#lars lycan | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ladycampone-blog · 6 years

Text

DOMINUM II

Antártida. Um continente gelado inóspito e ainda desconhecido, mas nem sempre foi assim. Eras atrás, foi uma próspera terra cultivável e de rica fauna e flora e onde os antigos fizeram suas pirâmides e seus lares. Mas o mundo mudou e quando o continente se tornou coberto de neve, outra raça, não tão antiga, mas igualmente perigosa fez do lugar seu lar, nas cavernas subterrâneas do território adormecido, esperando apenas o dia em que fossem libertadas. Daniel é um jovem aventureiro que junto do amigo geólogo coreano Kim Jongdae decidem desbravar o lado norte do continente perigoso e não fazem a menor ideia do que sua curiosidade está prestes a causar. O mundo esconde bestas antigas e perigosas que estão prestes a voltarem para a superfície e abalar todo o mundo conhecido... Da série bruxas, gárgulas e originais. Um rei volta para mudar o futuro, mas a linha do tempo se curva e surpresas inesperadas o esperam nessa jornada. Com participação especial de Laine, Sofhie, Waltermark, Hades, alguns anjos muito loucos, um dragão atemporal, outros paralelos e um destino fora de toda a projeção. Tudo será rescrito, mas será possível salvar mesmo a humanidade do fim do mundo? Protagonizando, sua majestade, o rei dos noturnos, Yixing. Ele deve lutar pelo o que ama, pelo o que acredita ou pelo certo?

Do final para o início

Floresta velha da África central, dois dias antes da escuridão – Meia noite.

— Essa é ex caleb be, a espada do rei - Começou ela séria, ao olhar para cada homem ali no cômodo - Não apenas rei de um povo, mas rei de todos, em Altraran existe um rei para todos governar e depois os reis menores, essa é única de sua linhagem, especial e foi dada a Yifan, rei de Camelot, para ser guardada para esse momento. É chegada a hora do rei verdadeiro voltar para o trono, está na hora de tomar de volta o que foi tirado de vocês. E você, Yixing, você também deve subir ao trono dos lycans, você é o alfa dos alfas, aquele trono é seu, contudo o palácio real deve mudar de lugar, os lobos não devem mais ter sua cidadela no reino de Han, agora devem viver entre as águas profundas do oceano, em um ponto do sul quase inviável de se alcançar...

— Não há ilha naquele lugar, Viviane...

— Eu lhes darei Avalon, Yixing, minha ilha será sua e eu e todas as minhas encarnações serão bruxas madrinhas de seus reis. Avalon descerá aos mares do Sul e lá fincará raiz até o fim dos tempos, todos os filhos da noite já partiram para seus lares e as sacerdotisas para seus destinos, a ilha já navega, ela estará à sua espera quando a coroa for sua...

— Yixing terá de vencer todos os lobos assassinos do rei, é suicídio!

Luhan rosnou bravo, mas ela sorriu serena:

— Confie em seu alfa, ninguém poderá vencê-lo. Já está escrito assim.

— É perigoso.

Sungjae disse tenso.

— Você, meu caro príncipe, terá Excalibur e a mim, aliás eu sou melhor que a espada, jovem lobo, simples - E Morgana sorriu irônica, não uma imagem holográfica no ar como Viviane, mas sim chamas em um fogo negro que iluminava o chão a beira da muralha - Quero esfregar a cara daquela criatura pelo chão até que não sobre muito para ser exibido. Eu e minhas sucessoras também serão bruxas madrinhas de seus sucessores, jovem príncipe, assim só aceite que é mais fácil. O reino dos lycans e dos vampiros devem se tornar aliados, não mais inimigos, devem se tornar família e só assim o mundo prosperará.

Então gritos de batalhas se ouviu ao longe e a imagem desvaneceu.

Yixing despertou com o peito pesado e ardendo. Aquilo nunca aconteceu... O que estava acontecendo?

— Eu sei o que você viu – Laine estava de costas para ele, olhando para um pequeno fogo aos pés de uma árvore velha. Parecia cansada, tensa, preocupada. Ele podia sentir e ver, pois ele também estava assim. Ele sentia a mesma urgência. O tempo escorria pelas mãos dos dois em um fluxo rápido e tortuoso. Já não sabia bem como seguir do ponto em que estavam...

— Foi sonho?

— Foi história perdida. Mudamos as coisas já no passado, meu rei – Ela se ergueu e ele viu nas mãos dela, alguns fios de cabelo dourado – Bem mais no passado. Em um passado muito longínquo...

— Você está falando da sua avó? Da mulher que substituiu a Consciência Cósmica, no futuro do passado?

Xing se ergueu segurando com cuidado a mão machucada e ela estendeu os fios para ele que logo saltaram da mão dela para sua mão, se enrolando ali e logo formando um brilho verde em sua pele, aquecendo com serenidade e curando sua mão retalhada.

Ele suspirou aliviado que ao menos aquela dor foi apaziguada. Já não podia dizer das outras.

— Talvez ele tenha razão em querer me destruir antes do amanhã. Eu comecei tudo isso, quando fui rebaixada e perdi os poderes da Morte, sendo substituída pelos gêmeos. Como castigo entrei no ciclo humano, nasci de um homem, me tornei a primeira bruxa e me prendi a essa terra deixando que meus sentimentos pela humanidade nublassem minha mente e o que eu sabia ser o certo. Lutei uma batalha insana que no final sempre termina no fim da humanidade e a cada vez que tento salvar meu povo, só adio o inevitável. Arrastar Chen a cada necessidade de virar o tabuleiro se tornou injusto para com suas reencarnações e suas cópias. Eu me tornei o monstro que jurei lutar contra e meu pai tem toda a razão de dizer que preciso voltar para casa e lá esmorecer. Se eu permitir que minha família aconteça, jamais terei coragem de pôr um fim em mim mesma. Eu já falhei ao ir proteger Minseok antes mesmo que ele soubesse ao menos como me chamar, eu recuperei minha memória? Sim, mas a que preço? Não posso cair em tentação outra vez. Não posso...

