly-formed theory, when a folded-up piece of paper fell out from between the pages. It was just as old, if not older than the journal. He unfolded it to find a letter written to Coco. It contained lyrics to an Ernesto de la Cruz song, yeas before Ernesto himself sung it. It also had little drawings on the bottom and ended with “Love, Papa.”

His heart beat faster and he searched through the journal. More old letters fell out. Not all of them contained lyrics, but they all expressed his love for his daughter and promised he’d be back soon. The handwriting all matched. If someone were to match the handwriting on the letters to the handwriting in the original song book… All these years, the proof has been sitting in my house, on my dresser. But he didn’t think that was the reason Mama Coco gave him this gift. She didn’t care about her father being famous. She only wanted to share some happy memories, to show someone how she really felt, and maybe she just wanted someone to remember her father the way she remembered him.

We probably all would if it weren’t for Ernesto. If his hunch was correct, and the ghost Hector and his great-great grandfather were one and the same, then Ernesto is responsible for the heartache his family went through for generations. Hector was nothing like the man his family thought he was. He loved his family so much. All he wanted was to provide for them with his music. He tried so hard to go home to them. He was willing to give up fame for them and Ernesto killed him for that.

He turned to the very back of the book and noticed that the lining on the back cover was loose. He peeled back the corner and found a scrap of an old photograph. The untamed head of hair in the photo was strikingly familiar and it caused Miguel to pause. He reached in and slipped the photo out. Hector’s face grinned back at him.

He recognized the shape of the tear immediately. This was the missing piece from the picture of Mama Imelda and young Mama Coco. All these years, the truth about the family secret was right here in his room. Mama Coco’s papa, he hadn’t abandoned them at all. He was coming back. He was always going to come back. And now, his ghost was trapped in a train station, still trying to get home over a century later.

Photograph in hand, Miguel darted out of his room. “Rosa! Abel!”

His cousins met him in the hall.

“What?”

“Why are you yelling?”

“Look! Look at this!” Miguel held the photo out to them.

Rosa adjusted her glasses. “Is that Hector?”

“Where did you get this?” Abel asked.

“It was in Mama Coco’s gift,” Miguel explained. “She wrote a journal when she was a girl and she gave it to me. She wrote about a lot of things, but also about her papa. And there were letters; letters with Ernesto de la Cruz lyrics, dated way before those songs came out.”

“So Hector was the one who abandoned Mama Imelda?” Rosa asked.

“No, don’t you get it? He didn’t abandon them. He was trying to come home, but Ernesto de la Cruz murdered him. If it weren’t for Ernesto…”

That’s right, Ernesto. Ernesto was the one who murdered Hector all those years ago. If it weren’t for Ernesto, the music ban never would have happened. If it weren’t for Ernesto, Mama Coco wouldn’t have grown up without her father. If it weren’t for Ernesto, Hector wouldn’t have spent a hundred years alone.

Miguel’s face hardened. He balled up his fists and he stormed out of the house. His cousins chased after him.

“Miguel, where are you going?” Rosa said, following him out the door.

“The cemetery.”

“Why?” Abel asked. “What are you going to do at a cemetery?”

“I’m going to go yell at a dead guy.”

“What? Ernesto?”

“Yes, Ernesto! He murdered our great-great grandfather!”

“Miguel, come back,” Rosa shouted after him. “You look deranged.”

“I don’t care. He murdered Hector and got away with it. Hell, he profited off of it. It’s about time he faced some consequences.”

“And you think a famous ghost is going to care what some random guy has to say?” Abel put in.

“He might when he finds out I am. Or rather, who my great-great grandfather was.”

His cousins tried to get him to turn back as he marched his way to the cemetery, but they were unable to sway him. He led them all the way to Ernesto’s mausoleum. Momentum carried him lengths ahead of his cousins. By the time they caught up to him, he was already picking the lock.

“Do I want to know why you can pick a lock?” Rosa snapped in a whisper when she came up behind him.

“Relax, it was nothing bad,” Miguel answered. “Remember when Abuelita found my guitar and locked it in the shed until I found someone to sell it to?”

“But you didn’t sell it,” Abel said. “You told me you got a kid at school to pretend to buy it and give it back to you.”

“I did but I still had to practice in the meantime.”

The lock clicked open and Miguel swung the iron doors. He saw the portrait of Ernesto smirking at him from the wall and it sparked his anger again. “Come out you murdering psychopath!” Miguel shouted and he stormed into the mausoleum. “Where are you, you hack?! You song thief?!”

“Shut up,” Rosa snapped in a whisper. “Someone’s gonna call the cops and I don’t think they’ll buy your ‘this dead celebrity killed my ancestor’ excuse.”

“So we’re really doing this huh?” Abel said stepping inside, nervously fidgeting with his fingers. “We’re really provoking the ghost of a murderer?”

“Ha! You hear that!” Miguel whisper-shouted at the portrait. “Your legacy’s already going down. You’re going to be remembered as a fraud and a murderer. Not to mention the world’s worst friend.”

“I don’t think he cares how good a friend he was,” Abel pointed out, “you know, considering the murder and all…”

“Well, he does care about how he’s remembered.” He marched up to the portrait, fire burning in his eyes so hot, it stung even him. “You hear me, you liar! You thief! You murderer!” His voice echoed off the mausoleum walls. “You didn’t just steal a couple songs. You stole Mama Coco’s father from her. You stole a man from his family. You stole the life they could have had together and you let them think he left them on purpose. You killed your best friend and you caused my family pain for generations. It stops here. I am the great great grandson of Hector Rivera and I am proud of it. And I won’t let you steal from my family anymore!”

In response, A weak wind blew, maybe just strong enough to muss up some dust. A stray dog barked in the distance. A car drove down the road. He might have heard a small animal running in the grass outside. That was it.

He was here, his cousins were here, but no one else.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. It felt good in the moment. It felt good to get the words out and give Ernesto a long-overdue tirade. But he was still unfulfilled. Ernesto de la Cruz would never hear his words. He would never face justice for his crimes. He was gone, his legacy untouched. Meanwhile, Hector paid for one mistake with his life and a hundred years of loneliness.

“Hey cuz,” Abel said, coming up behind Miguel and putting his hands on his shoulder. “You get that out of your system?”

“He’s not here, Miguel,” Rosa added, her voice much softer now. “Ernesto de la Cruz is long gone. All that’s left of him is a pile of bones in a box.”

“In a big mausoleum,” Miguel spat, breaking away from his cousin. “He’s visited by thousands of people every year. Who even knows where Hector’s body is? It’s not right.”

“No, it’s not,” Rosa agreed. Miguel was surprised by how firm and series her voice suddenly became. “Ernesto de la Cruz murdered our great-great grandfather and never faced a single consequence. Hector died in the street alone while his murderer got to die rich and happy. It’s not right, but it’s the way things are.”

“To be fair, he probably didn’t die too happy,” Abel pointed out, “at least not in the last few seconds…you know…cause of the bell…” Abel used his hands to imitate the falling bell and made a crunching noise with mouth. “Wouldn’t have left a very pretty corpse, come to think of it. Probably looked nothing like that picture up there.”

Rosa looked over at him, eyebrows twisted with annoyance. “Can you stop?”

“It isn’t fair,” Miguel sighed, slumping down against a wall. “Hector’s been alone for so long. We’re his family. We should be able to do something for him.”

His cousins knelt down beside him and Rosa put her arm around his shoulders. Then, soft music disrupted the quiet of the cemetery. Miguel recognized the tune. He looked up at the guitar on the wall. The stings moved and vibrated seemingly all on their own. Without a player, the guitar plucked out a soothing, melodic rendition of Remember me.

“Is it Ernesto?” Abel whispered, staring up at the guitar in awe.

“No.” Miguel stood up and approached the guitar on the wall. It must be his. All these years… “I know this version. That’s not Ernesto. That is Hector.”

“Hector? How?”

“His invisible guitar. It’s not invisible at all.” His smile grew bigger. “It’s right here. He’s been playing this one.”

“So if that’s his guitar, maybe all we have to do is bring it back to him,” Abel suggested, beginning to smile himself. “Then he’ll be able to cross over.”

Rosa rolled her eyes. “Yeah that’s a good idea. Let’s steal the most famous guitar in Mexico and take it to a very public place. I’m sure that’ll work out great.”

Miguel though about it for a moment. It seemed logical. Hector was killed for his music. If they reunited him with his instrument, it could let him cross over to the afterlife. But it still didn’t fit. During all the time Miguel spent with Hector, never once did the ghost lament the loss of his guitar, not even after regaining his memories. This wasn’t part of his unfished business. In truth, Hector only longed for one thing.

“I don’t think that’s right. Hector can already play his guitar any time he wants. He doesn’t need to have it physically with him. Besides, it’s not what he really wants. All he ever wanted was to go home to his family.”

“So, for him to move on, we need to get him home,” Abel said.

“But he can’t leave the train station,” Rosa pointed out. “How are we supposed to get him back to Santa Cecilia?”

“Well, he wants to go home because that’s where his family is. Maybe if we bring family to him…”

“But we’re family,” Rosa said. “If that was true, he should have been able to cross over after meeting us.”

Miguel deflated, hoping leaking out of him. “I don’t know why.” He listened to the music playing from the guitar on the wall. It was home, Hector wasn’t. Hector, who only wanted to see his family again, who was more concerned about Miguel than himself, who didn’t want Miguel to make the same mistake he did… Hector wasn’t just a mysterious ancestor, torn out of his own legacy. He was Miguel’s friend, his family. I will help him. I will find a way to bring him home. “Hector can’t be trapped forever,” he said, his fists curled, resolve renewed. “We must be missing something.”

“Well, we don’t need to figure it out here,” Rosa said, putting her arm around him. ���Let’s go home.”

Together, the cousins made their way home. Miguel barely made it in the door before Coco rushed him again.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, slamming her tiny fists on her hips. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Sorry, Coco.” He crouched down to her level with an apologetic smile. “We just went for a walk. That’s all.”

“Well, I drew you a picture.” She grabbed his hand and forcefully pulled him to the living room. She grabbed a piece of paper off the table and jammed it in his face.

Miguel took it. It was a drawing of a colorful bird. She must have used every color in the box. I saw a pretty bird today and it made me happy, he remembered. Would it help if I drew it for you? Tears brimmed on his eyes and he scooped Coco into a hug. “I love it, Coco. You were right. It did make me feel better.”

“I knew it would,” she said, hugging him back. “I just wanted you to come back.”

“Aw, Coco, I’ll always come back.” He hugged Coco tighter. Hector was right. He probably promised his Coco the same thing, but there was no guarantee. Miguel was going to be there for Coco as much as he could. He was going to watch her grow up, go to school, do whatever fabulous things she wanted ot do with her life… Hector may have lost the chance to be with his daughter, but Miguel wasn’t going to squander any chances to be with his sister.

If only I could give Hector more time with his Coco, Miguel thought as he cradled his baby sister in his arms. And just like that, he knew what to do. I can’t reunite Hector with his daughter, but maybe I can introduce him to his granddaughter.  

[sirenalpha]

I haven’t looked to see if this is a fic already, but I really want a Coco fic where with the music ban lifted, Miguel is able to do more research on musical history from beyond Ernesto de la Cruz/Hector

I’m assuming Hector wrote the songs in the late teens through 1921, and then Ernesto vamped them for his time through the 20s 30s to 1942

but that’s a lot of musical history to get to from 1942 to now that neither Hector or Miguel know like they haven’t even hit rock and roll yet

I don’t know a lot of Mexican music or artists as I don’t speak Spanish, but I do know that I’d want to include Ritchie Valens as he’s Mexican American a guitarist and also died very young and was born the year before Ernesto died and he did do La Bamba

Carlos Santana would obviously be included as a Mexican guitarist and considered one of the greats though I only know his more recent stuff, but he first got big in the 70s

I’d definitely have Chuck Berry there to bridge the gap, B.B. King, and the Beatles and Rolling Stones for the British invasion, Jimi Hendrix obviously

in the 70s aside from Santana, a lot of the big name guitarists are in hard rock like Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, and Queen, but this is also when punk rock came out so the Ramones and the Clash, and then there’s Eric Clapton and ZZ Top that are more blues influenced

80s - hip hop starts arriving, Michael Jackson and Prince (who is also a guitarist), heavy metal starts to become a thing with Iron Maiden and Twisted Sister, Metallica, there’s also Alternative with REM though they kinda got more popular in the 90s same with Red Hot Chili Peppers, hair metal like Guns n Roses, and then stuff like Journey and Bon Jovi

90s - grunge like Nirvana obviously, there’s also pop punk with Green Day and Blink 182, then more metal with Nine Inch Nails, Rage Against the Machine, System of a Down, more alternative with Smashing Pumpkins and Radiohead

2000s a lot of the popular bands are carry overs from the 90s and then emo/pp punk like MCR, Paramore, Fall Out Boy, indie bands like Artcic Monkeys, the Black Keys, the Killers, Arcade Fire, goth/heavy rock Evanescence made its first album

and then there’s this decade which you all should have experienced yourself and Despacito will probably have to make it in there for reasons

I imagine once Miguel can hear a lot of modern music he’s like where are the instruments??

anyways, it would probably require Miguel to be able to interact with the dead on future Dia de los Muertos so that he can tell Hector about the music and show how it’s done, teaching him about it and demonstrating how the newer guitarists move and sound

Miguel would probably like electric guitars and what you can do to affect the sounds or cause distortion but Hector would probably stick with acoustic though he’d like to see Miguel experimenting and finding what he likes

this would be a hell of a thing to write though because writing about music is different from having a movie about it where you can hear it

[jessadamsdraws]

Over the Years: Coco

Dia de los Muertos in the Rivera family was very important to them not just because of the holiday but, it was the day that changed a long-standing rule in their house. For generations the family was well know not just for the shoes but because the family didn’t allow music into there home. They considered it a curse and banned it. However, one dia de los Muertos one boy reviled that he loved music and wasn’t to share his love for it. Which caused an augment leading tears to be shed. He ran away heartbroken thinking that the ban was more important than his feelings. Despite to prove to himself and his family that music was a good thing he was going to play in the plaza just like his ideal and thought to be great great grandfather Ernesto de la Cruz. However, he didn’t have a guitar. So, he ran off to find one. His family looked for him for hours and hours but nothing.

