Inspired from "Camilo's Interlude" by Laureli Amadeus

Wooden chameleon ornament inspired from "Among the Emeralds" by @thecrazyashley-blog

Inspired from "Like Fog Dissolving in the Sunrise" by @riathedreamer

Daytime version:

Mirabel is wearing 1960 fashion because she is 25 in the story.

Sleepover with Abuela

Camilo had suggested it as a joke, but when Abuela had agreed to let her grandchildren have their monthly sleepover in her room, everyone was pleasantly surprised. Normally, no one was allowed in Abuela’s room. Rarely had anyone seen Abuela with her hair undone and wearing her nightclothes. But a little over a year since Mirabel had revived Casita, there had been a significant shift in her demeanor. She laughed more and joked more. She sang and danced more. Now that Camilo thought about it, maybe allowing them into her private space was not that far behind, after all.

“Bienvenido, mis nietos. Come in, come in,” she said, grinning brightly as stepped aside to let in her grandchildren. Everyone was carrying their own sleeping bag except Antonio; Luisa was carrying Antonio’s and her own. Abuela looked odd wearing a peach-colored robe and her silver hair in pigtails. But she also looked younger and lighter than usual.

“I hope we’re not intruding, Abuela,” said Isabela as she kissed her Abuela’s cheek.

“Not at all. I love having you all here.” Abuela clasped her hands in front of her. “Now, what do you usually do at these sleepovers, huh?”

Everyone looked at Camilo, who squirmed where he stood. “Why are you all looking at me?”

“This was your idea. What did you have in mind when you suggested sleeping over with Abuela?” said Mirabel, smirking at him.

“Um...” His heartbeat mounting, Camilo locked eyes with Abuela. “I guess... I want to know her more. And Abuelo.” His eyes shifted to the gilded picture frame at the nightstand. It was their wedding photo.

“Aww.” Abuela put her hands over her heart. Camilo relaxed when his sister and cousins were now smiling at him. “Then, I’m glad I granted your request. Make yourselves comfortable, mis amores. Antonio, let me...”

They spread out their sleeping bags until they covered most of the floor. Abuela brought out a stack of photo albums from a large wooden chest. “Most of these photographs are of our family here in the Encanto. But I have a few of my own family and also your Abuelo’s.” Abuela sat at the foot of the        bed while her grandchildren listened to her stories of her youth outside the Encanto. Abuela seemed to transform in front of their eyes as she spoke about her parents, her extended family, her friends, the animals in their household. Her energy and zest for life was most similar to Pepa, and Abuela’s eyes dimmed ever so slightly as she recalled how she had controlled her daughter throughout her life. “Julieta and Bruno didn’t only get their father’s looks. They are so alike Pedro in their personalities, too.” The grandchildren already knew about Pedro’s writing talent and sense of humor, but they didn’t already know about his passable culinary skills and his desire for an extended alone time.

“We wish we could have met him, Abuela,” said Dolores.

“I like to think that you have. There’s a little of him in all of your parents,” said Abuela.

A few hours later, everyone was asleep. Camilo stirred awake. Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight from the window, he noticed that Abuela was sitting up on her bed and watching them. “Abuela? Aren’t you able to sleep?” he whispered, concerned that she had insomnia like Tío Bruno.

“I will sleep soon, Camilo. Just let me admire you all for a little while.”

Now on AO3

The First Night Alone

Seated on the floor and leaning against the footboard of the bed, Alma doesn’t know what to feel. The fact that her babies are fast asleep in her arms is a tiny comfort because she has no idea what to do. Her face is swollen from crying, and her throat and lungs are aching from all the wailing and screaming that she finished moments before.

She looks around her. Her wedding candle—now magically carved with butterflies, and Pedro’s and her favorite animals—illuminates the room around her. The room is a perfect replica of the home that she and Pedro left, except it hadn’t replicated the three brand-new cribs that Pedro and she were forced to leave behind. Its beauty is clearly meant to comfort her, but without Pedro by her side, it seems to mock her.

Now on AO3:

Sweet Sentiments

(Summary: the long-awaited sequel to "Sympathy Pain". It's that time of the month again, but Bruno manages to handle it (and his sobrinas) a little bit better this time. Mild CW for a small amount of blood.)

Bloody perfect!

Late but this was for Day 24: Memory for @encantober-official

Pedo and young Alma in happier innocent times

Help

Day Twenty-Three

I bet when Mirabel was small she drove everyone bonkers with all her questions...

