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ooops-i-arted · 4 years

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More Miscellaneous 101 Yoditos AU Things

Given he is responsible for soothing up to 101 children to sleep, Din has absolutely cheated by filling his glove with sand and setting it on them, laying them by his helmet when he’s not wearing it, or taking off his breastplate and setting them on it. It worked a grand total of once for most of the kids. (OG did not put up with that shit at all and definitely stalked over to Dad with a little pouty face and held up his arms to clearly indicate that he expected to be rocked to sleep IN PERSON, thank you.) Now it only works on the 10 youngest babies, but only if they’re really sleepy, so that they fall asleep before they bother reaching out with the Force to sense HEY, THAT’S NOT DAD.

The kids can track him using the Force. Din is their favorite, so of course they are very attuned to his presence in the Force. Din figured this out after several times where he was 100% certain everyone was occupied before he slipped away to take a shower and had barely turned the water on before the kids were trying to beat the door down.

It does end up being a benefit eventually though. Once the kids start self-managing their initial (and understandably significant) separation issues from the first person to actually care about them, the fact that they always know where Dad is, even if they can’t see him, is very reassuring and gives them more confidence that Dad leaving doesn’t mean he’s leaving forever.

Din swears they are using the Force to know exactly how far to push limits before he is about to lose his cool, because somehow they always know when to stop being little shits and instead hug his boot while looking up adorably and saying “Buir, I love you.”

Din and Cara like to spar with each other both to stay sharp and relieve stress, but have to be careful about when they do it. The first time the kids from the lab found them they were very upset to see their aunt and dad beating the crap out of each other, and Din had to calm them all down and explain play-fighting. (Cara was just glad she didn’t get choked. She could handle angry glares, and tell anyone raising their hands and squeezing they better not, and stop anyone who decided to copy her and start beating on their brother, or worse try and join in with her and Din, but one of them sobbing and running up to her and begging her not to hurt his papa was hard.)

One of those days where everything just went wrong and Din was running really late and the kids were hungry and he broke down and just stopped at a space McDonalds. Din had to admit just getting approximately 1,000 chicken nuggets was a very easy solution to feeding 101 children (once he convinced the server this wasn’t a prank and he really needed that many). Dragging them all out of the playplace was absolute hell.

Otherwise Din absolutely will not shut up about is the food healthy, what if there are space pesticides in it, this ration bar composition doesn’t have enough protein, etc. IG-11 is the only one who puts up with this. Even Kuiil is eventually like, I think they’re fine and you’re feeding them well and you can stop. I have spoken.

Kuiil is the one Din seeks out when he’s feeling really unsure about any Parenting Things. Kuiil will listen to him natter as long as he needs to, then say one simple wise sentence that either validates or corrects Din followed by “I have spoken.”

Din doesn’t want to get along with IG-11 but IG is the only one who will put up with anything with endless, eternal patience, whether it’s Din going on and on about healthy food or the kids telling a meandering story. Din also greatly appreciates how good IG-11 is at tracking all the kids down when they don’t want to do bedtime/bathtime/etc. (Also, there has yet to be a diaper blowout that IG-11 can’t handle, because he can turn off his scent receptors at will.)

Din knows about traditional Mandalorian recipes, although he’s only actually cooked them a handful of times. He figures out a tiingilar recipe the kids can eat, as well as a meat-based version of uj’alayi. The kids love it.

The knowledge that he can cook gets around and Din is roped into the Sorgan PTA’s bake sale, because he has a ship and can drive them around. There is much sighing, but he does agree.

The second most awkward ship ride of Din’s life is carting around a bunch of PTA moms to the bake sale. (They try to make small talk. Din does not.) The first most awkward ship ride of his life is taking them back to the village, with the local Karen fuming behind him because everyone liked his uj’alayi cake better than her shitty-ass brownies.

After this there is a string of Sorgan PTA moms who come over and are very interested in whether Din is alone right now and whether he would like to come over to their conveniently empty houses sometime. Din, being Too Ace For This Shit, lets the kids drive them off. (Cara finally gets him to admit that her buying them Space Nerf Guns was a good idea.)

(I just fucking lose it every time I think of the big bad stoic introverted bounty hunter having to deal with Stereotypical Suburban Situations.)

OG Yodito develops a dramatic streak due to his insecurity over keeping a hold of his dad’s attention. He stubs his toe and he’s wailing and limping over like he’s broken his leg. Fortunately a few minutes of Dad Time usually solve the issue. Din absolutely knows he’s faking, but lets it slide because he knows how important special attention is to his eldest bean.

Anytime Din actually has to put his foot down and discipline OG Yodito, OG tends to dramatically sob and wail and run to the nearest flat surface and throw himself down and cry. Din feels so torn - he knows discipline is important and necessary, but it breaks his heart to see his little one so wounded by it, but also the tantrum is so overdramatic it’s straight-up hilarious. (It never lasts long anyway. The first few times it worked and made Din apologize and hold OG, but once Din stopped falling for it, it just became a token protest against the absolute horror of having his behavior corrected.)

Cara complains endlessly about having to spend sooooo much time on the kids, she doesn’t do the baby thing, etc. Almost as much time as she spends starting water gun fights, teaching them songs and chants her shocktrooper group used to use (because watching Din try to cover 101 kids’ ears at the same time while yelling at her is really funny), and all sorts of other cool stuff that Din would not let them do but if she does it just sighs.

They’re kids, so they don’t have a lot of discretion, but there is one thing the 101 have a silent pact on. Once Din took off his helmet and revealed his ridiculously small and out-of-proportion ears, oversized nose, the weird fuzzy hairs all over his face, his strange tiny eyes, and the fact that he wasn’t even green, the 101 all collectively decided that he is their dad and they love him anyway and will never, ever tell him that he is ugly as sin and just as weird-looking as all the other humans. He’s still the best dad ever....but now they know why he wears a helmet.

Ika’ika, the tiniest and last clone, was underdeveloped and weak while stuck in a plain box cradle at the lab, but completely blooms under Din’s care. Before you know it he’s crawling....and what do you know, the tiniest Yodito is also the best escape artist and the best hider. (Din frequently has to employ the older ones to track him down.) He also likes napping in any random thing he can find - Din’s helmet, a caf mug, any nook and cranny on the ship. Din found him sleeping in a speeder engine once and kept Ika’ika in a carrier on him for the next week.... until Ika’ika finally managed to escape that too.

The carrier is supposed to be mainly for the little ones who can’t walk well enough to really keep up with their older siblings or at all, but in practice everyone demands Carrier Rides while rubbing in their siblings’ faces that it’s THEIR turn to be carried by Dad.

Din: I need more arms Cara: Don’t you have a full blaster cabinet? Din: No not those arms the kids all want to be held and I only have two arms and 101 kids

#this au is 1% plot and 89% you know what would be funny/cute/interesting #and 10% The Reality of Childcare for 101 Children in Space #101 yoditos au #the mandalorian

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jomiddlemarch · 4 years

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A local habitation and a name

As it turned out, there was no Sebastian.

There was however a Sarah. And a Naomi. Both of whom had holiday inspired middle names (Noel and Carol) because they had arrived on Christmas Eve and Jeff cannily waited until the epidural kicked in and Annie was nearly loopy with relief. He had already agreed to bat mitzahs, so she didn’t try to kick him when her legs worked again and she wasn’t distracted by the delivery, the euphoria, and the over-achieving bliss of getting two newborns to latch. The twins were fraternal, thank God, so there was no tiny toenail to keep painted green to tell them apart; Sarah had Annie’s dark curls and Naomi was blonder than Jeff had ever been, based on the handful of faded, curved corner photographs Doreen had surrendered readily when Annie asked. They both had Annie’s eyes and Jeff had thought he was in trouble until Clare arrived. Then he knew it wasn’t going to be about trouble, as people generally anticipated being able to get out of trouble. He was vastly outnumbered, outmaneuvered and in thrall. And so, he agreed to go part-time at Greendale and full-time as Papa. Except his daughters only called him Daddy.

