kathasofwander - Tumblr blog

kathasofwander · 3 years ago

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Awww, so cute!! 🥺🥺🥺

Housekid AU Part 4

Part 1 here Part 2 here Part 3 here

Idea: Casita raises Mirabel

Julieta is Busy. Very Busy. Busy making sure the people of Encanto are healthy. Busy stopping outbreaks of diseases due to weak, untrained immune systems before they could go any bigger. Busy cooking food all day and night so she could fulfill her job in the first place. Busy, Busy, Busy.

Agustin is Busy. Very Busy. Busy assisting his wife in the kitchen. Busy assisting his wife in whatever errands she had for the day. Busy providing her ovens with the right amount of firewood. Busy, Busy, Busy.

Julieta and Agustin are very Busy.

The kitchen's practically their Room now.

The only breaks they ever get are during sleep, eating times, and for hygiene.

And even those are tainted with work.

Sleep filled with the worries of tomorrow's tasks. Eating times filled with new orders chores being handed out. Heck, their baths are hardly baths at all. It's all as quick as one reasonably can make; because the more time passes that they aren't in the kitchen, the more time accidents and incidents are allowed to happen without Julieta's Gift as a Safety Net.

The more time reasons for her Mamá to double her workload are tempted to manifest.

She can't have that.

She can't handle any more.

So, Julieta works extra hard to not make any mistakes- to not have any delays or interruptions. Everything that's to be done is done; nothing more, nothing less. The Encanto is counting on her. Mamá is counting on her.

(It's tiring, but at least she isn't alone. Agustin is always by her side, and she sometimes gets to see her two daughters whenever their chores intersect in time and place. Those are always the best of days: when the four of them are together. Even for the briefest of minutes.

But lately, there's been something nagging at the back of Julieta's mind. There's been something that makes her heart plummet in that certain kind of fear; that raises her adrenaline in that familiar rush that often comes in the wake of a big epiphany. Specifically, the realization that she's forgotten something. Something important. Something very important apparently, because the feeling is slowly increasing in intensity with each passing day.

You've forgotten something. You've forgotten something. You've forgotten something. You've forgotten somethingYou'veforgottensomethingYou'veforgottensomethingYou'veforgottenYou'veforgottenforgottenforgottenforgottenforgOTtENFoRGOTtEnFORGOTTEN-

Did she?)

Perspective shift

A lot happened during the weeks following Abuelita's suggestion.

For one, Mirabel finally finished her new dress. It was still mostly white- she was her Mamí's kid, after all -but now it also has splashes of her Tio's green in the form of a scarf tied around her waist, the hourglass pattern line from his old Ruana lining the hem of her skirt, the tassles and frills at the bottom and underside of said skirt, and finally the new Glamour Bandana around her neck.

Seeing that she was going though a wardrobe change, she had decided to take the chance to ditch her old Glamour Ruana after her hermano's report of the accidental mind-screwing (plus sometimes it flies to cover her eyes during roof-runs; she now knows how it feels to land on the pavement face first), and also because of the fact that it was beginning to be too small for her.

Her brother had then suggested the bandanna as a replacement- because it was small and practical and subtle -and from there, the Glamour Bandanna was born.

"Are you sure this won't scramble my brain anymore?"

"I already said sorry, Yano!"

(Her Tio Bruno also cried for a good 40 minutes upon seeing her new dress, but that was to be expected. Don't worry though; Mirabel hugged and cuddled him, Mariano dug up his twistiest plotlines to share a laugh over, Abuelita made him tea, and Casita hummed a calming tune with her tiles. Their efforts washed the tears away, but the proud smile at seeing his ratoncita wearing his color remained smugly stuck on his face for the rest of the year.)

Next, in a discussion over Bruno's potential alter egos for public usage, attention was brought to Casita's lack of a last name. The matter, surprisingly, offended Senora Rosa Guzman; and the woman immediately sought to remedy it.

By offering her original apellido.

"Mi hermana, you're alive. You deserve, at the very least, a last name. So... if it isn't too forward, and you haven't picked one yet... you can use my maiden one. This way, not only will you have a complete nombre, we'd finally be sisters in name as well."

The loud explosion of motion around Mirabel's Lantern following that declaration was a resounding acceptance, and the youngest Madrigal added to the chaos by cheering for her mother's new apellido. (Idly, she wondered if 'Mirabel Valentina Rojas Guzman Milagros Madrigal' was too long a name now. It probably was, but honestly, she could care less. Her mother and Abuelita were 'officially' sisters now! That was the more important thing in this situation!)

Then finally, her Tio being public ready after weeks of preparation. The costumes for his rats were done, his stage-stand was primed, and his stories were proof-read and as riveting as ever.

Mirabel had also finished the enchanted threadwork for glamour needed on his cape (similar to her bandanna), and so with the added bonus of her mother gleefully, proudly letting her Tio have her new last name as his alter ego's- Oscar Milagros:The Storyteller was born.

"Hey, look at you, Tio!"

"Go Tio!"

"Knock their socks off, Brunieto!"

Suffice it to say, this year had been quite busy for the Guzman-Milagros-Madrigal Bunch, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

Bonds were tightening, connections were strengthening, skills were flourishing; the little family was thriving.

(And Casita couldn't help but preen proudly at the fact that she was the catalyst to all of this. She had set out to raise and take care of her Little Miracle, and she had done it. Her daughter won't ever be alone and unloved now

especially if something bad were to happen to her.)

Bruno's first show was held near the outskirts of town.

Not only did that fact allow him a small sample size of a viewing audience as a field test- as well as give the illusion that he came from outside of the Encanto with the usual traders -it was also away from Madrigal Traffic.

Because Alma Madrigal was always one for appearances, and that made her focus on the central part of town- unintentionally neglecting the Outskirts.

(They exploited that fact with unparalleled glee.)

So they dragged his wheeled stage-stand into one of the plazas, took a step back, and allowed Oscar Milagros to come out and play.

Later, Mirabel would be happy to report (read: Recall. They were all present for her Tio's first show) that it was a hit.

People were instantly drawn in by her Tio's natural air of mystique and playfulness. His new special way of speaking kept them in place just as much as the words conveying his tale. The weirdness and cuteness derived from his use of costumed rats in conjunction with his gorgeous painted backgrounds only added to his unique charm.

The hook of his Pilot episode certainly didn't hurt the positive reception either. From the current reactions, she couldn't wait to see how'd the Town would handle the biggest plot twist in Season 1.

All in all, it was a promising start. And as weeks went by with an episode every couple of days, it was clear that it'll only be uphill from there.

"Senor Oscar! Senor Oscar! What's gonna happen next?!"

"Ay, Oscar! You better give Georgia what she deserves!"

"I knew it! I called it!"

"Hey Oscar! They aren't really related, are they?"

"Senor Oscar! Can I play with your rats?"

"Oye, Oscar! Here's some cheese for your actors. They did a good job during Episode 24!"

"Oscar please tell me they'd get together! I can't handle the suspense!"

"No! No fucking way! That wasn't- wait. That was what that foreshadowing meant?!"

"Oscar hijo! Have a drink- that episode was more emotional than usual, eh?"

"Hey Oscar! When you showing at other parts of town? I have a couple of amigos interested over at the East side!"

"Guys, guys! Senor Oscar's here! He's here!"

The audience had even started throwing money at the end of each episode- which Tio Bruno originally declined, but in the end accepted to use for funding the show and repaying Abuelita despite her protests.

Mirabel took note of her Tio's growing self-confidence- his wide smile, carefree movement, much more expressive self; and smiled.

Yeah, he was going to be fine.

(The Lantern Burns, a little stronger.)

Perspective shift

It's almost Mirabel's birthday again (Ay Dios Mio, how time flies!), and Rosa Guzman has a Plan.

Ever since Little Mirabel found them (or more accurately, was led to) at the tender age of 6 and became her student in all things concerning the needle and thread, the woman has learned a lot about her adopted nieta.

(Never before has she felt the urge to strangle an old friend so strongly.)

The most relevant to her Plan though, was the fact that the little butterfly had to run from La Casa Madrigal all the way to La Casa Guzman and vice versa, every single day. Either on the roads, or on the rooftops.

It was good exercise yes- little Mirabel had the body of an athlete hidden under all that baby fat -but surely doing so so often, not to mention all the chaos that she usually falls into between each run, would be tiring?

And so thus, the Plan.

Casita's physical form would always be her home even if the family within it isn't, of course. But giving her precious Mirasol one of the guest rooms in the house for times she's too exhausted to make the trip would make for a good birthday present, no? Her own place in the house that isn't the Sewing Room. (She could even do the same for her darling Brunieto!) Oh, just thinking about all the benefits of such an arrangement for her beloved nieta makes her all the more excited to start.

And so, start she did.

The rooms themselves were already ready to house a person, so besides being a bland blank canvas (that would be absolutely bursting with color once her nieta was done with it, she was sure), she didn't have to worry about that front.

What all she really needed to do was get her Mirasol material and furniture to decorate her new room with, clean said room of dust, and go to Senor Alfonso downtown to commission for a personalized doorknob.

She had noticed that trend with all the Madrigal Doors- their doorknobs carved with the first letter of their name -and figured her nieta would like to have her own.

(Casita telling her that the Nursery's handle was only a dull, common knob was merely more motivation and more disappointment and sadness and anger and offense.)

