Quietly headcanoning Bruno can play the piano like nobody's business.

Modern Family Encanto au - Familia modern

Used old sketches then layered new outfit on top (I’m really tired). So which do you think? I kinda like the cool tones in contrast to her warm complexion, my friend likes the warm tones.

Local boy reports “he’s fine.” Is in fact, not fine.

Adelita: This is your future *gives Bruno her drawing*

Bruno: This is you and me.

Adelita: Forever and ever.

Really tempted to write Bruno parenting Juancho even though he's not his kid yet. But probably not a good idea. I mean I don't think it'd make sense. Maybe. What do y'all think?

A cinnamon roll with a coffee addiction, some separation anxiety and “mild” abandonment issues.

My brain: So what if, Juancho consumes all that coffee because he has chores(he shouldn’t be responsible for cause he’s a child) that keep him up all night?

Me: Go on.

My Brain: Drinking the coffee allows him to stay up and interact with his friends.

Me at me: Write that down! Write that down!

Imagine a Madrigal child being blessed with Past Living; The ability to interact with the past/past events, allowing them to move around, sense, and/or even physically interact with their past environment/surroundings.

Imagine them accidentally pulling a little Bruno into the future. And now the Madrigal family is stuck with little Bruno until they figure out how to put them back.

Debating whether or not I should write a fic where Bruno’s adopted Lita and Juancho and it’s something with his two kids. Should I give Adelita a brother? Bruno a son?

Knock On Wood

Word count: 0

Characters: Bruno Madrigal, Adelita (mentions; Isabela Madrigal, Pepa Madrigal)

Summary: Bruno adores his child.

Warnings: Fluff, and father daughter bonding

Notes: I figured it was high time I actually wrote a complete thing for my Dad Bruno au. I couldn’t let go of the idea of Bruno’s child picking up some of his habits. This was the result.

———

In the kitchen, the smell is more delicious than any single thing cooking in there: the ajiaco, sancocho, buñuelos. A pleasant blend that bathes the warm room and wafts out the open entryway and windows to tease nearby travelers.

It has been a while since Bruno has had the chance to spend precious time with his querida, Adelita. His family, as much as he loves them, had hardly given him a moment with her since she’d moved into la casa Madrigal merely two weeks ago.

“Mambrú se fue a la guerra, ¡qué dolor, qué dolor, qué pena!. Mambrú se fue a la guerra, no sé cuando vendrá.”

Humming back to her Pa, the little girl sits at the dining table. Her bright yellow headband, decked with marigolds, embroidered with three small ribbons; aquarium teal, tangerine orange, and sap green, dually contrasting her dark balayage hair and fitting in with the yellow shades of the room.

The kitchen is an earthy clay tone, yellow stucco and saltillo tiles with an open arch entryway. The wooden shelves are more teal where the varnish holds and faded, almost pale, in areas that experienced a barrage of sunlight. The cabinets and shelves are stocked with dishes, cups, and bowls, and assorted spices; everything a healer would need to hone their craft. What’s more than that, the shelves and counters are ornamented with succulents and ferns tended by Isabela.

“Look it!” Adelita cheerily declares. Her smile stretches with excitement, as she reveals the drawing she’d been working on.

Bruno moves across the kitchen and sits at the table in the seat beside her. He then swaps with her, taking her drawing in exchange for a wooden spoon coated with rich golden hued dulce de leche.

“Ooo,” she cooed. Her already large smile spreads further to move her freckles. She looks as if she was just handed the brightest star in the sky. Her deep brown eyes, richer almost than the caramelized milk, brim with excitement. “Can I eat this?” She asked, eyes flicking up to Bruno.

“Sí, mi querida.”

Adelita squeals in the febrile air. Dangling meters above the floor, her legs kick back and forth wildly, as if they were on broken hinges caught in the wind. Watching the little girl burst over something so simple, Bruno can’t help chuckle.

He’d been collecting Adelita’s drawings since before she was his. Still, she is less than five. Her artwork is multi-coloured jottings and scribbles. Rudimentary at best. Bruno knows his child’s work well enough to recognise some shapes; lopsided smiley faces, squiggly clouds, and slanted rainbows. Unfortunately, none of those were visible on this particular piece.

With Lita distracted by the candied spoon, he estimates he can look ahead just a few seconds to see his daughter tell him herself what she has created. Without his sand and unable to use his usual ritual materials, as they would draw attention, he settles for knocking on wood.

"Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock. Knock on wood."

Bruno shuts his eyes momentarily as he exhales sharply and opens them once again when he feels his vision spinning and whirling like Antonio’s toy top. From his eyes appears a soft yet vibrant emerald green glow.

A minute passes. His eyes clear, simmering down to their natural luminance.

It takes a second or two for the new information to sink it. Though his heart swells in anticipation for the excitement he knows his child will soon possess. “Mira, taught you how to make a capycorn?” He flips the paper around so the image faces its creator.

Adelita stares up at him. The spoon held lazily in one hand, its tip still in her mouth. Not at all the reaction he but moments ago envisioned her having.

The future isn’t guaranteed, he reminds himself.

There is an adorable moment where Adelita’s face washes blank with confusion. He watches the curiosity register on her freckled face before she positions an elbow on the table and rests her face on her palm.

A small smile plays on Bruno’s lips, watching her crinkle her nose. She has a look about her, that concentrated look children have when their young minds thrust into overdrive to solve something that perplexed them.

"Papi? Why do you knock on wood?" She asked. She reaches down the table, clasping her tiny fingers around his wrist and pulls it before herself. She aligns her palm with his. Her hand is a mouse in his, small and gentle.

Bruno shrugs, letting his gaze drop. "Oh, it's just a thing I do to ward off bad stuff," he explained, picking at some wood splintering from the edge of the table.

