#Oscar and Felipe Rivera

[myhusbandwouldplay]

Can we talk about this for a minute????

The way Hector motions to the family to get behind him and puts his hand out to protect them is *chef's kiss*. He's already taking the role of Patriarch of the family. 🥹

Also, how he's at the front, being the leader and ready to jump in if De La Cruz lays a finger on Imelda. 🥺💜

The twins looking out for each other is everything to me. I don't know which one is which, but one of them pulling the other back broke me. It was so sweet! 😭😭😭

This gif is everything to me. It shows how much the family loves each other and how they look out for one another. 🧡

[enigmatist17]

Bruno had awoken in the middle of the night with a vision so clear it had sent him crashing to the floor from his bed.

Two men in a village not far from Encanto, one longing for the family he loves while the other watches with a heart stained black with greed. A toast, poison-laced tequila that takes away a man who only wanted to return home, a red book filled with music that would make his career span the world.

Judging by the tablet that lay splayed beside Bruno, this would happen and happen soon. Despite never having braved the world for a vision of a non-Encanto native, Bruno's heart broke for the man who would be taken too soon, unable to spread the joy his music most likely did. After knock knock knock knock knocking on his wooden floor, Bruno decided to do something estúpido, not one to ignore a gut feeling as he packed a small travel bag and snuck out of Casita. Encanto must have known of his vision, as a horse was awaiting the nervous clairvoyant only a few feet from the back entrance, the two heading towards a path that the Miracle opened for him.

Well, if that wasn't a sign this man was already welcome in the town, Bruno couldn't tell you otherwise.

It took him a day and a half to reach the town he'd only heard of due to Agustín and his family when they had joined their town. Bruno was already exhausted from being so far from his home, but one look at the tablet he'd hurriedly stuffed in his bag steeled his resolve.

Sí, you can do this, Bruno.

Being an obvious outsider, Bruno gets a few looks, but everyone seems pleasant enough when he inquires about a few musicians. It's a bit of a change that he's not ashamed to bask in, the usual whispers and glares from those who had dubbed him el malvado brujo Bruno far away for now. It's nearing dusk when Bruno finally spies the two men from the vision; the broader man of the duo is laughing about something while the taller man just smiles at his supposed friend. He had heard the last of their show when he approached the square they'd performed in, hanging back to ensure he could spot them from the crowd.

Friend indeed.

Wringing his hands, Bruno watches the two head for a room they were sharing, where poisoned tequila most likely sat. Knocking on the wooden bench beside him for good luck, the clairvoyant made his move, waiting for the two to pass where he stood before clearing his throat and heading for the broader man.

"Eh, Señor?"

"Hola, how can I help you?" The potential killer raised an eyebrow but smiled, and for a moment, Bruno could see how he'd hid his greed.

"Lo siento, but my hermana watched your performance tonight, and was too shy to speak with you afterward..."

"Oh?" The man looked flattered, his taller friend rolling his eyes playfully. "Is your hermana still around, perchance?"

"Sí sí, by the fountain across town. Figured it would give her time to breathe and calm down, no?" Bruno chuckled, pointing the opposite way they were facing. "Would you do me the honor of speaking to her?"

"I could never turn down such a request, and I promise to bring her home before too long."

"Good, or I'll have words." Bruno forced a laugh, and the man handed off his guitar to his friend before hurrying off without a backward glance.

"Ah Ernesto, never one to turn from a pretty woman." Bruno gave an awkward smile that faded the moment this Ernesto was gone.

"We must hurry, before he realizes my lie." The man blinked at that, frowning at Bruno, who had begun heading for his room. "Come, come, we must get your things."

"What are you talking about? Why did you lie to my friend?" The musician didn't start walking, and the slightly hunched-over man in a green ruana looked back at him with a panicked look.

"Please, I will explain, but we must move."

"I'm not going anywhere until you speak to me, Ernesto is my friend, not someone to be afraid of."

"He plans to kill you." The musician's eyes went wide at that, before narrowing in anger.

"That is ridiculous, he is mi amigo!" The ruana clad man ran a hand through his curly hair with a shake of his head, and dread settles in the bottom of his stomach at the certainty in his gaze.

"I will explain, but he knows you want to return home to your familiar, and cannot let that happen. You write the music, the music he needs, and nothing will stand in his way." Desperation drips from nearly every word as they stand in the street, and Bruno hopes the other will finally listen to him. "We must go, please."

"I..." Bruno watches the musician turn to look where Ernesto had gone, and something must have clicked, as he turns back to the seer with an expression he can't place. "...come, our room isn't far."

Ernesto returns to a half-cleared room an hour later, a single piece of paper lying on what had been his friend's bed.

I hope you make it without me

His enraged yell echoed throughout the town, far behind where Bruno and the man he still didn't know the name of rode off on his horse.

---

"So...you see the future."

"Sí."

"And it told you Ernesto would kill me?"

"Sí."

"And you left your magical village to save me?"

"Sí."

"...and you didn't even know my name?"

"Sí."

"....why?"

"....I don't know."

"...huh." Not the most stimulating conversation Héctor had ever had, but it was definitely the strangest. If he hadn't been running on no sleep for the last day as he and his mysterious savior had ridden for the next town's train station, Héctor would have imagined a night of heavy drinking would be responsible for such a strange hallucination. Now, here they were, sharing a small room for the night while Héctor tried to think of what to do next, after making it home of course.

Save for the fact he held a glowing tablet in his hands, what would have been his corpse splayed in the street while Ernesto walked away with his guitar.

"Do...would you like me to get rid of that?" The ruana-wearing man, no Bruno, wrung his hands nervously, clearly regretting showing Héctor the vision of his death. Without a word Héctor held out the tablet, eyes going wide as it turned into sand the moment Bruno touched it, the strange man's eyes glowing the same green.

"What was that?" Héctor leaned forward in his seat in curiosity, frowning slightly when Bruno seemed surprised at the tone.

"My...Gift uses sand, I-I usually reuse it like that." Bruno had sat on top of the single table in the room, eyes still glowing as he made the sand float up off the floor and onto the hand he held out.

"That is amazing! Can everyone do this in your magic town?"

"Eh n-no, no it's only mi familia who have Gifts." Bruno knocked on the table after depositing the sand within his ruana, before shaking his head with a soft smile. "Um, y-you'll see when you come to Encanto..."

"What?" Héctor blinked, and watched as Bruno cursed under his breath. "My family is back in México, I must return..."

"There...lo siento, you're right." Bruno winced, trying not to fidget too hard at the soft smile sent his way. "I forget the world is so big sometimes, you know?"

"I would if I lived in a magic town!" Héctor laughed, sitting forward a little bit more. "So, tell me of this Encanto, we have time."

So Bruno does, keeping the worst bits of the town's reception of his particular powers to himself while regaling Héctor of the town and family he loved so dearly. They share a drink and laugh until the sun rises, and the distant noise of Héctor's train grows louder with each moment it comes closer. Bruno susses out the train and its occupants to ensure Ernesto isn't to be found, both he and Héctor relieved the undoubtedly angry man was nowhere to be seen. Despite his polite refusal, Bruno gifted Héctor a small compass that didn't appear to point anywhere specific alongside a small map.

"I-If you and your familia ever want to come visit, this will show you the way." The musician smiled and gave his new friend a small hug, parting when the train rang out for last call. "Travel safe and lowkey."

"You as well, and make sure you rest when you get home!" Bruno gave a smile that wasn't full of anxiety, and waved to Héctor as he ran for his car and hopped on, waving back before going to get settled in for his journey.

It had been nice to sit and talk with someone who enjoyed his presence, and Bruno hoped his new friend would make his way home safely as he rode back for Encanto. A fuming Mamá and his hermanas nearly tackled Bruno off his borrowed horse the moment he rode into view of Casita, distressed he had vanished for three days, but equally as relieved to see him unharmed. It takes a few tries to get them all to settle down long enough to tell them why he'd gone in such a hurry, but once they learn the tale of betrayal, they calm down slightly.

"He seems like he would have been a good fit for the Encanto." Mamá patted his shoulder as Julieta stress-baked a fresh meal for Bruno, Pepa sitting by the doorway in case he tried to run.

Oh no, one adventure beyond the mountains was enough.

"Sí, we don't have many musicians." After a lunch where Bruno felt more hostage than anything else, life in Encanto returned to its regular beat.

That is, until about seven months later, when Pepa came rushing into the town square, going for a special bell that was barely rung these days. It signified newcomers that the Miracle had accepted, ones in desperate need of aid. There were plans in place when the townsfolk heard the noise, Julieta leading the search party of nearly a dozen with a wagon and some of her emergency healing food up and into the hills. They find a group of five struggling over the crest of the magical mountains that hid Encanto from the world, all drenched to the bone from the storm that raged past its borders that usually appeared to hide those unknowingly seeking safety. The man leading the group held a familiar token in his hands, stopping short when they crossed into a sunny valley that wasn't there a second ago, standing protectively in front of the other three behind him when they saw the welcoming party.

"W-Who are you?"

"We're not here to harm you, you're safe now." Julieta stepped forward with her arms slightly raised, the ragged group staying together in uncertainty. "The compass, it led you here because you needed our help."

"I...Bruno gave it to me?" The man blinked, his wife moving to steady him as his shoulders slumped in relief. "Do you know him?"

"I should hope so, he's my hermano." Julieta smiled, motioning for two of the townsfolk behind her to step forward. "Come, your journey is at an end."

"Do you have a blanket? Mi hija's is soaked."

"We have some for all of you, allow us." The four-and-a-half-year-old girl who had been held by one of the twin males behind the couple was grateful for a soft blanket that wasn't wet, cooing to her tío as they were led to the wagon to finally rest. The wagons the family had traveled with were on their last legs, both riddled with marks that showed they'd been attacked more than once on their journey, and preparations were made to bring everything into town once they returned for more hands. For now, the mules they'd been hitched to were released and taken for treatment as the family was loaded up and carried to Casita, clearly relieved to be safe and sound. A red-headed woman was waiting for them beside a man who seemed to be her husband, rocking her infant as they awaited the newcomers, an older woman standing beside her with a reassuring smile as the ragtag group piled out of the wagon once it had stopped.

"Welcome to the Encanto. My name is Alma Madrigal, and let me be the second to welcome you to our home."

"I can't believe this is real.." The tallest member of the group mumbled, offering his hand when Alma approached him.

"I assure you, it is Señor?" Her hand was warm in his, and it took a moment for his exhausted brain to catch up.

"Héctor Rivera, along with my wife Imelda and her hermanos Óscar and Felipe, and mi mija Coco." Alma shook all of their hands, and gently rubbed the top of the exhausted toddler's head with a fond smile.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet the man my hijo spoke of, but there will be time for that later. Come, you look in need of a hot meal and plenty of sleep, and we will tend to all of that for you." Alma smiled, motioning for the younger woman behind her. "Pepa, would you show them the way?"

"Sí, follow me." She gave them a warm smile, and the Rivera family filed into the massive home in considerably higher spirits than they'd had in a long time.

---

The magic house, er Casita, had been kind enough to do most of the work for the newcomers, entertaining Coco with moving floor tiles while all the adults washed up and changed into clean clothes after caring for her first. Seeing furniture and clothing come from thin air was...a lot to get used to, but after eating a hot meal, they all passed out in the guest bedroom with the slightest nudge. Héctor woke up at some point, checking over his family before deciding a glass of water wouldn't hurt, carefully sneaking out of bed and past his brother-in-law's without making a sound.

"Er...house? Casita? Where is the kitchen?" For a moment, nothing happened, but soon some of the floor tiles began to flip over, forming a line down the hallway. "Oh...gracias." Héctor slowly traveled through the magic house as the aches and pains from long days traveling made themselves known, yawning as he turned a corner only to pause at the sound of some voices.

"- tea?"

"Sí, I don't think food would stay." Oh, that sounded like Bruno! Smiling at the thought of the strange friend he'd made, Héctor moved a little faster to the end of the hall, peering around the corner to see the massive kitchen a few feet away. Bruno was sitting on the floor propped up against some of the cabinets, his eyes glowing brighter than Héctor had seen a few months ago, rubbing his temples with a slight hiss. "They made it safely?"

"Sí, exhausted but only scrapes and bruises." Julieta paused her tea-making to run a hand through her brother's hair, earning a soft hum of contentment. "Héctor is very tall no?"

"Mhm, that was my first thought too." Bruno grinned, Julieta leaning down to hand him a fresh cup of tea. "Didn't see it in the vision."

"Mhm, I'm not surprised. Did your vision mention he's an eavesdropper, too?" Bruno looked up mid-sip as Héctor squeaked, revealing himself with an awkward wave.

"Lo siento, I had come for some water, and didn't want to interrupt." Julieta raised an eyebrow but motioned him to come in while fetching a pitcher. She was surprised to see he wasn't taken aback by Bruno's glowing eyes, the newcomers crouching down in front of him with a smile. "It's good to see you again!"

"Sí, although I saw you first." The clairvoyant whispered with a slightly amused look. "I-It's how the town knew you were coming."

"I did wonder, gracias for that. I don't think we could have gone much further, it's been a long few days." Bruno gave him a sympathetic look, reaching over to gently pat Héctor's arm. "You weren't kidding, your house really is magic."

"Did Casita start rocking the beds yet?" Bruno chuckled, the glow in his eyes fading as Julieta returned with some water. "Scared me when I was younger sometimes."

"No..." Héctor looked a bit nervous to hear that, accepting the cool glass and downing it in one go. "Gracias."

"Casita will behave...for now." The elder Madrigal chuckled, offering a hand to both men. "Now, everyone can use some sleep hm?"

"Yes mamá." Bruno scoffed as Héctor muffled a laugh, Julieta getting them up onto their feet with her own grin.

"Buenas noches, we'll catch up in the morning." Bruno patted Héctor's arm before heading for his room, Julieta tilting her head slightly.

"I've never seen his post-vision migraine clear so quickly, what did you do?"

"Eh, just talked with him." Héctor was a bit uncomfortable with the look that seemed to look to his very core, similar to the one his wife often did when he was estúpido about something, but just smiled as she finally slipped the pitcher into his hand. "Is he alright?"

"For now, but that's a conversation for another time. Buenas noches Héctor, don't be afraid to call if you need anything." Héctor nodded and followed Casita's trail back to his room, hoping his friend would get some rest.

Bruno watched him go from the second floor, relieved that once again, his vision had helped save someone, this time, especially someone he called a friend.

[dragoneyes618]

I keep thinking of an AU where Imelda died only a couple of months or years after Héctor did. So all that's left is Oscar and Felipe and Coco, and the twins aren't able to take care of Coco. They want to, but they're, like, teenagers, and there's no other family to help them. They don't have much money; they don't have steady jobs, only being hired by whoever needs any odd jobs done around town, or maybe they do but it doesn't pay enough. They don't know how to make shoes as well as Imelda did, they're not earning enough.

Now, the twins themselves would be fine. They can rent a room or live out of the inn or something. But they can't have that for Coco.

Coco needs a home. She needs proper nourishing food, she needs to have a place to live that won't keep changing all around town every couple of months, she needs toys and clothes, she needs people who'll be able to devote all their attention to her like her parents did. The twins aren't able to give her any of this, not at the moment with things as they are.

So they ask Ernesto care for her.

Sure, they haven't seen Ernesto ever since Héctor ran off on them a couple years ago, but he was Héctor's best friend, he knows Coco, he used to babysit her sometimes. Ernesto's not as famous yet as he will someday be, but he's pretty well known, so it's easy for the twins to track him down, and he has plenty of money, enough to easily afford to take care of a child, or hire caretakers, or whichever he does. Coco will always have enough to eat, a safe place to live, with someone familiar. It's not the same as her parents, of course, but it's the best they can do. They figure Ernesto will be able to care for her until they earn & save enough money to get on their feet and properly raise their niece. Hopefully it won't take too long.

