#also is poor roland just going to have to stick his hand in these broken monitors every time in this dungeon

[parasitoidism]

Argilla flirting with Roland is kinda funny like she finally met a normal guy

[vaguely-concerned]

Let’s Read Victory of Eagles; the Prepare to Cry About William Laurence Edition

earlier temeraire let’s reads (yes I’m sticking with it)

- oh man starting with temeraire’s pov is such a good call, I don’t know if I could take getting plunged straight into laurence’s misery without some (very slight) levity first 

- lol and also crey @ laurence gently reminding these young guys how to keep him prisoner 

- temeraire on his way to revolutionize dragon politics after one damn month... I’m so proud ;___; on the other hand him thinking laurence is dead is... nope not processing this laurence is fine let’s not worry about it

- SURPRISE THARKAY! BEST KIND OF SURPRISE 

looool he just keeps coming to get laurence and finding him embroiled in some fresh catastrophe... I’m sorry ur bro is in another castle/war camp/ship wreck/prison tharkay you’re a champ for tracking him down again and again

- He has a new birb!!! good stuff. this part of them walking through the quiet ruined town is really striking too

- laurence feels like he can be just himself for the first time in months huh... cool cool cool

- “You and Temeraire would be welcome in other parts of the world. You may recall there is some semblance of civilization,” he added dryly, “in a few places, beyond the borders of England.”

fsdakhfdasdfsaflj a) I love him so much b) I  g u e s s  Tharkay kind of just asked Laurence to run away with him in his low-key sardonic way... super triple extra cool cool cool extremely admirable even if he and everyone else in the world knows it to be doomed 

resting his hand on his shoulder because he knows Laurence is gonna be Laurence about this... yeah okay just punch me in the heart

- tfw the guy you sort of have a thing for is determined to get himself killed for a government you feel exactly zero personal loyalty to and now you have to watch his back 🙄

- lol laurence is like ‘I’m not gonna start a fistfight’ 

five minutes later: granby pulls laurence out of a fistfight he started because someone talked shit about his dragon

- aw demane and sipho! good boys bein’ good boys 

- temeraire reciting principia mathematica to himself and changing his voice so he can pretend it’s laurence reading to him... that is under the belt naomi novik that is just mean

(all the funnier/more heartbreaking for knowing laurence has no fucking idea what he’s reading out loud when it comes to that book and would never have touched it if temeraire didn’t love it so much)

- “Oh,” Temeraire said, and sat back on his haunches. He was not quite sure what to say. “I am very sorry?” he offered, uncertainly. He supposed it must be very unpleasant to be a coward.

fjfjghfgj how is he so darling

- tbh perscitia is very much me when it comes to fighting; I too am small and slow and cripplingly overly aware of all the ways things can go wrong which everyone seems happy to overlook

- as a professional tharkay spotter: he is in fact present in the proceedings right now, he arrived at the same time as granby and had one (1) line of dialogue! I am not sure why everyone’s talking about this napoleon fella instead of specifying to me what precise dragon he hitched a ride with or what kind of babysitter arrangement he has put in place for his birb but y’know I’ll take what I can get

(there is a peculiar sort of satisfaction in getting reeeeaaal attached to a side character; this reminds me a lot of being nine and scrupulously scanning every page of a harry potter book for mentions of sirius, no matter how peripheral or inconsequential) 

- all of temeraire’s dragons are pure gold tbh, I especially like majestatis and his laconic competency (I may have a type)

- temeraire not getting why laurence isn’t responding to him quite as he should and laurence basically getting his affairs in order... William Laurence if you break both our hearts I will never fucking forgive you this is my stern voice

- adding a second (and tonally very different) pov is such a genius move at this point in the story; it really breathes new life into everything. 

- lady allendale is the real mvp, you can really see a lot of laurence’s good sides in a straight line from her to him

- oooooooooooooooooooooh roland dropping some truth bombs on laurence for being so very very honorable and so very very dumb

thank you jane I guess at least he’s pretty

- having to read laurence trying to convince all the people who love him to basically let him kill himself is extremely upsetting and I Do Not Care for it

- temeraire absent-mindedly putting ‘coming up with some way to let laurence live as long as me’ on his ‘to do’ list is Everything

but also he doesn’t even realize how wrong things are with his captain and I want to curl up in a ball. no bb no one is going to take him but he’s halfway through taking himself out :(

(I will say that there’s something about laurence’s incredible inflexibility and self loathing that is very relatable, which is probably why I’m so mad at him and also so scared for him. incidentally one of hanzo’s traits I really identify with. anyway onwards)

- ah of course granby was kidnapped I was wondering when something bad would happen to him in this book

- “You are not obliged -- ” Laurence began.

“No,” Tharkay agreed civilly, with one raised brow, and Laurence bowed and left it there. 

fdsfdklsalkjhfkjasdhfjkadshdsfhksdfjakh how... how can anyone be so impossibly lovely and so sarcastic in one word... my heart feels so full

but also ow b/c I think tharkay does see the state laurence is in and it must be extremely stressful to look out for all the swords your bro is determined to throw himself on 

- oF ALL THE DOORSTEPS IN ALL OF LONDON THEY HAD TO END UP AT LAURENCE’S EX’S how many mirrors has this poor man broken to end up here 

- oh uh wow I think I just murdered woolvey’s shitty racist ass with my mind I never even knew I had the power

- Tharkay seeming to suss out the whole Situation here at a glance... *prayer hands emoji*

-  Tharkay shook his head, and when Laurence looked at him said quietly: “It must be difficult to follow an officer of public repute, in the affections of a woman who loves courage.”

...

“My reputation is hardly one any sensible man would covet.”

