#scottish mary

[futurequibblerjournalist]

mary aileen macdonald < 3

the truest girl's girl

[peristeronic665]

found out today that 'mac' in a scottish surname means 'son of'

so naturally my brain went to our queen mary macdonald

trans scottish queen mary macdonald?

idk if this is some awesome headcanon i've just come up with

but i feel hella chuffed with myself

[thunderstruck9]

Lys Hansen (British, 1936), Mary, Queen of Scots, 1991. Oil on canvas, 29 x 29 cm. The Stirling Smith Art Gallery & Museum, Stirling, Scotland

[adventuresofalgy]

Algy was always concerned for his wee feathered friends in the depths of the winter, when the weather was cold and they could find little natural food to eat, so to be on the safe side he decided to feed them himself, just in case his assistant was too busy to get round to it before the short January day turned back into night.

The more agile small birds were happy on the peanut and seed feeders which his assistants provided, but the ground feeding birds could not manage to cling to those, so Algy scattered some grains and old sultanas on the frosted grass and then sat down to wait for his fluffy cousins, trying hard to ignore the unpleasant prickling chill in his tail feathers.

At first all was silent and still, but before long there was a rustling and a bustling in the bushes, and a few minutes later the garden birds started to emerge one by one and flock around him, for they were exceedingly anxious to find food.

Algy smiled happily as he watched them, and from time to time he conversed with those who were not too much occupied with eating to pay attention, but when they were concentrating on the all-important business of replenishing their energy, Algy began to sing a well-known song from an old movie – a song which he often hummed to himself at night, if he was finding it difficult to fall asleep…

And if you have a garden or an outside space, or know a little old bird woman or man who sells crumbs – and can spare a tuppence or two – Algy hopes very much that you will feed the birds as well 😊

Early each day to the steps of Saint Paul's The little old bird woman comes In her own special way to the people She calls, "Come, buy my bags full of crumbs" "Come feed the little birds, show them you care And you'll be glad if you do Their young ones are hungry, their nests are so bare All it takes is tuppence from you" "Feed the birds, tuppence a bag Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag Feed the birds", that's what she cries While overhead, her birds fill the skies All around the cathedral, the saints and apostles Look down as she sells her wares Although you can't see it, you know they are smiling Each time someone shows that he cares Though her words are simple and few "Listen, listen", she's calling to you "Feed the birds, tuppence a bag Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag" Though her words are simple and few "Listen, listen", she's calling to you "Feed the birds, tuppence a bag Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag"

[Algy is singing Feed the birds from the 1964 movie Mary Poppins.]

And for those who are still young at heart, here is the clip from the original film:

[gwydpolls]

Time Travel Question : Murder and Disappearance Edition I

Given that Judge Crater, Roanoke, and the Dyatlov Pass Incident are credibly solved, though not 100% provable, I'm leaving them out in favor of things ,ore mysterious. I almost left out Amelia Earhart, but the evidence there is sketchier.

Some people were a little confused. Edward V and Richard of Shrewsbury are the Princes in the Tower.

[beardedmrbean]

Well this is just dang cool

Link

[quietwingsinthesky]

once again. i am thinking about an alternate end of time ending where the master joins up with the doctor on the tardis, but now specifically, an au where the doctor still ends up regenerating and crashlanding in amy's backyard. au where the doctor doesn't show up 12 years late because two timelords piloting a tardis is (marginally) better than one, and now amelia pond is going on adventures in time and space in the care of the two least qualified being in the history of the universe to take care of a seven year old.

[uwmspeccoll]

Milestone Monday

On this date, September 9, in 1543, Mary Stuart, at nine months old, was crowned "Queen of Scots" in the central Scottish town of Stirling, and would remain queen until her forced abdication in 1567. A tragic figure, Mary would ultimately be executed in 1587 as a threat to the reign of her regal cousin, Queen Elizabeth I. Mary's courage at her execution helped establish her popular image as the heroic victim in a dramatic tragedy.

