#but i am rather convinced I did not. tis the food thief. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

too-kinky-to-live · 3 years

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this is my first attempt at writing a phantom thief au, as well as my first time writing feeder!kok.ichi. hope you enjoy! (contains force feeding [kinda] and light bondage)

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34774210

An abandoned warehouse was the last place Saihara wanted to wake up in.

More specifically, a small room with a dim light covering it. Saihara groggily awoke to find his wrists and ankles were bound to the arms and legs of a wooden chair respectively. How did he get here…?

Ah yes, it was coming back to him now. Detective Saihara was on the hunt for the notorious phantom thief, whom he learned of his true name Ouma Kokichi. A troublemaking boy known for his relatively harmless pranks that he and his unknown number of “organization members” brought upon the city. Saihara took on the case, thinking nothing of it; but numerous encounters they had with each other made their relationship blossom into something Saihara wasn’t quite sure how to describe. Ouma clearly had no intentions of harming the detective. Instead, the thief would casually flirt with him while being chased down.

Saihara had to admit, Ouma was rather attractive, in both his personality and what little he could see under the phantom thief’s mask. It almost seemed cliche for the detective to fall for the criminal, but he just couldn’t help himself.

Just yesterday, a note was left on Saihara’s desk with familiar glittery purple ink. The detective could only raise an eyebrow as he read the not-so-vague note asking him to meet the wanted criminal in a nearby empty warehouse. Saihara couldn’t pass up an opportunity to meet up with his cru- Culprit of multiple cases. Yep, definitely what he meant.

The blue haired boy could only remember cautiously opening the warehouse doors in the dead of night before someone from behind pressed a small cloth against his face, before his vision went black.

“You’re finally up, Saihara-chan!”

A cheerful voice brought Saihara out of his drowsy trance. He looked up to see Ouma pushing a cart full of covered contents into the room, that almost looked like… food?

“Sorry I had to drug you, but it was the only way I could get you set up like this. You’ll forgive me, right?” Ouma was right in Saihara’s face, giving what looked to be puppy eyes through his mask.

The detective’s brain wasn’t fast enough to process this. “What… am I doing here? Why am I tied up?” He could feel himself heat up asking the latter. Stupid brain…. Now was not the time for those thoughts.

“I brought you here to kill you! ....That was a lie. I brought you dinner, my beloved. I made it all just for you!” Ouma took off the cart cover to reveal a variety of prepared meals.

“...Huh?”

Before he could properly respond, Ouma shoved an eggroll in the detective’s mouth. Saihara was tempted to spit it out, but he couldn’t waste this admittedly tasty food he was given.

The thief merely rolled his eyes playfully. “Relax, Saihara-chan, I didn’t poison it. I would never drug my beloved!”

Saihara gave him an unamused look but continued to chew.

By all means, he really should be more upset about being drugged and kidnapped, but something about Ouma made the usually anxious detective feel at ease. There was also something rather intimate about being hand-fed food that your crush made himself, and the mere sensation of having Ouma’s fingers so close to his mouth made his face heat up even more.

The hand-feeding of eggrolls to the detective continued until the plate was polished off. There were only six, but Saihara’s stomach gave him a low grumble to remind that he was, in fact, quite famished. Ouma took notice, smiling as he presented Saihara with a steaming bowl of homemade ramen. The tantalizing scent of the next meal made the taller boy lick his lips eagerly.

“Wait, Ouma-kun.”

“Hmm~?”

“Could I at least see your face?”

Ouma paused. The detective knew his face was sensitive information for him to obtain. He wished he could convince the thief he wouldn’t tell, but… he wanted to look at the smaller boy’s face, just this once.

“Just for you, my beloved… I get to see your pretty face all the time, after all.” Saihara couldn’t tell if the blush on his face was from that comment, or the steamy ramen that was suddenly pushed into his mouth. He watched Ouma remove his clown mask to reveal a stunning pale face with those gorgeous violet eyes of his.

Was it normal to call a guy’s face kissable?

...Right, back to the food. Not only was Ouma impossibly cute, but also a great chef. The broth complimented the rest of the ingredients perfectly. Saihara slurped up the ramen contentedly, slightly embarrassed at the mess he was making on his face. The thief kept up his happy smile, occasionally reaching down to playfully pat the detective’s stomach.

“You’re doing so good, Saihara-chan… You just finished the second course!”

...Second?

Saihara slowly looked down to see his stomach pressing against his buttoned up uniform. The detective became aware of just how much he had eaten, and turned his head away.

“How many courses did you say there were?”

“Nishishi! I never said, but since you asked, there’s four!”

Saihara went pale.

He watched as Ouma grabbed yet another plate, this time with six pot stickers already coated in dipping sauce. Did the smaller boy really expect him to finish every meal? He was already comfortably full, but it wasn’t often he got to have such good food… Maybe a few more wouldn’t hurt?

His chewing became slower with his stomach starting to complain about the new company. Ouma began rubbing at Saihara’s more swollen belly forcing a couple burps out of the detective.

“I never knew Shumai had such a big appetite! Maybe I should have brought him more, nishishi!”

The taller boy blanched at the mention of more food, and yet he was presented with one last plate: a single slice of mouth-watering apple pie. “I know Saihara-chan isn’t big on sweets, but he’s gotta have a full course meal. Open wide~!”

Instead of getting a complaint out, a forkful of pie was inserted into his mouth, covering his taste buds with the sweetness. His overglutted stomach was screaming at him to spit it out, though the detective went against his better judgement and sent it down anyway. Ouma must have worked so hard on these, he couldn’t refuse. It seemed the thief cared about him too, in his own weird way.

The final bite was closing in on the taller boy’s mouth, but Saihara’s stomach finally won the mental argument.

“*burrrp* No more, Ouma… I’m too full,” he breathed, panting with his reddened face.

“Aww… but it’s the last bite! Surely Saihara-chan can find some room,” Ouma teased, using his other hand to coax another belch out of Saihara’s belly. The detective was so close to the finish line, the small bite of pie taunting him on the fork. It was just one more, like the thief said. He could do this. He leaned forward and let Ouma slide the last piece into his mouth. It was a struggle to chew, but he finally gave a hard swallow and leaned back in the chair.

“I knew Shumai could do it! Now he’s nice and full~!” Ouma gave more gentle pats to the detective’s belly, which almost looked too big to be part of him anymore. The thief presented Saihara with a glass of water, the latter simply let his mouth hang open and gulped it down without complaints. As soon as he finished, he jolted up when he heard a popping noise. He tried bending over to see what ripped, but couldn’t see over his massive orb of a stomach.

The smaller boy picked up one of Saihara’s shirt buttons and showed it to him smugly. “Nice one, my beloved!” Saihara could only give a loud belch in response, cursing the bindings for not letting him cover them up.

“Now that you’re too fat to run away, I can untie you,” the thief whispered in Saihara’s ear, making him shiver. At least there was truth to Ouma’s words for once, as the detective was in no mood to get up anytime soon.

“Why did you *urp* do this, Ouma-kun?”

The smaller boy swiveled around to face the poor boy rubbing his belly carefully. Maybe just this once, he could reveal his true intentions.

“Your stupid boss is overworking my sweet little detective,” he whined. “I need Saihara-chan well-fed and healthy if he wants any chance of catching me. And if I catch you skipping meals again, well… I’ll make sure my skinny boy gets a great meal by yours truly!”

You’re one to talk, Saihara wanted to say, but was too worn out to reply. The fact that Ouma cared about him this much warmed him to his core… along with all the other warm meals inside him. The smaller boy helped Saihara up and held his noisy tummy, giggling whenever the detective failed to keep a burp in.

Saihara didn’t see himself getting walked to his apartment by his crush, but sometimes he loved how unpredictable life could be.

#stuffed ronpa #let me know what you think!#i enjoyed writing this ^^#pora's fix

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 3 years

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Religious Trauma Syndrome: How Some Organized Religion Leads to Mental Health Problems

By Valerie Tarico

Marlene Winell interviewed March 25, 2013

At age sixteen I began what would be a four year struggle with bulimia. When the symptoms started, I turned in desperation to adults who knew more than I did about how to stop shameful behavior—my Bible study leader and a visiting youth minister. “If you ask anything in faith, believing,” they said. “It will be done.” I knew they were quoting [3] the Word of God. We prayed together, and I went home confident that God had heard my prayers. But my horrible compulsions didn’t go away. By the fall of my sophomore year in college, I was desperate and depressed enough that I made a suicide attempt. The problem wasn’t just the bulimia. I was convinced by then that I was a complete spiritual failure. My college counseling department had offered to get me real help (which they later did). But to my mind, at that point, such help couldn’t fix the core problem: I was a failure in the eyes of God. It would be years before I understood that my inability to heal bulimia through the mechanisms offered by biblical Christianity was not a function of my own spiritual deficiency but deficiencies in Evangelical religion itself.

Dr. Marlene Winell is a human development consultant in the San Francisco Area. She is also the daughter of Pentecostal missionaries. This combination has given her work an unusual focus. For the past twenty years she has counseled men and women in recovery from various forms of fundamentalist religion including the Assemblies of God denomination in which she was raised. Winell is the author of Leaving the Fold – A Guide for Former Fundamentalists and Others Leaving their Religion [4], written during her years of private practice in psychology. Over the years, Winell has provided assistance to clients whose religious experiences were even more damaging than mine. Some of them are people whose psychological symptoms weren’t just exacerbated by their religion, but actually caused by it.

Two years ago, Winell made waves by formally labeling what she calls “Religious Trauma Syndrome” (RTS) and beginning to write and speak on the subject for professional audiences. When the British Association of Behavioral and Cognitive Psychologists published a series of articles on the topic, members of a Christian counseling association protested what they called excessive attention to a “relatively niche topic.” One commenter said, “A religion, faith or book cannot be abuse but the people interpreting can make anything abusive.”

Is toxic religion simply misinterpretation? What is religious trauma? Why does Winell believe religious trauma merits its own diagnostic label?

Let’s start this interview with the basics. What exactly is religious trauma syndrome?

Winell: Religious trauma syndrome (RTS) is a set of symptoms and characteristics that tend to go together and which are related to harmful experiences with religion. They are the result of two things: immersion in a controlling religion and the secondary impact of leaving a religious group. The RTS label provides a name and description that affected people often recognize immediately. Many other people are surprised by the idea of RTS, because in our culture it is generally assumed that religion is benign or good for you. Just like telling kids about Santa Claus and letting them work out their beliefs later, people see no harm in teaching religion to children.

