#cribbing from my fic notes as per usual ]

[etruatcaelum]

[ @the-gray-maiden // for glynda ]

"You know, I'm glad you decided to stalk me."

She dredged a wan smile up from somewhere, cupping both hands around the mug of coffee the lone serving girl had slid across the counter just a moment ago. “I’ll admit,” Glynda said wryly, “I didn’t expect to find you here. But it’s always good to see a familiar face.” A beat. Her mouth curved down. “A friendly face.”

The edge in her tone wasn’t meant for Lia. Glynda could only hope it would be taken for mere fatigue—stress—goodness knew she had no shortage of both. She exhaled a lengthy sigh and watched the steam rising from her coffee dance. “I just came down to… well. It’s a few weeks since we last heard from Wintergreen. Times being what they are…”

None of the outlying communities to the north of Vale had been lost since the night Beacon fell—yet. Glynda felt the weight of that yet on her shoulders every day. But she’d arrived in the morning to find nothing amiss except that the local relay tower had been damaged by a recent storm, and that was quite easily fixed.

“Have you been,” she added curiously, “staying here? Or are you just passing through?”

[hilarychuff]

for the ask game :)

i carry it in mine + 3, 13, 14

howl + 9, 15

the ask game

ty for the questions!!

i carry it in mine - tag, ao3

3. what’s your favorite line of narration?

hmm it currently stands at 45k words so hard to pick just one but i'm p sure this was the line that i was like first working towards when i started writing it

He means to make me queen, she thinks, her legs turning to jelly as she sinks to the floor.

like the scenes in chapter 6 and 7 at the wall where he shows her his mark/she realizes the full implications of it all were for sure like one of THEEEE inciting visuals i had

13. what music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

i actually write mostly in silence 😭 i can plot and write notes etc with the tv on or with music on but honestly i usually find it too distracting!!! i'm a big singer alonger and i really need to like. concentrate for the most part when i'm writing for real. nooooo clue what would be a good soundtrack for reading bc i would want vibes to be similar to like medieval period piece stuff so maybe something sort of instrumental???? or like a softly crooning female singer songwriter type of vibe. something a lil folksy perhaps???

actually wait i lied sometimes i listen to asmr videos on youtube!!! not that i recommend that per se lmao. but just a lil something to provide a bit of sensory stimulation so that i don't get like. bored.

14. is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

hmmmm. i don't think i went into this fic with the intention of like "this is what i want readers to learn" so much as i was like wouldn't if be interesting if... and then if their places were switched....

but i will say that something i didn't expect while writing was how many people would be upset with jon in the beginning for not making sansa his priority number one. which i GET like it's a soulmate fic that's sort of the expectation and it's an uneven expectation because he knows something here that sansa doesn't. but i always kind of felt like.... sure sansa is something different to him here than in canon but at least in the beginning the love is very much the same and exists and always existed???? and i could have done a better job writing TO that if i wanted it to be clear but i think it never occurred to me that it wouldn't be. it's so clear to me in canon how much jon loves his family, including sansa, even though we never actually see them interact for ourselves. but the way he thinks about her is so sweet. and the memories he has of her are very tender.

i think probably for the most part anyone who stuck around found a way to move past that if it felt wrong/unfair to them but i guess if i had one thing i wanted people to learn it would be sometimes that your ability to help someone or be there for them is not always a reflection of the love that you have for them. sometimes circumstances are just complicated. sometimes there's nothing you can do. but that doesn't mean you don't love someone and have love for them and hurt for them and think about them etcetcetc.

i am very much a problem solver in my own life/relationships which i think frustrates people sometimes and also sometimes leaves me feeling useless if someone is upset about something and there's nothing i can do but sometimes just loving someone and making sure they know that is enough !!! not that jon does that either in the beginning i guess lol woops but he's very much a sad boy ok maybe cut him some slack 😭

howl - tag, ao3

9. were there any alternate versions of this fic?

WELL the first howl i banged out in literally a 72 hour period cribbing heavily from an old scream script i found online that wasn't quiiteeee screen accurate and there was only ever one version of that. BUT in the larger grand scheme sense of this i do have notes for a howl 3 and howl 4 so like. not alt versions but additional installments in theory!!

i think there in the initial like "casting" phase if you will i had different notions for what howl 2 would be. bc joffrey was an obvious billy but i was like then who is stu.... and then finagling howl 1 meant some changes for howl 2 but honestly those felt really right to me when i settled on them!!!!!

as for howl 3 that casting has also taken a LOT of finagling that probably still needs some ironing out so that has probably gone through a couple different mental makeovers about how exactly to handle the roman/john milton of it all but rest assured i have lots of thoughts!!!!!!

15. what did you learn from writing this fic?

WELL!!!! actually!!!!! one thing that always bugged me about scream 2 was sidney being an actress and doing theater when it felt so like antithetical to her character to put herself in the spotlight in any capacity. but it's so like baked into the movie that doing howl 2 i was like ok how do i keep it??? and in thinking about that for sansa i considered a lot about the interiority of the character and how like. sure it's putting yourself in the spotlight. but it's also an opportunity to step out of yourself and be somebody different which i think both sidney and sansa are really craving, especially when stab/knifed is putting them on a national stage in a lot of ways. so that was something i hadn't really thought about before!!

i also think there are lots of times watching a horror movie where you see a character doing something and you're like "NO WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT WHY AREN'T YOU DOING XYZ INSTEAD" and then when you're making it like prose narrative as opposed to a script and you're in their head you really have to make it make sense to yourself a lot more (like not just running away after the police car crash scene in scream 2/howl 2) and so that was something i felt like i learned more about too like. yes sometimes you are making a decision because it serves the plot. but also how can you reconcile that action with your character's needs/wants/turmoils/experience etc.

[juletheghoul]

Congrats!!!! You deserve all the love ❤️

You know I’d love anything for Frankie and Spills 🥰

Thanks so much!!! ♥️♥️

I'm so happy you asked about these two - my faves🥹.

Enjoy some Beach fluff!

Pairing: Francis & Spills - read about them here.

warnings; none - pure domestic fluff.

