#Bruno linen shirts

[themousefromfantasyland]

Bluebeard

by Bruno de La Salle

If you love fairy tales, you need a French friend. I read this version of Bluebeard when I was a child. It stuck with me, because in this version, there’s a dark, melancholic, and dream-like romance between the protagonist and the titular Bluebeard, here reimagined as a prince cursed into being a giant.

But I could never find this book again.

My good friend @adarkrainbow helped me find it and I will forever be thankful to him.

@ariel-seagull-wings , this is the Bluebeard I talked about. A Bluebeard tale that is also a mix between Beauty and the Beast and Prince Lindworm.

"Curse, curses, Spells, imprecations: Words of blood, words of lead."

There had been a curse and no one knew why, for whom or in what way. But what remained certain was that misfortune was there. There was, in this kingdom where neither king nor laws existed, a poor old man who had just lost his wife. And this poor man had lost, with his wife, his courage, his good humor and the last grain of brain that remained to him.

He had had three beautiful sons, they had been away at war for six years and would not return at the earliest after seven.

He had only his daughters left: four girls to marry, but who were not yet married and who every day asked what there would be to eat, knowing that there would be nothing.

He spent his days looking for what he could bring them back and did not find much.

One day, a winter day without bread, he suddenly saw in front of him a field covered with blue cabbages. Those cabbages that are put in soup and that are tender and crunchy. They seemed so numerous to him that it was like an ocean. But what surprised him most was that he had never seen such a field, in that place, before.

Without trying to find out more, he threw himself at this godsend. He wanted to pull out these cabbages to take them away as quickly as possible.

He could not pull out a single one. These cabbages were as if attached to the earth of this strange field. As if connected by threads. The poor man was overcome by a desperate anger. He began to hit the cabbages, kicking and punching.

He heard a rumbling, and suddenly saw a rock rise up above him and the field, an enormous stone. It was neither field nor stone! It was the head of a giant and the field was his chest on which his blue beard feel like cabbages.

The poor man wanted to run away but the giant had seized him with two of his enormous fingers. He brought him close to his face and asked him gently: What was he doing in that beard? Why had he disturbed him?

The poor man told everything: his misfortune, his misery, his four daughters to marry, feed and clothe.

“Give me one and you will never be hungry again. Otherwise, since you are disturbing me, I will crush you like a fly!”

The man did not hesitate much. Fear, misery, stupidity, the urgency of his decision did not help him to think. He accepted.

When the appointment was made, he quickly returned home, reassured and almost happy to have gotten rid of the danger, and also of his eldest daughter.

Without being heard by the others, he came to tell his daughter that a prince was in love with her, that she had to go see him near his castle as soon as possible, to come to an understanding and to marry him.

The girl did not argue. The opportunity was too good to miss, to leave such a poor father to find a powerful husband. She urged him to leave.

On their way, crossing a river, they came across washerwomen who were washing fine shirts that they were putting in baskets. The oldest of the washerwomen spoke to the girl:

“Help me carry this linen!”

The other did not look at her. She was not going to compromise such an attractive marriage to help such poor people!

When they arrived at the field, they found a drawbridge, in front of the bridge, a purse full of money and behind it, a large door that opened a crack.

The poor man pushed his daughter inside despite the terror she had, he pushed it and the door closed.

He waited but he did not hear a noise. That seemed enough to him to think that everything was fine. He took the purse and then returned home, very pleased with his good deal.

So his elder daughter disappeared and no one knew how, except him and the giant. He did not try to find out what had become of her. He worried about it the day he found his purse empty.

So he returned to the field. His blue beard waved under the winter sky. Very, very respectfully, he pulled on one of the curls that was shaped like a cabbage.

And, like the first time, the blue giant straightened up. The old man was terrified. He hesitated to ask for news of his elder daughter but what he wanted most was to ask for money.

He did not need to do so. It was the giant who asked:

“Give me your second daughter if you want to earn money and if you want to save your life!”

The old man asked for nothing else. He did not ask any questions. He did what he had done again.

And like her elder sister, the second was too happy to believe she had escaped misfortune.

She left with her father, did not listen to the washerwoman, ducked behind the door and was the father able to take the salary from this affair.

Ill-gotten money evaporates without one knowing how to do without it.

A third time, the father headed for the blue field. And as the previous times, things went well.

It was the last one's turn. The youngest, the innocent one, the one who wanted to stay home to watch over her father who was left alone since the others had left.

Everything had to be explained to her: the story of the older sisters and the giant, the choice he had left her: a daughter or to be killed.

She agreed to give herself up, but took a raven and a dove on her shoulder to send news: white and joyful news, black and dangerous news.

They met the washerwomen on the way.

The oldest asked her to help her carry the laundry. She came to help her immediately.

Then the old woman gave her three small colored handkerchiefs, the first white, the second red, the other blue:

-Take them for your wedding day, they are a shirt, a dress and a coat. And you will not take them off until your husband also takes off similar clothes.

The washerwoman returned to her shirts at the washhouse and the girl to her way.

They came to the gate. The father took his money. And the girl and her two birds went into the castle.

She enters the castle, the brave young girl and she is all amazed.

It is a magnificent palace, all lit up, all illuminated and so well made, so well arranged that it is as if she had always lived in this palace.

She crosses the lounges, the rooms, the apartments. She sees there, she recognizes there what she had guessed to see there, except that everything is blue.

The young girl arrives at the dining room, where the meal is prepared with everything she prefers.

The giant is there, suddenly, and invites her. They then sit down at the table. It is like her father told her during their journey: his skin, his beard, his hair are blue, pale blue like anger, like winter cabbages.

And yet, he seems less big, less big than a large stone and a field. But a terrible sadness can be read on his face, a heavy blue sadness.

When they have finished eating, he takes her to his room then withdraws without saying anything.

The next day, at dawn, he stands ready to lead her, to show her what he has.

He says:

“Everything belongs to you. Take whatever you want.”

But she looks and is silent, admires but does not dare say anything and it is he who must guess what she would like to ask.

The days pass thus, discovering themselves to each other, being silent and listening to each other, revealing themselves without saying anything.

She was no longer afraid of him, nor of his astonishing appearance. But as for him, the more time went by, the more he seemed worried. It was as if he had feared that a noise or a movement might shatter a hope she was unaware of.

She had asked him for news of her three sisters.

He had not invented any, he had said: They died because of their imprudence!

He had said nothing more.

In the evening, when they separated, all the lamps went out. And he had forbidden her to light a single candle before dawn the next day.

He joined her in the night and left her before daybreak. And if she had not known who he was and what he had probably done, she would have loved him very much.

Almost a year had passed. One morning, he came to find her, more serious and sadder than ever:

“I am going to go on a journey and you are going to be left alone. I leave you all my keys, the hundred keys to the house. Everything in it is for you. Go wherever you wish. Except to the lower room where I keep what belongs to me. I beg you not to go there, otherwise I am not responsible for anything.”

He tells her all this in a whisper and he leaves and she finds herself alone.

She does not hesitate for long. She knows that she must discover what this house hides.

She runs to the lower room and with the small key opens the unfortunate door.

A suffocating stench immediately takes hold of her by the throat.

She advances inside. She perceives, in the silence, the dull noise, the slow and brief noise of heavy drops that crash.

There is, in this darkness, a glowing light that escapes from a smoking fire. And this threatening glow reveals the brownish shadows that are suspended from the ceiling.

After a moment, she understands the giant's horrible secret: these shadows, these noises, this smell, are the blood, the flesh, the limbs and the remains of the wives who preceded her in this place and those of her elder sisters who were murdered and cut up.

She guesses almost everything that had happened: they had come here driven by curiosity. They had been betrayed by a secret, a magic. The giant thus warned had killed them immediately.

They had dropped this key which was magic. And this key had spoken to warn the murderer.

The young girl this time does not drop the key.

Among all the butchery, she recognizes her three sisters, their heads, their trunks, their limbs.

With tenderness, she gathers the pieces. And their bodies are reconstituted. And as if by magic breathe, but nevertheless remain asleep.

While she is at her work,She suddenly notices another door in the room. A very small door.

Curiosity takes hold of her. She wants to know what is behind this little door. She opens it and discovers a staircase. She goes down.

She arrives in a cave. A gigantic cavern, as big as the whole world, with a vault as vast as a starry night sky.

And under this sky unfolds a marvelous landscape, made of hills, rivers, mountains, fields and rocks.

But when the moon appears and illuminates the cavern, she understands what she sees: it was not a landscape, but the sleeping body of a man.

And under the moonlight, she recognizes the giant who sleeps almost peacefully.

In the middle of his chest, as vast as a valley, flows a white river.

And on the edges, washerwomen wash soiled linen, shirts stained with blood.

