Archive of Our Own

“Go easy on him, Bonnie.”

“What? But he’s so…”

She can’t think of a word. The weird blue wizard in her closet is still trying to wriggle out of his candy handcuffs. It looks like he might actually make it.

“Just, please?” Marceline groans and covers her face with her hands, speaking half-coherently into them. “The Ice King is important to me,” she mumbles. “There’s a regular guy under all that magic.”

“Of course there is.” Bonnie scoffs. “Regular guys are the worst, Marceline.”

“Not this one.”

“What? Look at him!”

He’s slobbering all over the cuffs now — she used an old prototype with less saliva resistance because she figured his weird ice tongue would get stuck if he tried this — but he turns back when he notices them looking.

“Is this what you taste like, Princess?” he shouts, sending spit across the carpet with his guffaws.

“He’s not that bad,” Marceline sighs. “Just let me take him home.”

Bonnie glares back at her. “Not that bad? How could you even say that right now?”

“Because,” Marcy says evenly, “he’s Simon.” She stares right into Bonnie’s eyes, her stony expression a poor disguise for the pleading look beneath it. Bonnie blinks.

“You mean—”

“Yeah.”

She looks back at the Ice King, who’s almost licked his way through, and suddenly feels more pity than anger. “You told me he was dead.”

“Yeah, well.” Marceline shrugs. “Close enough.”

“Oh, Marcy.”

“Look, it’s not a big deal. We don’t have to make it a big deal, just…”

She glances back. He’s distracted now, though the cuffs have already worn down to thin, brittle loops. One breaks as he reaches for a gummy butterfly that flew in behind him through Marceline’s designated window. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“Don’t kill him,” she says finally. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Bonnie nods. “But I can’t promise I won’t kick his ass.”

“I know. He can handle it.” Marcy sighs. “He deserves it.”

His powers, Bonnie knows, come from the crown she’s holding under one arm. And from what little Marcy’s told her, so do his memory deficits and personality changes.

“I can take this back to the lab,” she suggests, turning it over in her hands. “Maybe—”

“No.”

“I could fix it.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?” she presses. “It’s probably just some basic—”

“You can’t,” Marceline repeats, voice growing strained. “I don’t know how long he can even survive without his powers, so just— just please don’t try. You can’t fix him. Let him be.”

“He’s gonna keep coming back. He’s been here before; you don’t even know what he’s—”

“I can imagine.”

Marcy’s lip quivers. Her eyes are trained on the Ice King, who’s taking his second bite out of the weakly-protesting butterfly. Maybe making them sentient was a bad idea.

“I’m sorry,” she says wearily.

“Hey, no.” Bonnie puts the crown down and takes her hand, trying to smile. “I mean, I still think I could do something about that crown, but it’s not like I need to. He’s gonna keep coming back, and I’m gonna keep sending him away. Without killing him. Alright?”

“Thank you.”

“C’mere.” She pulls Marcy out of the Ice King’s line of sight and into a limp one-armed hug. “He’ll get bored of me soon anyway. Plenty of princesses to stalk and kidnap around here.”

“Mm.”

The Ice King shouts something incomprehensible and, one candy cuff still hanging onto his wrist, scuttles out of the closet, dons his crown, and flies away.

“Yep.” Bonnie nods. “I bet Raggedy Princess will just marry him, and then he’ll never come back.”

Marceline laughs uncomfortably. “Can we stop talking about this?”

“Yes, please.”

/

The weird blue wizard isn’t blue or a wizard anymore. He’s still weird, but not in a bad way. Just in a weird way. Like everyone.

The important thing is, he’s getting married. And Marceline is ecstatic. Her vision board for the manlorette party, as Simon won’t stop calling it, is almost as involved as one of Bonnie’s. But she hesitates after a planning session with Simon, and Bonnie’s pretty sure she knows where this is going.

“Betty still hasn’t really had a chance to settle in. She doesn’t really have any friends except for King Man, who probably shouldn’t be in charge of anything. So…” Marcy looks up with huge, adorable, irresistible eyes. “We were hoping maybe you could—”

“Organize Betty’s consort party?”

“Simon called it something like a… batch-o-red party? I think?” She shrugs. “Maybe I’m just hungry. But yeah, I mean— babe, you’re so good at event planning.”

“Don’t try to flatter me,” Bonnie mutters, fighting the curl of her lips.

Marceline flutters her eyelashes and singsongs, “But it’s working.”

“You want me to plan a party for two people? Because I’m so good at event planning?”

“Three! Including you. Think of it as a challenge.”

“You’re a challenge.”

“Please, Bonnie?” Her eyes get so wide, her pout so deep and her brow so furrowed, that there has to be some shape-shifting involved.

“Fine,” Bonnie sighs. “But I’m doing this for you, not for—” King Man? Betty? Is she even mad about this at all? “I’m doing it because I know how important this is to you.”

“Thank you!” Marcy squeals, probably unaware that she’s bouncing a few feet higher in midair. “I’m gonna make it up to you, I promise. Anything you want!”

There’s probably some favor to cash in on— the bookshelves have gotten out of rhyme order, and the carpet still has a blue stain from that time an errant stream of jelly beans capsized Marcy’s red-drained grape juice. She could use a flying target to practice those elemental powers on. Or a lab assistant, on occasion. Maybe a temp butler. A girlfriend-butler— too weird?

But then Marcy knocks the wind out of her with an enthusiastic, toothy kiss, and giggles as they spin up off the ground, and Bonnie’s pretty sure she has everything she needs already.

“Alright,” she says eventually, reluctantly catching her breath. “You don’t need to keep convincing me, but I am gonna need your help. I don’t really know what I’m doing here.”

“Oh, come on. You guys’ll have so much fun doing nerd stuff all night. Betty’s pretty chill when she’s not… y’know, the opposite of chill. And she bakes! That’s, like, science and sugar.”

“It’s not Betty I’m worried about.”

“Right.” Marcy grimaces. “What is that guy even into?”

“Betty really doesn’t know many people here, does she? Or— doesn’t know many people now, I mean.”

“Y’know, I think they’re actually friends. Bonded over lost love. It’s kinda sweet.”

“That makes sense, I guess.” Bonnie sighs. “But I don’t know how to entertain a wizard. Even if he’s not a wizard anymore. And I’m still jealous of your guest list.”

“I know! We’re gonna play cool games and jam and dance and— Sorry!” Marcy winces and makes a clearly strained attempt at solemnity. “BMO has to be in bed by midnight, so it’ll probably be super boring anyway. You’re not missing anything.”

“You are such a terrible liar,” Bonnie laughs, kissing the forced frown off her face. “Just because I’m jealous doesn’t mean I’m not glad you guys are gonna have a good time. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, Peebs. I know it’s kinda my fault you won’t be there, but… I can’t promise I won’t miss you.”

/

He’s Simon.

Bonnie’s told herself again and again for centuries. She tries to hear it in Marceline’s voice when it gets hard to remember. Tries to see him through Marceline’s eyes.

