#Ernesto De La Cruz is a butt

[ford-ye-fiji]

I finally decided to post some of my fanfic here. ^_^ (all of my Spanish is pretty much google translate so, sorry for any mistakes!) 

Summary: Imelda learned an important lesson in her life, and even in her death.... and beyond her death. If you want something done, do it yourself. Especially when it concerns thickheaded músicos! 

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13920894

Honestly, the man was estupido, she knew he'd been attempting to cultivate a friendship for literal ages and, most recently, a courtship. Did he think she didn't know? As if his suddenly awkward conversations and flirtatious quips weren't obvious enough, certainly the waggling of his eyebrows and his huge friend's overeager nudges whenever she reacted with a smile would have clued her in. Dios! What a bunch of tontos locos!

Really, the absolute worst thing about this whole situation was that she found herself returning his shy advances. Imelda was the most stubborn woman in all of Santa Cecilia. Men talked of her cold unapproachable frown and dark stony eyes. Ladies at the market tittered about her brittle barbs shot at all the hombres lindos and the countless suitors that had found themselves thrown out on their backsides after making their unwanted attentions known.

 So what made this crazy, maravilloso, exasperante man so- so different? 

Imelda didn't know. Perhaps because he was so sweet and tender in those soft in-between moments as he leapt from one place to the next. Maybe it was the way he seemed to be brighter whenever those he was around were happier. Maybe it was because, just like her, people talked about him behind his back. (They always called him loco, laughing at his energetic twirls, and starry-eyed dreaming, and the way he endlessly talked about music. It was his amor verdadero, they said.) Perhaps it was the niños pequeños, and how they always shrieked with delight, lighting up like luciérnagas when they saw Héctor Rivera striding down the packed dirt street. 

So what could be her problem then? Héctor Rivera was clearly, stupidly, besotted and his best friend Ernesto De La Cruz took every opportunity to leave them alone together. Well, the problem was that Héctor was rather slow on the uptake. Idiota! She'd tried everything, the hand on his arm, the lingering after the festivals, the soft smile. She was practically shouting her interest from the rooftops. Apparently, it was up to her to do everything. 

Héctor finished his soft song and grinned boyishly at her, dark hair falling into his face as his fingers stilled on the strings. Imelda smiled, she'd been finding herself doing more of that lately, "Muy bien." She sat up and looked around, the sky clear and bright, "Where is Ernesto?

"Héctor shrugged with a sort of fond exasperation and leaned back against the old tree, "He wanders off now and then." 

Imelda rolled her eyes and tossed her hair. She sat up. No one was in sight... It was time for her to do something. 

"Héctor?"

He turned those soft brown eyes towards her, "Sí, Ime-?" He never got to finish his sentence. Imelda pushed forward, eyes shut tight as she clutched at his vest and pulled his lips to hers. 

She could feel his startled flailing, but he didn't turn away. In fact, after a few seconds, his hands came to rest gently on the sides of her face and he relaxed into it. 

All too soon, she pulled away, eyes opening slowly. Héctor blinked dazedly, a bright red tinge spreading across his cheeks, "Muy Bueno de verdad... Are you sure you're feeling alright, mi amor?" 

Imelda, miraculously, laughed. Héctor seemed just as astonished as her at her openness and soft adoration. 

She took his long fingers with both hands, feeling just as flushed as him, "For the first time, mi querido, I think that I am better than alright."

A few weeks later, intimidating Imelda and silly Héctor were married. Most brides would have cried on their wedding day. Imelda Rivera however, smiled so hard her cheeks hurt, and never shed a tear.

~

Imelda threw the crumpled paper ball at the battered door, "¡Odioso bruto! ¡Inútil músicos!" She raged, fists clenched so tightly that she left bloody crescents in her palms. 

"¿Mamá? ¿Mamá donde es papa?" 

Imelda turned. Face whitening at the sight of her frightened, trembling, joven chiquita. Little Cocó shed the tears that her mother could not, "¿Donde es papi? ¿Donde?"

Where is papa? Where?

Imelda broke, taking Cocó into her arms, "Oh no, conejito, oh no. Don't cry. Lo siento. Lo siento mamá. It's alright.”

Cocó sobbed into her dress, "¡Quiero mi papi! ¡Mamá!"

Imelda couldn't bring herself to cry. Imelda was not a crying woman and she never would be, little Cocó was however. While she sobbed, still crying for her no good papa, Imelda found herself growing angrier and angrier. How dare he abandon them? Imelda had been reluctant to let him go across the country with Ernesto but that- that tonto had gone anyway! He'd promised he'd come back (soon, mi amor, soon. I promesa) and just till recently she'd been receiving more and more money in the mail from him. 