— Mas você os ama, Laine e eles amam você mais do que tudo... É a sua esperança nesse mundo que nos move, você é a deusa dos ômegas... – Ele viu o brilho dela tremeluzir e correu para sua cunhada, amiga, deusa, protetora, guia e a mulher mais corajosa que conheceu em todas as suas vidas e a abraçou forte – Nós vamos enfrentá-los juntos e vamos vencer. Eu sou o rei dos noturnos, Fan é o rei dos homens e você é a nossa deusa, a yang, a mulher mais forte que esse mundo já teve. Não vamos cair, você não vai se entregar e vamos juntos evitar o fim do mundo, de uma vez por todas! Nenhum original, deus, destino, demônio antigo ou a Consciência Cósmica vai nos deter nisso. Nós três somos a trindade desse mundo e eles vão ter que nos engolir.

— Meu rei?

— Eu estou falando sério!

Ele resmungou não deixando que ela se autodestruísse e então ouviu um riso baixo divertido:

— Você está me sufocando, Yixing...

— Ah, desculpa.

E ele se afastou para ver o sorriso dela, o velho sorriso dela naquele rosto um pouco sujo devido a tudo o que já passaram em tão poucos dias. Eles pareciam mendigos aos olhos de uma pessoa comum. Ambos descalços àquela altura da situação, com as roupas um pouco rasgadas, gastas, queimadas em alguns pontos. Mas ainda inteiros, surpreendentemente.

— Ainda é verão no continente. Se quiser mesmo tentar, temos de correr.

— É só o que temos feito desde que voltei, correr – Ele brincou rindo de canto – Cernunnos ficaria encantado se me visse agora com essa disposição maratonista.

— Ele está torcendo por você. Eu sinto.

— Eu também sinto – E ele sentia, ele sentia Luhan ao seu lado a cada passo do caminho – E não só ele.

— Ele te ama, meu rei, muito.

Sabia que seu sorriso se ampliou, a mera lembrança de um dos seus amores já o fazia mais forte ainda que internamente. Ele voltaria para eles, voltaria nem que fosse a última coisa que fizesse!

— Desculpa a demora, pessoal! - E Yifan caiu sobre os dois ainda desengonçado com as asas negras. Xing evitou rir quando ele trançou as patas confuso – Droga, eu odeio voar! Porque parece tão fácil com o sheik?

— Porque ele é um encantado e a magia é diferente, meu rei – Laine respondeu escondendo o riso assim como ele – Eu gostaria de lhe dizer que terá tempo para se acostumar, mas eu estaria mentindo...

— Ah que se dane, bruxa, eu dou um jeito no caminho! - Ele sacudiu a cabeça gigante e acabou quebrando um dos galhos grossos das árvores que rondavam a pequena clareira – Mas que droga!

— Acho que prefiro correr, você vai nos derrubar e nos matar, Fan.

Ele brincou, o amigo estreitou os olhos e abaixou a cabeça que dava uns cinco dele e sorriu com todos os dentes afiados próximo demais ao seu corpo:

— Acho que vou morder um lobinho...

— Tente, idiota! Suas fãs iam amar saber que o “frango não faz meu estilo” devorou a ovelhinha fofa da China!

— Você nem é o Yixing de verdade.

— Sou um décimo dele, e é o que tem para hoje.

Xing sorriu gatuno e o dragão bufou:

— Eu te odeio, seu idiota!

— Igualmente!

— Ei meninos, eu adoro assistir as briguinhas de vocês, mas temos que salvar o mundo, podemos ir? E por favor, Yifan, volte a forma humana, você tem que carregar sua espada escondido e não amarrada na pata. Nós vamos pelas sombras.

— Eu já disse que te odeio, bruxa?

— Já, um milhão de vezes, viramos essa página, meu rei.

Ela sorriu divertida, de novo ela mesmo e Xing sorriu. Eles eram de fato marido e mulher, pena que Yifan ainda não sabia.

O amigo voltou a forma humana ainda com certa dificuldade, com a espada do rei dos homens em mãos e nu. Laine tocou no ombro dele e roupas cobriram seu corpo, roupas novas já que ele não estava perto quando ambos tiveram na Antártida.

— Até a beira do fim do mundo eu fico elegante enquanto vocês dois parecem surrados, impressionante.

Xing rolou os olhos e encarou Laine que riu baixinho. Se ele só soubesse...

— Vamos lá, rapazes, vamos trabalhar...

Algumas semanas antes... Sul da Argentina.

Kim Jongdae tinha dinheiro, fama e status. Tinha conseguido financiamento ainda que não precisasse dele, para sua mais nova pesquisa, provar de uma vez por todas que a Antártida tinha sido um dia uma continente verdejante e com uma civilização extremante avançada e rica. Tinha certeza que havia riquezas imensuráveis debaixo de todo aquele gelo antigo e ele estava disposto a ir até lá, escavar e provar sua teoria. Já tinha até seu local mais propício a encontrar as pirâmides da famosa Atlântica devastada pela fúria de deus e afundada e destruída do mapa antigo. O lado do extremo norte, próximo as montanhas rochosas Oasis Schirmacher, na Costa da Princesa Astrid, na Terra da Rainha Maud. E Daniel, seu amigo e famoso aventureiro que agora fazia inclusive freelancer de fotógrafo para uma revista de viagens, tinha topado ir com ele.

Seria tudo ou nada, e ele ia fazer que naquele caso fosse tudo. Iam voltar com provas, com fotos, com riquezas.