To commemorate the occasion of Mary's infant coronation, we present plates from John Skelton’s 1893 work Mary Stuart, Skelton’s third work on Mary, Queen of Scots, all advocating for a sympathetic view of Mary as a heroic victim. Mary Stuart was printed and published in an edition of 200 copies for Europe (with an additional 100 “with a duplicate series of plates … for America”) by Boussod, Valadon & Co. in Asnières-sur-Sein, a township in Île-de-France just north-west of Paris. 

View another post from this volume with more information about the book.

View more Milestone Monday posts.

[valkyries-things]

MARY SOMERVILLE // WRITER

“She was a Scottish science writer and polymath, Somerville was known as 'The Queen of Science'. She was nominated with Caroline Herschel as the first female members of the Royal Astronomical Society. Somerville was a suffragist and hers is the first signature on a huge petition organised by John Stuart Mill in 1866 to give women the right to vote. She owed much of her education to her father's library. She refused to take sugar in her tea as a protest about slavery. Among her works were On the Connexion of the Physical Sciences, Physical Geography and Molecular and Microscopic Science.”

[lulublack90]

Prompt 19 - Twenty-Four Hours to Live

@wolfstarmicrofic May 19, word count 977

CW- Blood, Open Wounds, Threats to life

“Get your affairs in order because this time tomorrow, cub, my boys will be coming for you. And you won’t be leaving wherever it is we track you down to.” Fenrir had hissed at him as he clutched the wound in his stomach, blood slowly dripping onto the gravel beneath their feet. 

Remus had stood straight backed, a look of defiance on his face. He disapparated, leaving the bleeding wolf behind. 

Fenrir had been after him for years. He’d wanted him to join his pack at one point, but now he wanted him dead and Remus had just given him the excuse he needed to send his pack after him, not that Fenrir needed an excuse. 

Remus had no doubt that the pack would catch up with him if he tried to run. There was no hiding from Fenrir’s savage wolves. He was going to face them head on and take as many with them as he could. 

He stared at Sirius, sleeping soundly in their bed. He stopped thinking about the future, concentrating on the now and leaving Sirius with a few good memories of him. They’d be clashing lately and Remus didn’t want to leave it like that. 

He walked around to his side of the bed and got in. He stroked a finger over Sirius’s cheek with a feather light touch. His boyfriend shuffled under the covers. He did it again, this time trailing his finger along his jaw. Sirius’s eyes snapped open, his pupils growing large and very round at the seductive look on Remus’s face. They spent the next few hours tangled amongst the bedsheets. Sirius never asked what had brought it on. 

Remus woke early, Sirius still sleeping, his body draped across Remus’s. He placed a sweet kiss amongst Sirius’s curls and carefully removed himself from their tangled limbs. He fancied having his favourite breakfast. A full Scottish breakfast with all the trimmings. He was just plating up when Sirius emerged from their bedroom, the smell of the cooking meats too enticing.

They sat in comfortable silence at the kitchen table, the only sounds were the moans that slipped from their lips as they devoured their food. 

“Can we go to the bookshop today? Remus asked Sirius as he took his plate from him and dumped them in the sink. He wanted to do all his favourite things one last time. 

“If you want,” Sirius replied, looking at him with a strange expression. “We could go look in the music shop next door after as well,” Sirius added. Remus nodded in agreement. 

“Perfect,” He said. “I’ll hop in the shower, and then we can go.” He smiled as he headed towards the bathroom. He leaned his head backwards as he passed the door frame. “Wanna join me?”

By the time they got out of the house it was past noon. Remus rushed Sirius through the busy streets, wanting to have as much time amongst the books he loved before he ran out of time. 

It smelled just the same as always in the muggle bookshop he frequented. Binding glue and fresh unread pages. He wanted to read them all. He ran his hands over a few tomes and pulled a promising one off the shelf. It was short. He thumbed through the pages. He could probably read it by this evening. He put it back on its shelf. He wanted to spend as much time with Sirius and his friends, and hiding his face in a book wouldn’t let that happen. 