But in reality, religious teachings and practices sometimes cause serious mental health damage. The public is somewhat familiar with sexual and physical abuse in a religious context. As Journalist Janet Heimlich has documented in, Breaking Their Will, Bible-based religious groups that emphasize patriarchal authority in family structure and use harsh parenting methods can be destructive.

But the problem isn’t just physical and sexual abuse. Emotional and mental treatment in authoritarian religious groups also can be damaging because of 1) toxic teachings like eternal damnation or original sin 2) religious practices or mindset, such as punishment, black and white thinking, or sexual guilt, and 3) neglect that prevents a person from having the information or opportunities to develop normally.

Can you give me an example of RTS from your consulting practice?

Winell: I can give you many. One of the symptom clusters is around fear and anxiety. People indoctrinated into fundamentalist Christianity as small children sometimes have memories of being terrified by images of hell and apocalypse before their brains could begin to make sense of such ideas. Some survivors, who I prefer to call “reclaimers,” [8] have flashbacks, panic attacks, or nightmares in adulthood even when they intellectually no longer believe the theology. One client of mine, who during the day functioned well as a professional, struggled with intense fear many nights. She said,

“I was afraid I was going to hell. I was afraid I was doing something really wrong. I was completely out of control. I sometimes would wake up in the night and start screaming, thrashing my arms, trying to rid myself of what I was feeling. I’d walk around the house trying to think and calm myself down, in the middle of the night, trying to do some self-talk, but I felt like it was just something that – the fear and anxiety was taking over my life.” Or consider this comment, which refers to a film [9] used by evangelicals to warn about the horrors of the “end times” for nonbelievers.

“I was taken to see the film “A Thief In The Night”. WOW. I am in shock to learn that many other people suffered the same traumas I lived with because of this film. A few days or weeks after the film viewing, I came into the house and mom wasn’t there. I stood there screaming in terror. When I stopped screaming, I began making my plan: Who my Christian neighbors were, who’s house to break into to get money and food. I was 12 years old and was preparing for Armageddon alone.”

In addition to anxiety, RTS can include depression, cognitive difficulties, and problems with social functioning. In fundamentalist Christianity, the individual is considered depraved and in need of salvation. A core message is “You are bad and wrong and deserve to die.” (The wages of sin is death [10].) This gets taught to millions of children through organizations like Child Evangelism Fellowship [11] and there is a group organized [12] to oppose their incursion into public schools. I’ve had clients who remember being distraught when given a vivid bloody image of Jesus paying the ultimate price for their sins. Decades later they sit telling me that they can’t manage to find any self-worth.

“After twenty-seven years of trying to live a perfect life, I failed. . . I was ashamed of myself all day long. My mind battling with itself with no relief. . . I always believed everything that I was taught but I thought that I was not approved by God. I thought that basically I, too, would die at Armageddon.

“I’ve spent literally years injuring myself, cutting and burning my arms, taking overdoses and starving myself, to punish myself so that God doesn’t have to punish me. It’s taken me years to feel deserving of anything good.”

Born-again Christianity and devout Catholicism [13] tell people they are weak and dependent, calling on phrases like “lean not unto your own understanding [14]” or “trust and obey [11].” People who internalize these messages can suffer from learned helplessness. I’ll give you an example from a client who had little decision-making ability after living his entire life devoted to following the “will of God.” The words here don’t convey the depth of his despair.

“I have an awful time making decisions in general. Like I can’t, you know, wake up in the morning, “What am I going to do today?” Like I don’t even know where to start. You know all the things I thought I might be doing are gone and I’m not sure I should even try to have a career; essentially I babysit my four-year-old all day.”

Authoritarian religious groups are subcultures where conformity is required in order to belong. Thus if you dare to leave the religion, you risk losing your entire support system as well.

“I lost all my friends. I lost my close ties to family. Now I’m losing my country. I’ve lost so much because of this malignant religion and I am angry and sad to my very core. . . I have tried hard to make new friends, but I have failed miserably. . . I am very lonely.”

Leaving a religion, after total immersion, can cause a complete upheaval of a person’s construction of reality, including the self, other people, life, and the future. People unfamiliar with this situation, including therapists, have trouble appreciating the sheer terror it can create.

“My form of religion was very strongly entrenched and anchored deeply in my heart. It is hard to describe how fully my religion informed, infused, and influenced my entire worldview. My first steps out of fundamentalism were profoundly frightening and I had frequent thoughts of suicide. Now I’m way past that but I still haven’t quite found “my place in the universe.”

Even for a person who was not so entrenched, leaving one’s religion can be a stressful and significant transition.

Many people seem to walk away from their religion easily, without really looking back. What is different about the clientele you work with?

Winell: Religious groups that are highly controlling, teach fear about the world, and keep members sheltered and ill-equipped to function in society are harder to leave easily. The difficulty seems to be greater if the person was born and raised in the religion rather than joining as an adult convert. This is because they have no frame of reference – no other “self” or way of “being in the world.” A common personality type is a person who is deeply emotional and thoughtful and who tends to throw themselves wholeheartedly into their endeavors. “True believers” who then lose their faith feel more anger and depression and grief than those who simply went to church on Sunday.

Aren’t these just people who would be depressed, anxious, or obsessive anyways?

Winell: Not at all. If my observation is correct, these are people who are intense and involved and caring. They hang on to the religion longer than those who simply “walk away” because they try to make it work even when they have doubts. Sometimes this is out of fear, but often it is out of devotion. These are people for whom ethics, integrity and compassion matter a great deal. I find that when they get better and rebuild their lives, they are wonderfully creative and energetic about new things.

In your mind, how is RTS different from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?

Winell: RTS is a specific set of symptoms and characteristics that are connected with harmful religious experience, not just any trauma. This is crucial to understanding the condition and any kind of self-help or treatment. (More details about this can be found on my Journey Free [15] website and discussed in my talk [16] at the Texas Freethought Convention.)

Another difference is the social context, which is extremely different from other traumas or forms of abuse. When someone is recovering from domestic abuse, for example, other people understand and support the need to leave and recover. They don’t question it as a matter of interpretation, and they don’t send the person back for more. But this is exactly what happens to many former believers who seek counseling. If a provider doesn’t understand the source of the symptoms, he or she may send a client for pastoral counseling, or to AA, or even to another church. One reclaimer expressed her frustration this way:

“Include physically-abusive parents who quote “Spare the rod and spoil the child” as literally as you can imagine and you have one fucked-up soul: an unloved, rejected, traumatized toddler in the body of an adult. I’m simply a broken spirit in an empty shell. But wait...That’s not enough!? There’s also the expectation by everyone in society that we victims should celebrate this with our perpetrators every Christmas and Easter!!”

Just like disorders such as autism or bulimia, giving RTS a real name has important advantages. People who are suffering find that having a label for their experience helps them feel less alone and guilty. Some have written to me to express their relief:

“There’s actually a name for it! I was brainwashed from birth and wasted 25 years of my life serving Him! I’ve since been out of my religion for several years now, but I cannot shake the haunting fear of hell and feel absolutely doomed. I’m now socially inept, unemployable, and the only way I can have sex is to pay for it.”

Labeling RTS encourages professionals to study it more carefully, develop treatments, and offer training. Hopefully, we can even work on prevention.

What do you see as the difference between religion that causes trauma and religion that doesn’t?

Winell: Religion causes trauma when it is highly controlling and prevents people from thinking for themselves and trusting their own feelings. Groups that demand obedience and conformity produce fear, not love and growth. With constant judgment of self and others, people become alienated from themselves, each other, and the world. Religion in its worst forms causes separation.

Conversely, groups that connect people and promote self-knowledge and personal growth can be said to be healthy. The book, Healthy Religion [17], describes these traits. Such groups put high value on respecting differences, and members feel empowered as individuals. They provide social support, a place for events and rites of passage, exchange of ideas, inspiration, opportunities for service, and connection to social causes. They encourage spiritual practices that promote health like meditation or principles for living like the golden rule. More and more, non-theists are asking [18] how they can create similar spiritual communities without the supernaturalism. An atheist congregation [19] in London launched this year and has received over 200 inquiries from people wanting to replicate their model.

Some people say that terms like “recovery from religion” and “religious trauma syndrome” are just atheist attempts to pathologize religious belief.

Winell: Mental health professionals have enough to do without going out looking for new pathology. I never set out looking for a “niche topic,” and certainly not religious trauma syndrome. I originally wrote a paper for a conference of the American Psychological Association and thought that would be the end of it. Since then, I have tried to move on to other things several times, but this work has simply grown.

In my opinion, we are simply, as a culture, becoming aware of religious trauma. More and more people are leaving religion, as seen by polls [20] showing that the “religiously unaffiliated” have increased in the last five years from just over 15% to just under 20% of all U.S. adults. It’s no wonder the internet is exploding with websites for former believers from all religions, providing forums [21] for people to support each other. The huge population of people “leaving the fold” includes a subset at risk for RTS, and more people are talking about it and seeking help. For example, there are thousands of former Mormons [22], and I was asked to speak about RTS at an Exmormon Foundation conference. I facilitate an international support group online called Release and Reclaim [23] which has monthly conference calls. An organization called Recovery from Religion, [24] helps people start self-help meet-up groups

Saying that someone is trying to pathologize authoritarian religion is like saying someone pathologized eating disorders by naming them. Before that, they were healthy? No, before that we weren’t noticing. People were suffering, thought they were alone, and blamed themselves. Professionals had no awareness or training. This is the situation of RTS today. Authoritarian religion is already pathological, and leaving a high-control group can be traumatic. People are already suffering. They need to be recognized and helped. _______________________________

Statistics update:

Numbers of American ‘nones’ continues to rise

October 18, 2019

By David Crary – Associated Press

The portion of Americans with no religious affiliation is rising significantly, in tandem with a sharp drop in the percentage that identifies as Christians, according to new data from the Pew Research Center. …

Pew says all categories of the religiously unaffiliated population – often referred to as the “nones” grew in magnitude. Self-described atheists now account for 4% of U.S. adults, up from 2% in 2009; agnostics account for 5%, up from 3% a decade ago; and 17% of Americans now describe their religion as “nothing in particular,” up from 12% in 2009.

https://www.csmonitor.com/USA/Society/2019/1018/Numbers-of-American-nones-continues-to-rise

_______________________________

Marlene Winell interviewed by Valerie Tarico on recovering from religious trauma Uploaded on January 31, 2011

