The Official Encantober Blog!

“Please, please, please. Whoever’s listening out there, give me a sign that I made the right choice.” Bruno sighed, resting his chin in his hand as he looked out the window in his room at the starry night sky. 

The youngest of the children he had stolen from the dreaded isle he almost got sent to years ago, a blond haired baby named Rory, lying fast asleep in his lap. Drooling on his ruana and gripping the fabric tightly in his little fist. 

Completely unaware that he was not where he should be. 

Completely unaware that he was cuddling up to his kidnapper. 

The familia was freaking out. 

All worried that at any moment officials from Auradon would be swarming the Encanto to take him and the children back to the isle. 

All worried that there would be an angry villain beating down their door when they awoke, having somehow escaped the isle to get their “property” back. Because it was evident that that was all the children were to their only known parents— Governor Ratcliffe for Rick, Rachel, and Rory & Judge Claude Frollo for the other four children— based on Bruno's vision and the state they'd all been in when they'd arrived back in the Encanto. Bruised, burned.  Hair matted. Teeth falling out. Skin bleached. 

The children all terrified and on guard. 

“Please. I'm not asking for much. I just… please tell me I made the right choice—”

Suddenly, a star signed bright in sky. Then it went dull. Then bright again. 

It repeated three times. 

Luisa grimaced as Fuega wailed out apologies to a now melted Olaf as the somehow burned jolly snowman tried to sooth her with a panicked Ryder.

To no avail, of course, because despite what some might claim the little red head didn't like the idea of hurting anyone, even accidentally, letting alone actually doing it. And she was also very sensitive. 

It was honestly no surprise that her accidentally burning and melting Olaf when hugging because he told her he liked “nice warm hugs” would upset her. 

Why Luisa nor Ryder hadn't thought of that, the strong woman would never know. But she did know one thing. 

Dolores was going to kill her. 

Dolores had been reluctant to let them take Fuega with them to visit Arendelle but Ryder had reassured her over and over again that Elsa could help her daughter get over her fear of her powers. Saying Fuega would love Arendelle and Elsa and all the snow. 

Snow none of them had considered would now melt because of Fuega's still new-ish powers. 

Snow, which Olaf was made of. 

“It's okay, I've melted before!”

Fuega wailed louder and cowered away from Ryder. “Go away! I don't wanna burn you ta mush!”

Dolores was going to kill Luisa. 

Then Pepa would bring her back and incinerate  her and Ryder both. 

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Chapter 1: Legacy.

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Julieta had always planned to pass her book of family recipes down—from the moment her mother gifted her the beautiful teal notebook and said 'for your recipes, hija, I thought you'd like to remember them'. She'd planned on passing them down.

But to who, she wasn't sure.

Isabela didn't like cooking.

Cooking stressed Luisa out.

The sounds the pots made hurt Dolores' ears.

Antonio's animals kept trying to eat the food and Camilo always got distracted half way through, and had been banned from the kitchen after he'd forgot to put out the stove before leaving to go on a date on one memorable occasion.

And Mirabel?

Well, Mirabel liked cooking well enough but had told Julieta that someone else should have it. Someone who would love it just as much as she once had.

So Julieta hadn't passed it down to any of her or her sisters' niños.

She had planned to pass it on to one of Bruno's niños once he adopted them but the older the seven (and later on, ten) of them got, the less interested they seemed.

And now?

Well now, Julieta knew exactly who she was passing the family recipes down to.

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"R-really? Are you sure, Abuela?" Mirabel's eleven year old son, Marcelo, asked with wide eyes. Practically drowning in the green jacket Oscar had brought him back from Auradon that he all but refused to take off these days.

He looked so much like his mamá when she was that age. So unsure. So insecure.

It broke Julieta's heart.

"Sí, Marci." She ruffled his hair. "I trust that you're the one who will most appreciate having the familia recipes in your possession. And I just know without a shadow of a doubt that you will have so much fun making the recipes and noting down your own."

It was true.