“It does not name you a coward,” Tharkay said. “Whatever has Bertram Woolvey done?”

as observed completely impartially except for that one awful enormous crush he is developing lol

- oh no... woolvey died... this is... terrible.... *insert ‘shocked’ captain kirk reaction image here*

okay it does put edith in a genuinely awful situation, which super sucks. everything around her is like the one part of laurence’s self loathing that is sort of justified: he’s been making her life so much harder for so long. first she had to worry about her not-even-husband-yet getting lost at sea and he seems pretty emotionally distant, for all that he can be sweet, then he adopts a dragon and she is SUCH AN AFTERTHOUGHT to him in that process (because, as I have discussed earlier, william laurence should just not ask people to marry him b/c he never. actually. means. it. he just thinks he should I think)

and then, after finally disentangling herself emotionally from that she manages to marry a dude who’s a twit, but a twit who by all appearances treats her well and she’s happy -- and then Laurence shows up for three fucking hours and her HUSBAND IS SHOT DEAD 

most of laurence’s guilt is the useless self-flagellation of depression, but in this one case I’m a bit more ‘yeah okay valid bro’

- Laurence’s tendency to describe, in minute detail, what some dude is wearing even under the most dire of circumstances is so endearing. (also he barely ever does it with women; usually it’s like ‘and she was wearing idk a dress?’ lol)

- laurence’s superpower is inspiring people’s affection and loyalty and then wondering why they’re all not cool with him throwing himself off a cliff

- is tharkay like basically a scottish lord on his dad’s side and has been fucked over by either the system or the rest of his family. are you fucking kidding me jfksadflsadfj

- oh. oh okay that’s the king that’s super extra salt in the wound for our golden boy :I

- NOOOOOOOOOOO TEMERAIRE THINKS LAURENCE MIGHT BE ANGRY WITH HIM!!!!!! LAURENCE YOU BEAUTIFUL USELESS DUMBASS PLEASE SNAP OUT OF YOUR DEPRESSION LONG ENOUGH TO TELL YOUR DRAGON SON YOU’RE NOT ANGRY WITH HIM OR SO HELP ME I’LL... CRY AT YOU I GUESS

- okay so this is all very bleak and... borderline war crime-y and laurence is clearly In A Bad Way but also demane has just put every scrap of clothing he could find on his little brother, who now can barely walk for all the layers but is presumably nice and warm, and my heart is doing strange things in my chest

- “Laurence, what are you doing?” 

*ELMO SURROUNDED IN FLAMES GIF* MY BOY THARKAY BEING THE REAL MVP ASKING THE REAL QUESTIONS

this whole scene is so brief but so good fkdslahfaklsdhfaskld laurence literally slipping back out of dissociation and noticing the smells and sounds around him again... this is So Much, tharkay you fucking miracle of a man  

- there is something incredibly interesting about how laurence is just viscerally terrified by the things tharkay seems to represent to him -- that’s at least twice now that he’s thought straight out, in pretty much the same words, that tharkay’s way of living seems achingly lonely and untethered and frightening to him. (the first time is in black powder war, just as he’s about to give the offer of friendship that tharkay seems equal parts confused and touched by lol) laurence has this intense need to be part of something bigger than himself and doesn’t trust himself to know what’s right (...even tho he’ll historically still occasionally go off and do The Right Thing despite orders anyway because he’s a beautiful idiot), while tharkay obviously puts freedom and autonomy faaaar above any of that (understandably, from his background lol) 

and still it’s exactly this dude who woke laurence up to himself again and reminded him who he really is. this is the man he knew he’d be ‘sorrier to lose than yet I know’ and gooooddamn if he wasn’t right about that. I’m not ready to be coherent about it yet but uh wow this is A Lot

- the way novik writes laurence dissociating is. a bit too close to home, I’m not thrilled about this haha 

- LAURENCE IS TALKING TO HIS DRAGON SON AGAIN AND I CAN FINALLY BREATHE THANK YOU THARKAY

- also let me specify that tharkay coming in and ending laurence’s breakdown by just showing him that he, y’know. doesn’t have to commit borderline war crimes if he doesn’t want to is... yeah. when he’s like ‘yeah no bro I like you and all but this is fucked up I’m out’ and Laurence slowly puts the pieces together and goes ‘...that... is an option? F U C K’  is the Good Stuff (I’m being flippant about it but also I really mean it lol)  

- temeraire is giving the french uniforms the side eye for being boring and admiring the kilts... god bless him, focusing on the real things on the eve of battle

- gOD lien is so fucking COOL, celestial who actually knows wtf she’s doing OP pls nerf

ETA: also I’ve looked up some spoilers for the rest of this series (b/c there’s a couple of characters now who I’m so attached to that if they die I don’t even fucking care anymore lol), and apparently they never get to fight lien/meet her for too long again and can I just say... What The Fuck, why would you come up with such a compelling antagonist and not use her???  

- Tharkay, straight(hah)-faced: yeah I’m coming with you to australia on this prison ship nbd just curious about it that’s all 

Laurence, blinking back tears, barely getting the words out: cool bro 

(I think laurence has been like. crying or on the verge of crying in every single scene he and tharkay have been alone in this entire book. tharkay saw laurence through an ugly ugly divorce (with the government of england if not the land) and is still going with him to fucking australia. that’s how you know it’s love tbh, he’s done for)

also for the meme: AND THEY WERE SHIPMATES! OH MY GOD THEY WERE SHIPMATES!

ALSO also: tharkay getting granby a drink fdsafjsalkdjfh best boy, best friend 

- not connected to anything but I do appreciate that laurence is a rare extremely extroverted protagonist. he just really needs people around him and sort of wilts when he’s isolated, whether by circumstance or his own Stuff.  