Ele sabia que estava certo e ia provar para todo o mundo incrédulo, aquilo!

— Pousaremos em alguns minutos. Atenção, comissários de bordo...

Ele olhou de canto para o amigo que dormia e sorriu. Dali pegariam um navio e então estavam por suas próprias contas. Ele esfregou a mão animado.

Estava começando sua maior aventura, a maior...

No mesmo momento, norte da Floresta Amazônica, Brasil

Lay abriu os olhos sentindo o cheiro de chás que não eram tão desconhecidos assim. Havia uma feira de ervas em sua cidade natal. Ele adorava. Foi pensando naquilo que se deu conta de que estava em um lugar estranho, deitado em uma pequena cama de lençóis e usando apenas um short. Se sentia meio grogue, sonolento e com fome.

Onde estavam os outros? Que lugar era aquele? Ele tentou se mexer e viu que sua perna estava toda enfaixada e doía se ele a movesse. O que houve com ele? Como foi parar ali?

— Seja bem-vindo a casa da minha família, Yixing.

Ele ergueu os olhos e viu uma bonita garota se ajoelhar ao seu lado. A primeira coisa que notou foi o cabelo escuro trançado de lado e o rosto oval, ocidental. Entretanto seu mandarim era perfeito.

E então ele se lembrou...

Se lembrou de tudo, do que fez, de todas as suas vidas, da promessa a Laine, de tudo e dela... Zhēnguì!

Tonteou e quase desmaiou de novo, pelos deuses... Pelos deuses...

— Como se sente?

Ela perguntou gentil e ele ofegou:

— E-eu... Eu...

E então o choque foi demais e ele voltou para a inconsciência.

#serienoturnos seriebruxas magiaefantasia viagemnotempo fimdomundo

20 notes · View notes

sempiternalbusanrp · 7 years

Photo

Olhe quem vem por ali! Não é aquele humano? Seu nome é Kim SeungCheol se não me engano, e ouvi dizer que tem 20 anos. Ele parece bastante com o Min Yoongi a.k.a Suga, e vem andando bem ocupado.

Ocupação: Bartender da Cocoon Posicionamento: Diante do tratado de Pacem, SeungCheol é a favor. Afiliação: Filho de caçadores extremistas Nacionalidade: Coreana Player: Shiro.

Quando Seungcheol vasculha as lembranças mais antigas em sua cabeça, ele não consegue achar uma em que ele não estivesse, ou escutando o som de uma arma, ou estivesse segurando uma. O treinamento de um Kim nas “artes da caça” começa assim que o garoto conseguisse carregar um pouco de peso em suas mãos, sem se atrapalhar com o próprio peso; então sua infância acabou, exatamente, no seu aniversário de oito anos. Sua família tinha verdadeiro repúdio por qualquer criatura sobrenatural e, como era homem, SeungCheol tinha que ser um verdadeiro soldado que não hesita em atirar quando lhe é mandado. Um dos poucos alívios que tem nessas lembranças mais antigas é não ver a irmã gêmea sendo obrigada a estar do seu lado durante os treinamentos – principalmente quando ele tinha que analisar corpos abertos das vítimas dos seus pais em busca de pontos fracos desconhecidos – já que imaginava o quanto isso poderia ter afetado o crescimento dela (além do ódio disseminado pelos pais que também a afetava). Ele se tornaria o melhor caçador infantil do mundo caso isso fosse o suficiente para que sua irmã não tivesse que sujar suas mãos sendo tão nova.

Ele e Yoora tinham uma relação muito forte já que, por conta do “trabalho” dos pais, nunca puderam chamar nenhum lugar de lar e formar laços. Antes mesmo que conseguissem se aproximar de alguém, já estavam se mudando por conta de uma atividade sobrenatural em outra cidade. O garoto, mesmo tendo acabado de completar uma década de idade, observava seus pais e seus avós enchendo a cabeça dele e da irmã com todo o ódio que tinham pelas criaturas sobrenaturais e achava isso injusto. Não eram eles, humanos, que estavam no porão da casa sendo dissecados até a última célula por pessoas que tinham os matado; não era ele que tinha livros e livros ensinando como provocar sua morte da maneira mais cruel e eficiente o possível.

SeungCheol pensou que sua primeira missão, aos treze anos anos, conseguiria ter respostas claras para essas questões, assim como seus pais e seus avós tinham. Contudo, fora bem diferente. Por conta da sua inexperiência, fora posto de guarda em um dos lugares mais distantes do cerco que seus familiares estavam fazendo para capturar uma pequena matilha de Lycans. O que ele não esperava era que um dos mais novos viesse para cima dele. Os olhos do garoto estavam vermelhos de tanto choro e ele gritava pedindo-lhe misericórdia. SeungCheol estava prestes a deixá-lo escapar quando viu seu avô se aproximando e, não teve escolha, a não ser atirar diretamente no rosto da criança, fazendo com que sua cabeça explodisse contra a neve.

O Kim passou o resto daquela noite no telhado de sua casa com o maço de cigarros roubados do pai e uma das garrafas de uísque do avô, pensando se aquela dor que sentia dentro de si por ter tirado a vida de uma criança algum dia iria passar. Ele chegou perto, muito perto, de se jogar do segundo andar de sua casa contudo, ele sabia que aquilo não poderia garantir a sua morte. Então pegou o isqueiro que havia roubado do pai e queimou sua mão até que seu reflexo não o deixasse mais por a mão contra a chama.

Somente o fogo pode afetar todas as criaturas igualmente.

