#marcy for less than a second
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Reveal the path and grant me passage!
#simon petrikov#ice king#marcy for less than a second#this got out of hand#don't have time for clean up and color lmao#had fun though!
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false god - m. murdock
a/n: sorry if this is bad i did my best because i have been thinking about him a lot
warnings: cursing, smut, cunninglus (reader recieving), exhibition (kind of?) matt has an oral fixation, praise, premarital activites, reader is deaf and uses hearing aids but it's only mentioned once, if i missed any let me know!
word count: 1.8k
summary: the night before your wedding, you and matt are starving. you want to order room service, matt wants to eat out.
pairing: matt x fem!reader
now playing: false god - taylor swift
"but we might just get away with it/religion's in your lips/even if it's a false god/we'd still worship/we might just get away with it/the altar is my hips"
When the devil finally proposed to you, he did it amongst flames and darkness.
…
Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite as dramatic as that.
Matt had proposed to you in the empty office of Nelson, Murdock & Page where you had met, with the lights turned down and candles lighting up the air around you. It was romantic, just as the two of you deserved.
Planning took a long time, too, with flowers, dresses and food taking over your every thought.
But now, all of that was done. There was nothing to be worried about anymore, as you and Matt specifically requested that if anything were to go wrong, Foggy and Karen would take care of it the best they could and not alarm the two of you unless someone was either dying or threatening to kill you.
So, in less than twenty-four hours, you would be Mrs. Matt Murdock, doomed to a life of lawyer jargon and patching up wounds, with no way out. The thought made you giddy.
The ceremony was going to be held at the church, but the pair of you had moved in with each other a long time ago, so it felt weird to try and avoid each other the night before the wedding and the morning in your own apartment. So, you and your future husband, as well as your small wedding party, had booked a few rooms in a hotel near the church.
You both had your respective ‘last hurrah’ a few weeks prior, so there was really nothing to do after the rehearsal dinner other than head to your room and relax, waiting for your alarm to go off to start getting ready.
You had decided to take it easy, enjoying a glass of wine after what you deemed to be an ‘everything’ shower, taking all the necessary precautions to feel like your best self on your wedding day. You had even bought yourself a nice silk pajama set, white, just like your rehearsal dress, and just like your wedding dress.
Your wedding dress hung freshly steamed in the closet of the hotel room, your shoes placed neatly beneath it. Your jewelry and accessories were laid out neatly on the dresser across from the bed. Your wedding ring sat in a box, inscribed with your husband’s name on it. He sat next to it, your name in braille on the inside of the ring.
In the morning, your mom, your sister, Karen, Marci and the woman who had been doing your hair and makeup for every major life event would be there, coffee in Karen’s hands, as your soon to be husband and his best friend got ready together, reminiscing on how they had landed themselves here.
Everything was perfectly set in place. Your job now was to just get married, and really, how hard could that be?
So, with your wine, you tuck yourself into bed with full intentions of getting a good night’s rest in your silky bridal pajamas.
Except, your job was almost done. There were no more seating arrangements to make, no one else to chase after for an RSVP, no more fittings, and no more menus to create to adhere to you and your soon to be husband’s particular tastes.
So, for the first time in weeks, you weren’t stressed at all.. Which left you with one conclusion:
You missed Matt.
You had seen him a few hours ago for the rehearsal dinner, but you were suddenly left with the conclusion that you were aching for the man you’d spend the rest of your life with.
Before you realized what you were doing, you were calling him.
On the second ring, he answered.
“Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?”
“Hi. Everything’s great.”
A pause.
“Okay, do you want to talk about anything..?”
“There’s nothing else to do, Matty!” You’re out of bed and pacing now. “I’m stress free, and I can’t even be with you!”
You hear his laugh from the other side of the line, and it makes your heart flutter.
“We have the rest of our lives to spend the night together, baby.” He must have had a drink or two like you, because ‘baby’ is his tipsy nickname for you.
“I know, but I miss you now. And I’m hungry.” You tell him.
“Do you want to come over, order room service, and make out?” He grins. “You just have to leave before midnight, it’s bad luck to see the bride the day of the wedding.”
You’re putting on your slippers when you pause and consider this for a minute.
“Matt, You’re blind.”
“And you’re deaf, don’t forget your hearing aids, baby.”
“How drunk are you right now? How would I be talking to you if I didn’t have them in right now?” You question.
A pause.
“I can’t wait to marry you.” His voice is softer now, and before you know it, you’re out the door and walking down the hallway.
He opens the door before you can knock, because of all the men in New York, you’ve landed the one with heightened abilities.
“Hi.” You grin, but he doesn’t respond. He simply leans down and picks you up bridal style, much to your objection. He kicks the door behind him closed before he carries you to the bed. He lays you down on it, finding himself on top of you.
“Silk?” He asks gently, his hand on your side.
“Mhm. Bridal pajamas.” You giggle. He just grins and leans in to kiss you. He pulls away from the kiss only to move to your jaw, and then down your neck. “Matthew, I want to order room service, I’m starved!”
His hands find their way underneath your top, his fingers beginning to creep up your skin.
“Me too. Been planning so much, I’ve hardly had the chance to be with you.. To touch you like this.”
You hum softly, but then your stomach rumbles loudly. So, when He lands on his knees in front of you and pulls you forward so that his head is between your thighs, he takes a second to lean over, searching for the room service menu before handing it to you, as well as the phone.
“What looks good, baby?” He asks, leaning his cheek against your thigh. Your pajama bottoms are shorts, so his warm cheek is a sharp contrast to your skin.
“What are you up to, Murdock?” You ask suspiciously, sitting up to look at the menu.
“Nothing, what kind of desserts do they have on there?”
What a weird, secretive man your future husband is.
“Uh, they have a crème brulee, apple pie, angel cake with chocolate ganache frosting—”
“Oo, can you order me one of those?” he asks, starting to kiss your thighs. Your face flushes.
“Sure, But I’m also gonna order the chocolate covered strawberries and the brownie al a mode—”
“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” He hums, “You just have to order it for me.”
You raise an eyebrow at him, but you go to dial the number for room service.
The woman on the other end of the phone is very nice.
As she begins to talk, Matt listens in, but mainly focuses on pulling down your shorts and panties, kissing along your thighs.
Your free hand goes to his hair to try and keep him from eating you out while you order room service, but he is a persistent man.
His lips meet your clit first, and he listens as you gasp, trying to finish the order that he had so kindly requested you to make. His tongue meets your folds, finally satiating the hunger he had for weeks leading up to this.
Your fingers grip his hair, only making him quicken his pace.
“Can I also get uhm—” You can barely think straight. “The uh, Fuck—” Matt’s nose rubs against your clit, his tongue moving at a devastating pace.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” The woman on the other line asks.
“Yeah, Sorry, stubbed my toe on the dresser,” You explain. Matt grins from his place between your thighs. His tongue drags up and down, as if he’s licking every inch of you, like maybe he’ll never be able to taste you again. “The angel cake, can we get two slices of that?” You ask, your fiancé’s pace increasing.
“Yeah, of course. Anything else?”
Matt takes only a moment to stop his assault on your pussy, to add, “The strawberries, baby,” before continuing to lap his tongue against your wet heat.
“The chocolate covered strawberries, and that’s it,” You finish.
“Alright, we have the brownie, the strawberries, and the cake..” She finishes. “What room?”
“Two twenty six,” You tell her. You roll your hips up to try and get more from Matt, but one hand leaves his grip on your thigh to hold your hips down. He knows you’re close, he always knows.
