#oi you bloody c

[afrozenmicrowave]

my friend wanted me to draw The Moron (Humanley to be exact) so :)

[yanxidarlings]

YANDERE TWD

REUNITED (yandere! big brother! merle dixon x male reader x yandere! big brother daryl dixon) (yandere! gareth x male reader) (rick grimes x male reader if you squint) NOTES: fair warning, this is some descriptive disturbing shit merle dixon counts as a warning on his own as well. this went in many directions i originally set out for yandere headcanons for the two, then got into the terminus arc, and ended with some pretty vague alluding to yandere. might write a part two)

imagine obsessive! possessive! big brothers! merle and daryl dixon. the dead begin to walk and they keep the darlin safe, meeting up with the atlanta camp. but the brothers won't let anyone get close to the darlin, not dale, not carl, certainly not shane or lori.

somehow, the darlin ends up going with glenn into the city on a supply run, only for it to go horribly wrong. the darlin insisted they head into a chemist to "look for medications" in case anyone in the camp needed them. but it was a lie. the darlin just wanted to find something to help merle with the inevitable withdrawal he'd go through once his supply of drugs ran out. the chemist is overrun by walkers but the darlin insists. "we can clear it!" they say to glenn "it'll be worth it for m- everyone" the korean gave the other a skeptical look. in the end, there was just too many, glenn thought he saw the darlin go down and reluctantly returned to camp.

"oi! shitface, you think you're a big boy now? can do whatever you want now everything's gon' to shit!" the raspy, harsh voice of merle dixon echoed through the camp. the redneck tramped over to the SUV glenn was parking. he remained silent as he turned the engine off. taking a deep breath, the young man exited the car, staring at the grass.

the older dixon stormed over, aggressively opening every door of the vehicle until he reached the boot. filled with supplies. "where the fuck is m/n" he growled, coming closer to the asian "he better be pullin up in another car" merle spat out. "i- it was" glenn stuttered out, looking like he was about to piss his pants "it wasn't my fault, m/n was being reckless, i had no cho-" CRACK glenn's face was soon bloodied and bruised, merle now on top of him, yelling out profanities as he beat the younger man. "merle!" the others quickly ran to pull the redneck off glenn.

"you fucking ch*ng-ch*ng bastard i'll rip-" merle was pried off glenn, who was now rolling around in agony, his face a bloody mess. "what the fuck happen'd" merle rasped out, although to glenn it sounded like a croak "where is he" merle was still being held back by t-dog and shane as he continued yelling. glenn avoided the rednecks furious gaze "the walkers got him" he finally spoke, looking down.

for a moment it looked like merle was about to cry, for a moment merle himself thought he was going to burst into tears like a sissy. "no he ain't" but instead he picked up his shotgun, and got into the drivers seat of the SUV.

that was how andrea, t-dog, jackie, glenn and morales ended up in the city. that was how merle got handcuffed to a roof by "officer friendly" and that was why daryl yelled in agony on that same roof. in the course of a day, he had lost the two most important people in his life.

but merle had survived by cutting off his left hand, and the darlin had survived by covering himself in walker guts.

"china- no- glenn- don't- help!" the h/c-et screamed, the sound of his own gun firing defeaning his ears. as one went down, another lunged at him, rotten teeth clanking together, desperately trying to knaw into his flesh. but he wouldn't die here. he couldn't. not when merle was 'relying' on him to get drugs. maybe then, the dixons would start to treat him as less of a clueless child and more of an equal.

after taking down a few, m/n jumped behind the counter, rummaging through the medications, looking for anything that might help with the withdrawal, or better, give merle his next fix. more of the dead came at him, but he just kept shooting, stabbing, hitting, anything to cause the fatal damage needed to end the dead's miserable 'life'.

BANG one was down BANG another BANG BANG BANG .. the slide didn't move forward as he shot his way through another round. shit. he was out of ammo "glenn!" he yelled out as a walker fell on top of him, wrestling it's way closer to his skin. all the korean could hear was m/n's screaming. which only attracted more walkers. he saw the medicine that m/n had thrown over the counter before going down, stuffing it into his bag, he creeped up closer to the group of walkers that had acculumated, following the sound of m/n's scream. until it stopped. "m/n?" he uttered under his breath, but the pile of walkers on top of each other told him the other was dead. with tears in his eyes, glenn ran out.

m/n struggled against the strength of the walker. it was freshly turned, he could tell. otherwise it wouldn't be so strong. kicking, punching, reaching for his knife, anything to save himself from becoming one of them. plunging his blade into the side of the walkers head, he quickly slit the once-man's throat. covering his face in the blood. before moving down to the abdomen. cutting it open, letting the walkers rotting insides pour out all over him, the ones that had piled on top soon couldn't distinguish the smell of living flesh from rotting blood.

he went silent, breathing shallowly, hoping, praying, they'd move off him and he could silently slip out. but when he was finally free of the chemist, glenn, the supplies they had gathered, and the SUV were gone.

he walked the dead-ridden streets of the once bustling city, covered in blood, hidden in plain sight. he kept walking (which then turned into a limp after getting hit in the ankle by a flying bullet) becoming weaker with each step, hoping to make his way back to camp. only to come to the end of the trainline leading into suburban atlanta. TERMINUS the building read "those who arrive survive" he heard a feminine voice call out from the speakers. maybe they have gauze. he glanced down at his leg, the sleeve of his shirt he had tied around it now dyed red.

"community for all; sanctuary for all" he saw a young man- perhaps just a little older than m/n was, staring down at him from the window. something felt amiss, off, but m/n had lost so much blood he didn't care. he stumbled towards the train station, stopping and starting as he debated his decision.

daryl, merle.. they'll be wondering he thought to himself, stopping for the 5th time, but i won't make it back he began walking again but they'll be looking for me he stopped, nearly tripping but the sudden lack of motion if i found this place they'll find it too he picked up the pace again, frantically moving towards the gates but- as he stopped himself once more, he finally tripped over. right onto the walker trap the train people had set up. his left ribcage was pierced by the sharp metal pole sticking out of the ground, causing the h/c-et to let out a loud screech.

before he knew it people had come out, the same man that had stared at him through the window moments earlier put his hand on the wound, causing m/n to flinch "we're you trying to get yourself killed?" the man mused, seemingly unphased by the active bleeding out that was happening in front of him. the man spoke more words that were muffled as m/n fell out of consciousness.

it was pitch black when he opened his eyes. not a shred of light to allude to the location. pitch black. m/n's hands brushed her his torso, feeling the gauze that was tightly wrapped around his chest. it all came back to him. the chemist, the walkers, glenn, the train people. he shifted his arms, feeling the thin material he was lated on, and the cold metal it covered. attempting to hoist himself up, pain shot through his body.

letting out a groan, he laid back down, closing his eyes. is this death. it certainly felt like it. the nothingness, the pain, it was all he had ever imagined death to be like. what felt like hours passed, the nothingness was almost comforting, how long had it been since he could lay like this and do nothing with no worries. it was all ended when the creaking of the door signaled to m/n that he was not in-fact dead.

the sudden brightness was blinding "you awake?" a masculine voice spoke. m/n's eyes began burning from the light, "i guess" he replied quietly, his eyes closing. "good" the male put down a plate next to where m/n laid "eat up. i know this isn't the warmest welcome, i would have liked to show you around first" the man chuckled, leaning down, seemingly to get a good look at m/n.

the man- who introduced himself as gareth, began speaking about the community- terminus. that they did whatever they had to for survival, that m/n would have to prove himself loyal if he wanted to become apart of the community. he wasn't sure how to tell this gareth guy that he was leaving as soon as possible to find his group.

the discussion started off normal as m/n finished his food, until gareth started talking about how lonely he was, as the leader of this terminus community. it only got creepier as gareth started to call m/n pretty boy, edging closer to him. m/n doesn't want to know what would have happened if that middld aged lady (gareth's mother), hadn't called the man away.

it quickly became evident to m/n that he was never going to leave. gareth locked him in the pitch black train car for hours on end, opening the door when there were armed men to prevent m/n from trying anything. gareth would sit with him and talk, running his hands over the male's body, stealing kisses, it was a reprehensive routine m/n had become forcibly accustomed to.

it all changed the day the hunters attacked. m/n was in his train car, as usual, listening to the outside screams, wondering if the attackers were dead or alive. he knew they were alive when one pried open the train car door, and threw them self on him. he was then thrown into a cramped train car with other terminus residents, where the hunters hand picked who to assault and slaughter each day. he and gareth spent their days huddled up together, talking about their lives before. had m/n not accepted the hunters offer to leave the train car if he worked for them, gareth wouldn't have lost his mind. but m/n was desperate to get away. from the train car. from terminus. to find his family.

but the hunters caught him trying to leave. they did their absolute worst to him and then threw him back in. when the termites took back terminus, gareth locked the leader of the hunters and m/n into the same train car. "this is what you deserve" he told him, before locking the door shut.

perhaps it was years, perhaps it was months, maybe it was only a few hours. the horrors of the train car began to unfold, as the man who had once led the attack on terminus lost his mind: pouncing on m/n at random, screaming for hours straight, trying to eat m/n alive when they'd be deprived of food, ripping his ear off in hungered insanity. as m/n laid there bleeding from his ear, he decided either i escape or i die. had running worked before? no. was he willing to die trying? not really, but a man would do anything for freedom, and that's what m/n did.

the hunter had fallen asleep, a fatal mistake, as m/n wrapped his hands around the mans unshaven neck and squeezed. within second the man awoke but m/n was relentless, not letting go until the other went limp. i just have to wait now he cried to himself, hands shaking. calming, he began to strip the man of his clothes and use the fabric to restrain his limbs.

waiting for the termites to open the door with the meal made of human flesh felt like an eternity. the familiar sound of metal scratching and creaking filled m/n's ear, who quickly sprung into action.

grabbing the reanimated hunter by the hair, he guided it in the direction of the door, throwing it towards the woman holding their plates. she screeched as the hunters corpse sank it's teeth into her flesh, blood pouring from the wound.

m/n grabbed the woman's gun and bolted as the nearby workers aimed their guns at the walker, taking it down swiftly, but m/n had already gotten out of the train car. hiding behind what once was his cage, he shot at every person who came into view. eventually making his way to the fence, through the woods, he didn't stop running until the sound of gunshots stopped entirely. even then, he kept running. he ran for what felt like hours until his lungs couldn't take it anymore. collapsing onto the dirt, heaving in and out.

woodbury had fallen, it's entire population now living in the prison nearby. rick had relinquished his leadership, insisting the prison be governed by a council. he often went on runs by himself, to get away from it all, to look back on his actions, to find lost survivors. it wasn't everyday rick grimes came across a twenty something perhaps younger male covered in blood, breathing like he had never tasted air before. well, usually the young men were walkers. but this one was very much alive.

"please don't" the male groaned out, eyes wide, as rick approached with a knife. "who are you" he drawled out, kneeling down to get a good look at the other. the young males face was bruised, his hair covered in blood, an ear was missing, and the male was emaciated. "uh" the male seemed to have to think about it, as if he hadn't spoken to another human in years "m/n" he finally puffed out, bringing his hand up to his head, where the left ear once was.

rick's hands brushed m/n hair out of his face, causing the male to flinch away "how many walkers have you killed" the older man finally asked after several moments of silence. m/n just stared at him, as if to say he hadn't been keeping track "how many people have you killed" still, the same look. "water" "what" rick narrowed his eyes. m/n used his free hand to shakily point to the man's bag, where a bottle of water was latched on to the side.

rick was silent as m/n chugged the water down "do you have anything sweet?" "no i don't" "oh" something about the boy felt familiar. didn't glenn mention originally going into atlanta to find a boy with a similar description? maybe it was just that the male reminded him of his own boy in a way, or maybe he had already developed a fondness for m/n. "i have a camp" rick looked m/n in the eye "we have walls, food, a community, a doctor that can look at your wound" he added.

the h/c-et shook his head "not again" rick furrowed his brows "what" the boy started to pick himself up "i gotta, um" he started feeling around the ground for his gun, "gotta go" he finished as he felt the handle of the gun. stuffing the weapon into his belt, he stood up, using a tree as a crutch. "c'mon kid, you're going to die out here" rick leaned forward and took the gun out of the others hand "no im not! give it!" m/n lunged forward, only to awkwardly fall into rick's chest, sinking down back to the ground.

"you've got two bullets left" m/n looked up at rick with a glare "either you come back to my camp with me or i just wasted my water on a dead man" m/n held his glare until the sun got into his eyes. "whatever" he looked down, hoisting himself back to his feet with the help of rick's hand.

daryl squinted his eyes as the evening sun glared down, merle had stolen his motorcycle. again. the older dixon was always going off on fun runs without informing anyone beforehand. perhaps because the redneck had never really been accepted into the group like daryl was.

taking another bite of his pork chop, daryl grunted at carol who told him to go in and get some rest. but why would he want to rest when all he could think of when his mind was unoccupied was his baby brother, the boy he had pretty much raised, who was now probably a rotting corpse in atlanta. but daryl still held out hope that m/n had gotten out, that he was safe, that he would find him oneday. this was why he never rested, these thoughts would creep up in the younger dixons head.

the sound of his motorcycle rumbling told him that merle was back. the older dixon sauntered over to daryl, a cigarette sat between his thin lips, "look what you're big brother merle got you, darylina" he pulled a pack of cigarettes out his pocket, sliding it into daryls pocket. daryl said nothing, staring into the distance; was that rick? the figure was too far away to discern.

"dad!" carl called out, jogging down. "look what i- m/n?" the young grimes exclaimed as he came closer to the pair. rick carried the half-conscious boy through the gates "you know this guy?" rick looked at carl, who flicked the hair out of m/n's face to get a better look "he was with us back in atlanta, we thought he died on a run"

daryl's heart stopped, did he hear carl right? they were pretty far away. standing up, he threw the pork bone aside and marched towards the two- three. when he finally came close enough to see the persons face, he had to stop himself from tearing up in front of carl and rick "m/n" he uttered out quietly. the father and son came to a halt as he approached "you knew this guy back in atlanta" rick nodded at daryl "'course i did. he's my brother" daryl was quick to take m/n off rick. he wanted to cut the mans arms off just for touching his precious brother.

daryl rushed m/n into the prison, settling him in his cell, "go get hershel" he told carol, who looked just as perplexed as merle did as he walked into the cell. "m/n!? i thought you was dead" he breathed out, shoving daryl out the way, who was quick to push back, both wanting to be as close to their younger brother as possible "where'd you find him" merle looked over at rick, who was standing out front the cell "in the woods, looked like he'd been running"

rick moved aside as hershel came in, merle reluctantly stood up as hershel sat to access m/n's condition. "he's lost a lot of blood" hershel examined the ear hole where the flesh and muscle had been ripped from "we should have bob look at him, but from what i can see he needs bandaging and antibiotics" daryl grunted "i ain't letting no stranger touch him" he ushered hershel away, taking m/n's hand in his own "i found antibiotics on last weeks run, that gon' be enough" merle looked over at the old man, who nodded "we'll have to see how he reacts"

neither daryl or merle left m/n's side whilst waiting for the antibiotics to kick in. it was strange. no one in the prison had ever seen either of them so worried for or attached to someone. but for the six days and nights m/n spent unconscious, his body fighting off the infection from his wounds, recovering from the months of maltreatment.

when m/n finally opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings, daryl was leaned against the wall at the edge of the bed, eyes locked on the boys face "sleep well?" was the first thing he said after the two had stared at each other for what felt like an eternity "yeah" m/n spoke softly.

"i should have never gone hunting that day" "am i dead" the two spoke in unison. daryl breathed out "no, never gon' let that happen" he shuffled closer, laying down next to the youngest dixon.

daryl stared at m/n intensely, until merle was roused from his sleep "m/n, i told you not to go out of my sight" he grumbled, sitting forward. m/n looked up at the metal frame of the top bunk "i just wanted to get you some narcan" merle stared at him, blinking away tears "didn' have to risk your life for it" he pursed his lips "i ain't worth you dyin'" he added quietly, sitting back, his eyes not leaving m/n's.

the room went silent for a moment "maybe not, but you're my brother" m/n closed his eyes for a moment "do you guys have pop or candy here?" he questioned hopefully. merle let out a chuckle "i found a can on my run today" he chuckled out, before going quiet "i chugged it on the spot"

"you piece of shit!"

[rockingrobin69]

First things First

“Not this again,” Harry murmured, with the eyeroll and the tragic sigh and the telling quiver in the corner of his lips.

“Sorry,” Draco grinned.

“You know I hate it when you—” gasped when Draco took his hand, pressed a kiss to the back of his palm. “Malfoy.”

Draco batted his eyelashes. He’d heard from a very credible source they were devilishly long, and awfully convincing. “What? Am I not allowed to court my partner?”

“Allowed isn’t really the issue. We’ve been married for three years, arsehole. There’s no need to court me.” Still, with a slightly-trembling hand, he took the flower. “Where’s this from, then.”

Grin widening: “A village near Halifax. Got rid of the nastiest case of Knottivites you’d ever seen, the poor lamb was barely even visible underneath it. Got her trimmed and happy by tea-time, and the field was just lovely on the way back, all blossoming. Made me think of you.”

“Because the grass is just like my eyes,” Harry said, in a tone that was probably meant to sound mocking, failed miserably. “No, let me guess, a flower reminded you of my lips.”

Such cheek could only be met with decisive action, Draco thought, and grabbed his husband by the waist, brought him close-close. “It was actually a tree,” with a huff, and a kiss to the tip of his nose. “A specific curve in a branch. Perfect, just like your arse.”

“Oi!” Harry squealed when Draco pinched, “get your—honestly! Draco, that tickles, you son of a—ha, ow, ow, stop!”

Flushed-cheeked and in his arms, unbearably sweet, laughing and squirming. “Never,” Draco said, and he meant it. “Harry, I—”

“No! Stop it! You silly thing, I know,” breathless, “I know you’re a sap and I know you’re relentless and I hate how, how,” stopped there, shook his head. “I can’t think when you’re like this. Can’t you just, insult me a little or something?”

“In a minute,” Draco promised, nudging until he had access to Harry’s neck, to kiss it and kiss it. “I think I kind of like you like this.”

“Shut up,” still laughing. “You like me any way.”

Draco hummed. “It’s possible.”

“And you’re im—Draco, ha ha, stop!” to the probably-ticklish nips up his jaw, behind his ear. “What about dinner, you git. Stop with the bloody, attack, okay, we get it, you like me!”

“Do we,” with a lick just to drive the point across. “Do we get it. That I like you. Honestly, Potter, sometimes I think you’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing wh-hat!” the cry turning into an actual shriek when Draco picked him up, legs automatically fitting around Draco’s waist. “What the fuck!”

