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ofmanymasks · 2 years ago

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~Peer into the Future...~

-And you might not like what you find...~-

(The following IC drabble will contain a few trigger warnings specifically just pertaining to cosmic horror and just a pinch of blood, but nothing massive. However, for the sake of others and reading lenght? A read-more will be utilized.

This actually came to me during a conversation with a friend. Also it's just a small peek into Salem's backstory, and boy, is there sure a lot of trauma. :D Religious trauma, specifically.)

"My friend, do you know why i despise the end of July? Why i would sooner shun others for one mere day than enjoy it like everyone else?"

Vieri hummed, pondering the words of the dark-haired gothic man sitting across from him in the wooden, glossy chair sitting across from him. The man only swirled his Cabernet Sauvignon two passes, before taking a sip.

"I...cannot say i do, mon ami. Go forth. Tell me. You know that i will not be of any judgement to you, homme des ombres. You already know of my...deplorable, sinful state."

"Hm...very well. You are...aware of the date...are you not? Actually...pardon that, i KNOW you are...", Salem trailed of with a dry laugh, "St. Ignatius day was...and is a day that will...we'll say, live in infamy for me."

Now, his curiosity was piqued. Now, for as much as Vieri himself was no fan of the day (hell, most hunters actively hunted him out, for it was the only day out of the year where you could kill a Strigoi), it made him truly wonder just what had happened that Salem abhorred the day with seemingly every fiber of his being.

He had asked Salem about it multiple times, but the man had never delved into detail...

"Oh...and...how would that be...? You’ve mentioned it time and time before; while i am not one to judge nor question, for it is none of my business…but that doesn’t stop this old man from having a nuance of curiosity as to why that is…”

“Because…before being taken up within the arms of The Sleeper of R’lyeh, as Pryderi Caius…it was the day of my second Christening. It is a day that I'll never forget…but it showed me that even the most fanatic of zealots have an ounce of normalcy to them…it made the 4 year-old child that was me at the time envy the children who had parents who were firm within their faith and we were not…them.”

At this, Vieri was silent, trying to process the information he had received as much as he could. He only knew snippets of Salem's life before becoming who he was. Needless to say, it left him grateful that he didn't ever cross their path. From racism to the blatant acts of physical abuse and psychological torment, all in the name of the Lord.

Needless to say, Vieri found it understandable why Salem turned to the life he'd chosen, even if he really didn't give all that much of a damn about religion. What was most important for Vieri was that Salem had found something to believe in, something that gave his life purpose and direction.

"Hm...and here, i just thought it was due to it being a holy day, and with your...affinity: i only presumed it was a natural dislike. Like walking upon church grounds and instantly dropping into a seizure..."

This earned a snort from Salem, as if that was meant to be amusing.

"Perhaps so, old friend...but only partially. Even though it's celebrated by both the Church and the Jesuits, the majority of...holy holidays and artifacts don't agree with me. No, the reasoning is far...more personal than just a dislike of being eldritch. That would be like me saying you cannot eat garlic because of the taste."

At this, Vieri gagged quietly. It was common in vampires for there to be a distinct aversion of garlic, be that bulbs, flowers, or even the juice. It was roughly similar, if not on par, to being allergic to it. The smell caused a nauseating feeling in the pit of Vieri's stomach. While he'd never been unfortunate enough to eat it...he was certain that it would result in death or wishing he was.

"Eugh...if only it was just the taste...oh, if only...", he quietly lamented. "But...those who raised you...they are...gone...are they not?"

"Ils sont. Ils le sont depuis un certain temps..." (They are. They have been for some time now...)

Salem responded in French, which was always more than enough to make Vieri smile. He knew the other could speak the language fluently, so it made conversations more personal.

"Je vois...jusqu'en Enfer, où ils appartiennent…” (I see…right to Hell, where they belong…)

Vieri took a swig of his wine, before letting out a soft chuckle. “La pure ironie de tout cela~”, he leaned back in his seat with a sigh, “They believed so firmly in their God that instead of it being their key into the Pearly Gates, all it did was grant them their key to the Gates of Hell. Alighieri was certain of one thing, my friend…abandon all hope, ye who enter~”

The night was peaceful and still. The only sound that could be heard was the soft murmur of Vieri and Salem's conversation as they sat in the courtyard, surrounded by the low light of lanterns and the smell of wine. The two reminisced about the past and talked of their shared experiences. Vieri listened intently as Salem recounted the story of his upbringing and how his parents' strong beliefs had led them to a tragic end.