Right now, Simon’s fighting with his cheap holo viewer, the ancient tape washed out and glitchy, while Betty tries to convince him to upgrade instead of trying to fix it again. They’re sitting with their elbows bumping in a loveseat, taking their last bites of spaghetti — a request from that absurdly thoughtful girlfriend of hers, who’d probably prefer a jar of sauce straight-up. A few feet away, Marcy’s hovering next to Bonnie’s chair, laughing brightly at Simon’s self-deprecating jokes.

He’s Simon, and he’s funny and sweet and smart. He’s Simon. Simon. Simon.

Simon Petrikov, scientist, decent keyboardist, probably Marceline’s second biggest fan. Clean-shaved and bespectacled and human. A good human. The kind of human who risks his safety and his sanity for a little girl in the midst of an apocalypse. The kind of human who helps that girl stay alive and grow up into the love of Bonnie’s life. The kind of human who sings along to pre-war movie soundtracks and overcooks pasta and makes Marceline so happy that it rubs off on Bonnie too, even when she has to tell herself over and over again that he’s Simon just to keep from reaching for a weapon.

She stares at her hands a little too long when the show is paused. Gets a little lost and doesn’t hide it well enough.

“You okay, Bubs?”

She blinks up and smiles guiltily at Marcy’s furrowed brow. “Um, what?”

“Simon and Betty are getting dessert.”

“Oh. I know.” She nods a few too many times, not elaborating.

“You love dessert.” Marcy frowns deeper and turns to place a hand on Bonnie’s forehead.

“I’m fine,” Bonnie laughs, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

Marcy hums, squints for a moment, and finally nods. “You gonna finish that marinara?”

“All yours.”

“Thanks.” She kisses her cheek before taking the stained cloth napkin. “Sure everything’s alright?”

“Yep.”

“Are you sure sure?”

“I said, it’s fine,” Bonnie snaps. “I mean— shit.”

Marceline eyes her suspiciously, napkin halfway to her teeth.

“Sorry. I’m just, uh— I’m stressed about the party planning.” Bonnie tries to laugh again. “You know how I get.”

Simon and Betty come back with two pies and a tub of ice cream before they can say anything else. It’s more of a relief than it should be.

Things are easy again until the end of the night, when they’re saying goodbye. Marceline hugs him, and he hugs back. Tightly. And for a moment, in spite of all the facts, he’s not Simon.

“Get away from her!” Bonnie shouts, heart hammering and palms outstretched.

Marceline bats her hand away. “What's going on?”

“Marcy!” Bonnie gulps. Her vision keeps flickering, turning him blue and white and wrong. “Watch out, he— he—”

“He what? It’s just Simon!”

“You alright, Princess?” he asks, with an edge of genuine concern that makes it all so much worse. He’s still shoulder-to-shoulder with Marceline. Bonnie takes her hand and tugs.

“Can we go home?” she whispers, looking up to where Marcy’s floating closer. “I just need to go home.”

“That’s what we’re doing, Peebs.”

Marcy turns back to Simon and apologizes— on Bonnie’s behalf, she realizes, which is a new experience. She feels like a marshmallow kid who got caught swindling a royal guest. But Simon just waves it off and smiles like he knows something. Bonnie’s stomach turns.

/

“Hey,” Marcy says quietly on the way home, squeezing Bonnie’s hand a little tighter. “What’s up tonight?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You were kinda rude to Simon back there.”

“I know. I— I won’t do it again.”

She sighs. “I’m not trying to scold you. It’s just me; you don’t have to be all diplomatic.”

Bonnie smiles gratefully.

“Just tell me what’s going on, please? You seem really off.”

“Marcy…” She blinks up at the cloud-muddled moon. “You won’t like it.”

“Well, now I really wanna know.”

“Ugh. Fine.” She takes a breath, more to stall than anything. “I, uh— I’ve been having a little trouble… being around Simon. Lately.”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I just can’t stop thinking about Ice King,” she says to her feet. “It was okay for a while, but now sometimes I see him, and it’s like— like I can’t see Simon. All I see is a guy who preys on women, and he’s touching the woman I love.”

Marceline is too still, floating less like a sentient being and more like a helium balloon with its string in Bonnie’s hand. Her fingers feel a little limp, a little colder.

“But like I said,” Bonnie continues hurriedly, “it’s not all the time. I’m sure it’ll go away once I get used to it. Spending all this time with him and Betty will probably help.”

“Yeah. That sounds… sound.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want this to be weird for you. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

“It’s not weird,” Marcy insists, voice high and weird. “Why would it be weird?”

Bonnie says nothing.

“Okay, it’s kinda weird. But it’s not like you can help it. And you’re right, it— it’ll be fine once you get used to being around him again.” Marceline squeezes her hand again and smiles over at her, brow furrowed. “Right?”

“Right.”

“Let’s, uh— let’s talk more when we get home, okay?”

“We don’t have to,” Bonnie says quickly.

“Feels like we should.”

“Okay.” She breathes sharply and pushes her chin up. “But it’s fine.”

/

“So this isn’t just today, right? You said you’ve been having trouble with it.”

Marceline’s hover-pacing by the bed, where Bonnie’s made a valiant effort to stay still until now. She shifts uncomfortably and fiddles with the pillow by her side.

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, like… off and on. Sometimes.” Most of the time, since they got Betty back. He’s Simon he’s Simon he’s Simon he’s Simon. “Not all that often.”

Marcy frowns. “So what do you usually do when you feel like this?”

“Well, I just say to myself, Princess Bubblegum, you—”

“Wait.” She stops and faces her. “You call yourself Princess Bubblegum in your own internal monologue?”

“Huh.” Bonnie blinks. “I mean, yeah. Sometimes.”

“Babe, you have, like, a million nicknames. And a real first name. You don’t always have to be Princess Bubblegum.”

“I know that,” she says, laughing lightly, as if it’s true. “But it feels… proper. And anyway, I can’t give orders to Peebles, because then I’d also be giving orders as Peebles, and that’s just unprofessional. See?”

“I— giving orders?”

“That’s what I was getting to.” She shrugs. “When I feel like this, I just say to myself, Princess Bubblegum, you’re forbidden from having those dumb feelings. To the dungeon with those dumb feelings! The Princess — you — orders you to work on that banana peel armor instead. Or, y’know, something like that.”

Marceline blinks.

“It works!” Bonnie grimaces. “Usually.”

“Sounds kinda like Finn’s vault.”

“Well, that’s different. Finn needs to process those things. He’s basically still a kid.”

“I don’t think we grow out of that though,” says Marcy. “And I don’t think being gum makes you exempt either.”

Bonnie huffs. “Look who’s all wise about feelings since she wrote one acoustic song.”

“Hey!” Marceline laughs through her faux-offense. “You know I’m working on more.”

“That’s not the point,” Bonnie groans. “You’re just so smart with this stuff.”