“Can we go see Lily and James after we go next door?” He asked as he picked up another book. 

“Okay,” Sirius replied, his eyes narrowed as he carefully watched Remus. 

They didn’t stay long in the bookshop and spent even less time in the music shop. Sirius bought a couple of new vinyls and that was it. They walked towards an alley and apparated to the Potter's house. Remus grinned at the familiar path to the front door, lined with a rainbow of flowers. 

James greeted them, enveloping Sirius in a bone-crushing hug. He was gentler with Remus, but still squeezed hard. 

They followed him inside to find Lily waiting for them in the sitting room with a tray full of tea and other goodies. 

It was the best day Remus could remember having in a long time. He felt he’d spent his last hours well. The only thing he regretted was leaving Sirius alone.  

The time neared when the pack would arrive. He made his excuses to Sirius, James and Lily, pretending he wanted to go for a walk. He apparated to a meadow and waited. 

The pack didn’t take long to arrive. There were more than Remus had anticipated; at least thirty. He raised his wand, ready to fight. 

“Don’t think that silly stick will help you, Lupin. You know what’s about to happen. Don’t struggle and we’ll make it quick. You harm any of my pack, and I’ll personally make sure your death is dragged out over days.” Daniel, Fenrir’s second in command sneered at him. Remus cast a slicing charm, the same one he’d used on Fenrir when he’d cornered him last night and watched the wolf drop to his knees, gasping. “Get him!” Daniel roared, and the remaining wolves surged forward. 

Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack!” Sirius, James, Lily, Mary, Marlene, Dorcas and the Prewett twins apparated beside him, making the pack pause. All had their wands raised. 

“How did you know?” Remus croaked out, grateful that Sirius had come to his rescue. 

“You left the bookshop without buying a single book.” Sirius said simply. “So I put a tracking spell on you,” 

Together they made quick work of the pack. 

“I’ve got you, Moony. Always have, always will.” Sirius said boldly, wrapping his arms around him and taking him home.

[scotianostra]

On February 8th 1587 Mary Queen of Scots was beheaded at Fotheringay Castle.

The Queen was heard to repeat 'Into thy Hands O Lord, do I commit my Spirit' many times as she went to her death.

Pierre de Bourdeille, seigneur de Brantome was a member of the French nobility who accompanied Mary during her internment. He provides us with a sympathetic account of Mary's execution that begins with the arrival of a delegation from Queen Elizabeth announcing that the former Queen of the Scots is to be executed the next day:

"On February 7, 1587, the representatives of the English Queen, reached the Castle of Fotheringay, where the Queen of Scotland was confined at that time, between two and three o'clock in the afternoon. In the presence of her jailer, Paulet, they read their commission regarding the execution of the prisoner, and said that they would proceed with their task the next morning between seven and eight o'clock. The jailer was then ordered to have everything in readiness.

Without betraying any astonishment, the Queen thanked them for their good news, saying that nothing could be more welcome to her, since she longed for an end to her miseries, and had been prepared for death ever since she had been sent as a prisoner to England. However, she begged the envoys to give her a little time in which to make herself ready, make her will, and place her affairs in order. It was within their power and discretion to grant these requests. The Count of Shrewsbury replied rudely:

'No, no, Madam you must die, you must die! Be ready between seven and eight in the morning. It cannot be delayed a moment beyond that time.' " It was that sudden, very little time for Mary to prepare, a brutal way to spend the last few hours on this earth........Mary spent the rest of the day and the early hours of the next morning writing farewell letters to friends and relatives, saying goodbye to her ladies-in-waiting, and praying.

At 2 am on Wednesday 8 February 1587, Mary Queen of Scots picked up her pen for the last time. Her execution on the block at Fotheringhay Castle was a mere six hours away when she wrote this letter. It is addressed to Henri III of France, brother of her first husband. The letter was written in French, the following is a translation and is a fascinating insight into the mind of our Queen hours before her murder. Mary had only learnt her fate a few hours earlier.

