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fisherfurbearer · 5 years

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Well.

It’s my 21st birthday today.

I’ve been very quiet here since winter, but in actuality so much has happened. I’m still sorry for being-here but not-being-here, and vanishing on everyone waiting on art, but it’s really been a whirlwind. Just a real wild ride.

I had this big, rambling post written up, explaining what’s happened so far this year and what’s been going on, but I don’t think it’s necessary really. What matters is that I’ve made it this far. This time six months ago I really wasn’t sure if I’d make it to see today. But. Here I am.

I feel like life has been pretty unrelenting in the past few years, and it never seems to end. Between this post and my last text posts, I’ve had another Break Down due to problems with work and doctors, and it’s been pretty terrifying, but I think it’s going to be okay. We’re not out of the woods and I really need to focus on this right now so I still won’t have time to get back into art (which I do plan on doing!! But it’s really not fair to anyone for me to start up again when I’m still not completely stable) and everything else.

But hey. Even after that recent disaster, I’m still here. I’ve been on much better meds for almost 5 months now, I’ve been figuring out what I want to do with my life, and I have my second wind. Things have been getting a lot better (even though a LOT has also been going wrong, but such is life, and we get through it!) and I’ve been on the right track for several months now. I think I’m truly happy.

I’m still here and so is most everyone else. I figure it’s about time I do an update on everyone, as this is a pet blog after all, and I think it’s best to let everyone know how we’re all doing. It’s been a long time since I really talked about everyone properly, and a lot has happened. So here’s the all-encompassing update on everyone:

INVERTS

I posted about this a bit before, but yes. At the start of July I found that I lost about half of the tarantulas. While I think in general we were doing okay picking up the pieces from everything that happened, not everyone was alright. It’s my fault, and I take responsibility. I don’t care how tough things were, it wasn’t fair to them that I let them go unnoticed for too long. Most of the slings passed away, they got too dry, and the more moisture dependent ones passed away as well, including Boopus, Conte, Lucy, and Cassini.

There is a huge hole in my heart from losing them. I will never let this happen again. I don’t CARE how hard things get for me, I will NEVER let my illness take the lives of the ones I care about ever again. I don’t know if it’s the right decision to continue keeping Ts at all after what happened, but since it did, Jessie and I had a very serious conversation about was has to change if I want to keep the remaining Ts. I’ve spent a lot of time re-working how I care for everyone, and so far, everyone has been recovering VERY well. The remaining Ts are: Agnes, Deckard, Isidore, Montag, Winnipeg, Wilder, Flaveri, Kessler, Kitty, and Turnip. They are all fat and hydrated and doing better. Deckard and Isidore molted successfully, and Winnipeg is deep in pre-molt. Montag had some sort of weird kinda-mites-but-not-mites thing going on, but I got most of them off and they’ve been doing really well for about a month now.

Suffice to say I think everyone is going to be okay. The ones that are here. I do love them deeply and I need to not let my illness get in the way of them. My depression was slowly eating away at everything I loved, including them and my desire and ability to care for them, but I will never let it happen again. No matter what, I’ll do what’s best for them, even if it’s a tough decision.

As for the other inverts...the roaches are all doing very well. Red goblins have had their ups and downs but the colony is big and thriving. I finally have adults again and babies are cropping up once more. My dubia colony is finally stable and they’ve been delightful waste disposals for all the ugly peppers and bolted greens from our poor little garden. The rothi, the Original Dig Sons, are STILL kicking. I thought the female was gone but she cropped up again and is as gigantic and cute as ever. They’re chubby and happy and digging like champs. The little kenyans are also doing well!! I’m moving them in with the dubia and they seem to thrive with them. Everyone is peaceful and passive to one another, and by being in the bigger colony they have much more space and food options than before.

All in all, the inverts are recovering and doing okay. I also have thriving isopod cultures in the geckos’ vivs, and they’re doing very well! Lots of orange P. pruinosis in there.

REPTILES

Vladimir and Estragon are doing WONDERFULLY. After the fire I was very worried about the smoke, but both geckos have been perfectly fine and very active and healthy, especially as the weathers warmed up. Estragon is exploring all the time now, and has recovered well after all the stress of moving around so much earlier this year. As I type this he’s climbing the glass of his viv and mleming the air. He’s such a little man and I love him. I’ve been watering the vivariums properly again and they’ve been exploding with growth! Not all the plants made it but the ones left actually need trimming, they’re growing too fast!! The local pet place has lots of vivarium plants available actually and I got a couple that I’m going to plant in the empty spots for the boys. So right now the vivs definitely look a little wonky, but it’s nothing we can’t fix, and the boys themselves are doing GREAT. They lost a little weight after all the chaos, but Gogo is a good chunky boy and Didi is doing awesome too!! Eating lots and he even catches the loose roaches that have been living in the leaf litter, which is pretty cool to watch and great enrichment for him. My little men have been doing so good and I’m so happy that we’re all okay. <3

MAMMALS

Before the fire, I had recently gotten my very first rats, which was a huge deal on here, if any of you remember that!! Java, Lisp, and Python have been thankfully 100% okay after the fire, and have suffered 0 smoke injury! They were farther from where it happened, but there was definitely some smell in my room but now, eight months later, I think it’s safe to say that they’re unaffected. The rats are doing GREAT. They get pampered every single day by everyone here, and my roommate LOVES them. Even when I couldn’t take care of them, he’d feed them and squish them daily, which was a huge help while I dealt with all the craziness. I’m getting back into the routine and taking over their care again, but I can’t thank him enough for his help.