Then suddenly, it had stopped. His letters, his money, everything. Then Ernesto had sent that asqueroso letter. He said Héctor had run off, taken most of the profits from their last show and that he was sleeping his way across Méjico. Imelda almost hadn't believed it, but six months had gone by with no word. Besides, Ernesto De La Cruz was Héctor's mejor amiga. Since childhood and through all the horrors of the revolution. He would never lie about something as awful as that. 

Imelda held Cocó tighter. She did not need that cabrón. Any man who abandoned his familia was no man at all. "Lo siento, Cocó. We do not need him and his música. We will be just fine without him."

She glared at Ernesto's crumpled letter.

“We don't need música, Cocó. We don't need it at all."

~

Héctor smiled sheepishly, his worn straw hat in his hands, "Gracias, Imelda. You did not have to do that."

Imelda Rivera frowned darkly at him. Her husband, or whatever he was now, gulped. It had been nearly nine months since the fateful Día de los Muertos that had changed everything from the past fifty years. Imelda was a stubborn woman, just like her mamá before her. But she wasn't that bullheaded! Surely, Héctor knew this. After all, he'd been living with them for nearly eight of those months. The familia had been quick to forgive him- after all, most of them had not actually known him in his life. And as they got to know her husband, music had slowly but surely creeped back into the somber Rivera household. Victoria hummed everywhere, Julio sang in the garden, Óscar and Felipe belted out semi-appropriate tunes while working on their shoes, and Rosita liked to pull random family members into a dance when she got excited. Héctor's lively nature and exuberance at being back again with his beloved familia was intoxicating. 

Imelda had hated to admit it in those early months, but Héctor and his música had breathed such joy into her household that everything seemed so much brighter. He had loved her for a long time, eagerly awaiting her arrival, only to be spurned by her when she did come. Imelda winced as she remembered the violence of her rejection when Héctor had shown up on her doorstop. That Ernesto De La Cruz could púdrete en el infierno!

Still, it had taken her some time to work past the wall of hatred that she had built up for almost a century. Of course, eight months was more than enough time, Héctor had left but he'd died trying to come to her, to Cocó, to his familia. Again she scowled, Ernesto De La Cruz that asesino. He'd stolen her husband's life and then tried to destroy his afterlife. She could feel herself getting angrier and tried to think of something else. Right. Héctor was still watching her carefully, as if he was trying to calm a caged caballo. 

Eight months. Eight months since her not-really-awful husband had been returned to her. That and the last fifty years or more of separation made her ache with a longing deep in her bones. And considering that she consisted solely of bones, made that ache just to be near him all the more sentido. 

Imelda held out her arm imperiously, "Walk with me, Héctor." 

He swallowed and took her arm, "Sí, Imelda."

He looked back at the alley behind them. An angry fan of Ernesto had accosted him rather violently a few streets back. The skeleton did not know what hit him when Imelda had attacked him with her shoe. Dios, Imelda was magnífico. 

It only took a few more blocks before Imelda huffed and spoke out loud what was bothering her. Héctor had suspected something was very wrong when, after she'd finished viscously whacking the skeleton back there, had hurtled insult after insult at the retreating man. Still, he had not suspected her to turn, poke him roughly in the shoulder and say, "Well, Héctor, are you going to kiss me or not? He esperado lo suficiente." 

He blinked, slack-jawed for a moment before he asked slowly and anxiously, "Are you feeling well, mi amor?"

Imelda rolled her eyes heavenward and then grabbed his hand, "Héctor, you know that you are still my husband and a part of my- our familia. You know that right?"

He seemed pained, "Imelda..."

"¡Dios! If you want something done do it yourself!" She briefly pressed her not quite lips to his, "Te amo, you silly fool." 

Héctor's eyes lit up and touched his mouth in awe. He realized his silence had stretched on too long and he sputtered sheepishly, "Y yo te, Imelda... Te amo!"

She snorted and marched away, pulling him behind her, "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, we can finally get on with our lives." She grumbled affectionately, "Idiota."

Héctor grinned like a lovesick husband for the rest of the day. 

(And maybe, just maybe Imelda... Cold, stubborn, Imelda... The Imelda who never cried, who never let herself care- and even when she had, had not even let herself mourn... Imelda finally let herself cry when she saw him with their little Cocó. All three of them together again after so long.) 

That very same night, to the utter delight of everyone in that small Rivera household, Imelda danced to loud happy música with her Héctor for the first time in a century. 

[frida-kahlos-unibrow]

[grandpas-and-grunkles]

I AM GOING TO S C R E A M

[minopauro]

“oof”

R: OO FFFFFFF THANKS ILY

[uuponastarr]

[ alexa demie, cis woman, she/her. ] ✧･ﾟ is that [ VALENTINA DE LA CRUZ ] who just stumbled into town? rumour has it that they’re the [ TWENTY-SEVEN ] year old child of [ ERNESTO DE LA CRUZ ] from [ COCO ]. i’ve also heard that they’re [ SELF-ASSURED ] but [ SPOILED ] and have [ 2 ] siblings. i could almost swear i heard [ SHE LOVES CONTROL - CAMILA CABELLO ] playing when they appeared.

 basics:

full name: valentina alma de la cruz

nickname(s): val.

zodiac sign: gemini- june 19th.

sexuality: bisexual.

skills/interests: singing, fashion, flirting.

aesthetic: crimson lipstick, long flowing skirts, sweet nothings being whispered into your ear, the colorful light of fireworks bursting in the sky, dancing until your legs feel numb.