And each time a shirt is cleaned, the giant sighs and sobs.

And his complaints are so touching that the young girl forgets to hold the key, and lets it go.

As soon as it is no longer held, as soon as it is abandoned, the key swells, twists and screams, it screams and it warns:

“This woman has disobeyed! This woman has disobeyed!”

Then the washerwomen flee, the river stops flowing and the valley, on the giant's chest becomes a gaping wound again.

Then the giant wakes up, resumes his tormented form. His beard and his skin become pale blue like anger, like cabbages in winter.

He addresses the young girl:

“You did not know how to keep the key. This cursed fairy key that watches over me to keep me cursed. Because of you, I become again the one who only does evil, the one who separates and who kills, the one who cannot stop himself from killing so great is his fear and who will kill you too.”

He immediately seizes his ax and begins to sharpen it, while grinding between his teeth which excite his grindstone:

“Guise, guise, my grindstone! Guise my beautiful gray blade! Crips, criss for the betrothed! Guise, guise, I caught her disobeying me! Guise my beautiful gray blade! I'm going to cut her throat!”

She says to him:

“Listen to me! Since you are going to kill me, grant me a favor! I would like to become your wife before I die. I would like you to marry me before you kill me. And I want, for that moment, my bridal finery. Let me go and get dressed.”

The giant does not answer her, but while sharpening his ax, he signals her to go.

She runs out of the cave. Quickly climbs the stairs. Finds her sisters awake. Quickly tells them what to do:

Climb to the top of the tower. Open the raven's cage, so that it can fly away and warn their brothers who have returned from war. Watch, watch and watch, then warn when they arrive.

The three sisters climb the tower and make the raven fly away. The young girl is in her room. She unfolds the three handkerchiefs that the washerwoman had given her.

Then she undresses and takes the first white handkerchief. She puts it on her chest. It makes a shirt for her.

But down below the monster is busy:

“Guise, guise, my millstone! Guise my beautiful gray blade! Squeal, squeal for the betrothed! Guise, guise, I caught her disobeying me! Guise my beautiful gray blade! I'm going to cut her throat!”

And suddenly he gets impatient: “Is your finery on?”

And the young girl answers: “I can't find my chemise.”

Then she addresses her sisters:

“Don't you see anything coming?

And the three sisters answer her:

“We only see the paleness of the dawn that is about to arrive and nothing, and nothing on the way.”

But she, she looks for the handkerchief, the second little red handkerchief. She unfolds it on her body and it makes her a robe. And the giant shouts again:

“Guise, guise, my millstone! Guise my beautiful gray blade! Squeal, squeal for the betrothed! Guise, guise, I caught her disobeying me! Guise my beautiful gray blade! I'm going to cut her throat!”

And shouts even louder: “Is this chemise on?”

She answers: “It is on, but now I'm looking for my robe!”

Then she addresses her sisters:

“Don't you see anything coming?”

And the three sisters answered him:

“We see the sun coming, lighting up the horizon, but nothing, nothing on the path.”

She took the last handkerchief, the blue handkerchief, and placed it on her shoulders, and it made her a coat. A blue coat like the giant's beard.

The monster howled like a madman:

“Guise, guise, my millstone! Guise my beautiful gray blade! Squeal, squeal for the betrothed! Guise, guise, I caught her disobeying me! Guise my beautiful gray blade! I'm going to cut her throat! Is this dress finally on?”

“It's on properly. I can't find the coat!”

Then she addressed her sisters: “Don't you see anything coming?”

And the three sisters answered her:

“We only see the morning and the sad day that is coming. And then also three horsemen in the distance!”

But it is probably too late, because here is the giant coming up to look for her.

So she must resolve to go down to find him.

And he, when he sees her coming, dressed in her three handkerchiefs, he remains completely bewildered, so perfect is this finery.

He orders:

“Take off this coat!”

And she, without knowing why, answers:

“Take off a coat like this!!”

These words make him angry, even more than he was there, but he cannot refuse her what she has just asked.

With both hands, he takes his blue beard, pale blue like anger, like winter cabbages. He tears it off his face.

And all his giant skin, which was blue like his beard, he tears off his whole body. Then, she takes off his coat.

But under this skin of anger, which the giant had just lost, appears a red crust like the dried earth.

He asks:

“Take off your dress!”

She answers:

“Take off a dress like this!”

He tears off the two lips of his wound from his chest. And all the crust of earth that had covered him until then cracks and crumbles into dust. Then, she takes off her dress.

But under the layer of earth, which the giant had just lost, appears a skin of stone, like a white and pointed rock, a yoke of sharp stones.

He asks her in a breath:

“Take off your shirt now.”

She answers:

“Take off a shirt like this!”

The giant begins to tremble, to tremble from head to toe. Trembling so much that he makes the castle tremble. And suddenly, the rock breaks, the stones split, finally break.

Then the man emerges from his shell, old and young at the same time, full of strength, but exhausted, like a newborn in the hands of the one who gives birth to him. And she took off her shirt.

The three brothers had arrived. They had blown up the door and were running to the cavern. The three sisters accompanied them.

They arrived too late. The young girl had defeated the curse. She had freed the prince.

There was only a queen and a king left, happy to be free.

There were only sweet, tender and affectionate words.

Nothing more of the sinister past.

Nothing more of what had been feared, nothing more of what had been believed.

"Curse, curses, Spells, imprecations: Words of blood, words of lead."

It was all gone, like a dream.

Again, thanks for helping me find this gem again

@ariel-seagull-wings @the-blue-fairie @thealmightyemprex @tamisdava2 @princesssarisa @adarkrainbow @piterelizabethdevries @natache @theancientvaleofsoulmaking

[foggyfanfic]

Love and Fury

Chapter Preview: They whiled away the hours making soap while Bruno tried to convince himself that no, he wasn’t stalling, he was just so caught up in enjoying his Very Good Friend’s company that he’d forgotten that he came here to ask her on a date.

Ch1 Prev Next Master List

Chapter 24 Do or Die

On a list of things Bruno didn’t want to do, the only thing that superseded putting himself out there, was finding out what Pepa had planned to “help” him if he didn’t ask Leandra out by Sunday. 

So here he was, on Saturday, making the trek up to Leandra’s house. Well, making the trek up to Leandra’s house again; he’d already gotten to the edge of her property, chickened out, gone half way back to town, then remembered the sharp grin on Pepa’s face as her and Rosalie disappeared into Pepa’s room, and climbed back up the mountain. Twice.

Now he was sweaty, and thirsty, and his feet ached, and he was beginning to think that maybe he should just settle down here, on the side of the road. He could start a new life for himself, a life collecting dew from the leaves and fruit from the trees, far away from sisters, or visions, or mothers who were beginning to hint at grandchildren. It would be peaceful, serene. Right up until Leandra found him on her way to the market and would inevitably want to know why he was sitting on the side of the road sucking on a leaf.

Bruno reached the edge of her property once again and stopped, then started to pace at the edge of the property line. Dios help him, he couldn’t do this. What was he thinking? That he’d just walk up and ask her on a date? Like a person? Bruno wasn’t a person! Well, he was a person, sure, most people are persons, but he wasn’t a person person. He didn’t do people things like have happy relationships. He played with magic sand and reminded actual people that they were going to grow old and that eventually everything they know and love would die.

Mind made up, Bruno turned around. He couldn’t do this.

“Hey Bruno!”

He froze mid step. Bruno gulped and slowly turned his head until he could see the hill that overlooked the pasture, and therefore the rest of the property. Leandra was standing on it with Leche.

How long had she been standing there?

“H-Hola,” he called back.

“Meet me at the back gate to the garden,” she yelled, hands cupped around her mouth.

Bruno shakily held up a thumb, aching feet moving beneath him without his say so, until he was standing at the gate. Leche came bounding up a minute later, Leandra bursting through the trees as Bruno knelt down to pet the old dog. She was smiling brightly, cheeks pleasantly rosy from her short jog down the hill and a leaf caught in her hair.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” she said, and she said it like one would announce their delight at a surprise gift, or a rainbow. Somehow it just made him more nervous, it was entirely possible she wouldn’t be this excited to see him ever again.

“I-I wanted to-, that is I thought we might-, you might-, would you mind if we um-. I’m so sorry. Adios.”

“Whoa.” Leandra caught his arm before he could run away like he wanted to, “You alright Bruno? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, I mean yes, and no,” he said, hands gesturing back and forth. She frowned, cocking her head to the side like a confused puppy. Eventually he muttered, “Yes I am alright, no nothing’s wrong.”

“Uh-huh,” she drew the two sounds out until each communicated their own question, then she began tugging him towards her cottage, “how about you come in and have something to drink, it's muggy out here and you’re wearing wool.”

