tw for hunson

Marceline had a weird relationship with Christmas.

She loved the festivities; she owned around ten different ugly Christmas sweaters, she knew the lyrics to all of the famous Christmas songs, and could never decide which Christmas movie was her favourite. But Christmas time had always traditionally been family time. Family time never really worked out well for her.

She hadn't exactly psyched herself up for it this year. Living with Simon, she assumed it'd be a quiet Christmas. She'd offered to cook the dinner, and she was aware that she'd probably be living off leftovers for the next week, but she supposed turkey sandwiches were okay.

But she left the kitchen for a quick bathroom break, and when she walked past the living room door, saw Simon sat in there on the couch, chatting casually as ever to her father.

Her stomach turned to iron. Hunson hadn't noticed her, but obviously he knew she was here. She hadn't had to interact with him for months, aside from that awkward, tense conversation where he'd given her birthday money to her, and even then, Bonnibel had been there, holding her hand and glaring rather obviously at her father as he muttered something about spending the money on something worthwhile.

She realised she was staring, and the longer she stood in the doorway, the more likely it would be for him to notice her. She quickly forced herself to move, and once she was behind the locked bathroom door, she could breathe.

"He can't hurt me here," Marceline assured herself, splashing a little cold water on her face, "he can't. Not with Simon here."

She turned the tap off and when she met her own gaze in the mirror, saw her mother's eyes, she felt a new kind of determination wash over her. No. She wouldn't let him ruin her Christmas. He'd ruined all the others, and she was sick of letting him. She didn't want to give him any more power over her. She wouldn't go back to being so scared all the time.

It was a nice thought, but when she left the bathroom and someone grabbed her, her body tensed up naturally. Instinct. Nature always wins.

"Got you," Marshall said, and Marceline had to take a few moments to compose herself. It's not dad. It's not dad, just your brother. You're okay. "Merry Christmas, bitch."

"Merry Christmas, asshole," Marceline shoved him away, "did you really have to assault me?"

"Uh, yeah," He laughed, "that's what you get for taking the damn Xbox."

"You can go play on it all you want, it's in my room," Marceline rolled her eyes, and turned to go back to the kitchen, "Didn't know you were coming."

He followed her into the kitchen, probably to see how much food he could pilfer as she got it all out of the oven and plated it up. Marshall always ate enough for twenty people. "Dad wanted to. I think he misses you. I just miss your cooking."

She decided not to comment on that first part because she highly doubted her father missed her. More like missed punching her. "Well, I only made enough for me and Simon, so you two can fuck off."

"Harsh," Marshall put a hand over his heart and mock pouted at her, "Hope you don't talk to Bonnie like that."

"Of course I don't," Marceline said, "I actually like her. You, I just have to put up with out of familial obligation."

Marshall laughed. "Big words. She's obviously rubbing off on you."

"And that's a bad thing?" Marceline raised her eyebrows, and smirking a little to herself, added, "That's what father dearest wanted when he stuck us together for that project."

She allowed herself that little revenge. How his plan to make her straighten up her act had quite heavily backfired on him. How Bonnie was on her side, not his.

"Didn't say that, just glad you're not corrupting the good girl," Marshall snorted, and then said, "you guys have been studying a lot lately though, huh? I always see you in the library together. She's turned you into a nerd."

Marceline rolled her eyes, getting the turkey out of the oven when it beeped. The potatoes and everything else could stay in there while she carved it. "Shut up. She has not."

Marshall laughed. "Whatever you say, nerd."

"You really want to anger the girl holding the big carving knife?" She questioned, holding up the knife in question. "Make yourself useful and get me that serving plate, jerk."

Once the food was out and the table was set, Marceline braced herself for an interaction with her father. She watched warily as he sat down and made sure to choose the seat that wasn't across or next to him. The furthest possible point. It was always the best idea to keep out of his reach, even if she knew rationally that nothing would happen.

