Fanfiction by Kieran 🐢

I've decided to set aside a blog for my writing (which will, for the foreseeable future, be about my TMA OCs). Profile picture drawn by me. TERFs, MAGAts, P3dos, and all the rest DNI. If I see you following or interacting, you will be blocked on sight.

[kieran-writes-stuff]

Welcome!

I've always been a writer, and I've recently begun lightly experimenting with it (TMA x OC songfics, mostly), and I thought I'd start properly posting some of my writing here!

Dividers in posts by @sisterlucifergraphics

-Masterlist- (last updated: 5th January 2026)

^^Please consider reblogging if you like what you see!

I DO NOT CONSENT TO ANY OF MY WRTING OR OCs BEING USED IN AI‚ BEING USED TO TRAIN AI‚ OR BEING PUT ANYWHERE NEAR AI

[around-a-campfire]

I.

In the back of a shallow cave at the foot of the Spine of the World Mountains, not far from the dangerous Lurkwood, a small campfire burns and crackles, illuminating the cave and the faces of the three adventurers huddled around it.

The first, a tiefling with skin a dusty raspberry red and long, glossy maroon hair, sits with one of their legs stretched out before the fire. They alternate between humming quietly and whistling while filing each of their hard claw-like nails to a dangerous point. They occasionally cast a sidelong glance to the second of the group, a young half-eladrin with summery blonde waves and a small mole under the corner of her mouth; sitting close to the fire for light and to keep her ink from freezing in the cold, she pores over and scribbles in her thick, leatherbound notebook that seems on the verge of gaining another few pages; from her left ear hangs a crystal, teardrop-shaped and seemingly smoked black, with flashes of deep red and fiery orange, contrasted sharply with bright green against the dark backdrop.

The third and final member of the group, a little black kobold wearing small round glasses perched on his wide dragonoid nose and tinkering with a something in his lap, points suddenly to a spot nearer the mouth of the cave, where rages a howling snowstorm, and barks in a rough accent: "An'! Circle!"

The eyes of the tiefling, whose name is Nowhere Bryseis, lock onto Anwyn (the half-eladrin above mentioned) as she jumps to her feet almost as a compulsion upon the sight of the obviously magical ring of mushrooms nearer the mouth of the cave, as pointed out by the kobold Klank.

"Anwyn." Nowhere grips their walking stick and gets to their feet before Anwyn has the time to step foot into the circle of mushrooms. "You just got back."

It's an argument against heeding the summons of her patron, Anwyn realizes. "Aye, but if he needs me, then he needs me."

"What for?”

Klank swivels between looking up at Nowhere—tall and and at Anwyn, watching the growing argument with mild interest, fidgeting harder the longer the trio stays in the cave; Klank does not like caves.

Anwyn frowns, then turns away from Nowhere. "We'll talk more later." And she steps into the fey circle, and then the group is down to two.

With a shrug and with the show over for now, Klank returns to his tinkering.

Nowhere grunts unceremoniously and eases themself back to the floor of the cave, laying their walking stick across their lap. With an absentminded flourish, the tiefling pulls a roll of seemingly unremarkable parchment from their pack and unravel it, then hold it at various angles to the fire, eyes sharp and focused.

The parchment was recovered from the remains of a burnt-down home some villages to the south, and Nowhere is yet to uncover its secrets; surely it has at least some, as the roll was found to be entirely unharmed and unblemished despite its location in what appeared to have been the office of the home, where the fire seemed to have burned hottest.

Without another moment’s hesitation, the tiefling casts Detect Magic on the parchment.

Asks officially open

[aspiring-anthr0pologist]

Right

So, I've hit a wall with the Archivist Michael/Sal thing; what I've been focusing on recently is a Dungeons and Dragons--specifically, the characters in it 🙃

What I want to try is taking D&D-esque prompts and slot my warlock, paladin, bard, druid, etc. into the appropriate roles and write short mini things for them.

That said, I used to take requests back when I first started writing online; I'd welcome any D&D-esque prompts or the like that anyone might have in mind!

[kieran-writes-stuff]

Would anyone be interested in the first part of a DnD fic I'm working on?

It's set in a few different points in time, starting around 60 years before the events of BG3.