Bruno looked down at his usual ruana, which was indeed wool, and very warm. He would have taken it off, but at this point he had sweated through his beige linen shirt and he really didn’t want her seeing that. Honestly, if Leandra could just somehow be completely blind to everything about him for the rest of the day, that would be great. He glanced over his shoulder at the path back to town and thought about making a run for it.

But a cold drink sounded really nice. And he was really hot.

Leandra pushed her back door open and pulled him through into the cool shade of her kitchen. She pulled out a chair and ordered him to sit in it then fetched him a glass of water. When he chugged it she immediately poured him a second. It was all he could do not to chug that one too.

Maybe walking up and down a mountain in the middle of the afternoon during the height of summer hadn’t been a great idea. Pepa was still keeping the sun at bay so he hadn’t noticed how hot he was getting until he had left the humidity behind.

Snacks appeared on the table in short order then Leandra sat next to him, pulling her chair out so she was pointed at him and her shoulder was pointed at the table. Leche laid down in between them.

“So, what brings you up to my humble abode, and in the midst of either a panic attack or heat stroke, is it Pepa? I bet it’s Pepa. Whatever she’s scheming she’s roped Rosalie in too, even I’m getting nervous,” Leandra chattered cheerfully, as unbothered as ever that he was an awkward disaster who frequently failed to string together a coherent sentence. Maybe he should skip asking her on a date and just ask her to marry him. 

Bruno knocked on the wooden table, then risked speaking, “I-I noticed, they’re down in Casita right now, as we speak. Plotting away.”

“Oof,” Leandra grimaced and sucked air in through her teeth, “stay as long as you need. Actually, maybe we should start talking about ways to fake your death, Rosalie is not a merciful plotter.”

“She isn’t?”

“Nuh-uh. Not even a little. She’s downright vicious when she wants to be, you'll never see her coming, and never prove to anybody it was she who put the salt in your teacher's tea.”

Bruno raised an eyebrow.

"I may or may not have helped Rosalie frame certain unpleasant individuals for harmless pranks in school," Leandra grinned, "I'll say it again, Rosalie is vicious."

Bruno groaned and put his head on the table, “So is Pepa.”

“It’s ok Bruno, you can live here now, I’ll cover for you. And if they ever come looking, you can pretend to be one of the goats.”

Bruno let out a miserable goat noise and Leandra giggled. It was all he could do not to sigh dreamily at the sound.

“I think your papa might have some questions about the oddly man-shaped goat you found,” Bruno lifted his head to give her a wry smile.

“He’d look the other way for you, he likes you, always has,” Leandra waved the concern off.

Bruno sat up straight, “Probably because we haven’t spoken that much since I was twelve.”

“Or, maybe, because my papa isn’t a total idiot and he knows a good man when he sees one,” Leandra prodded his ankle with her toe, “not everybody in this village is a total jerk you know.”

“Hm,” Bruno wanted to point out that not liking the bearer of bad news didn’t make somebody a jerk, but he had a feeling Leandra wouldn’t agree, so he changed the subject, “how’s your day been?”

“Good, better now that you’re here, of course,” she grabbed some sliced mango off the table and paused to have a bite, then said, “Papa and his apprentice are practicing herding with Lobo on the peak and I’ve spent most of the day helping them out. I was just coming down to check on the cheese and soaps, move along whatever needs moving along.”

“Your papa seems to spend a lot of time herding,” Bruno pointed out, “Do goats always need this much attention?”

“Not really, sort of, but no,” she shrugged, tilting her head back and forth, “I mean it’s like your rats, they always need something, right? Only, we need a lot more goats to keep things running around here than you have rats, and our livelihood depends on them being well fed and healthy and all that. So Papa always spends a lot of time with them, but usually he’s just sitting and reading or something, he’s only been doing so much actual herding lately because he’s training up both Lobo and his apprentice.”

“So, do you always spend so much time… alone?”

She shrugged, “I guess? I’m not normally alone on the property this much, he’s usually just out in the pasture, or the barn. But since I’m old enough to handle all of the cheese making and market trading myself, I do that while he handles all the goat stuff, and the maintenance around here. And then we have a few meals together.”

Bruno nodded to show he was listening, but took the time to let his next question percolate before he asked it, “Does he know? A-about Cicero?”

“Um, sort of,” Leandra fiddled with her skirt, “he doesn’t know exactly what Cicero did, or that I’m keeping him distracted while we figure out how to catch him. Papa just knows that I don’t want to be left alone with the guy. That’s why he officially retired Leche, really, so he could guard me full time.”

Leche lifted his head when he heard his name, and she leaned down to scratch him behind his ear.

“You uh, you should probably tell him,” Bruno pointed out, “if anything bad happens to you…”

“I know,” Leandra sighed, propping her cheek on her hand, and her elbow on the table, “it’s just… I don’t even know how to start that conversation, and I don’t want him putting everything on hold to protect me. I won’t be here to help out forever, y’know? I’m going to get married eventually and when I do, Papa needs to have everything ready to run without me.”

Bruno gulped, nodding again, but this time to cover his reaction to her mentioning marriage. Unfortunately his mouth didn’t get the memo and he croaked out, “Married?”

“Sí,” she cocked her head, watching him carefully, she hadn’t meant to bring up marriage, but her concern for what her Pá would do once she was married was ever present, “I’m at that age, you know. Honestly, I’d probably be married by now if it wasn’t for… um, the whole kids thing.”

Leandra ate another mango, trying to think of a way to change the subject without making it super obvious that she was changing the subject. It’d probably be best if she brought the conversation back to her Pá.

“The kids thing?” Bruno leaned towards her, unintentionally cutting off her evasive maneuvers. She examined his face and tried to judge what he was thinking. He seemed pretty interested in the topic.

“I… you know how I’m adopted?”

“Sí.”

“Well, I’ve always wanted to pay it forward, so to speak. There’s always kids who need a good home, even here in paradise, I want to provide that home,” she tucked her hair behind her ear, a part of her wanted to avoid looking at Bruno, they weren’t even dating yet and she was kind of, sort of already starting The Kids Conversation.

For his part, Bruno suddenly realized for the first time in his life that adopting a kid was an option. He didn’t have to curse his children to a life as Bruno Madrigal’s spawn, he could take in a kid that would come pre-attached with their own identity in the eyes of the village. People might feel bad for the kid, for being stuck with the least favorite Madrigal, but that was better than them hating his kids outright.

Much, much better.

Why hadn’t he thought of this before? He’d always figured he would just steal some of Pepa’s and Julieta’s kids, but he could actually have some of his own.

“Adoption,” he said, quietly.

“Yeah, I know, it’s kind of a hard sell,” she sighed, leaning on the table, “but it’s non-negotiable for me. I have yet to meet anyone who I want to marry more than I want to adopt. Anyone who wants to marry me would have to get onboard with that.”

Bruno nodded faintly, “Uh-huh.”

He could be a father, without ruining his childrens’ life. 

Wait, could he be a father? He’d always written the very idea of fatherhood off as a bad idea, would he make a good father? What were dad’s like? How do you be a good one?

“Bruno? You good? You look like your mind is a thousand miles away?”

Dios, she hadn’t freaked him out, right?

“What even is a dad?” Bruno blurted, gesturing so sharply and suddenly that Leandra jumped.

“Oh, wow, ok. Um, what?” Leandra shook her head.

“Sorry, sorry. I just… you mentioned adoption and I had this whole e-epiphany thing, because I don’t want people to hate my kids, right? B-but you’re adopted and people don’t hate you, so that would work, but that means being a father and I don’t even know what fathers do.”

Leandra nodded slowly, even though she only sort of got what he was saying. He was clearly still consumed by whatever thoughts he was thinking. She latched on to the part she understood.

“I figure fathers probably do all the same stuff mothers do, or I mean, I’ve always figured that mothers do the things my Pá has done for me. I don’t remember my birth family, mother included, but a kid doesn’t stop needing hugs and vegetables just because they only have one parent, right?”

Bruno blinked at her, finally coming out of the fog of newfound hope and anxiety, “Hugs and vegetables?”

“Sí. Everything a kid needs falls into two categories. ‘Hugs’ is all the stuff like a lap to sit on, a shoulder to cry on, stories at bedtime; and, ‘vegetables’ are all the not fun stuff that kids need, medicine, lectures, rules, chores. If you can give a kid those things, you can be a parent.”

Bruno raised an eyebrow, “You really think it’s that easy?”

“Easy? No. Hell no. I’ve given Julio enough baths to know that the vegetables part can be downright heart breaking. Dios, the hugs part can be pretty hard too, Julio’s first cold was a nightmare, and he was absolutely miserable, crying his head off the whole time. Rosalie was exhausted, and unbelievably stressed, but she still comforted him as best as she could. Parenting is hard. Simple. I think it’s that simple.”