Note, even though she had been forced to abdicate, and had been a prisoner of her cousin for 19 years, she still called herself, Queen of Scotland.

Queen of Scotland

8 Feb. 1587

Sire, my brother-in-law, having by God's will, for my sins I think, thrown myself into the power of the Queen my cousin, at whose hands I have suffered much for almost twenty years, I have finally been condemned to death by her and her Estates. I have asked for my papers, which they have taken away, in order that I might make my will, but I have been unable to recover anything of use to me, or even get leave either to make my will freely or to have my body conveyed after my death, as I would wish, to your kingdom where I had the honour to be queen, your sister and old ally.

Tonight, after dinner, I have been advised of my sentence: I am to be executed like a criminal at eight in the morning. I have not had time to give you a full account of everything that has happened, but if you will listen to my doctor and my other unfortunate servants, you will learn the truth, and how, thanks be to God, I scorn death and vow that I meet it innocent of any crime, even if I were their subject. The Catholic faith and the assertion of my God-given right to the English crown are the two issues on which I am condemned, and yet I am not allowed to say that it is for the Catholic religion that I die, but for fear of interference with theirs. The proof of this is that they have taken away my chaplain, and although he is in the building, I have not been able to get permission for him to come and hear my confession and give me the Last Sacrament, while they have been most insistent that I receive the consolation and instruction of their minister, brought here for that purpose. The bearer of this letter and his companions, most of them your subjects, will testify to my conduct at my last hour. It remains for me to beg Your Most Christian Majesty, my brother-in-law and old ally, who have always protested your love for me, to give proof now of your goodness on all these points: firstly by charity, in paying my unfortunate servants the wages due them - this is a burden on my conscience that only you can relieve further, by having prayers offered to God for a queen who has borne the title Most Christian, and who dies a Catholic, stripped of all her possessions. As for my son, I commend him to you in so far as he deserves, for I cannot answer for him. I have taken the liberty of sending you two precious stones, talismans against illness, trusting that you will enjoy good health and a long and happy life. Accept them from your loving sister-in-law, who, as she dies, bears witness of her warm feeling for you. Again I commend my servants to you. Give instructions, if it please you, that for my soul's sake part of what you owe me should be paid, and that for the sake of Jesus Christ, to whom I shall pray for you tomorrow as I die, I be left enough to found a memorial mass and give the customary alms.

This Wednesday, two hours after midnight.

Your very loving and most true sister, Mary R

To the most Christian king, my brother-in-law and old ally.

We rejoin de Bourdeille's account as Mary enters the room designated for her execution and is denied access to her priest:

"The scaffold had been erected in the middle of a large room. It measured twelve feet along each side and two feet in height, and was covered by a coarse cloth of linen.

The Queen entered the room full of grace and majesty, just as if she were coming to a ball. There was no change on her features as she entered.

Drawing up before the scaffold, she summoned her major-domo (steward) and said to him:

'Please help me mount this. This is the last request I shall make of you.'

Then she repeated to him all that she had said to him in her room about what he should tell her son. Standing on the scaffold, she asked for her almoner, (chaplain) begging the officers present to allow him to come. But this was refused point-blank. The Count of Kent told her that he pitied her greatly to see her thus the victim of the superstition of past ages, advising her to carry the cross of Christ in her heart rather than in her hand. To this she replied that it would be difficult to hold a thing so lovely in her hand and not feel it thrill the heart, and that what became every Christian in the hour of death was to bear with him the true Symbol of Redemption."

Standing on the scaffold, Mary angrily rejects her captors' offer of a Protestant minister to give her comfort. She kneels while she begs that Queen Elizabeth spare her ladies-in-waiting and prays for the conversion of the Isle of Britain and Scotland to the Catholic Church:

"When this was over, she summoned her women to help her remove her black veil, her head-dress, and other ornaments. When the executioner attempted to do this, she cried out:

'Nay, my good man, touch me not!'