A tragic end at his hands, no doubt…

“Hm…i don’t suppose you could humor me with a fortune, would you?”

At this, Vieri froze, unsure if he’d even heard Salem correctly.

Humor him with a what?

It was known by everyone that the infernal and the eldritch couldn’t have a fortune told, for their futures were just as clouded in mystery. Especially that of the eldritch, for to do so was almost impossible…or so he thought one day. For, on that day, he’d gained insight from a being whose voice he was unfamiliar with, and he was aware of plenty of voices that ran through his head when the subject of a fortune-telling came into play. But that day, it was a female voice whom he’d never communed with once. It was beautiful, sweet, but so, so foreign to him. She had told him that Ashur Ortega, the unwilling and unknowing vessel to the King in Yellow, had a chance of possibly being released from the eldritch God’s unholy grasp, but under one condition…that the day that he learned about the world that lay beyond the natural one, and the day he peered into the supernatural, would also be the day that he died.

At this revelation, Vieri paled, feeling sick even upon explaining what he’d just been told.

It also earned him an epithet. Or several, in fact.

The Strigoi Seer.

The Vampiric Prophet.

Veil-Piercing One.

A string of them all came to mind when Vieri gave this revelation.

While he knew it wasn’t impossible, something in him said it would be a terrible idea. But, he was confident that possibly could. After all, if the Gods could possibly grant him that foresight, then who was to say that maybe it wouldn’t have been far off with Salem?

A lopsided smile followed a somewhat uncertain gaze. “I…I suppose i could try, if that is what you’d like. Though…i must ask if you are sure you wish to go through with it, vieil ami…”

“Do as you must, but know that—”

“Wonderful. Suis-moi, Suis-moi~”

With a languid gesture of the hand, Vieri led Salem along into the backroom where he told his fortune and gave readings where he could have quiet. It was filled with mystic artifacts, like a crystal ball and tarot cards, that gave off an eerie glow from the light of the candles scattered around the room. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting strange creatures and symbols, and the air smelled of incense and herbs.

Salem had only been back there a handful of times, but he’d never had the honor of actually sitting down in that seat. Vieri felt a mix of fear and excitement as he entered the backroom, the strange artifacts and symbols making him feel a sense of awe and mystery.

He was both nervous and curious about what the fortune-telling would bring, feeling a slight chill in the air as he glanced around the room.

“Have a seat, please. Make yourself comfortable…and let’s begin.”

With that, the other sat down and Vieri sat at the chair across from Salem. Because the table wasn’t too big, he could easily reach out for his hands, which were neatly folded on top with fingers intertwined. Upon first touch, Vieri noted the crackle of ancient, long-forgotten magic and energy sizzling through Salem’s pallid skin. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and it filled him with an apprehension and unease. The air seemed to crackle with a power and intensity that could only be described as otherworldly, and the symbols and artifacts in the room seemed to take on a more sinister aspect in the presence of this dark energy.

He closed his eyes, and began to focus on the vision attempting form behind his eyes. It started small, like muddled colors and blurry shadows…but then those shadows dissipated to a trio of blazing, goldenrod eyes staring back at him. At first, Vieri was intrigued, and it showed in real life as well by a small crinkle of the brows.

Why did those eyes seem so familiar to him…?

They all blinked back at him a few times, as if curious as to what he was doing there. It was as if Vieri had walked into a room with someone inside, and instead of being met with hostility, was met with more questioning.

It wasn’t until a deep, bassy, and accented voice pierced his mind that Vieri realized just who he was looking at.

-...Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s quite rude to stare? Much less go through things that were NEVER YOURS?-

The final two words boomed throughout Vieri’s skull like a clap of thunder, and as if the eldritch God were lightly lashing out at Vieri for his peeping, a tumultuous ‘POP!’ echoed through the room and a force pushed the two back from the other, meant to separate the both of them.

Salem grunted, surprised by this, but watched as Vieri let out a quiet, low yelp of pain. The man and his chair skidded back half a foot from the table, before stopping suddenly, leaving Vieri completely doubled over with his head in his hands. Salem held his ground, unmoving. He had not expected this reaction, but the force that had pushed them apart had been undeniable.

Vieri's loud cry of pain, however, was enough to make Salem's heart clench in fear and regret.