“Oh, are you the bride for tomorrow?” She asks.
This god damn wedding.
“Mhm,” You manage out, biting your lip to try and stop yourself from moaning.
“Congratulations!” She chirps, “Consider the room service complimentary, then,” She gifts.
“Thank you, very much.” You hum.
Matt stops his assault again.
“Ask her how long,” and then he’s back to tasting you, relentlessly.
“How long?” You ask, breathlessly.
“Should only be about ten, fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, thank you,” You say again, your grip on Matt’s hair tightening as you edge closer to your orgasm.
“Of course! Have a very happy wedding day!” And with that, she hangs up, and you toss the phone in the general direction of the machine.
“I’m gonna kill you,” You tell Matt, who stops quickly.
“Do you want to kill me, or do you want me to make you cum?” He asks. He looks really pretty between your thighs.
“Please, Matty..” You give in, and he smirks.
“That’s my good girl.” And he continues to suck your clit, edging you closer and closer. His pace quickens, somehow even more. You let out a soft moan that sounds like absolute heaven to Matt’s ears.
Your thighs are starting to shake because you’re so damn close. Matt keeps his licks consistent, waiting for your release. Your fingers tug on his hair, as you moan, finally hitting your release. He lets you ride out your high, licking all your cum up, making sure to suck up every last drop.
“So sweet and so good for me..” he hums, planting a soft kiss to your clit before pulling away, licking his lips.
“You’re such a dick..” You giggle.
He laughs, kissing your thigh.
“Did so well for me, Sweetheart..” He hums, leaning up to give you a soft kiss. When he pulls away, he slips your shorts back on, and looks like he has a new idea. “Ten to fifteen minutes, huh?”
“Mhm..” You’re just looking at him with such adoration.
“We could probably put that pretty mouth to good use while we wait, right?”
#matt murdock#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x y/n#matt murdock x you#daredevil fic#daredevil#matt murdock fic#matt murdock smut#matt murdock fluff#smut#marvel smut#daredevil smut
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Seeking Forgiveness [Part Four]
Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.7k
[Full summary and installment list for this series can be found here.]
Warnings/tags: 18+ contains angst, emotional hurt, delayed comfort, pregnant Reader
a/n: This one switches POVs at the end to Matt's. Hopefully you like the update because I quite enjoyed writing Foggy in this one. You'll see why... Feedback is always appreciated!
Tag List: @mattmurdocksstarlight @just-going-through-the-motions @paracosmic-murdock @yeonalie @auroraslibrary @1988-fiend @will-delete-this-later-probably @two-unbeatable-beaters @danzer8705 @ragamuffin285 @callmebrooklynbabes @spookyboogyuniverse @peachy-aisha @stevenknightmarc @nerdytreeflower @fucktthisworld @remuslupinwifee @kmc1989 @mywellspringoflife @thornbushrose @yarrystyleeza @shiorimakibawrites @thychuvaluswife @marvelcinematiquniverse @vallovesthedilfs @scoliobean @this--is--music @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @swissy23 @lilthbunny @that-girl-named-alex
Chewing another bite of your burger, you were barely focused on the conversation occurring at the table amongst your friends. You had been starving ever since the four of you had met at the restaurant, the smell of grilled food causing you to salivate the moment you’d stepped through the doors. So once the waiter had placed your burger on the table in front of you–the one thing you’d been craving nonstop all day–you’d tuned everything else around you out. Marci had shot you a curious look when you'd first dug into your food, but you’d chosen to ignore that, too.
Initially you’d set up this lunch date with your friends so that you could break the news to Foggy and Marci that you were pregnant. For the past two weeks now Karen had helped you keep your secret, but now that you were eight weeks along and had seen that everything was progressing well at your first ultrasound, you thought it was time to clue the pair of them into things, too. You’d been appreciative of Karen’s support lately, but truthfully being even less alone in everything right now sounded even more comforting and appealing.
As for Matt, you’d admittedly been doing your best to avoid him. He still had no idea about the pregnancy, and truthfully you weren’t quite ready to tell him. Over the past couple of weeks he had been calling you and leaving the occasional voicemail, but you’d ignored him every single time. And since you hadn’t had the heart to hear his voice or whatever it was he had to say for himself, you currently had twelve unopened voicemails from him.
You knew you needed to tell Matt the news. Every day you told yourself that, and every day it was a constant battle with yourself between ripping the bandaid off and showing up at his apartment to tell him or not. But then you always became emotional at the thought of just seeing Matt again, and you ultimately always came to the conclusion that you just weren’t quite ready to face him, not with this. You also knew that it wasn’t the sort of news you thought you should tell him in a phone call, either. So for now, Matt had no idea you were pregnant with his child.
“Whoa, slow down there,” Foggy teased from across the table. “Your burger is not going to get up and run away from you if you set it down to breathe for a moment.”
It took a second for you to realize that he was even talking to you, having been too focused on eating your food. Your gaze slowly slid up from your plate, noticing three sets of eyes on you. Thankfully Karen’s expression was more amused and knowing than confused and judging like Foggy and Marci’s across from you. Swallowing down your bite of burger, you lowered it back down towards your plate, sitting up straighter in the booth. You sent the pair of them across from you a sheepish smile, watching as Marci’s hand rose up towards her mouth.
"You've uh…got some ketchup," she said, gesturing beside her lip. “Right here.”
Reaching over, you grabbed your napkin and dabbed at the glob of ketchup on your face. You could still feel all three sets of eyes on you as you wiped off the ketchup, and one look up from your plate confirmed your suspicions. Eyes darting over towards Karen beside you, you saw her send you a slight nod and a soft, encouraging smile. With a sigh you wiped your hands off on your napkin next, figuring now was as good a time as any during this lunch to break the news to Foggy and Marci. And at least the irritating hunger-nausea that seemed to accompany early pregnancy was temporarily abated with how fast you’d eaten half of your burger.
“Sorry,” you muttered.
Foggy waved a dismissive hand, shrugging his shoulders as he sent you a smile. “Not a big deal, though I thought you had asked us here because you wanted to talk to us about something.”
“There uh, there actually was a reason,” you agreed, nodding slowly.
Your eyes slid back and forth between Foggy and Marci, your fingers fidgeting nervously with the napkin still in your hands. The pair of them curiously focused on you from across the table, lowering their utensils and giving you their full attention. Biting the inside of your cheek, you contemplated how you were supposed to tell them something so big. How did you lead up to telling someone that you're pregnant? So when you inevitably couldn’t think of anything to gradually broach the topic with, you opted for just spitting it right out.
“I’m pregnant,” you announced. “Just over eight weeks now.”
Marci’s eyes instantly doubled in size at the news, her lips parting in surprise as she gaped at you. Foggy’s jaw literally dropped, his entire body going rigid in the booth. From beside you, you felt Karen place a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving it a brief comforting squeeze.
“Holy shit,” Foggy breathed out.
You shot him another sheepish smile, still fidgeting with the napkin. “Yeah,” you muttered, “that’s about what I said initially, too.”
“So–so is it…Matt’s?” Marci asked slowly, her brows drawing together.
“Yes,” you answered.
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Foggy said, frantically waving his hands in front of himself. “You’re pregnant? Like right now? With Matt’s baby?”
“Yes,” you repeated.