She ate in silence, only managing a quiet thank you when Simon complimented her on her cooking. But then he turned to her father and said, "You know, I don't know how you cope without her. She cooks dinner every night and it's always lovely."

Thanks for drawing his attention to me was all she could think, and she tensed under her father's icy cold gaze. She hated the way he looked at her, always so judgemental. "Yes, cooking is one of her few skills."

Nice backhanded compliment, father. Marshall nudged her and grinned. "You should be a chef. You'd be the perfect Gordon Ramsay intern. You're just as grumpy as him. You'd both have the best time running around calling people idiot sandwiches."

Somehow, her brother had managed to cheer her up. "Yeah, and no matter how many idiot sandwiches I meet, you'll always be the number one idiot."

"Aw, damn, Marce," Marshall laughed, "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Marceline rolled her eyes. "Sure, delude yourself into thinking it's a compliment."

She helped herself to more turkey with a smile on her face. Hopefully it would show her dad he couldn't ruin her day. His insults would just bounce right off. She was stubborn enough for that.

"I'm surprised you haven't come to me for help with your college applications, Marceline," Hunson said, and she knew that would come up at some point. She certainly wasn't telling him about the record deal, that was for sure, and she'd sworn Simon and her brother to secrecy. As in, when she told them, she said don't tell dad. "You know the expectations I have of you. You are an intelligent girl and I won't let you throw that away."

"Bonnie is helping me," Marceline said, because it wasn't technically a lie. Bonnibel was helping her, but not with college things. When she looked up, she stared directly at her father, and in a tiny act of defiance, she said, "You know, because she's basically guaranteed to get into all the top schools. Especially with a good recommendation letter."

She hoped he knew what she meant. Yes, father, I know you threatened her. And I also know she won, because you didn't follow through with it. You're too scared of getting caught because you're a fucking coward.

From the flash of anger in his eyes, she knew he'd gotten that. For once, it didn't scare her. "Yes, Bonnibel is headed to a fantastic school. I believe you mentioned Oxford, back in England?"

She heard his thinly veiled threat. She won't be around forever. Marceline didn't rise to it. "Actually, we're both looking at the west coast. She says that UCLA is in the top ten for medicine over here."

"Hey, that's cool," Marshall said, "you guys can live together. Saves money and stuff."

"Yeah," Marceline knew she was pushing her luck when she flashed a rather smug smile. At home she never would've dared, but Hunson couldn't touch her. He wouldn't, not with Simon and her brother here. Not with Bonnibel's threats of exposure hanging over him if Marceline showed up with so much as a bruise. "So that's pretty convenient for the both of us."

Hunson was staring her down. "Surely, Miss Butler knows that for two people in a city like L.A., the cost of living would be far too high."

Despite the way that icy blue gaze made her feel, Marceline didn't let it get to her. "Good thing Keila, Guy and Bongo are going there too, then. Five people sharing won't be so bad. We all have savings."

"You are still spending time with those irresponsible children?" Hunson questioned her, the anger rising to his voice now. "Those are not the people you should be hanging around with. I have never liked that Keila girl and those two boys are abhorrent."

The fury in his voice had shaken her, but she kept herself steady. He couldn't touch her. She knew it. He knew it, too. "They're my friends. Keila's done more for me than you ever have, so I don't really care whether you like her or not, because I do. And you don't even know Guy and Bongo. Maybe talk to them first before deciding they're abhorrent."

Hunson's grip on his knife and fork tightened. "You are becoming increasingly insolent. Perhaps moving back home may help return a sense of order and discipline to your life."

"Alright. Go ahead and pack my things up." Marceline said, like she was on some kind of reckless high. Maybe it was the thrill of knowing he was powerless. Maybe it was all of the pent-up emotions, or the realisation that she never deserved any of it. "I'll call Bonnie, maybe she'll help."

What occurred next was almost a showdown. Hunson glared at her, unwavering, but for once, Marceline didn't flinch away. She stared back at him in a silent defiance, challenging him to do something about it.