- Oh man I really liked this one! the pacing worked better than the last one, the dual pov really shook things up, the new dragon characters were cool and Laurence had a lot of character development that has been in the cards since book 1, even if it was really upsetting while it happened. and Tharkay was there a lot, which is the surest way to my heart at this point, to be fair. 

[cinnonym]

All of you:

Me: Oh, sure you can have that SQ fic from Robin Hood's POV, absolutely no problem, here you go:

The sheets are impossibly soft as I shuffle against them, soft and silky and way too comfortable for me to find sleep in. Years of making camp on mossy patches in the forest, never completely bare of sticks that press against the back at night, have accustomed my body to rough, imperfect underground and even the few nights I've actually spent in taverns or inns couldn't have prepared me for the luxury of this world. Thick bouncy mattresses and materials called polyester or elastane are as foreign to me as the twangy accent the people from the first curse have. Even Regina has picked it up, the tendency to pronounce the Rs like nobody did back in the Enchanted Forest, sharp and rolling, like stones scraping.

I groan as I turn to my side, a sudden pain shooting through my spine. The caving bed is poison for my back, but Regina loves it like that, enormous and fluffy for her to sink in. Her body is but a silhouette in the dark, the moon shining just bright enough through the shades for my eyes to make out the curve of her hip, pronounced even through the thick blanket. Regina is facing away from me, curled into herself like usual, breathing heavily and unevenly. Her hair is splayed over her pillow, gleaming black against the white and if I leaned over I would see her eyelashes painting a similar shadow against her cheek. She really is magnificent, even in her brokenness, and I have to remind myself again that she's not mine to fix.

As if she heard my thoughts, Regina starts murmuring. She's doing that a lot these days, almost every night, at first quietly, making it impossible to understand her words, than growing louder and louder still until she's screaming. It's always the same routine, and it's always the same couple of sentences: "No! There has to be another way." Sobs. And then "I love you."

It has taken me a while to figure out the meaning of it all. At first I was flattered, thought she meant me, thought this was her way of telling me what she couldn't say at day. At first I thought the eerie déjà vu I got from the phrasing, the feeling to have heard Regina say those exact words before, came from unconsciously listening to her while sleeping myself. Until Emma crossed my way through town, smiling wearily in the arms of her boyfriend, a faint shadow of the vibrant person I had met when I first came here. Now rings have formed under her eyes, almost identical to those Regina has after a particularly hag-ridden night.

Almost a year has passed since the blonde became the Dark One, since she more or less jumped into the black vortex that enclosed Regina and thrust the dagger forward, tethering her soul to it forever. Except forever apparently doesn't apply to saviours because barely two months later Emma got rid of the darkness already and, except for the incident in the realm we call Underbrooke, has lived fairly normally since. Most people have already forgotten about the time of Dark Swan, even I find it hard to remember that particular period sometimes. Hell, even Emma has seemingly forgotten most of it, though Regina claims she's still dealing with the aftereffects of wielding that huge amount of power and fighting not to succumb to it.

And there lies the problem really. Regina is the one still thinking, still worrying about the darkness affecting Emma. Regina is the one still dreaming of the night Emma sacrificed herself and Regina is the one still regretting not to have acted, not to have told Emma what she now cries out almost every night.

"I love you," Regina sobs next to me and some weeks ago my heart would have clenched. I was furious, sad, confused, most of all shocked. Soulmates are said to be an insurance of kinds, your true love, presented to you in a flourish, nicely wrapped in tattoos and pixie dust. They're not supposed to be in love with someone else, they're supposed to be your perfect match.

One week and four nightmares after my realisation, I had enough. When she started murmuring again, I seized her shoulders, shook her awake in tears, demanding answers.

"What are you even talking about," she mumbled, still half-asleep, and she was confused herself about the wetness on her cheeks and pillow. I stopped asking her after that, it was clear she knew less about what was going on than me.

And still the dreams continued, startling me awake when I managed to find sleep for once, until my body learned to stay awake during the hours when they usually occur. I tried to comfort Regina, but she slapped my arm away, thrashing around until I retreated into my half of the bed, at which point she curled back into herself and returned to sobbing. I tried to talk to her about what she saw at night in the mornings, only to find that though she awakes grouchy and tired she's entirely oblivious to the reason for it. There was nothing I could do for her, except hoping she would get better soon.

She didn't and so, for her own good, I have to let her go.

Everything is planned. I met Emma the other day, asked her in Regina's name to stay over at the mansion, told Regina that Emma asked for a sleepover. Only by making each believe it was the other's wish, I could convince them both to agree, and now Emma is sleeping in the guest's room across the corridor.

I fold back the heavy covers and tiptoe to the door. Regina's still crying behind me and for a moment I feel a pang of guilt for leaving her like this. But then the "I love you"s begin again and I know that for her and also my own sanity I have to go.

So I slip out of the door, leaving it slightly ajar, and make my way to Emma's door. I've already lifted my hand to knock, when it swings open and there's Emma, hair tangled and clearly just awoken, nonetheless staring at me with the urgent look she only gets when either Henry or Regina are in danger. Henry or Regina and oh, I should have understood it way earlier, but I've been blinded by pixie dust and a fairy's promise.

"Is that Regina crying? What are you doing here? Does she need help?"

For someone who threatened to hurt anyone who dared to wake her up before nine in the morning, Emma seems very harmless in her spate of questions. However, the force with which she pushes me away is to be reckoned with and it confirms me in my belief that I'm doing the right thing by stepping aside and playing the helpless boyfriend.