The first two tasks were easy. All she had to do was keep the material and furniture in their supply crates and store them in the room during the evening (after she cleaned it, of course) when her nieta was at La Casa Madrigal.

The third one though...

"Really, Mama?!" Mariano's face was indescribably excited. At her fond nod, he beamed before saluting.

"You can count on me!"

Then he rushed off, grabbing his machete from the wall and practically burst into the Sewing room, eliciting an adorable yip of surprise from his hermanita.

"Yano wha-"

"Miraposita! Break! Mama's got a sudden errand to attend to! Wanna go Scouting with me?!"

Poor little Mirabel blinked at him a few times in confusion, but quickly recovered with a big, wide smile. Ah, they'll never get enough of that sight, will they?

"Really?!"

"Really! Race you to Montana View Point!" With his challenge made, Mariano ran to the nearest balcony, jumped on the railings, and climbed onto the roof with a masterful flip. Mirabel- with a bit of a scuffle to gently put away the piece she'd been working on and an indignant 'HEY!' -was right behind him, face set and her bag glowing extra bright as Casita shifted a few planks to allow her an unbroken sprint.

Seconds later, as Rosa watched her children fade into flitting dots above the rooves against the horizon; the woman smirked triumphantly.

Time to get that doorknob made.

Perspective shift

There's definitely something going on with the Lantern.

Casita hummed, feeling out that piece of her intertwined with her daughter's soul. Already, it's starting to feel less her and more Mirabel's; which was great! Not only would that strengthen both her Candelita and the Lantern's flame, it would also give Casita more of a leg to stand on when claiming the youngest Madrigal as a daughter.

(Unnoticed, Mirabel's image on The Madrigal Family Portrait slowly fades away. Bruno's is not far behind.)

But anyway; ever since Mirabel and Mariano's acknowledgement of their siblinghood, the Lantern Candle's Flame had suddenly switched from being just a window she can reach out from into a whole entire room. It's been storing energy, using energy, increasing little by little in magical strength- and for once, Casita doesn't have the faintest idea why. Actually, that's a lie, she does have a theory, but- it's too early to tell. Though if it is going that way...

Casita grinned.

She can't wait.

Perspective shift

Bruno understands, but he can't help but worry.

"Ay, little listener. What's the, what's the problem? Rain is beautiful but your clouds are so dark."

His little Bat hums tiredly, a half-heartedly eaten arepa in her hands. Her hair is loose and free, as his hands need them to be in order for a comb.

It's only a few minutes after his show today, after all. They've got time.

Brush, pull, brush, fluff. Her hair's smooth, silky. The sensation is funny.

"Tio...I've, I've been..." Her voice is smaller than usual.

"Hmm?"

"...it's her 8th soon." There's sadness, longing.

"You have a gift ready?" An out.

"We're up to 3 years now." Ah, he's always known she was as stubborn as her mother. She's started it, she's seeing it through. There's pride in his chest.

"They're up to 3 years. They forgot. We didn't. You didn't."

Gratitude flashes in her eyes. It's quick to be drowned. "She doesn't know though."

Bruno grins. "But she could."

There's fear. Of rejection, specifically. Of hate. It's irrational, Bruno thinks, considering his Mouse is involved.

"Isn't it too late?" Her voice had no business being that meek.

It doesn't suit her.

"We never stopped though, Little Bat. Even with, with me in Casita's walls. Even with you in Mamá's noose. Never missed a birthday. We've got perfect attendance. Mira's just not the Monitor for yours."

He thinks of the flashes of surprise, suspicion, recognition, and dangerous hope in his Mouse's eyes whenever she received one of Dolores' gifts under the guise of them being from Bruno.

He thinks of his Mouse going the extra mile for Dolores' gifts on her birthdays; more than for any other family member (except him).

He thinks- he hopes, really -that they might have a new family member soon.

"But she'd love to be, I feel," He grabs her red ribbon and begins tying, "She'd love to see your record."

A tight pull, a quick fluff. His sobrina's beautiful.

A bite on the arepa. "You think so?"

A smirk. "I know so."

There's... nervousness. Jittering. And then it's gone. An inhale, an exhale, one final breath; and determination replaces.

It doesn't go away.

"I should have enough of Abuela's trust by now," She breathes out, "That I, I could make it. I would make it. But- But I don't have a gift yet. I mean, I do but- it's not, it's- nothing worthy for this." The end is an octave higher.

Bruno laughs.

His smile is a little mad.

"Oh, little Bat. Your presence would be a gift enough."

Perspective shift

It's Mirabel's 8th birthday, and La Casa Guzman came alive in more ways than one.

Loud, enthusiastic greetings and songs. Impromptu dances. A flour fight in the kitchen while they were baking Mirabel's cake. A scuffle-tickle-wrestling fight in the same kitchen while they were trying to clean it up. A water fight in the bathroom while they were getting cleaned up. Playing dress-up in Mariano's room and the whole debacle ending with them somehow making a patch that striped the boy's hair with a fitting yellow and a scarf that made him look like a girl version of himself. Playing weirdly complicated but very engaging games in the living room with Casita as their Gamemaster, the whole event evolving into a full-on story/play that Bruno immediately wrote down for a possible side-show. A singing competition after Mirabel playfully mocked Mariano's latest poems for not rhyming, and the boy broke out into song in response. A race across the whole of Encanto after the two kids (and one magical entity) were kicked out so that the rest of the food could be made without chaos.

All-in-all, a normal day for the Guzman-Milagros family; and Mirabel wouldn't have it any other way.

(The Lantern Sparks. The Candle Shudders. Casita pauses, and anticipates.)

When they were finally allowed back, the sight that greeted them can only be described by the word 'cosy'.

The dining table was all set up and ready, filled with delicious food enough for all of them. Around the living room were colorful decorations: flags, triangles, stars, banners, streamers- but none too bright or too flashy. They just put a lot more pop of contrast against the warm clay brown of the walls, emphasizing that while there was a celebration, it was still home. There were also more pillows than usual and even a few blankets on the sofas too- as well as a hammock and a thin mattress on the floor next to the fireplace -just for good measure.

They already had their rambunctious fun in the morning, after all, so now it was time for quiet.

(And considering what was probably going to happen in the next few minutes, the reprieve was very much needed.)

The cake was not yet done though, so Mirabel and Mariano took that chance to rest and cuddle by the fireplace; Bruno later joining them with a cup of Chocolate Santafereño and a half-bitten Buñuelo. They shared a few stories, a few jokes- a fight over Bruno's Buñuelo almost happened and the only saving grace had been the fact that the siblings were tired: typical bonding activities of the Guzmán-Milagros'.

The calm, amused quiet that followed that almost-fight was later pleasantly broken by Abuela Rosa's beautiful voice.

"Cumpleaños feliz," She sang softly, emerging from the kitchen with a two-layer white cake covered in colorful frosting and 8 candles, "Cumpleaños feliz!"

Mariano and Bruno shared a glance before putting on two happy grins. "Te deseamos todos!" They eagerly led their little Mirabel to the table, putting her on the head chair that Casita provided with a few tile shifts.

"Cumpleaños feliz!" All three elders finished, the result of their efforts a little girl with teary eyes and a brilliant smile on her face.

"Graciás," Mirabel managed, "Graciás."

"Happy Birthday, Hermanita." Mariano smiled, pointing to the candles with a tilt of his head. "Go on; make a wish!"

Abuelita lightly smacked her son by the bicep, earning a giggle from the birthday girl. "Let her have the moment, mi pequeno Ciervo. Your stomach can wait."

"Ay but Mamá! Your Ají de Aguacate!" Mariano half-joked, half-whined; sending a wink to his sister before fully immersing himself in the argument of the ethics of using manipulation to get to eat food faster.

When Bruno joined the bickering seconds later, Mirabel couldn't help but close her eyes and relish in the feeling of having her family's voices all around her. It was nice. The subtle but always-there hum of her Mamí's magic slowly seeping into La Casa Guzman, the presence of her family members, the bond underneath all their playful arguments and insults, the warmth of their love from the bodies surrounding her to the food and decorations- it was all so... home, that Mirabel wanted to bawl.

Her her bigger family La Familia Madrigal was a big family. But it never felt like one, barring very few, very rare moments. Everyone was almost always separated, lost in the monotony of their work, that even during Family meals- it was all just chores, chores, chores. It was all about the image of a perfect family; rather than striving to be as close as they can to being one. The connections were flimsy, superficial. Dios, they even forgot about her!

(Idly, unknowingly, instinctually; she thinks of cracks covered in desperate plaster, slathered with layers of substandard paint.)

(Casita startles. The Lantern gives an almost playful spark. The Candle trembles.)

La Familia Guzman-Milagros, though? A small family of 5? With half of them not even related? The bonds are tight, thick. No matter how far away each member are from each other, they never feel alone. The... there-ness, of each person is ever present. It's impossible to ignore- not that anybody ever wanted to. There was love, there was care; and it was warm.

(When Mirabel blew out her candles, her wish was plain on her face.)

Surprisingly, the birthday dinner was calm- for Guzman-Milagros standards, at least. Mariano hogged all of the Ají de Aguacate but Abuelita Rosa managed to stop him before he could get a stomach ache. Bruno accidentally dipped an arepa in hot sauce and only survived because Casita got him some milk. Mirabel choked on a candle that Mariano somehow included with the cake slice he gave. The more exciting stories they'd saved for this event finally got told, helped by a couple of Bruno's rats for practice. There were also a few close calls to a 4-way food fight- over the argument of whether or not coconuts were of mammalian nature, no less -but Abuelita, amazingly, halted those with just a single raised eyebrow and the Look Of Disappointment™ brimming behind her eyes.