Simon broke the tension in the room. "Marcy, if you want to go home, you can."

"I don't. Not in the slightest. I'm much happier here." Marceline was still staring at her father when she said it, and then dropped her fork on her empty plate and stood up. "I'm going out. Enjoy the rest of the food. Merry Christmas Simon, Marshall."

Maybe that was petty, but she didn't care. It felt good.

"Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la, la la la la!"

Bonnie's bedroom door swung open to the loud song, and she sat up from where she was playing around with her new computer, trying to get it set up. Marceline had burst into her bedroom; as was the usual routine, but she wasn't always singing when she did it. She did a cute little pirouette as she sang, 'tis the season to be jolly!' and flopped onto Bonnie's bed straight after, pushing the new laptop out of the way to rest her head on Bonnie's lap. It reminded her of a cat who wanted attention.

Bonnie's hand went to play in her hair, but she pouted when she saw the red fluffy Santa hat on her girlfriend's head. "A Santa hat? Should I be worried that you've completely lost your marbles?"

"Never had any to begin with, Bon-Bon," Marceline grinned, and when she looked like she was about to break into song again, she clamped a hand over her girlfriend's mouth, because she had to comment on that jumper. Not only was Marceline wearing a bright red Santa hat, but she had an obnoxiously bright Christmas jumper on. It was red and green striped, and decorated with little Christmas trees and reindeer, and it was probably the brightest item of clothing she'd ever seen Marceline wear. She still had her ripped black jeans on, because of course she did, but her socks were festive too – one was decorated in little Christmas puddings, and the other was covered in little candy canes.

She clearly hadn't learned her lesson from what putting a hand over Marceline's mouth led to, because her girlfriend licked her and she pulled her hand away immediately, wiping it on the obnoxious jumper with a muttered, "You're disgusting."

Marceline laughed, sticking out her offending tongue. "You love it."

"Pfft, doubtful. Anyway, I don't think I've ever seen you wear clothes that aren't either on the greyscale or muted in colour, so this is huge. I need a picture." Bonnie tugged at the sleeve of her jumper. "I think you've set the world record for most obnoxious Christmas jumper."

"I think you've set the record for being a Grinch," Marceline said, reaching up and tugging at the collar of Bonnibel's pink flowery dress. "You're wearing your usual clothing. That's unacceptable. You need a Christmas sweater."

Bonnie laughed as Marceline pushed herself up, probably with the objective of hunting around in her closet until she found a Christmas jumper. "I don't actually own one, so don't waste your time."

When she turned around, Marceline had that cute little pout on. The one she used when she wanted something. Bonnie waited for it, and Marceline pulled her jumper off, knocking her Santa hat to the floor and revealing the bright and obnoxious Christmas t-shirt she was wearing underneath. She leaned down to grab the Santa hat, putting it back onto her head, and then extended the jumper in Bonnie's direction. "Wear mine, then. And I'll donate it to the 'make Bonnie not a Grinch' foundation, because I've got like ten others."

Bonnie stared up at her, an amused smile on her face. Two seconds of looking at that pout, and she took the jumper, her heart skipping a beat at the way Marceline grinned. She tugged the obnoxiously bright sweater on and had to resist the urge to sniff it. Instead, she murmured, "Never expected you to be so festive."

"Duh, I'm always festive." Marceline rolled her eyes like it was the most obvious answer. "I'm just glad I was wearing my coat last year when I gave you that ride home, because I was wearing an obnoxious Christmas sweater at work that day. That would've been embarrassing. You never would've taken me seriously ever again."

"I should've known you were a little sweetheart when you offered me that lift home." Bonnie laughed, grabbing Marceline by the arm and pulling her back onto the bed, throwing an arm around her waist. "And you're not concerned I won't take you seriously now?"

"Hm… no," Marceline said, melting into Bonnie's touch and resting her head on her shoulder, "I'm really not."