[aspiring-anthr0pologist]

@zeelzebub @atinyladybug-daydreams @tasmanianstripes @teethsies-chompies @calico-cats-cradle

[aspiring-anthr0pologist]

What should my first tattoo be?***

A cute tattoo of a turtle on my ankle

Something to do with eyes

Voting ended onMar 23

***Please note that I am not using this to make a decision; I am not beholden to the results. I'm merely curious how this will go.

[kieran-writes-stuff]

Would anyone be interested in the first part of a DnD fic I'm working on?

It's set in a few different points in time, starting around 60 years before the events of BG3.

[aspiring-anthr0pologist]

If it weren't for a bastard's flamboyancy (entirely my own fault as I made them up) I'd have finished writing and posted a D&D thing by now

Clothes are hard to describe in writing :/

[aspiring-anthr0pologist]

Aaaaand someone's patron has changed. She's come full circle.

I digress, but I'm considering moving to Mastodon* for the social side of things, and AO3 for fic stuff.

*I've already made an account. It's barebones currently.

[dragongoose]

I finished this ages ago but forgot to post so here’s pre-spiral michael shelly

[aspiring-anthr0pologist]

If it weren't for a bastard's flamboyancy (entirely my own fault as I made them up) I'd have finished writing and posted a D&D thing by now

Clothes are hard to describe in writing :/

[aspiring-anthr0pologist]

Aaaaand someone's patron has changed. She's come full circle.

I digress, but I'm considering moving to Mastodon* for the social side of things, and AO3 for fic stuff.

*I've already made an account. It's barebones currently.

[kieran-writes-stuff]

All Alone Fandom: The Magnus Archives Divider by @/sisterlucifergraphics

Summary: She would love him until she died Word count: ~1265

Captain Lukas was as hard and stern as ever when Salome opened the door to her hotel room, and she was more than a little surprised to see him standing there in the hallway; normally he would send someone else along to pass whatever message he had for her.

“Michael Shelley is gone,” was all he said.

            No combination of words could have stolen the air from Salome's lungs the way those four did. “What… do you mean…?” she asked breathlessly, silently begging, pleading to have misheard her estranged uncle.

            The captain huffed, clearly uncomfortable to have to be the one delivering this news. “I don't know the details. The archivist and her assistant left the Tundra, and a few hours later, the archivist came back alone.”

            “…Oh.” Salome's eyes fell to her feet from the doorframe that her gaze had been firmly fixed on, rather than her uncle's stony face. Then she shook her head and spoke softly to herself. “No… No, he promised to be safe. To come back. He promised he'd come back.”

            Peter just shrugged. “Take it up with the archivist. I’m just passing along the information.”

            Then Peter was gone, and Salome was alone.

The Distortion lay on its side, one of its arms folded beneath its head like a makeshift pillow as it stared at the emaciated young woman curled into a fragile ball on her bed. Its eyes narrowed as it studied the woman's sleeping face: pallid flesh, dark circles beneath her closed eyes, sunken cheeks, and a smattering of fading freckles across the bridge of her nose half-hidden behind overgrown and unwashed hair, which the creature saw was unnaturally beginning to turn white.

            Though the creature did not yet know why, the Distortion was drawn to this woman. Suh-low-mee Lukas. Sal. Sallie. The monster tilted its head as it stared at her unbreathing and unmoving form. Was she dead? The monster rather hoped not; there wasn't much fear to be reaped from a corpse, after all.

            The monster reached out and flicked a lock of Salome's hair out of her face, and it watched with unfamiliar eyes as the girl's lashes twitched. Alive after all.

            “What are you…?” the Distortion mused, not doing much to keep its voice down. “The memories are… unclear…”

            Salome Lukas's sunken eyes were the pale gray color of fog when they fluttered open. “You're alive…” Her voice was quiet and cracked, as if she hadn't had a glass of water in a long time.

            The Distortion laughed quietly, and Salome's dregs of life died along with the rest of her; the creature knew what she was now.

            “No, he is not,” it cooed. “He is gone, and I am all that's left. Poor little mourning dove,” it said darkly as the woman shook her head and moved away, passing through her bed like a ghost, and pressed her back into the corner of her tiny cabin only two or three feet from the edge of the mattress. The creature laughed its strange laugh again, feeling a rush at the muted pain, fear, and confusion oozing from the All-Alone. “Sad, pretty thing. Do you know what I am?”

            She nodded.

            “Say it.”

