#and Ernesto can choke
Note
What’s with all this cheating? Ain’t no way I’d let that slide. Ima make sure to pack and be ready to leave the country with on great goodbye message
(Glad your back now, great theme btw)
Oooh angstttt
Warning this contains: cheating, angst, fluff, happy ending!❤️
You knew Toni was a man of many secrets but this was insane! You found out of his cheating when you decided to surprise him with a visit, slipping in through his bedroom window—something you did quite often much to his annoyance and your amusement.
You noticed he wasn’t in his room and gave a curious hum going off to find him, you figured he was in Ernesto’s office. As you walked towards the office you heard noises of moans, whines, panting and a rhythmic fast slapping.
The door was ajar, you peeled inside eyes widened at the sight of Antonio bent over Ernesto’s desk naked and hair messy as he dug his nails into the desk loud and whimpering moans escaping him as Ernesto stood behind him a hand on his hip and another grasping his hair yanking his head back to kiss his neck harshly thrusting and pounding him. “A-ahhh~ Ngh~ I-I’m so sorry sir! I-I promise I won’t ask for anymore requests! N-no more!” Toni sobbed out tears streaming down his face as his eyes rolled back and tongue sticking out the lewd expression being one you’ve never seen Toni make.
“Atta boy, k-know you place. A toy that will be nothing more than a fleshlight” Ernesto hissed out lowly. The two weren’t aware of you watching, you felt a sickness in your stomach as you took a few step back only for your back to hit something you looked up seeing luis standing behind you. You were about to scream but he swiftly covered your mouth with his hand “silence, if you scream you’ll be killed.” Luis whispered softly in your ears as tears still streamed down your face the two of you watching the scene.
“This is the real Antonio, we’re so sorry that you had to see it like this but here he is..a lustful beast wanting nothing more than to be used as an object” luis said softly before guiding you away, the noises growing softer as you two walked away. He uncovered your mouth simply grabbing your wrist and softly tugging you, he wasn’t rough or anything like that he pulled you into his room closing the door behind the two of you, you weren’t sure why he was being nice but it gave you comfort but as the events you just saw processes you started to break down.
“I-I can’t believe this shit! I-it’s so fucking sick!” You sobbed out, anger and betrayal making you let out loud choked sobbing. Luis awkwardly let you go unsure of how to comfort you, he leaned against the door watching as you sat on his bed crying your eyes out.
“I-I want to fucking disappear! Fuck him! H-how dare he do this?!” You hissed out before whipping your head up to luis who kept his head down clearly uncomfortable with your sadness “tell me everything, how long was this going on and who else he does this with?!” You snapped out. Luis sat beside you and gently explained the situation of how he was basically bribing the members with sex for simple favors, a twinge of guilt hit you but it wasn’t enough for you to ever forgive him. He explained how he has had sex with almost every member, your gaze grew cold as you glared at him
“..and you?” You sneered out earning a panicked awkward laughing from luis who looked surprised that you even asked “heavens no! We are far too busy not to mention not interested in simple mindless sex so we would never do or condone such a thing” he snapped out, you looked into his eyes and immediately trusted him he was telling the truth.
The two of you talked and he consoled you best he could, you talked about how you wanted to run away and luis stood up walking towards the computer desk in his room with several monitors “I can help if you wish, pick a country and I’m sure I can help you get things set up..” he said softly as he sat at the desk turning the rolling shake to face you.
So the plan was created, you had to lie to Toni pretending you didn’t know anything which was easy since Toni was usually busy though he would try his best to see you, in those moments you were forced to smile and kiss him as if you still loved him but he wanted nothing more than to leave but you wanted to wait til luis got everything in order.
You two grew close cause of that, he was your best friend and the best support you had. Soon everything was set up ���fake id, fake birth certificate, and social security card done. The house will be ready to move into the moment you get there, here is your plane ticket..are you sure you wish to do this?” Luis said softly as he stared at you with concerned eyes.
You climbed into his lap the action making him tense but in the time you two spent together it was normal. He pulled you close hands settling on your back as he stared at you worry clear in his eyes “I’ll be okay. I promise. Just as planned right?” You asked as you wrapped your arms around Luis’ neck.
He gave a sigh as he rested his head on your shoulder “you terrify me, being so bold as to desire breaking up with him to his face before leaving, what if I can’t protect?” He asked out as he suddenly grew tense. You ran your fingers through his hair knowing what this meant and waited until his picked his head up once more eyes having a flirty yet warm gleam to them. “Azul, popping up so suddenly?” You asked making the male smile hugging you close to his chest as he leaned back “we are so worried mi Estrella, if only you could look into our head..we truly are a mess when it comes to you” he whispers out as he gazed at his best friend in his lap.
“Be careful, we’ll wait outside to take you to the airport.” He said in a soft yet filled voice. You gave a nod shushing the male’s worries. When the time came to finally reveal your hidden plans you already had the car packed with everything you needed the only step being to do the break up.
All the pent up rage you had was finally able to be released, Toni was shocked and startled when you stormed up to him slapping him and screaming about how much of a whore he was. “Eh, what..I don’t-” Toni stammered out taking steps back as you screamed. “I fucking know everything! How disgusting can you be!? You slept behind my back! What a fucking coward!” You snapped out.
“Wait, let’s talk this out I can explain..”
“Hah! Explain?! Fuck you! You looove your gang sooo much that you would slut yourself out for them I hope it was fucking worth it” you snapped out. Seeing Toni’s pathetic begging for another chance made you feel sick, you couldn’t believe this was the man you wanted to marry. You saw him as so cool and handsome before but now he reminded you of a blubbering sniffling child.
“P-please! I kept it from you to protect you! I love you” Toni snapped out as he dropped to his knees grasping as your shirt desperately. You scoff elbowing him in the face causing him to fall back in shock “you are selfish, self centered and only care about your feelings. You only love being a toy and I don’t have time to play with someone else’s plaything. Don’t fucking contact me ever again or I swear I’ll kill you” you hissed out as you stoned off ignoring his pleas and begs.
You met luis outside who leaned against the car door “it’s done?” He asked as he opened the door for you, watching you get in and he hopped in the driver’s side making quick work to escape. “He looked so pathetic, I can’t believe I let that person have my heart” you sneered out with anger, luis glanced over at you and gave you a smile “I’m so proud of you for being so brave, you truly are an inspiration” he chimed out with a grin and you felt your cheeks heat up at his praise. The car ride wasn’t as tense as you thought it would be luis explained everything you needed to do after you get off the plane even offering to be on the phone with you the entire time to guide you.
Luis helped you carry your bags even having a bag you didn’t recognize. He went with you as far as he could until it was time for you to get on the plane “what’s that bag?” You asked gazing at the bag. He leaned in close a hand on your waist as he unzipped the bag slightly to give you a peek of the bag that was filled with stacks of money, a new phone and a knife.
“Woah..” you whispered out in shock. Luis zipped the bag closed “get rid of your phone the moment you get there my number is in the new phone, call me as soon as you land. I’ll guide you, I’m serious. Call. me. when. you. land.” Luis spoke slowly locking eyes as he found himself hugging you close to him eyes filled with worry and sadness.
“You’re gonna miss me..” you whispered out in shock a smile finding its way on your face “of course I will, what an idiotic response!” He huffed out as he hugged you close “you will be so far! I won’t be able to read with you anymore or spend time in my room talking, you’ll be living a new life!” He hissed out as you started to realize something
“Luis, they will know you helped me. They’ll kill you, you have to come with me! They’ll punish you!” You snapped panic now in your voice at the thought of your friend being killed for helping you. Luis rubbed your back shushing your softly “I’ll be fine, it’s okay..you have to get on that plane. Just make sure to call me” he whispers in your ear before handing you your bags before giving you a soft kiss on your cheek watching as you pulled back walking off before turning to him smiling a teary eyed grin at him which he returned tears rolling down his face, he pulled his glasses up to wipe his eyes “farewell, sweet dear..” he cooed out.
You were thriving, after making that move a year ago you found yourself to be so happy especially since a few months ago luis moved in with you, as your lover. “darling! Can you come here?” Luis called out from the kitchen as you stared at the photo album you two had that was filled with pictures of festivals and dates you two went on. “Coming babe” you cheered as you walked to the kitchen only to see Luis on one knee black box with a beautiful ring inside “I know this seems too casual but, when are we ever known for doing things the normal way? I love you. I can’t stop thinking about you and the life I want us to have together. After I left the gang it was you who kept me afloat. I want to spend the rest of my life together with you so please, will you marry me?” He asked out eyes sparkling with love.
You grinned now throwing yourself into his arms which he fell back from with a hand on your waist as you peppered his face with kisses “yes! Yes! Yes! Absolutely yes!” You chimed out making him grin and laugh as he slipped the ring on your fingers.
“Mmm I’m glad I made us a feast then, as a way to celebrate. Help me set up the table love?” He asked out as he helped you up his eyes glancing at the ring on your finger as you helped him bring the plates to the dining room table. Once finished he pulled you close pressing a passionate kiss on your lips feeling you wrap your arms around him.
“I love you, and I’m so glad Antonio fucked up..” were the first words he whispers against your lips with a shaky breath. You laughed softly “ Mmm me too, I know you love me luis..I love you too” you said lovingly yelping when he nibbled on your bottom lip “what if we skip the feast and spent another way to celebrate..?” He purred out eyes growing with desire and lust.
You were so glad you ran away.
30 notes
·
View notes
Text
Buffalo Bills Won’t Win Like That Again
The Bills lost. Sure, the league counts a victory. But a team in the habit of not putting it together fell short just as surely as Harvard beat Yale 29-29. The complete lack of style exposed latent deficiencies. Their choice now is to either pretend they can keep winning like that or realize the hangover has merely been postponed.
Tyrod Taylor started in Buffalo. Jerry Seinfeld wonders what year it is. A sputtering offense should but doesn’t feel as confusing. Looking like the Sabres of football reflects the Pegula empire’s consistency. Don Granato thanks Ken Dorsey for making him appear to waste less talent.
It was considerate of them to let the first scoring drive continue until the fourth to really sum up the tone. Being down after one quarter was almost as bad as losing at halftime, which was almost as bad as losing after three quarters. The final result was barely less harrowing. Going scoreless until the final stanza sums up the team’s state.
Observers understandably sensed the vibe that this game would be easy. Players apparently agreed to the point that they didn’t feel like they needed to put it all together. Relying upon the Giants not knowing how time works is an insufficient strategy.
This looks like a pompous team that thinks force of will is all it takes to coast to the playoffs. Buffalo played like a C student who claims he doesn’t work hard unless he’s challenged. Did they look that clever?
Ken Dorsey has passed The Rock as the Miami player I loathe the most. The one thing worse than overthinking is when ideas aren’t swell. The prevailing narrative is that he didn’t make it in the NFL because of a weak arm. It turns out to not be the only reason.
Dorsey’s fascination with the shotgun is as baffling as his Madden-style bomb reliance. Wasting potential like Walter White is the natural consequence of being told the wrong things to do.
Not doing as told began a punk rebellion that saved the Bills from a fate worse than a Starland Vocal Band concert. It took Allen making up a play while it happened to overcome the unimpressive call. DIY projects that improvised away from the woeful design gave underused targets like Quintin Morris and Deonte Harty a chance to help.
Stefon Diggs needs help from anywhere he can. This offense is struggling to the point where his outbursts are justified. That’s especially so when the anger is at himself. His high standard means he gets upset when his own outcomes are unsatisfactory.
The talented have trouble accepting the underwhelming. Diggs is an opera singer who won’t tolerate his own scooping. Pair that with passion on par with Charlie Kelly’s friend Ernesto to find someone who won’t settle.
His ostensible lashing out is actually cathartic. Buffalo’s top option has a personality like the coach of fellow New York State team the Knicks. Tom Thibodeau is renowned for haranguing officials for perceived blown calls before settling right down. Having one’s say is sometimes all frustrated people need.
Everyone’s exasperated at Kaiir Elam for playing like a saboteur. Like Dorsey, he’s in his second year on the job and regressing instead of adjusting. The Bills pulled off victory that never should’ve been improbable despite endemic choking. Tyler Bass is the Dawson Knox of Kaiir Elams.
Buffalo is not exactly the only team coping with injuries. The stressful affair felt particularly mortifying noting New Jersey’s depleted line. Brian Daboll was a turned ankle away from playing guard.
The toughest test was that it wasn’t much of one. There’s a reason they play the games even if matchups seem uneven, and the Bills could’ve kept that truism hypothetical instead of creating an example. This club should have learned nothing about themselves from what looked like an FBS team playing an FCS one. A game that revealed that many flaws can’t be excused away by noting wins count no matter what. Pretend they overcame challenges to reach delusional levels of optimism.
Dorsey’s infuriating ineptitude has become as unsurprising as NBC coming back from a commercial with a tour featuring the worst of tailgaters. It’s well past time to stop defining a fanbase by a handful of dolts smashing tables. Everyone sane was sick of the clown act years ago. Bills fans are as tired of Pinto Ron as we are of Dorsey.
The music was better. Playing Rick James before a commercial let everyone know this game was somewhat near Buffalo. Putting on Once in a Lifetime going into break was even more fitting. The Bills never pondered how they got there.
Enjoy the technical win. Playing that poorly for that long is a defeat. A sense of nonchalance follows from misguided preparation. Coaches must determine whether this roster is either not as awesome as they think or thinking they can be awesome when it’s needed.
That wasn’t merely a struggling outlier. Feared flaws have become reality in a true horror show. The Bills should be sorting their lives out like Shaun after playing like zombies. The notion they can win despite staggering would be the worst downside of not caring about how it happened.
0 notes
Photo
I’m not confused. Please understand. I’ve never been so sure in my life. And this…this is love.
#barcedes#barbara x mercedes#mercedes möller#barbara roman#perdona nuestros pecados#barcedesedit#this was so hard to watch#but omg Meche#she's so brave#I'm so proud of you#and Ernesto can choke#tv#mygifs
334 notes
·
View notes
Text
@espektros || ❤ ‘d for isabela !
isabela had never left the encanto -- never, not once in her 22 years, had she stepped foot outside of the magical valley that had protected her family and the village that lay inside of it. her abuela would have never allowed it before - she had too many responsibilities, she was too important to the family to see what lay beyond the magical mountainous ranges -- and she had never dared to ask. but things were.. different, now, and so, for the first time, isabela found herself in a larger, neighboring town, having travelled with the merchants. immediately, she was fascinated. there was so much to see, so many new faces she had never seen before!
curious, isabela wandered away from the merchant carts, heading away from the market and towards what she could only assume was the plaza. she watched the people as they passed her by, some giving her curious glances, to which she merely smiled contently in response. hearing the house of music, specifically a guitar, the young woman paused, before turning in order to follow the sound, tucking some of her hair behind her ear as she moved. eventually, she came across a man, performing in front of a small gathering of interested listeners, and she tilted her head to one side as she observed the performance, a smile appearing on her face. he WAS good.. quite good, in fact.
“ maravilloso! ” isabela enthused, clapping her hands together lightly as the music came to an end. it was different to the music she was used to hearing at home, but no less enjoyable, and if there was something that isabela could appreciate, it was music. “ that was wonderful, señor!
#espektros#001 : ( interaction: paragraph )#002 : ( isabela verse: main )#i chose isa bc my muse for her is strongest out of all of them tbh !!#and i chose ernesto bc i wanted to write w ernesto and i haven't really yet...#and i fully trust isa can choke him out w vines if things went south FVGBHGG#encanto muses#encanto spoilers#sorry this got a little long exposition my beloathed#maybe he's not swarmed with ppl bc this is early days of travelling? idk i'm just rolling with it bfgh
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
I finally watched Coco today in @deliverydefresas honour 💕 and I CRIED SO MUCH THIS MOVIE WAS SO BEAUTIFUL IT BROKE MY HEART BUT ALSO SAVED ME IT DESERVES ALL THE PRAISES AND AWARDS AND I DON’T THINK I WILL BE ABLE TO EVER RECOVER FROM THIS
#disney coco#coco#but for real i constantly cried and i almost never cry during the movies#the storyline was so sweet#and the plot twist i was like whaaaaa#i sobbed sm when miguel was singing remember me to coco#i adore miguel and héctor and dante and coco and imelda and everyone#except ernesto he can choke#it was the masterpiece#and i love maro and pau and everyone who recommended it to me
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
i just saw coco and i would die for hector
1 note
·
View note
Text
Triple Threat: A Stones Triplet Fic
Fandoms: Leverage/Leverage Redemption, Librarians, and Almost Paradise
Cross-Posted: Ao3 and FF
Summary: So I shared some ideas about this fic here, not intending to actually write it. And then people asked for it and I have zero self control, so here you go!
A simple smuggling case. That was all this was supposed to be—just a smuggler looking to set up shop on the island, some place where he'd be able to store and ferry goods to the United States without attracting too much attention. Kai expected to wrap up the case in a couple of days, without Alex's help.
Of course it never works out that way.
She's used to Alex interfering with her cases, but she didn't even tell him about this one. So how did he end up with the smuggler she was supposed to be meeting, and why doesn't the seem to know her?
Or: Eliot and Jake are both in the Philippines for separate jobs that turn out to be related. Kai takes the existence of Alex's brothers as a personal attack on her mental health. Ernesto happily goes along for the ride.
Chapter One: Déjà Vu
A simple smuggling case. That was all this was supposed to be—just a smuggler looking to set up shop on the island, some place where he'd be able to store and ferry goods to the United States without attracting too much attention. Ocampo hadn't even asked Alex for help, even though they suspected drugs were involved. "We need more information," Ocampo told Kai. "Just meet with him and see what you can find out." No need to involve the most annoying man on the island.
Kai didn't tell Alex about any of it. It was only the third time Ocampo trusted her to go undercover, and though she wasn't above using Alex's help when it was necessary, this was something she could handle on her own. Ernesto would be monitoring the meeting from nearby, ready to come to her aid, but she was confident in her skills. It was a simple case. She could handle it.
