Real Talk: And we're back! Hey guys, did you see?! Bubbline's canon now! I'm going to celebrate by adding a special chapter to Opening Act, but sadly you won't see it for awhile. In the meantime, I'm also writing a one-off to celebrate! Hint: It takes place chronologically before every story I've written so far.
This chapter took awhile because I went back in forth for more than a couple of days on whether or not I wanted to split it into two chapters. I really didn't want to, but after getting to over 25 pages I decided that this arc of the story is too important to cram into one space, so I'm splitting it up. The next chapter is going to be very challenging to write, but I won't say why just yet.
Speaking of weird challenges, I have a tumblr now because a reader suggested I get one! I'll mostly be using it to respond to comments/questions and to post drabbles of things I've written but never quite turned into full stories, but I also welcome you guys to give me your comments, send me requests, and I might ask your opinions about story ideas I have. Who knows? A misfit might even show up if they feel loved. Basically, I like talking to you guys but ff's review system just isn't set up for me to do it. Also, to celebrate hitting 200 kudos(!) on AO3 I'm also planning to do a contest there where I'll write someone a fic request. Can't promise it'll be canon to Symphony, but if that's something you're interested in having me do keep an eye out there. You can find me at tumblr by looking up countingwithturkeys.
Speaking of canon, I know what the first question I'm going to get asked is: How is Symphony going to be canon in wake of the finale? Well, the short answer is... it can't be. Too much differs for me to hold on to that dream, sadly. True canon and Symphony are going to have to diverge. I have a pretty good idea as to where that split is going to happen, but I'll need to play around with the idea before making a formal decision.
As always, thank you guys SO much for all your love, and welcome to all of my new readers! I've been seeing more of you guys since the finale, and I gotta say, I love seeing all these new readers and all these new fellow writers! I love you all and hope this chapter was worth the wait.
Content Warnings:
Bonnie's fighting with herself
Graphic violence
Disassociation
Self-mutilation
German
I will never be done with Sociopath Bonnie
Mentions of an OC who is definitely going to show up in this and future stories
Also, Jan's back
Remember way back in Rehearsal when I said I was setting up for certain events in Opening Act and Opening Act's sequel? Well...
Despite being nothing more than an illusion, Time is the most valuable resource imaginable. However, like everything else of importance its subjective worth exists in inverse proportion to the amount available. For mortals with semi-definite life-spans Time is valuable because more of it cannot be acquired, except by bending and bashing the natural order of things. Even in the bizarre world of Ooo mere mortals could only cheat Death for so long before he would come looking for you, but they were not the only ones under the metaphysical gun. Even cosmic entities in mortal form such as Finn knew Time as precious, because while his consciousness seemed quite keen to reincarnate he himself had only so many decades on the planet before expiring, and so any dreams or goals for himself must be accomplished within that set period of Time or else not occur at all.
Of course, not even all mere mortals experienced Time in the same subjective worth. Jake and Jermaine, Finn's dear older brothers, were finite beings as well, but their species aged differently than the human; while Finn still possessed the mind of teenager both of the Dogs were already psychologically adults. As the passage of Time seemed slower for the younger the two furred siblings would never be able to appreciate the concept in the same way as their baby brother, even if they were chronologically of similar ages.
Time is had always been difficult to conceive of, even for those wisest. When Jake had been growing up he had thought that he understood Time quite well, but after the birth of his pupsters it had gone all wonky, for he had not understood what would happened when his species' version of time met his girlfriend's. He had anticipated a decade or more of adventures in raising his puppies, only to find that they were all adults in a scant few months, soon forming lives and children of their own. Although thrilled with his growing family he had and would always feel that pain of being robbed of an experience he had been so certain of. But then, that was the curse of mortality, to always assume you have more of a resource than you do.
It would be folly, though, to assume that only mortals fell into this trap. Bonnibel Bubblegum, who had grown up fiercely independent and as the sole provider of his brother, had a lifelong habit of taking Time for granted, for her hubris assured her that she could and would always control the circumstances within and surrounding her life. It meant that nothing happened to or around her without her permission. Even among candy people she was unique in that she could manipulate her own biological age by adding or subtracting to and from her own biomass, allowing her to be any age she wished, choosing to remain on the cusp of 19 due to the allure of the vitality of youth and the desire to stay close to her own mate's biological age, despite the latter's assurance that she couldn't care less what age Bonnibel chose to live as. Because this age manipulation prevented Death from claiming her in old age it made her effectively immortal, so long as she avoided getting herself killed, a task Marceline took with deadly seriousness.
Yet herein lied the rub; because Finn, Jake, Jermaine, and all of her other mortal friends had life circumstances decided for them they could appreciate what few resources were available to them more. They had less Time and so knew its true worth, whereas Bonnibel had lots of Time and never thought of its price. Only when it was suddenly robbed from her in great amounts - perhaps most notably the two times she almost killed Marceline - did she remember that she wouldn't always have the freedom afforded her, that even the rich could be robbed and left penniless, that she may be able to lead a life of eternity and decadence, but nothing promised it would be pleasant. She hadn't learned that lesson in her first eight centuries of life, but now, and only now, were growing pains making sure she never forgot.
Then again, Marceline Abadeer was unique when it came valuing of Time. Across all cultures for as long as there was a culture to think of it people had desired immortality, but here was a woman who had it thrust upon her and wanted nothing to do with it. Unlike Bonnibel, Marceline knew that immortality, the possession of literally endless Time, didn't mean squat for happiness because she knew first-hand that happiness was never guaranteed and that nothing was ever fair. Endless Time was a burden and nothing more because it was everything around her that made her grotesque pile of Time worthwhile. Without her friends, her music, her mate, what was the point? And so she guarded it all fiercely, often with little regard to her own safety. After all, that wasn't her priority, her priority was keeping her miserable existence palatable, because insanity was the result of having too much Time and nothing to spend it on. Her birth and brief stint as a mortal had taught her what it meant to have finite resources, but her living a thousand years with those resources now infinite had taught her a harsh lesson: Time was something she could only spend on herself. If Bonnibel or Finn or Jake or Phoebe were killed her own immortality wouldn't save them, and she would be left alone with her nightmares.
Oh yes, Marceline knew all about Time, not just from living through the apocalypse, and not just from watching everything and everyone she loved be killed and destroyed again and again. Her very existence was entrenched in the annals of Time, for being Endless was part of her very being. In public, and even in front of Bonnibel, she liked to blame her vampirism for her despisal of the concept of forever, but her deep-seated hatred for the desire for immortality went well-beyond the bite. No, its source came from the Nightosphere, a pocket dimension she could resist for long but never ignore, and never forever. It was a land of chaos, fear, and confusion, its very existence a legend among legends. There were hundreds of worlds in the multiverse, but few even knew its name, and only half a dozen individuals knew why it existed in the first place. It was a unique landscape, but perhaps most unique of all was that Time stood still. Events happened, demons were born and died, but Time was paralyzed. Even Hunson Abadeer wasn't immune to this effect; one moment he was leaving his infant daughter in the hands of his mate to check in on the office, and then that same moment his mate was gone, his daughter a young woman lost in a destabilized and horrific world.
If both father and daughter were honest with themselves they would admit that their perverse relationship with Time was something they both shared. After all, Marceline had to have inherited her broken internal clock from somewhere; even her poor circadian rhythm that dictated that she sleep when tired and be awake when not while giving no further guidance was a side-effect of prolonged Nightosphere exposure, including genetic exposure passed down through her father. Though the two never spoke about it Hunson was well-aware that as she got older his daughter was feeling herself drawn more and more to the pocket dimension, but would never stop resisting. Contrary to her belief he didn't actually like it this way; ideally, she would come to him willingly so he could have The Talk they should have had hundreds of years ago, but when that had failed to happen he had stooped to tricking her and, well, everyone who was anyone knew how well that had turned out. But Hunson wasn't just immortal he was Deathless, and so often suffered a Bubblegum-like problem of forcing his subjective value of Time on those around him. He cared not for the demon subjects he had absolute domain over, but watching his own flesh and blood mangled from the amulet he drew much of his power from, power that should never be able to actually hurt her by virtue of their shared blood, had put everything in perspective for him. And so, when her cool friends - and the pink gum woman - had come to reclaim her he had let her go, not knowing if she would return.
