#lachlan. — look for the light.

[biighearts]

inspo + aesthetics for characters.

untagged triggers. sideblog. 21+ only.

[momolady]

Somerbron Lake: A Romance (Part Three)

Female Main Character x Male Monster Dark Romance - Sense of dread - Creepy Neighbors - Sick husband

It had been so long since James and I had been able to perform the duties a man and wife are thought to do. He’s been so weak, and his doctors had advised against it, especially while he was in the hospital. I missed his touch, I missed him pressed against me. I liked how his hairy chest felt against my breasts. I liked fucking James, he was quite good at it.

We’d been nervous to go about it, but once we started it was hard to stop. Lots of pent up desires came rushing forward and toppled us like a waterfall. Beat under the torrential waves, we gave in, using our marital bed to its fullest for the first time in over a year.

We laid upon the bed, all the blankets had been tossed off and laid on the floor. Both of us were winded, out of practice and out of shape as we were. James let out a laugh, and I had to join in with a giggle. We smiled at one another, cuddling close again, wanting to be within reach once those desires built up again.

“That was amazing,” James sighed.

I ran my hands up and down his back. “It was.” I lifted my head, beaming so bright it could light up the whole time. He kissed me, sighing in relief.

“There you are,” he murmured as he stroked my hair from my sweaty brow. “This is the first time I’ve felt at home here.” He kissed the top of my head and squeezed his hand around my hip.

I furrowed my brow. “First time? I thought you liked it here.”

He was quiet, considering what he could say next. “Well, yeah, Somerbron is a nice place and all, but-” He hissed, sucking hair through his teeth. “I don’t know how to explain it, Lori. It’s like staying in a hotel. It’s nice here, it's fun to visit, but I don’t feel welcomed.”

Pulling away from him, I sat up upon my elbow so we could have this conversation eye to eye. “Everyone has been so nice.”

“Yeah well,” he propped up at well, staring straight ahead to the foot of the bed. “I just feel like everyone is…watching us.”

“I don’t understand,” I murmured.

“Anytime I go into town on my own, it’s like all the women are staring at me,” he said. “They watch me, take in my every move, like I’m going to do something. Something bad. And I feel guilty! But I’m not planning on doing anything. I’m just…I feel as if I’m being invasive.”

“But anytime I’m out they always ask about you,” I try to argue. “Maybe they’re keeping an eye on you because they know you’ve been ill.”

“I don’t want that either.” James shook his head then put his palm against his forehead. “If I could stay out by the lake all day, that would be great, I would be happy. But I can’t keep shaking this feeling that I’m being watched all the time.”

I put my hand over his. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

James exhaled with some force. “The past few years all you’ve done is worry about me. I didn’t want to add to that. You seem happy here, you’ve made friends. I’ve already taken a lot from you, I didn’t want to take this away too.” He looked me in the eye, taking my hand and holding it tight.

It was a hard sentence to hear. I hadn’t thought of it that way at all. But I did feel like being in Somerbron was something for me. I held that back out of guilt. “I don’t want you to feel that way, James. We both deserve to be happy.”

“Maybe so, but I’ve been taken care of for a long time.” He sighed heavily. “It’s your turn to have that comfort. I can get over this, I’m sure. We lived in our last place so long. And I got used to being in the hospital. Being in a whole house to ourselves, a small town, it’s new for now.”

“But you have to tell me things that bother you. Alright?”

James smiled and put his arms back around me. “Okay. I will.” He held me for a long time, both of us quiet.

“Lachlan creeps me out,” he finally muttered.

I laughed, giving him a slight push. “I thought you two were getting along!”

“I guess?” James scoffed. “But it seems like all he cares about is you. It sets off alarms for me.”

“Don’t be jealous,” I laughed.

“I’m not.” James’ voice took a serious turn. “And excuse me if this makes me sound territorial, but I don’t like him being around you. When you both were working upstairs when I had to rest, I don’t know, it made me feel weird.”

“He’s a sweet guy,” I tried to assure him.

James frowned, pursing his lips together. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s just I’ve grown to mistrust men because of all the doctors.” He shook his head again. “I didn’t mean for us to have a conversation like this.”

We had been having so much fun. The sex was good, a little sloppy, but good. And I had an orgasm for the first time in ages. I didn’t want it to turn sour. I had been hoping to go again. Now it didn’t seem like this was going to shift tones again. “It’s okay. I’m glad you brought it up. I know now.”

James reached off the side of the bed and grabbed up the blanket. He laid flat upon his back and looked up at the ceiling. “Remember in college and I would sneak into your dorm? You had that black light and all those weird posters.”

I crawled under the blankets and curled up beside him. “I remember.”

“That was the first time I felt at peace with myself. I was always so restless as a kid. Being in that dorm room with you was peace on earth.”

I smiled and kissed his chest. “It was.”

“Maybe we should get a black light,” he teased.

I giggled and pressed up against him, hoping to get him aroused again. “I’m sure we could find one. Maybe my mom has my old one packed away somewhere.”

James rolled onto his side to face me. “Maybe we can move into the actual master bedroom at some point.”

“Would that help you feel better?” I asked.

He nodded. “I think I can manage the stairs. One at a time.”

I kissed him, rolling him back onto his back so I was straddling him. He reached up, taking hold of my hair and wrapping it around his fingers.

“I might be getting that all chopped off tomorrow,” I teased. “Enjoy it while you can.”

James chuckled, pulling it so I leaned down to kiss him again.

In the morning, James’ mom came to pick him up for his doctor’s appointment. They’d be out most of the day, as she also wanted to give him some things from his grandmother’s house they were cleaning out. Jane came over not long after to take me into town for my hair appointment. I had set it a couple of weeks ago, back when I still thought I had so much to do moving. But then Lachlan came and helped me with it. I was done so quickly, I was just sitting at home twiddling my thumbs most days.

I was sitting in the salon with Jane looking over catalogs. I still had no idea what I wanted for my hair.  My mind wandered between that and what James had told me the night before. I looked around at the few other women in the room. No one was paying any attention to me. Maybe James was just mistaken. After being in the hospital so long, maybe he thought all eyes were on him.

Jane huffed and set her magazine aside.“Most of these styles I just don’t get. Young women these days are so brave.”

“It’s just a haircut, it all grows back. Nothing is forever,” I murmured, eyes fixated on the glossy pages. The magazine was old and some of the styles were outdated, but I still kept looking.

“How's that husband of yours doing?” Jane asked.

“He’s doing quite well actually.” I set the magazine down and leaned back in the plastic covered chair. “The air seems to be doing wonders for him. And of course he’s down at the lake almost everyday. He’s starting to be like his old self.”

Jane smiled and nodded at me. “Good. Very good. A strong husband is what every wife needs.”

I never needed James to be strong, not in the traditional sense.

“Mrs. McLeod, we’re ready for you.” A light blonde said as she stepped out of the back. Another woman whisked past, going out the door with a glance towards me.

I followed her to the back while Jane sat up in excitement. “I’m sorry, I don’t really have an idea of what I want today.”

The blonde’s all too perfect smile beamed back at me. I was reminded that I needed to check out the dentist here. James and I hadn’t really gone since his illness had progressed.

“That’s alright, I can help you out with that. I’m Rebecca by the way.” She led me to a little room in the back done all up in green with antique pictures hanging on the walls. The whole room seemed out of time.

She sat me down upon the old chair and leaned it back, placing my head upon the lip of the sink. “You do have very thick hair,” she said over me as water began to rush down.

The water was cold, unbearably cold. It made my scalp tingle and my teeth ache. I wanted to say something, but I kept quiet. I saw that creature again, the one that pulled me into the lake. Or was it a nightmare? It seems so fuzzy and vague now. But I recall it clearly. Those eyes. Those big, wide, sad eyes.

“You know, I hear all the gossip around here.”

I opened my eyes and swallowed. The water was growing warmer. “Do you have something about me then?”

She laughed. “Oh just that Lachlan has taken a liking to you.”

My eyes went to the wall again, the faded wallpaper, the mirror that was cracking all around the edges. The pictures on the wall were old, black and white and faded from the sun. There was a photo of a little girl with a bike. Another of a dapper man whose face had faded past recognition. There was a round portrait of a lovely woman who resembled Rebecca.

“We’re a small town with not much going on. Any bit of news gets pulled and twisted like taffy.” Rebecca's fingers were strangely sharp against my scalp as she shampooed it.

I flinched, wanting to yank away, but I couldn’t. “He’s been helping James and I move in. He’s been a big help. James still loses wind fairly easily.”

“But he’s doing much better, I hear.”

I furrowed my brow. “He is.”

Rebecca took the spout and began rinsing my hair. “That's good. A strong man is good for a town.”

I was about to say something when Rebecca gasped. “I know just the perfect style for you!” She said excitedly. “Do you trust me? Oh I promise it’ll look wonderful. And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay.”

“I guess?” I was so taken aback I wasn’t sure what to say or do. She seemed genuinely excited.

“Wonderful!” Rebecca sighed in what sounded like bliss.

She worked for longer than I wanted to be in that chair, setting curls, and doing what I suspect was some sort of perm. I was nauseous from the chemical smell. I was set under an old hair dryer and told to relax.

When Rebecca left the room I was there alone, unable to hear anything over the roar of the hair dryer. From where I was sitting now, I could see more pictures on the wall. All old, all faded enough to where things were hard to make out. Lots of pictures of men, all of them had something wrong with the picture, the glass, even the frame. Then there was one of a young woman with dark hair all piled to one side, almost alone at the far edge.

I don’t know if it was the queasiness from the chemicals or the heat, but I was suddenly unwell. I pushed the hair dryer away and tried to stand, but I fell to my knees again. After the initial shock, I stood up shakily and pressed my hand against the wall. I inched slowly, practically dragging myself along.

A deafening crunch fell behind me, and I turned to see one of the pictures had fallen off the wall, glass glittering everywhere. I kept moving, I could explain it to Rebecca later. Then another portrait fell. Then another and another. I was trying to walk and they all fell behind me. I couldn’t move fast enough.

I almost fell at the end of the wall, gripping onto the corner. The portrait of the woman fell, hitting my arm. The sharp frame put a hole in my arm, and the searing pain turned my stomach even more. It fell to the floor face up, I fell to my knees, leaning over top of it. I could see her closely now. Her eyes staring out at me beyond the glass. I saw myself in her place, sitting poised so prettily, wearing a gown that swallowed me up like pretty flower petals. My mouth opened in the portrait, whispering for me.

I smelled smoke, and my dress began to go up in flames. I sat there, surrounded by fire and smoke, unmoving, unblinking. My skin melted away in chunks, peeling back from muscle and bone. Out before me I saw the town, I saw the women shrieking in horror, clawing at the ground as they were held back. Bodies lay at my feet, burnt, melting bodies that I was happy to see.

I smiled, looking back out upon the women. I was truly happy. Burning alive, I was the one who was no longer suffering. They were the ones who were suffering. I can’t entirely blame them. But they were all at fault as well. They could have spoken for me. But they didn’t.

I started to giggle, my mouth opened wide into a horrible laugh. I cackled, I screamed. My mouth tore open wide to red and gore. I laughed harder, I shouldn’t have been able to with all the smoke and flames. I laughed and I laughed and I laughed until there was no more pain. No more fury. Just quiet and peace on earth. True bliss.

“Wake up Lori. Wake up.”

I opened my eyes to the ceiling, seeing Jane fanning me with a magazine. “I told you that damned old hair dryer got too hot, Rebecca!”

“You try to order a new one for me then,” Rebecca huffed back. “Is she okay?”

I swallowed, but my mouth was so dry. My throat was sore beyond belief. “I’m sorry,” my voice croaked and cracked. “I’m sorry about the pictures.”

“Pictures?” Rebecca murmured.

“You passed out!” Jane said slowly and loudly to me.

I groaned and clasped my temple. “My head. I felt sick for a second.”

“Get her some water,” Jane fussed at Rebecca with hushed urgency. She turned back to me, continuing to fan me. “We called your house. Someone is coming to get you.”

I closed my eyes again, still reeling. Jane helped me sit up so I could drink water. But I tasted rancid. I wretched and bent over, throwing up onto the floor. It was all so fast, from one moment to the next it was both eternity and seconds.

There was silence between Rebecca and Jane. I didn’t stay long to say much else. I ran outside for fresh air. But for some reason all I could smell was smoke. I spat into a potted plant outside, then slid down the wall to rest and catch my breath.

“You look like her, you know?”

I opened my eyes to see an old man standing over me. “I beg your pardon?” I heaved, sweat dripping down my brow.

“Goodness, you do look like Laura. That’s not good,” the old man shook his head. “Not good at all.” He sounded frightened.

“Laura who?” I shook my head, it didn’t matter. I felt too bad to care about anything like that.

“This place ain’t good for folks like you,” he whispered. “Ma’am, you shouldn’t have come here. Not looking like that poor girl. I may be old now, but I remember it like it was yesterday. never forgot Laura Harrison. Young lady, take my hand.”

I opened my eyes to look at this old man, but all I saw was Lachlan walking up behind him. “What are you doing here?”

The old man turned around and stepped out of the way. He didn’t say so much as a word to Lachlan and he scurried as fast as he could across the street.

“Are you alright?” Lachlan knelt down beside me. He put his hand over my head, the cold was just what I needed.

I breathed out slowly, relying on his touch to save me. “I don’t know. Jane said I passed out. I threw up-” I went to point but decided he didn’t need to see that.

“Poor thing. It’s all alright now. I’ll get you home.” He smoothed his hand back towards my hair. “Do you think you can get up and walk at all?”

I tried to stand and my legs wobbled beneath me. I took a few steps and then Lachlan picked me up, swooping my legs out from under me. “Wait! It’s-” I was held against Lachlan, and at first I went rigid, but the more I was held in his grasp, the more I was comforted. I closed my eyes, relieved to be off my feet and away from the world.

I saw the woman from the portrait. Myself, I mean. I was dressed in red, sitting by the edge of the pond. A man approached and I was excited, at first I thought it was James. The light reflecting off the water hit my eyes, and I couldn’t quite see him at first. I ran to be near him and I was pulled away. The man became tied and bound, a sack with a morbid face was thrown over him. I cried for him, I screamed, losing my voice in the process. He was thrown into the water while the hands that held me all over my body, pulled my limbs, my hair, they ripped my clothes away from my body and threw me to the floor.

“-even at the garage there was only women there,” I heard my mother in law fussing. “I thought this town was nice at first, now it’s this big lesbian commune.”

“Mom,” James said sternly. “This is what you’re choosing to complain about?”

“I’m just saying-”

“Stop it. I invited you over to help me with the house so Lori wouldn’t have to worry when she gets up.” James' definitive tone made me happy. He sounded strong again. I sat up in bed, looking around at the dark room. All the curtains were drawn tight, but I could see slivers of daylight peeking through.

I sat up from bed and there was a sore, aching pain through all my limbs. What the hell happened to me? All I wanted was to get my hair done. “Fuck-” I grumbled.

“I think I hear her.” James said in a low, hushed voice. Moments later, the door opened. “You’re up. That’s great.”

“My whole body is killing me,” I groaned.

I couldn’t see James as the light back lit him. He came into the room, sitting down on the bed with me. He put his hand upon my forehead, and it was cold. “You probably need something to eat. Definitely some water.”

My eyes adjusted, and I looked up at him. Long hair draped over his shoulders and I was confused. I rubbed my eyes to focus. James' eyes were dark. No, they’re supposed to be blue, right?

“Can you get up?” He asked. His voice sounded different too.

I was more worried about my head than I was about my legs. “I think so.”

James gave me his hand and helped me up. My legs felt more sure than they did before. “There we go. Come on, some fresh air should do you some good.”

“Is she up?” My mother in law called from the kitchen.

“Yes, Mom.”

I blinked a few times, looking up at James as we stepped out. I pulled my hand away, I recognized him, but it wasn’t James. I stepped away, trying to rush along the side of the house to put space between us.

“Lori, what’s wrong?” He asked.

I shook my head, still glaring up at him. “Where’s James?”

He chuckled. “I’m James. Goodness, maybe you're allergic to whatever Rebecca used at the hair salon.” His pale hand reached for me, trying to take my hand but I yanked it away. He looked sad and frightened. “Lori!”

“Lachlan, this isn’t funny.” I glanced back into the house, seeing he was away from the door now. I ran inside, slamming the door shut and locking it. Lachlan beat upon the door and rattled the doorknob.

“Lori, honey,” James’ mother said behind me. “What’s going on, what are you doing?” She came down the hall towards me, wearing one of those gauzy, flowy caftans she liked so much.

I ran to her, grabbing her and trying to pull her away from the door. “Is this a joke? Where’s James really at?”

“Oh, Lori!” She pushed me off and went to the door, unlocking it and opening it. “Stop playing around. We’ve been worried sick about you all day.” She smiled as Lachlan came inside the house again. “James had us rush home when he heard.” She placed her hand upon his back.

“That’s not-” I stepped away, moving towards the back of the foyer. “Is this a joke?” I forced out a laugh. “Come on.”

“Maybe I should call a doctor.” My mother in law stepped away from Lachlan and I darted back into the kitchen. I grabbed the car keys on the table and I ran outside and around the house. I was heading towards the car when Lachlan opened the front door.

“Lori, get back here!” He sounded so concerned. “You’re scaring me.”

I was about to reach the car when I was grabbed from behind. “Lori! I’m so glad you’re okay!” Jane’s hand held me in a death grip. “How’re you feeling?”

