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#the sugar plum fairy
enchanted-keys · 3 months
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Anna Rose O'Sullivan as the Sugar Plum Fairy in The Nutcracker (Royal Ballet 2023)
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haveamagicalday · 2 months
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Battle of the Barbies! Round 5: Barbie as…
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attackedastoria · 10 months
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Finally finished the Sugarplum Fairy pendant I started like... 2 months ago! Her true form revealed in the battle is one of my favorite designs ever, so I wanted to do something similar, and something a little more challenging than my usual work.
Featuring a floral carved labradorite, and garnet/moonstones for the eyes!
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martianbugsbunny · 3 months
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The big things I grade any production of the Nutcracker on are:
Cuntiness of Drosselmeier. It's a must. I lose interest if he is not slaying. A cape goes far in ur favor here, and if u dare to give him makeup I will kiss u on the mouth.
Cuntiness of the Mouse King. I mean come on, he's the anthropomorphic villain, what am I meant to do?
A really good pas de deux between Clara and the Nutcracker at the end. (Or between the Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier.)
Good costumes. Boring ones or ugly ones are a huge turnoff. It's a ballet, it's supposed to be pretty.
Something new and fun that's not in other versions. I give big points for smthn being weird if it works.
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abutterflyscribbles · 2 years
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Changing of the Seasons Chapter 19: Reality
  How long since I updated this? Well:
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Previous chapters on Ao3
thanks to @whimsicalitywheee​ and @danaknowsitall​ for beta’ing
In the short time allowed her, Marianne had set to filling her tired head with all that she cared about, trying to fill up every last inch and leave no space for falsehood to take hold.
First she thought of her kingdom, her beloved Summer. It was easier to think of, for it was not the same as the complicated love she had for individual people. It was somehow easier to love. Not that it was easy, for a kingdom is full of complexities, but it was expected of her, it was approved of by the noble and common alike. The crowds of fairies and elves under the clear blue skies were hers to love and no one could deny her that. From the crowds making merry during a festival to the grumbling lines of petitioners who came to lay their complaints before the throne, they were all hers to cherish.
Once she had let the heat of Summer settle into her she turned her mind to her family, considering them in no particular order, and impressing specific memories clearer in her mind. Moments of intimacy, tight hugs, secrets shared, trust given. The cozy playroom. Her father's study. The faded touch of her mother. All of these and more she stacked up in her mind, one on top of the other, each memory a brick, and the emotions tied up in them the mortar.
There was one little hollow in Marianne's mind that was harder to fill. It was a black little place, burned down to cold ashes. There she had allowed nothing to grow, sowing salt into the ashes, and the creeping twists of thorns around the edges of that hole, those should not have been. It seemed that love, after all, was not something you could simply allow or forbid at will.
The thorns were sharp. They would hurt her if she held them too tightly. But there was no time for hesitation. She had not wanted these feelings, but they were true and she needed all the truth she could gather. For the kingdom, for her family, she gripped the thorns and bore the sting. She let them take root in the aching hollow she had burned into herself after the betrayals at the Summer ball.
It was going to hurt so much worse when, after everything was over, she would have to rip them out and leave a bleeding wound instead of a twisted scar of dead, numb tissue. Marianne knew that this love could only be allowed to live so long. Even if Autumn and Summer were united in perfect harmony there was little possibility of a king and a crown princess being able to pursue anything more than friendship. She could not let the roots of her feelings run deeper than was necessary for them to hold firm against this one trial.
All they had to do was fill this tiny place for one night. It only had to be real for one night. It only could be real for one night. In only minutes the Autumn King might be dead and Marianne enslaved. And no matter how the events of the night turned out, morning would see the end of their love. She could only hope that the feelings were not rooted so deeply as to resist being ripped back out. She could not even consider what it would be to live with these feelings hidden, never allowed to bloom in the open. Only one night, it could only be one night.
That was just how it had to be.
The night had been a twisted labyrinth that Marianne stumbled through in the dark. Nothing was right. Nothing fit like it should have. The Autumn King refused to remain in his assigned role as the villain of shadows. Roland would not restrict himself to the vain, empty-headed fool that Marianne preferred to see him as.
It had not been long since everything had been so simple. Marianne, newly turned eighteen years of age, danced at the Summer Ball with a charming soldier with a pleasing face and exemplary prospects. Now and then Marianne missed that young man. The man she had thought Roland was. The man she imagined at her side when she took the throne.
The Autumn King was not anything like that man. There was no way in which he was an appropriate suitor for the Summer Heir. There should not have even been a pathway between them that love could pass through. Somehow it had crept unbidden through her defenses and and taken root. Just deep enough to hurt when it was ripped out and no further, she hoped.
Marianne would go home and find another suitable young man with a pleasing face, suitable lineage, suitable temperament. There would be no obstacles. Maybe he would even be another soldier. Maybe he would be the man Roland was supposed to have been. Marianne's father would be happy and relieved. The kingdom would rejoice that their wild princess was showing signs of settling down.
The night would end soon and she would cut out the feelings that had served their purpose. She would find someone else. Someone like Roland. The idea was not as distasteful as it had once been. It was straightforward enough, truly. Roland had been by all appearances her perfect match, if he had not just been playing a part. It would be easy to let new feelings grow over her scars, hold the soft hand of a fairy, embrace someone whose body did not snag and prickle her skin. Walk through the endless days of Summer in that easy, warm love that would not hurt. It would not be so hard to give up this painful attachment to the Autumn King, formed in the suffocating dark and festering inside her like a neglected wound.
Yes. Someone like Roland.
Even, maybe . . . Roland himself.
What he had been to her before, couldn't he be again? She could look at his perfect smile and feel that warm glow of affection again. He had always looked just like the hero from a storybook. Gleaming and shining all over with nobility and charm. Perhaps he had made a few missteps, but he had made such valiant efforts to right his wrongs and never gave up his pursuit of Marianne, the woman he loved. This unwavering loyalty touched Marianne's heart and wrapped her in rosy warmth. Like the sun through her eyelids, all she had to do was open her eyes and it would be there, burning in the sky. Her feelings for the Autumn King were just an illusion in the dim light of her closed eyes. It would vanish in a blink. Then she could let the light fill that black hole inside her.
Roland, her Roland, would be restored. Everything would be right again.
All she had to do was cut the Autumn King out of her heart. She'd have to do that eventually anyway. Open her eyes and everything would be gone.
The Autumn King would be gone.
One blink.
Marianne wasn't sure how long that pair of gorgeous green eyes had been in front of her, but it made her realize her eyes were open and someone was embracing her. She was being held tight, the edges of armor pressing into her skin. She felt so incredibly loved. She almost relaxed into the embrace. Except it was cold. The armor was cold. The armor should have been warm.
No. That wasn't important. She'd given all that up. She'd found her way back to Roland and a love that was allowed and would last.
Oh, why couldn't it last? Those feelings that were covered with sharp edges but so solid and warm. Love that had been beaten back, cut, burned, only to survive it all and remain true. Marianne was so weary of trying to destroy it. She wanted to let it run riot in her heart. Even if she could never even hold Bog's hand again she wanted to keep that love. That love that she knew Bog had too. Oh, she wanted it to last!
The pink shimmer in front of those green eyes thinned. Marianne felt a soft smile fade from her face as she felt the crushing grip Roland held her in, forcing her to look into his eyes. Sound crashed around her. Roderick was still crying Adeline's name. The disgusting pink thoughts of Roland fell away in tatters, burning up in a flash of rage.
No more spun-sugar illusions. She wanted reality.
Roland's hold slackened when Marianne slammed her forehead into his face.
                           ________________________________
Bog did not have the leisure to watch if the Summer Heir escaped the love potion's spell. First his eyes were drawn to the fairy nurse crumpling to the floor. Red painted her neck before she fell and her eyes were wide with shock. Not surprise, though. She had known what would happen when she revealed the conspirator's scheme. Her declaration that Winter sided with Autumn had sent a frisson of hope through Bog, but it was extinguished with the death of the courageous fairy.