“Hardly. What, pissed you’re not the smart one for once?”

“C’mon, you’re always a genius too.”

“I think it just comes from experience.” Marcy nudges Bonnie’s side with her toe, still airborne but close. “If you think I’m a genius, does that mean you’re gonna listen to me?”

“I always listen to you,” Bonnie says sweetly. “Sometimes I think it’s all I ever do.”

Marcy rolls her eyes even as she grins and lands softly on Bonnie’s lap. “If you’re not ready to talk tonight, that’s okay,” she says. “Just don’t shut me out?”

Bonnie nods. “But I know this isn’t a big deal. I just need it — whatever it is — to catch up with the logic. And in the meantime, I have a very weird party to plan.”

Marceline yawns and wraps her arms around Bonnie’s neck. “Maybe after we get some sleep?”

“Sorry again for turning you cathemeral,” Bonnie giggles, patting her shoulder blade.

“Eh, it was bound to happen. I like to maximize my Bonnie time.”

She hums and strokes Marcy’s hair and thinks about Simon and Betty’s rings. How they’re both changing their last names to Petrigrof because of course they are. She thinks about bound to happen.

“I don’t get the separate parties,” she murmurs after Marcy’s weight slumps against her. “Just because we have forever doesn’t mean I’d wanna be away from you.”

/

“I love you, Bonnibel!” Mr. Cream Puff declares, vibrating with enthusiasm. “Let’s get married!”

“What?” Bonnie sighs heavily. They’re in the middle of logging local bird species, for Glob’s sake. “Why?”

“Because I love you!”

“Right. Um. Why?”

“Because— Because—” He explodes a little and grins like he just had an epiphany. “I was made to love you, Bonnibel!”

“You were, weren’t you?” Bonnie frowns. “Let’s see if we can turn that off.”

Her wrists are numb when she reaches out to examine him. She blinks, and they’re encased in ice. When did that happen?

“Princess!”

She looks up, and Mr. Cream Puff is contorting himself into a heart shape, just like Jake. No. Just like—

“Ricardio,” Bonnie groans. She tries to rub her temples and nearly gives herself a concussion. Right. Ice.

“Princess Bubblegum,” says Ricardio, “you coldhearted—”

“Did you even notice I was in love with you?” says Finn. “I’m a human. A few years is forever. You just led me on and then—”

“You broke my heart,” Braco sobs.

“Broke my heart,” Simon sobs.

No, not Simon. The ice spreads up Bonnie’s arms.

“Broke my heart,” the Ice King sobs. “You coldhearted—”

Her face and chest prick with cold.

“You left me drowning.”

She’s frozen solid.

/

In the real world, Marcy’s still sleeping. Bonnie’s hands are free and warm. She balls them into fists and gets out of bed.

///

Marceline floats into the kitchen with a frown a few hours later. Bonnie, getting fed up with her party-planning binder, offers a soft, “Morning.”

“Hey,” Marcy says groggily, pausing by the fridge. “How long have you been up?”

“I don’t know. Not that long.”

She seems to be taking in everything— every twitch, every bead of sweat, every rough grind of Bonnie’s teeth. “Bad dream?”

“Uh, it was okay. Quick.”

Marceline nods and turns to pull a loaf of bread off the shelf, sliding two pieces into the toaster.

“What are you doing?”

“Food.”

“Toast?”

“For you,” Marcy says casually. She opens the fridge and selects a jar of strawberry jam. “For us.”

“Thank you.” Bonnie closes her binder and pushes it carefully to the side, where jam and crumbs won’t touch it. “I’m sorry for being grumpy. You’re so sweet.”

“It’s okay.”

The toaster pops, and Marceline drops both slices onto a plate before filling a plastic cup with milk. She pushes them both toward Bonnie on the table and follows with a knife and the jar of jam.

“I figured a midnight snack might help,” she says, smirking, and sits down next to her.

“Midnight snack?” Bonnie smiles and checks her watch. “It’s almost four.”

“You know what I mean.”

“And you know I like to spread the jam myself,” she notes, the words rough around the tightness in her chest.

“Everyone does. Gotta have the right ratio.”

“Yeah, well, maybe not everyone knows that.”

“They should.”

Bonnie says nothing. Focuses on spreading an even layer.

“Was it your uncle again?” Marcy asks quietly.

“No.”

“Element stuff?”

“No.”

“Vampire Court?”

Bonnie looks up at that. Blinks a few times, like always, just to be sure. Marcy blinks back, head tilted. Real.

“No,” Bonnie says finally. “It wasn’t that.”

Marceline is silent for a moment, and Bonnie dreads what she knows is coming.

“Was it Ice King?”

Bonnie screws the lid back on and passes the jar back with her eyes on the table. She cuts her toast diagonally, going slow so the edges are just right.

“I love you, Bubs. You can tell me anything, okay?”

“Love you too.” She takes a bite.

“Even with your mouth full.” Marcy pauses to suck some color from the jam she’s scooped out. “I won’t judge.”

Bonnie rolls her eyes, chews, swallows, and takes her time washing it down with a sip of milk.

“So?”

“I don’t know, Marce.”

“Look, this isn’t gonna go away. Simon’s not gonna—”

“I’m sorry, okay?” She cringes, hating the tone of her voice. “I know I said it was fine. I know it’s been fine for a long time. It should be fine! So— so why isn’t it fine?”

Everything about Marceline radiates patience, so softly sympathetic that Bonnie can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to just crawl onto her lap and cry. She doesn’t deserve it. She knows that.

“I think there’s something wrong with my brain,” she says, roughly tapping the side of her head. “Maybe I could do a little exploratory surgery—”

“Or!” Marcy sticks her spoon back in the jar, dull gray sitting on top of the still-red, and lands softly in the other chair. “Maybe just… wait on that. As much as I hate the idea of you being scared of Simon—”

“I’m not scared.”

“As much as I hate the idea of any kind of conflict between you two,” she amends, “I think we need to talk about it. I think that’s the most logical approach. Like psychology! Right?”

“That’s for humans,” Bonnie grumbles. “And former—”

“Former half-humans with humanlike brains, I know. And—” Marcy starts counting on her fingers. “Wizards, and squirrels, and rainicorns, and robots, and dogs, and ancient deities, and every single candy person except—”

“What is there to even talk about? He was the Ice King, and now he’s not. He’s Simon.”

“I think you’re leaving something out, Peebs.”

“What?”

“You. Your feelings.”

Bonnie flattens her lips and raises a skeptical eyebrow. Marcy extends her hand.

“Look, you know how important this is to me. You’re my two favorite people. I wanna spend time with you both, and I want you both to enjoy it. Trust me, this isn’t something I’d mess around with.”

“I suppose.”

“So what’s going on in that sweet brain of yours?”

Bonnie sighs and stares down at the offered hand. Closes her eyes. Takes it. “Marcy,” she says slowly, watching what she says and doesn’t say. “I know you can take care of yourself, but I’m just— I’m so worried about you.”