She made contact with the smuggler, telling him she could get a cargo plane for his use and ensure the attention of the authorities was elsewhere when he was ready to load it. The meeting had gone well, well enough that he asked her to join him in his hotel room the following day to hash out the details. Ocampo had been thrilled, and she'd gotten the proud grin from Ernesto that always made her feel like she could take on the world. "Wrap this up, Detective," Ocampo said, already planning the press release for the end of the case. One more meeting, and it would all be over. A swift ending to a simple case.
The next morning she found the hotel fifteen minutes before their appointed time and knocked on door 211, letting herself in when a voice yelled, "We're on the balcony." The we made her nervous, but she told herself it didn't matter. Once she found out what the cargo was, she'd have enough to arrest him.
But then she walked onto the balcony and found her contact raising a toast to Alex Walker, and it took all of her self-control not to break character and strangle him right there.
The smuggler stood up with a grin. "Ah, Ms. Navarro," he said, motioning for her to be seated next to Alex. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"No," she choked out. "Thank you."
He shrugged and swept his hand toward Alex. "This is my American contact, Marc Rosen. Mr. Rosen, my associate Nicole Navarro."
Alex gave her a polite smile, and his eyes seemed to laugh at her.
"Mr. Flores," she said tersely. "I thought we'd agreed to keep this meeting between us."
Robert Flores shrugged and again gestured to the chair beside Alex. "I assure you, Mr. Rosen is essential to this operation. He has already arranged a buyer in the United States. All we need from you, Ms. Navarro, is to follow through on your promise with the planes."
Kai sat, forcing her tensed shoulders to relax. "The flight is already secured," she said. "But I need to know what it is I'll be transporting."
Flores smiled. "All in good time."
"Time is the problem," Kai said. "We only have three days before the plane is scheduled to depart, with or without your cargo. I can't prepare properly until I know what we'll be loading."
"I will take care of that. Three days is plenty of time."
"Then... once you've made your payment, I will tell you where to bring your cargo." She managed this with only a single glance (not a glare) at Alex, who had returned his attention to Flores. A sand-colored fedora was pulled low over Alex's eyes, shading a face that seemed paler than usual. In an instant her irritation turned to worry. Did he know Flores from his time as a DEA agent? Had he arranged the meeting, or had Flores contacted him?
Why couldn't he just tell her before he did stupid things like this?
"I am glad to hear it," Flores said. He was still standing, and Kai bristled at the imbalance—he towered over them in a position of power while they literally sat in his shadow. "Mr. Rosen was just telling me that his buyer is anxious to get his hands on this shipment."
Alex huffed a nervous laugh. "Well, you know how it is when the guy in the big office wants something. Patience ain't exactly a virtue for my boss."
"Luckily for you, I have what he needs," Flores said, lifting his glass with a chuckle.
"Is that Alex?" Ernesto asked through her earbud. "What's he doing there?"
Kai chanced another glance at him, wishing she could reach over and wring the answer from his throat. His body language was all wrong. His shoulders were drawn in, the fingers of his left hand fidgeting against his palm. His voice had been different too—almost hesitant, self-depreciating. Usually Alex played a loud character, brash and confident, always pushing to keep his mark off-balance. This... this was just another pencil-pusher running an errand for his boss. Insignificant. Overlookable.
And it was working. A hard, greedy glint flashed in Flores's eye as he swallowed the rest of his drink, his gaze lingering on the trembling glass in Alex's hand. "Well," he grinned. "There is much to be done. Wait here. Your payment is in my adjoining room." He set his glass down on the balcony railing and strode into the hotel room. Kai watched him go, but as soon as the door closed she rounded on Alex.
"I'm going to give you ten seconds to explain yourself."
He blinked at her. "What?"
"Why are you here? Did Ocampo tell you about the case? Did Flores contact you?"
"Did—what? Why would—?"
"Or do you just like messing with my life? Because I swear, Alex, when this is over I'm—"
The hallway door opened before she could finish, and two men in black jackets entered the room. Neither of them was Flores. "Your payment," one said, holding out an envelope.
"Oh... thank you." She stood and entered the room, aware of Alex trailing behind her. He stepped to her left, covering her weak side as she reached out for the payment.
But the second her fingers brushed the envelope, Alex flashed past her to strike the back of the man's outstretched elbow. He screamed, staggering, and Alex pulled him away from Kai and hurled him toward the wall. The other man lunged into the room, but Alex met him with a neat punch to the jaw. He dodged a swing and caught the man's wrist, bashing his elbow into the side of his face. The first man had regained his balance by then, steadying himself against the wall before squaring himself to the fight.
That was when Kai reached him. His attention was on Alex, so it was easy for her to get close and grab his forearm. She drove her knee into the man's stomach, using the momentum of his fall to throw him to the ground. She turned as Alex ducked another jab and slammed his fist into his opponent's cheek. The man dropped, sprawling at Alex's feet and lying motionless.
"What the hell was that?" Kai demanded, stomping down on her man's back to keep him on the floor.
"Kai?" Ernesto said in her ear. "Everything okay?"
Alex knelt to pick up the envelope. "They were gonna kill us."
"He was handing over the payment!"
He tilted his hand so she could see inside the empty envelope. "Flores knew you were coming," he said, running his hands over his fallen opponent's waist and producing a long serrated knife. "He should have had the payment ready."
Damn it—she hated when he was right.
"He must have guessed you're a cop," Alex went on, taking off his hat and dragging a hand through his hair. "Probably one of your first undercover assignments? You know what you're doing, I'll give you that, but you pushed too hard for the cargo. You have to let the mark think he's in control."
"What are you...?" Kai started, but she trailed off when Alex put his hand down. Freed from the hat, his hair fell over his forehead and down around his ears, long enough to brush his shoulders. "Are you wearing a wig?"
"Am—am I—?" he sputtered. "Look, I don't know who you think I am, but—" He broke off, eyes widening. "Wait, you called me Alex before. Alex Stone?"
All at once, her vision seemed to shift. The man before her had Alex's face, but now that she looked closer, she could see a handful of inconsistencies. A scar over his eyebrow that hadn't been there before, a leanness about his jaw, a shadow she'd never seen in his eyes. Ernesto kept talking through the earbud, but she was only half-listening.
She stared into the face of her friend, and a stranger looked back.
The door burst open, breaking the tension that had paralyzed the room and tearing Not Alex's attention from her. Ernesto came in with his gun drawn, not quite pointing at the imposter, but not aimed at the men who'd attacked them either.
"Your partner?" asked Not Alex. His voice was calm, but so gruff she could barely understand it. She motioned for Ernesto to put his gun away. He swept a shrewd look over her, checking for injuries, and then knelt beside her man on the floor and pulled a pair of handcuffs off his belt.
The imposter cleared his throat. "Do you know Alex Stone?"
For a moment Kai considered lying, but the sharpness in Not Alex's eyes had softened. The look he gave her wasn't quite pleading, but it was clearly a request. She heard the please in his eyes as clearly as if he'd said it out loud.
So, in a voice that sounded more confident than she felt, she answered, "Alex Walker."
A snort of laughter blew through the imposter's nose. "Walker? He could have picked anything, and he went with Walker? At least I used a family name."
"No," Ernesto said to himself, shooting Kai with a look that somehow contained astonishment, delight, and trepidation all at once.
Kai echoed the denial in her head. This couldn't be happening.
"My name is Eliot," the other man said.
Don't say it. Don't—
"I'm Alex's brother."
No. No no no no no.
There were two of them.
#fanfic#leverage#leverage redemption#librarians#almost paradise#stone triplets#the terrible triplets#eliot jake and alex are triplets#and poor kai has to deal with them#thanks for enabling me by reading this
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 25
Title: Nuestra Iglesia
Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town.
Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get.
It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst.
Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector.
Rating: T
[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]
A/N: Revenge is a dish best served cold, as long as poison is not in the equation.
Art is by @lunaescribe and @swanpit
***
“What in God’s name did he put in that wine?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know! You spoke with him, he must have told you--”
“Lower your voice!” Héctor hissed, and he had the audacity to smack a hand over his mouth. “He only told me not to drink the wine, and to tell you not to either. That’s all I know!”
Gustavo scowled, and slapped off his hand. “Ugh, whatever. I don’t care.” He grabbed the reins of his horse, and turned to the other men who’d been taken from Santa Cecilia. They all looked varying degrees of terrified and confused all rolled into one and there sure would be a lot of questions concerning ‘Padre’ Ernesto that Héctor had better give answers to, but at the moment - in the midst of absolute chaos, with about half the soldiers collapsed, another good chunk not looking to great themselves and those not looking pale as death trying to help their comrades in any way they could - they had other priorities.
The main of which was getting out of there.
“Everyone get a horse, we’ll make a run for it. Doubt they’ll notice, let alone give chase. Help is coming, but getting out of the way would be wise,” he said, and sure enough, all men got on top of a horse. Except one, of course.
One idiot who tried to turn and run on foot in the opposite direction, toward the grove where the commander had dragged the man Gustavo had believed their parish priest. Before he could go far, however, Gustavo grabbed his arm. God, it was like trying to look after a child who wanted to find out the hard way why one shouldn’t get into the pen of an angry bull.
“Chorizo, that everyone includes yo--”
“I can’t leave him behind,” Héctor cut him off. He turned back to him with a look that was somehow both defiant and apologetic, but that most of all made Gustavo want to kick his teeth in. As in, made him want him to kick his teeth in more than usual. “I have to help him.”
“You don’t have to do anything, he was a Federale and--”
“He came to help us!” he snapped. That was not something Gustavo could argue against, which somehow made him ever angrier at the bastard who’d managed to fool him for months on end. So much for just being an eccentric young priest.
“He’s probably already dead.”
“You don’t know that.”
A groan. “If you want to go and try, be my guest. But you’ll do it on your own, you hear me?” he said. Héctor drew in a deep breath, and with a stronger pull managed to get his arm free.
“If I don’t make it back--”
“You couldn’t shoot your own foot if you tried, of course you won’t make it--”
“Tell Imelda I love her.”
Jesus Christ. Gustavo slapped a hand on his forehead and groaned again, wishing really hard he was exactly the cabrón everyone claimed he was so he could just shrug, wish him good luck, and ride off to safety with the others. Unfortunately, he was only approximately seventy percent the cabrón everyone thought he was. In the end, he turned to the others.
“Ride back the way we came, fast. Don’t turn back. If you meet men on the way, tell them what is happening.”
“But we don’t know what is--”
“Federales drank a bad batch of wine, tummies hurt, come take them out,” Gustavo snapped, and smacked the rump of Francisco’s horse. It took off, and the others followed. As expected a few yells rose up for them to stop, drowned out in the cries of terror of men writhing in pain on the ground; a shot rang out, hitting no one. Gustavo turned with a scowl.
“Fine. Let’s go save the imposter before I kill you for this,” he grumbled, and when the idiota smiled at him with that stupid golden tooth he had to really fight the urge to knock it out.
***
“I told you I’d make sure everyone would know exactly what you are, didn’t I?”
De la Cruz didn’t reply, but that didn’t matter. His cries before he seemingly ran out of voice had been better music to his ears than any of his singing back when they were in the same battalion; the wheezing sound he made now, as his bloodied chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, was more of enough for him.
Santiago smiled, and finally stood to admire his handiwork. Blood was everywhere on de la Cruz’s chest; the letters he’d carved on his skin didn’t show as clearly as he would have liked and the traitor’s eyes were falling shut as he tethered on the edge of unconsciousness, but that was nothing a good splash of water wouldn’t fix. Santiago took a bottle from the saddle of his horse, and threw water across de la Cruz’s face and chest.
“Ah…!”
He recoiled and seemed to choke on it a moment, pulled back onto awareness; much of the blood washed out, and the letters showed stark and clear for a few moments before more blood welled up. But even as it began dripping into the dirt again, the word remained clearly visible and that was all that mattered.
JUDAS
“Now you can never hide again,” Santiago sneered, knowing full well Ernesto de la Cruz would not live to see the sun set that day, let alone get a chance to try hiding. But it was a soothing thought, knowing that anyone walking by his hanging body would get to read the reason why right there on his chest.
“I have sinned, he said, for I have betrayed innocent blood,” Santiago quoted, cleaning the blade of his knife before he put it back at his belt. A long time since he’d even stepped in a church, he still remembered much of the scriptures. “So Judas threw the money into the temple and left. Then he went away and hanged himself.”
A pause, and his lips twisted in something resembling a smile. He could taste something bitter at the back of his throat. “Maybe even Judas was above you, after all. You never regretted a thing, did you? You would have never ended your own pathetic life. You had to be dragged out of hiding, kicking and screaming, to be given the punishment you know you deserve.”
De la Cruz groaned and tried to move, or maybe to speak, but in the end all he could do was turn his head to the side and heave, skin clammy and ashen gray, hair sticking to his forehead. Some bile spewed forth into the dirt, and it seemed to take the last of his strength; even when Santiago kicked his side, he barely reacted.
“What is it? No more begging?” Santiago taunted, and crouched down to put the noose around his neck. There was a weak attempt at shifting away, easily ignored. He tightened the noose, glanced up to make sure the rope went over a branch solid enough to hold his weight, and stood. “No more crying? No more--”
“Uuugh…!”
The sound of someone else groaning and then throwing up caused Santiago to trail off, and he rolled his eyes. Was a little blood enough to make the delicate damsels he was leading grow faint?
“If you can’t handle this, I suggest you--” Santiago began, turning, but paused when he realized it wasn’t just one of the three men with him at the grove who looked sick.
All of them were pale, one still heaving, the other two clearly struggling to maintain composure. The one who’d just tied up the end of the hanging rope to the horse was holding onto the saddle with one hand and doubling over, holding onto his stomach; another staggered as though drunk, and leaned against a tree before slumping to the ground.
“What are you-- Rojas! Stand up, damn you!”
“Commander, I… I…” he tried to speak, but his voice broke and he doubled over, both hands over his stomach. A few meters away, again came the harsh sound of retching. When Santiago turned again, blood running cold, all three men were either on the ground or kneeling over. Something was wrong, he realized, horribly wrong.
“What the-- what’s happening!” He demanded to know, walking up to one of them. The wind picked up and as though to answer more sounds reached him, beyond the grove, back on the path where he’d left the rest of his men. There were yells, the whinnying of scared horses, a noise that sounded horribly like a grown man wailing.
“You damned us!” Rojas choked out at his feet, eyes squeezed shut and terror in every word. “You shot a priest and God punished us!”
For just a moment, Santiago believed it. He stepped back, an unknown terror seizing his heart, mind full of the tales of divine punishment he’d heard as a boy, of plagues and fire and brimstone. Everything around him seemed to go still and cold, as though the blistering hot sun above the grove had ceased giving warmth.
“In God’s name,” the gringo had cried out. “For your own soul, if not for their lives!”
And he’d shot him. He had taken out his pistol and shot him, and now… now…!
Rojas writhed on the ground, and something spurted from his mouth. Santiago was terror-stricken enough to think it was blood at first, that his men were dying as they spat out their own blood - but by then, he had seen too many men bleed out for the illusion to last long. After a few moments he realized what Rojas was spewing forth was not blood at all. It was… it was...
Wine.
He saw it now, with the mind’s eye, the scene he’d come across earlier: his men standing around a fake priest, all of them drinking from casks of wine. Red wine. Mass wine.
Blood of the covenant. This damn bastard.
With a cry of fury, Santiago turned his back to Rojas and stormed back to where Ernesto de la Cruz lay, chest bleeding and arms tied behind his back, noose still around his neck… and features twisted in a grin that confirmed all of Santiago’s suspicions. He crouched by him, pulling him up by his hair and shaking him savagely.
“You! What did you put in that wine!” he screamed. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!”
De la Cruz’s eyes found his own, and the despicable grin widened. His chest shuddered while he let out a sound that was hardly recognizable as a laugh, or any sort of sound a human being should be able to make. “Whatever… it took,” he gasped out, and he had the audacity to laugh again. “Todo modo... para buscar... la voluntad divina.”
“I’LL GIVE YOU DIVINE WILL!”
With another cry of anger, Santiago slammed the traitor back down against the ground and went to the horse. The raspy laughter still rang out, mocking him, but he would silence it and he’d silence it now. Santiago grabbed the horse’s reins, and pulled hard to get it to move. The beast moved, the rope grew taut, and Ernesto de la Cruz’s laugh was finally silenced.
In the distance shots rang out, but Santiago Hernández was beyond caring for anything other than the choking noises that now left Alberto’s murderer.
Let them die. Let us all die, as long as I take him down with me.
He stopped the horse, turned, and watched with a widening smile as Ernesto de la Cruz writhed and choked, hanging by his neck a few feet above the ground. His eyes bulged, his face quickly growing red while he kicked uselessly and strained against his bounds in a doomed struggle for survival. It was horrifying, a slow and painful death. It was perfect.
I told you I’d avenge you, Beto, Santiago thought, and stood there to watch, faintly wishing he had something to drink as he enjoyed revenge which had been served very, very cold.
***
“Hold the horses, something is-- stop! Everyone, stop!”
Imelda pulled back the reins, causing her horse - who had probably not run so much since the day her father had absolutely forbidden the twins to ride him - to skid to a halt, nearly bumping into José’s horse right ahead. A few paces ahead one of the women, the one who'd allowed Imelda to join, had stopped with a hand held up.
“Luciana, what is--” José began, only to be silenced by a wave of her hand.
“Listen.”
They did listen, and after a few moments Imelda heard it over her own rushing blood - distant cries and, coming closer, the beating of horse hooves. Someone was coming.
What’s going on?
As one, the men and women around her pulled up their rifles and pistols and took aim towards the bend on the road ahead. Imelda did the same, grip tight on the pistol and holding onto the reins with her other hand. Sweat dripped down her brow, into her eyes. The cries remained distant, but the sound of galloping horses drew closer.
Then several horses come over the bend at breakneck speed, ridden by men in uniform. The first man to appear saw them and cried out, pulling hard on the reins and causing the horse to rear up on its hind legs. The cap fell off his head, Imelda caught a glimpse of his face, and the finger on the trigger went slack.
The baker.