Harry was heavy, and Draco’s whole body was sore from casing all day in the field. Happy, happy, he carried his husband to the sofa, and dropped him there with a thud. Climbed on top of him, crushing a bit. “Do we get it now?”

“That you’re a twat? Yeah, baby, we knew that already.”

“Mm-hm,” with a helpless grin. “And you hate it, of course.”

“Despise it,” this fire in his eyes, truly unbearable.

Draco traced his bottom lip with a gentle thumb. “Abhor it,” he added nonsensically.

“Detest it,” nodding, spreading his thighs wider, wiggling so Draco slid closer. “C’mon, Malfoy, quit nattering and kiss me already.”

“You fiend,” with affection thick in his throat. “Do you get it, though. How much I like you. How I think you’re the loveliest thing in the world, and the prettiest, the most precious—”

Harry put his hand on Draco’s mouth, then replaced it with his own. “Yes,” in between kisses, breathless, “yes, I got it, okay. I’m lovely and precious and you’re a prick.”

“He truly does get it,” ducked, still laughing. “What about dinner.”

“We’ll get to it,” getting himself comfortable on the sofa, red-cheeked and the dearest thing Draco’s ever seen. His husband, who’s so easily flustered and so incredibly sweet. “What about my kisses.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” raising an eyebrow, “I thought perhaps it’d be too sappy for you to—”

Harry smiled against his lips: dinner would have to wait. This was more important.

(Flufftober day 14. Find the soft AO3 collection here). In this ficlet, Draco is a Magi-vet in honour of @unleashed-fest, a wonderful fest fluf-full of magic, animals, magical animals, and lots of fun. Go check it out!

[rosekeu]

soft like a bunny : r. sukuna

this is part 1!

a/n: highschool au, fem!reader, reader has braces, shy+nerdy+sensitive reader! [if you don't like that then leave ig lol] soft spot for reader ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

sypnosis: looking for your sensei lead to you bumping into your bullies but luckily a feared first-year saves you from your torment!

【 playlist 】

[ part 2 ] [part 3] [ part 4 ] [ part 5 coming soon! ]

‘where are you gojo-sensei!?’ 

y/n l/n thought as she paced through the first year halls, she had been here before but she was unknown to her teachers schedule. leading her to get lost around the fairly big first year campus. y/n looked around anxiously, her eyes searching left and right for her teacher. 

“oi– what do we have here eh?!” one of the tall male students asked, stepping in front of the shorter girl. y/n looked up meeting the eyes of what seemed to be upperclassmen. 

 “looks like a pretty girl–” another boy said with his hands inside his uniform pockets. 

“she’s not pretty, i can assure you that much, look at her teeth!” the male that had stepped in front of her in the first place said pointing to his mouth, smirking.

   “i- i’m busy– if y-you could p-please let me pass through–” she squeaked out but her attempt was futile as one of the boys shoved her to the lockers. the male smirked as he held y/n’s face in his hand. 

   “give us a smile sweetheart, so we can see your hideous teeth!” he muttered, y/n squirmed under his hold being able to smell his hot breath. the other boys watching made gestures of disgust seeing them. she was hesitant to comply with the boy but what else could she do? giving in to his statement as y/n flashed the group a fake smile showing her pink braces.

   “open your mouth so we can see better, brat!” the boy said, squeezing y/n’s face even more. her complexion became a bit red due to the pressure. again the younger girl complied with his ask and opened her mouth a bit to show the different coloured bands which were scattered inside her mouth. 

the group laughed but the boy that was squeezing her face was suddenly gone and a loud ‘thud’ echoed through the hall. y/n opened her eyes to be met with the same boy being held by his collar. 

   “you can’t even pick on someone your own size– that’s how pathetic you've become!” a strong boy holding l/n’s bully on the concrete ground. the boy whimpered on seeing the familiar face, sukuna itadori. he was known for all the fights and suspensions he had received with not even half of the school year being through. 

   “you're not so tough now! you dick!” he muttered into his upperclassmen’s ear, smirking. other students from neighboring classrooms walked out to watch the scene unfold. some enjoyed it and cheered for sukuna and some were able to record the whole thing.

sukuna threw punch after punch at the older student. and the other boys which had been bothering y/n ran away scared as they saw the first year beat up the third year.

   “p-please– ah!” the boy screeched, trying to push sukuna away from him. eventually sukuna did and left the scared boy on the ground, bloody nose and black eye apparent on his face. tears streaming down the bully’s cheek. sukuna swipes his forehead with his bloody knuckles 

at this point gojo was one of the people recording and the principal had barely gotten there. yaga stood there out of breath seeing as sukuna was ready to walk off the scene. 

   “you're not going anywhere young man!” yaga said sternly, holding the boy's shirt from the back.  gojo-sensei took this as a perfect opportunity to leave  as if he didn't record the whole fight and wasn't planning on rewatching it with geto-san. 

   “gojo! you're not going anywhere either!” the principal said watching the white haired man try to escape without a trace. gojo cursed to himself. y/n watched as her teacher groaned. 

 “l/n, are you alright?” the principal said, walking over to the [h/c] haired girl which seemed startled. she nodded the ribbons on her two small ponytails wagging with her head, she walked to the pink haired boy who wore a scowl on his face.

   “i’m so sorry!!” y/n sobbed as she bowed to sukuna, the emotions which were being held before, coming out to the surface. her tears dropped on sukuna’s brown dress shoes. the pink haired boy stood appalled, his eyes widening as he watched the poor girl. 

   “you don’t have to–”

   “i do! you helped me with those guys and you got in trouble”

‘so i didn’t scare this girl off?!’

  “principal yaga, don’t suspend him, please– he helped me!” y/n said, raising from her stance and looking into his eyes. they were red like rubies. 

  “alright, both of you in my office!”

if you want to be tagged let me know!

[cod-sins]

𝑫𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵

.ೃ࿐ Paring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Black!Artistic!Reader

.ೃ࿐ Ratings: SFW. Very Fluffy.

.ೃ࿐ Reader: Undisclosed.

.ೃ࿐ Format: HCs .ೃ࿐ Word Count: 536.

[A/N: What started out as drabble in my notes turned into full headcanons :>. Also non-blacks y'all are allowed to interact with this post just don't be weird.Also I didn't proofread n just kinda threw these out there.]

Going to start this off by saying Ghost supports you 100% whether you do it as a hobby or as a full-time job. He isn't going to be going around bragging to everyone about it but he would definitely look at some artwork and be like 'Huh, Y/n could make something 100x better.'

If you work with clay/pottery he likes to watch your hands carefully dip and curl shaping whatever object you're making. He also asks you stupid questions.

"Why are you fingering it?" "Simon." - 😐. "Just wanna know why you're trying to give it an orgasm love." Feel free to kick him out.

Got really jealous when he found out you made Price a custom drinking glass. He never told you but he always glares at it whenever he's in the room with his captain.

Ghost has a lot of money from working in the military so he has no problem buying you new art supplies. Even if you insist on getting a new sketchbook despite you having several others that you didn't finish. Ghost is still pulling out his wallet for you.

Suffering from art block? Ghost is your muse!

You'd have so many drawings and paintings based on him. He's so amazed at the way you're able to capture every little detail. You actually end up boosting his confidence/ego because of this.

Would pose naked if you asked, but he gets jealous if you use other naked people as art references. "Simon I love you but I need a female body. Not a six-foot British man." "Use your imagination."

If you're a digital artist Ghost is constantly telling you to get up and stretch. You only agreed to this because he wouldn't stop calling you shrimp-related nicknames.

"Oi, shrimpy ya need to stand up for me." "Hey shrimpback time for you to stretch for me." "Your back looks like the letter C."

'It's you. 💻🖋️🦐' He would text you.

Doesn't understand why you're crying head down on your computer until you tell him your program crashed before you could save your progress.

Ghost is so amazed with your ability to create masterpieces just by using your head and references.

Would let you color on his tattoos and draw on his back and arms. He enjoys watching you doodle little crossbones on him. Or when you go all out and draw bones on his hands

If you were a painter Ghost would hang some of your artwork around his house. It would be such a surprise when you came over to visit. He'd smile softly watching you get all excited over it.

Ghost however can't tell the difference between different tones and shades.

You frowned slightly and furrowed your brows as you picked up the small tube of paint from the white bag. "What's the matter?" He asked. "I wanted lime green this is yellow green..." "Bloody fucking hell mate what's the difference? It's just green." "Pfft, what's the difference? Simon, there is a huuge difference," you exclaimed before continuing on. "It's like trying to use a sniper optic for a pistol." He chuckled at your shitty analogy before kissing your forehead and promising you to buy the right one next time.

[justmeinatree]

01 - Astoria : Ripplin On By

Summary : you find yourself trapped on a pirate ship, desperate to be saved. or is the pirate that needs saving …

feels far from home close to the veil, goodbye mother’s fairytale

TW : murder, talks of sexual assault

Word Count : 5k

A/N : we can all thank @niallthebadboi for reminding me of the niall/james corden halloween music video 🤐

“oi, mate. mate, come here,” he whispers, his index finger in a come hither motion.

niall’s ears perk up, the quietness of the lower deck echoing even the faintest of sounds. he looks behind him, spotting one of the crew members, furrowing his eyebrows, “what is it ? m’a little busy.”

with his boots sludging through the thick waters on the bottom deck of the boat, the smell of the salt water mixed in with mould due to the slowly rotting wood, niall was filtering through boxes upon boxes. he knows he can find what he’s looking for, if he’s just given enough uninterrupted time. christ, there’s a lot of shit down here.

“did you hear ? there’s supposedly a lass on board.”

and well that, makes niall laugh, shaking his head, “don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that rumour. no way there’s a lady on this ship. not a single lass, in her right mind, would board onto a boat with a bunch of pirates. bloody death wish if she does,” he adds, muttering to himself.

“nah, s’not a rumour lad. can’t you feel it ?” he hums, smirking, dirty brown teeth poking through his chapped lips. “we can all tell. the energy’s different. oh what i would do to get my hands on a sweet young lady.”

“bloody disgusting you,” niall laughs, shaking his head. although he can’t help but fantasize about a woman from time to time. spending the majority of his adult life on a ship full of men, and maybe, just maybe, he can feel some sort of shift in the air. but that could simply be all the idiots up on deck getting themselves worked up for nothing. it’s not like it’s the first time niall hears about rumours like this one.

“can’t tell if i’d rather have a little taste, or pray for her wellbeing when she’s found,” he hums, shaking the thoughts out of his head, making his way back up, calling down to niall, “whoever finds her first gets first dibs.”

niall huffs, turning around and getting back to his task at hand. there was obviously nothing to get worked up about. because there was obviously no girl on the ship. they haven’t ported in almost a week now, no way a lady would have made it this long. pirate ships aren’t exactly anything close to nice accommodations.

but for now, he searches through crate upon crate, why they had so much crap stuffed away down here, he’ll never know. no one ever comes down here anyway, it’s too sludgy and too rotten. it’s not until he rounds a corner that he hears the small squeak. he’s no stranger to rats and mice, but this, well this wasn’t quite it.

peering over, he spots someone. 

you were terrified. fear stricken over your features, back pressed against a wall ? some boxes ? you weren’t sure. it felt like your breath had caught into your throat, fingertips going slightly numb, unable to move an inch, as you stare back at him, panic settling into every bone in your body.

“hey,” niall hums, confusion etched on his face, because fuck, there really was a girl on this ship. 

you coward back at the sound of his voice, small whimper leaving your chest, barely heard over the creaking of the old wood. your eyes squeezed shut, ready for the worst. it was hard to see his face, only small cracks of daylight filtering through the old wood to illuminate the dampened space. and with his hat perched upon his head, the specks of clarity weren’t quite reaching his face.

“no, no, s’alright,” niall murmurs, hand darting out for you, quickly retreating it when he notices you flinch away.

“please dont hurt me,” you hiccup, tears filling your eyes.

“m’not gonna hurt you, it’s okay,” he coos, trying to muster up as much calm as he can. although he can’t say he’s felt much of anything remotely close to calm since joining this crew.

“no,” you hiccup again, bottom lip starting to tremble, pressing yourself impossibly further back. “i- i heard yo-you talking,” you stutter. “i know you’re gonna-a hurt me.”

“no, no,” niall coos, shaking his head. “that’s not-. you heard the othe-.” he sighs, biting his lip and starting over. “m’niall, what’s your name, love ?”

“dont call me that,” you huff, the tiniest bit of bite to your voice.

that pulls a smile from niall, a slight breathy chuckle, “alright, m’sorry. how about you tell me your name so i know what to call you.”

“y/n,” you murmur around a few deep breaths, trying to regulate your heart as your brain determines if there’s any imminent threat or not.

“y/n,” he hums, tasting it out on his tongue. “what are you doing on this ship ? s’not safe for you.”

“i messed up,” you peep quietly, fresh tears gathering in your eyes. “everyone was gone, and i just picked a boat. didn’t think there were pirates ported at the docks.”

niall bites back a laugh, not wanting to upset you, but still, what were the odds really. he doesn’t think he’s ever met someone with such bad luck. “we have to eat too,” he chuckles, “gotta reach port sometimes. have ya seriously been here all week ?”

you nod softly, sighing, “when they started coming back onto the ship, i ran down. just kept running. v’been hiding out here. you’re the first one to come down this far below deck.”

“you’ve been down here all week ?” he asks, shocked, eyes grown wide. “fuck, you can’t stay down here that long, you’ll get sick. there’s too much mould for you to breathe in.”

“i’ll take my chances,” you murmur, biting your lip, looking up at him with desperation, “s’better than going up there with the crew.”

and well, niall cannot disagree there. thinks he’d rather live down here with the rot and the sludge if the alternative was to head up to the crew and have every shred of his being ripped apart. so he nods, looking sadly at you, because you’re right, there’s no denying it. “must be hungry then. how about i get you some food ? try to track down some fresh water,” he suggests. 

at that, you perk up, eyes shining with some level of hope for the first time, in a week, apparently. you nod, looking hopeful at niall, asking curiously, “when’s the next time we dock ?”

“not for at least another week, m’afraid,” he sighs, adding a bit more enthusiastically, “don’t think about that right now, just sit tight, i’ll be right back.”

and with that niall was off, bounding up the steps, loud wooden creaks echoing under each of his boots. he makes a bit of small talk with a few other crew mates as he passes them, fishing through crates and flour sacks full of beans, biscuits, and salted dried meats, grabbing a good handful of each, tucking them into his satchel. 

unfortunately, he doesn’t remember a single day as a pirate where he’s actually had access to water. it’s always been beers and ales and rums. at least that’s what’s made readily available. 

if he was going to find water, he’s going to have to sneak around, and sneaking around takes time. time he doesn’t think he has. for some reason, he fears for your safety. you were so innocent, so fragile, so full of fear when he found you gazing back at him. he can’t even begin to imagine what the others would do if they found you. doesn’t think he’ll be able to live with himself if he has to watch that innocence get wiped off your pretty porcelain face. he may be a pirate, but his mam raised a good man.

and although the crew typically never hits the lowest deck, one of them is bound to discover you. especially with the flying rumour of a young lass on board.

so he decides, for now, that some ale is the best he can do in terms of beverage, figuring he’ll have more time to sneak around once all the lads are passed out drunk for the night.

when he returns to the lowest deck, he finds you sitting on one of the large crates, feet tucked up to give your poor skin a break from the constant saturation. he feels his heart grow heavy. a now foreign feeling to him, as he’s learned to grow a thick callous around his emotions. if he spends too much time contemplating his life decisions over the last decade, he’ll throw himself overboard. there are countless moments for which he’s significantly less than proud of. murder being a number of them. he’s just had to do what he’s had to do.

but with you, being dealt a really bad hand, stuck on a pirate ship, condemned to a level that the pirates themselves don’t really come to, he feels real sadness, and real fear, and real protectiveness. he wants to help you. he’s not sure why, he’s never felt the need to help anyone. but seeing that desperation in your eyes, and the sheer willpower you’ve held onto for this long, he empathizes with you in ways he’s not even sure he fully understands.

niall trudges over to you, placing his satchel down on the crate next to you, opening it up to show you its contents. “sorry it’s nothing better. s’really all that survives the long trips.”

“don’t worry about it, please. it’s food,” you smile, reaching in and taking a handful of beans. 

“i couldn’t find any water,” he sighs, “that one’s going to be a bit harder to come by. i’ll go lurking later tonight, when they’re all passed out,” he nods towards the upper deck, where the crew are currently working. “for now though, i hope ale’s okay ? at least it’ll fix the thirst for a bit, yeah ?” he hums hopefully.

your smile only grows wider, swallowing down a bite of the biscuit you had reached for, “niall, don’t make a fuss,” you murmur softly. “you’ve gotten me a meal, and you’ve been nothing but kind to me. i really appreciate all of it,” you hum, taking a sip and another bite, finding yourself hungrier than you thought. the slowly waning adrenaline causing your body to need a  refuel.

“it’s no problem,” niall smiles, “really. just want you to stay safe, and to make it off this ship unharmed.”

you feel heat rise to your cheeks, your eyes trained down on the food he’s provided. you could not have a crush on a pirate. you. could. not. you had to get off this ship and never, ever, look back. fuck.

you take a deep breath, looking over at him, “you seem too nice to be a pirate.”

niall’s mouth quirks up in a smirky smile, breathy chuckle rumbling from his chest, he shakes his head, “there’s a lot of nice lads here. but pirate mentality tends to take over and the next thing you know, you’re doing something you’d never ever thought of doing.”

your eyes lock with his, reading him for a moment, a silent moment, as you both exchange a sad, knowing gaze, “would it have been different if you weren’t alone when you found me ?”

at that, niall sighs, shoulders deflating. he reaches up on his head, gripping his hat and taking it off, resting it on the crate, behind you. it’s the first time you see him without it, expecting to finally get a glace at his hair, you’re only slightly disappointed to see a tattered, muted green bandana wrapped around his head. although you do note peaks of brown tousles poking through behind his ears and by his neck. small hoops pierced through his lobes.

without his hat, more light hits his eyes, which you note are a deep blue. his skin was tanned, darkened from long days in the blistering sun. he’s gorgeous. you cannot. cannot. have a crush on a pirate.