“What about if the kid wants to do something bad for them? A-and by telling them no, you hurt their feelings?”

“Vegetables. Exercise can be unpleasant, it’s still good for us.”

“What if the kid does something bad?”

“Vegetables again. I didn’t always understand why it was bad to make fun of other people’s appearance, but Papá made me write apology letters any time I was mean, and now I understand that everybody is deserving of compassion and respect.”

“What if the kid goes through something awful? What if they, they, I don’t know, lose a limb?”

“Hugs. It’ll be hard, but they’ll need your comfort and support.”

Bruno tried to think of something else, something that could complicate this world view, but he found that she was right. Any parenting challenge he could think of either required “hugs” or “vegetables”.

“See,” she grinned as his silence stretched on, “the most complicated part of parenting is figuring out when to give hugs and when to give vegetables. Once you know that, it’s all very simple.”

“That still sounds pretty complicated,” he shook his head.

“Complicated? Or difficult?”

He drummed his fingers on the table a few times before answering, “Well, it can be both.”

“Sure, but it doesn’t have to be,” Leandra said, her eyes flickering from his face down to the snacks on the table, “like opening up to somebody and telling them how you feel, it’s not complicated, it’s just hard.”

Bruno laughed ruefully, nodding as his own eyes were drawn down to the table as well. He couldn’t argue with that.

They sat in contemplative silence for a few minutes. Leandra nibbled on another mango slice and debated asking Bruno if he wanted to go on a date when this whole mess with Cicero was cleaned up. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

Bruno knocked on the wooden table, accidentally drawing her attention. He grinned sheepishly, and opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and grimaced down at his knees.

They were silent for a little while longer, but now Leandra was aware of the fact that Bruno was uncomfortable.

“You wanna help me with the cheese?” she asked, brightly as she could. Bruno looked startled, then he smiled gently and nodded, standing without a word.

She packed up the snacks and led him down to the basement where various batches of cheese were in various stages of production. Leandra filled the silence, explaining how goat milk became cheese curds which became goat cheese so that Bruno could coast through the conversation for a little while. His attention came and went, his thoughts still plaguing him with mysterious anxieties, but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t chattering at him because she felt he was in dire need of a cheese themed education.

After an hour or so, whatever was bothering Bruno seemed to settle and he asked her to show him how she made soap next. He paid attention this time, knowing that this was something she genuinely enjoyed.

“Will you keep making soap when you’re married?” he asked.

“I’d like to, if I can. I guess it depends on who I marry.”

Bruno bit his lip. He wasn’t sure if his sudden conviction that him and Leandra would be perfect together was based in fact, or hope. Still, he found himself wondering if he could convince Casita to give her a work room to make soap in.

They whiled away the hours making soap while Bruno tried to convince himself that no, he wasn’t stalling, he was just so caught up in enjoying his Very Good Friend’s company that he’d forgotten that he came here to ask her on a date. 

She asked him if he wanted to stay for dinner so he did, and then helped her with the dishes.

Before he knew it the sun was setting outside, Bruno looked wistfully into the twilight pressing in at the window. The day was just about over, if he went home now, he’d have to deal with whatever scheme Pepa and Rosalie cooked up. If only the sun had chosen to hang around a little longer, or maybe forever.

“Bruno?” Leandra pulled his attention away from the window, “You good?”

“Yeah I just,” it was now or never, “I uh… I-I wanted, well I kind of have to- oh! Not have to, have to, I do want to, but I also have to, you know what I mean? No. No, you don’t, because I haven’t yet. Right. Alright. I’m going to do it, I’m just going to take a deep breath and go for it.”

Leandra watched somewhat nervously as Bruno took a few deep breaths, then a few more. He squeezed his eyes shut, opened his mouth, shouted “Meirda!” then promptly fell to his knees clutching his head.

She rushed over to him, gently taking him by the shoulders and calling his name. He looked up at her and instantly grimaced, eyes screwing shut just as soon as she’d caught the glimmer of a green glow. He groaned, fingers fisting in his hair as his weight slowly shifted onto her hands. She pried one of his hands from his hair so she could throw his arm over her shoulder and half carry him to her couch. As soon as he recognized that he was being placed on a soft horizontal surface, Bruno all but collapsed into the cushions.

“Is there anything I can do?” Leandra whispered to him urgently.

He just shook his head, then groaned again.

Leandra stood over him, fiddling with her skirt and nibbling on her lip. She’d only ever seen him have an involuntary vision once before, it had been preceded by a migraine that left him drained, so Bruno had been relieved to get it over with more than anything else. This one looked so much worse, and she had to consciously root her feet to the ground to keep them from carrying her to the doctor’s house. After a moment of fretting it occurred to her that he would likely have a migraine when this sudden vision was over. Relief and purpose flooded her as she rushed around her cottage, extinguishing lights and preparing a cold rag for his head. 

She put the kettle on the stove and dug out some ginger tea. It wasn’t as fresh as Julieta’s had been, her and Pa didn’t really go through dry goods that fast. Hopefully it would still settle his stomach enough for him to take a painkiller. Leandra checked on him, then ran back to pull the kettle off just as it started whistling. She poured him a cup of tea, then frowned at her pot bellied stove and wondered if she should extinguish the flame.

Pepa had been holding off the sun for the entire week, and the cottage had been chilled by the combination of low hanging clouds, and high reaching fog. It made the days comfortably cool, but the nights a tad too cold. She had been planning to let the fire burn through the wood that was in there so that the heat would linger until morning, but now she second guessed herself. Would Bruno be more uncomfortable in a slightly too chilly cottage? Or a slightly too warm cottage? 

She took a step towards the stove to extinguish the flame, then paused and shook her head, frowning at herself. She didn't need to act immediately, in fact extinguishing the flame before she knew what Bruno needed might just increase his discomfort. She would just ask him when the vision had passed.

Leandra placed the tea and a bottle of painkiller on the little side table next to the couch, then knelt by Bruno’s head and began gently petting his hair.

“Is this ok?” she whispered.

“Si,” Bruno’s voice was strained, but sure.

Leandra waited patiently until he stopped groaning, sighing in noisy relief. She handed him the tea and a pain killer and had retrieved the cold rag from the ice box by the time he’d swallowed the pill and laid back down.

She pressed it to his forehead and he immediately muttered, “Oh bless you woman, marry me.”

“Let’s at least go to dinner first,” Leandra said, careful not to skip a beat, just in case Bruno was even a little bit serious.

Bruno, who had been completely serious when the words came out of his mouth, but mortified in the nano-second before she responded, groaned as all of his thoughts crashed together and ricocheted off his aching skull. He would be considering all the implications of that exchange later, when he wasn’t tempted to amputate his own head.

As it was he couldn’t even process the vision he’d just had without something behind his eyes pounding in a way he was pretty sure eyes weren’t supposed to pound. The vision also went into the Worry About Later box.

“Reina, can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Take that coat stand by the door and knock me out with it.”

“Anything that doesn’t involve smacking you with a coat stand.”

“That pot, then.”

“Ok, anything that doesn’t involve any sort of violence against you.”

He huffed, grumbling something about his hour of need, but otherwise settled into silence. She asked him if he’d be more comfortable in a warm or cool room, then sat by his hip when he answered warm. With nothing else to do to help him, she settled for holding his hand and rubbing her thumb against his knuckles.

“I guess I should go home,” Bruno eventually muttered, when the migraine had faded enough he thought he might be able to stand without puking.

“In this condition? No way,” Leandra just barely kept her voice down, “Nuh-uh Señor Coat Stand, the only place you’re going is bed. My Pa is spending the night out with his apprentice, you can take his bed.”

“Oh, I-I don’t know,” Bruno shook his head, then decided that was a bad idea, “what if he decides to come back?”

“Not likely, he’s camped out above the cloud line,” Leandra patted his hand and stood, “this house has been getting too chilly at night for his bad knee. You’d have to pay him to sleep here before those clouds go away. Let me just put some fresh linens down.”

“You don’t have to do that, I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not a bother, you’re a trusted friend who’d do the same for me.”

“Really, I-I can just sleep here,” Bruno insisted, “I don’t really want to get up if I don’t have to.”

“Then why did you say you should go home?”

“Because I should.”

“Ay, Bruno,” she sighed, “I’ll grab you some pillows. And a blanket.”

“Gracias,” he called after her, as loud as he dared. His thoughts threatened to fill the empty space she had left behind, but he banished them by instead counting the zigzags on the living room rug.

Later, he reminded himself, later he could obsess over what it meant when a woman responded to an impromptu marriage proposal by inviting you to dinner, but for now he would count his zigzags and try not to exacerbate his migraine.