(Casita feels excitement. The Lantern's about to put on a show.)

Before they knew it, they had cleaned up the table, and it was finally time for presents.

(Mariano and his Mother shared excited glances.)

The two men of the family went first, with the more theatrical one revealing his box with a graceful flourish of his cape. Bruno's gift is a custom pocket watch; polished silver for the casing, green glass for the face, and the intricate butterfly designs inlaid in gold. The words 'Las arenas se arremolinan, pero el desierto es un río' are expertly carved on the side.

"'The sands swirl, but the desert's a river'," Mirabel read, gently tracing the words. Bruno smiled.

"It's to remind you," His hand seek her hair and he obliges, "that the Future is always changing. It's to remind you, that however worse the sandstorm is, it isn't still. It's to remind you, that you should always push forward, no matter how hard it may be." He looks her in the eye. For a second, green glows in tandem with gold.

"It's to remind you," There's a lilt in his soft voice; a lilt perhaps of mischief? Fondness? Joy? Love? "that I See by the sand, and thus so you should never worry when traversing it, because I will always be there by your side, as your eyes and as your guide."

It takes a minute for Mirabel to calm down.

(The Lantern sparks. It's Bright.)

After cooing at the adorable Sobrina-Tio moment, the youngest of the two men finally stepped forward and his grin is something fierce. Mariano's gift is a small machete (What? Tia Casita told me I could! Mira will be fine, Mama!)- engraved with Mirabel's name and with a sheath made of the best leather for her enchanted embroidery.

"Two more years and they'd let you join me out there," Mariano said, watching as his sister admired her new blade, "and by then you'll have needed to have your own bolo. So I got you one! You're the best dance partner I've ever had, hermanita. I can't wait."

Mirabel's beaming smile rivaled the shine of her machete's polish.

(The Lantern sparks. It's Brighter.)

It's now Abuela Rosa's turn, and Mirabel could feel the atmosphere shift. Like... the world itself was holding it's breath- excited and nervous for whatever laid inside the innocuous small wrapped box.

"Mijita preciosa," The elder woman began, "I've had the honor and pleasure of calling you one of my own for two years now, and hopefully for more. You've thrived under my care, and we as well in your company. La Casa Guzman became a home for you," Her smile is mischievous, "And I think it's about time to make that official, no?"

"Abuelita?"

"Come with me, Mirasol." Gently, the Guzman Matriarch led the Madrigal Heir to the bedroom wing, escorted by their two men. They passed through Abuela's, then Mariano's- until finally, they came to a stop in front of one of the guest rooms.

A dangerous feeling burst inside of Mirabel's chest as she realized that the door had no doorknob.

That feeling only doubled when Mariano left her tail with a realizing Bruno in tow, both of them then positioning themselves on each side of the door.

"Abuelita?" Mirabel asked again, tears in her eyes and a desperate, reluctantly reigned-in hope in her voice.

The elder woman's smile was all love.

"Happy Birthday, mi pequeña Mirabel," the box that had been taunting her all walk was finally placed in her hands, "Welcome Home."

Shakily, the little girl unraveled the ribbon and lifted the cover.

Inside was the most beautifully crafted golden doorknob she'd ever seen.

Fully trembling now, she grasped the object with as much care as she could while emotions of all kinds and intensity were roiling around inside her poor little heart, her fingers tracing the monogrammed 'M' over and over and over again- as if just to prove to herself that it was real.

She didn't know how long she spent in the trance, or how her tears were big and flowing, but when she finally looked up and saw the patience and love in her family's eyes, she realized it didn't matter. They knew how important this was to her, how needed- and they let her have her moment.

She loves them so much.

"What are you waiting for, hermanita?" Mariano softly half-teased, "Your Door is waiting."

Her Door.

An actual Door to an actual Room.

A Room that was all her own.

It shouldn't have felt like the few steps needed to be closer took years to accomplish, but it did. Mirabel looked at the doorknob again- one last check, one last check -and saw...

Herself.

With her family right behind her.

(The Lantern goes wild. It sparks. It burns. It-)

A happy sob, and finally the doorknob is clicked into place.

(It's gold.)

(Reblog for Part 5! Sorry this took long; School punched me in the gut and had us have the 3rd Mastery Test 2 weeks after the First Day of class when even our LMS is still desert empty. Hope you enjoy!)

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kathasofwander · 3 years ago

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OP We need a part 4! This is so interesting!

Housekid AU Part 3

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Idea: Casita raises Mirabel

Perspective shift

Mirabel was the first to break. Again.

She had been making Kuya Mariano a looser shirt (his Guard training was giving him so much muscle it's getting ridiculous) one afternoon, finishing off the last of the adaptation stitches (she loved making him new clothes but repairing the arms everyday was such an annoyance) along with some cleaning ones, when the 13 year old himself strolled into the sewing room holding two cups of Chocolate Santafereño.

He sat down beside her with a heavy thud, then whistled in appreciation at the elaborate bucks prancing on flower paths stitched in a beautiful asymmetric pattern from the shirt's shoulders down to the waist.

"Ay, Miraposita! You're getting better everyday!" He smiled, offering her one of the cups as he gently ran his fingers over the finished parts of the embroidery. "It's so cool!"

Maybe it was the sweet smell of the drink, maybe it was the soothing tiredness that came with accomplishing a task, or maybe it was the genuine appreciation in his tone for her work- Mirabel will never know.

"You really think so, hermano?"

Not missing a beat- because he's big old, adorably dumb, supportive and caring Mariano -the older boy nodded furiously (not at all noticing Mirabel's panic). "Of course! Look at the detail! The color and- see? The shine! You're so talented, hermanita!"

Then with a wide smile, his hand reached out and ruffled her curls.

"I can't wait to wear it!!!"

(Her mother was laughing at her, she just knew it. If she didn't then, she definitely did when the same thing happened with Senora Guzman and it took poor Mirabel until 3am in the morning to realize.)

"Good night, Abuelita!"

"Buenas noches, nieta!"

Mirabel, 8 hours later, waking up in a cold sweat: "Wait-"

(Ugh, Mami! Can't you see I'm busy dying inside?)

Somehow, the acknowledgement of siblinghood between the Guzman boy and the youngest Madrigal girl made the following months a hectic storm of fun, bizarre, and strangely educational chaos.

With the increased comfort they had in each other's presence, Mirabel had taken to teaching Mariano parkour, while Mariano had taken to pulling a Casita and deciding that teaching an almost 7-year-old how to use a machete was good payment for her free-running lessons.

Suffice it to say, they had given Senora Guzman more than enough near heart attacks to last a lifetime.

"Hermano! You think you can jump that?"

"Mira! You gotta swing- no, not like- yeah! That! Put all your weight into it! You gotta mean it!"

"Yano, no, you have to duck your head and roll. And- wait! Don't land on your heels!"

"Swing! Up! Down! Swing it, Mira! Swing! Woah, don't over do it- ACK!"

"Catch me, hermano! Ha! You think you can just- wATCH ThE TILE!"

"Okay, just like that, you have to take good care of your machete, otherwise you're just gonna be swinging around an extra hard piece of wood."

"Repeat after me- Yano, please -Don't lock your knees. Ever. ¿Comprender? Buena."

"Okay, it just occurred to me that you are small (Wha- ow! Hey! It's true!). So, how about you try moving your entire body with the swing, not just your arm? Like...hmm... come here, Mira, let's try this..."

"Yeah, yeah! That's it, hermano! Fly, Fly!"

"Dance with me, hermanita. Let your blade sing."

Of course, they didn't stop with just Parkour or Machete fighting- no no. Mirabel then taught Mariano the art of sneaking around, making his footsteps so light they could be mistaken as the scuttering of rats. Mariano, in turn, taught Mirabel all sorts of things his Papa had taught him: hunting with a bow and arrow, repairing things around the house, riding a horse, etc.

You would often see the two children popping in and out of random points in town, either training a skill or learning a new one. A common occurrence during days when Mira didn't have a sewing lesson was a race from La Casa Guzman to a chosen house. They would take turns on using the rooves, horses, or pure speed and endurance on the roads- sometimes, they'd even get other children to join in on the fun. Now, those days were just an utter maelstrom of befuddlement and confused joy.

Though, no matter how chaotic a day would become, Senora Guzman could always count on her two children to return home safe and sound.

Either it be Mariano carrying his precious sister in his arms, or Mirabel riding a horse with a snoring Mariano securely, comedically tied down behind her- it didn't matter. Both would be images forever imprinted onto the old woman's mind, and she was once again thankful for little Mira's sudden, literal drop into their lives.

What would it have been like, if she hadn't?

Casita was very, very pleased with her Candelita's growth. Her threadwork was improving, her Gift was developing quite nicely (she can already feel it shifting sources), and she had even started her ascent to becoming the Madrigal Matriarch- she emotionally adopted two people already!

And that's not even mentioning her better social skills and mental state!

(happypridelove)

Ah, they grow up so fast. One moment she's fumbling with a mop handle and the next she's dancing with machetes.