Mais missões se sucederam. Ele já não sabia se estava atirando em monstros ou atirando a mando de monstros. SeungCheol via seus corpos estirados no chão, e o pior era quando eles pediam, imploravam, por misericórdia. Sua única escolha, já que não queria envolver sua irmã nisso, era descontar toda sua frustração e raiva nos treinos, isso acabou fazendo com que ele virasse um excelente atirador em algum tempo e, mesmo que tivesse pouca idade, já tivesse uma boa noção sobre a anatomia de várias criaturas.

Contudo, ele não negava que via os “monstros” cometendo verdadeiras atrocidades. Uma delas, ele não pôde evitar que a irmã presenciasse em sua primeira missão. Tentou salvar a garota presa dentro do ninho de vampiros antes mesmo que YooRa tivesse qualquer vivência mais forte disso, mas não conseguiu. Tudo que ele pode fazer foi afagar os cabelos castanhos da irmã até que ela conseguisse dormir depois daquilo; e ele, praticamente se drogava com remédios para dormir desde antes disso.

Impressionantemente, ele conseguia relaxar com um pequeno aspecto de sua criação, o estudo dos corpos de criaturas sobrenaturais o fascinava. Ele conseguia ver as pequenas nuanças que os diferenciavam a anatomia humana e achava isso fascinante. Além disso, havia um detalhe que ele percebera logo depois da sua primeira missão, e isso se repetira depois nos enterros de caçadores conhecidos por sua família e outras missões.

O que aconteceu que, com o passar dos anos, ele se aprofundara mais em seus estudos procurando uma resposta que não nunca conseguiu definir, e criou um certo fascínio por fogo. Seus estudos eram sua libertação, e o fogo era a sua punição e o seu futuro juiz. SeungCheol pode ter uma personalidade, até, doce e calma, existe algo nele que se igualava com o elemento; uma necessidade por destruição como forma de criação, a justiça que só o fogo pode trazer.

Quando a irmã sugeriu que fugissem de casa por não aguentar mais aquele ambiente, o plano perfeito logo lhe viera à mente. Ele só queria que aquele grupo de caçadores sem misericórdia sentisse um pouco do que eles provocavam em outros, então incendiou o local de encontro deles sem pensar duas vezes e fugiu para Busan – onde sabiam que havia um “tratado de paz” entre as criaturas sobrenaturais – com a sua irmãs, levando os seus cadernos de anotações sobre a “ciência sobrenatural”, duas escopetas e uma mochila cheia pentes de balas. Fora nessa fuga que decidira se redimir. Iria se tornar um médico – tanto de criaturas sobrenaturais, quanto de humanos – para conseguir salvar tantas vidas, ou mais, quanto havia tirado sem um propósito claro.

Em Busan conseguiu o emprego como bartender do Cocoon – o mesmo lugar em que sua irmã – para conseguir se sustentar junto com a irmã e, talvez, conseguir guardar dinheiro para cursar uma faculdade de medicina no futuro. Ele tinha um bom conhecimento de química e, qualquer coisa com fogo, já o anima o suficiente para ir até o seu trabalho.

#all.#masc.#hum.#min yoongi #suga #shiro

3 notes · View notes

maedarakat · 7 years

Text

Hallow’s Eve - Ch. 1

Rated: R, violence, language, adult themes

Pairings: Tuff/Dagur, past Heather/Astrid, more pairings to come (almost everyone's gay)

The life of a werewolf is a solitary one, but Dagur and his sister have managed well by themselves, leading a fierce roaming pack of Lycans all over the countryside. Both their lives are turned upside down after a chance encounter with the Thorston Twins, one of which who are being hunted by an old enemy to serve as her mortal lover; the Queen of the Unseelie Court.

Cold, crisp nights like this were fantastic to ride through, with the motor of his bike growling like some furious dragon of old. Gravel crunched, wind whistled, dead leaves swirled and rasped in his wake – every sound sharp and pleasing to his ears.

Dagur grinned wildly and accelerated, consequences be damned – the policemen around here couldn't possibly frighten him. They'd sooner see him leave town than try to keep him contained in one of their pathetic jailhouses.

Only one sudden sound was not pleasing to his ear, and that was his 'ringtone'. Dagur tried to ignore it, but the familiar music heralded his sister. One did not ignore a call from Heather, as he had well learned by now. Using a cellphone had been one of the few modern social things he really bothered with, and only because Heather had forced him to learn after breaking him out of the Grimborn Brothers' prison.

Honestly the motorcycle lessons had pleased him far better, but Heather was in charge and she needed him to keep up and have a reliable way of staying in contact. Though faithful about keeping his phone charged, Dagur still barely knew how to text, but at least the little faces - whatever their intended purpose - amused him greatly.

Nevertheless, despite being behind the times by roughly a hundred years out of sheer laziness (and an unfortunate decades-long stay as the Grimborns' 'guest'), there was no excuse for Dagur not to pick up.

Grumbling, he pulled over and knocked the kickstand down with a little more force than necessary. He was all sweetness when he put the phone to his ear though.

“Hello, dear sister! What’s up?”

“Don’t get cute. I told you not to go too far ahead of the pack. Or cut through town. We were going to use the mountain roads, remember?”

Yikes. She sounded angry.

“Oh come on, I have to go through – you know I couldn’t resist! I just want to make some quick stops, look at what's changed, see what the normals are up to. No trouble, really.”

“No trouble, huh?” Heather’s voice was flat. Dagur knew she was about to verbally shred him – she was so fierce like that. He loved it. Surprisingly however, she appeared to relent. "You know what, fine. Do your thing. Savage and I will take the rest of the guys to the hills. Catch up with us when you can, but don’t expect me to save you anything from the Hunt.”

“What, you’re not gonna start right away, are you? We have two days before the full moon! I have plenty of time!”

Honestly though, he was surprised she was willing to consider . . . wait, was this one of those ‘I’ll allow it but I’ll hold a grudge for the next twenty years’ things?