And now, without his knowledge, there sat Bonnibel and Marceline on the soft pink bed, a scant two weeks later.
"You… want to go back to the Nightosphere?"
A quiet nod.
"And… you want me to go with you?"
Another nod. Sometime after Marceline had voiced the idea she had fallen silent, perhaps rendered mute by the enormity of the words she had uttered. She had said the words, looked away, then curled up in the younger woman's lap when the candy golem sat on the bed next to her. She was tense, a storm of emotions raging inside of her only calmed by the gentle hand stroking her hair. The other hand had reached down and laced fingers with her own, preventing the vampire from clawing at herself in frustration, because somewhere along the way her mode of absent-minded self-mutilation had changed from ripping open her own cheek to tearing at her flesh. Bonnibel wasn't sure why, but at least this was easier to stop. All she needed to do was put her own skin between Marceline's talons and the tearing would stop and yes, it was a bit manipulative, but better the young scientist use her immunity from the half-demon's wrath to protect the older woman than to leave her to her destructive urges. Instead of leaving her to herself Bonnibel redirected her thoughts, running her warm thumb over the cool wrist in her gentle capture, listening to the older woman's breath as it began to steady in tempo with her own heartbeat.
Marceline hadn't even asked about the results of the candy golem's research in the Grasslands; she had just blurted the words out the moment she was sure Bonnibel was listening and then immediately shut down. This was not an outcome Bonnibel had expected of her lover's private conversation with Phoebe. She had kept her promise to not spy on the pair but thought she had had a pretty good idea of what the chat would be about: her, Marceline's thin grasp on sanity, maybe her strange throat wound or the Grasslands Incident. Had they talked about the conversation the two elementals had had with one another a few days prior? What had brought them to this point? But there was no way to ask any of this tactfully, and more to the point Bonnibel didn't want to push her mate into opening up before she was ready. Even vocalizing her duel desires to return to her homeland willingly and with Bonnibel noless seemed to have taken a lot out of her. For now the princess was content with providing silent comfort and reassurance.
"...I don't think I should go alone." Well, at least they could both agree on that. Not wanting to interrupt what she hoped was an actual train of thought and not just nervous mumbles Bonnibel lifted the grey hand clasped in her own, giving it a soft kiss. It worked. "I just… I don't think…" She sighed, closing her eyes. "It brings out the worst in me, you know? If something happens… Finn and Jake and Pheebs… they can't stop me. You could."
Even as she said those words Marceline stiffened, almost making it a point to look anywhere but at her lover. There was something more to that thought, more to that idea. Her sagged shoulders, the way she seemed undecided as to whether she wanted to be curling into or away from the princess, the fang piercing her lip, these were all symptoms of something else brewing below the surface. "What do you mean?," Bonnibel asked gently. Her arm came to wrap around the older woman's thin waist. Something in her voice, some soft waver, told her that this wasn't about the queen's not-so-hidden violent streak.
Marceline exhaled, deciding on a new position now: flipping over to curl into the younger woman, nuzzling into her abdomen. She was faintly aware that her residual anger was being pushed further back by some other unseen emotion, something like relief or shame cobbled together, a representation of how happy yet embarrassed she was that, even now, after everything, the younger woman could calm her so effortlessly. "...You still have silver, don't you." Now it was the vampire's turn to make statements rather than questions, to plead rather than accuse.
...She wants the answer to be 'yes'. What have I done to you to make you prefer this method of controlling your inner demons? How did we get to this point where you'd ask me to use such a horrible method as a first response? "Marceline, no." No to every part of that thought. Every single part of it. Bonnibel ignored the queasy feeling brewing in her stomach, channeling the unintended guilt trip into something more productive, turning the older woman's face to meet her eyes. "Absolutely not. I destroyed every bit of my stores and banished every conceivable form of it from both my kingdom and territories. There is no more silver here." Marceline turned away. "...Did you really expect me to keep some after all of this? After my promise?" The hurt was there in that question, asking whether or not this was some sort of sick test.
The half-demon rolled back to her side, no longer facing the scientist. "...No," she whispered honestly. "I was just hoping…"
That stake in the heart again. "Marcy, why would you hope that?" The arm tightened around her waist unconsciously, a silent plead to not run from this. Because that's exactly the type of thing Marceline would do exactly in moments like this: run, because it was better to run from Bonnibel than to fight her, and after centuries of having to face accusing eyes and pointy words this had to look a like a battle was about the commence, one Marceline knew she couldn't win. But this isn't a fight. Please see that.
The musician closed her eyes, tense, every coiled muscle demanding she do just that. But where would she flee to, even if she had the strength to leave? ...No. Phoebe's right. I never know when to run or fight. Bonnie… she doesn't sound like she wants to fight. Exactly what it did sound like she didn't know, but that seemed like a mystery beyond her grasp at the moment. "...'Cause it'd stop me."
We're going in circles. The thought was accompanied by a mental sigh, not of frustration but of uncertainty. Knowing that her lover was perhaps one stitch away from falling apart Bonnibel pulled her closer, free hand rubbing soothing circles over her stomach. "Are you that worried about what could happen there?" There was no response, but that in of itself was all the affirmation she needed. "Marcy… please look at me." After a small beat of hesitation Marceline shook her head softly, making it a point to stare off and into the wall as if it held the answer to whatever dilemma she was suffering through. Are you avoiding looking at me? There was a clue in there somewhere, but the scientist had bigger problems at the moment, and that was breaking her lover's mental preoccupation with a very dangerous train of thought. "I won't let anything happen to you, but I'm not going to use pain to control you. You don't need to be controlled."
"You saw the Citadel. I totalled, like… a third of it," she mumbled, eye closing. A shift in her mood swings was peeking over the horizon of her mind, but something foreign seemed to be driving it back, even if it did seem to be at the cost of a bad headache brewing. Not that she was complaining; it would be a nice change of pace to keep a consistent mental state for longer than a few hours. "What if I totally lose it and I'm not me anymore this time?"
Bonnibel said nothing at first. She only held the vampire against her as best she could, rubbing soft patterns over her belly as she watched the musician struggle against some unseen force. What did Phoebe say to you? But that toxic thought was stopped before it could even be a frown; she may not like the younger elemental, but it was clear that the fire princess felt nothing but affection for the queen, and even the candy golem couldn't imagine she had said something to inflict this level of existential anguish. No, there was something else at work here, something deeper and more profound playing with her lover's psyche like a toy. "Marcy, you don't need to be controlled," she repeated. "Pain isn't the answer. You're already in pain. It's what we're trying to stop, remember?" She ran her fingers through the thick onyx hair before her, trying to find some way to persuade the vampire to open up without risking like she was giving an order or anything else aggressive. "Sometimes," she began carefully, "in order to heal a wound you have to open it up again to try all the bad stuff out. Sometimes when you just let something heal on its own it doesn't do a great job of it 'cause it needs some help. I think that going to the Nightosphere to find what's there is doing exactly that, and I'm going with you." That last part was emphasized. "While it's true that it brings out the worst in you it does so by feeding on your dominant emotion. Right now it's obvious to me that would be your despair. I support your decisions, but please understand, Marcy… I can't let you go there in this state of mind. Please… let me help, and once things have calmed down we can head out."
Marceline curled into herself, as if such an action could ever hide her vulnerability from Bonnibel. "...You wouldn't get it."
She didn't see the kind smile behind her. "That's true, I might not. You're going through something profound and unique. It's a situation I, admittedly, cannot possibly fathom. But that's not going to deter me, and I think you know that." When the vampire nodded weakly, still unmoving except to hide from reality by curling into herself even tighter in the vain hope it couldn't find her the candy golem developed a hunch. "...Does this have to do with what you told me earlier? That you still slip out of reality in little ways? Is that why you're worried you won't be you anymore?"
"...Don't be mad." Please. It was a desperate whisper, and by the change in the half-demon's tension it was evident she was preparing to actually run this time, that she was done toying with the idea at those three words, not spoken but whimpered. It was, to say the least. What could possibly have happened in her mind to make her believe that after everything Bonnibel had done so far to prove herself she would ever be mad at her mate for being ill? It was heartbreaking just to consider as a hypothetical, but to stare at it laying woefully in her lap was almost unbearable.
"Marceline, I promise, I won't be mad." Why would you ever think that? "Please… tell me so I can help you. My only goal is to make sure you recover. Everything is to that ends. I promise, I will not be mad or anything else so-" ridiculous absurd ludicrous "-cruel."