“Wait! Don’t shoot!” Imelda cried out, lowering the pistol and kicking the flanks of her horse, coming in front of José and Luciana. “I know them! They were taken from Santa Cecilia!”
As José blinked, more horses came into view and skidded to a halt. Voices rose up, frantic.
“Don’t shoot!”
“We’re not enemies!”
“We got away!”
“Gustavo sent us this--”
“It’s hell back there--”
José lifted an arm to get his comrades to lower their rifles, and Imelda quickly scanned the group. She recognized all of them, they were from Santa Cecilia all right, all twenty-eight of them. Two, however, were missing: Gustavo… and Héctor.
Fear gripping her heart, Imelda opened her mouth to speak - but José spoke first, kicking his horse’s flanks to get closer to the terrified men. “What-- all right, all right, one at a time. Gustavo sent you? Where is he? What happened?”
“Padre Ernesto-- I mean, we think he’s a Padre--”
“-- not so sure anymore--”
“-- came over with wine, offered it to all soldiers--”
“-- told us not to drink and we didn’t--”
“Did any of you listen to me when I said to speak one at a time?” José lamented, and most of them fell quiet. Only one spoke again.
“Now they’re all sick - if not all, most of them - I think some have died, I am not sure. It was chaos, the screams… It was like the plagues. I think-- I think Padre Ernesto poisoned them.”
“... A priest poisoned them?” José turned back to look at Imelda, baffled. “First you, and now… what is going on with the clergy in your village?”
Ah, that was going to be… a long story to tell. Imelda opted to cut it short, for now. “Ernesto must have gone after them with the holy wine - he clearly did something with it. Francisco-- Francisco, look at me. Where’s Héctor?”
The young man looked back at her, pale as ash. He was a couple of years older than her, and yet looked so much younger now. “He… he and Gustavo stayed behind, he wanted to help Padre-- I mean-- Ernesto. The commander, he was hellbent on seeing him dead. He recognized him, and took him away to hang him. He-- wait, was it him he was looking for in Santa Cecilia?”
Something clenched in the pit of Imelda’s stomach; once again, the knowledge she may have avoided all this by speaking out and handing them Ernesto wouldn’t leave her mind. It was a sense of guilt she would have to deal with, but later. Now, she had to get to Héctor.
And maybe also save that other idiot who thought he could take on Federales with sweet words and poisoned wine.
But he was not entirely wrong. The men are ill. Vulnerable. We have an advantage now.
When Imelda looked up to meet Luciana’s gaze, she could tell she’d come to the same conclusion. “... We will discuss this later. Their advantage was in numbers and now that they’re sick, it’s gone. We can take them head-on,” she said, and turned to the still shaken men. “How far are they?”
“No more than three miles. Just down the path at the bottom of the hill, they stopped in the middle.”
“A stupid place to stop. Any guards at the back?”
“No. It’s chaos, that’s how we got away.”
“Very well. You can go home. If any of you feel able to join us in this, do so. But lose the jacket, we wouldn’t want to shoot you down by mistake.”
As several of them did tear off the jacket, ready to follow them back, Luciana turned to Imelda again. “That’s your novio still there, right?”
“... Sí.”
“Then focus on finding him. We’ll take on anyone who fights back and find Gustavo. The idiota still owes me money,” she added, and kicked the horse’s flanks. “Onward!”
The group galloped forward once again, ten more men added to its ranks. Imelda spurred the horse, and this time she found herself galloping by José’s side. He turned to look at her as they rode on.
“Hey, do we get an invite to your wedding? I’ll invite you to mine!” he yelled. Despite everything, Imelda found it in herself to laugh. It helped to think of it, that there would be a wedding, and guests to entertain. She would bring Héctor home, and they would have all that, and a lifetime to either celebrate or regret it, tales to tell their children.
She smiled. “You’ll all be guests of honor.”
***
“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I absolutely do mean that.”
Héctor decided not to carry on the whispered argument, and they kept moving slowly through the grove, low behind shrubs, following the sound of groans. The hands holding the rifle were sweaty, which didn’t work miracles on his already shaky grip. He let go with one hand to wipe it against his jacket, and almost dropped the rifle altogether when he heard a scream.
“I’LL GIVE YOU DIVINE WILL!”
Gustavo recoiled as well, rifle raised as he tried, without much success, to look like he was all that good with firearms. Héctor may have even found it funny - maybe we’ll be the ones to shoot Ernesto in the ass after all - if not for the noises that followed moments later, nowhere as loud as the scream but bone-chilling all the same.
The unmistakable noise of someone being choked.
They’re hanging him. They’re doing it.
“They wouldn’t give me a quick death,” he had told him once, and he had been right. It was horrifying but maybe, if he made it on time, it was a blessing in disguise. He could stop it.
Héctor ignored Gustavo’s whisper to wait and just began running, holding tightly onto the rifle, following the increasingly weak sounds of a man whose consciousness was fading fast. His heart pounded, and he prayed he wouldn’t be too late.
Please don’t die. Hang in ther-- agh, I mean-- hold on. Don’t die. Please.
The choking noises had almost died down by the time he finally reached the clearing, Gustavo having fallen behind. Ernesto was there, hanging from the tree and convulsing in his death throes. Blood dripped from his bare chest, but that wasn’t the most horrifying thing; what would never leave Héctor’s nightmares was his purplish face, the way his mouth opened as he strained for air, the bloodshot eyes.
Dimly, Héctor was aware of the presence of the commander standing by and watching, of three other men groaning in pain on the ground, but none of it registered. All he knew was that Ernesto had seconds left to live if he didn’t act immediately, and so he did.
Héctor lifted the rifle, took aim for the branch Ernesto was hanging from, and pulled the trigger.
***
“Drop the weapons or drop dead!”
“Never!”
“Bad call.” Luciana’s reply was followed by a bang, and the man who’d tried to stand up and lift his rifle did, as a matter of fact, drop dead. As did several other men who tried to draw weapons, taken by surprise by their arrival as they tried to tend to their ill comrades.
Imelda hadn’t been so naive to imagine epic battles with fair play, of course. Often vastly outgunned, revolutionaries couldn’t afford the luxury of being chivalrous; even so, had those men not terrorized her village only hours earlier and taken Héctor - and tried to take her brother, and Miguel - she may have felt some measure of guilt for the attack, which struck them as they were mostly defenseless. Francisco had been right: it was chaos there.
But she was there for Héctor, and it made overlooking the death around them so very easy.
“There is no mercy in war,” Ernesto had said. “They die or you do. Until you forget you’re looking at humans.”
She didn’t quite understand, then. She did now, in the midst of a battle, ears full of screams and gunshots and galloping horses raising clouds of dust. If the idiot was still alive, she’d have to tell him as much - that he’d been right. Annoying, that.
More shots were fired as the men still able to stand and hold a rifle left their wounded and ill comrades on the ground and began to retreat towards a rocky formation, clearly aiming to hide behind it and keep shooting. Imelda slowed her horse before it stepped on the body of a groaning soldier, heard a bullet whizzing right past her head, and looked ahead to see a soldier lifting his rifle, aiming it at José as he rode to intercept some men before they could recover ammunition from a cart. Imelda didn’t stop to think: she lifted Ernesto’s pistol, her pistol now, and fired, the kickback violent enough to hurt her shoulder.
She had aimed for the head, truth be told, and the bullet hit the man’s calf, but it was enough to make him drop his rifle and fall to the ground, so she counted it as a success. She looked around, scanning every man in uniform she saw for a sign of Héctor, but he wasn’t anywhere within sight. Where had he gone? He had stayed to help Ernesto, so… where was Ernesto?
The commander, he was hellbent on seeing him dead. Took him away to hang him.
And to hang someone… well. You need a tree. Imelda turned; right by there was a smaller path, leading to a grove of trees. And just as she turned, a gunshot rang out in the distance.
A flock of frightened birds took flight against the setting sun, and she knew where to go.
***
BANG
As the kickback caused Héctor to stumble back, the noise ringing in his ears, his mind registered two things.
The first was that he’d entirely missed the branch he had aimed for; the second was that he must have hit the rope instead in a stroke of sheer blind luck which he would forever pass off as skill, because the rope was severed and Ernesto’s twitching body fell heavily to the ground.
The third was that he was in deep shit, because Commander Hernández immediately turned to see him and he was much, much better than him at using a gun - not that it took much. That, and he was even more unhinged than ever before.
“YOU!”
Mierda.
Héctor ducked behind a tree just on time before a shot rang out, taking out bits of bark inches away from his head. The horse let out a loud frightened neigh and galloped away, dragging the severed rope with it. That would have been an excellent moment to run, but Ernesto was still there, unconscious, and--
“I should have known you were harboring this traitor! Once I’m done with you both I’ll burn your village to the ground!”
Héctor clenched his jaw, and dared glance around the tree, ready to duck back. The commander was turning, rifle up, aiming it at Ernesto’s still form. Even now, knowing an armed man was on him, he was hellbent on killing Ernesto like it was a more important goal than his own survival.
Oh no you don’t.
Héctor lifted his rifle again, braced himself, and fired another shot. It missed Hernández entirely because of course it did, but it seemed enough to make him rethink the strategy of pointing his firearm at an unconscious man rather than on a much more pressing threat. He fired back, but Héctor was already hidden behind another tree and he heard him cursing before he also took cover.
Maybe Héctor wouldn’t be able to hit him, let alone incapacitate him, but at least he could keep him in a stand-off and away from Ernesto until help came. And by help he meant Gustavo. God, where was he? How far behind had he fallen while Héctor ran on… much longer legs? He couldn’t be that far. If only he could hold Hernández’s attention long eno--
BANG
Another shot rang out, much too close, sending bark flying off the tree right next to the one Héctor was crouched behind. All right, so Commander Hérnandez had a fairly good idea of where he was hidden. Time to move and make some more noise while he was at it, just to keep him busy.
Héctor drew in a deep breath and darted behind another tree, shooting blindly in the process. Two shots were fired back, and a bullet hit the ground just inches from where he’d been standing a second earlier, but he managed to get cover unscathed, heart beating wildly in his throat. He gripped the rifle tightly, drenched in sweat, and crawled behind some shrubbery.
He looked over at the clearing through the branches, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hernández, but he could only see three unconscious soldiers… and Ernesto, still motionless on the ground where he’d fallen.
No good, no good, he could shoot him any moment--
And he tried, sure enough. Something that had looked like a branch moved from behind a tree, and it was once again pointed at Ernesto. Héctor lifted his rifle, heart hammering in his chest, and shot again. The bullet hit the tree instead of the barrel of the rifle, but it was enough to make the man recoil and lower his weapon. With a cry, Héctor pulled the trigger again.
CLICK
Ah. Mierda.
As Héctor fumbled to grab the spare bullets, Commander Hernández made a horrible sound that may have, with some imagination, passed off as laughter.
“Oh, out of bullets, are we? Didn’t make sure it was fully loaded, did we?” he called out, his voice more unhinged with each word, and he stepped into view, rifle up and aimed at Ernesto. Well, that was it. No time to wait for Gustavo any longer.
With no other choice, Héctor did the only thing he could think of doing: he ran out of his hiding spot screaming like a man possessed, brandishing the rifle like a club, and brought it down with all his might.
“You bast--!” Santiago Hernández moved at the last second and the blow did not land on his arm as intended, but it did hit the barrel of his own rifle; when the shot rang out - how many times has he shot, how many has he left? - the bullet hit the dirt, several feet away from Ernesto’s head. Héctor let out a cry of victory, feeling elated for just one moment.
Then the butt of the rifle hit him in the face, and he fell back on the ground. Blood filled his mouth along with something small and hard - the golden tooth, dislodged by the blow - and Héctor’s vision swam. The commander stood above him. He’d shoot him, he knew, any second now he’d point the rifle at him and pull the trigger and--
BANG
“Agh!”
“This will teach you to run off like that, idiot! Should have let him shoot your stupid head off!”
Gustavo’s voice was rarely a welcomed sound to Héctor’s ears, but it sure was now - even sweeter than the cry of pain that left Hernández, and that of his rifle falling to the ground. As he grabbed that rifle and forced himself to stand again, pointing it at the soldier’s crumpled form, Héctor couldn’t help but think his voice had sounded almost angelic, really. Not that he planned on telling him as much.
As it turned out, he would never get the chance to either way.
***
Gunshots and cries were a clear indication that not all was well in the grove, but what really told Imelda she was heading in the right direction was seeing a terrified horse bursting out of it, dragging a severed rope behind it.
The commander, he was hellbent on seeing him dead. Took him away to hang him.
Maybe she wasn’t too late after all, but if the shots were anything to go by she didn’t have much time either. Imelda gripped the pistol more tightly and spurred the horse into going faster, down the path and into the grove, trampling bushes and pressing forward amidst trees, heart beating somewhere in her throat.
It was not the most discreet way for her to go into whatever awaited, and it made her a much easier and obvious target - she was well aware of that - but there was no time to waste. Too much was at stake; Héctor’s life, their future. She couldn’t afford to be too late.
More shots rang out and then another sound came, carried by the wind - the most unhinged laughter Imelda had ever heard in her life. It made the hair on her arms stand, but what truly made her blood run cold was the cry that followed. Héctor’s cry.
As another gunshot tore through the air, Imelda spurred her horse into a full gallop, heading straight ahead and ready to trample everything on her path.
Whatever it takes, was all she could think, and the grip on Ernesto’s pistol tightened.
“You know, I could kiss you.”
“Do me a favor and never say that again. I would like to keep my lunch down.” Gustavo snorted, rifle still pointed at the groaning man on the ground. He was curled forward, blood seeping through his sleeve. “Don’t move if you want to live,” Gustavo added, and tilted his head to his left. “Go check if the fake priest over there is still breathing. You and him both have a lot of explaining to do, you know.”
Héctor didn’t need to be told twice. He rushed to Ernesto’s side, put down the rifle, and went to shake his shoulder.
“Ernesto-- amigo, you hear me? It’s all right, it’s over, come on…” He turned him on his back, horrified by the mess of blood on his chest but relieved to see it rise and fall in shallow, wheezing breaths; the noose had loosened, but not quite enough. Héctor loosened it the rest of the way, and pulled it over his head before resting it back on the ground. God, it had been a close call, but now… now he got him. He would be all right. “There-- better, no? Breathe, come on. Just keep breathing. We’ll get you help. Just hang-- I mean, hold on--”
“Mier--”
BANG
Héctor turned, heart leaping in his throat, just on time to see Gustavo being falling back, the rifle falling from his hands. He opened his mouth to cry out, but no sound left him; he watched, petrified, as commander Hernandéz stood - his wounded arm hanging limply at his side, and holding a pistol in his other hand.
The pistol, oh God, how did we forget he had one--
The second he turned the pistol on them Héctor knew that trying to grab the rifle would doom both him and Ernesto. Instead he lifted his arms, shielding Ernesto with his body. “Please,” he managed. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Ah, but I do.” The man bared his teeth in a smile that looked so much more like a snarl. “That man is a murderer, and I promised Alberto he would be avenged. Get out of the way, and I may even let you take your other friend to safety.”
Behind him, Gustavo groaned. He tried to lift himself on his elbows, but immediately fell back in the dirt. “Liar,” he gasped out, voice full of venom. Hernández barely glanced over at him, then looked back at Héctor, who hadn’t moved. He didn’t think he could move even if he wanted to, frozen on the spot between predator and prey. Deaf to everything but Ernesto’s laboured breathing and his own thundering heart, he failed to hear something else - a quickly approaching horse.
Hernández didn’t look up, either. “A poor choice,” he scoffed, and Héctor closed his eyes.
I’m so sorry, Imelda. Miguel--!
For the final time that day a gunshot tore through the air, echoing into Héctor’s head. He kept his eyes shut and waited to feel the pain, wondering how bad it would be, how hot it would burn and for how long. And he waited. And waited.
And still there was nothing.
Slowly, he opened his eyes to meet the gaze of Commander Santiago Hernández. He staggered back and stared at him, eyes widened as if wondering how come they had both come to be there. He let the pistol drop, all strength gone from his hand, and looked down.
Across his chest blood was seeping through the uniform, spreading fast. He opened his mouth, tried to speak - but a gurgle was all he managed before his eyes rolled back and he fell heavily, dead before his body even hit the ground.
“... I had aimed for the groin.”
Héctor turned slowly. Behind him - above him, atop a horse - was Imelda. Her head uncovered, her robes gone, a pistol in hand. A vision from Heaven, and for a moment he wondered if he was dead after all. He smiled breathlessly. That sure was a lovely way to be welcomed in the afterlife. “Te amo,” he told her.
She stared at him for a moment, then smiled back. “I sure hope you do. I hear that helps in a marriage.”
“So-- will you marry me?”
“Of course I will.”
A short distance away Gustavo managed to make a noise that sounded a lot like ‘bleagh’, and it was enough to snap Héctor’s mind back to reality. He lifted his head, alarmed. “Gustavo! Imelda, he needs--”
“I’ll check on him. You make sure the other idiot doesn’t die.” Imelda climbed off the horse, practical as always now that the moment had passed. She ran past the commander’s corpse straight at Gustavo, and Héctor focused on Ernesto again. He still breathed, and that… that was good, surely. It had to be good, he told himself, brushing some hair off his forehead.
Imelda, however, did not have good news. Héctor could tell as much the moment she called out for him, her voice somber. He turned to see she was cupping the back of Gustavo’s head; he was ashen pale, eyes rolling back, blood all over the front of his uniform.
And despite everything, he still spoke. “If you let-- Chicharrón bury me, I swear to God-- he’ll do a shit job just to spite me.”
Imelda looked down at him, something akin to a small smile on her lips. “You need not worry. Chicharrón hasn’t actually dug a grave in years.”
“Heh. I-- knew it. The cabrón-- should have got him-- fired,” Gustavo gasped, and dropped his head against her hand again with a groan. Imelda turned to Héctor.
“The final rites,” she said. “He needs it now.”
Oh. A weight in his stomach, Héctor left Ernesto to rest and stood. It felt surreal, like it couldn’t possibly be happening and he was watching an event from someone else’s life through a foggy glass. “I… I don’t think I can. I am not priest, I--”
“You are the closest that there is to one right now. It will have to do.”