Leandra returned and gave him the pillows, then placed the blanket over his bare feet, quietly asking if there was anything else she could do. Bruno bit his tongue to keep from asking her to massage his temples again. 

“Don’t suppose you can make my brain shut up long enough for me to go to sleep?” he said, dryly.

Then to his horror and great pleasure she sat next to his shoulder and began rubbing the tension out of his brow. He choked back both a protest and a second marriage proposal. 

“Hmm, a mindless distraction,” she thought for a minute, unaware of his panic/relief, “oh, I know, how much do you know about the stars?”

“Not much,” he rasped out, pulling the blanket up over his waist, just in case he reacted in the same way he had last time. Granted, while a migraine is never all that fun, the last one he had was a walk in the park next to this one. As much as he enjoyed her attention, and as ready as he was to sell her his immortal soul if she actually managed to make the pain go away, he doubted he was capable of getting “excited” right now.

Leandra, for her part, was conflicted over whether she should put the rag back in the ice box to cool it back down, or stay to massage his head. If only this had happened at Casita, she could have teamed up with Julieta to help him feel better. Once again, she figured the solution here was to just ask.

“By the way, would you like me to pop that back into the ice box for a little?”

“Please don’t ask me to make hard decisions,” Bruno said, miserably.

“Hard…? How is that a hard decision?”

Instead of giving a verbal answer he just gestured at her hands and grunted.

Leandra resisted the urge to giggle, “Alright, last time you put it on your eyes, does that mean your eyes hurt too?”

“Si.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to fall asleep with your eyes hurting the way they do now?”

“...no.”

“Bien, into the ice box it goes.”

Bruno just grunted again, groaning a little when her hands stopped.

She whisked the rag away and tossed it into the ice box, as well as a second, that way he wouldn’t have to wait if he needed another. When Leandra sat back down she continued rubbing his temples while she told him everything she knew about the stars; every stray bit of astronomy she’d picked up, every legend she’d heard, every navigation trick she knew, and a few of the stories she’d made up with Rosalie, Felípe, and Agustín when they’d gone camping as children. 

When the rag came back out of the ice box and she placed it over his eyes, Bruno sighed and began to actually relax into the couch cushions.

At some point, she grew tired of sitting up and ended up laying next to him on the couch, with him tucked under her chin. The second rag ended up laying against the base of his skull, while she idly pet his hair. As Bruno drifted off, he leaned on her until he was lying half on top of her.

Once Bruno was snoring steadily against her shoulder, Leandra swore to herself that she would get up and go to her own bed any minute now. But she’d always found snoring to be kind of soothing, her Papa snored like a thunder cloud and could be heard through out the house. Leandra was used to falling asleep to the rhythmic sound of somebody else breathing. She had missed that whenever he was out of the house.

Regardless, she would have to get up and go to bed eventually.

Just give her a minute.

A/N: I think Bruno adopting is an under utilized concept in the fandom. He seems like he would really enjoy being a father, not to mention he is almost definitely some flavor of queer, so adoption seems like a very realistic path for him to take. That said, I still had to come up with a reason for why he didn't adopt in canon, since Jared Bush has implied that the kids were already in the picture when Bruno started isolating himself in earnest. He has recently confirmed there is a Reason Bruno is single, but you don't necessarily need to be in a relationship to adopt. Fortunately, I've discovered that a lot of people just don't think about adoption, so it's not out of pocket to assume that there was a time in Bruno's life between being the golden child and being the town curse when he would have happily adopted, but it just didn't occur to him to do so.

[sillegirlthrifts]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: BRUNO - MEN'S BLACK WASHABLE LINEN SHORT SLEEVE BUTTON-UP SHIRT - SIZE L checker.

[mackgirl007]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 4XLT BRUNO PURE LINEN.

[richard94-blog1]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Bruno Linen/cotton Men's button down shirt W/chest buttoned pocket, XL, like new.

[susangg9]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Gigio plus color block ribbed top size XLarge.

[kylo-wrecked]

December rain smelled of pine needles and motor oil, Manhattan at midnight, Hudson River funk.

"Why'd I worry about that?"

Ben leaned into Brunnhilde's innuendo with his own, a clinched smile that pouched his mouth corners. She pressed her fingers to them, and he pressed her nail with his molars.

"I worry you think I could be a gentleman," he said, releasing her manicure and his smile, watching as she bit the bottom of her own.

He could step on Bruno Mars. A little man. Bothersome, shrill. Unlike the weather. In the drizzle and mist, his hair was sleek crow-black. He stood at the overhang like Plouton; gods didn't fetch towels. In lieu of linens, he peeled off his shirt. Wrapped black Zilli cotton and musk around Brunnhilde's crown.

"You could be an abbess," Ben declared, knowing full well she couldn't, smoothing his tongue on her brow, tasting ice water like communion. "But you're just a bitch."

His hips were embroidered with faint scarring, trimmed with muscle still buzzing on a lightning bolt of cocaine, slanting and cold-pressing hers.

"And you're all mine."

@valkxrie

🌧️ "Do you ever use a raincoat? Ever heard of an umbrella? Or do you just like getting wet?” { Music!Ben }

Her grin was an innuendo. A double entendre. She stared at him, wielding it fully "Are you worried I'll melt?"

A little weather never bothered the Valkyrie. She could hold it in her palm and throw thunder the way children threw tantrums - albeit, with better aim.

The rain became heavier. It was not hers. It curled the hair around her ears and made the most of Ben's immense shadow. Led Zepplin drifted by on a passing radio. Then, Credence Clearwater Revival. Fleetwood Mac. Bob Dylan. Bruno Mars... all sharpening the serrated edge of a barometric game.

Brunnhilde bit the bottom of her smile with her top teeth and leant toward Ben's grey.

"You could be a gentleman" - still at full weild - "and fetch me a towel."

[europann-usa]

[xxlittle0birdxx]

You know that post that muses about how difficult it would have been for Luke and Leia if Anakin and Padmé survived? All their school friends would have been drooling all over their parents? And their solution is to have Uncle Ben come pick them up from school?

The twins don’t realize just how hot their silver fox uncle is… Obi-wan pulls up to the school in a vintage Range Rover in pristine condition, wearing his usual khakis and loose linen button-down. The twins’ friends keep pestering them to introduce them to Uncle Ben. Especially Wedge, but he just wants to admire Uncle Ben’s car. Uncle Ben comes to their spring musical and meets their snooty history teacher, Miss Kryze.

Turns out they went to high school together and she beat him for some prestigious university scholarship. They even dated until they broke up to go to different universities and lost contact. Now Uncle Ben keeps showing up to all their school functions, and Miss Kryze comes to a family barbecue one Saturday with her nephew in tow, who looks suspiciously like Uncle Ben, but apparently Korkie’s name is really Bruno, because they don’t talk about that. But really. Their resemblance is eerie. They even do the same chin stroke thing.

The conversation changes when Luke’s weird boyfriend arrives. The one who won’t take off his sunglasses. Ever. Who always brings along this insanely adorable gremlin child, and only says, ‘He goes where I go,’ when asked. They have matching t-shirts with a mudhorn on the sleeve.

[fullofsunsetwhispers]

This is a playlist dedicated to Grand Master Dashi. No one asked for it, but someone surely needed it.

Dashi's playlist:

Can't stop the feeling - Justin Timberlake

Don’t Worry - Madcon feat. Ray Dalton

Uptown Funk - Mark Ronson feat. Bruno Mars

The Lazy Song - Bruno Mars (which is also Raimundo's song btw)

Shut Up and Dance - WALK THE MOON (Wuya x Dashi feels)

Shotgun - George Ezra

Honey, I'm Good - Andy Grammer (Clay and Dashi both enjoy this song and keep dancing and clapping to its beats)

La Da Dee - Cody Simpson

Good Time - Owl City

Moves Like Jagger - Maroon 5

Happy - Pharrell Williams (the most Dashi song I can think of)

Honorary mentions:

Juicy Wiggle, I'm sexy and I know it - Redfoo (if Dashi wants to be the craziest uncle on the dance floor and piss off his companions lol)

Blue (Da Ba Dee) - eiffel65 (although Chase likes this song more and Dashi just wants to encourage him to start dancing)

Dragostea Din Tei - O-Zone, but just dance 2017 version )I don't know why but I'm picturing Dashi, Chase and Guan in a place of these dancing dudes) Blame Kimiko for introducing them to dance simulators and blame their competitive spirits. Anywho, children have a blast watching them dance in their little hideouts. Great Masters can't see them because they're lost in the groove lol also Dashi, Chase and Guan are too focused due to the fact someone may trip the other in order to win the dancing match. Just bros being bros.

a little headcanon time: Usually Chase and Guan disprove blasting the music out loud. And Dashi dancing in public is pretty annoying too. Every time it comes down to this

Chase: Could stop fooling around and FOCUS!?