The rats are now THE BIGGEST BOYS and Java is the BEST bean!!! He went from peeping and running away when we first got him to bruxing like CRAZY whenever we hold him and he loves being squished. I don’t know why. They all just love being held and squished and Lisp has some really unsettling Extreme Happy Boggles when we do it, he loves being crushed. (Not that we actually “crush” them, just gently pretend to squish them with our hands while joking about squashing them into pancakes)

They get so much love every single day, and they’ve been one of the best things to ever happen to us. Unfortunately since moving here (and I wasn’t aware of this until the day of move-in, haha, lucky me...) they’ve had to live in the basement which is colder than I’d like and makes it hard for me to care for them, but soon we’re switching to 100% fleece and they’ll be able to live up here with us properly!! I’m so excited about it and it’ll make caring for them so much easier. I’m so excited.

OH and how could I forget. I put off saying this but we DO have a few more pet friends since I last mentioned everyone in December. We bought five little mice into our home many months ago, and their names are Awesome Opossom, Moggles the Mole, Inspector Beans, Bhombus, and Trungalo. They were one of the best things ever, for me. They’re the perfect fit for our lives and they’ve been thriving since we got them. They’re so relaxing and wonderful, and they are incredibly calm and squishy little girls. Sadly, Possie passed away a month or so after she came here (she was almost like a FTT...she was doing so well, then she just...she wasn’t growing like everyone else, no matter what I did, and one day she just. Didn’t make it. We found her snuggled up in her favorite hide in a pile of fleece. No one bothered her. She passed away peacefully.) and she just...she was here for such a short time but she changed everyone’s lives forever. She was the most incredible little thing. She was so outgoing and sweet and when we bought them home she instantly became Nick’s favorite little friend. I’d come home from work and he’d be in the middle of the living room playing with her. He loved her so, so much and even though the mice “are mine” I really think Possie was his. She was a very special little thing and I’m glad she could spend the last of her time with us. She was an incredible little animal.

All in all though...the rodents are doing good. It still hurts my heart that Possie passed away but we did everything we could and we had a special little service for her under the big tree in the backyard, and we will never forget her. I kinda wish everyone here could’ve gotten to know her too. She was really something special.

Otherwise...ahh gosh it feels really sad to say anything else after talking about Possie. She was so, so wonderful, but so are the remaining meecers. Mice are weird. They’re just so small and gentle and wonderful, and I’m really happy to have them with us.

Oh yes!! And there are two more little friends who joined us. I researched getting birds for a few years, and back in mid-April in my area there was a couple having to rehome some of their button quail. They hatched and raised them by hand, and I talked it through with Jessie and we jumped on the opportunity to adopt a pair. It worked out wonderfully for everyone and now it’s been about four months with us and they’re doing fantastic. Their names are Wasabi (male) and Mushroom (female) and they’re an extremely devoted mated pair and we love them. They’re in our front living room and while we don’t/can’t handle them they have become so outgoing in their own way and I’ve learned so much about caring for them over the past few months. They’re very relaxing to care for and any time I slack a bit with anything, they let me know by tapping the front of the enclosure until I investigate and fix whatever’s wrong. It’s actually really helpful and over time I’ve gotten much better and now they hardly ever pace or tap the front, which makes me feel like I’m doing something right. They seem peaceful and spend a lot of their time with each other and bathing in their dirt bath or foraging for treats. c:

All in all, we’re really getting there and have been getting so much better since The Disaster that was winter. The animals are doing great/much better, I’m getting better (although the recent scare is still a drain and I do have to work 12-9 pm today but so it goes...) and it’s going to be alright, I think. And I have a very supportive partner and awesome roommate and friends and I can’t thank them enough for helping me get this far. I wouldn’t be here without them.