Marci began to run a hand through her blonde hair, her lips pursing together as that furrow between her brows grew while she tried to process the information. Foggy was still sitting in the booth beside her and staring at you in utter disbelief. After a minute of that incredulous expression on his face, you quirked a brow at him, no longer able to stand the silence that had fallen over the table.
“What?” you asked him.
“It’s just–” he began, grimacing before shaking his head. “Matt doesn’t know, does he? That you’re pregnant? Because you two aren’t together but you’re carrying his child. And I don’t think he’d be acting the way he is if he knew.”
“Yeah, well,” you began bitterly, picking up your glass of water and bringing it to your lips for a drink, “that’s Matt’s fault.”
“So you’re just not going to tell him?” Foggy asked in shock, his brows shooting up onto his forehead. “You can’t possibly do that to him. You wouldn’t .”
“I am going to tell him,” you said, setting your glass back onto the table. “I tried to tell him that I was pregnant the night we broke up. But he wouldn’t stay to talk to me. Said he needed to go deal with the Russians. Again . He’s the one who told me to leave that night. Told me I could tell him whatever it was I needed to when he got back or that I could go." You winced, eyes dropping down towards your half-finished burger. “He left me alone that night–left us alone. So forgive me for not rushing to tell him the news a second time,” you snapped. “Because I don’t think I should have come last that night on his list of priorities, so right now he's not exactly at the top of mine.”
“If he knew the truth there’s no way Matt would’ve walked out on you like that,” Foggy told you earnestly. “There’s no way. He’d have stayed, I promise you that.”
Your eyes flew up from the table, landing back on Foggy across from you. There was an almost pleading look on his face as he sat there across from you. But as you opened your mouth to respond, you could feel that familiar rush of anger unfurling inside of you as you remembered that night.
“I practically begged him to stay and talk to me, Fog,” you growled, one arm possessively wrapping around your abdomen. “I was crying and begging him to stay and he left . That’s on Matt, not me.”
“I absolutely agree with you on that,” Foggy replied quickly, nodding his head. “He briefly told me what happened that night and I agree that he fucked up. Big time. But knowing what I do now? I know Matt needs to know the truth. He needs to make things right–”
“There’s no way Matt could make any of this right, Fog,” you cut him off. “And even if there somehow was, do you really think Matt would want to raise a child? With what he does? How obsessive he gets over things? The way he doesn’t even take care of himself?” You shook your head quickly, one arm still possessively wrapped around your belly. “No, that man couldn’t possibly care about being a father. All he cares about is Daredevil and Hell’s Kitchen. He can have a relationship with his child, I won’t stop that, but I’m the one who’ll ultimately be raising this baby.”
“You don’t know that,” Foggy countered, shaking his head as he leaned across the table towards you with that pleading expression only growing more desperate on his face. “You don’t know Matt wouldn’t want to be a father.”
“Actually, Fog,” Marci said, cutting him off, “I think I’m with her on this. From the things I’ve heard about Matt’s hobby from you and Karen, I was honestly shocked he had managed to successfully keep a relationship for as long as he has. But being a father? That’s an even bigger responsibility. I mean, he already has difficulty prioritizing the firm with you and Karen half the time. You really think a baby would be any different?”
“Yes!” Foggy exclaimed, his eyes darting between you and Marci. “Matt has his flaws, sure, I know that. I do,” he continued fervently. “But I know Matt. He wouldn’t walk away from his own child. He wouldn’t .”
"I'm with Fog on this," Karen said, catching everyone's attention. "I think Matt wouldn't be acting this way if he knew."
Marci’s eyes narrowed at Karen, her head slowly tilting to the side. "You already knew she was pregnant, didn't you?" she asked. "Because you don't seem very surprised right now."
"She showed up at my place shortly after the breakup and I told her," you explained. "I just didn't want to be alone in all of this. I had been waiting until after my ultrasound to break the news to you and Foggy next. I just–just wanted you all to know so I wasn't entirely alone."
Marci’s hand slid across the table towards yours, grabbing onto it. She sent you a warm smile that swiftly quieted the anger you felt towards Matt that had been burning inside of you for weeks now.
"You're not alone in this," she assured you, squeezing your hand. "You've always got us."
"Yeah," Foggy agreed, his face softening when you glanced at him beside her. "Whatever happens with Matt in all of this, you know we're always here for you. Through anything."
Tears began to fill your eyes, your lips trembling at the show of support. Truly you were grateful that everything with Matt had led you to at least meeting all three of them.
"Thanks guys," you whispered. "You don't know what that means to me."
Shutting your apartment door behind yourself, you turned and leaned your back up against it, slipping your aching feet out of your shoes with a deep groan. Head rolling back against the door as you stretched your toes, your eyes took in the sight of your empty apartment. Everything was neat and tidy except for the couch in your living room, which was often where you found yourself cocooned in a soft blanket whenever you were home lately, binging your shows and trying to ignore the hollow, lingering pain in your chest from your persistent heartache.
The pillows on your couch were a mess, a couple of them stacked together and resting against an armrest that you'd long since claimed as your usual spot. The extra height of them stacked helped with your nasal congestion–another unfortunate perk of pregnancy you’d recently come to learn about. Your plush blanket was still strewn across the cushions looking exactly the same as when you'd crawled out from underneath it earlier to get ready for your lunch date with your friends. Truthfully your couch still looked about as inviting as anything could to you lately.
With a sigh, your right hand absently landed on your belly. Any other normal Sunday in the past you'd have had plans with Matt right now. Grabbing groceries together or maybe getting coffee. Planning out dinner or listening to audiobooks on the couch. Having mind-blowing sex in the bedroom that left you blissed out and pleasantly exhausted afterwards, the pair of you remaining naked in bed just talking and losing track of time for half the day.
But not today.
Though admittedly it had been awhile since Matt had been able to give you his undivided attention on a weekend. Usually he had been trying to catch up on work or sleep before he went back out again as Daredevil at night. But that didn't stop the sting of his absence that you’d felt over the past few weeks since the breakup.
Eyes dropping down to your abdomen, a faint smile curled your lips upwards. You weren't truly alone though. Not fully. And at least Foggy and Marci knew the truth about your pregnancy now and were completely supportive of you. That's what mattered at the moment.
"Alright my little devil," you whispered to your small bump affectionately, "what's on the agenda for tonight?"
Lifting the hem of your shirt up with your other hand, you stretched out the spandex band of your maternity pants with a frown. They had become far more comfortable than your actual jeans this past week, especially once those had been near impossible for you to actually button closed. You’d recently bought a few basic maternity items, but the maternity jeans made you feel considerably less attractive with that stretchy band reaching up to almost the bottom of your bra.
"Should I get into something significantly more comfortable than these maternity pants?" you asked your bump. "Maybe those cozy, stretchy leggings I just bought? Then you and I could curl up and take a nap on the couch before figuring out dinner?"
Pushing off of the door, you bent down with another groan as you picked up your shoes and placed them in the nearby closet. Afterwards, you shuffled your tired feet through your living room and straight towards your bathroom just through the short hallway.
"But first I'm going to pee for the millionth time today," you muttered under your breath. "Something I feel like I'm doing all the time now."
You used the bathroom quickly before heading to your room, taking your time to switch your clothes into something more comfortable. It wasn’t like you were planning to go out anywhere for the rest of your Sunday night. It didn’t matter that you were wearing a massive oversized shirt and a pair of maternity leggings that you’d rolled the waistband down to just below your bump. No one was going to see you, anyway.