“i’d like to believe that i would have stood up for you,” niall murmurs. “like to believe that when i saw that look in your eyes, i’d be getting them away from you. can’t even begin to imagine the alternative, to be honest, darling.”

you let the pet name slide, too caught up with the fact that he keeps saying he’d like to believe. it’s not quite as reassuring as you’d hoped. you aren’t completely sure how much you can trust him yet. after all, a bit of food is a nice peace offering, but he hasn’t proven himself just yet.

it’s a few hours after that, before you see niall again. he does need to spend some time, enough time, with the crew, working. he can’t let anyone notice that he’s gone too long. or at least, where he’s going. if any of the lads find out that he’s spending time down there, they’ll suspect something. he needs to do this very delicately. needs to be smart about this. 

as he returns, he smiles wide at you, waving a pair of boots around. “smallest ones i could find, keep your feet dry.”

your eyebrows furrow squinting your eyes, the darkness of early evening settling, less and less daylight filtering through the small cracks in the wood.

“s’hard to see innit ?” niall hums, patting his pants, fingers finding some matches in one of the pockets, striking one against a crate to light it, the dim flame just enough to illuminate his face and the pair of boots he’s holding up.

“you got me some boots ?” you look up at him, a burst of warmth spreading through your chest, biting your lip softly as you reach for them, slipping them on. “these are perfect,” you hum, clicking your feet together.

niall searches the walls and ceiling, finding a small gas lamp, unhooking it from its perch, and lighting it. a small corner of space sees proper lighting for the first time in a long time. taking a look around, he thinks he prefers it when it’s dark.

but upon looking over at your feet, he sees you were exaggerating quite a bit. the boots were far from perfect, much too big on you. “you seem to be handling all of this really well for someone as prim and proper as you are.”

you laugh, a true laugh, your first one in god knows how long, shaking your head. “didn’t grow up like this,” you explain, hands waving up and down to display your expensive dress. “one of the richest men in town, for some reason, had his sights set on me.”

“make that sound like a bad thing,” niall hums, hoisting himself up on the crate across from you, setting his hat down again.

“i hate him,” you murmur vehemently. and again, you both lock eyes in a silent moment, the flame flickering a dim glow over both of your features, intensifying the connection. 

niall snaps out of it first, “wanted to bring you the boots, and check in on ya. it’s gotten pretty dark out, the crew’ll be out cold in a bit. i’ll try to find you some water. i’ll be back. keep that light, makes it a little less glum.”

and again, he’s off, just as quickly as he came. you were forever grateful for the bits of company. and the little things he’d bring you every time he dropped on by. in the meantime though, you were lonely. tucked away in the depths of despair, longing and awaiting for your gorgeous pirate’s return.

christ, stop. you did not have a crush. you did not. however, you could admit to yourself that having a place of escape, in your mind that is, helped pass the time a little bit. a place where you and niall were on a grand adventure at sea, wind billowing in your hair, fresh salty air, nothing but beautiful sunsets on the horizon.

how you longed for a breath of fresh air. to feel the wind on your skin. it was getting increasingly hard to be held up like you were. you had no idea that rot and severe lack of sunlight could affect someone so quickly.

you were growing increasingly desperate. and thinking back, niall had mentioned countless times that the crew pass out cold at night. maybe you could sneak around too ? just enough to make it a bit higher up. 

this was foolish, you kept telling yourself as you take slow steps towards the stairs, and yet, you couldn’t stop yourself. it’s like if your body could feel its impending death if it stayed put. your sheer will to have some clean air seemingly taking over the fear for a split moment. 

you were two floors up before you started noticing signs of life. sticking to the empty staircase, peering over quietly to notice breathing lumps of men, tucked into hammocks slung around randomly. 

continuing on your way, you stop a few steps from the very top, sitting on it, not risking being seen on the wide open deck. you breathe in deeply, crisp nighttime air filling your lungs. tilting your head back, eyes blinking up, you notice the vast array of stars. smiling to yourself, you enjoy a moment of calm. 

that is, until you hear some sounds from below you. what seems to be a conversation. and by the rumbling, tumbling steps, and the slurring, cackling voices, you’d best believe they were drunk. with the sounds getting louder, they were heading up to the top deck.

panic rising in your chest, your eyes dart from side to side, figuring there was nowhere to go but up. you climb the rest of the stairs, finding the large expanse of the ship to be empty. rushing, you look around to find a hiding spot, just about to take your first step towards a barrel, when a bone chilling sentence hits your brain. 

“well, well, well. look at what we have here.”

“hmm, pretty young lady. looks like we get to have some fun tonight.”

you whimper, frozen in fear, hearing the loud chuckle from behind you, “i get her first !” one of them shouts, surging forward and gripping your shoulder. he walks you forward towards the very barrel you were planning to dash for, just moments ago, pressing on your upper back, between your shoulder blades, bending you over.

you can feel him lean over you, pressed up against you, murmuring against your ear, “such a little treat aren’t you ?”

“what the-“ you hear from further behind you, the man no longer pressed against you, as he looks behind himself. 

“fuck- what are you-“ just as you look behind yourself, curiously panicked, worried that you may have an even worse imminent future ahead. 

instead you’re met with the sight of your attacker, pulled back into niall’s chest, held down by his mouth to muffle any sounds, watching niall glide a blade through your attacker’s throat. 

you feel as if your heart was about to beat out of your throat, eyes bulging wide, trying to take in the scene in front of you. two men, in a heap on the floor, throats gushing blood. you were gasping for breath, slowly backing away, until your back hit the barrel.

“what in god’s name are you doing ?” niall snaps, looking around to make sure no one’s seen anything. “why would you do something so fucking stupid ?”

he was furious. and you could tell. instantly regretting your decision to try and reach some upper floors. “i-“ you sigh, looking down, unable to look him in the eye. you felt like a small child, being scolded. and truthfully, you deserved it. what you did was stupid. and if niall hadn’t found you right then and there, you’re not sure what would be happening right now. 

your gaze tentatively flicks up towards his, shame plastered on your features, as you do something you never imagined doing. you lunge forward, wrapping your arms around niall, the force of it all making him take a few steps back.

he was shocked. he hadn’t been privy to a hug in over a decade. his eyes blink rapidly a few times, before slowly wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you to him, hearing a faint, “thank you for saving me,” puff out from your lips, warm breath hitting his neck. 

niall’s eyes flutter closed, his head resting against yours, taking in a breath. the fresh cleanliness of the soap you used in your hair was still clinging on, under the scent of the sea, a welcomed change his nostrils revelled in. 

he found himself relaxing into your arms, the protective anger he was feeling over you fading, murmuring, “please tell me what the fuck you were doing.”

you slowly pull away from the hug, sighing, “i was desperate for some fresh air. you kept talking about the crew passing out at night, figured it’d be my best shot,” you shrug.

“christ, darling, let me in on your plans next time yeah ? let me keep you safe. d’ya have any idea how bad that could have been if i wasn’t here ?” he shakes his head. “fuck, lets not think about that. need to take care of my mess. then m’gonna find you a change of clothes. can’t have ya sneaking around in that dress. s’too obvious.” 

he turns around, hoisting the bodies one at a time, rolling them over the edge of the ship, to crash into the frigid waters below.

“niall, you-“ you take a deep breath, your shoulders slugging, “you killed two people. for me. i- fuck, i can’t believe i-“

“shh,” he hums, shaking his head, pressing his index finger against your lips when he notices you about to speak again. “don’t have ta say it. m’honestly so fucking glad i was here.”

your breath catches as his finger makes contact with your mouth, a tingle of warmth spreading through your entire body, leaving your fingers and toes slightly numb. for a moment you find yourself wanting nothing more than to kiss him. with the sweat on his brow and the dirt on his skin, and fuck even the blood on his hands, you were so attracted to him. you cannot have a crush on a bloody pirate.

he slowly pulls his finger away, eyes locked on yours, feeling the erratic beating in his chest, because my god, he’s never felt such soft lips. doesn’t remember wanting to kiss anyone so bad in so long. not that there’s been even remotely close to a kissing prospect. “c’mon, that’s gotta be enough fresh air for today. can’t risk it any longer. lets get you back down there, darling. i’ll go sleuthing for some clothes.”

“niall,” you rush out, gripping into his arm just as he was trying to walk away, “thank you. for everything.”

a small smile tugs at his lips, blush rising to his cheeks, turning away again and setting off with you, making sure the coast is clear every step of the way, until you’re back to the safety of the bottom deck.

it had been days since your little adventure to the outside. and as much as you were craving a trip back up, you were slightly petrified. 

niall had brought you some clothes, and even though you could fairly blend in with the crew, you weren’t quite ready to test it for real. 

in the meantime, niall’s been your source of friendship, coming to check on you regularly, whenever he could sneak away, bringing you food and drinks. he even tracked down some water for you a couple of times. 

tonight, however, you couldn’t hold out anymore. so when niall comes by for his late evening visit, you hop down from the crate you’d made yourself comfortable on, bounding over to him, “can we go up tonight ?”

he looks over you, eyes wide, “you really want to try that again ?” he asks quietly, out of fear for you. fear of what could happen to you, to him for hiding you. 

but with the large puppy eyes you were feeding him and the severe level of empathy he has for you, he ends up giving in pretty quickly, nodding his approval, “yeah, alright. suppose it’s something you need. please stay close. and do whatever i say.”

“yes sir,” you smirk, saluting him. as soon as your hand left your forehead, you felt like a complete fool. embarrassing yourself in front of the man whom you’ve grown more and more affection towards.

he giggles though, a real giggle, shaking his head at you, “m’a pirate, not in the fuckin navy, darling.”

you laugh along with him, ever grateful for him. you’re unsure of how you’ll ever be able to thank him for all that he’s done for you. including murder for fuck sake. you have to come up with something before leaving the ship.

you stay quiet, following him up the stairs, niall checking each floor as he goes, confirming that everyone is rightfully asleep. once he makes it to the top deck, he takes one look around, finding the entirety of the space, completely abandoned. niall’s hand reaches out for yours, helping you up the last few steps.

taking a deep breath, your eyes close momentarily, enjoying the feeling of whipping wind against your skin, tiny droplets of sea water spraying you from time to time. it was so refreshing, so incredibly needed after the time down below.

walking over to the edge, hands gripped into the side of the ship, looking at the vast expanse of pure, pitch, darkness. there was nothing but stars as far as the eye could see. 

niall coming over to stand next to you, he hums softly, “what’s got you so focused ? s’nothing but black out there.”

“kinda nice innit ?” you ask quietly, “the stars, the open sea, how tiny we really are in the grand scheme of things.”

“you think that’s nice ?” he asks, slightly confused. “isn’t that a bit scary ? what’s the point of it all ? we wont really make a difference anyway.”

at that, you hum, your head resting against niall’s shoulder, his arm instinctively wrapping itself around your shoulders. you never thought you’d be over the moon to be cuddled up with a pirate, but he actually made you feel comfortable, safe, a feeling that was fairly foreign for you at this point. and you were revelling in it.

“you think you won’t make a difference ?” you ask softly, turning yourself a bit more into him, “you’ve already made a huge one,” you explain. “you’ve saved me. saved my life.”

“but-“ niall furrows his eyebrows, “that’s just how my mam raised me. to be kind. s’not really making a difference in the world.”

you shake your head, humming a protest, “one person can’t change the entire world, that would be a bit of a pompous thought,” you chuckle, adding quietly, “but you’ve made a difference in my world.”

niall feels his heart burst, prickling heat shooting from his chest throughout his entire body. he buries his face in your hair, pulling you closer to him, “think you’ve made an even bigger difference in mine.”

moments before he was about to turn your face towards his, he hears it, a deep chuckle coming from behind, “looks like nialler found a treasure. gonna share with your brothers ?”

he feels you go stiff as a board next to him, feels the moment the air leaves your body, feels the panic encompassing every fibre of your being. he looks down at you, trying to convey any form of safety in his gaze, mouthing to you, “run,” before pushing you off towards the stairs. 

instantly, the other man is taking off after you, bounding down the stairs two at a time, niall quickly in toe. 

you just make it back to your dark and dingy secluded hideout, when a large, rough hand presses you into one of the crates in front of you, making your forehead smack down hard on the wood. 

you whimper, the man’s hands closing on your hips, squeezing roughly, painfully. and just like the last time, a moment later, he’s lifted off of you, niall’s blade slicing through his neck.

niall’s catching his breath, trying to calm his nerves, as he looks down at the scene, taking the moment in for the first time, because fuck, this is not good.

he looks up at you, noting the gash on your forehead, “christ, darling, you alright ?” he asks, fingertip darting out to gently touch the wound.

you flinch back, bottom lip trembling, as you feel yourself giving out, niall quick to catch you before you fall into the sludge water, leaning heavily on him, face tucked into his neck, “i can’t do this anymore,” you cry softly. “i can’t, i can’t. i need air, i need sun, fuck,” you tremble. “m’always so scared. i just can’t anymore niall.”

he holds you tightly, heart shattering for you. you hadn’t asked for this. you were a good person. you didn’t deserve any of this. mind reeling after the events of just moments ago, niall comes up with a plan, “we’re getting off this ship.”

“what ?” you ask exhaustedly, peering up at him, every ounce of your being, drained.

“you can’t stay here anymore. s’too dangerous. and you need air. we’ll take one of the lifeboats,” he explains, before nodding towards the body, “s’the first mate. someone’s going to notice he’s missing. and m’not about to lug him all the way up to throw him overboard, someone’ll see.”

“niall, i can’t make you do that,” you sigh. “can’t make you leave the safety of the ship for me.”

he cups your neck in his large hand, his thumb stroking your jaw, eyes peering into your own, conviction in his tone, “can’t go alone, darling. i told you i’d keep you safe. couldn’t live with myself if you were out there all alone. we’re leaving. tonight.”

Part 2

……

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

tags : @cc-horan

[litepowee]

ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴅᴜᴍʙᴀꜱꜱ

synopsis: Shion comes 'round to get patched up, but it seems he forgot what day it is today. (surprise it's his birthday!!)

warnings: mentions of blood, swearing, gn!reader, self-indulgent

a/n: shion was actually my first blorbo ever so the biggest happy birthday to my mad dog <33

✧ comments/reblogs are super duper appreciated ✧

As the warm orange sun set behind him, Shion dragged his feet up the metal stairs leading to your apartment. It had become a routine after every gang fight to come back to you. Always welcoming him with a roll of your eyes, and a face mixed with annoyance and pain, but nonetheless you never hesitate to patch him up. 

Today was no different, as a cool March breeze swept through his blonde hair. Shion knocks on the door, hearing shuffling from within before a small click of a lock reveals you. A simple, but comfortable fit adorn with an apron tied around your waist. 

Your eyes quickly scan over Shion, and sigh, “Really? Weren’t you just beat up a couple of days ago?” He lets out a little chuckle pretending not to hear that as you step aside to let him in. 

“It ain’t nothing major. Just some scratches.” Shion calls over his shoulder as he slides his Tenjiku jacket off, laying it on the couch armrest. The comforting scent of fresh chocolate cake hits his senses, “You good? What’cha baking?” He calls out.

Being met with silence he considers going into your little corner of a kitchen to see, but after another second you break it, “Don’t come back here! M’ a mess, just getting stuff to clean up.” He complies without second thought, examining his hands which he notes are a little bloody and bruised even with the use of his brass knuckles. 

You pop out of the kitchen, no longer wearing the apron but carrying a little first aid kit. The couch dips down as you sit beside him, resting the kit on your lap. You met his gaze on his hands, before digging up some antiseptic spray, “Give me your hands.” Mumbling out as Shion extends out his hands. 

The difference between you two is night and day. 

Skillful and dainty hands work at his scuffed up bloody ones. Shion hisses as the antiseptic spray meets his cuts, “C’mon don’t be a baby.” Mumbling out, as you rummage around for some wrapping. “It stings y'know!” 

Your eyes scan over his hands, deeming them to be taken care of. Glancing up at him you notice a small cut and dried blood on his cheek, just edging below his tattoo. “How do you even manage…” Words trailing off as you dig around looking for something to clean the dried blood. 

Shion only humming in response, watching your focused eyes dart around. He can’t help but smile inwardly at how, even if you act annoyed with him, you never fail to take care of him after a gang fight. Though he would never dare to say that out loud, in fear of losing this.

In fear of losing you.

Losing you? It’s not like you're his to begin with. Just friends. So why would he be so worried about losing you? 

He’s brought out of his thoughts as he realizes how close you’ve gotten to his face. “Oi! Damn jumpscare.” Pulling back to put some space up, clicking your tongue in response. “Shion, just hold still, will you? I gotta get this stuff off you.” Leaning forward you raise a hand to his cheek, keeping him still as you dab a cotton ball against his cut. 

Still as a statue, he prays you won’t notice how much his face is heating up. Have your hands always been this soft? Did your eyes always look that pretty? Shion couldn’t help but stare, not even noticing the slight sting of the cut. It wasn’t until you smoothed the band-aid out on his cheek that he broke his stare on you.

“Honestly Shion. Weren’t you once the captain of a gang? How is it you’re always coming over beat up and bloody, huh?” Quietly talking as you pack up the kit, he can only chuckle at the recall of his time as the Black Dragons’ captain. 

Shion got lost in his thoughts of those times, not even noticing the lack of your presence. But even if he isn’t captain anymore, things are better. He’s got you. He’s got Tenjiku. Being a ‘Heavenly King’ sounds a lot cooler than ‘Captain’, doesn’t it? 

The only thing that draws his attention out of his thoughts is the click of a lighter. Since when did you start smoking? As he opens his mouth to question it, his words stop, caught in his throat. 

You carefully walked over to the couch, a plate balanced in your hands. A single cupcake with a fondant crown placed on top, holds a lit candle. “Do you even know what day it is dumbass?” Shion’s eyes dart from you to the cupcake and back. 

“What..day it is?” He mumbles out unconsciously trying to put the pieces together. Cracking a smile as you look at Shion who’s still trying to figure out the date. 

“Happy birthday Shion, make a wish.” 

extra:

You: What did you wish for? 

Shion: Dumbass I can’t tell you! Don’t you know how this shit works?! 

Shion in his mind: for you to be my partner duh?? 

✧ comments/reblogs are super duper appreciated ✧

tags: @tokyometronetwork @public-safety-network

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[zablife]

As Long As I Live (Part 4)

Tommy Shelby & Amelia Holland (OC) x Bonnie Gold

Summary: When things go wrong at Lizzie's party, Tommy proposes a solution Amelia finds difficult to accept.

Author's Note: Requested by the lovely @kpopgirlbtssvt. This will be the final part to the series and the longest at 4K words!

Warnings: drinking, language, mention of assault and blood, mention of pregnancy, minor character death

Masterlist

“How long is a fucking ballet anyway?” Arthur asked, fumbling inside his coat pocket for his flask of whisky. Finn only shrugged in reply, barely watching the performance himself in favor of staring at his pocket watch. He ducked his head to study the time, only to find the minutes passing more slowly than before. He gave a tired exhale of breath as a hand clamped over his shoulder.

“Finn, we need to get Tommy,” Isaiah said out of breath and uncharacteristically rattled by something. 