Hmm... Her little Candelita's birthday is almost upon them again (so soon?). And it wouldn't do anymore, for it to be celebrated by two people alone. But her daughter has yet to reveal her identity- though, not for the lack of trust, mind you. Just simply the lack of a proper moment.

Casita checked the state of her magic.

It's stable enough (though, the piece of her in the Lantern feels strange- she'll have to investigate that later); the Flame's not flickering, the cracks small and slow... it's probable.

Casita grinned then, focusing on young Mariano's location.

Time to make a proper moment.

Her daughter won't have to be alone for another birthday anymore, no senor. Not on her watch.

Mariano was panicking.

Did he do it right? Does it look okay? There- that's good right? Wait- is that a strand or- no, that should be darker-

"Mijo," His mother said, amusement in her eyes. "She'll love it." Her hand was a comforting weight on his back.

"She could do better, honestly." Mariano nervously laughed.

"She could," A light tap to his forehead. "But that's not the point now, is it?"

Mariano looked at the door to the sewing room. Then to the calendar. Then back to the door.

"You sure she won't hate it?" He repeated.

"She won't, Mijo."

Seconds ticked by. He inhaled. "Okay."

With only a bit of fumbling, he hid the present behind his back, and knocked on the door.

"Mira?"

"Come in!"

Mariano walked in, eyes instantly drawn to his hermanita's latest work. It was a shawl, dyed different shades of light green in an asymmetric gradient, embroidered with roses of darker emeralds. As always, it was breath taking.

"Hey, Yano! Abuelita!" Mira greeted, smile already putting the almost 14-year-old at ease. She raised the shawl, presenting it in various angles. "What do you think?"

"It's very beautiful, nieta." His mother said, hand reaching over to caress the detailed stitching. "Such threadwork! Who's this for?"

Mira giggled, then with a twirl and a flourish, handed it over to his mama. "Surprise!"

If he wasn't still nervous, Mariano would've laughed at the flabbergasted expression on his mother's face. In the end, he settled for a fond smile.

"For... me?" She asked quietly, grabbing the shawl with a gentleness that should've been reserved for fragile glass. Mariano couldn't blame her. The first professional level stitching Mira had allowed him to handle, he had done the same.

Mira's grin turned a touch bit shy. It was adorable.

"Yeah...um, as thanks? For letting me learn here. For letting me use the sewing room. For the breakfasts and fabrics and -f-fo-for everything. For teaching me." She fiddled with her hands as she anxiously awaited Mama's response. They were probably very sweaty.

Mira didn't need to worry though, Mariano thought as his mama's eyes glistened. The hug that followed between the two certainly confirmed it.

"Oh nieta! Thank you! And it was an honor being your mentor, mi pequena costurera! You were the best student I've ever had! This is beautiful!"

Mariano couldn't help but quip. "She's the only student you've ever had, Mama."

"Even better!"

Mira's laughter was of twinkling bells. There was relief, joy, and- most plentiful -gratitude emanating from her little body as she was spun around and around in his mama's arms, the shawl trailing after her in her grip like ethereal, wispy wings.

That image was what stripped away the last of Mariano's nerves; and so it was with a puff of air that he grinned wide, catching his hermanita's eyes.

"Hey Mira?"

"Heheha- ye-yeah, Yano?"

"You're not the only one with surprises today, you know."

"Huh?" The little seamstress blinked, confused. Mariano's grin got a little bit excited.

"Yep! Last week at training, someone told me something very important. In fact, it was so important I rushed home immediately to do something about it. Do you know why that is?"

Her face should be illegal. It should be against the law to be that cute.

"...No?"

Mariano softened, and with a flourish and a twirl similar to her own just a few minutes ago, presented his gift.

"Happy Birthday, Mira."

A butterfly crown made of yarn, thread, and the softest of fabrics.

His hermanita gasped softly.

Seeing tears, Mariano gently lifted the crown above her head, and placed it upon her curls with the gentleness of the early morning breeze.

Mira's eyes practically sparkled as she looked at her reflection on the mirror mama had prepared. She was beautiful.

"You... made this... for m-me?" She whimpered, echoing the earlier words of her abuelita.

Mariano smiled. "Of course. It's not as good as it could have been, especially if you had done it instead, but... I hope you like it, Mir-oof!"

Who knew the little 7-year-old had such strength?

"Happy birthday, Mira." Mariano repeated as he hugged her back. She was so small, so precious.

Mira's grip was tight. She mumbled something against his shirt.

"Hmm? What was that, hermanita?"

She mumbled it again, a bit louder. He felt something... loosen in his mind. Or- that's not quite the word- perhaps, more accurately, unlOCKeD-WhereDidShECOMEFROMWHO'SFAMILYDOESSHEBELONGTOWHOAREHERPARENTSSHEHASBIGBROWNEYESABIGADORABLENOSESHORTCURLYHAIRSHE'S-

"Mirabel," She looked up at him, afraid, happy, grateful and relieved.

"My name is Mirabel Madrigal. And I love it, hermano, thank you."

(Later, after the revelations, explanations, acceptance and proper celebrations were done, the Lantern Flared- while the Candle Flickered.)

Perspective shift

"Knock knock knock knock knock, knock on wood," Casita's little Seer muttered under his breath, watching the Family breakfast the morning after her daughter's 7th birthday.

A birthday that has, like her 6th, not even been noticed.

"Juli, Gus, what are you doing?" He asked, knowing the answer.

His hands rhythmically tapped against his table, quiet enough to be mistaken for the scuttling of rats. The vibrations accidentally knock off a few wood shavings onto the floor.

"Your Butterfly's flying away," He said somberly, sadly, "The Flame's led her to the Deer in the forest, she's leaving, she's leaving."

His hands sought activity- finding it in the chisel that laid inert near an unfinished, yet still beautifully crafted crown. Clearly a labor of love.

"You're not following, you're not, you're not," He lamented. "You should be right beside her, sharing currents, the sky, but you're not. Everyone does, will, have, though. I Saw. Unfair, unfair to her."

He looked at the ceiling.

"Unfair to you. Why didn't you tell them?" He asked again, also still knowing the answer.

Casita clacked her tiles with him in unison.

"You shouldn't have to," He groaned in acceptance, gently dropping the chisel and switching to ruffle his head of hair. "I know, I know, but, but, but- this is a problem, needs, needs to be addressed."

Casita hummed in bitter, sad amusement; then drummed a few bamboo into a question.

Would they listen?

At that, her Seer looks down, hair in a tight grip of frustration.

"Juli, Pepi- they would, they should, but," He trembled, "We wouldn't be having this talk, if, if they did. Too tight. Too tight. Mama's holding too tight. I'm choking, Casita. We're choking, Casita. My mouse, my mouse, she's not, not yet, but the noose is still there, Casita."

He looked up at the ceiling, this time pleading.

"Can I still follow my mouse, Casita? Can I still call her my mouse, Casita? My vision, my vision. Will she know that I left for her, Casita? My mouse, I miss my mouse, Casita. Am I too late, Casita? Is the rat left to rot, away from his mouse, Casita?"

Casita had only one answer.

His door shook, then glowed bright.

(It's about time for the rat to come home.)

Perspective shift

Mirabel associated her Tio Bruno with the ticks of a sped up clock. His Gift only justified that fact.

He knocks on his wood, he taps his feet, he clacks a finger against his teeth. It's all quirky little rhythmic ti-ti-ti-ti-tap-taps; his own variation of a custom, really. They signal his presence in a room, they allow you a peek into his current train of thought- it was one of the things that Mirabel loved about her Tio.

"Ay, little Mouse, that's not all. You see, she's also his... Cousin!"

"Knock on wood. Just in case. Do salt, too. If nothing else, it'll hit Camaleon in the eyes. That last prank of his was uncalled for. Hmm? Oh, mi pequena nina, tiny, petty acts of revenge are absolutely allowed."

"Do you see this mierda, my little Mouse? Why would my Gift show me the death of a fish? What? No, it's not April 1st, and my Gift is not sentient."

"The key to being a good performer, little mouse, isn't your skill- no no no. It's Confidence and Flair. You can be the best at acting all you want- but if you're not entertaining yourself or your audience, are you really a performer?"

"Ratoncita, I love you, okay? Gift or no Gift. I love you. I love you. Your Tio loves you. You're my mouse. You're special, mi vida. Nobody's just seeing it yet. But while you wait for them to open their eyes, you also gotta do the same. See yourself. You gotta be one of the first to believe. I already do...."

It was one of the things she missed about her Tio.

...she missed her Tio.

It was nice to know he loved her though. Loved her enough to tell her that fact before leaving.

She sometimes wondered what would've happened if he didn't, though. Would he and Mami raise her together? Or, more funnily, would Mami raise them together? Tio had been very mischievous, after all. Sometimes even rivaling Camilo.

...she missed her Tio.

Sighing, Mirabel puts down the shirt she'd been embroidering for herself for the past few weeks, and stretched; the bones in her spine crackling just right. She then rapidly blinked her eyes to quickly get rid of the extra zoom. They went a little teary.

Ugh, she supposes that was the result of being hunched over and squinting over the tiniest details.

"The devil's in the details, little Mouse. It's the details, the subtext, the double entendre; that hit you where it counts."

Ay, Tio.

Gently caressing the little Hourglasses she had added, she wondered where her Tio was now. Maybe he's started a family, maybe he's alone in a forest, maybe he's still on the road.

Or maybe, Mirabel hoped, he's safe and sound- like the broken clock that reminded her of him in Senor Baltasar's living room. Safe and taken care of.