He quickly stood to his feet, and ran over to Vieri to inspect him. What he found of the vampiric man was enough to stir a slight panic within him.

Vieri was in immense pain, clutching his head as if a headache was consuming him. He felt dizzy and disoriented, as if he were spinning out of control. However, the final piece to top it all off was the trickling of blood from the nose—which only further implied that Cthulhu had something to do in all this.

He tipped his head back in his hands to survey the damage, and in doing so, Salem’s eyes darkened the more and more he looked into Vieri’s face. There was immense guilt for what he’d done to the other man, and it made him wish he could take it back or that he’d have made him reconsider what he was doing.

Vieri's eyes were wide with alarm and pain. They were glassy and filled with tears, and his pupils were dilated from the shock of the experience. However, he didn’t react to what Salem was doing, no matter how his body screamed at him to do so.

“Wrth gwrs, byddai'n gwneud hyn. Wrth gwrs gwaedlyd. Pam nad ydw i'n synnu...?” (Of course, he would do this. Of bloody course. Why am I not surprised...?)

A murmur of soft Welsh, and a sigh soon followed. “I was…I was merely joking, my friend. You didn’t need to do that…”

An airy, breathless laugh left Vieri, which both unnerved and relieved Salem in a way he couldn’t explain. Maybe it was because Vieri was resilient as all hell, and in a way, he both commended the man and thought him insane in the same breath. Either way, it was a sign that he was likely going to be ok.

“Always a first for everything, mon ami…if i could so with Monsieur Ortega…why not you…?”

Ah.

The King in Yellow’s vessel. The one who was so sweet, yet so very oblivious to what was going on around him. While Salem didn’t hate Ash as a person, he despised the Eldritch God that lurked within him, using the man as a human flesh puppet. Salem crinkled his brows and tilted his head to the side, running his thumb along Vieri’s jaw in thought.

“Be that as it may…and how you could even possibly do that, even to this day, eludes me. Nevertheless…you’re hurt AND you’re bleeding. Come now…up, up. Nice and easy…i’ll have Lytrosi close the shop for the night, and i’m taking you home. NOW.”

Salem gently helped Vieri up to his feet, supporting him as he stood. He was careful to hold him steady, guiding Vieri's arm around his shoulder to help him walk. The other swayed and clung to Salem for dear life, for fear of losing his legs in the process, for the last thing he wanted was to either fall or, even worse, faint.

But, he trusted that if it came down to it: he would likely be fine under Salem’s watchful eye…

#;ic shenanigans #;character: salem #;character: vieri #;IC Drabble #steph writes

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 3 years ago

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so the Bruce Wayne thing I was talking about earlier this week? I have no idea what to think of it so I'm thinking about posting what I have until now and let you decide if I should continue it. Thoughts?

#i am now writing bruce Wayne fics #exciting #Steph writes #bruce wayne #Battinson made me do it

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secretlystephaniebrown · 1 month ago

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Chapters: 7/7 Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jazz/Prowl (Transformers), Hound/Mirage (Transformers), Jazz/Hound/Mirage, Jazz/Hound/Mirage/Prowl, Prowl & Springer (Transformers) Characters: Prowl (Transformers), Jazz (Transformers), Mirage (Transformers), Hound (Transformers), Autobots (Transformers) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Early Modern Europe but Make It Robots, Protestant Reformation, Politics, Indulgent terror, Misunderstandings, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, mild robogore, Depictions of past Abuse Series: Part 1 of Early Modern Europe But Make It Robots Summary:

Prowl, widowed consort of King Tarantulas of Polyhex, finds himself making a humiliating bargain with his bonded’s assassin and successor in order to save his own life and that of his sparkling. King Jazz, meanwhile, is looking forward to helping Prowl get back to his normal life and away from courtesan politics… not that he asked Prowl about it first.

The One Where Prowl's the Royal Mistress And Is Plotting Jazz's Downfall

The Protestant Reformation AU no one asked for.

We're here! It's the end! Holy crap.

Special thanks to my beta, @sroloc--elbisivni for cheering me on, tolerating my penchant for ellipses, listening to me yell about world building and robot pronouns, and going "oh mood" when I complain about characters misbehaving. And thanks to my beloved partner for not laughing at me (too much) when I suddenly made us pivot mid-binge to begin watching every Transformers series ever made.

