#the next chapter of my fanfic is centered around her and bruno (and a good chunk of it is in her pov) and im so excited to post it shdhfjgk | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sadlyhalcyon · 2 years

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Maybe We'll Be Butterflies - Encanto Fanfic (Bruno x OC) - Chapter 1

Masterpost. Story Notes

AUTHOR'S NOTES - Dear Reader,

First off, I wanted to thank you for giving my story a chance. It's probably going to venture into some odd or confusing territory for people, especially if there's terms or information that you might have to google before you get the full gist of and for that, I'm sorry! I do hope you'll stick around for the long run. There will be some adult or uncomfortable themes in this story - racism, sex, etc. I would rather no one younger than 18 engage with this work. In better news, this chapter is really an early peek into what I have in store - originally, I wanted to wait until the day after Valentine's to post this on AO3, but I don't think I can wait any longer! Chapters 2 & 3, should be up by next week, no longer than two. There's something charming about the world of Encanto and its mix of magic and realism, that brings to mind a few of my favorite works. Which also includes 100 Years of Solitude - I hope I can do this justice. Thank you.

Chapter 1 a hurricane is sometimes the only thing that brings you back again.

length - 7,153 words

rated: R, maybe M+ in the future. There is some cursing, mentions of racism/cultural differences and beliefs of the past that do not reflect the current. Nor do they reflect the beliefs of the author. This IS an alternative universe fanfic, so there is some canon divergance and plenty of original characters to fill in the gaps.

(Remember, this was the 1920's in Latin America)

Encanto, COLOMBIA APRIL 15TH, 1928

⛅ON THE DAY Pepa married her costeño, Bruno could see the dark clouds that swirled around her head form like a swarm around its hive. The wedding date was set on the weekend right after holy week – deep in the heart of April. So, because of this, the center of the Cocora Valley was a kettle boiling. And one wrong move, a glance, a word, could boil it over. The sky was a clear shade of sapphire. No clouds. No surprises. It was, after all, April. Bruno had worked himself into a frenzy since after Easter Sunday Mass. He could feel his elder sister’s stress as her wedding day loomed. The week started badly, with Pepa’s dress still requiring some adjustments only seven days ahead and the marriage license not being delivered from Bogotá on Tuesday as promised.

A tornado ripped through the house that entire night. It was only by the grace of God that Encanto was still standing. Julieta and Agustín were in a slight disagreement about his incident-prone nature, too. Bruno barely knew what started it, but Agustín ended up sleeping on the kitchen floor – and bumping his head on the table every morning until Sunday. Good enough for Julieta, she too, was stressed.

Planning for her baby sister’s wedding day that was bound to be a feast had taken so much out of her. And poor Julieta, as the eldest, had so much to shoulder. People relied on her gift.

Her arepas cured all things from paper cuts to rheumatism. Some parts of her hair had already turned white, and she was only 26. So, at the risk of being improper here, her husband would have been a distraction… in many ways.

And most importantly, there was Mamá Alma, his own mother. This engagement took a lot for her to bare. The implications are not nice, but to be fair, the attitude of the time was not unlike that of most. Yes, Encanto was home to many kinds. The villagers that bravely escaped with her were people of all castas. Strong men and women who did what they had to. People like her husband, and Bruno’s blessed father, Pedro. Félix was a good man, anyone could see that, Bruno especially. But Mamá Alma was from a generation that wasn’t long separated from the ideal of mejorar la raza.

And while Alma loved her children, it was Pepita, her rain and shine, that she fretted over just a little bit more, as far as her looks went. It started with her hair. He’d quote his mother: “When I saw the red start to grow in, your father and I were surprised.” Like a lot of Colombians, like a lot of Latinos in general, they identified as proud Mestizos; a group comprised of Spainard and pueblos indígenas blood. Although, they weren’t sure what groups they were descended from that were indigenous to the land (Mamá has always believed they were Páez or Kogis), it showed strongly in their features.

Their bone structures: other than Julieta, whose face had always been soft and round, were angular. In her youth, Mamá’s profile and long, dark hair made her the appropriation of some long-lost ancestor who existed in a time before the Niña, the Pinta, and the Santa María washed ashore to Hispaniola.

Bruno imagined she had a name that would tie the tongues of even the most skilled linguists. As she aged and the black gave way to gray, she would always tie her hair back in a low crown above her neck, like a proper Spanish lady.

