willheshoemaker-blog

[willheshoemaker-blog]

Temporary hiatus!

Sorry for being gone so long!

My computer broke and my phone screen’s broken so that’s holding me back.

I also have a job now, so it’s consuming my time, but I WILL come back! I have several days off next week and I can try to use those to do very overdue replies/starters and whatnot.

Again I’m so sorry.

[willheshoemaker-blog]

It was just one week away, before the celebration of the dead holiday arrived. The town was decorating for the festivities and Oliver was excited. Not about the holiday but about the music. He was loved music but his family forbade it. His family made shoes. He was a ten year old boy who was adopted by Miguel’s family. He was in his room one day and humming to himself.

“Oliver!” Miguel called, peeking his head in to the room. He held up his finger to his lips, urging the other boy to be quiet. He couldn’t just sit around singing with the door wide open! He was asking to get yelled at!

“Do you want Abuelita to hear you? She’ll get mad at you!” The other of the two stepped in to the room, closing the door behind him. “You gotta be careful about that kind of thing, Oli!”

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@musicianinlifefatherindeath

Miguel made sure to keep quiet as he tiptoed out of the house. He was barefoot, not wanting to put shoes on because the thought they would make too much noise and he didn't want to wake his parents or the rest of his family as he snuck outside.

Once he was able to successfully get out without making a sound, he quickly jogged across the courtyard between his house and the Rivera shoe shoppe, motioning for Dante, who had been asleep outside but was now awakened by the boy, to be quiet as they made their way trough the workshop and to the back room, where he'd last left his guitar. He'd been playing for his family while the worked earlier that day.

It was the middle of the night now, though, and most everyone was asleep except for him. He just couldn't sleep, no matter how hard he tried, and when counting sheep hadn't worked for him, he decided to go get his guitar. Maybe playing for a little bit would help him settle down. And, just as he expected, his guitar was in the back room.

But he had not expected it to be in the skeletal arms of someone else. More specifically, his great great grandfather.

"Papá Hèctor?"

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based on this

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the joke is that ernesto doesn’t have any other friends

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"Let me guess...you didn't listen to her?"

He couldn't help the small smirk that appeared on his face at that. He was probably right, too!

"Well, when I went to the Land of the Dead, I started turning in to a skeleton, but…I don't think you're gonna turn in to a living man. At least, you don't look like you are."

He wasn't sure how they could get Hector back to the other side, and it probably didn't work the same way it did when he got transported to the land of the dead…but they could try.

"Maybe you can wait until night time and see if the bridge comes back? Or, I could…give you my blessing?"

The last question was drawn out, showing that he doubted the idea would work in the first place. He was only 13, he didn't know much about life or death, but he didn't think the alive-people had more power over their ancestors.

willheshoemaker:

“What do you mean you missed the bridge back home?”

Miguel rubbed his eyes, then blinked a few more times, as if he still couldn’t quite believe that Hèctor was right in front of him. He had been up all night, even if his little sister had fallen asleep halfway through his little performance for his one-woman(baby)-audience. Perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him, or he’d fallen asleep and he was now dreaming.

“Didn’t mama Imelda tell you when it was time to leave?” She seemed like the kind of woman to keep track of all of her familia. Hadn’t she told Hector when it was time to go back to the land of the dead? Surely she had…

     ❝ AAAHHH … WELL … ❞ HERE, Héctor’s voice trailed off and he glanced off to the side, a guilty, horribly sheepish look on his face.

     IN TRUTH, MIGUEL had hit the nail on the head with his question. Not only had Imelda informed him of when it would be necessary to return to the Land of the Dead, but she had urged him to come back with her, knowing that he hadn’t experienced many visits like this on his own. She’d tried her best to ensure that he arrived and departed without incident, and what had he done? Well, in typical Héctor fashion, it seemed that he’d made rather a MESS of everything, that’s what.