“To join the festivities, yeah! After all the hard work’s been done – by me, as usual - to make certain we’re all secluded and safe!”

It was going to be one of those hold-a-grudge things. Dagur sighed.

“Okay, sis, you’re right - I'm not gonna stick you with all the hard stuff. I’ll be there at dawn, okay? Just give me a few hours. Please?” If anyone could pull a convincing kicked puppy act, it was Dagur. Heather paused, then gave an irritated sigh.

“Nine. Hours. If you aren’t here by sunrise, I’m coming to find you and you better pray I don’t. The last time we both left the pack by themselves –“

Dagur winced at the memory. “I know, Lars got into the livestock, and nearly got us run out of town – I remember it. Nine hours. Thanks, sis. I’ll bring you something cool.”

She’d already hung up on him. Sisters. What would he do without his? Shaking his head, Dagur put his phone away and took off again, cheerfully running a stop sign (Sven had told him they were optional.)

Consequently he nearly crashed a few moments later in order to avoid running over a cluster of small cardboard and vinyl-clad humans. They all set to screaming in alarm and scattered. Women's heads whipped from every direction and doorway to level a death-glare upon him.

Dagur flashed all of his teeth in the most apologetic grin he could manage, quickly turned his motorcycle around and fled.

Those had all been children . . . dressed up as . . . what on earth had they been dressed as? He shook his head, trying to remember the human calendar – it was forever changing over the centuries. Sometimes their holidays overlapped, strangely enough, but this one didn't seem connected with the Fae Tithes, or Lycan Moons or anything his kind marked the passage of time by.

He looked around for signs and found one – a banner draped over a storefront selling masks and . . . a careful sniff informed Dagur that those body parts in the window were not made of real flesh.

H-A-P-P-Y H-A-L-L-O-W-E-E-N – the sign spelled out.

Boy, did they have the date wrong. It was two entire days from now, not tonight! Were they celebrating early? Well, at least he remembered how the humans liked to celebrate it.

The last night of October, children were supposed to run door to door for candy and threaten the owners with pranks if they didn’t give some out. Admittedly more fun than bugging their own parents to just go to a store. Humans were just so creative with their holidays, even if they couldn't always manage to land it on the right date.

Dagur watched a child dressed in wolf mask, furry patches and torn plaid go running down the hill, chasing a girl in a red hood. He snorted in amusement. These were all little ones, but what did the older mortals do to celebrate their night? Did they do something even more fun? He wanted to see.

The rowdy noises of human celebration weren't too hard to find; Dagur simply followed it from one structure to the next. Wherever he could smell sex, and vomit - he avoided giving more than a cursory glance. (Honestly, he couldn’t stand the smell of vomit.)

One place smelled surprisingly decent for what it was. A tavern (no, a bar - was that what they were called now?) with colorful lighted signs in the window. Sure there was the overpowering stench of spilled beer and carmelized onions, but what was happening inside looked fun. Dancing, eating, laughing . . .

Dagur parked his motorbike and set his helmet on the seat, pulled toward the glass door like a moth to a flame. He winced as he opened it, not knowing it would be so much louder inside. It was everything he could do not to put his hands over his ears, and the pounding music was definitely going to give him a headache, but his determination for a new experience kept him moving through the crowd.

Bodies jostled against him, at first making him want to snap. Taking a deep breath, he thought of a calming phrase as he pushed through without incident. Dagur quickly won himself a corner table; a safe place to watch with the wall at his back.

Feeling hungry, he ordered steak 'fingers' - rare, and bloody - along with a baked potato. (Hey, a growing Lycan had to eat his vegetables, right?)

He eyed the crowd, watching them enjoy themselves. Maybe after he ate he'd feel a little more sociable. Dagur amused himself in the meantime by watching the dancers. One or two mortals stood out from the rest, one with reddish brown hair and another with long gold braids that swayed behind his back as he moved through the packed crowd.

Dagur was enjoying the view until a musty, cloying scent suddenly reached him. His eyes flashed yellow and he gripped the edge of his table with a clawed hand.

Something untoward was here - something only remotely connected to his kind, and absolutely not an ally. He bared his fangs, hackles raised as he sniffed the air, searching for the others exact location.

A figure suddenly entered Dagur's immediate vision, so quiet and unexpected, it actually startled a yip out of him.

"Awesome effects, man," the youth grinned, one of the mortal dancers Dagur had been admiring earlier. He was barely in his twenties and dressed in a maroon toga, with golden winged sandals on his feet and a headband with feathered wings attached. "Very real. I've never seen contacts that glow like that. Did you buy them online? And check out those fangs! So real-looking!"

Dagur nearly snarled at him to get out of his way - or better yet, get out of the entire building. Truly, all the mortals should; what was here now was far more dangerous than a Lycan.

The scent which had so alarmed him suddenly disappeared under the sweat and ale stench, leaving him unsettled and frustrated. Maybe they'd sensed him and moved on - an uncharacteristically wise move.

The boy, meanwhile, slid in the booth across from him, braids long and woven intricately with gold thread and small red beads. Dagur would have appreciated his looks even more if he wasn't so on edge.

He also wanted to know how the mortal had noticed him.

Most humans had a built in defense against sensing monsters like Dagur - or at least seeing what they truly were when they attempted to pass among mortals. Part of it was due to a spell of protection from an old witch - a friend of Dagur's late father. The rest seemed to be an impressive amount of denial that supernatural forces actually existed.

Dagur had never had a mortal see his true shape before, even if the boy did think it was some kind of costume effect. "No I . . . didn't buy anything." As could be expected, his ability for conversation with this guy was already stretched to the limits. He was starting to freak out just a little. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. I've just never seen you in town before. My name's Tuffnut. Well, not my real name, but that's what friends call me." The kid had a nice grin and his breath smelled oddly familiar. Sweet.