But Pepa stood out. Even before she could walk or talk, their mother marveled at how to keep her skin from burning and secretly prayed that her eyes stayed green. When she was still a baby, she had hopes that she would grow to be a bit of a debutante. A good Catholic woman, who was domestic, kind, and charming. She found that in Julieta, instead, who even married early.

But with Pepa… Mamá Alma would lament, Pepa was not only her rain and her shine. She was also her storm and her thunder. The girl stomped through life and took what she wanted. She was loud and colorful. And ran after her friends to parties and hole-in-the-walls long after midnight. All her friends loved it when the fiesta turned into a hailstorm. Alma and Pepa clearly did not see eye to eye when it came to using her

miracle as a party favor. Pepa was stubborn and so was Alma, no matter how different the two women appeared – in truth, they were the same woman.

So, when Pepa the beauty finally told her mother she wanted to marry the short, black, costeño a year prior to this one; the casita nearly exploded. “Did you even think to ask me for my blessing? I don’t even know this boy!” “Mamá, he is a man, and he is my Félix… if you would have known how good he treats me you could see how he would be a blessing to this family!” Alma laughed, her face incredulous.

Everyone knew her next words were to be acrid and insensitive, “A blessing? As far as I’m concerned, he is a curse!” For dinner, Julieta served sudado de pollo – a chicken and potato stew that warmed and healed the bones. Which was needed; outside and inside, the casita was in a down pour. God and nature stormed the outside and Pepa brought the winds to the house.

Cutlery, papers, blankets, knives, chairs, plants, cats, and dogs were in a whirl wind as she advocated for the legitimacy of her lover. Pepa was a flash of yellow-orange light against the dark maroon femininity of their prideful mother. Amid the storm, Bruno, Julieta, and poor, accident-prone Agustín, found cover underneath the kitchen table as the women scrapped. “I will marry him, Mamá! With or without your blessing.”

Julieta lamented to her husband, “How long will this storm last?” she sighed, “They’ve been at it for an hour…” Agustín quipped.

Bruno wasn’t who you’d call a brave man. He was quiet and contemplative, only opening his mouth to share what became of your future. Sometimes it was good news – your business being successful or a healthy baby. Other times, it was news you wish you didn’t know – like your fish dying, or your hair falling out before your 40thbirthday. He also had his tics – his own rituals of what he felt kept his whole world from crashing into the sea. Knocking on wood and throwing salt over your shoulder could only do so much. At this moment, he had no choice. He pulled the hood to his ruana over his eyes – shielding himself from the flying grit and winds that encircled the bickering pair. His eyes watered and blurred as he stood his ground, air filled his lungs as he readied his mouth to let out a booming, “I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!”

In an instant, the earth stood still. Plates, cups, and other forms of food ware clattered to the stone floor – a glass smashed atop of poor Agustín’s head just as he and his wife poked from beneath the safety of the dinner table. The casita started its work to put away the rest. Both women looked towards him, their glares burned into his skin like pokers. He continued. “I-” he deflated his chest a little, which gave him his usual slouch, “…am tired of this fighting.” Bruno said meekly. “Mamá,” her expression switched from a glare to a more somber one, like a child being chided by an exhausted mother. “…Félix is a good man.” He shrugged. “Pepita – I’m sorry. I know you did not want us to tell Mamá – but they have been together for a year now.”

Storm clouds glowered over his sister’s head as her eyes and face welled up with sadness, “Pepa, is this true?” Their mother asked. Pepa nodded, “Yes…”

Julieta and Agustin had long moved from their hiding place and held each other’s hands while Bruno stood away from them. He lifted his hood as guilt riddled his features and heart. “Bruno? Julieta? Agustín? Did you know this?” They all looked down. Julieta gripped her husband’s hand tighter to herself, while he bit his lip. Bruno looked away and rubbed his neck. Without saying a word, she knew the answer.

“Pepa? Do you love this man?”

“Yes.”

“Does he treat you well?”

“Of course, ama!”

She explained further on how much Félix loved her. He loved her in ways that she never saw in other men, in other people. “He lets me express myself. Even when my clouds form, he allows the rain to pour.” The color in Pepa’s face blushed gold – she was glowing. Alma saw that look in her eyes that reminded her of the look she gave to Pedro on the night they met. “He doesn’t need my miracle for entertainment or for a friend’s crops to grow... he just wants me.” At the end of it, the clouds were replaced by sunshine. Rays of sunlight shone through the windows to warm their faces. Alma gathered her daughter in a warm embrace.

“Mi Pepita…You have my blessing.”