“Thought you were supposed to be with Amelia,” Finn noted. “Tommy’ll have your balls if something happens to her.”

Isaiah’s face turned grim as he confided, “Something’s already happened, mate. She’s probably with Frances by now, but Tommy should come to the garden straight away,” he urged.

“Y-yeah, ok,” Finn stammered as he moved into action, glancing at Arthur who didn't look like he'd be much help in his state of inebriation. 

Quickly shuffling between seats, Finn found Tommy and whispered to him. Watching Tommy excuse himself from the front row, Lizzie pressed her fingertips to her temples, willing away a throbbing headache, unaware the night was about to get worse.

As Tommy rounded the corner of the garden he found Bonnie throttling another man, arm pulled back to deliver a punch. “Oi! Get the fuck up!” he yelled, pulling Bonnie off with all his strength and struggling to contain him.

“What’s going on?” he demanded to know, squinting in the dim light to make out the bruised and bleeding figure on the ground. The man rose to a sitting position, holding his ribs and heaving for breath as he searched for a handkerchief to dab at his bloody nose. A sliver of light cut across the garden path illuminating his face and Tommy’s eyebrows raised at the sight of Sir Oswald Mosley.

“One of your thugs attacked me,” Mosley accused, pushing himself up from the ground with great effort. 

Tommy looked to Bonnie for an explanation and Bonnie turned away as he stuttered, “He-he had Amelia. If I hadn’t come-” Tommy held up his hand, his mouth suddenly too dry to speak. He understood Bonnie’s meaning immediately as Mosley’s ghastly reputation preceded him. It wasn’t hard to believe, though he did wonder why Isaiah hadn’t kept her away from the party like he asked. It was no time for that, however, as he attempted to handle the matter at hand.

“I want to know what you’re going to do about this, Shelby,” Mosley demanded, stalking toward Tommy angrily. “This animal belongs in jail for attempted murder,” he seethed, pointing at Bonnie. 

“Nevertheless, you attacked one of my guests first,” Tommy replied, attempting to restrain the venom seeping into his voice. 

Mosley scoffed at Tommy’s comment, taking the handkerchief from his face as he sneered, “One of the whores you employed for the evening?” He waited for Tommy to take the bait, revealing the true nature of the relationship. However, Tommy held firm, swallowing harshly to hold down the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. Seeing no other option, he realized he would have to acquiesce to Mosley’s demands or give that illusion until he could formulate a plan.  

“Alright,” Tommy reluctantly agreed. “If you’ll step inside I’ll make the necessary calls and see that you receive proper medical attention,” he said with lips pursed tight, otherwise expressionless to hide the fear of how he might find Amelia. Tommy exchanged one last concerned look with Bonnie before escorting Mosley inside, his mind preoccupied with his daughter’s well-being before he could begin to think of a solution to this catastrophe. 

———————————-

The next morning blinders guarding the front entrance of Arrow House could hear the shouting from Tommy's office. It reverberated off the paneled walls and down the corridor. The men exchanged nervous glances as pieces of the conversation drifted out toward them. For the better part of an hour Tommy attempted to persuade Amelia to flee without providing details of his treacherous ties to Sir Oswald Mosley. However, his proposal of having her return to a life of travel with Bonnie Gold was not something she was prepared to entertain. 

“How could you do this? Cast me off like some cursed soul?”Amelia yelled. She realized she was being dramatic, but that’s how she felt. 

“Amelia, please, I’m trying to see that you’re taken care of and...,” Tommy trailed off, words failing him suddenly. Was he doing what was right? He’d only just gotten her back. Could he relinquish her so easily? He wasn’t so sure of his decision now that he was saying it out loud, but this was the best plan he could think of on short notice. 

“You’d never do this to Charlie or Ruby!” she shouted, turning to face him with tears stinging her eyes. At a time when she had finally come to believe her father loved his children equally, this was irrefutable proof he saw them very differently. Although she had been attacked in the garden, she felt she was being blamed for it. Her father's insistence on her protection felt more like banishment so he could continue living a life of respectability amongst the toffs he claimed to despise. 

Tommy halted, taking a deep breath as he thought about what he was asking of his eldest daughter. Amelia took his silence as complacency and it infuriated her more. When he finally began to speak she wouldn’t allow more than a few words. He began, “Amelia, I wish you’d consider…” before she interrupted.

“I don’t want to hear about Bonnie Gold again as long as I live!” she said defiantly.

Tommy removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as he exhaled loudly. She was stubborn and headstrong, qualities he loved about her normally. However, faced with the sickening fingerprint shaped bruises on her neck, he was desperate to get her to safety. “What if Aberama and Polly go with ya?” he pleaded. He clenched his fists to hold back the feelings of helplessness he’d experienced when Izzy disappeared all those years ago, willing this time to be different. 

Amelia looked at Tommy with fiery determination wanting to object, but knowing it was useless because her father was also relentless when he wanted something. It was a battle she would surely loose, a humiliating defeat with only her heart at stake. Finally she gave in with a slow nod of agreement.

Tommy’s posture instantly relaxed knowing he’d found a compromise. “Thank you, Amelia. It’s for the best,” he assured her.

“For me or your fucking career?” she bit back.

“That’s not why I’m doing this,” Tommy urged, holding her gaze in hopes she would recognize the sincerity of his words. 

"It doesn't change the fact that you're giving up on me. Because that's what you do when things are too difficult for you to handle, isn't it? You abandon people... like you did with mum," she confronted him, voice constricting in her throat. 

Tommy felt an uncomfortable weight settle in his chest at her accusation. “I wanted you here, Amelia. It just couldn’t be,” he murmured. He wished to express how much she meant to him, but his words fell away as he noticed the look of disillusionment spreading over her like a disease. 

Amelia’s stare remained harsh as she waited for something more. An apology would have been a start, though she knew her father was unaccustomed to issuing them under any circumstances. 

"You should pack," Tommy finally told her, in a resigned voice.

Amelia shook her head in disgust and turned on her heel, slamming the door behind her as she went. Passing Lizzie in the hallway, she ran to her room.

As Lizzie entered, she found Tommy slumped forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, contemplating what Amelia had said.

“Tommy, what’s happened?” Lizzie asked, pulling her dressing gown closed against the chill.

Tommy exhaled slowly, reaching for a cigarette. He took his time lighting one for his wife and himself before answering, “I’ve fucked it all up, Lizzie, and now she’ll never forgive me.”

“What did you say?” Lizzie asked hesitantly and Tommy told her plainly what was to come. He explained how Moss would arrange Bonnie’s transport early the next morning with just enough time for his men to intercept at a crossroads. Then Aberama and Polly were  to whisk him away deep into the mountains. He held his breath before admitting Amelia would be with them.

“Oh, Tommy, no,” she sighed, abandoning her cigarette in the ashtray and collapsing into a chair. “You promised me she’d be taken care of after everything…” she said, lowering her head into her hands.

“And she will,” Tommy said, coming to stand next to his wife’s side.

Lizzie looked up at him with a shake of her head. “I don’t understand you sometimes. What is this good that you will become?” she demanded to know. “When you turn away your own family. Is this work with bloody fascists so important you’d lose everyone you care about?” 

“Lizzie, please, I need you to understand,” he said, reaching for her hand, but she stood suddenly to avoid his touch. Walking to the door without a backward glance, she left him alone with his thoughts and his regrets.

————————

There was something comforting about being in nature again after nearly a year on Tommy's estate. Now that she was back on the road, it was as though she’d never left. The circling of the crows overheard and the welcoming softness of the velvety moss under her feet were all she needed to feel at home again. Despite the desperate ache she felt leaving her younger siblings behind, she soon found routine in her chores and conversations with Polly, who helped her understand the person her father became in order to survive after the war.  Amelia listened to the stories out of curiosity, but disregarded the silent plea for forgiveness. That wasn’t something she was prepared to give just yet.

Sometimes she contemplated what her life might have been if she’d disobeyed her father and stayed near Small Heath, but those were only fleeting thoughts. She wouldn’t stay where she wasn’t wanted. It was a thought that crept up on her, chilling her even in the warmth of the campfire. Amelia shivered as she stared into the abyss of the flickering light, too lost in the past to notice Aberama approaching. She startled at the feeling of his large palm on her shoulder when he softly asked, "May I sit with you, child?”

She immediately nodded in agreement, gladly accepting his company as she had changed her opinion of him during their travels. He’d proven himself to be generous with her, ensuring her comfort by providing plenty of fresh meat and repairing the old vardo where she slept. She’d also witnessed his fair and honest dealings when trading and felt ashamed at her earlier accusations. 

Taking up a place on a log beside her, Aberama stoked the fire before rubbing his hands together to feel the warmth radiating from the flames. If there was a moment to say what he'd been holding back, now was the time. "You know, I traveled with the Hollands many years ago," he said with a small smile playing on his lips at the memory.

Amelia's head shot up at the mention of her mum’s family, fingers clasping the gem at her throat nervously. "You did?" she asked hesitantly.

"Aye, and I knew your mother," he recalled. "You'd not find anyone better with horses," he mused, eyes drifting upward with the curls of smoke twisting in the night air. Then he added sadly, "She was a rare gem and she would have made a fine wife."

Amelia swallowed a lump in her throat as she asked, “I don’t understand. Were you in love with her, Mr. Gold?”

His head dropped as he huffed out a little laugh, “I think everyone loved Isidora, but we all knew her heart belonged to Tommy Shelby,” he said, reaching for a piece of kindling and his small pocket knife to distract himself with a bit of carving. He was growing nervous at the thought of revealing secrets long buried and looked to his work instead of the girl at his side as he continued. “Amelia. I didn't think it was my place to say anything before, but now perhaps you should know something," he ventured. 

However, Amelia soon grew uncomfortable and attempted to push away the topic that caused a deep chasm to open within her chest. "It's alright, I know my father abandoned her when she was pregnant," she said dismissively, rubbing her thumb over the sapphire in silent apology to her mum. 

Aberama's hands dropped to his sides as he stopped to look at Amelia with a look of confusion, mixed with pain. "No, child, he loved that woman."

Amelia scoffed, "You must have him mistaken for someone else. He never wanted her...or me," she noted bitterly.

"That's where you're wrong," Aberama corrected. “Your parents were very much in love, but your grandfather kept them apart because of a feud.”

“Dad never mentioned that last part,” Amelia said, knitting her brows. 

Aberama considered the piece of wood he held in his hand as he said, “I doubt he knew his father’s deceitfulness caused him to lose Izzy.” He glanced up at Amelia with a mournful look, wishing he weren’t the one to tell her this.

“Your grandfathers were friends. Well, they gambled quite a lot together,” he corrected himself. “Izzy’s father owed money to Tommy's father and in 1914 they began to quarrel," he explained. Amelia leaned forward unsure if she wanted to hear more. Aberama took a deep breath before continuing. "Soon after Izzy fell pregnant and her father came to believe it was some kind of retribution. He was outraged that the Shelbys would collect a debt in such a manner so he sent her away. Said he’d be damned if she married a man with no honor. Of course, your father went to war and by the time he returned, you and your mother were long gone.”

Amelia's eyes were wide with shock and disbelief, wondering if this misunderstanding could be the cause of so much pain. Furrowing her brow she asked the question still lingering in her mind. “But…that doesn't explain why my father never looked for her," she said accusingly.

"He did. For years he asked my family for help, but we never found her,” he said in a voice close to a whisper. Amelia could see the look of regret etched on his face and didn’t ask anything more, choosing to sit in pensive silence. She knew there was little else he could have done to help, time ticking away the years her mother had left before fever claimed her life. She knew from Polly’s stories that in those years Tommy became a hardened criminal and any suspicion the family had about him was cemented in his deeds with the Peaky Blinders.

Amelia’s fingertips lingered over her necklace as she thought of the promise it contained and she realized her father had told the truth when he said he was coming back for his true love after France. She sat back against a log, taking in a deep breath as she closed her eyes and imagined her parents together. It healed her fractured heart to know that they had been happy for a brief time and in a way, their love remained through her.

With the fire crackling between them, Aberama studied Amelia and watched a look of contentment settle over her face. He placed his knife in his pocket with a nod, standing and brushing himself off before leaving the campfire. As she listened to his footsteps, Amelia’s eyes opened and she called out, “thank you.”

Aberama turned back and tipped his head toward her in acknowledgment before joining Polly in their vardo.

———————————

Amelia didn’t spend much time with Bonnie when they first set off into the mountains. He reminded her of the awful night at Arrow House that drove them all away. Sometimes when she looked at him she blamed his jealousy, and the temper Aberama claimed he inherited from his mother, for what happened. However, as time passed, she found it hard to hold a grudge. As her own mood improved she became curious to know Bonnie, though occasions were now rare seeing that he often kept his distance from her.

Sitting by the riverbank, Amelia watched Bonnie cross a log, his feet swift and sure, never faltering, and it reminded her of the day in the boxing ring when he'd shown such promise. Suddenly she found herself thinking of everything he’d given up that night in the garden after she dared to spit in Mosley's face, provoking his animalistic impulses. 

Unable to contain the question as it came to her she blurted out, “Do you hate me?”

Bonnie wobbled on the log for the first time, looking over at her in surprise. He'd waited for the moment Amelia might speak to him again. He feared she might never trust him after the beating he gave Mosley. Thoughts echoed in his mind about the brutality she’d witnessed from him, even after she yelled for him to stop, protesting how she could have managed on her own. But the image of Mosley's hand against her throat as he ripped Amelia's dress replayed on a loop nearly every night and he knew he’d do it all again if necessary to keep her from harm.

Without a hint of hesitation, he replied to her question, “Course I don’t hate ya.” He made his way to the end of the log and jumped down, joining her on the soft grass. “What makes you say that?”

“You’ll never get to live your dream now. Don’t you remember the day in the gym when you told me you wanted to be a champion?” Amelia asked sadly, turning her face away from Bonnie and hiding in her shoulder. 

“I didn’t say that, dove. You did,” Bonnie reminded her gently, looking out over the river.

“What?” she asked in confusion.

“I said I didn’t want to waste my life and I’m not so long as I’m with you,” he replied.

Amelia peeked out from her hiding place, to glance at Bonnie. He laid back against the grass looking up at the passing clouds as he continued, “The day I met you in the stables, I knew you weren’t like anyone I’d ever met. You've got a wild spirit that makes ya fearless. Hell, sometimes I watch you just to see what you'll do next!" An easy laugh escaped his lips and he rolled over to lean on his elbow looking at Amelia as he turned serious. "If I never went back to boxing again, that’d be alright.”

“You’re lying,” Amelia sniffed, though she felt the truth behind the sentiment in the gentle way he spoke, without rushing his words.

Bonnie's heart caught in his chest as she began to cry. He moved toward her slowly, coming to kneel beside her. “M not. Even if you said you hated me, I’d stay.”

“Why?” she asked. “After all this..” she wondered aloud, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand.

Bonnie shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Stubborn, I reckon,” he said with a grin, ducking to catch her gaze.

“That’s it?” she giggled in spite of herself.

“No," he said with a soft shake of his head, hand brushing over the luscious grass as he plucked a daisy from the ground. "I’d like to get to know you better cos there’s something else I think I’d like to ask you one day,” he said, offering her the flower and the whole world all at once.

———————

Eight months later…

Arrow House was quiet with the children at school and Lizzie attending a meeting for one of her charities. Only Cyril was left to keep Tommy company on this cold winter’s day, but he didn’t mind. He was soaking in the last moments of tranquil solitude before the entire family would be reunited at last. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so at ease. With Mosley's assassination, his plans for the party could go forward and Bonnie and Amelia were now safe to return home.

A fortnight ago he sent Johnny Dogs to deliver a handwritten message, asking her home to talk and offering an apology for the way they parted. He finally found the words he’d been unable to speak months ago. Though the letter had unburdened his soul, he hadn't slept until he received word she would see him. He also promised Lizzie not to interfere with Amelia's plans after the visit, allowing her to choose her own path now that she was eighteen. 

As luck would have it, she and Bonnie arrived two days before Christmas looking well and much more agreeable than when they left. Tommy wondered what transpired in their time in the mountains, ushering them into his office for a chat. The pair beamed as they requested an audience with both Tommy and Lizzie, smiling from ear to ear. 

As drinks were poured and everyone found a seat in Tommy’s large study, Lizzie held her breath, noticing the obvious sparks between the young couple. Amelia was the first to speak, a glow about her as she excitedly announced her engagement to Bonnie Gold.

“And what, might I ask, happened to “not as long as I live?” Tommy asked incredulously from his place beside his wife.

“Shhh, Tommy,” Lizzie hushed him. Whispering in his ear, she reminded him of his promise to concentrate on Amelia’s happiness from now on. He waved her off, saying, “Alright, alright, Lizzie.”

“Of course, you have my blessing,” he said, standing and extending a hand toward Bonnie.

“Thank you, Mr. Shelby, sir,” Bonnie replied with a wide grin. He pumped Tommy’s hand with a bit too much vigor, excitement and adrenaline coursing through him. 

Lizzie rose from her seat to offer her congratulations to Bonnie and Amelia faced Tommy. She  clutched his letter she’d kept in her pocket since she’d received it. “I’m sorry too, Dad,” she whispered as he held her in a long embrace.

Tommy pulled away to study her dewy eyes asking, “What do you have to be sorry for, eh?”

“I said the worst things before I left. I was hurt, but I didn’t realize you were in pain too,” she managed in a shaky voice, stopping to look deeply into his eyes. “I’m sorry you lost mum, but you won’t lose me again,” she promised.

The breath left Tommy’s lungs as he listened to Amelia’s heartfelt declaration, leaving him speechless and happier than he’d felt all year. As Lizzie looked to them with a tilt of her head, she decided not to pry into their private moment. Instead, she asked the group, “Shall we ask Frances to open a bottle of champagne? We should celebrate properly!”

“We should,” Tommy agreed with a wide grin. “Me daughter’s home and she’s getting married. It’s a good day,” Tommy declared, staring back at Amelia with a look of pride. 

Lizzie looped her arm in his and they set out toward the dining room, peppering Bonnie with questions about his adventures, his easy laugh filling the corridor. 

Amelia watched them happily as she placed a hand over her necklace, feeling the presence of her mother beside her. She hadn’t experienced this kind of inner peace for a long time. The circumstances of her short life had taught her to be wary of this feeling as it was ever changing and tended to shift beneath her feet whenever she found herself on stable ground. However, when she married Bonnie Gold the following spring she knew it was everlasting. As she stood before him in a flowing white dress and a crown of daisies adorning her thick mane of dark curls, she was comforted by the quiet promise in his voice when he proclaimed, “I will love, honor and cherish you for as long as I live.”