#Steph Writes #Glories and Disgraces #Transformers #Macaddams #JazzProwl #TF Jazz #TF Prowl #Jazz #Prowl

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orionauriga · 5 months ago

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writerly ephemera

✨ share some little bits of you, easter eggs, memories, etc. you have left scattered in your fics or art. if you fancy it, tag a pal. ✨

thank you to the lovely @moondal514 for the tag, and shoutout to the wonderful @decaflondonfog for starting this up!! one thing about me is i love yapping about the behind-the-scenes of my fics

Andrew’s gaze is heavy, like Aaron’s spiraling thoughts are displaying on the dashboard screen amid the radio information: 101.1 Columbia’s Alt Rock Hits — my mother died in a car crash i could kill myself or someone else just as easily and knowing my luck i probably will — Now playing: Sugar, We’re Goin Down by Fall Out Boy — (on the cusp of getting it right)

since getting a functioning aux cord i rarely, if ever, listen to the radio BUT when i do, my favorite local station is 101.1 because they're always playing alt rock. also, writing this scene was terribly amusing to me because (1) this was for last year's T&N fest and was posted anonymously and i was certain i'd exposed myself by mentioning fob by name and (2) when i was learning to drive, my dad never EVER allowed me to have anything playing during a driving lesson. and you know what. he was right to bc i did once nearly crash while trying to change the song when doing practice hours with my mom.

What he learned was that Aaron’s shoulders tensed first when he was scared. What he learned was that Aaron liked things in threes and fives. What he learned was that Aaron was a creature of habit who got cranky when his routines were disrupted. What he learned was that they shared a distaste for mayonnaise, an inability to sleep on their right sides,... (breaking every finger, praying that it makes me clean)

all of the above are true of me as well!

Dan, Matt, and Renee burst in, the latter mediating a debate between the couple about something useless and incomprehensible as usual. “I’m just saying, I don’t give a fuck if Harry has had the most successful solo career, I’m going to be a Louis girl ‘til the day I die.” (proof of survival)

take a wild guess who my favorite member of one direction is

Aaron would love to have an answer. At first he’d thought it was exams: there’s nothing like the last two weeks of a semester to send him into a soul-crushing, mind-destroying study spiral to prepare for three straight days of tests that will directly impact his future. But it’s officially winter break and he should be relaxing, yet he can’t shake the tight flutter of nerves behind his collarbone. (call the parents, tell them i'm okay)

right around my collarbones/upper chest/throat area is where i tend to feel the physical effects of my own anxiety

On the table directly in front of him are rows and rows of pin-back buttons in an overwhelming number of color combinations, each emblazoned with PSU PRIDE ALLIANCE in blocky font. (despite everything, i'm still human)

tbh this whole fic is projection central, but this was inspired by my school's annual coming out day table in the campus center, which had tons of buttons and is where i got the aromantic and asexual pins that lived on my backpack for the rest of my undergrad years

unrelated to the fic but still feels relevant: someone in my spanish class who i barely spoke to all semester let me know on the last day of class that he saw my ace flag pin and wondered what it was and that eventually led to him not only learn what it meant but to figure out that he is also ace. i don't think i ever saw him again but i think about him a lot. i'm so glad he told me that.

In the bakery, a package of cookies for you. Frosted in ice blue and dotted with snowflake-shaped sprinkles. (leftovers)

i didn't describe them with specifics in the fic but i was thinking of the lofthouse brand sugar cookies with frosting that are the subject of much debate on the internet bc so many people think they're gross. however they are very gorgeous to me. dessert of all time imo

There is a house inside Katelyn’s mind. In the room where she harbors her instincts regarding her boyfriends’ respective addictions, a light switches on. This bulb is rarely used anymore; it flickers, uncertain. The room it hesitantly illuminates is bare but for a floor littered with dusty liquor bottles and orange pill canisters prescribed to a dead woman. At the threshold, by her feet: a bottle, empty. “Kevin,” Katelyn says, standing in that doorway, looking at him over her shoulder. (i've known this dream for a long time)

this is one of my favorite metaphors i've ever written. partly because i love inventing incorporeal spaces like this as a way to represent emotions, and partly because this specific metaphor is a reference to something only i'll get. it references the original novel i wrote a couple years back, about a young woman and the ghost who is possessing her. whichever one of them is not presently in control of her body retreats to a house that 'exists' in her mind. inventing that internal world was the most fun part of writing that story (i'm hoping to edit that novel into something readable or at the very least repurpose the concept at some point)

no-pressure tags (sorry if you've been tagged/done this already!): @merceyca @cummandercold @jaywalkers

#steph writes #one thing about me i am gonna throw in a self-reference that no one else will understand. as a treat for me #tagged in

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sapphic--kiwi · 4 months ago

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me? participating in SSS? it’s more likely than you think…anyway here’s an excerpt from something I’ve been working on recently ❤️

"You get your shoulder rebandaged okay?"