Well anyway. Happy birthday to me, I spent way too long writing this and now I need to rush to get ready to work for the rest of the day/night. But so it goes, I’ve been through worse. c;

#update #personal #animal update #my pets #i gotta post pictures sometime of everyone #just a bit embarassed cause the vivs look kinda ugly right now #some plants are gangly and others are growing like weeds and it doesnt look very professional #and the rats are unfortunately in the basement right now which doesnt look very nice...#i hate having them down there and its made everything a lot harder but soon theyll be up here again and itll be a lot easier #and better for everyone #also bless nick for being so awesome and helping with them #he really loves the rats and on the days im working until 9 pm hes a huge help #he feeds them and gives them pets and picks them up every day #and soon when theyre up here itll be even easier to just. Pick Up a rat and hang out with them #itll be good #ohh and i gotta show everyone the meecers #theyre SO GOOD such good friends #theyre all angora and suuuuper soft and wonderful #theyre really entertaining and calming to play with and take care of #i love the rats and i love the mice and i love the geckos and the quail and the Ts and the roaches #BUT NO MORE PETS FOR A WHILE.#HOO.#im VERY HAPPY with my limit right now and i dont want to go beyond this until like. im 1000% stable and good for a while!!!#anyway wow i ramble a lot #happy birthday to me #long post #text post

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setepenre-set · 7 years

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Love and War (chapter 14)

Strange Magic

Bog/Marianne, M rating

This is a story about two kingdoms, side by side, but worlds apart. And at war.

When the Bog King finally wins his war against the Fairy Kingdom, he decides that a political marriage with the eldest daughter of the deposed Fairy King will help to promote peace.

Obviously, he’s never met Marianne.

AO3 | FFN

Sir Roland stumbles back from Marianne, screeching in pain and clutching his shoulder. Bog, forced to stand immobile, sees the dagger in Marianne’s hand and realizes what she’s done in a rush of adoration.

She got Sir Roland between the joints of armor that protect his shoulder—not a fatal wound, more’s the pity—and the guards quickly surround her again and pull the dagger from her grasp.

“Marianne!” her father cries, sounding shocked, as though Marianne stabbing the twit is somehow surprising behavior for her.

Sir Roland makes another sound of pain, clenching his jaw, and Marianne bares her teeth at him. She looks, in this moment, like she could eat his heart, the way Bog imagined her doing the first day they met. He rather hopes he gets to watch, if she does.

“Search. Her,” Roland grits out. “Make sure she doesn’t have any more weapons.” He forces a look of concern over top of his obvious pain. “We don’t want her hurting herself, now do we?”

Marianne’s eyes go wide at that, and she twists in her captors’ grasp, fighting as one of them pats her down quickly. The guard hesitates with one hand near her skirt, and then—

“Er…I found something,” he says, holding up—is that the bottle of headache potion Bog gave to Marianne?

Surely they aren’t going to try to pretend that’s love potion; one taste will prove them wrong, and Plum is here to confirm.

There’s a long beat of silence before Roland responds, but at last he reaches out for the bottle.

“And what,” he says, “is this?”

“It’s—nothing; it’s for headaches; it’s empty—” Marianne says.

Roland looks at her, eyebrows raised.

“Well, which is it, Marianne,” he says in a condescending drawl. “Is it for headaches? Or is it empty?”

“It was for headaches, but it’s empty now, because I already took it!” Marianne says, twisting in the grasp of her captors, reaching for the bottle.

“Where’d you get this headache potion from, then?” Roland says.

Marianne is silent.

“It’s quite an unusual lookin’ bottle,” Roland continues. “Made out of stone. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bottle like this before.”

He looks it over somewhat theatrically, holding the bottle up so that everyone can see, then does a visible double take as he glances at the bottom of the bottle, where Bog knows his own rune is carved.

“There’s a mark here,” Roland says. “It looks like—”

“It’s mine,” Bog says, impatient with all the playacting. “I gave her the bottle because she had a headache. There was never any love potion in it.”

Roland turns to Dagda.

“Your Majesty, with your permission—I think we’d better just check, don’t you?”

“—yes, yes,” Dagda says, avoiding Marianne’s eyes. “Yes, make sure it’s empty.”

Roland bows his head to Dagda and, his movements slightly exaggerated, he removes the bottle’s stopper, upends the bottle—

—and pours a stream of shimmering pink dust out and onto the dance floor.

The smell of primroses fills the air.

The entire crowd takes a sharp breath; Bog does, too.

He looks at Marianne, meets her wide-eyed gaze, and every other person in the room fades into insignificance.

“That was not in the bottle when I gave it to you,” he says to her forcefully. “I would not do that, Marianne.”

“No, I know you wouldn’t,” she says, as though the idea is unworthy of a moment’s consideration. “Besides, I was already—”

She cuts herself off abruptly, color draining from her face, and shakes her head.

“I don’t understand,” she says, “—I don’t know how that—I drank the headache potion; I drank it; the bottle was empty! I don’t understand how it could have—I don’t understand how the love potion could have gotten—”

“She only thought it was a headache potion!” someone in the crowd says.

“She thought it was a headache potion so she drank it!” another person in the crowd says, and a murmur of angry agreement sweeps through the crowd.

“That isn’t even how the love potion works!” Bog says, an edge to his voice as he raises it. “You drink the headache cure; you dust the love potion on someone! They’re not even close to the same—”

“You’re awful knowledgeable about that love potion,” Roland says, and the comment sets the crowd to muttering again.