Ernesto agrees to take Coco in. Not that he wants to, but of course his reputation is very important to him, and it'd look bad if he refused to care for his missing best friend's orphaned daughter. 

I haven't figured out yet if he ends up doting on her like a daughter because he feels guilty about Héctor, or if he avoids her as much as possible because she reminds him of Héctor, or if he's cruel to her because he's still angry at Héctor for leaving him (twice - the second time when he decided to go home, the first time when he married Imelda) or what.

On the plus side, at least Imelda and Héctor get to reconcile in death. Since Imelda died so soon after Héctor, maybe she was still holding out hope that he'd come home at the time, thinking he was sick or his letters had been mislaid or whatever she must have been thinking in canon when his letters first stopped. And she wouldn't have so many years of bitterness against him for leaving. So when she encounters him in the Land of the Dead she figures that some tragic accident must have befallen him on the road and Ernesto for some reason never told her (as opposed to in canon where when she saw Héctor after she died she probably thought he'd died twenty or thirty years after he'd left her and Coco or something).

[razoogm]

Rivera family ages (my HC)

Imelda: 76 (when she died)

Héctor: 21 (when he died)

Oscar and Felipe: 73 (when they died)

Julio: 85 (when he died)

Coco: 100 (when she died)

Rosita: 68 (when she died)

Victoria 51 (when she died)

Franco: 72/73

Elena: 70/71

Berto: 48/49

Carmen: 46/47

Enrique: 42/43

Gloria: 40/41

Luisa: 33/34

Abel: 19/20

Rosa: 14/15

Miguel: 12/13

Benny and Manny:4/5

Socorro: 10 months/1

[jartita-me-teneis]

"Los Olvidados" es considerada la cinta culpable del declive de la época de oro.

Estuvo sólo tres días en cartelera, la prensa y la clase alta estaban vueltas locas, querían quemar a Luis Buñuel y todo lo que oliera a él.

Era 1950 y el cine mexicano estaba en su esplendor , el cineasta español Luis Buñuel ya tenía éxito, pero estaba enamorado de nuestro país, grabada en Nonoalco, en lo que entonces eran los límites norteños de la Ciudad de México. Y tenía un propósito, una visión desgarradora de los niños de la calle en las grandes urbes; Aquellos de los que nadie habla, los que callan, los olvidados.

CINE

El poeta Octavio Paz escribió: “Pero Los Olvidados es algo´más que un filme realista. El sueño, el deseo, el horror, el delirio el azar, la porción nocturna de la vida, también tiene su parte. Y el peso de la realidad que nos muestra es de tal modo atroz, que acaba por parecernos imposible, insoportable. Y así es: la realidad es insoportable; y por eso, porque no la soporta, el hombre mata y muere, ama y crea”.

Su nombre original era "La Manzana Podrida" y en realidad, no tenía ningún nombre de peso, se tenía a Estela Inda, Miguel Inclán y Alfonso Mejía, además de un grupo de niños comandado por Roberto Cobo, un chico que había salido como extra en varias cintas y un día que audicionó para una película de Tin Tan se enteró que Buñuel estaba entrevistando para su nuevo filme, hizo la audición y se quedó con el rol de “El Jaibo”.

DORADO

Sin embargo, desde su inicio, la cinta tenía problemas, dentro y fuera. El productor Oscar Dancingers se opuso a que se incluyeran muchos detalles que resultaban amorales; Jorge Negrete, líder del Sindicato de Actores, quería evitar su grabación e instó a técnicos y camarógrafos a abandonarla; una de las peinadoras renunció por la escena en que la madre de Pedrito, le niega la comida.

Pedro de Urdimalas, escritor de la cinta al lado de Buñuel, pidió que su nombre no apareciera en los créditos y en la primera función privada que se hizo, Lupe Marí, esposa de Diego Rivera, y Bertha, esposa de León Felipe, reclamaron al director que era un miserable y lo que mostraba no era México. David Alfaro Siqueiros por su parte aplaudió el trabajo asegurando que Luis era un genio nacido para el cine.

MX

Los Olvidados era la primera producción sería de Luis Buñuel y quería hacerlo todo al máximo de sus posibilidades, la filmó en 21 días entre el 6 de febrero y el 9 de marzo de 1950, pero aunque la cinta es posiblemente una de las más galardonadas de su cine, él solo recibió dos mil dólares por ella y no pudo participar en las ganancias de la misma.

Ante las críticas, Buñuel respondió durante una entrevista que estaba orgulloso de su filme “La libertad total no existe, yo jamás he sido libre, yo soy libre cuando cierro mis ojos y estoy conmigo mismo sin que sepa que ya estoy viejo; El sistema de inconformidad es esa tendencia a romperse la cabeza por recuperar la propia libertad, lo que es imposible, es por tanto una inconformidad permanente de la realidad exterior”.

En los albores de los 50, el presidente mexicano Miguel Alemán estaba planeando la industrialización en el país, para dejar atrás la agricultura como primera fuente de recursos de los nacionales, pero el cine estaba en su apogeo, por ello las reacciones ante la cinta eran tan violentas.

Se tiene registro de que algunos cines fueron destruidos por los asistentes al estreno en noviembre de ese 1950, los fanáticos salían furiosos, la llamada “Liga de la Decencia” intentó expulsar a Buñuel del país y aunque no lo lograron, el director si dejó el territorio.

CINE

A pesar de los múltiples problemas, Luis Buñuel estrenó su cinta en Europa y la crítica mexicana tuvo que aceptar la gran equivocación cuando el gran jurado del Festival de Cannes le dio el premio como Mejor Director en 1951.

La película tiene una trama dura, y a diferencia, por ejemplo de "Nosotros los pobres" no busca causar lástima sino presentar una realidad diferente a la que se creía que existía en el país.

La historia nos lleva por los barrios más pobres de la Ciudad de México, donde los niños de la calle son una plaga para las altas esferas de la sociedad. Jaibo (Roberto Cobo) es un adolescente que escapa de un correccional para reunirse con Pedro (Alfonso Mejía). En presencia de él, Jaibo mata a Julián, el muchacho que supuestamente le delató. También intenta robar a un ciego (Miguel Inclán) al que finalmente maltrata. Acompañados de Ojitos y Meche (Alma Delia Fuentes), el destino del Jaibo y Pedro están marcados por la muerte."

DORADO

Para muchos expertos en cine de la época consideran que la película terminó con idiosincrasia qué se tenia de México en el extranjero, México había pasado de ser la nación rural donde el romanticismo ranchero era el emblema, las comedias rancheras pasaron a ser del pasado, para dar paso al verdadero país que se tenia olvidado, una sociedad muy corrompida.

Sin embargo la nueva forma de hacer cine gracias al ojo del director Buñuel, con el paso de los años se fueron realizando producciones crudas sobre la sociedad mexicana.

MX

Si bien el termino de la era dorada del cine fueron más factores internos y externos, como la sobre explotación de comedias rancheras, la pobreza de recursos y el que Estados Unidos de alguna manera haya retomado la industria cinematográfica después del conflicto mundial.

epoca de oro Los Olvidados luis buñuel

Cine Mexicano Cine Dorado Mx

[sheepwithspecs]

Echar Agua al Mar: Chapter 1

|| DP Coco (2017) || Rated T ||

Ao3 Link

For Imelda, trying to prevent Héctor from coming back into her life is like throwing water into the sea: pointless. With her family keen to accept the strange musician, and a challenge she can hardly refuse, she soon finds herself caught up in the continuation of a romance decades in the making. [Updates every Saturday]

Author's Note:

A lot of people wanted this one back, so I took the time to sit down and rewrite it properly. I plan on writing a proper ending, but it will be finished as-is (with no added chapters). I don't plan to write anything else for the DP-Coco fandom, so please accept this reworked fic as a celebration of my short, but meaningful time here. As roughly as it ended, I still would not trade those years for the world. I met some of the best people in that fandom, many of which I am still in contact with as friends and mutuals.

I want to take the time to thank each and every reader who has reached out over the years asking about this fic (as well as other DPC fics). The fact that you remember my work fondly means more to me than words can really describe. I wanted to finish this for you, so it's my fervent hope that you enjoy it just as much, if not more, as you enjoyed the original WIP. Please don't stop reaching out, either! In this day and age, it's rare to get reviews on fics anymore. If there's something you enjoyed, no matter how small, I promise that it would make my day to hear it!

The Rivera family was in distress.

Before the last Día de Los Muertos, they had been perfectly content with their lives—if a skeletal soul could indeed be called "living". They had a certain pride in being the best shoemakers in the Land of the Dead, and in death they worked much as they had in life: hard. But now production had slacked off unexpectedly; the twins fulfilled the quota of only one man, Julio made more mistakes in one hour than he had in nearly twenty years, Rosita polished at a tortoise's speed, and even Victoria made simple errors, growing frustrated as she was forced to thread and rethread her needle.

If Mamá Imelda saw them, she might have gloated that her ban on music was well and just. It was music—or the lack of it—that kept the family working at a plodding pace. They'd had a taste of the tunes, a bite of the proverbial apple, and now they were tempted for more. They heard rhythm in the steady ringing of the twins' hammers, in the swish-swish of Victoria's needle, in the scrubbing of Rosita's polishing brush. The Rivera harmony, so easy to recognize, to hum along to… if they weren't in the habit of suppressing those same urges.

But the family matriarch was nowhere to be found downstairs, and could not scold their behavior from the living quarters on the second floor. It was early afternoon, and so Imelda was in her bedroom, hiding… though no one would have dared suggest such a thing within earshot.

"Mamá Imelda can't blame us now," Julio murmured. "Not when she herself sang at the Sunrise Spectacular. In front of everyone, too." It was a conversation they'd repeated over and over again for three months.

"It's true," Oscar added. "She sang again, and so beautifully! But if she heard us…." He was irritated, more with himself than with his older sister. He hated working as though he were a greenhorn cobbler. If he could only finish the day's quota, he could spend the rest of the afternoon tinkering on inventions with his twin. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't stop his foot from tapping along in time with his hammer.

"Then let her hear us," Victoria huffed, squinting over the rims of her spectacles. The needle was mere inches from her eye sockets, shaking slightly as she aimed. "Maybe that will be what makes her come downstairs for a change."

"She won't." Felipe looked over his shoulder, shaking his skull at his great-niece. "Not so early in the afternoon. Not before…" he trailed off, gazing pointedly at the clock just above her elegant bun.

"And so? Why not sing?" Victoria lifted her eyes from her work, pushing the spectacles up her skull with one dainty finger. "If there's no danger of her coming down." She sighed as the twins shook their heads in unison. "Oh, if my mamá could see us now. She'd have a good laugh at us all."

"Ah, he's coming!" Rosita announced suddenly, rising from her chair at the window. She let the unfinished shoe in her hand fall to the table, the brush tossed aside as she raced for the door. Everyone paused in their work, following Felipe's eyes towards the clock.

"Right on schedule," Julio said with a smile. "By the way, what will today's excuse be? The corner store?"

"No, we used that one yesterday."

"A walk?"

"We used that one two days ago." They stared at one another with growing concern, each racking their brain for some useful idea. Finally Rosita shook her head, shrugging helplessly at Julio. He blew out a low breath, hands stuck deep into his pockets.

"You say something," Oscar muttered, elbowing his brother in the ribs.

"Why me?" Felipe gulped. "You know I can't think under pressure!"

"Neither can I!"

"I'll say something." Victoria stood as well, brushing bits of thread from her apron. The twins sighed in relief, dropping their hammers simultaneously to the workbench as everyone in the room turned towards the open door in anticipation of their daily visitor. A moment later, there was a self-conscious knock as a man stepped just past the threshold. He was dressed in ragged clothing—espantapájaros, Victoria often muttered under her breath—with his sleeve barely hanging by a thread and shoeless as the day he was born. His gold tooth glinted in the afternoon sunlight as he grinned sheepishly, his hat clutched in nervous hands.

"Hello, Héctor," the Riveras chanted in unison, the start of their new daily routine.

"Hello, everyone." The hat brim began its revolution as Héctor's anxious fingers began to twist. "I've come to… I mean: is Imelda at home today?" The twins shared a sympathetic wince. Rosita's fingers clacked against her cheekbones as she raised her hands to her face. Victoria looked around the room, adjusted her glasses, and scowled.

"This has gone on long enough!" she declared, ignoring the shocked gasps from the rest of the family. "Of course she's here! She's been here every day for as long as you've been coming."

"Ahaha… I, uh… I thought that might be the case." Héctor sighed, looking down at his bare feet. "There's only so many times someone might go to the markets, after all." He looked so pitiable, dashed hopes and guilt and shame, standing in their doorway like a beggar searching for alms. Rosita clucked and guided him to her empty chair, inviting him in properly now that Victoria had broken the routine.

Héctor had given them all of a month before showing up out of the blue, hoping to speak with his wife. Of course, they had all been under strict orders after day one to not let him inside. If he asked, they were supposed to offer some excuse as to why Imelda was not downstairs with the rest of the family. Every afternoon she avoided the workshop like the plague, waiting until he had come and gone before venturing downstairs to complete her portion of the day's work.

This left the rest of the family with no choice but to scramble and find sixty days' worth of excuses to feed him, along with their best what-can-be-done expressions. They would have much rather invited him in, treated him as one of their own, and marched him up to Imelda's room without a word of protest. But the family matriarch's orders overruled any personal attachment to Héctor. At least, it had… until today.

"So." Héctor placed his hat on the table, linking his fingers politely in his lap. "She asked you to cover for her."

"She did," Victoria answered for them, "but this is getting out of hand."

"Even though you knew we were lying, and that Imelda didn't want to see you… you still came every day?" Oscar asked curiously, running a finger over his thin mustache. Héctor managed a one-sided shrug, smiling sadly. "That's pretty stubborn of you."

"Imelda's just as stubborn as you, though," Felipe pointed out, leaning against the workbench. "She won't come downstairs. Not even if you come every day for the next century."

"Victoria?" Julio waved his hand in his daughter's face, a frown twisting his mustache. "Go upstairs and ask Mamá Imelda to come down. For your Papá Héctor's sake."

"No! No, don't bother her. If she doesn't want to see me, then…." Héctor stood quickly, scratching at his thin goatee before offering them a much happier smile. "Tell me, how much would I have to pay for a pair of genuine Rivera boots?"

"What?!" Rosita shook her head in dismay. "What on earth are you talking about? You're family, of course they'd be free—" Oscar and Felipe immediately bent, each studying one of his feet.

"Come now, I'm willing to pay something—"

"No, Héctor." Julio crossed his arms. "Rosita's right. Family doesn't pay for shoes. But, eh…." He glanced warily at Victoria. "What do you think Mamá Imelda will have to say?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. You can leave her to me-e-e—!" Héctor jerked his foot away from Oscar, the appendage flopping loosely as he hopped off-balance. "Hey, watch it! That tickles!"

"But—"

"Listen: Imelda is your mamá. Of course you will do as she says, and don't ask questions. That's the way it should be. But she's my Imelda." His eyes twinkled. "I know how to deal with her. You can leave that to me. I just thought that since I have no plans to stop visiting my family, I might as well have a proper excuse of my own." He leaned in, motioning for them to join him. They huddled around him, close enough that their heads were nearly touching.

"As far as you're concerned," he whispered, "I've given up on seeing Imelda. I've accepted that she doesn't want to see me. And if you do see us together, just… y'know." He smiled again, but this time the expression was far more playful. "She's my wife, isn't she? Act natural."

"Natural?" Oscar parroted, only to get thumped on the skull. "Oh, right! Natural!" They all chuckled, save for Victoria's modest headshake. Héctor nodded and they broke apart.

"I'm sure boots take quite a while to make, yes?" He asked in a much louder tone, directing his voice towards the stairs. "Especially custom boots for your Papá Héctor!"