Without either woman realizing it Marceline had found the one bare patch of her arm and now, despite how small the easel was, the vampire had made deep wounds. Dark blood trickled down, and by the way the muscle underneath twitched it looked that she was actively resisting healing the gashes. Instead she was digging her talons in deep and dragging slowly, as far as she could. It hurt, sure, but it was a good focus, a way of grounding herself. At least, that was usually the case. Now? Now it did nothing to stop her breathing from becoming erratic, or spare her from feeling her chest tighten.
About the time Bonnibel realized Marceline was digging her talons into her arm, about the time she separated the two appendages, covering the claw until it returned to the form of a hand, was about the time Marceline broke. With the ebb and flow of her moods turning more into an 'ebb' than a 'flow' the fight was once more drained out of her. If Bonnibel was going to kick her out of the room into the sunlight - and why wouldn't she? - the vampire supposed that was fine. At least it'd be over then. "...I don't think you're here."
The heartbreak was so great it was amazing it didn't possess a physical form. But it was enough to still the candy golem, to cause her to tense to the point of freezing. Only a whispered word from Rechte, a reminder of how terrified Marceline was of something steered her back to the task at hand: creating a safe and nurturing environment. "What do you mean?" Even Bonnibel wasn't strong enough to keep the waver from her voice, and sensitive grey ears picked up on it immediately. The older woman immediately made to run, entirely misunderstanding the terror implicit in those four words as budding anger, but one gentle arm wrapped around her waist pulled her back. Sure, it meant that Bonnibel had lied about never restraining her or preventing her from running again, but this time she felt justified. But… I've always felt justified in the past- No. None of that. I'm a different person now, and she really could get hurt or killed like this. She's already bleed- "Hey… it's alright," she soothed. "It just startled me. Can you tell me what you mean?" And how long you've been hiding this?
You ever maybe think she's disassociating right now?
It hadn't, and she cursed herself inwardly. But what triggered it? Phoebe?
It doesn't really need a specific trigger, Bon. You're doing an awesome job of putting her back together, but her mind's donked up. It's gonna turn against you first 'cause you're probably the safest spot for her. You remember all those times Finn was a kid and he'd get himself hurt, but he'd go right back to the exact thing that hurt him without meaning to? It's like that.
Ignorant to the second mental curse Bonnibel berated herself with Marceline considered her options. She could tell her lover, but she really didn't want to. What choice did she have though? At least it would grant closure, allow her to come to terms with this ending. She sighed in defeat, but was no less tense for it. The burning of her arm helped to keep her thoughts steady.
"I remember…," she began cautiously, terror gripping her soul. "...Being in that room. Everything hurt there. I don't remember why. I don't wanna remember why. But it hurt… and I remember it was silent. And alone." Her eyes closed tightly, and though she could not remember the images themselves she remembered the associated emotions; the fear, the guilt, the pain, the self-loathing, the dejection and, above all, knowing she had failed at something important. "Sometimes… you were there. It was nice then. Like having you back… I could never talk to you, but you'd talk to me." Behind her eyelids tears begun to sting, but she was too lost in her memory to realize that she was being moved, being drawn into a tight and loving embrace. "I don't really remember about what. Science, I guess. But… if I tried to see you you'd be gone, and I'd be alone again. You'd come back… but it'd be a long time." She squirmed, but the embrace didn't loosen, not that she was in a place to even notice it. "So… I just…" She trailed off, unable to continue, enjoying the last vestiges of warmth before she knew she would be ejected from the room for lying. For misleading Bonnibel, for not telling her everything. Lying, especially by omission was a sin, and she had felt Bonnibel's wrath from doing it before. It was alright, though. She knew she did this to herself.
Bonnibel was stunned into silence, quite a feet that, in any other circumstance, Marceline would have surely relished in. Too many thoughts were racing in the candy golem's mind, even for her to parse through. As she searched for a mental thread to begin with she stroked down her mate's hair, keeping her close to her now admittedly erratic heartbeat without realizing it. Her mind turned, flying through recent memory after memory, putting together strings of thoughts and ideas. Yes, it was beginning to make sense now, all of those times Marceline had been speaking to her without looking at her, acknowledging her indirectly but not directly. What she had previously dismissed as a bizarre quirk was, in actuality, a symptom of a severe disassociative episode, expertly hidden because… why, exactly?
"I didn't want to lose you again," Marceline whispered against the unasked question. "I'm sorry."
It was too much like when she, Finn, and Jake had broken Tyrant out of her prison; the way the Baddie had apologized for nothing, the way she had looked remorseful for no discernible reason. Actually- ...this is exactly like that. Rechte?
Sup?
When we first opened The Room within Marceline's mine, didn't Finn and Jake mention feeling weird?
Yeah, I think they described it as 'all joy and happiness having been drained out of 'em'?
This was beginning to make sense now as well. The sense of despair in The Room had been building up not from the physical torture the embodiment of loyalty had been subjected to but the mental anguish of having the illusion of her lover ripped from her again and again, from the guilt of believing she herself was the cause. When the three had finally managed to free her Tyrant hadn't looked at Finn or Jake, even as they were freeing her, something Bonnibel had attributed to her fixation on Unifier and Navigator as her jailers and her thirst for vengeance. But… they were hiding right behind me and she avoided looking at me as well. In fact… she didn't even look at me until I purposefully put myself directly in her line of sight. She seemed so shocked. She nodded silently to herself, replaying the course of events in her mind's eye, slowly as to not miss any details. No matter how much it burned her soul. Yes, that's when the boys said her aura dissipated. I had thought it due to the surprise of having not seen me in so long… but she was actually…
Even Bonnibel couldn't finish that thought. Even at Princess Bubblegum's worst the torture Lady Evil had inflicted was unconscionable. Tyrant had suffered more than she had ever indicated, certainly more than she had ever planned to indicate, that much was becoming obvious. And now Marceline, Whole Marceline, had realized that she needed to return to the Nightosphere to face her proverbial demon, and some great part of her remembered exactly who and what that demon was. The timing is just too perfect. To have a disassociative episode so fixated on not driving me away by encouraging her to take me with her on her journey… no, the timing is just too perfect. Had Tyrant's torture chamber been designed that way purposefully? Was all of this an elaborate set up by its creator to drive Whole Marceline back into the Nightosphere should her mission to return alone fail? Was this one of Lady Evil's schemes? I had always been a part of her plans, wittingly or unwittingly. Even if she was reluctant to hurt me she showed no remorse for hurting any of her counterparts. Was this a failsafe, should her Whole self fail to live up to her plot?
No way to know now, but I wouldn't put it past her. The wad didn't seem like the type of person to leave anything to chance. I know she liked Phoebe, but I can't see her bankin' on her convincing her whole self to go down to the place she hates most, 'specially with you.
Yes. It's more likely she'd go alone unless she were given proper motivation otherwise. This is sick, even for her.
If it's true. Could just be bad timing. Happenin' a lot lately, you know? Then again… it'd make sense in a messed up sorta way. She said Tyrant was the only one of 'em that stood any chance of beating her one-on-one, and it's a pretty good motivator if you think about it. I mean, what better way of making sure she goes all out in protecting you from Usurper and everything else than driving her ultra insane?
Even in her mind, Bonnibel seethed. And whose side are you on exactly?
Even in her mind, Bonnibel felt the mental shrug. Hey, don't shoot the messenger. I'm your subconscious, Bon. So what does that say about you?
The mental exercise would have to wait; Marceline was beginning to tremble, the first sign of an imminent panic attack, her first in days, and Bonnibel was not willing to break their winning streak. For now and for the conceivable future the vampire's health and safety would trump everything. "Hey…," she began softly, cupping the singer's cheek. "I'm right here. I know you may not be able to understand that right now but I am. I'm not leaving ever again. You don't need to look at me if you're not ready, but in the meantime I'm just going to hold you and keep you warm, okay?"
"...Are you mad?" The whisper was so soft the candy scientist almost didn't hear it, but the melancholy was just too much to miss.
"Of course not, Marcy. Why would I be mad?" Only now was she realizing that her queen hadn't pulled away or squirmed from her hand, and what a fantastic sign that must be.