-

The sun was high, shining faintly through the massive umbrella Francis had set up - big enough to cover the five of you when you weren’t in the water. For now it was just two of you though. The sand underneath your massive beach towel had cooled, the warm breeze ruffled Cici’s soft curls where she lay on top of your chest. Nothing would keep her nap away and although you did everything to make sure you were as comfortable a bed for her as her regular crib you couldn’t help but lift her little hand. Hold it in your much bigger one - study her little fingers- laugh at how much they looked like Luna’s; how much they looked like her dad’s.

Her legs were dry, but still covered in sand - it never bothered her. In truth nothing much bothered her while she slept so long as she had her muslin blanket curled up in her arm. 

You could see the three of them in the water from where you lay. Luna had recruited Mateo, both of them bombarding Francis with splashes and happy screams. You watched them enjoy the water with their father - watched them dig in the shallows for shells and treasures before they too grew tired. 

Blessedly he picked them both up before they got to the blanket you’d laid out, avoiding the avalanche of sand they’d have kicked onto you had he not and with a practiced move he had them sitting between you and him sand free. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked them both, receiving enthusiastic yeses before opening the cooler to hand them each their grilled cheeses. “You hungry babe?” He smiled at you, finding you still holding onto Cici’s fingers. 

“Yes please.” You reached out to take the sandwich he held out to you, noting with a smile that he fed himself last as per usual, making sure everyone was taken care of before even thinking of himself. “You want me to take her while you eat?”

“No - I’m okay, eat.” You smiled around a bite of food, admiring the way his skin had pinkened slightly in the sun. “You need to reapply babe, you’re pink.” 

“Sunscreen is important.” Luna spoke while clutching at her lunch, repeating the phrase she heard from the two of you. 

“Yes it is, you’re right honey.” He kissed her salty hair, handing her an apple slice to go with her food. Mateo nodded sagely, crumbs clinging to his face. 

“Are we going home after lunch?” He asked no one in particular.

“Did you want to go home?” You asked him - it would just be a quick walk back to your house.

“No - I want to play in the water.” He took a big gulp from his water bottle. 

“Then we’ll play in the water - need to rest a little right now though. Put more sunscreen on and let the food settle.” Francis pulled his little clone close, rubbing at his little shoulder. 

The five of you waited there, toasty and warm under the umbrella - comfortable and happy as the waves lapped softly at the shore. 

–

Tag list: @foli-vora @frannyzooey @danniburgh @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @softdindjxrin @wheresarizona @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @lori-tovar @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @greeneyedblondie44 @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @gaiuswrites @stevie75 @sweet-creature98 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @goldielocks2004 @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @hellovanessax @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @anaaaispunk @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @mandosmistress @deadhumourist @felicisimor @tuskens-mando @no-droids-on-sunday @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @kissasith @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @lorosette @softsweetedbeauty @c4psicle @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @ameliaofasgard @squidwell @allthatsleftbehind @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @planetariumx @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @evelynseventyr

[sdottkrames]

Queen of Hearts: A Mentalist Fic

@comfortember Prompt 2: First day/night.

Summary: A year with Jane and Lisbon’s little girl. (Spoiler alert: everyone is in love).

Notes:  This is a two part fic. Chapter Two will be up towards the end of this month, so stay tuned!

Read it on AO3: here

Again, if anybody would like to be tagged, let me know. I hope you enjoy!

Day One

Teresa woke up that morning, normal as anything. Patrick was already up as per usual, sipping his special tea. He shot her a happy, golden smile, making her heart melt. She wandered over to him, running her hand through his curls.

“Good morning,” he murmured, and handed her a cup of coffee, just the way she liked it. Somehow, he always made it better. She had a theory that he hid some really expensive coffee somewhere, but she knew he’d never tell her if she asked, and knew better than to try and find it. She’d never be able to outwit Patrick.

She sipped her coffee and smiled over the rim. “Hey.”

It was a quiet moment. Sweet, simple, and full of love. But then it was shattered with the sensation of water running down her legs. Teresa nearly choked on her coffee.

“Teresa, you alright?”

She shot him a look filled with terror, and placed a hand on her stomach. Her brain was short circuiting. She’d faced serial killers, guns, and knives without hardly a blink. But delivering a baby? Very new territory.

Patrick understood the message, and understood her inner panic. He quickly led her to their bedroom where he threw her some sweatpants and grabbed the overnight bag they packed a week ago while she changed.

She focused on breathing through the fear and pain as Patrick sped to the hospital, surprised to find she was grateful for his erratic driving for once.

At 1:37 PM, Cameron Angela Jane came into the world. She had eyes like her father and hair like her mother. Patrick cried, Teresa cried, Cameron cried (of course). In short, there were a lot of tears.

Teresa and Patrick had gone back and forth on names for a long time. She had wanted, of course, to honor Patrick’s late wife or daughter somehow, but Patrick had also been insistent on honoring Teresa’s family. They decided on Cameron, after Teresa’s mother, and Angela, after Jane’s wife. There had been tears then, too.

Aside from the first few minutes, Cameron was surprisingly quiet for a baby. Once she had been bathed and nestled into her mother’s arms, she settled instantly. The doctors had her nurse right away, and the little girl was asleep within seconds once her stomach was filled.

Teresa felt her heart shifting and swelling to make room for this beautiful, precious baby like her stomach had done for 9 months before.

She couldn’t take her eyes away.

“She’s so perfect,” she whispered, sniffling back a few tears.

“I know,” a quiet voice beside her said softly, and Teresa looked over at the only person that could possibly make her happier than the little bundle in her arms. Patrick.

“We did a good job, didn’t we?”

“Well, you did most of it, love,” he grinned, his eyes so filled with happiness and love, in such stark contrast to the sadness and bitterness that had filled them when she first met him.

She offered him the bundle of blankets, and watched tears fall as he took their daughter ever so gently and stared at her with such adoration and wonder.

Patrick tore his eyes away to look at Teresa again, and the hospital bed squeaked as she shifted to let him climb into it with her, carefully maneuvering so he didn't wake his precious cargo. She snuggled right up against his side, laying her head on his shoulder with a happy sigh. Feeling whole, and content, and incredibly exhausted, she let her eyes droop.

Patrick noticed, observant as ever, and gently kissed her forehead. “You should rest,” he whispered, and quietly started to hum until both his girls were sleeping peacefully.