Bruno knocked on the dinner table, just to make sure it stuck.

A week later, Félix introduced himself to the casita for the first time.

🌦

Back in the present, the casita was abuzz with activity. Visitors went in and out to leave gifts and well wishes to Mamá Alma and words of encouragement to Pepa. By breakfast, Pepa, Julieta, and the rest of the bridal party clambered about as they fussed over each other’s hair and clothing, Julieta especially. Every so often he’d see her go back and forth from their sister’s room and then to the equally crowded kitchen. She had an army of help that was comprised of mostly mothers and grandmothers from town, but the thing about Julieta was that the kitchen was her apothecary. Any wrong move, she felt responsible. So, like clockwork, she was in and out: Makeup. Arepas. Hair. Sanchoco. Dress. “Maria, make sure the buñelos don’t burn! Ximena, watch the potatoes! Perdita – did your husband finish roasting the pig last night? Good, put him in the oven. I need to put on shoes.”

Mamá Alma too, took her role as the mother of the bride just as seriously.

Instead of her usual maroon and black, she chose a pale lilac dress to offset the sun’s rays. She had a fan that she would wave vigorously into her face that had been so meticulously powdered a shade too pale for her actual coloring as she belted out commands to decorators and other wedding guests. “Careful with my daughter’s gifts, I’d hate for her to bring a blizzard here!” “Don’t put the catteleyasthere! They do not match with the colors of the banner. I want to make sure mi Josefa’s day is magnificent!” All perfectly punctuated with a muttered, “¡Ay, Dios Mío!” and a tsk. Úrsula, Félix’s mother, noticed this and patted the other woman’s back playfully, “Why the long face, Almanita? Our children are in love and our families shall be joined forever, no need to stress, sister.” Úrsula was a vision in goldenrod – a tall, ochre colored woman with a smooth face and full lips. Her back was always straight and her dark eyes sparkled behind her long lashes. She wrapped her hair in a tall, white tignon and every time she walked, the beads on her neck would clack. If you knew Felix, you knew Úrsula, and if you knew Úrsula, you’d know Felix. Úrsula was an ex-performer. When she was sixteen, she was one of the first black performers to sing for el presidente before the troubles started. When she turned nineteen, she married a drummer with her coastal town’s troupe, a man nearly ten years her senior, but he was good to her. She gave him nine children, the youngest being Félix. Úrsula, like Alma, was also a fixture in her own community. Even though her singing career had long ended, she was always musical and so were the rest of her family. When you heard them, the Garcia y Marquezes, somehow you could see the song happen, firsthand. The way they told stories, the way she told stories, she placed you right there at the scene. If she told you a parable of a great king hiding himself as a poor man to test the heart of man – you were right there on the corners, begging with him. If she sang about a great warrior who fought for the favors of a goddess of an old pantheon, you were amongst the valley of the orixá with said warrior; humbled and pitifully human. And if Úrsula sang you a love song about a mermaid lamenting her love for her prince, you could smell the sea.

For the past week, since she took the rest of her family (Félix’s siblings, cousins, aunties, uncles, and grandbabies) to go the long way to Encanto, she had strived to build some comraderie with the other woman. She was eager to help her with planning and tried her best to make sure that both mother-in-laws could shine. When Julieta had trouble in the kitchen, she’d volunteer herself and the rest of Felix’s sisters (seven in all) to help.

If Pepa was forming a cloud, she’d sing a song about the promise of the rainbow, and soon a flood of color (instead of water) would brighten the house. She was a gracious, polite guest. And with every tree branch she allayed to the other lady, Alma would dash it into the fire and walk off.

Like now, her gentle gesture of kindness, of rubbing or stroking the other woman’s shoulder made Mamá momentarily cringe. “Oh please,” Alma waved her fan with such ferocity you’d fear her arm fall off, “If you had a daughter that could shake your house down with a hailstorm, you’d have the same face.” She huffed, “Just be glad she’s in a good mood. Hopefully, she’ll stay that way.” Úrsula, ever gracious, only smiled, “I see, I see.” Once again, Alma stormed off.

To Bruno, the Madrigal women were like stretched guitar strings – one last twist and all three would break and the music would be left discordant. And he was the musician. For the past few weeks, Bruno existed in a space between the light and the shadows. He had mastered the art of being overlooked for most of his life. Once the ever-lasting candle granted him his miracle of soothsaying, he seemed to lose the attentions of most. It started on the school yard. The other children were mystified by it, at first.