“Alright,” you murmured as you left your bedroom, shuffling your way back down the hallway towards your living room. “Let’s nap and figure out dinner afterwards. Seems like you’re feeling pasta tonight, so I guess that’s the plan.”
Settling onto the couch, you pulled your feet up onto the cushions and underneath your blanket before you laid down. Almost instantly you could feel your sinuses closing up and you tried to ignore your irritation at it. At least it wasn’t the nausea, because that admittedly had been the worst part of everything so far. Getting comfortable on the couch, you tugged the blanket up to your chin, your eyes steadily closing as your exhaustion began to overtake you.
“You and I will be just fine on our own,” you whispered drowsily, patting your bump. “I’ll find a way to make this work. One way or another, we'll both be okay.”
Matt leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk as he buried his face in his hands. He was tired and annoyed this morning, irritated that his Sunday out hadn’t been too eventful last night. Ever since he’d finished dealing with the Russians, having gotten Petrov into police custody with the help of Mahoney, Hell’s Kitchen had been oddly quiet on the organized crime front. Which was poor timing considering the fact that Matt hadn’t wanted to stay in his apartment where he’d just be reminded how alone he was every night.
It didn’t help that he’d been sleeping horribly, too. He wasn’t out as late as he had been for the past few weeks, meaning he had the time to sleep, but he clearly lacked the ability lately. His mind just wouldn’t seem to quiet, becoming almost louder than the sounds of the city around him when he tried to. Which was also quite irritating.
With an annoyed huff, he slid his hands down his face, straightening back up in his chair. He picked up his glasses from his desk and placed them back onto his face. He was tired but he still had work to do. There was a frustrating case he’d been helping Foggy with lately and he figured he could distract himself with that today. He didn’t want to think about anything else.
Though Matt had barely gotten far focusing on the case before he heard Foggy entering the office, closing the door a bit harsher than usual behind himself. Even Karen startled in her office at the unexpected rough slam of the door. Matt’s brows furrowed behind his glasses immediately afterwards when he heard Foggy make his way straight to his office instead of his own.
Confused, Matt’s head darted up just as Foggy threw his door open. He could practically feel the anger radiating off of Foggy as he stepped into the room, his breathing heavy and his heart beating a little faster than usual. Matt’s eyes narrowed curiously behind his lenses at the tension in Foggy’s body and the increase in his blood pressure.
“Are you fucking serious, Matt?” Foggy snapped.
Matt's brows knitted further together, even more confused at Foggy's behavior this morning. He hadn't seen Foggy all weekend, what could he have done to upset him?
“About what exactly?” he asked carefully.
Foggy stormed further into the room, roughly slamming both of his hands flat on Matt’s desk as he leaned forward. Matt’s head tilted curiously to the side, noticing the elevation in Foggy’s heart rate further increasing. Apparently his answer hadn’t been the right one.
“You said you’d talk to her, Matt!” Foggy yelled. “You told me you were going to apologize and make things up to her! You told me that!”
Of course this was about you.
“Fog, I’ve been trying to reach out to her,” he replied calmly, trying to soothe his friend’s anger. “I’ve called her countless times over the past couple of weeks. I’ve left her multiple messages. She keeps ignoring me and not answering my calls. Clearly she doesn’t want to hear what I have to say. There’s nothing I can do about that.”
Foggy scoffed loudly, angrily shaking his head. “There’s nothing you can do about that?” he shot back sarcastically. “Are you serious? Dammit, Matt!”
Matt heard the way Foggy’s hand swiftly rose from the desk, swinging through the air towards himself. Matt’s hand twitched from its place on the desk out of instinct, ready to dart out and grab Foggy’s wrist, but he was stunned when his friend actually landed a hit upside his head.
“What the hell, Fog?” Matt snapped, scooting back in his desk chair as he ran a hand over the sore spot on his temple. “What’d you hit me for?”
“Honestly, I–I’m surprised you even let me do that,” Foggy said, his anger briefly replaced by surprise. “Figured you would’ve stopped me before I could.”
“Well I didn’t think you were actually going to hit me!” Matt shot back. “Why the hell did you hit me?”
“Because I’m pissed at you, Matt!” Foggy roared, anger quickly returning. “And I’m disappointed in you! You damn well know you could show up at her apartment if she’s not answering your calls. You’re just making excuses.”
“Show up and do what, Fog?” Matt retorted. “Force her to talk to me when she clearly wants nothing to do with me? Hurt both of us even more by forcing that interaction? It’s probably better if she goes on hating me anyway. She’ll move on faster, at least.”
Foggy’s hand flew to the bridge of his nose, pinching it between his fingers. Matt heard the sharp hiss of his frustration between his gritted teeth. Seeing how upset Foggy was had Matt quickly beginning to question just why he was so worked up over this situation. It was between you and him, after all. Why did Foggy want you to apologize and talk this badly?
“Just promise me you’ll go over there and physically talk to her, okay?” Foggy said, his anger barely restrained. “That you’ll offer her a proper apology and talk to her?”
Matt shifted in his seat, his eyes once again narrowing behind his lenses. “Why is this so important to you?” he asked carefully. “It’s been a few weeks now, why are you still so adamant that we talk?”
“Because,” Foggy said, his fingers releasing his nose as his hand lowered to his side, “I know how important it is for the both of you. And I also know how stubborn and idiotic you can be. Someone needs to kick you in the ass before you make a big mistake an even bigger one. So just promise me you’ll talk to her.”
Matt’s tongue slipped out between his lips, nervously wetting them. After a moment he nodded, hearing the way Foggy’s heart rate started to gradually decrease back to its normal pace.
“Yeah, alright,” he assured his friend. “I’ll talk to her.”
“And I mean soon, Matt,” Foggy pressed. “Not in another few weeks.”
“Okay,” he agreed, nodding again. “Okay, I’ll go talk to her. I promise.”
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Tease (Kinktober Day 11)
Personal Masterlist for Kinktober 2023
FlightlessAngelWing's Prompt List can be found here.
Day 11 - Seduction.
Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB! Fem! Reader
Warnings: Seduction, unprotected p in v sex, dirty talk, office sex, clothed sex, boss/employee relationship, spanking, referenced oral sex, referenced masturbation, swearing
Tagging: @flightlessangelwings
Tease
Between being a lawyer and Daredevil, Matt was often busy. But lately he had been especially busy. And it was starting to take its toll. He was visibly stressed and in need of a break. But convincing the man to do that was tricky.
You had already tried asking him to take a day off. Just one day – no lawyering, no Daredeviling. Stay home, sleep in, savor his meals, do something fun that he enjoyed. You expressed your concern for his level of stress and exhaustion. You even had back up in the form of Foggy and Karen who just as concerned as you were. But Matt, being Matt, waved off those concerns. He was fine. He could handle this.
He was not fine. He could not handle this. Not unless he allowed himself to take a break when he needed it.
Since asking him hadn’t worked, other plans had been suggested. Seducing him was Marci’s suggestion. Karen had seconded it. You had considered it and eventually agreed. Having sex wasn’t the day off any of you had been originally aiming for but if it worked . . . he had at least taken a break. And you will have gotten some orgasms. Win-win.
But given how stubborn Matt is, you would need to do something bold if you wanted to seduce him.
You had considered a couple of ideas. One suggestion had been a pheromone perfume but you were a little reluctant to use it. For one, you weren’t sure that messing with his senses like that was a good idea. What if he reacted badly? You had seen how bad his headaches got when something went awry with his senses. You’d hate to be the reason he was curled up in a tight ball, eyes screwed shut, soft pained whimpers escaping from behind clenched teeth. For another, Matt already seemed to find your natural pheromones hard to resist and upping that, especially without asking him first, didn’t feel quite right.