Of Adeline.
Princess Dawn was straining to free herself, the unnatural fever momentarily cleared from her by the gravity of the situation, yelling, “Help her! Someone help her! Let me! I'll help her! Please, please!” The last 'please' was a heartbroken cry that the enemy paid no heed.
All pretense of civility had crumbled when the dark flow of blood poured down Adeline's neck. Roderick’s sister, who had carried out the execution, carelessly let Adeline drop to the floor, a tool discarded after its purpose was fulfilled. The crowd in the throne room was raging, a roiling mass of outrage riled up to a fevered pitch. Roderick's screams were so desperate and raw that it hurt to listen to them. It took five goblins to keep him from making another suicidal charge at the group around the shielded throne for the sake of avenging his companion.
Bog himself was little better. Staying on his knees in a pose of surrender made him feel as if they really had lost and all their planning would come to nothing. All they had was this incredible gamble. Every single element was a risk. The goblins siding with Autumn might turn against their king after they had seen him so meekly surrender and allow Adeline’s death to pass without loud outrage. It was a display of weakness that they might never forgive.
Head lowered, Bog could see Spruce's feet on the steps and her hand hovering above the scepter. The reaction to Adeline's declaration and death was obviously greater than she had anticipated and her surprise stilled her hand as it reached to grasp the symbol of her victory, the key to the entire network of amber, complete power over Autumn.
Bog ground his teeth together, restraining his rage, saving it for a more opportune moment, allowing only a hissed accusation. “None of my people were to be harmed. My surrender was supposed to buy their protection.” He needed to stop talking and let events play out, but the fairy was dead. The harmless little fairy who probably couldn't even have held a sword but was in a way as valiant as the Summer Heir.
“She was a fairy,” Spruce snorted.
Bog swallowed a comment about the company Spruce was keeping. He lowered his head until he could only barely see the movement of Spruce's hand. He twitched at the sparkle of pink that fell over the dais but he refused to look up. His forehead was nearly resting on the floor when he smelled burning.
The air was too full of noise for him to pick out any new ones, so when he looked up a great deal had already taken place. For what could only have been a few seconds, but felt like hours, Bog stared into Spruce's eyes. Smoke from her burning hand threaded around her face.
A sneering smile twisted Bog's face. “There are consequences for taking the scepter of Autumn. All but the wielder will suffer from the touch.”
“B-but the fairy--! The Summer fairy held it! You relinquished—you surrendered!” Spruce said in a dry, cracked voice, still grasping her burning victory. There was no fire but now the burning had spread up to Spruce's wrist, eagerly eating up the velveteen that covered her armor and making a choking stench.
“I surrendered,” Bog began to rise, “just not to you.”
Spruce gasped in a rattling breath. Her hand was twisted around the scepter, which still lay on the floor, her body bent over it. “T-the fairy?”
Spruce jerked her head around at the sudden sharp crack behind her.
Everything happened at once.
Marianne was standing free inside the barrier. Roland was on the ground, clutching his face. Roderick broke free from the goblins holding him back from a futile charge and he slammed into the side of the barrier with savage energy. The goblin holding Aura's cage suddenly toppled. In fact, several goblins were staggering and falling around the throne, inside the shield, and Bog had no idea why and no time to find out, his attention recaptured by Spruce who hissed, “Disgusting trickery!”
The edges of laughter that had plagued Bog at inopportune moments that night burst forth and Bog surrendered to the dry amusement, surprised to find he sounded very much like his father. For a moment it was as if his father was right there with him and the feeling heartened him greatly. “It only disgusts you because you could not see through it.”
                    ___________________________________
There was so much screaming going on that Roland's shrieks of pain didn't really make much difference and Marianne disregarded them as soon as she was sure that he was not going to get in her way.
During Marianne's rosy interlude the guards holding Dawn and Sand had been knocked  down and completely out. Needle-like slivers of metal were rammed into the necks of fallen guards, where the scales thinned under their ears and helmets left gaps. Not large enough and not set in deep enough to kill. In the midst of this heap of fallen enemies Sand was kneeling on the floor, hands on Adeline’s throat to try and stem the flow of blood.
“Sedatives,” Dawn held up a little pouch of leather with a few of the silver needles slotted into a folded ripple in the leather. “She slipped us all sedated needles she had in her bag. Marianne, she’s--”
“Hush!” Marianne crouched down and adjusted Sand’s hands the press the right places on Adeline’s throat. “Stay like that! Are you all unhurt?”
Roderick had thrown Adeline her medical bag just before the half-hour pause was declared. Marianne was surprised again at how clever Roderick could be when he wanted to. Rather, he was always clever and hid it cleverly. A quick search for weapons and the medical bag had been deemed harmless.
There was still screaming, too much screaming. Marianne cast around the room, looking desperately for something to grasp upon amidst the madness.
Spruce was writhing on the steps, her hand grasping the staff of Autumn. The staff glowed, bright and yellow, eating its way up to Spruce’s shoulder, but she could not—or would not—let it out of her grasp after it was finally hers.
Aura's prison was in the hands of Spruce's third daughter who was standing frozen, transfixed by the scene of chaos unfolding before her. Marianne left Dawn and Sand to do what they could for Adeline, brushing a hand across their shoulders and base of their wings as she dashed past them.
“I'll take that!” Marianne snatched at the ball of ice and spider-webs.
The goblin had just enough awareness to pull Aura away and swipe at Marianne.
Red tore in lines across the back of Marianne's hand and arm, but she just tucked her arms in and rammed her shoulder into the goblin. Something moved in her shoulder that shouldn't move and briefly she joined in with the screaming. It was worth the pain, because the prison was knocked free, the iron stick it was mounted on ringing on the floor.
“Pick me up! Pick me up, somebody!” Aura shrieked, glittering as she frantically darted around inside the trap. One of Spruce's people darted forward to grab the trap and Aura groaned in dismay, “No, not one of you!”
Bloody hands grabbed the iron stick and pulled Aura away from the goblin.
“This belongs to Boggy!” Dawn said, pulling it closer, “Not you!”
“Thank you, princess!” Bog called, taking his staff from Spruce's charred hand. Dawn giggled in delight at the object of her affections praising her. Bog caught up the scepter and thrust it into the air. A disorganized cheer from the goblins of Autumn mixed with the screams and shrieks of battle.
“I'll take that, sweetheart!” Roland made his own grab for Aura’s trap. He would have tripped over Adeline if Sand, from where he was kneeling on the floor, hadn’t shoved Roland’s knees, making him side-step. Face gory and furious, Roland reached out for Dawn.
                 ____________________________________
Bog's staff banged on the floor and through the layers of dirt a circle of yellow light cut itself into the stone of the dais. A pulse of light and Roland was no longer inside the barrier facing Dawn, but was suddenly substituted with Roderick. Somewhere across the room Marianne could hear Roland shouting in confusion.
The throne room was etched with portals that everyone knew about and no one thought of. There were markings around the throne itself, put there for the binding ceremony, to bind Aura once more to the will of Autumn with the ascension of each new king. All of these were compromised like the rest but being forgotten in plain sight they held an advantage of surprise to the first to remember them. Maneuvering the enemy to letting him and the scepter close enough to access the etched portals while trying to remove the hostages from danger was a monumental risk. But Bog had looked at the Summer Heir and thought, she would do this. She would take this risk. Every person was important to her. He would be like her, if he could. He would be like the prince who set Aura free. They had called that prince weak but how could he have been weak when it was so hard and cost him so dearly? When it was something the strong heir of Summer would do.
“Finally!” Roderick roared, dropping to his knees next to Sand and pushing the prince aside, “Took that sad excuse for a king long enough to open the portals. Addy? Still awake, Addy?”
“G-Gwill--” Adeline gasped out, before her injury silenced her once more.
“I swear, Addy,” Roderick growled, placing his hand over her throat, “don't you dare ask me to take care of him like you're dying or something. As if you would even have to ask, I’m offended. And you're not going anywhere yet, my cute little fairy.”