“Yes, because I did try to use it once,” Bog says, baring his teeth at Roland, “I thought we already established that—”

“And this is the man,” Roland says, turning to the crowd, gesturing at Bog, “this is the man that Princess Marianne believes would never use a love potion! You all can see how her mind’s been twisted by—”

“I tried to use it once!” Bog says, “And then I realized how wrong using it is, and I banned the damn thing instead, because some of us have consciences and are capable of learning from our mistakes! And her title,” he snarls, pointing at Marianne, “you arrogant, conniving little weasel, is Queen!”

He hears Marianne take a sharp breath, and he looks over at her. She’s staring at him, her lips parted, two spots of color high on her cheeks, with an expression that—

“How do we know she wasn’t the one who used the love potion?”

Marianne turns to look in the direction of the voice; Bog turns as well. The goblin who spoke swallows when their glances fall on him, but he gives the room a defiant look.

“I’m just saying!” he says. “She’s the one with the bottle!”

“Somebody kick him,” Bog’s mother says.

“She’s the one who had the love potion!” the goblin repeats doggedly. “What, are we supposed to think the empty bottle got filled up with love potion magically while it was in her pocket? Or that somebody changed it out without anyone noticing? While she was standing up there in front of everyone for the ceremony today? While she was sitting up in front of us all for the banquet? While we were all watching her dancing with the King?”

“You’re going to want,” Bog says, voice low and dangerous, “to stop talkin’, now.”

The goblin quails visibly and goes silent.

“It could have—” Marianne begins, and then stops.

Bog looks over at her; she’s very pale once more, and she looks almost frightened as she meets his gaze.

“The love potion—could have been put in the bottle—before today,” she says. “Without me knowing.”

Bog frowns at her, confused.

“But you drank the headache cure,” he says.

Marianne swallows visibly.

“Weeks ago,” she says. “I drank it weeks ago.”

Bog’s frown of confusion deepens.

“Then why would you—” he begins.

“Why would she be carrying around an empty bottle?” someone demands. “The story doesn’t even make sense!”

“She’s lying!”

“He’s the one who’s lying!”

“People, people!” Roland says, holding up a hand, and the angry voices of the crowd die down to a low murmur of discontent. “Now, let’s all just calm down for a moment!” He gives them a charming, conciliating smile. “And consider all the evidence.”

The Imp is not having a very nice time.

It has been screamed at and hit by a pillow; it has been growled at by the fierce flying one who the Imp still suspects might have meant to eat it—it has been locked in a box by another, even more spiteful flying one, and when the other flying one finally freed it from its confinement, she had screeched and thrown a bottle of smelly perfume at its head!

But the Imp had persevered, in spite of its difficulties; it had tracked the spiteful flying one who held the Love Potion to this big room full of people, and then it had wisely hidden itself beneath a little decorative table with a nice long tablecloth to wait for a chance to try once more for the potion.

At first, it had not been so bad; there were many, many people crowded in the ballroom, all of their varied feelings swirling and mingling delightfully, and, in the midst of everything, the scent of the Love Potion, promising future joys for the Imp.

But then—fear and panic and anger and sorrow all through the big room, from all of the people, the heavy, acrid smell of bad feelings making the Imp whimper quietly to itself and huddle into a tight ball beneath the table, behind the protective curtain of the tablecloth.

It can barely even smell the Love Potion, beneath all of the bad feelings that roil through the room.

The Imp whimpers again, clutching its head with its paws.

And suddenly—in the midst of the fear and the anger—another scent; a different scent.

Joy and satisfaction.

Tinged with a bitter overtone of malice, true, but after the miasma of fear and anger, the Imp is feeling none too particular. It edges gratefully closer to tablecloth, inhales the aroma of satisfaction gratefully and then—

The Imp squeaks softly.

The Love Potion! With the spiteful-joy smell, beneath the joyful-spiteful smell!

Carefully, the Imp pokes its nose beneath the curtain, peeps out at the big room.

Yes! Yes, there was the mean flying one; that was the source of the spiteful-joy smell, and the source of the scent of the Love Potion!

The mean flying one still has the potion!

Cautiously, the Imp slips from beneath the table, into the forest of legs and skirts. It moves between the spaces in this forest as sneakily as it can.

Nobody notices the Imp; they are much too busy looking at the mean flying one. The Imp looks at the mean flying one as well, and moves stealthily towards him, and the Love Potion he carries.

Bella is definitely regretting coming to Princess Dawn’s wedding, now.

She could be home, at this moment, sitting quietly alone, listening to the rain on her rooftop.

Instead, she’s trapped in this crowd, everyone all packed together, forced to bear witness to what appears to be the imminent collapse of their government. And Roland—Roland—is in the middle of everything.

Beside her, Celeste, clutching Angelique’s arm, gives a low moan. Bella wholeheartedly agrees with the sentiment.