Till after then sun had rose did the see him running with a white guitar in his hand. He ignored his uncle and father calling his name. He was focused on one thing and one thing only. He ran right past everyone and went to his great grandmother. He was desperately trying to get her to remember her father the reason more the music band in the first place. He keeps saying that he’ll disappear if she didn’t but… nothing. Finally, his last attempt he took the guitar much to his family disapprove and played a song. To everyone’s surprise she knew the song. She smiled and started to sing along with him as he played.

After that music was brought back to the family once more. Things where brought to light and the family soon released that music itself wasn’t the true problem it was what people did with it.

When ever any one asked he told them he went to the land of the dead and met everyone and solved the mystery. Of course, no one believed him however, he was right. His great great grandfather was killed before he could make it home to his family. Meaning that music bane did really matter anymore.

Many years had passed, and the boy was now a great musician. He wrote and performed many songs but, he would always come home ever dia de los Muertos and would stay for months after playing in the plaza just like his true great great grandfather. And like many of his family fell in love.

Soon, he retired from his performances and because a song writer so that way he could stay with his wife and now his little girl. He would sing to her every night before bed and tell her the story of how he brought back music to his family. She loves the story the most.

Soon, she too grew up making shoes beautiful patterns on the shoes that her family would make. One day falling in love with a man that she was fitting for a pair. They were a perfect fix. He watched as his little girl was not grown into a woman.

He watched as the years passed see his family grow older and older. See his family grow and grow.

Now he was an old man. Watching from his wheelchair as his great grandchildren play football among themselves. However, one child was helping with the preparing the decorations. He smiled to himself thinking about the years passed. Then the middle child ran up to him.

“Papa Miguel! Look, look” She help up the small guitar in her hand and played a few notes on it. He knew the song instantly.

“Your getting really good” He said giving her a smile which she returned ten times bigger.

“Papa Miguel can you tell me the story again, please please please!” She begged. He laughed to himself.

“Mjia, you know the story by heart. How about you tell me.” He said

So, she did.

After the story ended it was time for the holiday to begin. The family started to drink and eat, they played their favorite songs and some of his songs. He smiled to himself watching them having fun. But, unknown to him his Papa Hector was next to him watching as the rest of the family was also there. He patted Miguel shoulder and said to him in a proud voice.

“Well done, chemaco. You did good.”

[ejm513]

RANDOM HEAD CANONS PART THREE

Hello my lovelies! I hope all is well and you are enjoying the end of summer!

So for lots of reasons I need to do something to take my mind off of… just life in general. So I’m giving you another head cannon post!

WHOOP WHOOP!

All right without further or do let’s get on with the post!

-So if you haven’t seen-Imelda’s original design saw her wearing her hair in a long braid that I am a huge fan of. I like to think that when she growing up, and then was courting Hector and first married him she always wore her hair in long braid. Then Coco came along. Now I think Coco was probably a very sweet and lovely baby… but a very curious one. The moment she’s able to Coco LOVES to grab and pull her Mama’s braid, not to be mean or anything just because she is so intrigued. Needless to say it doesn’t take very long after this habit starts for Imelda to pull her hair back in the style we see in the film.

-And yes she did pull at Hector’s goatee… but he refused to get rid of it.

-Pepita is amazing and a total badass-but at her core she is still a cat-which can lead to some… interesting situations.

For example (and based off my own personal experiences with my lovely cats)

COCO: Pepita loves me! She would listen to just as much as Mama.

HECTOR: Oh yeah? I’ll believe it when I see it mija.

COCO: Pepita come here!

PEPITA *looks up at Coco but doesn’t respond*

COCO: Mi querida Pepita ven aca.

PEPITA *looks at her… blinks and doesn’t move*

COCO: Pepita please…?

PEPITA *finally gets up and starts to go to Coco*

COCO: Oh that’s my beautiful

PEITA: Nah I change my mind I don’t want to be with you silly hooman *turns around and walks away… almost whacking Coco in the face with her tail*

COCO: Pinche Gato

HECTOR*jaw proceeds to literally drop*

 EXAMPLE NUMBER TWO:

PEPITA: *REALLY WANTS TO GO OUT AND FLY, KEEPS PAWING AT THE HOUSE AND SOFTLY GROWLING*

IMELDA: Pepita I’m really busy right now I’ll be there in a minute.

PEPITA *continues to growl and paw*

IMELDA: In a minute Pepita.

A few minutes go by where nothing happens and Pepita goes quiet. Imelda thinks she has won and goes back to what she was doing. Pepita storms to the widow she’s sitting by, puts her face right up against it and lets out a massive rawr*

IMELDA: AY DIOS MIOS OKAY OKAY I’LL TAKE YOU OUT FLYING!

 -I mentioned this one of my stories-but I think for the majority of Coco’s life she did not like oranges… at all. When Imelda would try and give a little Coco orange slices the child would get an angry pout on her face (that looked a lot like Hector’s infamous pout), screaming “NO!” and toss them across the room. Coco grew to tolerate them when Miguel started to give them to her.

-I think aside from Victoria, Julio would take the longest to feel comfortable around Hector. He spent his adult life believing a certain story and seeing the pain his absence caused his mother and most important his wife. Coco may not have showed it or would deny it, but it was clear that she missed up and his absent hurt. Even after he learns the truth it takes a while for him to warm up.

 -Baby Socorro turns out to be quiet the talented musician; her real strength is in singing. Everyone, except for Miguel, is puzzled at where her voice comes from.

 -As one might imagine after the spectacle in The Land of the Dead, the Rivera’s turn from a respectable family who made quality shoes to a bit of a sensation. Everyone wants to know about the woman who sang at the now fabled Sunrise Spectacular. People want to know every single little thing about the man who actually wrote Ernesto De La Cruz’s songs. It’s overwhelming for everyone-especially Hector. The only one who doesn’t seem to mind is Pepita.

Pepita loves having all these new people to chase after.

 -I want to write a fanfic about this one day, but Imelda explains who everyone (sans the twins obviously) is by going through a album full of photos. Every one of them is like a treasure, but there is one photo in particular that makes him cry. It’s a photo of Coco holding a new born Elena and a four year old Victoria with Julio sitting right by Coco, his arm around her. As he looks at their smiling (and is Coco’s case also exhausted) faces Hector is truly confronted with how much he missed and it hurts. Thankfully Imelda is there for him-and it’s the beginning of truly mending their relationship.

 -Since Dante is now staying in the Land of the Dead he becomes very attached to Hector. While Hector is in bed recovering, because Dante will curl up next to Hector and basically never leave his side. Imelda isn’t the biggest fan (Dante still can’t keep his tongue in his month and he still drools… a lot), but she accepts it and loves Dante for the comfort he brings to Hector. However once Hector gets better and he tries to play with the dog… well… uh… let’s just say it Dante hasn’t gotten the  point that not every bone is meant to be played with.

 HECTOR: Hey Dante boy do you wanna go for a walk or play?

DANTE: PLAY?!

HECTOR: Oh boy…

DANTE: PLAY?

Hector: Dante… don’t you do it…

DANTE: PPPPPPLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAYYYY!!! *charges up to Hector and drags a hold of one of the bones on his legs and begins to drag him*

HECTOR: NO NO STOP IT!! IMELDA! VICTORIA! JULIO…. SOMEBODY?!

OSCAR: Shouldn’t we help him?

FELIPE: Probably.

OSCAR: But w’re not going to are we.

FELIPE: Nope.

 -We all know Victoria is most likely fairly independent and not the type of person to be outwardly emotional or cling to someone. Even as a baby she would only cry when she needed something (which drove her poor parents insane for a while). However after Victoria turned one she goes through a phase where she becomes extremely attached to Coco. With the exception of Rosita (and sometimes her Papa) Victoria will only let her Mama hold her and has to be in her mother’s arms or by her mother at all times.-or else face the wrath of a screeching and screaming toddler. Elena also went through a similar phase; though it lasted a lot longer than Victoria’s phase.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Down to Dust, Pt. 13

Title: Down to Dust Summary: After it all came crashing down, Ernesto’s to-do list is short: stay hidden, and wait for the Final Death. Héctor’s is even shorter: enjoy being with his family again. But life - or rather, the living - will get in the way even of the simplest plans. Characters: Hector Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, the Rivera family in general, Miguel Rivera, Socorro Rivera. [Part 1 can be found here. All parts up so far here.] 

A/N: Adding the read more makes weird characters appear because Tumblr is weird like that, but it reads fine once you click on said read more. Tumblr WTF. Also, did you know that one of the Coco deleted scenes has given us a glimpse at what happens if someone from the Land of the Dead fails to cross the bridge back by dawn? No? Well now you do and it’s gonna be relevant.

***

When the petals disappeared and Socorro with them, Héctor let out one of the biggest sighs of relief he could remember heaving. He wasn’t the only one: they all did. Miguel looked like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and Imelda’s hand found his own.

He knew that they would have to talk soon - that she deserved and certainly expected an apology and an explanation over his silence regarding Ernesto’s whereabouts - but for now, there was only relief. He squeezed her hand back, and smiled.

“She takes after you a lot, you know,” he said, and her mouth quirked upwards for a moment - then her gaze moved to Ernesto, and the smile disappeared.

He hadn’t moved at all: he was still kneeling down, the now unlit petal gone from his fingers and his gaze fixed on the pavement. Finally, slowly, he lowered the hand that had been holding up the petal and placed it over his damaged ribs, his shoulders tensing. With his only bargaining chip gone, he looked like he was bracing himself for a blow - but none came, neither physical nor verbal. When Coco broke the silence, her voice was quiet.

“Thank you for sending her home.”

Ernesto scoffed. “I didn’t do it for any of you,” he said, his voice hollow.

Imelda scowled, and her hand was halfway to her boot when Ezequiel moved first, causing her to still; he let go of Rosita’s gown to walk up to Ernesto, the alebrijes close behind. He crouched and wrote something on the whiteboard that was clearly meant for Ernesto’s eyes only, because none of them got to read it. Ernesto let out a snort. “Oh, is that what you asked of her? I’m moved,” he muttered, only to pause when Ezequiel wrote something else.

This time, he stayed silent for a few moments before he shook his head slowly. “I’m not your family, niño. Only a relative. Though I do see the resemblance now. Must be the dashing good looks, or the nose,” he said, the ghost of a smile on his face. He seemed to hesitate before he reached to brush back the boy’s tousled hair. “There, much better. You’re going tibia all right,” he added. Ezequiel let out a snort that might have been a snicker, and threw his arms around his neck. Ernesto stilled, taken aback and hand still in mid-air, before he sighed and lowered his arm to hold him back for a few moments.

When he spoke again, he did so with his eyes shut.  “... Héctor.”

He didn’t need to add anything else. “We’ll look after him. We promised.”

Ernesto let out a long breath, opened his eyes and let go of Ezequiel. Rosita moved in to gently pull the boy away; he looked saddened, but not surprised - the look of someone who has been left behind before, and who knows it’s for the best. Ernesto slowly pulled himself on his feet, glancing down at his alebrijes.

“You stay with him,” he added, causing the tiny dogs to lower their ears, huge eyes almost unbearably sad. Ernesto turned away from them to look at Anita, his own eyes empty. He was the very portrait of defeat. “I believe there is a reward you’re after.”

For a moment she looked almost confused, like she’d forgotten why she was there, but she recovered quickly and nodded. “Sí. Come with us without giving trouble, and-- Fabricio, stop crying, seriously - we might even forget the stunt you and the kid pulled at the warehouse.”

“How generous of you,” Ernesto said drily, and put up no resistance at all when they moved in to tie his hands behind his back. Ezequiel scowled and moved to step forward, but Rosita’s hand on his shoulder and a silent shake of Ernesto’s head were enough to stop him. The boy turned to Héctor, and he found himself calling out without thinking.

“I’ll keep my promise. I’ll drop the charges,” he said, not quite knowing if he was talking to Ernesto or to Ezequiel. He half-expected Imelda to say something, to protest against the idea, but she said nothing. Ernesto scoffed without turning.

“I told you, I don’t care what you do,” he muttered, and that was it. Héctor could only stare at his retreating back for several moments, at a loss for words, before Victoria spoke suddenly.

“It’s almost dawn. We need to send Miguel home, too.”

“Oh, of course!” Coco exclaimed, suddenly alarmed, and they all turned to look at Miguel. His skull was beginning to show beneath his face, like it had eight years earlier. That had been close, much too close, and Héctor didn’t want to waste another minute. Luckily, Coco was already pulling a petal out of her pocket. “Miguel, I give you my blessing-- oh. What is it, dear?” she asked when Ezequiel suddenly pulled at her gown. He looked up at Miguel, and reached into his pocket to pull out a… a… what was that?