I yanked my arm, trying to free myself. I had been trying to stay calm, but this was making me panic. “Let go of me!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lancaster,” Lachlan sighed with relief. “I think she’s still a bit loopy. It’s like she doesn’t recognize me.”

“I told Rebecca she needed to update her equipment,” Jane scoffed. She handed me over to Lachlan and it was like my body was quitting.

“It’s alright.” Lachlan scooped me up in his arms like he did before. “I’ll put her back to bed.” He carried me inside, Jane watching us intently the entire time.

Once inside, Lachlan took me into the bedroom and set me back down upon the bed. “Lay down. I’ll go get you some water-”

I knocked his hand away from me. “What’re you doing? You’re not James. I know who you are.”

Lachlan looked me over with a gaze I couldn’t read. He touched my face with that cold hand of his. My body relaxed despite my nerves still frying at the ends. He laid me back, brushing my hair away from my face.

“You won’t get hurt again. Not this time,” he whispered.  “No one is around to put their filthy hands on you,” his voice grew dark and raspy. “No one to drag us apart. You came back to me. After all this time.”

Tears ran down my eyes. “Lachlan-”

He pulled the blanket over me and tucked me in. “Don’t worry, Laura. I can protect you now. I promise.” Lachlan lifted my hand, placing it upon his gaunt face. Tears streamed out of his eyes and his skin felt slimy and slick. I wanted to pull away, but I always didn’t want him to cry despite everything that was happening.

“Laura,” he whimpered pathetically, falling over onto the bed. “My Laura!” he sobbed while I laid there.

Eventually my eyes closed, and I saw fire spread out before me.

[eruden-writes]

Room & Board - Part 21 (Vampire x Reader)

paranormal fantasy vampire x human eventual triad (x werewolf)

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For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

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Mounting dismay fills your chest before you see Lachlan’s smile twists into something smug. In an instant, rage flares in your chest. Your hands fist at your sides, your shoulders straightening as you glare up at Lachlan. Somehow, through the sick sensations in your stomach, you manage to bite out, “Let Tabaeus be the judge of that.” 

Lachlan’s answering chuckle makes your blood boil as he languidly motions toward Tabaeus. “Be my guest.”

Looking back to Ewan and Jemma, you find them both tense and glaring up at the enemy. Ewan has given up the partial transformation, fur sprouting along his whole morphing body as his snout elongates and a growl bubbles in his throat. Jemma’s battle-readiness is less obvious, but you feel a crackle in the air and swear her eyes glow, but it could be a trick of her light orb. At your movement, their attention bounces to you. Ewan nods encouragingly, though Jemma’s eyes quickly dart back up to Lachlan and the other vampires.

Briefly, regret thrums at how you’ve pulled the two of them into this fight, but you turn back to Tabaeus. You all knew the potential risks.

Softly, you step closer to Tabaeus and finally take in their state.

Nude and sprawled on pillows, manacles on their wrists and ankles, Tabaeus stares listlessly at the ceiling, seemingly unseeing even the other vampires crowded on the overhead walkway. As you come closer, their eyes swing slowly toward you. A lump catches in your throat at the sight of their red-rimmed eyes, the fresh bites on their body. Something about their flesh seems more sickly.

“Oh, is it feeding time?” Their words are so hollow and distant, it takes your mind a moment to realize Tabaeus is the one who said them. They push themselves upright, languidly standing in a smooth movement. 

As they near you, you recall how their height once terrified you. They loomed over you that first meeting just as they loom over you now, but your heart twists as you blink back tears. You never thought you’d see them again. Relief and dismay clamber through your head as you see Tabaeus whole but harmed. 

Tabaeus reaches out a hand and you unthinkingly mirror them. Just as your hand is about to graze their shoulder, theirs grabs you roughly by the hair. Pain arcs over your scalp as they yank your head forcefully to the side, baring your throat to them. 

“That is not a meal,” Lachlan drawls, though dark amusement twitches at the corner of his lips.

“Is it not?” Tabaeus pauses, their red eyes flickering up and behind you to where the other vampire stands.

“No, this bloodbag seems to think you know them.” That amusement has turned to cruel glee and you hear a barely contained laugh catch in Lachlan’s throat. A wave of titters arise from the other vampires, like a colony of squeaking bats.

“No, I do not know any bloodbags.” Tabaeus blinks before regarding you with an empty laziness, still holding your head at an angle. You’re not even sure they’re trying to remember.

Too many words and feelings gum up your throat. As you struggle to swallow, only three words break through your lips, “Tabaeus, please remember.” 

The use of their name makes them pause, their eyebrows ticking upward. Encouraged, a slew of words breaks past the lump in your throat as your hands curl around the wrist of their hand still buried in your hair, “You’ve lived with me for months, Tabaeus. We’ve gone shopping together and you’ve bought so many clothes. And you brought Liuva and Bjarka, your imp sugar gliders, off a man on a subway. We bought a house and you’ve made friends with me and Ewan and…”

You trail off as the words choke up your throat. Tears swell in your eyes, but try as you might to blink them back, they overcome the edge of your lashes. Instead you sniffle and nod toward Ewan, hoping Tabaeus will understand. 

Their eyes flicker in the werewolf’s direction. You believe their eyes meet, for Tabaeus’s pupils first constrict then dilate. Like a cat spotting a dog before realizing they’re an old friend. Tabaeus’s attention jerks back to you. 

Complicated expressions flit over their face. Disgust, intrigue, denial… You watch, hoping to spot recognition or fondness. Anything to let you know they didn’t truly forget. If such an emotion crosses their eyes, however, you do not spot it.

“I… I…” Tabaeus’s eyes trail over your face, watching as a tear cascades down your cheek. They swallow, harshly shaking their head to dispel the mental chaos their thoughts must be in. Their words come out the tiniest bit ragged, “I apologize, I truly do not know you.” 

You open your mouth to challenge that notion, but you freeze as Tabaeus leans close. Their nose brushes against your throat, the gentle nuzzle sending goosebumps over your skin. Their words tease against your throat, “But you smell sweet. Delicious."

"Tabaeus, please you have to remember,” you desperately croak, blinking back tears as conflicting feelings spiral through you.

“Don't play with your food." From somewhere above, Lachlan’s voice sounds and cold hatred lurches through you.

Confusion dots Tabaeus’s brow and they look up toward the other vampire. “I thought you said they were not food.” 

“If you don’t remember them, why waste prey that wanders so willingly into our den?” You can just imagine Lachlan shrugging carelessly, a sleazy smile tilted at his lips. For a brief moment, you think you see Tabaeus’s eyes narrow, something calculating behind their gaze. As if they don’t quite believe Lachlan.

That hope evaporates as they eventually intone, "Yes, master.”

You don’t get a chance to shout as Tabaeus descends on you. Somewhere behind you, you hear Ewan snarl loudly and Jemma make a strangled cry, before a scuffle sounds, punctuated by the hiss of what you assume is magic.

Tabaeus’s cool grasp is painful, unyielding, on your shoulder and head as they force you to bare your neck. Twin pains sink into your throat. A sob escapes you, the taste of blood dances on your own tongue.

But you don’t fight or pull away. Wrenching your eyes shut, ignoring the tears streaming down your cheeks, your arms wrap around Tabaeus. They’re tense under your touch, prepared to fight your struggles. When it doesn’t come, you think you can feel their confusion and curiosity wind through their body. Pulling them closer, you focus on your short acquaintance, wanting those memories to be close to the surface.

The frightening first night. The agreement. Shopping for new clothes for them. Getting a house and sharing the home with the sugar gliders. The journal. Going out with Ewan together, the food, the movie, and other delights. Every second of fear, friendship, love, lust, anger, frustration, uncertainty blends through the recollections. All the images and feelings flood your brain, tangling with the pain and fending off the memories of others that fight for screentime.

Pain throbs through your head, mirroring the ache at your throat, but you refuse to fall to unconsciousness, refuse to let the foreign images take root.

With a gasp, the vampire breaks from your throat. Blearily, you blink up at Tabaeus, their lips stained as red as their eye color. Their eyelids flutter rapidly, but a few red-tinged tears roll from their eyes and down their cheeks. You realize their hold quavers as they croak, “Amata.”

“You remember,” you softly breathe, a smile on your lips even as the rest of the world wobbles in your sight. Slumping in Tabaeus’s arms, boneless from relief and blood loss, you watch as their eyes desperately wheel about the room as they turn. When they’ve taken in the entire predicament, they still. Their brow pinches and you follow their gaze to where Ewan and Jemma scuffle with vampire underlings.

Tabaeus raises their hand, chain clanking against their manacle. Pressure pulses through the air and the vampires that surround your friends pause, eyes flying wide a brief second before their bodies hurl against the far wall. A flinch rattles through your body as you hear bones crack, but you’re too muzzy-headed to dwell on what you’ve seen. You hear some of the vampires above scuttle warily to the far reaches of the room.

The room shifts around you as Tabaeus hefts you in their arms, crossing the short distance to Ewan, who looks to where his previous opponents have been tossed. When his gaze flicker to your mutual friend, his eyes widen with guarded hope and uncertainty.

“Hold onto them,” the vampire orders and shoves you into the werewolf’s furry arms. You only faintly notice Jemma move closer, peering over Ewan’s arm to survey you. When she sees you’re conscious, a tension in her shoulder eases.

Ewan only manages to nod, bringing you closer to his chest in a protective gesture. Even as Tabaeus turns away, you can feel Ewan’s fur bristle and you wonder if it’s from adrenaline of the fight or wariness of the pressure surrounding Tabaeus. Peering up at the werewolf, you catch hints of the scuffle. Awry fur, blood – his or a vampire’s, you’re unsure – flicked across his maw and body, a long gouge bleeding at the juncture of his shoulder and neck. The tang of blood fills your nostrils as he draws you closer.

“You,” Tabaeus growls, drawing your gaze from Ewan. Your vampire’s gaze is tilted upward toward Lachlan. Shadows darken and dance along the floor and in the corners of the room. The temperature in the air drops a degree for every second the two maintain eye contact.

A crackling sound echoes through the air, your eyes widening as you find the source. Cracks form in the manacles, flakes of rusted metal fall off in chunks as the restraints slowly disintegrate. 

All languid smugness has melted away from Lachlan, leaving only brittle fear behind. The vampire moves to stand atop the overly large pipe he has positioned himself on, hands raised in a placating manner. “Now, I’m your master, a kind one if I—”

An inhuman sound escapes Tabaeus – a discordant keen – and a pipe near Lachlan squeals, a crack racing along its side, effectively interrupting the other vampire.

“You are a neophyte compared to me, Lachlan Barrett.” Tabaeus’s eyes glow, their head adjusting angles like an animal scenting prey. A small contingent of Lachlan’s followers, no more than five, erupt from the shadows in a shrieking cacophony. Two angle toward Tabaeus, three toward you, Ewan, and Jemma.

Your werewolf tenses, hunching to shield you with one arm extended to fight, and the crackle of magic comes from where Jemma stands. Tabaeus doesn’t even turn as they make a slicing motion in the air, chain rattling.

The breeze of the motion wafts over you, gently, but the five vampires freeze mid-air. Then they fall, bifurcated at the same angle as your vampire’s hand movement.

Tabaeus’s fingers crook from their outstretched hand, flexing, before one arm yanks hard against a crumbling chain. The metal snaps loudly, but your vampire’s voice rings over the sound, “Or should I call you Locke Barista, the allegedly genius playwright who never sold a manuscript?”

Fear flutters through the vampires, all watching the Memory Keeper with wide eyes. You think you catch shocked mutters, confusion. How could such a vampire, considered weak and of no more use than a scrapbook, do this?

Concerned gazes flicker between the two and you’re not sure what keeps the others from fleeing. Is it macabre curiosity? An animalistic need to see which vampire comes out on top, to become the leader?

Or is it Tabaeus’s influence, that pressure that stifling weight that hangs heavy in the air? Are they somehow keeping the other vampires tethered to their spots?

With another snap of metal, your peripheral catches Tabaeus snapping the second chain attached to their wrist manacle as they continue speaking to their potentially captive audience, “Hector Tannud, the selfish Frenchman Casanova that lost everything at the gambling tables?”

The temperature in the room drops, shadows crawling out to meet Tabaeus’s own shade. Ewan tenses and, after a glance up, you find his ears pinned back, the fur along the crest of his head and back of his neck rising. Jemma, too, stills from fussing over you, her own glowing eyes warily on the scene.

When your gaze turns back to them, you share a quick sputter of the concern in Jemma’s features.

Tabaeus has morphed, so similar to that first night when they descended on you. Taller and lanky and turning a dark shade of purple-black, their long hair plastering to their body and becoming fur. Limbs spindly and inhuman and tipped in claws so sharp, you think they could slice a molecule in half. The sneer on their face becomes vicious and serrated, as their nose flattens and ears grow.

Darkness suddenly surges toward Tabaeus and you yelp, attention swiveling toward Lachlan, believing he was the culprit of the sudden movement. However, as soon as you spot the other vampire, your eyes widen.

Solidifying from the shadows behind Lachlan, Tabaeus has a hand on Lachlan’s throat, graceful hand coming around to grasp it from the front. Their claw traces the side of the other vampire’s face. The bump in Lachlan’s throat bobs as he struggles against the grip.

Tabaeus stoops behind Lachlan, a dangerous seductiveness painting their movements as they lower their head to the juncture of his throat and shoulder. In spite of the lurid sensuality of Tabaeus’s movement, their voice rings out harsh and mocking. “Hardwin the destitute tanner who smelled of shit and piss and would do anything, even sell out his entire village, to save his own scrawny throat?”

The other vampires still do not move, watching as Tabaeus blatantly demonstrates how their master – the strongest among them – is nothing but prey.

“I remember every insipid identity you took – every identity you all have taken –“ Tabaeus snarls, pointing their free hand, index finger tipped in a dark claw, at all present with a sweeping arch. Their words echo along the shadowy pipes, plunging into every dark corner. “You all are nothing more than quibbling little cum stains barely released from your progenitor’s quim!”

The anger in their voice echoes around the room, rattling through the pipes and making bolts quiver. Quiet weighs heavy a realization sinks in to all the enemies present. Tabaeus has been there far longer than any of them. They carry the memories of all present, know every little secret pleasure and vice and weakness.

Lachlan must find some frayed string of survival instinct in the following silence. Or perhaps it’s sheer fear that makes him act foolishly. With a pathetic gasping cry, he turns into a bat, flapping frantically for salvation above.

Even from down below and in such a beastly form, you see Tabaeus’s feature crimp with disgust. In a smooth movement, he launches himself upward, once more morphing.

Where Lachlan has taken the form of a bat, roughly the size of a football, Tabaeus is something far more grand. Still the size of a human – though far shorter than their usual form – with a wingspan that had to be as long as you are tall, they remind you of viral pictures you’ve seen of megabats. It’s no great feat when they overtake Lachlan, curling around the little creature like a white blood cell eating a virus.

Ewan seems to understand what’s happening faster than you and he stiffens, spinning around and hunching over you as the two plummet down. You hear their bodies hit the ground. The impact vibrates through the room and rattles through your bones. Something farther into the room creaks ominously before it thuds heavily to the floor, a litany of cries and shrieks bursting through the vampire crowd.

Trembling, you shove away from Ewan and peer around his form just in time to see Lachlan cry out and shift back to a more human form.

Beastly Tabaeus sits atop the younger vampire, their long-clawed hand pressing the other vampire’s face solidly into the metal floor. A disgusted sneer curls at their lips as their other hand claws down Lachlan’s back.

Beside you, Ewan shakes. Throwing him a sidelong glance, you find his eyes wide, nostrils flaring, ears pinned back, fur bristling.

With his face squashed down and hair in disarray, Lachlan looks even more pathetic, eyes red-rimmed with blood tears as he scrabbles to break free from the hold.

The rest of the vampire coven do not move. Eyes wide. Faces paled. Some look like they are about to be sick. Wildly, you wonder if Tabaeus is doing what Lachlan had done at the library. Have they frozen their audience in place? Stopped time? Your thoughts flick to the shrieks from earlier, wondering if the victims were unable to move due to whatever Tabaeus is doing.

Your mind swirls so fast with thoughts, you feel as if you’re going to get motion sick.

“You have kept my mind muddled with the memories, the thoughts, of this peanut gallery of vapid nightwalkers.” Tabaeus growls and draws your attention back to the two vampires. Their hand on the back of Lachlan’s head twists, grinding the other vampire’s face harder against the floor. “What do you have to say for your transgressions, Hardwin?”

x x x x x

If you like my content, please consider supporting me on: 

*:･ﾟ✧ Patreon or  Ko-Fi *:･ﾟ✧

[islandtarochips]

Call of Duty OC: Nigel “Squirrel” Harrison 🐿️

An American (And a bit of Scottish) male Sergeant who joined forces with the Samoan team. Use to be part of the Shadow Company before deciding to join with Captain Toa after the incident from Las Almas. Wanting to make up everything of what happened from the past. And now starting to make a new beginning for himself and for his new team.