[ link to pinterest board here ]

bio tws; mentions of cheating, death, suicide & murder.

valentina alma de la cruz was born to the famous and esteemed ernesto de la cruz and his wife a fellow performer, one of three daughters the couple would go on to have. having a famous and rich father meant that she was practically born with a silver spoon in her mouth. valentina and her sisters were dotted on frequently and given practically anything their heart desired. along with her status came clothes, riches and many lovers that she would use and throw to the side. however things quickly changed in the blink of an eyes. her father came home less and less and was beginning to pay little attention to her mother. it wasn’t long before she found out the reason why, that ernesto had secretly been seeing a mistress which drove her into a jealous rage. that night when he snuck off to see his mistress she waited until their children fell asleep and then set a fire. when valentina woke up she found herself in the land of the dead, and it didn’t take her long to figure out what happened causing her to resent her mother for what she had done to their family. now that val is alive again she’s going to live it to it’s fullest extent and will take down anyone who gets in her way. 

wanted connections: 

her other sister, she is extremely protective of them. 

other kids from the land of the dead: children of hector & imelda/ other kids from coco.

friends. 

shopping buddies. 

people for her to butt heads with. 

flings/ friends with no strings attached. 

more tba...

[emletish-fish]

7. what is you favorite sentence/paragraph? read it to us! (asker can choose what fic) (x)

I chose three! One from each of my 'big fics'. No Zombies, Worst Prisoners and Good Boys under the cut:

NO ZOMBIES:

No Zombies was a delight to write. I had pretty much the whole idea from the get-go, (of a returned style AU with Hector coming to spend time with the family in the modern world). I finished it quick - and it's not too long (side-eyeing Good Boy and Worst Prisoner). It was the first fic where I felt like I really "stuck" the landing. I was quite flexible with my original outline, but I still knew where the journey ended. It ended exactly how I wanted it too - happily but with a bitter-sweet note.

The emotional core of this story is how Elena, family matriach, who is so gruff and no-nonsense, who despises Hector in the films, and who has such a warm heart under such a grumpy exterior would slowly soften and come to love Hector, (and how she grows as a person because of this and becomes more comfortable showing love/emotions to her family). It was like a platonic slow-burn as she learns to understand Hector better - which is why this bit is my favourite because it's where she starts to really feel fond of him for the first time:

“Well, I'm just glad I'm a better teacher for him than watching old Ernesto De La Cruz movies.” Héctor had replied with a wry smile. “It's probably because I'm so much more handsome than that butt-chinned, over-the-top ham.”

“Because you're a pointy-chinned, over-the-top ham?” Elena replied, feeling surprising witty. She never made teasing jokes like this normally, but it was so easy with Héctor.

He looked mock-offended. “I'll have you know, my chin is wonderful and I've given it to several of your grandchildren, so there.”

If Elena was a different person, she probably would have pulled Héctor into a warm, laughing hug then. She might have told him seriously that Miguel had always been difficult for her. He felt things so strongly and got so upset and emotional – she'd always struggled with how to help him, how to calm him. Miguel was so happy now. She knew that was because of Héctor.

She might have told Héctor that he was at least six thousand times the musician, eight thousand times the teacher, and ten thousand times the man that Ernesto De La Cruz was.

But Elena was who she was.

Instead she said “Idiot,” and ruffled his stupidly messy hair rather fondly.

She told herself she wasn't warming to the fool musician, but she knew it was a lie.

GOOD BOY:

My current work. It's another platonic slow-burn, but this time set in the Cobra Kai universe with son and father pair - Robby Keene and Johnny Lawrence. In the show, these two characters have such a dysfunctional relationship that is so full of miscommunications and missed chances, and they genuinely want a better relationship (and it would be so healing for both of them! Do not get me started!) I lean much more into the magical realism in this story, as I turned Robby into a dog (Animal transformation - PIXAR's Brave style), so that he could immediately get the cuddles and easy affection he so clearly needs.... because I have never seen a more touch/affection-starved character aside from Zuko in ATLA.

This also gave Robby a chance to really understand, not only his father, but the other people in his cicrcle. He discovered he had a support network. He got to know he was loved by many. he got to witness the actions people would take as they searched for human-him (not knowing that he'd been turned into a dog). And it gave Johnny a chance to learn how to take care of something, feel needed, and express his love for his son without the weight of their complicated history/his own trauma hanging over him. It was hard to pick a favourite, but I will say the Johnny-stream-of-conciousness chapters are definitely the easiest/most fun to write. One of my favourite bits is in the first one, The queen of ice-cream runaway when Johnny tells Robby about when Laura (his grandmother) found out Shannon was pregnant and she was going to be a grandmother.