“Ah, Socorro’s player. You had it when that van hit you, didn’t you?” Miguel asked, crouching in front of the boy. Ezequiel nodded, and held it up, only for Miguel to take his hand and close his fingers around it. “No. It’s all right, chamaco. I’m sure Socorro would want you to keep it. Think of her when you listen to her favorite songs,” he added, and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t give our familia too much of a headache, all right? That does include running off with wanted people and ticking off criminals,” he added, winking.

Ezequiel nodded, holding the player to his chest, and gave a somewhat sheepish grin. Miguel smiled back, and ruffled his hair, laughing at the subsequent huff of protest. “Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he snickered, and stood again, turning to Héctor. “Good luck with this one, guys. And... sorry for all the mess. I’ll have a new song for you next year to make up for it.”

“Oh, don’t mention it!”

“It was nice catching up, chamaco.”

“And meeting Socorro properly!”

“Oh, can I take a look at that player, Cheque? How does it work?”

“We won’t break it, honest…”

“... Just take it apart to see how it works…”

“Sun’s almost out,” Imelda spoke up, a note of urgency in her voice. “Coco, the blessing.”

“Of course.” Coco held up the petal, and smiled up at her great-grandson. “Miguel, you have my blessing to go home, and give Elena… no, give everyone your biggest hug from me,” she said. The petal glowed, and Miguel smiled.

“Of course, Mamá Coco. Love you,” he said, his voice breaking up just a bit, and reached for the petal - and then he was gone in the blink of an eye. Héctor let out another sigh of relief, reaching to put a hand around Imelda’s shoulders, and she didn’t move away from his touch.

They would still need to talk but, for now, he felt it was enough.

***

“Miguel!”

“Ooof! Easy there! I’ve got a stomach again and might just throw up if you jump on it!”

“I couldn’t see you coming back! I was getting worried!”

“Oye, I’m the big brother here. I’m the one who has to worry. Don’t leave me out of a job.”

Socorro laughed, and Miguel found that the sound was worth enduring all of the worries in the world, all of the terror a human being could bear. He picked her up despite her protests that she was too big to be picked up now, and twirled with her a couple of times among the graves, causing her to laugh again. They walked away from Mamá Coco’s grave, past de la Cruz’s defaced mausoleum, and paused by Cheque’s tomb. The cracked whiteboard was back on top of it, and a few words had been added to it, in Socorro’s round handwriting.

I knew you would never.

They were quiet for a few moments, then Socorro broke the silence. “I need to tell Abuelita he’s all right. And his fosterers, too. I promised him I would,” she said. “Oh! And I’ll get our school to make him a plaque so that no one forgets him! And I want to learn how to make shoes so that Abuelita and I can make him new ones for next year! And… and something he can play! Just not a guitar, because people would expect him to sing along and he can’t. Maybe one of those funny flutes, what’s its name...”

“An ocarina?” Miguel guessed.

“Yes! I’ll get him one of those! And… can you write a song for him, too?”

Miguel laughed. “Your wish is my command. I’ll write a song for him and play it next year, so that he can hear it,” he promised. They kept walking to the exit of the cemetery, coming up with ideas and plans for the following Día de los Muertos, as a street dog who was not a street dog at all ran up to them and began walking by their side, heading back home.

Above them, dawn was breaking.

***

“Is he sleeping?”

“Yes, fast asleep.”

“Well, he had an eventful night. Aw, he’s sucking his thumb! Isn’t he adorable?”

“I’m not sure how I feel about letting the dogs on the bed with him, though. It’s not hygenic.”

“Oh, please. When you and Elena were children, you kept sneaking that pet goat of yours in your room all the time.”

“Diego was a very clean goat, papá. We don’t know where those have been.”

“Well, they are alebrijes. Not just dogs.”

“Pepita is an alebrije, too, but she doesn’t try to climb in bed with people.”

“You know that she would if she could fit through the door in the first place.”

“Fair enough.”

“We’re all out of spare rooms now, though.”

“We have to add new ones. Can’t leave Elena and Franco without one when they come!”

“Oh, I don’t think there is any rush. They looked well and healthy yesterday evening. They might just live longer than I did. Now come away from the door, let the boy rest. I think we all could use a good pot of coffee…”

Imelda watched her daughter lead the rest of the family towards the kitchen, smiling faintly. She would join them in a minute, but for now she wouldn’t mind some peace and quiet, given how frantic the night had been. Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. Peace and quiet. Peace and--

“... Imelda?” Héctor’s voice caused her to open her eyes, recoiling a little. He had walked in so silently that she hadn’t even heard his footsteps - and to think that usually she could even tell what kind of shoes someone was wearing by just listening to them walking. She turned to see her husband standing in the doorway, his hat in his hands.

“Dropped all charges?” she asked, unable to keep some distaste out of her voice. She didn’t like the idea, not at all… but Héctor had promised as much, and de la Cruz had, at least, given Socorro the blessing she needed. It was something she could not ignore.

Héctor nodded. “Yes. They’ll release him next week. I… can we talk a minute?”

Imelda knew right away what it was that he wanted to talk about, of course. She was tired, but may as well do it. She had spent enough years refusing to listen to him and, justified as her anger may have been, she did regret it knowing what she knew now. So she drew in a deep breath, crossed her arms, and looked straight back at him.

“You had known where he was hiding for years,” she stated, and Héctor nodded.

“Yes. The first time I spotted him, I… I honestly just forgot all about it. It was the day Coco joined us,” he added, and his expression melted in an almost dreamy smile. It made it nearly impossible for her to keep frowning, because she remembered so well how overjoyed he had been to see their daughter again. It had taken a very, very long time before he let go of her to let anybody else hold her, and even longer for him to resume speaking coherently.

By then they had been working for a few months to rekindle their relationship. It had been so long, so much had happened, and they couldn’t really pick right up from where they had left off. Music united them as it did before, but more was needed to fix something that had been shattered such a long time ago… and Coco’s arrival had been a turning point, balm to old wounds. That had been the day Imelda had known, beyond doubt, that they were going to make it work. And they had; they’d come too far to let de la Cruz come between them again. So, at the very least, she could give him the benefit of the doubt.

As long as he had a good explanation, of course.

“But the second time I saw him, I… I did decide to leave him be. I know you’re angry,” Héctor was saying, unaware of her thoughts. “And I am sorry--”

“And why do you think I’m angry?” she cut him off. Héctor fidgeted a little with his hat.

“Because… I put our family in danger. I let Ernesto be a danger.”

A sigh. “That is what terrified me,” Imelda admitted. “The thought that monster could succeed where he’d failed eight years ago… I hadn’t been so scared in a long time.”

Héctor smiled a little. “And it didn’t show at all.”

“Everyone was counting on me to know what to do,” Imelda said. That had been true that night as it had been eight years earlier: she couldn’t afford to show how terrified she was.

“I… I am sorry. It was my fault. And it all ended up on your shoulders again,” Héctor muttered, but Imelda shook her head.

“It wasn’t your fault. Looking back now, perhaps it was for the best that he was never arrested,” she added, and smiled a bit at Héctor’s stunned expression. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know what I’m getting at - Ezequiel could never give any blessing. Maricarmen would have still faded away too early, and de la Cruz would have been our only chance regardless. If he’d been arrested, tried and imprisoned years ago…”

“... He would have never given his blessing tonight,” Héctor finished, and nodded. “Right. Couldn’t really promise to drop all charges after the trial had ended, right?” he added with a small grin. Imelda nodded, but there was a moment of silence that said, loud and clear, that they both knew that promise hadn’t been the reason why Ernesto de la Cruz gave Socorro his blessing. Maybe there was a shred of decency there, after all, but it hardly mattered. It wasn’t de la Cruz Imelda wanted to talk about, now or ever again.

“It worked out in the end,” she  said, then, “You know it wasn’t you leaving him be that really made me angry, don’t you?”

Héctor nodded, the small smile fading. He reached to hold an arm close to his side, as he often did when he felt guilty. “Yes,” he admitted. “It’s because I never told you I’d found him. You, or… anyone else in the family.”

“Sì. De la Cruz didn’t only murder you - in doing so, he hurt our entire family. And you are part of it now. When you found him, you should have never kept it for yourself. We could have left him alone if you really wished to, but we should have decided together.”

“I know.”

Imelda sighed. “Why did you leave him be?”

Héctor hesitated, and looked away before speaking again. “I guess I pitied him,” he admitted. “I know I shouldn’t, after all he did - to me, to you, to Miguel, to Coco. I was knocked down so many times and one would think I’d have been satisfied to see him in my place, but… it was just sad. To look at him and think, this was my best friend. Like Cheque and Socorro, you have seen them - we were that close, before I even knew you. We grew up together, he even saved my life once or twice, so what happened? And I know that he happened, that the blame is his and not mine,” he added quickly, much to Imelda’s relief.

It had taken a lot of time for Héctor to stop blaming himself for everything. If only he’d never left, if only he’d thought of leaving the songbook to Ernesto, if only he hadn’t dismissed how desperate he’d been, if only he hadn’t taken the drink - if only, if only, if only. So much blame that should land squarely on Ernesto, and no one else. At least he knew that now, but Imelda could tell it was easier to blame himself than to admit that he had been horribly wronged by someone he’d loved like a brother.

Seeing Socorro trying so desperately to help her best friend, shouldering so much responsibility as she hoped against hope that he would never, no matter how bad things looked… well, it had helped her to really see why for the first time.

“... But it was still hard to think about, and I didn’t want to. If I just walked away, I could almost pretend that it hadn’t really been him. That I’d imagined it and it had really only been bad luck. I didn’t want to think about him again,” Héctor was going on. “There would have been a trial, witness statements, a lot of media attention just when it had died down. I didn’t want it to consume any more of my time again. Not after I had you - all of you - back with me,” he added, and looked up at her. “You were all I wanted to focus on.”

His words might have been enough on their own, but it was the look he gave her that sealed it: it was the open and utterly vulnerable look of someone who had been nothing but completely sincere. With a sound that was half a sigh, half a laugh, Imelda crossed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck. He returned the embrace at once, a hand reaching to stroke her hair. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“I know. You’ll drive me crazy one of these days.”

“Maybe, but not too much. Only un poco loca,” he said, and that made her laugh a bit. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I will never keep a thing from you again.”

“You had better,” she retorted, and they shared a quick kiss before she pulled back and tilted her head towards the kitchen. “They’re making coffee. I don’t know about you, but I need it.”

Héctor nodded. “Sure. I wonder if they’re using the coffee machine Óscar and Felipe built.”

Imelda blinked, an alarm bell beginning to ring in her mind. “They built a coffee machine?”

“Yes, they said it would brew faster than any other, blah blah, something about pressure and steam, blah. They wanted to try it out soon. Huh… didn’t they mention it to you?”

The alarm bell turned into a blaring siren. Óscar and Felipe were gifted, but their prototypes did have a tendency to malfunction, and rather badly at times. That had been how they had died, and Imelda remembered all too well the sense of helpless exasperation when they’d turned up in the Land of the Dead together, mere months after her death, looking all the world like chastised schoolchildren. Without her supervision, things got out of hand quickly.

“They knew better,” Imelda all but snarled, and turned to march into the kitchen, to put a stop to whatever disaster was about to happen.

Too late. There was a sudden, furious hissing sound that turned into a whistle and then a bang that stopped Imelda on her tracks, followed by several shrieks, and bout of barking. Then, Felipe called out.

“We’re okay!”

“That was calculated!”

“Sort of.”

“That wall needed a new hand of paint, anyway.”

“We’ll do it!”

“As soon as we get that lid out if it…”

There was laughter coming from the kitchen and, Imelda realized, from behind her as well. She turned to see that Héctor was almost bent on two, snickering madly despite his clear effort not to. He gave her an apologetic grin.

“Hehe! I mean, sorry! It’s just--” he tried, but Imelda didn’t get to hear whatever he meant to say next. She had no idea if it was the exhaustion or the still lingering sense of relief - maybe both - but the next moment there was more laugher and it was coming from her own mouth.

The rest of the family stepped out of the kitchen - and a boy with tousled hair and eyes full of sleep stepped out of his new bedroom with four yapping alebrijes in tow - to find her and Héctor holding onto each other, cackling and cackling, seemingly unable to stop.

***

Honestly, Ezequiel didn’t see it as lying or anything.

No one had asked whether or not he planned to stay in touch with Neto - de la Cruz - and he’d never promised not to, either. So, all was good. It was only a matter of keeping that for himself. It was no one’s business but his own and besides, if anyone had asked him to explain why he’d want to keep in touch he wouldn’t be able to explain it at all. He just did.

He wasn’t going to meet him, because he had almost hit him with a hammer - fine, he’d hit him with a brick first, but he maintained that was justifiable all things considered - and he wasn’t an idiot, thank you so very much. But he had given Socorro his blessing, and he’d left the alebrijes with him, too.

That latter bothered him a lot, now that he’d had a few days to think about it . Diablo had bonded with him, but the other three were restless and Ezequiel was sure being away from Ernesto was the reason why. It wasn’t fair: they were Ernesto’s alebrijes, not his own, and they were all that he had left. They were not supposed to be apart.