“Shh, shh,” Angelique says soothingly. She reaches out to pat take Bella’s hand with her free one. “Shh; it’ll be over soon.”

This is a nightmare, Bella decides calmly, clutching Angelique’s hand so tightly that her knuckles turn white. This definitely cannot really be happening.

“Now, let’s all just calm down for a moment,” Roland says, and at the sound of his voice, Bella clutches Angelique’s hand even harder.

Celeste has started, quietly, to cry. Bella twists her free hand in her sleeve; the closest thing to comfort she can manage at this moment.

“And consider the evidence,” Roland says.

He gives the entire room a look of earnest concern.

“There’s the way Marianne’s been acting—the letter she sent me, commanding this coup!” he holds up the letter. “The necklace—” he holds it up, “and the lock of her hair—” he holds up a lock of dark hair, held together with a ribbon, and Bella feels as though she may scream and scream and keep on screaming.

“—that she sent to me,” Roland says, “as proof of our rekindled love! And yet she stands there and says she prefers this—”

“Why would I ever love you, Roland?” the Queen’s voice rings out suddenly, loud and clear over Roland, over the crowd, over the entire ballroom. “You were unfaithful to me.”

There is a moment of silence.

And then Roland makes a wounded kind of sound, puts his hand over his heart.

“Unfaithful to you?” he says. “Buttercup, how can you say somethin’ like that? This potion has twisted your mind, Marianne; I would never be unfaithful to you.”

Bella takes a sharp breath. She feels—

Oddly light. Strangely free.

All at once, everything seems very, very simple.

She turns to Angelique, to Celeste.

“Excuse me for one moment, won’t you,” she says, and then she turns away and elbows the man in front of her to make him move aside, pushes past him, through the crowd, to the edge of the dance floor, where Roland is still assuring the Queen of his complete and utter devotion.

Bella takes a breath, and she raises her chin.

And she steps out onto the dance floor.

“You are a liar, Roland,” she says, shocked at the volume and conviction in her own voice. “And that’s my lock of hair.”

Marianne blinks at the girl who has just stepped onto the dance floor. She looks—familiar—?

The girl turns to Marianne, ignoring Roland, who is gaping at her, mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

“I am so sorry,” the girl says to Marianne, and all at once Marianne realizes why she looks familiar—she’s the girl that Marianne saw Roland with, on the day she was going to marry him.

“I truly am,” the girl says, tears in her eyes but her chin upraised. “I didn’t know how it was. He told me—he told me that it was a political marriage for both of you, that neither of you—I’m so sorry—”

“I don’t blame you,” Marianne says.

The girl’s makes a choked sound.

“I wanted—I wanted to tell you—I’ve felt so guilty,” she says, tears spilling over, “and so—so stupid—and I wanted to tell you—but you never said anything; you never told anyone why you called off the wedding, and I was—afraid—”

Marianne’s heart gives a sudden twist of guilt. It never even occurred to her that this girl might feel this way, that Marianne’s silence about what Roland had done to her might hurt someone, might hurt—

“What’s your name?” Marianne asks.

“Bella,” the girl says, “my—my name is Bella, Your Majesty.”

“You were never to blame, Bella,” Marianne says. “I felt stupid, too; I felt stupid and I felt like it had been my fault, that I deserved what happened to me because I’d been stupid enough to believe him. That’s why I never told anyone.”

Bella presses a hand to her mouth and nods wordlessly, emphatically.

“Neither of us deserved it, though,” Marianne says. “You didn’t deserve it, Bella and—” Marianne swallows. “And neither did I.”

Bella lowers her hand from her mouth, clenches both her hands into fists, and smiles at Marianne through her tears.

“I never gave Roland a lock of my hair,” Marianne says. “But our hair’s the same color. And you did give him a lock of your hair.”

“Yes,” Bella says, loudly and clearly, “yes I did.”

“This—this is nonsense!” Roland says. “I’ve never seen this girl in my life!”

“I never gave him my necklace,” Marianne says to the crowd that watches them all, “and I never wrote him that letter, either.”

“Did you ever?”

Marianne and Bella both turn at the new voice, which belongs to a girl with golden hair, who has stepped determinedly out onto the floor as well, in spite of her friend that keeps trying to pull her back into the crowd.

“I’m sorry?” Marianne says to this new girl. “What do you—”

“Celeste, Your Majesty,” the blonde girl says, and Marianne sees that she’s been crying too. She’s not crying, now, though; is standing as though she’s got iron in her spine.

“What—” Roland begins, in an outraged voice.

“Celeste,” Marianne says, ignoring Roland, her eyes fixed on the girl. “What do you have to say?”

“Did you ever write him a letter like that?” Celeste says. “Back when you were courting with him, maybe? Because that letter sounds like it could be about anything, and I know for a fact that he keeps all of the love tokens from all of the girls he charms.” She turns to Roland, gives him a smile that seems to contain too many teeth. “I found them. When I went to his room looking for the man who said that he loved only me.”

