waitforitplease

Simon Says The Conniving You have made it a habit to follow them around. At first, your object was to find a good time to whisk you lovely princess away with you, so you can spend the rest of your life brushing her hair and feeding her grapes. You are unsure if candy people can eat grapes—some of her subjects are topped with fruit. Would it be like eating a penguin for you? Gunther does not take it well when you lick up his face to see how that would go. He flails his flippers in your face and pecks at your neck through your beard until you release him. Well, he tastes like dust and fish anyway, the naughty boy. Maybe you ought to bat

An Absence of Drums You find it mildly irritating that the sun shines for the first time in a week today. It took you weeks to set up the special container for Flame Princess, and now it will go to waste and to pieces like everything lately and— "Ready, Bon?" her voice snaps your gaze in its direction. Her feet are on the ground, black boots up to her knees with black pants, miraculously not jeans, tucked neatly into them. A black off-the-shoulder sweater and matching gloves. In another circumstance you would tell her you like her in black. Not today though. Today you nod and mount your tiara carefully on your head and smooth out your

We wait at windows listening for doors we greased ourselves to creak. Things once heard on bended knee or straight legged looking down have missed the point entirely--a fencer through and through. But not en garde to guard against repose, There are much greater lesser battles to be lost without the struggle 'gainst the face-chain protection cage.

Never Alone "So," Lady says carefully. The Whistling Choir Deathmatch was a complete success. You and Lady are alive, anyway. The trip back to Central Ooo is a long one though. Long enough for you to reflect on more than just your hard-won permission to keep living. "Have you seen her?" This is why Lady is your best friend: she is unafraid to be direct and never misses where your thoughts go when they wander. She is careful, you notice, not to mention exactly who she means. "Yes," you answer carefully. This is technically the truth, though you saw her only briefly, spoke less than a handful of words to her, and still are on the verge of te

Day 6: Wearing Each Other's Clothes, or "Good Night, Good Morning" A purposeful crash of knuckles on wood. You clap a hand to your exposed ear, jamming an elbow into the shoulder behind your body in the process. "Ow, what?" snaps an annoyed but sleepy voice behind your head. The arm pressed against your stomach slithers away quickly; you grab its wrist. "Sorry, I'm sorry," you whisper, turning to face her and rubbing your other hand over where your elbow poked before. "Is there a reason you're flailing around at"—she lifts her head to look over your shoulder—"four in the morning?" Another knock on your bedroom door answers for

Day 4: On a Date, or "The Long Ten Minutes" "Take a break," she tells you, hovering in an undulating pattern just above and behind your head. Her hands thread between the layers in your hair. Gooseflesh pebbles your neck and shoulders as she kneads her way through it to scrub the rough of her finger pads into your scalp. But you have important work to do; you have a kingdom to run. "My work is important, Marceline." She chuckles, just once, and annoyance flares in your chest. "It is," you insist, plunging an elbow backward. It connects with a jean-clad thigh; Marceline hisses and twists up and over your head. She hangs there, upside down

Day 3: Gaming/Watching a Movie "I have Predator, or Nightmare on Elm Street…oh! And, oh, this one is totally rad, you'll love it, babe." She zips to you, looping quickly. Her childishness makes you smile; she always gets so excited over the littlest things. You wish you could be more like that sometimes. Her crown never seems to weigh on her shoulders like yours does. In your mind, you quip that maybe that's because she never wears hers. The sentiment strikes you as embarrassingly snarky. Maybe she is starting to rub off on you. Marceline presses the tape against your hands in your lap, biting her lower lip through an excited smile. Y

Day 2: Cuddling Somewhere "You wanna get outta here?" The question doesn't quite register at first. You are so tired. And you fit so neatly into the curve of her that moving seems a cruelty. She waits though, and that makes you smile into the cool crook of her neck where your mouth makes its home. "Bonnie?" and your name is a quiet song, soft as she says it. You tip your head up. "Where do you want to go?" you wonder. Her jaw flexes under your lips and you think she's smiling, but your eyelids droop and you forget that you asked her a question until she answers it. "I don't know," she hedges, and her voice gives those heavy lids some bal

Day 1: Holding Hands You want to, after everything today. Just a slip of movement and maybe, you reason, hope, maybe it would feel the same. Maybe she would still squeeze your fingers together without looking at you, because if she looks she'll blush and even though you think it's cute, the way the indigo bruises up her throat and jaw and softens the sharpness of her face, she thinks it's embarrassing. You smile a little at that, and you think it feels sad, but then, "What are you so happy about?" It's a grumble. She does that, mumbles, and really her voice is so pretty and she's got some good things to say so you never could figure out wh