mikalaseabrooke

[mikalaseabrooke]

Clockwork—they function in symbiosis, orbiting around and within each other as they have for so many years now. So, when Asa returns his cigarette, he trades his beer without thought. A chuckle mixes with the exhale of smoke at his husband's guess in regards to the melted face paint, nodding once in agreement.

"Perhaps a monarch butterfly," but his attention doesn't stay on the stranger for very long, shifting over to Asa with that ever attentive gaze. "We could take you to get your face painted... I've seen a handful of Draculas around. You'd look cute," he teases gently.

"Or, we could get some not-warm beer and find a nice, equally as less crowded place to sit until something strikes our fancy." It's more enjoyable for him, anyway, to drink and people watch. Much like he is now.

Less crowded is nice - and for the both of them who don't usually enjoy large crowds, it's certainly easier for the couple. Easier for a vampire with a penchant for feeling othered.

Here, there is no 'other'. With Mikala, he is never alone. And there is a quiet settled companionship as Asa hands the cigarette back. Slips his hand over his husband's shortly after, and comfortably finds a place where inked fingers settle on his wrist.

Brackish eyes turn to what his witch is eyeing with such disdain, and he can't help the rumble of a chuckle at it. "Oh christ... it's a... well...." He squints, screws up his gaze to get a better idea of the muddled colors and what they could be.

"A... tiger, I suspect." He takes up Mikala's beer then, and takes a small sip. "It's warm, my love."

[mikalaseabrooke]

"The forecast had predicted rain around this time," comes his own murmured musings. Mikala isn't sure when discussing the weather had actually become a viable topic of conversation, but he'll surmise it was around the time he entered middle-aged territory. "Instead, it's a wonderfully bright and sunny day." The words are cheery, his tone never is.

In comes the unspoken mantra of don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh... An amused huff is what escapes, regardless. "Each time I hear those words towards myself specifically, I can't help but assume they're sardonic."

They'd have to be. God had already given up on types like him, thrown in the celestial towel.

"It's more for the benefit of my husband... I just so happen to enjoy the festivities around this time of year, as well." A quick drag from his cigarette before he carries on, "What pulls you here?"

silas couldn’t regret his choice of attire — the usual sacred black of his cassock, though it was more of an overcoat. darkness seemed to cling to his garments, with only the white collar marking his profession and standing in the community. his once kind eyes, now stern, gazed out at the crowd with a dull mix of reverence and veiled judgement, loathing the horrors that would come with nightfall. how, as the hours passed, a simple, familiar festivity would morph into something sinful and vulgar, a celebration of the macabre.

“ judging by the time, and knowing that by three in the afternoon the heat tends to be unbearable, ” he mused silently, the rosary in his free hand so tightly wound it could’ve left marks on his skin, his thumb brushing the cross pendant. “ i’d give it about forty minutes. too many people moving about, talking. the heat’ll become suffocating. ” he nodded in greeting then, lowering his head slightly. “ i’m surprised to see you here, mikala. god bless you for gracing us with your presence. ”

[mikalaseabrooke]

"It's less crowded over here," and that is true. It's at least as uncrowded as a festive event like this is going to be, with people coming and going, only the errant childlike squeal or whine interrupting the peace.

He won't be a spoilsport, however. Not around Asa—never around Asa.

With cigarette stolen, Mikala focuses on his beer instead, taking a sip of the crisp and surprisingly still cold ale. It's clockwork that his free hand finds his husband, resting atop his waist with fingers curled; a self-soothing gesture as much as it is a way to maintain contact of any kind with him.

A hum of consideration, then he nods towards someone whose face paint has already melted—likely an attendee who's been here since morning. "Alright. What the fuck was that supposed to be?"

"You know, darling, we didn't have to sit so close to the spot with the face-painting." A job Asa had been asked to do but had quickly declined. The idea of making small talk with each person sitting there as he draws pumpkins and bats onto their face... and sticky children bouncing and not staying still... and their parents complaining, and the children potentially complaining...

A shiver runs down the vampire's spine at the thought, as he reaches for the cigarette in his husband's hand and takes a drag from it. Inked fingers tap it gently - and beady dark eyes watch the ash crumble off the end.