But she could not prevent him from touching her, for when her dress was lowered as far as her waist; the scoundrel caught her roughly by the arm and pulled off her doublet. Her skirt was cut so low that her neck and throat, whiter than alabaster, were revealed. She concealed these as well as she could, saying that she was not used to disrobing in public, especially before so large an assemblage. There were about four or five hundred people present.

The executioner fell to his knees before her and implored her forgiveness. The Queen told him that she willingly forgave him and alI who were responsible for her death, as freely as she hoped her sins would be forgiven by God. Turning to the woman to whom she, had given her handkerchief, she asked for it.

She wore a golden crucifix, made out of the wood of the true cross, with a picture of Our Lord on it. She was about to give this to one of her women, but the executioner forbade it, even though Her Majesty had promised that the woman would give him thrice its value in money.

After kissing her women once more, she bade them go, with her blessing, as she made the sign of the cross over them. One of them was unable to keep from crying, so that the Queen had to impose silence upon her by saying she had promised that nothing of the kind would interfere with the business in hand. They were to stand back quietly, pray to God for her soul, and bear truthful testimony that she had died in the bosom of the Holy Catholic religion.

One of the women then tied the handkerchief over her eyes. The Queen quickly, and with great courage, knelt dawn, showing no signs of faltering. So great was her bravery that all present were moved, and there were few among them that could refrain from tears. In their hearts they condemned themselves far the injustice that was being done.

The executioner, or rather the minister of Satan, strove to kill not only her body but also her soul, and kept interrupting her prayers. The Queen repeated in Latin the Psalm beginning In te, Damine, speravi; nan canfundar in aeternum. When she was through she laid her head on the block, and as she repeated the prayer, the executioner struck her a great blow upon the neck, which was not, however, entirely severed. Then he struck twice more, since it was obvious that he wished to make the victim's martyrdom all the more severe. It was not so much the suffering, but the cause, that made the martyr.

The executioner then picked up the severed head and, showing it to those present, cried out: 'God save Queen Elizabeth! May all the enemies of the true Evangel thus perish!'

Saying this, he stripped off the dead Queen's head-dress, in order to show her hair, which was now white, and which she had been afraid to show to everyone when she was still alive, or to have properly dressed, as she did when her hair was fair and light.

It was not old age that had turned it white, for she was only thirty-five when this took place, and scarcely forty when she met her death, but the troubles, misfortunes, and sorrows which she had suffered, especially in her prison."

The account of Pierre de Bourdeille was originally published in 1665 and republished many times thereafter.

There are many different illustrations of Mary's execution......

[artandthebible]

Christ Taking Leave of His Mother

Artist: John Runciman (Scottish, 1744-1768)

Date: Mid 1760s

Medium: Oil on mahogany panel

Collection: National Galleries of Scotland, Edinburgh, Scotland

Christ Taking Leave of His Mother

“Christ Taking Leave of his Mother”, which forms the prelude to the events of the Passion of Christ, is first reported in writings of the late Middle Ages. Before his suffering began, Christ is said to have met his mother one last time – together with Mary Magdalene, Mary of Clopas and Mary Salome – in front of Lazarus’s house.

[heaveninawildflower]

'Linlithgow Palace' (19th–20th century) by David Young Cameron  (1865–1945).

Watercolour over graphite.

The palace was the birthplace of James V and Mary, Queen of Scots.

Image and text information courtesy Metropolitan Museum of Art and Wikimedia.