She hummed.

Maybe it's time she added green to her dress. She'd always been a little bit of her Tio's, even after the Ceremony (He told her so; she can still feel phantom fingers ruffling her curls fondly).

Heh. She could already imagine all the 'fights' he and Mami would have over who got to have the most of their color on her.

Knock knock knock knock knock, knock knock knock- plunk.

Mirabel froze.

Tick-tick-tick, tick-tick-tick, tick.

No way.

Tap, ti-ti-tap-tap, tap.

"A pretty little room for a pretty little mouse. But where's the pretty little mouse for the pretty little room?"

Mirabel had never jumped over her railings so fast in all her life.

The next few weeks are spent catching up with each other. Stories upon stories dripped out of their mouths; right into open, eager ears.

But the day they had met again was somehow even longer than that stretch of time- for Bruno, having this as his first direct human to human interaction in the 2 years he spent behind the walls, spilled to Mirabel all he could.

His reason for leaving.

"A vision of you, my precious mouse. Can't tell, can't tell specifics, but you're the catalyst. Save or destroy. Or both. Or none. But you know, you know. Bad luck Bruno. Bad Luck Bruno. Had to leave for you. Couldn't let them know. They'd see you wrong."

His watching of her growth through the walls.

"I saw, and I Saw a lot of you. Proud. Very. Play Pretend with me sometime. I'm, I'm broken a bit, but I still have a little confidence, a little, a little flair, mi preciosa ratoncita. Remember? Remember? Confidence and flair. Also, also, your work, I love it. Casita took care of you good. You're flying high, little butterfly. Could, could this rat ask of his mouse, some of her work? Your magic's warm."

His missing of her two birthdays.

"I hate, hate, that I couldn't give you company. Casita gave you her present, your Gift and Door, and I was happy! Happy for you. But you were also alone. And I was right there. Also your 7th. Not alone anymore. The Deer, they took you in, you took them too. They follow you. Happy, but also sad. I wanted to follow you too. Wanted to follow you so much. Even if only behind walls. But you were far. Couldn't reach you anymore. Asked Casita if I could still follow you. Still worthy, somehow, in her eyes, that she allowed me here. Am I still worthy of you to you though, my little mouse? Am I your rat still? Here, here, your gifts. I made you still. Even with the chance we would never meet. Thought that counts, they say. But, we met. So here, gifts. I love you."

And all throughout this, there were lots of tears. And hugs. And more tears. And more hugs. In fact, one hug lasted so long they both fell asleep in Mirabel's couch, the little girl right on top of her uncle.

(It was a sight Casita had outright demanded of Mirabel's butterflies to immortalise on photo. They were all too happy to comply.)

Ever since then, the two had been attached at the hip, eager to make up for their 2 year separation. Mirabel had informed her brother and grandmother that she had something important to take care of for a while in advance, and thus she was free to dive straight into work.

The first thing she had noticed the moment she was emotionally stable enough to had been her uncle's unruly hair, and so that was what she began the recovery and catching up weeks with.

She cut his hair (having learned how on a whim after seeing her abuelita doing it to Mariano) short and clean, helped him shave his beard to a more tasteful state, then later awed at his uncanny resemblance to Abuelo Pedro.

"Huh," Tio Bruno had whispered, almost reverently, as he looked at his reflection in the mirror, "I, I... I think I'll keep this, this look. I'll keep it, Ratoncita."

Next, Mirabel set to make her precious Tio a proper set of clothes. No more too long Ruana, no more same, drab color shirt and pants, and no more of said shirt and pants being way too loose and baggy. No more; not under her watch.

The outfit she eventually settled on was a vest with back tails, a shirt with medium-length arms, slightly form-fitting pants, formal shoes, and a fancy cloak.

All appropriately colored in matching shades of his green, of course.

(And laden to high heaven with protective and locator threads. She's not loosing him again.)

"Confidence," Her uncle had said, awed, as he slowly turned around in front of the mirror; eyes sometimes lingering on the elaborate stitching. Then he suddenly grabbed an edge of his cloak and twisted to strike a sweeping pose, "and Flair."

His grin was wide, a little mad.

"Oh, my creative little mouse. You spoil me sometimes."

And finally, the hard part: helping his body and mind heal from his time in the walls.

Here, Mirabel had asked her Mami for help (she knew enough to know that she can't do it all on her own- she's still a 7-year-old, after all. Raised by a non-human magical entity yes, but a 7-year-old nonetheless), and the entity had been all too happy to oblige.

They began small.

Mirabel sleeping with her Tio at appropriate times in his part of her Room (that she made immediately after learning he's been in the walls) to force him into a healthy sleep schedule as well as help curb his insomnia with company, Casita helping her daughter cook a full meal for every eating time of the day, Mirabel practicing her parkour with her Tio around to force him to learn with her (and thus have exercise) just so he could keep an eye on her better, etc, etc.

Those little manipulations stacked up quite nicely in the 4 months it occurred in, excitingly leading to her Tio having built himself a lean, strong, and agile healthy body. In fact, amazingly, about 5 weeks in, when Mirabel left for her weekly visit to her brother and grandmother, her mother had happily reported that her Tio had set to practice parkour without her presence. It was great news; he was gaining confidence, he was getting better!

Mirabel was proud of her Tio, if you couldn't tell.

And she became even more proud at what happened 3 weeks later: her Tio asking to meet the Guzmans!

"You trust them enough to reveal your identity, little mouse," idly, Mirabel cheered at his recovering speech, "and I trust you and your mother. Besides; I want to meet the family that, that, treated you well. I want to meet your suns. Casita, she's your soil, your shade. I want to meet the people who made you bloom."

Mirabel could barely hold off on just dragging her Tio straight to La Casa Guzman after that little declaration. Could you blame her for being excited at the prospect that her little family (not her bigger one was she still a part of it even?) was becoming one member bigger?

Luckily, her mother set her straight (amusedly), and so that night, she went by 'herself' only- for hopefully the last time -to prepare and explain what might occur in the next few days.

Her hermano and her Tio got along like a house on fire (no offense to her Mami).

With one a poet and one a performer/writer (he had to be, with those brilliant telenovelas Mirabel could remember being shown to her before he 'left'), was there ever any doubt?

Their bond had even grown in the same room Mirabel's had with the two Guzmans; in the sewing room of the house (Mirabel found that fact very amusing and awesome).

With Tio freed from the usual tasks that came with trying to survive in the walls of a sentient building by being her Roommate, suddenly there was a lot of Free time in his daily routine. Free time that he immediately spent by sitting with his niece's embroidery classes; at first to also learn, but then slowly devolving to what was essentially competitively making a novel on the spot: excitedly spewing storylines, dialogue trees, character backstories and plot-points with said niece's hermano.

Their growing connection was a sound Mirabel and her Abuelita had quickly found to be the perfect background noise to their sewing; the strands of stories their ears catch as they fade in and out of the zone very captivating, her mother's reactionary clicks and clacks of boards and tiles a varied but charming melody.

Though, personally, the little Madrigal girl found it the best when all 5 were interacting. The chaos created by a family in sync was something she could never get enough of (something she wished for with her bigger fam with the rest of her fam La Familia Madrigal).

It all came to a head though, when 3 months after the initial meeting, Abuelita suggested that Tio Bruno finally go out in public- under a disguise, of course, maybe something like Mirabel's Glamour Ruana except preferably without the accidental mind-screwing (sorry, hermano) -to show off his amazing and often enrapturing plotlines, and the man in question lit up with the younger one right behind him.

"Your stories are too big to have just our little family of five as an audience to enjoy them, Brunieto," Abuelita had cooed, "Besides, the Encanto could use a little excitement, what with all the peace. I believe your 'Quién soy yo para ti' series, especially Season 4 episode 27, would do that quite nicely. Bet you; people will be theorizing about it for days. I still am!" She chuckled.

The look that the two literary-leaning creative males had shared after the suggestion made Mirabel instantly, happily, know that this was it- this was the point of no return.

Mariano's little squeal of "Dios mio, Tio, if we're really doing this, you have to include-" only served to fuel her sudden burst of joy.

(The Lantern Flares, Bright and Fiery.)

Her Tio was now officially part of her little family, and he didn't even notice! Ha! Exactly like she had before!

(The freakout he was going to have the moment he does realize will be a moment Mirabel awaits with baited breath and a tub of popcorn.)

Oh, Mirabel was so happy, she was practically buzzing with energy. Actually, maybe she was! She was warm and all tingly all over! (There's a sheet of electricity right under her skin- it's comforting, it's empowering, it's- it's Magic.)

The fact that they were also going to have their first ever Family project soon (she could hear the word 'costumes' and knew it was gonna be hers and Abuelita's job) was just the delicious cherry on top!

(The Candle Flickers, Sputters, Fragmented. Someone looks on with sadness, worry- and maybe a little bit of disappointment. Someone finds the Lantern's brightness bittersweet.)

Casita, while happy at the fact that a Madrigal finally followed the rightful Matriarch, winces as one of the larger cracks in her walls made up for the healing littler ones by deepening. It's hot, it's searing- it's a knife, it's a claw, it's raking it hurts it hurts it hurts ithurtsithurtsdamnyouAlma and it's all she could do to keep her precious Candelita from knowing, noticing. It's too early. There's... There's nothing her Little Miracle could do; not yet at least. Casita screams yelps shouts whimpers groans in pain.