     SIDESTEPPING THE QUESTION a bit, Héctor awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and said, ❝ She might have MENTIONED it, sí. Briefly. But — ah — that’s not my point! Listen, muchacho, what does it matter how I got stuck? We’ve just gotta figure out how to get me BACK, right? ❞ He had the distinct feeling that he couldn’t stick around for too terribly long, after all; after witnessing firsthand what being in the Land of the Dead had done to Miguel, he could only assume that there would be CONSEQUENCES for he himself, too.

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¡Bienvenido a la plaza De la Cruz! ( x )

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baby: *incomprehensible babbling*

me: WHAT!? really??? no way :0

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"Papá!"

He pushed Hèctor's arm away with one hand, and used the other to try and frantically brush his now messy hair back in to place.

"You messed up my hair! I had it styled perfectly! Es un desastre!"

Once he was partially satisfied with his hair no longer sticking up in every direction, being sure to pat down the top, sides, and back of his head to make his hair sit, he smiled to himself. Playfully, he reached up to grab the rim of Hèctor's hat and pull it down over the skeleton's face.

"First, I want to see Mamá Imelda!"

They had more than enough time. He knew she wouldn't like the fact that Miguel ended up in the Land of the Dead again. But, she also wouldn't like it if she found out later on that he was here, and nobody told her.

"Don't look at me like that, I missed her too!"

willheshoemaker

Miguel finally let go of Dante, soft smile making it’s way on to his now reddened face.

As long as he didn’t stay too long, right? As long as he got back to his body eventually…

“I can stay here for longer than one night this time?”

This time, there was no De La Cruz to worry about, no sunrise to race against, and no one was on the verge of crossing over in to the final death—at least not if they stayed away from Imelda…but there was not possible way Miguel was gonna wander the Land of the Dead without seeing her. He’d missed her, and the others, as much as he’d missed Hèctor.

If he had the time, he wasn’t gonna hesitate to get caught up on all the things he didn’t have a chance to share with Hèctor the first time around. Maybe he could pick up a few guitar techniques, and maybe a singing tip or two…

Maybe there was a chance to make this trip fun after all. “Sí. I think so, Miguelito. You aren’t cursed this time.” Which meant he, oddly, had more time with his great great grandson. Something he’d wanted, but not so soon. The boy was so young- much younger than he’d ever hoped to see him. But, Miguel was not dead and Hèctor held out hope that he would be saved.

It was worrisome, but he didn’t let it show. It wouldn’t help Miguel to see his papá worry. He shook his bones out, rattling against one another as he replaced his worried expression with a smile.

He reached out a hand, settling it against the boy’s head, threading bony digits through strands of black hair. He ruffled gently, messing up the usually neat style. “Oye, mijo. It looks like it’s you and me again, eh?” He couldn’t hide the hint of happiness breaking through the sorrow in his voice. “No use thinking about the worst, eh? What do you want to do first?” His smile was warm and comforting. “Anything you want.”

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"What do you mean you missed the bridge back home?"

Miguel rubbed his eyes, then blinked a few more times, as if he still couldn't quite believe that Hèctor was right in front of him. He had been up all night, even if his little sister had fallen asleep halfway through his little performance for his one-woman(baby)-audience. Perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him, or he'd fallen asleep and he was now dreaming.

"Didn't mama Imelda tell you when it was time to leave?" She seemed like the kind of woman to keep track of all of her familia. Hadn't she told Hector when it was time to go back to the land of the dead? Surely she had...

willheshoemaker:

@stolensongs || starter ||

“This isn’t a dream, is it?”

Shocked by the appearance of the skeleton man before him, Miguel lifted a hand to give himself a harsh smack to his own face. Then promptly repeated the motion with his other hand, and the other side of his face, in hopes that if he was dreaming, the action would wake him.

When that didn’t work, he cautiously reached up as high as he could to deliver a light smack to Hèctor’s face.

“Nope. You’re definitely real!”

The feeling of smooth bone beneath his hand was enough to tell him that. As much as Miguel wanted to leap for joy at the sight of his great great grandfather, he also wanted to know why he was seeing said great great grandfather. He hadn’t died, as far as he knew—he would have remembered if he had, he’s sure of it.

