#penco writes

[pencopanko]

Antisemitism and Islamophobia are very similar (if not the same), actually

So I was scrolling down the #palestine tag for any updates and important information, and I came across this:

And I think we need to sit down and talk about this.

I am a Muslim. I live in Indonesia, a country that is predominantly Muslim and a lot of Muslims here also support the Palestinian cause. Hell, even our government supports it by not only allowing Palestinian goods enter the country without fee, but also by taking in Palestinian refugees and even acknowledging the status of Palestine as a state while not having any political ties with Israel. The topic of the Palestinian tragedy has been spoon-fed to us at schools, sermons, media, etc., so your average Indonesian Muslim would at the very least be aware of the conflict while non-Muslims would hear about it from their Muslim friends or through media.

However, there is a glaring problem. One that I keep seeing way too often for my liking.

A lot of them are antisemitic as hell. The sermons I would hear sometimes demonize Jewish people. Antisemitic statements are openly said out loud on social media. Some are even Nazi supporters who would literally go to anime cons and COSPLAY as members of the Nazi party. This is not just an Indonesian Muslim problem, no, but this is a glaring issue within the global Islamic community as a whole. Today, this sense of antisemitism is usually rooted in general hatred towards the Israeli government and its actions against the people of Palestine, but antisemitism amongst Muslims are also rooted in certain interpretations of verses from the Qur'an and Hadith mentioning Jewish people and Judaism (particularly the Bani Israil), but in a way that is more ridiculing instead of life-threatening when compared to how antisemitism looks like in the Western world.

As someone who prefers to become a "bridge" between two sides in most cases, I find this situation to be concerning, to say the least. While, yes, it is important for us Muslims to support Palestine and fight against injustice, we must not forget that not every Jewish people support the Israeli government. A lot of them are even anti-Zionists who actively condemn Israel and even disagree with the existence of Israel as a state as it goes against their teachings. A lot of them are also Holocaust survivors or their descendants, so it is harmful to think for one second that Hitler's actions and policies were justified. It's just like saying that Netanyahu is right for his decision to destroy Palestine and commit war crime after war crime towards the Palestinians.

As Muslims, we also need to remember that Jewish people (the Yahudi) are considered ahli kitab, i.e. People Of The Book along with Christians (the Nasrani). The Islam I have come to know and love has no mentions of Allah allowing us to persecute them or anyone collectively for the actions of a few. While, yes, there are disagreements with our respective teachings I do not see that as an excuse to even use antisemitic slurs against Jewish people during a pro-Palestine rally, let alone support a man who was known for his acts of cruelty toward the Jewish community in WW2. They are still our siblings/cousins in faith, after all. Unless they have done active harm like stealing homes from civilians or celebrating the destruction of Palestine or supporting the Israeli government and the IOF or are members of the IOF, no Jewish people (and Christians, for that matter) must be harmed in our fight against Zionism.

Contemporary antisemitism is similar to (if not straight up being the exact same thing as) contemporary Islamophobia, if you think about it; due to the actions of a select few that has caused severe harm towards innocent people, an entire community has been a target of hate. Even when you have tried to call out the ones supporting such cruelties, you are still getting bombarded by hate speech. It's doubly worse if you're also simultaneously part of a marginalized group like BIPOC, LGBTQ+, etc. as you also get attacked on multiple sides. This is where we all need to self-reflect, practice empathy, and unlearn all of the antisemitism and unjustified hatred that we were exposed to.

So, do call out Zionism and Nazism when you see it. Call out the US government for funding this atrocity and others before it that had ALSO triggered the rise of Islamophobia. Call your reps. Go to the streets. Punch a fascist if you feel so inclined. Support your local businesses instead of pro-Israel companies.

But not at the cost of our Jewish siblings. Not at the cost of innocent Jewish people who may also be your allies. If you do that, you are no different from a MAGA cap-wearing, gun-tooting, slur-yelling Islamophobe.

That is all for now, may your watermelons taste fresh and sweet.