"I don't know what's happening. She started crying and screaming, but she won't wake up, do you know what to do?"

Just as I anticipated, Emma all but runs through the door, not even hesitating at the threshold as she would normally, wary to set foot in private chambers. But not now, not when Regina needs her help, and she kneels beside the bed and takes Regina's trembling hand, whispering soothingly words I can't make out. Miraculously, Regina calms, sobbing quieter until finally, she stills.

"Emma?" She suddenly murmurs, half-asleep yet but quickly coming to. I didn't expect this but it fits quite well with my plans, exceeds my hopes to be at least stooge for my soulmate's happy ending.

"I'm here, Regina," Emma whispers back, softer than I've ever heard her talk, and she strokes Regina's sweaty brow and caresses her cheeks. I can only see her profile but the devotion in her eyes is clear as day and it is time for me to leave.

Silently, using all my skills as a thief to not disturb the two women, I turn around and head towards the stairs. Except I'm stopped before I can reach them, by a pale hand and Henry's tousled shock of hair.

"I heard Mom scream," he says under his breath, the same urgency in his voice as in Emma's before. "Is she alright?"

"She will be," I reply, "Emma is with her."

Henry calms, then looks at me with eyes far too wise for a boy of his age and nods solemnly.

"Robin Hood, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. You were never one to keep treasures for yourself."

I shrug, refusing to look back to the door that's still slightly ajar, and smile wistfully.

"You know she was never mine to begin with."

"See ya around Robin," Henry says after a pause and we both know this is goodbye. I will come back to the mansion, but if everything goes according to plan, it will never be the same again. I hope that Regina and I can be friends, were still soulmates after all, but I also feel that my heart will need time to heal before I can see her with Emma.

"Bye Henry. I'll send Little John to pick up Roland tomorrow morning."

Henry looks back at the smaller boy, allowed to sleep on a folding bed next to Henry's. He lies with a blissful smile on his face and I feel the familiar tug of guilt about forcing him to grow accustomed to yet another difficult family situation.

"He'll be fine," Henry whispers and I finally turn and descend the stairs. The front door is locked and I use my lockpicks to make sure it is again after I let myself out. Storybrooke's streets are deserted as I slowly make my way home to the woods.

The next day I get a message from Henry, the phone Regina talked me into pinging obnoxiously loud in the peaceful silence of the trees. I flip it open and the screen comes alive with the photo the boy sent me. It shows Regina's bed and on it two women, one blonde and one brunette, curled into each other. It's hard to make out in the pixels but it looks like both are smiling. Underneath, Henry just wrote two words:

"Thank you."

[gilbirda]

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Chapter 3: Rumours

It was a normal morning at the teacher’s lounge room when Bog first heard about the rumours around Marianne.

“Gosh, I can’t stand this,” the math teacher said, an elderly woman whose name he didn’t care enough to remember. Someone stepped forward and asked:

“What happened, Susan?” Yeah, whatever her name was. He kept on reading his book and drinking his coffee in his silent corner. It was rude to be the first one leaving so he waited at least until the first classes started to run to his Library.

“I stumbled upon that kid today, Marianne,” that made him listen. What about her?

The room fell silent and a few shuddered involuntarily. Bog didn’t understand why.

“Her eyes spook me sometimes. They are so weird,” the woman, Susan, kept going. “She had those headphones plugged in, you know? And she didn’t seem to know where she was going. We bumped into each other, fortunately I didn’t fall… But she looked at me and - and she said “sorry”!”

Bog blinked. Wasn’t that common courtesy? Why were these people freaking out because of Marianne being a normal human being?

“And what happened next?” someone asked. Bog thought it was the science teacher.

“Nothing,” Susan said finally taking off her coat. “She just kept walking on.”

“Are you serious?” the same teacher asked.

Understanding that he wouldn’t be able to finish his book anytime soon, the temporary librarian put it down and tried make sense of what they were saying.

“I’m not kidding you! She didn’t threaten me or looked like she wanted to punch me at all…”

“Does she…” Bog gulped, not realizing he had talked. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised that he even had talked. He never did. Well, I’m already here, he thought. “Does she usually do that?”

“Do what? Threaten people?” another teacher scoffed. He thought it was the English teacher, but he wasn’t sure. “All the time! Haven’t you noticed it already? I heard she had been tasked with helping you with the Library.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Doesn’t she irk you? Or tried to beat you up?”

“No, but…”

“Don’t mind her, honey,” Susan approached him, a gentle smile on her lips. She tried to put a hand on his shoulder but Bog flinched back. If the woman noticed, she didn’t say anything. “She is just… lost. Since what happened two years ago…”

This caught even more his attention.

“What happened?”

“Oh yeah, you weren’t here then,” the science teacher blinked in surprise as if the thought of someone not knowing what happened was unfathomable. “The kid got dumped by Roland.”

That’s it? The librarian thought. Dumped by some random guy?

“Yeah, it was such a tragedy. She was the Queen, you know? She had been the Queen of the Spring Ball since she started high school.”

“The Spring Ball?” Bog asked.

“It’s this big event the kids love. Actually it’s in a month or so, if you are interested, because teachers can go if we want to,” the English teacher (Grace, her name was Grace) added, but didn’t seem really excited about it. “Every year, near the end on the evening, a Queen and King are voted among the students and they’ll hold the title until the next Spring Ball.”

“And this Roland guy and Marianne…”

“They were Queen and King for a year, but now the Queen is her younger sister Dawn.”

I didn’t know she had siblings, Bog thought.

“And what happened?”

“She changed when she got dumped. Marianne stopped coming to school for an entire week! And then she came like this punk brat one day, listening to her music and ignoring everyone.”