"...Because I should have told you." But those weren't her words. Bonnibel knew, because they were her own, echoed from mere months ago. They were an admission of guilt, but also the repetition of the outcome of so many lectures and diatribes; that Marceline wasn't allowed to have secrets, wasn't allowed to run, and wasn't allowed to protect herself.
But if this isn't a sign of trust, what is, huh?
Disgusted with herself and eager not to let that show - because Rechte was right and her smug tone betrayed that she knew it - Bonnibel kissed the top of her grey forehead. "This is a wound, and you were just shielding it from potentially more damage. That's all. If you're not sure I'm real it's no wonder you didn't tell me before. I am here, though, and I'm going to keep you safe. Thank you for telling me, Marcy. It means a lot to me." Both arms wrapped around her wounded lover, pulling her closer, just in case the thought of turning into a bat and flying away crossed her rattled mind. No, they most certainly were not making the journey to the Nightosphere with Marceline in this state of mind. Even anger was preferable, at least Bonnibel had experience in- manipulating -working with that, and in the pocket dimension it could even prove useful. But this state of mind would leave the older royal too vulnerable and, if she were anything like Tyrant at the moment, she wouldn't hesitate to needlessly sacrifice herself to protect the princess. Which was the literal opposite of the scientist's intended goal. "This will pass soon," she promised. Marceline only nodded before settling closer, because the younger woman might be an illusion but her warmth wasn't.
Soon that same warmth was beginning to lull her into a doze, not true sleep but enough to let her body relax and let some deeper part of her let out a few traitorous tears without her consent. They were wiped away by someone who wasn't her, but exactly who it was would be too much to figure out; it felt like her mind was growing numb, her thoughts muffled to the point of uselessness. Instead of pushing against the emptiness she was grateful for the touch, easing into it as she felt the tremble overtake her in full force, then gradually fade. It took her energy and understanding of where she was with it, and there was an almost crippling nausea and powerful headache in its wake, but there was also a secure arm latched around her to focus on.
For almost twenty minutes the pair stayed like that, Marceline too deaf from the inside out to hear the soft reassurances she was being given, Bonnibel too disenchanted with the world not to give them. Then the cotton from Marceline's mind cleared and at least she knew where she was, could name what she was touching and feeling, physically at least, and wasn't that what mattered? Well, that and the soft voice murmuring about something unimportant, something about science or the stars or something else that sounded reassuring because her voice sounded familiar and reassuring. In fact, it sounded like- "...Bonnie?"
The voice cut off mid-sentence, then laughed softly. "Aw… sleepy little bat."
Okay, maybe she did sound a little sleepy, but- "...What happened?" Despite her own nervousness Bonnibel sounded calm, and that primal part of the vampire that called her 'mate' and not 'girlfriend' found that reassuring, and it must have shown in the way she uncurled haltingly, in how her eyes had dilated past her pained state, and in how her claw marks had finally begun to heal.
All of that was encouraging, but how much to reveal? All of it, Bonnibel supposed. Carefully. "You almost had a panic attack. You had a little bit of a disassociative episode, and you fell asleep for a little while. You're alright now."
Even that was too much. "...Wha?"
One arm slid out from under the vampire, lifting her chin so their eyes met. When she felt no resistance Bonnibel gave her a genuine smile. It seemed the attack had passed without becoming full-blown, and if that wasn't a victory Bonnibel didn't know what was worth celebrating. Crisis averted. "It's alright. How do you feel? Do you remember anything?"
Marceline shook her head, pulling away and sitting up just long enough to bury her face in her lover's chest. "M'head hurts… but I think I'm okay. I don't really remember…" She trailed off, trying to force herself to. It was involuntary, done even though she knew it was best not to force trauma, no matter how small, to the surface before it was ready. That was part of the problem, though; it became impossible not to think about something once you were told not to think about it.
Fortunately, the voice by her ear was more firm than the one in her mind. "That's alright. When you're ready you will." The ear was kissed and the half-demon growled softly, feeling it twitch. Knowing that the candy golem had done that on purpose, knowing that she just wanted to see her flush and react so strongly to such a simple gesture. Knowing it worked. "You mentioned before your nap that, after consulting with Phoebe, you've decided to go back to the Nightosphere and that you want me to come with you. Is that still true? Because I'd love to-"
The reassurance wasn't necessary, and the queen was already snuggling back into her princess's embrace. "No… I mean, yeah." That certainly made sense, or at least sounded familiar. "She thinks I can't get over everything until I find out what it means to be me. Mom…" A sigh. "Mom was from Ooo before it was Ooo. I can't go there, but I've lived in Ooo for a thousand years, so probably as good as I'll get, but I don't really go to the Nightosphere except every few decades for a couple weeks."
Bonnibel nodded. "Yes, I see. Your father isn't just a demon he's the Lord of Evil, and because you're not as familiar with that half of your heritage it could be having a profound influence we're unaware of due to its subtlety. In order to confront it, we'd have to go there. Do you know what we're looking for?" The hopeful tone was kept out of her voice; the last thing she really wanted after her lover's near-psychotic episode was to feel pressured to perform. Is she even capable of stage fright? It might be an odd time for such an irreverent thought, but it relieved some of her mental pressure.
Marceline shook her head before returning to her comfortable position. "Nah… not really. Though I'm gonna guess that since it's got to do with dad it's probably in the Citadel…" Her groan was muffled by the ample chest she was buried into. It helped. "I don't want to talk to him about this."
The scientist stroked down her hair with her free arm, entwining their fingers with the one still lodged. "I know, Marcy. We'll make it abundantly clear that this has nothing to do with you wanting to take over his station. We only want to find out the answer to the mysteries surrounding your demon heritage." And I'm sure after what just happened two months ago he'll understand. She assumed. Hoped. Marceline bobbed her head before reluctantly pulling herself away. If she had met Bonnibel's eyes a second time perhaps she would have noticed the surprise there that the older woman hadn't contradicted her about taking over her father's job, that the scientist hadn't been accused of manipulating her. You're starting to believe me that I've changed? She resisted smiling only by dint of will and knowing this was the worst time for any gestures representing joy. Even Marceline was being serious.
"Some of it I get. I know how soul binding works, and I'm cool with that since it picked you. I know that sometimes I have a white flame instead of an orange one if I get really stuffed off, but… I can't really make it come out. It just does, and even Pheebs said it burns mega hotter than anything she's seen. I know that's where my bloodlust comes from, even if I can't control that either. And that's it. Dad never really told me much about the Nightosphere except that he rules it and he wants me to, too. I don't really even know a lot about being a demon except killing things, 'cause that's a lot of fun."
Bonnibel nodded along thoughtfully, ignoring that delightful part wherein her beloved indicated that she was perfectly content having her soul bound to the princess. It just didn't seem the time to draw attention to it, even if she could hear Rechte snickering from the back of her mind. "Yes, I see. There does seem to be a knowledge gap, and it does stand to reason that the Nightosphere is the place to start." With one more brief forehead kiss the candy golem pulled away and stood from the bed, knowing that if she stayed much longer than journey may never truly unfold. "Why don't we have a discussion with your father? If he proves less than cooperative perhaps some other sector of the Citadel will prove fruitful."
Marceline gave a half-shrug. "I mean, there's the library…" When those piercing green eyes noticeably brightened she gave a sad smile. "Sorry, Bon. You can't read any of the books. It's not a rule, they're just not written in anything you'd understand."
If anything that had her more intrigued. "I wasn't aware the Citadel had a library! Are the books written in demonic? Is that what it's called?" After all, how often was she going to receive a lesson in demon culture that didn't stem directly from pain, bloodshed, and mental trauma?
Another half-shrug. "I mean… that's not what it's actually called, but I can't pronounce what it's actually called… so that's what I call it?"
How interesting… now that you mentioned it, Navigator mentioned writing in it when we went to confront Lady Evil... "Can you understand it?"
The vampire turned her head to the ceiling, wondering if she possessed the ability to phase through it. "I can read it and write it… I can't really speak it though, and listening to it kinda gives me head cramps." She shook her head at some unknown memory. "When you and I stopped talking for awhile I went back to the Nightosphere and ran into one of the few demons I don't wanna gank. His name's Naxal, really old dude. Almost as old as you." At the soft huff Marceline smirked, encouraged. "He's pretty okay, but he said that since I had nothing better to do dad should make sure I could at least read and write like a demon."