Bear it for her.

Do it for her.

Casita loves them, despite all. Her daughter though especially. So, she Stands. She Stands for them. She Stands a little more for Her. She'll Stand until she cannot anymore.

(It helps though, when her daughter smiles. When her daughter laughs. When her daughter is Bright. Because she knows she's the root cause. Because she knows she made that happen. Because she knows she allowed that to happen. She's raising her right, if nothing else.)

(If she was going to Fail, let it not be at being a Mother.)

------

(Reblog for Part 4! Hope you enjoyed this! I made it extra long to make up for the gap of writing silence. Also, Bruno's here! A Madrigal finally joined Casita's chosen Matriarchal Heir!)

#encanto #encanto au #housekid!au #woooww!

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kathasofwander · 3 years ago

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Miraculous Freedom Fighters AU

Hi! Back in November, @ink-ity drew a Miraculous AU about Indian holders of the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculous. Needless to say, it inspired a fic! We have since collaborated, and now present to you, the first chapter.

It is set in the time of the Indian Freedom Struggle, and begins in the year 1919.

Disclaimer: Most things in this fic is a figment of two creative peoples’ imagination. However, there are some elements that were historically true and necessary to be incorporated into the story.

Ao3

Chapter 2: Thalaratha (Fate):

He hates the quiet.

He hates being quiet.

Being quiet meant being out of trouble, the unproblematic one in a cacophony of voices. He feels selfish now. He wanted to fight back, wanted to be one of many people asking, demanding his rights. He knows, as does every so-called “privileged” Indian that they are nothing but entertainment, a sort of cruel amusement for their overlords who find it amusing that an Indian could imitate them.

Some bringers of civilization they were.

Now, in April 1919, just a week short of Ugadi, Maurya Alaparthi was returning after three years away from his country. He was now a lawyer, ready to take his skills home and join the fight for freedom.

He reached Hyderabad on April 11. As he waited for his father’s car, he spotted a stand, where the owner was chanting out the headlines while selling newspapers. “Revolutionary from Damodar Apte’s group arrested under Rowlatt Act!”

‘What?’ Maurya wondered and quickly bought the newspaper. He knew about the Act, of course, but it was the first time he had heard of this arrest. The young man read through the article.

“Shekhar Godbole was wrongfully arrested under the Rowlatt Act yesterday. While the officer who put him in jail claimed that the man had physically assaulted him, Godbole maintained that he had done no such thing. The revolutionary also said his family had witnessed everything, but the British jailers refused to listen.”

A honk interrupted his reading. The car had arrived, and Maurya folded the newspaper before boarding the vehicle. Soon, he reached home and was greeted by his mother. “Mana abbayi vacchesadu andi!” (Our boy has come home!) she said, hugging him warmly.

“Hi Amma!” he replied. “I missed you a lot.”

“So did I! Come on. Nanna wants to see you.” the older woman replied.

“Oh, he is back from his rounds at the factory?” Maurya asked. His mother chuckled.

“He calls it ‘grievance meetings’. All the workers at the factory tell him the problems they are facing because of the Britishers’ laws, and he tries to find a way to solve them.”

“Oh?” The boy entered his father’s home office. The senior Alaparthy sat at his desk, deep in thought. “Nanna,” he called out.

“Maurya! My son.” The man got up and hugged him. “Welcome back home.”

“Thank you, Nanna.”

“Charu, ask the cook to get lunch ready, will you?” the older man addressed his wife, who nodded and walked out of the office.

“What were you so worried about?” Maurya asked. His father looked back at the desk, where a diary lay.

“Some of the problems the factory employees are facing. I want to help them, but can’t, for the life of me, figure out how.”

“Have you tried to talk to the British officials?” the boy asked. The older Alaparthi shook his head.

“Several times. They turned a blind eye, and then threatened to close all our factories when I persisted.” his father said. “The Alarpathis can rise again if they do that. It is all the people who work for us, that I am worried about. This is the only source of income for them.”

Maurya nodded. He understood the situation. “We will figure it out, Nanna!” he said, and just then, one of the maids entered the room.

“Lunch is ready.” she said. Maurya and his father walked towards the dining room, and the family of three had a quiet lunch. All the while, the younger Alaparthi’s mind swam with many thoughts; from the plight of the workers, to the revolutionary Shekhar Godbole’s arrest.

“Maurya, tomorrow, there is a party at a British official’s house. I want you to accompany me there. You can meet some people there.” his father interrupted his thoughts.

“All right Nanna.” the boy said.

The next evening, the two men entered the official’s mansion, which was brimming with people. There were collectors, officers, kings and princes, all talking amongst themselves. Maurya was introduced to some of them, and he got talking.

“Mr Irving, I’d like you to meet my son. He has just returned from London.” his father said.

Maurya shook the older Britisher’s hand. “Nice to meet you, young man. I have noticed something seems to be plaguing your thoughts. Do you care to share?”

The boy hesitated but ultimately spoke his mind. “I was thinking about the arrested rebel, sir,” he said. “I hardly think it is fair to keep him in prison over one officer’s statement.”

Mr.Irving shifted uncomfortably. “I am afraid that is now a political case. I suggest you don’t worry about it too much.”

“But, sir…”, but the official walked away, quickly. “How is it a political case?” he asked nobody in particular. Maurya’s father pulled him aside.

“Son, what are you doing?” the older Alaparthi chided gently. “I spoke to him about it earlier and got the same reaction. Remember, what they will do if we anger them.”

Maurya nodded, apologising.

April 13, 1919. Ugadi. The Alaparthis celebrated it happily, with the same pomp along with their extended family of all the factory workers.

“You all are like god to us, chote Saab.” one of the workers told him after the pooja. “You have given us the will to live and work.” It made Maurya happy and sad at the same time.

The next morning brought with it a big shock; they heard the news of the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre. “How could General Dyer do such a heinous thing?” his father exclaimed angrily.

Later, the evening newspaper carried another news that made Maurya angrier than he had ever been.

“Shekhar Godbole convicted. To be executed tomorrow.” the headlines said. He thought of the man’s family and their plight. The day passed and the news of the execution being carried out arrived. Maurya heard someone say that the Godbole's had surrendered their land to the British and were moving away from their village.

By the next week, news of protests passed, and Maurya wanted to join them. His father stopped him, of course, for several reasons.

“Maurya, you do not think of the people who depend on us!” he said, “ They are not like us. They cannot afford to lose the breadwinners of their families to British arrogance. You and I have grown horns, and believe ourselves above them, but when will you realize we are one and the same in the eyes of these foreigners?. And now we must bargain, nay beg for their safety.” the younger Alaparthi huffed and stormed into his room, sitting at his desk, stewing in anger.

He spotted his law textbooks on the table. “What good is this education if I can’t use it for the good of my fellow countrypeople?” he lamented. Just as he was about the throw the books away in frustration, Maurya noticed a small box, sitting innocently among them. After making sure the door was locked, he opened it, and a bright light emanated. Soon, a little flying cat looked at him.

"Ayy, ikkada cheese lanti ee emaina vunda? Akhali thattukolepothunanu" (Ey, do you have anything like cheese around here? I can't bear the hunger)

Maurya was speechless for a minute. Either he was seeing things, or there really was a flying cat asking him for cheese. “What are you??” he managed to ask as soon as he found his voice.

“You should ask, who am I?” the cat said, clearly annoyed. “Nenu Plagg.” (I am Plagg). The…creature pointed to the ring in the box. “I am your kwami. Nice to meet you. Now, about that cheese.”

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kathasofwander · 3 years ago

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Housekid AU Part 2

Part 1 here

Idea: Casita raises Mirabel

Mirabel is now 6 years old, it's 2 am in the morning, there's a note on her bedside table, and the Nursery Door is glowing.

Mirabel had never fully awakened so fast in all her life.

Hastily, she grabbed her glasses and examined the glowing golden letter.

Mi velita preciosa,

Happy Birthday. You are still too young to know the reason why I didn't give you a Gift on your anointed day, but know and believe that it is no fault of yours. You are special, mi vida, Gift or no Gift. You will do great things, with or without one.

But, times are changing. You need a Gift, mi pequena vela. Not because you aren't capable enough on your own- do you remember last week, when you saved yourself from that fall? You achieved the impossible that day: give a magical house a heart attack -

Mirabel giggled through sniffles.

But because it would help you. Increase your odds. You would do just fine without one, more so when you're older, but it would make me feel better. That my magic is always with you. And, let's be honest, you deserve one too. You deserve a Gift, mi vida. And a room of your own.

I am sorry, Candelita, that your Door arrived late. It is because despite not getting a Gift on your Day, I did still give you something. Do you feel that warm buzz under your skin? Do you feel that tingle of comfort? Do you feel that lively energy? That's my magic, mija. I gave you a lot, and I had to recover before giving you a Door.

And it's time. I've recovered.

One last thing though. Don't tell anyone yet. I have much to explain to you first, Candelita. But that will have to come later. It's your special day, after all.

So go on.

Open your Door.

Receive your Gift.

You deserve it.

Happy Birthday, mi vida. I love you.

Blinking the tears out of her eyes, Mirabel hugged the letter tightly. The amount of love she had for the entity possessing her house was indescribable. When was the last time her human mother made her feel this way?

Eventually though, she got off from her bed, and marched up to the glowing Door.