----------

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[annasghosts]

Five Ways to Seduce a Wizard

@jilymicrofics written using the prompts Jam and Admiration. On Ao3

Lily looked up as Mary slapped the latest number of Witch Weekly on her bed. “That’s it. it’s 1977, a woman doesn’t have to wait for a man to make the first move.”

“Five ways to seduce a wizard.” Lily read. “What is this, Mary?”

“This, my friend, is the way to push our oblivious Quidditch captain to get his head out of his arse and his tongue into your mouth.”

“MARY!”

1 – Eating can be sexy, show him.

“Lily?”

“Yes?” She asked, smiling coyly at James. She couldn’t believe it had been that easy, but maybe the journalist had known what she was talking about after all.

“Is there something wrong with the jam?”

“No, why?”

James frowned at her, confused. “You keep licking it. I know you don’t like to waste food, but you shouldn’t have to eat it if it has gone bad.”

2 – Make him feel like your knight in shiny armour.

As she approached him at the end of the prefects meeting, Lily was feeling quite confident. Yes, the jam had been a slight miscalculation, but this was going to work, everyone knew James had a hero complex.

“Hi, James.”

“Hi, Head girl,” he said with a wink, “everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m ready for rounds, even if I feel a bit tired tonight.” She shrugged in a very casual way and looked at him through her eyelashes. “I might need someone to hold me up.”

“Oh, if you’re tired you should rest.” He looked at the list in front of him. “Fawley? Fancy switching patrol rounds with Lily?” Lily’s mouth dropped open as the Seventh year Hufflepuff nodded her agreement and James smiled back at her. “Problem solved.”

3 – Every man likes a home cooked meal.

Lily wasn’t much of a cook, but she still felt optimistic as she walked up from the kitchens with a fresh batch of homemade chocolate fudge. Everyone liked chocolate fudge.

“Oi, Evans!”

She turned and smiled as James approached her. Perfect. “Hi. I made some fudge.”

“Oh!” James’ eyes widened before his face broke into a wide smile. “You’re the best.” Lily frowned at his comment. Not exactly the romantic declaration she’d been thinking of but- “How did you know nothing cheers Remus up more after a full moon than fudge?”

“Oh. Well, everyone likes fudge.”

4 – Admiration is key.

Lily wasn’t sure if she should feel offended or not as James kept misunderstanding her attempts of seducing him, but she felt the forth advice on the list held some merit. James had always enjoyed admiration and there was no reason why he couldn’t appreciate it from her. With that in mind she leaned towards him, peering down at his Transfiguration essay. “Another O.” She said, smiling. “I’ve always been envious of how brilliant you are at Transfiguration.”

A loud silence followed her words as James looked at her, stunned.

“Are you sick, Evans?” Sirius interjected, pocking his head out from behind James’ shoulders.

“I feel perfectly fine, thank you.”

“You look flushed.”

“Ugh. You are such an obnoxious prat!” She said and turned back to her own essay. Bloody Sirius Black.

“Now I recognize you.”

5 – Touch can convey your interest like nothing else.

Potion was the one class where they shared a desk, no obnoxious mates of his to interrupt them.

“You should stir more gently.” She said, reaching out to hold and guide his hand.

“Oh, you can-” James reached awkwardly for her other hand and wrapped it around the wooded stick, taking his hand away as soon as she got hold of it.

Lily frowned, but didn’t say anything. As the class drew to an end with James carefully keeping his distance from her Lily was starting to feel more and more confused so, when Slughorn praised their work, she moved to grab his hand, thinking if he didn’t respond she could play it off as a friendly gesture, but as soon as her fingers grazed his wrist he jumped away from her, promptly pouring their potion all over the floor. “Fuck.”

“MR POTTER!”

+1 – Be yourself?

“Lily, I’m really worried about you.”

She turned to see James stare at her. There was genuine concern in his eyes and she sighed, he had to be that nice. No consideration for her silly crush at all.

“Why?”

“You aren’t acting like yourself.”

“I feel fine, James.”

“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He looked so earnest Lily couldn’t help but laugh. “Here.” She dropped the article in his lap and watched as his eyes widened behind his glasses.

“This- you-”

“The jam? Yes. Asking you to hold me during patrol? Yes, again. And guess what? Admiring your Transfiguration skills? Done that too! Touching? You can blame our first D in Potion on that.”

James spluttered. “But you don’t fancy me!”

“Why would you say that?”

“Bullying toerag? Would rather date the Giant Squid?”

“James, that was almost two years ago.”

“Oh.” He said, a smirk slowly taking over his face. “And what does the article suggest if all moves fail?”

“Probably something about the oblivious wizard getting his head out of his arse and snogging the very patient witch that fancies him.”

[diakaoniii]

— kanato sakamaki

“Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!! HOW DARE YOU BETRAY ME!? ANSWER ME! YOU'RE MİNE AND ONLY MİNE DOLL! GOT IT!? IF YOU REALLY LOVE ME, WHY LET HIM SUCK YOUR BLOOD THEN!? SPEAK! NOW! Oİ! WHY ARE YOU STİLL SİLENT? I TOLD YOU TO ANSWER ME!? ”

You were so terrified that you were shaking all over your body. Your face was coated in a delicate layer of bruises. Your lips were becoming bloody from the bleeding that was coming from your nose. It crushed his heart to think that your girlfriend, who you cared so deeply about, was the one who had done all of this to you. Crying and sniffling could be heard outside the room. Even the items that he had given to you as a gift were destroyed by him. He didn't even let you explain yourself. You felt love for him, and you promised yourself that you would never cheat on him.

You always loved him.

You are just a human girl, nothing more. You were no match for a vampire's incredible physical prowess. Because of this, you were unable to stop Ayato from drinking your blood regardless of how much you protested.

So why did he put the blame on you? It was not your fault that you lacked physical strength.

You couldn't even get the courage to utter a word at this moment. He was glaring at you with rage, and it only took one careless statement from you to bring about your own demise.

At long last, you summoned all of your strength, and with weeping eyes and a terrified expression, you faced him head-on. You began talking in a trembling voice hoping he would remain calm and listen to what you had to say.

" Kanato-San… I r-really a-apologize. I swear to the G-god that I did not c-commit deceive to y-you. I-I never a-act in such a manner. I… I l-love you s-so much… I j-just did n-not have the ability to f-fight ag-gainst him. I a-ask that you k-kindly pardon me. Stop inflicting pain on me a-already!

You were crying even louder than previously while speaking these words. You cannot control your sobbing. You did it gently, but eventually you slid your head down between your legs. Your frail body was quivering in response to the terrifying thought. Will he have mercy on you? Despite the fact that it is not your responsibility…

Your sobs had the whole space completely taken up. Kanato was quiet. Silent, worries you even more. You gently raised your head, the tears in your eyes causing them to swell up. You were just sniffling a little. When he glanced at you, his eyes were lifeless, but he had a malicious smile on his face.

“Fufufu~ y/n-san. You look adorable even while you're shaking with fear.”

Your eyes grew wider in response to the threat. You felt even more uneasy in the presence of his soulless gaze and savage smirk. You jerked your head to the side as soon as you saw that he was steadily lowering himself to your level. Would he hit you one more time? Simply to gauge your level of fear, okay?

He sneered as he licked your tears as he had a firm grip on your chin and tilted your head towards him. Your tears, your sorrow, your sobbing merely delighted him.

“Fufu… you are so cute when you are cry, y/n-san.”

He stepped back, surprising you with his generosity, and stared at your terrified face while grinning in a way that made you feel sick to your stomach. His initially delighted visage gradually transformed into a lifeless, expressionless mask. The emotionless manner in which he spoke to you only heightened the terror you were already experiencing.

“Y/n-san. I will slaughter them all because they had the audacity to touch what is mine, Fufu, I will slaughter them all. As for you... perhaps I should amputate your limbs! In order for me to have total control over you. You won't be able to go anywhere without me. You will never deceive me. You cannot give your blood to anyone but me. You can't leave me~! The most essential thing of all, you will literally you will be my most precious doll. ”

Kanato became even more pleased when he saw your terror in your eyes. He gripped your cheeks with both hands, and drew you closer to his face.

“Fufu~ Do not be concerned, my doll. I will make sure that you do not feel pain. I promise I will look out for you at all times. Since you are my doll and I am your owner. Say, y/n-san~. Isn't that just the epitome of romance? Fufufu~.”

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

PS, I love you

Love letters begin appearing in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Professor Sharp never send his own. He doesn't have to.

The night between Aesop seeing Sebastian's letter and Reader's gentle rejection in the morning, is the night his leg is acting up and she holds him to her. This observation was brought to my knowledge by @tea-withjamandbread who I am convinced now is a genius with 200+ IQ

I'm fairly certain my next fic will be pwp

PS, I love you (4.2k words)

tw: suggestive themes (mentioned), slight angst, aesop sharp needs a hug, cheesy

"Oi, knock it off, Prewett!" Andrew Larson shouted once more, trying to reach a piece of parchment that was currently held in Leander Prewett's hand, high above his head and out of Andrew's reach entirely. "Haha, what's wrong, Larson? What's so bloody secret about this? Is it a recipe for a growing potion, so that you can finally be taller than a fifth year?" 

"You utter git, Prewett!" Andrew snarled and began reaching for his wand. He was promptly hit with a full body bind curse by the tall redhead. "Now let's see," said Leander with a mean glee in his voice and began reading.

The students who were currently in the Clocktower Courtyard with the two boys finally stopped pretending to mind their own business, when Andrew's bound body hit the ground, turning around to look at them fully. A few students rushed to Andrew's aid.

"Oh, oh! Listen to this everyone!" Leander began giggling and cleared his throat. 

"Finite," came a cast from your wand. Andrew's body relaxed, but he didn't sit up. He didn't even open his eyes. His face was taking on a deep red hue. 

"Dear Nerida," Leander read with a mocking, dramatic voice, "you are more beautiful than the moon reflecting on the dark waters of the Black lake, by which you so often sit-" "Shut up, Leander!" You shout at the Gryffindor, finally realising just what sort of letter it was, and why Andrew seemed to want the ground to swallow him whole.

"Come on, (F/N), don't be such a spoilsport, this is hilarious!" Replied Leander, before resuming reading the love letter aloud, "your smile shines brighter than the lacewing flies in the middle of the night, and your voice is like a heavenly sympho- Arghh!" A descendo hit Leander straight in the chest and his body made swift, hard contact with the ground. The impact pushed the breath out of his lungs, and left him coughing and gasping on the ground. Everyone looked around, searching for the person who fired the spell.

It was Nerida herself. She walked to Leander, still lying on the ground, angrily and snatched the letter out of his hand. "That'll teach you to snoop through someone else's correspondence!" She spit out before placing the letter into her robes. Andrew sat up in the meantime, his head hung low. You and a few students encouraged everyone else to get back to their knitting as Nerida slowly walked towards the Ravenclaw.

"Did you really mean all that, Andy?" She asked, a little shy smile on her face. Andrew looked up at her suddenly, cheeks still burning: "I-I… Y-yes, of c-course I did! I do!" Nerida smiled once more and fidgeted with her hands, looking away as a similar flush appeared on her cheeks: "then maybe we could… I don't know, we could go to Hogsmeade during the weekend?"

And so began a little era of love letters at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

—

Love letters began appearing all throughout Hogwarts. Sometimes they were anonymous, oftentimes they were not. Sometimes they led to new couples forming. There weren't just romantic letters, though. 

Many girls and a few boys also took to sending love letters to their friends. They'd be thankful for their friendship, and write out all the things they adored about them. Girls could often be seen hugging each other after reading the letters from their friends. Boys wouldn't really react the same way, but one could occasionally see them blushing when reading such a heartfelt note from their friend. Nobody was ridiculed anymore for putting their feelings on paper, not after Nerida and Andrew began going out following Andrew's letter’s reveal, looking as happy and in love as can be. 

There were letters sent to the staff as well, notes of respect, admiration, fondness. They were platonic, of course (save for a few anonymous letters Professor Garlick received), and generally well-received. Mirabel got so many, she soon didn't know what to do with them, while Abraham Ronen almost immediately sent them to his wife to see, full of pride and utmost joy. 

There was an unspoken rule to not send prank letters to the staff, and especially not to Black. He was blissfully unaware of the trend that began in his school, but if someone was to send him some untasteful anonymous prank, Merlin knows what he might do. Make a rule to check each and every letter and parcel? Maybe ban post altogether?

You were rather enjoying this situation. You wrote quite a few letters to your friends and received some in return. The first two were from Natty and Poppy, unsurprisingly, but more followed. There was a short but sweet letter from Ominis and a slightly longer letter from Amit. You made sure to hug both boys, rendering them flustered but very happy.

You also wrote letters to every staff member (except for the Headmaster). You added a phoenix feather to your letter to professor Howin, wrote the letter for professor Weasley along with Deek, the letter for Ronen was transfigured into a swarm of butterflies that would fly into his classroom and form into an envelope right before his eyes, and so on. You saved professor Sharp for last.

You stared at the blank piece of parchment for a long time. There were so many things you wanted to tell him, to let him know how you feel. How much you really adored him, how safe he made you feel, how much you longed to feel his hands on you, to get lost in his strong arms, to feel his lips on your own... But you just couldn't bring yourself to confess. Not yet, at least. Not when you weren't sure that he felt the same way. His rejection would tear at your heart, your soul, way more painfully than your longing did. What you wrote was:

‘Dear professor Sharp,

Thank you for everything. There were moments in my life during which I felt hopeless, and lost, and broken. And if you weren’t there for me, I most likely wouldn't be here today. I admire you greatly, and I hope you don’t mind me saying that I am very fond of you as well. It's an honour to be able to learn from you, and I cannot imagine how I'd fare without you here.

Yours truly,

(F/N) (L/N)’

Was it too obvious? Too straight forward? What if he thought it was a prank? Hopefully he wouldn't - he knew you were always honest with him. Well, almost always, seeing as you held yourself back from straight up admitting your love for him. 'Professor Sharp, I love you'. 'PS, I love you'. Instead you wrote: 'PS, looking forward to our next chat over tea.'

You  walked over to the Owlery, hoping the November air would clear your head and calm your nerves a bit. You attached the letter to Diana's leg, scratching the owl under her chin. "Bring this to professor Sharp," you said softly. The dark owl took off right away.

—

Aesop was of course aware of the little trend that broke loose in Hogwarts, but didn’t really care as long as it didn’t disturb his lessons. To his surprise, he too received a few letters of appreciation. Unlike Mirabel or Abraham, there weren’t many, but all of them seemed genuine. He wouldn’t admit it, but they did flatter him quite a bit.

After one of his lessons, however, a greater sooty owl flew into his classroom. His breath caught in his throat. “Hello, you,” he’d say in barely more than a whisper as the bird sat upon his desk elegantly, holding out her leg for him. She flies off again once he takes the letter attached to it, leaving a single feather behind on his desk. The door of his classroom closes shut following a flick of his wand. He had a free period now and should not be disturbed by anyone for the following two hours. 

He opened the letter and got to reading. His dark eyes softened as they glided over the words written in your elegant script, one of his hands coming up to support his chin. His heart hammered loud in his chest. Once he reached the letter’s end, his eyes went right back to the beginning. His letter was definitely different from the one Dinah received from you. It was no less respectful, but it felt more… heartfelt. Deeper, maybe? Perhaps he was reading too much into this. Maybe he was seeing things he wanted to see, things that weren’t actually there. 

Aesop sighed and put his face into his hands, staring at the letter on top of his desk. You were, well, friends. Considering your long conversations in his office, in his chambers, your mutual respect and understanding, you definitely stopped being simply ‘a teacher and his student’ some time ago. But were you even more than that? He couldn’t be sure, not absolutely. 

His thoughts were going a thousand miles per hour. He grabbed one of the blank rolls of parchment lying close by and opened it. Without thinking, he dipped his quill into ink and began writing.

‘Dear (F/N) Miss (L/N),

The moments I’ve spent in your company this last year and a half were some of the best of my entire life more enjoyable than I would have thought possible, and they became the highlight of my days. I am always more than glad to accept you over for tea and a talk, and I feel honoured to have your affection friendship. Whatever you do once you graduate in June, I hope you won’t be a stranger, and will visit your old potions master. That is, if  you wish time allows you to do so. You have grown into an accomplished, clever, beautiful young woman, and I wholeheartedly believe that you can achieve anything you set your mind to.’

He looked at the parchment with a heavy sigh. Even if he wrote the entire thing again, without the crossed out words, he still didn’t think he’d ever be able to send it…

‘You’ve no idea what you’re doing to me,’ he wrote next, his handwriting not nearly as neat as before. He was not going to send this letter anyway, so why bother. ‘ You’ve no idea what you make me feel, do you? I’m an old, crippled, ex-Auror potions master, but everytime I’m with you, I feel like a bloody teenager again. Merlin… it’s so despicable of me to want you this way, but when you’re with me, I… I almost feel like you return these sentiments. That you look at me the same way.

I feel so horribly shameful when I see you waltzing around the school in your uniform, but when we met in The Leaky Cauldron before the term started, for just those few hours I thought… I thought I actually had a chance. A chance to hold you in my embrace, to kiss your sweet lips, to feel your young body curl into my own. When you sat opposite of me, in that beautiful gown, looking like a dream come true, I wanted to pull you against me and never let go. I wanted to drag you off to one of the rooms and, just for a while, forget that I’m your professor and that you’re my student. To, just for a while, pretend that we’re nothing but a man and a woman, surrendering to their most basic emotions and desires.

Every time you look at me with those brilliant eyes of yours, I am in heaven, and I am in hell. Your gaze, it scorches me, it makes my guilt burn in my chest… And yet, at the same time, it sets my blood aflame. It makes me want to surrender to you entirely. It makes me imagine what must it be like to have your body in my arms, under my own, to be allowed to touch you, and-’ Oh, Merlin! Aesop was breathing heavily, a deep flush on his face. To his horror, he felt himself aroused in his trousers. He truly was a deplorable, depraved creature, wasn’t he?

It was foolish of him. What could he even offer you, other than an entirely too old, gruff ex-Auror with a lame leg? Other than his love, his heart. He put his head into his hands. He willed his excitement down, making a mental list of ingredients needed for a successfully brewed Felix Felicis potion. He crumpled the parchment into his overcoat pocket. It wasn’t a love letter. It wasn’t a letter at all, more like mad rambling of a foolish beast of a man. 

Maybe he could still salvage the first part, make something innocent and kind out of it. You deserved it. Your letter moved him, it was only fair he wrote something in return. He was going to, in the evening. For now, he just needed to calm down. The seventh years would be arriving for their NEWT class soon, and you’d be there with them. He had to keep a straight face, keep his treacherous mind out of the gutter, keep his heart from beating too fast or too loud.