Roderick's hand pressed against the wound on Adeline's throat, blood bubbling up between his fingers. “Just let me fix it, Addy, just let me fix it.” Blue light danced between his fingers. Adeline stared up at him with dull eyes and did not move. Roderick leaned closer and whispered, “Gwill is waiting for his mother.”
Roderick took a deep breath after he saw Addy give the weakest of nods, her eyes starting to glaze over. Roderick's left wings split with a noise like ripping fabric, blue light resting in sparks along the tears. Tears of pain dripped from his eyes but he didn't blink, focused on Adeline and her wound.
Adeline gasped and choked, sitting up and bending over, coughing up splatters of blood onto the dark floor, Roderick's hand dragging a bloody path around her neck as he held back her hair. The cut on her neck was gone, only a thin red line left in its place.
Roderick sighed. “I’m gonna need some stitches, Addy. Oh, hi, Bog.”
Bog had appeared in a pulse of light inside the barrier, blood splattered over his arms and chest. He stared at Adeline's healed throat and Roderick's mangled wing.
“What?” Roderick smirked, “Maybe I studied magic harder than I let on.”
Bog stared a moment longer. “That’s a relief,” he said.
More flashes of light were pulsing around the room and a disorganized battle was raging. At some point the number of invading fairies and goblins appeared to have tripled, and both sides were diving through portals to evade and attack, disappearing and reappearing in the blink of an eye.
“The circles of binding and unbinding,” Aura remarked, “Nicely done. Somebody managed to remember their lessons about them. Now one of you use them, quick, before--”
Spruce appeared and hooked her claws in the shoulder of Dawn's dress, pulling the princess and Aura out of the safety of the circle of shield of light around the dais, “Your network is compromised, don't you remember, boy? Your tricks are merely a delay, not a victory.”
“Let go of her!” the Summer Heir roared, stepping forward. The young Summer prince grabbed her hand to hold her back until she regained her senses and pulled herself back before Spruce was provoked into hurting her sister. Bog knew he ought to have done the same but he was barely holding himself back and he barely knew the younger princess. The Summer Heir must have been white-hot with fury behind eyes that had gone wide and dark.
“I'm getting so sick of being handed around like a bad penny!” Aura complained, “Somebody do something!”
“Give me my bag,” Adeline spat out another glob of red, looking up at the Summer Heir and prince with a blood-streaked face. Red coated her smooth throat and had soaked down the front of her dress, her hands bright with it. She looked, Bog thought, like a warrior.
“You might want to wash--” Sand said hesitantly, a little stupid in his confusion and shock as he handed her her medical bag.
“I don't really care about hygiene right now!” Adeline said roughly.
Adeline dug in her pack, pulling out another slick, waterproof pouch. From it she pulled a large needle, as long as her index finger. Picking it up gingerly with finger and thumb, she tossed back her blood-matted hair and turned her gaze to Spruce, towering behind the captive Dawn.
Adeline staggered but the silver needle flew true, flickering gold in the light of the portals as it left her hand. Roderick caught her before she could fall and held her close, murmuring indistinct words of praise.
The needle stabbed into Spruce's neck and she flinched at the sting, though she did not let go of Dawn. One burnt hand curled uselessly at her side, her other holding Dawn, she couldn't pull out the dart, only twist her head back and forth in the hopes of loosening the needle.
She wavered on her feet.
The waver released Bog and Marianne from their self-imposed restraints and they jumped at the opening. Marianne went low, grabbing her sister, while Bog slashed his staff at Spruce’s head and shoulders. Spruce made a sketchy movement to defend herself, but was far too slow and when Bog struck her a blow she was knocked to the floor and could not regain her footing as the two Summer princesses slipped out of reach.
“Tricks,” Spruce slurred, “The fairy held the staff . . . protections were gone . . .”
“I had permission,” the Summer Heir held her hands palm up, showing the delicate pattern of leaves Bog had painted on her skin in ink. The magic marks of authorization had become smeared sometime during the chaos and she would not dare touch the staff of Autumn now, but they had lasted long enough to do the job. It seemed a shame to see the patterns ruined, Bog thought, remembering with what care he had smoothed lines of ink over her callouses and how she wiggled when the leaves he painted onto her palms tickled her.
“Doesn't . . . matter,” Spruce shook her head, fingers clawing at her neck to locate and remove the needle, “You are . . . overrun. Spring is against you. Summer will be here soon looking for their royal brats and in no mood for explanations.”
“I can fix the network, I can fix it if you let me out!” Aura bounced off the inside of the trap, pounding her fists on the sphere that caged her, “I just need to be let out!”
Bog took the trap from the younger princess, patting her hand so she would not try to cling to him. Dawn beamed and Marianne chuckled.
“You swear, Aura? You’ve no reason to help and every reason to resent,” Bog demanded, knowing he sounded harsh but really feeling more concerned than anything else.
“You set me free, Autumn Prince, I owe you more than just this!” Aura said with great firmness.
A cold lump that had sat on his heart since he had seen Aura imprisoned again shifted to let him breathe a little easier. If Aura thought his gesture had not been in vain then it didn’t matter if all four kingdoms thought it was the futile action of a foolish boy king. He had freed her for grand reasons and he had freed her for small homely reasons. He had freed her, this bizarre little sprite, pixie, half-mad little creature, because she kept a lonely blue-eyed prince company and told him stories.
The sphere smelt of fresh leaves and flowers, for all it looked to be a thing of chilling frost. Jamming the metal spike into the floor, he reached to tease a strand of frost free of the net. The Summer Heir and Roderick turned to watch his back while the three fairies huddled behind the throne. A wave of goblins crashed upon the steps and a guard was formed without orders from the king, but from Stuff, who seemed to have been organizing when Bog wasn’t paying attention.
The ice burned the Autumn King’s fingertips. Something, some hex, had been woven in alongside the magic of imprisonment and binding. Something he could unravel, but only given enough time, and in the midst of a battle there was precious little time to be spared. He tried again, to work past the pain of the hex, but a head-on assault only increased the defenses and he knocked the prison aside when his numb hands dropped away from it.
Roderick turned and caught it.
In his right hand.
Roderick’s prosthesis dangled loosely on the stump of his right arm, the mechanisms broken in the fighting and his attack on the barrier Spruce had raised around the throne. Nevertheless a hand, not of metal but not of flesh either, held onto the trap. It was just that the hand was ghostly, transparently blue, and while the correct distance from Roderick’s body as it would be if it were on the end of an arm held out, it was not attached to a wrist and floated in the air independently. “Oh, nice.” Roderick said, looking almost as surprised as everyone else. “I can lend you a hand.”
“Oooh!” Aura was all appreciative giggles, “Can’t burn phantoms! Very nice.”
A wrist formed from the hand, then a forearm, connecting with the stump of Roderick’s solid arm, passing effortlessly through the broken prosthesis that should have been in the way. He gripped the trap’s stick and tore into the sphere with ghostly claws. “Usually this hurts,” he remarked, shaking strands off, “Having a hand, I mean. Hanging in there, Addy?”
Behind the throne Dawn was tying up Adeline’s matted hair while the fairy nurse, weak from blood loss, fought to keep from nodding off. “Gwill?” she mumbled.
“With Griselda,” Roderick reminded her. “Ah!”
The final strands of icy blue fell away and the iron stick fell too, Roderick’s hand vanishing as the webbed prison dissolved. Aura, larger but still not quite the length of Bog’s forearm, hung sparkling blue where the prison had just been, her face full of uncertainty.
The Autumn King offered a crooked a finger to Aura . “You’re free. I hope this time it remains so.” Aura touched Bog’s knuckle and let herself be pulled away from where she had been confined. Her face split into a delighted grin and she shrieked with laughter the joyful sound out of place amidst the roar of battle, snaps of blue light exploding around her like fireworks.  “You’re a special one, Sky Eyes! I can’t even count the number of generations it took for Autumn royalty to produce someone like you.”