So when he’d heard Héctor mentioning he would be released that day, Ezequiel had known that the right thing to do would be sending them back, and maybe write a few lines while he was at it. Just to let him know that he was all right. After all, alebrijes were supposed to be messengers as well as spirit guides. May as well put that to use.

Slowly, keeping a finger on his lips in case the alebrijes had the bad idea to start yapping and get everyone’s attention, Ezequiel opened the front door. A tilt of his head was all it took: three alebrijes ran out in the dimming light of dusk, already looking for a familiar scent.

Diablo paused, and looked up at him, tilting his head on one side; then, when Ezequiel gestured for him to go, he took off after the others - carrying with him a rolled-up piece of paper, tied to his neck with a shoestring.

***

Aside from one memorable night in Oaxaca - there had been a bit of a brawl in a cantina, and he and Héctor just hadn’t been quick enough to get away before he police got there - Ernesto had never been in a prison cell before.

Back on Oaxaca, it hadn’t been too bad; Héctor had been there to laugh it off with him, and mock him on how lucky he’d been that the police had burst in before a very angry guy with a broken bottle could do something drastic to his ‘pretty, pretty face’. They’d been brought into the cell snickering like idiots, and they had walked out still snickering the next morning. One more funny story to tell once they returned home, rich and famous.

But neither had ever returned home alive, only one of them had gone on to become rich and famous, and now - as he left the cell he had spent the previous week in before word came that all paperwork had been processed and he was to be released - Ernesto was alone and silent.

He’d been lucky, he supposed: the agents had put him in a van after he’d been handed over to them, and taken him straight to the police station. He’d had to face no crowd nor jeers, not coming in nor getting out. It seemed his capture and release had been kept under wraps, and it was a relief. It would become known eventually, but by the he’d be hiding away. Of course, not everyone was happy about it.

“If it were up to me, you’d have stayed to rot in there until your Final Death,” one of the guards had muttered, watching him leave. But it was never up to him, and Héctor had kept his word to drop all charges. There would be no trial, no nothing. His possession had already been taken to repay the Riveras for the theft of Héctor’s songs and the resulting loss of revenue - of course, he was already aware of that - but no further action would be taken against him.

That hardly made a difference, of course, no matter what that insufferable sap may think. As he moved quickly towards Shantytown - because where else could he go? - with the hood up to hide his face, he knew he would still have to hide for the rest of his afterlife… but now he had a way to cut it drastically short, if anything.

Now that he was no longer wanted he could cross over the bridge in a year’s time without risking arrest, and staying on the other side past dawn was all that it would take - whether or not he was remembered. Maybe it wouldn’t even hurt. And even if there was something else past the Final Death, it couldn’t be worse than the hell he’d made for himself there. It would be a relief; it certainly was a relief right now, to think that the end was within sight.

He needed to keep going for just another year, only one more year. And if he tried his best to stay drunk as much as possible throughout it, maybe it would pass quickly eno--

“Yip! Yip!”

A familiar chorus of yaps caused Ernesto to recoil, snapping him from his morbid thoughts. He turned the way he’d come and sure enough there they were - his alebrijes, clambering down the wooden steps leading to Shantytown. He blinked, taken aback.

“I had told you to stay with him, not to run off,” he said, and he tried to sound angry about it, he really did. Granted, the fact he was kneeling a moment later and letting them jump up to lick his face didn’t help his Angry Act very much. Neither did the laugh that left him a moment later, when he reached to pick them all up and hold them to his chest. A paw or two jabbed against his damaged ribs, and he found he didn’t even mind the sting.

He opened his mouth to say something - likely a string of mushy nonsense and praise, to hell with the Angry Act - but paused when his gaze fell on Diablo. Tied to his neck, there was a rolled-up piece of paper. He knew, right away, who it was from.

You didn’t run off at all, did you? Of course not. Spirit guides, but also messengers. I see what you did there, niño.

Ernesto pulled the piece of paper free and unrolled it, holding it up so that the dogs couldn’t try to nip it, and found himself looking at what was without a doubt the handwriting of a child. It wasn’t a long message, but Ernesto went over it several times in the dimming light, and paused on the last few words most of all.

Write back. Send Diablo. The others will stay with you.

Slowly, Ernesto de la Cruz stood, still staring at the letter. His gaze fell on the signature - Ezequiel - and he brushed a thumb over it. It was a quick scribble, a contrast to the neat handwriting in the rest of the letter, but there was a loop on the E that reminded Ernesto of what his autographs used to look like, back when he signed thousands at a time until his wrist hurt.

No one had asked his autograph in years, but now someone was asking for a letter,  and he supposed that was as close as it would ever get. There had been a time when he’d received thousands of letters, too many to even begin replying to any, but that was gone, too. Now there was only one letter… and plenty of time to reply, if so he chose.

Write back.

Well, may as well. He had no other commitments until the following year, after all.

He just needed to find pen and paper.

***

After getting a blessing for Socorro out of him, Héctor had thought he would never again find himself needing something from Ernesto. Apparently, he had been wrong. Ezequiel was well, settling in just great, but now it turned out that to make things entirely official, and legal, they needed his signature.

“He is the boy’s next of kin,” the clerk had explained, almost apologetically. “It’s the rule - for you to have legal custody of the minor he needs to forfeit it first, or this goes to court.”

“This is ridiculous. He’s a murderer, and tried to kill a living child,” Imelda had pointed out, her voice sharp, and the clerk had instinctively pulled the computer closer to himself to keep it safe. “And last time we saw him, he reeked of alcohol from a mile away. Are you telling me anybody would be insane enough to consider him fit to look after a child?”

“Well… no, if he were convicted, but the thing is that all charges were dropped,” the clerk had said, and Héctor had barely held back a sudden urge to groan and slam his skull down on the desk. Why was it that every time he tried to do the right thing it just turned around to bit him in the tailbone?

“All right,” he’d muttered, reaching up to rub his forehead instead. “Right, right, right. Is there a form or something he needs to sign to forfeit all rights to custody?”

“Oh, yes. Here it is.”

“And if I get him to sign it, that’s it, right?”

“Pretty much. A signature here, one here, another one here, and it’s done,” the clerk had explained, pointing at several blank lines across a few papers written densely in strict bureaucrat-ese. “If he doesn’t, it will need to go to court. We’d have already taken care of it ourselves, we have no idea where he is. No fixed address or anything.”

Héctor had taken the form, stared at it for a moment, and then exchanged a glance with Imelda. He knew that they were both thinking the same thing: there was one place, and one place only, that came to their mind when asking themselves where he may have gone back to hide from sight.

“We might know where to find him,” Imelda had finally said slowly, then, “I suspect that if I have to see him again, he may find himself unable to sign anything. I’d rather not break another shoe on him, either. You go and get him to sign that, I don’t care how. But Pepita will come with you.”

It had been a fair compromise, and Héctor had gone to Shantytown with Pepita - although he instructed her to stay at the outskirts, within earshot should he call out but far enough not to be too threatening. He wasn’t there to scare the crap out of Ernesto, after all, tempting as it may be. He needed a signature - three, really - and that was all he would focus on.

Much like last time he’d been there, seven years earlier, finding him was easy: he was the only person there. Héctor spotted him from a distance, leaning on a fence someone had built over a section of the pier, staring down at the water with a bottle in his hand. He was wearing a dark coat, a hat and what looked a lot like an old scarf, likely to avoid being recognized... but the three Chihuahua alebrijes playing and tumbling together only a few feet from him were a dead giveaway.

So they had returned to him, as Cheque had guessed when they’d wondered why only one of them had stayed in the house with them. As he stepped closer, they spotted him and froze. They didn’t snarl, but they were clearly on alert, and one of them gave a sudden, warning bark that caused Ernesto to turn. He blinked at him, alarm turning into confusion and then into a wary look.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice cautious. His eyes scanned their surroundings, and Héctor was suddenly very glad he had opted to leave Pepita out of sight.

“I need an autograph,” he replied, trying to make light of the situation. That gained him an unimpressed look, but at least it did seem to reassure Ernesto that he wasn’t there to make a xylophone out of his bones. Speaking of which… “How are you ribs?”

“Could be worse,” Ernesto said, his tone still slightly guarded, but he did take a swig from the bottle before turning back to the canal, and Héctor decided to take it as permission to get closer. He went to lean on the fence as well, a few feet away from him. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Héctor glanced back at the alebrijes, looking for a neutral subject.

“How can you tell them apart? They’re identical,” he muttered, gaining himself a look that was nothing short of offended.

“No, they’re not!”

“Sure, if you say so.”

“They are completely different! If you look at Clara’s markings compared to--”

“All right, all right! Sorry!” Héctor replied, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. Ernesto turned away with a scoff, and there were a few moments of silence before Héctor dared speak again. “Ezequiel is doing very well,” he finally said. “We started to show him the ropes in the workshop, and he seems to like it. He has a thing for chemistry, which might be worrying news, but it can’t get worse than my brothers in law’s experimenting. Did you know he’s got some really good sleights of hand to show? He wanted to be a magician when he grew up. Well, he can still a be a magician, even if he won’t grow up. Óscar and Felipe almost went crazy trying to figure out the one with the string and the coin.”

Ernesto shrugged, taking another swig from the bottle - it was strong stuff, by the smell of it - before he spoke. “When?”

“Last week. In the end they figured--”

“Allow me to make myself clearer. When did I ask?”

That caused Héctor to frown with a pang of annoyance. “Oh, so sorry for thinking you might like to know. Being family and all.”

“I am no one’s family,” Ernesto said flatly.

The world will be our family. The distant memory of what his childhood friend used to say - often after a rough day in his household, with a stubborn look that challenged anyone else to say otherwise - made it back to Héctor’s mind for a moment, and the annoyance turned into a sort of sadness he couldn’t quite place.

The World Es Mi Familia. It used to be one of your favorites. I had written it for you.

Forcing himself to ignore the pang of nostalgia, Héctor shrugged. “Well, legally speaking, you are. Did you think taking a kid in would be anything short of a bureaucratic nightmare? Think again,” he added, and that got a sound out of Ernesto that resembled a chuckle.

“Heh. True enough,” he muttered, and held out the bottle. “Want a dri-- ow!” he let out a yelp when Héctor acted out without thinking, slapping the bottle out of his hand like he’d been handed a grenade. The bottle fell on the ground and then rolled into the water; Ernesto watched it sink before giving him an unimpressed look. “... Really now?”

Héctor blinked at him, suddenly feeling rather stupid. He lowered his hand slowly, and reached to rub his arm. “Uh. Sorry. It’s that last time you offered me a drink. Well. You know.”

Ernesto blinked back, then his gaze flickered to the spot where the bottle had sunk and, unless Héctor’s eyes were playing tricks on him, he actually had the good grace to look somewhat awkward. He turned away, a hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“Right. That,” he muttered.

“Yeah. That,” Héctor repeated. There were a few moments of silence, both of them staring at the water, before Héctor heard himself speaking. “... Were you ever sorry at all?” he asked, and he only realized how much he needed to know it as the words left his mouth. He glanced at Ernesto, half-expecting a scoff, but there was no such thing. Ernesto was resting his elbows on the fence, staring down at the water, and his shoulder rose and fell in a silent sigh.

“I sure am sorry now, since it got me in this dump, but I’m guessing that's not what you mean,” he muttered, then, “Before, I was... sorry it had to come to it. I never wanted to do it.”

Oh no, not that again. “It didn’t have to come to--”

“I am aware,” Ernesto cut him off, his voice still flat. Under Héctor’s silent gaze, he reached to rub his forehead as though to try getting rid of a headache. “I don’t know,” he finally said.

“You don’t know.”

“It’s the only honest answer I can give you at this point. Take it or leave it.”

And Héctor did take it, because it was better than a ‘no’ and certainly more sincere than a ‘yes’ would have been. He nodded. “I understand,” he said.

“Lucky you,” was the dry reply. “Is that all you were here to ask?”

I wish, Héctor thought. “No,” he replied, and took the papers out of his pocket. He unfolded them, and handed them to Ernesto. “I mentioned the bureaucracy issue, right? And needing an autograph? Well, you need to sort of… sign off your rights to Cheque’s custody.”

That caused Ernesto to turn back to him, blinking. “Are they serious?”

“Well, we did drop the charges. If you don’t sign, it will have to go to court and--”

“I was filmed throwing a living child to his death.”

“Believe me, I know. I was there. Still, bureaucracy,” Héctor repeated with a shrug, holding out the papers. Ernesto took them, and began reading. It didn’t take long for him to pause.

“... Rosita? Who's that?”

“My son in law's sister. We’ll all look after him, but we needed to pick one of us as the legal guardian. No one was going to fight Rosita over it and, well, Cheque likes her a lot. She dotes on that kid,” he added, but Ernesto was no longer listening.

“Legal guardianship,” he read on. “Not adoption. Not good enough for your precious family?”

Héctor blinked. “Wha-- no! None of us thinks that. We meant to adopt him, but it’s… complicated, especially with still living relatives that will die at some point. Plus, he was adamant on keeping his surname. So that his mother can find him once she dies, if she looks for him,” he added, and he was unable to keep some sadness out of his voice. The hopeful look on Ezequiel’s face when he’d brought that up had been almost painful to see; his Coco’s understanding one had been worse.

Ernesto gave him an odd glance. “What do you mean, if she looks for him? Why wouldn't--”

“Cheque hasn’t seen her since he was three. No idea if she even knows of his death.”