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIfABmbqSMA

24:12

On Moral Politics, a TV program with host Dr. Valerie Tarico, Marlene Winell describes the trauma that can result from harmful experiences with religious indoctrination. Dr. Winell explains that mental health issues are widespread and need to be understood just as we understand PTSD. There are steps to recovery, treatment modalities, and resources available as well. She now refers to this as RTS or Religious Trauma Syndrome. _______________________________

Links:   [3] https://www.biblestudyonjesuschrist.com/pog/ask1.htm  [4] https://marlenewinell.net/leaving-fold-former  [8] https://journeyfree.org/article/reclaimers/  [9] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Thief_in_the_Night_%28film%29  [10] https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+6%3A23&version=KJV  [11] https://valerietarico.com/2011/02/04/our-public-schools-their-mission-field/  [12] http://www.intrinsicdignity.com/  [13] https://www.maryjohnson.co/an-unquenchable-thirst/  [14] https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Proverbs+3%3A5-6&version=KJV [15] https://journeyfree.org/category/uncategorized/ [16] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrE4pMBlis  [17] https://www.amazon.com/Healthy-Religion-Psychological-Guide-Mature/dp/1425924166 [18] https://www.humanistchaplaincy.org/ [19] https://www.christianpost.com/news/london-atheist-church-model-looking-to-expand-worldwide-91516 [20] https://www.pewforum.org/2012/10/09/nones-on-the-rise/  [21] https://new.exchristian.net/  [22] https://www.exmormon.org/  [23] https://journeyfree.org/group-forum/ [24] https://www.recoveringfromreligion.org/

_____________________________________

Get God’s Self-Appointed Messengers Out of Your Head

Valerie Tarico Which buzz phrases from your past are stuck in your brain? “God’s messengers” were all real complicated people with biases, blind spots, favorite foods and morning breath. They were not gods and they are not you. So how can you get them out of your head or at least reduce them to muffled background noise?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ElfyYA420F0

#religious trauma syndrome #Marlene Winell #Valerie Tarico

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eryiss · 4 years

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Event: LGBTQA+ Month hosted by @ft-wwtdp

Ship: Fraxus ( Freed Justine x Laxus Dreyar)

Prompts: Love, Gift, Brave, Tease, Quirk.

Verse: Canon Compliant

Alternate Places To Read: Fanfiction, Archive of our Own. Event master list here.

This is the first batch of submissions for the Fairy Tail LGBTQA+ week. I’m putting five drabbles per post as not to spam the tags, and I’ll make a new post every five days. Hope you enjoy them.

Day One – Love (Of A Stubborn Thief)

Despite what many people thought, Laxus had always had a good handle on his emotions.

He always knew what he felt, had always been good at realising what his feelings were and what they meant, and he had enough emotional intelligence to understand other people's feelings as well. Thanks to his father's influence, there had been a time where he would shut off his emotions, but even then he had known what he was feeling. Even at his worse, he understood people and he understood himself.

It was because of this emotional intelligence that he wasn't shocked when he realised he was in love with Freed.

They'd been dating for a few months by then, and it had been incredible. Having this extra layer of intimacy with the other man made him feel comfortable, happy, and warmer. It was as if every second was just a little bit better than it could have been with Freed being only a friend. A small but constant improvement, and one Laxus had no intention of giving up.

It wasn't a particularly big moment that lead him to understand what he felt for Freed. It was in the middle of august, and the two of them were shopping in Magnolia's marketplace for everything they would need for the upcoming week. Laxus had been tasked at getting meat from the butcher's cart, while Freed made his way through the produce stands. Shopping together was something they had started to do three weeks prior, and although Laxus hadn't admitted it, he was rather fond of it now. Before, it had been a chore, but it was somehow pleasant when Freed was with it.

Laxus had never guessed he would enjoy the domestic side of a relationship this much.

After getting all the meat they needed – which was a lot, given they were intending to have a barbeque in the upcoming days – he began to walk towards the fruit and vegetable sections of the market. When he got in earshot of Freed, a grip split on his face.

"You and I both know that you're overcharging. I am not going to pay double the worth for a punnet of strawberries," Freed had snapped, voice a little harsh.

"Then you ain't shopping here," The vender said, and even with the distance between them Laxus could see Freed's jaw clench a little.

Laxus decided to stay back. This would be fun to watch.

The following few minutes were quite entertaining for Laxus. Freed, as he often did when he saw something he identified as an injustice, decided to use every tool available to make his point. One moment he had worked out the exact price of an individual strawberry – which was admittedly quite high – and was loudly making sure the people around them knew it. The next moment, he was explain the many health code rules that the vendor was breaking, and threatening him with an impromptu visit from the governing authorities so that they could see these violations.

After glancing at the vendor, who had turned from a confident extortionist to a bumbling victim of Freed's calm but effective threats, Laxus decided to approach. If left too long, Freed might make it known he had a weapon attached to his hip. That might be taking it a little too far.

Although, it would be funny.

As he got closer to his boyfriend, Laxus thought back to when he first met Freed. He had expected the other man to be a reserved and calm figure, lacking the eccentricities that made up Fairy Tail's members. Makarov had once confessed that he thought Freed would be a calming influence on Laxus, as he was one of the more mature members of the guild. Looking at him threaten a man's livelihood for a discount on some fruit, it was hard to believe that was the case.

"Hey," Laxus greeted, standing beside Freed. "Everything alright?"

"I'm simply refusing to be a victim to a scam," Freed explained, and Laxus fought off a grin.

"As I said before," The vendor continued, though his tone was unsure now. "I am not going to lower my prices because someone in threatening me."

"They are pretty expensive though," Laxus said smoothly, before Freed could cut in. "Maybe you could knock twenty percent off, get us out of your hair. I think we both know that this asshole ain't gonna give in."

The vendor took a moment to think, cussed under his breath, before offering a lower price. Laxus brought his wallet out and paid for the food before Freed could barter it down lower – there weren't many fruit vendors in the market, they couldn't afford to be backlisted by the best one – and started to walk away. Freed joined him a moment later, walking beside him as they began to left the market.

Freed was quiet, and Laxus assumed it was out of annoyance that he hadn't managed to get a bigger discount. But when he looked to his side, he saw that Freed was eating what appeared to be a peach, and Laxus frowned. That hadn't been part of what they intended to buy.

"Where did you get that, Freed?" Laxus asked with an amused expression on his face.

"The fruit stall, of course," Freed said, and Laxus let out a single laugh.

"Did you pay for it?"

"It's entirely dependent on what you consider paying to mean," Freed shrugged. "If you mean I paid the amount he wanted, then no. If you mean I covered the cost of overcharging by getting what my money was worth, then I did pay for them."

"So you stole it?" Laxus laughed, before furrowing his brows. "Wait, them? How much did you steal?"

Freed reached into his pocked and pulled out another peach, offering it to Laxus. The blonde looked at it for a moment, shaking his head in a mixture of both amusement and disbelief. His boyfriend – the man many people claimed was a voice of reason inf Fairy Tail – had actually stolen some fruit because he believed that he was being overcharged. He seemed completely unrepentant about it, and Laxus knew that if he objected Freed would stubbornly defend himself to an inch of his breath.

And it was then, when he took the stolen peach for himself, he realised he was in love with him.

The moment he realised it, everything seemed to make sense. Because of course he loved this ridiculous, stubborn, incredible idiot. Who else could he love? Who else could make him feel as he did? Who else was so perfect for Laxus?

It was a warm feeling, a feeling of solidity and comfort that Laxus hadn't often felt in his life. He found out he liked it. And as he looked down at Freed again, who had continued to eat his peach without so much as batting an eyelid as to where it came, Laxus found himself more contented than he ever thought he could.

"Freed," Laxus began, insides bubbling.

"Yes," Freed said patiently.

"I'm in love with you."

He kissed his boyfriend before he could say anything in response. Delightfully, it tasted like peach.

~~~

Day Two – Gift (From Afar)

"Hey Freed, wait up."

Freed turned around at the shout from behind him, stopping. It was his birthday, and he was retuning home from the customary celebrating in the guildhall. His parties were always a smaller affair than those of the louder members of the guild, something he had requested. Still, it had been a merry affair, but as the night had worn thin, Freed found himself fighting a small amount of melancholy as he sat around his friends.

It came form the fact that, while all his friends were there, his husband was not.

Laxus had taken an S-Class job nearly a month prior, being the only available member of Fairy Tail with the ranking to attempt it. He had known it was going to be a long job and that he would possibly miss Freed's birthday, and the rune mage hadn't minded. Missing out on things was an occupational hazard in their job.

Still, now the day had come, Freed couldn't deny he was missing him. They didn't have any particular traditions when it came to breakfast, other than being awoken with a fresh mug of coffee, so it wasn't as if he was missing anything in particular. It would have just been nice to have Laxus with him.

"Damn, you're a pretty fast walker," Natsu panted as he approached Freed.

The rune mage looked at the younger man with a small quirk in his eyebrow. They weren't the closest of friends, but they got along well enough given their contrasting personalities. He waited patiently for the other man to catch his breath – maybe he was a faster walker than he realised – and absently wondered what Natsu could have wanted. He'd congratulated him, given him a gift, and demanded a fight throughout the evening. There wasn't much else Natsu normally did on a birthday.

"I have this for ya," He eventually said, raising a hand.

In his hand was a package wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. It was a simple looking thing, and Freed took it with a small amount of hesitance. Natsu's gift to him had been two bottles of alcohol; one a refined scotch, the other a cheap brand of tequila that boasted being the closest thing to breathing fire a man could experience. Lucy had later confessed that she tried to convince him to get the scotch rather than the tequila, and this had been a compromise.

But, given the fact the man had gotten him something already, it seemed unlikely that there was a third part to his gift. He looked down at it, then to the man, with a small expression of his confusion. Natsu grinned.

"It's from Laxus," He explained. "We had a mission close to the town he's helping and met up with him. Told me to give you it."

Freed looked down to the wrapped package with a small smile. It was of course nothing compared to having the actual man here, but it made him feel rather loved anyway. A lot of people assumed that Freed would be the more romantic of the two, but that wasn't exactly true. They both had their moments, both were thoughtful and kind to each other, and this was an example of Laxus' more romantic inclination.

"Sorry I didn't give it to ya in the guildhall," Natsu continued. "Didn't know if he wanted it to be private or not, so I waited. I should get back, so see ya," He started to jog back, waving towards Freed. "And I want that fight!"

Freed smiled a little as the younger man ran off, looking down at the gift in his hands. He continued to walk towards his house, absently moving the package from hand to hand as he did. It wasn't a long walk, so he decided to wait.

When he got home, he walked to his living room and settled in his large armchair. A pile of his presents had formed from when he had teleported them from the guildhall, and he decided he would deal with them in the morning. He ran his fingers down the brown paper of the gift with a soft smile on his face. He used his nail to cut it open revealing a small note above the gift written in Laxus' familiar handwriting.

'Freed. Sorry I'm not gonna be there for your birthday. I know you said you don't mind, but it's still kinda shit. I'll make it up to you when I get back, which shouldn't be too long I don't think. I hope this make you smile. Love, Laxus.'

Freed smiled, moving to place the note on the side table. When he did, he noticed writing on the back of the paper.

'Salamander. I swear to god if you opened this instead of giving it to Freed I'm gonna fry your balls off when I get back. Evergreen and Bickslow know I've got him something, so I'll know if he doesn't get it.'

With a laugh, Freed placed the note on the side and looked at the gift itself. It was a leather-bound book, and when Freed saw the title, he smiled. It was a book containing multiple short stories aimed at children, the same book that he had read as a child. This was a first edition of the book, and it seemed to be in immaculate condition. He smiled softly as he opened the first page and looked down at the illustration.

Freed realised, as he read, that Laxus' job had taken him through a far-off town that boasted a well-stocked vintage book store. He must have brought the book before he arrived at the job and kept it to give to Freed when possible. The idea of it made him smile, as did the knowledge that he had only mentioned the book to Laxus once, and he had remembered.

He smiled as he turned a page; Laxus really was a romantic at heart.