“That’s a lie!” Roland cries. “I don’t even know this—”

“—but—”

Marianne and the other women look at Celeste’s friend, who has just spoken.

“—but he said—” the girl says, looking at Celeste with an expression of wounded shock. “—but he said that—”

She covers her mouth with both hands, making a sound like a muffled sob, and Celeste throws her arms around her.

“Oh, no, Angelique; you too?”

“I didn’t know he was—Celeste, I would never—he said it was more romantic if we—”

“—kept it a secret,” Celeste, Angelique, and Bella all say together.

Bella reaches out and puts her hand on Angelique’s shoulder, and all three of them turn murderous glares on Roland.

His face is ashen, now, his eyes darting side to side.

“I—” he says, “I don’t—”

The crowd is murmuring angrily again, but it’s all feminine voices, this time, all of them getting louder. The two soldiers holding Marianne’s arms exchange nervous glances with each other, their grip loosening.

“The letter!” Roland says, rallying. “The letter has the Queen’s seal on it; you all saw!”

“I’ll bet he forged it,” Angelique says. “That’s treason, isn’t it.”

Marianne looks at the soldiers holding her arms with an icily upraised eyebrow. One of them gulps audibly; the other turns pale.

“Maybe he stole it like he stole the necklace!” a girl shouts from somewhere in the crowd.

Several more women chime in, agreeing.

“He stole it when he planted that love potion in the Queen’s rooms!” a woman says.

“I saw him hanging around her door!” a girl says.

“So did I!” shouts another.

“I saw him coming out of her rooms!” another girl says.

“That’s a lie! No one saw me!” Roland says, rounding on the voice.

The crowd takes a sharp, collective breath.

“—because I wasn’t there!” Roland adds, after just half a moment too long.

“Tell me,” Marianne says, “when was it that my husband supposedly used that love potion on me? Was it before I allegedly plotted with you to overthrow him? Because that doesn’t make any sense, now; does it? Or was it after I allegedly sent you that letter? Oh—no, but that doesn’t make any sense, either; does it? Because if he had used the love potion on me after I planned a coup against him, surely I would have told him about it.”

The soldiers holding Marianne’s arms take a sharp breath each and release her, drawing back from both her and Roland.

“You,” Marianne says, to Roland, her lip curling. “You put that love potion in my room, didn’t you?”

“No!” Roland says, eyes wild. “No, I never had any love potion!”

“Yes, you did!” Celeste says. “I gave it to him!”

She turns to look at Marianne, and at Bog, who, in all the commotion, has moved silently to stand at Marianne’s side.

“I wasn’t going to use it to make anyone fall in love,” Celeste says, “I—Roland said—that it worked as an aphrodisiac for people who were already in love.” She shoots a venomous glare at Roland, then looks back at Marianne and Bog, her expression nervous but determined. “I do know it’s illegal, though, so—”

Bog makes a sound that Marianne is pretty sure is a choked laugh.

“Under the—ah—the circumstances,” he says. “I think we can waive any—legal repercussions.”

“An aphrodisiac?” the Sugar Plum Fairy exclaims. “Oh, no, my dear; no! Why didn’t you say so; I would have set you straight right away!”

“So you did make the potion,” Bog says.

Lady Plum gives a nervous titter of laughter.

“Well; I just—she seemed so sad, and I just hate to see anybody suffering and—”

“Never. Again,” Bog says, almost growls. “Never again, Plum. I don’t actually want t’ keep you locked up, but if you don’t stop givin’ people that potion, I am going to have to. It’s not right, doing that to people.”

Lady Plum wilts a bit.

“Oh—oh, all right,” she says. “If you absolutely insist.”

“I really do,” Bog says.

“So I take it the potion’s not an aphrodisiac if you’re already in love, then?” Marianne says.

“Oh, no no no!” Lady Plum says, becoming animated again. “No, the potion is very simple! Dust the one you love, and be the first one they see when they open their eyes! And if they’re already in love, then it just doesn’t work!”

“What.” Bog says blankly.

“Yes, of course!” Lady Plum says, “And that’s what happened with you, on that Fateful Day all those—”

“Son of a bitch,” Marianne says, turning on Roland again as understanding strikes her. “Dust the person, and then be the first one they see when they open their eyes—that’s what you were doing outside my room that day! That’s why the dust smelled like flowers. You sneaky, slimy—”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!” Roland says desperately.

The crowd around him seems to be very full of women, now, all of them drawing closer. Roland looks around at all of them, panic in his eyes.

“I don’t know what they’re talkin’ about, Your Majesty,” he says to Marianne’s father, “I don’t know what they’re talkin’ about; I never had any love—”

It is at this moment that the Imp emerges from behind a woman with a very large peony-petal skirt and leaps, claws first and screeching, straight at Roland.