Bonnibel watched Marceline's smirk, the near-affection in her eyes, her relaxed posture. Her almost-normal breathing. How this was the first time in their entire life together Marceline had ever spoken positively of any demon that wasn't her father, and even that was reserved for special occasions. "I never knew that you were cordial with other demons." After all this time, learning something new about her mate's life still struck her in awe. She would never stop appreciating how, even now, after six hundred years of friendship, the older woman could still surprise her.
Marceline shook her head. "Eh, just him and a couple others that I sometimes jam with. Nax isn't totally lame. Doesn't have a problem with you, thinks the whole thing's stupid. I bring him stuff from Ooo when I go back to the Nightosphere. He likes to make stuff, and finds real-world crud… I dunno. He just likes it."
A demon I didn't even know you were on pleasant terms with was able to persuade you to learn demonic. That was impressive, and some powerful part of her wanted to meet this strange man. "Would he know anything about this?"
Marceline rolled her eyes. "He'd probably tell me to get off my perfect butt and go read something. So, you know. Library."
If anything this had the princess even more fascinated, and she resolved to have Marceline teach her this language once the dust settled and she was safe and mentally whole once more. Probably right after she interrogated the vampire as to when and how she saw fit to learn German. For now, though, that would have to wait, because the half-demon was beginning to look to be in better spirits and, more importantly, was beginning to share information she had until only now been hiding. "Well, we can make that our second stop should Hunson prove less than cooperative." Ignoring the soft, sarcastic 'hooray' from the bed Bonnibel turned to her wardrobe, lost in thought.
Marceline raised an eyebrow. "Uh… where you goin', Bon?"
"I'm going to change. I don't particularly feel like traversing the Nightosphere in this dress." She laughed softly at a memory that, only now, she was finding humorous. "When we went the first time you actually lectured me on my fashion sense. You implied that I was making myself into bait."
The response was soft and hesitant. And unexpected. "...I didn't think you remembered that."
That jolted Bonnibel back to the present and she looked over her shoulder, the light turquoise shirt and lilac jeans she had been removing now hovering partway out of the wardrobe. I didn't think you'd remember that either. Nevertheless- "I do. You were right, and I choose to heed your warning now as well. I'm safe with you, but fighting in your condition is a last resort." When she turned back to the wardrobe she began to disrobe, not seeing the furious flush behind her, or the vampire turning her head just a little too slowly to be called decent. "I have no doubt you would win, but there's no sense straining yourself unnecessarily." After retrieving one final garment she turned back to the musician, curious about that light blush but not bold enough to call attention to it. "Are you almost ready?"
As Marceline watched Bonnibel slide on the letterman jacket she tilted her head, strapping her bass to her back. "Yeah… are you?"
It was an odd tone of voice, but then Bonnibel supposed the half-demon must have odd feelings towards the jacket that had previously been her own, especially coupled with the mental psychotic episode she had just experienced. After all, Tyrant had given it to her, and that one action had somehow cemented itself in her mind as her giving it to the princess. Are there other memories from that journey that have influenced you like this? Sure, Marceline may be disassociating and having painful memory lapses, but so far this had proven the one part of her journey that had some real-world ramification that didn't involve any overlap, memory wrinkles, pain, or any discomfort at all. It was an odd thing for her mind to select, but there was no time to dwell right now. It would have to wait. "Yes. It's quite comfortable, and it still smells like you. I'm not sure if demons can be scared off by such things, but-"
Marceline rolled her eyes as she floated off of the bed. "Chill, dork. You don't have to justify wearing a jacket."
By now she was even beginning to sound normal, and it bolstered Bonnibel's confidence. Only if you really knew her would you catch the waver in her voice. In all honesty Bonnibel wasn't actually wearing it to scare off demons, though that did provide adequate cover apparently. It was a reminder to herself, because just as the Nightosphere brought out Marceline's rage and sorrow it brought to the surface the princess's slowly-turning-latent sadism. It was a weapon, and one she had no intention of aiming once more at her still-hurt lover. The jacket, given to her by the part of her mate's psyche she was forced to kill, whose body she felt turn to ash in her arms, wasn't meant to scare demons into behaving. It was meant to remind herself of what happened and what could happen if she didn't behave. It was Bonnibel's reminder to herself of what she was capable of, and who this was for. But it wouldn't do to draw attention to that detail, and so she cleared her throat, feigned indignance, and slid on her matching purple shoes that had been thrown to some corner. "Yes. Well. Let's gather the necessary supplies. I know I have chalk in my laboratory, and I'm sure Pep keeps bug…" And then she trailed off, realizing that Marceline was looking at the wall wearing some weird emotion. "What?"
Only now tearing her gaze back to her mate, head rubbing the back of her neck in a betrayal of how uneasy she felt, grinning sheepishly. "...Promise you won't be mad?"
Yes. But you don't need to know that. Now a pink eyebrow raised. "Mad about what, Marceline?" She let a warning tone slip into her voice, just a very light one that bordered on playful.
Nonetheless, Marceline squirmed. "...We don't actually need the bug milk and circle to get in the Nightosphere."
Pindrops. Pindrops everywhere. "...Pardon me?"
The half-demon sighed. "I mean… I never told the dweebs we needed that stuff to go into the Nightosphere, just to summon dad."
"So you omitted a vital detail… because?"
Marceline avoided her pointed look. "I mean… come on, Bonnie. You know the dweebs. If I told them I could go whenever I wanted…" She shrugged, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. "Finn's chilled out a lot, but when he was a kid he totally would've tried to go there to mess some demons up. That's my deal, and he'd probably get himself hurt or lose another arm. Especially after that thing where I left that demon outside of the castle with the stick up his-"
"Marceline, don't be distasteful," Bonnibel sighed.
"Sorry," she muttered.
Before she knew it the princess had returned to her side and was cupping her cheek, and before she knew it once more Marceline was leaning into that gesture, eyes closing. "Though that does explain how you've been getting to and from the Nightosphere these past few centuries. Sometimes you'd leave at a moment's notice." She raised her eyebrows at a sudden realization. "In fact, when you returned from the Nightosphere the day we left for it you did so seemingly from nowhere. I hadn't thought about it before, but there was no reason for you to appear as randomly as you did unless you didn't require outside aid. You're free to come and go as you please, aren't you?"
Despite the lack of accusation in her voice Marceline's skin prickled with anxiety. "...Yeah. Kind of. In a way. Dunno why. I don't even think dad can do it."
Fascinating… "Do what, exactly?"
With a sigh that may as well be a groan Marceline pulled away from Bonnibel, retreating to a safe distance on the other side of the room. "Just… wait there."
In that moment it was all so familiar. The stance, the left hand reaching out into the air, touching nothing, or at least nothing that the untrained eye could see. The vampire stayed that way for long minutes, eyes closed, neither saying anything nor moving a muscle. No until her right hand came up and tore across the open air. Suddenly there was a disruption in the room, something so familiar Bonnibel may as well be back in her lover's mind, standing before the twisted Tree Fort. So that's where Rechte and Linke… "Did you just tear a hole in reality within the confines of our bedroom?"
"...Kinda?"
It was stunning, even if Bonnibel dare not stare into the gaping maw too long. "How?" Legitimately stupefied, that was all she could think to ask.
Marceline understood her intention anyway. "To be honest, I don't know. I just… feel it. I can't do it a lot though. It takes a lot out of me. I'll use the bug milk trick if I wanna go right to the Citadel and don't care if dad knows I'm coming, but…"
"...You want him to know on your terms." Fair enough. "Well. This is a surprise."
A silence that bordered on uncomfortable fell between them, and Marceline refused to let it gain a foothold. "...We should go. You first, so I can close this thing behind me." As the princess approached the portal she heard a mumbled, 'be careful, okay?' and couldn't help but smile, issuing a silent promise that, unlike last time, she would take no unnecessary risks. And so, just as Rechte had taught her, Bonnibel crossed the threshold into a world of madness.
And then there they were. It was a world where Time stood still, so it was no wonder that nothing had changed since the princess's last visit mere weeks ago. The ground, hard, black, and unyielding, was tinted red with the dried blood of perhaps thousands of demons. The bright red sky seemed to glow, glaring at the world below. Great spires rose from the earth where Bonnibel knew the most cowardly of demons hid from those who would have no qualms against devouring them whole. Monsters surrounded her, some tall and with entrails exposed, some small and fleeing from her presence, for everyone knew at least of the young scientist, even if few had seen her personally. After all, demons were terrible gossips, and Hunson's daughter choosing a candy golem as a mate had been the talk of the proverbial town for hundreds of years.