~~~

Day Three – Brave (In Every Way)

Laxus had always known that Freed was brave.

There was never any doubt in his courage. He had stood against powerful mages and fought dangerous beasts hundreds of time and had never shown any signs of backing down. He had pushed himself to his limits to help others, had stood up against injustices and cruelty, and had never cowered when challenged on his ideals. He was one of the bravest men that Laxus had ever met, and that was something Laxus would never change his mind on.

Today, he was proving it. Because fighting mages, stopping monsters and ending injustices were something mages had to do. True bravery could be seen today, as both Laxus and Freed walked into the large foyer of Freed's childhood home.

Laxus would say it was more of a mansion than anything else. But saying that wouldn't be appropriate.

Freed's relationship with his family had always been tense. Not as shattered as many Fairy Tail members, but there was always an underlying animosity between them. Freed hadn't been the perfect, obedient son that they had wanted, and from what Freed had told Laxus, they had resented him for that. He was his own man, had made his own decision, and those decisions had been at odds with what they wanted for him.

Apparently him joining Fairy Tail had been the last straw for them. His father had threatened to cut him off, remove him from their will, and essentially disown him. Freed had left the house the moment he could, and hadn't returned since.

Until now.

After the incident at the S-Class trials, it had been assumed that many members of Fairy Tail had died, and Freed was included. So when they returned after seven years alive, people had been shocked, and it had been a big part of the news. Apparently Freed's parents had seen this and, now that their supposedly dead son was alive again, they reached out to him. According to their letter, the seven years thinking he had died had shown them what it truly meant to have him out of their lives, and they had regretted their behaviour.

Laxus wasn't going to say anything, but he had heard Freed's soft sobs as he read the letter for the first time. Clearly he had been missing his parents more than he thought.

Today was the first time they would see each other, and Freed had admitted to being scared. He had insisted that Laxus come with him, both for support and to show his parents the man he was to be married to. If they wanted to accept who he was, they needed to accept Laxus as their future son-in-law.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Freed's mother whispered.

She had been the one to open the door, and the moment she saw him her face melted into emotions and she pulled him into a hug. Laxus had stood by a little awkwardly, allowing the two to have their moment. Although Freed didn't cry like his mother was, the strength in which she hugged her told Laxus how much It meant to see her again. It was nice to watch.

"I am too," Freed said softly. "You look well."

"So do you," She smiled. "You must still be twenty-one, mustn't you?"

"I am," Freed said with a small laugh, though a small frown followed. "Is father not coming?"

"He's coming," She assured him. "He's not as mobile as he was before, I'm afraid. But still pig-headed enough to refuse my help."

Freed nodded, and his shoulders hunched slightly. Neither his mother nor father were innocent in Freed being driven out of his home, but his father was the worse. He was loud and argumentative with his disproval, if Freed's stories were accurate, and it had been the constant arguments and fights between them that had been the final straw for Freed. It was clear that seeing his father would likely not go as well as seeing his mother.

And yet Freed stood firm, and Laxus was again reminded of just how brave his fiancé was.

As Freed and his mother spoke, Laxus allowed his eyes to stray around the room. There was a large painting above the staircase, seemingly of a pre-teen Freed with his mother and father. The father was a stern looking man, with a strong jaw, authoritative expression and pushed back shoulders. He looked like a high ranking soldier, actually.

He pulled his eyes away from the paining when the doors to the side of the stairs opened, revealing the same man from the painting. He was now hunched over, leaning heavily on a walking stick, covered in wrinkles. He looked old.

"Freed," He said, voice a little croaky yet still firm and controlled. "You came."

"I did. Hello father," Freed replied, voice tighter now.

"Who is this?" He asked, looking to Laxus.

"This is Laxus Dreyar. His grandfather is the guild master of Fairy Tail," Freed explained. "He's also going to be my husband."

It was perhaps the bravest thing he had ever said.

Apparently neither Freed's mother nor father had been told of this, as they both looked to Laxus in shock. Laxus didn't look towards Freed's mother, and instead kept eye contact with his father. If Laxus had judged them both correctly then the father would be the one to have an issue with him, not the mother. He looked at the older man without showing a hint of intimidation, and the man looked right back at him for a few moments.

"You do good by my son, and we won't have a problem," He eventually said, huffing.

"Of course," Laxus nodded.

"Good," The old man nodded, before turning to his wife. "We'll be eating soon, I assume."

As the older couple walked off, Freed's mother saying they would be waiting in the dining room and dinner would be served in twenty minutes, Laxus stood beside his fiancé and looked down to him with a gentle expression. Freed seemed to take a few moments recover; he had apparently expected something worse as well.

"You okay?" Laxus murmured to him.

"I think so," Freed said with a nod, looking up to Laxus with a smile. "Having them know I like men is rather a large weight off my shoulders."

"I bet it is," Laxus said, kissing the top of his head. "You ready to catch up with them?"

"I think so, yes" Freed nodded.

As they walked, Laxus was left with no doubt that Freed was the bravest man he knew.

~~~

Day Four – Tease (At Your Own Risk)

"Well, isn't this cute."

Bickslow had his arms crossed over his chest, the biggest shit-eating grin stretched over his features. Freed's eyes fluttered open as he was awoken, looking towards the man responsible through a hazy gaze. The cocky attitude radiating from the man was clear even without being fully able to see him, and his tone was annoying Freed already. His tired glare didn't dissuade Bickslow from his amused taunting.

He, Bickslow and Laxus had taken a mission together and had ended up sleeping in the woods. It was originally intended to be a Raijinshuu only mission but Evergreen had been called out at the last second, and Laxus had taken her. Bickslow had been more than happy to hear this, and now that the mission had begun Freed understood why.

The idiot had decided he would spend the entire mission teasing the new couple as much as possible.

Many little comments had been made about him third-wheeling them by coming along with them, and about how sorry he was that he had gotten in the way of their romantic time away. When fighting a pack of creatures they had been forced to split up, and Bickslow joked that if they wanted time alone then they could have just asked. And the moment he realised they were sharing a tent he had all but imploded with laughter at his own jokes about what they would be doing inside of it.

It was starting to grate on Freed's nerves, just slightly.

Right now, the subject of his teasing was the fact Laxus was sleeping, head resting on Freed's chest, arms wrapped tightly around him in an almost possessive manner. Freed probably had his nose nuzzled into his boyfriend's hair before he had woken up. Bickslow clearly had enjoyed seeing the two of them cuddled together.

"The two strongest, most badass men in the guild," Bickslow continued. "All snuggled up like idiots in love. It's enough to make your heart melt."

"You know I have a sword, Bickslow," Freed croaked a little as he spoke. "And you also know I enjoy using it."

"Whatever you to do in bed – or in the tent – ain't any business of mine," Bickslow grinned even wider, and Freed's glare got even more intense. It didn't stop Bickslow even slightly. "I always knew Laxus was this cuddly, didn't think you were though. Honestly wish I could take a picture of this, because it's too damn cute."

Freed sighed. He should have expected this when he and Laxus revealed their relationship to their teammates. They were both happy for them, and didn't bat an eyelid when Laxus essentially came out to them, and Freed was grateful of that. For a few days it had been nice, they had been given space and respect. It was now clear that was some sort of amnesty period, because their relationship was now as much a target for teasing as everyone else's. Freed would be better equipped to deal with it if he hadnt just been woken up.

"Did you honestly open our tent just to bother us?" Freed asked, yawning.

"Nah, I was gonna make some breakfast and see if you wanted anything. This is fun though," Bickslow cackled. "So, did you have a nice romantic evening kissing under the stars after I fell asleep."

"Leave him alone, Bix," Laxus groaned, waking up and removing his face from Freed's chest.

"Why?" Bickslow laughed. "This is fun."

"Because eventually he'll get pissed off at ya and try and kill ya. And that means he wont be here and he's really fuckin' warm and I don't wanna lose that until I'm really awake," Laxus explained, pulling Freed closer. Bickslow actually cooed at the action.

"Fine," The blue haired man said finally. "Bacons nearly ready. Be out here if you want any," He then grinned again. "And if you want some privacy, leave a sock on the tent's zipper and I'll get the message."

He cackled as he walked away, and Freed glared at his retreating figure as he turned to his boyfriend. Laxus was smiling a little in his tiredness, clearly amused by the situation; he was always more of a morning person than Freed was. The blonde pulled him closer, pressed a lip to Freed's collar bone, and curled up closer to him. Freed found himself placated slightly by the action and closed his eyes.

"How long do you think it'll take before he stops?" He asked, tiredly.

"None of us have given Ever a break since she got with Elfman," Laxus shrugged. "Just try not to let him get under your skin. You know this is his way of supporting us."

"I know," Freed admitted. He would be much more offended if Bickslow wasn't acting like this.

"And if he really does start pissing you off, we can just keep doing this. It's pretty relaxing if you ask me," Laxus mumbled, nuzzling his nose against Freed's chest. The rune mage smiled a little at that, and ran a hand through his boyfriend's hair.

"I suppose," Freed agreed, before laughing. "Although I do often enjoy getting revenge rather than calming down."

"You can do that too, later," Laxus grinned. "And hey, you're the team's leader right, meaning he technically has to do whatever you say during a mission. So the next time he really annoys you, make him do some weird shit to distract him."

Freed grinned as he looked down at his boyfriend. "I rather like seeing your devious side."

"Couse you do. You're a freak," Laxus taunted, smiling into Freed's torso. "But do it later, because right now I wanna fall asleep again and wait for the idiot to cook us our breakfast."

Freed chuckled at that, leaning down and pressing his lips to the top of Laxus' head. He curled down a little so he was lysing again, wrapped an arm around Laxus' waist, closed his eyes, and plotted his revenge.