He's just happy for this crisp air, and something to do. "You can always turn it into a game... what did they used to be, before all the paint's become smudged and bastardized, yeah?"

[mikalaseabrooke]

OPEN STARTER FOR: Anyone, everyone even.

WHERE | WHEN: Apple Blossom Celebration, near the face painting booth, mid-day.

He's pretty sure he's lost the plot at this point, having been there for roughly an hour—decidedly too long for the token grumpy old person. Still, Mikala has a beer and cigarette in hand, with enough tact to stay away from the general crowd of attendees.

That doesn't seem to stop someone from invading his metaphorical bubble. So, he might as well strike up a conversation.

"How long do you think it'll take for these people to sweat off all that grease paint?" Half-joking, half-not, with his tone mostly flat. "I'm giving most of these people an hour before they look truly ghoulish."

[mikalaseabrooke]

it's not so evil as much as it's hungry; i see these bodies and the bones picked clean.

⤑ keanu reeves, 59, male-adjacent, he/they 𓇢𓆸 my my, if it isn't mikala seabrooke-holland, my favorite witch in town. you know, though people say they can be rather amoral and pedantic, i know they’re really hardworking and persuasive. but hey, what do i know? i’ve only known them for six years. if you need to get in touch, you can probably find them at their work as a funeral director at seabrooke funeral home and crematory.

i built this cage we've been trapped in together; can't remember where i hid the keys.

about OR click on the read more. / photos. / musings. / template credit.

― BASICS.

Full name | Aliases: Mikala Alijah Seabrooke-Holland | Mik.

Gender | Sexual orientation: Male in the same way you might view Cthulhu as a masculine figure, uses he/him pronouns, as well as they/them; look, gender is a weird thing for him, don’t worry about it | Queer (no preference for gender), demisexual and demiromantic.

Date of birth | Age: April 17, 1965 (regrettably, he is an Aries) | 59.

Species: Witch, no longer involves himself with covens.

Place of birth: Brooklyn, New York.

Current residence: Blackwater, Colorado, has lived here for six years. Is currently paying off the mortgage of a 4-bedroom, 2 and a half bathroom home.

Occupation: Funeral director, owner of Seabrooke Funeral Home & Crematory. Works as a tattoo artist and piercer, also does scarification, on the side from his house (not funeral home, thank you) in an at-home studio.

Relationship status: Married to Asa Holland-Seabrooke as of 2018.

Children: Two adult children that he is presently unaware of and had no part in raising, nor would he have wanted to. More likely to be a parental figure to everyone but his biological kids.

Positive traits: + Confident, hardworking, methodical, persuasive.

Negative traits: - Amoral, antagonistic, morbid, pedantic.

― PHYSICAL TRAITS.

Hair color: Black with some greys, nearly shoulder length, slightly wavy.  He often has it tied back in a low, messy bun, or an equally as messy half down, half up hairstyle. Claw clips are his personal hero.

Eye color: Dark brown, nearly black.

Height | Build: 6'1" | Slim, lanky; has some muscle definition, particularly in his arms and back.

Distinguishing features: Heavily tattooed (find the Google Doc containing all of his tattoos and their placement here), long scar on his stomach from a particularly gruesome injury, has his left nipple pierced, generally looks like Dracula, well dressed and groomed, corporate goth vibes, lots of black and grey scruff on his face, widow’s peak. There are additional scars on his body from fighting, injuries, rituals, etc. Walks with a limp, occasionally uses a cane to offset this. If you look closely and he’s dared to be out in sunlight, you’ll notice freckles littered all over his face and body.

Scent: Naturally, he smells like burning leaves and similarly woodsy elements juxtaposed by a darker nature, combined with a slight floral sweetness, an ode to the magic in his blood. The cologne and similar self care products he uses plays off of this, a fragrance called Firewood by Barba Brasil, containing notes of clove, lavender, cedar, vetiver, patchouli, and leather.

Faceclaim: Keanu Reeves.

― BIOGRAPHY (content warning for: mentions of animal experimentation, blood, military matters, death, war crimes, torture, human experimentation, murder; nothing is mentioned explicitly).