“Girls! I said pronto and I meant five minutes ago! Pick out your stuffies and get a move on! Mommy is meeting us there and you know Uncle Abed doesn’t like waiting!” Jeff called, shoveling finely pureed green beans into Clare’s mouth. She gave him the look it had taken him about six years, four hours a day in the gym and a student loan’s worth of Glenfiddich to master, then gobbled the mossy goop like it was a Valrhona hot fudge sundae. She had his dimples and Annie’s; she could do whatever she liked and at eight months, it was clear she’d picked up on it.

“Abed said we don’t have to say ‘uncle’ if we don’t want to,” Sarah yelled. Naomi joined in on want to. “Because we have Uncle Ant and Uncle Troy and Uncle Dean and that’s enough uncles.”

“Fine. Mommy will kill me if we’re late and I’ll be the one she blames, not you,” Jeff shouted. He had not shouted in like ten years until the twins had turned three (whatever, terrible twos, you’re fucking cliché) and now he had a whole shouting channel basically. Clare had been exposed to the volume since her conception and he had no idea what he was going to do with her. “Remember the puppy argument you were going to propose? She’ll say no, you know she will!”

“Daddy, we’re coming,” Naomi said in Annie’s most reasonable tone.

“We have Clare’s extra footie. For when she spits up the green beans,” Sarah added. She was actually on the stairs, waving her hand around, clutching the rosebud covered sleeper Annie loved best like a battle-flag.

“I’m so screwed,” Jeff muttered to himself. Clare gave him a sunny, gummy smile, then dribbled mossily down her dimpled chin.

“Daddy, you’re not s’posed to say bad words,” Sarah scolded.

“What’s bad about screws?” Jeff asked. Annie had gotten them a toy tool-bench, so he was pretty sure he was safe.

“Mommy doesn’t like it. Them,” Naomi said, double-teaming him. Former (not old) Jeff, the one with the exquisitely tailored Italian suits, an impressive collection of obscure single malt Scotch and a fake college degree, would have appreciated her approach. Britta was sure to encourage them once they arrived, an appreciation that, coupled with Troy’s unexpected affinity for babies, including and featuring Clare Hadassah Winger, would allow Jeff a good seven minutes with Annie; these would be spent In Heaven, which was likely to be Abed’s walk-in pantry full of egg noodles and jarred quince. Jeff was aware of the approaching respite-slash-encounter and felt magnanimous.

“Mommy doesn’t like that. You’re right. You too, Sarah,” Jeff said, throwing Sarah a bone for good measure. Edison women, with Winger appellations or otherwise, loved to be told they were right.

“I know,” Naomi said. Clare took a swipe at Jeff’s face and managed to daub him with green bean puree as if she were practicing contouring she’d learned from YouTube videos. The saving grace was that they were less sticky than apricots.

“Girls, watch your sister for a minute while I get cleaned up,” Jeff said. If there were going to be seven minutes alone with a totally alert Annie, or even just six, he wasn’t going to smell like steamed vegetables. And green had never been his color.

“Get a move on, Daddy!”

“Pronto means five minutes ago! Ew, Clare!”

“Clare spit up!”

“And now she’s all red and grunting! Daddy!”

They were late. Noticeably, though not unforgivably, late. Abed wasn’t bothered in the least, as Jeff expected. Annie, half a negroni under her belt, smiled as she was regaled by Sarah and Naomi and shunted them off to Britta the moment the puppy was mentioned. Clare was cuddled briefly and then Troy carried her off to the baby Dreamatorium he and Abed had reconfigured to work with a singleton.

“You missed a spot,” Annie said, her lips against the corner of Jeff’s mouth. They were on minute two and she’d found a truly miniscule smear of green bean in his beard.

“I thought I might’ve,” Jeff said. “I didn’t cave on the number of stuffies they brought or on the Irish setter puppy lobbying though.”

“Thank you. And thank you for letting me have some peace and quiet in the office to finish up the paperwork for the case,” Annie said. “I’ll make it up to you—I know three against one isn’t great odds.”

“How about making it up to me now? There are literally five other adults available to look after the girls,” Jeff said.

“Among the egg noodles?” Annie chuckled, reaching up to bring his face closer. She tasted of sweet vermouth and wife. “We only have a few minutes.”

“I’d give us four point three, so hush, milady,” he said, sighing a little as she agreed most agreeably. As it turned out, egg noodles were no impediment to romance and it was Clare’s shriek of joy that kept them from testing out the sturdiness of Abed’s custom pantry shelves, not any sense of whether it had been four minutes or forty that passed in a very thorough exploration of their mutual, eager and enthusiastic esteem.

As it turned out, Jeff didn’t miss Sebastian at all.

#community #jeff x annie #post-canon #domestic fluff #for everyone who wants to see #happy marriages #abed #troy #britta #kidfic #romance #jeff winger is outnumbered #unbuttered noodles #humor #no sebastian

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likesomekindofcheese · 5 years

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At the Opera (Part one)

Pairing: Brian May x F! Singer! Reader.

Fluff! Lot’s of fluff! A bit of angst!

Word Count: 2,000

Content warning: swearing, mentions of boners, Reader and Brian being twice shy, nervous little beans

Context: Brian see’s you make your first big opera debut at school. He falls immediately in love with you. He’s scared of seeming like a creeper, though, and hopes he doesn’t...Switches between his perspective and yours.

Note: I am so excited about this fic I can’t stand it!!!!

First off, I imagine this takes place in the early seventies after Queen I or Queen II and before A Night at the Opera (heh) is released. Secondly, though is written to identify as female, use she/her pronouns, an opera singer, a student, and a soprano, if requested, I can make and send a different version to you. Maybe a reader who is in a musical! Or a straight play! Or is singing a mezzo role! Or a male reader! (etc.). Message me ASAP and I will message a version to you! with your desired version! A second part will be up in time and will probably stop there unless another idea comes. Enjoy and please leave feedback!

Brian had absolutely nothing else to do on a Friday evening except go by himself to an opera by a local University. It was a night where nothing was happening. No work. No papers to grade. No rehearsal. Nothing planned between the band members or his friend. He had those nights before. He was unusually restless. Instead of dwelling in his loneliness he thought he might as well go out. Get his mind from any sadness. And something a little different then heavy drums would be appreciated.

He looked down at the program once he got his seat. “Puccini’s Gianni Schicchi.” According to the summary in his encyclopedia it was only an hour long. If he didn’t like it, it would be over in a wink. After all, when he visited Freddie’s place once he noticed a record of it standing on top of a pile. If it was good enough for Freddie, then it was worth the ticket.

(You)

“Five minutes until the top!”

“Thank you, five!”

You stay still. You don’t really feel like talking to the other cast members. You smooth some of the white skirt and pray that the food crumble from the pre-performance snack doesn’t show. You were nervous. Tonight you were singing Lauretta in Schicchi for the first time- Lauretta! All of the sopranos in the school who it could have been and it was you! It didn’t matter that it was not one of the mainstage operas put on with a budget of millions and the biggest stage offered. It was one of your first major roles and you were doing everything you could not to burst. You had barely slept last night from the anticipation and the toll of exhaustion mixed with excitement were bubbling.

Any wishes of good luck from the cast and crew were forgotten.

“What if the high c’s at the end sound like crap because I was stupid enough not to be able to sleep last night and what…”

“Places for top!”