An hour later, when you entered the classroom, professor Sharp was leaning against the edge of his desk, observing your classmates with a bored expression as they made their way to their potions stations. When your eyes connected, however, there was a little spark in them. You nodded at him with a smile, and, if you didn’t spend so much time around him, you might’ve missed the tiniest little twitch of his mouth in reply.

The class was frankly uneventful. Everyone, even the Weasley boy, were extra careful as they brewed their Essence of Insanity potions. Seems nobody was too keen on going actually mad during his class. He hobbled around the classroom, offering occasional critique and advice, a few words of praise even, once or twice. He had to admit, this years’ graduating students were quite capable. He stopped by your potion for a bit, looking over your shoulder as your hand stirred the cauldron’s contents elegantly. He hummed in quiet approval. 

When he moved over to the middle of the room, he wanted to at first reprimand Mr Sallow for having some clutter on his work station, but when he saw just what it was, his voice died in his throat. It was a piece of parchment and a quill, lying by his potion book, and your name was written on it in the Sallow boy’s scrawl. Pretending to be looking at the lad’s ingredient cutting technique, he read the first few lines.

‘Dear (F/N),

Sorry to be probably the last one to write to you, but it took me a while to think up what it actually was I wanted to say. You’re a good friend, and one of the most important people in my life, but I was kind of hoping that we could become more than just friends…’ Aesop couldn’t read any longer. He turned away with a huff and limped morosely over to his desk.

A feeling of horrible jealousy overtook him, and it took all of his willpower not to set Sallow’s letter ablaze, making a fool of himself in his own classroom. He had absolutely no right to feel this jealousy, he had no claim on you. And even if he did, it wouldn’t make him entitled to meddle into the private lives of his students. He was such a fool. That’s what hurt the worst, in fact, how foolish he was. 

You spent a lot of time with him, yes, but you also spent a lot of time with the Slytherin lad. You clearly cared about him, but did you care about him in the same way Sallow cared about you? It would make sense… It would make so much more sense for the two of you to be together, than you being with your gruff professor. His heart hurt terribly. He didn’t leave his chair until the end of class, accepting your bottled and marked potions on his desk wordlessly. When your kind eyes fell upon his own, when they asked him if he was alright, he wanted to give you an encouraging little smile. What formed on his face was a pained grimace.

When his last class ended, he made his way to his chambers, not even bothering to go to the Great Hall for supper. He fished out the parchment from within his pocket and read what he had written. Dear Merlin… He really was deplorable. He wanted to toss the blasted thing into his fireplace, only, as he pulled back his arm to throw, he found he quite… couldn’t. Though the words he wrote should never ever appear in front of your eyes, he had to admit that he meant every single one of them. He hasn’t said or written anything so… sincere for a long time. Many years, in fact. He couldn’t bring himself to destroy it. So instead, he simply crumpled up the parchment and tossed it somewhere to his left. Maybe he’d forget about it, and then destroy it some other time unknowingly. 

—

Professor Sharp went to breakfast early the next day, hoping to avoid as many students and colleagues as he could, his mood even worse than the previous day. However, when he saw what awaited him downstairs, in front of the large door leading to the Great Hall, it took everything within him not to throw himself over the railing of the stairs. 

There were you and the Sallow boy, both of you having arrived not too long ago, it seemed. He had absolutely no wish to pass the two of you on his way inside the Great Hall, so he just hid behind one of the pillars and leaned his back against it. If anyone was to see him like this, he could always say his leg was simply hurting too much and he needed to rest for a while. It wouldn’t have been exactly a lie, his leg really did hurt something horrible since yesterday.

It wasn’t his fault the two of you were talking so loud he could hear you almost perfectly.

“So… you read it then?” asked Sebastian, and Sharp could hear the anticipation in his words. There was a moment of silence. “I did,” came your voice now. Sharp hated himself for it, but he felt strangely happy, when he realised your voice was more sheepish and awkward, rather than pleased and excited. “I read it, and I spent half the night awake, trying to come up with an answer. Well, I realised that it’s probably better I tell you myself, in person.” 

Aesop’s eyes were closed, and he listened intently. “I’m sorry Seb, but I just… I don’t feel about you this way. You too are my friend, and you’re very important to me, but I just… I see you more like a brother than anything else.” Sharp could have cried. He did feel slightly bad for the young Slytherin, but he also couldn’t stop himself from releasing a quiet sigh of relief. By Salazar, he was one selfish bastard, wasn’t he.

“I-...” Sebastian said, “i-it’s alright. I understand.“ “Are you mad at me, Seb?” you asked, your voice worried. “No, I’m not. Of course I’m not. How could I be mad at you, it’s not your fault you don’t see me like… that. Just tell me… there isn’t a chance you’d ever… you know. Change your mind?” There was another moment of silence. “No, there’s not. I’m sorry.”

Sebastian Sallow heaved a sigh: “Alright. Well, at least I know that… “ he sniffed audibly. “I’m so sorry, Sebastian. Come here,” Aesop didn’t see you, but he could clearly imagine you pulling the taller boy into your embrace shortly. “Sorry. I’ll be alright, promise,” said Sebastian with a heavy voice, “let’s just go to breakfast, shall we? I don’t want to keep… just standing out here.” The potions master heard the ‘alone, with you.’ Sallow didn’t say. He knew best how difficult it was to be alone with you and not be able to love you. 

He stood there, leaning against the pillar, for a long time, even after your and Sallow’s footsteps disappeared behind the doors to the Great Hall. “Aesop? Are you alright, dear? Leg acting up again?” He opened his eyes to see Dinah Hecat standing a few metres away from him, looking concerned. “Morning,” he said with a wry grin, “it’s alright. It just… flared up for a while, but it’s fine now. Breakfast?”

—

Your lover excused himself for a while, leaving you alone in his chambers. You went to sit in one of the armchairs, waiting for his return, when you heard something make a crumpling sound underneath you. You stood up again, looking at the seat curiously. There was something peeking out from the tiny space between the cushion and the backrest. You carefully plucked the something out. It was a crumpled piece of parchment, maybe some sort of scrapped potion recipe? You unfurled it, intent on putting it away if it turned out to be some of Aesop’s private correspondence.

It was Aesop’s private correspondence indeed - addressed to you. It was a mess of scratched out words, and it seemed he stopped caring to make the text legible at some point, but it was definitely a letter for you.

You didn’t want to snoop, he surely must have had some reason to not send this to you but… but you couldn’t help it. It took only the first few words for you to realise exactly what it was. It was his reply to the love letter you sent him months ago. He never sent one.

You read with bated breath, observing the care he took not to accidentally reveal to you the extent of his feelings. Until he didn’t. Until he probably realised he was never going to send the letter. You felt your face growing hot as you read his words, his proclamations of love and desire, of his longing. Your heart swelled and pounded in your chest. 

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” came Aesop’s voice from the door of his chambers, so absolutely different from the one he used in his classroom. Your head snapped towards him, the deep blush on your cheeks clearly evident. His brown eyes looked at you curiously, before moving to the parchment in your hand. “I’m so sorry, Aesop,” you stood up immediately, your cheeks still burning, but now from embarrassment and guilt, “I know I shouldn’t have. It was partly behind the armchair cushion.” 

The potions master blinked slowly, before coming over to you, his eyes on the ground. “It’s alright,” he said, “it was addressed to you, after all, I just… didn’t know it was still there. I thought Deek might have perhaps thrown it out when he was cleaning my room.” You came over to stand before him. The two of you observed one another wordlessly for a while. “I’m sorry, darling, I do realise the letter is a bit-” “It’s beautiful,” you said quickly. Aesop didn’t expect to be interrupted the way he was, and it took him a second to realise what you just said. “What?” he replied eloquently. 

“The letter, it’s beautiful, Aesop. I’m sorry to have… read it the way I did, without your consent, but believe me when I say that it’s the most beautiful letter I’ve ever read…” “I-… thank you, I…” he still wasn’t quite looking at you. Your hands came up to touch his face, the stubble on his jaw leaving a prickling sensation on the skin of your palms. “I meant every word, you know,” he said in a voice so quiet, you almost didn’t hear him, “but I wasn’t sure if the words would be welcome… Even now...”

You clicked your tongue upon hearing his admission. “Such a clever man, and such silly thoughts…” you spoke gently, before standing up on your tiptoes. You captured his chapped lips with your own, softly at first, but your tongue soon teased at the seam of his mouth. He granted you entrance without a second of hesitation, his strong arms almost automatically going to curl around your waist and pull you impossibly close to his body. 

The kiss soon became intense, passionate, your tongues dancing sensually with each other. Your fingers were in his hair, and one of his hands was gripping your hip. Soft sounds were being muffled by your hungry mouths, and you were starting to feel seriously hot in your uniform. You were both breathing heavily once you finally parted, your faces flushed and your eyes darkened with excitement.

“Aesop,” you said breathlessly, “would you like to know what I actually wanted to write in my letter to you?” His eyelids were heavy, his eyes darker than a moonless night. They were smouldering, intense, like the mouth of a volcano, and you found yourself wanting to burn. “Tell me,” he said, his voice clouded by arousal. “Actually,” you chuckled breathily, “it’ll be better if I show you…”

Much later, when you were lying in each others’ embrace, exhausted and sated, you used your finger to write a few simple words on the bare skin of his back.

‘PS, I love you.’

Hello! I hope you enjoyed reading. You can check out this story and all of my other stories over on AO3. I'm always happy for kudos and comments!

[sunshine-overload]

[BSTS] Main Story S4CH4 ‘The One Without’ - Part 1

pain, suffering even

Chapter 1

-starless office-

unei: Moving on to our next topic of discussion, who will be handling the January performance?

kei: It was originally planned to be Team B...

haseyama: What? You're still thinking of putting them on stage? B can't handle it so change it to some other team.

mizuki: The fuck? Who says we can't handle it?

haseyama: Who was it again that used a guy who was already half dead and turned the stage into a bloody mess? I'm all ears.

mizuki: Tch…

saki: (I hope Heath-san is doing ok...)

unei: But boss, Heath-san received a medical certificate stating that he was ill with bronchitis and that it would clear up in two weeks. He's slowly been returning to work too, I think he should be fine now!

mizuki: Exactly. Our new work can't be beat, there's no reason we shouldn't be able to perform it.

kokuyou: Oi, Mizuki.

rindou: ......

kei: Mizuki, this is not an issue in which you can decide everything yourself. Let's return to our respective teams for now, then in the next meeting we can—

-heath rushes into the room with zakuro-

heath: I'll do it.

saki: Heath-san?

haseyama: Hey what the hell do you think you're doing? This is a meeting between the team leaders, not you.

zakuro: My my, I deeply apologise for the trouble. I may be causing interference, but won't this make things easier to discuss?

kei: Zakuro, damn you...

zakuro: Well then, now that all the main actors are here, whatever shall you do, Mizuki?

mizuki: We're gonna do it, ain't that obvious? Heath said he wants to, so we will.

heath: Yeah.

mokuren: Wait. If you're getting on stage, then let us continue our New Year’s show instead, that's the better option.

mizuki: Huh? What, you got a problem with us, Mokuren?

haseyama: Regardless of the show's content, it is true the rest of the teams are in better condition. If you go ahead and collapse on stage again then who knows if someone will report us to the police.

zakuro: I see I see, the Boss' worries are not unfounded. ...Hm? Oh my what's a new C work doing over here.

mokuren: ...Zakuro.

heath: If you want a new work then we've got one of our own prepared too.

unei: Um, uhh...

kei: ...Haseyama, provoking them any further will just prove to be a waste of time. We'll make this show a versus between Team B and Team C, understood?

haseyama: Huh? So in the end Heath's still gonna be performing? Are you sure that'll work out?

kei: As a versus the total number of shows per team will be fewer compared to a solo performance. Therefore the risk will be lessened slightly.

haseyama: Hang on there, Kei-sama. Wasn't it during a versus that he collapsed last time? You can't guarantee anything.

kei: That's true. However no matter what we say these two aren't going to back down.

unei: Umm, so we're going to go ahead with the January show being a versus between B and C then?

mizuki: Sure. We'll kick their asses. Let's go, Heath.

heath: Ok.

-mizuki and heath leave-

zakuro: We shall also take our leave to make preparations, excuse us.

saki: (A versus between Team B and Team C... I hope everything goes well and without incident...)

mokuren: ...... (frown)

—end

-

Chapter 1 extra

-starless restaurant area-

akira: Next show was supposed to be B right? What happened to that?

takami: It appears it's been turned into a versus between B and C.

akira: Ooh ...Hm? Wait, versus? Why?

takami: I don't know the details either. It seems Team C proposed the idea of the versus.

akira: Huh? Mokuren did? What's his problem this time?

takami: As I said, I don't know either. Why not try asking Kokuyou about it? The owner and Kei have approved the versus already at least.

taiga: Yet another versus huh. This store sure does love them.

akira: Hmm~ I don't really get it, but it means Heath is getting up on the stage then?

taiga: Oh yeah, wonder what'll happen with that. He's been resting since he coughed up blood. It's been about half a year since then, right?

takami: You mean what happened in September last year?

taiga: It's been a decent amount of time, surely it means he's better now.

akira: I'm not so sure. That didn't really look like something you could just sleep off.

taiga: Well yeah... That's true.

takami: Whatever happens, we should all proceed with caution. So that even if something does go wrong, we'll be ready.

—end

-

Chapter 1 SideA

-rehearsal room-

heath: ...Phew.

mizuki: Hey, Heath. Are you ok?

heath: Yeah, I'm fine. Same as always.

mizuki: Alright. Listen, don't you dare go overdoing it. It's not like this is something worth throwing your life away over.

heath: ......

mizuki: Like sure I wanna kick Mokuren's ass, but if you collapse then there's no point. We haven't lost to C so far, so it doesn't really matter if we lose this one.

heath: It's fine, you don't need to worry. We won't lose.

mizuki: Duh, of course.

heath: Don't tell me you've gone soft, Mizuki.

mizuki: What? Of course not. We'll blow 'em away and take out the win like always.

heath: Yeah, good. I don't plan on holding you guys back either.

mizuki: Bring it on then.

heath: Sure.

—end

-

Chapter 1 SideA extra

-behind starless, evening-

kei: Heath.

heath: Piss off, I have no business with you.

kei: Just hear me out. I take it you have not forgotten what I said to you during your break.

heath: ...Who knows. I couldn't care less what you think. You said to make this performance a versus. That's it, the conversation ends there.

kei: I have not forgotten the incident that transpired during your versus with Team K.

heath: What, are you planning to put your winners privileges into effect now?

kei: That's not what I mean. Back then, you managed to hold out despite the dangerous situation you were in. I'm telling you to not needlessly waste your life.

heath: That wasn't me 'holding out'. It was just proof that wasn’t enough to kill me.

kei: ....... (frustrated)

heath: You're not my guardian or anything. My life... However much more of it I have left, I'll use it however I like. Don't you dare interfere with how I live it.

kei: ....….

kei: Right. Understood. I won't involve myself any further. I shall now address you as 'Kei from Starless' then. Your life is your own, use it however you please.

heath: I plan to.

—end

(tl note: In the B onsen trip story Kei said this to Heath: “It’s your life, use it however you please. However, if you make Saki sad that is the one thing I shall not forgive.”)

-

Chapter 1 SideB

-rehearsal room-

hari: So, in short our next performance has become a versus performance against Team B?

mokuren: Yep.

hari: We just performed for New Year’s and we’re already back on the stage...

qu: It's reckless isn't it. Do we even have any reason to oppose them?

mokuren: It doesn't matter if we have a reason or not. If there's an opportunity for us to stand on the stage then I'm taking it, that's all.

qu: It was dumb of me to ask.

kasumi: Ah, but the performance being a versus may be safer.

qu: Do you mean we can be more prepared if something happens?

kasumi: Yeah. In the worst case scenario, if it was just a B solo performance then if trouble occurred the show would need to be suspended. If that were to happen there'd be no way Team B or Heath would get off the hook without any punishment.

hari: True. Not only they themselves, but our management's ability would also be doubted in that case.

kasumi: Instead of B dealing with a full schedule, in a versus we take half of the performances. Even if it's just to make sure Heath's ok to return, I don't think it's a bad idea.

qu: Well, I guess that is one way to look at it.

hari: We're only able to participate in this versus because we have a new work too. Despite it just being after the New Year's show, you've prepared well huh, Zakuro.

zakuro: Indeed indeed. It's too late to do anything once something has already occurred after all. It's often said that you have no need to worry if you're prepared.

mokuren: You just foresaw that things would turn out this way from the start didn't you?

hari: Is that true, Zakuro?

zakuro: Of course not, that would be truly awe inspiring. As if someone like me who does not even know their past would be able to predict the future.

mokuren: Whatever. We've decided we'll do it so we just have to win. That's all that matters.

—end

-

Chapter 1 SideB extra

-starless office-

yakou: Next is a Team B versus performance huh?

yoshino: Ah, yes. So it seems.

yakou: Even though they just went up against Team K in September, they're already challenging C...

sotetsu: Now that you mention it, Team B are kinda known for getting themselves into versus'.

yoshino: Well that's because they really do participate in a lot. I feel like B has featured on all the recent versus flyers.

yakou: That's true...

sotetsu: I mean, we're talking about the team who picked a fight with Team P the moment they were formed. That's just the kind of guy Mizuki is.

yoshino: I don't think that statement only applies to Mizuki.

sotetsu: That so? ...Hm, I see. When you think about it, all of B are fighting against something huh. They have Haseyama's intervention to worry about too.

yoshino: Yeah.

sotetsu: But it's fine isn't it? When it comes to hip hop you just have to keep dissing your opponent right? I think an element like our versus performances are needed for their rap game.

yakou: So you're saying that them participating in lots of versus is a result of their team's concept?

sotetsu: Exactly.

yoshino: Even if it was part of the team's concept, I wouldn't want to have to go about things like that...

sotetsu: Don't worry, you're the type that does things unconsciously.

yakou: Dang...

yoshino: Sotetsu... What do you mean by that?

sotetsu: Ah, nothing. C'mon let's get back to work, Yakou.

-sotetsu leaves-

yakou: Oh, yes.

-yakou leaves-

yoshino: Sigh...