Dagur was too distracted to pay close attention, scrambling for something normal to say. Threatening the mortal into silence was utterly pointless; it wasn't likely anyone would believe Tuff was sober if he suddenly caught on that Dagur's 'costume' was real. So what was the harm in just pretending it was a costume?

Relaxing a bit, the Lycan leaned back in his seat and took in Tuff's appearance, noting the winged sandals. "So . . . you're dressed as one of the Hellenic gods, right? Hermes?"

Shock slammed across the young man's face. "Whoa! Dude. You guessed right! See my sister over there? She's the one dressed as Eris, walking around with a golden apple, looking like she wants kill someone."

So the older mortals played guessing games about their costumes . . . intriguing. "Why did you choose him?"

"More as a tribute, really. Hermes is awesome, and we like our trickster gods. I asked permission first - with strawberries and Red Bull. He exactly didn't say no . . . better to beg forgiveness anyway." Tuff shrugged. "Last year we were Loki and Skaldi. They were easier for some people."

Dagur grinned. "I imagine Loki would have been easy for you - with your sly grin."

Tuff actually ducked his head, as though Dagur had just paid him a compliment. He supposed it was; he hadn't been trying not to compliment him.

"Hey, I want Ruff to meet you. Are you staying all night?"

"Well, for eight hours at least." Dagur peered at Tuff intently, trying to work something out. Why could this boy see him? Had he been blessed? Cursed? "How old are you?" he tried. Sometimes age could be a factor, if it was a favored number.

The young man grinned. "It's our twenty first birthday in two days. Though the bartender over there thinks we're twenty three, thanks to the ID-crafting skills of our talented young friend, Gustav."

Dagur blinked, completely lost. He had no idea what any of that meant, and valiantly decided to push through by changing the subject. "One of your eyes is lighter blue than the other," he pointed out bluntly. "Just a moment ago it was hazel."

"Oh, yeah. It's my bad eye. Mom said when I was little, she tripped over me while carrying one of her 'special brews' to the couch. A little hawthorn, some St. John's Wort. You know. Witchy stuff. Anyway, some of the boiling water got in my eye. "Hasn't been the same since. It changes color, I see weird stuff that makes no sense. Doc says it'll only get worse when I'm older, but whatever. So will everything else, right? I just kinda roll with it and blame the pot when stuff gets too weird."

And now Dagur was confused again. "What pot?" He glanced around for errant cookware, but Tuff didn't notice - already standing to wave someone over. He wasn't having any luck.

"Oh come on, Sis! Don't - hey, don't ignore me! She knows I hate that! Eh. Maybe it's because I stole her drink when she wasn't looking." Tuff smirked craftily at Dagur, and he surprised himself by laughing in response. He liked this mortal.

Tuff excused himself to go chase down his twin, and Dagur relaxed. His mood only improved when his dinner arrived and he made fast work of it, blissfully lapping up the bloody juices from his plate.

He was wondering idly why Tuff had yet to return when that scent came back - full force. All at once, he realized why the mortal's breath had smelled sweet.

Maybe it's because I stole her drink when she wasn't looking.

Dagur's eye caught a movement. He growled lowly as a pair of hulking forms dragged the limp body of a human between them, unnoticed. None of the humans looked at the Fae or their victim, absently moving out of the way for various compelling reasons.

He recognized the glint of gold on winged sandals and stood up, moving to follow.

“We got ‘er,” one of the goblins rasped, and the tall figure waiting by the tiled wall stepped forward to look over their catch.

To all mortal appearances, the Unseelie was beautiful; pale and elegant, with long red hair. Only a sneer of bored impatience marred his handsome features.

“For such a simple task, it certainly took you long enough. Bring her closer to me, Dogsbreath. You, Thuggory, guard the door. There was a Lycan here - if he chooses to meddle, he can track us through the maze I wove. We shouldn’t stay long.”

“Um. M’Lord? I was just wonderin’ . . .”

Throk sighed and glowered at the one called Thuggory. The fool always had to second-guess everything. It made even the easiest missions nigh impossible to conduct quickly. All they were tasked to do this evening was to secure and spirit away the mortal girl their Queen had chosen. So far, it had been unbearably tedious, much like the human music they’d been forced to endure in this tacky little pub.

“What is your concern this time?” Throk gritted out.

The goblin took off his knitted cap and wrung it in his hands. “I know we put the stuff in the mortal’s drink, but I really don’t think this is the same mortal we’s supposed to get.”

Dogsbreath groaned. “Ach, not this again. She’s the lassie, alright? She’s wearin’ a dress, inn’t she?”

“I dunno, I reckon maybe that’s a toga? It’s the wrong color anyhow, weren’t she wearin’ black?”

“Well, just look at that face!” Dogsbreath lifted their prisoner’s chin with a clawed hand. “Such delicate features! Obviously it’s the lassie! She drank the drink, didn’t she? What, you wanna check her drawers?”

“Right, lissen, what’s in the drawers don’t rightly matter; if they calls themself a lassie when they wakes up, then they’s a lassie. But the point is - what I’m tryin’ to say is – I don’t think that one’s the lassie we was sent to get!”

Throk sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let me have a look then, you pathetic imbeciles.”

He approached the dazed mortal and snapped a finger in front of their face. “Awaken.”

“Huh? Wh-What?” Tuffnut raised his head, blinking hard. Throk frowned sharply.

His mood didn’t improve any when Tuff took one look at Throk and made a noise of fascinated disgust. “Whoa, is that your face or a mask? Kind of looks like Freddy Krueger, if he got his nose caught in a taffy-puller.”

Throk stiffened, utterly insulted, while both his goblins hooted with surprised laughter.