"You're right!" Julio agreed just as loudly, winking at Rosita. "Custom boots take a very long time!"

"Yes! Weeks!" Rosita giggled.

"Then I'll leave you all," Héctor nearly shouted, taking his hat and waving it with a flourish, "to your work!" As he jammed the hat on his head, there was a soft sound… almost like the rustling of skirts at the head of a grand staircase.

"Come back tomorrow for a proper sizing," Victoria advised, one eye on the stairs. "That way, we won't have to second-guess ourselves once we begin."

"Understood!" He winked once more before turning, offering a little wave over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow, everyone."

"Adiós, Héctor!" The Riveras waved him out the door, looking at one another before stifling their laughter. If Héctor was volunteering to take the brunt of Imelda's anger, they were more than willing to sneak around and help them any way they could. After all, her mighty arm was often the only thing that kept them in line, and something about Héctor's goofy charm made him hard to resist. Maybe that was what she had meant, blaming him for Miguel's naughtiness on Día de Los Muertos: his mischief was catching.

"It's all right, Mamá!" Julio called at the foot of the stairs. "He's gone now." There wasn't a full thirty seconds of silence before Imelda was among them, eyeing them all suspiciously with her usual motherly intuition.

"It took longer than normal to make him leave this time…." She trailed off expectantly, waiting for someone to explain. Without batting an eye, Victoria took over.

"We ran out of excuses and had to think of something else." It was a lie by omission, but it rang enough of the truth that she felt confident staring directly into her grandmother's eyes. "He stayed because he wanted to order some boots."

"Boots?" Imelda repeated, her mouth pursing in distaste. "What sort of boots?"

"Custom boots," Rosita explained. "He's tired of walking around in his bare feet."

"And you accepted him?" For the first time, Imelda seemed unhappy about a potential sale. "Why? Now he has an excuse to come inside and—anyway, you should have turned him away," she fussed, running both hands over her immaculate hairstyle and patting it into place nervously.

"It's our fault," Oscar spoke up, hands clasped in false penitence. "Felipe and I couldn't turn him down."

"We haven't made a custom order of boots in so long. We were excited, Imelda."

"We didn't think, and he is—"

"—like a brother to us, after all."

"It's not just anyone," Rosita pointed out gently. "It's Papá Héctor. We can't refuse him."

"Papá Héctor?" Imelda groaned. "Since when is he— Never mind." She crossed her arms, staring out the open door. "I can't even blame you for it. A Rivera has never been able to turn away someone in need of shoes. Even if it's him. And it's only for a few more days."

"Maybe a week," Julio corrected her. "Or more. We have a lot of orders…."

"Ay… heaven help me."

Héctor sat at the edge of Shantytown, kicking his feet off the ledge as he thought. People passed by, shouting greetings to him from the docks, but he was far too lost in his own mind to pay much attention. As was the case lately, his thoughts were focused on one goal: Imelda.

Admittedly he was out of practice, and quite rusty when it came to the art of courtship. In the olden days, back when they were alive, it had been more a scheme of getting her to notice him at all. He had even rejected the help of his best friend, afraid that Ernesto might catch her eye before he could ever hope to. That was good: he hadn't needed him then, and certainly didn't need him now.

Most of his ideas for getting back into her good graces were the same as his former exploits: serenading by moonlight, offering her gifts, winning her over with his irresistible charm… he no longer had the dimples she so admired, by he was still quite handsome, if he said so himself.

The real question was: would she ever indulge him?

Probably not at first. He frowned, staring up at the city lights dancing above him. He'd given her a full month, slipping away after the Sunrise Spectacular and biding his time. Imelda could hold a nasty grudge—he had firsthand knowledge of that. Years of bitterness would not disappear overnight, just because they'd had one song together, one small adventure with their living progeny. Before Miguel had come, he'd given up hope of reaching her at all.

But.

That's for murdering the love of my life!

The thwap of the huarache against bone rang over and over in his head: a sound of hope. He was the love of her life! Even all these months later, he still couldn't quite believe it.

I still have a chance. I'm the love of her life.

It was that mentality that had him coming to the Rivera household day after day, standing awkwardly in the doorway and asking to see her. He could tell that the family was willing, even if the woman was not. There was pity in their expressions as they lied to his face, telling him that he'd just missed her, that she'd gone for a walk, or to get more thread, or to deliver a rush order of shoes.

Imelda was a stubborn woman, that was for sure. But he was a stubborn man. Year after year he'd gone to that dumb bridge, knowing full well that he would not be able to cross. Compared to that, romancing his own estranged wife would be a piece of cake! He planned it out in his head, days of shoemaking and nights of wooing. She'd be begging him to stay within the month. Maybe. Hopefully.

It was a foolproof plan… so long as she didn't call for Pepita.

[veryace-ficrecs]

Coco (2017) Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Ernesto de la Cruz vs. The Court of Public Opinion by skater_of_the_surface - Rated G

The thrilling sequel to Coco that you've all been waiting for! Miguel visits ... wait for it... wait for it... A LIBRARY. Or : Miguel probably can't prove that Ernesto is a murderer, but stupendous fuckbucket is still on the table.

Te Esperaré by lachingona - Rated G

"I thought I threw it out." Imelda mutters. Her words hardly audible, barely a whispered breath. No matter how hard she tried to will the anxiety away, her voice still falters and threatens to break. "I thought I got rid of it." AU. Coco puts up Hector's photo.

The Witnesses by vifetoile - Rated G

When Miguel returns to Santa Cecilia, not everyone believes his story. Experts are called in.

The World Es Mi Familia by bunnikkila (StarlitSkvader) - Rated G

After his night in the Land of the Dead, Miguel remembers the souls with nowhere to go - and decides he's going to change that. After all - the world is his family.

Shaken by How Long it Took by Eurazba - Rated G

9 year old Miguel finds an old photo in the attic of none other than his great, great grandfather and Ernesto De la Cruz! He puts it up on his shrine to Ernesto and at the next Dia de los Muertos Héctor is shocked to find that he can finally cross the marigold bridge.

It Becomes A Game by MandolinDoodler - Rated G

One visit to the Land of the Dead was not enough to grant Miguel any supernatural powers. Five visits, however.... Oscar and Felipe find a loophole to the curse and it turns into a game played behind Imelda's back. OR Five times Miguel was cursed to come back to the Land of the Dead and one time he did it himself

But the Layin' in the Grave so Long (Poor Boy) by ClearWindCalmSkies - Rated G

After 96 years, it's about time Papá Héctor came home.

Offerings by SatuD2 - Rated G

In the years following Miguel's visit to the Land of the Dead, Día de Muertos was very different for one shabby skeleton.

Language for the Dead by meggannn - Rated T

On October 31 2024, the Rivera family has gathered at the hacienda for Día de Muertos. Miguel is nowhere to be found.

The Musician with Poison Tears by sweetiepie08 - Rated G

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.

Mexico City by Donteatacowman - Rated G

“Come to Mexico City!” It was an old refrain by now, one Miguel had heard at least a hundred times to the point that it became a running joke among his diehard fans. The first time he’d responded to it a year or so back, when a fan asked him point-blank why he never did shows in Mexico City, he’d said, “Too many ghosts.” This is why.

Reflection by Becky_Tailweaver - Rated G

Becoming a musician is only one of Miguel's many big goals, and he's already succeeding in a lot of them. There's one dream, however—one of his most precious, secret dreams—that he's failed to achieve.

Echoes on a Toy Guitar by Foggy_Fanfic - Rated T

Imelda's parents die before she realizes Hector isn't coming back. On the next Day of the Dead, the only photo she has of her parents is from her and Hector's wedding; she puts it on the ofrenda without a second thought. That night, the toy guitar Hector sent for Coco starts playing her lullaby all by itself.

another universe, another time by volunteer_of_hufflepuff - Rated T

Things slip and change, but Héctor Rivera remains very dead, albeit slightly less estranged from his family. . Or: a collection of short stories of what-ifs and maybes, of people accidentally stumbling onto the tragedy of Héctor Rivera a little too early.

Reunions by orphan_account - Rated T

In which Miguel never meets Ernesto de la Cruz that night, but he manages to get Coco to remember her father anyway - thanks to a picture in his pocket. Basically a later reunion in the Land of the Dead between daughter and father, husband and wife.

The 8 O'clock Song by KazenoShun - Rated G

It's been 10 years since Imelda Rivera was abandoned by her no-good husband and she banished music from her life. She's content to keep away from music for the rest of her life, but a chance encounter during a trip to Mexico City may turn that resolution on its head.

Pan Dulce by papergardener - Rated G

Coming Home by sheepwithspecs - Rated G

Imelda has forgotten so many things about her husband over the years. Too many. Therefore she sets herself on a mission to re-learn something about him: his favorite pan dulce.

Of course, she can't just ask him. That'd be too easy.

Oh, go away, Ernesto! by Ford_Ye_Fiji - Rated G

The Land of the Living has changed a lot since Héctor last saw it.

It's more than a little overwhelming, but this time he's not alone as he crosses the barrier between worlds.

Héctor Rivera and Ernesto De La Cruz sing in the plaza. Imelda likes what she sees.

Miguel’s Big Secret by papergardener - Rated G

Years later, Miguel finally decides to tell someone the truth of what happened on that Dia de los Muertos. But he doesn’t expect another secret to come out thanks to a bunch of eavesdropping spirits.

Should You Marry Mateo? by FootlessData507 - Rated G

Imelda's mother sets her up with every eligible bachelor in town. Imelda is less than pleased.

[juliedrawz]

Ok but can we talk about the Rivera family dynamic?

😆 Like, Oscar and Felipe throwing really bad Dad-jokes and laughing about them, Rosita finding it funny as well, Victoria (the sensable and rational thinking one) finds the joke rediculous and not funny, and Julio is like "ok, yeah, makes sense."

I mean ... I get the part about the barber shop but a sausage has no hair to beginn with ... 🫢 so, I personally would have found it funnier if they had compared Dante to a sausage. Anyway ... 😂 I do like some good Dad-jokes though! And I wanna know how many times Imelda rolled her eyes over her brothers and Héctor duelling each other in who tells the best Dad-jokes.

[ddalameda]

What's Bruno's relationship to the other members of the Rivera family - Imelda, Oscar and Felipe...?

The twins were a little embarrassing for Bruno from the very beginning, but then he got used to them and began to feel comfortable. They all have a vein of naughty. Sometimes they play pranks on the people of Encanto (if the person being pranked is unhappy with the prank, the twins actively deny Bruno's involvement in it). In fact, Bruno's participation has never been proven yet :)

Imelda, for Bruno, is more likely not a friend, but a very close mentor. She is smart, serious and stubborn, Bruno is kindly afraid of her, but he is ready to protect her with all his might … Not that she really needed protection from something, ha ha! Imelda feels in Bruno another twin, if I may say so, and therefore she is very caring. Peculiar, of course, but take care! :)

[entrepalabrasmx]

El nearshoring traerá grandes oportunidades y retos que sumarán a la recuperación económica de México: Alexis Enciso

Las empresas aduanales continuarán incrementando su desarrollo y tecnologización para poder brindar los mejores servicios a la comunidad y clientes

Ahora que la tendencia mundial es relocalizar las cadenas productivas más cerca de los principales centros de consumo, México se encuentra en una inigualable posición en el mundo que le permitirá reactivar su economía de una manera sustancial y natural tras vivir los embates por la pandemia de Covid 19, motivo por el cual el sector aduanero está consciente de que el nearshoring implica, además de una gran oportunidad, enormes retos para estar preparados de cara al crecimiento del intercambio comercial que habrá hacia nuestro país. Manuel Alexis Enciso Hernández, director general del Corporativo Enciso de Agentes Aduanales, expresó que el hecho de que México se encuentre cerca de los Estados Unidos ya es un punto fundamental; sin embargo, también suman a su fortaleza en el ámbito del comercio exterior los otros 11 Tratados de libre Comercio con 44 países, además del T-MEC con nuestros vecinos del norte, Estados Unidos y Canadá. También tiene más de 30 acuerdos con igual número de países para la Promoción y Protección Recíproca de las Inversiones (APPRIs) y 9 acuerdos en el marco de la Asociación Latinoamericana de Integración (ALADI), conocidos como de alcance limitado (Acuerdos de Complementación Económica y Acuerdos de Alcance Parcial). Enciso Hernández destacó que así como las empresas que deseen relocalizarse tienen el reto de agilizar sus trámites para poder operar de inmediato, el sector aduanero tiene en este fenómeno propiciado por los altos costos de transporte en el marco de los conflictos mundiales, “la oportunidad de continuar incrementando su desarrollo y tecnologización para poder brindar los mejores servicios a nuestra comunidad y a nuestros clientes”. Es el caso del Corporativo Enciso, que en 2021 cumplió 70 años de operaciones, lo que le ha permitido tener oficinas de alta calidad en el servicio en el aeropuerto Internacional de la Ciudad de México, Veracruz, Querétaro, Puebla, Toluca, Tuxpan, Manzanillo, Tampico, Altamira, Lázaro Cárdenas, Nuevo Laredo y próximamente también en el Aeropuerto Internacional Felipe Ángeles, prácticamente los lugares más importantes para el comercio internacional del país. Por este motivo, Corporativo Enciso de Agentes Aduanales recibió el galardón como uno de "Los Principales Asesores en Comercio Exterior" que entrega la revista especializada Estrategia Aduanera, la cual reconoció su notorio y constante compromiso ligado a la eficiencia de sus procesos aduanales y logísticos, incluidos tecnología, calidad y capital humano. Manuel Alexis Enciso Hernández recordó que la empresa fue fundada por su bisabuelo Manuel Enciso Rivera, en 1951, continuaron al frente su abuelo y su padre, ambos de nombre Manuel también, y desde 2020 él se encuentra para continuar la tradición familiar que permite hacer más ágil la importación y exportación de productos, y hace de México un país muy dinámico en el comercio exterior, al grado que, de acuerdo con estimaciones del Banco Interamericano de Desarrollo (BID), con el nearshoring, nuestro país podría tener beneficios hasta por 35 mil 300 millones de dólares al año. Por su parte, su tío Edmundo Oscar Enciso Villarreal, quien recogió el galardón, destacó la importancia que tiene el agente aduanal en los procesos de importación y exportación de mercancías entre México y el mundo, porque “somos el vínculo entre los importadores y exportadores y la autoridad en la materia”.

[myhusbandwouldplay]

What’s your headcanon about all the dead Rivera ages?

Thanks for the ask! Here's what I think:

We all know that Hector died at the young age of 21. 💔

I headcanon Victoria as the first one to die of the main group. I want to believe she was around her early 40s.

About 10 years later, Imelda died when she was in her mid to late 70s.

Oscar & Felipe were next, and both died two or three years after her. They were 65-66.

Rosita was next to die four years later at 50.

I headcanon that Coco's memories go back and forth to when she was little and when Julio was last alive. Ten years ago in 2007. (Note that the movie came out in 2017) Coco is 99 in the movie. 100 when she died. So, Julio was 89. I headcanon they were the same age when they met.

I hope this wasn't too confusing! 💫

[enigmatist17]

Alma Madrigal was a woman who was rarely surprised these days, usually the first to know of what happened in Encanto and her family. As such, when she could smell what she assumed was Julieta starting the day early with her cooking, Alma got dressed and calmly headed for the kitchen as she always did.

"Buenos días Julie- oh." The woman standing in front of the flat top was not her daughter, and Imelda looked over with a slight wave of a spatula.

"I was up, and the least I can do for our saviors is cook breakfast." Alma couldn't help but chuckle at the slightly domineering tone in her voice, moving to start the coffee for those who would be waking soon.