UNIVERSE: Modern Warfare 2/Modern Warfare 3

General:

🐿️ Name: Nigel Harrison 🐿️ Alias(es): 

Nigel

Harrison

Ginger

Squirrel (by Kanoa)

Squirrely (by Agnes)

Sergeant Harrison

Sergeant Squirrel

Sergeant H (By his teammates)

Shadow 0-5 (Use to be called that by Philip Graves)

🐿️ Gender: Male 🐿️ Age: 28 (MW2), 29 (MW3) 🐿️ Birthday: February 20th, 1994 🐿️ Nationality: United State America 🐿️ Place of Birth: Virginia, America 🐿️ Home: Alexandria City, Virginia 🐿️ Spoken Languages: English, Scottish (Conversational), Spanish (Learning), Samoan (Learning) 🐿️ Sexuality: Heterosexual 🐿️ Occupation:

Sergeant of the Marine Corps

Sergeant of the Shadow Company (Recent)

Sergeant of the Warriors Task Force

Sniper

Appearance:

🐿️ Eye Color: Green 🐿️ Hair Color: Ginger 🐿️ Height: 6’0”/182 cm 🐿️ Scars: 

Wounds: None

Scars: A big cut on the palm of his hand (caused by an enemy with a knife on the boat during Dark Water mission), Small scar on his neck in front and on the corner of his lip (caused by Tiala)

🐿️ Face Claim: Jake Austin Walker

Favorites:

🐿️ Color: Light Green 🐿️ Food: Haggis and Hamburger 🐿️ Drink: Sprite and Whisky 🐿️ Flower: Thistle 🐿️ Hairstyle: Short hair but do like it braided nicely (he asked Agnes to French Braided)

Affiliation:

Warriors Task Force:

- General Alana Kalani

- Captain Kanoa Toa

- First Sergeant Tiala "Shark" Toa

- Dr. Aelan Kalani

- Sergeant Agnes “Blast” Falagi

- Tama Nikau

- Special Officer Emma Tabua

Specters/Team Charlie: ( @deeptrashwitch )

- Captain Alicia “Origin” Marchant

- Lieutenant Luke “Harlem” Michaelis

- Sergeant Jackson “Doc” Blackwell

- Sergeant Edward “Eager” Jackson

- Corporal Noah “Cobalto” Garcia

Mexican Special Forces/Los Vaqueros:

- Colonel Alejandro Vargas

- Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra

- Special Officer Alyssa Martinez ( @alypink )

Task Force 141:

- Captain John Price

- Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley

- Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish

- Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

- Charlotte “Jade” Le Jardin ( @sleepyconfusedpotato )

- Sergeant Major Hannah “Sparrow” Clayton ( @revnah1406 )

Para Special Forces: ( @welldonekhushi )

- Captain Arjun

- Sergeant Aditya Tripathi

- Staff Sergeant Yuvraj Chaudhary

Second Commando Regiment: ( @kaitaiga )

- Captain Lachlan Jones

- Sergeant Damien Whitlock

CIA:

- Station Chief Kate Laswell

Personality:

🐿️ Myers Briggs Type: ESFP Squirrel has a very playful nature. Always making pranks and jokes with his friends and the Captain. Just like he still was when he was younger.

🐿️ Sneaky: Nigel has a habit of being so sneaky. Like you could barely hear him coming in. Most of his comrades from his old team get even MORE annoyed with that. But he finds it amusing.

🐿️ Loyal: This boy is as loyal as a DOG. Always shows his support for his family and friends. 

Negative Traits:

🐿️ Wanderer: Nigel has a habit of wandering off. Whenever you’re with him and you are busy looking at one thing. 5 seconds later, he’s gone. Like POOF. So it’s better for you to keep a leash on him.

🐿️ Unpredictable: Nigel was having a hard time to focus on things. Well…he CAN but when it comes to the situations that he can't handle (mostly emotionally) then that’s a problem. And his team, even Graves, are getting annoyed by it. So he tried his best to stay focused. 🐿️ Mischievous: Everyone could see it. Nigel has his ways of being a mischievous fella. Always planning on striking his next victim. And that’s what got his team worried even MORE.

Skills and Abilities:

🐿️ Fighting Style: Hand-to-Hand Combat and kickboxing 🐿️ Weapons: AT308, M16 and MK14 🐿️ Distinct Weapon: M17 and Night Stalker Knife 🐿️ Special Skills:

Marksman: A very good sniper. Knows how to take a bullseye on his targets.

Hiding: They have put him in as a sniper for a REASON. Hiding in plain sight is his specialty if he doesn’t want his enemy KNOWS that he’s around. Not only can he hide himself. He can also hide any objects as well. Only small objects. That’s why no one can find his secret stash.

Family:

Nick Harrison (Father, Alive)

Rona Clark Harrison (Mother, Alive)

Iona Harrison (Younger Sister, Alive)

Pets:

Finely (Rona’s dog, Alive)

Trivia:

🐿️ Nigel is the eldest son of his family and the fun one too.

🐿️ He is a BIG prankster ever since he was a KID. He loves to see his victim getting into his trap but he knows his limits if he goes too far. He doesn’t want to HURT them. Just wanna have fun with them in his pranks.

🐿️ The nickname “Squirrel” is what he got called from Kanoa (his new leader). Because of how fast he could run and how fast he reloaded his guns. And also, he always stuffed his stash somewhere for safekeeping. (Like an ACTUAL Squirrel during winter to hide their nuts)

🐿️He really likes to dance. It made him feel like he could express himself more. Even with others. Him and Agnes would always have a dance battle whenever they are out of work.

Background Story:

On February 20th, 1994, Nigel was born. In a city in Virginia. Red hair like his mother and the face of his father. A few months later after Nigel was born. His father had to go back to work as a CIA Agent. So he’s not always around. But will always be on the call whenever he’s available. For he does want to know that his son is doing okay with his wife. Nigel understands his work when he grew up a little bit older and he’s very amazed of how he did his job. So he wouldn’t mind his father not being around since he has his mother. Nigel was only 5 months old before his father left.

And while growing up. A mischievous little red ginger boy who always plots to have the BEST pranks in HISTORY. He always does. Even for a boy who was only 10-years-old in Elementary. He got in trouble for pulling a small smoke bomb in his class making the teacher think there’s a fire. His mom was in the principal office and he got an EAR FOLD from her. In 2004. 

When Nigel was already 12-years-old, his mother had given him a surprise that he’s going to have a little sibling! Which excited him so much. So he started to help out his mom as much as he could before the BIG arrival. He even told his friends and his teachers about the news. He wouldn’t even stop talking about it. Until 9 months later, his baby sibling had arrived and what’s even BETTER is that his dad was there as well. And he decided to take his leave until the mom is back on her feet again. Nigel had seen he had a baby sister. A beautiful and cute baby sister. He somehow felt SO happy to see the joyful looking baby. And he had promised that he will fight the whole world to make sure that she is safe.

During high school, he talked to his mom about his future career. He wanted to become a CIA Agent just like his dad! For he wanted to help the world against crime. His mother is a very passionate woman of helping others and hearing this from her own son. It made her feel with glee and pride. She accepted! But not his father. He’s not UPSET. He’s just…worried for his safety. Since he’s been working as an CIA Agent for a LONG time and through his experience. He doesn’t want Nigel to go through it and he does want his son to stay home to take care of his mom and little sister. Nigel understands but he wanted to do something GREAT. Helping the people. Helping the world. He really does. His mother could see that so she suggested to him that he can join the military. She threatened to talk with his father about it. Surprisingly he agreed and let Nigel join the marines.

Nigel joined the Marines at the age of 20, since he wanted to help out with his mom and his little sister first. In 2014.

He’s been in the Marines for only 3 years and is already a Lance Corporal at that time. Most of his higher officers praised his useful skills. His fast movements of taking down his opponents. Fast of changing his loads of his guns and quick enough to shoot down his enemies from near and far. His skills had gotten the attention from the Commander. The leader of the Shadow Company.

Philip Graves.

Graves had seen great potential in him and decided to recruit him into his team. Nigel was very excited for this as he quickly accepted without questioning. He was 23-years-old at that time when he joined the Shadow Company. And he’s been working with them ever since. After the incidents from Las Almas. In 2022. Nigel had decided to join the Warriors Task Force. As he wanted to make it up after what happened. He was 28-years-old when he transferred from SC to the WTF.

Mood Board

More of Nigel Harrison posts

[witchersmistress]

Someone like you

hello my darlings! i was in a bittersweet mood this morning when I wrote this. Having to say goodbye to someone is never easy, especially with someone you love so dearly. this Adele song just hit the right way this morning

Do not be alarmed i still will be writing about Henry. no panicking aloowed my darlings.

word count: 849

Trigger warning: warm and fuzzy feeling, along with bittersweet and nostalgia

My heart hammered in my chest for the entire show, we sat on opposite sides of the stage but even then that felt too close. He had gotten what he wanted, absolutely everything. I'm so proud of him and happy for him. He’d make an incredible husband and father someday,but  it was time for me to let him and the past go for good.

Standing at the microphone waiting for the lights to turn on, I felt a strong hand at my waist, as he placed a kiss on the spot where my shoulder and neck met. Rolling the tension from my shoulders as he took his place, I nodded as the lights turned on and the piano began to play.

Glancing in Henry’s direction as i began to sing;

I heard that you're settled down

That you found a girl and you're married now

I heard that your dreams came true

Guess she gave you things I didn't give to you

Old friend, why are you so shy?

Ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light

I could feel his blue eyes focused on me while i laid my soul bare for him to see

I hate to turn up out of the blue, uninvited

But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it

I had hoped you'd see my face

And that you'd be reminded that for me, it isn't over

Never mind, I'll find someone like you

I wish nothing but the best for you, too

Don't forget me, I beg

I remember you said

Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead

Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead

Memories of us as kids playing in the yard, our first kiss played in my head as I put every once of power and feeling into this. The time I was holding his nephew Thomas and they way he just looked at both of us. The first of real love feelings we shared came flooding out, the dam had broken and I could only ride it out.

Nothing compares, no worries or cares

Regrets and mistakes, they're memories made

Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?

My voice broke as I moved with the song, remembering when we walked away from each other at Heathrow Airport, he was going off to L.A. to work on his acting  career and I was off to Ireland to go to university. We’d promised we would meet one year from now at our spot on the channel island Jersey, as the one year approached we made the plans but never followed through, then one year turned to 2, then to 6 and ten years had gone by. I never saw him again

Never mind, I'll find someone like you

I wish nothing but the best for you

Don't forget me, I beg

I remember you said

Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead

My breath hitched in my throat as i struggled to finish the last chorus of the song, the tears were streaming down my face, thank the lord for waterproof mascara or id be a mess, my whole body was shaking, my knees screaming to give out but i needed to finish and walk off this stage, the strong woman I had become. 

Never mind, I'll find someone like you

I wish nothing but the best for you, too

Don't forget me, I beg

I remember you said

Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead

Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead

My entire body began to tremble, as lights faded and warm arms encircled my waist as the audience cheered. Turning his arms to his chest, the scent of leather, bergamot and cedar filled my nose as I began to relax. The steady stream of tears began to slow as the lights came back up. Pulling back, I saw the other guest clapping and whistling for me, but Henry was perfectly still. Walking back to join the others as the show drew to a close, we stood for a final round of applause, Lachlan hugged me pulling me off the floor, wrapping my arms around his neck. My eyes met with Henrys again, his blue eyes glassy with unshed tears and the loss of what could be. I nodded at him, he nodded back at me as I took my eyes off him. Losing myself in the comforting scent of Lachlan, the love of my life, I lifted my eyes to see a glimpse of the young girl I used to be. She was standing there with tears in her eyes and her hands on her heart. She was joined by the younger version of Henry. They held hands and walked off the stage.  “ A stor’ mo Chroi”  Lachlan spoke, drawing my attention back to his presence “ Let's go home” feeling lighter than I have in years. I looked at Henry one last time before shutting the door on our past and moving on to forever.

[aquadestinyswriting]

You Never Cared

Summary: Llachlan and Pal-El enter one of the many chambers of the Hall of Heroes, having been told to go to this one in particular by the Hall's guardian. A one-sided argument ensues when the spirt they've been sent to see shows up.

Words: 1,003, a little over, but I can't make it much shorter.

Tags: @druidx, @sparrow-orion-writes,@flashfictionfridayofficial, @ashirisu, @blind-the-winds, @philosophika, @the-down-upside-finch

Warnings: Implied neglect, implied character death, implied ritual sacrifice, all of the angst

Notes: This is set during the current campaign! I have Pal-El's player's permission to use the character here. Based loosely on an actual session, mostly because I don't remember what exactly was said at the time and I'm not allowed to record sessions for this campaign.

Pal-El looked around the chamber he had been directed to by Aurianna. It was beautifully decorated, he thought, recognising the runic text of Moradhir scripture carved into the pillars on either side of him. The ceiling was vaulted and a large statue of Moradin stood at the far end of the chamber, the gaze of the Dwarf Father overlooking a simple shrine at His feet. A large barrel sat to one side of it and the shrine itself was adorned with offerings of various gemstones, various smithing tools and tankards that had once, presumably, been filled with ale and beer.

The warforged paladin turned his attention to the black-haired dwarf that walked alongside him. Llachlan was sullen and shifting uncomfortably, glaring at the statue of the god his people so revered. Pal-El sighed, he understood why the young dwarf was reluctant to be here. Hells, he was nervous, and he’d had a very good relationship with Archlector Bloodvein, all things considered.

Both paladin and forsaken warlock froze as the air in the chamber… shifted. The lights flickered briefly as a slight breeze wound between the two beings. Pal-El looked around as the breeze died down, standing ready just in case anything popped out of the shadows that were cast by the lights. His sensors didn’t pick up any intruders, or much of anything if he was honest with himself. Lachlan frowned as he too looked around the chamber, seeing nothing that seemed untoward. But that didn’t mean that they were alone, he knew all too well that there were ways for his enemies to cloak themselves even from his eldritch sight.

“Hello son.”

Both Llachlan and Pal-El jumped at the sound of the voice coming from behind them, both whirling around to come face to face with the semi-translucent form of a much younger dwarven woman than either of them remembered. The short, stout figure wore the vestments of an Inquisitor of Moradin over a set of heavy plate armour, which was heavily inscribed with scripture. Her beard was a bright auburn with no sign of white in it and only barely reached her stomach. A simple mace hung from her hip on one side while a mythril-bound book of Moradin hung from the other. 

Pal-El immediately bowed his head, his mechanisms clunking and his armour clanking as he immediately fell to one knee, a hand pressed flat across his chest where his Core sat,

“Your Eminence! Truly I am glad to see you face to face once more. You look… well.” he intoned, stumbling over his greeting as he tried to think of the correct words to say in this moment.

Llachlan, as Pal-El kneeled, glowered at the figure standing in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest. He snorted,

“Bit late for the whole ‘son’ thing, don’t you think?” he spat. 

The spirit’s hopeful expression immediately fell at the words. She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head,

“For all that she tried to convince you otherwise, you never stopped being ma wee baby boy, Llachlan.” she sighed, “I know there aren’t any words I can say that –'' She was cut off by Llachlan’s angry snarl,

“Then don’t!” he snapped, “Just – Get on with what you’re here to do, then get lost!”

Pal-El cautiously raised his head, frowning as he took in the hurt and lost expression that crossed his mistress’ face at the words. She said nothing more, nodded and turned her attention to the warforged that was still kneeling at her feet. The spirit smiled sadly at him,

“Pal-El… what’re ye doin’ still kneeling like that? Come on, get up.” she said, obviously trying not to let her voice quaver too much, and failing badly. Pal-El did as he was told and stood once more, towering over the short woman. He looked over to Llachlan,

“I know we’re here more for my sake, but maybe it would be a good idea to hear her out?” he suggested. Llachlan turned his glower to the warforged,

“Why should I?” he asked, “I don’t need, nor want, to hear whatever damned excuses she has!” he snapped. 

“I make no excuses for what I did and said.” The spirit interjected, her voice quiet, despondent, “As much as I cared, still care –”

Llachlan’s twisted into an ugly scowl, his face burning a deep red as he clenched his hands into fists at his side,

“You cared? You. Cared?! Bollocks you did!” he thundered, throwing a hand out to one side, “All you fucking cared about was your own damn self! If you actually cared, then why not tell me about my own damn heritage and where the powers I ended up with came from?! If you cared as much as you say you did, then why the hells was I made to feel like the monster you clearly thought I was?!” Lachlan didn’t bother trying to stop his tears from falling into his beard as he continued his rant, “If you cared as much as you say you did, then why did you let them take me just to kill me?!” he sobbed.

Meredith Gruksdottir shook her head, tears streaking into her own beard,

“Because I was too blind to see what was happening right under my nose.” she replied, her voice tight, “Hate me all you want, Llachlan, but I will not deny the fact that I still love you.” 

Lachlan’s scowl lifted into surprised shock as his mother’s words finally reached him. His heart ached. How could he have allowed himself to be manipulated into believing that the one person who loved him so unconditionally despised his existence? And yet, there was still a part of him that couldn’t bring himself to forgive her. Not yet. Instead, Lachlan settled for a grumble and nodded to Pal-El,

“Well, since ye’re here, ye might as well fix this idiot.” he grumbled. Meredith simply smiled sadly at him, then turned her attention to the warforged that was patiently waiting for her attention.

[doodles-with-noodles]

*There is a weird voice in your home that suspiciously seems to come from the fireplace*

I AM BACK! AS A... a... a... A GHOST!!! FEAR ME! (don't check your roof please)

Oh yeah and also I have more questions!

Any characters that are scared of each other?

What are the limits of magic?

Those that have magic, where did they get them from?

Stupidest and/or funniest thing that someone sincerely believes?

Most likely to accidentally join a cult?

How did you get the idea(s) to make these specific characters and stories?

What would any character(s) say if there was a doppelgänger of them and they had to prove they were the real deal?