Bonnibel closed her eyes as she felt something stir within her, something she had spent months now resisting. It was the urge to 'feed the fire' as Marceline once put it, of loathing for the tinier demons that fled her very presence like curs. It was the rush of power of knowing that even if her mate chose not to become Lady Evil she was still one step away from being Alpha Demon, perhaps the most powerful being in the dimension, even moreso than her father. A being who, under the right conditions, was wrapped around her little- No. Stop that immediately. You know better now. Do not let this world corrupt your mind. You must stay strong for Marceline. Do not forget why you are here, Bonnibel.
As she wrestled with her natural predilections the portal closed behind her, a welcomed presence hovering behind her. Unlike Bonnibel Marceline didn't give her would-be homeworld a second glance. Why would she? What did she have to fear? She had an impossibly sharp axe, ferocious temper, fangs, claws, and a slew of superpowers at her disposal. One bloodlust- No. Not now, Marceline. Keep it together. It seemed that in place of the depression she had experienced moments before had been overwhelmed with another emotion, providing an adrenaline rush she had forgotten she sorely needed.
Evidently the princess noticed as well, noticed claws that were once hands, noticed the slitted eyes and elongated fangs. She had seen all of this before, but this time she was not intimidated. When her hand came to rest on her queen's shoulder a garnet eye shot to her, but the vampire otherwise didn't relax the coiled muscles posed to strike or shift into something grotesque and frightening. Deep in her heartguts she knew a monster of her own was opening an eager eye. A monster that encouraged her to use the long onyx hair she loved to braid as a leash. "Calm down." It was a firm tone, something almost commanding that almost startled even her.
But not Marceline. No, the abrupt change had influenced her as well it seemed, her rage bubbling to the surface. Were she in Ooo, were this even half an hour ago, such a tone from her lover would have caused her to recoil, would have triggered a flood of scarring memories. But not now, because the rules of the Nightosphere were different, and while some part of Marceline snarled at the restraint she was being effectively ordered to obey a different, more primal part was just so thrilled to remember what it meant to be more than a mentally scarred child. "Muss ich?" Her smirk was dark.
Later, back in Ooo, Bonnibel would fully appreciate that not only had this marked the first concrete evidence of Marceline's trilingual abilities in general it would also be proof of her fluency in German specifically, a language she hadn't known they shared until The Tragedy. She would also realize her accent was almost perfect, a sign that she had been practicing. "Yes. You're still recovering and I hate seeing you in pain. You know that." Yes. Good. That's acceptable, Bonnibel.
"I dunno, Bonnie. Maybe killing something would make me feel better?" Yep, makes perfect sense to me.
"Vielleicht, aber noch nicht. Wenn du gut bist. Oder provoziert."
Marceline snorted, but didn't argue. It wasn't common for Bonnibel to switch to German unless she was In Serious Mode. Besides, it was more or less permission to kill something if the opportunity presented itself. It'd be cathartic- Wait… wha? Something about that word snapped her out of her aggressive fog.
The disposition change caught Bonnibel's eye, but if anything it only increased her own version of aggression, triggering something not unlike a protective desire. Is this what you feel when you think I'm vulnerable? It would certainly make sense; in a long string of recent role reversals it was Marceline's turn to need protection, no matter how she might thrash against the idea. Bonnibel knew she herself may lack claws or fangs but it wasn't a stretch to assume she was the most intelligent woman alive, dead, or otherwise, was skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and had at least three weapons of destruction hidden on her person, snug inside her letterman jacket. Some part of her, where she imagined her version of Rechte lived, wondered if Marceline would appreciate being presented with the corpse of something that had tried to harm her. I've always been on the receiving end of such an offering.
Probs should keep it that way. This is getting weird, Bon. Don't go down this rabbit hole.
Yes, Rechte was right, even in her own mental haze Bonnibel knew that. Her role, reverse or not, was to be the guiding hand Marceline needed in daily life, and if she didn't need it now more than ever, when? Her thumb absent-mindedly traced the threading of the jacket she wore.
See? Easy, Bon.
With a deep inhale and forceful exhale Bonnibel nodded in silent agreement with the voice that lived in the back of her mind. "Alright. Ready, Marcy?"
"Yeah. I'm good," she said, like a liar.
Bonnibel frowned, stepping in front of her path. "Hey," she said delicately. "It's okay. We're both feeling weird, but we're together, okay? If someone starts something you can kill them or however you want to handle it, but don't go after anything, alright? I was serious about not wanting you to suffer any more than you have, and if I'm correct your mood is swinging back to anger, right?" When the slitted eyes glanced away it was all the answer she needed. "Yeah, I thought so. I know it feels really good in the moment but it takes a lot of energy out of you. You know that."
"I just wanna kill something. I don't even know why," Marceline mumbled, flushing just enough to be noticeable.
"I know. I have… similar urges." She cleared her throat. "But we have something very important to do. Remember?"
Marceline sighed. "Yeah. I know." With one nod towards the Citadel looming in the distance the two started off. Despite her haphazard guess the musician hadn't actually been far off from their goal. She had picked just far enough to not immediately raise the attention of any of the demons that frequented the Citadel, or any waiting for an audience with Hunson. Not that any of the demons in The Pit of in line would have dared given up their coveted spots by drawing her attention.
Besides, if one did try she'd have a perfect excuse to eviscerate them.
"Do you have a plan once we reach the Citadel?"
Marceline shrugged. "Either we corner dad or we head to the library. Why, you got a preference?"
In fact, she did. "It might be more prudent to meet with your father first. While I'm sure the library would objectively prove quite fruitful I cannot assist you in searching for answers there, and while I do not doubt your abilities it's quite a burden."
"So… what? You hope he just tells us everything? Not gonna happen, Bon."
"Oh, I know. But it will give us some indicator of where to look." No sense wasting energy in either of our conditions.
Marceline snorted. "Well, you're the brainlord." The cracking of bones followed, the tearing of flesh and sinew. Muscles expanded and contracted as the half-demon's body warped, grew fur and sprouted wings. Amongst the quiet of the pocket dimension the sounds seemed to echo in direct contempt for physics. Bonnibel watched with clinical attachment as her other half mangled her own form to that of a giant bat, the same form that the Usurper had said 'just feels right'. In retrospect it was no surprise that Marceline had seen fit to change shape; her rage had been reflected in a woman whose favorite trick was shape-shifting, and it was her rage that was budding now. Once her party trick completed the half-demon whipped her head to the candy golem. Were they in Ooo, were Bonnibel's mind not as tainted as her lover's, it would probably react with revulsion at the sight of the great bat. It had, after all, been the same form the Usurper had used to destroy her faux home, and even Rechte had asserted that the scientist couldn't ignore that she herself needed to heal. But that would be for later, because without any word of permission the bat was scooping her up.
"Why a bat?" Bonnibel raised an eyebrow, allowing her knees and back to be supported.
Marceline grinned, mouth full of fangs. "I want them to see me. I want them to know." With a great flap of her wings the singer took to the sky, soaring above the would-be assassins looking to make a name for themselves at the cost of the princess's head. Resting her head against the bat's fluffy chest Bonnibel watched them scurry like vermin, saw as the stupider ones were eaten alive by the demonic fire that she had since learned was sentient, if not sapient. A fitting punishment.
Bon.
I know.
Yeah, but do you? She could feel Rechte's frown, but didn't respond.
"I've missed flying with you, Marcy." Sentiment from a woman whose detachment from morality, temporary as it was, dulled her sense of empathy. It made it no less sincere.
"I've missed flying with you, too." There was a pang in her voice, a surprising one at that, at least to Bonnibel, even if her heart matched it. It stirred something in her and she closed her eyes, enjoying the sense of freedom flight afforded more than the view below. Marceline held her tighter and she smiled a genuine smile, one untainted by the dimension's ruination. All too soon she felt the older woman land and, reluctantly, she opened her eyes and slid from her arms.