"Did you sleep well?" Imelda gave a short nod before resuming her cooking, setting aside a set of fried eggs on the cooler part of the cooktop before starting another set. Some sort of salsa seemed to have been half-prepared, awaiting some peppers that were gaining a slight char on another part of the cooking spot, and some freshly made tortillas were awaiting their own turn once Imelda was ready.

"Your magic house is...incredible." Alma looked over after pouring the first batch of coffee into Julieta's mug, Imelda looking at her with a slightly intense expression. "The bed changed? Héctor is still healing from protecting us and can't lie on his side, and when I woke, the bed was holding him up."

"Casita can sense pain, but my eldest Julieta will help heal him when she awakes later." Alma smiled, pouring a second mug. "Would you like some?"

"Please." Despite the facade, Imelda was exhausted and accepted the caffeine gratefully, sipping it as she minded the eggs. "Heal? Mi esposo told me of his magic friend, but admittedly, I didn't believe him. Now I'm in a house that can change furniture and make Coco laugh for the first time in days, it's...a lot." She nearly jumped when a chair was brought over from the dining room table, Imelda feeling her legs go weak as reality seemed to just sink in that they were safe.

"Let me, por favor." Alma gently guided the newcomer onto the seat, taking the spatula and tending to the food. "Tell me of Coco, she's adorable." Imelda smiled at the thought of her daughter, speaking of happier times as the household slowly woke up to the smell of unfamiliar foods. Julieta was the first to peer into the kitchen, surprised to see her mother cooking, the newcomer Imelda looking relaxed as they spoke in whispers.

"Something smells good!" A man Imelda didn't see the day before crowed, gently pulling his wife into view with him as he raised his voice with a grin. "Buenos días Imelda! I know we didn't have a chance to meet, I am Agustín Madrigal!"

"Pleasure, lo siento, we eh all fell asleep quite quickly." Imelda got to her feet and shook his extended hand, his energy reminding her of her sleeping husband's.

"Mi familia did the same when we found Encanto, I understand." He grinned, eyeing the food plated behind her. "This smells incredible, what is it?"

"Just some huevos rancheros, as a thank you for yesterday."

"Gracias, that was very kind of you." Agustín moved to grab a plate, Julieta pulling Imelda out of the kitchen to continue resting as they set the table, brushing off her unimpressed stare with practiced ease. Pepa and her husband, Félix, were the next to appear, cradling her sleeping child as she greeted the newcomer and made general small talk that was interrupted by the pitter-patter of small feet running down a hallway.

"Mamá!" Imelda held her arms open as he daughter jumps up into them, tears staining her little face. "Mamá, Papá's back hurts so much, and he can't get up!"

"What's wrong?" Julieta stood as Coco rubbed her eyes, shyly eyeing the other woman as her mother gently rocked her back and forth. "I'll make sure your papá feels better."

"He fell pushing one of the carts out of a ditch, ever since his back has been bothering him." Imelda winced at the slight tremor in her voice and gave a weak smile when Agustín rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Ah, that should be an easy fix." Julieta went into the kitchen for a moment, returning with a glass of juice in one hand and what looked like an arepa in the other as she hurried to the guest room. The twins Julieta had seen the day before were by one of the guest beds when she arrived at their guest room. One held Héctor's hand as the man groaned in pain, the other murmuring to him as they dabbed sweat from Héctor's brow with his sleeve, looking up as one when Julieta knocked on the doorframe. "Hola, I'm here to help."

"You're a doctor?" The man holding Héctor's hand sagged a little in relief as she moved closer, eyeing her hands with a frown.

"In a way. Please, help me sit him up." Julieta watched as the other twin moved behind Héctor, propping the musician up enough so she could hold the glass to his lips, the juice drained as fast as he could drink. With each sip some color returned to his face and the slight tremble that ran through his body eased, and Julieta nodded at the sight. "Good, do you feel up to an arepa?"

"If it makes me feel better, like this magic juice, I'll eat anything." Héctor giggled with a relieved sigh, the savory treat pressed into his hand as the other woman looked amused. While the juice had eased his pain, the food completely removed it with his first bite, and his eyes went wide as he stared at the food. "That actually works?!"

"My Gift helps heal almost every ailment." Julieta motioned for him to keep eating, something Héctor was only too happy to do. The twins watched as their brother-in-law went from barely able to move to perfect health with a snack, eyes wide as they stared at the magic woman. "Whenever you're ready, breakfast is ready but please take your time."

"Is Coco alright? I heard her crying." Héctor sat up, back cracking as he stretched for the first time in weeks.

"She ran to Imelda." One of the twins smiled. The musician seemed a little relieved by the news as he got to his feet, clearly pleased at having his movement back.

"To ask for help." His twin finished, shedding his button-up shirt to be washed later.

"I'll show you where they are." The Encanto native smiled as she headed for the door, leading the trio out and into hall, Héctor amused to see his trail to the kitchen from last night was still on the floor. That's momentarily forgotten when they turn a corner, Coco squealing happily at the sight of her papá no longer in pain.

"Oh mi pequeña no more crying eh?" Imelda scooted her chair away from the table so her husband could embrace them both, the toddler throwing her arms around his neck as she bounced up and down as her parents shared a quick kiss.

"You're okay Papá!" She beamed, giggling when her father moved to shower her with kisses. "Papá, you're so silly!"

"Only for you." He crooned, his wife chuckling and gently pushing him into the chair Casita had moved close by, allowing Héctor to cuddle Coco while she made a plate for him. The dining room table had been lengthened by Casita for the new additions to the home, Coco clapping her hands in delight when a chair just for her was formed out of a single piece of wood.

"This is," "So strange." Óscar and Felipe said after a moment, Héctor only laughing as he set his daughter down to eat.

"I think this is fantástico! I've already got an idea for a song about the Living Home." Héctor hummed, tapping out a beat against the table with his index finger only he could hear. "Sí sí..."

"You may write after you eat." Imelda raised an eyebrow, earning a sheepish grin from her partner. "Awake five seconds and already wanting to put your cabeza errante en las nubes."

"Whaaat? I haven't written in months." Héctor whined, tapping on the table for a moment before relaxing at the smell of his wife's cooking. "But sí, later."

"Good."

Pepa and Julieta had to suppress some laughter at the sight, memories of their mother chiding them the same way as children passing through their minds. Speaking of, the last Madrigal finally stumbled down the stairs halfway through the meal, Bruno completely missing the table full of people as he went straight for the tea Julieta had left out for him. Alma set to preparing him a small plate as Coco carefully climbed off her seat and scurried off for the stranger; her parents were preoccupied with talking about their journey to notice her leave for the kitchen. The man was almost as tall as her papá, muttering under his breath as he moved a hand from under his ruana, clicking his tongue as he poured some more tea, and the toddler watched as a rat appeared from under the cloth to crawl along his arm to his hand.

"Buena chica, you deserve a treat." The man cooed, plucking a grape from a fruit bowl in front of him and offering it to the small creature, the rat jumping onto the counter and accepting it with a squeak.

"Is that a rat?" Coco tilted her head when the man jumped, head whirling around to find the curious child right behind him. For a moment, they both stared at each other before the rat squeaked, jumping onto Bruno's shoulder to stare down at Coco from under some of his curly hair.

Coco giggled, and a soft smile crossed the man's face as he knelt down.

"Her name is Fernanda." With another click of his tongue the rat moved to his hand, and Coco walked closer as Bruno held out his hand. "You can pet her, right on top of her head."

"I'll be careful." Coco whispered, reaching out to carefully rest her index finger on Fernanda's head, smiling when she received a pleased noise. "Like this?"

"Sí, you're doing great." Bruno gently showed her how to carefully pet his pet with his other hand, telling her a story about Fernanda's attempt to steal from the kitchen one night while he slept.

"Casita is too fast for her." Bruno looked up at Pepa's amused voice, pointing at Bruno with a hand on her hip. "You need to eat, come on."

"I suppose I'll come to the table." Bruno sighed dramatically, earning a giggle from Coco as Fernanda hopped onto the toddler's head, nestling into her hair. "And betrayed! Ah, what is loyalty these days?"

"Who can resist someone this adorable?" Pepa grinned, Bruno getting to his feet as Coco slowly walked back towards the table.

"Look Mamá!"

"Is that a rat on your head?!" Bruno and Pepa peered out to see Imelda staring at her daughter in surprise, Héctor and the twins grinning as the toddler proudly showed off her new friend.

"Uh huh! Her name is Fernanda!" Coco beamed, trying to click her tongue like Buno as she held out her hand, but only succeeded in making a kissing noise. "Aw..." Fernanda didn't move at the noise but squeaked and moved to sit on her hand when Bruno clicked for her, waving when most of the eyes in the room focused on him.

"Is this?" "The seer?" "You mentioned?" Óscar and Felipe looked at Héctor, who nodded, Felipe squinting at Bruno for a moment before his twin grinned. "Nice to meet." "The guy who helped save us."

"Eh, don't mention it?" The clairvoyant clasped his hands with a flustered expression, allowing his sister to tug him towards his seat beside Alma. Aside from Coco, none of the newcomers to the small town failed to notice how surprised he'd been at the gratitude.

It was something they could think about later, right now they were going to enjoy the first meal not cooked over hasty campfires.

Casita helps clear the table before their guests could blink, absolutely delighting both Coco and her father at something the Encanto natives had long become accustomed to. A fresh round of coffee for the adults, and a glass of orange juice for Coco, was handed out before Alma took command with a simple tap on the table.

"I know yesterday was a lot for you all to handle, and rest assured, you can take as long as you need to recover from your long journey." They hadn't asked where the new family came from, but they had seen the tells from other refugees that had settled in their Encanto over the years. "Casita will adjust your room, as we don't have any new buildings ready for your familia just yet,

"How much will that cost us?" Imelda sat forward, a slight frown on her face. "We did not come with much money, but I'm sure we can make some if given enough time."

"Money is of no concern here, set those worries aside." The matriarch smiled softly. "We are remote enough that we run on barter and trade here, and the community helps each other when needed."

"What?" Imelda winced at barking out the word, but the concept was too much. "I-I don't understand we cannot just -"

"Melda." Héctor reached over to squeeze her arm, rewarded with her leaning towards his seat. "We, er I mean mi querida esposa, had started a shoemaking business, this would be helpful here no?"

"Really?" Agustín smiled, clapping his hands together. "We don't have anyone in town who can repair shoes, and we only trade every few months outside Encanto."

"Sounds like a perfect fit then no?" Héctor smiled, Imelda rolling her eyes. "We even brought most of the equipment needed, eh assuming it survived the storm last night."

"We will have your wagons brought here by the afternoon, you can take stock then." Alma nodded, glancing out the window towards the hills for a moment. "As my son-in-law said, we've been in need of a proper shoemaker, and will provide you with whatever space you need for both your shop and home."

"Just like that?" "Nothing in return?"

"Your services are all the payment Encanto could need." It was still so surreal, but Imelda and her family shared a look before nodding, the leader of what was to be their new town clasping her hands together with a soft smile. "For now, please rest, and if you would like a town tour, feel free to ask any of us to guide you."

"Gracias, that's very kind of you." Imelda nodded, gently scooping her daughter into her arms when Coco started to yawn, trying not to tense at the rat curled up in her little arms.

"Go and rest mamá, you've earned it." Héctor murmured in her ear, the Madrigal's getting up to start their day and whatever tasks lay ahead, leaving the Rivera family in the dining room.

"What, and let you run off?" Imelda gave him an amused look, Héctor only grinning as he ran a gentle hand through their sleeping daughter's hair.

"I can do more than hobble around, a run sounds fun!"

"Héctor."

"I'll stay in the magic house?"

"...fine." Standing as one, Héctor and his wife headed for their bedroom, quietly talking until they reached the door and opened it, only to freeze in place.

What had been a one-bedroom space had magically transformed into a mini-replica of their home back in Santa Cecilia, minus the kitchen and garden they had spent too many hours in. Imelda was the first to walk inside, the stone walls feeling the exact way their original home had felt, the smell of lavender and sandalwood nearly bringing her to tears. Their bedroom, minus the pictures and small mementos stuffed in a box, was the same, down to the rug Héctor had made that was lopsided and a little threadbare.

"I don't understand..." The bed creaked like it always had when she sat down, and the small vanity mirror in the corner wiggled back and forth as if in greeting.

"Magic house." It was all Héctor could manage as he knelt before his wife, taking hold of her free hand. "I'm so-"

"If you say those words again so help me." Héctor sighed, looking away from her gaze. "It was not your fault."

"Meld-"

"No." She was having none of that right now, Coco's little cooing in her sleep making both sets of eyes look down. "We will talk later."

"Sí, que duerman bien mis amores." Getting to his feet Héctor kissed her sweetly before heading out, gently closing the door to their bedroom.

Imelda bites her tongue when she hears a hitched sob, carefully removing her boots and lying down, cradling their daughter close. She was too exhausted to focus on the conversation they had all been avoiding since his return a few months back, of why they had to flee their home in the dead of night.

Of the way someone they had considered a friend and brother had tried to murder her husband when he protected them.

[dragoneyes618]

The uncles - Oscar and Felipe - say "Me three." As though they are one person. Or two people who consider themselves to be two halves of one person...

[bh6-fanfictionfeed]

Fated Til Death

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/LfUEaDK

by ShyKori

Some things were left a mystery in the world of Coco. What if I opened it up a bit? We'll take a quick peek into the love lives of some of the most prominent characters from Coco. After their adventures, they deserve it.

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Or I give characters love interests or give characters more detailed backstories on how they met their canon partners.

Words: 2285, Chapters: 2/19, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Death And Love

Fandoms: Coco (2017), Big Hero 6 (2014), Big Hero 6: The Series (Cartoon)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M

Characters: Miguel Rivera, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Hiro Hamada, Mamá Coco (Coco 2017), Papá Julio (Coco 2017), Tío Felipe (Coco 2017), Tío Oscar (Coco 2017), The Rivera Family (Coco 2017), Tía Victoria (Coco 2017), Original Characters, Luisa Rivera, Enrique Rivera, Ernesto De La Cruz

Relationships: Héctor Rivera/Imelda Rivera, Hiro Hamada/Miguel Rivera, Mamá Coco/Papá Julio (Coco 2017), Tío Felipe (Coco 2017)/Original Character(s), Tío Óscar (Coco 2017)/Original Character(s), Héctor Rivera & The Rivera Family, Miguel Rivera & The Rivera Family

Additional Tags: Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst, First Kiss, Feels, Family Feels, Héctor Rivera Deserves Better, Héctor Rivera Needs a Hug, homophobia who?, We don't know her, Spanish Is Bad, sorry - Freeform, OCs Are Not With Any Characters With Canon Love Interests, Child OCs, Not Beta Read

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/LfUEaDK

[sheepwithspecs]

Movie Night:

|| DP Coco (2017) || Rated E ||

Ao3

One of my few remaining Disney-Pixar Coco fanfics from 2018. In the novel, it's mentioned that Héctor never really had a reason to watch movies after he died; maybe he'll find a new appreciation for them now... 😏 Summary: Before coming to stay at the Rivera household, Héctor never cared to watch movies. However, Imelda's newest DVD has him seeing the appeal of a private movie date.

The Rivera household had almost always been a place of shoes. Only a few blustering old men—Imelda's papá and tíos—ever bothered remembering when the Rivera name meant a stone quarry in Santa Cecelia. Imelda and her progeny had changed it into a shoe business, an empire that spanned both the Land of the Living and the Land of the Dead. Perhaps it was just a modest shop in a nobody's neighborhood; what did that matter, when the Riveras had crafted shoes to fit some of the Land of the Dead's most influential celebrities?

After Día de Muertos, however, the nature of the household had begun a metamorphosis. Not only a house of shoes, it was now stretching to accommodate the striking sounds and rhythms that it had been long denied. No one, not even the stringent Victoria, could say that the addition of music to the family was unwelcome. It had always seemed just out of reach, riding on the coattails of a man whose face was a cryptic mystery to all but the apex generation. Now, with the inclusion of that man—that musician—into their lives, things had changed.