Day Twenty-three: Roots

Isabela was walking through her Abuela Valentina’s back garden. She was randomly touching the leaves of various plants, trying to get a better idea in her head of how their roots did the things they did. In all the time she’d been able to grow flowers, it never occurred to her to look beyond what was above the soil.

Mirabel came out from the kitchen and came over to her and said, “Whatcha doin, Isa?”

“Research,” Isa said.

“By touching leaves?” Mirabel said as she reached out.

Isabela wanted to be irritated with her little sister, but Mirabel’s curiosity had often led her to new discoveries. She would ask the most random questions, and Isabela would often times realize the answers she was looking for were right there under her nose. “Yes, when I do that, sometimes I can feel into the soil.”

“Wow, that’s awesome, Isa. Abuela has so many different kinds of things growing, I can barely remember what’s what. Like, can you feel a potato or a carrot?”

Isabela pointed, “Those are potatoes,” she said then moved her arm and added, “those are carrots. I’m not actually sure if I can feel a potato... maybe?”

Mirabel nodded and Isabela went back to her research. Mira would ask another random question and Isabela would answer, realizing that it was love and care that made roots grow stronger. Especially the ones that held their family together.

Encantober Day 20: Vision

*trigger warning for pregnancy mentions and brief description*

Voices floated through the kitchen.

“Ay, I can feel her kicking.” Pepa laughed.

What? Bruno didn’t understand what was going on. Usually he tried not to eavesdrop (he said tried; he didn’t always succeed), but he had to know what was going on here. Shifting his position, he was able to peer through the small crack in the wall.

Pepa was in the kitchen with Félix, her hands resting on…her belly? Was she pregnant again? Now Bruno didn’t claim to be an expert in math, but if they were still the same age, and he was pretty sure they were, wouldn’t that be impossible?

“How do you know it’s a girl?” Félix teased, wrapping his arms around Pepa from behind.

“A mother can tell,” Pepa said smugly.

“Well what if it’s a boy?”

Pepa scoffed. “There’s no way the baby is a boy.”

“You know this for sure?”

Pepa glared at him. “I can’t know for sure. Not the way we did with Lola and Milo. But…I have a feeling she’s a girl.”

Félix held up his hands in defeat. “If you say so, mi vida.”

“I do say so.” Pepa bustled around the kitchen, putting away groceries. She must not be very far along, Bruno observed. She’d gotten huge with the other two. In fact, Bruno had actually wondered if she was having twins when she had Camilo. Looking back, he deserved that slap.

His cheek smarted from the memory. As much as it had hurt, at least he was still part of the family then. Almost five years had passed since his…unceremonious departure…and not a day went by that he didn’t miss them.

“I know it might be a bit early to think about this, but do you have any ideas about names?” Félix had caught Pepa in his arms, swaying her from side to side.

She hummed contentedly. “I have a few. But my favorite is- what about Antonia? After your mother?”

Félix beamed. “I love it. And I’m sure mamá would be honored.”

Pepa smiled at him brightly. “All right, I’ll be right back. Your daughter is playing fútbol with my internal organs.”

Félix chuckled. “Bet she’ll be a hell of a player one day.”

“She better be, with all the practice she’s getting!”

Their voices petered off as they left the kitchen, still basking in the glow of their happiness.

A Perfect Vision

If you had asked four-year-old Mirabel what her favorite color was, her answer would vary from day to day, sometimes even minute to minute. One moment it might be pink or purple, the next moment it might be yellow, silver, or red. And sometimes it was impossible for her to choose when her Tia Pepa made a rainbow.

The prospect of picking a favorite color had never seemed as daunting as it did on the day that Julieta told her youngest daughter she needed glasses. “But why can’t you make my eyes all better with food?” 

The question had very nearly broken Julieta’s heart. With a sigh, she set her pestle down and wiped her hands on her apron. “Because that’s not how my gift works, mija.” She knelt down in front of a sniffling Mirabel and clasped her tiny hands in hers. “Your eyes are not broken. They’re just a little different. Like your father’s.” She looked over at Agustín, who made an attempt to appear suave by leaning casually against the counter while adjusting his glasses. Casita playfully swatted him in the back of the head with a cabinet door, making him jump and knocking his glasses askew. Mirabel giggled. “See?” Julieta said. “His glasses make him look handsome and smart. And guess what? Doctor Orozco says you can have any color you want for your frames.” She smiled big. “Isn’t that nice?” The little girl began to mirror her smile, but after a moment, her face fell. “I don’t want any color,” she murmured, looking at the floor. “I don’t want glasses.”