Roland screams as well, and stumbles back, but it is too late, and the Imp is upon him, claws skittering on Roland’s armor as it dives into the pouch at Roland’s hip and emerges—

The shout Roland gives this time is one of dismay as well as fear as the Imp scurries up his back and then launches itself off of Roland’s head with a triumphant screech, taking the Love Potion and a fair-sized clump of Roland’s hair with it.

Roland shrieks in pain, and clutches his head. The Imp, Love Potion clutched in its paws, lands on a long table and begins to run for the windows.

“Catch it!” Bog cries, moving already.

“Stop it!” Marianne shouts, also in motion.

The Imp jumps and grabs hold of one of the curtains and all of the nearby members of the crowd draw back from it in a sudden alarm.

Bog and Marianne both leap for the Imp, but it’s clear that neither of them will reach it in time to stop it from escaping.

“No!” Bog shouts.

The Princess Dawn gives a high-pitched scream, and then her shoe, flying through the air, catches the Imp in the back of the head with a solid thwack.

The Imp squeaks and loses its grip on both the curtains and the Love Potion.

The Imp falls safely into a decorative potted plant.

The bottle of Love Potion falls to the ballroom floor, and shatters in an explosion of brilliant light and sparkling pink dust.

All over Marianne and Bog.

Bog shakes pink dust off of his wings, out of his robes. Marianne, across from him, is coughing and doing the same.

“Primroses,” he says. “I hate primroses.”

Marianne looks at him, an expression of disgust on her face.

“I think I’m starting to agree,” she says.

And Bog—

(oh no the love potion and she’s looking at him he can’t do that do her he can’t let her—)

Marianne freezes, looking at him, both of them standing very still—

“Are—you all right?” Bog asks, his heart in his throat.

Marianne is still for half a moment longer, and then—

“Of course,” she says, “why wouldn’t I be?”

She gives a shiver of her wings, shaking the last of the potion from them, and turns away.

“Well done, Dawn,” she says to her sister.

And—

It didn’t work, Bog realizes, relief warring with despair inside him.

Of course it didn’t work. He is too—no.

No, it’s worse than that, worse than his original assumption that he’s simply too hideous to love. Plum had said—the potion didn’t work if the person was already in love.

Bog swallows.

It’s funny. He hadn’t realized he’d been hoping he was wrong about what Marianne wanted until that last bit of hope was taken from him.

He’d thought he was resigned, but oh—he had hoped, deep down, that he was wrong, that when he showed Marianne those divorce contracts, she would tell him that she didn’t want to leave him, that she wanted to stay with him—that she’d only asked for the ban against love to be lifted for her sister’s sake, that her strained manner recently had another explanation, that they are friends, that friendship with her husband is enough for her—

(he had hoped that, someday, years and years from now, she might look at him and find she’s able to look past his hideousness, past their unhappy beginning, that she might look at him and be able to love—)

There’s really nothing so cruel as hope.

Dawn has run to Marianne, has her arms around her older sister, is babbling to her—

“—of course it wasn’t your fault; of course I knew right away it wasn’t true; Marianne; you’d never plan a coup on my wedding day—”

Laughter sticks in Bog’s throat like a sob. Dawn looks over her shoulder at him and releases Marianne, takes her new husband’s hand. Sunny pats her hand like he’s reassuring himself as much as her.

Marianne’s father is standing near her, shifting his weight uncertainly.

“—er—Marianne,” he says.

Bog sees Marianne’s eyes flash dangerously, but she shakes her head and steps forward to move past her father. Dagda catches her arm, though, his expression one of agonized guilt.

“Marianne, darling—”

“Don’t,” Marianne says in a low voice, and jerks her arm away from him.

“I was only trying to protect you—”

“I think,” Marianne says, “that I have had more than enough of your brand of protection, father.”

She walks past him, and the crowd parts before her.

Roland is still in the middle of the ballroom when she reaches it, though it’s clearly not by choice. Several of the guards are holding him in place. Even now, though, restrained on his knees, with his hair in ruined disarray, he still gives her his best and most charming smile; a coaxing thing that hints at shared secrets and hidden affection if she’ll just give him a little bit more, if she’ll just give him everything.

Marianne used to love that smile.

“Hand me my sword,” Marianne says, and has the pleasure of seeing the blood drain from his handsome face.

The guard who took her sword at Roland’s orders hands the blade to her now. He cannot meet her eyes when Marianne looks at him.

Marianne, sword in hand, looks around at every member of her palace guard who took Roland’s orders over her own, and every single one of them drops their gaze. She looks at her father, and his eyes drop as well.

“If any of you ever,” Marianne says to the room at large, a steely tone to her voice, “question my authority like that again, I will have you banished for treason. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” they murmur, heads bowed.

“How fortunate,” Marianne says, her lip curling.

She looks down at Roland once more.

“Release him,” she says.

“—Your Majesty?” one of the guards says, in a shocked tone.

“I said, release him,” Marianne says, and gives the guard a sweet smile with poison at the bottom of it. “I do hope you’re not questioning my authority.”