You took a deep breath, listened to the slow beginning of the overture, and did your best to focus on the story and telling it.

You could still smell the hairspray from your curled hair. The director asked for a more “natural” look to contrast Lauretta from the more exaggerated commedia-esque stock characters and yet it took you longer to do your hair and make-up because your hands were shaking so bad. You wanted to look like the flawless ingenue, but you felt briefly that you were just a toad in lipstick. How could anyone onstage believe you?

It was a while before you entered. Yet you stayed backstage, focusing on the meaning of every last note and word. The singer playing your onstage father, the titular Schicchi, walked up to prepare for your first entrance. You both didn’t appear until twenty minutes in, but it was getting close.

He smiled and winked at you and then went into character with his smart, cynical frown. You took my place next to him, held the skirt of your white medieval gown as demurely as you could muster, and prepared for the sound cue to enter.

Once you entered, you carried on, just like in rehearsal. Reacting in the moment and singing with the clearest Italian you could and with as much focus on breath as possible. At one point, when Rinuccio, your onstage lover, held your hands, you both began to wail beautifully about how you both could not be married on May Day. You indulged a look away from the conductor to the audience.

It was a smaller theatre-actually the smallest theatre on the campus that could still allow a piano and a string quartet. Plenty of old couples, college girls with long hair and red lips, and close to the middle, there was a very tall, thin, young man with a lion’s mane of curly, brown hair. Ironically, he seemed to be more into the opera than anyone else.

You were back in a second to the opera. You heard Schicchi’s “Non! Non! Non!”

Naturally, you begin singing your aria, “O mio babbio caro...”

(Bri)

Though Brian was delighted by the opera by the first note and laughing at the onstage family’s antics and allowing the music to charm him.

Then you entered onstage.

“Her eyes are so pretty and expressive…and she’s so small, she’s like a baby bird, oh, if only she was a little bird or even a cat I could hold in my hands for just a minute and her hair seems so soft, and, oh…that smile, oh she’s smiling, that fucking smile, she’s so beautiful and adorable, oh hell, oh hell. Oh fuck, and that voice, oh fuck, that voice. It’s so gorgeous and warm and genuine, oh, I’m so sorry Fred, but oh fuck, that voice, if only she could look at me, please look at me, please look at me and sing for me, just one word, please”

You crossed to a man - who was supposed to be her lover. Brian suddenly felt his stomach drop and his face twist to a frown.

“You git, it’s make believe. They aren’t together in real life...I hope they aren’t

He tried to peel his eyes away to another cast member to see what else they would do onstage that would amuse him. But he kept finding he was stealing quick glances.

When you began your aria, he felt tears well up in his eyes. It was so sweet sounding.

“O mio babbino caro! Mi piace, e bello, bello!”

He looked down at the translation program:

“Oh my dear papa! He pleases me, he is handsome!”

Brian had a sudden wish he was that boy. He felt the tears fall once he heard of Lauretta’s wish to die if she could not marry him.

“No , no, not you, the boy…”

(You)

You finished the aria. Looking into the audience, You were shocked to see a standing ovation.

Well, that is, one standing ovation. From the tall man with curly hair. And he was applauding like his life depended on it. A few others decided to follow suit and stood up to applaud and cheer. You did your best not to smile. Then once it had died down, Schicchi continued with his line- “Datemi il testamento!”

(Bri)

Brian sat down. He was flushed with embarrassment. How could he have been so…so much? But it was just so wonderful.

He was sighing once Schicchi sent Lauretta away and you left the stage.

He kept staring at the space where she left. He liked the plot of the opera well enough, but he felt himself leaning forward in his seat with impatience.

Once you appeared onstage for the last duet of triumph with Rinuccio, He was wondering if that man realized how lucky he was.

“I would wrap my arms around her l. I would hold her so tight that she would know she is safe, and everything is alright, now. I would look into those eyes looking up at me, I would pull her in, and then I would lean down so I can reach her lips and kiss…”

He pinched his own hand. “Focus, focus, the story is ending…wait…oh god, what if I have a stiffy! Shit! Shitshitshithshitshit!”

He looked down at his pants. Nothing was showing…that was obvious, at least. He had stopped himself before letting his fantasies go further. Still, he undid two buckles on his belt, just to be safe.

He looked down at the program, flipping to the cast list on the second page.

“Lauretta…(Y/F/N Y/L/N)”

(You)

The cast and crew gathered in the lobby for everyone to say their congratulations. You felt a ping of sadness that your family and friends could not make it. The most they could do was send some flowers, dangling in your arms.

You saw him stand a little in the corner, awkardly. He seemed very quiet. You glanced up at him and felt him glance up at you and your eyes shot back down. Then you looked back up and saw him look down. He was definitely close to your age.

Finally, you locked eyes for a bit. He swiftly walked to you and the flowers trembled in your arms. You wanted to run behind the stage door and slam it shut, yet at the same time you didn’t.

He walked up and said “Hi, I’m Brian, Brian May.”

“Hi Brian, I’m Y/N.”

Is someone actually approaching me???? And starting the conversation??

“ I just wanted to let you know, you were astounding. Your song was my favorite part…and this was my first opera!” Brian said

“Oh wow! Schicchi’s a great first opera.” you say, swallowing. “It’s a comedy, after all, and most people don’t think of opera’ as funny.”

“I loved it! I laughed so much! How do you keep from laughing onstage?”

“I breathe really slowly and focus, Brian.” You dropped his name and froze.

Wow, I must seem forward. But I don’t want to forget it...

“That’s wonderful, and the music is just, just incredible! What is it like to sing it?” he asked.

Your brain began to spiral from your shyness and desperation to seem confident.

“It’s very…it’s, I don’t know, it’s intimidating. My voice is rather small for Puccini, he likes bigger voices, so I was really nervous doing this role. My legs were shaking all the time onstage.”

It struck you how handsome Brian really was. His height and hair made him seem intimidating, but his smile and eyes were soft, nonthreatening. His hair framed his cheekbones in a way that made him beautiful, in his own way. And when he reached his hands out and stretched out his fingers, they moved as fluidly as a dancers. His speaking was gentle, almost quiet, but clear. Like a kindly fairy prince.

“I couldn’t tell!” he said. He added a smile that made you feel like you were hit by a train.

“It’s the dress! Really! Our costume people were geniuses” you say.

You began feeling self-conscious-didn’t want to appear weird or snobby or ugly to him.

“But you seemed so…so calm and confident. I’m a musician, but uhm…I’m not a classical musician, you could say. But my friend loves opera, so I decided to try it. So I know what it’s like to be nervous about how you do, you were incredible.” Brian adds, folding his arms.

“A musician! Do you play anything or sing!?” You say, it would be polite to steer the conversation towards him.

“Both…uhm…” he crawled in a little “I do sing, and there’s a lot I play, but the guitar is my favorite.”

Guitars, guitars, what can I say to him that would be interesting about guitars?

“I…I like guitars. It’s such a soothing sound.”

Brilliant, you idiot girl

“Do you play?” you add, hoping for a save.

He just said he played, crap, he’s gonna laugh at me.

“Er, yes, yes I do!” He smiled genuinely

“I play in a band, and I do lots but usually it’s electric guitar. Is there any instrument you play, Y/N?”

“I struggle with piano. I love the sound, but I don’t know how to really play it. Most of the time, I pluck out melodies. It’s partly how I learned this role.” you say. Your face got hot and you felt red as an apple.

“I could maybe…”

There were some clicks, the lights in the back were going out. People were clearing out of the lobby.

“Well, it’s closing…we have another performance tomorrow.” you add on.

“Any others?” Brian asked. He began to stroke his chin in fascination.

“No, just two… You could tell your friends about it.” You said,

“I will” Brian said.