TK slowly releases him and runs a hand through his wet, freshly-showered hair. "Yep, guess that's one nice thing about being dual-certified - do-it-yourself wound care!" He grins up at Carlos in a way that sends butterflies fluttering through his stomach for the hundredth time in the last day.

"TK, we're already dating, you don't have to keep trying to impress me," Carlos teases. TK just sticks his tongue out at him and turns around to hoist himself up onto the counter, only wincing a little bit.

His boyfriend falls silent as Carlos keeps cooking, feeling those green eyes following his every move intently. He finishes the potatoes and the eggs, dividing them up into two identical plates as TK prepares their coffee—black for him, and so much cream and sugar for TK it should probably be illegal—and it really shouldn't feel this momentous, but it does.

thank you to @carlos-in-glasses, @carlossreaders, and @lemonlyman-dotcom for the tags!

open tag since it's late and I'm new to this ❤️

#technically this is eight sentences but who gives a fuck #seven sentence sunday #tarlos #911 lone star #steph writes #x

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nobigsecrets · 1 year ago

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I wrote 1,238 words this morning. Go me.

#steph writes

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piinfeathers · 3 years ago

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On Christmas morning, Killian leads his wife to the docks for a very special surprise

So hey, here's a fun little experiment, I actually managed to write something before the year ended. Whenever I draw something I always like to think of a story behind each piece and capture a little moment from it, kinda like a snapshot. Usually as I draw I end up coming up with a story in my head from beginning to end but never actually write anything down. So on Christmas eve I plopped down and hammered this whole thing out on my phone notes app just to see if I could

In 2022 I really want to try writing more, and working on finishing the 1 million wips I have on my phone that I keep giving up on. Hopefully this cheesy little fluff fic based on my last captain swan Christmas doodle is a start

(none of this was beta'ed btw, and also written in one night on a couple glasses of wine so I apologize for spelling mistakes and overuse of commas ❤️)

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.3 k

Also I can't remember my Ao3 password for the life of me so uh...gimme a minute on that one

Where Love Light Gleams

“This way love.”

“Killian I know the way to the docks,” Emma called back with a breathless laugh as she tromped after husband through the drifts of snow.

In front on her Killian glanced over his shoulder and grinned, jerking his head towards the frozen marina where small boats bobbed stiffly against the crust of ice on the water. “Aye wife, but your present is just a ways past the Jolly, you’ll see.”

Emma rolled her eyes even as the corners of her lips turned up in a twin of her husband’s grin. “And remind me why this present couldn’t be delivered in the house? Where it’s warm?”

And where Henry was probably well into his third cup of cocoa while her mother and father took over the kitchen, insisting that her oven cooked the best turkey.

Killian frowned, pausing to let her catch up as he gazed back to the water. “Well, it’s a little…large.”

“Killian I swear, if you bought me a boat-"

“With your navigational skills? Sorry love, maybe not quite yet.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault all your sea charts are written in Greek. We still made it to Fiji didn’t we?”

He laughed, adjusting the ridiculous scarf she had given him that morning. She’d bought it on a whim, seeing it through a shop window like a fluorescent red beacon a week ago. It was just a silly little thing to add to the too many gifts she’d already bought him. She’d thought it would make him laugh, a pirate with an allergy to top buttons and turtle necks, wearing something so bright and fuzzy.

Instead he had opened the gift and lifted the heavy wool garment from its box with an almost reverent smile. He’d wrapped it around his neck and leaned over to kiss her, whispering his thanks against her lips.

He didn’t need it, not really, he never felt the cold. It was a joke between the two of them, he seemed to always run hot while she was permanently too cold. Just one of the many things that made them soulmates.