“Oh,” she repeated. Her mouth falls into a perfect circle. Her eyes narrow, a deep, focused intensity behind them as she studies his fingers, curling them one by one until she shapes his hand into a complete fist. “Did it work?” She questioned. Her attention momentarily flickers to him.

She sits on her knees, discarding the wooden spoon on the table. Dulce de lech and saliva drip from the tip, oozing down onto the table. Bruno makes a mental note to wipe the mess up later.

Now with both hands, the little girl takes her Pa’s fisted hand in her and raises it. Sticking her tongue out, as if the minor action will help her aim, she carefully taps his knuckle against the wooden table top twice.

"Knock, knock..." she quoted.

Her face twists, eyebrows furrowing, lips falling into a frown. Her mouth opens but no words come out, instead an indignant whine slips out.

"-Knock, knock, knock. Knock on wood." Bruno completed, using his free hand to thump the table twice, then his temple once.

Her face lit up, brighter than the sun on Pepa’s happiest days, a smile completely enveloping her face. Giggles bubble out of her. When she laughs, her eyes squeeze shut, crinkling at the corners.

Her laughter is the world, and in this moment Bruno feels complete.

"No!” she squealed, swatting at his hand. “You're not made of wood,” she manages to say between bales of giggles. Her sweet, almost melodic laughter can be heard throughout the house.

Her laugh is contagious. Even Casita can’t resist. The tiles of the kitchen floor spring up and bounce as if they were frogs. The cabinets open and shut, trying to match the beat of her laughter, and shelves shake.

Bruno’s chuckle is light, laced with a hum of amusement at the moment. The corner of his mouth rises into his cheek. A spark of mischief in his verdant eyes signals he’s about to perform playfully.

"I'm not?" He questioned, feigning shock.

Adelita shakes her head.

"Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock. Knock on wood." Bruno again recited. This time he thumps his fist against the table five times, then carefully bumps his daughter’s forehead once.

Her nose twitches. She processes his act and in an instant, a high pitched gleeful squeal escapes her lips, renting through the air. She further dissolves, crossing her arms over her stomach in an attempt to catch her breath, into a puddle of laughter.

"No, no! I'm not wood either!”

Bruno leans over so his forehead is pressing against hers. "Are you sure?" He interrogated, narrowing his eyes.

Adelita bit at her lip, scrunching her nose. She tries to suppress her laughter, but ends up bursting into another torrent of giggles. "Mm. For super sure." She replied as she used her forehead to push his head back.

Bruno could see she needed time to catch her breath. The child’s breathing had become wheezy and worrisome. The lack of air was beginning to make her gasp, as if the wind had been swiftly knocked out of her. Still, she is smiling. Her mouth spread wide in a childishly lopsided grin.

Bruno brings her onto his lap, rubbing her back in a soothing circle. Adelita relaxes against him so fully, he feels all her weight slump across him. She inhales slowly, still a bit shaky. Bruno, only for a moment, settles his chin atop her head before looking down and asking.

"Then what are you made of?"

She moves closer so that he feels the warmth radiating from her body, yet stays quiet, listening to his heartbeat. Lost in the rhythmic symphony of the organ’s beat, her shallow breathing steadies.

Her voice tumbles out cooly. "Um, flowers, and wishes, I like wishes, and love. I think." She spoke, each word seemingly chosen with mindful consideration.

Lita absentmindedly picks at a loose thread in his ruana, letting her head tilt backward. “Papi, what are you made of?” Her eyes flare up at him, cast aglow by the flecks of gold peppering the rims of her steady, deep brown orbs and sunlight dancing through the kitchen’s open spaces.

Bruno heaves a sigh.

"Bones,” he replied, sounding earnest. However, his tone is interlaced, braided with innocent witticism.

Adelita lets out a short, sort of drained giggle. She blinks, following this, her eyes squinch. A corner of her lip twitches for a moment, then her mouth settles in a smooth, faint smile.

"No.” She protested. She cuddles further against him. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his ruana, not clasping it tightly, but just enough to reassure her that he’s present.

Adelita, despite her age, absorbed things and then responded with all the magnanimity and weightiness she was capable of.

“You're made of love too." She said, as if it were a simple, all too obvious fact.

Adelita suddenly felt the muscles of his body tense as pressure builds inside his chest and in that moment his arms squeezed a fraction tighter. His lower body more or less trembles, similar to the way it does when a chill surges through the spine.

She moves to her knees with a growing sense of concern.

“Papi?”

She stares at him, eyes darting left and right, seeking to identify his feelings. He gives a hint at a smile. There is a tightening in his throat and a short unsteady intake of breath. Tears silently trickle down his cheeks.

“No. Papi, don’t cry.” Lita wipes the tears from his cheeks. A gentle smile appears on his lips. The adoring expression on his face indicates his true sentiments.

The sound of knocking came fivefold.

"Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock–”

Adelita, she gently places her small hands on the sides of his face. “Don’t worry, Papi.” Her eyes met his, and they shared a smile. “I’ll protect you from the bad stuff.”

Bruno positions his forehead against hers, so that their noses are mere inches apart. With a loving expression, he gazed at her. He gently bumps their temples together.

“Knock on wood."

My thought process: Gee, I want to give someone glasses-> Lol, coffee kid looks like baby Bruno -> Aww, what if they were Mirabel’s cousin/Antonio’s brother? -> OMG! What if they were Adopted by Bruno!? -> A rat man and his coffee addicted son (they both suck at sleeping) -> His gift could be dream manipulation (the miracle’s way of saying go the f to sleep!)

Thus Juancho Madrigal was born.

An expressions practice page I did for Adelita with her updated outfit.