“Same time, same place.” You remind him, feeling a tiny, shy grin on your face.

There was a little pause.

“Thank you for talking with me, Brian, it means a lot, since it’s my first big role” you blurt quickly. You didn’t want to get locked out of the theater by accident.

“I enjoyed tonight a lot, Y/N...”

“Goodbye, Brian.”

Goodbye Y/N.”

You turned around and walked out. You realized you were the last to turn in your costume, change, and leave the theater. You were happy with how you sang, but you felt sad. You wished you could see that kind, handsome man again...Maybe you never would.

(Bri)

Brian couldn’t go to sleep and kept tossing and turning in his bed.

Just one more performance…

He had to go. But he was… was frightened. You were so beautiful and caring that he didn’t know if he could survive a second meeting without exploding from nerves. You would think he was a creep and the thought of it made him nauseous. He couldn’t go.

At least, not alone.

There was rehearsal tomorrow. He could leave a little early and still arrive to the theater on time. There was enough time to talk one of them, at least, to go...

Deacy would shy away. He would be too worried and his worry would pile onto Brian’s worry until they were a mess.

Roger?

- rather be shot than go to an opera.

Besides, Roger would guess the real reason Brian wanted to go. The thought of Roger wolf-whistling at you during your aria made him want to crawl under a rock.

That left only one member of the band, then. The one that could help him.

And naturally, the opera fan among them.

#queen #queen fanfiction #brian may x reader #brian may x you #brain may #freddie mercury #brian may fluff #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody movie #classic rock #reader fanficiton #brian may x female reader #queen fluff #all queue wanna do #brian may fic

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shireness-says · 5 years

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Took My Soul, Wiped It Clean