One Month

Patrick and Teresa moved around each other like a practiced machine. Cameron (or Cammy, as they’d taken to calling her) was sleeping. But only for about another 45 minutes. They needed to get everything done before their world became completely absorbed by Cammy again.

Not that they would complain. They had created a habit of watching her sleep when they were supposed to be sleeping, missing precious time because they only got three hours at a time. .

“What is it about babies sleeping that’s so cute?” Teresa had asked one night as they stared at their sleeping daughter, twin looks of adoration on their faces.

“I don’t know. I was the same way with Charlotte, though. I’d stay awake all night just watching her sleep if Angela didn’t pull me to bed.”

He’d been talking about his family more lately, Cammy brought up memories of another little baby girl, and Teresa gave his hand a squeeze. She was relieved to see no sadness on his face, just wistful memories, and then Cammy yawned and he melted, and even the wistfulness faded.

But it wasn’t bedtime. It was naptime, and they were in mission mode.

Since bringing Cammy home, their normally (relatively) clean house had been a mess. Dishes left in the sink for days at a time, baby toys and blankets and diapers littering the floor, and their laundry hamper overflowing. But they developed a system, and Saturdays’ naps are for cleaning house.

Patrick grabbed the laundry from their room (tip toeing past the nursery) and Teresa took it from him with practiced precision as he continued down the hall to the kitchen. Once the wash was going, she started picking up the living room.

They finish and collapse onto their couch with 10 minutes to spare.

“We’re getting better,” Patrick murmured, sliding down so his head was in his wife’s lap and his legs hung over the armrest. Her hands started running through his curls of their own accord and he smiled softly as his eyes drooped.

The peaceful moment was broken 5 minutes later as cries began to erupt from the nursery, and Patrick immediately sat up. “I got her.”

While Teresa relaxed back into the couch, Patrick made his way down the hallway.

“Hey, little dove. Good morning!” he cooed as he opened the door.

The nursery had become one of his favorite rooms in the house. The walls were a beautiful, light mint blue, which made the white furniture and curtains stand out. (He’d insisted on the blue. It was Charlotte’s favorite color.) He picked up the sniffling baby from her crib and laid her on the floor to change her diaper.

“How’s my little angel, huh? Did you have a good nap?”

Cammy cooed in response, and Patrick couldn’t help but coo back. He smiled at his daughter. (His daughter!) And then something amazing happened.

She smiled back.

Forgetting about the diaper, Patrick called “Teresa! Come here!” He winces when he heard her running, panicked by the urgency in his tone.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you, but…she smiled at me! Her first smile!” he said excitedly, gesturing to their still bottom-naked little girl, who was flailing happily on the floor.

Teresa smiled at her baby. “Did you smile at your daddy, huh?”

Cammy’s nose wrinkled as she smiled again, this time directing her smile at her mother. Both her parents smiled back.

Three Months

Cameron had her mother and father completely wrapped around her finger. They both loved her more than they thought it possible to love anyone and would give the world to her if they could.

But that didn’t mean they didn’t want to hand her to someone else to deal with sometimes, too...particularly when she started screaming at 3 in the morning.

“Patrick, your daughter’s awake.”

“No, we both know she wants you, not me. She’s going through a phase ,” he mumbled, turning over in bed to face his wife, his eyes still determinedly shut. “And I got her last time, anyway.”

Teresa groaned as she got up for the third time that night, padding over to the bassinet at the foot of their bed.

Cammy had been sleeping through the night for the last month, much to the amazement and excitement of her parents. She’d nurse before she went to bed, then Teresa would nurse her before she and Patrick went to sleep, and she would be good for about 6 hours. But lately, she had been determined to not sleep for more than two hours at a time.

To top it off, she had, as Patrick complained, been going through a phase where she only wanted her mother. If Patrick so much as looked at her in the middle of the night, she cried impossibly louder until he handed her to Teresa, then she settled down into her normal volume of crying (which, spoiler alert, was still very loud).

In short, Teresa was exhausted.

“Cammy, I love you, but you are making me crazy!” she muttered, picking up the squalling baby.

When the same thing happened the next night, and the night after that, Teresa started to get really desperate. She’d had rough nights before, sure. Calls in the middle of the night to go to a crime scene, nightmares (hers and Jane’s), even getting up with her brothers when she was still at home raising them. But this had hit another level.

And Patrick could tell.

He tried, of course. He tried to get Cammy and pick her up, but nothing he did stopped her from crying. The only way any of them got any sleep was when he gave in and handed her to Teresa. He had no idea what to do, and it was a strange feeling.

Then he got an idea.

It came to him suddenly. Everyone loves to drive with me , he’d joked once to Cho. Driving had always been soothing to him, and he remembered Angela mentioning a friend had driven around to soothe her baby once. Cammy always fell asleep during car rides, anyway.

So, the next time Cammy started screaming, he quickly hopped out of bed and slipped on some shoes.

“I’m going to take her for a drive, see if that helps,” he said to answer the confused look his wife shot him. “Go back to sleep.”

She nodded gratefully and sank back into her pillows.

“Alrighty, little terror, you’re coming with me.”

Cammy protested her car seat. Loudly. But Patrick persisted, refusing to lose a battle to a 3 and a half month old. Once she was buckled, he began to drive. He didn’t pay much attention to where he was going, just hummed along to the classical music he had put on hoping to soothe his daughter.

Slowly, her cries decreased in volume, then turned to whimpers, then stopped altogether.

“Hey, princess, there you are,” he cooed at her, catching her eye in the rearview mirror. To his relief, Cammy shot him a gummy smile instead of her usual angry yell. “Oh, a smile, huh. Thank you. This car ride thing must really be working.”

He turned onto another street, then another, mostly paying attention to the way Cammy’s eyes started drooping and her head started lolling against the side of the car seat. She tried to fight it. Every so often, her eyes would close, and she’d determinedly open them again. But soon she had to give in.

“Finally,” Patrick sighed when her eyes closed and stayed that way. He glanced at the clock. 4:37.

After a few more minutes of driving around to ensure she really was asleep, he made his way back to their house and parked the car, but didn't get out. A car was definitely not the worst place he’d slept, and he didn’t want to chance taking Cammy out and waking her up. Besides, if she stayed in the car with him, Teresa could finally get more than 3 hours of rest.