~~~

Day Five – Quirks (And Their Meanings)

Freed considered himself an expert on many things.

There were a wide range of subjects that Freed was knowledgeable. There was the obvious, such as his magic and the languages associated with it. There was the necessary, such as how to survive in many situations that the normal person wouldn't find themselves in. And there was the obscure and pointless, such as the process in which leather was made and applied to the bindings of old books. Freed's mind was a home of knowledge both useful and not.

One thing he was particularly knowledgeable about was his husband. Many people assumed Laxus was unreadable and stoic – which was a fair assumption when compared to the loud and expressive people of Fairy Tail – but Freed knew better. You could often tell what Laxus was thinking, you just needed to know what to look for. This was something Freed excelled at.

Laxus showed many little quirks that betrayed his emotions. Some were obvious, like when he grinded his teeth together when annoyed, or how he swayed a little as he was on the cusp of getting drunk. Others were more specific, like how his index finger twitched when he wasn't paying attention and instead was thinking about a song stuck in his head. Freed had realised that particular one when they were getting chastised by Makarov for being destructive during a mission, and Laxus' finger tapped against the arm of a chair in time with a song they both liked.

The point was, Freed could read Laxus well. And right now, he was uncomfortable.

Freed had of course expected this reaction, when three weeks ago Guild master Bob had approached the Raijinshuu and requested they become part of the guild after Fairy Tail's closure. They wanted powerful mages to do some of the more intense missions, and that suited The Raijinshuu well. But, as was Blue Pegasus' gimmick, they needed to occasionally flirt with customers.

Each member of the team had different reactions. Bickslow and Evergreen took to it well enough; Bickslow was sociable and friendly already, and Evergreen found she enjoyed men fawning over her. Freed approached it pragmatically, it was a part of the job and he did it as well as he could. Laxus didn't.

He tried at the start, but he wasn't good with people. Either intentionally or not, he had started to be more standoffish and almost rude to those interested in him. It didn't seem to deter them, instead attracting an even more intense crowd.

Which was why he was so uncomfortable.

Freed had just finished speaking to a man who wished to garner his attention – nice enough, but Freed was happily married – and his gaze fell to the blonde. A group of women sat at his table, clearly not understanding that Laxus' uncomfortable and short-tempered attitude wasn't an act. But being an expert in reading his husband, Freed knew what to look for.

His shoulders were hunched, an attempt to make himself smaller. A trial for someone of his size.

His pupils were dilated, the girls surrounding him were annoying him them.

His sentences were short and filled with contractions. He was trying to force an end to the conversation.

There were other things, but Freed had seen enough. His time entertaining had ended anyway, and it was clear that Laxus needed a break. He stood up from where he had been entertaining men and walked towards the table Laxus was hunching over.

"Excuse me," He said, interrupting the almost single-sided conversation. "I'm incredibly sorry to interrupt, but Mr Dreyar is needed outside for a short while," Some of the women went to protest. "I understand, but I've spoken to Hibiki and he's rather excited about stealing you away from Laxus, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

The clear lie worked. Freed almost shook his head at how gullible they were.

Once the gathered women spread and went towards Hibiki – who barely managed to hide his shock and looked to Freed with a glare a moment later – Freed nodded for Laxus to follow him. It was part of their job to always seem willing to attend to the guests unless absolutely needed, and therefore Freed had to keep up the lie that Laxus was required in the back. He led him to the alley outside, both for privacy as well as the fact Laxus was occasionally called there to help move beer barrels when the guild was understaffed.

"You looked like you needed a break," Freed commented, leaning on a wall. "You okay?"

Freed watched as Laxus deflated slightly. His tense posture lessened, the tightness in his jaw released, and he allowed a trapped breath to leave his mouth. The quietness of the alleyway and the company of his husband clearly had an affect on Laxus, and Freed was glad to see it.

"They just get a bit intense," Laxus sighed. "And they're all fuckin' loud all the time. They screech."

"I've heard," Freed laughed a little. "I can't imagine it's pleasant when it's right in your ear."

"Honestly, I think that fucking laugh is gonna haunt me in my nightmares," Laxus groaned, but he was grinning a little now. "Should have done what you did and asked just to see guys, least they don't shatter your ears every time you say anything."

"No, I suppose they don't," Freed patted his husband's arm softly.

Laxus' deflation wasn't just because he was glad to get out of the main hall, it was also because he was slightly defeated. His identity had always been interlinked with Fairy Tail in one way or another, and Freed couldn't understand exactly what it felt like for him to lose that and have to join another guild. It must be hard, and all Freed could do was try and help him through it in any way he could. Knowing this, Freed reached into his coat's breast pocket and pulled out a piece of paper which he handed to Laxus.

"If it's any help, I stole this," Freed said, and Laxus looked down at it. The paper was a job notice, requesting the arrival of mages in a village many miles away. A simple enough problem, but what had attracted Freed was the estimated time it would take to complete.

"Says it'll take three weeks," Laxus voiced, clearly having noticed the same thing.

"Exactly. It won't take us that long; a few days at the most," Freed explained. "But that'll give us two and a half weeks where we can claim we're working, when we're actually taking a break from…" He looked towards the guildhall. "Entertaining. "

Laxus grinned, tipped Freed's chin up slightly and brought their lips together. The kiss they shared was desperate and showed just how much Laxus had needed this break. Freed felt a little guilty that he hadn't noticed this need sooner. Until Fairy Tail opened its doors again, he would have to make an effort to make Laxus as comfortable in Blue Pegasus as possible.

After all, what use was it knowing all of Laxus' quirks if he couldn't use them to make his husband happy.

#ftlgbtpride2020 #fraxus #freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #freed x laxus #fanfic #fairy tail #writing #one shots #event

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maedarakat · 7 years

Text

31st Oct: Monstrous // “Were you ever going to tell me?”

(Dagur/Tuff - Beauty and the Beast AU)

(Notes: So I’m a bit late for the @httydrarepair week, but this turned out to be longer than expected. Hope you all enjoy!)

A Strange Kind of Beauty

——

The boy was a thief.

There was no other way to say it. He’d come onto Dagur’s land, uninvited, and he’d helped himself to what wasn’t his.

(That made him a thief, right? And thieves should be punished. His father had told him that.)

He watched the slim hooded figure wrap a handkerchief around the thorns and petals of his ill-gotten prize, likely to protect it from getting bruised on his journey.

Dagur growled audibly from within the bushes, a low malevolent sound that quieted even distant birdsong.

He eagerly anticipated the look of alarmed dread, the head snapping up to focus on the source of danger just before death. He’d seen it on the faces of deer, rabbits - things that he hunted in the wilderness.

Instead, the boy turned his back on both hedge and beast, and started on his way back to the woods that surrounded the castle grounds. His casual nonchalance left Dagur dumbfounded and more than a little offended.

A frustrated roar shook the bushes like a windstorm. Dagur sprang out of hiding to land on all fours, arched and bristling, his sharp-toothed maw open wide.

At first glance, he looked like some enormous wolf - the kind that appeared in fairy tales to gobble up grandmothers and little girls. The color of his fur was like no wolf’s in existence, however - a unsettling dark red with mottled patches that looked like the blood spray of some poor animal.

Long black horns protruding from his head like a goat’s and the cloven hooves on his hind legs had sent many a lost hunter screaming from the woods, convinced he had encountered the Devil himself.

Dagur chuffed, knowing he made an impressively terrifying sight and waited for the trespasser to turn and witness his death.

The boy finally turned around, pulling down his hood and allowing Dagur to better see his face. He was just barely a man, with no beard unless you counted that wispy pale peach fuzz as facial hair. With his long hair tied back to keep from getting into his grey eyes, the boy looked about a year or two younger than Dagur.

He also had the gall to look entirely unimpressed.

“Look,” the boy sighed. “Can this wait? I just want to give this rose to someone, and then I’ll be right back so you can kill me. If you want. I mean, unless you’re just here to play fetch or something.”

Fetch? Fetch?!

Dagur pounced, knocking the boy onto his back. Enjoying the pained grunt he’d caused, he snarled in the boy’s face, paws braced on either side of his head. He had never killed another human before. As a beast, it was probably best to just do it quick and tear out this thief’s throat like the fell animal he was.

The boy gazed up at him. His expression still lacked any hint of the devastating terror Dagur had grown accustomed to. After a moment, the corner of his mouth quirked.

“Huh,” he said, looking Dagur over. “Nice teeth - sharp, serrated. So are you going to kill me? You know that death glare you’re giving me can’t actually do it for you, right?”

Dagur snorted, nonplussed and irritated. He’d never met a person who didn’t seem to mind dying all that much. In that case, the thief deserved a fate worse than death. He reached out and grabbed the boy’s blond hair, starting to drag him toward the castle.

Though his new prisoner winced and even whined a little at that, he didn’t seem to fight it all that much.

——

The castle was large, spacious and besides him and now the boy, it was completely empty. No servants walked these halls, but rather they lined them - trapped forever as sentient oil paintings.

The Enchantress had known he didn’t remember their names. It hadn’t been important at the time, still wasn’t - and besides, he’d already made up his own less than flattering nicknames for them. They would have to do since she’d inscribed their true names in runes he couldn’t read beneath their frames.

Unless he cared to translate those runes and ask nicely for the comforts of a prince, Dagur was sentenced to live in squalor like an animal. For years he had sulked rather than change his situation, letting his hair and claws go untrimmed, and sleeping in a pile of furs.