“About me?”

“You trust him, and that’s— that’s good. It’s great. But trust is a blind spot. Love is a blind spot. You know that.”

“Is that how you feel about me?” Marcy scoffs. “I’m a blind spot? ‘Cause I’ve acted like a crazy jerk too, haven’t I? If you can’t trust Simon, you definitely shouldn’t trust me.”

“No. Not the same.”

“I mean, just because he used to do some bad things—”

“That’s not what this is!” Bonnie shouts. “Not some bad things; h-he never left me alone! I tried to just be angry or annoyed, but I was so—” She takes a breath and pulls her hand back, tightening both arms around herself in a vain attempt to quell the shaking. “Every time, whether we were in contact or not, I was so afraid I’d screw up. It was the same with all of them; I could never just tell them to stop. And if he kept hurting me until I couldn’t come back from it, then how could I face you? I’m the one who let him become that bad. How can you even look at me?”

“Wait. Bubs.”

Marcy’s deflated, and seeing her drains Bonnie’s anger too. What’s left feels cold and hollow. Like an empty room in a mountain of ice. She fills it with a bite from the other piece of toast, as equal to the first as she can make it. Bread is, by nature, not completely symmetrical. She could make it that way, of course. But there’s something comforting in that. It looks just like the pre-war pictures in her books. It looks natural. Organic, like Marceline.

“Let him…? I didn’t— It seemed like he was just a nuisance.”

Bonnie swallows. Another sip of milk. Another breath. “He was, I guess.” She stares down at her hands, picking at the soft gum-skin. “And then he was an ally, near the end. He’s never been a serious threat to the kingdom, so I don’t know why I’m so…”

“Scared?”

“I don’t want to be like this. I’m trying not to. Don’t you know how hard I’m trying not to?”

“I didn’t. Not until now.” Marcy shrugs. “How can I see something this clearly when you keep it covered up?”

Bonnie’s frown deepens, and so does the scratch she’s making in her knuckle. Marceline reaches out, unfairly patient, and Bonnie grips her hand so hard it feels like they’ll stick like that, together. For better or for worse.

“Simon’s been himself again for how many years? You’ve been hanging out with us, like, all the time. I had no idea you felt this way.” Marcy sighs. “I know I should’ve been looking harder, and I promise I’m gonna remember that. But I also think you need to work on just showing me.”

“It hasn’t always been so hard not to feel it. I’ve been doing so well! And anyway…” Bonnie strokes Marcy’s knuckles with her thumb. “It makes you so happy when we’re all together. He makes you so happy. I didn’t wanna take that away from you.”

Marceline is quiet. When Bonnie looks up, she doesn’t meet her eyes.

“I don’t mean it like— I mean, it’s not you. It’s not your fault. That’s just… part of it. I’m sorry. I am worried about you, but I really don’t blame you at all, I promise.”

“I know.” She nods down at their hands. “I know it makes you feel better to pretend you aren’t the one being hurt, or that it isn’t about you. I know you think it makes you look better too.”

“Look better?”

“Like you’re in control.”

Bonnie winces.

“I’m not exactly great at, like, interpreting my own thoughts and feelings and all that. You know I’m not. But I think sometimes any kind of expression is better than none. Even if you’re not saying what you really mean, at least you’re getting somewhere. You’re starting the conversation, or continuing it.” Marceline finally looks her in the eye and squeezes her hand with a small smile. “I like to listen to you too, y’know.”

“I… say things.”

“Yeah, but it’s like you want me to think the only things that really bother you are the ones that harm your people. And I mean that in both the royal sense and the people-you-love sense.”

Bonnie nods half-heartedly.

“I know it’s scary, but when you honestly tell me how you feel, and we talk about it, it seems to help. Is that true?”

“Maybe.”

“It helps me. I’d rather be worried and close to you than be oblivious and distant.”

“I’m sorry. I’m still not the best at being close. But I’m trying, because I want to be. With you.”

She inhales deeply and purses her lips to blow out, like there’s a straw or something smokable between them. It’s supposed to make her feel less like an airsick helium balloon, but it doesn’t really do the trick.

“That’s the hardest thing for me to understand, I think— that you like being close with Simon. That he makes you feel safe. I don’t really understand that relationship.”

“He’s my family,” Marceline says softly. “He was there for me in one of the hardest times of my life, when my brain was developing super fast and I really needed him. You told me that. It’s psychology.”

“Right. And psychology is…”

“For everyone. Even you.”

Bonnie takes her hand back and cuts the toast into smaller pieces, then smaller ones. “I thought I was fully grown the moment I spawned,” she says abashedly, eyes on the plate. “Guess I’ve always been my own worst subject. As I grew, I was still sure that my mind, if not my body, was stagnant. Peaked. Then I created life that was more intelligent — more advanced — than I was, and I didn’t even realize it was happening until the process was over. Y’know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t think there could be anything more intelligent than me.”

“Well, that’s an understandable mistake to make.”

Bonnie laughs mirthlessly, though not ungratefully. “When I realized,” she continues, focus turned back down to her plate, “I was actually so relieved. I didn’t always need to be in charge— that’s not what I wanted back then, not really. I thought I could share with them. I could learn from them. They could take care of me and Neddy, and we could do science together, and I could, y’know… grow up all the way. Plus whatever comes before that. Or during.”

“Being a kid.”

Bonnie nods and starts stacking the tiny toast slices into a little castle. Toast bricks and jam mortar. High walls. “To me, a caregiver is an authority figure and not much else. I try to be more to the candy people, but they’ve always trusted each other more than they trust me, and maybe that’s a good thing.” She shrugs. “They are like children in a lot of ways, but they’re also, for the most part, fully developed upon creation. At least intellectually— Pep being an exception, of course. They need a lot of guidance by nature, but they don’t need me the same way you needed Simon. Or the way…” Her whole body tenses against the admission. “You get what I’m saying.”

“Yeah, I do.” Marcy drifts a little closer, her presence buzzing palpably even inches from Bonnie’s skin. “I hope you know that I’m—”

“Marcy!”

She stops. The shout, coming from outside, is followed up with a series of heavy knocks and then, a little softer, “Wait, don’t they sleep at nighttime now?”

“Only about as often as we do,” says the first muffled voice. “And it’s technically morning!”

Bonnie glances over to find Marceline already zooming toward the door.

“Marcy!” Simon shouts when she flings it open, a short stack of paper clenched in his left fist. “Marcy Marcy Marcy Marcy—”

“What? Are you okay?” Marceline ushers him in, and Betty follows, bemused. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Everything is right, in fact!”

“He’s had a lot of coffee,” Betty warns.

“I’ve just perfected my song for Betty’s and my first dance!”

Bonnie catches Marceline’s eye and smiles like a proper hostess. “I’ll start on some chamomile.”

“I’ll help,” says Betty hurriedly.

“Oh, it’s okay. I don’t need help.”