🍉

Salam Semangka, Penco

[pencopanko]

Do We Have a Deal? (A Coco Backstage AU Fanfic)

In which renowned actor, Héctor Rivera trolled a paparazzo by stealing his camera. Inspired by a series of photos of Keanu Reeves running away with a paparazzo's camera.

Author's Note: This was originally written some time in 2018-2019, but I was only able to finish it earlier today (GMT+7). This fanfic is set in an AU referred to as "Backstage AU" or "Actor AU" originally created by imjuanita, in which the characters in Coco are all in-universe actors. Unfortunately, I don't know how to contact her as her tumblr account has been hacked after inactivity so if you know where she is please let me know. However, if you are imjuanita and you are reading this I want to thank you personally for creating such a fun AU. I had a lot of fun exchanging ideas with you!

AO3 link here.

Héctor Rivera is usually the type of person who is willing to talk to you no matter who you are, even though he is arguably one of the hottest Latino actors in the industry. Even after his role in "Coco" as a murdered musician who happens to share his name and so much of his mannerisms that it made him even more famous, he is still willing to send a smile to his fans.

But the paparazzi? Well, that's another thing altogether. He dislikes how pervasive they are towards him, his coworkers (especially Miguel, the kid deserves a normal childhood, after all), and most of all his wife, Imelda. Unlike Ernesto who loves the attention as long as no boundaries are trespassed and deals with paparazzi in a way that is more cooperative, Héctor.... has his own ways. 

Like that one time Héctor Rivera stole a camera.

"WHAT THEーHE TOOK MY CAMERA!!"

According to bystanders, Héctor was seen running from the chasing paparazzi with a bag of groceries in his right hand and a video camera on his left shoulder, presumably taken from a snooping cameraman. He was trying to get the groceries as requested by his now five-months pregnant wife, the ever-talented Imelda Rivera, when he spotted a cameraman trying to get a shot of him. Having no time for his shenanigans and interviews for that day, he quickly grabbed the camera from the cameraman's hands and ran with it.

The stout cameraman who owned the camera was barely keeping up. Héctor's long legs only made it harder for him to catch up to him. It wasn't until he saw the lanky actor took a right turn into what looked like a dead end. Huh, he's not very smart now is he, he thought to himself as he walked cautiously into the . He realized too late that Héctor Rivera is a man of surprises as he felt a hand grab him by his shoulders. The next thing he knew, he became face to face with Héctor in a small space between two buildings.

"You're new to this job, aren't you?" asked Héctor. "They're usually good at sneaking around and all that, you were out in broad daylight, amigo."

The cameraman noticed the camera placed right on top of a closed (thank goodness) garbage can. Looking back at the taller man in front of him, he noticed that his eyes are twinkling with mischief. His grin adorned with a single golden tooth just added to the whole mischievous but definitely threatening aura. He could feel his initial confidence shrink with every breath he exhaled.

"I-I'm very sorry, Sir, I was just doiー"

"Sí, sí, I know. You were just doing your job."

"It's just thatー", the cameraman continued, "you and your wife are so private, a-and people are hungry forー"

"Ah, ah, ah. None of that", Héctor retorted. "I understand that your job is on the line, but your company and you should have known better than to go after me. You're lucky that it wasn't my wife you ran into, or else she would had made sure your face meets her shoe!", he chuckled.

The cameraman could only let out an awkward chuckle in return, but while he might not had been raised in any South American countries he had heard of the power of La Chancla. To think that someone like Imelda Rivera would hit someone with her shoes felt off... but surprisingly in-character? He shuddered at the image of her piercing eyes with a shoe on hand, ready to aim it at anyone in her path.

He jumped out of his thoughts as he heard Héctor speak again. "Alright," he said, as he picked up the camera, took off the cover, and started to record a little video. "I'll let you off with a warning this time. I'll give you this clip, but promise me that you will not disturb me or my wife again. ¿Claro? Do we have a deal?"