Soon, he drifted off to the quiet sounds of Mozart and the snuffling sounds his daughter made, and decided they were some of his favorite sounds to go to sleep to.

[pengychan]

A while ago you mentioned you had an idea for a HP fic where Riddle Sr. escaped from Merope with baby Tom. I was really intrigued with the story because I’ve always thought that Riddle Sr was unfairly considered a bad guy due leaving her and his child, but he was basically a victim of the most powerful date rape drug in existence so he had every right to escape. What kind of father did you think he’d be if he had raised his wizard son?

Oh yeah, Tom Riddle Sr. got a lot of shit for being… basically a rape victim? I get the pity for Merope, I pity her as well (she was so deeply damaged by her upbringing and never got a chance to learn what love is really about), but that in no way changes the fact what she did to Tom Sr. was terrible. And I really don’t like how it’s framed, with even Dumbledore going on about how he abandoned Merope as opposed to running away from a forced relationship after the effects of a magical drug wore off. Even the narration goes out of its way to remark on the fact he was an Unpleasant Stuck-up Guy, as though being an unpleasant stuck-up rich kid (he was like 20, he was young) somehow means you deserve to be basically robbed of your free will, taken from home and be magically coerced into a relationship. 

… Okay rant over sorry on to the story idea.

Basically my idea was that Merope would only wean Tom Sr. off the love potion after their child was born, hoping as per canon that he would be in love with her regardless. Of course he wasn’t, and of course he was absolutely horrified when she admitted what she’d done and how. Horrified enough to kill her out of anger and fear she might bewitch him again (with her too stunned and pained to react with any magic). As I said, I pity her, but let’s be honest - to Tom, she was a terrifying being who had enslaved him and could do it again if he allowed it.

Anyway, he’s now left with a dead body and a baby. He gets rid of the dead body somehow, and almost smothers the baby because what if it’s like its mother, but Tom Jr. starts wailing when he looks down in his crib (unusual, that, he was usually a very quiet baby) aaaaand no, he can’t do it. So he takes the baby, and gets to the nearest station. The plan is to hand the baby over to a bobby claiming he found him in a rubbish bin or something before hopping on the first train home. Only that he… doesn’t. He can’t. And so he gets home, trying to explain he was somehow bewitched (he is fully aware no one would believe the full story about a love potion, I mean, come on) and with a baby in tow, claiming Merope left him and the baby and he has no idea where she is now (the bottom of the Thames, probably) and anyway, he’d really like his old life back. 

And the return home… sucks. A lot. His parents don’t believe him being bewitched for a second, of course, and are furious at him. His fiancee, well, she wants to hear no more of him since he just up and left her to elope with the crazy gal. The village as a whole is having a laugh at his expenses. His parents full-on pressing for him to give the baby up for adoption or something aren’t helping, but at this point Tom Sr. is so angry with his lot in life, he decides to keep the child mostly out of spite. He lost nearly everything, his reputation and the woman he wanted to marry, but this child? He’s his. He’s keeping him. His parents can swallow their dentures. Not that he’s going to look after him much, they can hire a nanny to do it and that’s exactly what happens.  

But time passes and the baby grows, and to everyone’s relief he looks nothing like his mother, or anyone from that weird family. He looks like his father and he seems so normal, and little by little, his grandparents are won over. He becomes the apple of their eye, and of course they set upon spoiling him. The boy wants a pony to learn how to ride? Then by God, the boy is getting the damn pony, and new clothes, and just about anything he asks for. What Tom Jr wants, Tom Jr gets. He leads a sheltered life in the manor, his every whim satisfied.

And soon enough he wants to spend more time with his father, who has become increasingly withdrawn and spends a lot of time having long horse rides across the countryside, though never anywhere near the shack where she used to live. And little by little he lets him. He’s still guarded, anxiously waits to see if his son does anything strange, but he does not. There is a certain distance between them, and Tom’s mother is a subject to never bring up, but they… get along well. Tom Sr becomes more interested in what his son is up to, and he does give him whatever he wants because why not, that’s how he was raised, too. And the kid loves his life as it is, the spoiled only child in a big mansion with rich grandparents, long horse rides with his father, and not a care in the world. His mother? Why would he care to know who she was?

Until of course something happens. During one of their rides, they are ambushed by a raving Morfin Gaunt, who spooks the horses, makes Tom Sr fall off it, and tries to hex him - only to be thrown back by a sudden explosion of uncontrolled magic by Tom who is, understandably, kinda angry at this guy who went and threatened them. Morfin becomes unable to breathe and Tom almost, almost kills him before his father grabs him and snaps out of it and takes him away, back home, leaving Morfin to gasp. 

Suddenly Tom Sr finds himself with weirdly dressed men in his living room, his parents’ memories being erased, and his child chasing around a moving chocolate frog while this Dumbledore fellow talks nonsense about a school of magic what the hell is going on.

What is going on is that this is basically his nightmare, his son is like his mother and will apparently go be educated among other people like his mother whether Tom Sr wants it or not. And ten years earlier, the day he broke free, he would have smothered the boy in the crib if he’s known that - but then was then and now is now, this is his son, and he wants him safe. It takes a long time to convince him Tom Jr will be fine learning magic, that everyone else will think he’s going to a really fancy boarding school, and he’ll be back every Christmas and summer, but he finally relents. 

Of course Tom Jr is enthusiastic, a ten year old kid who was just told he’s gonna learn MAGIC, who wouldn’t be? It takes some effort for him not to blurt out too much in the presence of his grandparents. This is gonna be great, he thinks, and oh boy is he wrong. He is sorted in Slytherin, and he finds out at his expenses that being Muggleborn (of course he thinks his mother was a muggle, too, his father surely would have told him if his mother was a witch?) is looked down to. He goes from being a spoiled rich kid to being an easy target, the kind other classmates turn their nose up to. He tries the Draco Malfoy “when my father hears of this” talk, only to be laughed at because literally nobody fears or respects a muggle. You could say it’s one hell of a culture shock. 

