AT THIS MOMENT, THIS IS THE ONLY STRANGE MAGIC MARIANNE/BOG KING FIC UP ON THIS SITE. LET'S NOT KEEP IT THAT WAY.

And until Fanfiction decides to do the decent thing and makes a Strange Magic subcategory, this will be under Misc. Movies. If you want to see this happen, send out a few emails. Make a few stories. Let them know that Butterfly Bog is a thing.

Post thought: Well this movie is going to suck.

After thought: Well... that movie sucked.

IT. WAS. AWFUL. And I know that that is a personal opinion, but coming from someone who studies the movie business, I could write you a list as to why it did not succeed along with pie charts and a meme of a vacuum saying "even I can't clean up this shit" or something like that. But I wont go into that right now. Because... despite it's many... many... many... MANY... many... many... many... many flaws...

... this movie had the greatest love pairing of all time. Not forgivable. But not unforgivable. Right... well... lets go then.

My thoughts before I began this story; This is going to be a drabble! Two thousand words! Tops!

Spongebob narrator: Eight thousand words later.

Me: Well fuck.

And may I just thank dainesanddaffodils (tumblr) for this amazing prompt! Check her out. She's great!

Everyone out there who has ever felt different. Embrace it. That might just be your greatest power!

Apologies for the rushed ending. Past 9k and I kind of wonder where my life has gone. Enjoy!

They fought constantly.

They never stopped to wonder why this was; the answer was as obvious as night and day. They were different. Very different. So different.

Too different.

Many times their fights were verbal, spitting words back and forth over long expanses of space, closed off only by the brushes and cowering ground dwellers around them. Other times it was more physical. Oh, she'd never dare to raise a hand to him and he wouldn't have even imagined striking her. But raised swords, sparks and ferocious duels were not uncommon. The two would scuttle, slip, fall and fly, taking over sky and ground, trees and dirt. For seconds, minutes, hours on end the sounds of clashing were all that could be heard. Metal against metal. She'd draw her sword, he'd raise his staff. Wings would flutter and then buzz fiercely.

They would banter when these fights broke out. One or two were meant to hit where bladed edges could not. And then, as the shadows passed and their breaths became ragged, the taunts and sneers turned into heaving laughs, whatever air left in their exploding and aching lungs used to poke and prod rather than stab and twist. These were the best kind of fights. Ones where darkness and light could meet in the middle and leave from the same place. Sometimes together, fingers intertwined and, more often, lips.

These were the fights where he would call her princess with a twisted lip and she'd call him a greedy thief with pointed eyes. There would usually be a stalemate, both parties daring the other to drop their weapon, admit defeat. Maybe that was why they fought. Neither knew the word. Like negative magnetism they pushed against each other, nature pleading them to stay apart lest they explode into a magnificent display of science experiment dares and false volcanic eruptions.

And when sword and staff finally clattered to the ground she showed him just how much beauty and power she had and he proved just how greedy he could really be, hands stealing touches and claiming skin. These were the times they told nature to stay out of it and the world that hated them together to deal with it, noses raised to the skies. These were the times when his shyness backed into a corner and her stubbornness turned a blind eye and they were too exhausted to be anything but themselves.

More than one time Marianne had gone home after one of these fights, her collar hiked up unnaturally high over a rather brilliant mark he'd placed there -the insatiable boggart- and passed by her disapproving father attempting to leave him as in the dark as the Dark Forest itself. Worse than her father was when her darling, big eyed sister found herself in the mix. The conversations that followed her appearance were always awkward, quick and filled with curious quips.

On one memorable night nearing the end of Spring she had gotten back from a particularly nasty joust with the Bog King and had tried her best to sneak through the castle doors, nodding to a few guards who tilted their helmets but said nothing and for that she had been grateful. She would never be that lucky, though. Her path to her bedroom was cut off by fluttering wings and a thoughtful scowl. "Where have you been," Dawn would always ask that question first, hands clasped innocently behind her pale frock. Marianne suspected that her sister may have known, but Dawn's relationship was hardly as hungry as her own was and she was sure that nothing of the kind had happened to interrupt the sweet innocence of the couple. "it's nearly midnight! You know how father doesn't like us to travel at night!"

"Bog dropped me off," Marianne would have lifted her head indignantly but the flushed purpling wine stain on the skin near her collarbone warned her otherwise. Why oh why did her significant other have such impenetrable skin? Why did she have to be marked up like a scorecard.

"Oh! Is he outside?" She looked over her shoulder, as if to catch a glimpse of the man. The blonde was still wary of him and Marianne could hardly blame her. Being kidnapped and held against your will, no matter the trance you find yourself in, is never pleasant. She couldn't be left in a room with him, got twitchy and nervous if he was too close and usually stuck near to someone if his name was mentioned. Even now her hands wrung together, the cogs in her head working in their neurotic constant circles.

"No, he left. He just made sure I got home on time."

"Oh! Oh… that's… nice?"

"Yes, Dawn, it was nice of him," she smirked, hands going to grasp her hips, leaning forward look down at the youngest of her family. "That's usually what nice people do."

"Yes! Right! Nice people." She blushed a brilliant fuchsia, even more potent against her fair skin and hair. "That is what he is."