Still, he had worn the scarf nearly all morning, despite the fact it was almost two sizes too long and had to be looped twice around his neck to keep from dragging on the floor. Later, when he’d grabbed her hand and told her that his present for her was at the docks, he’d shrugged on his jacket and made sure the scarf was perfectly in place before hauling her out the door.

Though now, out in the elements it seemed to be in danger of blowing off completely as the wind kicked up and ruffled the ends of it, fluttering them in his face. Emma grinned as she reached out and wrapped it tighter around him. “My present…wouldn’t happen to be someplace warm would it?”

“Hmm…” Killian snagged her hand in his, rubbing her chilled knuckles with his thumb as he lifted her fingertips to his mouth and blew warm air across them. “That’s a matter of opinion I believe.”

He pulled her closer and she laughed, watching her breath turn to solid white as it hit the frigid air. “I better be getting a pony.”

They walked together, Emma tucked under Killian’s arm, greedily warming her hands against his side as they trudged through the banks of snow towards the lights of the boat house. He gave her arm a quick rub as he turned to look at her.

“Right, close your eyes.”

Emma muttered something under her breath but did as she was told, smiling when he took her hand and led her, step by slow step around the port. For just a second she squinted through one eye, trying to hunt for clues on her mystery present.

“I saw that Swan! No peeking.”

“I wasn’t peeking!” Much.

“Mmmhmm, thought I might have to use this.”

“Use what-?”

But her question was cut off when Killian looped something warm and woolen around her eyes. “Very thoughtful gift you got me Swan, already coming in handy.”

“This wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I bought it.”

“No? Long, strong piece of fabric like this? Your mind didn’t wander to…other activities we could enjoy with it? Mine certainly did.”

She could practically hear the smirk in his voice as she blindly groped out in front of her, smacking her hands against his chest and giving him a shove forward.

“Go! Go get me my present already,” she said with a laugh. “Dirty talk is reserved for indoors only, not while I’m freezing.”

“If you’re looking to be warmed up I could certainly-“

She cut him off with another shove. “Present. Now.”

“As you wish love,” he said with a smile in his voice.

With one last smacking kiss to her forehead, the only part of her face not wrapped in his scarf, he took off.

She hunched her shoulders as the wind kicked up, flicking the ends of her hair across her nose. In the distance she could hear his boots crunching through packed snow, along with something dragging softly along the ground that she couldn’t quite make out.

“Right!” she heard him call as his footsteps came closer and the scarf was slowly unwrapped from her eyes. “You can look now.”

Emma blinked, the pale half light of the early evening blurring her vision for just a second as she stared at her gift. It was her car, though when he had managed to sneak it out here she had no idea, but there it sat, snug in a snowbank, and completely covered in Christmas lights. On the front, a small wreath hung from the license plate, and on the back she could just see a massive red bow tied to the rear windshield wiper.

She turned to her husband, smiling with eyes wide as he handed her a takeout cup.

“Had to have hot cocoa of course. With cinnamon,” he said with a flourish.

It was still hot when he passed it to her, steam curling out from the hole in the lid.

“How…when did you…?”

“Last night, or technically this morning I suppose, after you fell asleep.”

She looked back at the car. The lights twinkled in the growing dark, the rainbow of colours glowing against the white snow.

“I love it,” she turned back to look at Killian, catching his warm smile as he stared at her. “Where did you even get the idea to do this?”

“Do you remember a few weeks ago? We were walking down Main Street, trying to find a store that sold those electronic video box games for Henry?”

“An X-box game, yeah I remember.” Henry had only reminded her which game he wanted about three hundred times or so.

“It was getting late,” he said with a smile, moving to wrap his arm around her. “It had just started to snow and all the Christmas lights were turning on. I swear you stopped to look at every single house, we could hardly go three feet before you were slowing down again just to take a look.”

She stared at his face, watched as his eyes went soft at the memory, the fine lines around his mouth curving up with his lips. He pulled her closer, tucking her head in the crook of his neck as he turned them back towards the car.

“I swear,” he murmured, low enough that Emma could feel the rumble of it against the arm she had curled around his chest. “I’ve never seen you look quite so enraptured. Except when you’re gazing at me of course.”

“Of course.”

He grinned, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head. “They make you happy, so I wanted to give you as many as I could find.”

She shut her eyes as she felt the world tilt off its axis for just a second. It really shouldn’t have surprised her by now, those small little things he noticed, the things about her he always remembered. The way he loved her with a heart so big she felt greedy at times knowing it was all hers. But still he found a way to knock her completely breathless.