—end

-

Chapter 2

-break room-

mokuren: Kongou.

kongou: Oh, Mokuren. Did you need me for something?

mokuren: Is your MC doing ok?

kongou: You mean Heath? Well, I'm not so sure... His condition doesn't look much different from usual at least.

mokuren: ...You're seriously saying that? To me it looks as though he’s already up to the shoulders in a coffin.

kongou: To the shoulders... A coffin isn't a bath... But, yeah, I do get what you're trying to say. Perhaps since we see him everyday we've grown indifferent to it. We've seen him looking paler and struggling to catch his breath even more than how he is currently, so we don’t notice it as much.

mokuren: I see.

kongou: Also, to put it bluntly, stopping Heath in general is difficult. We tell him to rest but he sneaks out and if we tell him to stop writing he doesn't. I guess we as Team B have a stance to keep going until we can't anymore.

mokuren: Hmph, so you'll only stop when an incident occurs then?

kongou: Mm... You may be right. It's possible things may end up that way at this rate.

mokuren: Well, whatever. If that's what you lot want to happen then go ahead.

kongou: Sorry for all this. I tried to push for C to perform instead of us.

mokuren: Don't worry about it. All I plan to do is move forward according to my own beliefs. I suppose Heath is doing the same. Sorry for bothering you.

kongou: No worries. Let's both do our best in the show, see you.

-kongou leaves-

mokuren: ......

mokuren: The two of us will never understand one another, ever.

—end

-

Chapter 2 extra

-outside the front of starless, night-

maica: Good work today.

sinju: Ah, you too, Maica. Let's walk to the station together.

maica: Sure, let's go.

-time pass, street, night-

sinju: Hey, recently hasn't everyone been really on edge backstage?

maica: What do you mean on edge?

sinju: Hm... like, everyone seems nervous? That's just the vibe I get.

maica: Ooh. True, the atmosphere has been a bit tense.

sinju: Right, you think so too?

maica: It feels as though Kei and Takami are making arrangements for something. If I had to guess... It's probably because of Heath.

sinju: Ah... You're right. It wouldn't be good if his condition deteriorated again like last time.

maica: Yeah. When I heard him sing from the floor though he seemed the same as always. But, I don't know how to explain it, but it feels as though it's lacking some punch.

sinju: Really? I haven't picked up on anything like that. Sometimes I think that Heath is really amazing though. I'm not entirely familiar with the direction of his shows, but when he gets on stage he's like an entirely different person. I don't think I could ever sing like that.

maica: ...I don't think Heath is putting as much power into his performance as he'd like, though. There's an urgency to it... As if he's backed into a corner.

sinju: Backed into a corner?

maica: I don't really understand it myself either. But when I watch Heath that's the sense I get.

sinju: Hmm, maybe it's because he had to be admitted to the hospital... I suppose all we can do to help is work our shifts and be there to support both teams.

maica: Yeah, I think that's fine.

—end

-

Chapter 2 SideA

-rehearsal room-

ran: Hey, Mizuki. Are ya really gonna continue with this?

mizuki: Huh? Continue with what?

ran: This versus. Heath is clearly overdoin' it.

mizuki: .......

ran: It's fine if we step down now n' take the loss. There's no need for him to risk his life over this.

mizuki: ...Heath said he would do it. So, we won't stop until we've won.

ran: Sigh....

ran: Look, Mizuki. We're all friends here. I get that ya respect Heath. But placin’ ya faith in someone and losin’ control of the situation are completely different things.

mizuki: What? Don't say things that are hard to understand.

ran: It's hard to oppose someone that ya like, I know that. However there are things that people aren't able to see for themselves, and it's the job of the leader to point those things out. Have ya ever opposed Heath before?

mizuki: Shut up already, I know all that. I'm thinking about it in my own way, don't interfere.

ran: Are ya sure? Things are gonna get real bad at this rate. 

—end 

-

Chapter 2 SideA extra

-starless office-

kokuyou: Oi, Mizuki.

mizuki: What?

kokuyou: Are you still going to let him keep singing? He didn't get enough proper rest, just how long are you planning to let him just do whatever he wants?

mizuki: Shut up. Of course Heath is gonna keep singing. Don't butt into our business.

kokuyou: I won't say anything if it goes well. But listen, Mizuki. Consider pulling back if things get dangerous. Especially if it's putting your team's life in danger.

mizuki: Even though you wouldn't pull back you're telling me to?

kokuyou: Do I seem that way to you? I know when to retreat when it's necessary. If you always just go in punching without thinking about it, you'll come to regret it eventually.

mizuki: I'm not withdrawing. I ain't scared of regret or shit like that. Do you really think I'd do something as lame as running away in the middle of a fight?

kokuyou: Sure, whatever.

-mizuki leaves-

kokuyou: ...That damn brat, even if I hit him there'd be no convincing him. They’re not gonna stop until they fall apart.

—end

-

Chapter 2 SideB

-behind starless, evening-

zakuro: Good evening, thank you for humouring me whilst you're so busy.

kei: No need for the formalities. Tell me your piece.

zakuro: I'll get right to the point then. As you've probably already noticed, Heath's body may have reached its limit... He's been in a worrying state many times already, but don't you agree it's especially grave right now?

kei: That may be so.

zakuro: My my, what a cold response. Are you ok with things continuing as they are?

kei: This is something that he has decided for himself. There is nothing I can do to convince him otherwise.

zakuro: I see, I see. In that case— If I were to tell you that I have a way to heal him... What would you do?

kei: What do you mean?

zakuro: I shall return Heath's body which he values so dearly back to its original state.

kei: Oh?

zakuro: Of course, I will not do so without compensation however.

kei: Hm. What is it that you desire?

zakuro: I simply ask that you step back from both Starless and the little bird. A cheap price to save a life, is it not? Since after all, in the end he is your—

kei: I refuse. Heath told me that he would use his life as he wants. I have no intentions to accept your offer here and tarnish his resolve.

zakuro: Hm... Meaning this is your answer then?

kei: Indeed.

zakuro: I see, I see...! What a poor pitiful little lamb, disregarded by you once again. Not once but twice, without your expression so much as wavering.

kei: I'm not in the mood to respond to your provocation. Is that all you wanted to say? Then I shall be going.

-kei leaves-

zakuro: ...He was a lot calmer about it than I'd expected. If this is going to become a war of attrition then I am the one at a disadvantage. I must carefully consider my next move.

—end

-

Chapter 2 SideB extra

-starless hallway-

nekome: Oh? If it isn't Zakuro. Good day.

zakuro: Greetings, Nekome. I see you're with the little bird?

saki: We met by coincidence outside. 

nekome: I was on my way back from the shops~ I feel as though luck is on my side. And so, what are you doing here, Zakuro? Do you not have a performance today?

zakuro: Indeed, I just had some minor business to attend to.

nekome: Hm? By the way, you were the one that brought Heath along to turn things into a versus, weren't you?

zakuro: If you mean I brought him to the meeting, then yes. I figured it was best for him to be there and then the show turned into a team versus.

nekome: I see…

saki: I hope Heath is ok...

nekome: Ah, true. He looked pretty pale, it's worrying.

zakuro: He is someone with a naturally pale complexion however he has been looking quite ghostly as of late. Even I am beginning to worry.

saki: (I don't want him to overdo it... Heath-san...)

nekome: I hope nothing bad happens.

zakuro: Indeed, I hope the same. As I too would be partly to blame if anything were to occur. Although I did whatever I could, he was too tough of a nut to crack. To think I've even caused the little bird's expression to cloud over...

saki: Oh no, I'm ok.

nekome: Well, let's just pray that the shows end without incident. Try cheering them on with a smile, Saki-chan. Or, if you still can't stop worrying, we can go and check together that he isn't pushing himself too hard.

saki: Yes.

zakuro: ...To make arrangements like that right under my nose. This is exactly why one cannot let their guard down.

nekome: Ahaha, call it a privilege of being an understudy. I have a lot more free time compared to the rest of you~ Do your best in the show today~ I'll be cheering you on with Saki-chan here.

—end

To Part 2

[therealbillybutcher]

There is an Englishman hom3land3r fancies, but it ain't you buster.

Oi! I'm the only "englishman" he knows, MATE. What the bloody hell am I doin? I don't even like the c*nt!

[toomanyclown]

NOOOO HE GOT BRAIN FREEZED NOOOO 😭

but!!! Where are the others! Are they doing anything or are they waiting for asks specific to them? Or if they’re all there would the room be too crowded?

Transcript: C: Well, we can pass the messages around to the others. Speaking of... this one is for you, blue jay. MS: Oi - I told you to stop bloody calling me th- . . . . . . . . What is the point of this?

[divinesapph]

"Love?"

Summary: Mc and asmo watch a romance movie together, and while asmo is busy fangirling over it, mc is briefly taking notes and decided to try 'something' on one of the brothers... reader: !gn, they/them prns. Type: short fic a/n: I was thinking about making this fic about mammon, to feed my brain rots for him, but I also wanted to do levi... so here's levi. P.s. If anyone wants me to start tagging them in these, dm me! (I got this idea from a pinterest post!) Link: https://pin.it/6xvL1mh

"Oh my!! That is so romantic!" The blonde haired demon yelped as he clung to your arms with teary eyes. "Oh, how it's giving me goosebumps! Don't you agree, mc--" You were so into the moment that you had to take in absolutely every single detail. And if that meant blocking everything and everyone else out, you were dedicated to do just that. You started mumbling to yourself; "Woah... What an astonishing way of showing affection. I could use this on--" "MC!" Asmo yelled, hoping that he'd finally get your attention. "Geez, you're more into the movie than I am." He dramatically whined. "What are you mumbling about anyway?" Asmo questioned with a dazed expression. "That's it! I'll do it first thing in the morning, right before we head off to RAD!" You happily exclaimed with imaginary stars in your eyes. "Huh...? What're you--" SLAM, and there you were, gone faster than wind could keep up. The next day... "I can't believe they made the new I accidentally ate my sister and turned into a flying gargoyle and accidentally murdered my entire family and made my dead ancestors in the second dimension become my slaves series into a book now! I'm totally gonna read the whole thi--" "Oi, nerdy otaku demon!" Said mc with a sly grin on their face. "Huh? What is i--" BOOM! You had completely kabedoned (kabedon'd? Is that a word??) Leviathan. "Whaddya say we finish watching that new anime series that just came o-" "WHAAAAAAAaaaaaAAAAAa" He helplessly shrieked. You 2 were really close, actually TOO close. Your faces almost touched. And his was as red as one of beels' favorite bloody cow liver sandwiches. "T-t-this c-c-c-cant be REAL!!! Stuff like this only happens t-to NORMIES in those romantic animes or fanfics!!!" "Wow...! Who knew mc could be so forward!" Asmo whispered in admiration. You slowly stepped away from levi as he was rambling about having a "y/n" moment; Whatever the hell that means. "Did I break him?" You questioned yourself. "No, no, no, you did it all wrong, mc!" Asmo sighed dramatically. "Huh?" You scratch your head in confusion as you tilt it slightly at his words. Asmo clicks his tongue, "You have so much to learn about love." "Love..?"

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev || AO3 || My website

Chapter 81: June 2017

[CLICK]

[HEAVY BREATHING, SLIGHT WHIMPER]

[SOUND OF A BODY DRAGGING ITSELF ACROSS A FLOOR]

[WHISPERS BEGIN, OVERLAPPING ONE ANOTHER, JUST LOUD ENOUGH TO BE AUDIBLE, ECHOING SLIGHTLY]

GHOST 1

—hurt me, please don’t hurt me, I won’t tell—

GHOST 2

—have any money, I swear, it all went into—

GHOST 3

—think you’re doing with that, you little—

GHOST 4

—away from me, you crazy witch, I’ll have the law on—

GHOST 5

—Bookmaster, she who holds the Keys—

GHOST 6

—feeling better, I promise I am, you can—

GHOST 7

—hurts, it hurts, please make it stop, I’ll do—

GHOST 8

—me say goodbye to Martin—Martin?

[Louder] Martin! Martin—my God, is that you?

ARCHIVIST

Aah! Wh-what—how—o-oh, God.

GHOST 8

I can’t believe…

Oi! Shut up, you lot, he’s not—just—just give us a minute.

[WHISPERS FALL SILENT]

Bloody hell. Like looking in a mirror…not sure where you got those eyes, though. Don’t think mine are that bright, are they?

ARCHIVIST

Who…what are you?

GHOST 8

[Broken laugh] You’re telling me you don’t recognize your old man?

ARCHIVIST

What?!

KIERAN

Look at you. You’ve…(heh) you’ve grown since I saw you last.

[ARCHIVIST GIVES A SOFT GROAN OF PAIN]

ARCHIVIST

I was seven years old…d-did you think I…was going to shrink?

[KIERAN GIVES A GENUINE LAUGH AT THAT]

KIERAN

I see you got my temper as well as my face. That must make your mother happy.

ARCHIVIST

Explains why she…hates me so much.

KIERAN

She doesn’t hate you.

ARCHIVIST

How would you know? You were—nngh—never there.

KIERAN

Are you—you’re bleeding. You’re hurt.

ARCHIVIST

[Through gritted teeth] Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.

KIERAN

Did they do this to you?

…

I’ll kill them. By God, I don’t know how, but I’ll kill them for this.

ARCHIVIST

Don’t pretend to c-care to justify—

[HISS OF PAIN, A COUPLE OF RAGGED BREATHS]

If you want to kill them…f-fine. Fine. Just don’t pretend it’s on my account.

KIERAN

What…Martin.

Of course I care. What makes you think I don’t?

ARCHIVIST

What do you think? You left.

KIERAN

For work. I was—you’re, you’re right, I was never there, not like I should have been, but it was because I was working.

ARCHIVIST

Mum—[gasps] Mum t-told me you…weren’t coming back.

KIERAN

[Deep breath] I won’t deny I…said some things I regret. But I didn’t mean them. I was coming back.

I asked your grandfather to make sure you knew you weren’t why I left early. Didn’t he?

ARCHIVIST

…

Well…yeah, he did, but…I, I always assumed…he was just trying to buck me up.

I mean, I f-figured if, if you really c-cared about me, you…wouldn’t have left me with…her.

KIERAN

Martin. Son, I…

Jesus, that’s bad. Let me see it.

…

Ah. Aye, I probably should’ve expected that.

ARCHIVIST

I-it’s…it’s not that bad.

KIERAN

Not that bad?!    You look like a Halloween decoration!

ARCHIVIST

T-trust me, I’ve had worse. (heh) Kind of sucks that—that it’s my…dominant hand, but…I’ll live. I think.

If…if I can g-get out of here, I can…there, there must be a hospital nearby. I just…[deep breath] I d-dont have the…energy.

KIERAN

That tends to be a side effect of major blood loss.

ARCHIVIST

[Faint laugh] I think that’s…the least of my problems right now, actually.

I was…already tired. Used too much of…m-myself in there. If I…had the strength…

KIERAN

[Anguished] What do you need? I—damn it, Martin, I haven’t been able to do anything for you. Tell me—

Oh, fuck.

ARCHIVIST

[Calmly] Okay, that’s…probably not good.

KIERAN

Don’t you dare die on me, you hear me, boyo? I love you, but—

ARCHIVIST

[With a sudden burst of energy] You don’t get to say that. Not yet.

KIERAN

[Sighs] My temper, all right. And every ounce of stubbornness from both sides.

Here, if I can…I can help you. I can—

Okay, maybe I can’t rip up a pillowcase and tie that hand up for you. Wouldn’t trust that bedding anyway. She bathes more often than he does, but I still don’t know what’s on those…

Tell me what to do. Tell me how to help.

ARCHIVIST

I…

Tell me what happened.

KIERAN

What?

[FAINT GROAN FROM THE ARCHIVIST]

[FABRIC RUSTLES, THE BED CREAKS FAINTLY AS THE ARCHIVIST LEANS AGAINST IT]

ARCHIVIST

I’m…it’s, it’s a thing I’m…becoming. It’s…a long story. But when people—when they t-tell me their, things that have happened, their…(heh) their deepest, darkest secrets…I, they kind of…fuel me.

Tell me…why you left. How you…got here.

You’re, you’re dead. I didn’t—

[Realizes] F-fuck! Fuck, he—he was right. You—you were in the Book.

KIERAN

You knew about that?

ARCHIVIST

Aunt M-Mary…showed all three of us. The Book, I mean. To, to scare us into line.

Gerry…Gerry told me that…he thought you m-might have…been in it. But I didn’t…

KIERAN

Gerry?

Wait—not the Gerard those two are always going on about?

ARCHIVIST

Yeah. Gerard Keay. We…we call him Gerry.

What—how did you…

KIERAN

It’s not a nice story.

And I’m not sure—you don’t need to know that. You don’t need to…

ARCHIVIST

Hate Mum?

KIERAN

I didn’t say that.

ARCHIVIST

You didn’t have to.

[A PAUSE, BROKEN BY THE ARCHIVIST’S RAGGED BREATHING]

I work for the Magnus Institute. Taking statements is…kind of what we do. I’m…in the Archives and…I have, the-there are things I can do. Not…nice things. Not really.

KIERAN

…Will it really help you?

ARCHIVIST

Yeah. Fear…I sort of…eat it. That’s a bit of an understatement, but…so-something like that.

And…it might…connect us. Dunno. Never…never taken a statement from a ghost before. But…

Sometimes I dream about them. The, the statements. The live ones, anyway.

Do you…still dream?

KIERAN

I don’t quite know if it’s properly dreaming.

But I remember. Sometimes. When I’m not…fully here.

ARCHIVIST

M-maybe if…you remember…I’ll be there next time. Watching.

KIERAN

I don’t want that. Not for you.

…

But I’m not letting you die, either.

So. Where do you want me to start?

ARCHIVIST

At…at the beginning. I guess.

[Deep breath] Statement of…Kieran Blackwood, regarding his life and death. Statement taken direct from subject, twenty-fifth July, 2017. Recording by Martin Blackwood, Archivist, the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

KIERAN (Statement)

I didn’t know what I wanted as a kid, except that I wanted to be important.

My birthday was—is, I suppose—the second of June, and every year my parents would tell the story, tossing the parts back and forth like a well-rehearsed script until I could practically recite the lines myself—how Mum had tried to ignore the contractions so she and Da could enjoy the procession and the festivities, how it had finally got so bad that they tried to leave their spot watching and barely made it through the crowd, how no taxis were available, how Da tried to carry her himself but didn’t know where he was going because they were only visiting London for the coronation. How I was born right there on the street. Da always laughed and said I was so impatient to see the new queen myself that I couldn’t wait even another hour. I always hated that story, not because it was embarrassing but because it wasn’t really about me. It was about them, and about the coronation. I told Da once that if I’d been able to pick when I was born I’d have picked a day that nothing else was happening so that I was what people would remember, but he just laughed.

I don’t think he got it.

Once I started school, I went out for everything I could, trying to find something I would be the best at and make a name for myself. None of it really stuck. Looking back, I had bought into the idea that if I wasn’t a prodigy and immediately good at something, I never would be—or at least, that I would never be great. Of course everyone eventually improved with practice, but I rather had it in my head that I’d never reach the top if I didn’t start off halfway up the hill. So I would try something for a week or two, then abandon it as soon as I got my first critique. The only thing I was decent at, not even good, but had some talent with, was swimming—and even then it wasn’t necessarily speed or form. I wasn’t winning races or anything. But I could last longer than anyone in my class—even the teacher. Not just floating, either. I could swim for ages and not get tired.