Dashi: No, I cannot! Can't you see that TODAY I'm wearing my ✨ party pants✨?

Guan: But aren't those your regular linen trousers?

Dashi: Yes and No. You see, Kimiko ordered some glitter and glue for clothes and -

Chase: Guan, take him away from me I'm feeling up to murder right now.

Guan: Yes. I'm on it (takes Dashi by the collar of his shirt)

Dashi, feeling he's being pulled by his friend: Nooo give me 5 minutes that street performer was so kind I can't leave him and the audience!

[foggyfanfic]

Love and Fury

Chapter Preview: Bruno took note of his pants in her lap, which she was indeed mending, and the small basket of cookies sitting on one of the insulated crates behind her. It was official. He was the worst person who ever existed.

(Contains some light smut, if that's not your thing, skim past the part where Bruno is in the shower.)

Ch1 Prev Next Masterlist

Chapter 7 A Gift Exchange

“Are those the pants you left in?” Pepa asked, in lieu of a greeting as he walked into Casita.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he told her miserably.

She laughed and shook her head, “Oh Brunito, what have you gotten up to?”

He didn’t answer, just grumbled, “I’m taking a shower.”

He stopped by his room to grab a change of clothes and a towel. Pepa was no longer in the courtyard when he crossed it towards the bathroom, which was good because she likely would have had more questions for him.

Bruno had no clue how he would explain the afternoon to her, especially considering who he spent it with. He didn’t really want to tell her that he had decided to spend all of his free time securing an apology for her, since apologies meant a lot less if they were forced rather than freely given. And if she didn’t know that he was spending all his time with Reina for her sake, then she would probably be a bit hurt to learn he had spent the past couple of weeks with the woman that had stolen her boyfriend.

Bruno sighed as he waited for the water to warm up, he had really made a mess of things.

Reina was not what he’d expected. She was supposed to be catty, petty, and shallow. Instead, she was kind, mischievous, and interesting. He tried to convince himself that she was only playing nice to get on his good side, but that was getting kind of hard to believe.

But if she wasn’t a horrible person, why did she steal Cicero from Pepa? And why was she refusing to apologize?

Bruno’s stomach twisted unhappily as one answer came to mind, the simplest answer. Reina must have been overwhelmed by her feelings for Cicero, and maybe she was refusing to apologize because she was still worried Pepa would steal Cicero back.

The water didn’t quite wash away his troubles, but it did wash away the mixture of goat saliva and salt on his upper thigh. He idly scrubbed at the mess with a rag as he glared at the tiled  wall.

Dios, what did girls like Pepa and Reina even see in Cicero? 

He thought about her stopping him on the bridge to list off his good qualities; he'd never heard her say anything like that about Cicero. Probably because there wasn’t a lot of positive stuff to say about the skirt chasing lay about. How could Reina not see that? Why was she willing to act so crazy for that guy?

Bruno groaned, he needed to stop thinking about this, it didn’t matter why Reina had wanted to steal Cicero, it just mattered that she had hurt Pepa in the process. He resolved to push it out of his mind and think about something else. Anything else.

Like how good she looked in her soaked chemise.

Ok, nevermind, not anything else. Almost anything else, but not that.

Unfortunately, once the image was in his head, he couldn’t banish it. It wasn’t just the visual either, it was her low voice, the concern she’d shown for him, the feeling of her body against his or her fingers in his hair.

He scowled down at his dick, which was standing at attention once more, “Stop that, she is the enemy.”

His dick, thankfully, said nothing back (a talking penis was the last thing he needed). His imagination on the other hand betrayed him, posing the question, what if she had been bathing instead of doing laundry? What if instead of being covered in soaked linen, she had worn nothing but suds?

What if, when he had fallen into the pond, she had chosen to wash him instead of his shirt? 

He could practically feel her breasts pushing against his back while she massaged shampoo into his hair. It wasn’t hard to imagine what her hands would feel like on his chest, his stomach, his thighs. She would giggle and tease him when she noticed his erection, but call him handsome while she wrapped her soaped up hand around his cock.

Bruno groaned and gave in to the temptation to do just that.

“You’re just not having a good day, are you guapo?” she would ask, her hand slowly stroking him, “Let’s see if we can make it a little better.”

As much as he would like to imagine himself saying something sexy or witty back to her, he knew that he would stutter and trip over any attempts to speak. Worse, he would probably end up telling her she didn’t have to do anything out of reflexive politeness.

She would shush him gently, “That’s alright, I want to. You’re so kind, so clever. I feel lucky, having the chance to see you like this.”

Bruno groaned, squeezing himself tightly, and picking up the pace.

Maybe she would kiss his shoulder, or playfully nip at his neck. Leave marks on his flesh with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“There, now everybody will know,” she would whisper before scraping her teeth against the shell of his ear, “they’ll see that Bad Luck Bruno got lucky after all.”

Bruno worked the head of his cock, panting as he imagined her strong arms squeezing him around the middle, humming peacefully while he fell apart in her embrace. As he got close she would whisper encouragement and tell him how much she liked the feel of him in her hand.

“Come on guapo, I’m enjoying the view, but I wanna see the grand finale,” she would kiss the corner of his mouth then pout playfully at him, “Do I have to beg? Is that what you like? Begging? Bruno, por favor.”

He came with a gasp and the fantasy faded away, leaving him standing alone in the shower.

He sighed and watched his cum get washed down the drain. Bruno rinsed himself off then shut off the water. Somewhat desperately, he tried his very best not to think about what he had just done, he focused as hard as one could on toweling off and getting dressed. Unfortunately, neither of those things required a great deal of focus, so he wasn’t doing a very good job of not thinking.

Bruno had tried dating twice in his life, neither relationship had gone well. The first had been fine in the beginning, both Bruno and the young woman were fifteen, and had been convinced in the way that teenagers often were that they were in love. Right up until they had started experimenting with a more physical relationship.

She had been much like Reina, charming and confident, and had no problem giving Bruno feedback without making it seem like he had done anything wrong. Bruno lacked such finesse and had somehow managed to make the poor girl cry when all he meant to ask for was that she start out a bit gentler then work her way up to treating him roughly. He had managed to apologize and explain during the subsequent break up, but by then the damage was done.

She stilled smiled at him when she saw him around town, he might have even called her a friend. Except, every time he looked at her he remembered how he'd made her cry and would feel too ashamed of himself to do anything more than nod politely before he beat a hasty retreat.

The less said about Bruno’s second relationship the better, but suffice to say, he might just be the only person in the village with worse taste in men than Pepa. And he now knew that being somebody’s dirty little secret was not as fun as it seemed in books.

He was pretty certain his attraction to Reina was purely physical with maybe just a smidge of “enjoying the attention” on the side. He was also pretty certain that it was going to get him into a world of trouble if he didn’t nip it in the bud. Generally, he’d avoid her for the sake of said nipping, but doing that would mean giving up on Pepa’s apology.

Perhaps that was Reina’s master plan.

Bruno sighed and shook his head. No, it probably wasn’t. He was pretty sure she didn’t have a master plan, that if she was half as good at planning as he had initially  assumed she wouldn’t have resorted to throwing food around. Odds were, she was just as much a slave to her passions as anyone else.

Her passions for Cicero of all people. Ugh.

And now he was right back to wondering what she saw in that idiot. Great.

Bruno spent the rest of the day, and night trying to chase thoughts of Cicero and Reina out of his mind. Unfortunately, those thoughts got the upper hand, and chased him into his dreams where he was forced to watch Pepa and Reina fight for Cicero's entertainment. The dream eventually turned into Bruno being chained up in a bathtub while Reina scrubbed Cicero just out of his reach. 

Bruno woke up in a terrible mood and scowled his way through his morning routine. He was prepared to spend the day ignoring Reina in favor of the book of poetry he’d brought, but the second he made eye contact with her he suddenly remembered that he’d barged in on her when she was almost completely naked.

He’d barged in on her almost completely naked, then jerked off about it.

“Morning guapo, how are you doin-?”

“I am so, so, so sorry,” he blurted, loudly. 

Leandra took that as a sufficient answer and moved on, “Did you bring Papa’s pants?”

Bruno slapped his forehead and cursed, he had not.

“That’s fine, you can bring them on Thursday,” she shrugged, “the goats nibbled a small hole in yours, I was just mending it now. Oh, and I brought us some cookies, since you had such a bad day yesterday.”

Bruno took note of his pants in her lap, which she was indeed mending, and the small basket of cookies sitting on one of the insulated crates behind her. It was official. He was the worst person who ever existed.