She was right: as soon as Héctor approached he could tell that the wound to Gustavo’s stomach was devastating, and he was fading fast. Too fast. He wouldn’t live long enough to see a real priest. They had never been friends, quite the contrary, but something clenched painfully in Héctor’s chest as he approached. He’d never wanted such a thing to happen.
He knelt by the dying man, trying to ignore a bizarre urge to apologize if the attempt at befriending him as kids had hit a nerve, if he had done or said something wrong, if he had never tried to extend the olive branch again. All along, he’d been their link to the revolutionaries, and now he’d saved his life too. He deserved better than dying in the dirt.
“There is no mercy in war,” Ernesto had said. “They die or you do.”
But he could extend mercy now, at least; without even anointing oil, it was all he had to give. So he rested a hand on Gustavo’s forehead, and began murmuring the prayers required. With a rattling breath, Gustavo opened his eyes and looked up at him.
“Now you’re… really trying… to piss me off, Chorizo,” he managed, and it took the last of his strength. His head fell back again, his gaze grew dull, and his chest rose in yet another breath before stilling, just as Héctor whispered the last amen.
It was over. Héctor let out a long breath, feeling entirely emptied out. Imelda laid a hand on his shoulder, a warm and welcome weight. He reached up to cover it with his own.
“... Maybe we’ll tell others he had something slightly better to say as his last words,” he said.
She squeezed his shoulder, closing Gustavo’s eyes with her other hand. “Yes. Let’s do that,” she agreed. They knelt a few more moments before standing, and tending to the living.
Away from the grove, the battle was over.
***
“What in God’s name is this mess!”
Well, that was not an encouraging thing to hear, but then again doctor Sanchéz wasn’t new to outbursts, and it wasn’t every day he had two severely wounded men carried at his doorstep. The gringo had been at death’s door - still was, lying unconscious only a few feet away - and Ernesto was in no better shape.
Sofía’s eyes wandered over the congealed blood, the deep cuts on his chest, the dark bruise around his neck, the ashen color of his skin, his utter stillness as he remained unconscious. She remained outwardly calm, but something within her trembled.
Idiota. What have you done?
Of course, at that point she knew the answer; word travelled fast as soon as the first few men returned galloping into the village. Between that and the fact Chicharrón had confirmed their stock of rat poison had disappeared along with the wine, Sofía knew exactly what he had done. She may have admired the sheer guts of it, and the fact it had helped win the battle, if not for the detail it had turned out so horribly wrong for him.
That, and even if he pulled through the game was up and the village knew, or at least guessed, he was no priest at all. Coming up for a convincing explanation was going to be a bitch and a half, but she’d think about it later. One problem at a time.
“... Well, doctor, surely there must be something you can do,” she said, and Sanchéz groaned, rubbing his forehead.
“I’ll clean the wounds, stitch the worst and wrap them up,” he muttered. “But he lost a lot of blood and Hell knows for how long he was left hanging by the neck. There is nothing I can do about that. Either he wakes up or he doesn’t. If you ask me, he doesn't have many more chances than the gringo does.”
“We’ll be praying for them. We already lost a member of our parish today,” Sofía said quietly.
Sanchéz would have normally snorted at such a comment, but this time he sighed. He looked tired, too, and gestured for his assistant to bring over the alcohol and a small basin of warm water. “... I’ll do what I can. You may want to come up with some sort of story to tell, if not the village, at least outsiders. In case anyone comes asking. And we’re going to need at least one real priest alive, for Gustavo’s funeral.”
“Our… friends know one who will come over from San Luz to do it. No questions asked.”
“... That’s good. You may go, sister. We’ll try our best here.”
Sofía nodded and, with one last glance at Ernesto - try to pull through, you idiot, you and the stupid gringo both because God knows you deserve each other - she took her leave, stepping out of Sanchéz’s home and into the street. The bell was once again ringing to a death knell, announcing the death of their parish's sexton.
Just as she stepped past the threshold, with doctor Sanchéz’s attention entirely on Ernesto, Father John Johnsons shifted imperceptibly and almost, almost opened his eyes.
***
“Padre Raúl will be here within a couple of days for the funeral - three at most, I swear. Us too, it’s the least we could do.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer to stay for a few nights?”
Grabbing the reins of his horse, José smiled. “Tempting, but we have all those Federales to keep an eye on. They’re still writhing about, but they’ll live. Whatever was in that wine couldn’t be nearly enough to kill so many men.”
Héctor swallowed before speaking, thinking back of Alejandro, of other men who so clearly were not in the army by their own free will. “... What will you do with them?”
“They’ll get a chance to join us. A lot of them do - Gabriel was one.” José shrugged, and grabbed the reins of his horse. They were standing in the churchyard, Imelda holding tightly on Héctor’s hand. “If not, well. We have someplace where they can be locked up for a time. Between us, I got word from the north and I think Huerta’s days are numbered. Once he falls, the Federal Army itself is sure to follo--”
“HÉCTOR! IMELDA!”
A loud, wonderfully familiar voice cut José off, and Héctor turned just on time to catch Miguel in his arms. He was a shrimp of a kid, but he almost knocked him over. “Hola, chamaco. How--”
“Why did you do it!” Miguel cried out, face pressed against his stomach. His shoulders shook, and he began sobbing. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…!”
“Miguel…” Héctor began, not quite knowing what to say next. In the end he needed say nothing at all: Imelda crouched down to hold onto Miguel as well and he clung back, a hand grasping her blouse.
They kept holding onto one another for a very, very long time.
***
[Back]
[Next]
34 notes
·
View notes
Note
❰❰ FOOD ❱❱ sender feeds the receiver // or ELSE. you noodley lookin noodle. ur choice whether it's them as bbs or not bc i guarantee you ernie never stopped making sure he was fed u_u
𝐧𝐨𝐧 - 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥 .
⸻ ❝ mph ! ❞ forkful of hot rice & beans shuts teto's babbling up -- & chokes him a little . he screws up his face , flicks a bean at ernesto's face . his chin makes a great target . fork's taken from his mouth & he chews around his words : ❝ i can feed myself , ya' know ! ❞ shoves another bite into his mouth with a mirthful smirk . ❝ we can't all look like luchadors ! ❞
1 note
·
View note
Text
MORE INDULGENT Head Canons:Apollo, Clay, Klapollo, AA +Disney/Disney Parks
I know I’ve done this subject before but IDC it’s my blog, so here’s more.
Established in others hc: Apollo is a huge Disnerd, and the moment he could afford it, he bought an annual pass to Disneyland. He wined and dined Klavier in Disneyland for Klavier’s first trip/birthday and Klavier became an annual pass-holder the next day.
Apollo and Clay are avid pin-collectors and pin-traders. They have thousands of pins between them. Clay will actually go up to others in the parks or at Disney Cons and trade with them, Apollo prefers to go into the pin shops or other trading locations and quietly place a pin on the “take one, leave one” pin boards the Cast Members display.
Clay did the Disney Parks program in college; Apollo wanted to but couldn’t due to him wanting to get through undergrad and law-school as fast as humanly and as debt-free as possible. Apollo, was however, Clay’s +1 for cast member nights and his College Program grad-night.
Despite his Astronaut goals, Clay didn’t work at Space Mountain. Clay was a Skipper on the Jungle Cruise. He can and will recite the whole spiel and ALL the dad jokes if you let him. Apollo at this point is sick of this, Klavier, however, is amused.
Klavier didn’t grow up with Disney - his parents were pretty strict and didn’t see the merit of him watching “cartoons” (Klavier, rebelled hard against the “no fun zone” he grew up in) so all of his memories with Disney-movies and the theme parks- are with Apollo.
Apollo actually held back on showing his Disnerd powers to Klavier, thinking Klavier would find it childish, but then Klavier mentioned that he’d never been, let alone, barely seen the animated features, and Apollo was like “NOPE, WE’RE FIXING THIS”
When watching Coco, Apollo was worried because Klavier got choked up at the scene of Miguel sitting in his little attic/shrine to Ernesto learning how to play by sight. Apollo: “Oh god, we’re only 10 minutes in, and he’s already crying...” thinking that Klavier wouldn’t like the rest of the movie. Klavier loved it - saying that a lot of moments hit home for him.
After learning the songs (after playing the OST over and over) He makes Apollo sing the Spanish parts of “Proud Corazón” because Apollo *does* have a nice voice (albeit untrained) and Klavier will use any excuse to get Apollo to speak Spanish. Also upon re-watches, Klavier likes to point out that the animators actually animated the correct chords whenever a guitar is being played.
Miles won’t go on the Tower of Terror or the Haunted Mansion, due to them involving elevators in someway. However, in Disneyland he *will* got on Guardians of the Galaxy: Mission Breakout (their Tower of Tower)-as it’s a “gantry lift” (and not a ride centering around a haunted death elevator- even though it has the same ride mechanic) and the Haunted Mansion in Disney World, as the “stretching room” isn’t actually an elevator. Phoenix has learned not to argue.
Klavier also won’t go on the The Tower of Terror either, when they do go to Florida- which surprised Apollo considering Klavier never misses out on Guardians.”That’s because ‘Mission Break Out’ has a gut soundtrack and is a partybox- not a scary deathtrap”. While everyone else goes to wait in the 2 hr line for ToT, Miles and Klavier, do go on “The Rocking Roller Coaster”. Miles does like roller coasters and Klavier is all “ I will suffer through any thrill ride so long as I like the music and Jaaaaasss Aerosmith”.
When the rest of the group gets out of ToT, they have seven texts from Miles: “Klavier and I are on the rollercoaster”. They first think that there’s something wrong with Miles’ phone and it sent the text several times. But no, Miles and Klavier actually went on the rollercoaster 7 times in a row and Miles, updated them each time. Klavier threw up after the 5th time (”Worth it”) but went back on it.
Apollo and Clay’s favorite ride is Space Mountain, Klavier’s is “The Haunted Mansion”. Miles’ “Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Forbidden Eye”, Phoenix and Athena’s is Pirates of the Caribbean. Trucy and Simon cannot leave the park without going on Peter Pan (they will riot).
Klavier is actually deathly afraid of dolls and any ride where the animatronics get *too* close to him. So while Apollo learned that there will never be another ride with Klavier after the “it’s a small world” incident”, he learned the hard-way how deep Klavier’s fear ran when they got stuck on “Snow White’s Scary Adventure”. Klavier was sure that Simon would give him shit for it, but Simon was like - “I haven’t been on that ride since I was five..Aura took me off that ride in tears. There is no shame in it- that ride *is* scary”. So they’ll just go on “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride” while Athena and Apollo go on “Snow White”.
Clay and Apollo went on Opening Day to Galaxy’s Edge; they have a TON of memorabilia.
Miles collects’ character autographs
Apollo refuses to ride in the swinging gondolas on the Fun Wheel with Athena, Trucy and Clay, because they’re assholes who will rock the gondola. Apollo stays on the ground with Phoenix.
Klavier’s favorite treat are “Tigger Tails” and Candied Apples
Given that they live in SoCal and are annual passholders, Klavier and Apollo will have a once-a-month date night at the park. Sometimes they don’t even go on the rides, they just wander around, eat good food and watch the shows and parades. They enjoy dates when there are Dapper Days, and on Saturday nights there is Swing Dancing at the Royal Faire.
Christmas Season is Klavier’s favorite time of the year for the parks - aside from the food festivals, he will drive down to Anaheim to go in *just* to get a band to pick up a fresh-made candy cane.
#ace attorney#klapollo#narumitsu#klavier gavin#apollo justice#phoenix wright#miles edgeworth#simon blackquill#athena cykes#Trucy Wright#clay terran
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Somos Famila Ch 37: The Prodigal Son (Part 2)
The Prodigal Son (Part 2)
“Mrrmmf!”
Héctor woke up from a sound sleep when something heavy and fuzzy plopped down hard on his chest and then spread out over his face. When sharp claws began to knead into his neck he flung it off him with a grunt, a small mewl of protest carrying over to the other side of the room. Sitting up in the bed and rubbing his stinging neck he looked out into the darkness to see two glowing eyes staring at him, a low disgruntled growl breaking the silence.
“Damn it Pepita.” Héctor whispered, trying not to wake Imelda sleeping next to him. “Why do you always want to sleep on me? Sleep on Imelda, she likes you!”
The gray tabby cat simply looked at Héctor for a moment before turning towards the door and rubbing up against it. Ah, she wanted out. She had been in the bedroom probably all day. Rosita had told them earlier that she would take the cat home with her for the entirety of Matty’s stay, so as not to upset his allergies, but apparently that didn’t end up happening. She seemed a little… distracted by Martín’s surprise visit. Understandable. He had never seen the girl so enraptured and giddy before.
With a sigh Héctor opened the door and let the cat slink off into the night, stepping out himself and breathing in the warm mid-May air. He didn’t know what time it was, but it probably wasn’t that long after everyone had turned in for bed. He found himself walking towards Matty’s bedroom with a smile. Now that his boy was finally home, safe and sound, he wanted to see him sleeping in his own bed. Just to be sure.
Peering into the window his smile faded when he saw Matty’s blankets rumpled and turned out, but the bed empty. Glancing about the rest of the room he saw no sigh of his son. Héctor stepped back and looked around the courtyard. Where was he? At this time of night? The bathroom? That seemed the most plausible. He couldn’t think of any place else-
“YIP!”
“Gyah!”
Jumping nearly out of his skin, Héctor looked down to see Dante standing next to him. The dog grinned and panted happily up at him, his crooked tail wagging hard. As his heartrate came back down to normal rhythm his eyes narrowed as he looked at the dog critically.
“You’re not really the same dog, are you?”
Dante didn’t answer, not that Héctor was expecting an answer, but instead trotted over to the exit of the courtyard. It was then Héctor noticed that the green doors were slightly ajar. Dante looked back at Héctor, spun in a circle, and jumped a little with that same goofy smile.
Follow me.
Héctor sighed wearily but went after the dog as he made his way down the deserted streets of Santa Cecilia. He was wide awake now so sleep wouldn’t come back to him easily, and at the very least he could make sure Dante didn’t disappear again for another two years. But instead of wandering about aimlessly looking for a place to leave his mark, Dante looked like he was headed to a very specific place. And soon that place revealed itself to Héctor.
Panteon de Santa Cecilia.
He balked at entering the cemetery, never having been keen on visiting the site that held the remains of his baby girl, and even more so now. With Ernesto’s giant mausoleum taking up so much space, sticking out in its size and grandeur and making sure it was the first thing that caught your attention, Héctor’s stomach curled in sourness as he gazed at it. This used to be their playground, he and Ernesto, when they were little kids. Despite the morbid atmosphere they had some good times. Now his dead body, and his daughter’s, had tainted it forever.
But the gate to the cemetery was also open, and Dante made his way in and towards Ernesto’s gravesite without hesitation. As he watched the dog weave around the various crypts and gravestones, Héctor could see that Dante was not the only occupant there this late at night.
There, sitting on one of the gravestones directly in front of the mausoleum, was Matty. The sight of his son made Héctor relax a little and with a little shake to prepare himself he made his way in. Moving closer to him Héctor could see that Matty was staring up at the lifelike stone bust of Ernesto perched above the entryway, absently patting Dante’s head once he had reached him and put his snout on his lap. He was leaning, nearly fully sitting, on one of the tombstones situated at the front with his crutches laying on the ground, with only the tiny embers of his cigarette giving off a faint glow in the night as he sucked down a puff-
CIGARETTE?!
“AHA!”
Matty whipped around to see his father staring at him and erupted into frantic, hacking coughs as he hastily flung the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. “Mierda!”
Héctor crossed his arms and laughed. “I knew you smelled funny as soon as you got off the train! And here I was thinking someone else had smoked and gotten the stench on you. Tsk tsk tsk…”
“It’s nothing!’ Matty insisted as he caught his breath and wiped the tears from his eyes “Just a simple luxury when I had nothing else! I’ll stop as soon as I can, I promise.”
“Mmm hmm, sure.” Héctor chortled and waved the lingering smoke out of the air. “I’ll just keep a wide berth until then, eh? Couple of arm’s length so I don’t choke around you?”
“… Don’t tell Mamá, si?”
“Oh, I won’t have to. If the crushing guilt doesn’t compel you to tell the truth, your ashy fingers, smell and charred vocal cords will give you away in the end.”
Matty growled and shook his head. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“I should ask you the same thing.”
In an instant Matty’s face softened and he looked back up to the bust of his godfather. A fleeting expression of grief changed into a sad, wane smile. “I came to thank Tio Nesto.”
Héctor blinked. “For what?”
“For a few things.” Matty scooted along the gravestone and gestured to the empty spot. “Sit. I already apologized to this chica uhh… Nieve, so I don’t think she’ll mind you sitting down too. Plus she’s been dead for over forty years, so…”
With a chuckle Héctor took the offered seat next to his son, tapering off as he too looked at the bust of Ernesto. That charming smile and faraway, confident look that charmed the world over. Charmed him as well. Fooled him, for so many years. “So, what do you have thank… him for?”
Save for a brief look from his son, Matty didn’t address nor question the slight bitterness to his voice. He simply started his story.
“When I first heard that Tio Nesto died about two months had passed since then. Word travels slow in the trenches that doesn’t include wartime activities. Especially frivolous topics like the deaths of famous people, and extra especially those who are not from Hollywood, like native Mexicans. So, when I finally heard about it, I… did not take it well.”
‘Probably better than I did,’ Héctor thought, but he kept listening.
“I lashed out at everyone, intentionally got into fights. Martín tried to stop me, but I was just so angry I ended up fighting him as well. It got us both sent to the infirmary, where of course Wanda was there to tell me off for how foolish I was being… I said some things, called her names I’m not proud of… and she just lit into me.”
“Now keep in mind up until this point I respected her as a nurse, but thought she was just a sheltered privileged white woman from America who came running to me because I spoke ‘Mexican’. But she was quick to point out I was the sheltered privileged one… And I must admit she was right. Then in the span of about thirty seconds she told me an abridged version of her life, which I won’t repeat out of respect, but… It was rough. It was bad Papá, something I wouldn’t wish on anyone, especially a little girl!”