It's the first inkling Robby gets that while his father wasn't there for him and he was neglected a lot, Johnny did his best to keep the bad shit from his own childhood away from Robby as his own way of showing care. It hints at the deep and damaging abuse Johnny endured. When he finally had a say with his own kid, he would have done anything to protect Robby from feeling the same. I'd say here is where Robby really begins to warm to his Dad;

Then I told her our chosen name and she said I was a dumbass and Swayze was a terrible middle name, and we had to change it to some shit like Alastair or something. She thought he should have a rich sounding middle name. And I say Mom, Alastair sounds like some lame-ass insurance broker who upskirts his secretary and then cries as he jerks off to the pictures, what else you got? She thought Sebastian, and that was worse! What a pussy name.  Sebastian is going to be sitting in the little french patisserie cafe drinking the tiny-ass coffee for dolls and eating the éclair with his prissy finger tips. I already want to kick Sebastian's ass. Who wouldn’t? I’m not going to give my kid a name that is going to get his ass kicked.

And she couldn't talk, cause she named me after Johnny Cash, just cause she liked his music. And she couldn't think of a middle name at the time, so I didn't get one. Thank goodness. I could have ended up Johnny Alastair and had to kick my own ass.

So Swayze stayed.

Then she mentions how she and Sid can help out, so I didn't need to do the two jobs, stupidly long hours thing. And we need the money. I know we need the money. But my whole body froze and I just went No. None of that for little Robby Swayze. ...

... She’s going on about spending Sid’s money on Robby and I just...I can’t. I can't allow it. Cause I knew how he would be, and the way he would treat that kid. So I tell her, no thank you. Not a fucking cent mom.  Sid’s not getting to feel like he owns a hair on Robby’s head. That motherfucker can go jump. You thought we needed Sid’s money when I was a kid. You decided it was better for me, and that was your choice. I did not get a vote in that. But this is my kid, and this time it is my call, and I am choosing no. I’m not going to have Sid make my kid feel like he has to apologise for existing every day. I'm not going to have Sid treat my kid the way he treated me. I will never need money that badly. I will never put my kid through that. I'll work myself to the bone doing 20 hour days before that. I'll work on the 40th floor without a harness before that.  I will sell my fucking organs before it comes to that. Not a cent mom.

WORST PRISONER:

My 'what if Zuko made friends with the Gaang early on?" AU that then turned into a three-book long saga (and I will return to it, Worst Prisoner readers - Thank you for you patience). It does have evenutal Zutara, but the focus is really on the Gaang + Zuko as a whole, and all the interpersonal relationships. I'd say there is more gen-shipping around Zuko as a central character, as Iroh & Zuko, and Sokka & Zuko are both given equal prominence. in fact, all the friendships and familial relationships were equally important to me. (the book 3 Zuko & Azula stuff is so interesting, but it is ...less funny I guess.)

This fic is such a joy to write, and I really try and balance the humour with the bittersweet/sad parts, and one of the main sources of humor was the Sokka-Aang-Zuko -Katara qudrangle of dumbassery. I love the four of them together in book 1, and so many of their interactions were a hoot to write. But if I'd have to pick a favourite moment, it would be the moment in the deserter chapter in book 1, where they all decide to 'officially' be friends:

“Well, you can figure that out and find someone while I'm up in the Northern Water Tribe. Then when we finish up there, we'll come find you,” Aang offered.

“Really?” Zuko’s eyes were shining optimistically. It was a strange expression for him. Aang was so used to seeing him with a grumpy face.

“Really, I promise,” Aang said, feeling so glad that he could help Zuko go home.

“Yeah, I second that. If this means we won’t have to put up with you chasing us, I am in!” Sokka said. “Sheesh, you could have just asked ages ago!”

“You know, this means I was right,” Aang started to say, feeling very vindicated. The others looked at him curiously. “If we had just talked about friendship in the forest, we could have sorted this out weeks ago!”

“Boo, forest friendship!” Sokka said.

“Don't boo him,” Katara admonished, elbowing her brother.

“I agree with Sokka. There's no way I would have appreciated that speech weeks ago, Aang,” Zuko said.

Sokka smiled at Zuko for saying he agreed with him. It actually wasn't that rare of an occurrence, but it still seemed to surprise Sokka every time.

“See, Aang, forest friendship is bullshit,” Sokka said.

“I didn't say that!” Zuko cut in. “I just meant, maybe … I had to be dragged all over the Earth Kingdom by you guys ... and shot ... and taken to nonsense fortune tellers ... and I had to be forced to eat Sokka's truly terrible and disgusting cooking—”

“Oi!”