You bought a bottle of it because it was good to have a back up plan. And maybe one day, he’d be interested in experimenting. If not, you could always give to Marci or Karen.
The suggestion you had settled on was more subtle.
You were walking to the office dressed in a cashmere sweater and silk skirt that fell to just above your knees, both favorites of Matt’s that he loved touching. But your secret weapon was that you weren’t wearing any panties under that skirt. Not very professional but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Given that it was early autumn, it was also a little chilly. You hadn’t realized just how much heat those inches of fabric were providing. But you persevered.
Knowing that your plan might end causing unexpected chaos at the combined offices of Nelson & Murdock and Page Investigations, you decided to treat Foggy and Karen to coffee and their favorite bagels on the way. A decision that earned you a ‘My favorite bagels! Best. Employee. Ever.’ from Foggy. Karen’s thank you was less dramatic but equally sincere.
You had also brought enough for yourself and Matt. Where was he? You knew he heard you coming or Foggy’s enthusiastic reaction to getting bagels . . .
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
You looked up to see him emerge from his office. Matt was always unfairly pretty but it seemed especially unfair today. If you had been missing that much sleep and getting into fights every night, you would be mistaken for a zombie. Not Matt. He stood there in his crisp gray suit, a smile on his face, looking as good as ever.
You wanted your body to have more than its usual ‘heeellooo gorgeous’ reaction to seeing him. So instead of doing your usual quick skim, you allowed your eyes to roam and think dirty thoughts about you saw. You looked at his face and remembered gripping his hair tightly in your hands while those pink lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. Traced his broad shoulders tapering down to his trim waist and remembered holding onto those shoulders, your legs wrapped around that waist, while he fucked you. Remembered those hands cupping your breasts and kneading your ass. Those fingers inside you making you moan. Everything short of actually touching yourself to make your cunt good and wet for him.
You watched him notice your reaction, saw those nostrils flare and that pink tongue dart across his lips. His hand on his office door tightened it and his body stiffened. Like it was taking a significant amount of his willpower to stay where he was. You wondered if he could tell that you weren’t wearing any panties. Or if it was just smelling you aroused after two weeks without any sex . . .
“Matt! Your wonderful girlfriend got us bagels! And good coffee!” Foggy said, unwittingly breaking the spell between you.
“Of course, she did,” he said, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you against him for your usual morning hug. “She’s a very sweet girl.”
You felt your face flush. It took everything you had not to press your thighs together. He was using that deep, sultry voice he reserved for dirty talk. That voice did things to you. To the point that you were pretty sure that he could recite entries from the phone book and it would still turn you on. The addition of sweet girl, something he called you when making you a whiny, desperate mess, only added fuel to the fire between your legs.
His arm around your waist tightened and pulled you a little closer. The flush on your face only deepened when you felt the growing erection against your lower abdomen. Foggy seemed oblivious but Karen wasn’t. She took in your flushed face and Matt’s arm around your waist. You saw her realize that you had started Operation Seduce Matthew Michael Murdock and Phase I – Get Him Interested was complete.
She gave you a conspiratorial wink before beginning Phase II – Drive Him Crazy. She cleared her throat and loudly reminded him that his 9 o’clock appointment would be here soon. Better eat his bagel and did he want her to pull the file for him?
You had the feeling that Matt knew exactly what you and Karen were pulling but he went along with it.
The rest of the morning was rife with sexual tension. Neither of you did anything inappropriate in front of the clients. Was touching his arm while you handed him papers necessary? No but you did it anyway. Likewise, he didn’t have pressed against your back until you were both refilling your coffee. The little kitchenette area was narrow but it wasn’t that narrow.
There was no innuendo. Everything you said to each other was perfectly ordinary office conversation. But in that voice . . . at this rate, you were going to unable to hear things like ‘Can you make a copy of this for me?’ without getting turned on.
Foggy might have been too distracted by bagels to notice Phase I but it didn’t take him long to notice Phase II. He gave you both irritated looks but seemed to have accepted the inevitable. If the way he loudly announced that he was taking a long lunch today. Karen was just as subtle when noting her after lunch plans to check on some leads. Away from the office.
The knowledge that they both knew what you were about to be doing had your face hot enough to cook with. But you weren’t so embarrassed that you were willing to forego that upcoming sex. You were careful to lock the outer door after putting out the closed until 1 pm sign. You had the feeling that Matt wouldn’t appreciate any interruptions. Granted, neither would you.
You had been barely turned away from the door before you pushed up against it. A hand gripped your chin and Matt was kissing you. It was a hard, dominating kiss that left you panting when he finally broke it.
“You are a fucking tease,” he growled. He didn’t sound like Matt Murdock at all. He sounded like the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. He looked like it too with that dark, almost feral expression on his face. It might have scared someone else but you only found yourself getting wetter. A deep rumble and then you were hoisted up on his shoulder. He walked further into the office. It was hard to tell from this angle but you thought he was taking you to his office.
It was his office. He deposited you back on your feet in front of his desk, turned you around and pushed your torso down until you were bent over his desk. One hand slide up your back and gripped the back of your neck.
“Naughty girl, coming into our office without any panties,” he rumbled out as he used his other hand to hike up your skirt. You jolted, the moaned when that hand slapped your now completely bare ass.
“Walking around here all day” he continued, slapping your ass again. “Knowing that I can smell how wet you are for me. Knowing that I can taste in the air just how desperate this pussy is for my cock.”
Another blow to your ass, this one harder. “Did you touch yourself in the bathroom?”
You squirmed, your face burning. “N-no.”
“Lie,” he growled, delivering another hard smack to your ass. “Were you hoping that because I was listening to that deposition that I wouldn’t notice you being a naughty girl?”
You knew that he probably notice but he had been busy and you had been so desperate for some relief . . .
“Answer me,” he ordered, using his feet to push your feet and thus your legs further apart.
“Y-yes,” you managed to pant out.
“Well, sweetheart, I noticed,” he said. “How wet your pussy sounded. The moans you swallowed. The faint whine when your fingers weren’t quite enough. The soft whisper of my name when you came all over your fingers. The sweet perfume of your release. I noticed every detail.”
You heard a clink of metal followed by the whisper of fabric behind you. Then you felt the head of his cock against your entrance. You gasped as he slide into you, not stopping until he was fully sheathed inside you. A deep moan rumbling out of his chest.
“Wanted this all morning,” he said. “Couldn’t wait to feel this pretty pussy fluttering and twitching around my cock.”
He began to move and there was nothing gentle about it. He fucked you hard, pumping rapidly in and out of your body. You could do nothing to control the pace, pinned down by the hand gripping the back of your neck, your feet were too far apart . . . All you could do was take it and moan.
“Yes, moan for me,” he grunted. “My naughty girl.”
You let out a loud cry when his hand, the one that had been gripping your waist, slide down an d under to start rubbing your clit. Like his thrusts, the pace of his finger was fast. Almost frantic. White flashes began to dance across your vision.
“Maa-tt . . I – I,” you started only to be cut off by a particularly hard thrust that almost made you scream. “C-close.”
“Want to cum, naughty girl?” he asked.
“Yes,” you said. Then whined as you felt his finger switch from firm circles to teasing, feather-light brushes. You could feel your orgasm beginning to recede.
“Then beg,” he ordered.