And he hates it. A lot. He loves learning magic, but he hates the way he’s treated and how his family is looked down to. Even once his achievements earn him some respect, he still hates it. So he looks forward to vacations at home, when he can be the spoiled rich boy again and spend time with his father - who knows all that well what it is like to be a pariah over something you had no control over. He almost tells him about his mother, but he can’t bring himself to. Instead he uses that time to teach him about Muggle things, about science and mathematics and literature and muggle history, a whole wealth of knowledge wizards discard but oh are they wrong to do it. The older Tom grows, the closer they get. People seeing them side by side could almost think they’re brothers. 

Little by little, Tom becomes certain that Purebloods are deluded - it’s Muggleborns like him that really the best, because they have access to the knowledge of both worlds. And he eventually guesses, as he grows - as he hears whispers about his parents’ eloping - that his mother perhaps was a witch; he can guess what she did. But at this point he doesn’t care, and never bothers to look into her lineage. He’s Tom Riddle, he’s son of a muggle, and he’s going to show everyone what he can do. Instead of throwing away his father’s name to embrace his mother’s legacy, he throws away hers to remain his father’s son. 

And… that’s the long and the short of it. I would need to check my notes to see what was meant to happen at this point, but I think Grindelwald’s war was involved, with Tom taking the opposite side because oh no, he’s not going to trample Muggles underfoot, no sir, not on his watch. All while his father knows vaguely what is going on, and is worried for his son, the way parents are, as Tom tells him and his grandparents to move for their safety. At some point, Tom Sr would have probably told him the whole truth about what his mother did to him and how she ended up. 

I don’t remember if they all made it through to see the end of 1945 - I think I had Tom Sr and Morfin Gaunt dying in the same incident, and Tom visiting the Gaunt shack afterwards to set it on fire, letting it burn with Salazar’s locket inside while he rode back to Riddle Manor, but I’m not 100% sure.

… I was pretty close to making this my NaNo project a few years ago, really. I kinda wish I had gone for it, but oh well. XD

[shxrirogers]

A Family Affair- Chris Evans x Reader (Repost)

Summary: Another Mother’s Day rolls around in Boston and Chris, your husband, has something spectacular planned, per usual. What makes this year different, though? Your sons are actually old enough to create their own presents (with their father’s help, of course), and there’s a new addition to the family: a baby girl.

Word Count: 1478

Warnings: None, just tons of fluff like always!

Author’s Note: This is the second fic I’m reposting after taking everything down to edit and rework them, so I hope you enjoy it! I wrote this fic last year after Mother’s Day when I had a dream about Chris and this is my attempt to recreate that dream as best as possible. Again, thanks to @bicaptain​ for reading the different drafts of this fic I had. You’re the best!

Chris has always had a knack for waking you up with surprises in the morning.

The newly risen sun shines through the bay window next to the bed you share with your husband; its beams begin to swirl in shades of orange and yellow inside your closed eyelids. You can feel the sleep crusted over in the corners of your eyes, a sign of a good night’s rest— something unfamiliar to you since the birth of your fourth child and only daughter three months ago, and you begin to rub it away with your fingertips. With your other hand, you extend your elbow and feel at the mattress expecting to find Chris’ sturdy, sleeping frame creating a heavy dip in the bed, but when you come up empty, you furrow your eyebrows and peel your eyelids open. A quick observation finds that the bed and the rest of the room are empty, including the crib where your daughter is supposed to be.

That’s not right.

Panic sets in as you throw your body out of bed. Tying the house robe around yourself that you find in a pile on the lounge chair, your feet pitter-patter across the floor to you approach the door of your master bedroom, but right before ripping it open and galloping around the house to call out her name, you hear a sort of cooing on the other side and pause to listen.

“Okay boys, when we go in, you have to be really quiet because Mommy is still sleeping,” Chris’ morning voice whispers.

“But Daddy,” Tyler, your oldest child at nine years, whispers back, “Why’s she still sleeping? Mommy is normally awake by now.”

“Yeah,” Aiden interjects, who just recently turned seven. “She needs to be awake. She makes a better breakfast than you do. Your eggs are gross.”

“Hey now!” Chris responds, feigning hurt. “I taught your mother everything she knows when it comes to cooking… Besides, she hasn’t slept well since Daisy was born. Since it’s Mother’s Day, I decided to let her rest and take Daisy into the guest bedroom with me instead of trading shifts with Mommy throughout the night.”

Oh, crap. It is Mother’s Day.

You shuffle back to the bed and bury yourself in the duvet. Dakota, your third son, who is in kindergarten and the spitting image of Chris, counts to three before flinging the door open while you close your eyes to fake sleep and let your family have their surprise.

The mattress ripples around you as the boys climb onto the bed and crawl into position, and once they’re settled, you feel Chris sit down next you and gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The contact from his skin causes warmth to radiate throughout your body until it leaks from the digits on your hands and toes. It takes everything in you not to turn the corners of your mouth up in a smirk. Twelve years of marriage and four kids later and Chris still manages to make you feel like you’re being touched by him for the very first time.

God, are you so in love with him.

“HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!”

Your sons shout the phrase in unison while flinging themselves at you. The first thing you see when you open your eyes again is Chris hovering over you with Daisy sleeping on his shoulder, a small smile on her face as she shifts and twitches about. He grimaces and mouths I’m sorry to you, but you just giggle and wave him off; no morning could top being greeted like this.

“Mommy, Mommy! You have to get up!” Dakota shouts in your ear as you sit up and swipe a dirty blond lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Why, baby? What’s wrong?”

“We have a surprise for you!” Tyler answers, pulling back your covers. “We’ve been working on it all week with Daddy and we can’t keep the secret anymore!”

Chris chuckles at the boys’ impatience. “Why don’t you guys go downstairs and wait for us? Mommy and I will be right there.”

Before he could finish the sentence, your sons throw themselves off the bed and down the stairs. Once their footsteps fade, Chris lays Daisy in her crib and turns around to face you, his bearded face scrunched by his grin. His lumberjack look is your favorite look, and when he isn’t working on a project that requires a clean face, he always makes sure to grow it out for you. He knows how much you love the feeling of it in your hands, on your lips, and in between your legs.

You raise an eyebrow. “You’ve been working on something ‘all week?’”

Chris shrugs. “I wanted to do something special.”

“Honey, you do something special for me every single year.”

“Is that a crime?”