“’Ey boss, she saw right through your pretty glamour, she did!” Dogsbreath crowed, quite forgetting his place. “Never thought I’d see the day you was dissed by a mortal!”

“Silence! You fools dosed the wrong drink!” Throk snarled at them. “This is the girl’s brother.” Wisely, the goblins clammed up and looked anywhere else but their enraged master.

Tuff blinked. “Spiked the wrong . . . ? Wait a fuckin’ second, were you creeps trying to roofie my sister?”

Furious, Tuffnut didn’t even wait for an answer, just taking a wild swing at Throk’s face. The boy yelped as his knuckles nearly broke against an unyielding surface – as though he’d punched a wall of brick instead of flesh.

In retaliation, Throk moved inhumanly swift, forcefully slamming Tuff against a mirror by his throat. Spiderweb cracks branched out behind him and small beads of blood traveled their many paths. Tuffnut whimpered in pain as Throk gripped his chin, forcing him to look at the enraged Fae.

“So, you can see my true form, can you? Which eye reveals me?”

“T-True form -?” Tuffnut managed, trying to create some distance between himself and Throk with a bracing leg. The Fae’s claws punished him cruelly, three lines of ragged red slicing through skin and cloth (while narrowly missing an important piece of Tuff’s anatomy.)

He yelled in pain and shrank back, twisting his hips away to avoid further injury. Throk again gripped the terrified mortal’s face and prodded beneath one of Tuff’s eyes with a sharp nail. “Tell me which eye, boy. Or I take both out, and replace them with eyes of wood.”

Tuffnut swallowed his terror. “Listen, I don’t even care what you are - y-you keep the hell away from my sister!” he gritted out.

The Unseelie smiled nastily. “Both it is then.” As he reared back his hand to deliver painful blindness, part of the wall behind Thuggory simply collapsed, wilting into the black slime of rotten fungi.

“Hi! Nice maze, Throk. Pretty gross, but it actually held me up a bit,” Dagur said, stepping through. He was slipping something metal over his knuckles, already moving toward Throk.

“Ah. Dagur. So glad you've made it." Throk sneered. He stayed where he was, still pinning Tuffnut, while his goblins sought to block Dag

Dogsbreath intercepted him first, the poor bastard. Dagur palmed the Fae’s small coconut-shaped cranium, squeezing until plates shifted and shattered. Dogsbreath went down, squealing – trying in vain to reshape his skull. The luckless Thuggory, beside himself with fear, ripped a faucet off a nearby sink.

“Ha! Eat silver, ya filthy beast!” he shouted swinging the dented piece of metal at his foe.

Bemused, Dagur caught the faucet in his hand and crumpled it like tin foil. “Nope, sorry. It’s just shiny cheap steel, buddy. But I like your enthusiasm.” A hard punch sent Thuggory’s nose and mouth into his face, leaving a puckered imprint of Dagur’s fist.

Throk curled his lip as he realized what Dagur had armed himself with. “Iron knuckles. Clever, though it must feel a bit like cheating.” He let go of Tuffnut, who slid down the wall, panting with fear and pain. The boy looked at Dagur, eyes wide.

The Lycan glanced at him, but only for a second as he and Throk circled each other. Most mortals would have tried to run by now, but this boy stayed – watching him. Was he concerned for Dagur? A foolish hope; he was probably just too frightened to move.

Throk was much faster than Dagur, able to avoid his iron-clad blows and land in plenty of his own. Tuff watched as one of Throk’s hands morphed, claws becoming dangerously longer, sharper, tips frosting as though dipped in mercury.

If he were stupid, Tuff would have chalked it up to extraordinarily realistic movie effects (as ridiculously out of place as such things would be in a men’s bar bathroom) but if he had one skill, it was the ability to adapt to new truths as they were presented.

He could see that whenever Dagur moved, he appeared less human – more lupine. Snarling like a wolf, the Lycan dodged away from blows, timed himself carefully to pounce upon any opening Throk left him.

More undeniable yet of his defender’s true shape was the large bushy tail peeking out from beneath Dagur’s leather jacket. It didn’t hang there limply, like a strip of faux fur, but rather moved with him – hairs stiff and bristling with rage.

And if those raised hackles were any indication of his mood, it meant Dagur was no friend of Throk’s, nor any of the Fae that had sought to capture his sister.

Tuff saw Throk’s hand dart to deal harm to the Lycan and shouted a warning. As a result, Dagur was able to avoid the lethal silver-tipped blow, though just barely. Throk’s claws ripped through the sleeve of the Lycan’s thick jacket, barely nicking him. Dagur groaned and backed up, on the defensive and swaying slightly. Apparently even a little silver could prove his undoing.

Tuffnut thought quickly as the Lycan leaped back into the fray, regardless of how close he’d come to death. If silver could kill werewolves, and iron hurt Fae . . . He tried to remember something his mother had told him once, in a story . . . a peculiar rhyme.

The Courts of Faerie,  Light and Dark, Despite all feuds They share a mark -    No One Faerie Can ‘ere withstand  The Iron Bells of Mortal Man

Hurriedly, Tuff scrambled for his phone as the fight raged on around him. Dagur was wise now to Throk’s weapon, and both immortals danced around each other – equally matched and hopelessly unable to win. Time to wreck the playing field, and go find his sister.

“If I can’t take the girl tonight, I’ll only return for them both on the ‘morrow. What will you do, Lycan? Give your own life to protect them, like your sister once tried to do for –“

Throk’s taunting words cut off with an abysmal shriek, as a cacophany of multiple cathedral bells echoed against the tiled walls. He fell to his knees and clapped his hands over his ears. Throk’s glamour left him, betraying grey skin and abruptly fading youth.