This time, her gait wasn't nervous.

This time, she wasn't alone.

This time, the Door didn't disappear.

This time, it Opened.

Mirabel's Room was a more a small house than a room. It had two floors, a big atrium, and a very peculiar design- half of the rooms were walled in, while half (still segmented) were open air. There was a small kitchen, a dining room, a bathroom, a sewing and weaving room, a library, a music room, a training room, and even a small garden.

Oh and also, there were a lot of golden butterflies.

Who turned out to be Mirabel's little helpers; flitting about, keeping the place clean, fetching whatever thing she wanted at the moment or assisting the little girl on whatever project she was working on. Mirabel quickly adopted the swarm, and spent the better half of her birthday exploring her Room (her room! her very own room!).

Then she remembered her mother also gave her a Gift, and there was very little the butterflies could do to keep from laughing at her panicked/excited realization.

Mirabel's Gift is basically Rune Magic but through thread. She can give a piece of clothing whatever effect she wants just by sewing the idea/concept onto the thing. The more complicated the effect, the more elaborate the stitching's gotta be. The effect turns on when needed or when worn. It's also self-sufficient, leaching off of the magic in the air, but it can be overwhelmed or weakened enough to the point of being dispelled. To prevent this, the wearer has to take good care of the cloth and thread; if Mirabel cared for them enough to sew the very concept of protection onto their clothing, then they should care for her enough by treasuring her work. If they didn't, then the effect is temporary and will eventually fade away.

(Mirabel learns this through trial and error, her magic giving her just enough nudges to realization via feelings. It was a fun learning experience- one Casita was very happy and proud to witness.)

Mirabel's absence from the Nursery was never noticed. Her constant scrapes and bandages and band-aids (because Casita wanted her daughter's body to learn how to heal the normal way) and bruises and wounds were never noticed. Her discarding her blue skirt for a white one that was beginning to be filled to the brim with colorful threads humming with magic was never noticed. Her not being in any photo post-ceremony was never noticed. Her not being at breakfast every morning was never noticed.

(incredulitybetrayalresignationanger)

Well, fine. Casita could care less- she had other things to worry about. Mainly that her daughter was growing up and she shouldn't be confined in her walls for much longer. She had to have some outside experience. She can't bloom without the sun.

But... Casita is worried.

Her daughter was capable, yes, but she only trained her for a year! Even with her Gift! And she was 6! Isn't that young, still? And Casita; she heard all the talk, the whispers. About the Family 'Failure'. The 'Giftless Madrigal'. Her daughter was responsible, scrappy, bright- but she was still a child. And while Casita's whole form was technically the whole of Encanto, with the rest of her Magic occupied with the Gifts, the Doors, the glamour and precautions of the place; she could only manipulate the House.

She couldn't be there for her preciosa hija.

And Casita didn't like that.

Not knowing what to do, she confided in her darling Candelita. Told her how she wanted her to expand her horizons, how her walls shouldn't become her cell, how she should bloom, shine, outside of her Family's shadow. Told her how she was worried, that she would get in trouble and she couldn't reach. Told her, because maybe with two brains they can figure it out.

And Little Mirabel didn't disappoint.

"Mami, your Spirit is the Candle, no?" She had hummed, while practicing her stitches, "Could you reach out more if you had another? Like a... Candelabra- no, that's too big -oh! Like a Lantern! I could bring it around and you could come with me!" Her smile was impossibly bright.

"Would that work, Mami?"

Well now, Casita clinked around a few tiles in excitement and pride (at her pequeña vela brillante, obviously), things just got a lot more interesting.

It worked. Casita separated off a part of herself and attached it to her daughter's spirit to keep it alive, and behold, a tiny Miracle held by her Little Miracle (amusementamazementawepride).

It was easy enough getting one of the few hand-held Lanterns from the kitchen, and it was doubly so climbing up the roof and lighting it with the Main Candle before booking it to her Room.

The Lantern did not double Casita's strength, nor did it weaken the majority of her in the House. It was simply a window she could reach out from, and with Mirabel tugging it around, she essentially now had infinite but also limited reach.

Perfect.

They trained with the Lantern during the night, slipping into the part of the forest behind the House. With Dolores safe in her soundproofed room, the two could do whatever experiments they wished to their hearts' content.

Casita practiced manipulating the objects within the Lantern's radius as if they were part of the house. She tried it with Mirabel standing still, holding the Lantern aloft. She tried it with Mirabel lightly walking. She tried it with Mirabel running her fastest, Lantern now attached to her makeshift hip-belt. She had to make sure she mastered this moving influence of hers. She couldn't let her daughter be hurt.

(Though, she did let herself have a bit of mischief. She played with her daughter whenever frustration reached a boiling point, she relished in being able to interact with things other than those in the House, she loved being able to see all these new sights with her little Miracle. Her Spirit was strong, their bond was tight, and they were happy.)

Mirabel, meanwhile, practised moving and thinking in sync with her mother. Predict which object she'll ready to catch her with and jump. Predict which object she'll extend and grab. The trusting part was easy. She loved her mother. The execution? Yeah, she might've worn more band-aids than usual for the following few weeks (Though it's not like anybody would notice).

But it was fun.

And that's all that mattered.

The first real test of Mirabel going out on her 'own' was when both realized that if they wanted to get the most of her Gift, she had to have proper sewing, embroidery and maybe even weaving lessons. One could only make so much butterflies, after all.

So Mirabel put on her- very messy but colorful with all the threads of protection and glamour magic that Casita gently demanded her to put -white, self-sewn (from random scraps) ruana, put the Lantern in her also very messy self-knitted bag, and ventured out into the town a few minutes after her The Familia.

She took to the rooves, flitting about like a butterfly, hiding from the people and her family members as her mother led her to one of the few seamstresses in town that did not gossip about the 'Giftless Madrigal' during communal weaving.

Senora Guzman.

(Mirabel didn't mean to greet the Senora by hanging upside down from her roof to her window, but hey, turns out Kuya Mariano has good aim! Maybe he can teach her knife-throwing too!)

Perspective shift

Mariano did not think that a strange 6-year-old child who he almost brained with a knife would quickly become one of his bestest friends, but a strange 6-year-old child who he almost brained with a knife did quickly become one of his bestest friends.

Mira was a joy to be around.

Everyday, ever since his mama accepted Mira as her apprentice in everything involving the thread and needle, La Casa Guzman has been... alive. When before it was all comforting lulls with sprinkles of excitement, now it was the exact opposite.

Every morning, Mira's knocking on his second story window would rouse both he and his mother from bed. Then she and his mama would prepare breakfast, while he readied all the materials for the day's lesson. After that, they'd gather in the kitchen- where they'd talk about their days separated from each other (which was almost never now) or recall funny moments from the previous day; sometimes, they'll even have reviews on what types of stitching Mira had learned. Then they'd clean up the kitchen, make sure their schedules are clear, and march straight to the sewing room.

There (almost always), they manage to have one complete, straight lesson- before the sense of structure and schedule falls apart like dry grass in a forest fire.

Usually, it was because of Mira.

Mira initiating a tickle fight during break, Mira initiating a contest during a simple part of the lesson, Mira showing off, Mira messing up and picking on herself good-naturedly, Mira demonstrating new skills that always gave them heart attacks, Mira, Mira, Mira.

And Mariano would swear to his Papa's soul that his Mama had the brightest smile during these moments (mirroring his own).

It was like, Mira was a tiny little, hyperactive candle; unassuming, weird both belonging and out of place, but somehow the brightest of the bunch. And they were the room that had the privilege of being lit up by this wonderful, mysterious 6-year-old girl that he almost brained with a knife.

Huh...

Act- A C T- Act

Actually, where did Mira come from? What family does she belong to? She has to have amazing parents, considering how incredible she is. He doesn't recognize her face, though. But he should. He's Mariano Guzman! His mother was Council Member! But, no matter how hard he tried, he can't place Mira's face. Though, even if he wasn't a Guzman, Encanto was a close town. It should be easy right? Mira's most prominent features were her adorable, brown eyes, and her lovely big nose! In fact, now that he thought about it, she looks just like a Madrigal!

Just like

a Ma

Wait, does that m e an

s he

ira

b e l

Mad

Mariano blinked.

No, Mira had (bluegreenbrownhazelambersapphireemeraldblack) eyes and an adorable (bigsmallmedium) nose and a head of (shortlongmedium) (curlystraightmessy) hair andandandandandandandand an d a n d a n d a

a n

Mariano shook his head. What's he doing here, just standing? Mira and Mama are waiting for him. He can't let them down.

(Reblog for part 3 if you want more of Housekid AU!)

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kathasofwander · 3 years ago

Text

I am confused lol is this an animation error or just some thing she is using for the fight?

Either way, *cursed image*

#miraculous ladybug #ml psycomedian #finally a teaser!#marinette dupain cheng #ladybug

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kathasofwander · 3 years ago

Text

Read it on Ao3!

Miraculous Freedom Fighters AU

It is set in the time of the Indian Freedom Struggle, and begins in the year 1919.

Disclaimer: Most things in this fic is a figment of two creative peoples’ imagination. However, there are some elements that were historically true and necessary to be incorporated into the story.

Chapter 1: Lalitha gets the Ladybug.

Lalitha huffed as she prepared lunch. It had been two weeks since she had joined her new job, and life wasn’t getting any better. As much she didn’t want to admit, her employer was considerably nicer than any other British officer she had met so far, and she had had an ulterior motive behind taking up the job.