“—and I had listen to Aang lecture me about friendship and vegetarianism in the forest just so I could come here.” He looked around at the deserters’ camp site. “I dunno, maybe it was meant to be this way.”

“What are you saying? You want to be forest friends with Aang now?” Sokka asked accusingly.

“I mean, sure. If Aang will have me, we can be friends,” Zuko said, and looked uncertain.

“Yay! I knew you'd want to be my friend,” Aang said, feeling delighted.

He was so happy he had a Fire Nation friend again. Kuzon had been an amazing friend, even though he'd gotten Aang into so many sticky situations. He had already thought Zuko was his friend, but it was nice to make it official. Aang always knew the Fire Nation had good people in it too, and now he had been proven right. He jumped up and gave Zuko a huge hug.

[bluezey]

I noticed that ercole looks older then giulia Luca and Alberto like around 17 or 18 ish in my opinion what would the townsfolk react to finding out he is older then supposed to and lied about his age to win and get the prize money for himself I kinda want to see karma bite him in the butt

I think it did cause he now has a similar fate as Ernesto de la Cruz, forever despised by everyone. Except, you know, Ercole didn't have to kill someone, though he did try!

I also think he's a little like Gaston from Beauty and the Beast: he's pompous, he's selfish, he's all about fame and glory, he bullies his way to get what he wants, and at the end of the movie he basically became a crazed psychopath that was willing to murder.

[cinderacequeen]

Héctor being overprotective is good, but also consider: his grandkids being protective over him. The Riveras are a very tightly knit group, after all.

Tiny Miguelito football tackled Ernesto to get him away from his Mamá Imelda. 

Even while being held hostage and knew antagonizing the bad guy was the last thing he should be doing, he called out Ernesto for murdering his Papá Héctor and stealing his songs, so we know that Miguel has this same overprotectiveness!

There’s no doubt in my mind that he and the rest of Papá Héctor’s beloved grandbabies would stick up for him, even if he believes he doesn’t deserve to be protected. His grandkids form the ultimate Héctor Protection Squad!

Most likely there’s some irate de la Cruz fans still around in the Lands of the Dead and Living who don’t want to believe their idol is even capable of murdering anyone, that he has had amazing talent all along, and that the Riveras are just slandering his reputation out of jealousy or for attention.

Miguel, Rosa, and Abel defend their great-great grandfather’s legacy vehemently. They deny these accusations, saying that their Papá Héctor was the one who has had everything stolen from him by that overhyped butt-chin (they’re the ones who started spreading that nickname around- though the adults had a much more colorful name-and it definitely found it’s way across the marigold bridge).

They get ridiculed and teased, even threatened but they stand firmly together with the rest of their family, tall and strong, as they continue dispersing the truth and making sure their ancestor’s story and legend is heard loud and clear. 

Meanwhile, Papá Héctor is out one day with Victoria, doing some shopping and bonding with her. It doesn’t take long for them to come across a group of scathing Ernesto supporters. Victoria bristles when they approach them, ready for a fight but her abuelito, bless his pure and pacifist heart, calmly takes her by the hand to lead her away with a soft, “Come, mija.” She’s reluctant but follows anyway, throwing glares at the group.

However, when their backs are turned, one of them picks up a large rock. They chuck it hard. It hits Papá Héctor in the back of the head, dislodging his skull. He trips as he fumbles for it and falls into the dirt. Victoria shakes off the shock of the attack, crying out and rushes to check on her grandfather.

Papá Héctor is emotionally hurt, of course-it was to be expected so soon after Ernesto’s downfall-but he puts on a brave face for his nieta, not wanting to make a big deal about it, making things worse, and getting her involved. 

He’s dealt with much of this sort of behavior when he was one of The Forgotten for 96 years, so he was willing to put up with it again. His tactic was just to ignore them and carry on with his day.

However, being away for so long from his family made him forget that the Riveras-especially the women-do not back down so easily if one of their own is being pushed around. 

Before Papá Héctor knew it, Victoria is yanking off her boot and whacking as many of the culprits as hard and fast as she could while yelling slurs and insults at them. 

They were not expecting this sudden and terrifying onslaught of perfectly crafted leather bludgeoning their skulls. They’re screaming, trying to defend themselves and trying to pull Victoria away but she’s quick to whack anyone who dares touch her. 

Papá Héctor is on his feet, watching the spectacle with wide eyes and a slack jaw. He feels like he should be the responsible adult and step in to break up the fight before his Viquita gets hurt, but he sees that she has the situation completely under her control. Warmth floods through him.

No one has ever done such a thing for him, at least not since he met Chicharrón, who had protected him with as much spitfire from prejudice from The Remembered. To see such avid determination from his own kin to protect him brings tears to skele-dad’s eyes.

Soon enough, the group manages to break away from Victoria’s wrath, fleeing with her swearing after them that she’ll do it again if they so much as looks at her grandfather the wrong way.