But once he started seeing things like, say, someone’s father being caught with their neighbor’s mother (said in an innocent manner, of course), or someone failing their arithmetic tests, it was natural that he wasn’t well liked. He was blessed to have his sisters, but even they would wince at his prophecies. “You’ll make the world’s unluckiest man the luckiest man in the world.” Or “Your husband will be from Chocó.” Which wasn’t a bad thing in itself, but it was rather inconvenient since Departamento del Chocó was closer to Panama than Encanto and Pepa grew bored of the transients and jazz musicians that wanted to conquer her but did not intend to marry her.

Sweet, shy, Julieta humored her baby brother’s prophecy and the next day met Agustín as a dinner guest. Like it was said before, sometimes it was something you didn’t want to hear and sometimes it was, but it was always the truth.

Bruno looked at the linen guayabera and khaki trousers on his bed and frowned. The one wedding gift Pepa asked from him, and he couldn’t conjure it. An entire week and nothing. He even got her involved the night before – held her hands in his as she sat across from him in the kitchen and… nothing. Only a green flash and another flash of lightning. Poor Félix became a mediator that evening.

“It doesn’t matter, Pepa!” Félix whispered to his wife to be before he left for his tía’s home in the dark, “I’m sure he’ll see something soon. Something good!” From his view in his tower, he saw the two kiss before they separated. It was then that Bruno felt that familiar sinking feeling in his chest.

Something was coming. In the present moment, his sandy complexion turned ashen.

He needed to act.

Meanwhile…

In the present day, two women traveled in a green canoe a few kilometers outside of Encanto. One lady, the one rowing, was younger than the other. Her red skirt blew in the wind as she balanced herself and the boat. Her appearance obscured by the equally ruby colored aguayo she wore to protect her eyes from the sun, but her blouse was white.

Her rosary beads swung low from her pocket – the image of Christ sparkled in the midday sun. The older lady, the one that was sitting, was busying her hands with her knitting. Her hair, black with white streaks and thick, was pulled back in a long braid. She wore a black poncho with a prismatic pattern of colors (blue, red, yellow, green, and pink) stitched up to vaguely resemble a pattern of mountains overlooking a river. Her skin matched red clay – bronzed with a ruddy undertone. She had a profile that resembled an arrow – the front of her hair cut into blunt bangs complete a sharp nose and squinted, dark eyes. Her eyebrows had thinned. Her face was smooth but combined with the grey in her hair and the pair of lines that framed her lips like a parenthesis in a sentence, her age was apparent. Two gold rings hung low from each ear and atop her head was a simple felt hat, black in color but with a large enough brim to shield her eyes from the sun.

The small boat was gently rocked by the river’s waters as the women rowed on to their destination. The older woman took this time to break through the seal of silence that held their journey since that morning, “We’re close,” the sitting woman said as she reached into her purse to grab a smoker’s pipe and a pinch of marijuana and tobacco to pack it with. “I know.” Said the young woman without ceasing her work. The women spoke in a language that was indecipherable to the naked ear. It was not Spanish, but it was clear that both women spoke it fluently, but especially the sitting woman. She mutters something quietly now before striking a match on her heel to light her pipe.

After two small puffs, she sighed, “Remédios, it’s going to rain.”

…

A yellow butterfly landed on her paddle and then flitted away at the lightest movement.

“I know, Magüi.”

☔︎

He had to tell her. He had to tell her. He. Had. To. Tell. Her. Today was not a good day to be married. He no time to dress up or dance the cumbia with his mother and sisters. Not at all. He left his hiding place: walked the bridge that connected his world to theirs and pushed through the sand covered entrance that led him to his actual door. His heart thumped through his chest, like a rabbit in a snare. The shaggy haired youth flipped the hood of his ruana over his eyes and walked into the fray. At that very moment, he felt the sensation of being simultaneously observed and dismissed in the same breath. Each glance made his way was immediately translated in his mind as something bad.

He turned to walk into the same direction of a young blonde woman (who happened to be walking in the same direction as the stairs that led to his sister’s room), and she quickly turned around and avoided his presence. She wasn’t the only one. The crowd of wedding guests and family members would thin around him, creating a bubble where only he was encased of.

Any time he even turned to the direction of someone else, they would quickly switch their direction or step off in a hurry. At the end of the staircase his legs felt like they were weighed down with lead braces. “Don’t look too hard at him. He might try to talk to you!” He took a step. “Is that…?” “Yes, it is…” “I heard he drank rat’s blood.” And then another. “Does his mother know he made a pact with the devil to make his visions stronger? At least, that’s what the banana farmer’s-wife’s-cousin’s-sister told me.”