As Marceline resumed her normal form Bonnibel surveyed the area. Her queen had seen fit to land in front of the Citadel's entrance; given their trajectory she had to assume that the bat had purposefully flown within the line of sight of The Pit and Endless Line, most likely to send a message that she was back and unafraid. At least, that's what the glares surrounding them said. Marceline snarled back and the smarter demons, the ones without a death wish, averted their gazes, shuffling their feet at having been reminded of who exactly they were challenging. But then there were the younger ones, the ones born after the last time Marceline had gone on a killing spree. How long ago was that? Did they have any personal experience with her queen's wrath?
Evidently, Marceline had considered this as well and found the answer unacceptable. Her glare turned to a small huddle of snickering demons standing at the edge of The Pit. They were hideous things, a gang of green thugs, some with claws, others with pincers. One particularly large one held an armful of stones, and judging by the bruises on several of The Pit's victims they had been their victims as well. When the tallest of the group, a humanoid with size arms, double-jointed and ending in sickles muttered something that the rock holder found particularly amusing Marceline smirked. "You got something to say?" Despite the venom in the question it was uncharacteristically quiet.
Were the demon intelligent he would have turned away and made himself scarce, just as all but two of his friends had. Instead he tilted his head, eyes briefly glancing to Bonnibel. "You're the heir, aren't you? Marceline?"
The queen raised an eyebrow at the snark in his tone. He wasn't exactly intimidating; he was lithe, and judging by the curve of his spine he could turn quadrupedal in the right circumstances. His head was bare, quite unusual among demons, who often had horns or at least tiny nubs that pretended to be horns. His tail was thick and reptilian, and Bonnibel wondered absently if it was cumbersome or had a practical application, like balance. Though she supposed she was about to find out. "Aw, you've heard of me."
"Yeah, we just didn't know you wore a collar. You know, like a pet." The demon looked over his shoulder, perhaps expecting support. Instead he received only some curious stares, some horrified shakes of the head. It didn't deter him. "So what brings you and your mistress to grace us with your presence? Did you really level your house?"
Marceline watched him with her own head tilt. "Let me guess this straight. You know who I am, but you're seriously starting stuff with me? For real?"
The demon shook his head. "Don't be so-"
And then Marceline was gone, having vanished in thin air. The creature's four eyes blinked, even as his friends began to scatter. With a smirk Bonnibel began the mental countdown. After all, Marceline did love disappearing before tearing things in half. Ein, zwei, drei, vier-
There was a soft noise, almost indiscernible. And then there was blood, soaking into the ground, pieces that were once bodies littered on the earth like waste. All but one of the group lay in tatters on the ground, unrecognizable. Flesh had been rended, exposing the muscle beneath. The cacophony of cracking filled the air before a second body was dropped in The Pit, white and black bone sticking from the skin of a now unrecognizable corpse. She reappeared briefly once more, just long enough to sever the tall traitor in half at the abdomen, watching as he collapsed into three smaller demons in response to the trauma. Even as they were still in shock two were flung by some unseen force, one against the Citadel's wall, the other into a rock. The former was the lucky one; if his cracked skull, half-caved in from the force, he had died instantly. The latter, however, landed neck first and lay on the ground twitching. Whether or not he was alive was no concern of any witness, for poised above them Marceline's axe was drenched in their lifeforce, in her claw the one surviving demon.
"You know what this is? This is me being gone for awhile and you all forgetting who your alpha is. This isn't about my dad, or me being the Nightosphere's heir. This is about The Law of Bigger Than You." Her claw tightened and there was the disgusting sound of the demon's air being forced from its lungs. "This about you morons forgetting that I can do this all day, all the time. It's fun for me! So here's the deal." Her axe lifted, pointing squarely at Bonnibel's chest. Even without looking she'd know the location of her heart, always. "Mine. You got me? No one messes with her, and I get to choose what counts as messing with her. Next time this is worse. Next time one of you pulls that you all die. Got it?" She turned to the still-living demon. "Go." And then he was dropped. And kicked. Where he landed she didn't know and didn't care; she stalked past Bonnibel, claw returning to a hand as she took the pink one in her own.
Behind them, silence.
A soft, mirthless laugh followed as Bonnibel allowed herself to be guided inside. "Fühlen Sie sich besser?"
Marceline stopped abruptly, as if snapped from a stupor. "I do. Wait… what happened?" Without meaning to she glanced over her shoulder, but a soft tug of her hand pulled her forward once more.
"You just killed four demons and almost tore a fifth in half. It was very sweet."
"...Huh." Now under the threshold of the Citadel, pulled along by her mate, the fog was beginning to lift. Maybe I just got it out of my system? No way she was thinking too much into that, no way at all.
Yet whereas Marceline was beginning to feel herself return to some sense of normality - or what passed for it lately - Bonnibel only felt her own haze thicken. In the back of her mind she heard a soft voice urging her to do something, or think of something, or some sort of action, but it was annoying and easy to ignore-
BONNIBEL.
Or… was. Was being the past tense. But the mental shout* had the intended effect and successfully snagged her attention. Rechte!
Yeah. Me. Still here. Are you?
Of co-
You sure about that? Rechte sounded exasperated with the entire situation. 'Cause all I see is you slipping back into old habits.
Marceline was only-
Uh uh. Nice try. You know she's unstable right now and you encouraged that behavior anyway. Not cool, Bon. You're better than this. This is just like what happened in the Thorn Gate.
Perhaps because the chastisement was in the voice of her mate, or perhaps because she knew it came from her own sub-conscious, Bonnibel sighed. Sighed, but didn't necessarily agree, because deep down she had liked watching Marceline kill in her name, had missed the thrill of seeing-
You see what this is? This is the part of you that's attracted to Lady Evil.
This time it was Bonnibel's turn to stop short, inadvertently pulling Marceline with her. ...What?, she whispered. In her mind she sounded small.
Rechte's tone softened. Bon, I know you're repressing this but you gotta face facts. This part of you still exists. You can try to suppress it, but it's totes still here, and when you were in Marceline's mind this part of you liked the wad, remember?
Absolutely not.
Come on, be real. It's just me in here.
I don't know what you're talking about.
Rechte sighed. You're not gonna heal until you face facts. Your lover girl wasn't the only one scarred by all this. You were, too. She's gotta face herself and you gotta face yourself.
"Bon?"
Snapped back to reality, Bonnibel was met with Marceline's concerned expression. "Oh! Yes, Marcy?"
A frown. "You were just staring off into space. You feeling alright?"
Am I? Yes, she decided. Yes she was. "I'm alright. I had forgotten how profound the Nightosphere's influence can be. Though, it's strange…," she frowned, looking around the entryway with sharp eyes for something unknown.
"The whole place is. Kinda the point."
"No, not that. When Finn, Jake and I were last here to retrieve you the influence wasn't this powerful. At least, not to me."
She had meant for it to be an absent musing, an important curiosity to be answered at a later date, but it had the unintended effect of making Marceline turn away from her, and by the time Bonnibel's attention returned to her companion the vampire's was already far away. "Maybe it's 'cause I'm here," she whispered.
"Absolutely not. That makes no sense."
"Nothing makes sense here, Bonnie. There's no other difference, right?"
Technically untrue. "It could be for a number of other reasons. Finn and Jake acted as a natural deterrent to my previous mindset, and it's entirely possible that without them here-"
"Or we just feed one another's dark sides too much."
There was heartbreak, actual legitimate heartbreak in those words and all at once the latent sadism budding in Bonnibel's mind was throttled, that protective streak surging to the surface once more. Technically Marceline could be right, and in the old days Princess Bubblegum wouldn't have hesitated to acknowledge it. She knew better now, though, she knew that if she did so it wouldn't validate that hypothesis as a hypothesis, it would validate it in Marceline's mind as right. Ultimately, what the exact cause was was inconsequential, at least for the moment. It was a mystery she would need to solve for both her own mental health and that of her mate's, but now was neither the time nor the place. Bonnibel had a mission, and letting self-doubt morph into self-loathing was not part of it. In fact, it was the very opposite, and it spurred her to reach out and take Marceline's hand. "No, Marcy. Look at how we are."
When Marceline failed to look at her Bonnibel cupped her cheek, directing her gaze instead. "We're not at each other's throats, I'm not trying to manipulate or hurt you, and all you did was kill-" some vermin "-several demons who, inarguably, started the fight themselves. As you yourself have recognized morality is relative in the Nightosphere, and we both know that any insult to or about me can escalate to a murder attempt with little notice. You've calmed down, and we've both at least begun returning to our senses. Whatever is at play here is a problem for a different day." Marceline bit her lip, the sharp fang easily piercing the soft flesh, but didn't look away. Even if, she realized, she totally could, because Bonnibel wasn't restraining her she was guiding her to focus on something that wasn't self-destructive: that they were together and they were themselves, and that was all that mattered.
