Title: Follow the Marigold Path
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Original Character, Miguel Rivera, Hector Rivera, Dante(Coco), Pepita(Coco), Imelda Rivera, Ernesto De la Cruz
Warnings/Tags: Alternate Universe, Self Indulgent, OC-Insert, Health Issues, Mental Issues, Autism/Aspergers Syndrome, Culture Shock, Language Barrier, Talk of Cultural Appropriation, Animal Symbolism, Alebrijes, Mythology, Agender Character, LGBT+, Misgendering, Curses, Unreliable Narrator, Hector's a DAD, Dante's a Good Boy, Trauma, Denial, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Awkward Spanish, Families of Choice, Mystery
Pairings/Relationships: Miguel Rivera & Hector Rivera, Imelda Rivera/Hector Rivera,
Summary: They were just coming off the high of their sixth watch-through of Disney-Pixar's Coco... they were just coming off that high. They definitely did not expect to be falling asleep only to be thrust into wakefulness in a world that is really, really not their own. Not the culture, and not the environment... but most importantly...
"Uh... what exactly is it that I've supposedly stolen? Can someone please fill me in on that... because I don't know how to get home without knowing what got me here!"
Because obviously, they had to have stolen something... otherwise they wouldn't be here, right?
Disclaimer: I pretty obviously don't own Coco.
Notes: Because I am weak for self-insertation fics, I gave in to the devil on my shoulder and am diving right in with a somewhat traditional self-insert story. Although using the trope to my advantage as best I can here... also yes, accurate amount of times I've watched this movie now...
It's really, really good okay? But without further ado... here you go.
-Thief Shock-
The music that comes through their headphones makes them sigh, a small happy sigh more than an upset one. It's a reimagining that they have more than fallen in love with, the instruments are hard for them to properly pick out, but that doesn't really matter, the music is pleasing for them to listen to.
Especially where they are comfortably bundled up in their blankets, sitting in more or less darkness. The reflective orange tinted light from their laptop is the only thing lighting up the room around them. And they try not to hum along under their breath as the opening narration begins along with the music.
A family leitmotif, the story is familiar to them now. So familiar, it's their sixth time watching this. Their eyes subtly light up as the movie truly begins, and they can't help the small laugh as they watch the confrontation on screen. Not that it's much of a confrontation, not really. They shake their head at the small yelp sound, and mumble along with the lines. Especially the ones that they relate to.
"They're just trying to protect you..." they whisper watching the fallout. A sound catches their attention beyond the movie playing over their headphones and hastily they tap the spacebar, pausing the movie as the child protagonist reaches for the guitar and they yank their laptop almost shut, but not quite.
There's a moment or two of pure silence, their ears straining for any sound in the darkness.
Only the wind, and some coughing from outside of their door, along with shuffling. The sounds of a door opening, and a light turning on. Through the blinds of their window they can just barely see the light, it reflects outside and comes back in. Subtle, but only makes their heart race, and they snuggle themself down slightly more.
Slow breaths.
In and out, they can't get caught now. They're more than aware that they should be sleeping, they should be resting so they can handle the day properly but... they really want to watch the movie just once more. Just before bed.
Which is a huge risk, and if that makes them more or less like the main protagonist of the movie in a weird way, doing something in secret, well it's fitting.
They remain quiet for several long minutes, long enough for their laptop to decide to darken the screen. Still they remain quiet for just a short while longer, listening to the shuffling just beyond their door until they're satisfied that it's only the sounds of their family shifting in their sleep. So they open their laptop back up and quickly swipe their hand over the touchpad a few times to light the screen back up again.
A pause for a second or two before they hit play again.
They know this scene well, and they shake their head slightly as they listen to the child on the screen talk. As they listen to Miguel ask permission. Ask permission from the wrong person. It's... painful in a way because they know the plot, and the twist, and the truth. But they can only sit and watch.
And force themself to be quiet.
They're not planning on getting caught. Although they still can't help the small knee-jerk laugh under their breath at the character introductions that follow. As painful as the truths behind them are and of course...
"Two seconds and you already break your promise..." softly spoken with a shake of the head. Couldn't wait, but they also frown. "Dante was still with them... and even here..." they pause for a moment as the action on screen continues. "Dante was already trotting towards Hector..."
All the hints, all of the subtly... and of course, the meet up in the phonebooth, part of them wonders exactly what Hector's wait, wait, wait moment really was. Partially processing, and partially trying to figure out... who and where maybe? Considering the history. Still all they can do is continue to watch.
Shaking their head slightly at some of the events as they unfold and quietly, softly humming along with the music in the background.
They snuggle further into the blankets as the movie continues. Letting out a small sound as it moves on into Shantytown, grinning as they watch the boys perform. Wincing at the following argument, it's a misunderstanding, but it still hurts. And of course, the confrontation right after.
They shake their head at the following events, before falling into pure silence. Focusing on their breathing, the reveal.
Something that they had spoilt for them the first time they watched this movie. Something that they're still not over, but even now. Their sixth watch, the pain, the tension, the slowly dawning realization. Subtle expressions. It hurts... and following.