            She swallowed, her throat clicking dryly. “…The Twisting Deceit.”

            The Distortion's smile was a twisted thing, a perversion of the look that it knew Salome wished so badly to see again. “Part of it. Look at me.” It was in front of her now, one hand holding her chin in place. Though its fingers looked normal, the ends of them drew blood. “The part of me that was Michael Shelley ties me to you,” it jeered, glaring into Salome's wide and empty eyes. “What the Spider has planned for us, if anything at all and it is not simply pointless leftover emotion, I do not know. Had I my way, I would take you into myself and consume you until nothing remained but your fear of me.”

            The woman said nothing. The creature studied her for a moment before it wrapped its arms around her in something approximating a hug, crowding her into the corner as she froze in its crushing, bony embrace that did not match its outward appearance.

            But she did not try to escape.

            “You're confused, aren't you, poor thing,” it mocked softly as it pressed its cheek to the top of the head of the human manifestation of Forsaken. “Poor strange, sad Salome. What will she do now…?”

            Salome closed her eyes, allowed her head to rest against the creature's chest, and very quietly asked: “…Where is the archivist?”

            “Oh?” The monster tilted its head in curiosity. Then, its expression twisted into one of sadistic delight as it pulled away from the cruel embrace. “I can bring you to her, although I cannot go very near to her myself; she has taken measures to protect herself from me.”

            The Distortion watched something pass through Salome's hollow eyes. “Not me?”

            The creature's gleeful smile sharpened. “No,” it agreed. “Gertrude Robinson underestimated your relationship with Michael Shelley. She will not think you are a direct threat to her.”

            Icy fog spilled from Salome's mouth as she hissed: “…Take me to her. Now.”

The archivist looked up from her notes as icy sea fret curled and spilled around the edges of the door to her office, her archive. Without taking her eyes from the door Gertrude Robinson reached down, opened a drawer in her desk, and drew out the pistol that she kept hidden from Elias. She was quickly beginning to realize who was approaching.

            The door burst open, apparently due to the sheer force of the All-Alone’s billowing fog. “Miss Lukas,” the old woman remarked by way of a greeting, and surely, there stood the remains of Salome Lukas—gaunt, her dark hair beginning to turn unnaturally white, deep circles beneath her fog-gray eyes, and a gun of her own in one hand. “Why are you here?”

            When Salome responded, more of that bitter fog spilled from her chapped and purplish lips. “You took him from me,” she hissed, her broken voice a struggling whisper. “You… …t o o k… Michael… from me… …Going… to k i l l  y o u…”

            And she meant it, the archivist knew. “You wouldn't be the first to try,” the old woman replied coolly, “and you won’t be the last.”

            “S h u t  u p.” The young avatar lifted her gun, but the old woman was faster. Three shots to the torso, and Salome dropped her gun and doubled over; instead of blood, however, more of that icy fog oozed from her wounds. Gertrude Robinson realized then that she had underestimated the dependency that the dregs of Salome Lukas's humanity had had on Michael Shelley.

            The All-Alone's head snapped back up to glare at Gertrude Robinson, pale eyes full of hatred and something close to what the archivist recognized as The Slaughter, when a terrible, familiar voice spoke from behind her: “No.”

            A free-standing, dark, yellow-painted door closed around the All-Alone, taking her into its hallways. And then, just like that, the young woman was gone, and so was the door that was never there.

            The archivist sat back down and addressed her whirring tape recorder, her brows knitted. “…So, that’s that. I misjudged the effect that Michael’s death would have on the Lukas girl. For her sake, I hope the Spiral consumes her quickly. However, given her history with the thing and how… strongly attached Michael was to her… I rather suspect the Distortion is going to toy with her...”