Born in the spring, his birth doesn’t inspire the optimism that this season oft does. He is the youngest of three brothers, five and seven years his senior respectively, and the strangest. His father is nowhere to be found by the time he’s born, finding the task of raising three magically-inclined children a bit too daunting. In retrospect, Mikala doesn’t blame him.

Raised by a single mother, with a little help from coven members here and there, their family is unorthodox and each member presents their own unique challenges. Despite this, his childhood is simple and quaint enough to any onlooker; abilities concealed and locked securely in a metaphorical box. He’s routinely frustrated because he can’t relate to any of his peers, not even his own brothers. Admittedly, he doesn’t try.

An odd child, his makings begin the same way it does for anyone of his caliber—with a general malaise towards the living, a penchant for the dead. No one needs to know about the roadkill he conducts experiments on, with chemicals from the cupboards, tools from the shed, and even his own enchanted blood, so they don’t.

He graduates high school at the top of his class. There’s an expectation for him to join the military at the ripe age of 18, regardless of how both of his brothers had lost their lives to war and bloodshed. He enlists despite this.

He’s seen more death and depravity than a man—a boy—at the ripe age of 19 should. Yet, he doesn’t cower, never wavers. Instead, it feeds this animal inside of him. The one that wants to murder and maim. He feeds it equally so, if not more. All for the vainglory of it.

Except, there’s hardly any pride in what he does next, merely an act of degenerate instinct. He takes a hostage, a man of similar age to him, for a nightmare sequence of torture that lasts a mere couple of days at best. He uses this time to practice experiments; magical, medical, the list goes on.  It ends in the sweet relief of death. His peers are none the wiser, and he won’t pretend that he wouldn’t have found a victim regardless of this convenient opportunity.

He serves for a few more years, learning to view the living as merely bodies. He grows colder and more calculated, the profound impact of gore, death, sorrow meaning less and less by the day. His final homecoming is at the age of 24, though he isn’t greeted with open arms.

There’s talk of war crimes. Talk turns to accusations. Accusations turn to a rather messy legal trial. It’s in 1990 that his name and face are known in the paper, despite attempts for the contrary. It goes on for about a year, a long-fought battle with incessant attempts to rightfully pin these crimes on him. He walks free, having proven a false innocence, thanks to legal loopholes, only a singular witness accusing him, and the misplaced respect for “war heroes” like him. It’s during this that he learns how fallible the entire system is, and his own respect wanes.

He’s smart enough to lie low for roughly two to three years. There’s an attempt at normalcy in this time. A steady, simple job to pay the bills… a wholesome, beige and boring relationship… odd interests kept behind closed doors and guarded safely, alongside his magical abilities. He’s as human as they come, until he’s simply not.

More murder, more blood on his hands. A beloved partner meticulously disposed of. It stokes a new interest and in the mid-90s, he pursues a degree in mortuary science. It nearly looks like an attempt to better his life, make something of himself and cater to a field that is sorely lacking. In reality, he can’t resist the siren song of death.

By his early 30s, he’s working as an assistant at a funeral home, primarily handling cremations. This position at a crematory is, well, convenient. Evidence is so easily disposed of now, with access to everything he would need to get away with a criminal lifestyle. How was he ever meant to resist? He won’t get caught again, and he doesn’t. Eventually, other criminals pay him off for his disposal services. All the while, he works his way up in the funeral industry. It’s around this time he meets Asa Holland, developing an on-off business and romantic relationship in this dark underbelly of the world, eventually committing to the man fully.

Any free time is poured into his art. Painting, drawing, tattooing. He’s increasingly less social, more committed to his work in the funeral industry and his craft, magical or artistic. In his mid-40s, he’s able to open his own funeral home. This opens up more opportunities. He continues on, working with criminals on the side while committing his own atrocities.

His move to Blackwater at the age of 53 forces him to “mellow out,” with Mikala settling down in the town with his husband shortly after marrying him. For awhile, he owns and operates a new funeral home, up until the age of 55. He sells it with every intention to retire and focus on his shift to the body modification industry. This is successful for a couple of years, opening up a studio within his home to tattoo, pierce, and scar anyone looking for these services. Unable to resist, however, he re-enters the funeral industry and buys back his funeral home.