“Absolutely not, but do we really need all this fanfare? I’m the kids’ mom. Taking care of them is what I’m supposed to do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You deserve all of the attention in the world. Plus you, hands down, have the hardest job in the world. Why not celebrate it?” Chris mutters while he works his hands through the opening of your robe and laces his fingers together at the small of your back. You inhale sharply before resting your forehead on his broad chest and he chuckles, knowing exactly what his touch is doing to you.

“Happy Mother’s Day to the woman who I thought couldn’t be any more super until I saw her with our baby girl.” He lowers his voice to a growl and plants a kiss on your forehead.

You close your eyes and wrap your arms around him, too. “I love you, Mr. Evans.”

“I love you, too, Mrs. Evans. More than you’ll ever know.”

The passionate kiss and roaming hands that ensue are cut short by the calling of your names by your sons. With a sigh of defeat, you grab Daisy and the two of you descend downstairs to the living room. Chris walks behind you with his hands on your waist to keep you close, and when you’re stopped in your tracks by the sight in front you, he squeezes you in reassurance.

Here, in the kitchen, each boy is holding a picture frame with a collage of images taken of and your sons. The pictures are jaggedly sliced and haphazardly pasted onto a colored piece of construction paper, a craft project that Chris obviously let each boy take charge of themselves. Next to the boys on the counter are three bouquets of flowers in vases (you would learn later that each one wanted to pick out a bouquet they thought you would like the best because they couldn’t decide on together) and a sealed envelope with the words “reasons why I love Mommy” written on them in each of the boys’ handwriting. They’re beaming, the boys, obviously proud of all of their hard work and eager for the reaction they would get out of you: tears. A sudden stream of tears.

“You boys did all of this for me?!”

“Duh,” Aiden responds. “We love you! You’re the best mommy in the whole world!”

“Yeah, the best mommy!” Tyler echos.

You turn to Chris, who’s tearing up himself at your heartfelt reaction, and you plant another slow kiss on his lips, careful to avoid smushing Daisy in between the two of you. Neither of you pulls away until Dakota screams “Ewwww!” and wiggles himself in between you to wedge you apart, causing Chris to scoop him up and set him on the counter, everyone else following suit by taking a chair around the island.

“I know you boys ate already, but since Mommy hasn’t, what do you say about helping me whip her up a nice breakfast before she reads your letters?”

“As long as you don’t feed her your nasty eggs!” Aiden shouts.

“Yeah!” The rest of the boys nod in agreement.

“No nasty eggs it is, then,” Chris states matter-of-factly while starting the stove and pulling out cookware from the cabinets above.

And at this sight of your family together, happy and content, you can’t help but smile. That’s all you can ever want as a mother, to watch your children prosper and flourish in an environment that promotes love and safety, an environment you’ve worked with Chris tirelessly to create. It’s evident at this moment that the hard work is paying off. You exchange a glance from him and he winks, almost to tell you that he knows you’re thinking about him before going back to patiently entertaining the rascals that tug on him and demand every ounce of his attention.

He’s your husband. This is your family, the one you created with him together. And god, are you so in love with him.

Xx.

If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting my writing here to help me pursue a Masters of Fine Arts in fiction after undergrad!

If you’d like to be added to my tag list to receive an immediate notification when I publish a new fic, that link is here.

Tag list:

@bicaptain​, @closeupmagicscott​, @hiddlestonm​, @endgamecap​, @mvaldemar​, @leosdicaprios​, @romanovasnatalias​, @roxannemorton​, @rachelsrothh​, @buckstony​, @jesperwylan​

[dani-ellie03]

Fic: Wednesday’s Child (9/?)

Title: Wednesday’s Child Summary: The next time Emma Swan wanted magical help, she was on her own. Because now they were stuck with a pint-sized savior who clearly had an attitude problem and a terrified but pretending not to be pre-pirate. Spoilers: If you’re current, we’re good. Rating/Warning: PG-13, mostly for safety. Family angst/fluff, as per usual. Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddy Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I’m just borrowing them but I’ll put them back when I’m finished! Author’s Note: Long chapter because it’s another one that just kinda came out on its own. Oops?

—–

{1} {2} {3} {4} {5} {6} {7} {8}

At ff.net and below.

Tagging @shealivedarnit (If anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know!)

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The activities of a farm family winding down for the night filled the hours after dinner. The children took Wilby outside to wrangle the sheep into their pen while the adults cleaned the kitchen and dining room after their meal. After Snow gave Neal a bath and changed him into his pajamas, Charming called the children, who once again had Wilby chasing them around the yard, in for their own baths and showers.

The instant hot water from the tap fascinated Killian so much that Emma gladly let him take his bath first. And she didn't complain in the slightest when he spent far more time than necessary in the tub, adding more hot water every so often as his bath water started to cool.

While Killian was in the bath, the rest of the family got Neal tucked into his crib for the night. After they turned out his light and left the nursery, Henry excused himself to make a call to Regina, which reminded Snow of something. "Emma, we still have all those clothes to go through! You're going to need pajamas after your shower so we should do it now."

When Emma nodded her agreement, both Snow and Charming led her into her chosen bedroom. She plopped down on the bed that had once been hers while Charming opened the bag and emptied it onto the mattress. Her eyes widened in shock at the size of the clothing now piled in front of her. "This is all for me?"

"Killian said the exact same thing," Charming said, his loving tone tinged with sadness for these children who'd never had much of anything. "Yes, it's all for you, kiddo."

Since Regina wouldn't have had a stash of hand-me-downs for Emma, every item was likely new, magically conjured into existence. All of the clothing was certainly in keeping with adult Emma's fashion sense. Jeans, t-shirts, and sweaters made up the bulk of the pile, along with some shirt-and-pants pajama sets.

"Wow," Emma whispered as she grabbed a black sweatshirt with small pink polka dots off the top of the pile and held it to her chest. She looked down, smiled, and folded the shirt.

With the three of them working together, the clothes were all folded and tucked into the empty drawers of the dresser in record time. Emma held back a pajama set of lavender cotton imprinted with little white penguins on skis to wear to bed.

Snow looked up at Charming and smiled. Their little girl was going to look so cute in those.

When Killian finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a pair of blue plaid pajamas and his hair still dripping, Emma rushed off to take her shower. Idly, Snow wondered if she would take as marathon a shower as adult Emma did.