She’s out of breath, trembling with anger, and some of her hair has come loose from her bun. She rights her crooked glasses before tugging her boot back on, sending a final glare at the retreating backs of the group.

A comforting hand falls upon her shoulder. Papá Héctor is beside her, looking at her with utter admiration and pride. He’s still teary eyed as he brushes a strand from his Vico’s forehead, kissing it.

“Mija, that was increíble! Are you okay?” 

Victoria rolls her eyes, letting him be the mother hen now as he checks her over. “I’m fine, abuelito. I can’t say the same for those cabróns, though. I might have actually cracked a skull or two...or five.”

Papá Héctor chuckles, finishing his check-over then pulling her against his chest. He peppers her face with more kisses. “You really are your Mamá Imelda’s granddaughter, mijita. But you didn’t have to go through all of that just for me. You could’ve got hurt.”

“But I didn’t,” Victoria shrugged. “Besides, I couldn’t let them just get away with treating you with such disrespect. They’re blinded by their misplaced loyalty in that pendejo-”

“Language, Victoria.”

“Papá Héctor, you just heard me say “cabróns”.”

“Yes, but pendejo is much worse and you’re my angelita querida cielito, much too young to be using such vulgar language.”

“I’m 45, a little more than twice your age, a grown woman.” Victoria deadpanned.

“Not to me,” Papá Héctor smirked, planting another kiss on his granddaughter’s hairline. “You will always be my baby girl, as will your Mamá. I may have died at 21, but I am technically 118 years old so I’m allowed to baby my children and grandchildren, no matter how old they get!” He hugged her tightly, making her giggle.

“If you insist. As I was saying, those...ratas...are just stuck in their mindset that Ernesto could do no wrong. I’m only glad Miguel didn’t turn out to be like them, such a bright boy he is.”

Papá Héctor hummed nostalgically, remembering his precious chamaco,the wild adventure they shared, and how he was the reason he was standing here, well remembered and reunited with his family. He owed so much to that tiny blessing.

 “And whether you think so or not, Papá Héctor, you are a part of this family. Don’t mention that I told you this, but Mamá Imelda and I have been discussing with the rest of the family. She wants to initiate you as patriarch.”

This snapped him out of his reverie. Papá Héctor gawked at Victoria, eyeballs about ready to pop out of their sockets. “P-patriarch?”

“Sí! This means that Abuelita is beginning to trust you again and believes you are ready to take your rightful place amongst the family!”

Her grandfather looks like he’s about to cry again. With a broad, toothy grin that made his gold tooth flash, he leaps into the air with a joyous grito; his torso, skull, and legs spun individually in his excitement. He landed before grabbing his granddaughter, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug, kissing her face again.

Victoria laughs, hugging him back tightly, though not as tight as he was. “You didn’t hear it from me! But...!” Papá Héctor held her at arm’s length, wincing a bit a the ‘but’, worrying what would come next.

“Even if you’re the patriarch, that doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to protect you, too. Families stick together and protect one another; it is not a trait given to just one individual. So if anyone gives you grief like earlier, you tell any of us-”

“-but I don’t want confrontation, Viquita.”

Victoria gave him an incredulous stare. “You really expect Mamá Imelda to just idly sit by while someone hurts her loved ones?”

“Por supuesto que, no, pero-”

“Then what makes you think she will when you get hurt? There’s no use in trying to hide things from her. Abuelita will find out and she’ll be more than happy to give them more than a couple whacks with her boot! 

Please, Abuelito. You’ve been through so much in life and death. It’s not fair what Ernesto did to you or how you’ve been treated by society because of his actions. You’ve suffered for far too long. Please let us make things up to you and let us take care of you. Let us protect you.”

Papá Héctor wasn’t used to having people do things for him, at least not without a bargain or expecting something in return. However, looking into his granddaughter’s steely eyes told him that he wouldn’t be getting out of this conversation unless he agreed.

Sighing in resignation, he rubbed his forehead. He then nodded, his mouth curving into a small smile. “Alright, querida. You win. You protect me and I protect you.”

“That’s how it works, tonto,” Victoria smirked playfully, lightly punching his arm

Papá Héctor feigned injury with a dramatic “Ouch” before wrapping the same arm around her shoulder, leading her away to resume their errand. He sung merrily the whole time with Victoria pretending to be embarrassed.

[im-fairly-whitty]

Do you have any idea what Hogwarts houses the Coco characters would be in?

I have dabbled a little in Harry Potter x Coco, including a Miguel sorting hat comic I made for it.

As far as who would be in what house, it’s important to remember that it’s not just what people do that identifies their house, but why they do it.

Ernesto: Acts for glory and personal pride, the need for attention. Is willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish his goals, even is it means murdering his best friend. Painfully obvious Slytherin.