You whimpered but that wasn’t enough. He continued with the teasing brushes, just enough to stimulation to keep you near the edge but not enough to tip you over it.
“Please,” you begged. “Please let me cum. Please, please, please . . .”
This time you were cut off by the firm press of that finger against your clit. This time, you let out a choked scream. Close, you were close . . . “Yes, yes, yes . . .”
“Cum on my cock, sweet girl,” he said. “Cum for me.”
And you did, falling over that edge with a stuttering moan. As your cunt squeezed and fluttered around his cock, you felt his pace began to falter. One, two more hard thrusts, a low moan, and then you felt the warmth of his release filling you.
#fawktober2023#kinktober 2023#daredevil#matt murdock#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x you#daredevil smut
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(In a faux courtroom scenario)
Sasha: (As the lawyer) "Lily Boonchuy; you are on trial because you have committed the ultimate crime. Something that is forbidden in this family for generations, but you carelessly committed this act without a single second thought. How do you plead?"
(Little baby less-than-1-year-old Lily nibbles at her feet before looking up at Sasha and letting out an adorable babbling noise while pawing for her mama)
Sasha: "No further questions, your honor."
Anne: (As the judge) "Lily Boonchuy, I sentence thee to 24 minutes in cute jail." (Bangs her gavel)
Marcy: (Watching all this as an outsider) "Y'all are taking this way too far."
Anne: "Quiet you, or I'll extend your life sentence in cute jail."
Marcy: "OH, COME ON!--"
(Marcy finds herself in Lily's little baby play area, under a sign labeled "cute jail")
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Success Through Finding Peace
Now that she has successfully dealt with the hurdle of reconnecting with both Hudson and Simon, Marceline is able to finally find the peace she has been searching for. Marcy had so much pent-up aggression and anger throughout the early episodes of Adventure Time. But after successfully reconnecting with her father figures, she has finally found peace. This is her version of success. Finding success displays ethos because Marcy has the credibility to give advice and talk about the issues she has gone through. By becoming successful and regaining agency over her life, we see that Marceline is a strong character who is credible and trustworthy. She ends up giving advice and helping her friends find success and peace later in the show. Having peace is so important and it was difficult for Marceline to believe she would ever be able to achieve it. But with her strategies of coping with trauma and learning to forgive Hudson and Simon, her character becomes much less aggressive throughout the show. The World Peace Initiative says that finding inner peace builds self-confidence, resolves phobias and fears, improves relationships, purifies your character, increases emotional stability, and much more. All of these traits are present in Marcy’s character after reconnecting with her father figures.
Even if she doesn’t see Hudson often, she no longer has to worry about him pressuring her into ruling the Nightosphere, so she feels comfortable visiting him occasionally and just hanging out. With Simon, she makes efforts to see him often and is very protective of him. Even if he is still Ice King and not mentally well, she still feels a responsibility for him and cares for him more than anyone in Ooo. She sees him frequently and encourages her friends to give him a second chance, she knows all he wants is to be loved. By fixing these formerly negative relationships, Marceline proves that she still has agency over her life, regardless of the hardships she has faced. Having agency is crucial and it is easy to think that your past experiences and current situations are what defines you. But what defines you is how you choose to live your life and set yourself up for success. By empowering herself through agency, Marceline has found inner peace, which is her form of success.
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Hello, everyone. It's so strange to be saying this, but the last part of SAMATFOE is imminent, and we're getting closer and closer to the End. It's been a really fun five years. (Four to ya'll, but I've been working on this for longer than I've been talking about it publicly!) The cast of characters has expanded dramatically, I've gotten much better as a writer and artist, and I feel I've grown as a person too. I won't stop stalking the svtfoe tag or talking about svtfoe after this is done, don't worry, but I have a lot of non-svtfoe related plans in the future, so if you like Sílthéy and her weird siblings, don't stop following when SAMATFOE is over.
But as for the actual contents of s5, well, I've got lots of plans. We've got a dark magic plague that's an incredibly transparent metaphor for climate change. We've got Mina playing the oil barons and trying to stop everyone from saving the world for her own personal gain. We've got Glossaryck (capitalism). We've even got the answers to a lot of mysteries and character arcs. Like, so many character arcs. It has been incredibly difficult to stuff all these character arcs into this far-too-short piece of fanfiction. But I hope I did that adequately.
On a personal note, while hiring a beta/sensitivity reader for a piece as massive as SAMATFOE proved impossible for someone who does not own their own money, I have done a lot more research than I had at seventeen. I wanted the monsters to be more than just badly-done allegories for Native Americans – I wanted them to be people with their own culture, history, and ideas. People who are inspired by real-world Indigenous cultures, but, because they're literally nonhuman, are distinct from them. Whether or not they could count as Indigenous is discussed in-text, but I do not come to an actual conclusion because I want my readers to draw their own. It's not my place to say whether colonized space aliens could be Indigenous. And their connection to the land and to magic is drawn from their shared knowledge, not mysticism, and their culture is idealized because a caring godlike entity helped them to that, not because they're better than anyone. I hope to demonstrate that they are all people, first and foremost. Because we're going to be spending time in Septarsis! So much time! And Toffee has officially been promoted to main character status! It's Star and Marcie AND the Forces of Evil, babey!
But there's a lot of characters here. So, for the second and final time,
Dramatis Personae:
Star - Star doesn't know what to do. She has everything she ever wanted, even if she doesn't realize it. She has no future responsibilities, having passed that to Eclipsa, but she is still special and important, being the most powerful magic-user ever to exist and the only one who can fix the dark magic, and Toffee doesn't even seem to hate her. Sílthéy does, though, and that is a sticking point. Star is much less oblivious now, though even her oblivious former self would probably pick up on the bad vibes Sílthéy is actively sending her way. She wants everyone to see how hard she's working to make everything better, but Sílthéy doesn't, and that is unbearable. Add that to Shinjai avoiding her and Marcie growing distant, and she has very little time for introspection, even if that would help fix things.
Marcie - Marcie is done with Mewni. She can't believe she believed the Butterflys' lies for so long. She's going to devote herself to Septarsis as fervently as she did Mewni. She just... she doesn't want to bother anyone, or take anyone's time. Why should she get attention paid to her, when there are stronger and smarter magic users out there who could do so much to actually help the world? Marcie is small and useless, and clearly so easily tricked. Better to work on herself before she brings anyone else into her orbit. Also, Star keeps making bad decisions, and Marcie's boundaries are pushing her away too... maybe it's better to do everything alone.
Ludo - Ludo is having a great time! He's earned the trust of some of the monsters in the Avarius village, his plumbing has been fixed, and Pemma is teaching him how to use the Avarius Beacon! Certainly nothing bad is going to happen to him or anyone he cares about! :D
Buff Frog - I'll confess here: Buff Frog is not a huge part of s5. He'll appear in the finale, but he's not a fighter anymore, and lives a peaceful life in Septarsis. He still has fond feelings for Star, but he's not too worried about her. She's strong, and he has twelve young froglets to take care of. She'll be fine on her own... right?
Toffee - Una'met Co'tzin-Nekohtzaca, Last Child of Old Septarsis, The Forces of Evil, Kéta'cha For the Dragon of Space, is doing FINE. They're definitely not five bad seconds away from a total mental breakdown, definitely not, that would be bad for everyone involved, and they are a calm, peaceful, certified not-doing-bad-things-er. The fact that everyone is almost certainly going to die a horrible death from dark magic is fine. They just have to cram thirty-plus years of training into the rapidly-dwindling time before the entire multiverse is dead. They barely know Star Butterfly, except that she's too good for things like "basic training" and "reading." How are they going to do this? And why won't Sílthéy tell them why she caused this in the first place? Well, they do know one thing, which is they can't tell Star about that.