Alternatively, how would they react to suddenly finding out that they were a doppelgänger and there was someone out there who was them? That they were the one who's not real (so to say)?

If they were animals, what would they be?

Does anyone have any pets?

To finish this totally real job interview, where do they see themselves in ten years?

*I lean forward so far that I fall down the chimney into the fireplace and get up, wiping the ashes off my very professional suit I bought at the dollar store.*

Thank you in advance and you will be hearing from us.

I DIDN‘T INVITE YOU IN *sprays you with holy water* 1. Hilariously enough, Norna and Cecil- at least before the team splits up and they are stuck with each other and become funniest best friends ever. They both think the other is quite intimidating, but working together brings them around.

2. Basically you can go on until your body is destroyed or you konk out. For example, if Mathildis wanted to die he could achieve the same effect as the bombs in the mistletoe project and destroy whole cities, and in theory he could make his light collapse into itself- probably ending a whole lot more than just a city. If we’re talking about stuff he can do without dying it’s making some pretty and very, very hot light. They often put restrictions on users that don’t pass psych exams (although they’re very amateurish).

3. Magic can often be inherited, but there are sometimes also people that just. get them. Religious people say the gods gave it to them. Scientist look at the people’s blood, which have a substance that is called signasteini in them. It also exists as larger magic stones. Research was largely stopped and even lost when the war came- during both, magic users were mostly used for science and warfare.

4. Morris, that he gets spared from marriage just because both of his brothers also aren’t married yet (he isn’t)

Rose, that she just can waltz into Mathildis‘ lecture and ask him about his whole fucking life after and just get a short answer

5. Treeve. He’s just one of these people that’s so fucking used to do whatever they are ordered to.

6. I take a whole looot inspiration and throw it in a blender. Mostly it starts out pretty recognizable, but the longer it mixes and the more ideas I have, the more it becomes my own. Sometimes I just see a cool looking person- sometimes I go „Hey, wouldn’t that be fucked up and cool?“ I also like to make men that don’t have tragically dead wives lol. And flip some stuff on its head in dynamics. AND STRONG WOMEN THAT ACTUALLY HAVE FLAWS. And I go: „Hey, what do I think is horrible and want to talk about (but not directly)?“ and make it into a concept.

7. Mathildis (his one‘s sounds so eerie): the Preusheim disaster.

Maura: Do you remember our first time working together? *launches into a story w information only she could know*

Jules: I know where you carry your amulet.

Lachlan: *describes a baby blanket one of his little brothers had in extreme detail and still almost gets shot (it’s one of his brothers)*

8. Mathildis: COLLAPSE INWARD

Maura: Mental breakdown

Jules: Would probably be terminated by a team

Lachlan: already shot and thrown into the river

9. huhhh hmm……

Mathildis: Raven maybe? Treeve: snake. U get it.

Lachlan: a ram, Morris: bunne, Cian: a dog.

Roscoe: BIGASS BEAR, Maura: BIGASS YAK, Ed: Honey badger, Anthony: BIGASS MOOSE, Cecil: Bleeding heart dove, Norna: Little eagle

Jules: Long eared owl? I think?, Malik: cat (gatito), Charlie: Tiger or smth

10. I was thinking about the museum owning a cat. He’s big and orange and his name is Mr. Whiskers.

11. Mathildis: trying to discover more and more and more and teaching, Treeve: exactly where he is now, Rose: Author

Lachlan: married and kids (and safe from the family crimes), Morris: just doing more on his own, Cian: floating face down in the river after being shot in the head

Roscoe: having a basis for other mind burglars, Maura: taking down corporate shitheads, Ed: doing the same shit with the bonus of being married to Anthony (he’s hearing the wedding bells), Anthony: chemistry teacher, Norna: ENGINEERING, Cecil: working as an astronomer in an observatory

Jules: working as a guide, Charlie: Historian and researcher, Malik: getting his team the credit they deserve

[ladyofspringcourt]

CASTLES CRUMBLING

🌻 When the Princess of Vallahan, Ingrid Aesir, was taken to Prythian as a hostage to force her father to negotiate for peace, she did not expect to return home alive.

But the Mother has other plans.

Burdened by bonds she did not want, Ingrid must claw her way out or Prince Diarmuid, her captor and the second son of the Spring Lord, will devour her alive. And she will rather die with her dignity as Princess of Vallahan in tact before she is cowed into marrying Prythian's warmongering Spring prince.

FOREWORD

The Ladies of the Ruling House of Cynara by Aurea Rosid.

IN THE WEST OF SPRING COURT, there is a small house on a cliff that overlooks the Red Sea. The people of Fionna called it the Tulip Castle, an ambitious name that caused a few laughter for those who have seen it upclose. It wasn't anything grand. Just a simple two story house with a wooden upper floor and a stone foundation, lined with a grand staircase leading to a small garden with what used to be a gilded fountain and a gazebo. It was a vacation house for the Cynara Family before the Siege of Aithne more than a millenium ago—now it lay abandoned, ivy growing on the stone walls.

However, as ancient-looking and enigmatic the castle might be, what many do not know was that the castle was only built after High Lord Diarmuid ascended the throne. Before, the cliff was a barren land. No trees grow on nor around it. The soil was dry and pale, too harsh for any form of life to thrive on. It was the only part of Spring that cannot nurture life—that small cliff overlooking the Red Sea, a bald patch of dirt that was completely useless.

For that, many saw the cliff as a sign of hope. Against the invading armada. Against the stark gray of the never-ending wars.

But legends have it that after Ingrid of Vallahan, the future Lady of Spring, bled on the barren soil while defending the borders of Spring from the Summer Armada, soul-trapping flowers grew around it.

That legend alone has fascinated the entire court for centuries. Lady Ingrid, or Princess Ingrid as she was formally styled before her marriage to the High Lord, was a foreigner with no Spring Fae blood in her veins. The people from Vallahan did no favor magic either. They are a conquering class, who wielded swords and shields a thousand times better than their Prythian counterparts.

And yet her blood gave birth to the same rare soul-trapping flowers, Spring's most scared fauna, which grew only in the gardens of Rosehall. The same flowers that can gather pillars of sunlight and sow it back into the soil. Many found it mysterious and chalked it up to her mating bond that inevitably tied her to the lands.

Evergreen trees soon grew after the battle, slowly filling the foot of the cliff until it towered over every new shrub, every new plant—until its steady shade covered the near Village of Fionna.

But now, it is a symbol of death.

They say that when the Lady Ingrid died in Rosehall Manor in the Village of Lachlan, a strange light appeared in the castle's garden, shooting into the night sky until it devoured fge moon. A solar eclipse that threatened to devour the moon entirely. Many believe that her soul was trapped in that house—and that is why the her son never visited Fionna when he became High Lord. Why he stayed far away in his Manor on the other side of the Court.

They say Lady Ingrid's haunted castle is the reason why the Beast of Spring never ventured too far west, even when the King of Hybern demanded a welcome during the Second War. She wanders in its hallowed halls like a ghost, still in her blood-stained clothes, unable to passl.

If you are a fae of Spring, you might be familiar with this story already. Lady Ingrid is famous among Spring Faeries when she was alive—for her grace and her benevolence—that the countless analects from her youth had been the topic of numerous ballads and stories up until today.

That said, I'd like to argue that everything you have read above may just be an sanitized version of a far more interesting tale.

Remember that our history, the history of Spring Court, is never formally written. Unlike the other courts of Prythian, we kept our folklores and stories alive through words of mouth; through ballads, poetries, and bedtime stories. Such recollections, which got more and more dramatized at every retelling, did not preserve the integrity of the characters and their personal history.

It never explained why Ingrid of Vallahan, of surprising mixed descent, was mated to the then most powerful of the seven High Lords. Why her blood gave life to a dead cliff. Why her closetest son, the Bronze Prince, the High Lord Tamas Lin, never visited the west of his territory in his three-hundred years of Lordship.

We made theories about it, romanticized the bits and pieces we were given until we have a mangled fairy tale in our hands.

But now, as I embark on this journey to put our history in ink, as per the order of the High Lord as part of our rebuilding efforts, let me dedicate the following chapters to the story that unfolded more than 500 years ago. The story of the promising Prince of Spring who would later become one of Prythian's tyrannts, and his mate whose name and identity I will attempt to give back.

- - - - -

Hello, Ran here!

So this is an fanfic idea that I have been playing with for a very long time (if you scroll through my profile, you'll know). Anyway, I wrote the intial draft a long time ago but decided not to publish it because Diarmuid and Ingrid have a canonically toxic relationship and I was scared that the fic will be taken the wrong way.

But you kmow what, SJM never fleshed the characters so I'll do whatever the fuck I want with them. Just remember to take the story with a grain of salt—it is afterall inspired by the Story of Kunning Palace and the Medici. Xie Wei and Lorenzo are not exactly prince charmings so...yeah, enjoy ig?

[comfy-whumpee]

Fog

Whumptober 11 - Captivity / all the lights going dark

-

“She’s going to kill me, Kurt.”

He ignores them. Their head throbs, feeling like it’s the size of this whole room.

“She’s already started.”

He doesn’t even look. Tired green eyes scan over the monitors, make sure the readings are all as they should be, and he makes a note. Then he leaves, and the snap of the door shutting makes them wince in pain.

Since Annalise came – Northlight has now learned her name, whispered between doctors – the lab has changed. Caroline’s experiments have slowed, and Annalise’s ideas have taken over. There are ever more things attached to Northlight’s body, tracking their every twitch. Their heart can’t beat without it being recorded. The only saving grace is that they remain free of the muzzle.

It does them no good. Annalise forces her magic through their sigils on a daily basis. The unbearable pain, regular as clockwork, drains them clean of energy. Between experiments, they lie on the table and try only to recover. Their head pounds thickly and their eyes sting at brighter lights.

She rests her hand on one after, and numbs the pain of it. But it doesn’t last. By the time she has finished with the last sigil, she comes back around to the first, which hurts as badly as it has for years. She draws what she wants from it, and then, she smothers it. Onto the next.

The blood is still being taken, of course. For all her apparent schemes, Constance Irene won’t risk the one supply she is sure of needing. But Annalise is conducting her own trials now, on a different kind of healing.

Where Caroline saves the blood for mortal wounds, each one inflicted on Lachlan until the light goes from his eyes, Annalise works on a different scale. She turns her attention to minor injuries. She heals a papercut. She soothes toothache. She asks the student doctors for their tiny afflictions, and she rests a hand on them, as she does to Northlight.

But where she takes from Northlight, she gives to the students, and they find themselves healed.

Even Kurt, one day, admits to her in the privacy of Northlight’s room that his back has been troubling him. She, standing straight with no need for her cane – not with Northlight’s power in her – smiles kindly. It’s the kind of smile Kurt is normally giving, not receiving, and he seems uneasy. But as with the blood, some discomfort is easy to ignore if it gets him what he wants.

Against the white walls of their cell, to Northlight’s blurred vision, she is a figure of shadow. Kurt seems hesitant about turning his back on her. “I’ll just rest a hand where the pain is worst,” she assures him, her voice already thickening with magic, a pull like gravity towards her instructions. “You should feel a cooling sensation, but it won’t hurt.”

Kurt turns. His eyes graze Northlight, who tries and fails to catch them. They want to speak, but they can’t pull together any words to say. They want to protest and promise that Kurt doesn’t need her, that this isn’t all it seems, and plead with him not to listen to her laden voice. But what power does Northlight has? She has taken it all.

She rests a hand on his blue cotton shirt. She hums a soft note. Her clouded eye seems to emit a faint light of its own. The folds of her skirt fall still and heavy even as she leans forwards, just slightly, to channel her power through.

Northlight tries to keep focused, but their head throbs at feeling the echo of their own power. It’s like hearing an echo of a memory they’ve forgotten, a fragment of a thought passed in whispers between two strangers. Their body aches for it all the more, now they don’t have enough to themselves. They can feel it, they can almost taste it, but it slips by.

Kurt holds perfectly still as Annalise heals him, and when her hand falls away, he stretches his arms above his head. At first, his movements are tentative, but then he gives a full curve of his back. “How effective,” he remarks, impressed. “I’ll have to take care of my posture.”

She nods as he turns back around. “Back pains are rarely healed in one, as I’m sure does not surprise you.”

For a moment, her warm wise-woman smile meets his avuncular one. Their eyes crinkle at each other. They hold the gaze.

Oh, Northlight realises. They hate each other.

Then Annalise turns to them on the table. They want to cringe back, but they don’t have the room. When she rests a hand on their exposed forearm, they flinch, waiting to feel her deadly cold wash through them again.

Nothing comes. All they get is a slowly throbbing head as punishment for the slight movement.

“Do you heal the body, too?” Kurt asks.

Northlight wants to laugh. As if she would.

“The body doesn’t need healing,” she reminds him. Despite her interest in their power for her own sake, she says all the right things when it comes to the cult. “Through my magic, I can feel how its power performs repairs on itself. The sigils are always trying to heal. It gives me knowledge I can use in my own work.”

“And it’s cleaner than a vivisection,” he quips.

Northlight catches the barest flash of distaste over her face. That’s good. They need to remember that, her dislike of gore or surgery or whatever is causing it. They can’t think. They need to remember what she doesn’t like. Vivisection. Well, who likes vivisection?

No, no. Focus. Annalise doesn’t like it even as an idea. And she hates Kurt. And Kurt hates her. They need to use this, later, when she’s gone.

She’s going to kill them. Kurt has to believe it.

Her hand lifts away, and they shudder in relief at the lack of numbness left behind. She could do anything to them and nobody would be able to notice. Caroline’s machines, numerous as they are, and always beeping and whining and humming, always jabbing at them with sounds and needles… What was their point? The machines can’t detect magic. Nobody can keep track of what Annalise is doing.

She leaves the room. They watch her go, trying to focus on her receding back through the fog of pain. The fluorescence of the hall outside stings their eyes, and they return them to Kurt, who is pressing buttons on a machine.

Surely, he can see they’re not right. They’ve only spoken to him today since the muzzle came off. They can barely keep their eyes on him. He can’t be that oblivious, can he?

Maybe there is something, because Kurt doesn’t immediately leave. He lingers, looking at the chart.

“I wonder just how old you are,” he murmurs.

It feels like a rare opportunity: an invitation. They swallow as best they can. “I wish I knew so I could tell you.”

He just laughs. Once, bitter, dry. “You wouldn’t.” He looks back down at the paper. “Your vitals are sluggish.”

Relief swamps them. He has noticed. They offer him the only truth they can’t shake. “She’s going to kill me.”

“You can’t be killed.”

“She can.”

They strain their eyesight to try and see through the veil of pain. Does he believe it? Is there doubt, or even just a little fear?

“Her Permanence was right,” he mutters, crumpling the chart in his hand. “You are a liar.”

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Creeping Ambition

CW: Dehumanization, captivity, restraints, emotional manipulation, mad science, drugging, delirium/hallucinations, noncon touch (nonsexual), torture

For @whumptober 2022, day 1: adverse effects / “this wasn’t supposed to happen” and day 23: tied to a table

Signs of the Sea Masterlist

-

The following was attached to an email sent to Austin Howard, CEO of Howard Reston Health, by Dr. Rachel Lachlan

RECORDING 90

DAY 076 SINCE SUBJECT WAS ACQUIRED

There is a soft, slight hiss as the recording begins. Barely perceptible, it seems to grow slightly louder as the recording continues.

A woman’s voice speaks.

“This is Dr. Rachel Lachlan, recording for the purposes of later transcription, with Bahram Anvari assisting. Subject is adolescent mer and is a rare example of a young adult male. Today’s examinations are more practical than usual, I must admit. We’re not looking for any big breakthroughs in knowledge today.”

A male voice with traces of a long-ago English accent still clinging to the edges of each syllable speaks next. “We’re not?”

“No, Bahram.” The rattling of metal, sound of wheels rolling along a floor. There is a splash of water, the sound of it slopping against the sides of a tall plastic tub. A soft chirp and click becomes audible, questioning. While the young man murmurs a soothing nonsense reply, the woman ignores it. There is light beeping, four in quick succession, then the sound of a mechanism unlocking. Creaking as a door swings open. The rattling of wheels begins again. “Today is really more about observation, looking for the smaller details that our more difficult work may lead to us missing.”

“So we’re just going to… watch him?” 

Thump. 

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Please move the mer onto the examination table.”

There is a brief pause, and then Bahram Anvari speaks in a softer, sweeter voice. “Okay, here we go. Yeah, you know how to do this by now, huh? One… two… three… up!”

Harder thumps, and the sound of Bahram Anvari’s heavy breathing from exertion. The mer chirps, a sound that manages at once to be both plaintive and attempting cheerful. 

“There we go,” Bahram says. “Good, good job.”

“It doesn’t understand English or ASL.” Dr. Lachlan’s voice is dry and disdainful. “I don’t know why you bother with all that nonsense. It isn’t a person, Bahram.”

“With all due respect, Dr. Lachlan, anatomical studies of recovered specimens have shown that they have very similar neurological structures to our own.” Bahram’s voice might tighten slightly - it’s difficult to tell by recording alone. “There’s no reason to believe he can’t learn a language as easily as we do.”

“Bahram.” Dr. Lachlan’s sigh is audible in the recording. “What have I told you about over-humanizing the test subjects? He is not human.”

“Their scientific name is Homo haffru sirenia! They’re part of our family tree!”