Suddenly Matty lurched forward and began to breathe hard, his hands clenching into fists on his knees and shaking. Héctor rubbed a hand on his back, whispering soothingly, “It’s okay… I understand, it’s okay.”
Mumbling a terse apology, Matty reached a shaking hand into his jacket pocket and pulled another cigarette. Héctor chose not to say anything as Matty lit it, especially since he was able to relax once he had sighed out another cloud of smoke. He’d let him be this once.
After a few seconds pause Matty then smirked a little. “After all of that she said I was a spoiled little rich boy whose father was King of the Mexicans- something I’ll start calling you now, by the way.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“And then she screamed at me, ‘You are the sorriest son of a bitch on both sides of the Earth, and I pity the lowly cow who will be unfortunate to be your wife!’ And then she… uh…” With a cringe and nervous laugh, he smoked another drag. “She threw a bedpan at me.”
Héctor’s eyes bugged out and he cringed too with sympathy. “Ah… A, um… a clean one I’m hoping?”
“Nope.”
“Uy…”
Matty hummed a chuckled and flicked away some ash, his smile growing warmer. “Anyway… After ignoring her for a few days I finally came around to apologizing to her properly. We talked more about her life and about mine. When she learned about Leti and Tio Nesto she apologized as well, and ever since then… we clicked. I started thinking about her more and more, and she said the same about me. I even learned-”
Matty stopped short with sigh and shook his head. He didn’t think Héctor wanted to know that he had learned to play all of Cole Porter’s songs on the trumpet for Wanda. Even if one occasion had him blasting out ‘I Get a Kick Out of You’ while doing a lazy soft-shoe dance that had her in hysterics. He couldn’t, not after what Mamá had told him.
“-Well we learned a lot about each other and from each other… And when I was hurt and dreaming, I felt a kiss on my forehead and such soft words that made me feel better… ‘You feel better’… and for the first time in my life I didn’t immediately think of my sister and feel better. I thought of Wanda. And when I woke up… she was there. She came to me, in my dreams and in real life, and I…- I love her Papá. I never thought I would ever love someone as much as I do her.”
Héctor wrapped an arm around his son. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Me too. For the longest time I thought I would never feel anything for anyone. I thought there was something wrong with me.”
“Oye.” Héctor said sternly. “There is nothing wrong with you. You just… had to go to the other side of the world to find the one for you. And even if you never did find someone there’d still be nothing wrong with you. Claro?”
Matty nodded with a smile, leaning into his father’s hug, and looked up again at Ernesto’s bust. “So that’s one reason why I have to thank Tio Nesto. He was sort of the catalyst for me to get to Wanda.” With a hard swallow he reached into his pants pocket with a nervous fumble. “The other reason was… I had to thank him for uh… saving my life.”
“Saving your life? What are you-” Héctor asked, but his words trailed off as Matty dangled something in front of his face, and confusion turned into silent horror. It was his pocket watch: the same one Ernesto had given to him when he was seven years old to celebrate the premier of their first movie. Shiny, golden and encrusted with diamonds with the words ‘Seize your Moment’ engraved into it.
Except now it was bent and warped into a misshapen, puckered mess. The diamonds had broken off and the gaps filled in with caked dirt, the glossy sheen scratched to oblivion. And in the center of the broken timepiece was a mutilated silver bullet slug, permanently jammed into the mess of metal. The words were lost forever.
Héctor numbly took the chain from Matty and placed the watch into his hand, and a slight tremble of fear of what could have been made him gasp. “Mateo…”
Matty stared down at the watch blankly, one hand coming up to rub his right pectoral, and continued.
“We were ambushed at Anzio, after weeks of no activity. Martín, several other soldiers and myself were held up in an abandoned town street behind a barrier when suddenly a grenade landed on our side. We were able to scramble away in time except for Martín. He was blasted into a wall, caved into a house. I could hear him screaming. He was alive, I had to get him. The others told me to retreat, but I couldn’t. I promised him I would bring him to Santa Cecilia.”
“I managed to snag a morphine syrette from a medic and made my way back to him. I was able to calm him down with a shot, but while I was digging him out I didn’t notice a Gerry coming in behind me. He shot me in the leg, I turned around to shoot, but then he popped me in the chest.”
“It was a cheap pistol but it did the trick just fine. I fell back. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t react when he stood over me and aimed at my head… That’s when Martín managed to recover enough to gun him down… So, like I said earlier he saved my life too. The last thing I remember I was being carried away. I woke up on the deck of a ship sailing away from Italy, with Martín lying next to me and Wanda by my side. Out of commission for good.”
“If it had been a more powerful gun then this watch wouldn’t had made any difference. But because it was, and because I had it in my breast pocket that morning, I survived… With half my ribs broken and a badly bruised lung, but I survived… So, in a way, Tio Nesto saved me. He let me keep my promise to you. I came home.”
Héctor stared at the watch as he took in Matty’s story, his fingers closing around the twisted metal. His one true fear ever since the day Matty had left nearly came true. Someone shot his son. Aimed a gun to his head. He would have to thank Martín profusely when he woke up in the morning. Staring up at the bust himself, Héctor took in Ernesto’s smile and kind eyes… and felt nothing. Martín saved him, not Ernesto. No matter what Matty thought, a well-placed watch did not give him the honor of being his son’s savior. This changes nothing, Ernesto. I can’t forgive you.
“I know you think I went off to fight in the hopes I would end up dying. Right?”
Looking back at Matty he handed the watch back to him. He didn’t feel like holding it anymore. “No… Well, I-…”
Pocketing the watch, Matty shook his head. “No, I don’t want to die. Even when Leti did and I felt like I deserved to die instead, I didn’t really want to. I guess I went off because I wanted to save people. I thought if I could save one person, that I could prevent their death, then I could feel better about my own loss. And I did save people. I saved a lot of people.”
“And how do you feel now?”
The cigarette was now down the butt, and Matty stared at the dying embers with a shrug. “Leti’s still dead. Barto’s still dead. Now Tio Nesto is dead. And while I helped a lot of people, I also killed a lot of people. They were the enemy sure, but I wonder if some of them were not the fanatics the news reels made them out to be. Maybe they were just boys who were forced to serve their country, with family hoping they would return home too… Ay, you were right. Many people were forced into this war, but I wasn’t. I was being stupid.”
“You get it from me.”
This caused Matty to laugh softly, with Héctor joining him, as he stubbed out the cigarette at last. “Si.”
“And it turned out fine in the end!” Héctor said. “Just think: You and Wanda will one day get married and we can be the family she never had!”
Matty’s smile turned forced and he chuckled nervously, gripping his wrist. “Ah, yeah… About that…”
“What.”
“Wanda and I… are kind of… already married?”
“… What?”
“W-well, you see!” Matty stuttered while still maintaining a too-wide grin. “I was hurt, si? Emotions were running high; it was spur of the moment. A priest was there-Oh! She’s Catholic, you’ll be happy to know! Anyway, a priest was there giving last rites to soldiers, so he was more than grateful to perform a small wedding ceremony. Martín was my best man, even though he was laying out on a cot and delirious the whole time, but he was still a witness! Anyway, we don’t have a certificate yet but a los ojos de Dios… She’s a Rivera!”
As his boy rambled on, Héctor was pleased to see more of his own mannerisms being shown on full display in Matty. Both so different from each other except when it came to love: It made them both idiots.
“I see… Doesn’t count.”
Matty blinked stupidly. “Que?”
“It doesn’t count.” Héctor said, crossing his arms. “You are not truly married until you tell your Mamá, who in turn is going to want to give you a big fancy wedding and invite everyone in town. Ceci will make Wanda’s dress, we’ll have a grand feast with lots of presents and your Mamá will wail and grieve over the loss of her son while clutching Miguel close to her vowing to never let him go. It will be beautiful.”
Matty laughed and nodded in agreement. “Si. It would be nice to have a real wedding… But there’s also one other reason why it doesn’t count.”
“And what’s that?”
“I need to make Wanda some shoes.”
That was exactly what Héctor wanted to hear. Héctor’s heart melted and he smiled warmly at Matty, pulling him into the biggest hug he could give him. They sat there for a moment, holding each other, when Héctor noticed three other cigarette butts among the other two. “How long have you been here?”
“…About two hours. And it took half an hour to get here. It was a mistake to come here alone, I lost my wind and have been stuck here ever since.”
“You stubborn little- All right, wrap your arm around me and lean in. Papi will take you home, cielito.”
“Callate.”
With one arm around his son’s waist and the two of them each holding onto a crutch, they slowly started to make their way back to the house. “And it’s not just you and Wanda. Martín is quite taken with our dear Rosita, and I think the feeling is mutual. Two new romances in one day! It’s very exciting, no?”
“No.” Matty said with a huff, panting a little in exertion as they walked. “It was maddeningly irritating. Every day it was something else with him: ‘What’s her favorite color? What does she like to do? How tall is she? Is her voice low and sultry like a vixen or sweet and clear like a faerie?’ It’s kind of high and squeaky. ‘Ay! Like a faerie then!’ He drove me crazy Papá!”
“It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“Sorry, but I don’t want to tell him what her favorite food is while we’re under heavy fire.”
“…Okay that’s bad.”
As the two laughed down the street Dante followed close behind them, sniffing the air as they walked past and whining a little at what he smelled. His boy was older now and hurt. When he had disappeared so long ago, to place where Dante could not follow him, the old dog’s heart ached for him. But whether he would come back to their small town or to the Land of the Dead, Dante would be sure to greet his owner with much gusto as well as many happy licks. He was a good boy, after all, and that’s what good boys did.
But he was tired, his sight was failing, and his bones had ached something fierce. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could exist amongst the living, so the choice to go to the Land of the Dead had been an easy one. As his body regained it’s strength and his eyes became as sharp as they were in his puppy days, Dante was content to wait for either outcome of his master’s fate in the company of skeletons and fantastic creatures.
But then earlier today he had felt it. The boy was back home where he belonged, and Dante wasted no time in tearing across the marigold bridge to get back to him. And he did greet him with plenty of slobbery kisses and received many hearty pats and rubs. It felt so good to see him again.
But his boy was different now.
Ever since he had known him the boy had a storm brewing inside of him, so dark and heavy that sometimes not even the best licks on the face or the funniest tricks could get him to smile. He was a good owner, yes, but he was so sad at the same time. So broken. Dante didn’t know what he could do for his boy and it broke his heart.
But now… aah, that was a little better. The storm was not completely gone, but now it was more like a cloudy day with a few drizzles. And streams of sunshine were now breaking through the clouds. Dante guessed that had to do with his boy’s new mate. She smelled nice and her voice was pleasant to hear. Had to work on her petting though. Very amateur, but she showed some promise. But the way he looked at her made the sun inside of him shine brighter, so she was a keeper in Dante’s mind.
His boy was going to be okay now. He didn’t have to worry about him anymore
The old man on the other hand?
Woof…
As Dante watched Héctor walk his son down the road, he was startled when something snaked against his side with a soft purr. Looking down he saw gatita arching her back up his flank and rubbing her whiskered cheek against him. With a smile he gave her a sloppy lick on the forehead in return. With a growl she glared at him then sat down to get to work on cleaning off the slobber. As the two animals watched the men walk off into the night, Pepita turned towards Dante.
‘So what are you thinking?’
‘I think… that I have a new boy to look after!’
‘… A rather old boy.’
‘A boy is a boy! Even girls are boys! It’s a fact.’
‘Hmm. Well, it’s going to be difficult to guide him. I’ve been with him for over a year now. Not only is he hurting, but he’s stubborn.’
‘It’s okay. I’m a good boy who always helps his master. No matter what.’
And with that the two animals followed the two men on their way home, both of them unaware that they were being scrutinized by beings more powerful than they could possibly comprehend.
------------------
“What is this?”
“Um… a ball?”
“Good. And what color is it?”
“Red.”
Victoria turned toward Miguel and gave him an affirmative nod, who eagerly scratched out a big checkmark onto the piece of paper in front of him. Wanda was sitting across from them both at the kitchen table, with Héctor next to her reading a newspaper. Every so often however he would lower the paper to watch his granddaughter rummage through her small pile of trinkets and treasures laid out in from of her, chuckling with mirth. As Miguel finished making the mark on the page, he looked at his pencil and gasped.
“Ooh! Victoria! Ask her about this!” he said, holding up his pencil.
“Okay.” Victoria nodded, and again spoke to Wanda in her limited, but very articulate English. “What is that?”
“A pencil.”
“And what color is it?”
“Yellow.”
“Oye oye…” Matty hobbled into the kitchen on his crutches, freshly shaved and cleaned for dinner with Facundo, Julio and Coco trailing behind him. Looking at all the random junk scattered on the table he turned his attention to the two children, frowning. “What are you two doing?”
“A scientific experiment, mijo.” Héctor said as he folded the newspaper up.
Matty blinked. “Scienti- what?”
Pointing the pencil directly at Wanda, Miguel said, “She has blue eyes!”
Matty glanced over at Wanda, who as if on cue blinked her large blue eyes curiously at him with a slight flutter of her eyelashes. With a slight sag Matty momentarily grinned and chuckled dumbly at her, then with a hard shake and throat clearing he glared down at his brother. ”Si, she has blue eyes. Your point?”
“We were wondering, since her eyes are blue, if she saw things differently than us.” Victoria spoke up, smiling proudly. “So we’re showing her things to see if she can tell us what she sees. If she gets it right she gets a check mark.”
Matty spluttered. “What the-? Why in the world-? How long have you been doing this?” Glancing down at the paper in front of Miguel, he gaped at the page filled with over fifty tally marks on it. “Ay Dios mio! Yes, her eyes work just the same! Experiment over, now stop pestering her and clear off this mess. Ahora, chapparitos!”
As the two children scooped the items into their arms amidst their giggling, Matty made his way over to Wanda to finally explain what they were doing to her in English. She tipped her head back in laughter as Matty shook his wearily and rolled his eyes, apologizing for his brother and niece. Wanda grabbed his chin to look into his eyes.
“It’s cute.” Wanda insisted.
“It’s annoying, is what it is.”
“Speaking of annoying,” Wanda suddenly whispered, drawing him away from Héctor slightly. “Have you talked to your father about this whole ‘no music’ thing?”
“…No.”
“Why not? Matthew it’s been over a week.”
With a sigh Matty shook his head. When Mamá had told him how Ernesto’s death had hurt Papá so much that he had grown to despise music, he was determined to help him in any way he could. Possibly even get him to change his mind about it. He had the perfect moment at the cemetery to ask his father if he had anything else to tell him. A way of getting him to talk about his problems with music.
But when Héctor had looked up at Ernesto’s bust in the mausoleum, Matty didn’t just see grief. He also saw anger, bitterness and even a little wild fear. Papá wasn’t just heartbroken over Tio Nesto’s death. He was traumatized. Something Matty all too well understood, and he knew at that moment he couldn’t just force him to confront the past.
Not yet anyway.
“You can’t push these things, sweetheart.” Matty whispered. “I will one day, but not now. You understand, right?”
Wanda raised an eyebrow at that, but with a hum she smiled. “Claro.”
As the two of them kissed sweetly Imelda came in at that moment carrying two plates full of food. Seeing her son with that woman made her poor heart ache and she let out a long-suffering sigh, causing Matty to pull back from his girl with an annoyed sigh of his own. Setting the plates down she reached over and grabbed Miguel’s face, smooshing his cheeks together and making him look her in the eye. “Miguel, you are never going to get married. Understand?”
Miguel nodded with puckered lips. “Shi, Mba-mbá.”
“Mamá, where’s Rosita?” Coco asked as Miguel rubbed his cheeks back into place. “I thought she said she would help you with dinner?”
“Ay, who knows. That girl’s head has been in the clouds all week.”
Julio shook his head. “No, she’s probably just taking a nap. I’ll go get her.”
Julio walked off towards Rosita’s bedroom while the rest of the family settled down to dinner. Helping himself to a large portion of chicken Facundo leaned over to Matty. “Alright, so you don’t want a parade in your honor. That’s fine, actually humble of you. Then how about a ceremony at the plaza where I personally give you the key to the city and unveil plans to erect a statue in you likeness. It can go next to Ernesto’s! In fact, I have a plan to erect statues of all of the people that have made Santa Cecilia the fastest growing town in Oaxaca!... Which is basically all of the Riveras.”
“Si si, that’s great Facundo, but let’s talk business!” Oscar said, both he and Felipe huddled close together with glee. “Matty, Felipe and I thought up another brilliant idea this afternoon and we need your opinion!”
Ignoring the groans from everyone else, Felipe held up several different colors of leather swatches. “What do kids like to collect these days? Marbles, baseball cards, stamps, et cetera. Well, in order to capitalize on that, we present to you the latest upcoming trend… Rivera Collectible Shoe Tongues!”
“…Ay…”
Before anyone could wrap their heads around how ridiculous that concept was, there a loud commotion coming from down the hall. First that was the hoarse shout of a man, then another, a giant thud that rattled the walls, and finally the high-pitched screaming of a woman. As the screaming continued a bolt of terror raced through everyone and caused them to leap from their seats and race down the hallway.
It was coming from Rosita’s bedroom.
Héctor was the fastest, reaching the door before anyone else, and ran into the bedroom. “Rosita, mija, are you all- AAAH NOOO!”
He immediately covered his eyes and tried to burn away the image from his brain, but the damage was done. Rosita was in bed, in perfect health, pulling the blanket high enough to cover herself but leaving her bare shoulders exposed. Julio was splayed across the floor, staring up at the ceiling and looking dazed. And on top of him was Martín, naked as the day he was born except for the wrapping around his amputated leg, both hands covering his privates in a futile attempt to keep his modesty. And all of them were screaming hysterically.
Imelda was the next to come charging in, pushing past her gagging husband. In one millisecond she was able to take in and process the scene in front of her, spin around, catch Miguel as he tried to come in, and fling him back out into the hallway. Matty came in next and also covered his eyes in disgust.