“Who’s she?” princess Dawn grabbed Bog by the arm, shooting a dagger-sharp look of jealously at Aura.
“My, my, hasn’t she got it bad!” Aura tittered, “She’s all over with impish magic, what a delight! What perfection! There’s barely two thoughts in her fluffy little head, lovely dear.”
“And whose fault is that?” Bog growled. The feeling of irritation was perfunctory, his attention was already pulled in too many directions for him to invest any in the minor annoyance of a bespelled fairy. Though he had certainly counted it of larger importance earlier in the night, but now at least ten other issues had pushed it down to nearly nothing for the time being.
“Mine!” Aura admitted blithely.
“I don’t think the barrier is going to hold much longer, so it’d be great if you, uh, got on that, please?” Roderick had retaken his position besides the Summer Heir, watching the rebels and fairies encircling their shelter.
“I can’t!” Aura said.
“You . . . can’t? Then what was the point of freeing you?!” Bog gaped, stunned.
“Don’t be so dense, boy, I’m holding this all together even without a contract and that’s a remarkable feat, I’ll have you know! I’m not able to exercise true control over the network of amber paths if I’m not bound to it, by agreement or force. You need to bind me.”
“Never!” the Autumn King gasped at the idea of enslaving Aura again.
“I like your answer, but you’ve got to do it and I’ll hope my luck holds out a third time when this is all settled!” She grabbed Bog’s finger and shook it with an urgency that was no part of her manic energy, her demands sincere. “You’ve shown me you’re worth trusting so I’m trusting you like I would never trust anyone else.”
“How? How did Spruce do it?” Bog asked.
“With Spring magic and by force. Wrong magic, no contract, only force. Even with Autumn it was once a contract of equal terms.” Aura shuddered, “I need a connection, I need a back way in, I need this little darling as a focus.” Aura flitted around Dawn’s head.
The Summer Heir swung around from where she had been keeping watch, her face full of challenge and murder. “Pardon me?”
“I’ll also need a lute, a flute, a—no, no, that’s my shopping list, sorry. I need the Autumn King, I need an untouched piece of amber, I need a medium with a nice squishy brain to ease me back into the amber paths, a master mentally similar enough for me to align with. All the traditional rituals take so much time and preparations, we’ll have to make fire by drilling a stick into a log.”
“I can help Boggy?” Dawn asked eagerly.
“No--!” Marianne began.
“I can help stop all this?” Dawn pointed out at the battlefield that had been a throne room. Marianne thought she saw the uncanny brightness of Dawn’s bewitched eyes dim and kept her planned remarks to herself. The Autumn King looked at Summer Heir, as if for permission to consider the idea. She rubbed the bruises and scars on her face and asked, “What do you mean by ‘untouched’ amber? We can’t use the scepter?”
Bog’s hand made an abortive little motion toward Marianne, and Marianne’s fingers twitched in response, longing to join hands, to reassure, to be reassured.
Aura flicked her fingers, “Overused, like a blade with too many nicks. One good whack in the wrong place and it’s shattered and the amber paths are flickering in and out at random forever after. We need new, we need fresh.”
“Why,” Roderick asked, “Would any of us be carrying a chunk of plain amber around with us? No paranoid idiot would be thinking that it might even possibly be necessary, I mean—”
“The pommel unscrews,” Bog said to Marianne, pointing at the hilt of her sword, the one he had gifted her as replacement for her own blade.
After a pause Roderick said, “Never mind me, then.”
Eyes blurry and fingers clumsy with fatigue, Marianne unscrewed the pommel and the round piece of metal fell into her hand in two halves along with a piece of amber that was nearly perfectly round. It was darker, a familiar shade, but she couldn’t place it, only observe that it was perfectly clear of imperfection. Her face glowed with heat when she glanced back at Bog with a question in her eyes.
He rubbed the back of his neck, comically fidgety beneath the splatters of blood over his armor. “I didn’t have time to cast permissions on it.” He said. Aura crowed with laughter, utterly pleased.
“Oh.” Roderick said, “That’s nice. I don’t get it, but that’s nice.”
“What now?” Marianne screwed the pommel back onto her sword and tested the balance. She found the weight had changed but it remained balanced, whether by excellent craftsmanship or by spellcraft she didn’t have the concentration to ponder and hazard a guess as to which.
Aura tossed her head and patted down her fluttering hair, “Now, we make a contract.”
“How?”
“With the fruits of my fishing! What all my silly little imps of spells gathered up for me so nicely.”
Tired as she was Marianne could connect two dots. “You love potioned my sister on purpose?”
“Oh, I didn’t know what would happen. I just set a little chaos rolling before they got me. Impish magic is the best way to poke your way through straightforward enchantments, you know. To think in odd ways, in ways the spellcaster never thought to guard again, allow you to find thin spots and loose weaving where the ordinary mind wouldn’t. An ordinary mind will not and cannot account for the possibility of outright mad chaos throwing useless tactics along with the useful along with the pointless and so when one area is defended another is left vulnerable to the incessant attacks.
“And it worked! It brought me this little darling!” Aura concluded and gave Dawn a pat on the nose. “Her head all overworked with trying to think seriously when all she can think of is her sweetheart. A complete mess! Absolute chaos!”
“Which isn’t going to do her any lasting harm, yes?” Marianne said, her words so pointed she might as well have been armed with a second sword.
“Hm, well, she was hit with a very finely aged dose of love potion, very strong stuff, so it’s might be an eensy weensy difficult to snap her out of it.”
“Aura, this is not the time.” the Autumn King hissed, seeing that Marianne was about to twist the pixie’s tiny head off, “There is no time.”
                        _______________________________
The barrier was failing.
Aura had shifted the burden of holding the amber paths stable to Bog. Not a typically heavy task, but that was when the paths were stable by default and properly overseen. Now Bog had to hold the barrier around the throne in place while keeping any new portals from opening inside of it without his permission. The weight of the effort to maintain and forestall made Bog feel like his carapace was creaking beneath it. He had planted his staff and leaned on it, both hands gripping it and bowed head brushing it.
The barrier sounded like breaking glass when a crack zig-zagged across it.
The Summer Heir stood across from Bog and put her hands over his.
“Is this our second dance?” Bog asked, his thoughts out of order, remembering their one dance with him clutching his staff like a sprout would cling to a favorite toy for security.
“Not yet,” she said, “we’ll have that later.”
“Is that a threat? I haven’t danced since then, you know.”
“Not even to practice?”
“I, um,” Bog gripped the scepter tighter and clenched his teeth. It was so heavy and getting heavier with every passing second. “I actually . . . up until . . .”
“Everything went wrong?”
“That’s putting it in the mildest possible terms.”
“Same here.”
“Hm?”
“I haven’t danced either since things went wrong.”
Bog slumped a little more, too heavy to even shift his feet to brace himself better. Marianne held his hands tighter and that eased the weight somehow. Possibly it was only imagination on his part but he’d take help real or perceived regardless.
Another crack opened in the barrier.
“Aura!” Bog said from behind gritted teeth.
“This is really going rather well! Good on you for having that old ball of string!” Aura sounded chipper and it grated on Bog’s worn nerves. He had to admit that he was glad too that he’d saved the trap he’d found and unraveled in the room where they discovered Dawn drenched in the love potion. It was easier to bind things when you had ‘string’.
The string was now wrapped around the unblemished piece of amber, which hovered between Aura’s outstretched hands, shimmering with yellow and blue magic. Two strands stretched to Dawn, wound around her wrists while she held her hands over Aura’s. The princess flashed smiles at Bog which he did his best to return. It was the least he could do for her.
A final strand of blue magic was attached to the ring finger of Bog’s right hand, completing all the necessary connections. Dawn would be a focus and conduit for both Aura and Bog, bridging the gap between the order of Bog and the network and the chaos of Aura’s mind and magic.
It was hard to see through the craze of cracks all over the barrier and more were screeching their way across all the time.