Jackie - Jackie is done with Star Butterfly. She's talked to... someone, and done some digging, and that only served to verify the book she was given in s4. She doesn't know anything about Mewni save for what the book told her, but she can't believe that she trusted the family that doomed her dimension.
Janna - Janna doesn't like this apocalypse. No chance of survival is boring. So she's going to do what she can to help out. Also, she's been keeping her own secrets, secrets that might hold the key to survival.
Tom - Tom isn't angry anymore. He's not angry at Eclipsa for keeping Miquiz locked up, he's not angry for the Butterflys for spreading the dark magic that's thrown the Underworld into chaos, he's not angry that he keeps being left out of things. He's. Not. Angry. Anymore!
Moon - Moon didn't kill her mother. She didn't. It was Toffee, Toffee who couldn't come up with some loophole, Toffee who couldn't forget a conversation that happened when they were a child, Toffee who aimed the arrow at Comet's chest. And her holding onto anger isn't what's driving Star away from her, it's Toffee. They're the one driving her daughter away from her! But as cold reality and remaining dark secrets loom behind her, her brittle facade is beginning to crumble.
Glossaryck - Glossaryck misses when he and Star got along. Yeah, he's destroying her dimension, and everyone in it, and her, all to win kudos from his family, but it really sucks that Star won't give him the time of day anymore. He used to be her wise old mentor! Geez, she was going to die anyways, that's what mortals do! Might as well get along before it happens!
River - River is tired of being left out of the loop. He doesn't know what's going on. He doesn't know what to do. Moon barely speaks to him, she's always busy with Eclipsa, or whatever. But he might be the thing Moon needs, if she would only let him in.
Angie - Angie doesn't know if she should have had Mariposa. Sure, Mari is wonderful, and she loves her, and she DID NOT have a baby to replace Marcie dear god why were the svtfoe writers like that – *ahem* but the multiverse is ending, and Mariposa is just a baby... she didn't want to bring a baby into this world just to have them all die.
Rafael - Rafael is worried about Star. He's worried there's nothing he and Angie can do to help her. He's worried about Marcie. She seems really stressed about the dark magic. But he's the calm, goofy dad, so he's going to keep being that, and praying it'll help somehow.
Mariposa - Mariposa is fresh to the world, and doesn't understand much of anything yet. But everyone is worried she won't survive long enough to understand the world at all.
Kelly - Kelly is chilling. Apparently Star and Marcie are off on a trip to Septarsis, but that's none of her business as long as art classes and hangouts with Nova and Jorby go well. She might drop by to visit, though.
Miss Heinous - Saint Olga is dead. Miss Heinous's one reason for existing, her greatest love and greatest enemy, the robot who raised her, is dead. What does Miss Heinous do now?
Meteora - Meteora's doing great. She's won popular opinion, she's training to be a true Crown Princess, or at least a high-ranking official, if Sílthéy's democracy takes off. She's stepped into her role as a leader, far more than her mother could claim. But that's fine. Not everyone is suited for leadership.
Eclipsa - Eclipsa has an albatross around her neck. She is doing her best to ignore it, to be a good queen, to love her people, but... she cannot get away from the child she killed. Would it be easier if she was just always evil, not done one evil act out of rage and grief? Well, she knows what happened to her mother. What does she do now?
Globgor - Globgor is doing his best. He's a little miffed by Sílthéy mistrusting him, as her first big act of s5 will be to demonstrate how little he's valued as a Legitimate Voice of the Monsters, but really, who can complain. There's so much else going on, who cares if he fades into the background?
Shinjai - Shinjai gets the wand. Shinjai does not want the wand, and the circumstances surrounding her getting the wand are ridiculous, but she gets it, and she hates it, and she can't control it. Unlike Star, her inability to control the wand makes her not want to use the wand at all lest she hurt someone with it. Oh, and Star keeps wanting to teach her fun spells now that she's been handed this nuclear bomb of a magic wand, and Shinjai does not want to deal with Star. She hasn't forgiven Star. She doesn't want to forgive Star. She'll ignore Star as much as she can, and focus instead on Alice and the teen militia, which is much more fun. She loves Alice. She loves learning to fight, learning to battle the most dangerous people in the multiverse and win WITHOUT the help of a wand. She'd be doing great, if her past would stop knocking at her door.
Rasticore - Rasticore's worried about his partner. Una is fraying at the seams trying to fix everything, and he has the feeling they're not telling him something. But what else is new? He'll wait. He has friends to make, a new teenage militia to help train, and a Miss Heinous to keep from destroying Septarsis stone by stone. He's endlessly patient. When Una wants to talk to him, he'll be there for them. He just... has... to... wait...
Mina - Mina is trying to destroy the world. She doesn't tell her followers that, no, they don't even know the dark magic is a thing, but she wants Glossaryck to win and the Solarian Age, of which she is the last remnant, to end everything with it. So she'll destroy the world, and fulfill Solaria's dream of taking the Forces of Evil with her.
Lilacia - Lilacia is, somehow, a spoiler. Like, legitimately, the Princess Formerly Known as Ponyhead's role in s5 is a spoiler, and not for magic power-up speech cliché reasons. But she's still her dumb, ditzy self, of course.
Still Unnamed Mystery Character - "Stella" is still mysterious, but I promise you we'll get who she is and her backstory in this part ;)
Alice - Alice is wary of the new Mewman presence on the outskirts of Septarsis. She knows why they're there, but she's still extremely suspicious. She does not want them to hurt Septarsis. But she doesn't know that the true danger comes a little closer to home.
Teyauh - Teyauh is also a spoiler, but she'll be there!
Linda - Linda loves her wife, and will follow her anywhere, but Teyauh will have to accept that her knees don't work how they used to, so Linda will have to follow in a suit of POWER ARMOR, BABY!
Nova - Nova is part of the Nuxalkmc, an Indigenous tribe native to the Northwestern Turtle Island, and she loves that about herself. Now that Kelly and her dimensional scissors are here, she can finally explore the multiverse to find new places and see if they're anything like home. Septarsis is one of those places, and she loves it at first sight.
Dr. Edevane - Dr. Edevane is a doctor. He and Toffee have a lot to nerd out talk about together. He will be useful, too.
Dennis - Dennis is busy reigning in dozens of siblings, including Ludo. It's a busy life, but a happy one. Nothing bad whatsoever will happen to him! (I'm lying)
Chloe - Chloe doesn't know this "Star Butterfly" person, but she's very suspicious. But man, Mewni would be such a cool place to visit... so much magic! ...No, she needs to concentrate on being mad. And she is mad. She wants Earth to be like Mewni, like it deserves to be.
Hekapoo - Hekapoo doesn't like her dad's plan. He says it'll work out, it's fine, but the plan is... questionable. She doesn't like it. And she definitely isn't getting conflicting feelings about puppeteering her brother around, either...