Imelda: Another obvious Slytherin, but a positive one. She operates out of sheer determination and pure spite when she’s supposedly been left by her husband to raise a child alone. She is also willing to do whatever she has to in order to accomplish her goals, whether that means learning an entire trade and creating a business from scratch (something that takes the kind of smarts that only a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw would have), or strictly banning music from her entire family forever. (A spiteful overreaction that only a Slytherin would do.)

Miguel: Another Slytherin. Again, if we resist the urge to automatically classify any and all main/heroic characters as Gryffindor, the signs of Slytherin shine through clear and strong. Miguel is a boy with big dreams and big goals, and he’s not afraid to break every rule to reach them, going against pretty much every authority in his life along the way. He goes against his family’s centuries-old music ban to teach himself guitar, is clever and determined enough to build himself an instrument out of scrap, yells at his family when he’s confronted about his music habits, runs off, breaks into a crypt, and steals a very expensive guitar.

Once he’s in the Land of the Dead he butts heads with Imelda, runs off again, lies to Hector to get his help, and generally continues to sneak around, lie, and fake his way into parties on the sly to try and get to De la Cruz. Later these some skills are used to sneak them into the Sunrise Spectacular and then bodily force his way past Mama Elena to reach Mama Coco in order to save Hector. He’s a good kid, but his craftiness and determination peg him as a grade A Slytherin of the very best kind. (A Gryffindor would be more concerned about “doing the right thing,” where Miguel is instead more worried about getting what he wants.)

Hector: Definitely Hufflepuff. It’s true that in the Land of the Dead he’s got quite a criminal record, but every time he tries to sneak past the bridge agents or lies to try and get what he needs it’s in an attempt to get to his daughter. Hector fails a lot, but he’s a very very hard worker at everything he does, giving it 110% even when things look hopeless, never giving up even when everyone around him has. He cared about music, but his family came first when he tried to leave Ernesto behind. In the Land of the Dead it’s not the theft of his music that gets him angry (which would have been a motivation of personal pride/honor/ambition), it’s that Ernesto took away his chance of ever seeing his family again (love). 

So there’s my take on the main four, lots of green and a little yellow. 

Man, when are we going to get some good old Ravenclaw representation around here…

[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

[ichaisme]

Coco: Still They Linger

Note: I have not been able to shake my Coco obsession yet, so the only good course of action HAS to be fanfic, right? Continuation of the movie where Miguel can still see the dead come next dia de muertos. I would appreciate any and all commentary on my writing, good or bad! It’s been like... 5 years since the last time I wrote a fanfic, so I gotta get my butt back in gear. This first chapter establishes the problem within the context of the end of the movie. All following chapters are beyond it.

The first time Miguel realized anything was amiss was the next Día de Muertos. The dead didn’t really have many opportunities to come back to the land of the living besides that, after all. They did the usual: set out offerings on the ofrenda, spread the petals, visited Mamá Imelda’s grave… and there it happened. The first of the dead began to cross.

Miguel found the trip rather bittersweet now. The visit itself took on a new meaning now that he knew Imelda herself could witness it… but it hurt knowing Hector couldn’t. They didn’t even know if Ernesto de la Cruz gave him the kindness of a grave, if he simply dumped him in a dark alley, or buried him in a shallow hole that didn’t deserve the title of ‘grave’. Worst of all, they couldn’t remedy it. Miguel would have to die before he’d get the opportunity to ask about WHERE it happened (not that he would even dare. The poor man didn’t need the reminder). He was so lost in his unusually quiet reflection that he didn’t notice the skeletons at first, but as they passed, the all too familiar orange glow drew his gaze… and he couldn’t stop staring. Unconsciously he reached to grab his abuelita’s arm, in silent reassurance that no, he wasn’t seeing things. He was still here in the land of the living… and yet… there THEY were. Visible. It seemed the dead hadn’t yet forgotten him either. The couple he stared at soon realized they were the targets of his gaze.

“You can still SEE us, niño…?” The man asked. Miguel gave them a slight nod, eyes widening in shock. As the pair murmured worriedly between them, Elena broke his silence.

“What’s wrong, Miguel?”

He jumped a bit, “Oh! Abuelita… I just… I miss her.” Her expression softened, and she gave his hand a light squeeze as she stifled tears.

“I do too. But that is why we have Día de Muertos! She can see we are happy and healthy and take our offerings.”

“Right…”

Already his attention drifted, desperately searching the crowd of incoming skeletons for one in particular. One that, in the weeks leading up, he’d been praying had survived. Miguel almost glanced over him entirely in his search when he arrived. Hector… He looked good! Great even! His bones no longer looked sickly yellow and held together in places by tape. The markings on his face were bright and lively. His clothes were modified and patched so that they looked almost new… even his walking had improved. Now he understood why he’d been so embarrassed by him imitating his gait before. Imelda and Coco walked on either side of him, and he seemed… so happy.