With no-one to clean, the castle’s Italian marble floors had become tracked with mud and moldering dead leaves. There were cobwebs on the chandeliers, slashed remnants of velvet curtains over the windows, destroyed antiques and furniture heaped in dark corners. It was a desolate atmosphere, but Dagur didn’t mind it.

As for food, he had learned to hunt for himself and, partially just to spite everybody, had grown to prefer the taste of raw meat. Every morning he dragged in breakfast, and ate it sitting at the carved oaken table next to the fireplace - because it amused him to do so.

Apparently, much to his annoyance, the servants seemed to like his new prisoner - enough to cause a bowl of hot oat bran exist for him the following morning. It appeared across from him, at an empty place setting.

Dagur had paused halfway through his freshly caught rabbit, and stared at the bowl cluelessly before realizing who it was meant for.

He supposed he could have just eaten it himself, but his prisoner had all night in a cold cell to realize his sorry fate, and Dagur looked forward to hearing him beg for forgiveness. He may as well take the food down to him if he was going to gloat.

Finding the thief sitting in a calm meditative lotus position had not been what Dagur expected. Did this kid ever do anything that was expected of him?

He huffed in exasperation, sliding the bowl beneath the grate and watching him.

The blond picked up the bowl, tucking into it like he hadn’t seen food in months. He was skinny enough that it might have been the case. “This is good. Did you cook it?”

Dagur held up his oversized paws with a flat look, wordlessly commenting on the intelligence of that question.

“Well, my compliments to the chef, whoever they are. So how long am I in for?”

“Forever,” the beast sneered.

“For a rose? Eh. I mean, I guess it was a pretty one. It’s too bad you crushed it when you pounced on me. You know, whoever your gardener is does not keep those things properly trimmed or pruned. Otherwise you’d have tons of new buds by this time of year, instead of like, eight to one entire bush.”

“Are you a gardener?” Dagur asked, curious.

“No, but my sister loves roses. That’s who I was getting it for.”

“Your sister. Not a sweetheart? Some foolish girl who sent you on an errand to a haunted castle?”

The thief actually burst out laughing at that, slapping his knee as though Dagur had told the funniest joke in the world. “You’re hilarious. Okay, so I’m here forever, right? So does that mean you’ll continue to feed me and give me a roof over my head for as long as I live?”

Wait, what? The boy had no right to sound content with that . . .

“You’re in a dungeon. You’re my prisoner,” he reminded sharply.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been in worse places overnight,” the boy said, looking around him appreciatively. “I can get used to this. It’s got no mold or damp spots. The bars make nice musical instruments. Maybe I can catch a few rats, keep them as pets . . .”

Dagur growled, inches away from a tantrum. “You aren’t supposed to enjoy your stay here!”

“Why wouldn't I? It could be worse. All I have to do for the rest of my life is sit here, look miserable, and get at least one square meal a day. Easiest job I’ve ever had.”

The boy gave him a brilliant smile. Dagur felt himself bristling. This wasn’t fair - the thief shouldn’t be able to make himself happy with a bad situation (certainly not when Dagur couldn’t. He was a prince - he deserved every happiness; it wasn’t fair!)

He flung open the cell door so hard it crashed against the stone wall. The boy had the nerve to not even jump a little.

“Get out here,” Dagur snarled. “You want a job? I’ll give you a job then, and make you earn your meals!”

If the servants didn’t want to clean the castle, then this brat could. He could work day and night, scraping mud and dead leaves off the marble, scrubbing the mildew off the banisters and polishing every piece of unbroken furniture until it sparkled. Dagur would work him until he dropped from exhaustion.

That should teach him, the little snot.

——

The entire castle was conspiring against him.

It had to be, because every menial task Dagur put before Tuff (which was the thief’s name apparently) was done perfectly within the hour, and the boy looked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Floors were polished as though they had never witnessed a speck of filth, the furniture dusted, polished and some pieces even fixed as new. Pots had been scrubbed as though they’d never been used, and there was a cheerful roaring fire in every suddenly clean hearth at night.

He never caught the boy slacking, but he never caught him working all that hard either.

Tuff got his meals nonetheless; there was nothing Dagur could do about that - and though he’d made a point not to offer Tuff his own room, the boy had not complained. He simply stretched himself out by the big kitchen fire each night, curling on his side to sleep on the floor.

Dagur wanted to hate him. He really did. It was extra irritating to eventually figure out that it was quite impossible. Tuff was the first person to not be afraid of him in ten years.

Hope was a thing with feathers, and Tuff’s appearance had started making it fly around again.

There were only a few months left until his twenty first birthday, until the curse became permanent, but he’d successfully stopped hoping for a miracle far earlier than that.

Or so he’d thought.

The boy kept mentioning a sister. Day and night, whenever Dagur was around - Tuff seemed to talk incessantly about her. How she loved roses. How she hated being in the squalid, boring village, how much she’d love the library here because nobody in town liked girls who read and there were only five books in town for her to borrow.

At first he’d grunted in mild disinterest - not particularly caring about the subject matter, but liking the sound of his chatter. After years of silence, he’d sort of missed hearing another person talk.

He surprised himself one night at dinner, actually interrupting a brief silence to ask a question.

“This sister of yours . . . she pretty?”

Tuff looked up, eyes wide and strangely startled. “Um, well, kinda awkward to ask me, but yeah. I suppose so.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He looked strangely downcast and Dagur wondered why. Wait . . . of course.

“Huh. You miss her, don’t you?”

The boy didn’t answer right away, but he fell silent for longer than a minute, staring at his soup. Dagur sort of felt like a heel for asking. Of course Tuff would miss his family. He was stuck here forever, wasn’t he?

“Well, she’s probably fine,” Dagur said, cluelessly. He scrambled to try and lift the sudden heaviness, in no mood to deal with someone else’s sadness. He could barely deal with his own negativity. “Tell me something else about her.”

Thankfully Tuff seemed to brighten up at that. “One time she punched a guy so hard he had to get false teeth.”

Dagur grinned, liking her already. If he could get Tuff to warm up to him more than he was already, maybe he could get the boy to bring his sister here.

She would learn to love him, hopefully quickly, and if he also fell in love with her, the curse stood a chance of being broken. He would be free to do whatever he pleased, and she’d get to stay in this castle, read all the books she wanted and tend to the roses she loved.

It was the perfect plan.

——

By the next week, he’d stopped heaping chores on Tuff, and they shared more meals together.

It wasn’t all bad actually. He asked countless questions about Ruffnut - which Tuff was only too happy to answer. In return though it meant he had to put up with endless annoying questions about him.

“So what cursed you anyway?” Tuff asked, around a mouthful of roasted elk. Dagur had caught it, but had graciously given some of the flank to Tuff. The castle had served it up for him in a white sauce. Dagur wrinkled his nose up and sulkily took another bite out of the raw leg. For the first time in a while, he found himself coveting a fancy meal.

“How do you know I was cursed?” he asked, trying not to sound irritated. “Maybe I was born like this.”

“Well, not unless you were born on Christmas, but then you’d be a werewolf and I’ve never heard of one of those with horns. Also you would’ve changed back at daytime. So it must be a curse.”

Dagur scowled, wanting to tell him it was none of his business. But nobody had ever come close enough to him since to hear the story. He surprised himself by giving in and telling it, curtly but truthfully.

“My father died unexpectedly in a hunting accident. So my little sister was sent to live with kin, and as Lord of the castle, I got to do whatever I pleased. I . . . may or may not have been very nice about it. Didn’t invite enough poor people over, or something. I guess.

“So one night, this crone shows up and it’s late, I have guests over, and she wants a room to stay in in exchange for a rose. From my own garden, probably. I told the servants to shut the door in her face, but she wouldn’t leave until I came out myself and told her . . . well, pretty rudely to get off my property. And maybe to go die in a ditch while she was at it. Guess she didn’t like that much.”

Tuff snorted. “Go die in a ditch? What, were you twelve?”

That earned him a scowl. “Eleven, actually.”

The boy looked taken aback. “Seriously? You were only a kid when she did this?”

Dagur shrugged. “Yeah? So? I pissed the old lady off and she turned out to be a witch. That’s on me.” He’d never actually admitted that before. Dagur felt a small spark of pride in himself. “I got turned into a beast, my servants got turned into all the nice little paintings you see.”

Tuff sat up straighter and snapped his fingers. “I knew it! I knew they were alive! I keep seeing them make little tiny movements out of the corner of my eye when I’m not looking. They never get to change position though. Wait, why did she punish them? What did they ever do?”

He sounded just as worried about them. It made a Dagur scowl; they were only beautiful paintings forever. He was the one cursed to live like an animal.

“Why are you concerned with them? They’ll be immortal works of art. Not like they’re good for much else lately.” Dagur gestured to Tuff’s fancier meal. “They won’t even cook for me.”

“Well, can you blame them? They didn’t do anything to piss off that witch. And now they have to stay perfectly still, even if a fly lands on their face or if they have to sneeze or worse . . . what if one of them has had to hold it for ten entire years?”

Huh. Well that would certainly explain Sir Snoudlout’s expression in the main parlor. Or wait - was it Sir Snothat? Snoodledoot?

Either way, Dagur had to admit, that did sound a lot worse of a fate now that he thought about it. At least he got to scratch and relieve himself.

“Well, what do you want me to do? Apologize, I suppose.”

Tuff smiled sweetly. “It would be a start.”

——-

Dagur frowned up at the gilded frame painting of a stern looking young woman, flaxen haired, with her arms crossed. In one hand she held a ladle and her expression was of someone who would dearly love to crack it down on top of someone’s head.

He didn’t really have to wonder who; Dagur guiltily remembered insulting her cooking constantly when he was younger. He hadn’t meant it but in jest, though truthfully she was a far better fighter than a cook. Certainly gave Sir Snortport a run for his money when he’d run drills for Dagur’s vanguard.

Tuff scrutinized the runes beneath the girl’s frame. “Says here her name is Lady Astrid.”

He could read runes? Well that was handy! Dagur laughed in relief. “Astreed! that’s right, I remember! I used to mispronounce her name just to tick her off - oh.”

Tuffnut was giving him a flat look, shaking his head. The portrait somehow looked even more pissed off.

“Now say her name right and tell her you’re sorry.”

Dagur puffed up his neck fur and scowled, fidgeting. After a flustered moment, he gave her the best bow his current form could manage. “My sincerest apologies, my Lady Astr- um?”

Momentarily stumped, he glanced at Tuff. “Astrid,” the boy stage-whispered.

“My Lady Astrid.”