Summary: Killian generally loves Storybrooke and its close-knit feeling, is happy to be raising his family here, but those close ties also often mean that everyone is sticking their nose into everyone else’s business. Can’t a man keep any bloody thing to himself? Rated T for language. ~5.5K. Also on AO3. A sequel to “If I Could See Your Face Once More”.

~~~~~

A/N: I’m back, with more of my 5B divergence! And fluffy this time. I’d recommend reading “If I Could See Your Face Once More” before this, but I suppose it could stand alone as a fluffy thing. Title taken from the same Kodaline song as the first, “All I Want”. Super thanks to my super beta, @snidgetsafan.

I do add in a non-canon character in this installment. Though he’s pretty much just mentioned here, he is important later in this ‘verse, and is taken from literature. I’d love to hear your guesses about who he is, and what I’ve got planned! I’ve got a lot in my head for this divergence ‘verse, so if you ever have questions or ideas that you want to see, just shoot me a message.

Tagging those from the first: @thejollyroger-writer, @profdanglaisstuff, @captainsjedi, @ultraluckycatnd, @superchocovian, @snowbellewells, @killianjones4ever82, @wellhellotragic, @ohmakemeahercules, @let-it-raines, @lifeinahole27, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @spartanguard, @courtorderedcake, @justanotherwannabeclassic

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

His daughter is meticulous.

It’s a ridiculous word to ascribe to a toddler, he knows, but that’s the only one he can come up with. She eats her macaroni one silly shape at a time and watches her feet take every step and says each of her words very carefully, like she wants to get every sound right instead of just chattering away. They hear her practicing words in her crib at night sometimes over the baby monitor. It’s adorable.

Fatherhood is more than Killian could have ever imagined when Emma first told him she was pregnant. It’s more than he imagined when he found out they were having a girl, or when Charlotte was first placed in his arms, still damp and squirming and perfect. It’s the greatest, best responsibility of his life, waking up every morning and trying to be everything his daughter thinks he is, because it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that she adores him. Daddy’s girl, Emma says.

(He’s fine with that.)

Killian is a little terrified some days, because the truth of the matter is that he’s not certain he’s as much of a hero as his daughter believes him to be. He’s lived an awfully long time, and done some terrible things in those years, and it terrifies him to think that his little girl might find out some day and lose that gleaming trust she has in him. In the meantime, he’s doing his best to be the best man he can be - gentle and kind and honorable, the kind of man he may have once been, hundreds of years ago.

That’s a worry for later, though. Right now, he’s more worried about picking up his little girl from her grandparents’ for a lunch with Emma and an afternoon out.

The door has barely opened before Killian hears her little voice, pitched even higher in her excitement as she shrieks out “Papa!” Gods, but he loves that, loves the way she lights up like the brightest star when she sees him, and all because of him.

“Well hello, my little bean,” he coos, stooping to scoop her into his arms, already bundled into her winter coat and mittens and hat. She’s no longer bean-shaped in the least, but the nickname had stuck, even after she was born. “Did you have fun with Grandma and Gramps and Leo this morning?” If the change of clothes is any indication - they definitely didn’t send her off in this fluffy skirt this morning, though the striped tights are a nice touch - it seems like they might have. A messy morning, at the very least.

“Yeah,” she responds with that toothy smile he so loves, reaching to press her little hands against his cheeks so his face scrunches up - a favorite game of hers.

“We did finger paints,” David explains. “They’re still drying right now, and her clothes too, but Snow and I will bring them the next time we come by the house.”

“Thanks, mate,” Killian smiles back. Sometime in the past few years, between monsters and death and children, he’s grown quite close to Emma’s father, their former animosity nothing more than a distant memory these days. “Maybe you guys could come around tonight. In the meantime, the little lass and I have a very important lunch date.”

David’s eyebrows rise in what must be anticipation. “Are you going to…”

“Aye,” Killian quickly responds before the other man can finish. Talking about it will only encourage his nerves, and he’s trying his hardest to avoid that right now.

“Good luck, then,” David replies, reaching out to clap Killian on the shoulder. Before he can say anything else, though, a loud cry echoes through the house. “Listen, I’ve got to go check on Leo and the twins so that Snow can keep sleeping, but…”

“We’ll call you,” he promises.

“Great. Okay, then, we’ll talk later. Bye, Princess!” As soon as grandfather and granddaughter exchange waves, the door closes, Charming hastening back down the hall into the rest of the house and his own child’s crisis.

“Do you want to go see Mama, my Charlie girl?” Killian asks as they climb back down the porch stairs.

(Henry had come up with the nickname, claiming that Charlotte was far too frilly and fussy for such a calm, curious, and unshakeable infant. It had stuck, mostly because it suits her. Charlie. By this point, Snow is the only one who still calls her Charlotte.)

“Yeah. Mama now,” she agrees, nodding decisively. She sounds absolutely determined - and absolutely precious.

Charlie ends up being put back down once they reach the pavement of Main Street, just as always. She’s a fiercely independent thing, his little lass, and he’d been expecting it; lately, he always factors extra time into wherever they’re going so that she can toddle carefully along to her heart’s content. She’s a little star in her own right, too, garnering all manner of waves and little bows as they slowly make their way down the sidewalk. Storybrooke has rather swelled in population since his return from the Underworld; Merlin had ultimately returned the citizens of Camelot to their home by joining all the realms together, once and for all. Later, the population of the Land of Untold Stories had been brought into the chaos when the Dark One had attempted to attack Storybrooke and sweep away his wife and unborn son, opening a gaping portal between the two dimensions in the process. Ultimately, his attempt had been unsuccessful, the Dark One being destroyed by the combined forces of Emma, Regina, Merlin, and just about every other magic wielder in a variety of realms, from Maleficent to Elsa to the fairies, but the Untold Stories residents had stayed to try and move their own tales forward. Killian likes most of their new inhabitants, possibly excepting the relocated Lost Boys, but it is always a little bit of a shock to walk down the street and see Vikings and airship captains and everything else under the sun, all trying to pay homage to himself and his daughter as members of the royal family. While each individual realm has their own government, they’re all under the overarching rule of Queen Snow and King David as rulers of the United Realm - a unanimous decision by the various heads of state. Storybrooke is technically a democracy with Regina as its mayor, though no one had actually run against her in the last election. Killian doesn’t think that it was a matter of fear, for once in her life, but rather every one of the townspeople recognizing that they had no desire to deal with all of the bureaucracy of local affairs and the diplomacy required to deal with every realm from Arendelle to Camelot to Oz - not to mention, dealing with the dwarves. Especially not dealing with the dwarves. Regina seems to be the only person who actually thrives on that much paperwork and the minutiae of local government, and so they’re all happy to let her.

(Killian’s own family had expanded with the arrivals from the Land of Untold Stories, his very angry and long-lost half brother and said brother’s adoptive father. Nemo had been delighted at the opportunity to become a little family; Liam had been less excited. Part of that is likely due to Nemo needing to be hospitalized for the injuries that drove them to the Land of Untold Stories in the first place, injuries he’d sustained the last time both surviving Brothers Jones had met, the other due to the death of Brennan, their father, also at Killian’s hands. It’s all a mess, and they’re still trying to come to terms with the whole thing. For the moment, they’re all operating under a truce. It helps that both men adore Emma, and especially Charlie; after Henry had insisted the submarine captain watch the animated movie of his namesake, Nemo had been the one to gift their daughter upon her birth with the stuffed fish that had become her very favorite. Killian will never understand how the other man can be so tickled by his cinematic reincarnation. Regardless, he’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep the peace if it means Charlie gets to grow up being doted upon by Uncle Lee and Baba Nemo.)

By the time they finally make it to Granny’s to pick up lunch, they’ve had to fulfill the routine of up and down and up and down several times over. Charlie is a curious little thing, though her natural caution and methodicalness keeps her from wandering out of sight, his little girl almost as careful about checking that he or Emma is in sight as they are. Still, he swoops her up once the white fencing of the diner is in sight, tickling her sides until she giggles just before they walk in the door. Granny smiles at them both - well, mostly Charlie, the widow Lucas still gruff with everyone but her expanding gaggle of pseudo-grandchildren - as Killian deposits her on one of the red vinyl stools.

“The usual, Captain?” She asks, fixing him with a piercing look over the top of her spectacles. Every time she does so, Killian finds himself grateful that it’s only Ruby who’s susceptible to the full moon; he wouldn’t want to meet Granny in wolf form, not one bit.

“Yes, please.” It’s nice, having established himself so firmly in this town as to have a usual order at the local diner - a grilled cheese and onion rings for Emma, a BLT and fries for himself (mostly so Emma can steal them - she likes having options), and a bowl of macaroni and cheese for the little lass. Today warrants a little something extra though, he thinks. “And a generous slice of that marvelous chocolate cake as well, if you don’t mind.”

Granny snorts a laugh as she finishes writing out their order on the ticket, sliding it through the order up window so the cook can get started on their order. “So today’s the day, then?”

Killian stiffens at the words. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re talking about.”