Marianne rolled her eyes once more, taking a moment to stare at the ceiling before heaving a sigh. "Okay Dawn. Well, goodnight. I'm off. And you should go soon too. It's late and-" the bottom of her top rippled slightly. Her sister squinted.

"Why is your shirt ripped?"

Damn.

That had elicited a very long and unbelievable lie about a scrimmage she'd partaken in with a thornbush. Her sister's question of I thought you never flew through thorn bushes? made way for a fanciful adventure involving a chase scene from a nasty squirrel. "And then I tore my shirt," she shrugged, trying to back away. "Easy as that!"

"I thought the Bog King got you home?"

Damn, damn, damn, damn. So this is why she never lied! She had forgotten just how bad she was. "He did," Marianne said quickly through her teeth. "He was there. Defending me. He got me out of the thorn bush. But… he had to rip the thing… because I was stuck."

That wasn't a complete lie. He had ripped her tunic. Just not on a thorn bush.

They had been having a great fight. One of their best. She had shown him her new moves and he'd been more than impressed with her. Of course them being persons of skill he had taken the chance to show her just how he could fight. The edges of his staff near the stone were sharp, swirled things and one had caught its way onto the edge of the fabric. She'd ducked away fast enough to avoid skin being next. But it had still succeeded in making the smallest of tears, only as long as her thumb.

That rip had had some assistance in its dramatic lengthening when, upon the end of their bout, his sharp fingers had done the rest.

To be fair, she had run soft fingers down his back when he looked away.

"Oh…" Dawn gave her a long look. Marianne hiked up her shoulder and hoped it passed for a shrug. If her sister looked any harder she would see the only obvious impression. She did eventually give her own in return. "Okay. That's fine," it didn't sound convincing enough. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. And, hey. Dawn."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe tomorrow we can go look for mudskippers. Just you and me. I'm in the mood to lasso something."

Her sister was back in an instant, all smiles and flushes and perfect teeth flickering in the candlelight. "Oh yes! Yes! Yes! That sounds perfect! What should I wear though? We'll be getting dirty, right? Yeah… we will… and what if Sunny sees me doing that! He wouldn't care would he? Wait! Would he?"

"Goodnight, Dawn."

"I have to plan my outfit!" She bit her fist, a shimmer in her eyes. "Oh, yeah! Goodnight!" And she'd scurried away.

That had become Marianne's way of averting her sister's attention. throwing an activity at her last minute. She felt guilty. She and Dawn should have planned things without her needing a scapegoat. At the same time it kept them both happy, and that was all that counted. Her father was pleased that his daughters were getting along, more so than they'd done in years, and everyone else was glad that Marianne had loosened up enough to stop being a guard dog. At least… not one that they could see. There were still times where she saw something from the corner of her eye and when her sisters back was turned her hand went to her sword. Those were her worst moments. But they weren't as frequent. And if that didn't count for something, she didn't know what would.

So the next day she'd gone out with her sister to find mudskippers. And, after having looked at her neck in the mirror before their day trip, she had decided on a rather fashionable moss scarf which was approved most heavily by her always presentable sibling.

In a few days time she'd have to lie again. And she knew one day she'd explain to her sister what was going on. They had, after all, been taught in the ways of the lady and such things were unheard of. But at least she always had an excuse in her sword and her fighting had improved since she'd gotten a jousting partner that was better than trees and the air and the occasional guard who had some time on their hands. So those fights would continue. And Marianne loved those fights.

Those fights were not fights.

She and him had had their fair share of fights.

And those fights were not ones she enjoyed.

The stress of running two separate kingdoms got to both of them and the disapproving stares of those around them even more so. Marianne was hardly managing the kingdom. She wasn't queen. Yet. And the death of her father was something she would rather have not thought about, especially since he was shuffling into his stooped ages. But she had enough responsibility. And most of it was from keeping her side of the forest safe.

Her side.

How ironic that she spoke of peace between sides, and yet there still were sides when the new day rose.

The fights that they had were usually started from nothing and escalated into furious shouting matches, no one willing to back down, admit their wrongs and apologize. In fact she was quite sure that neither she nor he had ever exchanged one. The sorrys came in the form of waning smiles, light tentative touches and quiet words. She sometimes would intertwine their fingers, squeezing their hands together as they sat side by side doing nothing much at all. He was shyer than she -a trait she had never suspected until just after their first meeting- and was never as bold. Sometimes he'd move to sit beside her in hopes she wouldn't move away. When she didn't (and that was an invitation though she'd never say as much) he'd move closer. When he was sure that no rejection was to follow he'd place a hand over hers or run the tips of his fingers through her hair.

And then everything was fixed.

Their worst fight had come during one especially hot summer night. He had shown her to the waterfalls of the dark forest and the day had been spent reading in companionable silence by the rivers edge. She'd told him that she had attempted a picnic but couldn't be trusted in a kitchen. They'd laughed at her exploits. He'd surprised her with a picnic of his own, stowed behind a tree. She'd teased him lightly for his sweetness and he'd spluttered and denied it all. She remembered drinking quite a bit of wine, leaning against him under the shade of a fern and wishing it would never end. Wishing that she had the strength to exchange three little words with him. After all, they were just words weren't they? How hard were they to say?