These days, he purposefully keeps his plate full and his schedule busy, unable to tolerate idle hands. He alternates between operating his funeral home and his at-home tattoo/piercing studio. He’s less involved in his past unsavory acts, however the urge remains and the figurative beast must be fed in due time.

― HEADCANONS (content warning for: blood, death).

Mikala is big on pet names, whether he hardly knows you or he’s close to you. Love, dear, darling, sweetheart, honey, the list goes on. Don’t read too deep into it, just pretend Dracula is saying it to you or something, it’s how it’s meant to be taken.

He isn’t fond of animals in general, but he especially doesn’t like dogs. For the most part, he believes pets to be a waste of time, money, and other valuable resources. He does enjoy caring for plants, however, so he’s really just a hypocrite. Never mind the fact that he and his husband have five cats.

Speaking of, many of those plants are toxic or even lethal in some way. There’s a section of his garden dedicated to this poisonous flora, although some are out in the open as well. Some are enchanted by his blood, essentially giving “conscious life” to the plants by sharing his lifeforce.

Mikala’s primary talents fall within the realm of blood magic. He’s maintained a natural inclination towards it since childhood and has honed it ever since. More often than not, this ability is put towards his plants, using his blood to nurture and enchant many of them. However, he has used it to heal others and himself, and has dabbled in attempts to revive the dead or nearly dead. The latter has always been kept exclusively to small animals, performed out of curiosity, and he has yet to attempt this form of magic on larger beings such as humans. Naturally, using this ability drains him quite significantly and affects his own lifeforce, making him quite selective when it comes to what his blood is used for and to whom it’s given. While dark magic is his preferred, he’s well aware of the cost and uses it sparingly. That being said, excessive use of it in his youth has left him a bit weak and prone to bouts of illness, as well as difficulty with healing injuries without the involvement of magic.

Owns and drives a hearse as his primary vehicle. He also rides motorcycles, which has given him a deep love for leather and boots. Practical and aesthetically pleasing!

― WANTED CONNECTIONS.

Trusted confidant: Likely another witch but open to other supernatural creatures. This is someone who is in a way his ride or die and vice versa. Someone he often does magic with, runs ideas by, asks for advice (a rare thing for Mik), etc. As close as you can get to a “best friend” essentially when it comes to him.

Child not child: Mikala will literally never parent his own biological children, even if he knew they existed, but he sure will pluck some random pathetic meow meow off the street! As the lover of the unloved, this is someone he views as his kid and has cared for them for quite some time, developing into a synthetic parent/child dynamic. Asa would be part of this as well due to their long-standing involvement with each other.

Favored apprentice: Legit just someone who is interested in finding footing in either the funeral or tattooing industry that Mikala is training and guiding. Cute lil mentor/mentee type vibe, possibly kinda toxic because he’s, well. Look at him.

Friends: Or the next best thing. Mikala generally isn’t the type to get close to people, deliberately keeping them at a distance, but feeling alone is a different story than being alone. He can be quite pleasant in his own strange way, resulting in companionships.

Foes: An acquired taste, there are a million and one ways he could’ve wronged your muse. Perhaps yours learned he’s quite the fair-weather friend, has seen his cruelty firsthand, or happened to read the headlines about his trial in the ‘90s. You know he did it, we all know he did it, but what are ya gonna do now?

Fellow witches: It’s only natural for him to experience a soft spot for others like him. While he may not always agree with other covens, or even members within his own, there is an intrinsic bond that pulls him to those who are magically inclined, especially those who dabble in the dark arts as well.

Apprentices: There are many routes to take here. Younger (or older!) witches that require his assistance and they form a bond over magic. Budding morticians and similar workers in the funeral industry that wish to pick his brain and work at the funeral home. Even people who want to learn the art of tattooing and / or piercing! Basically, just a solid bond based on learning of some type that doesn’t yet go as deep as the “favored apprentice” connection.

Clients: Customers for his at-home tattoo studio, or even the recently (or not-so-recently) bereaved who have been a client at his funeral home. 