The cameraman looked up and he saw that Héctor was indeed recording. He had the camera face the both of them, as if taking a selfie. He had his free hand up with a peace sign, all grinning, talking to the camera as if talking to the masses to leave him, his wife, his fellow cast members ESPECIALLY little Miguel alone. He couldn't help but notice the grocery bag hanging down from Héctor's arm that was holding the peace sign.

Héctor looked at him. The cameraman swore that Héctor was really glaring at him, as he cheerfully asked "Do we have a deal?" at him. He could only let out a quiet "yes" and a nod. The taller man hummed in satisfaction, as he turned off the camera and gave it back to its owner.

"Now, be careful out there and don't let me see you again, okay? ¡Adios!", exclaimed Héctor before walking out of the dark alley. The cameraman could only look at Héctor with his mouth ajar, wondering what just happened.

-----

Weeks later, that clip of Héctor Rivera went viral. Miguel and Ernesto found it hilarious and thought that the stupefied cameraman added a nice touch to the chaos, while Héctor was getting lectures after lectures from Imelda on taking other people's things. Though she did appreciate the praises he sang for her on that video, and for that Héctor deserved a kiss.

Oh, and the cameraman? He got paid handsomely, but quit after three months. I heard that he decided to continue his family business with that money.

[pencopanko]

Another Coco "What If" AU, but this time Héctor actually recorded some tunes

Heavily inspired by the story of how Ryo Fukui's album "My Favorite Tunes" was rediscovered through his widow, Yasuko in 2017.

°°°°°°

After the news broke out about de la Cruz's lies (and alleged murder) of his buried-by-time duet partner, musician, and songwriter Héctor Rivera, rumors of never-before-seen and extremely rare recordings of the latter performing either with de la Cruz or by himself circulated amongst certain circles, mostly fans of lost media and buried history.

Talks like this had been going around for ages, but it wasn't until mid-2018 when a shoe-maker family's son named Miguel Rivera came out with stories of how de la Cruz stole his great-great grandfather's songs and skull guitar complete with physical proof that the topic of lost recordings suddenly became one of the hottest topics in México. Miguel himself joined in on the hunt, which lasted for quite some time well past 2018 and was postponed due to the pandemic.

And then, in 2021. A miracle.

Either the previous matriarch known as Mamá Coco had completely forgotten about it or it had been a secret that she had purposely kept to herself for Miguel to discover, but there were some other things she had kept hidden from her mother... five 78 rpm records predating 1921, all sent by Héctor. Recordings of him singing by himself, with Ernesto, or just simple guitar arrangements of his other songs. Kept in secret by Mamá Coco somewhere in a corner of Miguel's hideout left unchecked after Imelda threw them out along with other objects related to music. Other 78s were later on discovered by a descendant of de la Cruz's inside the family estate and in various antique shops, all collecting dust. They were amongst the most important relics of Héctor's legacy, besides his red songbook containing the first composition for "Remember Me".

After efforts of digitizing came out successful (despite the damage done by age, the recordings were miraculously salvageable), "Recuérdame: The Lost Recordings of Héctor Rivera (1919-1921)" was released. Calling the album a sensation was an understatement. Rave reviews started coming out, stating that Héctor's warm voice reminded listeners of home and warm sunrays, and how one can feel the heartache and longing for his family from the way he strums his guitar alone, even if his voice is not as strong and commanding as de la Cruz's. His grito is oftentimes said to be addicting and infectious as well, with some claiming that they ended up doing it along. Others lamented over "what could have been" after listening to Rivera and de la Cruz's harmonizing and clear-as-day dynamic as a duet. Shortly after, the skeletal remains of Héctor Rivera were found in an unmarked grave in México City.

It not only solidified Héctor Rivera's legacy (thus directly affecting Héctor's overall health in the Land Of The Dead for the better), but it also largely improved the Riveras' overall economy with royalties from Héctor's never-before-seen music, in addition to the already booming shoe-making business and Miguel's own efforts as a musician. All because Miguel decided to steal a guitar that turned out to be rightfully his.