Tag list: @atinyladybug-daydreams @teethsies-chompies @zeelzebub

[kieran-writes-stuff]

Spoiler-Free Salome Lukas (OC) Statement Fandom: The Magnus Archives

[CLICK] ARCHIVIST [STATEMENT]

My name is Salome Lukas, and I think monsters are real. …I'm sorry. That was… blunt. Let me start again. My mother and father died when I was four. I barely remember them. I still don't know how it happened; I didn't see them die, but I knew they were gone. What I mean is, they actually weren't there anymore. And then I was alone. I don't know how long. I think one of the neighbors must have heard me crying at one point through the walls and called the police, because soon, I was in an orphanage in Liverpool. I was born in Liverpool; you can still hear a bit of it when I talk, especially when I've been… Well, high. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I hope you will. I was fully sober when the later …incidents… took place. I was six years old when my mum's brother took me in. His name is Peter Lukas. I don't like to call him my uncle, but I guess that's what he is. Technically, he's my adoptive father; the first thing he told me was not to call him that, though, so I haven't. It's fine. I wasn't around much speaking growing up. People on Peter's ship don't talk to me much… or really, at all. At some point, I started wondering if they had been specifically told not to interact with me, because for weeks at a time, the only voice that I'll hear is my own. Captain Lukas only talks to me when he needs something, but it’s ...fine. I run whatever errands he asks, like handling correspondence between him and your Mr. Elias Bouchard. Aside from that, I stay alone and silent and only hear the sound of my own voice when I sing very quietly to myself at night. I’ve recently turned eighteen, and I've begun staying in hotels across the UK. Alone. Recently, Captain Lukas had me run some delivery or trade with… Some artifact dealer or other. I don’t remember his name; he was Polynesian, I think, or Samoan, and I remember that he was big. Captain Lukas had gotten his hands on a large oval mirror, ornate and old, and he was eager to get rid of it. He didn't tell me what was wrong with it; he just said to be careful not to touch the reflective glass. Which is, of course, exactly what happened. I had just shifted the mirror while I waited for Mr. Artifacts Dealer to finish reading the note Captain Lukas wanted me to pass along with the thing. My fingers brushed the glass, and then suddenly, I was… I'm sorry. It was only a few weeks ago, and I'm still having the nightmares. I was inside the thing that had taken my parents; I don’t know how, but I know I was. Inside the thing that had haunted and stalked me through my childhood. Did I mention that? Always in the corner of my eye, always gone when I turn my head. I'm sorry I can't tell you more than that. It's …all quite blurry. It hurts my head to try and think about. But now, whenever I look in the mirror, any mirror, I swear, I see fog spilling from my mouth and gathering in cold, spiraling clouds around me. …Monsters are real …and I think I'm becoming one of them. Please don’t tell Captain Lukas I was here.

ARCHIVIST Statement ends. Due to the conciseness of the text and the vagueness throughout, I might have dismissed this statement out of hand, were it not for the fact that it apparently comes from a member of the Lukas family. I’ve had my team do some digging, and while there are no legal records for a Salome Lukas nor any adoption records under the name, Sasha did manage to find digital records of 1992 intake forms from Strawberry Fields in Liverpool, then a care home and orphanage, for a then-four-year-old Salome Cartier, whose mother and father, Judith and Olivier Cartier, went missing on 17th November 1992, and were officially presumed dead in November 1999. Needless to say, “Salome” is an uncommon name in the UK, and enough of the verifiable details match up so that this Salome Cartier identifying as or even simply leaving the statement under the name “Salome Lukas” is not out of the question. Tim did overhear something interesting from Elias yesterday; he seemed to have been on the phone with somebody when he mentioned, “Salome’s funeral,” which could go some way to explain our difficulties in contacting Miss Cartier, or Miss Lukas. Dead women don't typically answer phone calls. Recording ends.

[CLICK]

[kieran-writes-stuff]

No new chapter this week,

but I am working on a "canon" Sal thing, which you can see a bit of here:

Just as a fun for me little reminder that things were much worse for Sal much earlier on in her "canon" lore :]

@gay-little-isopod @atinyladybug-daydreams @cerciscanadensis @zeelzebub @teethsies-chompies

[aspiring-anthr0pologist]

(XIII) "What If: Michael Shelley was the Archivist?" - Michael Shelley x OC (Salome Lukas)

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Summary: The archivist has a run-in with an old man mentioned in a few statements before returning to the Institute; he and Salome have an argument Word count: ~1180 Content warnings: MAG092 (Nothing Beside Remains) spoilers, references to mild body horror (Desolation); spousal arguments

Divider by @/sisterlucifergraphics

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST: Um, excuse me! …Are you Simon Fairchild?

SIMON: Yes! Do I know you? Oh! Wait, don’t tell me. Brown eyes, glasses, a cane, blonde curls… You must be the new archivist! Peter has talked about you, you know.

ARCHIVIST: (with something approaching dread) …You know Peter Lukas.