Species specific: He’s a rather old man, and a curious one at that, meaning he’s gained experience with several supernatural walks of life. For vampires, perhaps they seek him out for his blood, only to be cruelly denied of what they need the most. Cat and mouse ensues. Additionally, he finds the lifestyle of vampires intriguing and, in a way, he envies them. Hunters? We’ve got something for you, too. While he keeps this as a guarded fact, he has helped hunters in the past, supplying necessary (and enchanted) items to aid them in their quest and even selling out other witches if it meant sparing his life or gaining something valuable in return. Banshees interest him due to their connection to death considering his own involvement with it, and fae are a likely friendship because of mutual connections to nature. Finally, humans who are curious about the supernatural and / or wanting to learn magic, or are noticing the ooky spooky happenings around town, he’s your cryptid too.

[mikalaseabrooke]

You seem sociopathic and lacking in empathy

Just say you want to fuck me

[mikalaseabrooke]

It should shock him, maybe, that Asa's first instinct is to fall to his knees in front of him instead of sitting in the newly available lap. It doesn't.

A fleeting thought that this is where Asa belongs, kneeling before him, though it remains unuttered. He's sure he's said it in the past, anyway, during intimate moments wracked with passion and intensity.

As always, Mikala's gaze remains trained on Asa, because where else would he rather look? Who else could offer him such profound, esoteric beauty that elicits such a struggle to tear his eyes from? His own smile is small, less sweet, as one of his hands frees itself to smooth the vampire's hair back.

"Yes, sweetheart," as he nods once. "It seems we're always doomed to find each other." His tone has a teasing edge in an otherwise soft voice.

And then, Asa is in his arms, inked and strong around his frame. This is where he belongs, too, the witch thinks. Always near him, as close as they can manage.

"Will you tell me how you've been keeping busy, love? What does settling down look like for you?" He already knows, of course, having watched and waited. An invisible tether and his presence vaguely concealed, though he didn't try too hard. Still, he wants to hear everything in Asa's own words.

It's the life that Asa's built in his time at Port Leiry - and to some, it may not be much. But the vampire had once been a feral creature in the shadows of London. Before that, a patient held in a derelict room with people shrieking and crying and banging walls.

A home that's safe, with locks on the doors, and pets, and living things... Asa is beaming when Mikala calls it comforting. And beautiful. Words he could easily turn around on the witch, who despite his perpetual dark and gloomy aura somehow fits right into the jewel tones and artsy atmosphere of his vampire's abode.

Asa walks to him, but doesn't sit on the lap that's clearly there for him. Instead, he sinks to his knees in front of him. Sets his head against one of them. Gazes up with those dark and beady eyes, as hands slip to find Mikala's.

"You're settling down. Here, in Port Leiry... where I happen to have settled down, as well." The vampire's smile has gotten smaller and sweeter. Shy as if saying it too loud will make it cease being real. Fingers slip between Mikala's, and he settles his chin on the knees to stare up at him fondly.

In some ways, he is a creature helped to domestication by a sinister witch. A wild animal, a wolf, whose snapping and biting is kept to the shadows now. A head pressed to his lap in reverence, in some type of sweetness that makes sense in his brain. Kissing a clothed knee before he finally lifts to settle himself in the other's arms.

[mikalaseabrooke]

"Neither am I, which makes it worse, really. The fact even casual consumers knew there was something off about the release." A faint chuckle as he shakes his head. "And then, you have nowadays, where physical copies are of little importance. It's a bit jarring, how quickly it's changed." He'll apologize for the 'back in my day...' rant when he means it.

"I sensed that. Again, you made some excellent selections. Perhaps I'll find the time next weekend to attend again." Admittedly, he's at the cemetery often enough that it shouldn't be a difficult feat; for his job as much as he is more nefarious reasons.

"Well enough," comes his standard reply when the conversation shifts slightly, hardly giving thought to it, though it holds some merit. Life, for the most part, truly is well enough for him.

"Are you keeping well, love? Excited for Halloween?" Because he knows he is, even if it rarely makes it to his features or tone.