“Good start. Now maybe ask her to make you a little something. Politely.”

“Hmm. Well. I’ve already eaten dinner. Can you make me some tea, please?”

Tuff gave him a thumbs up. Dagur beamed at him. “Tea’s easy right? It’s just boiling sugar and water - she can’t mess that up.”

He’d unfortunately stage-whispered that right back, which meant Astrid had clearly heard it.

Wincing, Tuff turned it into a thumbs down, just before an entire porcelain tea set, tray included, manifested in midair, a foot above them. A second later it crashed down onto Dagur’s head, showering him with hot water and broken crockery.

Dagur froze and then his temper flared. Unable to take it out on a painting, he whirled on Tuff. “You see?! There’s no reasoning with them! They won’t give me a chance and they’ll never forgive me!”

“Well, not all at once! Forgiveness takes time, effort. You made a decent start. You cared enough to start. That’s worth something, right?”

Dagur quite forgot himself, snarling. “I don’t have time for this! Two more months and the spell becomes permanent. For everyone.”

He hadn’t cared any more. Not until Tuff had showed up. It was his fault Dagur had started to care again - now it hurt. How dare he?

“I’ll help you break it. You have a huge library. And my mom was a witch - I can try to research spells like yours, maybe we can figure out a way to reverse -“

“No. You say you want to help? I know exactly how you’re going to help me, thief.”

Dagur collared Tuff and dragged him to the door, then out to the gardens - about where he’d first encountered him. It was just edging into autumn, but the first telltale signs of frost damage were visible on the surrounding rose bushes and grass.

He pushed Tuff to the ground and snapped off one of the still blooming red roses, tossed it at him.

“You can go fetch that sister of yours. Give her that rose, and tell her it’s cost you your life. If she doesn’t get here in a month and agree to break this spell, then I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”

It wasn’t the best plan, and it was a half-empty threat at best - but right now Dagur was overwhelmed and panicking.

Maybe it was the bits of broken ceramic piercing his skin, even through his fur. Maybe it was the fact that he’d actually been trying to be nice for once, and it had blown up in his face.

He didn’t want to hope anymore. He didn’t want to think there was a chance when there maybe wasn’t, and besides, it would be cruel to let the servants think there was, wouldn’t it? Dagur knew he was being horrible enough that the boy might not dare come back - he’d just run, and the castle would have nobody to gang up on him with.

Tuff was crouching on the ground, looking up at him imploringly. “Don’t do this. Please, I don’t want to go back there - look, I can stay forever no matter what. I - I can even tell you everyone’s name. We’ll figure something out, just please don’t send me -“

“Shut up! I told you how you can help, and you’ll do it or else!”

“But - you don’t understand - please, I want to stay -“

“I don’t want you here any longer!” Dagur roared at the top of his lungs. His bellow actually made the kid flinch back this time. “Go home to your family, and say your goodbyes while you still can! Because in one month, if your sister isn’t here, I will tear out your throat!”

Tuff looked at him, eyes wide and oddly devastated, holding onto the rose’s stem tightly despite the thorns. He was trembling from something other than fear. “I see. A month, then? You’ll come to kill me in a month if . . . if she doesn’t come? Th-that a promise?”

Dagur bared his teeth at him in a dark grin, though he hated himself for it. He’d actually started to like the boy.

If Tuff was smart, he’d take his sister and run very far away and never come back.

He watched as Tuff unsteadily got to his feet, looking pale. He walked toward the woods lining his property, leaving the way he’d come months ago. Dagur watched after him a long time before finally turning to stalk inside.

——

Winter was going to come earlier than normal this year. Dagur could tell from his hunts; how the animals had fattened up.

The month was nearly over. Nobody had come to the castle, not the girl, not even Tuff. Dagur wasn’t surprised.

He hunted alone, ate alone, whistled tunelessly as he ambled through the castle like Tuff had, just to fill the empty air with something. His loneliness and boredom had only increased since sending the boy away, but he figured it would pass.

Eventually. Yeah, maybe in a couple years, everything would dull up again.

Dagur woke at some point later that night, listening to the window panes shudder from the force of a cold wind, blowing in icy sleet and thunder. There was no fire in his room, but his fur and several tattered blankets kept him warm enough, like always. He felt a brief moment of pity for the unsheltered animals of the woods, and after some uneasy thought, wondered about Tuff.

He wondered where the boy was sheltering in this storm, and why Tuff had called being thrown in a beast’s dungeon a ‘roof over his head’. He'd been so delighted with common gruel, even at being given just a hard floor by the fire to sleep on.

Weird kid - hadn’t seemed to protest being kept from his family at all, for as much as he’d talked about them, about his sister.

The wind howled desolately through the chimney in his room, and Dagur got out of bed, walking toward a small table he kept carefully guarded, in an alcove by the window. Ignoring the shedding rose beneath its dome, he picked up the mirror the Enchantress had given him.

“Show me the thief - I mean, Tuffnut.”

He barely had time to wonder at the name coming to him so easily, before an image appeared on the mirror’s surface.

There was a ratty old church he recognized from his many horseback rides as a child. It had belonged to a quiet dull little village - something else he’d never bothered to learn the name of.

The boy was leaning against stone, either tears or rain tracking down his face - possibly both. He looked even thinner than when Dagur had first laid eyes on him, and he could just barely make out what Tuff was muttering. He caught the word ‘sister’ and ‘together’, and a glimpse of red petals on the dead grass, pressed beneath Tuff’s fingers.

Dagur blinked, finally noticing there were words carved into the stone - realizing what it meant.

His sister had loved roses . . .

A cough tore through the boy’s body, making him have to lean more of his weight his against the gravestone.

Dagur cursed, heart aching. Why hadn’t Tuff told him? Now he was all alone and ill, and . . . and it was entirely Dagur’s fault.

He put the mirror down abruptly. There was no more time to waste.

——

It was hours later that he strode into the castle, eyes wide, chest heaving and carrying a form draped limply in his arms.

Tuff was hardly even breathing - he hadn’t even been conscious by the time Dagur reached him.

Worse still, the churchyard had been crowded with gravestones, far more than what was normal, and there had been a half-finished fence around the old churchyard, as though the parishioners had been trying to make room for more before they fled.

The village, which had been bursting with activity this time last year when he’d crept close enough to spy, had been reduced to a graveyard itself - full of gutted out buildings and red crosses painted on barred doors.

It had been Tuff’s home once, but not any longer. He’d begged not to be sent away, and Dagur hadn’t listened. If he’d only known Tuff had nowhere else to go . . .

“Please,” Dagur moaned, carrying him to the fireside and cradling him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, stay with me - please . . . Hey! I need medicine!” he hollered, begging any portrait that would listen.

The castle was supposed to give him anything he wanted as long as he asked nicely, and remembered names, right!? That’s what the Enchantress had told him . . .

Dagur held Tuff closer to him, crouching before the cold hearth next to the table - where they’d once shared their meals together. He struggled to throw wood into the fireplace one-handed, unable to make himself let go of him even for a moment.

The boy was shivering and his skin was too hot - he didn’t know what to do other than start a fire, get him out of those wet, filthy clothes and into a warm dry bed. But none of it would do any good without medicine for that cough, the fever.

What had been his court physician’s name? Dagur screwed up his face, trying hard to remember.

The man had served his father faithfully, and he’d been a genius with alchemy and potions. A droll sense of humor, with mildly condescending intelligence . . . Dagur knew he’d blown up at the man more than once in his youth, even threatened to have him hung for witchcraft.

All because he’d once lost at a game of chess.

“Viggo!” Dagur gasped, after what felt like hours. “Viggo? Sir, with all due respect, please - I’m sorry. I know you must be very mad at me, but - but that isn’t Tuff’s fault! Please, if you can save him, please help! It isn’t fair to him!”

There was silence, and nothing happened for a long while. Dagur sobbed, listening helplessly as Tuff’s breath grew more labored, and feeling worse than he ever had in his entire life.

He’d killed many an animal in his time, but he’d never killed a friend before.

There was a polite scrape of metal on the polished wood of the dining room table. When Dagur didn’t turn around to look, it happened again.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes wet, and saw a metal tray with a stoppered vial of amber liquid, a tin full of loose-leaf tea, and a weathered piece of parchment with clear handwritten instructions.

Dagur gasped out a ragged thank you, and reached for the tray.

——-

His paws had been large and clumsy, but he had managed to do everything Viggo had instructed, by sheer carefulness.

By morning, Dagur - who had never tended anyone in his life, and barely even himself at that - had administered medicine, had gotten Tuff cleaned up and tucked into a warm bed, and had made the prescribed tea with a pot of hot water he’d humbly begged from Lady Astrid.

She’d been nice enough to refrain from dumping it on his head this time.

Tuff looked miles better than he had the previous night, but Viggo’s script warned he still had a hard road of recovery ahead of him. He looked pale and small, dwarfed by the size of the bed.

It was with just a little consternation that Dagur realized he would do literally anything to keep this boy here on earth with him.

Tuff groaned his way to consciousness a few days later, sometime after noon. As soon as he opened his eyes and lifted his head, there was a sound like a large stack of books hitting the floor, followed by a curse. Dagur was at his side, peering anxiously into his face.

Despite how big and fearsome he was, he looked like a scared puppy.

“You okay? You need anything?”

The boy looked at him and then around at the room glassily. “You brought me back here?” he rasped, not comprehending.

He remembered their last exchange and flushed with shame. “I’m sorry I said all that. I didn’t mean it, and I’m not going to kill you or even hurt you. I . . . I didn’t realize you had nowhere else to go.”

Tuff was looking at him like he’d been betrayed. “You - You didn’t mean any of it?”

Dagur felt a surge of concern at that, and put his paws over Tuff’s shaking hands. “No? I didn’t actually intend to hunt you down and kill you? Most people would find that good news?”

The boy bit his lip, eyes filling with tears though they still met Dagur’s. “You wanna know what the worst thing I ever did was?”

Dagur swallowed, then nodded hesitantly.

“I dared my sister to kiss a boy she liked. He was just a traveler, passing through. About a week later, he was dead from the plague. A few days after that, s-so was my sister . . . then my mom, my whole family. The villagers that didn’t die packed up and left the village. I stayed behind. I had to. She was my twin. I couldn’t leave her all alone.”

Tuff’s voice was no higher than a whisper, and tears spilled unchecked down his face. Dagur gently wiped them away. “You never told me you were all alone. Were you ever going to?”

He bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. It was just . . . it felt like she was s-still around whenever I talked about her.”