Apparently harder than she had anticipated.

Though words themselves were quite easy, and it was one of the simplest things to blurt out strings of them instead of the ones that really mattered. So she didn't say that. But she did say something different.

"What's it like being King?"

He hummed, nursing his goblet, looking somewhere over the falls where the sunset was beginning to burn the limestone that poked its head out of the lacey waves. She jabbed his side with her elbow, a futile attempt at something that could never feel like more than a light tap through his armored body, but it got some of the effect she desired. "Wha-?" His confused blue poppy eyes blinked down at her.

"What's it like to be King," Marianne asked again, a twitch in her lip.

He leaned back farther against the fern and the structure bent and stretched against its will. "Why d'ya want'a know now?"

"Just curious." No she wasn't. She was terrified. And whenever she was with him his title whispered in her mind and reminded her one day… "So? What's it like?"

"Difficult, I suppose. I was bred to be one since I was a bairn." His arm found its way around her shoulders, and she reveled in the moment. He was never forward without her help, and whatever moves she wanted reciprocated were always made first by her hands. Frustrating at times, yes. But whenever he did achieve something that she considered to be a step out of his comfort zone she silently cheered, her work paying off and the wall surrounding him being chipped down. This was small. But it meant something. She pressed her back against him, cuffing her fingers round his wrist to keep him from retracting the bold offer. "You get used ta it, though. An' I always liked ruling."

"That's good."

"Why dy'a ask?"

"No reason." His fingers tapped her arm, the sharp ends sending tingles up and down the nerves there. "What?"

"Yee're thinkin'a somethin'."

"I'm always thinking of something."

"No' like tha', an ye know it."

She swallowed. "I don't know… it's just that I've been thinking of ruling lately. My dad he's… well he isn't young anymore."

"Marianne!"

"I know, I know, it's a bad thought. But… but it's still true. isn't it? He isn't young anymore. And I'm the oldest. I'll be the first to inherit. And because of some… circumstances… I was never home enough to get the proper ladylike training that Dawn got."

"I think ye'r kindom will survive if ye dunnai know how ta' curtsy."

"You know what I mean!" He snorted when she batted at him, moving just an inch to avoid the swat that would have done nothing, but amused by the effort nonetheless. She scowled up at the Bog King. He snorted again, mouth training down to attempt a sober expression.

"Aye, go on then."

She humphed, crossing her arms. "Well, if you aren't going to take this seriously-"

"Nae! I'm serious!" She flicked up a brow. "Honest!"

"Well…" a sigh and her face fell. "I guess because of… Roland."

"Roland." It was meant to sound casual. She couldn't miss the poison in the vowels. She reached for his hand and gave it an extra squeeze of assurance, hoping that would be enough to sooth his self doubt.

"Yeah. When he wanted to marry me it was because he wanted to be King. Though really, who knows. He might have felt a little bit wood by my good looks." The humor didn't work as well as she had hoped.

"Though I will agree with his taste in women if that be true," Bog hissed, "I dunnai think that man had any kind'a affections for anybody but himself."

"Anyway, he wanted to be King. And the thing is, I've been thinking a lot about that. I know he was a stupid ass," Bog hummed an agreement and she felt it rumble against her back. "but he still knew more than me about it all. He still had to learn how to be diplomatic and make tough decisions and travel to far off towns and cities and trade and expand-"

"What's yer point?"

"There are better contenders out there! And by better I mean… not… me…"

"Come on now-"

"No! It's true!" She scuttled away from him, ducking about his arm to sit back on her knees and look him straight on, fists curled against the tops of her thighs. "I wouldn't know what to do first! I was never told what to do. My dad was too protective to even think about any of that. His plan for me was to marry me off to some handsome well off Prince or Duke or something and let them take over. He didn't think he'd have to deal with someone like me."

"I like someone like ye's."

"You might, but half the kingdom doesn't."

"That still leaves another half."

"Bog! Be serious!"

"I am!" He pointed his staff at her and the gold stone hit the light and cast an arching wall of fire across the stone wall by the falls. "Let's do a test, yeh? Something ta see how ready ye are."

"A test?"

"Yeh."

She rocked on her calves, nodding slowly. "Fine. A test."

"Right." He tapped his chin with one of his nails, the point of his face rivaling that of his fingers. Twisting his lip he blew a breath out his nose before nodding and sitting straighter. "Righ. Yer first act as Queen. Yer new on tha' throne. What would'ye do?"

Marianne hummed. "I've thought about that a time, actually."

"Do tell."

"When I become queen," she had sighed, almost forlornly though she wasn't sure why, "I think that I'll extend the land out that way." She pointed North. They both knew what was out there. Past both lands lay more forests unclaimed by anyone. But the resources within them were told to be plentiful. Those of their realms, including the leaders, weren't ones for venturing and despite no horrid tales proven true about monsters and ogres and things with big teeth that crunched your bones, not one person had thought to go through and see what they could find. "It isn't much there by ways of people." She nodded to herself. "But I'd still like to see where we can go as a population. And it could serve as a good way to expand our trade if we find new uses for the things in there. New medicines. Herbs. Maybe stronger wood- something that would stay up during the rainy season for houses."