SIMON: (cheerfully) All of us old people know each other; didn’t you know that?

ARCHIVIST: (unable to tell if the old man is joking) …Right… I— Agh—

SIMON: Oh! Goodness, young man; what on earth happened to your hand? And what is that… embedded in it?

ARCHIVIST: (unhappy) I, uh… I met with a member of the Lightless Flame cult. And it’s… my wedding ring. Melted into my skin.

SIMON: (knowingly and perhaps enjoying the conversation a little bit too much) Ah, that would be Miss Perry. I haven’t spoken with her often myself, but she does seem like the type. Well! I suppose at least now, you’ll never have to have that awkward “Dear, I lost my wedding ring” conversation with Salome.

ARCHIVIST: …Hilarious. You know my wife?

SIMON: Of course! I’ve had business with Peter, you know, and every so often, he’d bring Salome with him. Charming girl, very quiet. How has she been? I know Peter wasn’t thrilled that she had married you, but I haven’t spoken with her lately. Not since before the wedding, I think, although I dropped in on your little get-together after everything was signed away, charming little party, but very cramped.

ARCHIVIST: (mumbling) Oh, you talk a lot…

[THE ARCHIVIST CLEARS HIS THROAT BEFORE RAISING HIS VOICE TO A NORMAL LEVEL]

ARCHIVIST: Yes, well, the Institute doesn’t pay very well. We can’t afford anywhere bigger. And please don’t show up in our home uninvited again.

SIMON: As you like. Now, you have questions for me?

ARCHIVIST: I— How did you—

[THE OLD MAN CHUCKLES]

SIMON: Why else would an archivist approach me?

ARCHIVIST: (to himself) “An archivist…?” I… Fine. Tell me about this “sky blue.” What is it?

SIMON: Why tell you when I can show you?

ARCHIVIST: Wha— Wait—

[AIR WOOSHES. THE ARCHIVIST TRIES TO GASP, BUT THE BREATH IS STOLEN FROM HIS LUNGS]

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

ELIAS: Salome, I wanted to speak with you for a moment. You've been doing good work these past few days.

SALOME: (obviously suspicious) …Thank you. What do you want?

[ELIAS SIGHS]

ELIAS: Salome, whether or not we like one another, I am not your enemy. Our interests may be different, but our goals align; you and I both wish to find the archivist.

SALOME: …His name is Michael.

ELIAS: Of course. …Are you alright? You look exhausted.

SALOME: (slightly defensive) I've… slept poorly.

ELIAS: You remind me of Peter, you know. You both are so… succinct.

[SILENCE]

SALOME: …Can I go now? I want to be home.

[HER WORDS ARE CUT OFF AWKWARDLY, AS IF SHE DOES NOT WISH TO VOICE HER FULL THOUGHT]

[STATIC RISES]

ELIAS: …Of course. Go and get some sleep. And well done, again, for your recent work.

SALOME: Right.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

[ANOTHER AND LONG WOOSH OF AIR, AND THE ARCHIVIST GASPS AND COUGHS]

SIMON: (happily) Do you understand now?

ARCHIVIST: Ugh… Mm-hmm. Viscerally. I think I'm going to be sick…

SIMON: Oh dear. An archivist with a weak stomach… What was Elias thinking?

ARCHIVIST: I couldn't tell you.

SIMON: Mm. Now, why don’t you ask me what’s really on your mind? Word is you’ve been asking around about the Unknowing.

ARCHIVIST: I mean… Well, can you tell me anything about it?

SIMON: (low, conspiratorially) Well, I know it’s a ritual. Dreadful business.

ARCHIVIST: (impatiently) Yeah, I know that; can you give me any details? Any at all?

SIMON: I’m afraid I can’t; I don’t have much time for I Do Not Know You, to be honest, so I don’t really keep up.

ARCHIVIST: Great. So, this was a waste of time.

SIMON: (happily) Yes, it was.

[LEAVES CRUNCH BEHIND THE ARCHIVIST. SIMON RAISES HIS VOICE]

SIMON: Ah, over here! This is the young man you were looking for!

ARCHIVIST: What?!

[BUT THE OLD MAN IS GONE BEFORE THE SYLLABLE DIES IN THE AIR]

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

SALOME: For God's sake, Elias, it's already been a week; how long can it take for a temple to the Ceaseless Watcher to find one man?

