In addition to fangirling, writing, and work ramblings, I will mostly use this page to share my own fanfiction. I've always hidden them, but I might as well throw them out there. You can mostly expect to see OUAT, Harry Potter, Merlin, and Reign fics here at the moment, but it won't stop there!
((A what if Hook had tried to help Emma remember Storybrooke and her family in a different way au))
Emma cared for Walsh, she did, but when he proposed, she was forced to acknowledge her feelings about the relationship. She'd been all too happy to go along with him. It was an easy relationship, kept that way when she refused to tell him any true details about Neal, or her former foster families.
But, could she marry a man that knew so little about her past? Could she let a man know those things?
Emma sighed and dropped her clutch as she walked in the door.
"So? What did you say?" piped Henry from behind the couch.
"What are you doing up? You should be in bed!" she argued. Henry leveled a look at her, and Emma turned away. "Bed. We'll talk in the morning."
Henry did as he was told, thankfully. And the next morning, they did talk. But Emma still felt an empty ache, like something was missing.
That night, Henry slept at a friend's house. As much as she worried, she knew he would be okay. Now, she had a free night. Emma decided not to change after work, not wanting to look like she was looking for something. All she wanted was a good, strong drink.
She chose a quiet bar, almost on the wrong side of town, but she wouldn't run into anyone that she knew here. Sitting at the bar, at least three seats away from anyone else, Emma slung back a shot of tequila.
Three drinks later, and the bartender handed her a water instead, offered with a sympathetic glance that made her roll her eyes.
"Easy there lass," Emma turned, her eyebrows raising. The man who spoke was dressed in all black, even up to the thin line of black eyeliner. His hair was messy enough to be perfect to run her hands through. The thought made her scoff and flag down the bartender.
"A rum and coke for the lass, and the leave the bottle for myself."
She glared at him. "And just who do you think you are?"
"Just a stranger passing through. Much like yourself," he said with a smile.
"What do you want?" she asked icily.
"Just some company, and then to go on my way," he was telling the truth, so Emma relaxed slightly.
"He has the best rum in town, though you wouldn't know it from the outside," he grabbed the bottle and took a swig. "Killian Jones at your service ma'am."
"Emma."
He chuckled and nodded at her glass. "You watched him make it la- Emma, its safe."
And drink she did. Two hours later, she had shared more with a stranger than she'd ever shared with Walsh. Now, they were stumbling back to her apartment, and Emma was sure that it was a mistake.
Mistake or not, he was handsome, and he could make her forget. There was something about him, something that pulled her closer.
His lips were hot against her neck, but he still hadn't kissed her yet. "Patience, love," he murmured against her ear. His breathe made her hair stand up slightly as she gasped. Her fingers fumbled to unlock the door, but finally it gave away.
Killian scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the apartment. She would have argued, but his fingers felt perfect against her flesh. She let him drop her into her couch, breathing harder as she did.
Leaning over her, Killian ran his lips along her neck, up to her ear, then her cheek. He hovered just above her lips, then pulled back. Emma growled in frustration. "Just kiss me dammit!"
"As you wish love," he chuckled, but finally pressed his lips into her own. She moaned softly, hands sliding through his hair. She trembled under his touch, kissing him harder until-
It hit Emma all at once. Her body, however, took a moment to catch up. When it did, she shoved at him, hard. "Hook!" she gasped loudly, then sat up and glared.
"Always wanted to do that," he chuckled.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"You have to wonder don't you, why a kiss from me broke the spell?" He reached with his good hand to touch her cheek, but she knocked it away.
"Bad form pirate, that was bad form," she said because she didn't have an answer for his question.
Finally, Killian sighed. His own spell was broken. "Your family is in trouble. I'm here to get you back to Storybrooke."
The pain was something that they all expected, but when the war ended, it was different. It reached deep into the bones of every witch and wizard. The loss left an empty ache and a silence in its wake.
After months of rebuilding, healing, and mourning, Hogwarts was reopening. Ginny knew that she had to return. Even if not all of her friends would. Even if the halls would be haunted by the war’s victims and her own memories. Ginny had a dream, and she had a responsibility to the next generation. For that she would have to finish her education.
After her calmest, final trip to Diagon Alley as the last Weasley at Hogwarts, she returned. Sharing a room with Hermione was new, and most of the four-poster beds were empty. Instead of sitting in the awkward common room after the feast, Ginny pulled a map out of her robes. Harry had given her the old map, and she used it to escape from the castle. Her red hair was noticeable, so she covered it with her hood before entering Hogsmeade.
Ginny gasped when a hand grabbed her wrist. She whipped around, wand drawn and a curse already on her lips.
“It’s me, just me!” A familiar voice exclaimed. She blinked as Harry’s head appeared before her.
“Harry!” Ginny swatted at Harry, but leaned into his side. “You should know better.”
“Come on,” Harry laughed and grabbed her hand. He tugged her into the trees, then wrapped his arms around her. “How was it?”
“Quiet,” she rested her head against his shoulder. “We’re missing so many...”
“I know. But you have Hermione, and Luna.”
“How’s George?” Ginny asked suddenly.
Harry sighed and breathed in, his nose pressed against her hair. “As expected. We cleaned out their flat for him. He’s moving in with Ron and me, we’ll all be nearby.”
Ginny nodded. It wasn’t as comforting as it should have been, but she wasn’t surprised. Each day started differently. Some felt normal, others she woke with a deep ache that made it hard to breathe. She knew that Hermione did the same. She’d heard the remnants of her nightmares.
“Time, Gin, time,” he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Come for a pint of butterbeer with me for now.”
