Archive of Our Own ^beta

Marceline falls as gently as a feather into Bonnibel's warm embrace.
Meeting the sweetness of her skin with her cold, dead complexion.
Finn is there, too.
Watching the pitiful play of the princess begging for a moment of pause, a hint of knowledge on her lover's bitter blue color.
Hasty breaths and shivers follow.
And there goes the drop, getting deeper and deeper with every iced sigh.
Despair runs down in bits of mascara.
A paralyzing concoction, so to speak.
And literally.
That Finn, for once, becomes the rational one.
And Marceline still hasn't woken from her sudden slumber that everything begins to feel constricted.
Panic.
Bonnibel calls for the Banana Guards.
Who barely do anything, really, she curses.
The change in her demeanor is drastic.
From gentle statements of claiming it to be an act to clawing at her skin in rash attempts of lifting her lids.
Finally, she kisses her name.
"Marceline,"
Brushing strokes for the saddest of paintings as everything vanishes.
Including Finn and the Banana Guards.
It's just them, now, in the blackness of an empty world.
Succumbing to anguish comparable to fiery pits only known in dusty fiction books.
⭐
"Princess,"
She almost assumes through wishful thinking.
Waiting for a subtle touch, the same way she's always woken with fingers slipping through the spaces in between hers.
Marceline knows exactly what she likes.
But it's Finn.
Not her.
Not Marceline in the slightest.
And she needs to accept that.
"You fainted," he says, "you really mustn't worry too much, it isn't good."
The sweet medications have returned her sanity, thick and hot coursing through her veins.
Flowing from huge bags of sugar water hung near the bed.
But somehow, she doesn't like it.
In the faintest glow of the dancing sunrays in her loneliness, she makes out the shape of a beaker.
Momentarily freezing her form.
Like the Ice King always does.
"Please leave me alone."
The smoke is too thick to peek through.
And just as enigmatic as all that's happened after the catastrophe, she doesn't notice his exit.
But she's bawling in hideous noises not too long after.
⭐
Silent nights make for the hardest of quarrels.
For Bonnibel, it's just another one in an abundance.
Marceline is already there, as well.
Looking at her from the window the same way she used to.
Cold, bitter regret sits amid her pink tongue.
Incredibly painful.
Hideously distorted.
She collects her luck and strength for a few words.
A mixture of letters conjured through utter desperation.
But nothing comes out.
Just a sigh.
A single exhale of breath denoting exhaustion from all of the distractions she has pulled onto her plate.
A silent plead for assistance which she has never done before.
As she likes to do things alone.
And her.
She seems to be unbothered.
Letting the wind carry her in waves as she hovers in her peaceful state.
Or at least, she hopes it's peaceful.
It may be turbulent, or chaotic, in a never-ending realm.
"You don't have to worry."
Bonnibel's eyes snap up.
"I'll watch over you while you sleep."
"You know that's not what I mean," replies, "that not what I ... want."
Vines of pale lips curl into amusement.
"We're all forced to settle for something, Bonnibel," she says, "you're rational, you always have been, and that's why this is what you mean ..."
She peers through the window.
Gazes at paint-splattered tears staining the cheeks of the lonesome princess.
The one she's snuck out with during bland royal meetings in the Candy Kingdom's tastelessness.
Then bites down.
"Because you understand that this is all I have left give you, now."
I miss you.