“They haven’t hung out alone since I came back,” she explains under her breath. “I wanted to give them a chance to talk. Also, you use way too much sugar.”

Bonnie laughs, half-comfortable, remembering the first time Marceline spat her rooibos back into the cup. They were both briefly convinced she’d been poisoned. “That’s fair.”

“So, you’re planning my bachelorette party, huh?” Betty looks around the house a bit more closely than necessary, squinting at their framed photos and art, as she follows Bonnie into the kitchen. “Sorry about that. Simon says it’s an important tradition, but I think he’s just worried about my social life.”

“Sounds familiar,” says Bonnie, filling the kettle. “And don’t worry about it. Going into meticulous detail to ensure a copacetic environment? Party planning is my area of expertise.”

“I thought that was biology.”

“I have many areas of expertise,” Bonnie amends.

Betty hums. “Sounds familiar.”

While the water boils, Bonnie sets up four mugs and strainers, carefully spooning leaves into each with wobbly hands. By the time she closes the tin, the kettle is already whistling. Betty smiles and silently pours the water, and Bonnie sets a timer for steeping, cautiously watching the hands on ceramic. As if Betty’s an enemy of state, or more likely a marshmallow kid with a penchant for destruction, rather than sort of basically her mother-in-law. Or something like that.

Bonnie tears her eyes away and hovers near the living room instead. Marceline’s giddily scanning a few pieces of sheet music.

“This is amazing, Simon!” She grins up at him, and Bonnie can’t help mirroring her from the doorway. “Wait, but if it’s the first dance, how are you gonna sing it? Wouldn’t that be kinda weird for Betty?”

“Well, we’ve talked about that,” says Simon, “and we want you to be able to enjoy yourself without having to be on stage all night. But if you don’t mind, we’d really love for the first dance to be sung by our favorite artist.”

Marcy frowns. “I think everyone from your weird old music scene is dead, but I guess maybe if I talked to my dad, he could—”

“Marcy,” Simon laughs. “I meant you, silly! I thought that was obvious.”

“Oh, Glob, you scared me! Be extra obvious next time, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Marceline hugs him with enough force to lift them both off their feet for a few giggling moments. It’s incredibly sweet. Bonnie, her smile as genuine as it is tentative, clasps her palms together just to keep the jellybeans in.

/

“I didn’t get a chance to finish what I was gonna say.”

“Hm?”

“Before they interrupted.” Marcy frowns. “It was important, but I can’t remember now. Damn. That’s gonna bug me.”

“Was it about—” Bonnie pauses, remembering the conversation, and decides to go a different route. “Was it about how cute you look with your hair all messy?”

“I was head-banging! And it’s the middle of the night!”

“You were head-banging to sheet music? Nerd.” She grins and reaches out to ruffle it further. “It’s technically morning,” she quotes, once Marceline leans in to the touch.

“I’m sorry if that was uncomfortable, by the way,” Marceline sighs. “I didn’t mean to make you play hostess like that; I just got caught up in it all.”

“Hey.” Bonnie moves her hand down and tilts Marcy’s head toward her. “You don’t have to apologize for being excited about this. I’m usually the one who forgets what planet I’m on when there’s a party to plan. Or anything to plan.”

Marcy smiles and turns her head, kissing Bonnie’s palm lightly.

“And it’s not just any wedding. It’s Simon. This is really important; I know that.”

“It is.” She clutches her chest, starry puppy-eyes activated. “Ugh, I’m so happy for him.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bonnie shrugs. “Part of it’s seeing you happy, of course, but it’s also for him. And for Betty. They seem like they’re really okay, y’know? Like they’ve worked out some stuff and they get to be happy together now. I think maybe that’s the best thing that could happen to them.”

Marcy smiles broadly and surges forward for a tight hug. “Sounds pretty great to me,” she murmurs.

Bonnie seals her agreement with a kiss.

///

The next couple days of planning drag on, every factor complicating Bonnie’s plans further. Betty gives King Man jurisdiction over mind-altering substances, Banana Guard 16’s art show leaves some kind of magically stubborn mess in the venue, and Pizza Sassy’s announces a closure for a full staff retreat. Just the tip of the iceberg. Bonnie moves through the house like a candy zombie, while Marceline spends most of her time planning elaborate party games with Finn, Jake, and an assortment of wizards. But when the noise in her head becomes truly unbearable, when the notes go lemon-sour, Bonnie remembers how to drown it all out. It doesn’t always work, but it’s more than worth a shot, with her whole body tense and her vision starting to blur. She closes the binder firmly and leaves the room.

Marceline’s sitting up in bed with her knees bent, laughing to herself at the Lumpy Space gossip magazine spread over them. Bonnie goes straight for the bass propped by the nightstand and thrusts it at her without a word.

“Um.” Marcy takes it. “You want me to play?”

“Please? If you don’t mind?”

“I pretty much never mind playing.” She frowns. “You feeling bad?”

“A little. Tired.” Bonnie sighs and joins her on the bed, curling up at a bit of an angle to give the instrument its space.

“Something sleepy then?”

She hums affirmatively, closes her eyes, and reaches out to run a hand up and down Marcy’s shin, smiling when the music starts. She can feel the vibrations in her whole body, feel Marceline in every part of her. It’s an unfamiliar melody, though distinctly Marcy’s style— probably improv. Whatever it is, it’s good. Bonnie already feels a few tons lighter by the time the vocals come in.

Hey, my love, it’s time, okay?

Time to put the clocks away

Time will be here when you wake

So waste some time, it’s okay

Take your time the easy way

Bonnie, put the clocks away

No more counting days

No more counting sheep

No more plans to make

No records to keep

Just let me sing you to sleep

Just let me sing you to sleep

Dream of a gummy worm ballet

Dream of a gummy bear café

Dream of blooming gumdrop trees

Dream of lying here with me

Just lie here, I’ll sing you to sleep

Dream sweet when I sing you to sleep

She hums and strums idly for a handful of measures, then tentatively starts singing again.

Did you fall asleep yet?

I can’t think of—

Bonnie gives herself away with a giggle and opens her eyes.

“Still awake?” Marcy sighs. “Damn, I freestyled you a whole lullaby.”

“It was beautiful.”

Bonnie crawls up and eases the bass out of Marceline’s arms, slipping into its place as soon as it’s safely out of the way. Marcy gets comfortable and pulls the covers over them both.

“Like you,” Bonnie murmurs.

“Hm?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Aw, baby, you’re not even looking at me.”

“Shh.” She buries her face further in Marcy’s neck and wraps one arm and one leg around her. “I don’t have to look. And it’s naptime.”

“Song wasn’t enough? You gotta have cuddles too?” Marcy teases, stroking her back. “Guess I can oblige. Since I love you and all.”

“Love you too, Schöne.”

“Glob, you’re such a sap when you’re sleepy.”

“Nuh-uh.” Bonnie yawns inelegantly and shakes her head. “Love you.”