“Ay, cochino!” Matty cried out. “Guácala! Amigo are you serious?! In my house?!”
“I am so so sorry!” Martín cried out, trying to keep himself covered with one hand while gesturing wildly with the other. “We were sleeping, and Julio came in and shouted and I panicked! My first instinct was to tackle him! I didn’t know it was him at first! I am so sorry!”
Matty’s brows raised. “You tackled him with one leg? That’s actually impressive.”
Beneath him, Julio wheezed, “Get… off… of… me!”
Martín rolled off Julio and huddled into a curled position on the floor, his one knee drawn up against his chest. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
By now the rest of the part had managed to cram their way into the bedroom. Coco gasped with her mouth covered and looked at Rosita in shock, who had now begun sobbing in earnest. Wanda buried her face into Matty’s shoulder as she tried to keep herself from laughing, while Oscar and Felipe groaned in disgust.
“Honestly, what is it about these people? Why do they think they can do this while there are children present?”
“It must be the house. It might have a lustful curse on it.”
Facundo marched over to Martín, his face growing redder by the second, and growled at the poor boy. “You… you vile, repugnant little cretin! How dare you lay with my daughter! And under the same roof as our generous hosts! How dare you insult them like this! Committing carnal sin without the sanctity of marriage!”
Coco and Matty exchanged looks at each other, then towards their parents with cocked brows. Héctor and Imelda both flushed red and lowered their heads in shame. “It’s fine, no comento…”
“It is not fine!” Facundo roared out, reaching down to grasp Martín by the hair and wrench his head back painfully. “You desecrated my daughter! You deserve to be thrown out into the streets, you disgusting, putrid-”
“Papá stop!” Rosita screamed as tears rolled down her cheeks. “He loves me and I love him! He asked me to marry him and I said yes!”
“-beautiful, thoughtful, blessing in disguise! Come here, mi hijo!”
Facundo grabbed Martín and crushed him into his chest, squeezing hard as the boy gasped for air in pain. “Ay, you beautiful, beautiful man! Thank you for making my dreams come true!” Raising a fist into the air, Facundo happily crowed, “Do you hear that Vicky? Our Rosita is to be wed! You can now rest in peace! Ay, Gracias a Dios!”
“Papá are you insane?!” Julio asked in disbelief, having finally pulled himself off the floor and leaning heavily against the dresser. “They’ve only known each other for a week! This is madness! Mamá Imelda, please say something to end this!”
Everyone looked towards Imelda, who in turn nodded and raised her head high. Clearing her throat, she walked over to glare down at Martín, making him shrink in her presence. Kneeling down she place her hand on his shoulder. “Tell me niño… Do you have any interest in the shoe business?”
Julio sagged back to the floor with a pitiful sob and Coco launched herself onto the bed to hug her best friend, unconcerned with her nakedness. “AAH! Rosita this is so exciting! We’ll get Ceci to make you a wedding dress, but better than mine ever was! Twice as frilly, twice as lacy, twice as… No four times as many flowers! And with diamonds! This is going to be the greatest day of your life!” She hugged her some more with an excited squeal as Rosita hid her beet red face in sheer embarrassment.
With a smirk Matty walked over to Martín. “Well amigo, you wanna have a double wedding with me and Wanda?”
Near tears himself and still in the iron clad hug of his future father-in-law, Martín cried out, “What I want are my pinche pants! Por favor!”
Outside of the bedroom and down the hall, two little children and a baby listened to all the screaming, yelling and laughing that came behind the closed door. Soon enough little Elena grew bored and began to tuck into her dinner, which consisted of rice and beans strewn about her highchair table. The other two tried to make sense of what exactly was going on with all the grownups.
“What did you see?” Victoria asked, having stayed behind to watch over her little sister while the adults decided to act like children themselves.
“Not a lot.” Miguel shrugged. “I think Señor Reyes and your papá were wrestling, but your papá was losing.”
Victoria nodded sagely. “Papá doesn’t fight. I don’t think he knows how.” Having grown bored herself, she jumped off her chair and brushed off her dress. “I’m going to go to bed.”
Miguel blinked. “Before dinner?”
Victoria shrugged. “Abuelo Facundo said I could rest in peace now that Tia Rosita was getting married, so I guess I have to. Buenas noches, Miguel.”
“Buenas noches, Victoria.”
After Victoria had left, Miguel peered down the hall to where all of the adults were still gathered. He didn’t know how long they would be gone for, but it would give him some time to work a little before they came back. Shushing Elena to keep this between them, Miguel pulled out his pencil and a folded piece of paper from his pocket. Laying it flat onto the table he looked at his work so far.
The figure he had drawn was nice, but it was missing something. Ah si! A moustache! Nice and thin, almost like a second mouth. No, better make it a little thicker. And a big circle over his head like a halo! Add a little lump on top and now it’s a sombrero!
He’d have to put it away soon, but Miguel was more than pleased with the progress he had made so far on his drawing of Tio Nesto. It was almost perfect!
He couldn’t wait to add it the other items of his shrine!
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
PAPÁ HÉCTOR IS THE BEST AND ERNESTO SUCKS CHORIZO
An essay by Lynn :3c
Bad THE WORST “great-great grandpa”:
Ernesto- Shows Miguel off to other celebrities for more attention, not all that concerned about his deadline, no pun intended, even when Miguel tells him about the need to be home before sunset.
Throws Miguel into a cenote to die to preserve his reputation and to keep him from blabbing about his murdering of his best friend, condemning him to spending his afterlife alone in a pit after Papá Héctor fades away and for history to repeat itself.
Just a second before realizing that Miguel was related to Papá Héctor, Ernesto looked very much like he was about to hurt Miguel again, cementing the fact that he had no qualms about hurting his own family just to save himself.
Had he not been distracted by this revelation or had Miguel’s family not been with him, Ernesto very well would have.
Good THE MOST EXCELLENT great-great grandpa:
Papá Héctor: Is very well aware of their deadline but takes the time they have together to not only get Miguel to Ernesto to be sent home with his photo, but also to teach Miguel valuable and important lessons about not just music and family.
Apologizes when Miguel catches him in his lie about getting backstage to Ernesto’s concert, provides the child with guidance and protection, and goes into Dad-Mode the second he noticed that Miguel ran off alone at Frida’s art studio. He also doesn’t sugarcoat the concept of the Final Death for Miguel, letting him directly know that death is just a part of life, even for the already dead citizens.
Provides Miguel with two endearing nicknames: chamaco and gordito.
Some might say the battle of the bands scene was unnecessary, but I think it’s just as important since Papá Héctor gives his first crucial pieces of advice to a very nervous Miguel, who had never played in front of an audience before.
He teaches him how to shake off his nerves and to grito to capture attention and focus it on him, repeating these silently offstage when Miguel looks like he’s about to choke. And during their performance, Papá Héctor continues to teach Miguel such as when he’s scaffolding him to do moves to spice it up:
Plus it’s the scene that has them really bonding with each other before things immediately went downhill.
alskdhf Miguel, I love you so much. 😭
He clearly can't shake himself quite the way Papá Héctor can, you know...because muscles and all that...but skele-dad's just like, "Yes, así! Very good, chamaco!"
When Miguel tosses his photo away and takes off, Pap�� Héctor was genuinely sorry for upsetting his chamaco was worried about him running off alone again, afraid he’d somehow get lost or hurt.
Even after their fight, Papá Héctor is more than willing to set aside his anger at Miguel for lying to him to try to make things right again with him by softening his anger-as if saying that he doesn’t want them to part on bad terms since that night could have very well been the last time they saw each other-and getting onto Miguel’s eye-level to beg for a last chance at having his photo be sent back.
And Miguel was going to take it before Ernesto got a hold of it, which says that he also felt guilty for lying to Papá Héctor and calling him selfish.
After the Ernesto tosses Miguel into the sinkhole, Papá Héctor pulls a crying Miguel into a comforting hug, even when he still thinks Miguel is related to his murderer and has every right to be upset with him. He also cradles the boy’s cheek to comfort him even as he’s on the verge of his Final Death because he doesn’t like seeing a child-especially one of his own lineage-upset.
I'll never get over how supportive Papá Héctor is to Miguel or how much of a dad he was to him most of the night! 😭
#**Twitter doesn't allow enough words for me to express how much I love these two ;v;**#**you can clearly tell skele-dad has a lot more going for him in the caring and parent categories than Butt-Chin will ever hope to have :P**#Pixar Coco#Papá Héctor#Héctor Rivera#**skeleton bby <3**#Miguel Rivera#**my precious children <3**#favorite characters#favorite scenes#favorite movies#gifs#my gifs#gif warning#analysis#long post#**I wanna know how people make such high quality gifs**
70 notes
·
View notes
Text
Leatherwing
Rating: K+
Genre: Angst, Friendship
Characters: Héctor, original characters
Warnings: Mentions of minor character death, BRIEF suicidal thoughts.
Description: Not everyone has a spirit guide in the land of the dead; they only appear to those who truly need guidance, and who are willing to listen to that guidance once they understand. And many years ago, there was a time when Héctor met those qualifications.
View all chapters here!
Chapter 3: Bite
Summary: In which Héctor and his alebrije decide to start a new Dia de Muertos tradition.
“Mira, it’s just once a year—”
Peep!
“I know, but really, it’s just one day. One night, even!”
PEEP!
“Pizzicato!” Héctor cried, and the bat stopped her fluttering, though her feet were obstinately clinging to the handle of his guitar case. “I will play for you when we get back. Okay?”
Pizzicato opened her mouth, baring her teeth and making a distinctly displeased rattling noise.
For a moment Héctor felt like he was dealing with Coco when she was in one of her stubborn moods, and the thought immediately sent a pang through his chest, cementing his decision. Softening, he stooped down closer to the alebrije, who shut her mouth, but still glared. “I know you want me to play music for you now, but this… this is more important to me than anything. Do you understand?”
Pizzicato’s ear-wings folded back, and she dipped her head with a quiet whine. Finally she let go of the guitar case, flitting back into the air and over Héctor’s head.
Relieved, he got to his feet again, brushing off his pant legs to make sure they were still clean. He had to look his best, in case—when he crossed. “Good! Let’s go, then.” With a sharp whistle, he strode out the door and out of the apartment, Pizzicato casting one last glance at the guitar before dutifully following.
It wasn’t quite sunset yet, but the streets were already crowded, all manner of souls and alebrijes alike filling the streets with life (so to speak). The excitement was tangible as people carried baskets and even carts in the direction of the marigold bridges, while others rushed to the plazas and all the parties and concerts that would be held this night.
You’re sure you don’t want to join us? Juan had offered. I mean, it’s not like you get to cross any—
Héctor flinched, both at the words, and at the memory of Diego swiftly kicking Juan in the shin before he could finish. Offer is open, regardless, the band leader had said.
It wasn’t that they couldn’t cross—they just didn’t plan to spend the entire night on the other side. While some spent as much time as possible in the Land of the Living with their families, for others, the night was a simpler affair. And… well, there were a lot of souls out tonight, and a lot of money to be made with music.
But all the money in the world wouldn’t give Héctor what he wanted most right now.
“Oye, watch it!”
A hand pushed Héctor back, startling him out of his thoughts. On the street in front of him, right where he’d been about to put his foot, a snake alebrije hissed at him, its bright scales rapidly shifting colors as it shook its rattle. Its owner stooped down to scoop the snake up, and it slithered around the man’s shoulders before turning to glare at Héctor. “Uh—sorry, sorry,” Héctor said, forcing a smile as he stepped off to the side, closer to the sidewalk.
Pizzicato continued to flutter over his head, her buzz-flap a familiar, melodic rhythm.
“Good thing you don’t have to worry about that, eh?” he asked, grinning up at her. It was nice to have someone to talk to as he walked around town; occasionally it earned him looks, but he didn’t care. Honestly he could understand why, since he’d been a bit skeptical of spirit guides when he’d first come here.
Don’t worry, mijo, you get used to them! Sort of.
He says that because he’s still not used to the dragons.
Can anyone get used to dragons?!
Héctor’s heart clenched at the memory. This was the first Dia de Muertos he would spend without—
No, no, not again. He swallowed once, then again, trying to rid himself of the lump that was choking his throat. It would be a year in a few months, and yet even after all that time, the little things would still come back—little reminders that they were no longer there.
Peep!
Something soft settled against his head, and he sighed, idly reaching up to stroke Pizzicato’s shell. “Lo siento. I was thinking about them again,” he muttered. The bat gave a small whine in response. “They… had the same problem as me. Th-that is, when we got to the bridge, we couldn’t… um.” He shook himself bodily, no, no reason to think about that. “But I—I think they’ll—they would be proud of me, this time, when I make it.”
She didn’t respond, this time leaping off his head and fluttering back into the air.
“Hey! Just wait until you see my familia!” he said, swallowing down his anxiety as he looked back up at her. “My Coco would like you. I always told her how bats didn’t sing like birds do, but they dance in the air.”
Pizzicato gave a loud peep at that, weaving gracefully around the air up ahead of him. Some other skeletons even took notice, a few children pointing her out.
“Sí, just like that!” The crowds were getting denser now as they got closer to the Santa Cecilia gate, and he knew he would have a decent wait ahead of him. For a moment he frowned at the cluster of people ahead, but the colors of the bat were easily distracting. Shaking himself, he focused on her again. “I took her outside one night and we set out some sugar water, and sure enough, one came dancing through the sky. She loved it.”
Pizzicato did a loop-the-loop before fluttering back over to him, hooking herself onto the pouch on his belt.
“Maybe you can dance for her again, when we get there.”
Like before, she did not respond. It made something tug beneath his rib cage, but he ignored it, continuing to follow the crowd as they neared the gates. Perhaps she wasn’t making any noise because she didn’t know how to respond… or she didn’t believe him. It didn’t matter. She’d understand, once they crossed.
And they would. This time, he was certain of it.
“Ah… no, sorry, señor.”
The tension in Héctor’s chest seemed to solidify into a weight that plummeted through his rib cage, nearly making him crash to the cobblestones beneath him. “Wh-what?” he stammered, running a hand through his wig. ”It’s—it can’t be, not again. You’re sure you’re looking at the right page?”
The attendant eyed him over her glasses before staring down at the thick book in front of her again. It was full of names, organized by surname, and had either copies of photos or sketches of tributes pasted onto each page. Under his name (or what probably wasn’t his name—probably some poor hombre who happened to share the same name and hometown as him), there was nothing. She turned the book around for him to see, only to yank it back when he tried to snatch it away from her.
“Wait—give me that! There’s got to be a mistake!” Héctor cried, reaching out for the book in vain. Pizzicato was chirping frantically above his head, but he ignored her. “Please, it’s been so long since I—he—he had to tell my wife at some point. He’s told her by now, hasn’t he? Sh-she has to know I’m gone, Coco misses me—”
The rational part of him that had been shoved into the far corners of his mind knew he was hysterical, unreasonable, that this person could do nothing for him. But that was not the part that was in control right now.
Later he would realize that the poor woman was very unsettled by his desperate behavior and was trying valiantly to hide it under a calm, professional mask. As it was, though, for now she was simply a barrier, and it didn’t help when she continued: “Señor, I’m sorry, but you cannot cross. Please step back or I will call security.”
In years prior, his parents would have quietly pulled him away by this point, but without them to talk sense into him, he had nothing to hold him back. Nothing, except for—
“OUCH!”
He’d made a reach for the book again, only for what felt like several sharp needles to stab into his hand. Pizzicato was biting down into him, and not letting go. “AGH! Stop, stop—”
“Señor, por favor, listen to your alebrije.”
He looked down at Pizzicato, and she stared back at him—not with anger, but with sorrow. Something caught in his throat, and without another word, he stumbled away from the gates. The alebrije let go, and flitted after him.
At some point he found himself sitting on a bench, not quite sure when he’d got there or how far he was from the gates to the bridge. His hand still stung, but it was nothing compared to the terrible feeling building in his chest that was quickly threatening to overwhelm him.
Once again, he was denied the chance of getting to see his living family—his Imelda and his Coco and even Ernesto. And now he didn’t even have family on this side to spend the night with.
The feeling in his rib cage bubbled up through his throat, and he covered his face against the sobs that shook him.
Pizzicato was at his side immediately, settling lightly against his cheekbone, her wings wrapped gingerly around his head and shoulder. Her little tongue tickled the side of his face—an apology and a comfort. No other soul approached them—someone weeping just outside the gates was not a sight people liked to dwell on.
Eventually Héctor pulled her away from his face, holding her out in front of him as he fought to regain his composure. “Why can’t I cross, Pizzicato…?” he mumbled, swallowing back another hiccup. “Don’t they know? Don’t they… m-miss me?”
We don’t know, his papá would have said. There’s no good in tearing yourself apart trying to understand.
They still love you, his mamá would have said. Why would they not?
The bat, however, was unable to provide input, only tilting her head and licking his hand gingerly where she’d bitten it before.
“If they love me, why d-don’t they just… put up my photo?” Drawing in a shaking breath, he reached into his pouch, finding a carefully-folded piece of paper—a portrait of himself, taken back when he’d still been on tour with Ernesto. He’d thought someone might find the photo on his person when they buried him. Unless he’d been buried with it, but that might not be the case, someone from the Department of Family Reunions had explained to him when he’d first died. You woke up in possession of what was on your person when you’d died, and later, received whatever you were buried with. Apparently he’d been buried in his mariachi suit, and with nothing else, since he never received anything from the department, even months and years after his death.
A quiet sniffing noise brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked to find Pizzicato examining his photo. “¿Muy guapo, eh?” he asked, smiling against his dried tears. “This was me when I was alive. I didn’t have many photos… just this one, and a… family portrait.” That would’ve been nice to see again… He wished he’d had a photo of his wife or daughter with him when he left. It would’ve been good to have now.
Peep.
He blinked, staring at his own photo for a moment. “…Only two photos,” he murmured. He’d discussed it with his parents before—the idea that maybe the photos had been lost somehow. They hadn’t been certain, but it would make sense, wouldn’t it? After all, why else wouldn’t they put up his photo if they knew he was gone? Though there should have been a tribute of some sort, at least, but… but maybe that didn’t count, since he did have a photo. That made sense, right?