Something was pounding through the network. Through the rifts Spruce had forced into it, crumbling the walls. Spruce was still unconscious inside the barrier, but someone on her side was still trying to take control. They were not strong but they were persistent and their persistence was wearing Bog down.
Bog dropped to one knee, gasping.
“Bog!” Marianne tried to help him up. It was useless, he was too heavy.
“If it all comes falling down . . .” Bog felt his limbs trembling from the effort of staying half-way upright, “Marianne, you all need to run.”
Marianne took his hands again and didn’t bother to say anything like, “You too!” or “We’re not leaving you behind!”, because she knew they didn’t have that luxury. They each had their own responsibilities to see through.
His other leg folded.
He hoped it was the floor and not his knee that crunched so unpleasantly.
“I’ll do what I have to do.” The Summer Heir whispered.
“I know you will.” said the Autumn King.
“Even though I don’t want to,” Marianne said in an even softer whisper.
“Thank you,” said Bog, looking up into eyes the same color as the amber Aura was enchanting.
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bluesilver · 1 year
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Barbie in the Nutcracker: The Sugar Plum Princess —Aesthetic
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The Sugar Plum Princess’ Character & Personality
The Sugar Plum Princess lives in the kingdom of Parthenia on an island across the Sea of Storms. As a powerful fairy, she rules over all kinds of fae in the land, including the snow and flower fairies. The Sugar Plum Princess is kind, clever and brave. More than anything, loves to dance ballet.
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wispythreads · 3 months
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The Sugar Plum Fairy's goals...
Completely understandable that they needed to be opposed, but I still don't see her as bad. She's just, well. Not human. As far as she can tell, she is making the best, easiest choice she can see for the people who matter most to her. There isn't anything wrong with wanting to be hidden, after seeing what has happened to those like you. In her own way, she is being exactly how she wanted to present herself to other people, kind and sweet, extending that desire and method of self-preservation to that which she considers worth saving.
And, to a being that is a living spell, why would it matter if all of Candia lost its physical place in the land of Calorum? Why would it matter if the people she was saving had to "die" in the process, when, as far as she can tell, they are still just as alive in the home she's made for them as they were in Calorum?
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My blog is now officially for fucked up Archfey Warlock Patrons
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land-of-candy · 2 years
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A bit early in the year, but a peak into the Sugarplum Fairy’s court. Part of an upcoming holiday campaign.
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el-conejo-negro · 1 year
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A last piece to ring in the new year 🌟
Both the ethereal, enigmatic ruler and embodiment of the candy realm, the Sugar Plum Fairy rules over the Land of the Sweets. She's the physical embodiment of otherworldly joy - a personification of the sugar plum, per Tchaikovsky
A dark horse symbol of holiday/seasonal splendor
Happy New Years [Eve] 🌟 You'll find this one in my shop tomorrow (again just the single piece so 'first come, first serve' rules)
"Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy" , inks and gel pens, 9" x 12", 2022
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abutterflyobsession · 2 years
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what was the exact wording of plum’s ‘riddle’ about the love potion? Asking for a fic.
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newgod-apollo · 3 months
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Is it just the color pink or are the terribly alike!??
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amazingmagda · 1 year
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I love this
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atompalace-official · 3 months
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dance of the sugar plum sylveon 🩰🎀❄️✨
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ofallingstar · 3 months
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Fantasia (1940)
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abutterflyscribbles · 2 years
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Tiny People in Jars AU: Part 12
shout out to @elf-kid2 for helping me edit this chapter <3
Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/Nine/Ten/Eleven/Ao3
“Are you gonna sit on your throne when they come in?”
“What? Why?”
“Because if you're not, I am.”
“Stay off my throne.”
“If I don't sit on the throne I need to figure out a good impressive pose to take when they come in. And it's hard to stand out in here.” Marianne gestured at the high ceiling and skylight.
“Why do you feel the need to pose?”
“Why do you?”
Bog looked startled. “I'm not—I'm not posing!”
“Don't be embarrassed. You're very good at it.”
“I would like you to stop, please.”
“I don't know if I can.”
The fairies and elves were about to enter, bringing with them her lying scumbag of an ex and the king of the fairies who might possibly be her birth father. It would take duct-tape to keep Marianne still and quiet with all that strolling towards her over the horizon.
“Is the sword acceptable?” Bog asked, giving up.
“Yes. Good. Great. Amazing. You really know the way to a girl's heart: well-balanced blades with a lethal edge.” She slid it a few inches out of its sheath and then back in. “It always surprises me that it doesn't sound like it does in the movies. I can't help it. It's embedded in the foundations of my being.”
“I think I understood the first two sentences.”
“Those were probably the only relevant ones anyway.”
“Tough girl, could I make a request?”
“Sure, sure, what's up?”
“Take a moment and breathe.”
Marianne didn't want to breathe. If she let herself take a full breath she would have enough air to fuel a scream. Or maybe she would bolt. Intellectually she knew she wouldn't get anywhere fast but her primal instincts were telling her it was the only sane option.
“This might be an awkward request considering our last conversation, but . . . could you hold my hand?”
Bog looked panicked and bewildered.
“Okay, sorry, that was weird. Weird request. Made things weird. Sorry.”
The goblins were thronging around the throne, coalescing into a semi-organized mob. No defined formations but it looked as if they wouldn't step on each other when a brawl broke out. Almost everyone's eyes were fixed on the throne room entrance, waiting for the fairies to be escorted in.
A smaller goblin wandered onto the steps looking lost. Bog kicked it sharply. “Look after the gaps in the north side!” he snapped as it flew into the crowd. Marianne thought she might have seen it bounce when it hit the floor. She definitely saw it throw a vague salute and scurry away, enthusiastic now that it had purpose. It's life appeared, to Marianne, to be rough but beautifully straightforward.
“Here.” Bog snapped again, this time at Marianne. She looked at his offered hand, confused. Bog made an impatient beckoning motion. She realized he was letting her hold his hand. She took it. He pulled away. Embarrassment at misunderstanding Bog's gesture barely got a chance to heat up Marianne's cheeks before Bog said, “No, your other hand. On my right, or you won't be able to draw your sword.”
“Oh.” Marianne moved to his other side and cautiously raised her hand again. He took it and linked her arm with his like they were acting out parts in some sort of period drama. It did look more official, Marianne supposed. Less like she was clinging to him. “Thanks.”
Bog twitched his shoulders restlessly. “A good enough pose, then?”
“Arm in arm with the Bog King at the back of his goblin hoard? Not bad at all. If only there were discordant bass rifts building up in the background, that'd complete it.”
“I'll make a note for the next occasion.”
“Oh. I forgot that you actually know what electric guitars are. There’s a story there I’d love to hear.”
“I can imagine what you’d say about it. Half-imagine, that is, unless I replace every third sentence if gibberish.”
Marianne made a face at him. She made another face at Dawn who was smirking at Marianne and Bog’s exchange. Marianne didn’t mind the smirk too much. It was better than the tight worried look Dawn had had since they got the announcement of the fairies’ imminent arrival.
Shuffling and growling gave away the moment of arrival before a goblin could scurry up with official word. Bog banged his staff on the floor and the growling was cut off. “Let them in.” he ordered. Marianne thought her grip on Bog’s arm might crack it open like a lobster. She moved to let go and grip the hilt of her sword instead.
“Don’t ruin the pose.” Bog muttered.
Marianne found it very difficult not to giggle and could not suppress a smile at all.
The smile dropped off again with the entrance of a troop of elves. Aside from stalks of grass carried like banners or pendents none of them were visibly armed, which made her frown. A quick glance at Dawn showed Marianne that the princess was frowning too.
The fairies that marched in behind the elves were armed and covered from head to toe in  armor like Roland’s, aside from being silver and presence of helmets. Naturally Roland would never have worn a helmet and denied onlookers a chance of beholding his glorious visage.
At the back of the procession sleek yellow curls bounced into view. It was Roland, of course, head and shoulders above the rest of the fairies because he was . . .