It's always nice to see Mikala, even though the connection between them comes from the place of Morgan's deepest sorrow. Still, it's no small thing to her, how kind he's been even after the funeral services came and went. She knows it's all part of his job, but it's appreciated nonetheless -- especially seeing as she hopes never to make use of his services again. Not while she's alive, at least.

She beams for a moment at the notion there's a steady group of gathered moviegoers -- Morgan knows it's not really her own merit, but watching the community come out for the last few rounds of screenings is a vindicating thrill to her. There's still merit in old media.

"Oh, really? I had no idea," she says in earnest. Morgan laughs at the notion of wearing out favorite physical media. "Oh my gosh, I remember that awful DVD. I'm not enough of a film buff to know all the specific aspect ratios and stuff, but c'mon. That was just bad."

Morgan continues putting out popcorn bags along the table as she talks. "Yeah, it was a real tough call, picking just four flicks. There's kind of a loose decade theme. We've had the '60s and '80s already, tonight's the '90s, and next week we end with Halloween. '70s classic," she smiles. "I'm glad you can appreciate them. If one person walks away each week having been introduced to something new, I'll have done my job. But hey, how has everything been on your end of life lately?"

[mikalaseabrooke]

MIKALA SEABROOKE — Pantone's High Risk Red.

Since red is the color of blood, it has historically been associated with sacrifice, danger, and courage. Modern surveys in Europe and the United States show red is also the color most commonly associated with heat, activity, passion, sexuality, anger, love, and joy.

[mikalaseabrooke]

CLOSED STARTER for: @ash-blythee.

WHERE / WHEN: Outside of Brewed Awakening, morning.

He has a meeting he's running late to, and quickly did running late turn into not showing up at all. Mikala is better than this, usually, but it's merely with an opportunistic buyer who wants to purchase the funeral home. From time to time, he considers it, only to never follow through.

Been there, done that. He'll stay in this industry until he goes to glory.

So, with his phone silenced, he uses his now free morning to grab coffee and enjoy the day. The wonderful air of autumn, leaves changing colors and finding the pavement as their final home. It's a lovely sight, viewed better from his place on the bench outside.

It's lonely, though, isn't it? Mikala sits up a bit, looks for the first interesting person he sees. He spots the four corgis first, then the man they're tethered to.

"I can only imagine that they keep you busy, love."

[mikalaseabrooke]

While Mikala has never seen much of an appeal to owning animals in this sense, much less five of them, he has to admit that Asa's love for cats is an endearing trait. Though, the vampire is viewed with rose-tinted glasses, so it's really a moot point.

A slight but charmed smile affixes itself to his features, weathered as they are, while he simply follows Asa around; in many ways a lost dog having found its way to its owner's side again. Dark eyes exploring every nook and corner, taking in each detail and decoration, as well as how they connect to Asa's personality and interests.

"It's beautiful," he comments, finally. "What you've done with this place, how you've made it all yours. I find it quite comforting here already," and that's made evident as he sits on the edge of Asa's bed. Never tentative, making himself at home.

He nods, then, at the statement. "Yes, darling. I have been for... Christ, a decade now, I believe." A chuckle, mostly humorless. "I had to settle down, as they say, abandon my nomadic choices." He inches on the bed a bit more, hands moving from his legs to curl around the edge of the mattress, freeing his lap in a silent 'come here'.

He's drunk off the taste of his lips alone, eyes sliding shut so he can savor it for just a moment longer. He leans so easily into the palms as Mikala stares at him - a flushed face, a glance at the other and a soft giggle that's muffled into one of those cradling hands.

Finally Asa pulls back enough and lets hands slip down the witch's arms until he takes those hands, and squeezes both of them.

"Oh! Yes, well this is Cosmo." He scoops the black lanky cat up easily into his arms. "There's five cats here - my darlings. Starla, Lina, Lockwood, Cosmo, and Kathy."

The vampire begins to walk towards the bedroom. "I settled here a few years ago. It's such a lovely space - I have room for my desk, room to work, to watch films and television... my own bedroom." And the bedroom is lovely - a deep turquoise on one wall, a half-circle stained glass window acting as a headboard. Gorgeous color-tinted sunlight that cascades across a cozy, plush queen-sized bed.