"So… good Christmas so far?" Bonnie asked, leaning forwards and continuing with the setup of her new laptop. For Marceline's sake, she explained, "Peter got me this. I just need to set it up and then we can christen it by watching a movie and cuddling up."

"Gotta be a festive movie, or it's no deal," Marceline said, and Bonnie nodded in confirmation, "I guess Christmas has been okay. I kinda got ambushed earlier. Simon decided he wanted to play host so I ended up cooking for four instead of two."

"Oh. I'm sorry about that." Bonnie knew what that implied, though Marceline's mood hadn't shown it. She seemed as cheery as ever; maybe even cheerier. Usually, after an encounter with her father, she was shaken and quiet. "He didn't… say anything, then?"

Marceline's arm looped through hers, and her girlfriend shuffled a little bit closer to her. "He did. He said quite a lot, actually."

Bonnibel blinked, looking away from her laptop screen with a rather confused and concerned frown. "Yet you're bouncing around my room singing Christmas carols? I'm not complaining, obviously I'm glad you're feeling okay, but… why, exactly?"

"I said quite a lot back. He kept trying to threaten me, saying all these subtle things like you wouldn't be around to protect me forever, and he threatened to make me go back home. I told him to go ahead and pack my things, and that I'd call you to help out." Marceline said, and the funny little smile she had on sort of faded into a frown. "I'll probably freak out about it later and worry what he's going to do to punish me, but right now I'm still riding the high."

Bonnie frowned. If she was hearing that correctly, it meant that Marceline had stood up to Hunson. "You… you stood up to your dad?"

Marceline hummed. "Yep. It was kind of a rush. I knew he couldn't do anything to me because Simon and my brother were there, and if I showed up here with so much as a bruise, you'd tell. So I just… talked back. Oh, god, I talked back. Why did I do that? Do I want to get myself killed?"

And there was the freak out. Bonnie made sure that both arms were tight around her, and she stopped the anxiety in its path. "He can't ever hurt you again. He won't ever hurt you again. I don't care if I have to stay with you 24/7 for the rest of your life to make sure it doesn't happen. I'd do that. And I'm really proud of you for standing up to him. That must've been a scary thing to do, but you did it."

"God, it was terrifying. But it felt so good. Even just like, wishing everyone else in the room a merry Christmas except him." Marceline sighed into her shoulder. "It wasn't straight up defiance. Just… pettiness. Subtlety. But he was mad. I could tell. He called me insolent."

"I'm still proud, even if you did have to be subtle. I mean, that time I came over for dinner, you just sat there and took it. All of his backhanded compliments and subtle little insults. He deserves a little insolence." Bonnie's hand found its way into Marceline's hair, and she combed her fingers through it, feeling her relax. "You're healing, Marcy. And that's wonderful."

Marceline was quiet for a few minutes. So quiet that Bonnie wondered if she'd fallen asleep in her arms. Bonnibel was content to hold her, rubbing gentle circles into her back, just waiting for her to talk. Marceline's hands gripped the fabric of the sweater she'd made Bonnie wear, and she sighed again, finally surfacing to flash Bonnie a smile.

Bonnie's heart fluttered when it was as bright as it was when she'd walked in. "I mean, honestly, I think part of it is really understanding that it's not my fault, what happened to mom. That I didn't deserve it all, and that it was just his fucked-up justification. Because you were right. I did feel like it was my fault. I needed to be away from him constantly beating it into me to understand that."

Bonnie couldn't contain how proud she felt. She cupped Marceline's jaw and pulled her in for a kiss, trying to communicate just how delighted she was through that. In case it didn't work, though, she pulled apart from her girlfriend and said, "You don't know how happy I am to hear that."

"I know you always tell me not to but… thank you. I wouldn't have realised it without you and what you did." Marceline took her hand and sent her that adorably toothy grin. "Anyway, set up your new laptop, dork. I want to watch Home Alone."

Bonnie did as she was asked, but she kept an arm around Marceline as she worked, holding her close.

Just making sure she knew how truly loved she was.