Freedom felt weird, almost sick and wrong. Or maybe that was just her anxiety talking.
"I know, Bon… it's just…"
Now the soft smile, the one that belonged to Bonnie and not Princess Bubblegum, returned and Marceline felt tension she wasn't even aware she was experiencing fade. "It's alright. You don't need to explain anything. Maybe once we speak to Hunson he'll be able to illuminate us as to why this time is so different."
"He owes me answers," the vampire growled, temper stirring.
"Yes," Bonnibel nodded. "He does." Perhaps emboldened by their proximity, or a subtlety of the Nightosphere's influence, the princess did the unthinkable: she trailed her hand from the grey cheek it had been cupping to the sensitive ear it neighbored, lingering behind it as her soft nails traced the edge. In Ooo she would never have attempted such an intimate gesture, not so soon, maybe never again, not without explicit permission. But here? Now that she was aware of her latent sadism and what it was doing to her specifically it was becoming easier to fuse that domineering urge with her newfound protective streak, dampening the mental stranglehold she once yearned to have over the half-demon. Nightosphere or Ooo, crown or no crown, Bonnibel Bubblegum was a possessive woman and she knew, knew in her heart of hearts that Marceline belonged to her and her alone. That was a boon, but it came coupled with the burden of making sure that the older woman stayed intact, stayed alive and happy, and sometimes it took unexpected gestures such as tracing her pointed ear to interrupt the cycle of her self-destruction. By the beautiful sight of slitted garnet eyes dilating, of elongated fangs returning to their normal size, it seemed reasonable to assume that at least some part of Marceline understood this as well. "Good girl," Bonnibel soothed, withdrawing her hand. "Feel better?"
Marceline flushed first because of the nature of the contact, then again out of embarrassment for how well it had worked. Unable to trust herself to speak in a coherent sentence she nodded. Some part of her hated how much she had enjoyed that, and it was quite loud in demanding she never let the younger royal touch her like that again. But that part was small and easily ignored, outmatched by other parts of her that seemed almost relieved by what the musician belatedly realized was a sense of normalcy. While Bonnibel had never been as physically affectionate as Marceline herself she had never shied away from accepting her lover's tenderness, and was not adverse to the idea of initiating it herself in the right circumstances.
This just marked the first time the 'right circumstances' had occurred since The Tragedy.
"I'm fine," she mumbled in her finest act of denying reality.
Bonnibel laughed softly, something soft and affectionate, taking her hand once more. "I know you are. Come on." WIth a matching smile and a light tug Marceline found herself pulled down the hallway leading into the Citadel proper.
Just like the rest of the Nightosphere nothing had changed at all since Bonnibel's last visit. Well, except for the part that a little over a third of the building was now a pile of rubble, not even cordoned off. There just was a Citadel, and then abruptly there was a pile of stone, or whatever it was Hunson's castle was made of, she wasn't sure. By how strongly Marceline averted her gaze the candy golem knew that this must have been what everyone had been referring to when they had mentioned the half-demon wrecking wanton destruction during a particularly powerful moodswing. Even in her haze of light sadism Bonnibel took no joy in the sight.
"I won't do it."
It was soft. And ashamed. "Do what, Marcy?"
Without stopping the vampire nodded towards what was once the left wing of the Citadel. "That. To the castle."
While she didn't stop Bonnibel did, baffled. Where had that come from? "Marcy, I'm not worried about that."
"I am." Now it was her turn to squeeze the princess's hand, gently pulling her away from the wreckage. Both were silent now, one traveller in contemplation, the other in memory. It was only by virtue of Marceline knowing every inch of her birthright home that the two were able to traverse without interrupting one another. She knew where all of the winding corridors led, could tell what was behind every door, all heavy and locked.
Well, almost every door.
They stopped before the largest door of all, made of a thick red wood and actual wood at that. Marceline seemed to be glaring at it, the anger bubbling to the surface once more. When the soft hand in her own squeezed she blinked, felt the animosity edge away, then squeezed back. "...I'm good." With her free hand she knocked on her father's office door, silently proud at her own restraint: she didn't rip it off its hinges.
The pause was shorter than expected. Also unexpected: the one who answered it, because when it creaked open there was no tall alpha demon with an unbelievably innocent smile, there was only- "Oh come on, not you again."
Jan yelped and backed away from the door, retreating to the relative safety of halfway into Hunson's office. "Sir, your daughter and her legitimately terrifying mate are here!"
Not that he needed to be told; the demon's seat behind his sheer black desk was a more than practical vantage point. "Marceline! Well, isn't this a surprise!" The half-demon grunted her own greeting, bared her fangs in a wild hiss at the smaller demon, then snickered when she saw his recoil. As she floated into the room Hunson gave a quick glance over her shoulder, to where Bonnibel was entering far more cautiously. When he raised an eyebrow in silent intrigue she gave an almost indiscernible shake of her head: this visit was not about what she wanted to discuss with him. With a single nod to indicate the message - that Bonnibel wanted their conversation to be private - was received Hunson stood, rounding from his desk. "What do I owe the pleasure? Hey, did you see what I did with my office?"
"Uh, dad-"
Hunson waved his arm. "No no no, this is really cool, show them, Jan!" He grinned so proudly that Marceline couldn't help but groan and look towards the crippled demon. With his own groan - this one much softer, because he wasn't suicidal - he pointed towards the wall, covering his eye with his free hand in exasperation. The same wall where Marceline had once punched a solid fourteen centimeters deep, which was quite impressive given the absurd stability of the wall's construction. The hole was still there. It was just surrounded by an immaculate gilded frame, as if the small manifestation of Marceline's anger management issues was a work of art in the literal sense. "Pretty cool, huh? I'm thinking of selling prints in the gift shop."
Marceline's growl emerged from the back of her throat, but it did nothing to intimidate her father. "Great, thanks, dad. Not why we're here though."
"But this is great! Look, I even put a label!"
When Marceline failed to move Hunson pouted, but even that failed to get a rise out of her. "Dad, no."
"But-"
"Later."
He sighed the same overdramatic sigh Bonnibel had spent centuries hearing from his daughter. "Alright, little monster. What brings you home?"
Pardon me? Bonnibel felt her good mood curdle at the word 'home', but either Marceline didn't hear it or disregarded it entirely. Both were equally possible.
"I've got questions and you've got answers."
"To…?," came the genuinely confused question.
That only resparked Marceline's anger. "What the flip I am! What the figs is happening to me! What the duckling all of this," she gestured to the world around her for emphasis, "has to do with me! Why I can do junk like have a white fire if I get really ticked off, why I keep coming back here when I don't want to, why-"
A gentle hand on her shoulder and her verbal assault ceased, instead phasing out into a soft growl. Even as Bonnibel took over Marceline never took her eyes off of her father, who only watched her thoughtfully. "Please understand, Hunson. Finn, Jake, and myself have been doing everything we can to help Marceline recover but every setback we've had has lead back to the Nightosphere in some way. Marcy has already decided never to take over your station, but that doesn't seem to have made a difference and her healing remains hindered. The simplest answer seems to be that the Nightosphere isn't just a location… that it's part of her somehow. We need to know how, or if we're even on the right track. She needs to get better, so we've come to you to ask for your help. Please."
At some point in her lengthy explanation Hunson's gaze had turned both solemn and away from Marceline to focus on the princess. Somehow, despite no visible change to his facial features, he seemed almost saddened. With a deep sigh he turned to the only member of the room still cowering. "Jan, reschedule whatever appointments I have left today, then go home."
Jan stared at him, temporarily stunned. But only temporarily; soon he was giving a double thumbs up before retreating from the room, because no one ever got half-days from Hunson Abadeer. Marceline watched the maimed, pathetic thing hobble off, waited for the *click* of the door closing, before turning back to her father. "What is it." Hunson continued to watch Bonnibel as if trying to read her soul without tasting it, before looking to his daughter, his one child. Now his innocent smile wasn't so innocent. It seemed almost regretful.
"Alright, little monster. I hope you're not too old for story time."