Granny rolls her eyes at that. “Sure you don’t. I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, Captain, but you’re a terrible liar. Unlike your girlfriend,” she makes sure to emphasize the title, “you only get dessert on very special occasions. Do you have something to celebrate today, Hook?”

His cheeks are noticeably burning red, but Killian still keeps his silence.

“Suit yourself,” Granny shrugs, mercifully taking pity on him. “Now hand over the little angel, she’s got to pick out the noodles.” It’s always Charlie’s favorite part, and despite the older woman’s teasing earlier, Killian feels a rush of affection at the gesture.

“I do it,” Charlie pipes in. She’s got that determined set to her eyebrows - just like her mama’s, really - and is already scooting to the edge of the stool to try and get herself down.

“Oh no you don’t,” Granny replies, much to Killian’s relief. Let her be the bad guy here, not that Charlie will put up the same fuss with the Widow Lucas as she would at home. “If you’re going to go in the kitchen and pick your noodles, you’ve got to let me carry you, little missy.”

Charlie doesn’t look happy about it, but the promise of fun shapes wins out apparently as she holds up her arms and willingly lets the older woman pick her up. As soon as the bow ties and corkscrews and whatever other kinds of pasta are in sight, she’ll doubtless forget any frustration about not being allowed on her own two feet.

Killian is so busy watching his Bean as she’s carried away that he doesn’t even notice Ruby coming to lean herself across the counter from him, sporting a grin so wide it might better be described as bared teeth.

“So, you got a plan?” she quips. Damned wolves and their damned hearing.

“There’s no plan,” he all but growls back. Killian generally loves Storybrooke and its close-knit feeling, is happy to be raising his family here, but those close ties also often mean that everyone is sticking their nose into everyone else’s business. Can’t a man keep any bloody thing to himself?

“Oh, that’s no good,” Ruby replies. Obviously, she hadn’t picked up on the hint to drop it that his tone had carried. “Women like when there’s a plan, you know, you really shouldn’t ask her —”

“Maybe my plans are none of your damn business!” Killian bursts out, only the memory that this is the middle of the lunch rush keeping him from shouting the words in Ruby’s face.

It doesn’t faze Ruby, however. “Oh, so that means you do have a plan,” Ruby replies smugly, crossing her arms across her chest. Somehow, the smile stretches even wider. Killian just glares back. “Alright, keep your secrets,” she finally concedes, hands raising in surrender. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“I’ll let you know if I need it,” he growls out. Granny walks back through the door with Charlotte at that moment, blessedly distracting Ruby. Killian takes the chance to check his mobile telephone (he long since knows that it’s a cell phone, or just a phone, but it still makes Emma laugh to hear him act confused about the devices); happily, there’s a message waiting from his Swan.

E: Are you and Bean still coming by the station with lunch, or should I meet you at Granny’s?

K: We’ll be there soon, love - just picking up the order now. We’ve a surprise for you.

In only a few more minutes, their order is ready to go; except for cooking noodles, everything else in their meal is pretty quick. With Charlie already swinging his hand back and forth, he gratefully accepts the bag Granny offers onto his hook; one of the few things that have changed in the timeless diner since his arrival after the First Curse is that paper bags with handles are kept around especially with Killian in mind so that his only hand can be left free. Now that he has their lunch in hand, the nerves suddenly make themselves known in a way that they hadn’t previously. On the surface, this is just another lunch, but Killian knows very well that this is a lunch that could change everything.

Some of those nerves must show as he exits the diner and nearly runs into Robin.

“There’s my favorite Jones!” the other man crows as Charlie happily latches onto his legs in a hug, tweaking her little ponytail. Turning his attention to Killian, though, Robin is less complimentary. “Are you alright, mate?”

“Fine, just a little stressed,” Killian replies shortly.

Robin nods knowingly, and Killian thinks he might be about to let it go. Until the thief speaks, that is. “Ah. So today’s the day then?”

“Does everyone in the bloody town know?” Killian demands, rolling his eyes in a move Emma would swear he’d picked up from her (she’s not entirely wrong). If not for the heavy bag on his hook, he’d probably have thrown up his hands dramatically as well, but he doesn’t think the onion rings would respond well to such treatment.

“Well, we’ve been expecting this for a while,” Robin explains. “How old is the little lass?”

“Twenty months.”

“Right, so a few months before that. We’ll call it an even two years - that’s how long we’ve been waiting for you to make a move. Though I will say, it doesn’t help that one of the dwarves owns the jewelry shop.”

“Of bloody course,” Killian mutters, mostly to himself. Gossips, the whole lot of them.

Inexplicably, Robin still smiles and leans around the cute little leech still suctioned to his legs to clap Killian on the shoulders. “Look, you don’t need to worry. It’ll all be alright.”

“Easy for you to say,” Killian mutters back. Robin’s living some kind of idyllic life, with a wife and children and a seemingly endless supply of confidence. Killian has been around a little too long to maintain that type of optimism.

Robin shrugs. “Maybe. Still, you and Emma are one of the most solid couples I know, even without throwing True Love into the mix. I think, deep down, that you’re just as confident nothing can shake that. Have a little faith, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best,” Killian replies, smiling weakly. It’s the best he can manage at the moment, when his stomach is trying to tie itself into an intricate series of sailor’s knots.

“Good luck, mate.” With a final squeeze of the shoulder, Robin starts trying to peel Charlie off his legs. “Feel free to send Henry over tonight if need be. Charlie too, of course, Vera would love to see her.”

“I’ve already set up for the lass to spend the night with Nemo and Liam, but thanks for the offer, mate. We’ll have to arrange for the girls to have a play date in the coming week regardless.”

“Indeed. Well, again, good luck, and let us know how it goes!”

The sheriff’s station is conveniently only two blocks away, making for an easy trek that even his daughter’s little legs can handle. Another decided plus of going to Granny’s; they’re close enough to their ultimate destination that he generally can just let her walk instead of trying to juggle carrying both their lunches and his toddler at the same time. Today, though, they stop at a bench a block away from the entrance of the station, where Emma can’t yet see them. Tugging on Charlie’s hand to make sure she stops, he carefully rests their lunch bag on the bench before extricating his own hand from her tiny grip to reach into his jacket pocket for the little velvet box.

The ring box.

Robin is right, in a way - this has been a long time coming. But in all the emotional upheaval of his return from the Underworld and their daughter’s impending arrival, marriage hadn’t taken priority. They already knew they were true love, about to raise a teenager and an infant together and committed in every way that counts; a wedding was just a legal formality at that juncture. Some might have argued that Emma’s pregnancy with Charlotte was a compelling reason to get married, but Killian actually found it more of a reason not to. He loved her - loves her - and has always seen marriage in their future, but vainly, he doesn’t ever want it to seem like they got married because of their impending child. After Charlie was born, they’d been so busy and exhausted and consumed with just making it day to day with two kids, one of them a baby. A wedding hadn’t been logistically possible at that point, at least not the way they or her family would want to celebrate it. No, as much as they love each other, waiting had been the right decision.

Now, though… now, there’s no longer any reason to wait. Now too, Killian finds himself yearning for that kind of commitment, to pledge themselves before all and sundry and cement things in a way he has trouble describing. Consciously, he knows that nothing will change with a white dress and a signed paper and a pair of rings, but that doesn’t stop him from dreaming. Emma and he had talked about marriage together before and established that it was something they both want in the future; now that things are finally starting to calm down and settle back into a routine in their lives, it finally seems that the moment is here.

(There’s the point, too, that they’re starting to talk about another baby, and Killian knows that if they welcome another child, they’ll be thrown right back into that cycle of happy exhaustion and put off getting married for another several years. On the less romantic side, it’s better to stage a wedding now, when they both have the time to commit to it.)

Charlotte is obviously confused by this unexpected pause in their path, a deviance from the usual routine. “Mama now,” she tells him - not the question another child might ask, but something more akin to a reminder, like her father might have forgotten that they have an appointment to keep. It’s just another manifestation of that meticulousness that he finds so adorable - the way she likes to know the plan and stick with it.

“In a moment, sweetheart, we’re just stopping here for a minute,” he assures her before producing the little ring box. “You see this, little love?” Charlie nods solemnly, reaching out a little hand to stroke along the soft green velvet. “This is a very special gift I’m going to give to Mama. Now, do you think you can keep it safe for me until it’s time to give it to her?” With any other child, it’d be an insane idea, but he knows his daughter.

And his daughter is meticulous.

(Besides, they’re only a block away; he’ll keep an eye out, but doesn’t anticipate any problems. She’s a careful little thing, after all.)

Charlie’s nodding eagerly anyways, a precious smile running across her face at the prospect of helping with the surprise. “Yeah! I do it!”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he praises, pressing a quick kiss to the soft hair on the top of her head. Quickly, he unzips her little parka to get at the miniature leather jacket she wears underneath, so much like Emma’s and his own, to tuck the box into the pocket where it will hopefully be more secure. Hats and gloves and all matter of outerwear get shoved into the pockets of her winter coat, creating so many opportunities for the ring to be disturbed; hopefully there will be less chance of that happening inside.