Marceline laughs, the sound vibrating just like the music. “I love you too, Peebs.”

“I love you, Marcypan.”

“Go to sleep, Bonnenstich.”

“You have to say it back.”

She laughs again. It’s so sweet, like her lips on the top of Bonnie’s head. Like her voice when she whispers, “I love you, Bonnibel. Get some rest, okay?”

“Okay.” Bonnie yawns and snuggles closer. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

Dream of lying here with me seems like the best possible thing to do. But Bonnie doesn’t dream at all this time, and maybe that’s all she can hope for.

///

Betty’s party is about eight percent as extravagant as planned. Bonnie’s ready to measure and meticulously microdose whatever King Man brings — among others, paranoia is too common a side effect and too much a part of her life already. But when he shows up with nothing but a sack full of Martian Dreamseed, she puts her scale away. It’s a pretty potent drug when administered to Martians, but no other species has reported more than mild effects. Last time Bonnie tried it, she beat Grob, Gob, and Glob at a Card Wars mini-tournament. Grod only won with a crazy fluke move that even they, actively hallucinating a real-life empire under the rule of their pig card, didn’t expect to work. Not that that keeps them from bragging about it every time she sees them.

The live music and dancing is great while it lasts, but the Banana Guard rock band Bonnie hired gets sleepy after only a few sets. Bonnie thanks them for the show, kisses each of their foreheads, and waits until they’re gone to giggle about their costumes.

“Was that one supposed to be a fish?” Betty asks, frowning at the door they just closed behind them.

“They looked even dumber than the real thing,” King Man guffaws.

Bonnie refrains from smacking him only because she’s scrolling through pictures to show Betty. “Marceline and the Scream Queens,” she says proudly, displaying an old concert photo on her phone. “The Banana Guards love them. I assume BG 159 was supposed to be Guy in his fake-werefish era. But wasn’t 177 so adorable as Marceline?”

Betty doesn’t look like she really gets it, but she smiles and nods. King Man starts doing the worm and laughs at himself until he passes out on the dance floor.

/

“It’s really sad, isn’t it?” Bonnie says after they move the party upstairs to break into her personal stash on substances— an extremely aged bottle of Betty’s old favorite liquor among them. “I never really let myself feel sorry for him before, but…” She frowns over at the guest bed they’ve placed King Man on for the night. “It’s really sad.”

“Sometimes I feel too lucky,” Betty admits, “but then I remember I don’t believe in luck.”

“Me neither. But also… me too.”

“You’ve got some magic, madness, and sadness going on in there, don’t you, Princess?”

Bonnie glares at her amiably, if that’s possible, and refills her drink.

“Simon and I have been talking. Working on it.” Betty smirks. “I can tell you’re curious. We’ve talked a lot about the really important things, from before Ice King even existed. There was so much we needed to sort through, and now we finally are.”

“Because you’re getting married?”

She shakes her head. “Because it became unavoidable. I had all these issues left over from growing up, and I let them consume me — erase me from the whole equation of my life — because I was more comfortable that way. I never had to worry about myself. And I never told him how much I sacrificed for him, until I came back and… I melted.”

“You—?”

“Think about states of matter. When your feelings are solid — frozen — they’re a lot easier to keep in one place. Easier to tuck away and ignore. But you can’t keep them that way forever— not even if you have a magic ice crown. Staying frozen requires constant cold, and you get numb, and it’s so lonely. Nothing moves into or out of a solid mass. And sometimes all it takes is a little warmth. You defrost faster than you notice.”

Bonnie watches the ice float in her drink. It’s smaller than it was a minute ago, just a bit.

“Then your feelings are liquid,” Betty continues, “and they’re messy, and they’re getting everything wet. Especially the warm stuff that melted them in the first place, which just feels wrong.”

“Unfair.”

“It feels unfair,” she agrees. “But guess what?”

“What?”

“When it’s a warm person that melts them — metaphorically, of course — you’re gonna warm that person up too.” Betty smiles, face pink and eyes crinkled. “They’re gonna have messy, melty feelings too. And that just means you get to thaw out together. Get each other all wet.”

“Ew.”

“What?”

“You—” Bonnie snorts, feeling the drink too much to explain. “Never mind. Uh, Betty?”

“Yes?”

“What happens when the feelings evaporate? Metaphorically, of course.”

Betty shrugs. “It doesn’t mean they’re gone. Not really. It just means they’re lighter, and you don’t have to see them as often. They can always rain down again, or condensate, but at least for a while, they really let you breathe. Let you live.”

“Oh. Betty?”

“Yeah?”

“Vampires aren’t really warm,” Bonnie says, opening the Scream Queens picture again. She zooms in on center stage and smiles. “But Marceline is.”

“Y’know, Ice Kings aren’t typically known for their warmth either.”

“And former Ice Kings?”

“Considering Simon is the only one since way back when, he gets to set the precedent.” Betty leans on the wall sleepily, contently, her glasses pushed over on one side of her face. “So I’m pretty sure they will be.”

For the rest of the night, their pile of snacks and drinks diminishing, Bonnie projects a few of Betty’s old favorite movies that Turtle Princess managed to dig up for them. Despite picking them out as her favorites, Betty spends most of their runtimes critiquing every minute detail.

“It’s more fun that way,” she insists.

Bonnie, shaking her head at a fight scene between two giant sci-fi creatures, has to agree.

/

“That was probably the best party I’ve ever been to,” says Betty in the morning, on their way back to the house. The plan was to meet Marceline and Simon there, but Bonnie’s inbox has been empty since she heart-reacted a picture of Marcy holding Abracadaniel up in the moonlight late last night. Finn must have sent it, because she remembers a few dozen terrible selfies of him mixed in.

“Really?” Bonnie laughs. “It was barely even a party.”

“Well, I don’t really like relaxing,” Betty explains, grinning brightly. “I like analysis!”

“Huh.”

“I just feel bad for whoever has to clean up after KM. Once he finally wakes up and gets out of there.”

“Don’t worry. A couple of my guards have been practicing some light magic, with Pep’s help. They like making things disappear.” Bonnie grimaces. “Although sometimes disappear just means accidentally relocate to the royal bedroom.”

Betty whistles. “You have loosened up, haven’t you?”

“I hope you take a break from analyzing at the wedding,” Bonnie grumbles. “I don’t know much about romance, but I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Don’t analyze that!”

Betty laughs and throws up her hands.

“Have you, uh— you heard from Simon this morning?”

She nods. “He let me know he’s alive. Probably can’t do much more than that right now if he kept up with your girl.”

“He would not be alive if that were the case,” Bonnie informs her, with an odd sense of pride. “Marceline is extremely tolerant of alcohol as well as every other drug available on the surface. Even in the Nightosphere, being a vampire gives her an edge. The only thing that really affects her is cursed red, and she bounces back fast.”

“Cursed red?”

“The effects of curses on colors are very interesting. I’ve opened up my studies to the more relevant areas of magic, if you’re ever interested—”

“Betty!”