For the most part, things went on as they'd always been. One night hadn't been enough to fully change the shape of a lifestyle, despite being its catalyst. There were still orders to finish, designs to create, shoes enough to fill up the week from Monday to Friday. Even with it's inclusion, music hadn't torn the family apart from their duty. In that, at least, Imelda's fears were thankfully unjustified.

The stools at the long workbench were the same as they'd always been. Julio, Oscar, and Felipe sat at the same places they had in life, hammering soles or cutting leather beneath the low hanging electric bulbs. The empty stools stood waiting for family members in the living world who had yet to join them. Julio kept the patch of bench next to his own workstation clean, the stool free, for when Coco joined them. He was a patient man, but a fastidious one; everything would be ready for when the love of his life arrived.

Victoria's table stood in the corner, her old sewing machine taking up most of the workspace while a basket of thread and supplies sat near the antique foot pedal. She refused any offers to buy her a new machine, insisting that changing from the one she'd used for so long would ruin her work. She was efficient, despite the machine's limitations, and her expert skills could handle everything from intricately embroidered slippers to plain-stitched work boots.

Rosita didn't have a station, but instead moved between all of them to help out wherever she was needed. She was the family jack of all trades, her size doing little to hinder her movements as she bustled around the zapatería. She could be at the workbench sewing tongues, running between shelves with a legal pad and pencil to take inventory, serving customers through the large window that doubled as a counter, or working the polisher at a steady pace. She was always brisk and smiling, though now her work was punctuated with clear, bright humming.

One corner of the southern wall had been saved for Mamá Imelda's workspace, which served as a type of office. Her brothers had bought her an antique secretary desk for her 100th birthday, the kind that had a curved wooden lid that folded down to keep off the dust. A more modern two-drawer filing cabinet had been fitted beneath one half of the desk, the other half free for her legs when the wooden chair wasn't tucked beneath it.

The window above the desk gave the best light no matter what time of day it was, and there she sat for hours settling figures and writing letters to customers. A gas lamp sat on one of the desk's upper shelves, ready for overtime when the sun went down. Imelda had never enjoyed the harsh buzzing of electric bulbs when trying to work, and even with the strain on her eyes she'd rather work in near darkness then with headache-inducing white noise.

There was one empty corner between the desk and the first shelf of leather rolls; it had once held a coatrack, but the twins had commandeered that for one of their experiments and, after the resulting fire, hadn't been able to return it. That was now where Héctor sat, cloaked in enough shadow that he sometimes startled customers by standing too quickly. He'd chosen it himself on his first visit after the holiday, dragging the proffered chair into the corner and, as he put it, "out of the way".

It hadn't taken long for the Riveras to notice that Héctor's idea of 'out of the way' was usually synonymous with 'as close to Imelda as possible'. Tortolitos, Rosita called them, ignoring the absurdity of the term. As if Mamá Imelda, shoe tycoon and a familial force to be reckoned with, could be stripped down to something so childlike. It was like pouring hot sauce instead of cream into tea; the very thought of it was just plain wrong.

And yet, Imelda warmed to the músico faster than anyone (except, perhaps, the twins) had thought possible. It was awkward the first few weeks; they were like two gears that had once fit together seamlessly, only to be disjointed by rust and time. They were both perfectly civil to the other, overly polite and nervously stepping around any topic beyond what was happening in the moment.

That had graduated to sly glances when they thought the other wasn't looking, apprehensive smiles, fidgeting hands. He'd started against the shelf, but slowly migrated across the gap a little further each day until the chair was flush to the desk. The family was reminded of the proverbial frog in the pot, heated so slowly that it never realized it was cooking. They couldn't decide who the frog was in this situation: Mamá Imelda, Héctor, or themselves.

He eventually took the smallest possible corner of her desk for himself, pilfering a few sheets of paper and a pencil. He wrote songs, as far as they could see, scribbling away between bouts of playing his guitar. He explained that he only worked on them when he had bursts of inspiration, and that he was a little out of practice besides; before Miguel's arrival, it had been years since he'd even looked at a guitar.

No one was allowed to look at his notes, and he refused—firmly, but not unkindly—to play any melody he hadn't finished. He begged leave to wait until he was entirely through, and then they could be the audience to his first concerto in the Land of the Dead. They didn't have it in them to argue, making do with curiously watching as he muttered under his breath, running hands through his hair and tapping tempos with his fingers and toes. Oscar and Felipe were the only ones not surprised by this; he had been the same as a living man. There was, as they later explained privately, only one exception to his rule.

"Tell me what you think." There was always an old, tricky gleam to his eye whenever he said the words, handing Imelda a half-crumpled sheet. She would read it over with a neutral frown, blinking slowly as she followed his tilted script along the page. Only once did she ever look to be on the brink of something, her mouth slowly pursing before she met his gaze steadily.

"I think your chorus is too fast," she replied stoically, handing him the paper back. The family had slowed their work, not meaning to eavesdrop but unused to hearing something that seemed like teasing from their matriarch.

"Only as fast as the pounding of my heart, m— 'Melda." He'd actually winked at her, a satisfied grin on his face as he'd picked up his guitar and began the first chords of Un Poco Loco. Imelda had turned back to her figures, but not before the family had seen her lips twitch up into a smile. Moments like those only increased as their long, muted conversations after supper slowly turned towards lighthearted banter, often sounding suspiciously like flirting.

When Mamá Imelda wasn't around he still played to them, old favorites or requests. Today it was a cavatina he'd heard in the plaza, his fingers sliding along the strings as he plucked the notes from his memory and made the men—and Rosita, who'd stayed behind to watch the counter—a song.

The twins had subconsciously slowed their hammers to match it, the harmonic tempo trundling along as they worked in perfect sync with both each other and their cuñado. Rosita's polisher stuttered along, dipping in and out of rhythm as she sanded soles to a smooth finish. Julio's knife slid cleanly through leather, water dripping its own additions to their strange symphony as he wrung the sponge to dampen his work. The only things missing were the coarse scratching of Imelda's expensive pen, and the rapid-fire ticka-ticka-ticka of sewing machine's needle.

"We're home." Everyone halted as the door banged open, heads twisting to see what was the reason for such a violent entry. Victoria inched sideways through the door, both arms loaded down with plastic sacks from a number of stores. Imelda followed her, her face hidden behind more purchases.

"What on earth?!" Rosita's jaw dropped, her eyes darting as she took a quick inventory of the number of bags. Julio slid from his stool, knife dropping to the table as he rushed to help his mother in law. Victoria took the easier route, letting her arms separate from her shoulders. The sacks slid to the ground and she called them back, bones rattling as they flew up to snap into place. She gingerly rubbed one forearm, wincing.

"Mamá Imelda, what is all this?" Julio grunted as he took the brunt of her load, stacking them by the door. Some of them were heavy, his bones visibly separating from each other as the tension pulled them downwards. He made a face, hidden by his thick mustache. "I thought you two were just going on a supply run."

"We did," Imelda answered curtly, toeing one of Victoria's sacks back into place as it started to sag to the side. "We bought groceries, the sawmill and the tanner have their usual orders, and we even managed to get a few odds and ends knocked off the list."

"A few?" Oscar laughed.

"That looks a full shopping spree," Felipe agreed, browbones rising. It wasn't like their sister to waste money on what she considered to be frivolous expenses, but they couldn't believe the family needed everything that was in those bags. There was just too much; even if they were a larger household, they went to market at least once a week and never fell behind on groceries.

"It is," Victoria admitted, her mouth pursed in clear disapproval. "There was a sale at the fabric store, and someone just had to go inside and look at every single thing in every department." Julio's brow furrowed, and he opened one of the sacks to peer inside.

"Fabric… yarn…a quilting hoop?"

"She would have bought a loom, if they had one." Victoria shook her head, frowning. "As if we can't go to the store and just buy our clothes like anyone else."

"You don't waste a sale like that," Imelda scolded, hands on her hips. "Fabric doesn't go bad. You can use it whenever. And besides," she added, "store-bought clothes are a waste of money! You say all the time that nothing ever fits you right. If you let me make your clothes, they'd always be a perfect fit."

"Not everyone in this house wants to walk around in dresses that went out of style a century ago, Abuelita." Victoria crossed her arms. "And anyway, I can agree that getting one or two yards of fabric is fine. But ten yards of lawn in three different colors is excessive!"

"It was a good bargain." Imelda reached into another sack, pulling out the end of a bolt of wrapped cloth. "Lawn is good for Sunday best. We all need new dresses, and you said yourself the purple pattern looked very nice."

"If you're a grandmother."

"I am a grandmother, mija." Imelda squinted at her, letting the cloth drop. "Besides, you're leaving out the part where we visited the bookstore. That certainly wasn't my idea. Which reminds me." She turned to Julio. "You need to speak with your daughter about her excessive habits! She spent who knows how much on two bags' worth of those awful novelas románticas!"

"Ah… oh…." Julio chuckled nervously, fingering the edge of his collar. "I mean… if it's her money…."

"It was." Victoria held her ground, scowling. Héctor crept around her to listen in, fingers brushing his goatee as he curiously looked over the loot. "It's not anyone's business what I do and don't buy with my own savings." She lowered her voice, addressing Rosita. "I bought the one Doña Lara told us about the other day… Antes del Amanecer."

"Ooh!" Rosita giggled. Imelda set her jaw, glaring at the two younger women.

"In my day," she began, ignoring the way Victoria rolled her eyes, "In my day, a young woman would have been mortified to be caught dead with those vulgar novels! Why, I'm a married woman and I'm embarrassed to even look at them. If you wouldn't bring it into a church, you shouldn't bring it under my roof."

"Who said I wouldn't bring it into church?" Victoria retorted, barely hiding a smile as her grandmother gasped in horror.

"Victoria!"

"Oh, what does it matter?" she groaned. "You're the one who picked up that movie everyone was talking about not too long ago."

"What?" Imelda looked confused. "The Dove's Last Cry? Why were they talking? I saw it in the theaters, and I certainly don't remember there being anything wrong."

"It's suggestive," she quoted, fingers embellishing her words. "Every entertainment magazine was saying how the rating went up just because of one certain scene."

"What are you—oh!" Imelda's eyes lit up, and then she clicked her tongue dismissively. "That scene. That was nothing. Why, unless you have a dirty mind, you wouldn't know what it was about."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"You doubt as you please." Imelda smiled at Héctor. "You and I can watch it tonight. I bought it on deev'd."

"Eh?" Héctor tilted his head. "A what?"

"A deev'd," she repeated patiently. Héctor had little experience with movies, and even she was puzzled when it came to newer terminology.

"A what?" Oscar exclaimed, baffled. He looked at Felipe, who shrugged.

"A deev'd! De-e-e-v'd!" She made a gesture with her hand. "You know! One of those little diskey-things! That's what they call it, it's on the box." She dug around in the bags, sifting through the reams of fabric before coming up with a flimsy case wrapped in plastic. "See?" she said, pointing to the letters over the title. Victoria peered at the case before sighing, rubbing her temple with the flat of her hand.

"It's DVD," she corrected, making a face. "You say the letters."

"Dee—what? Why?" Imelda scowled at the case. "What does Dee Vee Dee mean? That means nothing."

"It's an abbreviation," Felipe replied. "It's—"

"—Some English phrase, I think."

"Dee vee—tch!" Imelda threw up her hands. "First the Vee-Ech-Es, then the Dee-Vee-Dee. Next… what? A-B-C?"

"I'm going upstairs," Victoria muttered, pressing her palms against her head. "I've got a headache; I need to be alone for a bit."

"DVD." Imelda frowned at the back cover. "No matter what it's called," she vowed to Héctor, "we're watching it. Tonight!"

Héctor had never gotten into the whole movie craze.

For starters, there hadn't been any spare money. He and Imelda had scraped by for years on 'just enough', using eggs from her pet hen and vegetables from the garden to supplement scantier meals. Imelda had a knack for making something from almost nothing, the two of them silently scraping most of their share onto Coco's plate while ignoring their grumbling stomachs as best they could. Any money he managed to earn went towards their needs, and there had always been too many of those: the leaking roof needed to be fixed, Imelda needed cloth to make them clothes, the cupboards needed to be filled, Coco needed new shoes.

Besides, there hadn't been a theater in Santa Cecelia anyway.

On the road he'd been chasing dreams, not premieres. He and Ernesto moved on as soon as they finished shows, breaking their backs to get into one more club, to make their names known before moving on to something bigger, brighter, better. Even if they'd had the time, any money he could spare was sent home. He barely kept enough for his own needs, scrimping and saving anywhere he could for one more crumpled bill to send back with his love-filled letters.

After his death, he was too busy in different aspects to worry with movies. For the first year everything was fine—well, he was dead, but other than that—and he even managed to get odd jobs here and there to support his meager existence. And then… Día de Muertos.

Didn't you want to go back, amigo?

Was there home trouble? Is that why you're here now?

You can go back… can't you?

To let anyone know that he couldn't cross over was a death sentence… figuratively. No one wanted to hire someone that could be forgotten at any time. Los Olvidados were hinderances on the job—not that they tried to be, of course. Glowing bones, falling apart, losing strength and being unable to stand: it spelled disaster on a jobsite, and disasters were expensive. It was less costly to pay for advertising and turn away those who didn't have loving families putting up their photos. A person could hide it temporarily, but word always got around in the end.

No job meant no money, no money meant no house, no food, no nothing. There was nowhere to go but down, to live in dark squalor at the base of the river, in a place where no one wanted to be. Those who made it to Shantytown had no dead family to care for them, to hold their hands as they passed into the Final Death. They didn't even have living family who cared enough to make sure they were remembered. He became a charity case. Charity cases didn't get recreation, at least not the kind that costs money.

And so, he'd never really understood much of the appeal of the cinema. Oh, he'd seen clips here and there, of course. He'd even done a few years as a tour guide, showing excited skeletons famous actors' houses while spouting canned jokes that made his insides crawl. The Land of the Dead's entertainment industry was a cinephile's dream come true, newer actors and actresses staring alongside some of history's most famous movie stars in new features exclusive to the dead city.

But he'd never watched a full movie until after moving into the Rivera house. His first movie had been one of Imelda's favorites: La Diosa Arrodillada. The novelty of it had been cut by the sheer amount of living people on the screen; he wasn't used to seeing so much skin, and he'd honestly forgotten a little too much about what people looked like when they weren't bones.

He'd enjoyed it enough, but his real attention had been on his wife. It was actually more fun to watch her watch the movie, shaking her head at times in disapproval of Raquel's actions. I'd have never been as stupid as that girl, her expression had told him. I'd have never looked twice at that idiot of a man. His amusement was second to the excitement of just being close to her, close enough that the fabric of her skirts tickled the back of his hand when she moved. He would have gladly sat through twenty movies full of hapless Antonios, just to have her near him.

Thankfully, he didn't have to do that. Imelda had a small collection of movies, one of her rare 'modern' hobbies. She had died just before VHS tapes became popular, and so her movies were mostly Land of the Dead exclusives with a few living flicks thrown in after they'd been able to make their way—late, as with most things—to the other side of the bridge. This wasn't a problem for him; he found it easier to watch skeletons. There was less living flesh to distract him from the movie's plot, and there were certain situations that only people with exposed bones can empathize with. He thought he was dying of laughter when watching El Conductor, his wheezing drowning out the onscreen screams as the driver's skull bounced down a steep incline, the headless body working the streetcar controls to chase after it.

He even began to develop favorite genres. Mysteries were interesting, especially the ones full of twists where nothing, and no one, was exactly as they seemed. Comedies were lots of fun; the more slapstick, the better. Romances were okay; he didn't care much about sordid affairs or star-crossed lovers, but Imelda liked them. It was enough for him that she unconsciously snuggled up against his side during the mushy scenes, her fingers biting into his arm or his thigh during dramatic moments.