“Ah,” Ernesto muttered, and looked down at the papers again, reading on. His fingers traced the blank lines, and Héctor had just a moment to fear he wouldn't sign them after all before he sighed and held out his hand. “Got a pen? I don’t have one on me. Haven’t signed autographs in a while.”

“Huh? Oh. Sí, just a moment… where did I put it, where… wait, wait, wait… ah-ha! Found it!”

Ernesto rolled his eyes, but took the pen without commenting and quickly signed all the blank lines before handing the papers back to Héctor. “Here. Three autographs at the price of one,” he scoffed.

“Thanks. Uh… can I have the pen back?”

“What pen?” Ernesto said flatly, pocketing it.

“The one you just put in your pocket.”

“I did no such thing.”

Héctor opened his mouth to protest, then he thought better of it and just shrugged. “Well, whatever. I have better ones at home,” he informed him, folding the papers. He paused, not quite knowing what to do or say, and Ernesto entirely ignored his presence: he just rested his folded arms on the wooden fence and resumed looking down at the canal, saying nothing.

Well, he supposed that meant the conversation was over. He opened his mouth to say he should be on his way, but he never got to speak. A sudden chorus of barks and yaps caused him to wince and turn just on time to see a tiny Chihuahua alebrije running up to join the three that had been playing nearby, rolling and tumbling with them for a few moments before running up to Ernesto. There was something familiar about it, about that red collar it wore.

“Hey, isn't that the one Cheque keeps?” he asked, blinking, when the tiny alebrije ran to Ernesto and stood on its hind legs to greet him. “Why-- wait. What’s that around his neck?”

“Nothing,” Ernesto said quickly, snatching the rolled-up piece of paper from Diablo’s collar.

“Ernesto…”

“Nothing of your concer--"

“If Cheque is involved, it is my concern. It’s sort of a thing when it comes to family. Not that I’d expect you to understand,” Héctor cut him off, vehemently enough to make him fall silent for a few moments. His grip on the rolled-up sheet of paper tightened.

“He writes, sometimes. It was his idea,” he finally admitted. Thinking back of how often Diablo went missing from the household to roam, Héctor could easily guess it happened more often than just ‘sometimes’. And none of them had realized what was going on; the boy could be so sneaky it was almost hilarious.

“Heh. He’s a smart kid. And I assume you write back?”

Ernesto looked away, still holding the letter tight in his fist. It was as though he thought Héctor might try to take it from him any moment.  “... From time to time.”

Always, then. “We never suspected a thing.”

“You were not supposed to,” Ernesto said sourly.

Héctor remembered sitting down after a tiring performance to write to Coco before he fell asleep, usually with Ernesto already snoring away at the far end of the room. He’d poured his heart in those letters, not knowing just how much or for how long his daughter would treasure them, but hoping they would make her feel his love despite the distance between them. He highly doubted Ernesto’s own letters were quite like the ones he had written for Coco, of course, but if Cheque kept writing back they had to be important to him… and, if the look on Ernesto’s face was anything to go by, for Ernesto as well; maybe he needed that exchange more than his great-great-grandson did. Unlike him, he was alone.

It was a link, and one Héctor couldn’t in all conscience bring himself to break: he knew too much of broken bonds and the pains it took to mend them. Plus, he suspected that trying to do that would only make Cheque more likely to run off on them, and they’d rather avoid that.

“Us knowing will change nothing. We won’t keep Ezequiel from writing to you,” Héctor finally said. He would find a way to tell Imelda without triggering immediate retaliation against Ernesto - he would never hide a thing from her again, no matter how harmless - and they would sit with the boy, explain him he didn’t need to hide anything from them, either. He could rely on them, without fear of reprisal. The sooner he’d fully understand it, the better.

And after all, there was nothing inherently wrong about them staying in touch. If Ernesto had wanted to use the boy against them again… well, he could have simply refused to signs those papers, and hadn’t. Unaware of his thoughts, Ernesto was giving him a doubtful look.

“Am I supposed to believe you?”

“My word is all I can give. Take it or leave it,” Héctor replied, and put the papers in his pocket. His fingers touched something else he had stuck in there, and that he’d entirely forgotten about: an envelope stuffed full of money, coming mostly from some ninety years of missed royalties on his songs. It was a lot of money, much more than their family knew what to do with, especially with their shoe making business doing so well.

Héctor had given most of it for the people if Shantytown, along with de la Cruz’s mansion, but it still kept coming. He’d brought a good chunk of cash with him, just in case… well, in case Ernesto needed some convincing to sign those papers. It’d have felt an awful lot like he’d bought the child, even with the best intentions, so he was relieved it had not come to it.

Still, there was that money. And he didn’t want it. “Here. Take this.”

Ernesto blinked, staring down at the envelope Héctor had pushed in his hand. He opened it, and the confused look turned into one that was nothing short of stunned. “What is this?”

“Money, last time I looked. Unless Cheque did one of his tricks and turned it into feathers or something. It’s revenue from my-- from your movies. I don’t need it or want it.”

The stunned look turned into a frown. “It was to bribe me if I’d refused to sign, wasn’t it?”

Héctor saw now point in denying that. “An incentive,” he said, and Ernesto had the galls to look offended next, which got on his nerves a lot more than he’d expected.

“So you thought I would sell you the kid--”

“Why not? You took my life for much less.”

That made Ernesto pause, but just for a moment. “I need nothing from you,” he said, and Héctor’s left eye twitched a little. Of all things he could have said, that had to be it? Really?

“I wish you'd come to that conclusion a bit earlier. Say, about a century ago,” he retorted, and it did get him to shut up, recoiling slightly. Good, Héctor thought, and turned to walk away. “If you don't want that money, throw it into the canal. I don’t need it. Good luck.”

Had he turned back he would have seen Ernesto lifting a hand and taking a step before he paused, scowled, and lowered his arm. But he didn’t turn, and only heard him calling out.

“You owe me bottle,” he snapped, and Héctor scoffed without breaking his stride.

“With or without poison?” he asked aloud, refusing to turn. There was no reply, and he didn’t pause, didn’t even wonder if Ernesto had heard him at all. He was done there.

They were done.

***

[Narrator voice] They were not done.

***

[Back to Part 12]

[On to Part 14]

[twinklecupcake]

I was re-watching Coco, and i was just thinking how exhausting/depressing it would be for hector to hear/see everyone playing remember me over and over

*shows up ten minutes late* And another thing about Coco, if Hector wrote all of the songs, does that mean most of them were written about Imelda/Coco? do you think Imelda would hear them in passing and be upset/touched cause she would have heard hector singing them when he was creating them?

1. Ohhh yeah he hated it. Just look at/listen to the way he reacts to Miguel saying he'll play it at the competition.The novelization takes it a step further, with him saying "That song's been butchered enough for a lifetime."

2. Hmmmm, I don't think all of the songs were written for Coco and Imelda - two definitely were; ofc ‘Remember Me’ was Coco’s song and the novelization says ‘Poco Loco’ was for Imelda but I'm sure he had some that were about/for a friend, or based on a good memory, or about his home, etc. 

3. And that one...is a little trickier. Imelda made it a point to not listen to any music after months passed and communication stopped entirely/it was clear her husband wasn’t coming back. It’s a little hard to say whether she would have heard someone else singing her song - or any others Hector wrote - or if she was lucky enough to not hear it.Of course, even if she didn’t hear any of them, she certainly would know about it, since people would be talking about it and name-drop the songs and Ernesto’s name.

[ursinetimes]

“I wrote it for Coco…”  Amber - This was a drawing that I’ve been wanting to do for a while now based on the disney pixar movie “Coco”. And I’m just gonna say this, This movie is SO GOOD!! And Oh man, this movie made me cry like a baby towards the end and it takes a lot out of me to cry it’s just that good! It kicks me in the butt I didn’t go see this in theaters cause of those rumors of how coco was like the book of life. Well…That’s the last time I listen to the internet XP they really don’t know what they’re talking about! Spoilers for those who haven’t seen the movie. My inspiration for this picture was drawing something similar towards the scene where Hector tells our main character Miguel that he only wanted to see his daughter before being forgotten since no one put his photo up for the day of the dead to allow him to cross into the living world. And how Hector was the one that wrote all the song that Ernesto de la Cruz stole from Hector when La Cruz murdered him when Hector only just wanted to go home to his wife and child. So I figured I would do something to when Hector is playing the guitar and remembering the fond memories he had with his daughter Coco. Not Much to say except hope you lovelies like it :D Hector, Coco © Disney Pixar’s Coco Drawing - Amber Risinger Program - Gimp 2.8 And if you wish to take up a comission from yours truly, head on over to our deviantart page for more information ursinetimes.deviantart.com/ Also follow us over on tumblr to stay updated on the latest projects! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ursinetimes

[hiddendisneyprincess]

Coco Thoughts

(Spoilers Ahead)So I’ve been watching Coco recently, and this heartbreaking thought just popped into my head. Can you imagine, before Imelda found out Hector had died(if she even ever did), she had to hear Ernesto sing ‘Remember Me’?

Mama Imelda had to hear this popped up version of this heartfelt, personal song. I know she knew that Hector wrote that song for Coco for when he had to leave. It was a personal goodbye for their daughter and now it’s this chart topper basically. Can you imagine how she even felt, what she thought!?

If she simply believed that Hector just left their lives and never returned(and he was still alive, cause surely Ernesto would never tell her he died), she must have felt sick and betrayed that Hector would allow this deeply meaningful song for Coco to be played like this. And don’t tell me she never heard it. Just because she banned music from the house, doesn’t mean you wouldn’t hear everyone singing their brand new favorite song ‘Remember Me’. She went her life thinking that Hector abandoned her and their daughter, and even hearing a line from that song broke her heart a little bit on the inside.

And what about Coco? She obviously remembers the song too. How did she feel growing up, and listening to the song that her papa wrote for her be comercialized and all that. But she can’t say anything, because her mama wants her to forget and who is going to believe that her papa wrote that song and not Ernesto? How does she feel?

Anyway, I’ll go back to crying now. Excuse me.

[uncuentofriki]

The habit.

I had some time without making a one-shot. But atfter I wrote an answer to an anon using a verse of this monster of song (because is so tragically beautiful), well... this was born.

Imelda was the first of the Rivera to cross Death’s threshold. Fifty years taking care of her family, trying to keep them together, trying to don’t lose everything again, all of that with just herself for help.

And being alone on the other side meant that an oficial will come and ask her some stuff and try to give her a house if she didn’t had a family to receive her. Imelda answered to everything without hesitation. It seemed that she didn’t had any family to receive her, she was the one that remembered her parents better than Oscar and Felipe, both of them were too young when they were sended to a boarding school, trying to keep them safe from the Revolution, at least until their parents died and they came back to Santa Cecilia. She never did a thing to keep their memories alive, they never had anything to put on the Ofrenda, but also they could never understand that they indeed loved their children but didn’t wanted to expose them to the risks of the war and so that’s why they were sended away. So, when Imelda died, her parents and their stories disapeared.

“Wait a second” said the Oficial Martinez, whom was doing her paperwork. Noticing a mark on her expedient, he asked her to await. He went to the corridor to met another oficial. “Chorizo is here or he’s out with another group?”

“No, no, he’s here. What, is because of the new one?”

Imelda was taken to the trolley car, looking at it and thinking how strange everything was, but anyway took seat. They told her to wait there, that the tour was to give her some instructions for her new life on the Land of the Dead. Her guide came some minutes later. She didn’t recognized him at first, but he surely did. His jaw fell from his skull. The trolley started the journey.

"So?” she raised what she had now for eyebrow. “It’s the first time you see a dead woman or what?”

Her guide tried to gain composture, and tried to comb his hair before talking.

“Imelda?”

“Yes, I am. And you are...?” she crossed her arms. The guide almost jumped onto her, but Imelda stopped him, with just a gesture of her hand.

“It’s me, Héctor” if the skeletons could get pale, she didn’t wanted to know. “Your Héctor, your husband, your...”

“You’re my nothing” she answered with ice on her voice. “You left Coco and me behind for your stupid "sing to the world” dream” and she said the phrase, his phrase with exagerated dramatism. Hector became a stone, feeling more cold than he ever felt on his life.

He had expected that she would kiss him once they saw each other again, not that she would keep resentment for leaving them like that. They weren’t on bad terms when he leaved, but Imelda wasn’t happy about that, told him that she had a bad feeling about that, he dismissed everything as just women’s superstitions. Of course, once that he died, Hector didn’t stopped telling himself that he should had listened to her.

"Ernesto didn’t told you that....?”

“He did better with keeping his mouth shut. He avoided somuch pain to my daughter” she almost spat to his face. And was almost wanting to tell him something about gifting that idiot with the guitar that was her wedding gift to Hector. “And here I’ll go down from this fregadera, thanks for the tour. And I don’t want to see you ever again, not on life, not on death, Héctor”

And that was the first and only time that Imelda felt her bones scatter around, since she jumped from the moving trolley, no doubts when she did that. It wasn’t different from what she felt the first years without her husband, but she could heal faster than that time. Anyway, she decided to avoid doing that, if she could help it.

Not so much time after that, she had her own house, trying to make it comfortable for when the rest of her family came, also she started her shoe making  business again. From all the corners of that world people came to buy her shoes. And she was proud about that.

Héctor usually passed in front of her workshop, at least while he was tourist guide on the Land of the Dead. After losing that job, trying to cross the Marigold bridge on a van, he was seen more often. She tried to never put any atention to him. More than one time he tried to talk to her but she always closed the metal curtain upon his fingers, making him to stop. And so they decided to become two strangers lost on the multitude of deads.