Marianne forgot to be nervous, taking an exaggerated double-take. “Is that . . .” Marianne looked up at Bog, but realized he was the wrong person to ask. She turned to Dawn, “Is that—the squirrel steed, um, usual?”
“Chipper? Yes, why?”
“Chipper?!” Marianne’s voice shot up into a squeak. Roland was riding a squirrel of all things and the squirrel’s name was Chipper. Maybe it made sense at the fairy scale of things but Marianne had not expected anything of the sort and it was all the more ridiculous for the unexpectedness. “I can’t believe Roland is a Disney princess.”
“I wish you came with a translation key,” Bog muttered, but the jibe was half-hearted. He was focusing all his murderous intent on Roland.
Equally unexpected, and ten times as impressive in Marianne’s opinion, was the lizard that strolled in behind Disney princess Roland and his woodland creature companion. Maybe it was the saddle, maybe it was the disney vibe, but the squirrel looked as harmless as a squirrel of usual size—or scale. The lizard did not. It was huge, magnificent, and terrifying, probably the relative size of a dragon if dragons where a real thing. It certainly had the teeth for the part.
Sunny and another elf were riding on the lizard it like it was no big thing. The goblins murmured in an appreciative tone at the sight of them. Looked like catching a ride on a lizard, unlike a squirrel, was not usual. Sunny hadn’t just had it stashed somewhere beforehand either, considering Dawn’s open-mouthed astonishment at the sight of her best friend’s sweet ride.
“Okay, the kid gets point for style,” Marianne muttered, tearing her eyes away to locate something far more terrifying than any mere gigantic lizard. The innocuous pink bottle must have been somewhere nearby or Roland wouldn’t have made his entrance. Marianne squinted at the lizard, scanning for horrible pink sparkles and silently begging for Sunny to have the love potion and not Roland. The antidote wasn’t ready, the love potion was still a potent threat.
Finally Marianne spotted the bottle. Roland had it.
Marianne unsheathed her sword.
Bog didn’t stop her.
“Your bog kingness,” Roland unsheathed his smile, sharp as Marianne’s blade, and aimed it at Bog. He almost immediately dropped it. His eyes went huge, taking in the sight of Marianne standing arm-in-arm with the king of the Dark Forest. In fact, Roland gaped most unbecomingly, mouth hanging wordlessly open. The sight brought a pleased smirk to Marianne’s face.
Sadly, Roland recovered, coughing to give himself a moment to collect himself then slapping the smile back on his face and adding some extra shine to make up for the lapse.
Bog dragged his staff into a better fighting stance, sending chipped fragments of the floor flying. He was grinding his teeth again, too, quite audibly. Oh, what a mood, Marianne thought, eyes still on the potion, what an absolute mood the Bog King was. She adjusted the grip on her sword and reluctantly unhooked her arm from Bog’s so she could take a step forward.
Dawn flitted in front of Bog and Marianne and shook her head. Both of them gestured pointedly at Roland and the love potion. Dawn shook her head again and said softly. “Diplomacy first, remember?”
“I can diplomatically return his headless carcass to the fields once I reclaim the potion.” Bog hissed, but following Dawn’s lead and keeping his voice low.
Dawn shoved her hand out, fingers spread, “Five minutes! Please, five minutes!”
“Then I can send him to the choir invisible?” Marianne asked, feeling that she was going to strain something from keeping her voice soft and level when she wanted to scream a battle cry and go for Roland’s throat.
“The what?” Bog asked in a resigned way.
“Shuffle him off the mortal coil, send him underground to push up daisies—oh it’s so hard when nobody gets your references. Look, I wanna--” Marianne drew her thumb across her throat in a slicing motion.
“Er,” Dawn hesitated, “We can . . . discuss that in five minutes? Pretty please?”
“Fine.” Bog snapped, not immune Dawn’s big blue puppy dog eyes.
“Fine.” Marianne said, admitting to herself she wasn’t immune to the eyes either. She lowered her sword to her side but did not sheathe it.
Bog swung his staff around to point at Roland and raised his voice back up to a boom. “Speak.”
“I’ve come for the princesses-esses--,” Roland coughed again, “I’ve come for the princesses.”
“Princesses?” Bog articulated the word with deliberate clarity. “We’ve only been graced by the visit of one princess. One princess who has not declared herself ready to leave. Your highness?” Bog raised an eyebrow at Dawn.
“I’m afraid our business here is not yet complete,” Dawn said, pink in the face but admirably haughty. “I believe I sent word to inform father of this. Has he not received my official royal message?”
Marianne surmised from the twitch of Roland’s eye that tampering with royal mail was a big no-no. Twitch or no, Roland’s smile was rock-solid now and smug with indulgence. “Your highness,” Roland said with all the condescension that could be crammed into two words, “I did run into a goblin carrying a letter but I was unsure of its intentions, wandering around in the fairy kingdom with a message purportedly from yourself. I couldn’t let it stir up trouble with false information.”
“You twit!” Dawn squeaked.
“Yeah!” Sunny said from the back of the lizard, “He stole the message! He didn’t even know what it was until he took it! And we were barely outside the border of the forest there was no reason to pick on the messenger!”
Dawn beamed at Sunny for a moment before putting on a stern face and turning back to Roland. “This is a serious accusation, Roland. It’s up to the king to decide if an official communication is authentic or not. You should have done everything you could to aid in the delivery and accelerate the process of authentication.”
“The elf doesn’t understand these things, finding a goblin on our side of the border in the current circumstances—”
“The current circumstances do not permit any disregard for official proceedings. You admitted yourself you took the message without cause, independent of Sunny’s accusations.”
“Now, now, darlin’—“
“However, this matter is not our priority at the moment. In addition to the message I see you are in possession of property of the Dark Forest: the love potion. Did you come by it in the same manner as you did the message?”
Marianne wanted to applaud. Dawn could really play the dignified royal princess to perfection if she cared to. Not only that, she gave Bog the perfect cue to step back into the conversation.
“The matter of how he obtained the love potion should be discussed after he hands it over, yes?” Bog raised an eyebrow at Dawn. Dawn nodded emphatically.
There was a strained quality to Roland’s smile now. “Not at all—ah, that is, neither were obtained in any way except--”
“He stole it from us!” Sunny piped up, “Kinda. The imp grabbed it from us and Roland grabbed it from the imp. It was Pare and I who got it back.”
“Really?” Dawn asked, delighted.
“Yeah, well, we were lucky,” Sunny rubbed the back of his neck, looking pleased and sheepish under the focus of Dawn’s sparkling delight.
“I don’t care how it was obtained,” Bog said, “not at this very moment anyway. I just want it returned. Now.”
“I feel the same,” Roland said with a poor imitation of sympathy, “I simply want to have the princesses safely returned and escort them home, as per the king’s request.”
“The princess said no.” Marianne snapped.
Dawn nodded, “Until daddy—father—sends a representative to take my place it’s my responsibility to look after the citizens of the fields that have been afflicted by the love potion.”
“And here I am!” Roland flourished his hand. “Present and representing!”
“In possession of stolen goods,” Bog snarled, pointing at the love potion sparkling from Roland’s side-saddle. “Hand it over, representative.”
Roland looked hurt. “Now, I’ve been very polite, considering you kidnapped our princesses--”
“Who’s kidnapped?” Dawn demanded.
“Who’s a princess?” Marianne snapped.
“Oh, Marianne, darlin’, let me handle this and I’ll explain it all after. I’ve got such a surprise for you, now, shhh.”
“Did he just shush me? He just shushed me. Bog, he just shushed me,”
“He did. The fool.”
“Tsk,” Roland shook his head, just enough to make his hair artfully bounce. “You’ve both been ensnared by goblin magic. Never fear, I’ll retrieve you safely soon enough. Your bogness, this is what you want?” Roland held up the bottle of love potion.
Everyone in the room tensed. Marianne’s eyes were fastened to the stopper on the bottle. One flick and it would be off and the glitter would spread unchecked. Bog was gnashing his teeth severely enough to make a dentist cry and was just short of frothing at the mouth. Somehow he still spared the breath to tell Marianne, “He’s too far away to use it.”