It is safe to say that Héctor Rivera is now considered one of the greatest musicians, songwriters, and poets in the history of Mexican music.

[pencopanko]

La Revolución de la Familia Rivera (A Revolutionary Girl Utena-inspired Coco AU)

Summary: Future matriarch Rosa Rivera and her brother Abel are tasked to find their missing musician cousin Miguel and bring him home before music fully corrupts him. But it's easier said than done when it turns out that: 1. Miguel has not aged in four years; 2. Nobody can leave Escuela de la Cruz; and 3. They have found themselves at the center of a family mystery that has lasted for one hundred years. Fortunately, they have their ancestors to guide them, including Mamá Imelda herself! And that one lanky ghost named Héctor who always follows Miguel around.

Stuck in what seems to be some sort of pocket dimension, Rosa and her cousins must defeat a number of duelists in order to solve their family mystery, including de la Cruz's snarky great-great-grandson, Marco. Gifted with Blessings (enchanted weapons) from their ancestors, hopefully they can all break the curse... and trigger a... "Revolution"? Whatever that may be. (Cross-posted from AO3)

PRÓLOGO

Long ago, in a town called Santa Cecilia, lived a family of three. The papá was a musician who dreamed of playing for the world, while the mamá was an aspiring shoemaker who loved music just as much as her husband. They had a small daughter together, and the three of them would sing, dance, and count their blessings.

One day, the papá left home with his guitar. And never returned.

Outraged and heartbroken by his disappearance, the mamá banned music from her family. Nobody was allowed to play music, listen to music, or even hum a single note. She also forbade her family members from even uttering the name of her husband. She considered him dead, and she put up their family photo on their family’s ofrenda with his head torn off. Nobody was to remember him. Ever.

The mamá did not have time to cry, however. She rolled up her sleeves and focused on her shoemaking business, turning it into a family affair. She taught her brothers, then her daughter, then her son-in-law, and then her grandchildren. The business grew and grew, and they became known for making the best shoes in town.

Music had torn the family apart, but shoes put them all together.

That is the legacy of Imelda Rivera. Mother, grandmother, shoemaker.

Music shall never enter our family again, she had decided. But was that really such a good idea?

---

30 de diciembre, 1942. Ciudad de México.

It was a night to remember.

After the 21st anniversary of the establishment of Escuela de la Cruz (or De La Cruz Academy, if you are not a native Hispanic), the most famous musician in Mexican history and the namesake of the school himself, Ernesto de la Cruz performed his biggest hits for his beloved students and fans alike. He opened with “El Mundo es mi Familia”, made the crowd clap and sing along with his upbeat songs like "Un poco loco", stunned the audience and even the stage crew with his ballads, and ending with arguably his biggest hit: “Requérdame”.

As Ernesto went up the escalator all the way to the top of the stage just below the bell, everything was going well. The fireworks were shot at the correct time, the dancers were on beat, Ernesto was singing with his powerful vocals, and the crowd was pleased. The skull guitar was shining and reflecting the lights, as if it was celebrating along. Just before he was about to belt out his final note, Ernesto handed over the guitar to a stage crew, as rehearsed.

Unbeknownst to most, except for a small number of people behind the stage, one of the staff was leaning on a lever that controlled the bell. Perhaps it was a slip of the body, or perhaps he was leaning too much on the lever, but it all happened so quickly that some were convinced it was almost as if the musician was somehow cursed.

30 de diciembre, 1942. Ciudad de México.

Ernesto de la Cruz was crushed by a giant bell. There was silence followed by screams of terror and panic. The screaming only got worse when suddenly the concert hall turned dark before anyone could do anything. People were bumping against each other and against furniture, tripping over cables, and the students were rushed out of the arena back to the Academy.

After a staff member was able to turn the lights back on, somehow things took a sharp turn to the mysterious. There was indeed debris atop the escalator where the bell was dropped, but there was no bell. And the oddest thing of all: Ernesto de la Cruz’s dead body was nowhere to be found. Yes, there was blood, but other than that and some tattered fabric, he was nowhere to be seen. The skull guitar had also disappeared.