And then another. “He’s so fearsome and terrible when he uses his powers.” And then another. “My little girl got so scared when he tried to see her future on her birthday that I didn’t even want to know.” “I don’t think he bathes. He always looks so dingy!” Until finally, he was at Pepa’s door. “What an unfortunate looking man.”

He shook, his entire body quaked as he rapped his knuckles against the engraving on her door. He only needed to plant two knocks on it until it was opened by a bridesmaid on alert. She was a pale, thin brunette with large, dishwater colored eyes and tightly pursed lips. “Yes? What do you want, Bruno?” Her brows furrowed, a few of the other bridesmaids chimed in, “Well?” It was then Bruno felt as a big as a flea. Probably smaller. An amoeba? He was still shaking. “Ugh, Josefa! Your brother is bothering us.”

“Lidia, I-” he was just about to explain his case to the gaggle of harpies, but Pepa pushed through her posse with a determined shove and a disappointed kiss of her teeth, “Pssssh..” The sound of fallen sand pushed past her lips, causing the women to scatter like hens from a fox, “…bother or no bother, he’s still my baby brother.” She looked back up towards Bruno again, her head clear of any signs of inclemency, “We’re not in the schoolhouse, anymore! Leave him alone.” Pepa was nearly ready to walk her final walk. Her off-white dress was a simple ensemble, with careful embroidery on her sleeves and skirt.

The ruffles on her collar gave it a dancer’s flair. Her lips were painted rogue, and her eye shadow was mauve in color. She wore her hair in its characteristic braid, but tied away with a yellow ribbon, which stood out amongst all of the white. Pepa did not have her veil yet, but he could see it in the background amongst the women in the room that ran amuck to ready themselves. Lidia pulling up her stockings or Amaranta squeezing into her corset. Pepa gave him a wry look and closed the door behind her once she noticed, “Don’t give them any more ideas to bully you more. I just took up for you..” she shook her head.

“Pepa, I- I’m sorry..” He quickly went ahead to slip in a commendation at the last moment, “You look beautiful.” She rolled her eyes and folded her arms above her chest. “You’re always sorry, Bruno.” To soften the blow, she grinned and said, “…and I know, thank you.”

There was a lull in their conversation that finally granted him the chance to work up the nerves to say this next sentence.

“Pepa, I need to tell you something.”

◌

The mountains that guarded Encanto from the outside loomed over the traveling women. The younger one rowed while her elder company smoked. “We’re almost there, Magüi. I can see the trees!” Tall palm trees dotted the landscape and swayed gently in the breeze as if to welcome them to their home as guests. Magüi (ma-gwee), said nothing. But in her mind, she pitied Remédios. Young people are stubborn. It was best for her to not interfere with this. She had warned her twice. First, was the night before at the inn in Pereira. In the dark, neither woman could see as they fought their losing battle against sleep. In the bed they shared, the older woman confided to her companion, yawning, “I have a bad feeling. My knees feel tight – there will be a hurricane. We should just arrive later, Remé.”

“I have no worries or doubts. You’ve served me my entire life. If you need the rest, then say so.”

Magüi shook her head at this now. Silly girl. The second time was just now. “At least let me help paddle, Remita. My knees are fine.” Her knees still felt that dull, throbbing sensation of pain from the night before. The type of pain all grandmothers and old tías had when they knew bad weather was coming. Older people had the power to predict the weather, it’s a well-known fact, and Magüi was no different. Remédios paddled their canoe forward, they were close to the entrance of Encanto, now. A few puffs of her pipe and she sighed. The sun was high and the sky was a clear topaz. The fish in the river were plenty and the breeze was gentle.

Something was coming.

“Well,” Pepa asked again with an eyebrow quirked up, “…what is it?”

Bruno’s mouth suddenly became dry. He basically croaked out his next words, “You’ve been glowering all day.” Pepa looked at him, unconvinced, her eyes widened, “What are you saying?” A small cloud formed above her head, replacing her carefully formed rainbow. “What do you mean?” Bruno’s gut churned, he stumbled backwards, “I don’t- I just think you’re stressed out-”

“Stressed out?” Her frown turned into a scowl, “STRESSED OUT?!” She howled, the small cloud turned into several, graying. So did the sky outside – once a beaming blue, now a neutral white-gray and getting even grayer. The wind had picked up, too. Once gently rocking the palma de cera outside, had suddenly decided to bend them back like an archer’s bow. Julieta left Pepa’s room, her face full of concern after she heard the commotion behind the door. She placed a hand on her younger sister’s shoulder, “Bruno? Pepa? What’s going on?”