ELIAS: You know, that may have been the most words I've heard you string together at once.

SALOME: …I really don't like you.

ELIAS: I know. Now, unless you have an actual question for me—

[THE DOOR TO ELIAS’S OFFICE BURSTS OPEN]

ARCHIVIST: (very firmly, with a hint of urgency) Sal, get away from him.

SALOME: (confused but relieved) Michael…! What's going— What happened to your—?!

ARCHIVIST: Get away from him, Salome. Detective, hold her back there for a moment, please.

DAISY: I'm not a— Ugh, fine. (to Salome) Protective of you, isn't he?

[SALOME DOES NOT RESPOND]

ARCHIVIST: Elias, did you murder Gertrude and Leitner?

ELIAS: …Hm. Less… persuasive than I'd expected. Barely a tingle in the base of the skull.

ARCHIVIST: Answer me!

[STATIC RISES]

ELIAS: Ah, there it is. Be patient, Michael; we're not all here yet.

ARCHIVIST: What?

[APPROACHING BOOTSTEPS]

[THE DOOR IS THROWN OPEN]

GERRY: (to Elias) Fucker. You knew that flooded damn auditorium was a false lead, didn't you?

ELIAS: Ah, Gerard, right on time. Do try not to stand on the rug; it was rather expensive.

SALOME: (quietly) Waste of my family's money… I thought you didn't provoke Lukases.

ELIAS: Ah, but you aren't a Lukas anymore, are you?

DAISY: Enough already. Get on with it.

ELIAS: Of course.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST: I don't want you alone with him anymore, Salome. Ever.

SALOME: Mike—

ARCHIVIST: No. I don't want to argue about this; he's dangerous and he already doesn't like you. He has every reason to take you from me. Do you understand? And we need to talk about you; you're part of, wh-what is this, Forsaken?

SALOME: (whispered) …No… No, I– You weren't sup—

[SHE CUTS HERSELF OFF, BUT IT IS TOO LATE]

ARCHIVIST: What, I wasn't supposed to know? To find out? Why did you hide this from me?

SALOME [COMPELLED]: I was scared you'd leave me.

[SILENCE]

ARCHIVIST: I see… Have you hurt anyone?

SALOME: N-no. No, I-I don't want to answer that. I won't. (compelled) An old man. The Herne woman. And a ch—No.

-

ARCHIVIST: (horrified) A child?

SALOME: He was alone. He was an orphan, like me, he'd have just suffered. He—he went away quietly. Peacefully.

ARCHIVIST: Was he afraid?

SALOME: Michael—

ARCHIVIST: Answer me! Was he afraid?

-

SALOME [COMPELLED]: They always are; I don't have a say in that. (shouting) Stop! You don't understand!

-

ARCHIVIST: Then explain it to me!

-

SALOME: Look around!

-

ARCHIVIST: What? …Oh… This is Forsaken, the Lonely, isn't it? Did you bring us here? 

[EXTENDED SILENCE]

SALOME: …I… I'm losing myself, Mike. I have been since before we met. Something about you helps; I think you help me to still care, but…

ARCHIVIST: …But you still need to feed.

[TAPE HISS]

SALOME: …Yeah.

[CLICK]

@gay-little-isopod @zeelzebub @zeelzebub @atinyladybug-daydreams @cerciscanadensis

[kieran-writes-stuff]

@gay-little-isopod @zeelzebub @zeelzebub @atinyladybug-daydreams @cerciscanadensis

Author's note: I accidentally posted this on my main at first and didn't feel like going through and editing everything again.

[aspiring-anthr0pologist]

I've recently begun gradually relistening to The Magnus Archives (again),

and I remembered why episode 20 ("Desecrated Host") was one of the ones that kept making me take a step back and restarting before I ever managed to finish the thing.

Why, you may ask, did I keep trying despite having a bit of trouble with some of the more graphic content?

Because I wanted to know.

[aspiring-anthr0pologist]

I've also started playing ACNH again

[kieran-writes-stuff]

(XII) "What If: Michael Shelley was the Archivist?" - Michael Shelley x OC (Salome Lukas) Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Summary: Melanie meets Salome (for the third time), and Sal and Gerry gossip for a while, almost like normal friends Word count: 589 Divider by @/sisterlucifergraphics Content warnings: N/A; Elias being Elias Author's Note: Plans changed a bit this week, so instead of Thursday, I wanted to post this today. Happy holidays!