Sitting upright, he brought the photo closer to his face while Pizzicato fluttered in his other hand. “What if… what if I could bring this photo over?” Héctor wondered aloud, rubbing his thumb over the worn paper. “Just crossing over once would be hard with those guards, but… but if I could bring my photo to them, and they could set it on the ofrenda, then I wouldn’t have to worry about it again!” Turning to the alebrije, he grinned down at her. “What do you think? Think it could work?”
Folding up her ear-wings, the bat gave a whine.
“I know, I know it’ll be hard, but… I have to do it. Just once! Then I don’t have to do it again, right?” Already he was standing up, and Pizzicato jumped out of his hand, flying up around his head again. With his other hand now free, Héctor rubbed the tear stains off of his face, feeling more confident. “We’ll just sneak past the guards and cross the bridge ourselves.”
Pizzicato didn’t look terribly confident about this, turning away from him and looking out toward the street, in the direction of one of the plazas.
“No, we’re not doing that right now.” Shaking his head, Héctor turned back toward the gates. “The bridge is only here one night a year. If we don’t do this now, we’ll have to wait another year, and—” He ran a hand through his hair.
Looking him up and down, the alebrije dipped in the air for a moment. (Was Héctor imagining things, or did she have a resigned look on her face?) But then she picked herself back up, flying toward the gates to Santa Cecilia with slow, even flaps.
With a lighter heart, Héctor followed the alebrije, feeling more encouraged than he’d felt in… well, over a year. This had to work—they had all night to make it work. Just get past the guards, run across the bridge, put up his photo, and return.
They could do this.
“You cannot do this.”
“No, no, you don’t understand!” Héctor struggled in the grasps of the security guards that dragged him away, Pizzicato frantically fluttering after him, occasionally diving at the guards. As it turned out, sneaking past the security was easier said than done. “I-I just needed to do it once! J-just one time!”
“This is for your own good, señor,” one guard said, waving a hand at Pizzicato when she got too close. “Trust us.”
“No, please…! Can’t you just—?!”
“Unless you want to fall straight through those flower petals and into the sea, no.”
“But I’m not forgotten! I’m remembered—they still—” Anger choked his voice as he struggled against the guards, but they only tightened their grip on him.
He was being dragged away from the gates, past the stares of onlookers, and to the Department of Family Reunions. Héctor remembered the place from when he’d first arrived here, and when he and his parents had come to ask why they couldn’t cross. Neither memories had been happy ones, and he couldn’t imagine this time would be any more joyful. Rather than being taken to one of the many desks in the open office, he was taken to a smaller room where a tired woman in a blue uniform sat. She looked up when they entered, straightening in her seat.
“This young man tried to sneak past security after harassing one of the attendants,” one of the guards explained, leading Héctor to a chair. They stood to either side of him, ready to act if he tried to bolt, and gestured for him to sit.
Héctor did not sit, at least, not until Pizzicato alighted on his shoulder and tugged on his collar. Sighing, he faced the woman—a “corrections officer,” a term he would soon be very, very familiar with—and folded his hands together pleadingly. “Por favor, señora, I don’t mean any trouble,” he said, dipping his head. “I just… I just need to see my family.”
The woman looked him up and down. “Your name, señor?”
“Héctor Rivera.”
Immediately standing, the corrections officer turned to a file cabinet behind her, leafing through the files in a drawer before pulling a thin one out. It only bore a few small notes in it, though one of the guards handed her another slip of paper. She set it next to the other papers and skimmed over them. “Hm. Nothing terrible, but this is not a good trend, Señor Rivera.”
Héctor blinked. “Ah… ¿que?”
“While you haven’t committed any offenses prior to this, you’ve been exhibiting increasingly desperate behavior every Dia de Muertos. We take note of this, señor, because it may lead to an individual doing something very foolish.”
“But I haven’t done anything!” Héctor cried, only to flinch at a short growl from Pizzicato. “Okay, okay, I did try to sneak by the guards, but… but only once! I only need to get through j-just once, then I can put my photo up.” He pulled the photo out of his pouch, holding it up to the officer.
Rather than giving him an understanding or even sympathetic look, she ran her hand down her face. “Señor Rivera, that is not how it works. The dead cannot interact with the living in any way, and cannot pass items to them.”
Oh. Sheepishly folding the photo, he returned it to his pocket. “Is… is it so wrong that I want to see my family?”
“Probably not, but it doesn’t change the fact that you will be physically unable to cross the bridge if you have no photo or tribute on the other side.” She shook her head, glancing over the papers one more time before shutting the folder. She then snatched a form, which she began to write on. “This is your first offense, so I’ll let you off with a warning for now.”
Héctor stared at the paper that was handed to him without reading it, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.
“I recommend you not try this again. You are not the first, and those who have gone before you were a lot less lucky.”
“Less lucky…?”
“The guards did not reach them on time.” Sighing, the corrections officer looked him in the eyes, this time truly looking sympathetic. “For your own sake, señor, I recommend you try to enjoy the holiday on this side of the bridge, and not attempt a stunt like that again.”
Héctor nodded slowly, his gaze falling back down to the paper in his hand.
“You’re free to go, Señor Rivera. Feliz Dia de Muertos.”
“Gracias.”
Pizzicato hopped off Héctor’s shoulder as he slowly made his way out of the building. She chirped at him once or twice, but he ignored her as he walked down the street, away from the building, his mind working slowly over everything he’d heard at the corrections office. “Not the first,” he muttered quietly, gazing down at the warning notice he’d received.
Something clicked. He stopped suddenly, turning to look up at Pizzicato, and held the paper up toward her. “See this, Pizzicato?” he said, allowing her to sniff at the sheet. “Take a good look at it, amiga, because this is the last time you’ll see one of these!” With that, he crumpled up the paper, tossed it roughly to the ground, and stomped on it.
Pizzicato gave a surprised peep, fluttering backward for a moment before zipping in front of him again, ear-wings folded.
“They’re wrong about all of this,” he said, feeling his heart burn with a determination and energy he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. “Others haven’t made it across without a photo, no, but I will. We will.” Holding out his hand, he waited for the bat to alight on it before holding her close. “We won’t be like the others, Pizzicato. We won’t get caught, or give up, or fail. My family’s out there waiting, and I’m not going to keep them long. I don’t care what the dumb officers said—we will cross that bridge.”
Pizzicato stared at him for a while, ears still folded back, her bright eyes conveying something that seemed a mix between concerned and conflicted. But finally she spread her wings, flapping them without flying, and gave a loud peep.
That was all the confirmation Héctor needed. “Glad to have someone on my side,” he said, stroking his free hand over her shell.
“You’re a good friend, Pizzicato.”
#hector rivera#coco#pixar coco#coco spoilers#leatherwing#fanfic#my writing#this is the last short chapter I think#next one is... significantly longer#the one after that is looking to be a decent length as well
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Un Poco Loco: Love and Heartbreak -- Coco Teacher AU
[Part 1: First Date] [Part 2: A Professional Chat] [Part 3: An Intervention]
Hey everyone! So if you’ve kept up with the teacher au you know that we’re always making oodles of side content outside of the main storyline in the form of oneshots and drabbles and headcanons. This “first time around” flashback romance storyline is one of those extras, and it was originally going to be a oneshot (a phrase I’ve arranged to eventually be carved on my headstone at this point.)
There were originally going to be several more chapters for this storyline, portraying what it was like while they were dating the first time, showing how flawed and painful it was, but I realized recently that through the several drabbles and oneshots I’ve written in the meantime, I’ve ended up writing it all already!
Because I’ve already said everything I would have said, I’ve decided to cut to the chase and get to the good/bad stuff that we all known is coming by getting to the finale of the flashback.
Here’s a quick list of suggestion of what you can read if you want to review their relationship together:
Domestic drabbles, some of the first time dating and some for the second. If it’s the second time I’m always sure to mention Miguel in there somewhere so you can tell them apart.
A good example of how much Imelda gave back in their relationship.
A good example of how tense things were the first time around:
This one is especially important, please read.
One of the original @scribblrhob comics showing Héctor accidentally letting slip his relationship with Imelda in his class:
And now, without further ado, we now move forward in time from Héctor and Imelda’s first date, to immediately after Héctor lets slip about their relationship in his class.
***
Part 4: The End
“Imelda, I-”
“You’ve ruined it, Rivera.”
Héctor flinched as she snapped at him, holding his own arm tightly enough to cut off blood flow as he cowered on the other side of her desk.
“I can’t believe you messed up this badly, you had one job.” Imelda slammed her hand on the desk, making him jump.
“I-, I’m sorry Imelda,” Héctor said, trying to force himself to stop shaking, the blood frantically rushing in his ears was nearly blocking out his own thoughts, “I messed up, this is all my fault, one of the students got ahold of my phone and they saw your texts and then you came in and they realized who “Imelda” was and they’re all bright kids diosa, I couldn’t-”
“Don’t. Call. Me. That.”
If Héctor could feel his arm anymore, the pain of his own nails digging into his sleeve would have been alarming. What he felt instead was the very familiar sensation of sliding backward toward a cliff edge, with nothing, and no one, to grab onto.
“Imelda, I-”
“Don’t call me that either.”
No.
He was losing her.
He had promised himself it would be different this time and he was losing her.
“Please.” Héctor said, his voice shaking, “Lo siento, I’ve messed up, but it could still work? I know you didn’t want anyone to find out about, about us, but it was going to have to come out sometime, right?”
“The agreement we had was that our relationship would be kept secret until I said it could be made public,” the pencil in Imelda’s vice grip trembled slightly, “and you broke your side of the agreement.”
“I know this is my fault,” Héctor pleaded, not daring to go around the desk to her, instead getting on one knee at the front of her desk, making himself smaller, “but I don’t think it’s really so bad, we can-”
“Not really so bad?” Imelda barked, “You broke our agreement, my trust, you’ve exposed us to the entire school. My position as the director will be questioned, my status as a woman with authority in a white collar job will be laughed at. Everything I’ve worked for in my career, my reputation, my position, my respect, it could all be gone tomorrow because I was caught secretly dating my employee.”
There was a bitter metallic taste in Héctor’s mouth. It took his reeling brain a long moment to realize he’d bit his lip at the venom that had been in Imelda’s last word.
“What can I do?” Héctor asked, “Tell me what to do, anything, I’ll do anything to fix this, I can make it right again.”
She stared at him, making him shake as he waited. Hoping, praying she would give him some impossible task he could accomplish, some order that he could carry out to earn her back, to show his devotion. Something, anything, to fix this.
She drew in a shaky breath and reached behind her neck. A moment later her hand came away with a thin silver chain, pulling out the violet pendant that she had been wearing under her blouse. The necklace he had given her two months ago. The one gift he’d known she wouldn’t be able to turn away because it was exactly perfect for her.
He watched it clatter to her desk.
“Take that.” Imelda pointed to the necklace, then the door, “And go home.”
Everything inside Héctor’s brain jostled and screamed at such a high pitch that it all blurred together into a shrill deafening static. Leaving him silently staring at her.
“We’re through, Rivera.” Imelda said, staring him down unflinchingly, “It’s over. I’m sending you home for the rest of the day. Do not attempt to contact me. Do not address me as anything but “La Directora.” Do not discuss our relationship, or this talk, with anyone. Claro?”
Héctor couldn’t move, so someone else must have made his hand reach out and gently pick the necklace up off the desk, cradling it to his chest.
“Please.” he said softly. So softly he wasn’t sure if he’d actually said it out loud.
“If you value your employment I advise you to get out of my school immediately.” Imelda said.
Héctor took a step back. This was all wrong. But somehow...he’d known it would happen eventually hadn’t he? Hadn’t he seen this exact moment in his nightmares for months now? No one ever stayed, they all left eventually.
Because he always ruined it.
“Leave.” Imelda said sharply, and the break in her voice shattered whatever was left whole inside Héctor.
“I’m sorry.” Héctor whispered, then turned and ducked out of her office.
He walked in a shell-shocked daze down the hallway, and out the front door, seeing nothing as his feet took him across the parking lot. He’d left his keys in his classroom, but he walked right past his motorcycle.
He didn’t see the way that Imelda closed the office door behind him and locked it. How she sank down to curl up against the door. Or how she did not cry until her throat was raw and the rest of the school had gone home for the day.
Her secretary listening outside for a full hour after closing, biting her thumb before finally deciding to let tragedy run its course, and leaving for home.
***
Ernesto looked up from his laptop when he heard the crying.
He sat up straight at the kitchen table, listening hard in the empty apartment. Héctor was out late again, undoubtedly somewhere with his terrible boss girlfriend, leaving the place quiet for the night.
At least, it had sounded like crying. Sounded like an adult crying actually...but...maybe he’d misheard?
He listened for another moment, and then slowly went back to typing, lightly tapping to keys, still on edge.
There it was again.
Ernesto snapped his computer shut, getting up from the table as he zeroed in on the noise, a bad feeling already in his stomach. He strode to the front door, jerking it open.
“Héctor?”
Curled up on the dark stoop was Héctor, long legs folded up on themselves, apparently trying to look as small as possible as he clutched something to his chest.
Ernesto could barely see his face in the dim porch light but the strangled sounds of grief told him plenty about the tears he would see if he could.
“Héctor, are you alright? What happened? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?” Ernesto asked, dragging Héctor up to his feet and pulling him inside as quickly as he could.
“I-I’m sorry,” Héctor choked, his voice raw, like he’d been crying for a long time already, “I forgot my keys, and, and I know you hate it when I cry, and, and, and-”
“Héctor, what happened?” Ernesto demanded, looking his friend over, unable to find any obvious signs of injury.
“I ruined it.” Héctor said, somehow managing to look small even as they stood in the entryway, shoulders slumped and head hanging as he kept clutching something to his chest. Something that left a silver chain trailing out from between his fingers, “I-I ruined it, and, and now she’s gone.”
Ernesto stared at Héctor, his hand on his shoulders as Héctor dissolved into a fresh wave of sobs, unable to meet his eyes.
“She...? Imelda left you?” Ernesto asked, his grip on Héctor’s shoulders tightening as his friend tried to go limp again, “That icy, heartless-”
He’d known this would happen, he’d known it, he’d tried to warn Héctor. But being right didn’t make things any better now that tragedy had finally struck.
“It was, my, my fault.” Héctor sobbed, shaking his head, looking like he was doing his best just to keep standing.
Ernesto looked at him, scrambling to try and figure out what to do. Héctor was always upset when girls left him, but this time felt different, this time felt dangerously bad. Ernesto had to fix this, fast.
“Have you had anything to drink yet?” Ernesto asked, dragging Héctor into the kitchen after him, not daring to leave him alone like this for even a second as he rifled through the cupboards, finding two bottles of tequila.
“I don’t want to drink.” Héctor said miserably.
“Too bad. We’re going to the roof.” Ernesto said, stuffing his keys in his pocket, grabbing a blanket off the couch, and pulling Héctor back out into the night toward the service stairs.
The night was a clear but moonless one, leaving the rooftop dark and empty under the stars.
“Sit.” Ernesto commanded, wrapping the blanket tightly around Héctor’s shoulders.
Héctor obeyed, sitting up against a cooling vent, tears silently running down his face.
“Drink this.” Ernesto said, prying the top off one of the bottles of tequila with his pocket knife and handing it to Héctor, who took it mechanically. “Drink it until you’re ready to tell me exactly what that woman did to you.”
Héctor obediently took a long drink, a worryingly long one, and then silently pulled the blanket tighter around himself, closing his eyes against the tears that ran down his face.
Ernesto grit his teeth as he watched Héctor’s shoulder shake as he cried silently. Whatever that ice queen had done to him, it had hurt Héctor far worse than any girl before. It made Ernesto want to march back down the stairs and pound on her apartment door until he got some answers.
This wasn’t going to be something he could shake Héctor out of. He could already tell it was going to be a long time before Héctor would be able to speak.
Ernesto grunted as he sat down next to Héctor, starting to pry the cap off his own bottle. They were both going to need it tonight.
“If you need to cry then get it all out.” Ernesto said, taking a sip from his bottle, “I’m not leaving until you’re alright, got that?”
Héctor hesitantly leaned against him, and Ernesto took another sip, his silence telling Héctor that it was alright this one time. Héctor curled up against his shoulder and continued to cry, a little less silently now.
Why did Héctor always attract the wrong people?
Ernesto tipped his head back against the vent, looking up at the sky. The ice queen had been a special kind of awful, playing Héctor like a violin, demanding he keep outrageous made up rules and taking advantage of his softness to a disgusting degree.
Because Héctor was soft. It was part of what made him such a good musician and friend, but it was also what made him so badly in need of protection. His painted weasel of a mother had cowed Héctor into treasuring a kick to face from people he was attached to ever since he was a kid.
Ernesto took another drink, squinting at the burn and at the memory of seeing eight year old Héctor fawning over his mother after two years of not seeing her. Not even noticing the shallow way that she smiled over him, praising him for his doubtless future musical fame instead of seeing the actual son she should have been raising.
Which had made Héctor unable to insist on what he deserved, even now.
Just like Ernesto’s mother.
Ernesto took another drag at his bottle, trying to wash away the intrusive memory of his father shouting Mamá into tears over some inane demand of his, often taking it much farther than words, only to have Mamá turn around and insist that of course he was right when Ernesto asked if she was okay.
Because it never mattered how many many bruises she had or how drunk Papá had been, it was always her that had “ruined it,” it was always somehow her fault.
“Maybe I can still fix it.” Héctor whispered hoarsely.
“Shut up and drink your tequila.” Ernesto said, a little too roughly, “No talking unless you’re going to talk about what she did. You’ve been miserable for months now Héctor, she didn’t deserve you and you are not going back to someone that’s hurt you this badly. She does not get a second chance, claro?”
Héctor said nothing. The silence stretched so long that Ernesto would have thought he’d fallen asleep if he wasn’t still trembling.
Alright, no talking tonight. That was fine, there would be plenty of time to talk later.