“But, Papa Hèctor…what are you doing here?”

     JUST ONCE, HÉCTOR would like to experience a Día de Muertos that came with no complications or adverse effects, nothing to come back and bite him in the rear. He’d actually, until now, had a pretty good streak in that regard — two whole years where he’d been able to cross the bridge without incident, visit with his family, and then return, smoothly as that. But tonight, the universe or whatever powers-at-be ( or, perhaps, just his own foolishness ) seemed to think that his good luck couldn’t last TOO long.

     THE SUN WAS rising in the Land of the Living, and Héctor was hopelessly stuck.

     HE SUPPOSED THAT he should have listened to Imelda’s urging all along. She’d done this more often than him, after all, and knew of the MISHAPS that could arise if rules and traditions weren’t expressly followed. She’d tried to tell him to get a move on, to hurry up so they could all get home without incident, and what had he told her? You go on, querida, I’ll catch up. He’d just wanted to stay with his great-great grandson, even if Miguel couldn’t see him, for just a few more minutes — the kid had been playing a brand-new song to his little sister, and Héctor had been so proud of the progress he’d made. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d lost track of time until it was too late.

     HE’D BEEN TRYING to quietly sneak out of Miguel’s room — all he needed was to get back home to the Land of the Dead, and there was no need to trouble his grandson to do that — when a familiar voice had stopped him in his tracks. Héctor tensed, surprised as well as worried; then, very slowly, he turned around, his facial expression torn between bemusement and sheepishness.

     ❝ CHAMACO — ❞

     SCARCELY HAD THE word left his skeletal mouth than did the rest of his sentence get cut off as Miguel gave him an abrupt little slap to the face. Affronted, he gave his head a little shake and reached up to lightly swat the boy’s hand away. ❝ Ay, ay! Hands to yourself — I’m real, I’m real. ❞ Now that the initial surprise of their unexpected reunion had started to ebb a bit, Héctor’s facial expression softened a bit, and though the smile that touched his features was somewhat strained, it was genuine all the same. ❝ It is good to see you, Miguel, ❞ he said, ❝ but, uh — well, that’s the question I have, actually. How can you see me? ❞

     WITH A SIGH, he reached up and thoughtfully, nervously rubbed the back of his neck. ❝ Listen — here’s the thing. I … kind of … missed the bridge back home. ❞

[willheshoemaker-blog]

(( *shyly waves at the mun* ))

[[ ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ hello]]

[willheshoemaker-blog]

;;

I am here! I bought the Coco novel (which has some extra stuff in it that was not in the movie) and have been reading that for inspiration! I still have some starters to do, but my train of thought has hit a brick wall, so if you liked my starter call and I haven't got to you yet, and if you have any ideas for threads, don't be afraid to tell me! I'm up for anything!

I'll even do some crack threads or fluff if you wanna

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niños these days, so emotional…

(feel free to step forward to criticize any butchering of Spanish here)

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she protec

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Sorry for disappearing for like 10 days! I'm trying to get my college stuff sorted out and it's taking long and I'm also broke and trying to get a job so my time got consumed but I am here and I still love my boy!!!!!

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Héctor, as a newlywed: And this is my ex-girlfriend, Imelda.

Imelda: I told you to stop saying that!

Imelda: I’m his wife.

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@stolensongs || starter ||

"This isn't a dream, is it?"

Shocked by the appearance of the skeleton man before him, Miguel lifted a hand to give himself a harsh smack to his own face. Then promptly repeated the motion with his other hand, and the other side of his face, in hopes that if he was dreaming, the action would wake him.

When that didn't work, he cautiously reached up as high as he could to deliver a light smack to Hèctor's face.

"Nope. You're definitely real!"

The feeling of smooth bone beneath his hand was enough to tell him that. As much as Miguel wanted to leap for joy at the sight of his great great grandfather, he also wanted to know why he was seeing said great great grandfather. He hadn't died, as far as he knew—he would have remembered if he had, he's sure of it.

"But, Papa Hèctor…what are you doing here?"