Pepa snatched away from her elder triplet’s touch. Her voice a dagger, “NOTHING! EVERYTHING IS FINE, JULIETA!” The rest of the wedding party took notice. Just as much as Bruno feared, all eyes were on him. “Everything is fine! I’m perfectly happy! I worked so hard for this day to be happy!” She jabbed a finger into his chest, “And poor Julieta!” She gestured back to their shared sister, “She had the menu for the dinner worked out for MONTHS, Bruno! MONTHS! And she’s still taken the time to try on dresses, put on shoes, put on makeup, EVERYTHING! FOR ME!” She wasn’t done, of course she wasn’t, the clouds that formed above her head clustered. As she ranted, she walked forward, pushing him down each step until they were both on the floor of the casita. “Mamá has worked TIRELESSLY to get everything just right just for ME. She’s basically planned HALF of this wedding since the engagement, Bruno, HALF!” A crowd formed, and Alma had shoved her way through to its nucleus. She shook her head, what has that boy done now? In situations like this, she thought she knew what to do. Her voice was gentle but firm, even in the theatrics of the moment. “Pepa, calm down. Calm down-”

Pepa’s storm clouds thundered and so did the sky, lighting prickled across her entire form as she snapped her head back towards their mother – her face blood red with fury:

“I. AM. CALM.”

Back again to Bruno, his heart thumped and thumped again as his eyes watered and his ears turned red.

Don’t cry. You’re a grown man, don’t cry. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Swallow it down, swallow it whole.

“What have you done, Bruno? Hm?” She gave him an expression that made it appear that she wanted him to say something, but she continued, “You sleep all day, and you wake up once the day’s work been done, by midday!” She screeched, “Half the house clean and here’s Bruno, rubbing sleep from eyes in his underwear!” Several scandalized gasps could be heard as whispers of condemnation could be heard, “Typical. The youngest and only boy. No wonder, Alma babies him.” “If that was my son, I would’ve had him conscripted to the military.” “Lazy and creepy? Such a pathetic man.” “Those Mirabel women are tired, working themselves to the bone. And he just sits there making his lousy predictions. Get a job!”

Pepa didn’t know this, but in the future, she would long regret saying this next sentence. She would long regret this entire outburst. But the flood gates had been opened. In her mind, he was given everything. Every opportunity, every chance, everything – to show that he was more than just being ‘Pepa and Julieta’s mopey, eerie brother.’ Something she’s heard nearly their entire lives. In the future, she would long wish she confronted her brother in a firm, yet kind manner. But him dooming her wedding day was the last straw.

“Sleep! Eat! Whine! And Shit! That’s all you do. That’s all you’ve ever done since you got your gift! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

⛆

The sky was a fearsome sight. Angry, dark clouds, fat with rainwater just ready to let loose on the earth below growled with thunder. Between the sudden darkness and the wind burning her eyes, the young woman steering the canoe could barely see. “Remé! There! We can stop there and walk our way into the town. We don’t have much time before it pours!” After ignoring the older woman’s requests, the woman called Remédios finally did. They ran aground at the river’s side, with Remédios tying it to a tree stump before she helped Magüi step out by having her lean on her arm to safety. The older woman walked with a limp, but she refused to use the offered paddle as a cane, stating, “It’ll slow us down even further, Remé. Now come on, the wind is picking up.”

Just as she said that small pellets of water splashed upon their heads as a trickle. They walked faster, huddled together with their arms protectively interlocked. The younger woman covered her elder friend underneath her shawl for protection as they hauled whatever of their belongings they could in a heavy sack tied to Magüi’s side. The women only walked a short distance to the top of a hill that exposed the current pandemonium of the town. All manner of creature, human and while, ran amuck as they tried to avoid the rain and wind. As they walked further and further to the town’s square, they would have to dodge several times before they found shelter underneath the covered patio of a restaurant. The owner, a curvaceous, tanned blonde shook her head, “Pepa has finally lost it.”