“I have some disagreements about that classification, to be frank. With the gills and being fully aquatic in their natural lives, I would really call them Cetacea, class them alongside whales, not Simiiformes like us.”

“You’d be wrong if you did. Anyone who did would be wrong. He is clearly a branch of humanity-”

There is a pause. “Bahram. Are you questioning my understanding of taxonomy as it applies to a marine subject I have far more knowledge of and experience with than you do?”

“... I thought you said you’d never worked with them personally before this.”

There is another, much longer pause. “Bahram-”

“Did you? Did you work with mer before, in person? Not just observational?”

“That isn’t relevant to the current-”

“Zer nazan! Of course it’s relevant-”

“Bahram! I can dismiss you from this project if you would prefer, right now, and you may pack your things and go.”

A pause. “What?”

“I can continue onward on my own or hire someone new, if you would prefer. Or you can stop blithering and help me provide mankind with discoveries that could get both of us quite wealthy and well-known.”

“I don’t care about money, Dr. Lachlan. And I don’t care about getting my name in any publications, or-”

“But you value your parents’ regard, don’t you? I imagine that after you have already left your university education somewhat… ignominiously, that losing your first and only job immediately afterward would disappoint them further.”

Silence, broken only by the questioning clicks from the mer, which neither human seems to respond to. Bahram Anvari is the first one to speak again. “I… I’m sorry, Dr. Lachlan. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’ve been having some trouble… with everything.”

“I can see that.” Dr. Lachlan’s reply is clipped, irritated but no longer angry. “Does this mean I should be concerned about a repeat of your prior illness? I offered you an option that allowed you to gain the experience you need without having to attend classes, and even agreed to speak to Dr. Evans about forgiving some of your incompletes in order to allow you to return to finish your degree-”

“I know, Dr. Lachlan, and I’m grateful… it’s just-”

“Should I rescind that offer, Bahram? You know as well as I it will be quite impossible for you to gain employment within your chosen field without that bit of paper proving your capabilities.”

“No! No, I’m… I’ll be fine. I’m fine, doctor. I’m just… I’ll try to get better sleep. That usually helps a lot.”

“I will hold you to that. Now… let’s get him strapped down.”

Bahram’s voice has a note of reluctance and uncertainty. “... yes, doctor.”

For approximately sixty-seven seconds, the only sounds are the breathing of the two humans and the mer, and the sound of metal buckles clinking as the mer is strapped by tail and wrists against the table. The mer whistles in distress, but beyond some low shushing noises from Bahram, neither speaks to him. 

Dr. Rachel Lachlan’s heels click on the tile floor as she moves away from the recording device.

“Dr. Lachlan? What are you doing?” Bahram Anvari moves the microphone closer to the mer, and there is the sound of scraping and a brief burst of feedback and audio noise. 

Dr. Lachlan’s reply is faded and distant. A cabinet door opens and closes sharply. Water runs, and then shuts off again shortly afterward. “I’m prepping our observational study, Bahram. We’ll be observing the effects of a specific kind of sedative being developed for use in merkind.”

“For use in… why would we need that? I thought you said you didn’t plan to take any more-”

“I don’t plan to do anything, Bahram. My employer, however, may wish to gain further subjects in the future. And we want this to be as humane a process as we can make it. Now, you mentioned his right arm is no longer useful for syringe injection?”

“... right. He’s… his veins are totally tapped out on that side. We’re giving him too much-”

“Nonsense. We’ll try the left today, then.”

The mer whistles again. This time Bahram speaks to him directly. “It’s all right, just turn your… right. Just like that. Give blood, okay?”

“It knows that command, hm?” Dr. Lachlan laughs, a little wryly. “Like a dog learning what ‘roll over’ means.”

“Or a child," Bahram says quietly, "learning how to ask to be held.”

Dr. Lachlan makes a sound of disgust, but doesn’t reprimand him this time. Instead, there is a brief silence before the mer whimpers and Bahram shushes him again.

“Bahram, what are you doing?”

“He likes-... it helps him feel better,” Bahram replies, a little defensively. “He’s scared of needles - can’t imagine why - but if one of us is there with a hand on his head, it helps him.”

“You’re a lost cause, Anvari. Imagine how little we would know about the world if all our researchers had your bleeding heart.”

“We might know just as much, and have found it out in ways that didn’t involve terror.”

“Nonsense. And... there we go. It should only take a few minutes to take effect. Let’s clean up while we wait.”

“Yes, doctor. All right, buddy, you took the needle really well. Now-... here, yes.” Brief silence. “Good? See?”

“... are you signing to it again, Bahram?”

“Yes. He really does know a few signs, and-”

“Hmph. Hopeless indeed. Come here and help me.”

For approximately five minutes and forty-two seconds, no sound is heard beyond breathing, Dr. Lachlan’s quiet commands, and Bahram’s soft, deferential answers. Then, the mer whimpers and whistles, and the two humans go quiet. 

Rattling and thumps. Distressed clicks and whistles raise in volume and pitch. Audio briefly drops out as the mer’s keening is too loud and close and the microphone fails to fully record it and instead records a moment of static. 

Keening again. Table rattling.

“What is he doing? Dr. Lachlan, why is he doing that?”

“It’s thrashing, Bahram.”

“No, I see that, but… why is he-... hey, it’s okay, it’s-... ow!”

“Don’t get so close to it!”

“He bit me!”

“Shocking. You put your hand next to its mouth and it bit you. A wild surprise.”

“Dr. Lachlan… What’s wrong with him?!”

INCLUDED: FIGURE 3.2, PHOTO OF MER TAKEN FROM LEFT SIDE

“Hm. Well. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Dr. Lachlan’s voice is muffled, as the mer continues to wail, rattling and thumping against the table as he thrashes. The keens become shrieking, screeches that overwhelm the recording with feedback again and again.

SUBECT STRAPPED TO TABLE. SHOULDER BLADES AND TAIL AGAINST METAL. BACK ARCHED. DRIED AND WET SALTWATER ON FACE. MOUTH WIDE OPEN, FANGS GLEAM IN THE LIGHT PLACED CLOSE TO FACE.

EYES WIDE.

SEE SUPPORTIVE DOCUMENTATION RECORDING INCREASED HEART RATE.

Primary audio file unusable for reference purposes for period of sixty-six seconds due to this loss of fidelity. 

SEE INCLUDED AUDIO FILE 62 FOR MORE ACCURATE RECORDING OF MER DISTRESS SOUNDS WHEN NEGATIVE PHYSICAL STIMULI IS APPLIED.

INCLUDED AUDIO FILE 62 FROM RECORDS: MER SCREAMING.

“What was supposed to happen? That wasn’t a sedative, was it, Dr. Lachlan? We’ve used sedatives on him before and this has never happened, so what did you give him and what did you think would happen when you did?”

“Bahram-... I would watch your tone-”

“What was it?!”

“... a deliriant.”

The pause that follows is not a silence at all. The mer continues to shriek in the background, audio crackling in and out, in and out. 

“You gave him something to make him hallucinate?!”

“My employer-”

The sound of tearing fabric overtakes all over noise.

“... wait, what’s that sound?”

Crashing, sound of metal against tile, glass breaking, more fabric tearing, and above it all, the mer’s high-pitched, keening screams. 

“Shit! Come here, buddy, it’s okay, come here-... oh shit-.. Stop, stop trying-... my ears, that hurts so bad, stop it-"

“The subject,” Dr. Lachlan speaks over the noise, voice strained with effort, nearly shouting herself, “has torn the restraints on the right side and from its tail and is now off the table and on the ground. It has destroyed laboratory equipment, including the restraints… also a variety of compounds intended for experimental use… several broken syringes, its travel tank…”

“Here, let me get that for you, just calm down, calm down, here we go… here we go-...”

“Bahram Anvari has undone the subject’s last remaining restraint from around its wrist-”

“He’s terrified! Whatever you gave him is hurting him!”

“It’s not hurting him… it… it just may be causing some sensory hallucinations-”

“No.” Bahram’s voice is firm. “He can see his pod-... his family. He can see them being harpooned like he was! He can see-... see their blood in the water-... he thinks he’s in the water. He’s trying to get to them to help! Here, here buddy, it’s okay, you’re just in the lab with me…”

INCLUDED: FIGURE 3.3. STILL IMAGE FROM SECURITY CAMERA LOCATED IN PLACEMENT SEVEN WITHIN LAB.

PHOTO OF BAHRAM ANVARI, SEATED. ANVARI HOLDS MER SUBJECT, WHO IS STILL APPEARING TO VOCALIZE. MER SUBJECT IS BLURRY DUE TO CONTINUED VOLATILE MOVEMENTS. WATER IS VISIBLE AROUND TILE FLOOR DUE TO OVERTURNED TRAVEL TANK. 

ALSO VISIBLE: GLASS SHARDS, SYRINGES, TORN NYLON, OVERTURNED METAL TABLE, AND DR. RACHEL LACHLAN STANDING NEAR SINK.

 “How can you know?” Dr. Rachel Lachlan’s voice remains calm despite noise and movement. “How can you  know that’s what it sees?”

“I just-... I just know!”

There is whispering, from Bahram Anvari, which cannot be understood on the audio recording. After approximately seven seconds of further vocalizations, the mer goes quiet, and then whistles exactly once, high-pitched for one second, then three shorter, sharper, lower notes.

“I know,” Bahram says, voice soft and gentle. “I know. We’re just here in the lab. It’s just us.”

“Bhhh… Bhhhh-rmmm.” The mer appears to be attempting to say Bahram Anvari’s name. This transcriber did their best to accurately reflect the pronunciation of syllables. “Bhhh-rmmm, hhhh-puh…”

“I’m right here. I’m right here. It’s just us, it’s just the lab. Your pod is still out there, they’re all right, it’s just us here… just us.”

“Bhh-rmmmm… mah-... mah-”

“I know, I’m so sorry, she’s not here.”

“Mah-”

“I know.”

A pause.

FIGURES 3.4, 3.5, AND 3.6. STILL FROM SECURITY CAMERA LOCATED OVER ENTRANCE INTO LABORATORY. PHOTO SHOWS JUVENILE MER HELD BY BAHRAM ANVARI.

FIRST PHOTO SHOWS MER WITH PALMS FACING SELF, CLAWS SPREAD, ONE HAND LOCATED THREE INCHES ABOVE THE OTHER. ONE HAND IS OVER LUNG AREA SLIGHTLY TO THE LEFT SIDE, ONE OVER UPPER ABDOMEN ON RIGHT.

SECOND PHOTO SHOWS SAME IMAGE, BUT NOW MER’S HANDS HAVE SHIFTED INWARD, ONE DIRECTLY ABOVE THE OTHER, CLAWS SPREAD, CENTRAL POSITION IN FRONT OF TORSO.

THIRD PHOTO SHOWS MER’S HANDS HAVE RETURNED TO THEIR ORIGINAL POSITION, CLAWS SPREAD, ONE SLIGHTLY TO RIGHT AND THE OTHER SLIGHTLY TO LEFT.

“I know, I know you are, I know… It’ll stop after a while, I promise…”

“Bahram.” Dr. Lachlan sounds genuinely unsettled for the first time. “What did it just do?”

“He said I’m afraid. Miah and I have taught him some ASL, I told you, Dr. Lachlan, he isn’t what you keep saying he is, he’s thinking all the time. He’s learning. He’s-... he’s just a kid-”

“It is a juvenile mer-”

“He’s a child. A humanoid child who has been abducted, and he’s scared and in pain and it’s… I’m part of it. It’s my fault. He misses them so much… He thinks about his mother, you know. All the time. It’s okay… it’s okay. I think about my maman, too…”

“It thinks about its parent?”

“Dr. Lachlan…”

“Fine. Its mother.”

“Yes. He’s… he’s barely more than a baby.”

“This juvenile is adolescent. It’s within two years of entering its first mating cycle!”

“Yeah, and so was I when I was sixteen, but I still asked for Maman when I was in a car accident! He wants his mom. What kid have you met who didn’t want someone when he’s scared and alone?”

“I… don’t interact often with children.”

“Yeah. I can tell.”

Dr. Lachlan’s reply is clipped. “... I can see that you won’t be reasonable about the current situation. I need to record my observations for my employer’s benefit. I think we’ll cut our experiment short for today. When you can, return him to his tank and clean up this mess.”

“Yes, of course, doctor, but… that’s it? That’s all you needed?”

“... yes. I’ve gotten what my employer needs to know.”

Dr. Lachlan’s heels crunch on broken glass and plastic as she walks briskly out the door and closes it behind her with a sharp click.

The audio recording continues on for some time, the only sounds those of Bahram Anvari speaking to the mer, and the mer’s chirping, whistling, and clicking responses. After approximately one hour and seven minutes, Bahram Anvari begins to clean up the side of the laboratory closest to the door.

The sound of a secondary travel tank being wheeled in, one squeaky wheel differentiating it from the original, now broken one. 

“Oh, right. The audio. Let me turn this over, bud, and then we can get you back home-... back into the tank, anyway. I can get the glass out of your tail in a second. Oh, man, you are so heavy…”

One final whistle from the mer.

“Yeah… you’re welcome. I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass later.”

RECORDING ENDS.

-

Copy of email sent to Austin Howard:

BODY:

FROM: dr.rachel@hrh.org

TO: howard.austin@hrh.org

SUBJECT: Breakthrough!

Mr. Howard,

I thought you might find something of value in this transcribed recording of my latest session with the juvenile mer subject. I have attached images and audio files that support the transcription, which I believe will be of immense benefit.

Frankly, this justifies our entire mission.

As you can see, the juvenile is learning American Sign Language due to repeated contact with my assistant and our friend’s daughter. While that is fascinating, there is something far more important in this recording.

Note, if you will, that Bahram Anvari appears to have some understanding as to the mer’s thoughts and access to specifics as to its reasoning that he shouldn’t. 

He won’t tell me how he gained this knowledge, but I think our hunch is correct.

The mer are telepathic, Austin!

And ours… is talking to Bahram.

Yours,

-

Dr. Rachel Lachlan, D.Sc

Head of Applied Experimental Research

Howard Reston Health

dr.rachel@hrh.org

(555) 683-4310

“Every great advance in science has issued from a new audacity of imagination.”

John Dewey

BODY:

FROM: howard.austin@hrh.org

TO: dr.rachel@hrh.org

SUBJECT: Re: Breakthrough!

Dr. Lachlan,

I was excited to review the transcript of your session. Now, having listened to it and looked over your notes, I’m downright goddamn thrilled. 

My secretary will be giving you a call in about twenty minutes. I intend to make a visit to your laboratory and see the juvenile in person. Schedule a particularly strenuous, frightening, or painful experiment for that day, and ensure Bahram Anvari assists you.

Let’s see what this little fish can do.

Thank you as always for your invaluable contributions,

-

Austin Howard

CEO, Howard Reston Health

h.austin@hrh.com

(555) 334 - 2309

“Ambition can creep as well as soar.”

Edmund Burke

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @thefancydoughnut @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @yet-another-heathen @fanmanga1357-blog @justabitofwhump @crystalrainwing @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @orchidscript @whump-tr0pes @hackles-up plus @whumpworldld for whumptober tag list

[wanderinglcst]

Who: Lachlan & Paloma When: The 22nd December Where: Huntsville clinic

@uninfernodelamente

Christmas come early...

Lachlan had been so exhausted that night, he was nearly in a deep sleep when he felt Paloma waking him up, the sun was just about to come up and Sofie was staying at Vincent's overnight so they could have some alone time before the baby came. He rolled over and wrapped his arm around her, leaning his head against the bump, that was until he felt her shaking him harder this time and nearly missed what she was saying. "Huh, what?" Lachlan slowly sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eye, things coming into focus then he spotted the look of panic on her face. "Mi vida, what is it?"

Paloma had been having some braxton-hicks contractions lately. But she learnt to ignore some of them after the initial ones when she had made a bit of a scene at school, rushing to hospital straight from there just to realise it was a false alarm. No Paloma was wiser now and learnt to count the contractions. That's why when she initially jolted up from the sharp pain she didn't think much of it. But as minutes passed and it wasn't disappearing it dawned on Paloma that this could be it. She tried to wake Lachlan as fast as she could still trying to count the gaps between the contractions, but the pain proving too difficult for her to do it. Paloma was grabbing onto Lachlan so tight it was surprising she wasn't leaving any marks. As soo as Lachlan was awake she took a deep breath "I think we need to go" she all but whispered trying to sum up her rambles from before she woke him up.

It took him a second but once it sunk in, Lachlan made a scramble off his side of the bed and headed around to hers. "Are you sure? It was a false alarm last time." He did believe her, he just wanted her to be sure before they headed out to the clinic. He pulled on whatever clothes he could find for himself then her dressing gown and helped her into it. "Lean on me, I'll grab your bag and we'll head out." Lachlan could see that the sun was rising when he looked at one of the windows in the room. "It should be safe but I'll double check."

Paloma did wonder if they would be able to go outside. It felt dark in the apartment but it might be cause the curtains were drawn, she didn't have the time or the stamina to go up and check, grateful Lachlan did. She moved slowly, complete opposite to Lachlan's rushed response. Sucking in through her teeth to try and maintain the pain as she felt another contraction Paloma let him help her and leant to stand up, nodding vaguely when he confirmed they should be fine to go out. As the pain receded she stood up a bit firmer and breathed a sight of relief "I think it's the real thing, babe. But I don't know" Paloma smiled at Lachlan slightly confused. Now that the pain was gone she felt absolutely fine, did she just get blinded by the pain before? She shook her head reminding herself that she was counting the times between the contractions, it wasn't just one off. "We should go" she nodded.