Bog split his face, all his sharpened incisors showing between a barkish smile. "See! It's a great idea if I ever heard one!"

"You think?"

"Yea!" When her face fell, so did his. He was a creature of darkness, and like a shadow he would always be behind her ready to mirror and extend her every mood. "What's wrong?"

"My Father doesn't think so. I told him about it a while ago. He says to use the resources you have, not your gut."

"My gut has nae'er failed me b'fore."

"But you're King already. You have power. No one can tell you what to do with your ideas. I'm just a princess. I don't have anything."

"But you will." He stood, stretching, and she followed suit. She cringed, her spines extending would never compete with the click click clicks as plates readjusted and clipped their way back against the unseen flesh beneath them. "Who knows, one day ya might rule a whole other way."

"Oh yeah, an hows that?"

"I dunnai know. There's still time! And ya can always rule with me if ye'd like."

And Marianne froze.

Did he just…

No… he couldn't have. She wasn't ready for something like that. She still had so much to do. So much time to spend before… He couldn't be asking…

How could her mind go from no thoughts at all to a million in just a second. The Bog King didn't notice the widened features and continued, bending to retrieve his goblet and finishing the final dregs of honeyed wine. "Then ya'd get some practice rulin' from behind me."

He hadn't meant it to sound like that. He'd meant that she'd be able to watch along, learn from him and they'd thread the kingdom back together. He hadn't meant it to sound condescending. He hadn't meant to say from behind to a woman who had always been considered nothing but a backstage prop by too many.

She took it that way. After all, props only go about being positioned by their creators for so long until they wear down and break apart. And she, Marianne, was no different. And even if her relief of not being asked a question she hadn't realized would fill her with black, tarry dread, the other things helped along all the same. Through thick teeth she seethed, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Bog King looked up, brow lowering. "What's wha' supposed to mean."

"You know! That I can rule from behind you!"

"Wha' are ya-"

"So I can just be another helpful suggestion again? Do you really think I can't even by the ruler of my own land!"

"I naer said tha!"

"Oh my… Gah! You're as bad as Roland," she threw at him, hands going to clutch clouds.

She hadn't meant it to sound like that. She'd meant that she was tired of being considered less than an individual, that she would have gladly learned from him and they'd thread the kingdom back together. She hadn't meant it to sound so comparative. She hadn't meant to say Roland's name to a man who had always been considered by everyone and himself to be unworthy of love.

The Bog King squeezed the goblet in his hand hard enough to leave indents of his armor. "Wha…" the rasp seethed, "is tha' supposed ta mean?"

The words were out, and no one could take them back. So they continued. Because going forward was all that they knew. "It means," she went on, "that you're as bad as everyone else! You think that I can't do anything because I'm some silly little princess!"

"An' apparently you think I'm a conniving lad who needs some potion to make ya' soft enough ta love someone!"

"Don't you dare say that!"

"Well i's true, isn' it!"

"Oh so now you think that the only way that I could even like you is because I'm under some spell!"

"Maybe! Maybe then ye'd be a better Queen if ya just woke up!"

"And maybe you'd be a better King if you pulled your head out of whatever hole its in and stopped being such an idiot!"

"Oh, so we're back ta insults! Classic Marianne! Always resorting ta her sharp wit."

If she had had her sword she would have drawn it. But she'd left it at home, so she tensed her muscles and whipped everything she had between tongue and teeth, trying to keep the red from moving its way from under her collar and up her face. "As if you're so good at it! We both know who would win in a fight!"

"Then why nauh win one an show me, eh!" He stepped forward, his full height casting a long shadow and sawing her in half. The end of his staff dragged against the ground with a metallic sort of threat. She stepped back, but couldn't escape it.

"I could still rule my Kingdom better than yours!" She backed away as he advanced. Her heel touched water and she turned at the sudden shock of cold. He'd cornered her. Her wings wouldn't work once they'd touched the stuff and she was so close to being held back by it now. She steeled her nerve. "There is a reason there is a light side and a dark side to this forest. The Kingdoms wouldn't get along."

"An' why's that Princess."

"Because their rulers are just too different." And as his face dropped she knew she'd hit something. And she'd almost felt bad until he was back to himself and taking another step forward. She took another step back. Her sole was sinking into the pond muck.

"Well maybe the Dark forest doesn't need some fairy Princess gettin' in the way'a things!"

"Getting in the way!"

"Aye! Oh! What? Did you think tha' everythin' would be just filled wi' sunshine and rainbows after we became friends?"

"Friends! You think that's it?" Her toes curled into the ick and moss wiggled through the cracks- cool and webbed.

"Us Dark Foresters nae'er had to deal with the likes of you ba'fore! We kept to ourselves for a reason."

"And what was that?" She clenched her fists, feeling the tips of her nails digging into the flesh and a threat of blood bubbling over. "What was that reason, huh Bog?"

"Tha' reason was ta' keep out those who wanted ta change us! Make us like them."