I had a bit of skill with rowing, too, but the problem was that I was bigger and stronger than most of my mates, so in the end I wound up the coxswain for the school team. We won more often than not, but there was a part of me that was dissatisfied, no matter how loud Da cheered or how proudly Mum displayed the ribbons on the walls. I mean, how many famous rowing teams can you name?

I actually wanted to be a politician. I had dreams of being the next Winston Churchill or summat. But I had my heart set on Christ’s College at Cambridge, and my grades weren’t near good enough to get me in without some kind of advantage. And between the fact that Da was a dockworker and I never managed to successfully cover up the Geordie when I talked, I knew I’d never be taken seriously if I didn’t have a really good university degree, so I gave that up. For the first summer after I left school, I worked with Da on the docks.

That’s how I met Mikaele Salesa.

If you work for the Magnus Institute, I’m sure you’ve heard his name, you know what he does. Did, maybe, he might    be retired by now, I dunno. Back then, though, he was just starting out. Walked away from some library job, so he told me, assistant to a stuck-up old fool who could afford to indulge a weird hobby. He’d done it with a tidy nest egg, though, and was looking to set up his own business, dealing in antiques. Thought trading by sea was the way to go; it’d be cheaper, after all, and easier to evade customs if need be, although he didn’t say that part out loud. Trouble was, he was a foreigner, in a time when being foreign in England wasn’t the greatest opportunity. And I won’t pretend the sort of lad that hung about docks those days were the most open-minded of fellows.

Me, I never had a problem with them. Partly it was that having wanted to be in politics, where I figured being diplomatic and able to get along with anyone might give me an edge, but partly, well, with my background—not just being in the North, near the docks, where people expected you to be slow and stupid, but also the fact that Mum was from Belfast originally—I had a bit of sympathy for anyone seen as “other”. So when I got off shift and found him being avoided in the local, I sat down next to him and bought him a pint.

He wasn’t much older than I was, maybe ten years at best, and since he’d been born during the second World War, he had some of the same experiences I did about his birthday being overshadowed by historic events. I was fascinated by the stories I told. He was intrigued when I mentioned what skills I’d picked up, said that being able to row if we were becalmed or swim if we capsized were good things for a sailor to know. And after I told off one of my da’s mates for saying something racist, he offered me a job on his crew. Told me he needed a first mate, and if I could help him find a good boat, the post was mine.

We found her, all right, and since it was me doing the talking, we got a good rate on her too. Signed on a crew for the first voyage, provisioned her up, and the Demeter was ready to set sail.

For the first few years, it was…exactly what I’d expected. Finding artifacts, buying them, selling them to rich idiots with more money than sense. The pay was decent, definitely better than I’d have got anywhere else—a kid with no experience, I’d expected to hire on as a seaman, nothing more, and certainly not as first mate—but for me it was about the clout. See, Mikaele—he was Captain Salesa, or just Captain, in front of the crew, but in private he told me to keep calling him Mikaele—tended to treat the crew the way the old sailors did: you signed on for a voyage, you got paid off, and then he’d sign on a whole new crew when he was ready to ship out again. I think it was a way to keep anyone from really knowing what he was doing with some of those artifacts. But I was his partner, so I stayed on. And since I was the only one who’d ever sailed more than one voyage in a row with him, the men in the pubs thought I had something special.

It was what I’d wanted, so I ran with it.

They were just ordinary objects back then, nothing special—well, maybe except for the fact that some of them probably shouldn’t have left the country, if you catch my drift. But one day, maybe eight or nine years after I met him, I came to talk to him about something and found him staring at a sack full of Morgan silver dollars. I knew how rare those were, but after a moment, he looked up at me with the most serious expression I’d ever seen on the man and told me not to touch them, or to let anyone else on the crew near them. If he sold them, he promised, he’d explain everything, but until then it wasn’t safe.

I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that they were radioactive or something? But when we got back to England about six months later, after he’d sold everything and paid off the crew, he asked me to come up to his rooms and discuss “the truth”. That night he laid out everything.

I…I assume from what you said that you know about the Fourteen. That was the first I’d ever heard of them. Mikaele told me the silver dollars he’d been sold belonged to the one called the Slaughter, and that he’d been lucky to be rid of them without it sticking…but it looked like we might have a new avenue of sales. Swore me to secrecy on that front, but promised that if I kept the crew from getting too involved in the…special artifacts, he’d do right by me.

He never let me handle those objects. Said he cared too much about my safety to put me through that. I thought he was just being dramatic until he told me some about what had happened to the other people who’d worked for Jurgen Leitner, and how he’d sworn he would never be that careless with the lives of people who depended on him. Eventually, we worked it out so I handled the men and he handled the purchasing and…acquiring, and that worked well. I got good at spotting the men who’d been touched by the sorts of things that made those objects, too, and would refuse to sign them on. It was a good way to protect the artifacts, or so I thought.

It must’ve been fourteen years later that I met Liliana Koskiewicz. I remember her because she seemed so out of place with the other people that were picking over the cargo, but fit in better with the cargo itself—she looked like a Gibson girl frozen in time. Turned out she was studying archeology at Oxford—there, I bet you didn’t know that about your mum—and had come to see the cargo because she’d heard rumors Mikaele had something that was in her field of study. He had, but it was “special” cargo, so he’d already sold it. I felt bad for her, so I offered to buy her dinner as a consolation prize, and for a wonder, she accepted.

It was a whirlwind romance, which I know must come as a bit of a shock to you, but I tell you I fell head over heels for that woman the moment I met her, and she swore it was the same. Mikaele was a bit disappointed at first, it seemed to me, but after a bit he encouraged it. Said the more connections you had, the safer you were from…certain things. I was willing to take any excuse to keep courting her, and just before we set sail, I asked her to marry me. She said she’d think about it and let me know when I got back.

We were gone nine months that go-round, and when I went to her da’s farm to see her after we made port and sold off the last of the cargo, the first thing she said to me was that she accepted. She wanted a spring wedding, and Mikaele would’ve delayed sailing for it, but I talked her into a late December wedding instead on the grounds that I’d be more likely to be home for our anniversary that way.

If I’m honest, the only reason I went through with it was because of what Mikaele said about needing connections to fight back against the Fourteen. After all, I’d had nine months to think about it too, and I didn’t know her that well. But, well, I reckoned we’d get to know each other well enough, and if it didn’t work out great, at least I wouldn’t be home that much. I bought her a little house, near enough that she could go visit her da when I was out to sea but far enough that we were independent, and I made sure she had everything she might need before we set to sea again.

We’d been married two years when she told me she was pregnant. She…she wanted me to stay, but Mikaele needed me. I was still chasing that sense of being important, so I went. Promised I’d be back before you were born, but…well, you were early. We were in Malta when Alastair called—long distance and all—to tell me Lily’d been taken to hospital and it wasn’t looking good. Mikaele bought me a plane ticket and told me to get home to my family. Before I left, he gave me a talisman, some little thing made of bone and silver. He told me he didn’t think it was one of those, but that it had a bit of power in it and might…make a difference.

We—we almost lost both of you. You were a breech, and when I got there, it turned out the umbilical cord had got wrapped around your neck. Between that and the fact that you were so early they weren’t sure your lungs had developed all the way, they weren’t sure you were going to make it. And Lily…they had to do a C-section on you in the end, and she had a bad reaction to the anesthesia or summat like that. She was in a coma and they didn’t think she was going to ever come out of it.

I looked at the thing Mikaele had given me. There was a notch in it, and I thought if I…maybe it would help you both. So I snapped it in half. Put one side on your incubator and the other tucked under Lily’s pillow and hoped.

You recovered, obviously. Both of you. You were actually fine less than four hours later, and I got to hold you for the first time…I’d, I’d never felt anything like that. I was thirty-five years old and it was like I was living for the first time. Lily took a bit longer, but she eventually came round, and all was well, or so I thought.

Lily never completely recovered. It was gradual, so her da didn’t notice and neither did she—or at least she said she didn’t—but, well, I went out again when you were six months old, soon as the winter storms had passed, like always, and when I got back I could see she not only wasn’t better, she was…getting worse. At the time, I put it down to the fact that you were cutting teeth, and you were prone to ear infections back then too, so you cried unless you were being held most of the time. Your grandfather was a godsend, but he had the farm to take care of, and so most of it fell on Lily. I took over while I was home, but…well, I had to go back out again eventually.

That’s when we started fighting. She wanted me to give up sailing and get a job closer to home. I argued we needed the money—now more than ever, between you getting bigger every day and her getting sicker every week. She said if she was so sick, why wasn’t I there to help her? Round and round we went, and it always ended the same, with her going to bed early with a headache and me stomping out the door and going down the pub.

And through it all, there you were. Staring up at me with those big green eyes of yours—they weren’t so bright back then, but they were always so full of love and wonder and trust. I’d have done anything for you.

Except stay.

The final straw came just after the new year when you were seven. Mikaele had suggested we all, as a family, go out on the water and watch the fireworks on the shore to welcome in 1996. You were…so excited. It was all you’d been talking about for a week, getting to see the Demeter and see what I did for a living and finally meet “Uncle Kay”—that’s what you called him, you had trouble with “Mikaele”. And then, just as we were getting ready to go, Lily said she wasn’t feeling well. I was all set to get her settled on the couch or in bed and offer to spend the night on the boat so we wouldn’t disturb her when she told you to hang up your coat and go make her a cup of tea—the oolong, not the bagged kind. I said I’d do it and for you to go wait by the car, but Lily snapped that she’d told you to do it and you needed to learn responsibility.

I wasn’t being funny when I said you had my temper. I blew up on her, said more than a few things I’d been holding back longer than I knew. I accused her of faking her symptoms for sympathy, or to punish the rest of us, or to manipulate us—hell, I didn’t know why, and I didn’t care. Told her she could be as miserable as she wanted but she had no right to make the rest of us miserable too. She gave as good as she got, saying I’d never loved her, I didn’t have any sympathy for her, I obviously hadn’t meant it when I said “in sickness and in health”, on and on and on. We wound up shouting at one another, and then I saw you standing in the doorway with her cup of tea and tears in your eyes, and I made myself stop. I told you we could go, but you just very quietly said no, thank you, that you would stay and take care of your mother, but for me to tell Uncle Kay you said hello.

I didn’t go to the ship that night. I went over to Alastair’s, and I must’ve ranted at him for an hour. He just sat there and listened—you know what he was like—and at the end of it, suggested I take a short break away from Lily, that things might look better after we’d both had a rest. And I agreed. At first I was going to…I don’t know, stay in town for a bit maybe…but Mikaele got a line on something that, if it panned out, would have let us retire for life after the next voyage, and there was a calm spell, so we got a crew together sharpish and sailed out.

It didn’t. Pan out, that is—someone beat us to it, we never did find out who. And of course the winter storms came back with a vengeance, so we wound up in Gibraltar for six weeks waiting for an opportunity to sail again. During that time, I talked things over with Mikaele, and he agreed with Alastair that a break wouldn’t be a bad thing.

I also talked to him about Lily’s illness. I’d never really mentioned it to him; there was a sort of silent sense that anything that happened on land—well, except you—stayed there, and vice versa. But I laid it all out for him, every symptom and surge, everything that had happened back to your birth. He listened with a curious sort of look on his face, and then he asked the question I’d never thought about. He asked what happened to the talisman he’d given me. I explained what I’d done, and he nodded, said I’d done exactly what I was supposed to, but he wanted to know what had happened after that.

It wasn’t until…later that I found out the answer. Lily found the half I’d tucked under her pillow, recognized it was broken, and…I don’t know. Maybe she’d heard something of the Fourteen before. Her da worked for the Institute himself, you know, so he might have given her a bit of warning. Anyway, she asked the nurses if they’d seen the other half, and they eventually found it and gave it to her.

From what Mikaele told me, what he’d eventually learned or figured out—I never did ask how—was that it was meant to separate and spare two lives. It wasn’t…exactly one use only, but it had an odd sort of catch to it. You weren’t meant to keep it, and once you’d used it, you were supposed to bury the halves together in the earth, where they would…reform? I don’t know. It was all a bit bizarre to me. Obviously Lily hadn’t done that, but…well, we’ll get there.

Anyway, we were out to sea for eighteen months that go-round. I felt bad about missing your birthday that year—I wrote you a letter, sent you a gift, but I don’t know if you ever got it—and worse about missing Christmas, but we’d done well enough by the end of it that I could have retired, and I was considering it. I told Mikaele when we pulled into port that I was going to give it one last go talking to Lily, see if we could reconcile, because I did still love her, just not the same way I had at the beginning. And I never wanted to leave you.

Obviously, you know that when I went back to Devon, there was someone else in the house I’d bought for Lily, and they told me they’d paid cash for it from a lady who’d taken her son to London. I thought that seemed a bit odd, but at the same time, I was hoping there was a specialist she was seeing regularly and she was doing better, so I got her address and headed down. I was looking forward to seeing both of you, so much.

Somehow, she knew I was coming. There was a note on her door addressed to me when I got into town, and when I opened it, it had an address and said she’d be there all afternoon. I assumed the family who’d bought the house had called her, so I went to where it said. Turned out to be a shop—a place called Pinhole Books. The door was unlocked, so I went in.

And Lily was waiting for me. Pretty as a picture, sweet as sugar. With an antique razor in one hand and a cane in the other.

I won’t go into details, but I will say she didn’t do it alone. There was another woman, old enough to be her mother, holding her steady and coaching her through it. Everything went black, and for a while I thought that was it.

If you know about the Book, you know what she did after that. She used to summon me from time to time. Talk to me, taunt me. Tell me what she was up to. That’s how I found out what she’d done with the talisman. She’d figured out how to join it back together, and thought it would protect her from sickness, but…that wasn’t its purpose. And because she tried to keep it, instead of give it away, it was corrupting her. I begged her to get rid of it, and eventually she finally admitted that she’d already destroyed it, after she met Roger, and it hadn’t helped. Mary—who I assumed was the woman who helped her kill me—had ideas that would help her, she said, but she wouldn’t really tell me what they were. Sometimes she’d summon me and just…leave me there. It hurt, and she knew it hurt, and she said she wanted me to feel a little of what she was feeling.

And no matter how much I pleaded, she wouldn’t let me see you.

The last time I saw her was eight years after she killed me, which I only know because I told her fifty looked good on her and I thought she was going to kill me again when she told me, very sharply, that she’d only just turned forty. She looked closer to sixty, but, well, you don’t need me to tell you that. She recovered fast, though, and told me that the next time we spoke, I’d never know how old she was. She had found a way to stay young and beautiful forever, and, she said, when the Bookmaster took the lead, I would know everything. Then she wished me luck, said she would see me soon, and dismissed me.

I can’t tell from looking at you how long it’s been since then, but I reckon that didn’t work out so well for her.

ARCHIVIST

And how are you…here? I thought the Book got burned.

KIERAN

It did. I think.

I don’t know too much about how all this works, but as near as I can tell, all of us who were in those pages—the ones who weren’t summoned, anyway, since I think your Gerard was involved, from what I’ve heard those two say—were set free when it burned, but not all the way. We’re loose in the world again, but we can’t go very far from the Bookmasters.

ARCHIVIST

The Bookmasters?

KIERAN

Those two bastards in the other room. Don’t ask me why, I just…knew that’s what they were when I saw them.

ARCHIVIST

It…it makes sense. I think.

…

Twelve years.

KIERAN

Eh?

ARCHIVIST

Since she—it’s been twenty years since she killed you. She tried to do…whatever it was, I still don’t know…twelve years ago.

And you’re right. It didn’t work. That was when she started needing round-the-clock care, couldn’t leave the house except to see her doctors, the whole nine yards. I dropped out of school and…well, that’s when I went to work for the Institute. Roger got fired around the same time—he had early onset dementia, it was just starting to get bad about then—and Melanie couldn’t fake being an adult like I could back then.

KIERAN

I wish you hadn’t felt like you had to do that.

ARCHIVIST

Me, too, but…I think I needed to be there. Eventually.

KIERAN

Twenty years…so you’re twenty-eight then? No, twenty-nine.

ARCHIVIST

I will be in August. If I live that long. If the world doesn’t end.

KIERAN

[Fiercely] You’re not dying.

ARCHIVIST

Yes, sir.

[More seriously] I’m okay. That…thank you. For, for giving me the statement. It…helped. A lot.

KIERAN

Good. Now you can get that hand—

…Oh.

Blimey, how long was I talking?

ARCHIVIST

Not nearly that long.

Yeah, that’s, um, probably not a good sign, but…[sighs] you know what, at this point, I don’t really have time to worry about it.

KIERAN

What’s your next move, then?

ARCHIVIST

I need to get back to London. Hopefully without the Van Helsings in there sending me back in pieces, or calling Gerry—or Jon.

KIERAN

…Okay, you told me who Gerry is, and Lily mentioned Roger’s girl Melanie, but who’s Jon?

ARCHIVIST

My b—

…

Um…he’s my…boyfriend.

KIERAN

(heh) Does Roger approve?

ARCHIVIST

He died five years ago.

But…you know, I think he would have liked him.

I think you’d like him. If you met him.

…

Maybe you’ll get the chance.

KIERAN

I doubt that, boyo.

ARCHIVIST

I’ll come back. When, when I figure out how to set you all free.

I will figure it out. What’s the good of working for the embodiment of fearful knowledge if I can’t occasionally learn something to my advantage?

[KIERAN LAUGHS. AFTER A MOMENT, THE ARCHIVIST JOINS IN]

KIERAN

Aye, maybe there’s something to that.

Let me rally the others. We can distract the Bookmasters, maybe keep them busy for a while, so you can get away. Do you—no, that window’s a bit small—ah, no offense.

ARCHIVIST

None taken. But believe me, I’ve forced my way through much smaller spaces than that.

…Thank you.

KIERAN

I’m just glad I can help.

And I’m glad to know that I finally became something important after all.

ARCHIVIST

What’s that?

KIERAN

Martin Blackwood’s father.

ARCHIVIST

…

You know…it’s a good thing Mum is the way she is.

KIERAN

Eh? Why is that?

ARCHIVIST

It long ago disabused me of the notion that parents have to love and be proud of their kids no matter what.

Otherwise I might not have believed you meant that.

KIERAN

Martin.

[FAINT FABRIC RUSTLES]

There has not been one single moment since the nurse put you in my arms that I have not been proud of you.

I love you, son.

ARCHIVIST

…

I love you, too, Papa.

[CLICK]