“And getting into fights every week,” the science teacher said taking a sip of his coffee. “Ungrateful brat…” he grumbled.

“Is that a normal behaviour?” Bog asked, remembering her bandaged arm and swollen cheek from that first day. He did ask if she was okay, not really sure if her delicate skin would heal those wounds fast enough.

Almost every teacher scoffed.

“It’s the normal behaviour. Always angry and picking fights. With the boys!” Grace raised her arms to the ceiling. “I can understand if she’s angry with the other girls with all those hateful comments, but the boys haven’t done anything to her! And she’s a girl!”

Hateful comments?

“It seems that all kinds of rumours started to go around since Roland dumped her,” Susan continued, “and all about her and what happened for the Queen to be cheated on like that.”

Oh, Bog felt his own heart skip a beat. She was cheated on by her boyfriend? And the whole school knew about it? Poor thing.

He was about to ask more about what happened to Marianne but the bell rang before words could get out of his mouth. Like if the conversation hadn’t been a big revelation, the rest of the teachers rushed to get ready for a new school day dealing with their students.

The only teacher that took her time to go was the art teacher, whose name he did remember only because it was so weird and rare.

“You shouldn’t stick your nose in her private matters like this, Bog,” Aura, or “Sugar Plum” as she liked to be called, said with a very serious face. “And not from someone who isn’t the direct source of the problem. If she wanted you to know about this she would have told you.”

He knew she was right and that this didn’t concern him at all, but his curiosity was burning brighter that a bonfire.

“I know,” he said nonetheless.

Aura locked her impossible blue eyes, a shade lighter than his own, with him for a while before sighing and turning back to the door, her bag full of painting supplies tucked under her arm.

“Just remember that nothing is what it seems,” and with that she left him alone in the teacher’s lounge.

***

When Marianne arrived at the Library too many hours later, Bog had decided that whatever happened with the girl and her ex-boyfriend shouldn’t concern him; and if she decided to misbehave because of a broken heart, then it was her responsibility to mature past the childish fixation with only one boy.

So far, she had been respectful and even nice with him, so nothing else should matter.

“What boring and tedious job do we have for today?” she asked with a tiny smile, and for a brief moment Bog wished that she was happy for being here with him. It was absurd, of course, as this was only a punishment for getting into too many fights on school grounds. If she had her way she wouldn’t step on the Library at all.

Still, he felt an equally small smile creep into his face.

“Oh, nothing much,” he pointed to the still enormous pile of books to be catalogued. Two whole days and they only managed to get to the third shelf. There were fifteen of them.

“Damn.”

“Yep.”

***

Marianne didn’t speak much as she worked, which he was grateful for. She also wasn’t looking at him, too focused on the task at her hands, and he wasn’t sure why exactly this fact struck something in his heart. At least it let him look at her and really see the person she was, now that he has new information about her.

She really didn’t look heartbroken. Well, she didn’t have to, it had been almost two years since that, but still he expected her to show that in any form. Maybe her face? Her eyes? Everyone he somehow learned had their hearts broken looked the same: sad, grey and lonely. He himself looked like that once upon a time when he still believed in love, but no matter how much time had passed a slight trace of that was still present.

Wasn’t first love supposed to work like that?

But no matter how long he looked at her smooth, slightly angular face and her golden eyes he couldn’t see any of that. Bog would never have guessed any of the story the other teachers told him by looking at her alone.

“What are you looking at?” her sharp remark snapped him out of his musings. Marianne was a few steps in front of him with a book between her hands and a really angry expression on her delicate face. “Bog King?”

Bog blinked slowly, finding that he had absolutely nothing to say.

“Something’s on my face?” she asked, and if he were paying attention he would have noticed the slight trembling on her voice. “Speak.”

This was a whole new Marianne he hadn’t faced before. She was trying to be scary and menacing, and if he was another person maybe she would have managed to succeed in that; but what the girl didn’t know was that he could stand much worse than that.

“What have they told you?” she narrowed her eyes and put the book she was still holding down on the table next to her. “Speak!” she repeated, this time followed by a punch to his face.

She looked authentically surprised when he stopped her fist with a swift motion.

“How did you-?”

“Don’t get angry, kid,” he finally said. “And don’t try to punch me next time. You won’t hit me.”

She grumbled and took back her hand, cradling it on her chest. Bog worried that he had hurt her, but she seemed just fine so he didn’t move to ask her if it was otherwise.

“And yes, today I’ve been told some…rumours about you.”

Her eyes seemed clouded for a second and then her body instantly relaxed, but not in a good way. It was more like she had been the one punched in the face.

“I - I see.” Marianne took a step back, the fight completely gone from her like if a switch had been hit. Her eyes running around the room, everywhere but him and her body language told him immediately that she wanted to run away from there. Was he the only one feeling like something had been broken between them?

“Look, I know it’s-”

“You know nothing!” she said, her voice way too loud in such a quiet place. “Please, don’t. Whatever you were going to say, save it.”

Bog sighed. There goes the teenager.

“Having your heart broken is not the end of the world, kid,” he said, but even he felt like his words were hollow. “You’ll get over it.”

She scoffed.

“Is that everything they told you?”

The librarian blinked. Was there more story than that?

“Yeah…,” he looked behind her to the big windows of the Library, which showed a beautiful spring scene of the inner courtyard of the school. He liked those windows, but right now the beauty did little to calm his nerves. How difficult it was to deal with teenagers! “Actually…”

“What?” she crossed her arms over her chest, glaring with all of her golden might.

“I kind of wanted to hear the truth from you?” Bog looked at her and immediately looked back to the window again, obviously uncomfortable in this situation.