Dagur nodded, feeling a pang in his chest. He could see why Tuff hadn’t wanted to go back to that empty shell of a village. In a moment of thoughtless anger, he’d forced him to.

“None of this is your fault. None of it, okay? You couldn’t have known that boy was sick. That’s why this plague kills so many and moves so fast. Because nobody knows who’s infected until it’s far too late,” Dagur said as gently as he could.

Tuff absorbed that for a moment and leaned into him. “Why do I feel like I’ve been spared as punishment?” He’d trailed off before he could add ‘twice, now’, but Dagur heard it clearly enough.

He wrapped his arms around Tuff, half climbing into the bed with him, and let him grieve. Even after the boy had exhausted himself from crying and fallen back to sleep, Dagur didn’t leave his side.

——

The last of autumn died out, making way for winter to ice the region. Soon even the leaves that had been blown up against the great doors were lost and buried by snow storms.

Dagur usually hated this time of year - when running in the woods was too cold and food was scarce. While Tuff slept, as Viggo indicated he would mostly do, Dagur found other things to occupy his time with. Like finding books of runes in his library and struggling to transcribe them.

The castle had started tending to both their needs. Now two bowls of hot cereal appeared on a cart outside the doors to the bedroom, sometimes just quietly rolling in when Dagur was too engrossed in his studies.

He’d look up, grin his thanks, and gently wake Tuff so he could eat. The boy was weak still, making it necessary for Dagur to hand feed him. He did this slowly and carefully, struggling to hold the spoon steady in his great big paw, and before eating himself. The castle kindly kept his bowl warm for him until he’d finished.

Tuff regained his strength slowly, and Dagur loved the days he was able to sit up and talk to him.

“What are you always reading?” he asked once, when Dagur thought he was out cold. The beast jumped, dropping the book, but somehow his place was kept by a cord and none of the pages had bent when he picked it up.

He turned it around to show the boy.

“It's a book of runes. I know you can translate them, but you’re still recovering. I tried copying down the markings on paper, but . . .” Dagur spread his paws helplessly.

Tuff smiled warmly at him. “Look at you making all the effort. Maybe I can get up and help?”

“Are you sure?”

Dagur’s anxious, eager question was met by Tuff’s palm caressing his face. “Might need help walking, but yeah, I can - oh!”

The boy trailed off as Dagur effortlessly picked him up, taking care to wrap a blanket around him to protect him from drafts. Not that it was as drafty as before. There was a roaring fire in each hearth as Dagur carried him through the house, and though wind outside shook the windows, no cold air could find any gap to intrude.

Tuff wrote down all the symbols and translated them into names, helpfully sketching a thumbnail of the painting next to its respective inscription so Dagur could study and remember who was who.

“Thank you,” Dagur said sincerely, once the last portrait had been found and recorded.

Tuff only shrugged. “It’s okay. If I’m going to stay here and eat all your delicious magic food, I might as well learn everyone’s name, right?”

Dagur blinked. “You - you’re - you still want to stay here? I mean, I want you to stay with me too, but it doesn’t have to be your only option. I can use the mirror to find any kith or kin you might still have?”

“I don’t want to go bother any distant cousin - not if I can stay with you. I think you were right, Dagur. It . . . wasn’t all my fault. My sister would have wanted me to keep going. And besides,” Tuff managed a grin. “I can’t leave you behind now. You’ll get all grouchy and sad again.”

He snorted. “I wasn’t grouchy and sad.”

“Yeah, you were.” Tuff softened the statement by leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Surprised, Dagur nearly dropped him on the floor.

——-

They memorized all the names between them, each one bringing forth cherished memories Dagur had forgotten with time.

Astrid was the best fighter in the entire court. She’d been unbeatable, especially on horseback. It was her parents that had pressured her to be the cook, and Dagur now knew with regret that it had been a thankless job.

Fishlegs had tended the garden, while Sir Uglethorpe (he’d been so far off with that poor man’s name it was embarrassing) had been captain of the palace guard. He’d bullied those two incessantly, but they had just patiently borne through - forming a close companionship that had seemed odd at the time, but not so much now.

Viggo’s brother, Ryker, was the castle’s huntsman - and he’d always been kind enough to ignore or at least chuckle fondly at Dagur’s awkward posturing. Which he now realized - much to his mortification, had been early attempts at teenaged flirting.

Gobber had been the boisterous, singing forge master. Hiccup had started out as his scrawny apprentice, but had proved himself to have a talent for training even the wildest horse.

Dagur had been delighted to find that his favorite steed was among those in the stables, kept alive in a painting of a herd , running through a beautiful valley. It seemed one of the few paintings able to truly move or shift, so long as you weren’t intently watching it. Sometimes the horses were drinking from a stream, or laying down rather than running. Apparently the Enchantress had some pity on them.

“Shattermaster,” he said, pointing. Dagur hadn’t needed any translation to remember his horse’s name. “And that’s Windshear, my sister’s horse.”

“You have a sister?”

Dagur smiled at him. “Yeah, she’s about your age. She went to go live with our cousins after Dad died.” He faltered. “I have no idea if she’s even alive.”

Tuff wrapped his arm around Dagur’s, knowing better than to offer false promises. “Who’s that one?” he redirected, pointing at another horse.

“Oh, you’d like him. His name’s Torch.”

They spent their days together this way now. Dagur had forgotten about time, more focused on making sure Tuff was recovering, and on improving his relationship with servants. They were feeling more like old friends from another life rather than just the common folk who’d worked for his father.

By the end of the week, only three petals on the enchanted rose remained, yet every portrait in the castle was smiling.

—-

He’d wanted to do something for Tuff.

Normally, he would have asked someone else to do it for him, but now he wanted it to be all him. Dagur did think to ask for advice though, since his gardener would be the one to know about this one particular thing.

Armed with handwritten instructions and a shovel, Dagur set to work late that night, after Tuff had fallen into a deep restful sleep.

When he returned the next morning before sunrise, he had a couple thorns in his paw, scratches on his arms and tears in his clothing, but he could not be happier.

Tuff was waiting up for him when he entered the room, looking anxious and oddly horrified.

“It’s okay,” Dagur soothed, as the boy embraced him tightly. “I’m back, everything’s okay.”

“Dagur,” Tuff started, but he put a finger to the boy’s lips. He led Tuff to the table in his room, not even glancing at the enchanted rose but instead grabbing up the mirror and asking it to show what he’d done.

Proudly he handed it over to Tuff, who took it in confusion. He looked at the glass, then gasped unevenly, eyes starting to fill up.

Roses, in the middle of dead winter, were intertwined beautifully around his sister’s grave. Dagur was no gardener, but he figured even he couldn’t manage to kill an immortal magical bush while transplanting it. It had been remarkable simple - the only hard part had been digging into the frozen ground.

“They’ll bloom forever, pruned or not. She’ll always have roses, no matter the time of year.”

Tuff’s eyes were spilling over. He set down the mirror and wrapped his arms tightly around Dagur’s waist. “Thank you, thank you so much - I’m so sorry,” he managed.

Dagur looked down at the top of his head, confused. “Why? Did - Did I do something wrong? It was roses, right? Not daffodils or something?”

He was about to berate himself, but Tuff looked up at him tearfully and then over to the dome.

At first he thought there was no longer anything inside it, but on closer look, Dagur saw the withered stem lying at the bottom, surrounded by fallen petals.

“I didn’t know you had so little time left,” Tuff murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry - I promised I’d help you -“

Dagur felt a deep surge of disappointment, though for the first time it wasn’t for his own sake. “I guess I’m gonna have to make a lot more apologies to everyone.”

“I’m sorry,” Tuff said again to his chest, but Dagur gently tilted his face up to look at him.

“Don’t be sorry for me. I don’t regret it. I love you,” he blurted casually, without thinking.

Tuff’s gray eyes widened. Before Dagur could stammer out a mortified apology, he put his hands on Dagur’s face and pulled him down for a fierce kiss.

Dagur flailed a little, shocked, but after a moment of Tuffs soft lips crashing against his teeth and lips, he started to kiss back. He was careful even though he didn’t want to be, for fear of his fangs piercing the boy’s lips.

He had no cause to worry as it turned out.

Tuff reared back suddenly, breaking the kiss to gape at him.

“What?” Dagur asked, still in a daze. He couldn’t seem to care about anything but kissing Tuff right now, and reached for him again, drawing him closer.

It was then Dagur noticed hands attached to his body rather than paws. He yelped.

Tuff laughed, a little unsteadily and held up the mirror - now a plain, ordinary glass - showing Dagur his new reflection.

—-

There was pandemonium in the castle. Not the panicked kind, but rather a joyous one.

Tuff held onto his arm (his human arm!) as Dagur walked them carefully out of his room. It was Viggo who met them first, walking purposely toward them with a chair on wheels. Dagur wondered giddily for a moment whether it was for him or Tuff.

Giving him a smile that could only mean ‘well done’, Viggo respectfully nodded his head and eased Tuff down into the chair before looking him over critically.

“I’m okay, I can walk,” the boy protested, not letting go of Dagur. His grip had moved to Dagur’s hand. Viggo only chuckled.

“Have no fear, I will not separate you two. Among other things, our prince has proved himself to be an excellent caretaker.”

Dagur felt himself blushing. Coming from Viggo, it was rare praise, though he was eternally grateful the man wasn’t making a big production out of things.

That task was given to the other servants - now free of their frames - who cheered when they saw them. All except Sir Uglethorpe, who’d had to first run for the privy.

As overjoyed as he was to see them all uncursed, Dagur dreaded having to tell them about the fate of the village, where many had called home. Lady Astrid seemed to sense this and stepped forward to hug Dagur tightly, and then Tuffnut.

“We all know what happened,” she spoke, before Dagur could. “The walls have ears you know.”

Oh. Right. “You can stay here, all of you. Make this castle your new home. And no, you don’t have to work any harder than I will,” Dagur promised.

Astrid smiled. “Oh, going to lead by example are you? Like Alexander the Great?”

Dagur blinked at her, trying in vain to remember a long ago history lesson. “Was he French?”

Her laugh didn’t make him upset or defensive, like it would have in the past. Tuff squeezed his hand. “Currently he’s in your library. You’re gonna love him.”

He grinned back at Tuff. Who knew, maybe he would.

Love had already surprised Dagur more than anything else ever had.

END

#rtte #httyd #tuffnut #dagur #batb au #tuffgur #rarepair week

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