"Come here, Killian," Snow chuckled when a drop of water dripped off his hair and caught on his nose, "let's get you dried off a little bit."

Since the blow-dryer was likely too loud a piece of technology for the boy, Snow settled for towel-drying his hair. Though the towel-drying still left his hair damp, at least it was no longer dripping onto his ears and down the back of his neck. "Is that better?"

"Yes, thank you."

When he turned around to take the towel from her, Snow was surprised to see a hesitant expression on his little face. "Is everything all right, Killian?"

"Yes," he answered, which was clearly a lie.

A troubled glance passed between husband and wife. As one and without a word passed between them, they decided to wait the boy out. Just like with Emma, they had to trust that little Killian would open up to them when he was ready.

Henry returned upstairs then and entered the room with a deck of cards in his hand. "Who wants to play cards before bedtime?" he asked, looking right at Killian with a smile on his face.

The boy looked relieved. "That sounds like fun."

"I thought it might. Did you decide which bed you want? We can play on your bed while we wait for Emma to be done with her shower."

A flicker of uncertainty flashed in the boy's bright blue eyes. "I … I'm not sure. I'm used to sleeping in the crew's quarters."

All at once, both Snow and Charming understood the boy's earlier hesitance. Poor Killian had been thrust into a situation that was so vastly different from his life experience that even the idea of a spacious bedroom was new to him.

Henry nodded and thought a beat before plopping down on what had once been his daybed in the loft. "How about this one, then? It's about the same size as your bunk in the crew's quarters, isn't it?"

Killian tentatively sat down on the edge of the daybed with Henry. He examined the mattress as if trying to take mental measurements. "I think it is," he finally admitted.

"Then this sounds like it should be your bed, young sir Killian," Charming said, injecting his voice with a teasingly reverent tone that made Killian giggle.

"I think it should," the boy agreed, smiling.

"There, now that's settled," Henry said, shifting on the mattress to sit cross-legged facing Killian. "And you want to know something else? I also have a surprise for both you and Emma."

"Ooh, a surprise? What is it?"

"If I tell you, it won't be a surprise, now, will it?" Henry laughed.

Killian gave him a sheepish smile. "No, I guess not."

"You'll find out soon. Now, who's up for some card games?"

Charming joined the boys on the bed and Snow simply watched, a tender smile on her face, as Henry and Charming taught Killian the finer points of Go Fish.

When Emma returned to the bedroom after her marathon shower – though she didn't spend quite as long in the steamed-up bathroom as adult Emma would have – her hair was also dripping wet, generating dark wet splotches on the shoulders of her PJ shirt. "Ooh, can I play?" she asked when she saw what the boys were doing.

"Not so fast, little miss," Snow laughed as she took the towel from her little girl's hand. "Let's get the shower out of your hair first."

For the second time that evening, Snow towel-dried a child's hair. With Emma seated cross-legged on the bed in front of her, though, it was hard not to think of all the times she never got to do this, all the nights she would have towel-dried her little girl's hair. And as she combed the tangles from Emma's soft waves, she tried not to think of all the mornings she would have spent brushing her little girl's hair and styling it for her and pinning jewels in it to add sparkle while keeping it out of her eyes.

"I like having my hair brushed," Emma spoke up softly.

Snow paused in her combing and leaned over to see her daughter's little face. "Really?" she asked, a light smile on her lips.

Emma nodded. "No one ever really does it for me, though."

How those nine simple words could so cut Snow to the quick, she would never understand. "Tell you what, sweetheart. How about I brush your hair until you tell me to stop?"

Her little girl gave her the most wonderful little smile. "I'd like that."

"I would, too," Snow said, returning her baby's smile.

The five of them stayed in the room, the boys playing cards and Snow brushing Emma's hair, until the children began doing more yawning than talking. "All right," Snow spoke up as she set Emma's hairbrush down. Her blonde waves were dry now and shining in the overhead light. "I think it's bedtime."

The younger children groaned but after a beat, Killian flicked his eyes to Henry. "Does that mean it's time for the surprise?"

"What surprise?" Emma asked.

"Henry said he has a surprise for us."

"It is indeed," Henry replied, making Killian grin in excitement and Emma frown in confusion. "Both of you have to be in bed and under the covers for it, though."

The children both crawled to the head of each bed. The beds were indeed perfect for them: Emma, who'd never had room to spread out, now had a big bed all her own and Killian, who was used to small bunks on ships, felt secure in a smaller bed in this big new world.

Charming turned down the sheets on Killian's bed while Snow turned down Emma's. Once the kids were settled, Henry slipped out of the room and returned a moment later carrying what looked like a blue plastic circular container with a black dome on top. "What is that?" Emma asked.

"You'll see in a second," Henry replied, purposely being mysterious. "Are you both settled? We need to turn off the lights for this."

The children looked at each other and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess," Emma said, answering for the both of them.

"Good." Henry sat down at the foot of Emma's bed and set the blue box down beside him. "David, would you mind getting the lights?"

Though Snow had less than zero idea what the contraption was, Charming must have either known or figured it out because he grinned at his grandson. "Sure thing." He crossed to the doorway and paused with his finger on the light switch. "Everyone ready?"

At the chorus of yeses, Charming flicked the switch. The room plunged into darkness but only for a brief moment. When Henry flipped the switch on his box, soft illumination brightened the room. And there, projected onto the ceiling, was the night sky.

Soft intakes of breath from the children echoed Snow's own. "Oh my gosh!" Killian whispered in wonder. "It's the stars!"

"It really is!" Emma exclaimed. "Look, I can see the Big Dipper! It's like a planetarium right here in our room!"

Killian tore his gaze from the ceiling to look over at Emma. "What's a planetarium?"

"It's a big dark room where they project the stars and the planets and stuff onto the ceiling like this. It's really cool. I went to one with school once." Emma looked away from the ceiling as well to smile at Henry. "This is awesome, Henry. Thank you."

"Yes, thank you very much!" Killian agreed. "It'll be like sleeping on the deck of a ship, right under the stars."

The tender smile on Henry's face told Snow that helping the children feel comfortable in the form of a nightlight (for Emma) that projected the night sky (for Killian) had been his plan all along. "You're both very welcome."