Lachlan held onto her for a bit longer, when he was sure she was okay to stand on her own, he pulled on some shoes and grabbed the bag that had been packed for the clinic, it was mostly a change of clothes and some bits for the baby to bring her home in. "Let's go." He wrapped his arm back around her waist and started to help her out of the bedroom and apartment, until they came to the stairs to get down. Luckily, they were only on the first floor so he managed to help her down those, taking their time but before they could leave, Lachlan checked out of the window, seeing the ghosts heading back towards the woods and fade from existence. "Okay, here we go. It's light enough that they're gone."

Paloma grabbed him before they left through the door, grateful Lachlan had such a quick and calculated response to it all. "Wait," she said quickly taking the radio out of the hospital bag and radioing the clinic to confirm they're coming. Paloma only took a minute or so but she hoped the last of the monsters would be gone by the time she's done. "We're ready" Paloma nodded when she finished up, smiling softly at Lachlan, her statement coming off almost as a question.

He had forgotten about radioing so when she did it, he sighed a little and gave her a sheepish look. "Sorry, I should've done that first thing." Lachlan shook his head at himself. "We're ready." He smiled in return then finally headed out of the doors, helping her down the street towards the clinic, hoping they would make it in time before another contraction hit her. "How far apart are they?" He asked.

"I don't know, few minutes? I tried to count but should've realised it would be better to do on phone." Paloma noted. She put some speed into walking over to the clinic happy it's not too far a walk. Paloma was once again thankful for the running and yoga she'd done for as long as she did. After few minutes of walking, and with clinic far away in sight Paloma stopped in her tracks. Wincing she sat down on a nearby beach "Fuck that hurts," she hissed trying to level her breathing. She wanted to say they can carry on once this pass but was too concentrated on the task at hand to note this.

Lachlan walked with her until she needed to sit so he crotched down in front of her, putting his hands on her knees. "Deep breath, like this." He showed her what he remembered when Jessica was about to give birth to Sofie. "Take your time and breathe through it."

Paloma couldn't even think about the pain getting worse, she knew they wont have any epidural in the clinic but tried to push the thought away. After what felt like way too long she breathed a sight of relief and nodded to Lachlan, squeezing his hand lightly. "We're good" Paloma said standing back up. The rest of their journey felt slower, but that might have been because she was aware of another contraction coming up anytime soon. Once at the door they didn't have to say much to be pointed to the right direction and by the time she felt another contraction they were already situated in a waiting ward. The doctor running tests to see how far along she was. They were told Paloma wasn't there yet and they'll just have to wait things out so for the past few hours that's what they did. With Paloma feeling like she was being split over from time to time, "how is this not it?" She asked through gritted teeth.

"She's just not ready to come yet." Lachlan hadn't left her side besides getting them some snacks or water once in a while, he even had a doze on the seat next to the bed but most of the time, he had helped her hand to help her through the contractions. "This is your first time and it can be a while. it's just what happens." Lachlan kissed her hand gently.

Paloma smiled, looking at him softly. "Yeah is what it said in the books but fuck, Lach, how long exactly?" she said with a laugh. It took them almost half a day before the baby was finally ready. And in the end it felt like moments, painful, chaotic and long, but still gone in a flash. Paloma was happy to have Lachlan by her side, holding her hand and encouraging her. As exhausted and in pain Paloma was she felt such a shot of joy and love when Lachlan put the little, yelling Alma in her arms for the first time. "Bienvenida, mi vida", she murmured kissing her daughter's head softly then looked up and smiled at Lachlan.

"I hate it say it, but it could be a couple of days." He laughed a little. But luckily for them, it wasn't two days as the hours went on, she got closer and closer. Lachlan ended up sitting on the bed behind her to help her out, holding her close and kept up his words of encouragement to the very end. "Hi." Lachlan smiled down at their daughter then passed her to Paloma, stroking her hair back from her face with a big smile. "She's beautiful. You're beautiful." His heart swelled with love for the two of them. "Hey Miss Noisy." Lachlan tickled Alma under her chin. "At least she'll have no problem shouting at us."

"Yeah" Paloma let out a laugh through tear streaked face. The joy was quickly replaced by a shot of anxiety as the nurse too Alma away, noting that even though she seems fine and healthy her coming a bit early means they need to run extra tests. "I was hoping we can introduce her to Sofie straight away" Paloma sighed leaning back. She suddenly felt the exhaustion of the day taking over her.

Lachlan kissed the side of her head then held onto her hand when she was taken away, trying to reassure her that it was only for a little while. "We can, I'll radio Vincent to bring her here and he can meet his goddaughter at the same time too."

"I radioed while you were getting food, mi vida. " she smiled at Lachlan, the thought alone of them meeting Alma making her smile. "If we're lucky they'll be here already. But I'm not sure if they let us see Alma before it gets dark" she looked out frowning, trying not to think about there potentially being any complications with Alma being born early, she looked perfect to Paloma. "I'm sure they'll be able to see her soon enough" she said softly still looking into the sky as her eyelids were getting heavier.

"Oh, then they must already be here." Lachlan looked out towards the door then returned his attention back to Paloma. "You never know, they might bring her back to us with a bit of luck before night fall." He could see how tired she was so stroked his fingers through her hair. "Get some sleep, you're going to need it. I'll wake you when they bring her back."

"You’re probably right." Paloma nodded settling back into the pillow. "You go, see if they're there. I'll get some shut eye in the meantime. And if they let you see her, introduce her to her sister and godfather" she smiled kissing him softly before leaning back, suddenly feeling how achy her bones are, body relaxing into soft covers. She knew that even if she'll still be asleep Alma will be in good hands with her father and people that loved her.

"If you're sure." Lachlan kissed her back with a smile. "I love you, so much." He kissed her forehead a couple of times then stepped away, going to leave the room to find out what was happening with Alma.

[whatwouldvalerydo]

Summary: He tried everything for years on end but when an apparent fan asks for the director’s autograph, the director Lachlan finally understands what it means to set his eyes on the key. But what if the key wants to replace him in order to save those close to him? Or is it all an act?

Warning ⚠️ : fighting, weapons

Lachlan Murray belongs to the amazing @kc-and-co

My heart currently resides with this part not going to lie. The hpma are something else.

Cameras rolled, flash after flash illuminating the scene as several people took picture after picture, Lachlan smiling their way, the charismatic director as if built for the center of the stage. The city mattered little to him as the circus was all he knew since an early age. As years rolled by, time appeared to fade, names mixing together until they represented nothing.

By the time he was declared the next, it was as if his mind was ready for it, built for it and around the very existence of everything around him.

And he delivered in full.

The shows were far beyond what anyone has seen as the Carnage Circus, Lachlan feeding upon the attention the media brought after rumors and wild words gathered. It was the perfect media attention without him having to lift a finger. And he enjoyed it, wild nights and parties filling the grounds until early mornings.

However he as well worked on rumors alone, words spread from mouth to mouth. He learned all journals burned back in the day of director Gerard. The darkest fates followed with Akira and if you even mentioned the former director to Lachlan, name he did not even wish to hear of, even forbid others to utter, he would become even more bitter as he was known to have the key right under his nose from the very beginning and did nothing, his own dark soul consuming him in the end.

Despite the seers’ words that told him cryptic stories, despite the encouragements, he wanted nothing to hear about destiny and the key to it. It had not appeared before him, despite the number of people from each city parading themselves inside his tents.

Nothing, there was nothing.

As if the fates Orion spoke of were laughing in his face again and again. Or better yet denied him all things considering. The curse did not linger, did not weigh upon him but almost crushed him and his spirit, especially with every location coming back empty handed.

However when they reached London yet again, Lachlan felt as if his heart took a tumble right before he pushed aside the curtains and revealed himself to the cheering crowd.

“Director?” Scarlett, his second in command immediately came near him “What’s the stalling for?”

“There’s something wrong. It feels like I can’t breathe normally, like there’s something out there.”

Checking her clock, she frowned “We don’t have time for stage fright right now, we’ll delay the show. Get out there.” She basically pushed him, the curtains being drawn, revealing Lachlan, his eyes taking in the crowd.

Faking a smile, he entered the stage “My, my, look at all of you. Welcome.” He delivered his speech, inviting on the stage the performers, however his eyes always drifted to the back of the middle row towards a person whose face he could not make out, but he could tell that person stood out more than the rest.

And as always when the show was done and everyone was signing autographs, a habit invoked by the new director, Lachlan searched the rows, inviting that person forward “Don’t be shy, come closer where I can see you.” He smiled when they still refused to show themselves “You know I can just cast one of the stage lights on you and get a glimpse of your face. Come on now.” Extending his hand out, he waited. Eventually the person in question slowly approached, the light casting upon the face of a young man, Lachlan’s eyes widening.

“Sorry, I don’t deal well with crowds.” He spoke, looking down at the hand offered without taking it.

“Oh” Lachlan shook his head as if coming out of a daze “don’t worry, no one will hurt you, you’re with me. What’s your name?”

Reluctantly, he stepped even closer, hands resting on the rail “Jonathan. I didn’t think you’d notice me back there, was honestly debating if I was going to ask for an autograph or not.”

“Nonsense, how couldn’t I notice?” extending his hand out again, he tried once more “Lachlan, the director.”

“I know.” Jonathan said, eventually shaking hands with him, eyes locking, heart rhythm picking up, him pulling his hand away abruptly, Lachlan frowning slightly.

“We have a party later, but if you dislike crowds…”

“I need to go.” Jonathan spoke cutting him off as he was already retreating, Lachlan feeling as if the air from his lungs refused to leave his airways.

Scarlett’s voice called him, a moment being enough for Jonathan to slip away, Lachlan bolting out of the main tent, her hot on his heals “Are you serious right now? What’s wrong with you today?” she saw his chest heaving, eyes focused on the exit, a curse leaving his lips “Are you having a panic attack?”

“Worse. I think I just met my escape.”

“Cool. Who is she?” she asked, arms folding across her chest as she looked at the crowd of people.

“It’s a he.” Turning to look at Scarlett who started laughing, stopping only when she noticed the darkness erupting all around him “Geez, alright, alright. But are you surprised? With the amount of women parading in the circus and none of them being who you wanted, I was honestly starting to second guess your destiny. Is he cute?”

“What?” Scarlett asking again “Yes. No, I don’t know, I barely managed to…what if I scared him off?”

Scoffing, she intertwined her arm with his “If he is your key, he won’t be able to stay away. Now come on, we have appearances to keep.”

And she was right, oddly enough, without even seeing him, but the next day Jonathan was back in the main tent to watch the same performance as the previous night, Lachlan keeping more of a distance this time as he practically materialized himself a few chairs close to him. Or that’s how Jonathan perceived it, almost jumping from his chair.

“Sorry” Lachlan spoke softly “I didn’t mean to startle you.’’ Casting his eyes towards the stage, he bit down on his lip trying to think of what to say next “I always loved watching the performance when I was a child. I didn’t get to be up here though, but I did sneak in under the curtains from time to time to watch the main show.”

“You grew up at the circus?” Jonathan asked, receiving only a small nod. The director did not look at him, but he could still feel his presence, lingering as if in a sense around him despite the distance between them “For a kid it must’ve been magical.”

“Yes, but I grew up.” He replied darkly before his demeanor changed “But there’re still some places I enjoy.”

He waited for an invitation, but when it never came, he himself asked “Would you like to show me?”

“Can I trust you?” Lachlan asked finally looking over at Jonathan.

“We just met.” He smiled while looking away “But we can get to know each other.”

Chuckling, he leaned back in his chair “Fair enough. If you have time, I can offer you a drink and in two hours when the grounds clear, I can take you places. What do you say?”

Shrugging his shoulders, he answered “Sure, got nothing better to do.”

Effortlessly, that’s how it felt, despite them being complete strangers. Talking became easier and easier, laughter filling the director’s quarters as he spoke about the circus and what others were up to. Jonathan instead told him stories of the world, Lachlan eating them up as if they were a part of his soul.

They walked around well after the people left and the circus closed, Lachlan ordering for everything to remain open for their late night promenade. And when Jonathan told him he needed to go because his family was more than likely wondering where he was, Lachlan made him promise he would come back the following day.

And he did, of course he did, all the way until the last day.

However when that moment came, it was not in the way Lachlan expected, as he was used to. He could sense him in the distance, as Jonathan used the darkness to his advantage, hiding, a weapon in hand, ready to strike. A betrayal of the highest order. The moment he was brought before him, he swore the voices roaming around the tent told him to strike then and there, yet he asked why. Just why.

Not why the key to his destiny decided to raise a weapon, not why he carried one to more than likely kill him.

It was just why.

“I have to save the ones closest me.”

A chuckle left his mouth, then full blown laughter erupted “Right, well what can I tell you? Killing me won’t solve a thing. And if you want something, ask for it Jonathan.’’ Glaring at him, he ordered his men “Get him out of my sight. This is the only time I will spare you.” The only warning and mercy he was willing to show in that very moment.

Yes, destiny must have been laughing at him because how else could he see it? The very person that was able to save him from the depths of darkness was the very one who decided he wasn’t worthy. Worse even as months progressed.

He hunted him down to every city they performed it, so if Jonathan wanted to play, Lachlan decided to play. It wasn’t like he could gain the upper hand and surprise him since he knew where he was exactly. And even as they got creative with weapons, even during their fights the damage they inflicted on one another was minimal as if ensuring they would survive to fight another day, in another location.

“You’ll have to do better than that Jonathan.” Lachlan laughed as he directed a light down on him “I’m far more resilient than the others.”

“You’re more corrupted.” Jonathan sneered.

“You wound me. See” he spoke as he walked on the tightrope, balancing above Jonathan “I think you like this little cat and mouse game. You want to follow me, you want to be here and you know why.”

Lifting his weapon, his finger trembled on the trigger “Just because I’m your key doesn’t mean anything.”

“Why not?” Lachlan’s voice echoed “What did I do to you? Nothing, that’s what, but you appear to hate me. Shoo, I have a show to get ready for.”

But he could still feel his presence lingering around the tent, Lachlan growing increasingly agitated as he could feel making his way back stage “Honestly does no one work in this circus?” opening the door, he came face to face with an unknown face. A single word, a proclamation, “die”, Lachlan’s brain barely having time to understand what was happening. And then the overwhelming presence of the key, a gasp falling from the intruders’ mouth, Jonathan’s name being spoken.

Swallowing thickly, Lachlan looked at him, then at the body at their feet “Who are you really?”

Jonathan took a step back, Lachlan reaching out for him, almost managing to grab him. Liar, he thought, he was nothing but a liar.

“I’m sorry.”

Lachlan lunged at him, finally managing to grab him by the coat “Oh you will be.” Punching him in the ribs since he knew he managed to hurt him the week prior, Jonathan winced in pain before he was knocked down to the ground, Lachlan’s weight on top of him “I’m so done with you and your games.”

Darkness spread over the blue of his iris, going over the white of his eyes as Jonathan tried to retaliate “You won’t kill me.”

“Really now?” leaning in closer, he smirked “Why? Because you’re my key? Much good it did me. Destiny is such a funny thing, you were supposed to be everything, but you’re nothing to me, just a bitter disappointment.”

Jonathan stopped fighting, looking into the dark abyss of his eyes “Then why did I just save you?” hearing footsteps approaching, panic rose in his chest, erupting when Lachlan ordered his men to take him to his tent.

“I’ll deal with you after the show. Take him to my tent.” Leaning in further, he forcefully pressed his lips against his, pushing his face away after “You are nothing.”

Once he was finally left alone after a good beating, Jonathan struggled to untie his hands, closing his eyes shut as he gave up for a few moments, trying to calm down and relax the pain in his muscles. If Lachlan was laughing at his fate, he was cursing his.

Not because of the situation he was in, that he could take. But everything was juxtaposed to everything he was ever taught since he was small. After his great great grandmother’s rein, everything went further and further downhill. The curse growing stronger, very few surviving and even those that did left behind nothing but sorrow and madness.

Groaning, he rearranged his position, managing to grag his bracelet with his fingers, pressing the button on it, a small blade popping up, Jonathan working on cutting the ropes.

His father believed there was no hope behind the circus anymore. But if there was none, then why did the curse still demand a key? It meant hope, the possibility of love, of escaping a fate worse than death.

He heard movement close by, Jonathan tensing when someone entered the tent, shinning a light on his face “Oh my, thank goodness you’re alive.”

“Dad?”

Kneeling next to him, Anthony started to cut the ropes binding him “What did he do to you?”

“It wasn’t him, I’m fine.” The sounds of the crowd died out, Jonathan holding his breath as he closed his eyes. The show was done for the night and Lachlan was making his way back to his tent “Dad, go, there’s no time.”

“What are you talking about? He will be with the crowd signing autographs…”

Yanking his arms away, he turned to his father to look him in the face “No, trust me, he’s coming. Go.”

“I’m not leaving you here Jonathan.”

It was more than panic, it was torture as if his heart was rupturing from his very chest. Fear, dread, the sensation making Jonathan sick to his stomach “He won’t kill me.”

“You’re talking nonsense, you probably have a concussion.” Anthony remained calm hoping it would soon manifest onto his son. He taught him better after all.

He needed to get him out and fast, each step Lachlan took closer to his tent as if further weighing on his nerves. Shoving his father with his shoulder, he barely managed to speak, the words as if hurting him “I’m…I’m the key.”