It almost pained him to catch his attention. Still, they had to know. What if something from the curse still lingered somehow? He tossed his head back towards town, making sure he caught the meaning before standing.

“Abuelita, I’m not feeling very well, lo siento… I’ll be right back.”

“Be quick. Día de Muertos is a time for family.”

He nodded and left the cemetery.

               For the first time in many, many years, Hector didn’t have a scheme.  His family waited for him on the other side of the gate, just as nervous for the result as he was. Coco, his darling daughter, told him she’d kept his head from the torn photo Miguel had shown him. Theoretically, there should be nothing to worry about. He should show up on the database, on the ofrenda for the first time in over 90 years, and he should be able to cross.

Should.

The lack of certainty is what scared him the most. The guard gave him a wary look as he approached with his hat in his hands, trying to figure out his angle. He always had one. Yet… this time, he just stood there, signature awkward smile on his face as it scanned him. The quiet gasp and affirmative bing! From the computer told him everything he needed to know. He could barely hear her congratulations, and everything up until he stepped on the marigold bridge passed in a happy blur. That very first step solidified it. This was happening. He was crossing the bridge, not futilely sinking through it. Seeing Santa Cecilia again… it was a dream come true.

Admittedly, the dream wavered slightly at the immediate sight of the massive monolith that was Ernesto’s mausoleum. Imelda scowled at it, but as they walked around the edge to reach her grave, they noticed the wooden FORGET YOU hung around his bust’s neck. Hector felt a small pang of satisfaction. Of course, Ernesto wouldn’t be forgotten, but… it did make him feel a little better that he wouldn’t get the satisfaction of a well-loved remembrance. He didn’t realize he’d been staring until Coco tugged lightly on his arm. He gave her a smile and a kiss on the forehead before they moved on.

               While Hector didn’t recognize anyone but Miguel around Imelda’s grave, Coco happily filled him in.

“Oh, papá! Look, there is my daughter Elena next to Miguel, and Miguel’s parents Luisa and Enrique, and oh, so cute… it’s baby Socorro!” She kept pointing and naming names, Hector smiling and trying to commit the names and faces to memory. He had a lot to catch up on… but he also had a lot of time to remember them now. Once he’d been acquainted with the entire visiting family, he let his attention wander to Miguel. He didn’t look at all different appearance-wise, and—

Oh, dios mío, what is he staring at?

It seemed like he was looking right at him, but that was impossible! The curse was broken, he was CLEARLY grabbing… Elena’s? arm… He looked behind him, but really the only thing remotely interesting was Ernesto’s mausoleum up the way.

/Hector./ The man’s eyes widened as Miguel mouthed his name and gestured towards town before leaving.

“Aw, Miguelito doesn’t feel well..” Rosita tutted, but Hector shook his head.

“He can see us.” All the chatter from the other dead relatives came to a stop, staring at Hector in shock.

“…That’s not possible,” Imelda said sternly. “If he could still see us, then we didn’t break the curse.”

“Imelda, he mouthed my name and gestured for me to follow him! He can see us, I’m sure of it.”

Oscar grimaced, “The man at the department of family reunions did say..”

“..’more or less’,” Felipe finished. “There could be some…”

“Side effects.”

Hector sighed, “Then I’m going after him.”

               He ran after Miguel before they could give further argument. To his surprise, he heard footsteps behind him, and a glance soon told him that Imelda decided to follow. While they weren’t far behind, he decided the best way to figure out if Miguel could see them was to actually speak to him.

“Ey, Chamaco, espere!”

Much to Imelda’s shock, he did slow down and wait for them to catch up. All doubt vanished from her mind once he turned to face them.

“Oh good, you actually came…” Miguel said in relief. “So, I can still you! That’s… good? Bad?”

“We don’t know,” Hector admitted. “Has anything else been weird with you since that night?”

He shook his head, “No… I mean, I haven’t grown any, but I just haven’t hit my growth spurt yet. Maybe I should be taking ‘vitamins’ more seriously…”

Hector groaned, pinching where the bridge of his nose would be. “…Who did Oscar and Felipe say told you about the curse before, Imelda?”

“The man in the department of family reunions.”

“Then that’s who we need to see.”

Miguel grimaced, “…Do we have to? Papá Hector, it’s your first Día de Muertos with your family again… Can’t it wait?” The reminder gave him pause, and he gave Imelda a nervous look. She considered their options, then gave a curt nod.

“He’s gone a year so far and he’s fine. A couple more hours won’t hurt.”

               They enjoyed their time watching their family (and Hector certainly enjoyed Miguel’s wonderful performance… and his mariachi uniform); by the end, he’d nearly forgotten about Miguel’s little problem. When Miguel went to bed and gave them all a wave and a murmured goodbye, however, he was reminded of what they had to do.

Next stop: Department of Family Reunions.

[grandpas-and-grunkles]

hHhHH