30 de diciembre, 1942. Ciudad de México.

It was a night to remember. For better or for worse.

---

1 de noviembre, 2017. Santa Cecilia.

Not so long ago, there was a young boy. He came from a family of shoemakers who hated music. For as long as he could remember, music was banned from entering the family. Not a whistle, not a tune, not a pluck of a guitar, not a finger tap, not even a hum. His grandmother would even yell at passerby’s who sang outside of their home.

And yet, out of everyone in his family, he was the one who fell in love with the forbidden art. He knew that his family loved him and that he loved them in return, but he too knew that he was different from the rest of them. His love for music was strong enough to the point of creation. He would record himself secretly playing music up in the hidden attic. He would write songs that he would hide in-between his books and other personal belongings in his room and in the attic as well. He even managed to created his own functioning guitar from a broken one he found amongst a pile of trash. All of this he kept a secret, except from his great-grandmother.

And up there in the same attic was also where he kept his stash of Ernesto de la Cruz memorabilia. De La Cruz was his idol, his mentor, his hero. If the boy were a rat in Paris, De La Cruz would be the imaginary chef guiding him everywhere he went. It was through his music and films that the young boy would come to love music himself. Ernesto de la Cruz came from Santa Cecilia, just like he did. He played in the plaza when he was young, just like how the boy wished he could do. He wished to do what his idol did: to seize his moment and play for the world.

Then, on a fateful Día de Los Muertos, the Day of The Dead, he found an opening. Up on top of his family ofrenda was a photo of his great-great grandmother, her daughter (the boy’s great-grandmother as a child), and an unknown man whose head was ripped off of the photo. The family only knew him as their great-great-grandfather, El Músico. The Musician. The man who left his family for music. A Xolo dog whom the boy liked to play with accidentally made the photo fall from the ofrenda, revealing a folded over portion of the photo.

It was De La Cruz’s guitar. A pristine white guitar, as if made out of marble, with a skull headstock and markings at the bottom of its body. There was no other guitar like it! He couldn’t believe it! Ernesto de la Cruz was his great-great-grandfather! With this revelation, he announced to his family that he would become a musician. Alas, his dream was rejected and his guitar was destroyed.

Heartbroken, with only his loyal Xolo at his side and the family photo in his clutch, he ran into the night.

---

1 de noviembre, 2021. Santa Cecilia.

Four years has passed since. Miguel Rivera has yet to come home.

[pencopanko]

Define "Love": A Coco Fanfiction

Author's note: I would like to thank thefreedictionary.com for the Spanish definition of love. I am by no means Hispanic but I'm currently just starting to learn Spanish. If anyone can recommend me a good Spanish-only dictionary or a grammar dictionary that'd be wonderful. I also would like to thank Charles M. Schulz for Peanuts, specifically the episode Play It Again, Charlie Brown.

As you can see, this little ship has taken over my life. And so, I present to you what is probably the first Marco x Rosa (Marosa) fanfiction on this site. It's loosely based on @slusheeduck's fanfiction titled Sonance, so I recommend reading it first. But the gist is Marco Veracruz is Ernesto's great-great-grandson who at first hated Miguel for exposing Ernesto but later on became Miguel's friend. It is implied in the story's ending that the boy visits the Riveras during the holidays after that.