"Well we certainly don't want to be like you." she spat, and was almost happy through her own self loathing at those words to see the fire in his eyes burn hotter than ever. "Wasting away here in the darkness and the mud." She stretched out her arm realizing a moment too late that the gorgeous waterfall backdrop about her hardly solidified the point she had tried to make. But she kept a straight face and an even straighter arm hoping he'd hook his teeth to the bait. He did.

"You know nothing of our land," he gnashed and he stabbed the air towards her with his staff. She stumbled back to avoid being hit and the tips of her wings dragged across the ebbing surface. The white mist sunk into her hair, curling the ends up and decorating it with glass orbs. "You dare presume yourself fit ta rule! Ta me! A King?"

"King of what? At least my job is to keep people blissful, not… not drive them into some deep sad place! I actually have the means to make my subjects happy-"

"Take it back," Bog snarled. "Take tha' back!" Now his feet were dragging through the lake. She could see the flashes of silver as grains of sand and pieces of shells swirled around his ankles, which now looked more like the stalks of two impressive saplings.

"Why? Because you know it's true? That I could be a better ruler than you!"

"Nae! Because… because…" he spluttered, losing the fight quickly to her trained tongue. So used to spitting orders, the back and forth was something she had long perfected. His spite faltered. "Because we'll have to do it together and-"

"Together!" Marianne barked a laugh, her eyes bereft of the humor it magnified. She hunched her shoulders, stood on her toes. Her wings were beginning to soak up the water, the edges of them sponging in what they could, darkening. The fibers and nerves and veins protested. "We can't rule together because you're King of Darkness and I'll be Queen of Light. Maybe you'll even learn something!"

"Oh, that'll be good. Jus' you then. Takin' care of everythin'! You can'nae take care'a yourself, tough girl. I was raised to be a King!"

"Oh good for you! The big bad Boggy was given a few etiquette lessons. Whoopee. Give him a metal." She turned on him, both of them fuming. The sound of the falls was near drowned out by the roar of her ears. "We rule two different places. Good and bad. It will never change. And just because you had your mother there to show you some things, that doesn't mean anything. She doesn't rule. You do. And that sure shows you how much you know!"

He advanced on her quickly. Their height difference, as he towered over her, had never been so prevalent and his shadow began to drown her the closer he came. Finally, standing over her, both glaring at one another, his fangs bared, chin jutted, he rolled out between a growl, "My father taught me wha' I know bout ruling. The King taught the next King. Father ta' son. But I suppose you wouldn't know wha' that feels like, would'jya?"

And as soon as the words were out he knew he had made a mistake. The hurt in her eyes was brief but it was clear. He snapped his mouth shut, blue's widening. "Ah! Marianne… I… I didn't…" She didn't answer. Large brown dilations flickered from him, down, back to him and down. Arms winding around herself she shook her head.

"Don't."

"Marianne, please, I didn't-" He hurried towards her, hands out for reasons even he wasn't sure of. To beg forgiveness perhaps. Or to embrace her and make everything right. Or maybe just because he was as stunned as she. She moved to get away, too angry and scared and frustrated to think about where she was. A stray current caught her ankle in taunting fingers and tugged. A hurried cry heaved out of her stomach and lungs and she fell backwards into the shallow pond. Her wings sunk and she gasped, scrambling to get up, waves splashing her face and she spluttered through the water.

"Wait! Let me help you!"

"No!" She held up a dirtied hand. Her other grabbed for whatever weed she could find. He stalled, arms extended, looking more worried than he ever had before. "No, just… just stay there." She pushed herself up, was dragged back by the weight of wings that were now colored a midnight purple, and finally gained enough control to maneuver her way to shore. He followed silently behind, gazing anxiously down at the large butterfly tapestries that folded in on themselves and dripped marshy puddles behind her. She tried to lift them, screwing up her face until she did maneuver the heavy things, watching them with a crude fascination as they strained and shook.

"Marianne… I-" She snapped her wings back down. They made a wet shrip against the backs of her legs. The waterfall continued its cheerful gurgle. In the distance a fish slapped stained glass. The sun had turned the sky a hollow scarlet, twinges of violet descending in the slow takeover, stars running behind on chariots. It was too peaceful for them. Or maybe it was peaceful enough. Because the more they stood in silence the more the atmosphere was able to muffle their anger, muting the lines on their faces and swirling their words back to pulsing ears. And those words collected on their spines and in their bellies and became heavy as lead and as malleable as gold.

She backed away, her arms curling around herself. The swampy water on her skin and clothes had begun to dry and crack, and she was sure that her wings would be following soon enough. She hugged tighter. It had gotten cold in a moment. Maybe it was too much wine. Maybe it was something else. Eyes pricking, she glared down at the water to force them to stop. "You go… go rule your Kingdom or something since you're so great at it." the fairy muttered. "I'll stop bothering you now."

"You aren't." he breathed. "Never."

She shook her head. Strands of hair, as brown and as ugly as pond mud, traced her forehead. They left behind murky and spindly thin trails. A few drops hit over her eyes and she wiped them away with the back of her hand- the motion lasting longer than it would take to wipe at dirty water. Her skin came back a bruised purple. Her makeup was coming off.

She wasn't sure which makeup she hated losing more.

