Desmond Lachlan

RP ONLY!

[deslachlan-ste]

DESMOND “DES” LACHLAN

Age: 32

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Straight

Face Claim: Matthew Fox

Hometown: Hawkins, Indiana

Occupation: English teacher at Hawkins High, Newspaper advisor, Runs an unofficial writing club after school

Residence: A modest rental near Forest Hills, filled with books, coffee mugs, and the kind of silence that feels intentional

Relation to Henry Creel: Secret — known only to Des and his late mother

BACKSTORY

When Des was eight, his father vanished — taken by something shimmering at the edge of their yard. His mother filed the missing‑person report under Lachlan, the name she’d chosen to protect him. She made Des promise never to repeat what he saw.

Desmond was born to Margaret Creel, Victor Creel’s younger sister, who dropped the Creel name after the murders and raised her son under strict secrecy. He grew up with two rules:

never mention the family, never mention Henry.

He left Hawkins for college but returned when his mother fell ill. Becoming a teacher was his way of becoming the adult he needed growing up — steady, safe, someone who listens.

PERSONALITY

He’s lived his entire life under a name that isn’t the whole truth.

Hawkins never questioned it.

But the Echoes have begun peeling back the layers.

He’s warm with students, guarded with adults, and impossible to read when the topic drifts toward family.

Steady, observant, quietly intense

Dry humor that lands unexpectedly

Protective of kids, wary of adults

Carries grief and dread like familiar companions

Lives like a man always listening for something only he can hear

ECHO TIE

Des isn’t Echo‑touched in any dramatic way. His connection is inherited, a resonance he refuses to acknowledge.

The Echoes know him even if Hawkins doesn’t.

Hallway lights flicker when he’s overwhelmed

Radios crackle with static when he walks past

He dreams of the Creel House despite never returning since childhood

Sometimes he sees Henry in reflections — older, fractured, aware

HNL has a file on him under Lachlan, not Creel. They haven’t connected the lineage. Yet.

RELATIONSHIPS

The Party:

He’s the teacher who believes them when no one else does — steady, patient, quietly protective.

Echo‑Touched:

They sense something familiar in him, a frequency they can’t place.

HNL / Project Echo:

Mild interest; unaware of his true bloodline.

Locals:

Know him as “Mr. Lachlan,” a good man with a quiet life.

Students:

He’s the safe adult — the one who listens, the one who shows up.

PLOT HOOKS

Henry Creel:

Their connection is buried, but Henry hasn’t forgotten.

Des experiences an Echo surge that forces him to confront his lineage

HNL begins to notice anomalies around him

A student’s Echo incident triggers a memory he’s spent decades suppressing

He returns to the Creel House for the first time since childhood

Henry reaches out — not physically, but through reflections, dreams, distortions

[tarasinclairs]

Tara's smile brightened when he seemed receptive. She already had her precious coffee in her hands, but she felt glued to the spot. "An underappreciated quality," she reaffirmed, half teasing. She hoped she wasn't being too forward, but he didn't seem to mind if she was. And he remembered her. Hopefully, more good than bad, since she had never been a good student.

She caught herself before her breath could hitch, breathing evenly even when he shifted slightly closer. "I am too," she admitted softly. The moment felt like a warm bubble, but it popped too soon when his name was actually called for his coffee. A flash of disappointment definitely crossed her features, but she took another sip of her coffee to hide it. "Do you have anywhere to be?" She asked, willing his schedule to magically clear up if he was needed elsewhere.

[deslachlan-ste]

Desmond glanced toward the counter where the barista had called his name, then back to her with a small, crooked smile. Her question — Do you have anywhere to be? — landed heavier than she probably meant it to. Desmond shook his head, slow and sure.

“No. Nothing urgent. Nothing I’d rather be doing.” He let that sit between them for a beat, warm and honest. “I’ve got a planning period later,” he added, tone dipping into something wry. “Which is just code for ‘grading essays I’m avoiding.’ So unless you’re secretly my boss, I’m free.”

His eyes softened, catching hers with that steady, quiet intensity he never quite managed to hide around her. “Why?” he asked, not demanding, not prying, just curious in that gentle way of his. “You trying to get rid of me already?” The smile that followed was small, warm, and absolutely meant for her.

[daphneharris]

The music was too loud and the beer was too warm and Daphne was having a wonderful time, or at least telling herself she was. Someone's parents were out of town—she'd already forgotten whose house this was, which felt like a bad sign. She'd come with a friend who'd disappeared into the backyard twenty minutes ago with someone's older brother, and now Daphne was standing near the kitchen doorway with a Solo cup she kept pretending to sip. She didn't mind, really. People-watching was basically her professional skill set. She scanned the room the way she always did; sorting, filing, quietly rooting for everyone. The couple arguing near the stairs who'd probably be fine by morning. The guy drinking alone by the sliding glass door who just needed someone to ask him one good question. The cluster of girls from her old cheer squad who'd done that thing where they looked right through her, polished smiles and all. Daphne had smiled back, genuine as ever. Force of habit. She shifted her weight, resettled against the doorframe, and let her gaze drift, and that's when something snagged her attention. Could've been nothing. Probably was nothing. Hawkins was full of nothing, right up until it wasn't.