If he were watching the girl in front of him, he would have seen the epitome of shock.

“I know how rumours can warp the truth, and I have to admit I’m curious but… if you don’t want to talk about it… I’ll understand….” he finally looked at her shocked expression, feeling stupid for meddling with affairs that had little to do with him.

“You are right, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bog sighed and turned back to his table, where he had abandoned his share of the work for today. What a way to ruin his peace and quiet, he grumbled in his mind. Why did he have to be such a stupid-

“But,” her soft voice made him stop in his tracks. “I think you deserve the truth.”

“Are you sure?” the man asked as he turned back to her. She looked up to fix her eyes with his, a determined shine on the rare golden shade.

“Positive,” Marianne sighed and uncrossed her arms, the tension leaving her body. “I got cheated on my boyfriend, my first one ever, almost since the first day we started dating. Everyone knew it but me. When I found out I dumped him.”

“Wait, you dumped him?”

“Heh, they told you it was him who did it, right?” he nodded. “Yeah, that’s what he made everyone believe. While I was away he made all kinds of public shows and flashy demonstrations that it was him who left me, because…”

“Because he didn’t love you back?” Bog gulped, feeling sick just by hearing this.

“No,” she shook her head and sighed deeply, looking down at her feet. For a moment she seemed troubled by her thoughts, pondering what she was going to say next. Was she going to lie? No, she said he deserved the truth and he had to believe her. “He cheated on me… and I ended our relationship… because I wouldn’t sleep with him.”

[abutterflyobsession]

Tiny People in Jars AU: Part 9

Part One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/Ao3

Happy Valentines Day, Strange Magic Fandom

“Marianne?”

“Don't look at me, I'm gross,” Marianne rubbed her cheek, trying to wipe away the grime and tears and salvage a little of her dignity. Not that there was much left to salvage, seeing as she was crouched on the dirty floor of a dark corridor, wings flopped in the dust, her face sticky from crying.

“I can guarantee I've seen worse, tough girl,” Bog said lightly from somewhere behind her.

“Huh. Let me know how I rate, then.”

“You haven't fallen into the bog so I really can't imagine making comparisons.”

“That does seem to be one thing I haven't done today. I've done just about everything else and have the bruises to prove it.”

“How have you survived so long?”

“Luck and a twenty-some year streak of not having my home invaded by tiny people. Also, wings are a huge handicap if you don't know how to use them.”

“Fair enough.”

A blanket dropped over Marianne's shoulders. It smelled like something from a spice cabinet and despite its soft flexibility she was pretty sure it was a leaf of some kind, her fingers tracing over the ridge of veins as she pulled the it closer. Whatever it was, she was grateful for something to cover the knotted and unraveling tears in the back of her shirt.

Still out of sight behind her, Bog shuffled his feet and Marianne could hear the unsettled movement of his armor and wings, “I . . . it's hard. To not be sure where you belong.”

“You talked to Dawn,” Marianne sighed.

“Hm. She talked at me, anyway.”

“Was she really upset?”

“A bit.”

“Ugh. I'm the worst. There had to be a better way to let the kid down easy . . .”

Marianne heard a sort of crunchy scraping when Bog sat down on the ground next to her. She shuffled around to face him, rubbing the edge of the blanket over her face, glad that the poor lighting probably hid the worst of the mess. Then again, Bog had navigated the dark easily enough that it wouldn't surprise Marianne to find out that goblins had night vision or something.

“Still think you're not a changeling?” Bog asked, folding his arms and leaning them on his bent knees.

“Yes? I don't know?” Marianne felt queasy with doubts, unsettled by facts that didn't line up in the pattern she wanted them to, “Isn't there any other possibility? You grow and shrink, turn from a tiny bug man to a huge stick man. Why can't I just be a human who got shrunk?”

“I've never heard of that happening. And Plum may be an irritation but she knows her business. She recognized you as a changeling at first glance and she has no reason to lie.”

“I see,” these new pieces of information settled like lumps of lead in the pit of her stomach, cold and undeniable. She diverted her energy from the issue of species and tried another tact, “Do you think I'm the princess?”

“Not sure,” Bog said frankly, “It's not impossible. That doesn't make it true, but it is possible. It's hard to see why they would make a changeling out of a princess. Or anyone, for that matter. Changelings are rare nowadays, they usually only happen during hard times.”

Bog's uncertainty was little comfort. It didn't matter if she was supposed to be a fairy queen or a fairy peasant, all that mattered was that she wasn't human. But there was still so much she didn't know about fairies, goblins, changelings . . . maybe there was a detail somewhere that would point her toward a conclusion that she wanted to hear. That she was human, that she belonged with her family, that she had nothing to do with this tiny, crazy world of magic.

“Tell me about changelings?”

Marianne leaned her shoulder on the wall of the corridor and tucked her feet up underneath herself. She trained her eyes and ears fully on Bog, trying to narrow the range of her senses to block out the singing coming from the dungeons. Bog fidgeted nervously under the weight of Marianne's undivided attention, but managed to answer after clearing his throat a few times.

“I don't know a lot. We—goblins—didn't do it very much. It's harder to pass off a goblin changeling as human than a fairy changeling. They're less . . . appealing to human eyes. Mostly the babies ended up being abandoned or killed outright. Mostly changelings were the children of fairies or elves, placed with a human family that could provide for them better than their fae kin. Sometimes they were switched with a human child--”

“Wait, then, you can shrink humans?” Marianne dragged herself up, hope propelling her.

“Ah,” black claws scratched the thorns on Bog's chin that seemed to serve as stubble, “only . . . only in certain cases. And only with the wee ones. It isn't something you could do to a full-grown human. Babies are more malleable and . . . it just doesn't work otherwise.”