“I will gladly trade this troublesome bottle for the princesses—ah, for the two ladies you have in your possession. Let them go and it’s all yours.” He swished the potion around inside the bottle.
The elves had been watching all of this with fascination, swiveling back and forth to follow the conversation, their grass stalk banners fluttering back and forth with them. Most goblins were lurking around Roland’s dangling feet or climbing the soft rotted walls to find a better vantage point to watch or, perhaps, pounce. The few fairies that accompanied Roland just looked uncomfortable. All of them drew back sharply when Roland started gently swirling the potion around. In the breath of quiet the lovesick prisoners made themselves heard again. Roland winked at Marianne. “Don’t worry, buttercup, I’ve got this handled.”
“Is that a threat?” Marianne muttered through gritted teeth.
“A simple exchange,” Roland continued.
“If I needed to be exchanged I would have arranged it myself,” Dawn huffed, “Bog doesn’t need to bargain for his own property!”
“I’m pretty sure it’s been five minutes,” Marianne said, softly enough for only Dawn and Bog to hear. Dawn responded with a ‘yikes!’ expression. Bog sank a little further into his defensive crouch, ready to spring, wings vibrating. The goblins picked up on the silent cue and tension spread across the room like the calm before a storm. The elves seemed to sense something too because they were surreptitiously edging their way to stand near Sunny’s lizard.
“Objections?” Bog asked Dawn.
“Why do I feel like you’re not really asking?” Dawn replied, looking to be on the cusp of accepting Roland’s death as inevitable. Poor kid, Marianne thought. She was standing against both sides of the fight, the only one who actually wanted things to end peacefully even though it was plain to see peace was never an option.
“BK, BK!” a goblin scurried from the entrance, bouncing off Chipper in its rush, “Berries in the fork mores west!” Bog stopped crouching and fell into a slump. He mouthed something that might have been, ‘why me?’. Everyone else forgot to be nervous, foreheads wrinkled as they muttered the goblin’s message, trying to find sense in it, if there was any to find.
“Is that a code?” Marianne asked, unintentionally relaxing. Even her wings, which technically didn’t exist at the moment, drooped from the disappearing tension.
“It’s an aggravation.” he replied.
To the benefit of Bog’s rising blood pressure a second goblin popped up, shouting, “More fairies, sire! More fairies in the dark forest!”
A fanfare cut through the ensuing uproar and more armored fairies flitted in through the entrance followed by a . . . a . . . it was one of those chairs, the sort of thing you saw in movies about decadent ancient times where royalty was schlepped around in them. Paladins. Placards. Something. Anyway one was being flown into the castle. Marianne scrubbed her eyes with her knuckles. She was so tired. When would this ever end? How many more fairies would cram themselves into the castle before it burst at the seams and crumbled into dust?
The chair was set down and the passenger, a round man in armor, was up and out of the chair the second it touched the ground, stumbling a little before regaining their balance. “Sweetheart!” he called, “You’re alright!”
“Daddy?!” Dawn’s feet came off the floor in surprise.
Marianne’s chest did a weird squeezing thing and her stomach clenched itself into knots. Dawn’s dad. The fairy king. The lost princess’s father. Somehow Marianne’s free hand found Bog’s and squeezed it as hard as her chest was squeezing her heart.
“You’re really alright?” the king had waded through elves and goblins to dash up to his daughter and grab her hands.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dawn said with a touch of sulkiness.
The king didn’t seem to notice. He was a heavy, gray-haired man wearing armor in the same style as Roland’s only rounder to accommodate a wider waistline. Marianne wondered if it was rude to wonder if he couldn’t fly under his own power because he was too heavy. The few fairies she’d seen were all skinny, even the armored ones. She herself was skinnier as well as tiny, she remembered. The harmless thought made her chest constrict again.
“My little girl!” the fairy king caught Dawn in a crushing hug.
“Daddy! I’m a representative.”
“They didn’t hurt you? Do anything to you?” the fairy king demanded.
“Wow.” Marianne said, “Rude.”
“Lacking courtesy, indeed.” Bog agreed. Both he and Marianne were watching Roland out of the corner of their eye. Roland looked displeased at the sudden change in circumstances.
“Why should I be courteous to the one who kidnapped my daughter!” the fairy king pushed Dawn behind him and spread out his wings to shield her.
Bog snorted. “I couldn’t get rid of her if I tried, Dagda. If anyone besides her is to be blamed then blame the love potion that caused her afflicted people to have need of her help.”
“They have other prisoners, sire,” Roland explained helpfully, having followed in the king’s wake to keep himself in the conversation.
Bog snorted. “They are held for their protection while they’re under sway of the potion! I take back what I said about blaming the potion. Blame the instigator, your polished up little would-be hero, Ronald!”
“Roland.” Marianne said without thinking. Bog’s answering smirk told her he knew perfectly well what Roland’s name was. It was extremely difficult not step on Bog’s performance by bursting into laughter. That problem faded when Marianne saw that the fairy king was looking at her with a puzzled expression, completely distracted from whatever defense he had been about to put forth for Roland. The horrible scarf of truth that had slipped from her eyes and pulled tight on her throat was flickering in the wind, attracting the king’s attention. She could see the words forming on his lips: “Have we met?”
“Not that I remember.” Marianne said promptly. Nearly simultaneously, actually. It was absolutely true though. She had no memory of this worried looking man who had a similar expression to Dawn when he was troubled. It was easy to compare, with Dawn peeking around his wing looking very troubled indeed.
“Enough!” with a sweeping gesture Bog redirected everyone’s attention to himself, though he had to let Marianne’s hand go to do so, “I’ve mushrooms in love with fairies and brownies in love with frogs, my kingdom is in chaos, and the source of it all is right here,” he jabbed a claw at Roland, “and here,” he jabbed at Sunny. “Unless we want fields and forest both in utter chaos you will return the potion to me now.”
“Now, now,” Roland waved his hand, “it’s a complicated situation, you can’t just go around pointing fingers and spouting unsubstantiated accusations. The best thing to do would be get the princesses home and sort this all out peacefully.”
“Very true, Roland.” the fairy king nodded. Then frowned.” Princesses?”
“Ah,” Roland beamed, resorting to smiles when caught off script, “There’s some—I have some—there’s this interesting thing—Marianne, darlin’, I’d hoped to break this to you gently--”
“Stop.” Marianne ordered. “Stop!”
“Now, buttercup--”
Marianne knocked his hand aside with the hilt of her sword when he reached out to her. The fairy king was staring at her with a deep frown. “Marianne?” he almost whispered.
“Yes—no! Not--!” Marianne stammered.
“Leave her alone!” Bog growled, “She’s one of mine and not yours to question, Dagda.”
“But, who is she--?”
“It’s done, it’s done!” Griselda pattered into the room, Sugar Plum’s cage in hand, “She says the antidote is ready!”
“Antidote?” Roland looked disconcerted.
“You said her name was Marianne?” the fairy king persisted.
“Dad, leave her alone!” Dawn tugged on his wing, “That’s something for later.”
“Hello, hello!” Plum said within her cage, “Isn’t this a fine audience. Oh, and my, don’t you look nice in your wrinkle, dear! Those are difficult to make, I’ll have you know, but a teensy bit easier for changelings since they’re already a little out of place. Still! I hope you appreciate—“
“The antidote! Hand it over!” Bog cut in.
“Changeling?” the fairy king’s face had a look that Marianne was horribly sure meant that some sort of understanding was forming.
“Antidote?” Roland repeated, slightly louder.
“Yes, antidote! Now hand it over you sparkly trickster or I’ll force it out of you!” Griselda shook the cage as if perhaps the antidote would fall out.
“Heeey!” Plum drifted dizzily around inside her blue globe, “Give a girl a minute, can’t you? Rushing magic is no joke.”
Bog snatched up the cage by its stick. “Antidote,” he growled, “now.”