Out of all her children and grandchildren and sobrinos, Marcel showed the most appreciation for cooking and baking and even begged his bisabuela to talk to the baker in town about getting him an apprenticeship so he could be a professional 'like Abuela and abuelo's madre' when he was grown.

Mirabel had been so proud.

And Julieta, along with Agustín's madre, Valentina, had cried.

Speaking of crying...

Mirabel made sure to move slowly so that the little four year old blonde in her lap could see and easily follow what she was doing.

“After you get the tools you need for the project you're doing, you thread the needle—” she slowly pushed the thread through the hole in the needle and waited patiently for Rachel to copy her.

Once she did, Mirabel continued her instructions. “Now, you need to decide whether you want a single thread or a double thread—”

“How so you know which is which?”

“Because you choose it silly. Now, I find double threading easier personally but you might find the single thread easier for you. To single thread, you pull the thread through the eye—”

Rachel fought to stay still and did her best to follow along on the scrap of fabric Mirabel had given her to practice on. Sticking her tongue out in concentration as she did so. “Is sewing ands em–broid–dery da same thing?”

“No, ‘Chel. They're different things. But they can be similar in some areas, like for example, they both use needles and—”

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Sewing and embroidery would go on to be two of Rachel's favorite hobbies, and would go on to become part of her gift.

And, though Rachel wasn't one to admit to sappy things, she would admit that it was all because of the time she'd spent with Mirabel. Time that would go on to create some of her fondest memories.

Memories all held together by a thread that connected them.

The thread, being Mirabel.

“Mami, story? Please.” Little Julieta asked in her doorway, chewing on her bottom lip nervously as she tugged on her sleep braids. Eyes wide and pleading as she looked up at her in her little teal nightgown. “Bruno can’t sleep.”

Alma sighed, setting the candle down. “I’ll be right there, cariño.”

The five year old beamed at her, before bolting out of the room and to her room where undoubtedly her siblings were waiting to hear the news. 

“No running in the house, hija! You’re gonna hurt yourself!” Truth be told, Alma didn’t want to tell them a story. In fact, she wanted nothing more than to tell all three of her children to go to bed because it was late—so late that it was way past their bedtime—but the matriarch didn’t. Couldn’t. Not with the candle there to remind her that her husband, who’d been so excited to be a father, wasn’t there and that she was—that she was the only parent they had and they needed her to do all the things she and Pedro had planned.

Which meant that if the triplets wanted a bedtime story, they were going to get one. Even if Alma was beyond exhausted from trying to manage the town and three now superpowered children (one who could heal via food and needed supervision anytime she wanted to use her gift, one whose emotions controlled the weather, and one rat loving seer who saw things no child should) all by herself.

But nobody had to know that.

No, it would just be her and Casita’s little secret. 

One of the many secrets Alma would never tell her children.

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Alma would never tell the triplets how their father had written stories for them that they would now never get to read because they’d been left behind when their family had fled from the burning remains of what had been their home. 

Would never tell them how Pedro had run a shop that he had planned to hand down to them and their children and their children’s children, or that he’d had a brother named Benito who’d worked at the shop with him who had been so excited to be a tío that he’d fallen out the window and dropped a hammer on his foot when trying to make them their first toys. 

Alma would never tell Pepa how she’d gotten her red hair from Pedro’s mother, Rosa, and her temper from her own mother, Alba.

Would never tell Julieta how she could pass as her abuela Alba’s twin.

She’d never tell Bruno how he has his abuelos’ (Andre and Fernando) black curls and how he reminded her of his grandfathers, his grandmother Rosa, and both her brother, Raimi, and Pedro’s brother, Hernado. 

She’d never tell her babies of where they’d came from or how their father, Pedro, hadn’t been the only one to die so they could escape. 

Bruno, Pepa, and Julieta would never know what they’d lost. 

Who’d they lost. 

They wouldn’t know of their tía Alejandra, who’d turned into a giant red panda and grabbed her sword and screamed at Alma and Pedro and Bentio and Raimi to go and take the niños.