Why do I ship him with Rosa? I dunno, I guess it's just the side effects. But I like it so here you go. Enjoy!

~~~~~

"Just a few more touches... Done! ¡Mira, what do you think?"

Marco held up his piece to Rosa who was sitting next to him as he was finishing up a watercolour study of Tía Carmen, his unknowing model, who was drawn carrying a basket of laundry. It was simple but there was a quiet beauty in it ― just like the model in real life, thought Rosa.

They were sitting in the dining room, staying away from the summer sun. It was a Sunday in June and the Riveras were having a day off from work, only going to the workshop for necessary repairs.

"I love it! And I'm sure Mamá would love it too", she replied. Marco lit up as her words reached his ears. Why wouldn't he? Back in México City, nobody at home would even take a glance at his artworks. His parents were either busy with handling the press and all that or were just too cold to even care. His manager only shrugged and said "Well, it's alright I guess" before typing some messages on her phone again. Hearing such kind and encouraging words from someone truly felt good.

Seeing him lit up only made Rosa blush even more than she already had. ¡Ay, him and that smile of his! Qué injusto!

Miguel was off with Abel to help Abuelita with the groceries and to Rosa that meant spending more time with Marco. Starting last year, he had been visiting the Rivera family every summer--and Rosa had been enamored with the boy from México City ever since. Oh, sure, she was upset and angry that her cousin was treated badly by him at first, but after seeing him in person for the first time, she couldn't help it. She was smitten.

At first, she nearly couldn't tell them apart. But after taking a good look, she realized that her cousin and his new friend were as different as fire and ice. While Miguel was like cinnamon; heartwarming with a hint of sweetness, could be overpowering at times and a force to be reckoned with if angered, Marco was pure salt. Sassy, sometimes snarky, manipulative at times, and yet somehow without him things just felt incomplete like the time Tía Gloria forgot to add salt into the menudo for dinner last week. And, like her, her brothers, and her eldest cousin, he could be very determined.

Last year she didn't get to tell him how she felt. She was too cautious last year, trying to test the waters. This time, she decided. This time I will tell him. I will make him fall for me like how he made me fall for him.

"Marco?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you know what love is?", she asked.

Marco paused and looked up from his sketchbook. He looked at Rosa, one brow raised. Love as a word wasn't too hard to define but maybe she was testing her?

From what he knew, Rosa Rivera was the smartest out of all the Rivera children. Like pepper was she; adventurous, sassy, and could suit to all your needs, sweet or savoury. The ever-efficient, ever-reliable girl had a charm to her that Marco couldn't put his hands on. But whatever it could be, he certainly liked it.

But this time, Marco was certain she was testing him. Definitely. She's definitely testing my vocabulary, he thought.

And with a smug smile (that made Rosa instantly melt inside), he proudly answered:

"Love. A noun. To be fond of. A strong affection for or attachment or devotion to a person or persons".

Rosa looked at him as if he had said something odd. Rude, he thought. He looked around, and then back at her. "Uh, what?", he asked. "Didn't I just define it? Isn't that what you want?". Whatever game she was playing, he certainly didn't know what the rules were. If only she would tell him!

That statement wasn't what Rosa was expecting at all. Who defines love that way? Is this boy really that clueless? "Marco," she slowly replied, "That's... not exactly what I meant...". She gave him a lopsided grin and let out a little chuckle.

Marco then realized he just defined love in English. Seeing Rosa's expression (that was somehow really cute ― wait what) he decided to make it easier for the both of them.

By defining it in Spanish.

"Amor. Sentimienteo de afecto y pasión experimentado por una persona hacia otra. Vivo afecto o inclinación hacia una persona o cosa".

He looked at her. She looked at him. And then Rosa laughed. Oh, how silly were they being! A girl in love with a boy who was painfully oblivious. It did hurt, but seeing his face somehow made up for the pain. And then he laughed too, her laughter being too contagious. The two of them laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

"¡No, tonto! I meant as a feeling!" Rosa snickered. Marco chuckled as their laughter died down. And with a sad smile, he replied "Ah, how could anyone define anything as a feeling if they've never felt it before?"

Rosa looked at him, confused. Have never felt love before? How is that possible?