[deslachlan-ste]

Desmond had been leaning against the far end of the kitchen counter, half‑hidden by the open cabinet door someone had left hanging. He wasn’t drinking, not really, just holding a bottle so no one tried to hand him another. The music thumped through the floorboards, too loud, too messy, too teenage for a man who’d already lived through more chaos than this house party could dream of. He’d been watching the room the same way Daphne was, not for fun, but out of habit. Old habits. The kind that didn’t die. So when her posture changed, subtle, but unmistakable, he caught it. Her gaze snagged on something across the room, and Desmond’s followed without hesitation. He didn’t see what she saw, not yet, but he trusted her instincts more than the average Hawkins partygoer’s. He pushed off the counter, weaving through the crowd with that quiet, deliberate ease that made people move without realizing they were making space for him. When he reached her, he didn’t touch her, didn’t crowd her, just stepped into her orbit like he’d been invited. His eyes flicked to her untouched cup, then back to her face, tired, polite, too bright around the edges. “You look like you’re having a great time,” he added dryly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. Then, softer, more serious: “What’d you see?” Not accusatory. Not alarmed. Just steady. Present. Ready.

[tarasinclairs]

Now she remembered where she knew him from. Raising hell in school had kept her distracted and eager to avoid all forms of authority. Now, they were both just working members of society. "Oh? I like a man with a strict schedule." The words slipped too easily from her mouth. She was always friendly, but flirting was entirely different. Her face flushed slightly when she caught herself, gaze averting for a brief second, but she couldn't help but find herself staring back into warm eyes. "Desmond," she tested the name on her tongue. "No need to pretend. That's a handsome name, and you may already know it, but my first name is Tara."

[deslachlan-ste]

Desmond’s brows lifted when she said she liked a man with a strict schedule. The kind of line that would’ve knocked him flat if he weren’t so practiced at keeping his expression calm. Still, a slow, surprised smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “That so?” he murmured, voice low, amused. “Good to know my punctuality finally impressed someone.” He caught the way her cheeks flushed, the way her gaze dipped and then came right back to him. It hit him harder than he expected, a warmth settling in his chest he hadn’t felt in a long time.

When she said his name, testing it like she was tasting it, something in him tightened. “Tara,” he echoed, letting her name sit on his tongue a moment longer than necessary. “Yeah. I remember.” Her compliment landed, and he huffed a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to do with the sudden heat there. “Handsome name, huh?” he said, eyes flicking to hers with a spark of dry humor. “I’ll take the win.” He shifted his weight, leaning just slightly closer, not enough to crowd her, but enough to show he wasn’t running from the moment. “And Tara’s a good name,” he added, softer now. “Fits you.” A beat passed, warm and charged in a way he didn’t dare name. “Strict schedule or not,” Desmond said, his smile deepening, “I’m glad we crossed paths today.”

[92204]

LOST — 1.19 Deus Ex Machina

[tarasinclairs]

Tara was not above exaggeration when she said she would kill for a cup of coffee. She thought she might have to when someone else reached for her cup. Familiarity held her tongue, and the fact that he was handsome might have also helped. "Sure, likely story," she teased as she picked up her cup. A cup of too much caffeine and too much sugar, just the way she liked it. "Does your name also start with a T?" She asked, curious to know more about the other.

[deslachlan-ste]

Desmond blinked at her, the corner of his mouth tugging up despite himself. She had made his brain turn into static and his pulse into something embarrassingly alive. “Likely story?” he echoed, voice low, warm. “I’ll have you know I’m a man of integrity, Sinclair. I only steal coffee on Tuesdays.” Her cup was ridiculous, sugar with a side of caffein, but the way she held it, the way she looked at him over the rim, made something in his chest tighten. When she asked if his name started with a T, he huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. “No,” he said, leaning a little closer, eyes catching hers. “But I can pretend if it helps my case.” His voice softened. “It’s Desmond.” He watched her reaction, the way her curiosity sharpened, the way she seemed to take him in like she was cataloging details she planned to keep.

[deslachlan-ste]

cafe run-in || tara & des

Desmond wasn’t really paying attention. Not to the counter, not to the barista calling out orders, not to anything except the warmth of the cup he thought was his. He reached for it without looking, fingers brushing the cardboard sleeve and collided with someone else’s hand. Soft. Warm. Surprised. He looked up fast. A woman stood opposite him, eyes widening just a fraction as their fingers tangled for a beat too long to be polite. She pulled back first, but not abruptly. “Oh! Sorry,” he said, voice low, steady, but carrying a hint of embarrassment. “I thought that was mine.” Desmond cleared his throat, stepping back half a pace.

@tarasinclairs