After resecuring all her layers, they continue their trek to the station, and walk through the front door only minutes later. Emma is alone in the office today, something of a rarity. Though David may have stepped down in order to pursue life as a farmer, returning to his sheep and to rule the United Realms alongside Snow, only helping at the station when absolutely necessary, the sheriff’s department has acquired several new deputies in the meantime, in order to deal with the increase in population.

Mulan had been the first person Emma had approached after her father had made his intention to leave known. The warrior had been a natural choice for her impressive skill set and level-headedness, and it had worked out well that the woman in question was a bit at ends after Ruby had left for Oz and a life with Dorothy. A deputy position granted her purpose and some sense of roots, and she’s flourished here, becoming Emma’s trusted right hand.

Dorothy had been an easy choice too, though she’s less available, forced to split her time between Storybrooke and tamping down trouble in Oz. The principality of Munchkinland supposedly operates as a democracy, one in which Ms. Gale holds no elected position, yet somehow she’s still the only one who can settle the frequent disputes that erupt between different factions. Killian would swear that it’s an entire population of dwarves, some distant cousins of Leroy and Doc and all the rest with all the trouble they manage to kick up.

Emma’s last deputy, Fitz, had been more of an unexpected addition - a former army colonel who had arrived with the other migrants from the Land of Untold Stories, looking for some kind of new purpose and to escape the long shadow cast by his cousin. Killian had been suspicious of the other man at first, but he’s more than proved his worth in the past two years, especially in aiding with the defeat of the Dark One by protecting Belle. It helps that the other man is one of the most amiable, easy going people Killian knows, armed with an easy smile and a self-deprecating sense of humor. Killian had worried that the former colonel might bristle as having to play deputy after so long as a leader in his own right, especially as a man from another time and society now under the command of a woman, but truthfully, Fitz just seems delighted to be surrounded by three strong women bossing him around. Now, Killian counts the other man as a friend, one of his regular drinking buddies alongside David and Robin.

Today, however, he knows that Emma is alone at the station - Killian had made sure to check the schedule last week and seen that Dorothy is off, Mulan is tackling a self-defense presentation at the elementary school, and Fitz is handling patrol. If all goes well, he can have an uninterrupted afternoon with Emma and their little lass.

Emma looks up at the sound of their footsteps, and immediately breaks into a wide smile when she realizes who’s there to see her. “Hey, you,” she greets, the affection obvious in her voice. How far she’s come from the skittish, closed off woman Killian had met in the wasteland that’s left of the Enchanted Forest; how far they’ve both come, really. Killian certainly wasn’t anything like the caring family man and loyal friend that he’s become back at the beginning.

“Hello yourself, love,” he smiles back, bending to kiss her. “Are you having a good day so far?”

“Eh. You know. Hit or miss,” Emma replies, simultaneously bending to hoist Charlie into a hug. As excited as their little girl had been to see her mother when he had picked her up from the Charmings’ an hour ago, now she’s more anxious to wiggle her way back down to the floor and run over to the bottom drawer of the file cabinet where they keep a handful of toys for her. “What am I, chopped liver?” Emma mutters. Even if she’s rolling her eyes, there’s still a smile on her face. They do manage to find a bit of humor in the frequent caprices. “Anyways, yeah, it was fine. Mostly dealing with paperwork, really. Leroy and one of the Vikings had a little bit of a spat early that I had to go referee, but that’s kind of just Tuesday. Not a big deal. You?”

“Uneventful so far.” Hopefully not for long, since he’s showed up with a ring and a question. “I finished with the docking fees this morning, then turned the office over to Mr. Smee for the afternoon and went to pick up the Bean.” While Killian serves as an additional standby deputy in the Sheriff’s station if need be, much like David and Robin, he’s actually found employment as the town’s harbormaster. It’s not always the most interesting job - mostly, he manages the monthly docking fees, though his position also involves inspecting the occasional imports from other realms and monitoring the office radio in case anyone gets into trouble or runs out of gas on the water - but it’s steady and dependable and lets him feel like he’s doing something productive, maybe even something good. The hours are a plus, too, as is continuing to be the boss. Killian still doesn’t take orders well from anyone but Emma.

“Is that lunch I see?” Emma asks, almost demands, zeroing in on the bag still hanging on his hook.

“It is indeed,” he replies, setting the sack on her desk. “Your favorite - grilled cheese and onion rings.”

“God, I love you,” she declares, leaning up for another kiss with a happy smile on her face.

And all of a sudden, the moment is here. It’s as good a lead-in as any. “Well, I’m very glad to hear that, love.” Gods above, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so nervous - not before that first date, not when he was standing in front of her door in New York. Maybe when their daughter was born, but that’s a slim thing. “Charlie, sweetheart, can you bring me that gift for Mama?”

“That’s right, I get a present!” Emma teases. That doesn’t last long though, her laughing tone giving way to a gasp as Charlotte rounds the corner of Mulan’s desk, her parka already shed and wrestling the ring box out of her little pocket. “Is that…”

“Aye, love.” Killian runs his hand along Charlie’s hair as she reaches him before plucking the box from her hands. “Good job, little love,” he murmurs with a smile. Now is the moment though, so he turns back to Emma and sinks to one knee as he props the little box open. Nestled inside is a ring that he thinks is perfect for her - somehow both sturdy and delicate at the same time, with a white gold band and two smaller round diamonds flanking a larger oval-cut diamond, a medium size that stands out without being ostentatious. He’d seen it in the window of the jeweler’s and just known it belonged on his love’s finger. Some things are simple like that; falling in love with Emma had been.

“It’s been a long, winding road to get here, my love, but I wouldn’t want to walk it with anyone else,” he begins. Hopefully the tears starting to glimmer in her eyes are a good sign. The soft smile on her face and the happy crinkles around her eyes certainly suggest so. “When we met, I couldn’t think of anything but my own revenge - but you made me want to be better. You still make me want to be a better man, for you, for Charlie, for Henry, every day. You’ve given me the most precious gifts of my life in your love and our children, and no matter what the future might hold, I just want to face it together. I may not be a perfect man, but I can promise you this: I will always, always be by your side.” Killian takes a final deep breath - it’s the moment of truth, so to speak. “So, Emma Swan, woman of my dreams and love of my life… will you marry me?”

It feels like he waits for her response for an entire lifetime - no, a whole eternity, even if it must only be seconds. But then her smile widens and Emma sinks to her knees, bypassing the ring in his hand completely to grasp his face between her hands and stroke along his cheeks with her thumbs as her delicate fingers curl around his neck, behind his ears and into his hair. “Yes,” she breathes, tears slipping from her eyes as she nods. If there was ever a moment the word emphatic was created to describe, this is it. “Yes. Yes! Of course I’ll marry you, my pirate.”

They really probably should worry about the ring in the box - namely, slipping it on her finger where he hopes it’ll never move again - but that seems like such a secondary concern when Emma’s kissing him for all he’s worth. Somehow he finds both his arms wrapping around her back to pull her closer, his hand still clutching the little green velvet box as Emma’s tongue slips into his mouth. Kissing his fiancée doesn’t feel wildly different from kissing his girlfriend yet, but he’s sure that given the chance to say that word a few more times - fiancée! - he’ll change his mind. For now, he’s more concerned about lips and tongues and the positioning of noses and the way Emma’s lovely breasts press just perfectly against his chest.

“Yes,” she tells him again as they break apart, and one more time as he finally works the diamond ring past the knuckle of her fourth finger. It’s nearly a perfect fit; just a small spark of magic is required to tighten the band to her exact specifications. It seems fitting for their relationship, somehow, which has been infused with the magic of Saviors and True Love since the very beginning.

Charlie choses that moment, of course, to tire of searching through her toy drawer and wander back over to see what her parents are up to. “Mama sad?” She asks, his clever girl noticing the tears still glistening in Emma’s eyes (and probably his own too, if he’s being very honest).

“No, baby, happy,” Emma laughs. “Mama is just very, very happy, and it’s spilling all over the place.” Killian understands that perfectly; he’s so happy, he feels like he’s overflowing with it.

There are worse complaints to have.

Soon, they’ll have to turn their attention to all kinds of wedding planning and spreading the news to their friends and family, but he’s happy for the moment to instead focus on having a nice lunch with his daughter and fiancée at the former’s urging (“Eat now?”). Both his girls are very excited about the chocolate cake, and the sooner they finish their entrees, the sooner they can dig into dessert.

After all, Granny was right; they’ve got a lot to celebrate today.

#captain swan #cs ff #my writing #Took My Soul Wiped It Clean #If I Could See Your Face Once More #5b divergence #no more angst #just cute kids

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whizzbeeweasley-blog · 6 years

Text

Journey on the Hogwarts Express

When he lifted his head, Carmella tried to discern through the bruises and cuts masking his face, desperate to recognize just one of her father’s features. His usually jovial brown eyes were now slits, his eyelids swollen to size of golf balls, red bleeding into the chocolate of his irises. His sharp nose was crooked, twisted into a 45 degree angle, blood gushing from his nostrils. His welcoming smile, which Carmella had inherited, now featured chapped black lips and chipped front teeth, smeared with blood.