[royalty-nobility]

Mary, Queen of Scots Escaping from Lochleven Castle

Artist: William Craig Shirreff (Scottish, 1786 - 1805)

Date: 1805

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: National Galleries of Scotland, Edinburgh, Scotland

Description

In 1805, this painting won a student prize for Shirreff while he was at the Trustees’ Academy. He chose an episode from the life of Mary, Queen of Scots which had been related by Gilbert Stuart in his influential History of Scotland (1783). In a letter to his father the young artist wrote: 'I have taken the point of time when Lord Seaton is receiving Mary from the boat, and young George Douglas handing her on and one of the attendants holding the horse that the Queen is to ride on. I am very pleased with it myself.' By the early nineteenth century, Mary was a popular romantic heroine. William Lizars, one of Sherriff's friends, engraved this painting after the young artist’s premature death.

READ MORE: MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS' GREAT ESCAPE

[bonesfool]

Scottish Mary Watson née Morstan. You agree. Reblog

[countrymusiclover]

10 - Me Wee Barin

Part 11

The Siphoning Princess

For reference now Jaide ( Renae ) is going to have a Scottish accent since Rumplestilskin ( Robert, his actor has a Scottish accent ) ❤️

Tag list [ @mystrey101 @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @onentaien-kwara @melvia-ito @child-of-of-the-sunshine

Graham had picked me and my daughter up and drove us to the hospital rather than having us walk all the way to the hospital. The wolf and cliff incident had shaken me a little bit for sure. Parking the police car as close to the hospital as we could get we walked inside the three of us. Graham and I had been waiting in the lobby while they checked out my daughter first.

Footsteps came around the corner causing me to jump up from my chair clasping my hands together seeing Dr. Whale. “How is she, Dr?”

“You have nothing to worry about. She’s just got a few cuts but they’ll heal. She’s a tough kid you’ve got there.” He responded by shoving his hands inside the pockets of his white hospital coat.

Slumping my shoulders in relief I released a breath I was holding inside. “Thank you, Dr. Whale.”

“Let’s get you checked out now shall we?” Whale extended his arm out in the direction of the hallway.

Graham rose from his chair about to follow us until his radio rang off meaning he was getting called into work. “Ah man. I have to go. Call me later and give me an update on how you are.” He stepped forward kissing my forehead before he walked out of the hospital lobby.

“I will.” I replied following the Dr down the hallway for the checkup. He ran a few tests and did some blood work that left me sitting in one of the hospital rooms waiting for the results to come back. Tapping one of my boots on the tile floor out of nervous anticipation I was lost in my own head until someone called my name.

“Renae, what are you doing here?”

Turning my head towards the doorway I parted my lips not expecting to come across him. “David, hi. Uh - Tessa and I went out into the woods and sort of fell off a cliff. So they’re checking us out for any injuries.”

“Hopefully nothing is broken or bruised on you two.”

Nodding my head I raised a brow. “Yeah, hopefully. What are you doing here? I thought they had discharged you already.”

“I was discharged but Dr. Whale told me I have to come to the hospital for check in’s and you know walk around the area for an hour or so. Basically just to monitor how I am doing I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders tilting his head towards the doorway behind him. “Would you wanna get out of here and help me out with my little delema?”

Sparing a glance down to my boots with a low chuckle. “Is Prince Charming wanting to escape his castle prison.”

“Charming?” He raised a brow.

“Sorry, I’ve been reading my daughter way too many fairytale books lately.” Sliding down from the operating table with my shoes making a sound when they hit the floor I faced my body towards him. “We just have to grab Tessa and then we can go.”

“Hi mama.” Tessa poked her head inside the hospital room.

Putting my hands on my hips I slightly glared at her. “You were supposed to stay in the waiting room and not go off with strangers, little miss.”

“David’s not a stranger.”

Clicking my tongue she made a good point. “I guess so.”

“He’s my daddy.”

Knitting my brows I swore I heard her call him dad like in Henry’s story. “Sorry he’s your what?”

“Renae, are you okay?” David questions me pulling me from whatever trick my mind was playing on at that moment.

“Uh yeah. I’ll grab my jacket and we can go.”

The three of us had left the hospital going to the paved trails that went out into the woods slightly away from the hospital. Tessa was walking ahead of us picking off different colored leaves from the trees that she could reach from her level. “Can I ask you a personal question about Tessa if that’s okay with you?” David broke the silence that had fallen between the two of us.