Julieta sighed again and gently coaxed her into a hug. “I’m sorry, querida, but if you want to see better, you need them.” Agustín knelt beside the two, hugging his daughter next. “It’ll be alright, Miraboo. I wear glasses, and I think they’re great! Here, why don’t you try mine on?” He removed his glasses and, after some fiddling, just barely managed to balance them on Mirabel’s much smaller nose and ears. The girl lifted her hands to feel the oversized frames as she glanced around the kitchen, marveling at how different everything looked. The designs on the floor tiles appeared blurrier, while saucepans and ladles hanging on the wall across the room were more in focus. Mirabel shook her head. “Don’t like um.” She handed them back to her father. Agustín put them back on. “Well, the eye doctor’s going to make special glasses just for you, Mira. They’ll fit perfectly and make everything crystal clear. And don’t forget to tell him your favorite color!”

Julieta nodded, cupping the girl’s cheek and kissing her forehead. “We’ll go tomorrow morning. Alright? In the meantime, I want you to decide what color you want for your frames. You can only pick one, though. And ‘rainbow’ isn’t one color.” “Awww!” Mirabel pouted. ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

 “You’re probably gonna look like this. Or like this. Or maybe like this!” Camilo, who had only gotten his gift a month prior, kept changing into different versions of Mirabel with glasses, each one growing progressively less flattering. The glasses grew to the size of saucers, and the nose and teeth had also grown until he looked like a comically nerdy caricature come to life. “Stop it, Camilo! That’s mean!” Mirabel shouted, stomping her foot. “Papi has glasses and he doesn’t look like that!”

“That’s ‘cuz he’s a boy,” Camilo replied, reverting back to himself. “He doesn’t gotta be pretty.” No sooner had he spoken than a wreath of pink and yellow plumerias burst into bloom on his head. “Nobody has to be pretty,” said Isabela, descending from the upper mezzanine on a vine. She stepped down in front of Camilo, growling at him. “Now buzz off before I make you pretty!”

The boy took off, tearing at the flowers that continued to sprout from his hair. Isabela rolled her eyes. “Boys are dumb,” she muttered, boredly conjuring pansies and petunias out of thin air. “You won’t look that bad, I’m sure. Especially if you pick a good color for your glasses. Like one of these.” 

Mirabel took the proffered bouquet, looking at the bright colors. They were mostly various shades of pink and purple, with a little bit of white and yellow for accents. “What color would you pick?” she asked, gazing up at the much taller twelve-year-old.

Isabela blinked. “Me? I wouldn’t pick any color, because I don’t need glasses.” Mirabel’s lip trembled, but she remained silent as she turned and walked away, the hand holding the bouquet hanging dejectedly at her side. ~   ~   ~   ~   ~ Mirabel spent the next hour alone in the nursery, flowers, papers, and crayons scattered all around her on the floor as she lay on her stomach drawing and redrawing herself with different colored glasses. Camilo’s unflattering interpretations of her kept invading her thoughts, and each time they did, she pressed the crayons harder into the paper, drawing the lines thicker and darker, as if she could somehow scribble those images out of her head. When the first crayon broke, so too did Mirabel’s resolve. 

Sobbing, she stood up, clutching her latest drawing to her chest, and ran out of the room. Tears clouded her vision, and as she ran up the mezzanine toward her parents’ room, she did not see the figure that emerged from a different door until it was too late.

Mirabel collided with a green blur, nearly knocking both of them to the ground. “Whoa, careful there,” said Bruno, catching her by the elbows to steady her. “You really gotta watch where you’re going, kiddo. You don’t wanna get… Mirabel? What’s wrong?” he asked as he looked her over. “Are you hurt?”

Mirabel shook her head. Grabbing two fistfuls of fabric, she buried her face in her uncle’s ruana, sobbing quietly. Bruno looked down at her, speechless. He leaned down to put his arms around her, to offer the poor girl some comfort, but paused when he noticed the paper on the ground. It was rumpled and tearstained, but the picture she had drawn was unmistakably a self portrait. A distorted, exaggerated self portrait, with so much frustration and fear rendered in thick black crayon, particularly in the wide circles around the eyes. Bruno stared at it for a moment, then at the little girl clinging to his clothes. He knew what he had to do.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Mirabel stood in the middle of the stone chamber, holding her uncle’s hands as well as her own breath. Bruno’s eyes glowed brightly as he slowly turned his neon gaze from Mirabel to the sands swirling overhead. Though this wasn’t the first or even the tenth time she’d witnessed him having a vision, she still found herself transfixed by those eyes. A second pair of gleaming green eyes appeared in the storm above. Mirabel squinted, as much to keep the sand out of her eyes as to try to make out what the vision was showing her. Meanwhile, Bruno’s eyes remained wide and unblinking, even as his hair whipped violently around his face. 