Ernesto put his arm around Héctor, feeling like he was trying to shield a puppy from the cold. He closed his eyes, trying to organize all the things he would say later when Héctor was in a state to listen.
By the time Ernesto opened his eyes again the night air had become chill, the city around them dark between the streetlights. Ernesto checked his watch, grimacing at the hours that had passed.
Héctor was silent and still behind him, but when he looked he saw that Héctor was holding his empty bottle and staring quietly at the piece of jewelry he held in his hand.
A very large part of Ernesto wanted to grab the necklace and hurl it off the roof as far as he could to get it as far away as possible from Héctor.
“Let’s head back down, alright?” Ernesto said, grimacing at his stiffness as he pushed himself up, “You need to sleep.”
“I think I’m going to stay here for a little while longer.” Héctor said quietly, not looking up.
“Héctor you have to sleep.” Ernesto said sternly, “You still have work tomorrow right? Hold on, wait, unless you got fired too?”
Héctor shook his head. “No, I didn’t get fired. Thank you Nesto, I’ll be down soon, you can go on.”
Ernesto hesitated for a long moment, looking Héctor over. Well, at least he wasn’t hysterical anymore, having apparently cried himself out. He was going to have an excruciating hangover in the morning judging by the empty bottle...but it had gotten him to calm down.
“Do you want me to stay?” Ernesto asked, taking the empty bottle from him.
Héctor shook his head quietly, looking up from his necklace and out at the night horizon.
“Alright.” Ernesto said reluctantly, “Here’s my key so you can get back in. Don’t stay up here too long, and don’t do anything stupid.”
He set his apartment key beside Héctor and then turned to go, only looking back as he descended the service stairs to see Héctor still gazing hollowly out at the night sky. His spark entirely snuffed out.
Ernesto paused as he passed Imelda’s door on the way back to their apartment. He narrowed his eyes at it, imagining her probably laughing it up with friends earlier that evening before getting a full night’s sleep. Meanwhile her victim completely unraveled just above her.
Ernesto’s fists clenched, he could just imagine kicking her door in and giving her a real scare for what she’d done to Héctor.
But no.
He satisfied himself with making an obscene gesture at her window as he walked on, letting himself into his apartment with the spare key he’d carried since the first time Héctor had locked himself out.
Later Ernesto stared at the ceiling as he lay in bed, knowing that Héctor was still up there.
Well. At least now it was finally over. At least now he could finally start helping Héctor pick up the pieces and move on from his latest disaster and everything could get back to normal.
He turned into his side, adjusting his pillow. Héctor would be fragile for a while, he knew that from experience, meaning that it was very likely that he wouldn’t want to go on their summer tour in a few weeks like they’d planned.
Ernesto closed his eyes with a long sigh, grimacing at the thought of going alone, but if Héctor was truly as broken as he seemed then he would be useless on tour anyway.
Ernesto stayed awake a while longer, listening in vain for the sound of Héctor coming back into the apartment.
He slipped into sleep sometime in the early hours of the morning, still having not have heard them.
----------------
(And last of all, here is what happens when Héctor goes to work the next morning.)
Alright folks, next up, back to the main storyline, @slusheeduck has the next one so keep an eye out!
- Wit
#teacher!au#coco#imector#hector#imelda#posting this on wednesday so I can respond to comments and questions when I'm online on thursday
128 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rebels of the Sun | From Bad to Worse (Edited)
Warning: contains mpreg, language. If these trigger you, do not read.
@louthegreatfurrry @annettesrandomwritings @pb-and-jammie @somethingscarlet13 @buddykins-blog @ixy-cries @dreamworksoverdisney @prometheus-adam @crazydane666 @cillisle @benlos @vinegar-cider @lisandra-phillips @scoutkln @livithemartian
____________
Evelyn took a quick glance at her computer while sipping her coffee and nearly choked on her drink. Her eyes grew in terror when she typed the key.
As soon as she pressed enter, the screen showed a red dot moving far away from one of the blinking dots she had placed.
“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, no!” Evelyn exclaimed in distress.
Ratchet, Ernesto, Zach, and Gothel heard her scream from another room and rushed out to find her trying to type in more keys in despair.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” Gothel asked her worriedly.
“Bronson,” Evelyn replied as she tried to type in more than she can think. “He knew he’s been played.”
“What?!” The four Damagers both exclaimed.
“He found out that he’s being lead away from the prisoners and the sisters. I’m trying everything I can, but he wouldn’t budge.”
“Well, how in the world did he find out about it?” Gothel asked again.
“My guess, someone in his team found out about the ruse,” Evelyn replied. “Has keen eyesight, given to him at an early age during training. I tried to tell him that this whole thing is wrong, but he never listened.”
“So that means...” Zach gasped in terror.
“He’s gone after the sisters and prisoners,” Ernesto finished the realization.
Evelyn stared at her colleagues, then back at the red dots, which is now moving more further away from the blinking ones, on the computer screen.
*****
“How are we doing here, Bel?” Percy said through the radio.
“We’re getting close to the hardest challenge yet,” Nabel replied on the walkie-talkie. “Dad said that any misstep will send you down to your death.”
“Don’t want to think about what happens when you do,” Manolo mumbled, holding Maria close.
Half an hour later, they stopped their vehicles and stepped out of the trucks. Alli and Keith were the first ones to gasp in awe, their eyes growing.
“Oh, God,” Keith muttered.
The group and Nabel copied their attention towards the same direction.
A long valley stood in the way, a large crack in the middle. The bottom of the crack showed only a bit of light and solid ground surrounded by rocks. Ledges of stones, some flat, others rounded, laid on and next to each other as they are held over the ground by a few long trees with small leaves that were still left on the edge of the branches.
Manolo and Alex gulped nervously. Alli scooted closer to Keith, and he took her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers.
Meanwhile, Nabel, with the help from Shiro, Gabriel, Percy, and Rodney, transformed the vehicles to small keychains, courtesy of Pidge and Rocket, and held onto them in her backpack. She stared into the hollow valley and breathed in a huge sigh of confidence.
“Alright, single file, everyone! Stay close and don’t fall behind!” Nabel called out to the group and Yetis.
Soon, everyone was in a single long line, a few of the others holding hands as to not let go of them.
Alli nearly fell off a ledge, but Keith held onto her by the waist and pulled her close to him. She sighed in relief and embraced him halfway. He pressed his lips against her head.
They continued walking, as the wind howled in the air, almost sounding like a whisper.
“Anyone around here speak wind?” Peter asked silently. “‘Cause I don’t.”
Migo, who was behind the group and the Yetis, stopped short when he felt a cramp in his abdomen and groaned, grasping his stomach.
From below, a growl sounded, as silhouettes of creatures crept in the shadows and watched the white-haired Yeti.
Thorp stopped when he noticed Migo was behind him and turned to find him holding his abdomen in light pain.
“Migo, you okay back there?” He asked him.
The Yetis, the humans, and the sisters also stopped and gazed up at the one-horned Yeti when they heard Thorp asking Migo.
“I’m fine,” Migo responded, slowly walking and clutching his distended stomach. “I just…needed to rest for a bit…”
Migo screamed when the ground underneath him began to move as well as the large stones that began to be unsteady. Alli shrieked and clung onto Keith as the stones behind the group started falling. The group yelled as they tried to balance themselves on the breaking stones.
Nabel looked down and her eyes widened when she found the source. The creatures below were trying to make them fall to them!
“The ground’s going under!” Nabel called fearfully.
Keith looked from Alli to Migo, and he knew that he was close to where they are.
“Migo, take Alli!” He called and threw her over to his side.
“No!” Alli yelled.
Migo caught her in time and stepped onto the only ledge that is steady, just before the ground crumbled and the troupe slid to the bottom ground below.
“GABE!” She screamed, unable to reach out to them in time.
She helplessly watched her godfather and the rest of the group tumble down, a pile of dust blocking her vision.
When the dust had finally settled, the Yetis, Keith, Gabriel, the Defenders, Nabel, and the others recovered. Nabel stopped when she didn’t see her sister or Migo anywhere.
“Alli?! Migo?!” She called.
Keith looked around as the dust faded away.
“Migo?” Meechee shouted along with Nabel.
“Bel! Gabe! Meechee!” Alli replied.
“We’re up here!” Migo called alongside her.
From below, they can see her and Migo on the ledge. Nabel sighed in relief, seeing her little sister safe and alive.
“Are you both okay?” Keith called.
“We’re fine, but…” Alli replied, fear and worry evident in her tone. “We can’t find a way down from here!”
“Those rocks, we can use them to climb up,” Ralph suggested, seeing the rocks that tumbled down with them. “But we just gotta be careful as we go.”
“Sounds like it could work,” Shiro replied.
“Just stay where you are! We’re gonna get you down from there!” Gabriel shouted back to Migo and Alli, as the group started to climb up the rocks.
Alli then started searching for a way down to them, mumbling as she paced alongside the edge of the rock. “Okay, maybe we could…”
As Migo watched her trying to find a faster way down, he suddenly let out a strained groan when a hard wave of pain came over him and clutched his stomach and fell to the ground on his knees. Alli spun and saw the pain in his eyes, then his distended belly.
Her eyes shrunk. “Oh, no…”
Halfway up the hill of rocks, Nabel and Keith, with the Yetis behind them, led the group as they tried to get to Migo and Alli, carefully stepping up the fallen rocks as to avoid another rockslide.
Percy stopped when he saw a thin line of green on the horizon. He squinted his eyes to have a better look, and he gasped.
“Guys! There it is!” He laughed excitedly. “I see it!”
They stopped when they heard him. “What? See what?”
“There! Over there! I see it!” Percy yelled excitedly and pointed at the thin green line on the horizon.
“That’s it! That’s the Reely’s Promised Land!” Pidge exclaimed in joy; she had also seen the green line.
“We can’t be sure! We have to get a closer look at it!” Nabel ordered.
“Nabel! Pineapples!” Alli called from the ledge, fear evident in her voice.
“Pineapples?” Melman asked.
“She said Migo gets cravings,” Keith replied, shrugging.
“Pomegranates!” Alli continued.
“Grapefruits!” Migo called after her from the ledge.
“Nectarines?” Alli yelled again.
“Are they ordering a fruit cocktail?” Marty asked, glancing at the others in confusion.
Migo and Alli, finally remembering the code word they had made together with Meechee, shouted it out from above the ledge. “PEACHES!”
“Peaches?” Meechee pondered about what they had meant before it dawned on her. “Peaches! The baby! What now?!”
She started screaming and running around in a panic, trying to think of what to do.
“This, not good,” Thorp mumbled to Nabel, who hummed and shook her head in agreement.
“The baby’s coming now!” Meechee continued to panic.
“Can you try and hold it in?!” Peter yelled up to Migo.
“Can somebody snap her out of it for me?!” He called back.
Rodney, even though he knew that he was talking about Meechee, hit Peter on the head, and the latter yelped in pain.
“Done and done,” Rodney smirked.
Peter growled and started to attack the blue-haired man before Gabriel separated them from one another.
“Hey, hey! Alright!” He sternly yelled to them. “Knock it off, the both of you!”
“Hang on, Migo! We’re coming up!” Meechee shouted up to Migo and Alli, even though she was still panicking.
“We’ve gotta double check if we’re close to the Promised Land,” Percy said. “Brenda, you’re coming with me. The rest of you will have to stay here and keep Migo and Alli safe.”
Nabel was appalled at the fact that he and Brenda are leaving the group. “What?! Where are you going?”
“We’ve got to that green line, and check if that’s really the Promised Land,” Brenda spoke up. “We’re not gonna leave anyone behind. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
Nabel was about to go after them as Percy and Brenda were leaving, but Matt held her back.
“Bel, it’s okay,” he comforted her. “We got your back. Right now, we gotta get Migo and Alli!”
“We’re with you on this one, too!” Rodney joined. “Besides, figured we could return a favor to her after she saved our lives back there.”
Nabel nodded with a determined look. “Alright, let’s do this.”
Then she, with Gabe and the others behind, climbed up the rocks, heart set on saving her little sister and Migo.
Migo breathed heavily and held his distended stomach as Alli panicked internally, trying to think up of something to help him. She saw a half-opened wall and, deciding that this is the best option, helped him lay down next to the wall.
“It’s okay, big guy,” she said to him reassuringly. “They’re coming up right now. They’re gonna be here soon. I hope.” She whispered the last part to herself, then returned her focus on Migo.
Little did they know, the same creatures that had separated them from the others watched them hungrily and were starting towards them.
#rebels of the sun#smallfoot au#voltron au#the book of life au#guardians of the galaxy au#wreck it Ralph au#wild kratts au#madagascar au#robots au#other movies and tv shows au#treelight city au#blue writes
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Coco AU: Witnesses Ch 1
The reason Ernesto had managed to get away with murdering his best friend and stealing his songs is because there was no one to see him commit the crime. And if there's no witnesses, then there's no crime.
But what if someone did see him commit it?
Coco is my current favorite movie and in my opinion, Pixar's greatest film yet! So I wanted to try my hand at writing a Coco story so I hope that you like it!
*Warning: Mild mentions of blood.
Chapter 1: The Witnesses
Ernesto stands back as he watches his best friend stumble a few more feet before finally collapsing, first on his knees then face-planting into the hard ground. A small stab of grief and regret briefly strikes his heart before it’s smothered.
This was necessary, he tells himself as he walks over to Héctor’s dropped suitcase. He left me with no choice.
Ernesto sets the case containing Héctor’s – now his – guitar on the ground as he begins to riffle through the suitcase’s spilled contents, smiling slightly when he produces the red notebook that he’d been searching for.
He wanted to throw our dream away, so I did what I had to seize my moment.
Héctor wasn’t completely at fault, though. Indeed, if there was someone to blame for his untimely demise, it was that maldita mujer who had used her wiles to bewitch Ernesto’s poor hermanito into abandoning their childhood dreams, first by making Héctor marry her then ensnaring him further by birthing that spawn of theirs. And because of the hechizo that that woman had casted on Héctor, Ernesto had been forced to kill his little brother after Ernesto could no longer convince him to continue with the tour. Yes, it was all Imelda Rivera’s fault.
All these thoughts cross Ernesto’s mind as he opens the songbook on a random page, his eyebrows rising as he comes across a song he hadn’t known about. This was not unusual as Héctor had the annoying habit of writing songs that he refused to play on their shows because they were “just” for his familia. I waste of Héctor’s talents, in Ernesto’s opinion as those “special songs” were some of his best. Well, they won’t be kept from the world for much longer.
Ernesto’s frowns slightly as he reads the words 'rubato, simply, tenderly' written on the upper left corner of the page.
Hmm, I’m going to have to make some adjustments to this song before I can use it, he thinks as he stashes the songbook into the inner pocket of his jacket and picks up the guitar case.
“Oye!”
Ernesto nearly drops the guitar case as he turns to toward the shout, eyes wide like a startled deer’s. A short man and a somewhat ‘beefy’ woman stand at the entrance of a small alley between two houses a few feet away but he has no time to discern more details before the man speaks again.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Panic floods every fiber of Ernesto’s being as he finds himself unable to answer, unable to think up any excuse that could believably explain why he was taking a dead man’s belongings. And as the two witnesses quickly approach, Ernesto does the only thing a panicked man caught red-handed can do.
He runs.
As her husband curses and takes off after the fleeing mariachi, the woman kneels beside the prone young músico, turning him over unto his back to access any injuries. His face was a bloody mess, the impact with the ground breaking his nose and loosening various teeth. Still, she could see the faint rise and fall of his chest that indicates he’s still breathing. Maybe it wasn’t too late for him.
The woman startles when the músico makes a sudden choking noise, blood and bile sprouting from his mouth as his body convulses slightly. Before she can even think of doing something, the lanky man falls still once again, his chest no longer moving to draw in breath. The woman presses two fingers to the still man’s wrist, dread filling her not at what she felt, but rather, what she didn’t felt.
There was no pulse.
No, no, no! This CANNOT be happening!
These words repeat in Ernesto’s frantic mind all over and over again as he rapidly weaves through the dark streets of Mexico City, trying in vain to lose his pursuer. Despite his short legs, the man chasing him has no trouble keeping up with Ernesto and was in fact gaining on the fleeing murderer.
This ISN’T how thing were supposed to go!
There shouldn’t have been anyone else in the streets that late at night, everyone else was supposed to be asleep inside their houses. No one was supposed to have seen him just stand there watching his best friend die, to see him take his songbook and guitar, to see him about to just leave Héctor’s body behind. No one was supposed to see because if there were no witnesses, then there was no crime. He could eventually forget if he had been the only one to know. He could forget about what he had done. And if he forgot about it then it no longer existed.
But he had been seen, not by one but two other people, two witnesses to his dark deed. And because he had been seen, he wouldn’t be able to forget what he did to Héctor. He wouldn’t be able to convince himself that it hadn’t happened. All because he had had been seen.
“Stop, you hijo de puta!”
The short man’s voice is much closer than before. Glancing over his shoulder, Ernesto sees that his pursuer is just a few feet behind him now, that distance shrinking by the second. It won’t be long before Ernesto was caught... unless he thinks of something quick.
A desperate plan forms in his panic-addled brain and while a part of him screams to not do it, his sense of survival drowns it out. So, with only a second of hesitation, Ernesto throws the guitar case at his hunter’s feet, the shorter man tripping over it and crashing into the ground. By the time the man manages to pick himself up, groaning, there was no sign of his quarry.
Ernesto de la Cruz has escape.
So here's chapter 1, hope you like it despite the short length. Updates may be quick since I'm feeling really inspired but that depends on my real life.
#pixar coco#coco fanfiction#basically someone sees ernesto stealing from a dead guy and confront him#he panics and runs and becomes a fugitive#it's not a good day for him#hector rivera#imelda rivera#coco rivera#ernesto de la cruz#chicharron#original characters#alternate universe#canon divergent au#hurt/comfort#family#coco witnesses au
46 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
ink-lock
Just a little lost,
theonewhosbritishunironically
Theonewhosbritishunironically
timotaychal
ma pêche
niaaluv
Jinyoung Wife 🍑