But his favorites were the action movies, the adventures with lots of treasure and daring heroes, the spy thrillers full of dapper men and glittering women, the western sharpshooter cowboys, the musketeers, peril at every corner and nail-biting tension that left him on the edge of his seat—he was spellbound every time. He could feel Imelda's eyes on him, watching him the same way he watched her during all those climatic lovey-dovey scenes, but he didn't care. She seemed content with the fact that he was enjoying himself.

The only ones he couldn't stand to watch were horror movies. To their credit, not a single one he'd seen had poisoning, or the Final Death, or anything like that. Horror movies in the Land of the Dead were full of chop shops selling body parts for profit, prolonged tortures where the unfortunate victims couldn't, wouldn't die, seedy gang members dismantling children in front of the parents' eyes and grinding them to dust piece by piece in the name of debt collection. Nothing he'd ever personally come across, and things he almost certainly… hoped… didn't exist in the real world.

Nevertheless, something about them unsettled him. He could be fine during the movie, jerking with shock whenever a jump scare flashed on the screen. He could be fine after the movie, chatting with Imelda before heading up to bed. But for weeks afterwards he would find himself waking from forgotten nightmares, his heart pounding as he frantically tried to piece together the darkness and remember where he was. His stomach ached every morning from these attacks, and he was exhausted from waking up multiple times each night. It was easier to just forgo the movies, to watch something else and leave the bony horrors behind.

From the pictures on the case, tonight's movie was another romance. He was fine with that; the week had tired him out a little. He'd hit a roadblock on his newest piece, the tricky chorus he was aiming for eluding him to the point of frustration. He wasn't in the mood to focus on a heavy plot; thankfully most of his wife's favorite romances were standard fare, from what he could tell. At least, she seemed to choose the ones that followed a certain pattern, and he'd only ever watched what she put before him.

There was a real reason for this: he didn't know how to work any of the equipment. The television was an old CRT, usually kept hidden in a cabinet until anyone wanted to watch something. It was bulky, heavy, filled with static and an entire row of buttons that he had no idea what to do with. If someone wanted to change the channels, another person (usually one of the twins) had to stand at the cabinet and twist the metal prong-antenna-thingies until the pictures showed clearly… or rather, clear enough that everyone could put up with it.

He tried not to even look at the black movie box. It sat on its own shelf: slim, sleek black plastic with even more buttons, flashing lights, and a clock with no hands. There were trays that popped out for the discs, or if the movie was another black plastic thing it had to be put into the rectangle holder door. And then if the movie started bouncing Imelda had to take it back out and wind the shiny tape back into the plastic thing and—it was too much, and looked too easy to break, so he didn't dare lay a finger on it.

Thankfully you didn't have to. There were other little boxes called remote controls (finally, a name that made sense) that you could do almost everything with. There were still too many buttons but he knew how to make the sound louder or softer, and that was all he cared about. Imelda gladly did the rest, which left him breathing a sigh of relief. If something broke, it wouldn't be his fault.

He half-reclined in his corner of the sofa, spine cradled in the gap between the back cushions and the right arm. Imelda had this weird thing on the back of the cushions; she called it an antimacassar, but it looked like a giant lace handkerchief. Whatever it was, it was scratchy and rubbed uncomfortably against his shoulder blades. She didn't like him moving it, but while her back was turned he stealthily folded it until the corner was just past his shoulder; any more and it would look uneven, any less and he'd have to sit as still as a statue to keep from feeling it against his scapula.

He looked around as he waited for her to finish up, taking a moment to appreciate the calm. After supper they usually went into the family room together, since the women liked to watch primetime television and the men often had nothing better to do. But whenever he and Imelda watched movies, the rest of the family was suddenly busy with their own personal projects. In trying to be subtle, they always made it too clear that they were leaving the two of them downstairs for some alone time; it was one of those things that no one commented on, but everyone knew.

Even though he treasured every evening he could sit with them after mealtime—part of the family, something he thought he'd lost forever—he found that he loved these quiet times just as much. The Land of the Dead was loud, even if it wasn't a holiday. It couldn't be helped, with so many people crammed into one vertical space. There was always a party: weddings, birthdays, public dances, shows and plays. Not to mention the streetcars that ran twenty-four hours a day, their bells ringing and wheels scraping, wires buzzing as the air-trams flew overhead. Above all the rest of the noise there was the never-ending construction, always building more and more for the new arrivals.

He'd grown used to it, living on the streets. Even in Shantytown there was the pulse of the city above, the water below, and the muted conversations trickling from thin walls. But here, in an actual neighborhood of houses and family-owned businesses, nighttime was nighttime again. It was peaceful, quiet enough to hear his thoughts, the windows covered with shades and curtains to block out the city lights.

It was cozy, he decided. Cozy didn't always exist everywhere you went, but movie nights were cozy. The dining area, visible through the open entryway, was dark. A single florescent bulb over the kitchen sink remained lit constantly, but from the family room its light was a pale reflection off the dining table. The tableside lamp cast the room in a warm glow through its cream-colored shade, a muted newsreel flickering on the TV screen. In the absence of sound, he could hear it prickling with static fuzz.

"There, now." The newsreel flashed, changing to a menu. He straightened as Imelda came to join him on the sofa, creating what he hoped was an inviting space between his ribcage and his arm. She ignored it, taking her usual spot in the center cushion with her skirts folded demurely around her legs. He didn't let it deter him; this was a normal occurrence. He wasn't sure if it was her personal pride, a sense of modesty, or some other lingering emotion that had her putting space between them. It was a fruitless effort, no matter the reason; she always managed to gravitate towards him as the movie went on.

"A ver—" She squinted at the remote, finding the arrow keys and moving through the menu. He watched her with a sense of pride, a warmth that swelled to fill his ribcage. Mi esposa inteligente…. He smiled to himself; it was only recently that he let himself start thinking of her as his wife again. Before the holiday she had been Imelda: a woman he loved, but was entirely detached from. She'd wanted nothing to do with him, and he'd tried his best to honor her wishes no matter how much it hurt.

But she'd called him the love of her life, her love—hers. He was possessed, and could possess in return. He could call her his, now, without guilt or pain. At least, he could in the back of his mind. It was still too early to make those kinds of sentiments known… wasn't it? After all, they'd only recently graduated to goodnight kisses: one peck before separating, her to her bedroom and he to the guest room. For some that single kiss might have been little more than a tease, but he cherished it. Even that was more then he'd dared to dream of, living apart from her. He'd grown so disillusioned with his life that he'd almost forgotten what it was like to hope.

"I'm excited to see this movie again," Imelda admitted, pulling him from his thoughts as the first preview began to play. She settled against the cushion, the remote on the empty seat next to her and her hands in her lap. "Suggestive," she snorted, allowing herself to be derisive while they were alone. He'd noticed that while she played the maternal figure, she kept back many of the emotions he knew she was capable of. "I need to tell that to Lucía when I call her. We saw this on one of our ladies nights; I'm sure she'd have liked it a lot more if it had been suggestive."

"She really hasn't changed at all, then." He knew Lucía from his Santa Cecelia days. She was Imelda's oldest and closest friend, both in life and in death. He hadn't reunited with her since coming to live at the house, and was a little afraid to meet her again; from what he could remember she hit harder than Imelda, and wasn't afraid to wield whatever was closest as a makeshift weapon. She was sure to have a few words about his leaving town, no matter how happy she might be to see him again afterwards.

"Oh, you know her." Imelda shook her head. "She'd stand in the street, in broad daylight, and watch…" she hesitated, looking to the entryway before lowering her voice, "pornografía, if she knew she'd get a good laugh out of it. And we both know Fernando wouldn't lift a finger to stop her, either." Héctor had to agree; he hadn't seen Fernando in a century, but the man had always been more than lenient towards his wife.

"You wouldn't?" he asked, unable to help teasing her just a little. After all, it wasn't as though anyone was around to hear them talking…. "Watch, I mean." Still, moment he said it he realized that it sounded risqué. Her resulting expression was unreadable; she was shocked, but he couldn't tell whether it was from the nature of the question itself, or the fact that he'd asked it.

"I—of course not!" she hissed. Even without flesh, he could still tell that she blushed. "I'd never watch someone… watch them… do…" she struggled, caught between the modesty she was taught and the words that she knew. She gave up after a moment, switching gears.

"And besides, those books are bad enough, aren't they? Writing it all out, as if they want you to imagine it happening; why anyone would want to read something like that I'll never understand. They lure you in with an honest romance, and then you have to wade through acts that are better left behind closed doors. Why, in our day a woman didn't know about that until her wedding night; we were probably better off for it, in my opinion."

"Hmm." His jaw worked as he tried to decide whether or not to say what was on his mind. Oh, what the hell. "You seem to know an awful lot about what's in those books," he pointed out. She glared at him and he held it, waiting; she broke eye contact first, clearing her throat guiltily.

"I might have looked in one or two… but with good reason! After all, my granddaughter is reading them. I wanted to make sure there was nothing too inappropriate. What I saw shocked me, but Julio is bound and determined that she can do as she pleases. I just hope Coco has more sense."

"You didn't like any of them?"

"Shh." She turned her head, focusing squarely on the television. "The movie's starting." He grinned, obediently falling silent as she turned up the volume. It was one of the newer movies, shot in brilliant color and full of both old and new faces. He prided himself on being able to pick out stars from other movies she'd shown him, even recognizing one he'd only seen in living pictures. And, as he'd predicated, it was the usual spiel.

The plot centered around two families. In the Land of the Living they're business partners and good friends, united by the young love of Jonas and Edita. However, in the Land of the Dead they're bitter enemies, and have been for countless generations. The night before their wedding, the opening credits announced, the two swerved off the road in a terrible storm and fell to their untimely deaths. They awoke in the Land of the Dead, startled and confused, only to learn of the terrible past history of their families. Torn apart, they're told to renounce their love for the sake of family, duty, and honor.

Héctor watched their plight with his usual detached interest, chuckling under his breath at some of the youngsters' dramatics. Jonas was ridiculous and Edita absurd, but it was to be expected. After all, they were young and in love; when the two were combined, intelligence might as well be nonexistent.

Even though they were the same age as him physically, he couldn't help but watch with the mentality of his hundred-plus years. But he couldn't really blame them, either; he remembered that euphoric high, the near-obsessive passion that blocked out all common sense. Young lovers were reckless, which was why parents were expected to stand in and stop them from making life-altering mistakes. Not that true love was a life-altering mistake… they were just going about it in the wrong way. If they'd all—adults and kids—sat down to talk it over, there wouldn't be any conflict. But then, he considered, there also wouldn't be any movie.

Imelda rested her head against his shoulder, a sigh brushing across his ribs. Her focus was on the screen, but she'd already managed to work her way across the cushion and into the crook of his arm. He draped it across her shoulders, welcoming her touch and wondering if the sigh meant she was tired. She had fallen asleep on him before, during other movies; he stayed still until well after the credits had rolled, holding her against him for as long as she slept. He would have gladly remained there all night, the cadence of her breathing reminding him of the old days. She did wake up, however; he always pretended to sleep too, just to keep from embarrassing her.

Just as he began to lose interest there was a fight scene between the two families. The movie began to resemble a telenovela as the mothers argued and spat insults, relatives from both sides coming close to engaging in a public fistfight while the two lovers looked on helplessly. It came to a head when Jonas and Edita announced their decision to marry despite what the families thought, reminding them that if the living could bury the hatchet, the dead should be able to as well.

Good sentiment, bad timing, he thought as the altercation escalated even more. Kids really don't know when to keep their bright ideas to themselves, do they? The plot thickened even further as the two made plans to elope in the dead of night, sneaking out of their houses and running away together. Jonas made it alright, but Edita had to scale the side of her family's cliffside hacienda. It was a straight drop to the river, countless stories below; halfway down the outer wall her heel snapped off in a brick, leaving her dangling in the air until Jonas came to save her.

"She should have never chosen old heels for climbing," Imelda mumbled, shifting even closer to him. "Pobrecita… stupid girl." He glanced down at her, unable to see her face. The light caught the pouf of her wig, drawing his attention to it. He had the sudden urge to pat it down, to see how far it would compress. Or, even better, to run his fingers through it until the hair came loose, sliding to fall over the back of her neck.

He resisted, knowing she'd protest, and contented himself with resting his head there instead of his hand. It was thick and soft beneath his cheekbone, the way he could barely remember her real hair being in life. Who gave the dead such detailed instructions about something as nonchalant as hair? Who, he wondered, had told the powers that be to make sure his hair was wiry and untamable? The wigs had to have come from somewhere… some sub department of the city's sprawling bureau?

He nearly burst into laughter as the two lovers, penniless but married and determined, descended into Shantytown. That was the most un-Shantytown he'd ever seen in his life; it was absolutely ridiculous! Clean, perfectly built docks lined by neat, shabby buildings that clearly had floor plans, and weren't cobbled together from whatever could be found floating down the river.

Whoever had made the set had clearly never set foot in the actual neighborhood. Where were the houses built from little more than empty canvas and metal ridgepoles? Where were the gaping holes in the walkways? The strings of lights and scanty decorations where the Forgotten tried to make their houses as personalized as possible? The empty bottles, the crushed tin cans? The clotheslines?

And the people. No one in Shantytown looked so glum and gray, not like these actors and actresses shuffling around sadly in the background. They lived their lives the best they could, with laughter, games, music, and friends. They were a family, not a bunch of funeral-goers. He wished, somewhat sadly, that his old forgotten friends could be here to see this. They'd all get a real kick out of what the Remembered thought their underworld looked like. Chicharrón, especially, would have had a laugh; he could almost hear the old codger now.

Why the hell are they even in Shantytown? They're just poor, not Forgotten! Don't they realize they can just pawn off their offerings like anyone else? Or were they too stupid to bring more than the clothes on their backs?

At least the newlyweds acted the way most Remembered did when seeing Shantytown up close for the first time. They crept along the docks, jumping at the slightest sound and nearly falling in the water in an effort to keep from touching anyone or anything. As if being Forgotten was something catching, spread like a plague from person to person once they passed the graffitied gates. They found a woman—her bones not the right shade of yellow, and her markings still too bright—that rented them a room for the night. Another discrepancy; there was no renting what was always freely given. Folks helped others in need in the slums, they usually didn't ask for money. There was no telling if they'd be around long enough to spend it.

"Relájate, mi amor. It's our wedding night, after all." Yeah, Jonas. Lighten up. He was acting like they were going to be jumped and mugged at any minute. What a joke. He let a breath sputter across Imelda's hair, rolling his eyes at the theatrics. At least Edita was more realistic, trying to relax and make the best of things. That was the real Shantytown way.

He nearly lost it when the camera panned to a bed in the room, holding his breath to keep from startling Imelda with helpless peals of laughter. No one in Shantytown would bother with owning a bed; the mattress would mold with the first flood! Everyone slept in hammocks: a cocoon made from an old tent or even a quilt was easy to raise along with floodwaters. Besides, if the water rose high enough the bed might be carried away entirely.

They stood together by the bed, hands locked as they renewed their vow of everlasting love. More sweet sentiments, but who was there to hear them? They were all alone in a dusty shanty. Perhaps that was the point, but a part of him couldn't be bothered to care. It would have been different if Shantytown was some hellish existence. He'd seen worse, sitting in the holding cells of prisons on Día de Muertos and waiting for daybreak. Those people—the murderers, the drug lords, rapists and thieves—had their own communities, nestled in the crooks and crannies of the city. If they'd wanted a sympathetic reaction from him, they'd have sent the lovebirds there instead.