Every room has some kind of cat tower near a sunny window, and art on the walls. Asa sets Cosmo down in the windowsill. "...you're staying here, then. In Port Leiry." Perhaps if he says it, states it, then it can't be questioned. Then Asa can manifest it so he won't go away again.

[mikalaseabrooke]

It's always been his eyes. The first time Mikala allowed theirs to meet, those eyes and their perpetual shine had lured him. The dark, glittering depths of a lake for him to drown in, only to find the secrets within.

It's no different now, catching Asa's gaze in between broken sentences and near frenetic kisses, all of which manages to elicit a chuckle from him. Low and heartfelt, and with a nod, because he doesn't have to think about it. The vampire is right—he can't just invite himself back in with no intentions of staying. He's not that cruel.

Not to Asa, at least.

"Of course, beloved."

A final kiss, for the time being, as he cradles Asa's face for a moment longer. Simply stares at him, commits those handsome features to memory all over again. Eventually, he allows himself to look around, then down to the black cat sat near their feet. Poised and waiting for attention.

"Ah, why don't you show me around and introduce these little creatures?"

....

The kiss somehow lasts an eternity, yet at the same time it's over in a singular instant. Shared breaths as noses brush, lips too. All while Asa gets his bearings. He has to remember that some kind of wormhole, some time machine rests within Mikala's core - something that makes Asa forget all time and place, only that the witch exists, that it's him, him, him. It drags him into addiction.

Worse than nicotine. Deadlier than bloodlust.

Absolute fervor. The vampire allows a thumb to brush along Mikala's jaw as he gazes up at him. Dark eyes drink him in, absolutely wordless as Asa sometimes can be when there's too many thoughts swimming at once. Just a miasma in a circular cyclone, with Mikala at the eye of the storm.

The winds calm as he wraps his arms around Mikala's neck and goes back in for more.

"I need to... show you around... you haven't even... seen the flat, yet..." He says in between kisses. "You'll stay the night? You must stay the night... you can't just walk back in here after all this time and not spend the night..." Asa's voice is breathy, and soft, and so light as he smiles against his mouth.

[mikalaseabrooke]

In retrospect, it's all very naïve to expect conversation. A mere catch-up between two time-hallowed companions, lighthearted and friendly. But, as Asa inches closer and their lips meet, there is nothing light and certainly not friendly.

Not when they simply fit together. When this craving for the vampire orbits around the void of yearning, set alight and stoked at the first taste of him. Familiar, as if Mikala has just returned home.

The first time he saw Asa, he knew there would be no escape.

Remissions, perhaps, and largely unwanted ones. Necessary evils for reasons now forgotten to him. Somewhere between hungry mouths and shared breaths, there's a vow made and silently imparted by him that he has no need or want to part from Asa.

His final resting place, entombed in cold but compassionate hands.

It's that burning need for oxygen that he hates, forcing him to create distance, though he doesn't go far. Lips, reddened by that earnest kiss, brushing against Asa's when he finally speaks—

"Missed you, as well, darling."

I'm simply here for you.

It's as if Mikala has twisted the key in the back of a wind-up toy. Asa's dark eyes are pools of bubbling, molten tar. His fingers itch and reach of their own volition. Just a few steps to close the distance.

He's missed that neck- the first thing he touches when one of his cool palms cradles it. And Mikala's smell is even more enticing up close. Earthen, thick magic. Indescribable. Asa's mouth is on his- lifting on bare feet, on toes, to meet his lips.

And god, if the taste of Mikala is communion, then for once in his life, Asa wishes to be devout. He wishes to kneel at the altar, if only to swallow that sacred sacrament again and again. Immeasurably divine - and so, so familiar.

He's missed him more than he could ever put into simple words.

[mikalaseabrooke]

It's inherently comforting to be within Asa's presence, even if it really shouldn't be. Not with the horror stories about vampires fed to him since childhood, the horror stories he witnessed first person in his past with the man.

It appears they merely bonded him to Asa more.

Mikala scarcely has time to take in the eclectic and uniquely Asa characteristics of the flat before Cosmo approaches him. Yells at him, more like it. And, of course a witch would find themselves partial to the black cat above all the others, reaching down to allow the feline to sniff at his hand.