And with that, everyone began saying their good nights. Snow longed to give both children good night hugs and kisses but it was simply too soon for that. She settled for running a finger down their cheeks and adjusting the covers around their shoulders.

"Good night," she said, giving the children one last comforting look. When they returned the sentiment, she stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door closed, leaving it open a crack. Just in case.

"That was a really good idea with the projector, Henry," she said, giving her grandson a loving smile.

"Thanks. That was why I needed to call Mom. I had to ask her if she knew where it was because I knew it wasn't at the house. When she brought it to me, she told me to tell you that she hasn't found anything to help them yet but she'd keep looking."

Snow nodded and gave her amazing grandson his own good night hug and kiss. Charming did the same and the three of them retired to their rooms for the evening. "One day down," Charming said as he and Snow climbed into bed. "I don't know about you but I've loved every second of it."

"I have, too," Snow smiled. She set the baby monitor on her nightstand and settled under the covers. "This has been more than I could have ever dreamed. We're getting to know her, Charming, and she's getting to know us. It's amazing."

"It is."

Charming was still for a beat, then reached his hand out for hers. She gripped it tight before closing her eyes.

-----

"Mary Margaret?"

The harsh, frantic whisper dragged Snow from a surprisingly heavy slumber. In the dim moonlight filtering around the edges of the window shade, she could just make out a teary little Killian standing at the side of her bed. Instantly, she was wide awake. "Killian? What's the matter?"

"Emma's having a bad dream and I can't wake her up."

Snow was out of bed in an instant. She rushed to the guest room, Killian at her heels. Her heart sank in her chest when she spotted her baby girl tossing under the covers, trying with all her little might to wake herself from the nightmare that had a firm grip on her. Wilby lay on the bed at Emma's feet in an effort to comfort her with his presence. "Oh, baby," she murmured.

In that moment, pure maternal instinct took over. She eased down on the edge of the bed by her little girl's knees just as Emma let out a pained whimper. The sound tore at Snow's heart and she wasted not a moment in giving her little girl's shoulder a sound shake while calling her name.

Snow's insistent voice cut through the nightmare. Emma's eyes snapped open and she scrambled into a sitting position, her gaze darting wildly around the room. The poor little girl was so panicked, so scared. "It's all right, sweetheart," Snow murmured, her voice soft and gentle. "It was just a dream. You're all right now."

She repeated the words over and over until, at long last, Emma calmed. After letting out a heavy breath, the poor girl ran a hand over her face.

"Are you all right?" Snow asked.

Emma nodded but didn't say a word.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

A shake of her head.

Of course she wouldn't want to talk about it. This was a little girl who was used to calming herself down after a nightmare; the idea of talking about it was probably just as frightening to her as the nightmare itself.

Out of the corner of her eye, Snow saw Killian climb back into his own bed. She gave the boy a smile to both thank him for waking her so she could wake Emma and to offer a second good night. He returned the smile and curled up on his side facing the wall in an effort to give the two of them at least the semblance of privacy.

Snow sat with her little girl in silence until Emma's eyelids began to flutter. "You think you can try going back to sleep now?"

Emma nodded. When she made herself comfortable with her head on the pillows, Snow drew the covers around her shoulders. She ghosted her hand over Emma's hair. "Good night, sweetheart."

She stood, intent on letting Emma fall back to sleep in peace. She was two steps from the door when the soft voice stopped her. "Mary Margaret?"

A surprised Snow turned around and squinted at Emma in the dim light of Henry's projector. "Yes, Emma?"

"Will you sit with me? Just until I fall asleep?"

Sudden tears of warmth and happiness brimmed in Snow's eyes. Her little girl wanted her to stay. "Of course, sweetheart." She reclaimed her previous seat on the edge of the mattress and rested a comforting hand on her daughter's blanketed shoulder. Emma smiled a thank you and closed her eyes.

Just when Snow thought Emma might be falling asleep, the girl drew in a breath. "I couldn't find you. In the dream. I was looking for you but every time I found you, you ran away and hid again."

Her eyes remained closed, as if she were afraid to open them to see the expression on Snow's face. And thank goodness because her little girl's confession shattered Snow's heart. "Oh, sweetheart, does that sound like something either David or I would do?"

Emma shook her head, leaving Snow baffled. If she knew Snow wouldn't run away and hide on her, why had the nightmare frightened her so?

In one heart-wrenching moment, Snow finally got it. It wasn't something she would do but it was something everyone else in Emma's life would have done. On some level, even if it was subconscious, Emma had found somewhere she wanted to belong and she was terrified that she was going to be taken away.

"Sweetheart, I want you to listen to me." At that, Emma finally opened her eyes. "I'm not going anywhere, Emma. Neither is David and neither are you. You're ours now and nothing – nothing – is going to change that."

All was quiet for the space of a heartbeat and then Emma sat up and threw her arms around Snow, shaking as she held on tight.

Snow hugged the girl back just as tightly. She held her little girl in her arms, rocking her slightly, and murmured soft comforts in her ear. "Oh, baby, you're not going anywhere, not anymore."

This moment, this moment with her little girl in her arms, was simultaneously wonderful and bittersweet. Snow had connected with her little girl enough that Emma felt safe in her arms and longed for her comfort but oh how she wished it hadn't taken a nightmare and a life of abandonment to get them to this point. How she wished more than anything that she could take away all her baby's pain.

And though Snow may not have been able to take it away, at least she had the opportunity to help ease it.

Emma held the hug a beat longer, then sheepishly pulled away. "Sorry."

Oh, her poor sweet baby. "You don't ever have to apologize for wanting a hug, Emma," Snow assured her, drying the poor girl's teary cheeks with her thumbs. "I'll give you all the hugs you want any time you want, all right?" At Emma's nod of understanding, Snow gave her a calm smile. "Okay, sweetheart, lie back down."

A thoroughly exhausted Emma nodded again, released a shuddering breath, and did as she was told. Her eyes fluttered closed as soon as her head hit the pillow and she was asleep in a matter of seconds. After watching her baby sleep for a few minutes to make sure she was completely out, Snow adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, pressed the barest whisper of a kiss to her forehead, and stood. "Sweet dreams, my darling girl," she whispered and swallowed the lump that rose in her throat when Emma smiled in her sleep at the gesture.

-----

Chapter Ten