He lost interest when they started to kiss, wrapped in the sweet caress of young love. His mind was still absorbed over the bed detail, wondering if he should start advocating for proper Shantytown exposure in film. Who would he send a complaint to? The studio? They could at least do proper research if they wanted to include it in their movies. People did live there, even if they'd never see the film they were being portrayed in.

And wasn't it false advertising? Why, if that's what everyone thought the shanties looked like, wouldn't they be in for a surprise when—

His mind blanked at the sound of a sudden, sharp, obvious feminine moan. That was a sound he hadn't heard in quite some time, but still knew exactly what it was. His head jerked, his attention instantly back on the movie. What on earth?!

"I never want this dream to end," Edita said, laying back on the bed. The faded quilt and overstuffed pillow did little to mar her beauty, brown hair spread just so to frame the adoration in her eyes. Ah, so that's what they had to put the bed in there for? Maybe he hadn't seen that many movies, but that was just a little… cheap.

"It doesn't have to." Jonas had lost his shirt between cuts, it seemed. Héctor's browbones rose, along with a bubble of laughter in his throat. The two began to kiss passionately, limbs tangled as they lay together on top of the quilt. He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, not wanting to sound immature. This must be the scene they were talking about earlier. Well, all things considered… it wasn't so bad. He didn't know much about movie ratings, but this didn't seem to warrant a—

Oh.

Oh.

Could—Could they really show that on TV? What if there were children present in the audience?! That was a very creaky bed, and certainly some loud breathing, and those shadows on the wall were—ay, Jonas! Think of your back, amigo! He could certainly understand now why others had called it indecent; anyone with a brain and two ears could tell what was clearly going on in that shanty!

Imelda, this is highly suggestive! Even you can't say no one would realize what's happening!

Imelda didn't seem very shocked by the scene at all. She wasn't even paying much attention; she shifted on the cushion, trying to yank her skirts out from under her leg without standing up. She managed to untangle her feet, adjusting the fabric to rest on her knees before leaning back against him. Her hand landed on his thigh and he froze, eyes widening. It was an innocent gesture, one she'd done plenty of times during movie night. But right now….

He swallowed hard, suddenly all too aware of her body. She was close; why had he never noticed how close they were? He could feel the curving rise of her ribcage, expanding to press into his with every breath. Her fingers felt absently along the outline of his femur through his pants, tracing the pinstripes. She rested her cheek on his shoulder again, the top of her head nestling beneath his jaw. Another little breath ghosted over his ribs; this one seemed to linger, highlighting the edges of every bone.

Oh. His mind slowed to a crawl, unable to move past the one word. A spark slipped down his spine, tickling the vertebrae before settling into his lower pelvis. Oh. He blushed, the heat radiating in the place where his ears used to be. He barely had time to brace himself before a shiver ran through him, tingling like the shock from an exposed telegraph wire. Every part of him was on fire with something he could almost name, centered around the parts where their bodies rested against each other. He hadn't felt this way in years, decades.

He closed his eyes, trying to get some semblance of control. Memories flashed in the back of his mind, as if waiting for him to let his guard down: Imelda. The Imelda he'd known, the Imelda he'd dreamed about, coveted, delighted in. Memories he'd pleasured himself to, alone in the hotel room while Ernesto was out finding his own entertainment. He could still recall the sweat on the back of his neck, muscles clenching as he gasped out her name, her latest letter pressed against his heart.

Imelda, her skin warm and supple—soft, perhaps. He thought he could remember it being soft. Her dark hair, so long that it seemed to go on forever and ever when he wound it in his hands. He loved burying his face in it, hiding in it, breathing in the fragrance of kitchen and sunshine and woman. The freckles along the rise of her breast, darker where her dress exposed them to the sun. The sharp angle of her collarbone, tracing out a premade line for him to kiss. Her eyes, shining up at him in the dark from their bed, her gown glowing in the moonlight, his hands two dark splotches that smoothed the fabric up her legs.

There was no sense in thinking about that, he tried to assure himself. It's not like he could have that again. His traitorous mind obeyed, changing the scene and sweeping the rug from beneath his proverbial feet. Imelda, her skin replaced by gleaming bone, silver trails highlighting her hair. The same smiling eyes, the same angled clavicle; her body bared for him, only for him. In his mind he bent over her, their ribcages sliding without the soft friction of clothing to separate them. It shouldn't have been as arousing an image as it was; maybe he'd just forgotten the joys of flesh, trading them for touches he could imagine more easily after a hundred years in a bonier body.

Want. He wanted her.

He glanced automatically to his trousers, but of course there was nothing amiss. He didn't have the anatomy to give himself away anymore; everything was as shapeless as ever, cinched around his hipbones by the rope he'd won in a card game. The heat in his stomach clenched, a delicious ache; he set his jaw, resisting the urge to grind his teeth. Ay, dios… he needed to move. But there was no excuse to try and adjust himself; he didn't even have anything to adjust!

It shouldn't have surprised him. He should have been ready for this. He wasn't some innocent, bumbling teenager on his first foray into the adult world. He'd known good and well that sex didn't die with flesh. He was a man, after all; he'd heard plenty of braggarts embellishing their exploits in the local bar. And his Shantytown neighbors had sometimes been the frisky sort; thin walls had given him plenty of reasons to visit primos on the other end of the docks.

But in those situations, sex was an avoidance. He hadn't wanted to hear about how many women had been unlucky enough to lie with Anthony, and he certainly didn't want to hear the things Tía Kate screamed when her boyfriend had her up against the wall. How long had it been since he'd thought about pleasure for pleasure's sake? A hundred years, his body informed him, burning. A century without her, and now she's here—

Here in body, yes, but also watching a movie and completely oblivious to him. Physical urges in the Land of the Dead were a matter of conscious thought. They were just bones, at the end of the day, no matter if their soul or memories or… whatever they could be called resided with them. Bones didn't get hungry, thirsty, hot, or cold. Not on their own, anyway. It took a certain mentality to get in the mood, as it were. When it was summertime they felt hot, because they expected to feel hot. When there was food in front of their faces, they became hungry.

Apparently, the same could be said for desire as well.

Imelda was clearly not in the same boat, or if she was she hid it a little too well. There was a strong possibility that even if he did tell her about his feelings she would be puzzled, or at least not in the mood… quite literally. And it was a little embarrassing, to admit that a movie scene was what got him into this state—he'd been the one teasing her about watching dirty films. Not to mention they were still taking things slow. It was a big leap to go from one kiss per day to lovemaking, and she probably wouldn't be willing to skip so many other, equally important steps. It would be like… oh, what did the kids call it nowadays? A fling?

He consulted his options, no longer the least bit interested in the movie. The kids could both go to their Final Deaths and he wouldn't shed a tear. He had more important matters to consider. He could continue to do nothing, but to do that was to suffer. He could tell her outright—no, bad option. He could make an excuse to get up, leave the room, cool off. A better option, but still bad. What excuse? There was no restroom to excuse himself to. A drink of water? The kitchen was too close to walk off these urges.

What if he… indulged?

He glanced at her, looking up and down her body. She looked so tiny; even her feet dangled above the floor, her legs not long enough to reach the ground. It was so cute, how itty-bitty she was. Even her tiny hands, the perfect little fingerbones that could run through his hair or trace the designs on his face, or slide in the gaps between—

Focus, Héctor.

He needed something mild: enticing, but enough to sate his hunger. The trick would be picking something that would keep her in the dark; he didn't want to bother her or make her move away. A voice, small but imploring, piped up in the back of his mind. This is a bad idea…. True, but he'd had worse. Besides, he was the king of bad ideas. One more wasn't going to put him in the grave… again.

What about a kiss? That could work. Imelda liked kisses, mostly. Sure, she complained when he covered her face in enthusiastic smooches, but this would be smaller scale. Something simple, chaste, indulging himself without frightening her away. Now, what was the most unsexual place to kiss her? He glanced her over once more, unable to trust himself with anything below her neck. He knew his own limits.

Her cheek? No, that wouldn't work; it was too close to her mouth. Ditto for her nose and chin. The forehead was a viable option, but too hard to reach. He needed something he could aim for without moving from his spot. The patch of bone between her hair and forehead seemed to call out to him. ¡La sien! Of course! He bit back a smile, leaning down to plant one firm peck to the side of her head.

Never had a simple kiss been so difficult.

It became a hands-on test of his restraint from the start. The warmth inside of him sputtered, startled, and then flared even brighter. He had to resist the urge to nuzzle into her hair, or squeeze her, or prolong the contact in any way. It seemed natural, almost instinctive, for him to seek her out. She was taunting him without knowing it, her body so close and yet off limits. He couldn't ask her to cuddle, not like this; he was barely keeping control as it was.

He forced himself away, putting the same distance between them as he tried in vain to watch the movie. He was utterly baffled at himself, not sure why he felt so… hot. He couldn't remember being like this as a living man. Was it just because it had been so long? Or was it that after he started thinking about it, it was the only thing he could think about? A vicious circle, that's what it was. The more he thought about it, the worse he felt, and the worse he felt the more he thought about it.

Imelda stirred, the kiss enough to take her attention away from the movie. He nearly whined, his body protesting as she pulled away just enough to look up at him. Her eyes softened in a smile, accepting his affectionate gesture for what it was. He tried to return it, not wanting to startle her. His heart pounded in his throat—at least it felt that way, even if he didn't have a heart—and the discomfort of it must have shown somewhere on his face.

"Héctor?" The smile faltered, wavering at the edges as her browbone creased. "Is something wrong?"

"N-no!" he assured her, only to wilt at the hoarse rasp. That was not the voice of someone at ease, trying to enjoy a movie. Her eyes widened, blinking and uncertain, before narrowing into a familiar expression he'd seen countless times before. What's going on? Her mouth pursed, forming a thoughtful frown as she studied him. He tried again to smile, a nervous chuckle spilling out of his throat.

Shit. She knew that laugh, just as well as he knew her expressions. He all but trembled on the cushion, his heart sinking as he waited for the hammer to fall. She was going to find him out, and then what? Laugh? Oh, if only that was all he had to worry about. What if she was repulsed with him? Or even worse, angry? That would probably be it. She'd get angry, and kick him out with instructions to never come back to sully her doorstep again. That'd be the end of it.

Good going, Héctor. You ruined everything again.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that when she moved, he automatically flinched away. His eyes scrunched, preparing for the first wallop of her boot against his undeserving head, but it never came. Instead, he felt something lukewarm and familiar against his chin. Wait. Wait, wait, wait… wait. No boot? Not anger, or disgust, but… reciprocation? He cracked one eye to see her smiling again, one hand resting lightly on his sternum.

"Uhm…" he managed to croak, as eloquent as ever. Their eyes met and it was her turn to laugh awkwardly, her hand jerking from his chest as though her fingers had been scalded by the inferno melting his nonexistent guts. She looked away first, trying to smooth hair behind an ear that didn't exist.

He choked, overwhelmed with how adorable she could be. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't resist her charms; what man would be unmoved by something so sweet and lovely? There wasn't enough resolve in the world, much less his own bones, that could keep him away so long as she was happy to have him there. It took everything he had in him to keep from pinning her to the cushions, swallowing her startled gasps and reminding her of what they could accomplish together.

"I didn't…" she trailed off uncertainly. His mind was still spinning its wheels on the fact that she wanted to kiss him; before he knew it, they were both mumbling over each other.

"I'm sorry! I didn't realize—"

"I guess I should have asked—"

"You don't have to—"

"I just thought—"

"We can, still." Bad idea! The little voice in his mind was stomping its feet, but it was quickly being overrode by another, louder one. Do it again, that voice chanted. Do it again, do it again please, I won't mess up this time, do it again, Imelda— "Imelda. I-If you want to." They stared at each other, his hand squeezing the life out of his right wrist. He pressed until the bones protested, waiting as patiently as he could muster for an answer.

There was a sharp pop of gunfire and he jumped in his seat, gasping; he'd forgotten entirely about the movie. Shooting a gun at a dead person? He turned without thinking, wondering who would be dumb enough to do something so pointless, and then froze as her fingers brushed the side of his face. She turned his head back, her poignant little frown scolding him for taking his attention away from her.

"I want to." Her voice was just above a whisper, barely audible over the movie. He didn't have the sense to reply, mouth falling open at the words. The way she was looking at him, the lamp behind her illuminating a halo around her head… oh, mi diosa. He was at her mercy, surely she knew that. He could only nod dumbly, forcing his fingers apart and opening his arms to welcome her back into his embrace. She leaned up to meet him, head tilting automatically even though there wasn't any danger of bumping noses, not anymore.

He completely melted at the first touch of her lips, mind blanking as her fingers traced the prominent yellow designs on his cheek. His eyes slid shut, leaning drunkenly into the touch as ripples ran up and down his spine. It was hardly more than their usual nightly kiss, only on the sofa instead of in the hallway. He'd been content with it—should be content with it now—but it wasn't enough. He wanted to press into her, to caress her, move against her, experience her.

He wanted more.

She rested her forehead against his, their breath mingling. For the first time, the thought hit him that she might, just might be interested in more than a little kiss. Her hands smoothed over the rumpled collar of his shirt, her eyes opening to see him watching her closely. She leaned back and he followed unthinkingly, not wanting to separate after just one kiss. He didn't want to stop, not now that he'd had a taste of what he'd been missing for the better part of a century. Was she rethinking her earlier statement? Had she changed her mind, or was she giving him the chance to say no?

"Imelda, más—" He hadn't meant to say it aloud, the imperative dying with a whine in the back of his throat. He felt the sting of embarrassment, not enough to stop the desire curling at his bones. It was sprinkling water on a raging fire, producing nothing but a bit of steam that manifested in a hot blush she couldn't even see.

An apology stood ready, but before he could voice it he fell back against the arm of the sofa, hands fumbling to find purchase on the faded upholstery. He'd been worried about losing control and pinning her, but now she was trying her hardest to pin him. He hadn't expected her to jump on him, her weight nothing compared to a flesh body but still substantial enough that he could enjoy her, kinetic energy and cloth warming what would otherwise be solid, cool bone.

"Imelda?!" he managed to sputter, twisted sideways on the sofa. She made a desperate little noise in return, her arms looping around his neck as she kissed him fiercely. It wasn't the kind of kisses he was used to from her, the pressure of her mouth hard enough to hurt if it hadn't felt so damn good. The sound she made vibrated through his jaw, and he gladly surrendered the fight against his conscience. Everything in him was finally on the same page: don't stop.

He found his bearings, settling against the back of the sofa. He managed to find her hips, dragging her halfway onto his lap before giving up when she made a protesting noise. He instead cradled her jaw with both hands, taking control as he deepened the kiss. They battled for a brief moment, she trying to regain power while he sought to keep it. Her frustrated hands grabbed at his vest, distracting him as he tried to find the right angle; it was hard without a tongue or noses to guide him, but he somehow managed. Her answering moan was a white flag, fingers digging into his upper arms.

"No," she muttered irritably when he broke the kiss, his hand guiding her jaw. He ignored her, running on autopilot as he turned his attention to her bodice. He hadn't thought much about it before now, but he wanted… he wanted to…. He watched his hands as they slid over her shoulders, tracing the outline of her collar. She looked down as well, eyes slightly dazed as his fingers began counting the ribs exposed by the low cut of the cloth. He smoothed the patterned fabric, following its curve to the flat ribbon cinching the dress at her waist.

"I don't… not anymore…." Her mouth twisted, lipstick smudged at the edges. He wondered if some of it had rubbed off onto him; a thrill ran through him at the thought, still able to mark his body even if he didn't have skin to tease.

"Who cares?" Who needed breasts, when the sloping curves of her ribcage were his to explore?

"Tch." She scowled, only to bite back a gasp when he pressed his fingers into the gaps between her ribs. The fabric pulled taunt against her bones, outlining them in dark shadows of purple as he counted them, all the way back up to her clavicle. She murmured something under her breath, panting softly as he leaned down to kiss the top of her sternum.