Bruno had stumbled backwards out into the courtyard of his home, face to face to the disaster he had indirectly caused. His entire body felt out of sorts as he pushed through person to person to find some hiding place. When he ran off, Pepa finally burst out into tears, which flooded both the inside and the outside of the casita. Inside, he was admonished and shamed by the wedding guests. Outside, if he wasn’t being glared at, he would be shoved aside – he was in the way of the others finding shelter from something he did. He lowered the hood of his ruana and planned to continue to run off, but a firm hand stopped him in place. “Señor Madrigal,” It was Úrsula, underneath an umbrella, “I’m going to bring my son from my sister’s. Could you go down to the church and let the priest know that we are ready?” She was cheerful, her smile wide from ear to ear, “And Bruno,” She patted his shoulder. For someone in the eye of a storm, she was surprisingly calm. “Do not take your sister’s words to heart. I have a feeling she’ll be fine as soon as the ceremony is complete.” Just before she went off, she offered him an invention, “I do hope you’ll be coming to the second ceremony after the reception – there will be music, there will be dancing. And you will be dancing.” That was a command.

He swallowed, the apple of his throat bobbed, “Yes, ma’am.”

Bruno did as she requested. He was shivering at the church’s door and once it finally opened, the priest went in and grabbed a second umbrella for the scrawny man out of pity. It was a short distance to his home from the small holy building, still, the heavy winds made the trek feel longer. When the priest offered to let him into the casita (which blew a gust of air and debris as soon as he opened the door), Bruno only shook his head. “I’m fine. Truly.” He was the last person wanted there. Although, he did finally peek through the windows in the back. He couldn’t hear the words, but Félix held his sister’s face in his hands and placed his forehead unto hers as the priest said their rites. Pepa had tears in her eyes, she had stared sobbing just as Bruno left that first time, but her expression grew serene.

The clouds began to part. Ever slowly, the sun began to peak through the barrier of gray, although it was much lower in the horizon. Even with the sun out, the rain still fell as a silent drizzle. Once Pepa and Félix kissed, however, that was when Bruno decided to leave. He wasn’t leaving forever, but his mind told his body that he needed to be away from the casita for a bit, and so his body followed suit.

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“Remé,” Underneath the patio, the two women eventually ordered an early dinner of lechona tolimense – rice and potato stuffed pork and hot tea – and as they finished their dinner, both noticed the sudden change in the weather. But Magüi was the first to say something, “The rain has stopped. Maybe we should find a place to rest before we move to that old farmhouse you mentioned before?” Just as Remédios stood to pay their bill and make any other concrete decisions as far as lodging for the night, her aguayo fell from her head and blew away, “Ay!” without thinking, she tried to grab it, but every time she got close, it moved away from her. Almost as if by some unexplained phenomena that decided, at this very moment to bring the garment to life to play a game of chase with its owner. Magüi, the voice of reason as always, tried to dissuade her companion from trying to retrieve it, but as always, Remédios did not listen to her. “Remédios, it’s just a shawl! Leave it!”

“But it’s mine and you made it for me!” The younger woman yelled in Spanish before she went off to follow it.

“That girl.” She shook her head, “So careless.” She chuckled and gestured to the restaurant owner from before, “Here, I’ll pay, there’s some rooms available upstairs, yes?”

Bruno wanted to be an actor. The first time he saw a movie was when one of the richest men in town brought in a project and a few reels sent over from a cousin living in the United States. Charlie Chaplin. D.W. Griffith. Lilian Gish. He was enamored by them and those two-dimensional captures of the world at that very moment. The great fun they appeared to have, even if the movie itself was more somber. Lilian in Broken Blossoms made him weep, especially. Seeing her inspired him. However, he was a boy then. And if he had known that the life of an actor was nearly impossible for a man who spoke no English and lived in the mountains of Colombia for the entirety of life along with the fact that his house was alive, and he could see the future? He probably would have joined the military at eighteen, instead.

Every time she felt as if she were close enough to grab that piece of cloth, it would seemingly fly away, like a bird or a butterfly. Teasing her, leading her on every time. She didn’t notice that it was leading her further and further away from Encanto.

Bruno had walked to the edge of Encanto, atop a hill that gave him the full layout of the town. He was of two minds, one was relief. He was reminded of what had happened to the town once called Macondosome years ago. After four years of non-stop rain, an awful windstorm struck Macondo that Encanto luckily suffered just some mild flooding from – after 100 years, the entire place collapsed with no survivors. Poor Macondo. The second was regret. He was as frustrated with himself as everyone else was with him. If only he did help the women in his life. If only he helped with setting up the party or served food. If only he supported, his mother and found a job. If only he had a vision worth telling people. If only he could lie.