They wouldn’t know of their grandparents who’d fallen behind in the crowd or their tíos who’d run off with their primas who weren’t that far in age from them. 

The Madrigal Triplets would grow up not knowing what their mother had lost and the secrets of the family would die with her, if Alma had anything to say about it, and they would be safe. Even if Alma had to give smile and grit her teeth the whole way, and appease the village on her deathbed. 

They deserved that much.

Fay Fae—Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother, the ruling family’s right hand woman, and the current Principal of Auradon Prep—sighed as she looked down at the pile of detention slips and files from this week.

Regretting all of her life choices leading up to this point. 

All because of one family. 

The Madrigals. 

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Student: Fuega Alba Guzmán Madrigal.  Grade: 8th.

Has been assigned detention:

Date(s): September 1st—May 1st.  Time: 12 PM–1 PM.  Room: 1B. 

Reason for Detention: Swearing and burning another student’s tourney jersey. Student claims to have been defending her older cousin, Rory Madrigal, from the student but due to the lack of cameras in that area this accusation cannot be proven.

The slip hadn’t been signed by Fuega Madrigal and the attendance squared were both left unchecked. 

Mr. Deley had complained to her nonstop about it and left a note in the file that the girl’s mother, Dolores Madrigal, had refused to make her daughter attend the detention saying that ‘we’ve been trying to get you to deal with that horrible boy for months and I will not punish my daughter for defending herself and her primo’. 

Fay pinched the bridge of her nose and set her coffee aside, making a note to investigate the situation some more and planned to talk to Mrs. Dolores Guzmán Madrigal regarding the rules of the school and what further consequences there would be if Fuega used her gift to destroy anyone else’s property in the future before moving on to the next slip. 

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Student: Arlo Emo Marquez Madrigal.  Grade: 11th.

Has been assigned detention:

Date(s): September 2nd. Time: 12 PM–1 PM.  Room: 2B. 

Reason for Detention: Punching another student. Student claims it was because the other student grabbed his hair and told him to ‘put a hat on because it smells like tuna in here’. I, the teacher, however, heard no such thing. 

The attendance boxes were again, unchecked, and Mr. Arlo hadn’t signed his slip either. 

It was again, issued by Mr. Deley, who made a note in the file that ‘The student’s mother, Isabela Madrigal, swore at and threatened me and told me to quote, unquote ‘go fuck yourself, you miserable bigoted bastrad’. 

Fay just knew that was going to result in an incident if she didn’t nip it in the bud. Damn it, Jonathan. 

That man always gave her more work to do and it almost always seemed to occur when she was just starting to relax because of course, that man had the worst of timing.

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There were at least twelve slips with notes just like that for Fay to read, investigate, and deal with.

So much for a nice and soothing evening full of relaxation with her precious daughter, likely future son-in-law, sister, and niece.

Fay picked up her mug and—just as she was about to take a sip from it—the door to her office flung over and a very angry Pepa Madrigal stormed in. “Where is Mr. Deley’s office?! I need to have a word with that pendejo of a bully! Who does he think he is, bullying children?!”

If there was one thing that was able to calm Dolores and Mariano's fourth daughter and fifth child, Fuega Alba Guzmán Madrigal, down it was building. 

More specifically, it was building blocks. 

The now one year old redhead adored building blocks and could spend hours upon hours laughing and playing with them. Especially if her Abuelo Félix (the family’s handyman) was the one building with her. 

Like now.

Félix and Fuega were sitting on the floor of the courtyard on a rug Félix’s own father, Alroy, had gifted Dolores and Mariano recently. Making a miniature version of Casita.

And it was a pretty good replica shape-wise, if Félix had to say so himself. 

Which, considering that he was letting little Fuega do most of the work, was surprising. 

Of course, it was at that exact moment something just had to go wrong—because of course, as anyone who'd been a parent, grandparent, or an aunt/uncle would know, was that when you were in a house full of people—most of which were children— things were bound to go wrong at some point. 

Like a fútbol flying right into the miniature Casita they had been building, causing it to explode everywhere as Fuega's eldest sister, Princesa (age 6) ran over trying to stop it. 