The two green circles widened, then connected, as other features began to take shape around them. Mirabel was just beginning to make out a face and a body when the swirling sands flared impossibly bright. She let go of her uncle’s hands to cover her eyes, and in an instant, the torrential winds ceased. Silence fell inside the stone chamber, and when she looked up again, Bruno was holding an emerald slab over her head to protect her from the falling sand.

A moment later, he was turning the tablet around for her to see. “Looks like you’ve got nothing to worry about after all,” he said, grinning despite his sudden headache. “See?” Mirabel stared at the vision. Etched in emerald, a smaller version of herself looked back, smiling wide as she reached her hand out toward a butterfly. Even her eyes were smiling behind large, round glasses that flattered her face. 

“Here.” Bruno set the tablet in her hands. “No more sad or scary drawings of yourself when you’ve got this.” ~   ~   ~   ~   ~

Mirabel had no idea how, but somehow, that vision tablet had survived the fall of Casita. And it was Bruno, of all people, who had found it in the ruins: cracked, chipped, but still in one piece. He recognized it instantly. Mirabel saw him standing motionless in the rubble on the second day of cleanup and went to see what he was holding. As she approached him, she froze when she saw it. Bruno looked up at her. “You kept this?” Mirabel blushed. She stepped closer, pushing some debris aside with her broom. “Um, yeah. I did.” They both looked down at the tablet, studying the nearly forgotten image for a long moment, before Mirabel spoke again. “I wanted to remind myself that I shouldn’t worry so much. About the future. About… myself.” She shrugged. “I guess I also kept it to remind me of you. After you left.” She met his gaze, and despite the fact that she was smiling now, there was a little shadow of sadness behind it. Bruno had gone into hiding only a month after giving Mirabel that vision. The last one he had ever given her, until the present day. “No matter what anyone said about you, I didn’t want to believe them.” She placed a hand on his arm. “You gave me a perfect vision. I didn’t want to forget that. Or you.”

Bruno could only stare back at the young woman, completely speechless. Mirabel took the tablet from him and wiped away the remaining dust, and as she did so, her smile grew warmer, and when she looked up at him again, there was no trace of sadness left. “You’re the reason I chose this color, you know,” she said, tapping the frames of her glasses. Bruno blinked. “You mean because of how they looked in the vision?” Mirabel giggled. “No, silly. I picked green because I wanted my eyes to be like yours!” Bruno could only stare at her, speechless yet again. “What?” she said, tucking the tablet under one arm. “I was just a kid at the time. A kid who thought you had the coolest eyes when they glowed.”

Bruno smirked. “So if my eyes glowed bright pink instead –”

Mirabel smirked back, shaking her head. “I like green better.” @encantober-official

They're so precious!

Encantober Day 15: Midnight

There was a knock on Julieta’s door. Although it was late, almost midnight, she was wide awake. Groaning, she got out of bed to open the door.

“You guys don’t have to knock, you can just come in,” she said, returning to her bed.

Bruno shrugged. “We didn’t want to catch you at a bad moment.”

“Changing,” Pepa clarified. “He means changing.”

“Thank you so much for clarifying, Pepi.” Bruno rolled his eyes at her.

“Anytime.” Pepa stuck out her tongue at him.

“Guys, can you stop arguing for ten minutes?” Julieta pleaded.

They both stared at her incredulously.

“Is this really how you want to start off our birthday?”

“No,” Pepa conceded, flopping on the bed next to her.

Bruno shook his head, sitting on the other side of Julieta. “How much time do we have left anyway?”

Julieta peered at the clock. It was a bit hard to make out in the low light. “Nine minutes.”

“Oh. So after ten minutes it won’t be the start of our birthday anymore and we can argue again.” Pepa grinned.

Julieta looked at her somberly. “You know how mamá gets on our birthday. You decide if you want to risk arguing.”

“She’s not even around right now,” Pepa grumbled, but didn’t resist.

Heaviness swept down, crushing them like an uncomfortable blanket. Their birthday wasn’t the joyous occasion it was for most people. Sure, it marked the anniversary of their birth and the founding of the town, but it was also the day they had lost their papá.