"Right where your heart would be..." and that doesn't imply anything. No not at all. Still the following scenes are such catharsis. Revelations, and reveals and the whole family coming together and of course.
She can sing.
Boy can she sing.
It's ear pleasing, even with the addition of the unwanted accompaniment. And the following events, the pain, the fear. The sheer relief. And as the final song begins to play, they mouth the words as they go. As soon as the credits begin they close the browser, and hurry to shut down their laptop. Peering frantically into the darkness to their side, acutely aware of how late it is.
It's dark outside. Dark inside.
They should be asleep.
They know this, still they hop up, sock covered feet light over the carpet of their bedroom floor as they move their laptop off their bed and set it atop the printer on their desk. A few seconds later they remove their headphones and shake their head as they curl the cord up and set them on top of the machine.
They wait until the orange light that signals that it's on darkens before they lean over their bedside table and flip the charger off at the wall. Now they let out a sigh, the only light coming from the printer itself, a light easily covered by shuffling some of the clothing on the chair in front of the desk.
Afterwards they move fully over to the door wincing as it lets out a whine of protest. Creaking into the empty hall. They pause, hesitant for a moment before quickly turning to their left and heading straight into the bathroom.
A quick toilet trip, washing their hands, peering momentarily up into the darkness of the mirror, before they go back into their room and rapidly curl up in their bed.
It's a routine they have near perfected. Subtle. Sneaky. If it seems they only got up for a midnight bathroom run...
No one questions it. And luckily, with only minor tossing and turning in the bed they're able to snuggle under the blankets, close their eyes, get comfortable and sleep.
They're in front of a suitcase...
They don't really question it, because they recognize the rest of their surroundings, although it is dark and oddly quiet but... they're in front of a suitcase. It's light, a kind of tan colour, and something about it is familiar. But they don't worry because around them they know where they are, the shed. Boxes and shelves, old cassettes and VCR tapes, videos unwatched.
But the interesting thing, the odd thing is the suitcase in front of them.
They're sure that they have never seen it before, and yet it's there. It's familiar. They find themself moving towards it, hands running over the material that it's made with curiously. It's rough, slightly chipped, old.
It's heavy, heavier than an old empty case should be they think. And they find themself absently humming as they consider it. A familiar tune, a haunting tune and...
"You shouldn't be here."
Their head snaps up and around at the echoing voice, and their surroundings disappear, leaving them alone with the suitcase. It's dark, the shadows growing around them, looming into twisted patches of deeper darkness against the backdrop of midnight. They shift, finding themself back on their feet and stepping backwards.
Almost tripping over the suitcase where it lies, the only thing visible in the darkness around them.
"You shouldn't be here!"
"Who's there?" they call, blindly, hands grasping the case, pulling it closer to them as if it could offer them some sort of protection. From what they have no idea, but it feels like it might be helping. There are footsteps that echo around them, and the voice.
It's familiar, but for the life of them they cannot figure out why.
There's a click, and in front of them a golden shimmer, a faint glow.
"Wh-what's going on?"
Another shimmer, and they hear a small click. Almost scared to look they lower their head, able to see the fastenings on the case come unbuckled. And the case slips open. They can't make out everything, but there's a red book on top. A book, it looks like a diary, or an old worn journal, they're not sure which.
Without thinking, without questioning, they reach for the book. Grasping it in their hands there's a warmth around them. They don't question it. Again a shimmer, a glow and...
They
Open
The
Book
They wake slowly, head dully throbbing. It's still barely dark outside and for a moment they're caught between being awake and being asleep. Cocooned in the warmth of their blankets and the warmth of their room from the heater.
But there's a scent in the air that wasn't there before. They raise their head up confused, and peer around, not sure what it is. Before a faint glow catches their attention and...
Now they're sure they're still dreaming.
On the floor, in a somewhat neat trail are marigolds. Petals scattered on the carpet and leading away towards their bedroom door. Leading away to adventure. They roll their eyes, but still hop out of their bed, yawning slightly and shaking their head. Before pausing, they might be dreaming but still.
Still, they pause because it doesn't quite feel like a dream. Their body aches and there's a sort of energy in the air, like the static before a storm almost. And the petals, their scent is there, almost hanging heavy in the air, strong, permeating, it's making their head spin a little bit. And, the details, even in the early dawn light that are just too accurate. Not the usual blurred indistinction of a dream. Actual details that they can pick out, the blanket's not just blue or green but their familiar dolphin print one, a pile of clothing on the chair haphazard, but still recognizable, each petal is actually distinguishable from one another, their bag left in the corner in front of a just barely open cupboard, the heater...
Something prickles, and they sit up slowly, swallowing almost nervously. The posters and pictures on their walls, not just placeholder vague images, but the ones they always see, photos that aren't just, face with no distinction. Their laptop, their windows tablet... it's all the way it should be, DS games left out on the shelf, on their bench.
All of it makes them pause, before they slip out and... Even with socks on they can feel the petals, they crinkle slightly like leaves underfoot and they look down with a frown.