"But" she retorted, "surely you've felt it! I mean, don't your parents-"

He shook his head. "They are cold towards me", he said in a low voice.

"All they see is the boy whose job is to keep his great-great-grandfather's legacy intact. The moment I rebelled by performing with Miguel and showing interest in something other than music, they basically lowkey disowned me."

"How about crushes?", Rosa continued.

Yet all she received was a shrug.

"Miguel was the very first actual friend I've ever had. I've never had an actual friend before, let alone a girlfriend", he continued. He then looked at Rosa to see her eyes were that of pity. And what looked like affection? But maybe it was just the heat.

"Don't look at me like that," he said. "I don't need your pity". His words only made Rosa pity him even more. Oh, how she wanted to hug all that hurt away! That smile of his suited him much more, anyway.

Rosa sighed. And with a soft smile, one that her brothers and cousin rarely saw, she placed her right hand on his left shoulder. Marco looked at his shoulder and then Rosa. For some reason, he liked it. And he didn't want her to let go. But why?

The girl next to him then said "To me, love is like a really good book. You just don't want to let go of it". Looking at little Socorro being carried by Tía Luisa, with Tío Enrique following close behind, she then continued.

"Love is like a warm hug or a cool bed. Or a really fluffy blanket. Or a cup of champurrado".

Then she looked at Benny and Manny, who were singing some theme song from a superhero cartoon. "Sometimes," she continued. "Love is like a song. It gets stuck in your head and that's all you can think of.

"But," she then added. "Love is also more than all that."

Marco looked at her, confused. "More than all that?", he asked. "Then, what is love?"

Rosa shrugged, unsure of what to say. Even with all the books she had read, truthfully, she had little to no clue either. Sure, she'd had crushes before, but not quite like this.

After a few moments of silence, it clicked. She looked at the ofrenda room and, finally breaking the silence, stated "Love is a feeling you find in the most unexpected of places and or people."

"Like Héctor Rivera and Mamá Imelda?", Marco wondered out loud. Rosa looked at him with a smile and said, "Si, just like the two of them". From their photo alone one could see how different they were (and are) in nature. The ever-serious, no-nonsense Imelda Rivera one day met the goofy, gentle-hearted músico named Héctor. And somehow love blossomed between the two.

"Don't worry, Marco," Rosa said reassuringly. "I'm one hundred percent positive you'll find love one day."

Marco smiled. It wasn't a smirk, and it wasn't a sneer. It was a smile. A smile that melted Rosa's heart. He seemed to be truly grateful for this talk of theirs.

Rosa felt her emotions welling up inside her chest. Without realizing it, Rosa’s lips had met Marco’s cheek. Gone was her previous ambition. All she wanted now was to see him happy. Marco gasped but before he could say anything, Rosa had realized what she had done. Embarrassed, she ran to the workshop, blushing like never before.

It felt weird being kissed by her but... it felt good? Pleasant, even. He didn't know exactly how to react but deep down he felt happy for some reason. It certainly wasn't like how those "tías" and "señoras" (who probably marinated themselves in their sickly perfume, he might add) would peck on his cheeks with lips overloaded with lipstick during events and important dinners like hens pecking on grains and worms.

This one had actual emotion put into it. In one tiny, gentle touch of a young girl's lips, in a modest courtyard of a modest house in a modest town.

Suddenly all that confidence he knew he had felt like it suddenly vanished, and now he felt a little bit shy. He could feel his cheeks heat up, not in a way that was unpleasant. Just... odd. He would have blamed it on the heat, but he clearly couldn't. He touched the spot on his cheek where Rosa had kissed him, and wondered whether love could be found here, in this family after all.

---

Meanwhile, two boys were hiding in the ofrenda room, trying their best to stifle their laughter as Marco defined love to Rosa. Before anyone noticed, they ran to the older boy's room and slammed the door shut before they both fell to the ground in a heap of laughter. But little did they know that something else happened after that.

While Abel and he were cackling like no tomorrow, Miguel also made a mental note to write to Papá Héctor and the rest for Diá de Muertos. He was absolutely certain that Tía Rosita would absolutely love it, the romantic that she was.

Oh, he thought. They would love to know about this!

[pencopanko]

Printer Panic (A Coco Teacher AU Fanfic)

((WARNING: This fanfic contains graphic description of animal body horror. If you're sensitive to stuff like that you may proceed to scroll down and ignore this post))