He apologized again but she waved him off and invited him to come sit. He did so. Bruno sat in his chair, staring miserably at the book of poetry, and wondered when he had become so unforgivably evil.

Leandra began to suspect something might be wrong when he had sat silent and motionless for fifteen minutes. Bruno wasn’t the motionless sort.

“How we doing over there?” she asked, without looking up from his pants.

“Bad.”

“Ah.”

There was a pause as she considered her stitches, then considered him. She gave him a gentle smile then turned back to his pants. He continued to stare into space, miserably.

“Have a cookie.”

Bruno shook his head, “I can’t take your food! I-I walked in on you when you were- I saw you- I-. Lo siento.”

“Bruno,” she said, then paused as he knocked on the wooden stall, when he was done she continued, “I was on public land, in a public pond, outside. It’s not like you kicked down the bathroom door while I was changing. You were a perfect gentleman yesterday, way better behaved than me, in fact. If I had felt unsafe or creeped upon I would have left and I definitely would not have invited you to follow me home. Ok?”

“I still feel- I am just so sorry,” he sighed, wiping a hand over his face.

“Alright, you’re sorry, what you going to do about it?”

“Do about it?”

“Si.”

Bruno thought for a minute. He could back off so she could be with Cicero, except that would likely hurt Pepa so he cast that thought aside. What else could he do?

“I don’t suppose you need your fortune told,” he muttered wryly, scratching at his chin as he thought about things he could do to make up for seeing her in such an exposed state (and enjoying it).

“Not real- well, does it have to be my fortune? Or could I ask for anything?”

Bruno shrugged, “What do you want?”

“I wanna see men walk on the moon,” she said, brightly, “I’ve been thinking about it ever since you said it. I even had a couple dreams about it.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, I can do that,” Bruno nodded, “repeating visions I’ve had before takes way less energy.”

“Great! When can we do this?”

He opened his mouth to tell her to come by Casita with him when the market closed, then immediately remembered that he was trying to keep Mission Apology a secret from Pepa, instead he volunteered, “Tomorrow. I uh, I can meet you somewhere, as long as it’s a wide open space.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly aware of the fact that he usually did this sort of thing in his tower, but shrugged, “How about the old riverbed? Out past the coffee orchard. That way you don’t have to bring your own sand.”

“That works,” he agreed, trying not to smile at her thoughtfulness. 

One of the first big projects the village undertook was creating a dependable irrigation system, this of course being before the Madrigal triplets got their powers and the town could just rely on Pepa’s shifting moods to water the crops. They kept the irrigation system working these days, just in case Pepa had an especially good year. It diverted water from the river to a few ditches and reservoirs before reconnecting to the river on the other side of the valley. This left a long part of the old riverbed dry and exposed.

“Perfect, now will you have a cookie? I didn’t make them for decoration,” she reached back and grabbed the basket, offering it to him.

His smile won and he accepted a cookie. They were good, not quite as good as Julietta’s cooking, but nothing ever was. He thanked her and she grinned at him as she snagged a cookie for herself.

“Read to me again,” she told him, eyes fixated on her mending.

Bruno looked at the book of poetry, looked at her, then stared into space for a few beats as his imagination carried him off to a world where he recited poetry for her, “Ummmmm no, no… I don’t think-. Not this book.”

“What? Why not?” she peeked over and read the title, then grinned wryly, “Oh I get it, saving all the love poems for the goats, are you?”

“Ha ha ha, you’re hilarious, absolutely hilarious,” he deadpanned and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Well, you’ll have to do something to entertain me, otherwise I shall perish from boredom before your pants are done.”

He rolled his eyes, but figured it was only fair, “Alright, l-let me think.”

“If you must.”

“I must.”

He thought and she mended.

“Do you know any good songs?”

“I’m not singing for you.”

“Can you juggle?”

“Yes, but only on the 31st of February.”

“Oh! Oh! Striptease?!”

“Wha-? No. Reina!”

“Guapo!”

She giggled and he did his best to swallow his own laugh, even as his cheeks burned. She paused in her mending to flutter her eyelashes at him and blow the goofiest, most obnoxious kiss she could manage. He gave in to the urge to laugh.

“How about I tell you a story,” he suggested, when they had settled a bit.

“Sure, I want to hear about the time the big bad wolf met the evil Queen,” she gently prodded his calf with her toe.

“Too bad, I’m telling you a better story, the best story ever told,” Bruno spread his hands out in front of him, “It’s called Destilando Amor.”

“Never heard of it.”

“W-well that’s because it’s from the future, see? It’s like a whole… I mean it’s a bit long, b-but it’s good. I promise.”

Leandra shrugged, “Alright, let’s hear it.”

Bruno smiled broadly and set his book aside, settling in to explain everything he could remember from the telenovela he saw in his vision. Reina proved herself to be an attentive audience, only interrupting the story to ask questions about the characters or talk to customers. 

However, she also proved herself to be terribly uncultured.

“Wait, that’s it? That’s how it ends?” she wrinkled her nose, “I don’t like it.”

Bruno gasped, he’d be clutching his pearls if he had any, “What?”

He had spent the entire day telling her all about his favorite telenovela, just for her to decry it.

“That’s so unfair! Girl got sold into prostitution and run over and doesn’t even get a happy ending out of it?”

Ok, so maybe the ending was a bit abrupt, and things definitely could have been better for the protagonist, but her ending wasn’t that bad. “Yes she does, she gets a new job with-.”

Leandra crossed her arms, making an unhappy harumph sound, “On Thursday I want a story with a happy ending. And justice! I want the bad guys to get their justice!”

Bruno rolled his eyes, “Well fine, if you need to be spoon fed a traditional happy ending-.”

“Oh please!”

“-I will make sure to stop by the library to grab a book of children’s fairy tales.”

She pulled a face at him and began packing the leftover cheese up while making exaggerated huffing noises until she had pulled a chuckle out of him. Bruno fiddled with the newly returned pants for a little then got up to help her.

“I have some Jane Austen at home,” she told him, once the wagon was all packed.

“Oh? Really? I’ve only ever read Pride and Prejudice,” he looked up at her with interest as he gave Leche his goodbye tummy rub.

“I’ll bring it, I can read to you this time,” she helped him to his feet, “although I’ll admit I’m not as good at doing the voices as you are.”

“Well,” he drew the word out, a small teasing grin on his face, “if you can’t do the voices then what’s even the point? I may as well just keep reading.”

She rolled her eyes at him but offered, “We can take turns, I’ll read a chapter then you read a chapter.”

“Sounds fair.” 

“Good, see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he promised, watching as she walked away with Leche by her side. When she was out of sight Bruno turned to walk home but stopped when he saw Cicero standing across the road, frowning at him.

Bruno pursed his lips at the other man, for a few blissful hours he’d forgotten he existed. Cicero looked at Bruno, then at the path Reina had disappeared down before looking back at Bruno. He cocked his head and Bruno realized he was being examined.

He tried picturing how this all looked from Cicero’s point of view, slowly it occurred to him that it looked like Bruno had asked out Reina, and more importantly, like she had said yes. 

Bruno had never been a smug sort of man, but for whatever reason he found himself smirking. He felt like telling Cicero… something. Something cool, something devastating, something that would convince Cicero that he didn’t stand a chance with Reina. But Bruno suspected that anything he said wouldn’t sound as cool out loud as it did in his head, so he just grinned a little bit wider and strolled away.

That night he dreamed that he was reciting children’s rhymes to Reina while Cicero watched on, seething with impotent rage.

[xlilianaxmadrigalx]

So I can’t draw people to save my life.. but this is my vision of Evalina one of my OC’s, daughter of Liliana and Bruno.. she has a small white and tie dye scarf that she wraps around her waist. Has braids on both sides framing her face. Has a tie dyed linen ribbon holding back half her hair. Mirabel also made little frogs and lily pads on her skirt and shirt. She wears beaded espadrilles. She has another description of what she wears and what colors in the beginning part of my Papa!Bruno x Mama!OC fic.

Edit: I added her aesthetic palette

Evalina is 11 here (during Encanto events)

[harritudur]

because every ship needs its ‘we accidentaly got married in Vegas’ AU, so here the noabeth version (AO3 link) 1860 words + pg-13 + no beta, we die like men!

Elisabeth wakes up to a headache, her head pounding too heavily to her liking. As she becomes more and more conscious, her eyes slowly crack open. This is… not her room. Then she notices a cheap plastic ring on her left hand (the kind of ridiculous rings you get for 2$ from capsule-toys distributors) and a warm lump curled against her side.

Well fuck.