"I'll go back to mine, you go to yours." She unfolded her wings, flapping them a few times. The breezes were lazy and caught him under the chin.

"Ye can't get back with those," his worry drowned every other feeling. A bird whistled from a far off perch. "Ye can't fly with wet wings. Trust me. I've seen fairies…" his sentence did the same as they had. "Just… let me help ye get home."

"I can get there on my own." Another temperamental flutter. "Goodbye, Bog King."

And the goodbye sounded too final.

Her flying more like messy weaving and sudden uncontrolled drops all of which he watched with his breath held. But she made it. And when she was out of sight in the trees, he stood a while longer and watched the spot she had disappeared to. A part of him wanted nothing more than to follow. Make sure she was okay. The other told him to stay. It would do him no good.

But I have to go after her, he reasoned, turning to pick up the remnants of their picnic, stuffing it back into the oakwoven basket his mother had pressed into his hands that morning. Anything could happen to her. It's getting dark. She doesn't have her sword. She's not thinking right.

Neither are you, hissed the side of him that had not too long ago been closer to the exterior than all else. This is exactly why you wanted love to leave the forest.

"We haven't really said we loved each other," he muttered to an empty goblet he'd picked up. He inspected it. It would still work, but the damage done by a too tight grasp was beyond repair. Pity. It had been a family favorite. He sighed.

But you do love her, something in him coaxed. You know you do.

Love destroys reason, the hiss was back. It destroys order. Power. What King would compromise that for something as futile as love?

But you do, the other reasoned patiently. And any good person would know that.

She said she was better off without you. Let her go destroy her Kingdom. See if we care.

"She won't destroy it," destroy, destroy, destroy… roy… oy… oy… echoed back at him from the falls. "She'll be a great Queen." great queen, great queen, queen… een… n… "And she deserves better than me." Better than me… than me… an me… me… me… ee…

Then don't you think she at least deserves an apology.

Not if she doesn't apologize first. Kings don't apologize.

The Bog King lifted up the basket and tucked the handle between the crease of his elbow. The stars were beginning to settle into the velvet sky, and a darkness was allowing the moon to creep past the clouds. The air around him smelled like honeyed wine and the scent of lilac and marigolds and lilies that she carried around wherever she went. His realm never smelled that sweet, nor did it carry around with it a light or an assuredness like she did. He was scaled and tall and lanky and smelled of soot and brimstone and moss. He carried darkness about. He didn't trust anyone. She never stopped trying to get him to trust her.

What was he doing? This simply wasn't fair. Not in the least. Not for her.

He picked up his staff after that and ascended into the sky, the buzz of his wings magnifying the stale of furious and helpless silence about the world.

From a far off branch Marianne watched him fly off. She ran a finger through her hair, peeling away flecks of mud. When he was gone she hopped down and began her slow trek home. He was right. She couldn't fly. She wasn't sure when she would fly again. Her wings would take a while to dry, and by the time she would get home her father would be frantic enough that something as trivial as soaked wings would set him over the edge.

Sighing, she looked back once more. A tiny part of her willed him to come back.

You love him, a voice called into the silence of her head. She didn't respond, beginning her walk. Fine. Ignore it. But you do. A root crackled under her foot. You should apologize, the voice coaxed. You know you should.

From a darker part of her mind a voice hissed, Queens don't apologize.

"Shut up," she muttered to no one, wiping at her eyes. The rest of the way home was done in silence.

Marianne had been right. When she got home her father unleashed hell. He asked question after question, wanting to know where she had been. She'd calmly explained that she was old enough to be on her own. That fight had been lost when her useless wings revealed themselves and her father went into another panic.

She'd slipped away as he'd gripped his hair and trotted to her bedroom.

The mud had dried, but water still dripped from her hair down the back of her shirt. Her clothes clung to her body and her wings made her feel sluggish and heavy. She'd bathed right away, careful to avoid letting the large, purple, very abused things touch water. Then, when the rim of the bath was a soggy sort of brown and she'd picked stray bits of ick from her hair she'd found one of her comfiest outfits, made a fire and settled by it for the night.

Wings spread on cold stone, twitching every so often, she waited not to patiently for them to dry out. It would take at least two days, she realized, picking up one of the ends and letting it hit the floor with a dull plop. Until then she'd be grounded. Forced to walk the earth, confined to a prison of dirt and grass. How did people do it.

Not that she meant to sound ungrateful. But flying always made her feel alive. Free. And right now was the ideal time to have both of those. But no. She'd stay down and be miserable and lonely.

Stupid, stupid Bog King.

She didn't think her thoughts would be punctuated by a knock.

She got ready to tell her father to leave her alone. That she wasn't in the mood to talk. Or get yelled at. And yes, she was taking care of herself, thankyouverymuch. But her father never knocked on windows. She stayed silent, thinking it maybe a trick of her mind.

Knock. knock, knock.

It was not.

She stood. Or she tried to. It took some effort, pushing off the floor, wings keeping her down like anchors. She hadn't realized just how terribly large they were before this, and it was beginning to strain the muscles on her back. But she did get up and, the purple monstrosities dragging behind her, catching on the occasional cracked stone. And she did eventually get to the window.