In answer to Dagur’s confused stare, Tuff somewhat proudly held up his phone - revealing a video of Notre Dame’s bell tower playing the vespers. “Nice,” Dagur whistled. Throk made a surprisingly quick lunge for Tuffnut, causing the boy to yelp and drop his phone as he scrambled out of reach.

The phone skittered across the floor, landing beneath a stall. With an unearthly garbled howl, Throk dragged himself across the floor in pursuit of silencing it.

Welp, time to go. Dagur smashed the last unbroken mirror and reached under the sink to pull Tuff to his feet. "That will stop them from getting back to their realm - we have a few minutes, but once he recovers then we need to be long gone," the Lycan informed him.

He moved swiftly, half-carrying Tuff through the desiccated wall into practically the same bathroom, though this one contained four slightly unsteady mortals, laughing uproariously at nothing. Not one of them noticed the gaping rotten hole next to them, or the fell creature writhing within.

"My phone!" protested Tuff as he was forced to sprint alongside Dagur. He was fast when he wanted to be - for a mortal - but running wasn't something he enjoyed. "I gotta find Ruff!"

"Wasn't she just here? You don't know how to find your own sibling without a phone? Just catch her scent-" Dagur trailed off at Tuffnut's deadpan look. "Right. Forgot."

He could still smell something on Tuffnut's breath, however - and it needed to be taken care of now rather than later. Dagur let go of Tuff, who immediately started pushing through the dancers, calling for his twin. "Excuse me," he said to the balding gold-bearded barkeep, "There's been a fight in the gentlemen's. Ongoing. You might need to go break some heads before they collapse another wall."

The man swore, spat, and retrieved a spiked bat from under the table. Dagur didn't envy the poor fools in the men's room right now. He jumped over the bar, much to the shock and applauding laughter from its patrons and located the cup Tuffnut had drunk from. It was easy to find; liquid glowing strangely pale green instead of amber. Dagur fished one cherry out of a jarful, and used it to mop up the remnants of the potion.

Goblin fruit was lethal to humans unless given in two doses. The first dose withered you away with longing, cause you to agree to anything for the chance to taste such goods once more. The second dose was bitter and it burned, but ultimately saved a mortal life. The goblins assisting Throk had been remarkably careless about leaving the dregs behind - which was fortunate for Tuff. Dagur didn't need to contend with a mortal slowly going insane from an impossible craving.

He made his escape, ignoring the disappointed calls of those hoping for free drinks, and bore down on Tuffnut. The youth was frantic and blood (his own?) was staining his toga, trickling down his leg. "This is bad," he fretted. "Everyone who saw her is saying she left, alone, and I have no way to call her - what if they get her?"

Dagur looked away from the blood and met his eyes. "They won't. You should eat this."

"What? No! This is no time for eating! I have to find -"

Not having the patience to explain, Dagur forced Tuff's jaw open and shoved the cherry inside. The burning taste caused the boy to arch in his arms and Dagur had to hold tight, with a hand clamped over his mouth. "Swallow!" he ordered firmly.

Tuff whimpered shrilly, and made himself obey. Dagur held him up until he felt the boy swallow and then loosened his hold, letting Tuff go limp and shiver against him. It was only then he noticed the shocked stares they were getting.

"Damn," one girl muttered beneath her breath, giving Tuffnut an appraising once-over.

Dagur knew that look and bared his teeth possessively before remembering himself.

"Let's go. I need to call my sister and pack. She needs to know if Mala's involved." He grabbed Tuff's wrist and pulled him after, toward the exit.

"Wait, if you have a phone let me use it! I can warn her -"

"Right now, they have you marked. They know who you are, where you are, what you're doing. And they're going to count on you leading them straight to your sister before they try searching themselves. Throk is the Fae Queen's most efficient and trusted soldier, and he'll need time to heal."

Dagur gave Tuff a small shove toward his motorcycle, and handed over his helmet. "Put that on. Where's your town's cemetery? The older the better."

Tuff was getting that glazed look again, but it was from panic rather than any spell. Dagur wanted to snap at him, but stopped himself. The boy had handled himself well in the actual crisis, but he was still mortal. He was unused to all of this, and now it was his sister who was in danger.

Gently, he coaxed Tuff to look him in the eye. "Whatever happens, I'm going to see it through with you until the end. I've dealt with the Unseelie court before - so has my sister. Heather's got a bit of a personal vendetta against their Queen. If anyone can help your sis, you can trust us."

The boy swallowed. "Okay. Well. Hermes isn't telling me not to trust you right now."

Dagur beamed. "That's good! Hop on behind me and hold tight. About that cemetery -"

Arms wrapped around the Lycan's middle as Tuffnut obeyed. "You should head to our house. Mom's at her tarot place, but we live on The Grove. Straight up that huge hill and the second left on the way down. It has Rowan trees all over the place, and it used to be a graveyard before the church burned down in the eighteen hundreds."

"Hmm. Red berries of a Rowan - whoever planted those was smart. Fairies hate red. And the graves are still on hallowed ground - none of Throk's kind can set foot in that place." Dagur started his bike and got onto the road. He could smell the blood streaming down Tuff's thigh; he'd have to look at it once they got to the safety of the Rowan grove.

It didn't take long to find the place and park in the old tumble-down churchyard, with skeletal charred ruins marking where a steeple had once stood. Even in two hundred years, nobody had sought to knock them down and build something else. There was an old power attached to them - something that still commanded respect.

Tuff climbed off gingerly and sat on a mossy planter bed, where long ago some monk might have attempted to grow a garden.

Dagur let him and quickly killed his engine, already dialing his sister's number.

Heather sounded annoyed, until he said a name. Then her voice was like ice, cracking beneath the unwary traveler who stood over an abyss.

"Stay where you are, brother. We're on our way."

TBC

#tuffgur #heatstrid #rtte #werewolves #unseelie #httyd #fantasy AU

9 notes · View notes