“Thank you,” she whispered, turning her face into his neck and breathing him in. “It’s perfect.”

He took the cup from her hand before it could slide from her fingers, and moved to place it on the roof of the car, next to his own. She reached up to curl her fingers around his hook, feeling too warm inside to even notice the chill of the metal, as she tucked herself into him.

“I didn’t really…I didn’t really do Christmas much growing up,” she murmured against his chest. She felt him turn his head, press his lips to her hair, a silent sign that he was there, anchoring her. “Once or twice I was with a foster family around December, but I was so little then…I don’t really remember.”

She smiled, remembering a massive tree that towered over her little head and not much else. “The group homes couldn’t really afford gifts, and the toy drives never really came our way. Some years we got a tree and some turkey if we were lucky. But…we weren’t really lucky that often.”

She felt him shift slightly, reaching up to grab the scarf he had tossed over his shoulder and looping it round her neck.

“You looked cold,” he said with a smile at her questioning look.

She reach for the loose end, tossing it over his neck, looping them together. “You too.”

He grinned and she felt her heart do a silly little flip that she could never quite get a handle on, no matter how long they’d been married. It was ridiculous sometimes, how much she loved him. Tied to him, tucked and safe against his warmth, she continued.

“Christmas Eve was worse than Christmas some years. Knowing you were going to bed that night with nothing to wake up to. I used to just go out and walk for a bit, when everyone else went to bed. There were always lights,” she smiled, not at all embarrassed when she felt tears well up behind her eyes. “No matter where you were, you could always walk in any direction and see lights. I always thought they were so beautiful. And so simple. No one made you pay for lights, they were free. No one could take them away. They were just there to be enjoyed. So I did.”

She looked up, found his eyes staring at her, filled not with pity or sadness but just the simple understanding of a man who loved her like it was as natural for him as breathing. She pressed a kiss to his chin. “Thank you for my lights Killian.”

“Well love, there may be just a…few more that I forgot to mention.”

She frowned when he nudged her chin with his hook, turning her head to the ships moored in the bay as he fished something from his pocket. He reached out a small box with a red switch and flicked it up.

“What’re you up to-"

Emma’s breath caught in her throat as all at once the harbour was suddenly bathed in a brilliant, gleaming glow. Every boat, from the smallest dingy to the massive Jolly was strung up with hundreds of twinkling lights. She could see strings of multi coloured lights casting small, incandescent rainbows across the ice beside a larger boat strung up with softly glowing white orbs that shone and pulsed like stars. Across from them, a small speedboat was nearly capsized from string after string of red and green lights all blinking to the rhythm of what she was pretty sure was “Jingle bells.”

But it was the Jolly, sitting proudly in the center of the row of ships and boats, brighter than any of the others, that really took her breath away. He’d hung curtains of lights that stretched from the beams of mast down to the deck like massive sails that lit the entire ship and made the whole harbour glow like a beacon.

“Killian…” her voice was half gone, lost somewhere in her chest next to her heart that felt like it might burst. “How…this must’ve taken days.”

“Only a few hours or so. Henry helped. As did your parents. And the dwarves. And a few people from Granny’s who overheard us and invited themselves along.”

“So just a few people then huh?” she was crying, she knew she was, but she couldn’t stop even if she felt like it. “How did you convince the other captains to let you string up their boats?”

“I may have made a few phone calls. After a week or two and some, let’s call it gentle persuasion, I convinced them a gift for the saviour of Storybrooke was worth the short loan their ship’s rigging.”

She shook her head, staring at her husband in awe, as thousands of lights glowed on his face across the water. “You did all this…because you knew I liked Christmas lights?”

“I did all this because I wanted to give you something I knew would make you happy,” he angled his head down, pressing kisses across the curve of her cheek until he reached her ear. “Did it work?” he whispered.

“Yes.” He voice was as watery as her eyes, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes it did. Thank you Killian.”

“Of course love.”

They both turned back to the bay, leaning against the little yellow bug as darkness fell in earnest along with the snow, gazing together at the lights, a scarf curled around the necks.

“Merry Christmas Killian.”

“Aye love. Merry Christmas.”

#captain swan #captain swan fanfic #emma swan #killian jones #Steph Writes #Yeah it's a christmas fic #It's still Christmas until the 31st #Just go with it ❤️

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