i love taking adventure time figuratively in general but there's something very, very screwed and potent about f+c when you read simon petrikov as an addition allegory. Especially when you know how hard betty tried to "fix" him and know that it took her (a symbol of his life pre-crown and a catalyst to his insanity) ruining her own life trying to get him "back", reconnecting with him then, in a way, dying, to compell him to return to his sober, conscious state - but no more mentally stable than he was the first time he slipped. If anything, worse.
Then bring in the artistic success of a book he doesn't even remember writing (remember f+c was not the first book he wrote, with Betty, no less) to add insult to injury. Its relateable. Then his desperate attempts to psychically connect with Betty, when hes just had it shoved in his face again how he was "cooler" and more fun and made better stuff when he was under the influence, and failing so hard, is completely understandable.
Remember, Prismo doesn't control f+c and their world. Simon does. Simon manifested her as a real person. He did. It's HIS fault this is happening, even if he feigns ignorance. He did it deliberately, to affirm his decision. He made Fionna parrot back to him his OWN depressive spiral: paraphrased, "the magic is gone" "it was better before" "living like this isn't worth it", in the form of ANOTHER young girl on hard times who he ties himself into knots for trying to harness this "magic", that in his mind, is almost a necessity to have any chance at being able to bear day-to-day life. Remember how he called Marceline hours before he pulled Fionna out of his head, just to find out she didn't need him?
He's just fortunate he started to use Fionna to work through all his problems at the same time he was exacerbating them, and fortunate that it took her, however fictionalized, going from an excited participant and influencee of his intentions to relapse saying he was right, it was better before, we can't do this, to looking at him "before" and saying "wait, this is wrong, this is self-destructive, we shouldn't do this" to make him see that. When fionna got the magic back, everything was just even more horrifying, and she felt terrible about leading simon back into that, shoved into a freezer, metaphorically speaking. And that really makes sense to me idk. I get it. Idk how else to say it:
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Attempt at writing Jeb.
“How did you end up in this wretched business?”
“I dunno, how’d you become an evil wizard?”
Jebediah regards the boy for a moment, a scruffy thing puffing on a cigarette, adjusting his grip on his firearm. He’s needed to pause here and there, acting as if he’s checking his malfunctioning communication system while Jeb can clearly see the fresh blood under his jacket, the way he only just favors a stance that keeps his arm from his ribs.
“What could I have possibly done that would make me evil?” Deimos’ laid-back manner of speaking has Jeb giving the man only a slim margin of leeway to not be stung by the label. He’s vulgar, but the stream of consciousness Jeb has been listening to gives the impression that Deimos rarely stops to think about what he’s saying.
So, he can entertain it while they remain on the same side.
“You keep ganking Hank.”
Even if that side may chafe like sandpaper.
“I really don’t think that counts.”
“Nah, the evil part of that is how I gotta go be the guy that gets his giblets stuffed in a bag,” Deimos kicks off the wall he was resting against, dropping the cigarette to stomp it out. “You know how gross that is?”
What a simple line of thought.
“I can imagine.”
They only move another forty feet forward before the boy is distracted by another filing cabinet, taking every opportunity to snoop through Jeb’s old workplace.
He’s surprised by how little he feels about watching someone digging through the old secrets, only sparking the vague interest here and there when he catches his own name on a document, a little flutter of remembrance, thoughts about a different life.
“You notice how all you scientists kinda turned into freaky wizards?”
“I don’t think I follow.”
Deimos waves around a document. “This guy was in the sewers spewing glitter on everything, kept poofing around.”
Jeb takes the paper when offered, adjusting his sunglasses to see in the low light, something that makes the boy snicker obviously.
Is he getting old?
“… Ah. Him.”
“Coworker?”
“Nuisance.”
“Welp. He’s dead, I think. Smooshed by the big bad.”
Crackpot died?
…
Crackpot was alive?
… In the grand scheme of things, it seems like it hadn’t mattered one way or another.
“You look like you just read the newspaper funnies.”
Jeb sets the document on top of the file cabinet, pushing his sunglasses back into their proper position. “I’m surprised you know what those are.”
Deimos only offers a shrug, his quota for wasting time reaching the limit.
He’s a strange man, at once lackadaisical and… Jeb wouldn’t say focused, but aware of how much he can get away with.
Like in their next encounter, while Jeb falls into the habitual use of dissonance, he watches Deimos operate with honed speed and a vicious accuracy, but leaving his back open with the clear assumption that Jeb will fill in the missing spots. He’s used to cooperation, where Jeb is not.
What an odd person to be in this world.
Or, perhaps that’s what this world is creating now, individuals that forfeit self-reliance for the strength of a team- a faction.
But by the powers that be, does the boy have such a foul mouth.
Between the heckling and self-amusement is a curse, when a weapon he grabs has more kick than he expects, he pops out a swear. When Jeb flicks his fingers to turn a man into a little smear on the wall as they’d attempted to take the opening Deimos left, the boy lets off a “Fuckin’ sick!” with more enthusiasm than horror.
It’s really not Jeb’s place to dictate what others might say in the middle of a life-or-death situation, but there could be a little more class.
He would’ve at least expected some from Doc’s people.
He would assume Doc is making due with what he has, but Deimos continues to prove himself more than capable time and time again.
Just different.
It nags at the back of his mind, the thought over what happens when their goals diverge again.
It makes Doc seem more dangerous, having different in his repertoire.
He hopes their paths don’t cross for some time after this.
He doesn’t mind Deimos. Watching him operate the robutler with an air of pride at getting to show his idea. It would be a shame to have to kill someone that may have been a promising young pupil, in a different life.
… But only if he would wash his mouth out with soap.
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