She wanted to say why are you here or something territorial like that. Because when she saw him outside her window, four wings blended into a buzzing mess, mouth tight and brows down she wanted to do nothing more than tell him to get lost. But she couldn't.

She pretended to not know why.

But she knew.

She opened the window and stepped to the side. He took the invitation, swooping in, wings slowing, and landed gracefully on the ground. A pang of jealousy washed over her but she kept it down.

"Bog," she said. And then just stopped. Because what was she supposed to say. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. And apparently he was just as much at a loss.

For the first time, both fairy and goblin found themselves speechless.

The fire crackled. Marianne shut the window and they were left in the dull light of the moon through greenish glass and the yellow and red bursts of crackles in the dug out hearth. She stood near the light, and her raw face shimmered. He stood in the dark, a silhouette of papercuttings and monsters under beds. He smelled of brimstone. She smelled of lilacs. The room was awash with confusing difference.

He spoke first, and the stones caught his accent, throwing it back.

"Ye said…" a pause. He licked his lips, chest expanding at the next violent breath and tried again, "Ye said tha' we were different."

More crackling. Marianne wondered if one could suffocate in tension and almost hoped that it was possible. She shrugged, cutting through what she could, but it settled on her shoulders heavier than ever. "You came back to see me," was all she knew what to say. Because the obvious was the best thing to find.

He had. He'd gotten home, tried to stay and couldn't. So he'd gone after her. It was a relief for Bog to know she'd made it back safely. If she hadn't he didn't know what he would have done. But she had. Her father had cast him glares that had said on their own to leave, so he'd snuck around to her window out of the eyes and ears of all that wandered the grounds.

"Ye said we were different," he repeated, desperately.

"Yeah," if she spun her fingers any faster she would have made silk . "Aren't we though?"

"Why did ye?"

"Aren't we?" Those two had slit faster than her sword ever could.

He didn't answer at first, eyes darting towards her, then away to look elsewhere, always down. "Yes." he concluded. "We are."

And the moon from outside hitting the wall was more of a barrier now. A wall. A line. Separating the warm reds from the dark blues and defining a well etched truth that too many before them had declared. The Bog King stared at that line with as much hate as he wished he could give to her but couldn't for the life of him muster. Because if he couldn't hate her, he would hate the one thing that had caused this all and he would hate it until it broke apart and could let them finally just be and everything could be alri-

"I'm sorry about what I said."

His head shot up. "Wha?"

"I said… that I'm sorry about what I said." Her fingers spun faster, and the friction heated the pads. "You aren't like Roland. You're not like any of them. I didn't mean any of it, I was just-"

"Nauh, it was my fault!" He waved his hands furiously in front of him like windmills. "I didn't mean wha I said 'tall. It was stupid. Yer gonna make a great Queen one day. An… an you're gonna do it on your own!"

A beat. The wall between them hesitated. And then Marianne said the first thing she thought of and, in that second, realized was the brunt of the problem. "I don't want to do this alone."

He took a step forward. When she didn't move he took another. His toes hit the line. "Ye don't have ta. Ya have yer father and yer sister. Ye've got a family helping ya. Ye'll rule eventually. Ye'll rule and I'll rule."

"And you and I?"

"There'll always be two lands." The Dark Forest poking its head over the huge and fertile brushes out her window chorused its approval of the sentiment. "But… but tha' doesn't mean anything, really. This is still ours. They're our people. We take care'a them."

"And we can do it… together."

Hope registerd for a moment, but was cast out quickly. The line brightened- solidified. "… Aye… Yes we can…" He cleared his throat. "I'll teach ye what I can. As… partners…?"

Marianne wanted to respond. She really did. She wanted to say something to him that explained what she really wanted. She had a right to what she wanted. And she could feel a speech winding around her brain; two of them. One yes. The other no. And neither sure which one was to be the chosen one she delivered. Her head spun and the fire crackled and the line between them was becoming a border. Say it, the voice whispered, taunting her. Say it.You know it's what everyone wants you to say. Say it! But she clutched at her head instead, pulling against damp hair and that stupid little voice finally shut up when her own made its way into the too large room and said, "Bog… Don't."

"Marianne…" he shuffled. The creature in him squirmed around his chest. "What's wrong. I didn't mean to."

"Don't give up." Her head raised. She shook the few hairs that had come away between her fingers onto the ground, clasping hands together. "Don't give up."

"What are ye talking about?"

"I'm so sorry about what I said."

"As am I. But-"

"Just be quiet." He was blinking owlishly against the firelight. "We're so different," she started again. "But that's a good thing. I've just - I've never had to negotiate before. I opened myself up to someone and I wasn't who I wanted to be and I made mistakes. But… so did you. So… this thing we have - it isn't going to be easy. But don't think that means that I'm going to give up. And don't you give up on me."

"Are ye sayin…"

"I'm not asking for a challenge. And I don't want to treat this like a game. But I like challenges and I like games and I want…" she swallowed. "Don't give up, Bog. Please."

"Marianne…" It was her turn to advance. Towards the blue line between them. Her wings dragged, hissing on cool stone, but she ignored it. Instead she kept going until the two of them were within arms distance, but neither dared to reach. Toes just touching that stupid, stupid, stupid line.