The guard goes as pale as Roland. They release him, but he stays on his knees, looking up at Marianne, his smile a little wider, even more coaxing.

“Buttercup—”

“Get up,” Marianne says.

Roland does, his hands upraised as if in playful surrender.

“Draw your sword,” Marianne says.

Shock flits across Roland’s face.

“Now, Marianne—” he begins.

She doesn’t give him time to finish, but lunges forward, bringing her sword down towards him. He draws his own sword and brings it up just in time to avoid being sliced in half.

“Marianne—”

She strikes again, and again he just barely manages to parry.

“Marianne, please—”

He takes a stumbling step backwards as she advances on him, raining blows down on him swiftly.

“Marianne, come on, now—”

She drives him back and back, the crowd parting before them, Roland struggling to block her attacks. One of them gets past his guard, slicing one of his wingtips. He makes a noise of pain and rage and finally starts fighting in earnest, attacking her with rage and desperation.

Roland is, Marianne will admit, good with a blade.

But she is much, much better.

Marianne drives him back and back, out of the ballroom and into the entrance hall, the crowd following. She catches him behind his knee, at a joint in his armor, with her blade and he takes to the air, but he’s slowed by his wounded wing, and she gets above him, slams the pommel of her sword down on his head and then cuts him again, near the base of his other wing, this time. He lands clumsily, stumbling, almost losing his footing, and Marianne follows him down, her sword flashing as she strikes at him again and again.

He snarls at her and Marianne laughs in his face.

“You’re—gonna—regret this, Marianne,” he says. “You’re gonna come to your senses someday—and realize—that you’re shackled with that beast—when you could have been—with me.”

Then they’re at the palace entranceway—Marianne locks her blade with Roland’s and presses him back towards the doors with all her weight.

“You,” Marianne says, all of her fury returning full force. “Why would I want to be with you? All you ever did was make me doubt myself. You made me feel helpless—and stupid—and weak. Like I could never be good enough for you. Who’s the beast, Roland?”

She gives one last shove, making him slam back against the doors, sending them flying open and him stumbling out onto the palace steps.

“But you want to know something, Roland?” Marianne shouts over the sound of the storm, following him out into the rain. “Do you want to know what Bog told me? He said our kingdom could have won the war—if I had been the one leading the army.”

The steps are slick with the rain that still pours down; Roland slips and just barely recovers his footing as she drives him down them.

“And you want to know something else, Roland?” Marianne shouts. “Do you want to know what I realize now?

Thunder rolls in the distance.

“He was right,” she says, and she snaps out her wings in defiance of the storm and gives one last furious strike with her sword that sends Roland’s weapon flying out of his hand.

Her blade slices across the left side of Roland’s face, all the way across his cheek, from his temple to his jaw and he screams and falls and tumbles down the last few steps.

Marianne furls her wings and looks down at him coldly.

Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating him with a sudden bright light. He’s clutching his face, now, making a sound that’s somewhere in between screaming and sobbing, blood pouring between his fingers from his ruined face.

“You’re nothing, Roland,” she says, and turns away from him.

The crowd has followed the two of them; some of them all the way outside. Most of the men in the crowd draw back from Marianne as she walks past them, but the women look at her with shining eyes.

Bog is standing beside the door, the falling rain sliding down his face, down the edges of his carapace, and Marianne sees only admiration in his eyes as he meets her gaze.

He holds his arm out to her wordlessly and she takes it, and the two of them walk back into the palace.

Back in the ballroom, Marianne shakes water droplets from her wings and looks up at Bog. He looks down at her steadily, a fierce kind of adoration in his heart.

“We need a company of guards from the Dark Forest,” she says. “To help train our new recruits.”

Bog smiles at her, slow and wicked.

“Will we be having new recruits, then?” he asks.

“Oh, yes, don’t you think so?” Marianne says, matching his sharp smile with one of her own. “Anyone who volunteers will be considered—regardless of sex or species—as long as they are not currently employed in the royal guard.”

One of the soldiers nearest to her makes a noise of dismay, and Marianne turns to him, her smile going even sharper.

“Is there something you have to say for yourself?” she says.

“I—n-no—no, Your Majesty.”

“That’s what I thought,” she says. She looks at the rest of the guards. “Those of you currently employed in the royal guard may consider yourself released from your employment and stripped of your rank. In two months time, when the new guard is established, you will once again have the chance to present yourself as volunteers. Should you elect to do so, each of you will be considered for acceptance individually and on a case-by-case basis. None of your former ranks shall be reinstated, regardless.”

There’s a moment of shocked silence in the ballroom.

“I’d advise you all to throw down your weapons, now,” Bog says almost lazily, but with a clear threat beneath the words, “I’d hate t’ see the Queen have to get annoyed again.”

The entirety of the former royal Fairy Guard disarms itself without protest.

...to be continued.

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#strange magic #love and war #bog/marianne #arranged marriage au #fanfiction

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