“How do you know? I--”

“You've still got your wits,” Bog poked at Marianne's forehead, “Your stubborn beliefs. If you were truly human then bringing you into our world would have broken you. You wouldn't fit so you would have to be broken until you did fit and what would be left wouldn't be a pretty thing.”

“Oh,” Marianne deflated as another avenue of escape was blocked off.

“Princess or not, you are a changeling.”

“But . . . my family.” Marianne said, growing a little desperate, scrabbling around for proof of her humanity, “I—I have a social security number! A birth certificate! You can't just magic those up! I couldn't have just been stuck into my family and they never noticed . . .”

There had been papers.

She'd found them in Roland's things.

When she had found them it had just been creepy. She couldn't think of why Roland had been looking into her life as a newborn. Why he had not only copies of her birth certificate, but copies of letters her parents had written requesting a replacement for lost paperwork.

Paperwork riddled with little discrepancies.

Tiny things she had known about but never paid attention to. Nothing important, nothing that meant anything.

How she had been several years old when her parents had gotten a replacement for her inexplicably missing birth certificate.

The strange mix up with her social security number, that it was somehow the same as her brother's and there had been some difficulty getting it sorted out.

Just . . . little things.

Little things, piling up and slotting together in a way that made sense, puzzle pieces fitting together to form a picture she didn't want to see, forcing her to acknowledge that it was entirely possible that she was not her parent's daughter or her brothers' sister.

Roland's betrayal had been cruel. The possibility that she was not who she was supposed to be, that her parents had been actively lying to her for years, was devastating. Every memory of someone commenting how much she looked like, acted like her brothers, or her mom, or her dad, was like the stab of a knife now.

And Roland had known this. He had known who she wasn't so it was possible that he also knew who she was.

“He knew I wasn't human,” Marianne said, the words a stab at her heart because speaking them was admitting everyone was right, that she was a changeling, “Roland knew. That's why . . . that might be why . . . the only reason he ever looked at me twice.”

“He can't see past shine of his own teeth. That's not your fault,” Bog said, a strange gray anchor in a crumbling world, so certain of the facts and refusing to tiptoe around them.

“My parents. They've been lying to me--”

“No!” Bog said firmly, “As far as they know you are their daughter. It's part of being a changeling. You have to be accepted, thought of as their own.”

“Then they've been magicked into loving me? That's even worse!”

Marianne had barely begun to seriously consider this changeling business and already she wanted to reject it entirely, return to categorically denying every aspect of it. The idea was prying at the cracks in her life, ripping it away and leaving her floating in the darkness of the unknown

“No,” Bog said again, “There may be love potions, but none of them would make a parent love a child or a brother love a sister. It has a narrow range, a shallow effect. If a changeling is loved it is real. Otherwise there would not be so many tragic stories of changelings that are despised and rejected. It would not happen if the human parents could have been made to love their changeling children.”

Bog was being absurdly kind and it made Marianne feel worse. That didn't stop her from moving closer, her knee bumping his leg. She reached over and put her hand in the crook of his arm. She needed something to hang onto while her world was falling apart.

“I wonder where I'd be right now,” Marianne said, ignoring how still Bog had gone, “If I had never met Roland. I'd be home. Blissfully ignorant of all the tiny people living in the fields of our cottage.”

If only she could turn back time, change that one thing, never be caught between worlds, never have people trying to fit her into spaces meant for someone else.

“You'd never have caught a king,” Bog snorted, his ragged wings giving a nervous twitch.

“Oh,” Marianne's lips quivered at the memory of Bog dangling in the fly trap, gladly letting her thoughts veer away from the subject of changelings, “Now that would have been a shame. Never getting to meet you, crunchy.”

She let go of his arm so she could elbow him.

He jabbed back and got her blanket snagged on his spiky elbow.

Marianne laughed, a little wildly, but she did not cry.

“I can't imagine it will be hard for you, when you go back home,” Bog said, after they had separated him and the blanket, “It doesn't change anything. You'll have the same face, the one that they know. The one that fits. You get both worlds.”

Marianne had to credit Bog with hardly flinching when she put her hand back on his arm. Truthfully, she could really use a hug. But she also was repulsed by the idea of it. She wanted a hug from someone she trusted, someone who really cared, who understood. She wasn't sure if there was anyone like that in her life anymore. But just being near Bog was nice. He wasn't telling her she had to be this long lost princess. And he was listening.

“I don't get either world,” Marianne shook her head, “Not if this is all true. It doesn't matter if I still look the part, I would know now that it was never my part to begin with. They were all tricked into caring about me and I can't just go along with that if I'm . . . not even human.”

“Tough girl, you are so lucky to be able to look the part.”

There was a note of wistfulness in Bog's voice. A faint shadow of pain.

Looking at her pale fingers resting on Bog's dark armor Marianne ventured to ask, “Will you flip anymore tables if I ask about . . . whatever it was that made you flip the first table?”

Bog's sigh made his armor rise and settle.

“It isn't much of a story. I just don't . . . I don't look right. I don't look like a goblin. My mother says I look like my father, but . . . he must have looked very strange. I'm an unpleasant sight, to the eyes of fairies and goblins both, and there have always been stories. Stories to explain why I'm not . . . as I should be. For example, the slanderous rumor that my mother was unfaithful to her king and had dealings with a fairy lover.”

“Oooh,” Marianne winced, “Yeah, I put my foot in it. Sorry.”

“I'm sorry for losing my temper. You didn't know. I just . . . I wish you could understand that you have both worlds. You are wanted in both worlds. This is my kingdom, my world, and all my life I've been told that I don't belong in it. But you, you are wanted.”