Anthony froze for a moment, his son telling him to go once more “Is that why you were having trouble carrying out your mission? You care about him.”

“That doesn’t matter right now. Please.” Tears stained his face, the horror paling his skin.

“Do you care about the director?”

“Yes. And not because I’m the key, but because there’s genuine good in him.” Shutting his eyes tight, he took in a strangled breath remembering Lachlan’s eyes fill with disappointment when he first raised a weapon against him. It was as if something broke inside of him, shattered instantly.

Clapping could be heard, Lachlan walking inside the tent accompanied by his crew. Lights went on, his eyes widening when he looked at the state of Jonathan. His men immediately took hold of Anthony, Lachlan walking closer to assess what has been done, motioning Scarlett over “What were my orders?”

Confusion painted her face, her brows rising “What?”

Turning to look at her he smiled before he yelled “What were my orders?” Scarlett whimpering when he grabbed her face, gripping her jaw tight “Say it.”

“Take him to your tent.”

“Good.” Forcing her to kneel and look at Jonathan , he took out his gun and pointed it at the back of her head “Now, did I leave him like that?” she shook her head, him asking her to speak up.

“Don’t. Please.” Jonathan spoke instead despite it being her order to tame him and put him back in his place as she said it.

Lachlan smirked, licking his lips before speaking and directing the gun to Anthony “Well someone needs to pay. For going against my orders, for invading my space, for setting out people to kill me. Was it you?” he asked Anthony.

“Yes.” Came the mocking answer, lights dimming around them, the sound of the gun being fired making Jonathan yell. As the lights reverted back, Lachlan shook his head, Anthony unharmed.

“Ops, I missed.” Scratching his temple with the barrel of the gun, he went closer to Jonathan, kneeling in front of him “You see I don’t know why people are trying to kill me. And it looks like there are more of you. I have you” he pointed his gun at Jonathan “and you” at Anthony “one I killed.” Jonathan’s eyes widening, him slightly shaking his head upon hearing the lie, Lachlan smiling “But why? What have I even done to you? Take him to the Haunted house, I will deal with Jonathan.”

As soon as they were alone, Jonathan tried to regain his nerves. He knew what the haunted house meant. Once in, there was no way out if the director ordered them. Surprised they haven’t called it the Slaughter House by that point.

“Now that we’re alone, how about a drink? Do you prefer poison with yours or a different kind of death?”

Jonathan looked over at him, finally freeing his hands from the ropes “Fuck it. I’ll have a drink.”

Pouring a drink for both of them, Lachlan got closer, passing his glass over without approaching too much. Walking over to his dresser, he pulled out a first aid kit, placing that next to Jonathan as well.

“Cheers. To destiny.” He said, chuckling at the irony.

“Cheers. To you.” Causing Lachlan to let out a bitter laugh “I know I’m not in any position to ask for anything, but I will. What do I have to lose now?” Jonathan said smiling “Spare him please. Do it and I’ll tell you everything.”

“Why? Why would I do that? Why would I trust another word that comes out of your filly lying mouth?”

Of course he was reluctant, but despite that there was no ominous darkness lingering around them “I don’t have an answer to that. All I know is what I’m feeling right now.”

“And that is?”

“Terrified.” He saw Lachlan biting down on a remark, Jonathan shaking his head “No, not terrified of you, just in general. You go against everything I learned, all I was taught. I should have killed you or you me. Simple in this world right?” he glanced over at Lachlan, a sadness in his eyes attesting to a different story.

“Is that man your father?” he was almost reluctant to ask the question, but the admission hurt more, Lachlan getting up, pacing around the tent. And when he learned, or at least he hoped it was the truth that Jonathan was the only child they had, he hated the situation even more.

He could feel the curse as if trying to break beneath the surface of his skin, control him even more, eyes closing as he breathed in “Look at me.” Jonathan spoke “Please.” Lachlan finally opening his eyes.

“Scarlett!” the woman coming inside the tent, the director swallowing hard “Free the other prisoner. Make sure he doesn’t come back here.”

“Yes director.” She answered, leaving as fast as she came.

And they remained silent, listening to Anthony trying to plea his life for his sons’, his screams echoing through the circus, Jonathan trying his hardest not to cry. But when silence fell over them once more, Lachlan demanded answers.

“I need to make sure he’s outside the threshold.”

“No, no, you will trust me now. Make it worth it. No more games.”

Raising his glass, he asked for another drink, one which was provided before he finally spoke once more “My full name is Jonathan Dante King.”

Lachlan froze in place, blood as if failing to cross his veins “As in…?” no, he did not even dare finish his sentence.

“Yes, as in Angela King.”

Coming closer, he stood in front of him “Why?”

“Because after her it evolved, this darkness, the killings. Jin failed, Oliver was tricked and he tried his best but against Akira. Well, we all know…”

“No, we don’t all know.” Lachlan yelled “I don’t. I don’t know everything. So tell me. Please, I need to know.”

All were stories passed on through generation, but Jonathan did just that, told him everything he knew about the former directors. He told him how the police started getting hints and when even that failed how they involved themselves in breaking the curse apart or making sure the light would once again shine on the circus. The King legacy.

When dawn shinned its first light upon the terrain, Lachlan knew that wherever he went he could not trust a soul. There were too many out there. But when he exited the tent, he helped Jonathan, steadying him as they both walked towards the exit where Anthony still waited, a sigh of relief leaving his lungs as Lachlan handed him over.

“Thank you.” Tears were held at bay, but his voice wavered as he spoke, hugging Jonathan tight.

“Don’t. You have a strong kid, at least that deserves respect. This is mercy, nothing more.” Taking one last glance at Jonathan, Lachlan turned around “Close it down, we are moving.”

Countries in fact, Lachlan running a tight ship as opposed to the lavish parties that were before. He checked and checked everyone that came, refused pictures and autographs, did not wish to be seen apart from the normal shows. But he knew the curse would take him back to where the key was and it pained him.

But as a year passed by, he not only did not see Jonathan, but also received notes, telling him where they were operating, how many and they never lied.

Walking inside Orion’s tent before opening hours, he was stunned to see someone already there “Who the fuck are you?”

Extending a slender hand, a bright smile was offered “Angela King.” Lachlan tensed, darkness overtaking the tent, Angela lifting as finger “No, no, I’m not here to hurt you, quite the opposite.”

“No, you started this.”

“I did.” She gestured towards an open chair, Orion nodding to Lachlan, encouraging him to take a seat “But I’m also the one who sent the warning messages.”

“Why?” anger, it was all he felt inside his soul, as if she was the very core of the betrayal and her calm demeanor cut even further.

“Because Jonathan reached out to me.” And there it was, the very mention of the name making the darkness recede “You miss him.” She said as if just then realizing it “You do care about him.”

“Don’t do this, I don’t need you here.” He was still standing, eyes searching the unfamiliar face.

“He’s alright, despite the restrictions.” Passing him a note in a different handwriting, Lachlan carefully read it, crumbling it between his fingers.

“Look, as one director to another, he’s better off without me.”

Her eyes softened as she looked at Lachlan, a hand extending to touch his cheek “Alright, there’s no need to threat. He’ll be safe.”

Nodding he pulled away exiting the tent, Scarlett waiting for him “So, is the show still on?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Extending her hand to touch his arm, she actually smiled “Yes, you could finally get it over with and let me be the fucking director.” Shock manifested on his face, Lachlan pulling away “What? Unlike you I do want it. Why do you think I put up with you for so long? Leave it up to me, I don’t care about them. I can handle it. Fuck keys, fuck destiny and love. I have other plans.”

“You want to bring this placed to ruins?”

Tilting her head, she laughed “No, I will make it glorious. You can go be with your destiny or whatever, I don’t even care. Go, let another take over. You love him, why deny it?”

“I do, but if I let you take over it’s going to be worse.”

Smirking, she rearranged her skirt “Then I suggest you get ready…director.”

Him mind swirled as he walked inside his tent, everything spinning until he set his eyes on a figure sitting on his bed “No, no.” he pointed his finger at Jonathan, darkness overtaking everything “Why couldn’t I sense you?

“Because Angela is here and her light is strong. That’s all there’s to it. I’m still your key.”

He ran a hand across his face realizing he had actually counted the days since the last time they had seen each other. When time did not matter, it did without his even actively acknowledging it?

“No, you are a liar, you’re here to kill me.” Getting up, he slowly approached him, Lachlan pulling away when Jonathan touched him “Don’t.”

“Lachlan listen to me. We don’t have much time. I’ve been taught to hate you all my life and I would have, I wanted to. But you’re not corrupt, so please, listen to me.” He took a step forward, Lachlan retreating even further “If Angela doesn’t give the command they’ll come after you either way. You won’t be able to escape. Come with me, accept me as your key.”

“It’s not up to me.”

“What?” checking his clock he witnessed the minutes trickling away “Look I don’t know how to do this. Tell me please.”

“No, you’re lying.” Pulling him closer, Lachlan kissed him, lips lingering until he pulled away suddenly “See, nothing. So be it, maybe this is my destiny, to die here. I wouldn’t be the first right?”

Jonathan’s eyes kept looking between Lachlan and the clock, heart hammering inside his chest “I can’t watch you die, don’t you get it? Let me help. Run away with me.“ he wasn’t asking, he was begging, his eyes following Lachlan as he struggled with the notion.

As the clock showed the hour he overheard his father dictate to his troops, he crossed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around him “What are you doing?” it hurt, it burned, it felt like fire and the iciness of the darkness trying to deny everything.

“I’m staying with you. I’m not leaving you alone.”

Darkness engulfed both of them, Jonathan feeling as if he couldn’t breathe “They will kill you too.”

It hurt, his veins as if being invaded by something foreign, a force no living being should have to face let alone experience. Pressing his forehead against his, Jonathan felt his knees ready to give out, Lachlan holding him in place, only his eyes asking him not to do it. And he smiled, Jonathan actually smiled at him “Sorry, you’re stuck with me.”

“Why?” again that question echoing, dissipating into nothingness.

“Because I love you.” Leaning in, his lips pressed against Lachlan’s, a gasp leaving his lips as he felt a force leaving his body, Lachlan wrapping his arms around Jonathan as the world around them blurred one item at a time. Haunting whispers were replaced by rapid heartbeats, Jonathan pulling away to look in his eyes, arms holding onto him “I got you. It’s alright, you’re with me.”

Pulling his hand, Jonathan could see in the distance the outline of his fathers’ silhouette stopping the attack, Jonathan just nodding his way before he pulled Lachlan beyond the threshold, both running away.

[eruden-writes]

Room & Board - Part 18

Anonymous asked:

For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

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The shock of the run-in with Lachlan runs out by the time the three of you get home, the sun already beginning to set. Not even five minutes through the door, your brain is already churning with ideas, ways to fight back, ways to save Tabaeus. As you kick off your shoes and stride further into the living room, turning on lights, you turn to your two companions, “Alright, he gave us a day. We should plan what to do.” 

“What do you mean?” Ewan shoots you a curious look as he flops down on the couch. There’s something wilted about his posture, as if he was a dog exhaustedly returning home after being dumped elsewhere.

Eager to get planning, your feet propel you into a back and forth pace as your hands gesticulate. “We could booby trap the house. If it’s all anti-vampire stuff, Tabaeus would need to stay somewhere safe, but-” 

“No. There’s no way to defeat Lachlan.” Tabaeus suddenly steps between you and Ewan, casting a desperate expression between the two of you. Their movement has halted your pacing.

Your eyebrows furrow, confusion dampening your verve as your hands fall to yoru sides. “But-” 

“There is no way,” Tabaeus hisses, that desperation in their eyes tinged with miserable fear. Their pointed ears droop a little as they step away, turning their back on you and Ewan. Removing his hat and setting it on a nearby hat rack, Tabaeus’s voice softens and cracks, “He always finds me, always drags me back.”

Ewan sits a little straighter, his concern piquing. You and the werewolf share a worried look, but say nothing. With the appearance of Lachlan, you’re not surprised that memories have finally triggered in Tabaeus. 

Lachlan had been… a lot to take in. Intimidating and powerful, affecting a whole library with some sort of enthrallment. An icy sort of vileness in his movements and words. The promise of danger. 

But you and Ewan don’t have the experience, the traumatic memories, that Tabaeus undoubtedly holds in reference to the other vampire. It’s a bit disheartening that, after so long trying to figure out Tabaeus’s amnesia, Lachlan is there to sully the recollections.

“What did he mean by punishments?” The words come out of you before you can consider them. Tabaeus’s back stiffens at the question, but they remain turned away. Licking your lips, you take a step forward and softly push, “Tabaeus?”

At the creak of the floorboard beneath your foot, the vampire half-turns to you. They don’t look at you and you get the feeling they can’t bring their gaze to you. Too ashamed or miserable to catch your eye.

After a long moment, Tabaeus sighs and turns around fully. “He killed Kieran and… others. The ones I sheltered with in all of my escape attempts.” 

Conflict scrunches Tabaeus’s features further as their hand presses to their own chest. “If the people I am with have other ideas that could be construed as a punishment, Lachlan sits back and observes.”

Your lips thin, eyes narrow as you remember the autopsy scars marring Tabaeus’s torso. You don’t want to imagine what other torture Lachlan sat back and watched. It’s hard not to let your brain feed you awful scenarios.

“There has to be some way,” you say with soft earnestness as you touch Tabaeus’s arm. Their attention flicks to you, quick as a flinch, and your eyes flick over their face, tallying all the anguish crimping their features. 

“No, nothing.” Shaking their head, Tabaeus dislodges your touch gently. They swallow heavily again, fighting down discomfort to continue speaking, “I suspect Lachlan can track me, hear me. Peek into where I am at. If not him, then others perhaps.” 

Ewan has pushed himself off the couch by now and stands behind you, dallying at the edges of whatever is happening between you and Tabaeus. But at Tabaeus’s words, he presses, “Others?”

“Anyone who has used my… services.” The words sound bitter on Tabaeus’s lips, mixed with shame and frustration. 

“For memories?” You’re still not entirely sure what that meant. The worrier in you thinks it’s something sexual or perhaps meant for a litany of experiences. Like a sex worker that will allow anything to happen to them, despite how they feel about it and despite little compensation. But you don’t think that’s all there is to it, even if a lot of vampire media loves the thought of bloodsucking debauchery and parties.

“Yes,” Tabaeus hisses, their lips puckering and eyes narrowing. “For memories.” 

Lachlan had said something about making the memory of himself fresh in Tabaeus’s head, before they did a forced feeding. Something clanks in your thoughts, trying to piece together the meaning. Whenever Tabaeus fed on you, you saw things, hadn’t you? And there were moments where Tabaeus didn’t seem like themselves. 

Did Lachlan mean that Tabaeus was used for memories in a more literal way?

“What does that mean exactly?” Ewan voices the question your brain suddenly churns over. He’s hovering behind your shoulder, his body heat warm. There’s a tingle along your back, as if you can feel the werewolf’s own anxiety.

“I am a vampire created to store the memories of other vampires.” Even as they answer, Tabaeus doesn’t bring their red eyes to your face or toward Ewan. They speak slowly, picking their words carefully as they explain something that, hours earlier, even they knew nothing about. “A receptacle for others to deposit or withdraw memories as they wish. As such, I am not supposed to make memories of my own, so they may utilize me to the fullest potential.”

Their explanation dips further into bitterness and frustration the longer they speak. Grim lines crease the corner of Tabaeus’s mouth. 

“Why would they need that?” Ewan presses, eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

“Our brains are not meant to store centuries or millennia of memories," they explain, pressing fingers to their temple. As if the explanation causes some deep-seeded pain. “Remembrances deteriorate over time. Well, unless a coven has a Memory Keeper.” 

Ewan voices the outrage that you feel, “Then let them make another Memory Keeper!” 

“According to Lachlan’s memories, I am one of the last. He was not even my original owner,” they say, disgust radiating over the last word. “Ironic, the skills and ritual meant to create one of my own has faded from recollection.”

Driven by the unfairness of it all, you take a step closer and reach out to the vampire. “But we still have to try and stop-”

Before you can touch Tabaeus, they grab your hand in both of theirs. They clasp it tightly, the cool of their palms an unwanted balm against the heat of your adrenaline and determination. The fact Tabaeus is finally looking at you is a small consolation. 

“Amata, I care for you. I love you. I do not want to risk you suffering Lachlan’s wrath.” The words come out rushed and watery as they give your hand a squeeze. Your heart stutters at their declaration, your mouth opening to say something but no words come. Their red eyes flicker to Ewan, continuing the earnest and pained timbre as they add, “Nor do I want that to happen to you. A werewolf would be tortured far worse than a human.”

A glance at Ewan tells you he agrees with Tabaeus’s words, his shoulders slumped and a discontented frown on their lips. From the way he holds himself, you can almost imagine wolfish ears drooping down and a sad sagging tail. Despite all this, Ewan quietly asks, “Then what do we do?” 

“I will get my things in order and comply with Lachlan. It is the only way I can be sure neither of you are harmed.”

You can see where Tabaeus thinks the situation is unwinnable. A vile master of sorts that may be able to track or see through Tabaeus’s own eyes. If not Lachlan, perhaps others. Which made the situation worse, since even if they dispatched one enemy, more may come in their place. That wasn’t even considering the actual experience Tabaeus has.

However, you can’t help but want to fight. Rolling over and just letting Lachlan take Tabaeus sours your stomach. “But-” 

“Please, this is hard enough as it is.” “Do not fight me on this. I do not wish to enthrall you and wipe your mind of me, but I will if I must.” 