"You say that as if I'm undeserving of his meows," he teases, then straightens up and gazes at Asa once more. Really taking him in now—glimpses of new ink, endearingly messy hair. Veritably doll-like eyes that he struggles to look away from.

"Ah, coven responsibilities... a funeral home I tried and failed to part with... an insufferable mortgage payment." Pause, corner of his lips curving into a grin. "Take your pick." And it's purposeful that he doesn't answer regarding how he found Asa's address, mentally labeling such information as unimportant.

"No coffee or tea, I'm simply here for you, love."

Of course the witch would just appear out of nowhere. It's just so like him, to not give Asa any notice. And then, to get so close with those worn hands, fingertips brushing at his house robe.... and then slipping by and letting himself in.

Cosmo is padding over to Mikala, big amber eyes fixated on him and meowing. "Why's he being so vocal for you? That's not fair." Asa quips as he closes the door behind himself and walks inside further.

It's been a while. Asa has many new tattoos, a new cozy place. Five cats, a host of beautiful plants and art on the walls. The flat is homey, and Asa looks comfortable in it. A warm spark sits in his eyes behind the usual darkness. A tiny smirk as he shakes his head, rubbing at his temples in amazement that this man is back in his life again. Still here, as baffling as always.

"What brings you to Port Leiry? What brings you to my home? A home I don't remember giving you the address to, by the way." The vampire is drinking in the smell of him again, trying not to get distracted. That undercurrent of his magical blood, a scent so nostalgic... "Can I get you tea? Coffee?"

[mikalaseabrooke]

KEANU REEVES as JOHN WICK Ballerina (2025) (Official Trailer)

[mikalaseabrooke]

The home had been easy to find. It's not as if Mikala hadn't been keeping tabs on Asa in what could, quite frankly, be labeled as stalking. The romantic types, however, would merely call him attentive.

It matters not, when he hears the surprise in the vampire's voice.

More than that, there's an air of joy despite the shock, made evident when he's pulled into those strong arms. A faint noise to denote his own surprise, before he accepts and returns that embrace as the gift it is.

"Hello to you, too, darling." He smiles, a bit wider than he'd typically present and certainly more sincere. Even when he pulls back some, Mikala doesn't remove his hands from Asa, smoothing along the silk robe before eventually settling on his face. Cradling his cheeks as if he were a precious jewel.

"Look at you..." His voice is especially low and soft now. "Lovely as ever." Then, an almost abrupt distance, as he so casually invites himself in.

( @mikalaseabrooke )

The Holland home is an amalgamation of just about every odd interest and security blanket that the vampire's had over the years. Plants, cats, eclectic art. Quilts. Vintage furniture, books. And the endless sketchbooks and scrawled-on papers that fill up the little desk and alcove near a big picture window.

The sun has already come and gone, and Lina is asleep on the sofa next to Asa while he scribbles. An old silken floral robe hangs off him, dark raven hair an utter mess. Not much sleep lately with all the work at the library, and so a few days off have been filled with sitting, sketching, and dissociating.

A knock at the door pulls him out of wherever he's been, and dark eyes flash to the entrance. He's up, and checks the peephole, and...

"Mikala?!" The door flings open and he stares, as if he's seen a ghost. There's few in his life who have stayed. Few he expects to see again when they leave. Perhaps he'd assumed that the witch would be another distant memory. "What- how..." He's shaking his head and reaching for him quickly to draw the taller man into an embrace. "It's so good to see you, love."

[mikalaseabrooke]

CLOSED STARTER for: @imrtlwitch.

WHERE / WHEN: Siltshore Mausoleum, afternoon.

It's either clockwork or obsession, how often Mikala tends to the mausoleum. Keeping the tombs cleaned and the flourishing nature—despite the death that surrounds it—cared for. In many ways, it's meditative for him. A reprieve after long, stressful, and undeniably busy days.

Presently, he's checking the lanterns for oil, preparing them for the approaching darkness of evening. He doesn't need to turn around to know there's a presence, with the crunch of autumn leaves giving Harley away, yet he does anyway.

"Good afternoon, darling," and he's just loud enough to be heard. "Keeping well?"