They’re still a few feet from the entrance of the cave, but Simon rushes out like it’s been another thousand years since he saw her. They meet swiftly in the middle with an unnecessarily long and perhaps-inappropriately deep kiss. Is the twinge in Bonnie’s heart fear or jealousy? If she can’t narrow it down, at least she’s able to name the options.

“Um.” She clears her throat. “Where’s Marcy?”

“Oh, sorry,” says Simon sheepishly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “She’s sleeping. We had a crazy night! What about you guys?”

Betty launches into a story about the Banana Guard band, and Bonnie silently excuses herself.

Marcy’s asleep on her side, hovering a few feet above the bed, with a small pile of Bonnie’s clothes and Hambo 2.0 clutched to her chest. She’s out of practice with air-sleeping, which can lead to accidents. Bonnie’s first step makes the floorboards creak, and Marcy unconsciously lifts herself up closer to the ceiling. If she accidentally sits up from there, she’ll hit her head. Bonnie treads lightly until she’s close enough to see Marceline’s face.

Her chest aches again. There’s no one and nothing like Marcy. No one and nothing so capable of making Bonnie feel.

She reaches up carefully and grasps Marcy around her shoulders, pulling gently until she’s almost touching the bed. Marcy’s breath knocks a chunk of hair into her face, and Bonnie can’t resist brushing it away. Her eyes well up when she leans in to replace it with a kiss.

“Bonnie?”

“Oh.” She pulls back, and Marcy blinks up at her. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

“Wait, are you okay?” Marcy sits up fast to look closer, fingers tracing nervously down Bonnie’s arms. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just—” Bonnie breathes. Makes herself stop pushing the tears back. “I missed you.”

“Aw, I missed you too, Bubs.”

“I’m home now,” she chokes out, clutching a fistful of Marceline’s shirt. “We’re— we’re—”

“Home,” Marceline agrees. “What happened?” she whispers, tugging her closer. “Did you get scared? Are Simon and Betty still here? Did one of them say something or—”

“No.” Bonnie shakes her head. “I mean, yes, they’re— they’re still here. But they’re good. J-just feeling some— some feelings.”

“Oh. I’m proud of you.” She leans in to kiss her forehead, and Bonnie crumbles like loosely packed sugar. “C’mon, lie down. Bet you’re exhausted.”

“You too?”

“Of course,” Marcy promises. “Just gonna kick them out and grab something real quick.”

“They can stay,” Bonnie offers quietly.

“Nah. I wanna be alone with you.”

When Marcy comes back, she’s holding the old guitar she made as a kid.

“I remembered the thing I was gonna say,” she tells Bonnie, tuning the little crayon keys. “The other day, when Simon and Betty came over? I guess I forgot because it feels like it goes without saying, but I don’t know. It’s probably good to say anyway.” She lands on the bed and pokes Bonnie’s cheek. “Are you awake? Like awake enough to take in this important info?”

“Y-yeah.” Bonnie sits up a little, elbow digging into Marcy’s thigh. “What’s up?”

“Everything’s fine. Just relax, I’ll sing it.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Marcy smiles and gives her a quick kiss on the temple before she starts strumming. This time, the intro is short. She sings right away, like she knows exactly what the words are, even though it’s presumably improv too.

Through distant lands and crazy times

The same way you’d predict the tides

The same way I know you’re on mine

I’m always gonna be on your side

Yeah, Bonnie, it’ll be okay

‘Cause even when we have big fights

And even when we’re far away

I’m always right here by your side

The same way I know you’re on mine

I’m always gonna be on your side

“Okay?”

Bonnie blinks. “I—” She can’t think of the words. Maybe because there aren’t words. Marcy just sang them all. “That means so much to me,” she tries, face sticky with tears. “You mean so much to me, Marcy. I wish I could say…”

“It’s okay.” Marcy unstraps the guitar and hugs her, and Bonnie believes it. “I know. You don’t have to.”

Bonnie groans, shaking her head against Marceline’s tear-stained shoulder. “But I want to.”

“Just kiss me.”

“Hm?”

“Kiss me. If you, y’know, want—”

Bonnie kisses her. She gets it, a little bit. She says it with touch the way Marcy says it with music. She kisses her, and she cries, and yes, okay, it was definitely jealousy she was feeling earlier. Because Simon and Betty are stupidly in love, and it’s frankly pretty annoying, but at the same time, Bonnie gets it. She’s stupidly in love too.

Marcy’s whole face is a little bit pink, and Bonnie suspects hers is nearly red. She smiles, big and stupid.

“You’re my favorite,” she says.

Marcy grins like she gets it.

“You’re right about me being on your side too,” says Bonnie, lying on her side and pulling Marcy down to join her. “I don’t tell you enough. I just want you to be happy, and I know Simon’s a big part of that. I never, ever want to put distance between you and your family. Okay?”

“I know.” Marcy scoots closer until their noses almost touch, eyes closed, sleepy and content. “You won’t. You can’t. You’re my family too, Bubs.”

Bonnie leans in for one more kiss, then settles into the sleepiness, holding Marcy’s head against her chest. There’s no pain there. No jealousy, no fear, no grief. Only for now, but for now is enough. They have forever.

/

“Oh, man,” Marcy says around a mouthful of strawberry, “when Huntress Wizard started rapping? That shit was next-level, Bonnie. I wish I had a video.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Did you know LSP and Life-Giving Magus are friends now? They split a pizza — as if any of us was only gonna eat half a pizza — and LSP kept getting mad because a couple of her pieces had LGM’s veggies on them. Y’know, like, how the toppings on the edge pieces get messed up a little sometimes?”

“Huh.” Bonnie stops, mug of tea halfway to her lips.

“What?”

“I think that’s part of the problem,” she says faintly.

“What?” Marcy touches her shoulder. “What problem? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Bonnie shakes her head and smiles. “It’s just— I think it freaks me out when my toppings get messed up, y’know?”

“I thought you guys got candy catering ‘cause of your weird loyalty to Pizza Sassy’s.”

“No. I mean, yeah, we did — and it’s not my weird loyalty, it’s Lollys; I’m just trying to be respectful.” She breathes in sharply. “There it is again.”

“What?”

“The personal pizza-business pizza thing?”

Marcy frowns.

“You don’t remember? I guess it was kind of in passing. Not that that stopped me from thinking about it constantly for years.”

“Oh! Before the dinner party?”

“Yeah!” Bonnie grins. Maybe if all aspects of self-improvement and healing felt like scientific discovery, the process wouldn’t be so bad. “I think Ice King was on the business half of my pizza, so it was really easy to act business-y about it. But now Simon’s on the personal half, which means it has to be about me. Not the kingdom, and not my people. I have to deal with him as Bonnie.”

“Not just as Princess Bubblegum.”

“Right. And at first I was dealing with him just as your girlfriend, because when I did that, it was easier to remember his good parts. But then Betty came back, and I guess it made me remember the rest.”