At least the truce was on until Day of the dead and Hector came back to ask her for help to come back to the land of the living. A shoe, a pot, one time the blender were her weapons of chose to keep him away. And when Oscar and Felipe died, they became the barier. They weren’t able to forget the pain that he caused to their sister. Neither Victoria or Julio wanted to forgive Hector, but they had resentment about that because of Coco.

But only if someone could had seen their nights... Imelda wanted to know why giving her heart, her body, her life and a daughter weren’t enough for Hector to stay at her side until her very last breath. She wanted to claim him for all her tears, she wanted to know what happened to him and whom was able to convince him to leave them behind, not for her, but for Coco, whom for sure still missed her Papá. And even if she didn’t wanted to admit it, she still missed him, maybe because of the habit, not because of the love that once she had for him, if there was still some of it, after all that love became a resentment of Pepita’s size.

And on the tenacity of keepin him away, Hector knew that maybe, deep inside, she wasn’t able to forget him. Still he tried to forget her, but failed to do so, those eyes were sealed with fire on his soul. It was imposible that anyone could had a moment to forget a love like that, it was imposible that someone could have the will to forget the love that kept them alive, that kept them breathing, that gave them the warmth that life didn’t wanted to give to them. But with all the rejection there wasn’t anything to feel for Imelda, just wait that someday she could have some pity and let him see his daughter one last time after being lost forever on oblivion.

So they continued crossing paths, at least out of habit, because that resentment and that indiference was the only bond they had. At least that habit was stronger than their love once was.

Notes:  1- So I wanted  to make a nod to the original concept for Hector and another to the books, where it’s said that once that Imelda died, she started her business again on the land of the dead.  2- Also, while Oscar and Felipe seem to be the only ones enjoying to do arm-chakus (and almost all the family has a moment scattering their bones or taking their hair away to cover their faces or something like that), Imelda never does that. So... maybe she tried it once, boldly, like Hector... and decided that never again. 3- I really need a canon about what happened to Imelda, Oscar and Felipe’s parents, but for now, that’s what I think: they died in the revolution but their kids were safe. 4- And this is the song that inspired this one shot. The author was Juan Gabriel, but Rocio Durcal is the one that made it famous.

And what about you? Tell me about your life. You really know that i’m convinced That you can’t, even if you try, forget me You will come back to me over and over Over and over you will come back to me Even if you don’t feel more love for me, just resentment. I don’t feel anything about you... and that’s even worse. But I miss you, I miss you too.

There’s no doubt that the habit is stronger than love.

[im-fairly-whitty]

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Ernesto Strikes Back: A Coco Fan Fiction

[Part 1: Fallen]  [Part 2: Anger]  [Part 3:Cursed]

Part 4: Doubt

“Where are you taking me?” Miguel asked again.

His voice was low now that he’d learned screaming only got him a mouthful of sleeve. The boy was remarkably calm for having just been forcefully abducted, and it was unnerving Ernesto.

He adjusted his hold on Miguel, still tucked securely under his arm, as he continued to creep along the outskirts of town. Here the patches of light spilling from houses onto the roughly packed dirt road were more sparse. The edges of the road itself were becoming more abstract, merging with patches of dead grass as they got farther and farther from anyone, living or dead.

“Do you need help?” Miguel tried. He pushed aside part of a dry bush to keep it from hitting his face as they walked by. “If we go back my Mama Imelda and Papa Hector can help you, they’re dead too.”

In the very far distance Ernesto could hear shouting, the long, repeated kind, like when a name was being called over and over again. If Hector suspected foul play he could summon crossing agents with scent tracking alebrijes, but Ernesto wouldn't know whether he had until it was too late, meaning he had to keep moving.

He stepped over a half tumbled-down wood fence and into the dry desert brush beyond. As he walked the cool night air seemed to lead him along. He could remember coming this way often as a boy, but couldn’t quite remember why. All the trees were different now, the dirt paths worn between them had grown over and been worn down again and again for a century now. He did feel safer here though, that much came back to him easily.

“Oh!” Miguel cried.

Ernesto moved to cover his mouth, but the boy was looking down, not struggling.

“I can see your shoes,” Miguel pointed down, “white, men’s cavalry boots Señor! Size ten, I think.” He shifted to look up, but his eyes looked past Ernesto’s face. “They are in very bad shape Señor, but they look like performer’s shoes. Are you a musician too?”

Under the boy’s chin Ernesto could see a small translucent patch spreading around Miguel’s neck and disappearing under his collar. The edges glowed a spectral orange.

The curse must be slowly seeping back into Miguel the longer they were together, pulling him back into the afterlife and restoring his ability to see the dead. Who knew how long it would be before the boy was fully in the spirit realm, before he realized who his captor was. Ernesto suspected it wouldn’t be so easy to keep control of him then.

Ernesto rounded a corner in the path, around a stand of scrubby desert trees, and hesitated as the left side of the path dropped away into a steep ravine.

He remembered this ravine.

He had sat on its edge as a child, staring out over the rocky landscape below as he wrote down childish song ideas, nursed a new bruise, or simply needed space to think. Somewhere to exist away from home, away from the shouting.

He looked at the sharp rocks far below, the moonlight only dimly reflected off some of the jagged edges that he knew were down there. It was the kind of fall that could kill a person.

Especially a young boy thrown with no warning.

A cold breeze whipped through the tall dry grass at Ernesto’s feet, sweeping down the moonlit ravine with a noise like a rolling ocean wave.

“Señor?” Miguel asked nervously. The boy looked up at him, but still without making eye contact, unable to see his face.

Ernesto could imagine letting go. It would be easy. As easy as pouring a drink. There would be a small movement, and then gravity and a little time would take care of the rest.

And as soon as he let go all he would be able to do would be to watch. Watch as he lost control. A heart would stop beating, and a person would be gone, and he would be left with a body.

And then the real panic would set in. It would not feel satisfying, it would feel like he'd torn out an empty space where there used to be a person. Oh, he might hide the body, but he would always remember where it was, to him it would never really be gone.

He would remember the body, the face, the glassy pained eyes for years. It would take about ten years to forget about them, until one night he would wake up in a cold sweat, seeing only the face, twisted in pain as Hector collapsed on the street. And he would feel the dizzy panic of suddenly realizing he had no plan all over again.

And then he would drink. And then he would perform even harder the next day for massive, cheering crowds. And soon he would forget it again for a little while longer.

But he would never really forget.

A violent shiver ran through Ernesto as he turned away from the ravine’s ledge. Miguel yelped in surprise and Ernesto looked down to see that the boy had passed through his hands to unexpectedly land on the path. Miguel stood carefully, pushing himself up with an arm that was now entirely translucent. The boy’s eyes were fixed on Ernesto’s chest, presumably as far up as he could see now.

“Are...you letting me go, Señor?” Miguel asked hesitantly, pulling his jacket straight. He caught sight of his see-through arm and groaned, flexing his fingers. “Oh no, again? But I didn’t take anything this time!”

No. Ernesto was not letting him go.

He seized Miguel by the shoulder and pushed him along, making him walk ahead of him. He was getting tired of carrying the boy anyway. Just because he’d died in great physical condition didn’t mean he didn't get worn out eventually.

“I think if you spoke I could hear you now, if you want to tell me what’s going on.” Miguel glanced back over his shoulder every few steps as he was marched further into the trees. "I don’t think you want to hurt me, but you do seem angry, or maybe you have something really important to show me?”

Ernesto was not being weak. He could have thrown Miguel off the cliff if he’d wanted to, he’d done it last year hadn’t he? Thrown him right over the edge at the sunrise spectacular, no problem. Easy.

But it had been different last year. If Miguel hadn’t been caught by his family’s alebrijes, he would have hit the ground and then gotten right back up again, shaken no doubt, but simply a fully dead skeleton. It might have even been painless, who knew?

Most importantly, there would have been no body.

There was a noise like a dog howling in the distance behind them. Ernesto shoved the boy’s shoulder again, making him move faster. Yes, Hector had died, but that didn’t mean Ernesto was a murderer, he took no pleasure in causing pain. Miguel would get what was coming to him, but after he was fully in the spirit realm. Killing him then would be easy and would leave no trace, no physical evidence for his living family to despair over. It was the best solution.

And who knew, it might even be painless.

[Read Part 5: Remembering]

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The plot thickens, eh? Thanks to everyone who leaves comments and reblogs, you recharge my authorly batteries with joy. :)  Follow me or #forwhomthebelltolls to get the next chapter as soon as I post it.

- Wit

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@nerdy-emo-royal-dad @elecmon @memberofthatonefandom 

[shadow-light19]

Redemption and Forgiveness Chapter 1: No Music!

Summary: A Coco AU based on the deleted scene idea that Miguel needed to return the guitar to lift the curse. Miguel wants to play music but his family hates it. When he discovers Ernesto De la Cruz is his great-great-grandfather, he decides to borrow his guitar to play in the Day of the Dead Talent Show in order to prove himself as a musician. However, he did not realize that stealing the guitar would lead to him being cursed. Now he must traverse the land of the dead, with the guitar, to ask for the owner’s forgiveness.

Notes: I did not like the idea that the Rivera’s in the Land of the Dead had to smash the guitar in order to break the curse. That doesn’t make much sense to me. In a story of redemption and forgiveness, breaking a part of someone that you’re going to be forgiving them for is wonky. In this story, it will be similar to the Coco story except Miguel will need to be forgiven for taking the guitar. I will also be treating the guitar as Hector’s since Ernesto stole the guitar and thus is not the actual owner of the guitar. The beginning and some parts, later on, will be the same as the movie but a lot more will change once Miguel is cursed. This story won’t be updated that often since it takes a while to go through and put accents on everything. I don’t speak Spanish well, so I have to double check what I write to make sure it’s correct. I also listened multiple times to the quotes in the movie and added commas when Miguel pauses for a bit in his story, so some of it’s grammatically incorrect. This will be in Miguel’s POV.

Disclaimer: I do not own Coco, but I do own a copy of the DVD which I used to make the story accurate.

Miguel sat on his knees. He was in the Plaza Santa Cecilia with his shoe shining kit shining a mariachi’s shoes. Miguel's family were shoemakers and so Miguel often offered to shine shoes in order to help out. In reality, he liked the freedom he got by being allowed to stay out by himself. This wasn't the first time that Miguel worked in Plaza Santa Cecilia. He would sneak out here whenever he got the chance in order to listen to music and learn about it from musicians who were willing to chat with him. Any tips he got he saved and spent at stores or stalls for his Ernesto de la Cruz collection. Miguel sighed. He was already stressing out from the weight of his family’s expectations of him.

My family is always the worst on Días de Los Muertos. I can't even go 5 minutes without being reminded of family this and family that. I just want to play music but all I hear about is how they expect me to be like the rest of them!

“Sometimes, I think I’m cursed. ‘Cause of something that happened before I was even born. See, a long time ago, there was this family. The papa, he was a musician. He and his family would sing, and dance, and count their blessings. But he also had a dream. To play for the world. And one day, he left with his guitar and never returned.

And the mamá? She didn’t have time to cry over that walk-boy musician. After banishing all music from her life, she found a way to provide for her daughter. She rolled up her sleeves, and she learned to make shoes!

She could’ve made candy, o-o-or fireworks, or sparkly underwear for wrestlers?! But, no. She chose shoes. Then she taught her daughter to make shoes. And later, she taught her son-in-law. Then her grandkids got roped in. As her family grew, so did the business! Music had torn her family apart, but shoes, held them all together! You see, that woman? Was my great-great-grandmother, Mamá Imelda. She died way before I was born. But my family still tells her story, every year on Días de Los Muertos. The Day of the Dead! And her little girl? She’s my great-grandmother, Mamá Coco!

She calls me Julio, but actually, my name is Miguel. Mamá Coco, has trouble remembering things. But it’s good to talk to her anyway, so I pretty much tell her everything.

My abuelita? She’s Mamá Coco’s daughter. Abuelita runs our house just like Mamá Imelda did. I think we’re the only family in Mexico who hates music! And my family’s fine with that. But me? I’m not like the rest of my family! I know I’m not supposed to love music… But it’s not my fault!

It’s Ernesto De La Cruz’s, the greatest musician of all time! He started out a total nobody from Santa Cecilia, like me! But when he played music, he made people fall in love with him. He starred in movies, he had the coolest guitar, he could fly! And he wrote the best songs! But my all-time favorite, it’s Remember Me.

He lived the kind of life you’d dream about! Until 1942, when he was crushed by a giant bell. I wanna be just like him. Sometimes, I look at De La Cruz and get this feeling, like we’re connected somehow! Like if he could play music, maybe someday, ah-ah-I could too! If it wasn’t for my family.”

Miguel’s shoulders slumped and he stared at the man’s shoes in sadness.

I don't know how much longer I can take this.

“Aye-aye-aye muchacho! I asked for a shoe shine! Not your life’s story.” The mariachi said exasperatedly.

“O-o-oh yeah. Sorry!” Miguel quickly grabs two brushes and starts brushing his left shoe. The man begins to play his guitar.

“It’s just that I can’t really talk about any of this at home, so…”

The man looked down at him.

“Look.” Miguel obeyed.

“If I were you? I’d march right up to my family and say, ‘Hey! I’m a musician! Deal with it!’” The man made motions with his hands while he talked.