“Okay, fine! It’s . . . a riddle!” Plum threw her arms wide like she was cheering.
“A—a riddle—but what was all the stuff for?!”
“Oh, you know, in prison it’s kind of hard to shop!”
“A riddle?” Roland was starting to relax and Marianne felt a chill.
“Spit it out, then,” Marianne hissed.
“Hold your squirrels, princess, don’t rush me!”
Marianne was very much in a rush and everything was going far too slow, except the thoughts whirling behind the fairy king’s hopeful eyes and the words that might slip off Roland’s silver tongue any moment. Truth or not she wasn’t ready to handle it here and now. She grabbed the stick herself and shook it twice as hard as Griselda had. “Now! Please!”
“Fine, fine, fine! The antidote is the one thing more powerful than the potion! Geez! You people have no sense of presentation.”
There was silence except a cricket chirping. Marianne saw a goblin nudge the cricket to make it shut up.
“That’s—that’s it?” Bog asked, “All that and you dish out some poor excuse for a riddle? Argh! It doesn’t even matter,” Bog grabbed Plum’s cage and tossed it back to Griselda who caught it and gave it another vicious shake, “Once I have the potion this will be contained and we can pry the answers out of you at our leisure.”
“Stronger than the potion?” Marianne pondered, flexing her arm, “Does that mean I can just punch the love out of it?”
Bog made a noise that might have been a strangled snort of amusement. “Powerful, she said powerful.”
“Now, now,” Roland called their full attention back to himself, “As I was saying, your majesty, on my recent trip I made the most extraordinary discovery—”
Marianne’s sword and Bog’s staff swung toward Roland. “Shut up,” Marianne said, feeling like she was clutching uselessly the crumbling shingles at the edge of a roof, fighting against the fall she knew was coming no matter what she did.
“Dad, don’t listen to him!” Dawn tugged hard on her father’s arm, “I can tell you what’s going on, just listen!”
“I just want to tell everyone how I fell in love with a beautiful girl and that we are the perfect match.” Roland smiled a smile so earnest and loving that Marianne felt physically repulsed. He was trying to charm her. He had been trying to charm everyone since he had arrived, she realized, but the goblins seemed to be resistant to his strain of manipulation. Even Griselda, who was ready to see romance wherever it was or could be, had her generous mouth twisted in displeasure.
The fairy king did not seem to have the same resistance, or at least not as much, because he was listening to Roland intently.
But Marianne’s assumptions were disproved when the fairy king looked coolly at Roland and said, “Oh? And not too long ago you were madly in love with Dawn.”
“Hearts change,” Roland said solemnly, “People change, we grow, we realize what was once our greatest desire no longer suits, we discover true love and everything before that is just washed away. No, my darlin’, I wouldn’t trade her for the world.”
“Talk about true love after you put down the potion,” Marianne scoffed with more bravado than she felt. Her sword was trembling, fatigue was bearing down on her and she wasn’t sure how long she could fight it.
“Aw, my l’il princess—”
“Don’t call me that!”
Marianne screamed and raised her sword, but Roland was quicker, better rested, and parried her blade, knocking it out of her hand and grabbing her shoulder. The metal joints of his armored hand pinch the hellebore and started to the shred the petals. A patch of it tore off when Marianne twisted herself free and dived for her sword. The dive went a little too well and she couldn’t stop it, the floor rising up to meet her face.
There was a clang, the ‘oof’ of someone getting the wind knocked out of them, and the floor stopped with a jerk. Bog had caught her around the waist. She was hauled up and pressed against Bog’s carapace while he looked down at her with a searching, worried look that she hated much less than the fairy king’s. “Are you alright?”
“That is a loaded question, your crunchiness.” Marianne resisted closing her eyes, hugging Bog, and pretending everything else in the world didn’t exist. It was an incredibly appealing thought. “Do you want the physical or mental workup?”
“Ah, you’re fine.”
The wrinkle was ruined. Marianne could tell by the uncomfortable feeling of Bog’s arm crumpling the wings crammed under the wrinkle. Their sudden weight was what had accelerated her dive. She shoved Bog away—not too hard—and stripped the wrinkle off while looking around for Roland. He was being helped up off the floor by two fairies in silver armor, out of play for the moment, to Marianne’s relief. It gave her a little breathing room.
The fairy king gasped.
Oh. Right. Marianne looked down at the ruined wrinkle. Dawn had said her mother had purple wings. Purple wings like the ones that had recently attached themselves to Marianne’s back.
“Marianne?” the king asked softly.
“Dad, don’t!” Dawn said, “it’s a complicated situation, you can’t just—”
The fairy king ignored her. “Marianne? My—my little girl?”
Marianne’s heart crumpled up like tissue paper. The king looked so painfully hopeful that she didn’t want to just slap that hope away. That was what was crumpling her heart, forcing it into the wrong shape, this expectation for her to be someone she didn’t want to be.
Pink exploded in her face.
Marianne coughed, but it was only instinct. Aside from the smell of primroses and a light tickling sensation on her face the splash of love potion was barely a physical presence. A wave of euphoria swept through her, washing away all her fatigue and worries, or glossing over them anyway, with a manic excitement.
“Buttercup,” a familiar and cajoling drawl came from directly in front of her and she felt a thrill of . . . something. The pink sparkles still dazzled her and she couldn’t even make out shapes in the glitter. “Hey, my darlin’ buttercup,”
The voice, yes, just in front of her, maybe even reaching out toward her. She turned in the direction of the sweet cajoling, listened for the sound of metal armor, tickled and thrilled all over in sparkling pink waves and the golden ribbons that the voice looped around her crumpled tissue paper heart.
But the strangling truth that had choked her and wrapped around her heart wouldn’t let the ribbons tighten or the pink stick to her. The terrible strangling truth helped her now, told her how much she loathed that voice, and gave her the chance to draw back her arm and send her fist toward the sticky sweet sound of Roland’s voice.
Jarring pain to her knuckles let her know she had struck true.
With the same hand she grabbed at the air to her side, the side Bog had stood on when they posed together in front of the throne.
Her hand met his.
The pink faded, a warm, somewhat sweaty hand covering most of her face. From the explosion of pink to Bog’s hand shielding her face there had been no more than a few seconds.
“Tough girl?” Bog asked hesitantly.
“Roland is a skunk.” She said, figuring it was the easiest why to declare where her feelings stood. She swore she heard the castle groan, pushed outward by the collective relieved sigh from the room. “Where is he?”
“Being sat on by Brutus,” Bog replied.
“Oh, I want to see that.”
“There’s still no antidote!”
“Calm your carapace, prickles, I’m not brain-dead yet. Soon, maybe, but not yet. Ugh, I know I’m not in love, my hand hurts too much for me to be in love. I think I got his jaw, did I get his jaw?”
“You did.” Bog assured her.
“Nice. I guess . . . I need a blindfold?”
“Give me a second, lovey,” Griselda said, rustling about nearby, “I’ll make something out of this wrinkle. Though I wouldn’t mind if you took a little peek at my boy.”
“Mother.” Unexpectedly Bog sounded much more aghast than embarrassed.
Something whirred inside Marianne’s tired brain. It was a dumb little whir and chunk of fatigued cogs and gears on the edge of busting right out of her head. The truth had saved her from looking in Roland’s eyes. It had stopped her from giving into his golden charm. Yes, she was getting a very dumb idea.
Impulsively Marianne shoved his hand aside and looked straight up and into Bog’s eyes.
He physically recoiled, averting his eyes.
“Too late, baby-blues.” Marianne stood on tip-toe to get closer to his face.
Bog looked at her out of the very corner of his eye, “You—you don’t want to . . .?”
“Sing love songs? Kiss you?”
“K-kiss--?!” Bog choked. Marianne felt tickling in her stomach and a thrill up her spine, seeing the mighty Bog King blush and stutter.
Marianne shook her head. “Nope.”
“That’s . . . good. Good.”
“At least,” Marianne smirked, “No more than before.”
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