"We're going to fight, Bog. It's inevitable. We're just different."

"Too different." A statement. Sharp feet hissing as he retreated away from her and from the blue thread between them, the mismatched pebbles beneath the blackened claws more interesting than she. He was going back into his shell again. Shyness making its way over his face and arms and body, coating him like a secondary suit of armor and she, the one who had finally broken through enough to see under, wouldn't allow it. Not this time. Not ever.

"Bog, stop. Look at me." He didn't. She growled. "Look at me."

He wasn't going to. Too far gone. From inside him the hissing small creature cheered a mighty victory song.

But one can only win so many battles before the war, and the Bog Kings self doubt had never met a match like Marianne.

So she crossed the line. It flickered and blackened under her feet, protesting the action. Telling her not to choose a side. And she retorted back with another firm step that there was no side and there was no line. Just a light on the floor and two of them, different, in a room. She closed the distance between them, standing on toes to grab his face between her bath pruned hands and dragging him down to meet her. Spindly arms threw themselves out to the sides for balance, wings shooting up and out and buzzing for a mere moment before stilling like a Greek statue midway in the air. His breath stalled and she felt his pulse under her fingers quicken. "Yes, we're different. Not too different. Just different. Perfectly different." She left no room for argument. Her lips hovered just over his, her Cupids bow a centimeter away. He chuckled nervously, and it brushed the corners of her now slowly spreading smile. There he was, coming back to meet her. She nodded, brows and noses bumping, "Perfectly, wonderfully, beautifully different."

"O…oh really?"

"Mmmhmm…" Her arms moved slowly down, tracing over the shoulder plates to wind around him, fingers tracing the spot on his back between his wings. The spot that she and she alone knew the powers of. His breath hitched. "Don't think you can give up on this, on us, because of one fight. I wont."

"Marianne." God how she loved how he said it. Like every exhale was her name and he couldn't live without it.

How did she end up this lucky? That question was for another day and her hands were back on his shoulders, neck, chin, face.

"We'll have fights. We'll learn to talk about them better. We'll get stronger. We'll get over it. That's what you do when…" and she stopped herself. Maybe it was because she wasn't sure if it was what you did. Or perhaps she just couldn't say it. The light in his eyes dimmed a moment and she noticed, so she grazed her lips against his for a hair of a second. "But that doesn't make us- this- not right. Because if you haven't noticed I don't really care about what people say much and I'm totally ready for an adventure if you a-"

He crashed his lips onto hers and she had her answer before she could finish the question. The boldness was new. And she embraced it happily because something told her that moments like these would be far and few. Until he learned just how much she… Until he learned, he'd always be that shy, untrusting Bog. Waiting for her to turn around and realize who he was and leave. Waiting for her to wake up from a spell and go back to her one true love. But she wouldn't. This is what she liked. This was what she loved. He was what she…

She liked the imperfections and she liked the small moments and she liked the sparring and the sarcasm and the quiet and the difference. It was an assurance that he was still him. And she was still her. And they were willing to fight for something that everyone said couldn't happen.

He was the first to wake from the stupor. "Your wings!" He glanced at them, "Are they-"

"They're fine." Marianne shook her head through her swollen smirk, "A few days of drying out and they'll be good as new." She tried to flap them to give him some assurance but only succeeded in a pathetic shudder. He rose a brow but she waved it off. "Its fine. It looks worse than it is."

"Well at least try ta dry them out so they don't look worse."

"I have a fire," she pointed. "See?"

He rolled his eyes and she was pleased to see Bog seeping back into his skin. "Then lets get you back to it before they freeze."

"That can't happen."

He answered her with a hand to her back, just barely touching her with more than the tips of his fingers, muttering about incorrigible fairies and princesses. But when she and he did settle by the fire, her large wings spreading against the floor nearest to the flames his train of thought ended altogether. Their silence this time was one of companionship and nothing much else. He sat farther away from her, scared of what would happen if he was to touch her again, but she was done with all of that. A hand around his wrist and he was dragged towards her. And after more time of silent egging and encouragement his arm would around her and she leaned into him and they sat together there.

The fire flickered around them. She marveled at how long his legs were and he marveled at why on earth he was allowed to have someone like her because he was too lucky of a goblin. And the shadows on the wall cast both him and her into something smooth and rigid and short and long and different but not so very different at all.

"So, how did you even get in?" She interrupted the peace. "My dad just let you stroll in in the middle of the night."

"Uh.. naugh… I talked to your father… He told me ta bugga off."

Her laugh competed with the flare of fire. "Sneaking around to see me, huh? Well maybe tomorrow we can just see each other. Say whatever to everyone and just go."

"It's a nice idea," he muttered into her hair. His breath tickled the tip of her ear and she grinned to herself. Different was definitely something she liked.

I hope my addition to this community has left you all just a little bit more content with the fact that you may have to wait another day to see the movie. Hopefully the fics that we post up here help in some way. Because, gosh darn it, they sure do help us.

If anyone out there feels inspired to write a fic then do it! Despite my... ehem... feelings for this movie, I do want to see the fans of this ship survive.