She carefully picked up the lunch tray and walked to the room where her employer sat with the group of his subordinates. “Ah yes, Lalitha, keep it on the table.” he told her. The girl obeyed and served the food to everyone. She bowed and walked out of the dining room.

“We have to do something to stop these protests. They are getting stronger and stubborn. There are talks of Gandhi organising a movement.” one of the subordinate officers said.

“We must talk to the leaders of these protests. Us responding with violence evidently has not helped.” Lalitha’s employer said.

“I say, sir, I think hitting them is the only way they will listen, those annoying locals!” there were mumbles, and the sound of a chair hitting the ground. “I will show you, sir; we are doing them a favour and they dare to rebel. They deserve the punishment. So saying, the subordinate officer stormed out, not noticing an angry Lalitha hiding behind a pillar.

She had heard enough information to pass to her friends in the revolutionary group, which she had joined after her cousin’s death.

Her family, the Godboles lived in a quaint village, where they owned a large piece of land which had been passed down from generations. They were one happy family; her parents, her aunt and uncle, their son Shekhar and his family, and Lalitha, of course, lived in a nice house just near the land.

The problem began when the Britishers entered their country and began laying unnecessary laws and taxes, which the Godboles found tough to pay. An officer who had been stationed in their village continually harassed her father and uncle about it, and threatened to take away their land.

Shekhar had joined a revolutionary group started by one Damodar Apte, and he helped organise rebellions that questioned these laws. One day, Lalitha was returning from the market when she saw the officer pushing Shekhar into a van. She ran to the vehicle. “Dada! What is happening here??” she asked urgently.

“I’ll tell you what is happening! Your brute of a brother pushed me when I asked him to obey the laws. He will be going to jail for a very long time!” the officer sneered.

“No! Lies!!” Shekhar’s wife shouted. “He is lying, Lalitha. He was harassing baba and kaka about the land, and Shekhar protested. This man is arresting him for no reason!” she cried.

Lalitha was stunned, and before she could speak, the van drove away. She ran behind it, pleading to let her brother go, but in vain.

“No!!” She cried. “If only I had been here, Dada wouldn’t have been arrested.” Her father came up to her.

“Come on, let us go home.” he told her gently.

“Baba! What about…”

“We couldn’t have done anything about it, Lali. I will tell Apte Ji; he will help us.” he said.

“But…” Lalitha cried as she walked home with her father. Two days passed with no news, and it was April 13, 1919. Gudi Padva, the harvest festival. Though it was a mediocre harvest, they were grateful for it. The celebration was solemn, and the Godboles prayed for Shekhar.

Alas, fate had other plans; the next day, the rest of the country heard of a deadly massacre in Jallianwala Bagh, Amritsar and how a ruthless British general had unleashed fire on innocent people in the garden. Just as they were thinking about the plight of the poor victims, a grim looking Damodar Apte knocked on their door.

“Shekhar has been convicted.” he told them. Lalitha’s aunt fell to the floor in shock, crying loudly.

“But how?” her uncle asked, trying to fight his tears. “He didn’t do anything!”

Apte handed them a letter. “He wrote this, and asked me to give it to you all.” he gave it to Lalitha. She tore it open and began reading, her shock only increasing. (She knew how to read; Shekhar taught her.)

“Rowlatt Act??” she exclaimed.

“Yes. It allows them to arrest and try political cases unfairly. The officer who arrested him told the court that Shekhar physically assaulted him. They believed him over your brother.”

“How dare they! I want to meet dada. We can get his conviction reversed, right?” Apte looked at Lalitha sadly.

“It won’t be of much help. We can try, but they have sentenced him to be executed tomorrow.” he told her.

“No!!” The Godboles were shocked.

The next day, Shekhar’s fellow revolutionary friends took them to the prison, for one last meeting.

Lalitha cried profusely, apologising again and again for not helping him. “Lali...Promise me one thing.” her cousin told her. She looked up at him. “Promise me that you will not let my sacrifice go in vain. Our country will be free from these oppressive rules, I need you to make sure of it.” he said seriously.

The time came. Lalitha and her family stood behind a wall. “Jai Bharat!” they heard Shekhar chant, before the loud sound of the gallows opening echoed. Her sister-in-law and aunt began crying loudly.

A day later, Lalitha expressed her desire to join Damodar Apte’s revolutionary group, but it was shut down by her father almost immediately. “We have already lost a son. We cannot lose another child.”

“But Baba! I want to…”

“No, and that’s final. Besides, we are leaving the village, and going to the city” he told her.

“But...our land??”

“We have surrendered it to the British. It was because of this cursed land that they took away my boy. I don’t want to look at it.” her uncle said angrily.

That night, Lalitha snuck out to Damodar Apte’s house. On her way, she bumped into a man. “Sorry!” she called out before continuing. He simply smiled.

She met Apte, and explained the situation to him. “I understand. Are you sure you want to join us?” he asked. The girl nodded. “Good, then go to the city. I have an assignment for you.”

And that’s how Lalitha Godbole had started working for a British officer in the city. Whatever information she overheard from her employer’s meetings, she passed on to Damodar Apte and the rest of the group. Her family didn’t know, of course.

However, simply being a messenger wasn’t enough. She had promised Shekhar that she would do everything possible to fight for the country’s independence, and she was determined to do more.

That evening, while returning from work, she noticed that her lunch bag was slightly heavy. She looked into it, and noticed a hexagonal box. ‘How did this get here?’ she thought. Hiding behind a tree, she opened it, and was immediately blinded by a glow. When the light subsided, a flying insect looked at her excitedly. “Hi! Majha naav, Tikki! Ani me ek kwami ahe!” (Hi! My name is Tikki, and I am a kwami!)

Translations:

Baba: Father in Marathi

Kaka: Uncle in Marathi.

Dada: Older Brother in Marathi.

Lalitha and her family, and Damodar Apte are our original characters.

You can read about the Jallianwala Bagh massacre over here

#read on ao3 #miraculous freedom fighters au #miraculous fanworks #ink-ity i had the best inspiration!#It is now on ao3!!#miraculous ladybug #lalitha godbole #indian freedom struggle #MiraculousAU

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kathasofwander · 3 years ago

Text

Miraculous Freedom Fighters AU

It is set in the time of the Indian Freedom Struggle, and begins in the year 1919.

Disclaimer: Most things in this fic is a figment of two creative peoples’ imagination. However, there are some elements that were historically true and necessary to be incorporated into the story.

Chapter 1: Lalitha gets the Ladybug.

“We have to do something to stop these protests. They are getting stronger and stubborn. There are talks of Gandhi organising a movement.” one of the subordinate officers said.

“We must talk to the leaders of these protests. Us responding with violence evidently has not helped.” Lalitha’s employer said.

She had heard enough information to pass to her friends in the revolutionary group, which she had joined after her cousin’s death.

“I’ll tell you what is happening! Your brute of a brother pushed me when I asked him to obey the laws. He will be going to jail for a very long time!” the officer sneered.

“No! Lies!!” Shekhar’s wife shouted. “He is lying, Lalitha. He was harassing baba and kaka about the land, and Shekhar protested. This man is arresting him for no reason!” she cried.

Lalitha was stunned, and before she could speak, the van drove away. She ran behind it, pleading to let her brother go, but in vain.

“No!!” She cried. “If only I had been here, Dada wouldn’t have been arrested.” Her father came up to her.

“Come on, let us go home.” he told her gently.

“Baba! What about…”

“We couldn’t have done anything about it, Lali. I will tell Apte Ji; he will help us.” he said.

“Shekhar has been convicted.” he told them. Lalitha’s aunt fell to the floor in shock, crying loudly.

“But how?” her uncle asked, trying to fight his tears. “He didn’t do anything!”

“Rowlatt Act??” she exclaimed.

“Yes. It allows them to arrest and try political cases unfairly. The officer who arrested him told the court that Shekhar physically assaulted him. They believed him over your brother.”

“How dare they! I want to meet dada. We can get his conviction reversed, right?” Apte looked at Lalitha sadly.

“It won’t be of much help. We can try, but they have sentenced him to be executed tomorrow.” he told her.

“No!!” The Godboles were shocked.

The next day, Shekhar’s fellow revolutionary friends took them to the prison, for one last meeting.

“But Baba! I want to…”

“No, and that’s final. Besides, we are leaving the village, and going to the city” he told her.

“But...our land??”

“We have surrendered it to the British. It was because of this cursed land that they took away my boy. I don’t want to look at it.” her uncle said angrily.

That night, Lalitha snuck out to Damodar Apte’s house. On her way, she bumped into a man. “Sorry!” she called out before continuing. He simply smiled.

She met Apte, and explained the situation to him. “I understand. Are you sure you want to join us?” he asked. The girl nodded. “Good, then go to the city. I have an assignment for you.”

However, simply being a messenger wasn’t enough. She had promised Shekhar that she would do everything possible to fight for the country’s independence, and she was determined to do more.

Translations:

Baba: Father in Marathi

Kaka: Uncle in Marathi.

Dada: Older Brother in Marathi.

Lalitha and her family, and Damodar Apte are our original characters.

You can read about the Jallianwala Bagh massacre over here

#miraculous freedom fighters au #miraculous ladybug #ink-ity #lalitha godbole #pictowrite #collaboration #AU #indian freedom struggle

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