------

"What do you mean you still can't print anything? Shouldn't the printer be functioning?", asked Eliseo as he looked at his frustrated roommate who was standing in front of the printer. The printer was just recently refilled and it had been functioning properly. At least until last Tuesday as for some reason there had been more and more paper jams.

"I don't know, it's just-ugh why is it still stuck?!", groaned Héctor as he was contemplating on whether he should throw the printer out the window and replace it with a typewriter or something. His next class was in forty-five minutes and he hadn't printed out the assignment he spent the whole night on and how nice would it be if the damn machine would start working for once.

Eliseo approached his tall friend to see what he could help him with. The paper seemed to be stuck again -- a common occurrence these past few days.

Which was weird considering how everyone had made sure their paper was nice and smooth, void of any folds before printing most of the time.

"Eli, can't we just get a new one? That thing IS a hand-me-down from Derrick's brother. And it's old as hell, the more reason to get a new one", said Charlie.

"Why would you want to spend that much money? This thing IS functioning. It's probably just another paper jam", retorted Eliseo as his frustration grew.

"Yeah, but if it keeps acting up like this then what's the point of keeping this printer?"

"I am NOT spending anymore money for some printer! Besides, I'm sure we can fix it again"

"Look, I appreciate your effort in order for us to save money bu-"

"¡Oye, it's working!"

The three of them let out a chorus of relieved sighs as the printer let out noises that were supposed to come out from the machine. They hopefully gazed at the machine as a portion of the paper finally showed its face to the world, with lines of words in crisp, black ink printed on it.

Followed by what looked like blood stains ("Wait, but there are no images in the file"). And before they knew it, they were face to face with a gecko's head followed by its squished-up body.

Poor Mr. Bridges next door nearly spilled his steaming hot tea as a chorus of horrified screams and swear words, both in English and Spanish, could be heard from flat A-302. Out of panic and worry, he rushed out of his apartment to check on the university students who lived in that flat. After he was greeted by the Asian student whose expression was almost unreadable (and whose name had completely escaped him. Was it Dae-hyun?), he was welcomed by a really strange sight: three young men huddled up on a couch, each with a different horrified look on their faces, and they were looking at the same object which was a printer. He didn't realize what was making them act like that until he took a good look.

Needless to say, four men were absolutely horrified and Héctor Rivera could not look at a printer without a certain image popping up in his head for the next few days.

------

"So, then, what happened?", asked Miguel as he looked up at the older man. They were taking a break after practicing a new song for a whole hour that Friday night and Héctor decided to tell Miguel some stories from his university days.

"Long story short, we had the printer cleaned up from the icky stuff and we got it functioning again," replied Héctor. "But," he added with a grin, "Charlie was so traumatized he absolutely REFUSED to go near the printer for nearly a whole month".

Miguel chuckled a bit at the thought of an American man being scared of a printer. It sounded so silly, even for an eight-year-old like himself. But, then again, he was now living with a godfather who often pretended that he wasn't scared of spiders. Héctor didn't realize it but Miguel knew better.

The boy then made a mental note to keep that rubber spider Alejandro gave to him safe in his drawer by the bed. Though he would be lying if he said that he wouldn't want to hear his tío scream like a girl at the sight of it.

------

Author's note: This was based on a real life event that happened when I was in high school. The printer at our old house kept experiencing paper jams for the last couple of days and my sister and I were getting frustrated. So my mom decided to take a look at it (a true jack-of-all-trades, she is) and told us to try again after that.

I think it's safe to say that you can guess what happened after that. But the difference was my sister and I were so horrified we ran to the living room.

Anyway, I hope you like this little drabble!

Lots of love,

Penco

[pencopanko]

Writer Problems #1

"Okay, so for my Basic Arabic class mid-term we're supposed to write a story. Well, let's start with a library, just something nice and normal..."

"...."

"When did this turn into a horror"

[pencopanko]

I did a thing and posted "Define Love" on AO3

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