"Hmm?"

"N-nothing." She averted her gaze, chewing on the pliant bone that served for her lower lip. He waited, but she remained quiet. He went back to exploring her ribcage, running his long fingers over the bones offered up to him by her bodice. There were only three, not counting her collarbone, but he was more than happy with that. He followed their shape until he met the cloth, slipping through them to feel the undersides.

When even that wasn't enough he pulled her closer, his lips following the path his fingers had taken. He kissed over every rib, committing them to memory as his fingers traced them beneath her arms and around to her spine. She squirmed on his lap, her hands tangling in his hair to hold him still, or pull him back after he tried to move on to another spot. He tried to take note of what she seemed to like, but the friction of her hips though their clothing was driving him wild. He began to rock unconsciously, trying to prolong the contact even as he fought to keep still.

"Héctor, what—" Her voice was breathy now, sending a shudder through him.

"Te necesito." There was no point in beating around the bush now. "Quiero hacerte el amor." Her eyes bulged, mouth falling open. It took a lot to render Imelda Rivera speechless, and he took some pride in the fact that he'd managed it at all.

"Here?!" she managed to stammer, her eyes flitting nervously towards the entryway; its wide, curving arch offered a perfect view for anyone coming through the kitchen. "Héctor, w-we can't! Someone—they'll hear—"

He said nothing, leaning past her skirts to reach the remote. He barely glanced at it, his thumb finding the volume button. He turned up the movie to a louder, yet still acceptable level. With any luck, the others would think that they just couldn't hear the quieter bits. He glanced back at her, brows raising silently for her approval. She sighed, looking between him, the TV, and the entryway before shaking her head firmly.

"I—no. No, we can't." She gathered her restraint, both hands on his chest as she pushed him back against the cushion. "Someone's going to hear, or see, or—"

"They leave us alone for a reason," he pointed out blithely, his palms smoothing over the rise of her hips.

"Not this reason!" It was easy to tell that she was a blushing mess, even without the blood rushing to her cheeks. "For heaven's sake, Héctor: I'm a grandmother, I can't be—I'm not—"

"You're Imelda to me." He watched her in the lamplight, the flashing TV playing with the shadows on her skull. "Besides, I'm a grandfather. What does that matter?"

"W-what does it matter?! We're supposed to be… I don't know!" She threw up her hands. "Old, or something!"

"We are old." He hooked one finger under her clavicle, drawing her forward. She followed, protests dying in her throat as he kissed up towards her neck. "Please, Imelda." She groaned, eyes screwing shut, and then with an impatient growl she jerked the remote from his hand. Muting the TV, she turned her eyes to the ceiling. He mimicked her, the two of them listening to the marked silence. There wasn't a peep from upstairs, not even the creaking of floorboards.

"This isn't right." She unmuted the TV, jaw working as he settled her on his lap. Her knees dug into the cushion on either side of his bony hips. "We shouldn't." Her hands shoved at his vest, pushing it off his shoulders. He let go of her long enough to slide his arms through the sleeve holes, letting it pool behind him. She cupped his jaw in her hands, pressing kisses to his willing mouth. "We really shouldn't…."

"Then stop, mi amor."

"Hush." She grabbed the back of his head, fingers digging into his scalp. "Don't… call me… that," she muttered around his frantic kisses, eyes fluttering shut. "Don't… Héctor—"

"That's what you are." He nipped at her collarbone, grinning when she squeaked. He'd missed all the sounds she used to make, wondering if she remembered them as well as he did. He'd gladly spend hours finding out, if she let him… "You said it yourself."

"I never—" She gulped, her breath ragged as she fisted handfuls of his hair. "I only said—"

"I know what you said." He rested his chin on her sternum, thumbs drawing circles on her hips. "The love of my life, that's what you said."

"I was just saying things!"

"I don't believe you." He gently tugged, drawing her down to kiss her neck, her cheek, her lips. "Tell me, Imelda."

"Hmph."

"Tell me." His hands reached down, searching for the hem of her dress. There wasn't time to undress properly, but he doubted she really cared about that right now. She'd probably complain more if he did try to take her clothes off. As if that would matter at this point; anyone walking by would know exactly what they were doing, with his shirt gone and his neckerchief wrapped in her questing fingers. "I can't do anything until you tell me what you want."

"You alre—"

"I can't have you saying things," he teased, taking his kerchief and tossing it onto the other side of the sofa. She huffed, pouting.

"I… you know."

"What if I don't?"

"H… hazme…" She ducked her head, avoiding his eyes. "Hazme el amor."

"Sí." He gathered her skirts, reveling in how familiar the feeling was. "With pleasure."

"Shut up." She braced herself against him, boot scraping the side of the sofa as she lifted her legs to help free the cloth. He paused at her knees, reaching beneath the billowing fabric to feel her femurs. She shivered helplessly, the back of one hand pressed against her mouth to muffle the soft moan that escaped.

"More?" He looked up at her, asking permission both verbally and with his eyes. He'd never force her to do anything, not as long as it was in his power, but he'd forgotten just what she could do to him. She nodded, chest heaving. She was so beautiful, so fierce; he never understood why men said they wanted passive partners, when the real passion lay in her fiery responses. Maybe they were just made for each other, maybe that's why they worked so well.

He wished that he had a tongue, just to lick his lips and ease the tension. His hands gathered the fabric as neatly as possible, exposing more of her legs until he finally reached her pelvic bones. He stopped, awestruck and wide-eyed like a young boy experiencing his wedding night all over again. The shape of her was… perfect. He stared unblinking at the circular basin of her hips, wider than his own, their daughter's first cradle. Long before he'd ever known Coco she'd been here, resting in the embrace her mother's body made for her.

"What?" She craned her neck, trying to see over her skirts. "What is it?" She stared at her bones blankly; they were just another body part to her, like her limbs or her skull. She couldn't see the sweet, marvelous perfection that he could. Would she like his? Would she not care? He brushed those thoughts aside for the moment, focusing on her body.

They didn't have a lot of time; despite his objections, she hadn't been worried for nothing. They weren't alone, nor were they in the privacy of a bedroom. He couldn't linger the way he wanted, not if they were going to get done anytime soon.

"Can I touch…?" She gave a little shrug in reply, noncommittal.

"I suppose you'd want to, anyway." Well… she knows me, at least. He reached out and caressed the smooth plane of her right ilium, tracing the angled dip as it lowered to her ramus. He watched her face, letting the bones guide him down towards her center; her mouth twisted before parting, a broken moan slipping out as her hips rose to meet his hand.

"Does that hurt?" He ran his finger back and forth over her lowest point, stroking softly until she grabbed his wrist. He paused, waiting. "Should I stop?"

"No!" she cried, too loudly. "I—I mean, no, it's just…." She opened her eyes, her thumb rubbing the inside of his wrist. "It's been a long time for me, Héctor." She swallowed anxiously, her vertebrae jolting with the motion. "Longer than I've been dead," she admitted in a small voice.

"It has been for me, too."

"A hundred years…."

"Sí." He smiled reassuringly. "A hundred years." Her expression softened, overflowing with warmth and affection. He basked in it, happy to remain there forever; she had different plans, reaching down to the rope at his waist. Her hands brushed over his bone through his trousers and his earlier urgency returned, spurring him to hastily shove the suspenders off his shoulders. His hands joined hers, loosening the rope just enough to slide his pants down towards his knees.

"Oh." She stared at him, fingers pressed to her mouth. He winced, waiting for her judgement, but she didn't seem to notice. Her other hand faltered, reaching for him only to pull back at the last moment. Her mouth pursed and he suddenly imagined her kissing him down there, leaving purple imprints over every inch of his pubic bone. The thought was almost too much to bear, his toes curling into the throw rug as he pulled her towards him. Another time, perhaps….

It was only when he went to lift her that he realized one small, but important thing: he'd never done this before. At least, not like this, with no anatomy to speak of and even less of an idea about how it might possibly work. He hesitated, staring at their bones like two halves of a puzzle. He let out a low hiss, cursing the damn movie, its actors, producers, directors, and anyone else involved. They give him the bright idea, but left it up to the viewer's imagination! How was he supposed to know what to do?!

"What?"

"It's just…" He tilted his head. "Do you know how?" He thankfully didn't have to explain, as she joined him in staring at their lower halves. "I never thought about it, but I don't have… you know."

"I never thought about it, either." She frowned, and he grimaced in return. He was just as inexperienced now as he'd been their first time together—no, more than that! At least back then he'd had a basic idea of what went where! Wasn't instinct supposed to take over at some point? Did the dead not have any innate sexuality? "No importa."

"What!?" She rolled her eyes at his exclamation, wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling into his hair.

"No importa," she repeated, her voice lowered to a purr. He ached at the sound, twisting beneath her. "Bésame." He obliged, a moan rumbling in his chest as he slid one hand up to trace her spine beneath the dress. She inched forward, teeth teasing his neck as she straddled him, her hips—

Her hips.

They broke apart with startled yelps, shocked as their hips collided with a dull clunk. Imelda's hands bit into his shoulders, her eyes darting from his face to his chest. Neither one moved, their torsos meeting with each breath.

"Did you?"

"Mhmm." She took a sharp breath. "I did." Their eyes met and she gingerly moved, rocking against him. His head hit the back of the sofa, a soft groan escaping as his hands found her hips. Yes, there… ay that's it— From her little mewl of pleasure, she had to have been feeling the same thing he was. He pushed up into her experimentally, increasing the pressure on their bones until he couldn't stand it.

It felt nothing like the living world, but he was beyond caring. After a few tries they found a rhythm that left them both breathless, gasping and grabbing at whatever they could get their hands on. Her arms cradled his skull, face buried in his hair as he peppered opened-mouth kisses along her bodice. The sound of their bones scraping and clacking seemed loud, even with the movie; some tiny semblance of clarity had him reaching for the remote, bumping the volume up another notch.

He knew they didn't have the time to prolong anything, but he should have realized he wouldn't have lasted long anyway. It had been far too long; even without the wet heat of her living body, the raw pleasure eating its way up his spine was too much to handle. He thrust up to meet her, trying to hold her hips still as she ground against him.

That thudding sound… was that the sofa? He hoped not, but it sounded a little too much like they were being very loud. He kept waiting for her to say something, to stop them, but she only held him tighter. She felt so good, her entire weight pressed against him, surrounding him, rocking into him until he couldn't think of anything else but her, her, her. Mi Imelda, mi amor, el amor de mi vida, qué… qué—

"Héctor…" He made a sound, almost a whimper, as she moved to speak right into his ear. Her arms slid up beneath his, grasping at his shoulders. No fair, no fair! She couldn't say his name like that and expect him to hold out any length of time. But she wasn't through, whispering as she rubbed her cheek tenderly against his. "Te extrañé mucho—soy tuya—más, mi amor—te amo—"

The heat in the base of his spine arced and he knew it was too late, too fast, too much. He tried to say her name, to—what, warn her? beg her? Her hand covered his mouth, muffling his hoarse cry as her breathy laughter echoed in his ear. She knew, she did this to him, she was the only one who could ever reduce him to this, she knew and she loved it, she loved him— His back bowed, hips stuttering as he rode the delicious wave of white-hot pleasure coursing through him from head to foot. His heels dug into the rug, head flung back as he fought to fill his lungs with one good breath of air.

He slumped back against the cushions, pulling her with him as one final moan escaped with a sigh. He'd forgotten… he thought he'd remembered, but he'd really forgotten just what it felt like to be utterly sated, the sunny warmth of an afterglow. The exhaustion of the Final Death had nothing on this. A part of his memory suggested sweat, exertion, sore muscles, but he felt only sleepy and satisfied.

"Good?" She sounded smug, and rightly so.

"Mmmm." He opened his eyes, returning her grin with a lazy smile of his own. What had he ever done to deserve her? Even now he didn't deserve this, but only because he was resting before the job was through. He stirred his weary hips back into motion, slower but with firmer strokes.

"Again?"

"For you," he mumbled, one hand holding her steady while the other traced up and down her femur. "You didn't."

"I don't have to."

"But you want to?"

"I—well—"

"Let me show you." He sat up, or tried to, his feet sliding on the gap of hardwood between the rug and the sofa. "Let me show you how good it is, 'Melda."

"…Alright." She leaned forward, grabbing him in a tight embrace. She buried her face in her arm, releasing a shaky breath across his collarbone. He moved his hand to her spine, holding her close as he gently rocked them both. She felt so small like this, something to be held delicately, protected.

He remembered something, the memory old and hazy but still there, still tangible in the back of his mind. Imelda used to like…. He moved from her femur to her pelvis, carefully stroking along the inside of her rami. He searched lazily, intent on finding a certain spot but in no hurry to do so. The longer he kept looking, the longer he had a reason to hold her this close.

"Ah!" She smothered her cries in the crook of her elbow, a shudder rolling down her spine. "Héctor!" Ah, there it is. He rubbed tentatively on the spot, delighting in her barely muffled squeal. She broke her own rhythm, wriggling as the flat of his palm rolled over the entire length of her bone. Her hips moved with a new vigor, pushing her face further into her sleeve.

"Imelda…." He tapped out his new song there, fingers drumming that same tricky chorus to the beat of her helpless moans. Mi música, mi esposa, mi vida... eres mío, mi amor. It didn't take as long as he thought it would at all, her body curling into his with a painful, raw sound. He caught her, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her hair, anywhere he could reach as he eased her down from her own high. She clung to him, her frantic breaths sounding dangerously close to sobbing.

"Héctor." She turned her face from her arm to his neck, burrowing in as far as she could. "No me dejas." Nothing could tear him from her now, save herself. Even then, she'd have to personally kick him to the curb.

"No," he promised. "Never."

"Stay." He squeezed her to his chest, rubbing her spine soothingly.

"I will. I'll stay."

"Don't go."

"I won't," he assured her, kissing the side of her head. "Shh. I won't go, I promise." She sighed in relief, going limp against him. He hummed under his breath, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against her shoulder. She was so vulnerable under all that spitfire; how could he have ever forgotten that? He sat there, fighting sleep, one ear open for the sound of movement from upstairs. He'd stay here as long as she needed, but… it was getting a little chilly without his pants.

"Your hair is a mess." And there she is. She untangled herself from him, smoothing back her own frizzed locks and fixing her rumpled bodice. One final kiss: a peck to wrap things up, the bow on a gift. She crawled off of his lap, heading back for her middle cushion.

"It's always a mess." He reached down for his trousers, hiking them up his legs and sliding the suspenders back into place. They could hold his pants up for the moment; he was too tired to bother with the rope. The movie was relatively quiet now that they were through, and he had no clue what was even happening on the screen anymore. He winced, praying that it was just a mind trick. Surely they hadn't been that loud… right? He slumped in the seat with a grunt, feeling the last flickers of passion sliding right out of his bones and into the floor. Like all sensations, once he was filled the need went away, ready for the next time.

Hopefully there'd be a next time.

"Oye." He glanced over at her, seeing that she'd put herself to rights far more quickly than he had. "Sleep in my bed tonight." It was a command, not a request, and one he had no qualms with. He nodded once, drowsy. "And don't think this is going to be an everyday occurrence, either. Just because you did good once—"

"I did good?" he repeated sleepily, a happy note in his voice.

"I—I mean—" He didn't even have the strength to tease her, resolving to doze until she told him to go to bed. Maybe tomorrow she'd recant her statement, especially since they'd already be in bed. The thought of snuggling up to her beneath the sheets was nice; they could curl up the way they used to, her little body fitting perfectly within his larger one. Or even better, she might fit herself around him, her arms wrapped around his chest. Either way would be great, better than great. "Héctor, are you listening to me?!"

"Mmhmm," he mumbled, not listening at all. "You said I did good."

"Ay."

[thebig-chillqueen]

This is an adorable pic and I love the bunny ears:

But where is Miguel’s right hand?