“Yeah?”

“Evergreen, the original Gunther, the Ice Thing— Ice King wasn’t like any of them. He was obsessed with princesses. And his favorite was… y’know. The crazy nerd princess.”

“Oh.” Marcy lands on the chair. “You think that’s because Simon was…?”

“Desperate,” Bonnie answers quickly. “It’s not just his lady-loving nature. I’m not saying I think Simon would ever kidnap people himself, I’m just saying…” She frowns down at her hands.

“Maybe if penguin Gunther were really hungry, the Ice Thing would’ve eaten everyone.”

Bonnie shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Shit.”

“Can I ask you something?” she says quietly.

“Yeah, of course.”

“That night, with the dinner party and the business pizza and the crown— Simon asked you if you had a boyfriend.”

“I remember,” Marcy says grimly.

“And you said…”

“Technically, I didn’t have a boyfriend.”

Bonnie smiles wanly.

“Have you been wondering about that this whole time?”

“I’ve wondered about things a lot longer than that. The nature of science is inquiry.”

“Fair point. You usually don’t wait this long to look for an answer though.”

“I haven’t waited. I just… haven’t asked.” She shrugs. “I’ve observed and put together a couple hypotheses. I’m just not sure.”

Marceline nods and scoots her chair closer. “You wanna run ‘em by me or do you just—?”

“Just tell me? Please?”

She sighs. “I didn’t tell him because things felt kinda fragile. We were new again, I didn’t even know about labels, and I— I don’t know. Simon can come on a little strong. The whole family thing can come on a little strong. I didn’t wanna risk being too much for you.”

“Oh.” Bonnie looks up. “I assumed you were ashamed of me.”

“What?” Marceline smacks herself. “What? Wh— Why?”

Bonnie laughs and kisses the already-faded palm mark on Marcy’s forehead. “So that was wrong?”

“You’re kind of an idiot, y’know. For a genius.” Marcy shakes her head. “Seriously, what do you think Simon could possibly judge you for?”

“I am supposed to be a genius. But I couldn’t help him. I should’ve been smart enough to do more, or— or to do less. Either fixed it like I wanted to or ignored it like you told me to. I let my feelings get in the way, and that’s why he was trapped for so long. It would make sense if you wanted to keep me away from him. If you were ashamed. I wasn’t enough.”

“You’re always enough.”

“And you’re never too much. I don’t ever wanna make you feel that way again.” Bonnie touches her face and can’t help smiling when Marcy does.

“Me neither.” Marcy kisses her, the touch to go with the music and the words. “You’re my favorite.”

///

“And now for the first dance! Featuring music by the… best man?” Finn squints down at the scroll in his hands. “Wait, like the best man ever? In the universe? Is she a better man than me? Even though she’s not a man?”

Bonnie can see Marcy’s jaw gnashing from all the way on the stage.

“Oh, maybe it means best de-man. Or, like, bestie man! Yeah, that works.”

The whole audience groans, and Finn looks up, laughing sheepishly.

“Uh, now for the first dance,” he repeats quickly, “featuring music by the bestie man: Marceline Abadeer!”

“This is a song,” Marceline starts loudly, stepping forward, voice wavering already, “that Simon wrote. Um.”

Bonnie catches her eye from the audience and blows a kiss. Marcy grins and blinks hard.

“It’s called Princess.” She takes a deep breath, tapping the edge of her guitar with two fingers. “It’s a really good song.”

I don’t have to be a king to love a princess

You don’t have to wear a crown to be a princess

Bon— I mean, Betty, you’re my angel, you’re my goddess, you’re my queen

You’re my very best friend, you’re my everything

Everything’s better when you’re around

I feel like I’m flying with my feet on the ground

I feel like I’m grounded and I’m floating in the air

I feel a little silly but I really don’t care

Simon and Betty start dancing as soon as she plays the first note, but Bonnie can hardly see them. It’s a wonder anyone sees them at all, given how lovely and passionate and gorgeous Marcy is, right now and always.

“Geez, who knew Marcy was such a romantic?” Jake snickers under his breath, as Marcy keeps singing, tears streaming down her cheeks. He nudges Bonnie’s side with his elbow. “I guess her little Love-Bubs did.”

Bonnie rolls her eyes. “Okay, meongmeongi.”

“Hey! Don’t make fun of my girlfriend when I’m trying to make fun of yours!”

“You can see where she gets it though,” she notes, ignoring Jake’s furious blush, Lady’s quiet giggle, and the collective discomfort of their children within earshot. She nods to the dance floor. Simon and Betty’s PDA kinda makes honeymoon-phase Tree Trunks and Mr. Pig look like strangers. It’s easier to watch this time. Watching Betty love Simon — in this wise, healthy way — makes the whole thing a lot easier.

Maybe that thing about distance making the heart grow fonder is true. Though Bonnie knows it can have a numbing effect too. She hopes she never has to learn that lesson again.

/

“So, uh. What do you think about— y’know, all this?”

“All what?”

“Y’know. All this.”

Marceline spins them around, gesturing broadly at the cake and the flowers and the lights and the dance floor. The same Banana Guard rock band from Betty’s party is playing Scream Queens covers again. They’re not as good as Marcy, but Bonnie’s always happy for the chance to hold her instead.

“I know you love ceremony.”

“Hm.” Bonnie smirks. “Are you asking me what I think about marriage?”

“No! I mean— maybe.” Marcy shrugs, cheeks pink. “We haven’t really… talked about it. Have we?”

“No. Do you— do you want to? Talk about it?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“Right.” Bonnie sighs and lays her head on Marcy’s shoulder, feeling warm. “Honestly, I don’t really know what I think. I do love ceremony and occasions and all that. But those things are my job, y’know?”

“That makes sense.”

“I guess for both our sakes, I wanna get better at keeping my toppings separate. When I can.”

Marcy hums. “Oh, shit, and all the staring? It’d be worse than a concert. I probably couldn’t even hide behind my bass.”

“I don’t know if I could have fun at my own wedding. I’d be so nervous about everything going the right way. Probably end up acting like a jerk to you— I mean, my— whoever, y’know, that was— I’m definitely not assuming or—”

“It’s okay if you are.”

“Okay.” Bonnie grins against her collarbone. “Then I am. Or I wanna be.”

“Me too. That’s why I asked you, dummy.”

“Yeah. Marcy, I—” She shakes her head and laughs. “I don’t know if I’d ever want a big wedding, but… I only want anything if it’s with you.”

“Me too,” Marceline says softly. “With you.” She laughs. “Besides, can you imagine my dad at a big wedding? It would be the marriage of Hunson Abadeer’s daughter to the Princess of the Candy Kingdom. I’d rather just be Marcy and Bonnie.”

“That’s perfect,” Bonnie agrees, kissing her neck tenderly, the way Marcy says makes that part of herself feel better— good, even. “I like being Bonnie a lot more when I’m with you.”