“Tabae-” They swoop forward, not letting you finish your plaintive dissent. Their desperate lips catch yours, their palms cradling the sides of your face. The force of the gesture makes you stumble backward into Ewan, whose warm hands catch you by the hips. 

Uncertainty pulses from the werewolf, his fingers curling into you. “Tabaeus, I don’t think-”

Ewan’s disgruntled words cut off as the vampire breaks from you and lunges for him. The werewolf yelps as Tabaeus grabs him by the hair, dragging him into a kiss of their own. It has the same level of desperation as the kiss they bestowed on you.

When Tabaeus next pulls back, they hold you and Ewan closer, lowering their head between the two of you. Pained and miserable, Tabaeus sighs, “Please, allow me to have one more night, one more good memory, before it ends.”

Tension echoes along your body and you can feel similar uncertainty radiate from Ewan. Both of you are stiff, even as your arm reaches around Tabaeus and your hand brushes down their back. An ache throbs through your chest. You’d like nothing more than to comfort the vampire, give them another good night, but your heart won’t comply. “Ewan?” 

“Yeah?” The werewolf’s reply nearly comes out as a whisper.

Hesitance causes you to pause for a beat, mentally struggling with your next words. Finally, you dismally ask, “How can we stop Tabaeus?”

The vampire tenses against you, an almost imperceptible whine keening from their throat. “Do not, amata.”  

After his own beat of reluctance, Ewan finally answers you in a soft, sober tone, “I can go full wolf and wrestle him down into… whatever he sleeps in.  Wrap it in chains, put it behind anti-vampire protections so Lachlan can’t get to them but they won’t be able to get out.”

Even as Ewan talks about the options, he doesn’t sound convinced. If you were truthful, you doubt either of you want to go that route. It was one thing to have Tabaeus’s cooperation, and another thing entirely to lock them down against their will.

“Enough!” The snarl lights fast from Tabaeus’s lips as they forcefully push you and Ewan away. The power of the shove sends you flying into the far wall, air knocked from your lungs. Across the room, you hear Ewan land against one of the end tables with a grunt of pain as wood splinters beneath him.

Sparing a short glance at Ewan, you can tell the werewolf is okay. Perhaps a little sore and shamed but overall alright. Your attention jumps back to Tabaeus, your eyes widening as you take in the vampire’s state.

They have ripped most of their outfit off, red tears streaming down their cheeks. Whatever fabric still clings to their body has darkened, moldered as if it has been in the ground for ages. Lights flicker around them as their hair plasters to them, becoming a layer of short fur that creeps over their body. Their pointed ears have grown large, wide, bat-like.

To your left, you hear the telltale cracks and snarls of Ewan shifting. You don’t even need to glance over to know he’s gone full lycan, a heady canine scent tinging the air.

“I have made my decision,” Tabaeus growls, their red eyes glowing behind the still intact sunglasses. Their eyes flicker from you to Ewan, their words taking a rougher edge, “Do not try me, either of you.”

Even with their shoulders hunched, it feels like they tower over you. Innate power crackles through the air, heavy and dark.

Recollections of your first night meeting Tabaeus careen through your head. This was what they looked like, except with different disintegrating clothing. Inhumanly tall and lanky, claws bursting from their fingertips, eyes glowing in a dark-purple complexion and dark fur. 

The sight makes residual fear stumble through your thoughts, but care and concern for Tabaeus refuses to let you back down. “I’m not going to just let you walk back into Lachlan’s control!” 

“It is not your decision,” they snarl, their claws flexing with agitation.

A sense of hopelessness descends through your thoughts as you blink back tears. Faintly, you wonder if Tabaeus is projecting or if it’s your own dreadful feelings. “Just because you don’t think you can fight him-” 

“I said enough!” Tabaeus slices their hand through the air, the action silencing you as they take a step forward. Before you can line up an argument, a brown furry figure tackles the vampire with a growl of their own. All you can do is stare as a fully shifted Ewan grapples with the transformed Tabaeus, fur and obscenities and growls flying. 

It takes you a few breaths before your brain kicks you into gear. Attempting to separate the two would only get yourself hurt. Instead, a thought blooms in your head: The vampire hunter box. Was there anything in there that would incapacitate Tabaeus without killing them? You can’t remember, can’t recall.

Where did you even put the blasted thing? 

Your feet are moving before you even think, making a beeline for the stairs and up to your bedroom. That’s right. You left it on your dresser, before heading to the library. 

As you clamber upstairs, you hear a gnarl of rage behind you. That had to be Tabaeus, realizing your destination in your noisy ascent. Which meant the following growl was Ewan, returning the vampire’s attention to him.

The sounds below become fiercer, with wood splintering and glass breaking. Shoving the worry aside, you focus on getting to your bedroom, getting to the box.

Your lungs ache as you get to the landing, bruises from Tabaeus’s earlier toss throbbing along your back. On auto-pilot, you fly to your room and slam open the door, scrambling wildly to your dresser. 

The box sits there, innocent and ignorant to the chaos below. Grabbing it, you throw the lid open and riffle through the contents. It’s not until you hear a loud crash downstairs, followed by a whimper, that your fingers start trembling. 

“Amata.” Tabaeus’s voice echoes up from the stairs, just before you hear the creak of the wood underfoot. 

Each resounding footstep breaks your concentration further as you try to make sense of the items in the box. Glass vials of water, presumably of the holy variety. The stairs creaked. Silver trinkets. The footfalls got to the landing. A crucifix. Wooden stakes. Closer, the footfalls echoed along the hall. A jar of beans. Outside the door, the steps paused. A hand mirror. A shadow filled the doorway, bringing with it a sense of deeper darkness. 

Wildly you look up, blinking back tears.

The clothes on Tabaeus’s form hung like rags now, but it didn’t matter much. Fur coated the rest of their body, their face morphed into something somewhere between a bat and a human. In the scuffle with Ewan, they have lost their sunglasses, leaving you staring into familiarly terrifying glowing red eyes. They took a step forward, into your room. Inky darkness trailed at their back, like they brought the night with them.

Without much thought, you grab the jar of beans and fling it at Tabaeus. You’re not even sure if the jar hits them when it explodes in a cloud glittering shrapnel, little dry beans scattering. As the beans clatter on the floor, Tabaeus takes another step in, ignoring the mess.

Vampires do not obsessively count beans. One bit of lore determined useless. 

Grabbing the box, you stumble backward, trying to gain distance between you and Tabaeus. Your hand rummages around in the box, until you feel the silver crucifix. With a shaking hand, you bring it up, holding it in front of you. “What did you do to Ewan?”

“He will be fine,” Tabaeus simply states, cocking their head to the side. Their glowing red eyes narrow on the religious symbol and you briefly hope it’s working. They dash your momentary reprieve by stepping forward once. Twice. Undeterred by the cross.                                                                                                                                                                            

“Tabaeus, please. Let us help,” you plead, your shaking hand abandoning the cross to the floor. 

“No!” The vampire’s word shakes the window panes in your room and sends dust floating down from your ceiling fan. They close the distance on you, eyes burning with frustration and pain. Their eyes rimmed red with bloody tears. “You read what happened to Kieran.”

As you continue to back away and grapple for something of use in the box, your fingertips graze the wood of a stake. Your stomach lurches at the very thought. If the other bits of lore failed, however, maybe a wooden stake wouldn’t kill Tabaeus. Maybe it would simply incapacitate them until you could figure something out. 

Clinging to that hope, you try to buy a little more time. “But we can-” 

You don’t get a chance to finish your plea as Tabaeus, a dark smear in the air, suddenly pins you to the bed. The wooden stake in your hand falls to the bed, bounces, and clatters to the floor. A shriek rends from you as your arms and legs lash out. 

“Please, let us help!” Hot tears stream from your eyes as you struggle against the vampire, but it’s no use. They’re too strong. Their clawed fingers wrap tight to your wrists as they peer down at you. The expression they give you makes that pain in your chest ripple again and the tears come harder.

“My apologies, amata,” Tabaeus quietly says as they move your wrists to one palm and lean close to your neck.

Your struggles increase in desperation as you arch and dip your back, writhe under their hold, trying to shake off the vampire. “No!” 

The singular word is all you can shriek as you feel the prick of Tabaeus’s fangs sink into your throat. A fuzzy feeling swallows your thoughts quickly as that strange suckling latches to your neck, but you still feel the tears stream down your cheeks. Sensations fill your head, your chest. Confusion and delight and fondness and happiness. Brief snatches of your time together saturate your conscious thoughts, bringing more of your own tears to your eyes. 

Nothing lasts forever. Good things always end. The foreign words echo in your head. Not yours, not Tabaeus’s. Perhaps something they were told long ago, something that resonates in this very moment.

Further heat trails down your neck, but you know the tears aren’t your own. They are Tabaeus’s tears, staining your throat with further red streaks. Through the haze, a harder sob bubbles up from your chest. But your struggles have lessened, fallen slack. The world, your thoughts, your senses are dimming, turning dark.

In your quickly fading consciousness, you realize Tabaeus has let go of your hands. Their own grip at your shoulders, long spindly fingers trembling. Turning your face toward the hand on your right, away from Tabaeus’s feasting mouth, you find your sight blurring. 

Before unconsciousness claims you, you press a gentle kiss to the back of their palm. Driven to somehow comfort the vampire, even at such a discordant juncture. Their fingers flex, claws digging into your skin as something akin to another sob bubbles up from their mouth.

That’s the last thing you hear as darkness pulls you under.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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[kaitaiga]

Dahlia: Dad, I can't fall asleep! There's something in my closet!

Kristoff: Of course there's something in it. That's what closets are for, Dahlia.

Dahlia: No, I mean something big, giant, ugly, hairy and scary!

Kristoff, sighing: Fine, I'll take a look

*Kristoff walks into the closet and turns on the light and sees nothing*

*he them looks to the side to see his reflection in a mirror that was placed there on purpose*

Kristoff: !!!!

Dahlia: *Runs off while doing that little kid maniac laugh*

(Damien's laughing his ass off in the background because he definitely put Dahlia up to it Lmao)

HAHAHA DAMIEN IS OUTTAAA THEREEEEEE ✈️

Oh and ur 100% right Damien totally put Dahlia up to it. Why? Payback, perhaps. For all that intense PT he gave him while he was there…or perhaps it was just for the shits and giggles? Definitely bribed Dahlia with her favourite stash of sweets or toys.

Damien is absolutely chilling on the plane ride home, knowing that he won’t have to deal with Kristoff’s punishment for a long, long while (unless Kristoff tells Lachlan, in which he almost pisses himself laughing, promising to tell Damien off…he doesn’t.)

[cedarboots]

I'm curious about everything, but do please tell us about Literal Heron Husbands! (Is it the husbands that are literal, or is it the herons?)

It's the herons that are literal! This one is a Flight of the Heron AU based (loosely) on the Crane Wife folktale that I may or may not ever finish and publish.

Snippet here (which is most of the WIP):

It was the noise of a shot that caught his attention. Ewen looked up sharply— Lachlan, on the far side of the valley, was lowering his gun. 

“What was that?” he called.

“A great bird,” was Lachlan’s faint reply, “a heron, I am sure. I only clipped it.”

“Not another heron!” Ewen frowned, riding closer. “You will depopulate the whole country of them, if you go on this way. But I suppose we had better find the spot where the poor creature fell. If we do find it alive, I forbid you to kill it, Lachlan!”

He grumbled, but off they went, cresting the top of the hill and picking their way through the stones on the far slope. Ewen’s horse was nimble, raised a Highlander just as he himself had been, and it was a graceful, easy descent. 

At the foot of the hill was a small burn, which ran into a thicket of gorse and low-boughed trees. He scanned all along the bank, but there was no sign of the heron— no piercing cry, and no still gray shape among the heather. Tugging at the rein, he turned the horse downstream and rode a little ways toward the thicket. This effort yielding no more success than before, he was about to turn back and ask Lachlan to look further afield when he heard a faint, but distinctly English, “God damn!”

It had come from under the trees. There was a gap in the thicket nearby, and he urged his horse through it, all thought of the heron forgotten. Branches and twining vines snagged at his plaid; there was no real path, so they shouldered through from open space to open space, Ewen listening intently for another curse. 

He heard a twig snap to his left, and turned at once, ducking under the branch of a tree. They emerged into a claustrophobic little clearing, overshadowed by branches— but light shone through one gap caused by a broken bough onto the scarlet coat of an English officer.

The man was lying on the ground, propped up against the base of the tree. His hat and wig were a little askew, and his uniform had upon it smudges of dirt; one leg was stretched out before him, and Ewen saw bright new blood creeping up his stocking. When the Englishman saw Ewen his eyes narrowed, and he made a mighty effort to get to his feet.

“How came you here, sir?” he snapped.

“I live here, sir,” was Ewen’s bemused reply. The strangeness of the circumstances had ruffled him enough that he added, “Have you seen a heron hereabouts?” 

The Englishman stared. “What?”

“My brother believes he has shot a heron. Have you seen any bird fall from the sky?”

There was a long silence, in which the man sized him up with wary hazel eyes and pretended his leg was not trembling beneath him.

“I— yes,” he said at last. “It fell through the trees, just here. It startled my horse.”

He made a sharp gesture that encompassed the broken branch on the ground, the absence of horse, and his wounded leg. 

“I am sorry for it,” said Ewen. “May I ask your name, sir?”

The Englishman did not bow. “Captain Keith Windham, of the Royal Scots.”

“Ewen Cameron,” returned Ewen, and dismounted his horse.

Captain Windham drew his sword. 

“Oh, come,” Ewen said, really disappointed, “I had rather not fight a wounded man.”

“I am more than capable, wounded or no,” the Captain replied stiffly.

“I see you are a man of honor; you need not prove it to me.”

When this met with no answer, Ewen sighed.

“Do at least tell me what happened to the heron. Is it dead?”

“No,” said Captain Windham, “it flew off, along with my horse and my entire company. Your sword, sir— unless you are afraid.”

That was a low blow, and Ewen had just laid his hand to the hilt of his weapon when something on the ground caught his eye. He bent to pick it up, certain that the impeccably honorable Captain Windham would not attack a stooping man. 

It was a feather, long and gray-blue like slate, or the sky before a storm. There was a smear of blood on its edge.

“This must be from the heron, poor fellow,” he said. “I am glad it escaped with the rest of its feathers. Still, this one I shall keep, as spoils of war.” He tucked it into his sporran. “Now, sir, must we fight, or will you return with me to my house and let me give you shelter?”

Captain Windham’s face, pale to begin with, was drained of color. 

“No,” he said dully, “I cannot fight you, Mr. Cameron, as you well know.”

This was a very sudden about-face, but if the Captain had seen sense Ewen had no intention of arguing with him. 

“I am glad to hear you say so. Come, you shall have my horse, and we will go and find Lachlan together.”

He helped Windham mount the horse; the Captain made no move to resist, his every limping action bespeaking resignation.

[misfits-of-zaun]

🥊BLAST FROM THE PAST 👻

Starter for @oil-and-water-rp

The Last Drop was heaving with life by the time Lachlan finished his shift, slipping past the crowds on the club floor and out onto the cool night street. Today was one of the precious days he wasn't rostered to work the closing shift, and didn't have to cover for a colleague who'd called out last minute either. Lucky.

He knew the quickest route home by heart; it hadn't changed in nearly ten years. Letting his feet move on autopilot, Lachlan ducked his head a little to light his cigarette. He took a long, hungry drag before expelling it into the air above him with a sigh.

Smoking wasn't a good habit for his lungs, as Erin liked to remind him - but then again, neither was living in The Lanes, breathing in the grey smog that still shrouded the sky, choking out the sun and stars. Not that this point dissuaded his little sister from giving him constant lectures whenever she caught him with a cigarette. Smoking, according to her, was just a bad choice he'd made.

Why don't you just quit? Erin would ask him, whenever she caught him brooding out back with a cigarette in hand.

Maybe it wasn't really about the cigarettes.

The work that put the money on their table, that bought his cigarettes and their groceries and their ma's expensive medication, hung heavy and unspoken in the air between them.

Lachlan didn't like to think about it. There were a lot of things he didn't like to think about, because if he started to think about them, the horrible, suffocating weight in his chest would return, and he'd get the impulse urge to do something ridiculously stupid.

So he smoked on the way home instead, letting the hit of nicotine take the edge off the stress that was always simmering in his veins after a shift. And his sister would pretend she didn't smell the smoke on him when he hugged her.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled, around about the same time he heard something behind him. Something closing in fast.

Oh, fuck -!

Lachlan whipped around, but he wasn't quite fast enough to dodge the arms that shoved him unceremoniously up against the wall and pinned him there. His cigarette flew from his hand; his cheek scraped against the cold brick. Instinctively, he brought an elbow up to counter-strike and drive his attacker off him - then froze as he got a proper look.

Pink hair. Steely blue eyes. Older than he remembered, but he knew that face. His mind started racing, a flurry of adrenaline and shock and disbelief and questions.

Impossible.

You're supposed to be dead.

Where were you all this time?

What are you cornering me like this for?

When did you get tattoos?

Is that a nose ring?

"Ow, Vi," He settled for gritting out pointedly instead, under the iron bar of her arm. "Nice to see you too."

Lachlan made no effort to resist her grip; he didn't want to fight her, if there was still a chance this could be talked out.

The fact that she hadn't punched him yet suggested he had a shot.

"You mugging folks in alleys now? Shit, I thought you were dead. Where have you been?"