She was annoyed, but somewhat intrigued. What was this red shawl, this aguayo, trying to do? She didn’t even realize inanimate objects had minds of their own. Then again, she had been surprised many times for the past fifteen years. She was a blur of red, speeding off into the distance, she could see the lamplights turn on and the sky grow a dark, vibrant pink and purple. The smell of grass filled her nose as she chased after her garment. She kicked her sandals off. They were slowing her down and dropped them near the river – two steps on the water and two steps on land, apparently. Her legs pumped faster and faster as she laughed, and her belly was full of excitement. Her skirts flipped up and she did care who saw. Her feet were muddy, and she didn’t care who saw. All that mattered was the chase. She felt like a little girl again.

But he could not. Bruno Madrigal cannot lie.

The sun was setting, and the sky was a luminous pink with yellow undertones. Purple clouds with small stars embedded in them, shone like diamonds as he could barely pick out the faded outline of the moon. His had began to dry, but his sandals and the bottoms of his pants legs were still soaked. He felt the familiar prick of a mosquito bite at his ankle, and as he bent to scratch himself, something red landed on his face.

She ran as far as she could, and found herself at the edge of Encanto, every so often, she’d looked back and see the small town become smaller until she was at the top of the hill. She was breathless. Encanto was a beautiful place.

He sputtered, the surprise and the obscuration of his vision made him trip backwards. Being gangly and awkward seemed to be a reoccurring in his life, this was no different. Once he finally pushed the offending piece of fabric from his face – he saw a woman. She was short and wore a skirt that stopped just short against her ankles that matched the red of what he assumed was her shawl. Her lashes were long, and her nose sat upturned on her face. Her lips were plush, and heart shaped. Her skin could be described as ‘carnelian’ – brown, with deep, red-orange undertones highlighted by the setting sun. In the low light, he could barely figure out her hair; but it was black in coloring. Built up in wiry, tight coils that fell at her shoulders, with a small braid crowning across her hairline. Her ears were pierced with gold hoops that hung just above her neck. Her neck was long, and her eyes matched the warmth of wild honey. She looked like she could have been experiencing a plethora of emotions – her thick brows contorted into an expression that could be concluded as concern, or fear. Also, she was barefoot.

Her blouse appeared dirty, but the soiling looked recent, as if she had been playing outside and lost track of time. Their eyes locked, she looked away quickly. Bruno stood to his full height, he tried to reach out to her, offering the shawl in one hand and then the other as a greeting. “I’m sorry miss, is this yours?” He tried his best to appear nonthreatening, he knew his reputation. He also realized that he hadn’t seen this woman anywhere in town, yet there was this inexplicable familiarity that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. This woman should be a stranger, but he recognized her, “Miss?” He called for her, and she turned back to face him, and yes… there was something so personal about this moment. So, still and oddly refreshing? Was that right word? He was close enough to see her eyes, but she did not investigate his. He offered her the fabric, and finally, he asked her, “I’ve seen you somewhere, right? At the square?” She shook her head, “No.”, and she pulled backward, still facing him. “At church then? The Easter Mass?” She shook her head again. Every time she took a step back, he took a step forward. She was a magnet, and he was a piece of iron. He snapped his fingers, the grin spread across his face almost goofily, “Ah-ha!” He nodded, “You must be here for Félix and Pepa’s, my sister’s, wedding, right? You’re a costeña. From the coast? Félix must be a cousin.” She blinked, her expression was still unreadable. “Well, I’m Bruno. Bruno Madrigal.” Nothing. He smiled again, hopeful,“….it’s nice to meet you!” And just like before, she shook her head, her eyes were forward, but she did not look at him. If anything, she looked through him. “I have no idea…” She shook her head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and while it’s nice to meet you, Bruno, I am leaving now.” And with that, she ran.

“B-but wait! Your shawl- thing! Wait!” He tried to follow her, but she was long gone by the time he made it to the river’s bank. He found a pair of slippers near the water and as he judged from the size, he figured they were hers. He gathered all three items with him and started his trek back to the village, down the hill, and to the city square. The entire time he thought about her and why she looked so familiar. And more importantly, why did it feel like the earth stopped moving when they locked eyes?

He wished he had her name first.

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#encanto fanfic #bruno x oc #maybe we'll be butterflies #encanto #ao3 fanfic #maybe unrequited #definitely slow burn #hurt/comfort #angst #fanfiction

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