They need to follow them.
Still before they do they do the prudent thing. And they get dressed. Black pants, a black shirt and their new favourite game theorist official certified hoodie. Without thinking they hug the hoodie to themself slightly before pulling it on, this is the proof, the real proof that they are a certified theorist! They have merch! And even more, before moving they grab their backpack, frowning at the nearly completely torn strap for a moment before mostly emptying it out of their coursework things.
Substituting them for a drink bottle instead, and some chocolate from in their draw, and...
There's a familiar book.
They freeze for a moment, before grabbing their own sketchbook where it's on the ground and shoving that in over the mocking journal/notebook along with their pencils, a sharpener and the eraser. Nope, they're not going to deal with it, not going to think about it.
Not in the least.
Instead they check over their bag. Running their hands almost absently over each of the pockets. One on each side, a back pocket, two middle ones, and the front one. Plenty of them, enough to fit anything and everything that they might need. Need for what though? They don't know. But assured that they have everything for the moment they stand up, awkwardly pulling the pack on as they stare at the marigold path leading towards their door.
They take a deep breath, and with their shoes lightly stepping over the petals they leave the room.
The petals lead them down the hall, and towards the front door. But they pause, giving a glance into the kitchen. It's only a matter of stepping off for a moment or two, and they grab some fruit. A banana, a mandarin and... they grab some cookies from the pantry. Now they step through the front door, wincing automatically as the cool Winter early morning air hits them, and taking a breath. It's still barely dawn.
Barely beginning to get light.
Still they follow the petals. Down the street, past familiar buildings, homes, houses and eventually the shops and the school. And still the path continues, leading them further, until the town gives way to the countryside, the path leads them past the pond, the lake, leads them to a familiar place.
They hadn't even been aware it was within walking distance really.
The gate's not yet open, not really. But there's a small gap, and they've always been somewhat squirrely. They squeeze their way through and take a deep breath, a prickling over their skin. There's a weight in their pocket and they pause, hand slipping down. The shape is familiar, comforting, although they don't really remember grabbing it.
Their phone.
They take another breath, the prickling a bit more acute as they shiver and hug themself slightly, shifting nervously on the marigold path. Still they follow.
They have to follow, even as the way their surroundings light up tells them that it is moving on towards actual morning, the sun rising and if they were to get caught. Well they could Pokémon GO excuse, which would fall apart the moment they pulled their phone out since the app isn't currently installed but still.
Abruptly the path ends.
Ends at a familiar concrete line, a sectional really. And as they raise their head they can see the even more painfully familiar plaque.
Why? Why are they here? They drop down, unconsciously, a tightening in their chest as their eyes sting. A hand reaches out uselessly grasping for something that's not there. Something that will never be there, never again. Gone for years, and yet kneeling there with their knees against the ground the pain is as fresh as it ever was.
There's an odd sound in the air and they let out a breathy choked kind of wheeze, before curling their hand back to their chest. Closing their eyes they bow their head and mutter nonsense to themself. Words that don't quite make sense.
Around them the breeze lazily stirs the grass, sends a few stray spare leaves over the neat lawn of the Cemetery. And the marigolds shine, a weird distant tinkling sound reaching their ears. A hum, and their raise their head up, confused blinking.
All at once the wind is whipping around them. Howling up into a gale, and they let out a small yelp, there's a call, someone shouting, and they startle whipping around. Only for their feet to catch, and immediately they slam back into the ground.
Their lack of coordination familiar and painful as they wheeze pushing against the mud and grass, now streaked due to their fall and stand back up.
The marigolds spin up and away around them, blocking their view and almost with a sort of madness they wonder where someone managed to get all those petals from? How many flowers? How much effort was it. The wind is screaming at them, and battering really, showering them in the petals as they let out a sound of protest.
All at once it stops, the petals falling around them and settling on the ground.
Ground that's no longer grass, no longer the familiar, if mourning, surroundings of the Cemetery. Ground that's hard, cement, although they are still standing on the amber of the marigolds. Confused they stare at the ground, beyond the tips of their shoes before slowly raising their head up.
Ahead of them is a familiar sight.
A breathtaking sight.
But a sight that is in no way possible real.
Because it can't be.
Notes: As an aside, this story is coming from a weird place, and I am going to try and be respectful, but to be fair, I'm an Australian who has had very little exposure to the Culture in question and while I do try to research there are bound to be fallacies. Also as an insertation, the character inserted may very well cross lines I'm not aware of... please point these out, so I can adjust things, and learn.
While I won't erase their actions/responses, I'll have characters around them react, correct them and teach them. Because that's important. But anyway... I can only research so much on my own, and this might be awkward... but this is still a story that comes from my love of the movie(and my unfortunate weakness for self-inserts) so I will do my best to be as respectful as possible... to the culture and the movie but anyway... for the moment well. Yeah, thanks.
Also since most of the Spanish will likely be provided via help from a dictionary site and translator... uh, corrections would be appreciated there when needed, thankyou.