“The person Dawn wants . . . isn't me. I don't want to be her. I want to be myself—or who I thought I was. But I can't. And even if I get magicked back to the right size of species I don't know if I can go back to my family and lie to them for the rest of my life.”

“Won't you even try? Won't you even fight for what you want? The fairy kingdom is yours by right of birth, the human yours by right of love. You are wanted and all you have to do is accept what is handed to you and protect it. Fight to keep it. I would fight. I have fought. The throne of the Dark Forest came to me from my mother, it's mine by right of blood and, freak or not, I won't give it up so easily as you would discard two worlds.”

Bog's hand had clenched into a fist and Marianne could feel the tension of it in his arm. She followed it with her fingers from the bend of his elbow, down to his wrist, then tentatively to the curl of his fingers. At her touch his fingers uncurled, his surprise distracting him from bad memories.

“It must be nice,” Marianne let her fingers play over the edge of his armor, where it gave way to skin, “to have something you know is yours. Have the right to it. The right to fight for it. I don't feel like I have that.”

“In my weaker moments I'd give it up just so I could look ordinary,” Bog laughed, “Not handsome. Just not wrong.”

“That'd be a shame. I'm kind of getting attached to how you look. Especially when I'm remembering how you looked stuck in a jar. It just wouldn't be the same with a different face glaring at me.”

“You're incorrigible,” Bog rumbled, looking away.

“You're cute.”

Marianne's horror was reflected in Bog's face. That comment had slipped out without her permission. It didn't matter that the Bog King's sharp profile was adorably expressive when he was flustered, she had not meant to actually say anything about it.

“Hardly,” Bog stood up, shaking himself free of Marianne's hand, “I know what I am, I know what I look like. I don't need pretty fairy lies.”

“Aw, do you really think I'm pretty?”

“Incorrigible,” Bog muttered.

The conversation lapsed and the singing of the lovesick prisoners quickly filled the gap, as about as soothing to Marianne's nerves as nails on a chalkboard. She tried to fill her head with something else, maybe speculations about this tiny world and its peoples, but a cloud of gray exhaustion blotted out everything but what was right in front of her.

So she watched Bog as he took a few paces back and forth along the corridor, muttering dark complaints about fairies and love. She supposed Bog did look odd, if you compared him to the other goblins. But she still would never classify him under the heading of hideous. Different, yes. Otherworldly, maybe. Yes, otherworldly. A cranky forest spirit from a fairy tale.

“You know,” Bog stopped pacing, standing far enough down the corridor so that Marianne didn't have to crane her head back to see his face, “You don't have to pick either world. Not right away, that is.”

“Oh?” Marianne prompted, studying the way Bog's pine cone shoulders attached to his torso. She wondered how he kept track of so many limbs, having to not only deal with the addition of wings, but with movable shoulders too.

“If you needed somewhere, neutral ground, to think and sort things out . . .” Bog turned slightly away, running a hand up and down his arm in a gesture of unease, “Officially, you've no ties to the fairy kingdom. There would be no objection—I would have no objection if you would like to . . . visit. Here. For a bit. While you cleared your head.”

“You're not going to let Dawn stick a crown on my head and whisk me off to the fairy kingdom?” Marianne laughed, shrugging the blanket higher.

“I certainly wouldn't let them take you against your choosing,” Bog's face darkened, “Especially not while that yellow-haired ninny is still rattling around. But, as I said, you could stay here if you wished.”

“While I'm getting my feet back under me?”

“Just so. I'm sure that Plum can find some temporary fix for your glamour, though, if you wished to return to the human world immediately.”

Marianne started a little when she realized Bog was waiting for an answer to his offer. She was probably being unforgivably rude by not acknowledging the generosity of the gesture. After all, Bog was a king, and his invitation must carry an impressive amount of weight.

“I . . .” Marianne tried to think of reasons either for or against staying. A conflicting tangle of reasons snarled up in her throat. She wanted to go home. But she didn't know if she could face it, “I think I'll wait. See how this whole love potion business goes over. I want to know where Roland is going to be before I make any plans.”

Bog gave a quick nod, “Probably best. I understand. The offer remains. No offense will be taken if you decline it.”

“Thanks. But aren't you afraid I might get into your wine cellar and go on a binge?”

“I will be sure to take every precaution, should you decide to grace us with your delightful personage for an extended period.”

“No fair, being all regal at me from up there. Give me a hand, I think my legs are asleep.”

Bog obliged.

Marianne wobbled on her feet and leaned against Bog for support, both physical and emotional. It helped that he understood, a little, what it was to be at odds with what was expected of you.

“I really do envy you,” Bog sighed, his hand on her shoulder to keep her balanced, “Though I do not envy the fairy court should you decide to go there. They are not used to disorder.”

“I am a force of chaos,” Marianne smiled, her hands resting in the crooks of Bog's arms. She leaned closer.

“Indeed,” Bog said, “You—you--”

Marianne slid her arms around Bog and hugged him.

He was rigid with surprise and the plates of his armor were unyielding. He was not a comfortable thing to hug, all points and edges. But Marianne hugged him a little tighter because . . . because he was kind. Because he wasn't pushing her into the role he thought she ought to take, but instead opened up space for her to breathe and think.

“Thank you,” she said, the ridge of Bog's chest plate was pressing into the soft flesh of her cheek, “Thank you for the invitation.”

“It . . .” Bog swallowed loudly, but kept his hand on her shoulder, even going so far as to give her a reassuring squeeze, “It's my pleasure, tough girl.”

((hey anybody remember this fic. Comments and reblogs give me life and the will to write. Ideas? Thoughts? Feel free to share))