The memories of the last 24 hours come flooding back:

—the fly to Las Vegas —the international congress about renewable energy sources —the four boring hours of conference she attended to (without sign language interpreter, thank you) —the open-bar on the second floor —the tall blonde man she already run into two weeks ago in Berlin, and couldn’t stop thinking about since then —his fingers as he tried to remember the few words in sign langage his mother taugh him years ago —his face as he explained his presence to attend the conference of Dr… something? about… doctrines? or was it churches? —his eyes dancing on her bare knee when she crossed her legs —his name she couldn’t stop mouthing between glasses of vodka —N-O-A-H —his hand, warm on her low back when they left the bar —his lips pressed to hers in the elevator —Noah —his arms around her waist as they walked out the hotel —alcohol —music —his mouth —the irresistible perfum she breathed in when her nose brushed the soft skin beside his ear —alcohol —the flashing lights —his mouth —more alcohol —a song —his fucking delicious mouth —giggles —a chapel —a kiss —a hotel room…

She stops and checks under the sheet.

THANKS GOD! Her shirt and skirt are still on.

With great care, Elisabeth stretches to observe her partner in crime. Even turned towards the wall as he is, she can tell he is still sleeping by the quiet rise and fall of his bare shoulders. She decides to take a more attentive look at him and the first thing she notices is a plastic ring of the same quality than hers on his left hand. Oh God. Then, the edge of a tattoo catchs her eyes, linen covering most of his back.

Leaves? Maybe flowers?

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Elisabeth pushes the sheet away to reveal the entire tattoo. A tree, with a classic design. Its branches large and full of leaves and fruits (apples), and its roots deep in the soil, each ramification, each bisection leading to a name. Religious names, but from different faiths.

Beautiful.

It’s only when he shudders lightly that she realizes her fingertips were tracing over the ink on his back. By the vibration she feels under them, he is murmuring something and her hand moves away.

After a few yawns, Noah turns over, and a soft smile begins to work its way across his face when his eyes land on Elisabeth.

“That dream again…” he whispers, so faintly she can’t read his lips. But his brief delight disappears when a violent migraine encircles his skull. He blinks, and remembers a few drinks, a few laughs, a few kisses, and… what else? He can’t tell. His incompetent brain makes him groan and Noah covers up his face with his left hand. As he does, something not supposed to be there touches his cheek, and he blinks again before muttering. “What the-”

A silly plastic band around his ring finger. “-fuck??!!”

The memory of his own voice singing loud and off-key Bruno Mars’ Marry You starts to haunt Noah’s ears, and the face of an Elvis Presley in a white rhinestone jumpsuit with a priest’s collar pops right into his mind.

“… oh. Oh.”

Everything is spinning a little around him, but pieces by pieces, the puzzle of the last night starts to reconstitute itself.

“Hm wellllllll… so apprently, we drank a lot,” Noah says as he sits up, cross-legged, and is now facing his wife. “And… we got married.”

The calm in his tone can not be heard, but Elisabeth sees it on his lips, his face, his attitude, his body… This whole situation seems absolutely normal and not upsetting for him, and she just wants to scream.

With great suppleness (which Noah remarks by an eyebrow-raising), Elisabeth reaches for her purse on the ground by the bed, and takes out her loyal notepad and blue pencil to write.

you’re not freaking out?

“Not really, no” he replies, shrugging. “And… It was your idea after all.”

She has to make him repeat the last part, because there is no way that she is at the initiative of this non-sense. Noah repeats the same words, with that astounding calm, and Elisabeth rolls her eyes in a cocky way. She writes down on a new page, in capital:

IMPOSSIBLE

“Yes. Your idea.”

Her head shakes. No. She is a rational woman. A reasonable woman. Sure, this Noah is sexy and hot and funny and smart and courteous and totally her kind of guy and she is definitely attracted to him… but no. No way! She is not the instigator. Or, is she?

Noah smiles at her gently and her chest suddenly tightens. Fuck.

After a tilt of his head to ask for permission, he takes the notepad from her hands and flippes through the previous pages. In doing so, Noah can go back in time, can witness and find passed conversations, and he eventually stops at one page. He smiles again and shows it to Elisabeth.

There, in blue, little hearts all around, a shaky handwriting that she identifies as hers:

<3< 3 marrY ME pleas e <3</i>

“If I remember correctly, you wanted us to get married, and I said no at first -because I thought it had to be a joke. But you almost started to cry. So…” he explains at an Elisabeth deathly pale. “I said yes. And we went to a chapel with an Elvis-priest.”

There is a furrow between Elisabeth’s eyebrows and she just wants the earth to open up and to swallow her. It takes her a long minute to processes the information he just gave and, like a sliver of light through the darkness, she… remembers.

                        [ she nuzzled into his neck, his arms secure around her waist, and breathed him in. He laughed and Elisabeth felt a warmth rush over her. Alcohol or Noah? She moved away to enjoy the enticing sight and kissed him again. And again. And again. Her hands started to dance in the air, before she could even think about it, and signed: marry me. ]

All the details of the night or their chronology are still nebulous. But she clearly remembers *that* moment, and the way she felt. The feelings. The want. The need to have this man. To claim him as hers. Where did such impetuous desires come from?

She looks up and Noah’s eyes are still on her face, but the calm in them shifts into something different. Trouble? Worry? No. Care, Elisabeth recognizes.

He gets off the bed to look for his shirt and she can’t help but huffes her disappointment when he finds it. Now decent (except for his bed-hair), he stands in the middle of the room, hands on his hips in a superhero pose, the one you use when you need confidence and nerve. His face softens into a tender look that makes Elisabeth’s breath hitch in her throat. Again.

“So, now that we’re all better, and sober,“ he says, walking back towards the bed and stops at its edge, “I guess I’ll go get us a divorce.”

A gasp leaves her lips and she sits up straight on the mattress. Divorce. How Elisabeth hates the word. Her parents divorced when she was still in her early teens and, witnessed the torment and tears, and she became determined, more than anything, not to be like them. To marry just once, for good! And with the man of her life.

She shakes her head. One of Noah’s eyebrows arches.

“No?”

She shakes her head once more and this time, mouthes her answer. No.

Noah gulps. It is not the reaction he expected, but it is not an unpleasant one neither. He glances at the end table next to the bed, observing a piece of paper on top. Their marriage licence.

                         [ they tumbled onto the bed, a mess of tipsy giggles and limbs. Noah pulled away to place kisses all over the side of Elisabeth’s jaw and neck, but she grabbed his face to press his mouth against hers. When Noah came up for air, a giant grin spread across his flushed face. She looked up at him with a tired but tender smile, and her fingers found the buttons on his shirt, too clumsy to work properly. “Let me…” he whispered against her lips, hovering just above them and Elisabeth took her chance to kiss him quickly before falling back on the mattress with a sigh. With difficulty, he eventually took off his shirt and tossed it on the ground. When he looked down, Elisabeth was snoring, dead to the world, and he laughed. Tiredness was taking over him as well, and Noah curled-up in the bed next to her. He pushed gently a stand of golden hair off her face before falling into sleep without a second thought ]

He nods.

“Okay?”

i don’t want to divorce. we could try. and i think i like you.

Her eyes glare at him with demand and Noah tries to find arguments against it. In vain. And he figures out how they ended up in this situation: he is unable to say ‘no’ to her (adorable) stubbornness. But is her ‘i like you’ enough to build a marriage on?

“Okay, okay… we can try and work it out,” Noah states as he sits by her side on the bed so she can read his lips more easily. “And… if we look at the situation in a practical way, there are benefits. Tax benefits. Insurance benefits. I read as well that marriage help you live longer!”

She laughs and he notices the dimples from her smile. Once more, her pen moves quickly over the paper.

marital confidences privilege too

This time, he is the one to smile, and his knee touches hers through the sheet.

“True! I mean… if I decide one day to kill people, I could tell you every details, and yet, you couldn’t testify against me.”

She tiltes her head, an almost curious expression appearing on her face as she looked at him. Then a grin, and more writing.

i was more talking about civil procedure for neighbourhood disputes but im in to cover up your murders

He laughs and Elisabeth wishes she can hear the sound of it. She easily understands how drunk-her could have wanted this man to be hers. Noah moves closer, and for a moment, she thinks he’s going to kiss her, but he doesn’t. And a part of Elisabeth wants him to.

Maybe when the time will be right -and after they both have brushed their teeth.

“I will order a very light brunch for two then.”

Noah eventually leans over to kiss her cheek and Elisabeth doesn’t withdraw. She could get used to that.

[mackgirl007]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 4XLT BRUNO PURE LINEN.

[richard94-blog1]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Bruno Linen/cotton Men's button down shirt W/chest buttoned pocket, XL, like new.

[susangg9]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Bruno New York aqua linen mens button up long sleeve shirt size large.