Miguel chuckles, “I could never say that.” He went back to brushing.

If you knew how scary my Abuelita can be, you’d understand why I never say anything.

The man looked at him again.

“You are a musician, no?”

Miguel frowned, “I don’t know, I mean… I only really play for myself.”

He had taught himself how to play guitar by watching videos of de la Cruz and listening to records. It took him forever to make a guitar too! But now he could at least practice playing.

“Ahhh. Did de la Cruz, become the best musician by hiding his sweet, sweet skills? No! He walked out onto that plaza, and he played out loud! Oh, mira, mira. They’re setting up for tonight! The music competition for Día de Muertos. You wanna be like your hero? You should sign up!?”

Miguel looks at the poster that was being hung up on the plaza stage, then goes back to shining the man’s shoes. He’d seen the poster before. They did it every year, after all, but he had never been able to attend and he had never thought about playing in it.

“Uh-uh. My family would freak!”

Abuelito would sic la chancla on me for sure. My parents would yell and the rest of the family would probably hate me.

“Look, if you’re too scared, then well, have fun making shoes.”

Miguel cringed.

“Come on, what did De La Cruz always say?”

“S-seize your moment?”

The man looks at his guitar, then back to Miguel.

“Show me what you got, muchacho.” He hands it over.

Miguel stares at it, dumbfounded.

No way! Does he really want to hear me play? 

“I’ll be your first audience.” He encouraged.

 Miguel took it from him and held it with reverence. This was his dream. A real audience to play for. He looked at the man again, as though making sure it was alright. The man smiled and nodded. Miguel smiled in disbelief, but just as he was about to strum the guitar,

“MIGUEL!”

Miguel gasped in horror, shoved the guitar into the man’s hands, and turned around. His abuelita was storming towards him, with his cousin Rosá and Tío Berto following close behind. Rosá and Tío Berto were carrying cempasúchil (pronounced sem-pah-sue-chill) flowers and baskets.

“Abuelita!” Miguel gave her a sheepish wave at being caught.

Oh no... What are they doing here? Abuelita never come by the plaza! I'm so dead!

“What are you doing here?!” Abuelita cried out.

“Umm, uh-uh-ahhh.” Miguel hurriedly packs up his shoe shining gear.

Abuelita notices the mariachi and glares at him, taking her sandal off as she continues walking forward.

“You leave my grandson alone!” She smacks him with the shoe, knocking his sombrero over his face in the process.

Oh no. Please don't make a scene!

The man fixed his sombrero.

“Doña, please! I was just getting a shine!”

Abuelita jabs the shoe in his face. Miguel was horrified.

“I know your tricks, mariachi! What did he say to you?” Her face softened as she looked at Miguel.

Miguel panicked.

“He was just showing me his guitar!”

Shoot! I shouldn't have said that.

His family gasped in shock.

“Shame on you!” Tío Berto glared at him from a couple feet away.

Abuelita advanced on the man, chancla still in his face. The man backed up on the bench he was sitting on. He was standing now and had his hands up in surrender. Miguel couldn’t do anything to stop her tirade against the musician and was just regretting coming to the plaza in the first place.

“My grandson is a sweet little angelito, perrito, cielito.” She looks back tenderly at Miguel, who is nervously smiling at her.

It turned into shock when abuelita shoved la chancla further at the man and he fell off the bench.

“He wants no part of your music, mariachi. You keep away from him!”

Now you know why I never said anything.

The man scrambles to back up, grabbing his guitar and sombrero with a yelp and runs off.  Abuelita puts her sandal back on.

“Aye, pobrecito! Oh, estás bien mijo.” She smothers Miguel in a hug.

After kissing his head a couple times, she grabs his shoulders and pulls him back enough to see his face. Miguel is gasping from lack of oxygen.

“You know better than to be here in this place!”

Her face pinches in sternness, “You will come home, now!”

Miguel watches her walk off in despair. Tío Berto gives him a stern glare before following abuelita and Rosá turns on one leg, sends a mocking smirk, and turns again to follow as well.

Stupid Rosá. Of course, she doesn't get caught being rude.

Miguel sighed. He slung the shoe shining kit’s strap over his head but as he is leaving, he notices some flyers for the talent show. He had never given it much thought before but that mariachi's suggestion replays in his mind.

Maybe I can sneak out to play. Or maybe I can convince Mamá or Papá to let me go watch?

When he sees no one from his family is looking, he grabs one and stuffs it in the kit. He takes off after them.

“How many times have we told you, the plaza is crawling with Mariachis!”

“Yes, Tío Berto.” Miguel monotonously replied.

Maybe if you just let me be happy you wouldn't find me to be such a bother.

As they are walking, they passed by an old blue truck filled with cempasúchiles. Dante, a stray dog that Miguel looks after, sees the family pass by.

“Arf!” He smiles and chases after Miguel. Dánte starts to run around Miguel. Miguel tries to shoo Dante away.

Can today get any worse?

“No, no, no, no!” He tells him quietly.

“Hah! Go away! You, go!” Abuelita takes her sandal off again and starts swinging it at Dánte.

Dánte managed to dodge every swing, before running off into the nearest ally way.

“It’s just Dante!” Miguel tried to assure her.

It doesn’t stop Abuelita from throwing her shoe after Dánte.                                                                                        

“Yelp!” The shoe hit its mark.

Miguel winced at the sound.

I hope he's okay.

“Never name a street dog! They’ll follow you forever. Now, go get my shoe.”

Miguel huffed and walked into the alley. Now that Abuelita was gone Dante came scurrying out from the street back into the alley.

“Woof!” Dante jumped and knocked Miguel over.

Miguel smiled and laughed as Dante stood on his stomach licking his face.

“I’m glad you’re okay Dante. Have you seen Abuelita’s sandal?”

Dante barked and retrieved the sandal from around the corner. He brought the slobbered shoe to Miguel and sat.

“Good boy, Dante! I owe you a treat later kay? See ya, Dante!” Miguel grabbed the shoe and ran back to his family.

[hubskitchen]

Hub’s Kitchen Episode 6: Coco Review: Seize Your Moment, with Integrity

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS SPOILERS! IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN COCO, I’D ADVISE YOU NOT TO READ THIS POST!

Hey guys, my name’s Hub, and welcome to another installment of Hub’s Kitchen. Episode, installment, it’s all semantics on this blog. Today’s installment is one that a couple of you have been looking forward to for a while. It’s my Coco movie review! Sorry it took so long to get to this, but I have a few reasons as to why this took some time:

College kicking my ass and me spending a lot of time on it as a result

College kicking my ass and me spending a lot of time on it as a result

Dragon Ball FighterZ online rank matches

My chronic laziness got the better of me

Dragon Ball FighterZ online rank matches

Me forgetting about the movie until one of you reminded me

Dragon Ball FighterZ onli- oh god damn it, I tried to vanish and now I’m getting comboed to death, fuck you Android 16!

Uh… ahem. Sorry about that. That’s not relevant to this review but… alright, let’s get to the main meat of the episode. This is my review of Pixar’s Coco.

Ah… Pixar. There’s a lot I can say about this movie studio, but needless to say that they produced some of my favorite animated movies of all time. They also made Cars 2 and Brave. We don’t talk about those movies. Anyway, when I heard about Coco, I kind of ignored it for a while. The advertising for the movie didn’t really hook me, and I didn’t think much of it for the longest time. Of course, being Pixar, Coco got good reviews, and even won Best Animated Picture at the most recent Oscars, as if that means anything, but hey, that’s cool to hear. So, after finally making some time to sit down and watch this movie, and by that, I mean forcing myself to stop playing rank matches on DBFZ, what do I think of Coco? Is it as good as everyone says? Or is it another Wall-E; a movie that I like, but don’t feel the same way about it like so many people do? I’m gonna get murdered for saying that sure, but let’s get into the main story.

Coco tells the story of Miguel Rivera (pretty stereotypical Hispanic name when you think about it). Miguel is part of a family that specializes in shoe shining and shoemaking, but Miguel wants more than that in his life and wants to be a musician. Only problem: His family hates music, and I mean they really hate music. This is because Imelda Rivera’s husband, a musician, left the family, and this she banned all music in the family. So basically this family shares Shredder’s opinion on music from that really fucking weird Ninja Turtles: Coming Out of Our Shells Tour concert. Don’t ask about that, trust me, you’ll save yourself some sanity. Anyway, Day of the Dead is here, and after discovering that Miguel is related to Ernesto de la Cruz, his inspiration to become a musician, Miguel desires to be in the talent show. His family takes it well. Because his guitar got fucked up, Miguel decides to “borrow” Ernesto de la Cruz’s guitar from his resting place, and upon playing a string or two, suddenly Miguel transfers himself to the world of the dead, or not really since there’s a whole other life on that side. Miguel runs into some of his deceased family members, however, it’s discovered Imelda can’t make her way through the pedal bridge to see her alive family because her photo isn’t displayed. Yeah, there’s this rule where if you don’t have your photo displayed, you can’t transfer into the human world. That’s demonstrated by one poor schmuck named Hector. Because his photo isn’t displayed, he can’t make his way through the human world. After some legal disputes, Miguel gets Imelda’s blessing to go back to the human world and never be a musician. Of course, Miguel takes this well. Eventually after running away from his family, Miguel runs into Hector, who knows Ernesto de la Cruz, and Hector promises Miguel to get Cruz’s blessing to be a musician. I’m gonna stop summarizing the plot here and get onto the themes of the movie, because I tend to do that when I talk about movies.

Music is a major theme in Coco. From the actual movie’s soundtrack to how music affected the life of Imelda and the Rivera family, the movie really wants you to understand how important music is to a culture and a person’s life. It’s clear that Ernesto de la Cruz’s music touched the lives of millions of people, leading to Miguel’s desire to be a musician. Music causes the central conflict of the movie, and is personified in Hector and Ernesto. The song “Remember Me,” is the most important song in the movie because of its purpose to both characters. Hector wrote the song for his daughter, but Ernesto uses is as a way to increase his fame, and ironically or fittingly enough, is the last song he ever performed. Hector played it to his family, whereas Ernesto played it for millions of people. This plays into another theme of the movie: legacy.

There’s a scene in the movie where Hector is playing one last song to a man who is about to be forgotten. When Hector finishes the song, the man disappears and goes to what Hector refers to “the final death.” This is because nobody remembered that man. Hector is in a similar situation, where outside his daughter, nobody remembers him, and he’s on a time limit before he fades away. Kinda fucked up when you think about it. Outside of his daughter, nobody remembers Hector and what he did. Meanwhile, because Ernesto de la Cruz became famous, everyone remembers him, so he doesn’t have to worry about people forgetting him. I know there’s a better term to use than legacy, but that’s what this theme boils down to. Again, “Remember Me.”

Family is also something that’s stressed throughout the Rivera family. All the Rivera family wants is to be together, but because Miguel is the odd man out and doesn’t want to be a musician, he’s basically an outcast. Hector is the same way. Hell, Hector is the actual father who left the family and not Ernesto. Ernesto killed Hector by having Hector drink poison in his drink. What a dick, and all that to seize his moment.

If “Remember Me,” is the most important song in the movie, “Seize your moment,” should be the most important phrase in the movie. Ernesto wanted to become a famous musician, so to do that, he did everything he could, even if it meant killing his friend and partner. Yes, he obtained his fame, but at the cost of his integrity, and nobody knew that. Miguel wants to seize his moment by being a musician, but he maintained his integrity. Integrity is very important in a person, but just because you want to be famous, that doesn’t mean you should fuck people over. You’d be surprised how often this happens in the real world. It’s honestly sad, but what can you do? It’s not like we can change that. I wish we could, but we can’t.

As for my opinion on Coco, I thought it was fantastic. If I ever get around to making a best and worst Pixar list (though, I’d have to watch The Good Dinosaur and Cars 3 in order to make that list), Coco could potentially be top 5. Man, you guys weren’t kidding when you said this movie was great. I mean, it’s Pixar, so I was inclined to believe that, but… holy shit. I’m not a crying man, but this movie almost made me cry. It was close. So.Very. Close. The only movie that I can say that has managed to make me cry was Inside Out. I wouldn’t say I liked Coco more than Inside Out, not because Coco didn’t make me cry, but I have a… special connection with that movie, for better or for worse. My personal favorite character is Hector, if only because he reminds me of myself, because I usually tend to be forgotten by people. I’m not fishing for sympathy coins for saying that, I’m just saying that I tend to be forgotten a lot. Man, my social life suuuuuuuucks.

This is where I’m gonna stop the review. I know I’ll be disappointing some of you, but I want to make my reviews shorter and not so long. People have told me that I take way too long to get to the point, so that’s what I’m trying to do. If you guys want longer reviews, let me know. Coco is a great movie. Go see it if you haven’t. My name is Hub Pie… and uh… I got some games to play. Thank you for reading!

[micoamkurts-blog]

Reviews and Poems

ABDULLAH A. AMAIKURUT II

Food Review

           The Peri Peri chicken is one of the newest chicken house here in Iligan. This one in the picture is one of their branch at Robinsons Place, Iligan City. As far as I am concerned, I had a good dining experience with them. They told me that the chicken would be serve in 15 minutes and just like they said in less than 15 minutes my order had been served.