Yet, seeing her father in such physical pain was not what shattered her heart; it was the shame tainting the warmth of his eyes, as if he were somehow to blame for the rearrangement of his face into a black and blue mess. But he couldn’t be.

Her father was not the type to be intertwined with trouble, violence, and crime. He was not the type to come home, staining the pristine carpet with blood, hurriedly packing her clothes into a suitcase, whispering nonsensical phrases like “must escape” and “have to hurry.” He was a quiet and focused, but loving and devoted man, working from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. in the Departement de la Cooperation Magique Internationale. He would make crepes every Sunday morning, buy raspberry gelato when she was missing her mother just a bit too much, drive her to the local pool for her swimming lessons, and travel to the beach at the end of term. He was her everything, her idol, her best friend, especially now that her mother was gone. He couldn’t possibly be to blame.

“Pardonnes moi,” he uttered, when he had finished ransacking up her room. He approached her and kissed her forehead, tears cascading down his cheeks.

“Pourquoi? What’s going on?”

“Ma cherie, you need to leave France. It’s not safe for you here, anymore,” he replied, shooting a furtive glance over his shoulder, scrutinizing the dark street below.

“Papa, s’il-te-plait! Tell me why you’re so terrified!” Carmella pleaded.

“A few months ago, when You-Know-Who began recruiting international wizards, to expand his influence I suppose, I was approached by la Republique to go undercover as a Death Eater and obtain information on his possible plans,” he began, running a shaky hand through his jet black hair.

“You… what?” Carmella tried to process his sudden revelation. And yet, it seemed to make sense. Recently, her father had been coming home from work in the middle of the night, with deep blue bags under his eyes, showing less enthusiasm and interest in his job than usual. She had just attributed this change of schedule to him and the rest of his department fighting against Lord Voldemort, not pretending to join him.

“Carmella, we don’t have much time,” he exclaimed, grabbing her suitcase and heading for her bedroom door.

“Wait, Papa! What’s changed? Why do we have to leave?”

“No, Carmella, you have to leave,” he sighed, turning to face her. “You-Know-Who’s plan worked. He has gained international support with many dark wizards, to the point that he has infiltrated la République de la Magie and unfortunately…”

“Uncovered that you double-crossed him,” Carmella finished, finally grasping the reality that her family was teetering on the verge of implosion, tears welling up in her eyes. “Well, okay, so we’ll disappear! We’ll go to South Africa or Thailand, you know, somewhere where You-Know-Who will never find us!”

Her father shook his head.

“No, Carmella! You have to disappear! Don’t you understand? Now that You-Know-Who has discovered that I have betrayed him, you have a massive target on your back. He knows that you are the most important person in my life, so he won’t retaliate by torturing me, but by capturing and killing you.”

“Haven’t they already attacked you? Isn’t that punishment enough?”

“This?” he asked, motioning his face. “This is for not going quietly. Once they find me, and they will, not matter how many times I Disapparated and Apparated to keep them off my scent, this will look like kindergarten’s play compared to what they have in store for me. Trust me Carmella, every moment that I’m with you, I am putting your life in danger.”

“But, where am I supposed to go? You’re my only family!” she weeped. “How am I supposed to leave you?”

“I have already made arrangements for you to stay at Hogwarts this year. I am close with the Headmaster, and he’s agreed to admit you to the school and help you find a family to stay with over the summers.”

“If you’re just shipping me off to school, then why can’t I stay at Beauxbatons?”

“Because Albus Dumbledore is not at Beauxbatons, and he is the only man You-Know-Who has ever been afraid of. I trust him and I trust that as long as you are in his care, you will be safe. I’ve put a lot of thought into this, ma cherie, and it’s the only way to keep You-Know-Who from finding you and hurting you. I’m sure of it,” he added, observing Carmella’s skeptical expression.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t come with me. I don’t understand why Dumbledore can’t protect the both of us!”

“Because going underground, hiding from You-Know-Who, constantly looking over your shoulder, that’s no life for a girl like you, who has so much potential ahead of her,” her father replied gently, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Besides, your mother would never forgive me if I put you in harm’s way. Once You-Know-Who is caught, I promise I will find my way back to you. But for now, my life will just be too unpredictable,” he added, wiping her tears and pulling her into a tight embrace.

A pop resounded in the empty street outside. Carmella and her father froze, fearing the worst. Slowly, she moved towards the window and slightly pushed the curtains aside. Looking up at her was a man with a long silver beard and flowing hair. He sported brilliant robes of midnight blue, embroidered with golden stars, matching the night sky, and half-moon spectacles were perched upon his crooked nose.

“Dumbledore,” she breathed, bittersweet relief washing over her. She looked back towards her father and forced a smile, a new wave of tears blurring her vision. It was time.

__________________________________________

“You’re new,” a voice interrupted Carmella’s reverie.

She looked away from the point on the window she had been fixing for the last hour, reliving her farewell to her father. Sitting in front of her was a teenage boy with shoulder-length black hair, a shadow of facial hair, and a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes.

“You’re observant,” she replied, her gaze returning to the train window, watching the pastures and farm animals zoom past her.

“Anything from the trolley, dears?” a kind-faced woman asked from the hallway, pushing a cart filled with sweets and pastries. Carmella was about to refuse, wishing to be left alone so as to lose herself in her thoughts once again, when her stomach thundered loudly. She had gotten so caught up in the whirlwind of leaving her father and the country behind that she had forgotten to eat.

“Yeah, I’ll take Bertie Botts’ Every Flavour Beans and some Chocolate Frogs,” the boy answered, pulling out a velvet money bag and counting some gold coins.

Carmella walked over to the trolley, absorbed all of the options, and ordered some Cauldron Cakes and Pumpkin Juice. She thanked the woman, handed her some Galleons and returned to her seat, hurriedly opening the packaging of her sweets.

“I’m Sirius, by the way,” the boy said, between mouthfuls of chocolate.

“I’m Carmella,” she replied, after taking a deep swig from her juice.

“So, how come I’ve never seen you before? You’re clearly older than 11, so you’re not a first year.”

“Maybe I got held back a few years,” Carmella smiled, surprisingly grateful for the distraction from her solemn thoughts.

“I don’t think that’s how Hogwarts works,” Sirius laughed. “C’mon, what’s the real reason?”

“I’m a transfer student.”

“You must be the first of your kind. Where from?”

“Beauxbatons Institute.”

“Ahh, a French girl! I knew there was something I liked about you.”

Carmella blushed. She didn’t usually fall for troublemakers, but something about Sirius’s carefree attitude eased her nerves about leaving her whole life behind and starting a new school in a foreign country.

“Well then, welcome to Hogwarts! If you want, I can give you a comprehensive tour when we get to the castle, teach you the ropes, let you know who you should befriend,” Sirius said, motioning himself, “and who you should avoid. Wait, you haven’t been sorted yet, have you?”

“Sorted?”

“Yeah, you know, into houses. They don’t have those at Beauxbatons?” Carmella shook her head in response. “Ok, well, there are four of them: Gryffindor, the best house, for the brave and the mighty, and then Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin,” he elaborated.

“You seem a bit biased. I’m assuming you’re in Gryffindor?” Carmella grinned.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Hey, Padfoot, where'd you get off to?” a voice called from the hallway. A curly-haired boy with round glasses peaked his head through the door of the compartment, a smirk slowly appearing on his freckled face.

“Nevermind, I get it now,” he added, winking at Sirius. He plopped down next to him, grabbing one of his Chocolate Frogs and surveying Carmella with a puzzled expression.

“You’re new.”

“Yeah, James, we’ve already established that,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes playfully. “This is Carmella. She’s from Beauxbatons, as in France.”

“You know, I have more appealing qualities than just my nationality,” she replied.

“And I would be happy to get to know them.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” James chuckled. “I’ve never heard of Hogwarts accepting transfer students. Must be some pretty special circumstances for Dumbledore to let you in so late.”

“Yeah, must be. So, what year are you both going into?” Carmella hurriedly changed the subject, not interested in rehashing the mayhem of the past few days to two strangers.

“Fourth,” James and Sirius answered together, not pressing the matter any further.

“You do that a lot?”

“Yeah, we’re often confused as twins,” James answered knowingly. Carmella attributed this to some sort of inside joke, due to their completely dichotomous appearance, although their personality traits did seem to align quite perfectly.

“I’m a fourth year too. Maybe you can help me catch up on the coursework?”

“Well, who are we to refuse a fellow student in need? Although, I have to warn you, I don’t know how much help we’re going to be. I don’t think we’ve done homework since March,” Sirius said.

“Of this year?”

“Of our first year,” James replied, causing an uproar of laughter from the three.

“What’s so funny?” Two more faces appeared at the door: a tall boy, with shaggy brown hair and a scar on his eyebrow, and a small, mousy boy, already changed into his school robes.

As the boys sat down in the compartment and introduced themselves to Carmella, she smiled, genuinely, for the first time in what seemed like years. She mentally pinched herself, so as to not be foolishly and naively optimistic that she may be able to return to some sort of normalcy at Hogwarts, but she couldn’t help herself. She looked around at the four joyful faces staring back at her, stuffing another Cauldron Cake into her mouth, and she couldn’t help but feel a wave of hope wash over her. Maybe, just maybe, she could make Hogwarts her home.

#harry potter #hogwarts #beauxbatons #marauders era #short story #fanfic #fan fiction #headcanon #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #peter pettigrew

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