[CLICK]

ELIAS I understand your concerns, Salome—

SALOME (sounding like her uncle for a moment) Do you?

[SILENCE]

ELIAS As I was saying, I understand that you are concerned, but I am doing all I can to track down the archivist. Furthermore, I called you up here because—

[ELIAS’S OFFICE DOOR OPENS]

MELANIE Elias, you wanted to see me?

ELIAS Ah, yes. Melanie, I believe you’ve met Salome, the archivist’s wife and one of his assistants. Salome, Melanie will be joining the archival staff beside you and Gerard to make up for the backlog while Michael is… away.

MELANIE Ah— Right, Salome. I’d, uh… Uh, Melanie King. I used to run Ghost Hunt UK. And now I’m here… I guess.

SALOME …Salome Shelley. I like music. Don’t insult my husband again.

[RECEDING FOOTSTEPS, AND ELIAS’S DOOR CLOSES]

MELANIE Not much for conversation, is she?

ELIAS It runs in the family.

MELANIE Protective of her archivist, too.

ELIAS That is unique to her, I’m afraid.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

[SOUNDS OF SOMEONE HUMMING WHILE SORTING THROUGH PAPERS]

[THE DOOR TO THE ARCHIVES OPENS]

ELIAS Salome.

[SALOME SIGHS]

SALOME Yes, Elias?

ELIAS I must admit, I am quite impressed. Shielding yourself from Ms. King's memories and perception not once, but three times? Very impressive indeed, if a bit… (he chuckles once to himself) …lonely.

SALOME …Did you want something?

ELIAS (suddenly businesslike) Have you seen Gerard? I need to speak to him.

SALOME I think he’s taking a smoke break.

ELIAS If you see him, tell him to come to my office.

SALOME Right. Sure.

[ELIAS WALKS AWAY, CLOSING THE DOOR BEHIND HIM. SALOME IS ALONE]

SALOME …Where are you, Michael…?

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

GERRY Sal, you look awful. When was the last time you slept?

SALOME …I’m fine. Don’t worry.

GERRY Hey, no, don’t do that. When was. The last time. You slept?

SALOME …I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since… Well…

GERRY The corridors.

SALOME Yeah.

GERRY Shit.

SALOME Mm-hmm. …Oh, Elias wanted to see you. He said to tell you to go up to his office.

GERRY Oh, great, a summons from His Royal Pain in the Arse. He can wait a few more minutes. Probably. You take your coffee with milk, yeah?

SALOME That’s right, just a little. You didn’t have to make me a coffee.

GERRY I know. But your hands are shaking; you might’ve spilt it and gotten burnt if I’d let you do it yourself.

SALOME …Thank you.

GERRY Eh, what’re friends for. Have you met the new girl yet?

SALOME I have. She’s left statements here before. She seems angry.

GERRY I got that, too. A YouTuber, huh? I wonder why Bouchard hired her. Then again, neither of us have any sort of credentials, either.

Think he’d notice if I burned a few of his precious statements?

SALOME Oh, don’t; I think he can… do things. I don’t like how it feels when he looks at me. It makes my head feel strange. He knows things. About me…

GERRY Well, he is at the head of this place; I’d be more surprised if he didn’t have freaky eyeball powers.

[SALOME MAKES A VAGUE, NONCOMMITAL SOUND]

GERRY Hey. We’ll find Michael, alright?

SALOME …I know. I just… (the words sound stilted, as if the vulnerability doesn’t come naturally) I just hope we find her before that detective does…

[THE BOOKBURNER IS QUIET FOR A CURIOUS MOMENT]

GERRY Drink your coffee, Sal. I’d better go see what Bouchard wants.

SALOME Yeah. Have fun.

[GERRY SNORTS]

[CLICK]

A/N 2: And the Web's plan is about back on track. Yay, or perhaps oh no, for everyone involved!

Taglist: @gay-little-isopod @cerciscanadensis @atinyladybug-daydreams @zeelzebub

[kieran-writes-stuff]

do you have an a03 for the michael archivist au?

I'm planning on copying it over when I can! The goal is by March, at the latest.

[pipperinclassic]

Mom says it’s my turn to draw the angry goth.