           However I have noticed things and wished that this restaurant will do or implement in order to improve more. First of all is that they should have brought service water during the time their customers wait for their orders in order to make sure that their customers would not get tired of waiting since they have something that can quench their thirst. Second is that I hope the price for their drinks will decreased since 35 pesos alone is pretty much expensive along with 100 pesos of chicken especially for students. I hope they would have combo meals that would be much cheaper. Lastly, as a maranao and Filipino, I hope that there would be chilis in the table since we would love to mix them with the sauce and in order to add more flavor. Overall, I had a quite nice experience and hopefully they would implement some of the listed things above soon.

Movie Review

           For me the movie “COCO” is one of the most underrated movie this year I think it is because of the trailer which is not quite as good as the movie itself. Honestly, it thought that it would be a movie with a cliché story plots just like other Disney animated films. However, it was not what I expected the story was full plot twists, it shows how death could really affect a family especially if they have committed a mistake in the past. The movie also emphasizes the love of each family member for one another an example is the story of Hector and his family where they thought Hector had abandoned them where in fact he was murdered by his best friend Mr. Dela Cruz. One of the best scenes that emphasizes the love of Hector for his daughter is when he wrote a song for her which was sung by Miguel to his great grand mother(Coco). It was a heart melting scene for me since all the time Coco would not speak due to old age and because of the song of his father she was able to recall everything especially the love of his father. As for Miguel I loved how he pursue his love and passion for music even though many people tried to stop him which is also his family members but still he chose to fight in what he believe which is a hard thing to do in the very first place, Overall, I love everything from this movie from the graphics and especially the ost which is very good. For me it shows that a person may lose a loved one but not his/her love for that person.

(Book Review) The Magician’s Nephew

Author:

By C.S Lewis

 Summary of the plot

          The novel is all about how the land of Narnia was and created and how evil takes over the land. The book includes plenty magical series and it depicts the battle between good and evil.

             The story begins when Digory and Polly meet and become friends one cold, wet summer in London. While the children attempted to get into an empty house which happens to be the house of Digory’s Uncle, Uncle Andrew Ketterly, the children happen to see yellow and green rings on a table in the house. Uncle Andrew decided to offer a ring to Polly. At the moment she touches it, she suddenly disappeared. Digory was then told that the rings happen to be special and that they were made from magic dust. He was told that the yellow rings allow a person to be transported to other world while the green rings has the ability to bring a person back to the present time. Due to the fact that Polly does not have the green ring, Digory must use one of the yellow rings for him to be able to bring back Polly.

 Eventually Digory was able to find Polly in a place called Wood between Worlds. The pair then decided to explore the space which allows them to explore different kinds of worlds. They found themselves standing in a place known as the Charn. Charn is a place in where no life can be found. However, the two still decided to explore and ended up at the Hall of Images. They have found out that there is a bell with a warning at the hall. Despite the warning, Digory still rang the bell which causes the awakening of the Queen as soon as she was awake the building started to fall down and ended up being destroyed.

 Digory and Polly learned that it was the Queen’s fault in why the Charn’s been ruined and because of her greediness and thirst of power she killed her sister and everyone in the Charn. The children are frightened and tried to go back to London but the Queen had managed to grab a hold of them and was transported to London as well. The Queen had cause chaos and destruction in the entire London. She told Uncle Andrew about her plans of taking over the whole world and later on steals the jewelry as well as the horse and the carriage. Due to how complicated the situation is, Digory and Polly uses the ring to transport the Queen which was also called the witch but the problem was that all of them was touching the ring and they all ended up at a strange and dark place. Later on, they heard a voice singing which comes from a large lion. Horrified, the witch managed to escape and runs away. As the song is continuously sung flora and fauna had also appeared from the earth.

 The lion who was called Aslan, instructs some of the animals to protect Narnia. Digory followed Aslan to know if the witch has already entered Narnia. He was then commanded to bring Cabby’s wife to tell the couple that they will be the rulers of the land.  Digory was then given a mission to go and help protect Narnia. He was ordered to go to a hilltop garden to get an apple from a tree. As soon as He and Polly arrived, they noticed that the witch was already there eating an apple. She tried to catch him and tried to convince him to transport the apple to London in order to save her mother. Even with the temptation of the witch, Digory was still able take the apple back to Aslan. Digory was told by Aslant to bring the apple with him. Aslan then returned them back to London. Digory’s mother was able to get better. The children then decided to bury the rings along with the core of the apple. After sometime, a tree grows out from the rings and apple. However, a storm had destroyed the tree and causes it to be knocked down. Some time later, Digory made a wardrobe out of the tree in where a new adventure will soon begin.    

Opinions

    The book was actually interesting and was well written. It had the fantasy that I want and it was just simply amazing. I was just surprised to learn that the there is a sequel that can already be read. The author has done a great job in capturing his audience’s attention and has actually greatly entertained me. Overall, the book deserves to be recognized and be acknowleged by other readers.

Recommendations

    I would recommend  the book to readers who are greatly fond of fantasies. I would also be happy to share it with my family and friends knowing that the book has already been transformed into a movie.  I also would whole heartedly share it to those new readers.

   Poems

Acrostics

Organized

Carefree

Independent

MICO

Diamond Poem

           MEN

             TOUGH PREDICTABLE

UNDERSTANDING RECEIVING TOUGH-LOVING

MOON WATER SUN FIRE

WORRYING PROVIDING WORTH FIGHTING

FRAGILE COMPLICATED

WOMEN

Tanka

You look happier,

Sadly, I was not the cause

Your smiles have returned

Those smiles were not meant for me

They are meant for someone else

Limerick

Most people seem like giant towers

Reaching books from the shelves takes forever

Often mistaken as elementary students

Hoping they can find their way through the crowd of high school students

Blessed  are they not, Height is just a number

 Concrete

L

E

A

V

E

S

will already grow

out of nothingness of trees

Like how these wounds would

turn into scars of our hearts, Everything

will be alright in time. In the end everything was worth

the fight. Never regret everything we had. Leaves

will soon cover the bareness of trees. Just like

how you came into

my life

Free verse

Life, what makes it worth remembering?

It is mostly the small things which we never noticed,

Or which we often take for granted

 What makes it memorable?

It is the efforts of other people that made you smile and

Have brighten up your day no matter how down you are

 What makes it worth living?

It is often the moments of your loved ones

Which you have learned to cherish and treasure

 Villanelle

Do you remember those days?

When we are allowed to roam around with nothing to fear

Hoping we can reminisce those days

 Laughing without thinking of the incoming days

Children playing near the streets without fear

Do you remember those days?

 Enjoying the view of the bay

Visiting your loved ones with nothing to fear

Hoping we can reminisce those days

 Wishing and looking at sky of blue and grey

Listening to deafening music with your peers

Do you remember those days?

Hoping everyone would find the right way

Without anyone sacrificing their blood and tears

Do you remember those days?

Hoping we can reminisce those days

Sonnet

Her eyes, dark as the mysterious night sky

Her skin is as white as the winter snow

Her smile is my sunshine after the rainy skies

Her long hair is like a river that flows

 She is the first one whom I want to see

And the last one whom I want to be with

She always know what is the best for me

And often treats me like a childish kid

 I may not be as perfect as it seems, But,

I will give her the sweetest chocolates

And the fragrant roses that she have sought

I shall give her my love and not my hate

 In the end, she is someone dear to me

She is the someone that no one could be

[lennox-ainsley]

I. Vorspiel - A Whisper on the Edge of Hearing

"It is the poet's task, my friend, To note his dreams and comprehend. Mankind's most true delusion seems To be revealed to him in dreams: All poesy and versification Is mere dream interpretation." - Hans Sach, Die Meistersinger Von Nürnberg

"El amor nunca deja de ser; pero las profecías se acabarán, y cesarán las lenguas, y la ciencia acabará." - 1 Corintios 13:8

At the very moment the first rays of sunlight struck the dampened eyelids of Miguel Rivera, his dream fizzled away and he woke up with a start.

As his bleary eyes adjusted to the ordinary surroundings of the small bedroom he shared with Socorro, he felt an inexpressible pang of melancholy consume the very core of his being. While it proved difficult to control his sobbing, he cringed as he felt a great pain emanating from his chest outwards to his underarms. It ached like hell, so much so that the boy felt around his naked chest to make sure he wasn't physically hurt, starting with his sternum. The crinkles he made while wincing felt etched into his cheeks. But soon the pain had begun to subside, the vestiges of it slowly fading like warmth from a cup of coffee, or a dying campfire flickering down to cinders and ash. His face finally relaxed, but the melancholy remained.

His attention shifted quickly to recall whatever remained of this dream. The boy felt somewhat habituated to waking up full of a new song that he heard while he slept. The song could be of any genre he knew and include any pleasing arrangement of instruments: mariachi, banda, norteño, son jarocho...he usually was able to recall the song without too much difficulty, possessing the unique ability to rush to his guitar and finger the chords, effectively sketching out what he remembered. If he focused really hard he could remember a few lines, sometimes the chorus or an entire verse. The rest was just filling the blanks. That's how some of his best songs were written: "No One Can Compare To You", “Last You’ll Hear Me Say”, "The Ballad of Héctor Rivera" and, most importantly, "Proud Corazón", which he had finished in the presence of Héctor’s spirit. He swore he could not live that damned song down. It turned everyone he knew into a blubbering mess. Upon first hearing it, a tearful Mateo called it "sublime", in his usual fashion of praising the prodigy. Whenever he and Cemic performed it as part of a set at the Plaza, the townsfolk let out more impassioned gritos than the rest of his works added together. He would even catch Elena hum it as she made tamales. All over some stupid little ditty he wrote at 13. If everyone considered an artist's output at 13 the best they ever wrote, then there would be no point for an artist to grow.

However, what was peculiar about this dream was that Miguel couldn't clearly remember any tune, rhythm or lyric from it. What remained of it sounded like a whisper on the edge of hearing. He could nonetheless clearly remember the arrangement he saw, watching the performers intently, from a distance, as one would with a magnifying glass to an anthill. At first the guitar player sounded off, galloping happily to a rhythm that, despite his attempts to drum it at his thighs, he couldn't. After the guitar, a whole consort of violins joined in, with a much thinner...timbre than what he would normally associate.Then he heard a voice. The man had a similar range to Miguel's own…a tenor, as his profesor would say. The tenor sang in a language that Miguel couldn't decipher, but it sounded a bit like Spanish. It sounded very pleasing. In fact, an inexperienced listener might confuse the entire composition for mariachi, but despite some similarities, Miguel had ears sharp enough to discern the small changes in style. It certainly didn't sound like anything his profe liked to play in music class.

Miguel felt like he was twelve again, but instead of that resplendent memory, of swiveling around freely with his guitar, on stage with his tatarabuelo, he instead noticed he was surrounded by his family's spirits. He remembered his bisabuela, mamá Coco, in the dream, and his tatarabuela, Imelda, along with papá Julio, Tía Rosita, the twins and all the rest. Coco sat so close to his right side that he could almost touch her. All of them sat comfortably on a balcony overlooking the Plaza Rivera from 5 stories up. There were dancers that encircled the singer, wearing strange tunics and dresses fitted loosely around their cuerpos, twisting their wrists and taking wide, graceful leaps around the singer, even jumping down into the audience of skeletons. Miguel recalled how incredulous he felt at what he saw, lost in the beauty of the dance and the grace of the music.

Yet, strangely enough, Miguel could not see Héctor with his family. Miguel desperately scanned the plaza below him, and the only form of Héctor that Miguel's eyes fixed upon was a statue that had replaced de la Cruz's. It portrayed Héctor in life, wearing an ornate mariachi costume, holding the painted guitar up high in a proud gesture as his eyes looked up toward the balcony where Miguel sat. Their eyes met, and Miguel became transfixed.

The young musician remembered how his heart swelled with pride, a lump forming in his throat. Why isn't he here with us? Miguel fretted as an ancient anxiety overtook him. Did I reach Coco in time?

He looked at mamá Imelda, who wore an uncharacteristically soft expression as she viewed the same statue. Then he looked over at his bisabuela, whose benign smile revealed nothing. Something was not right. Miguel wanted to jump out of his seat to look for Hector, but instead felt bolted to the ground. Warm, stinging tears began to spill past his eyelids as the old inner torments began to rear their ugly heads. He should have never idolized that hijueputa de la Cruz, never abandoned his family in the first place, never insulted the ofrenda, and caused them all that useless sorrow by running away.

Héctor would still be alive if it weren't for him.

Surrounded by the foreign spectacle, his family and finally this statue: all the pride, admiration, affection and worry that came just from looking at it, Miguel began to ache with sobs as all the colors and sounds dissolved around him.

Usually, Miguel felt comfortable with the idea that the music he heard during his sleep came from his own unconscious, on the same footing as the songs he composed while awake. This song felt like it came from another planet. And while this wasn’t the first time he dreamt of his tatarabuelo, Miguel rarely had a dream that included both Héctor and music. Not since the miracle a couple years back.

Miguel concluded that this song, as strange and thrilling as it sounded, had to have been Héctor’s. That would explain its otherworldly quality, but it didn’t sound like anything of his tatarabuelo...perhaps the family patriarch had invented a new style all on his own? The boy scratched his head, supposing that wouldn't be too much of a stretch. Héctor must have a lot of free time in the Land of the Dead, maybe enough to invent a whole new language for his songs. Songs with little nonsense lyrics but emotionally intelligible music to back them up, so that all would grasp the general feeling, maybe even feel it themselves.

Whatever the case, Miguel had to reconstruct what he could remember. He could not let this song escape him.