I kept walking and he kept up to toe with me where I could look at him from the corner of my eye. “What’s your question?”

“You said she loves fairytales so when is her birthday?”

Stopping in my tracks I parted my mouth opened slightly, not sure how to tell him no. “David, you, you really don’t have to get her anything.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” His bright baby blues met my gaze. “Just tell me her birthday is, please Renae.”

Briefly closing my eyes I muttered to him. “May 15th.”

“Okay, so in two days. I can work with that.” He whispered to himself making me shake my head smiling at how thoughtful he was being for a child who wasn’t even his own.

The wind softly blew some of my hair in front of my face before I silently stared at the man in front of me. Tessa was right in saying he did resemble what Prince Charming could look like. “So uh - have any of your memories come back yet. I know the doctors said it would take time.”

“Unfortunately no. It’s like I woke up in some strange land. There’s only one thing in this whole place that feels right to me.” David turns to face me, locking his gaze down to mine.

Parting my lips slightly I whispered his name taken back by how close our bodies were to each other. Our noses were brushing against each other. “And what’s that -“

“You.” He lifted a hand up to the side of my face, cradling it in his hand and used his other to brush some locks of hair from my eyes. “I can’t explain it, Renae. I just know what I feel about you. But I swear you’re the only thing in this whole place that feels right…you and Tessa.”

“David. I - I don’t know what to say.”

He begged not moving away from me till he finished his sentence. “Just tell me the truth of how you feel.”

“I - I don’t know how I feel.”

“Renae - Mary Margaret?” He quickly drew away from me where I whipped my head around seeing his wife walking up to us.

She asked him shifting her gaze to me. “David. Why is she with you?”

“I should go.” Spinning on my feet I ran forward dragging my daughter with me until we got to the car and I dropped her off at the station with Emma for a few hours needing to clear my head. Once leaving the hospital I made my way back home walking past Mr. Gold’s pawnshop, but parked my vehicle outside the store. Normally I would just pass it by without a thought, yet something drew me there this afternoon.

Walking around the shop I paused, coming across a glass unicorn chandelier that would most likely hang over a baby's crib. It was so beautiful to me so I had to brush my fingers over one of the unicorns. “Find something ye like, Ms. Hunter?” Mr. Gold revealed himself from behind the back curtain, coming over to admire the object I was looking at.

Looking at the owner of the object I smiled. “I feel like I’ve seen this somewhere before.”

“I remember the day I gave this to you, me wee bairn.”

“Wee barin.” I muttered under my breath, shutting my eyes seeing something flash in my mind.

“Papa, how am I supposed tae get ma memories back before the curse is broken. That canae be possible.” I questioned my father.

He sent me a soft smile. “What did I call ye when ye were younger?”

“Me wee barin.” I responded back to him.

“Once ye’ve heard me say that word ye will remember me every time we are together.”

“I love ye, papa.” Wrapping my arms around my father I saw the dark curse smoke coming through the balcony door of my chambers, heading straight for us.

Rumplestilskin, my father kissed my forehead. “I love ye, Jaide me wee barrin.”

Blinking my eyes a few times it took me a moment to register who was really standing in front of me. The man dressed in a suit calling me his “little baby” wasn’t a pawnshop owner, but was my father Rumplestilskin. “A’v missed ye, papa.” Zooming across the wooden floor I launched my arms out and around his neck in a long overdue hug.

“A’v missed ye too, Jaide.” He squeezed me tightly against his chest, crying into my shoulder for a moment until I drew my head back when something didn’t add up right.

“Is the Huntsman really Tessa’s father?”

Rumplestilskin blankly stared down at his daughter, giving her a disappointed expression on his face. “That’s something up for a later discussion, lass.” Regina’s curse or rather his curse was much stronger than he thought. Still having a hold on the only child he had left in his life.