Everything went quiet as Fuega stared down at the remains of her Casita. 

And stared.

And stared. 

Before her lip started to quiver. 

“Aw mi pequeña gasolina, don't cry—” Félix cooed quietly as he tried to pick her up, only to be cut off by the loud wail that escaped her. 

Another thing to know about Fuega Alba Guzmán Madrigal? She had the loudest set of lungs in the family. 

And when she started screaming or crying? The whole Encanto could hear. 

“Lo siento, Fuega, Lo siento! Lo lamento—” Princesa held her hands out, trying to sooth her little sister. Only to be cut off by a big wooden block to the face. 

And another. 

And another. 

All while Fuega escaped Félix’s attempts at capture—screaming and shrieking and wailing as she grabbed block after block and launched them at Princesa, Elmira, Oscar, and her primos. Living up to her name. 

The coffee Julieta had poured for Alma and the visiting rulers remained untouched as the Matriarch listened to the new King and Queen of Auradon talked. 

And talked. 

And talked. 

And talked. 

About Auradon. 

About how they were rounding up all the villains and major criminals to send to a prison they were building. They didn't call it a prison but that's what it was. 

A place where they wouldn't have to think about the villains and the henchmen they sent there. About the violent criminals they booted there. A place they called ‘The Isle of the Lost’, as if it was a place for people to go when they needed to heal and be reintegrated into society and not a prison that they planned to never reopen. 

As they talked about how the villains could live their lives there, unsupervised, and how Auradon would be safe once they were all there. 

And all the while, King Beast and Queen Belle didn't touch their drinks that her eldest triplet had slaved away to make. No, they just kept talking. Seemingly not realizing (or maybe just not caring) that Alma hadn't said a word to them thus far. 

No, they didn't notice or care that Alma wasn't even really taking part of the conversation or take notice of the way that the elderly woman was gripping her mug. Knuckles lightening as she gritted her teeth, somehow managing to keep her face calm and neutral. 

All while the diablos in front of her talked about sending not one, not two, but three of her family members there. 

Her beautiful, fiery, headstrong Pepa who was finally becoming herself. 

Her innocence, little Brunito who was only guilty of being socially awkward, a little odd, and being the reluctant bearer of bad news. 

And her miracle. The girl she had never treated as well as she should have. Her youngest nieta. Her Mirabel. 

All because of the damned gossip that had escaped the Encanto in the year it took the familia and the village to rebuild the Encanto.

They were here, talking to her about throwing two of her babies and one of her grandbabies into a prison with child abusers, animal abusers, creepers, murderers, and overall hardened criminals because of rumors that they hadn't even bothered to fact check. 

They wanted her to lock her now seventeen year old nieta up with men like Jafar and Frollo who shouldn't be allowed out of their homes let alone be let loose on an isle where they could do whatever they wanted. King Beast and Queen Belle wanted her to allow them to throw her Bruno onto the isle where he would stick out like a sore thumb and wanted her to throw her daughter who had a seven year old there with him. 

But Alma wasn't going to have it. 

No, she wasn't going to hear another word of it. 

They weren't taking her family anywhere. 

Alma stood up, interrupting whatever the idiotas the tontos in Auradon had elected had been about to say. “Get out.”

“Wha—”

Alma held up her hand. Their time for speaking was done, they had had an hour of it—now it was her turn. “Get out of my house and my Encanto and never return! My village has no villains and I will not allow you to take my familia anywhere.”

Beast, the petulant child he was, tried to argue or to apologize—the Matriarch wasn't sure what but at the moment she couldn't care less—but was once again cut off by Alma. “Casita, escort them out!”

Casita didn't need to be told twice. 

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Several great grandkids later and Alma still couldn’t stand Beast, and likely wouldn’t ever be able to.

If there was one thing you could say about Alma Madrigal, widow of Pedro Madrigal, and Matriarch of the Madrigal Family, it was that she sure knew how to hold a grudge—especially when you messed with her familia.