Rhombulus - Ṯ̶̡̧̧̡̧̠͉̻̦̜̭͚̰̪̣̬̠̦̲̹̯̯̮̹̰̺̣̳̬̳̬͙̙̞̹͚͖̼̲̰̼̻̭͇̘̻̹͔̝͌͐̀̇̓̀́̄̇̓̊̚ͅH̶̛̠̽̎̇̽̉̃̔͒̽̈́͌͝Ȩ̸̢̧̛̛͔̭͍̪͈͚̮̘͙̭̳͍̺͖̗͇͍̘̱̉̽͑̆̌̓̆͛̓̌̈́̐̾͑̅͂͗̔̽̌̋̈́̎̈́́̓̓͌̆̄͐̀̋̅͂̒̓̔͗̈͊̊͆̄̒͘͘̚͘͝͝͠͠͠͠ͅ ̷̧̪̰͈̺̯̳̙̳̹̙̣͔̗̜̫̗̲̠̙̝̠̯̻̯̩͈͇͉̞̙͙͈̲̻̹̰̳̣̤̣̀́̐͆͜͜͜ͅͅK̵̨͎̙̩͓̘͇̳̩̲̝̳̼̖̯̘͖̹͙̪̰͙͔̤̭̘͖̖̪̬͓͚̫̦̝̠͍̙̊͛̏̈́͛́̒̈́͂͜͜͜͝ͅÍ̸̡̧̨̨̥͍̮̮͇̟͈͙̩̥͙̥͖͚͉̬̟̻̹̰̟̘͓̪̦̹͈̺̤̜̣̺͉̘͕̮̲͓̳͍͈͍̜̯̯̘̪͙̩͛́̐̆̈́͗͋̔̐̒̌̚͜ͅT̵̨̟̲̑̅̑̕̚T̶̨̨̨̛̞͖̻̖̞̹̜͉̦͓̣̠̗̘̣̺̲̹̘̻͎̤̝̤̜̞̜̳̭͎̲͙̮͓͕̼͇̘̃̈́̑̅͐̆͛͊̎̀̈́̔̐̂͛͒̎̕͜͜Ę̴̟̻͍͓̲̙͙̬̺̖̘͎̺̯͐̍̀͊̊̃̃̐̒̊̽̅̉̒̇̎̒͗͆̓͋͂̍̎̈̓́́͌̈͌̕͘̕̕͜͝͝͠͝͝Ņ̷̡̥͕̞̘͙͇̪̺̯͕̪͖̗̙͖̭̻̳͙͖̯̺̟̳̟̪̼̤̞̘̯̘̥̏́̊̾̓̀͐̑̈́͛͊͜͝͝͝S̸̨̨̨̡̤͕͚͈̻̯̫̯̦̖̣͈͔͉͚̠̪̮͚̳͈͇̯̱̯̙̙̬͎̝̪̬̦̙͇̝̲̤̰̃͒̓͒̾̀̋̎̊̈̀́̐̎̇͜͝ͅ ̵̧̧̛̣͉͕̤̻͔̰̜̺̮̘̞̠͓͚̹̗͒͐̽́̆̈́́̏̀̎̋͌̔́̌͗̎̍̉̀̃͌͂̎̽̿̃͂̎̽̌̈́̄́̀́̓̿̅́̎͆̾̆͑͌̔̿̑́́̕̕̕͝͝͝M̸̢̡̨̭͓̘͙̟̩̦͎̤̟̮̤͍͔̝̑̀̅̊̑̊́̂̈͑̽͋̃̑͋͐̆͆͊̈́́̋͑̋͜͝I̸̡̛̖̺͇͎͕̗̹̦̦̻̻̙͈͔̮̭̤̺͚͙͙͖̱̙͚̣̼̠̺̘̐̄͋͒̒͗̎̓͐͗͛̊̀̓̄̅̆̇̐͒̄̌̔͗̒̎̃̒̊̍̋͐̊͛͘��͝͝͠S̴̨̡̡̨̲̖̺̭̺̱̰͎͓͇̰̙͙̩̯̺̖̲̥̜͖̦̙̹̜̻͙̠͉͇̲̲͍̞͚̭̯͕͋͐̌̾̈́̄͐̇̔͜͝͝Ş̴̢̨̢̝̬̤̯̗̞̳̟̞̲̠̮͇̻͙͖̻̜̺̘̑̑̆̈́̇͋͗͒͒́̅́́̚̕͝ ̷̨̡̡̛̛͚̩̣̠̠̹̘̟̼̘̤͇͖͓̙̺̙̮͚̫̺͖̠͇͙̏̆̋̆̀̅̓̔͋̐̐͛̃̾̃̿̓́̑̇̏̈̉͊̂̍̾͑̐̈́̀̑͑̈́̏͗̇͋̀̆́̍̊̃̀͐͘̚̚͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅḨ̶̨̧̻̺̟͚̠͍̗͙̗̹͇̗̦͔͕̮̦͖͔̝͚̟̖̖͉̾̔͒̓̋̀̔̅̿̈̑͆̀̇̇̄̈́́͋̿͐͆̔̂̈́͋̈́̊̊̈́̓̈́͋̕͘͝͝͝I̷̡̡̢̨̹͎̼̻̖̗̭̫̩̣̬̻̦̠̗̰̥͕̗̟̯̰͉͙̯͖̦͚̟̖̞͍̦̙̯̲̲̖̲̲̜͚̓̍͜ͅM̶̧̡̢̧̧̙̥̭̲̖̦͙̘̙͈͓͖̩̜̦͍̦̘͍̘͕̳̜̱͚̥̹͓͕͉͔͕̫̺̮͕̳͖͉̭̺͙̠͖̥͕͖͙̜̉͑͛̎̓̈́͐͋̐̀̏̊̀̽͋̈́͊̄͌̋̌̐̓̄̉̓͒̕̕͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅ
Reynaldo - Reynaldo looks and looks and he does and does, but he does not win this bet. It is the thing he wants most, that he will do all sorts of terrible, horrible-things-that-make-him-want-to-throw-up to get. What is it?
Omnitraxus Prime - Omni will do anything to protect the multiverse. Including trusting zir dad, who is looking more untrustworthy by the day, and trusting Mina, who was never trustworthy in the first place. Mina has much more training than Star, and strong magical ability from spending three hundred years close to the wand, and it's the best option... right?
Necahua - Necahua is a mess currently, and being a mess leaves you more open to mistakes. Uh oh! Una still loves them, though.
In fact, I made a short story in my creative writing class about the relationships between Una'met, Necahua, and Cayeto, since I feel they got overlooked in the main story. Yes, no one in my class had any idea what was going on. I'll post it next, before chapters 1 and 2 of s5.
Cayeto - Cayeto is also in the short story. He doesn't play a huge role in the main plot, but he is just another reason Toffee does the things they do. He died hoping that Una and Necahua, specifically, survived, and Necahua died, so he does not have the best grip on reality.
Xocochiapal - Xoco is the de-facto ghost leader of the ghosts now. No legislation without representation, right? Toffee does most of the work, but she's in charge when they can't address a thing right away. She was right despite everyone else blindly going to their deaths, and now everyone knows it. She also was the highest-ranked Septarian to become a ghost, and her hatred of the Mewman occupation is a clear and strong motivation.
Tecoloa - Tecoloa is the voice of reason. The good one. She died protecting her elementary school class from the worst of the heat, and that caring nature has translated into protecting everyone she can.
Sílthéy - Sílthéy is a character now, and OH BOY is she happy about it. She hates Star and will never get over it, and she loves to remind Star of that fact. She feels immense guilt for what happened with Septarsis, and will never get over that, either. She is a mess, but she's been hiding her messiness for 0/0 years, so she's a pro. And it's not like anyone here can stop her from being a mess, can they? So she'll go on being a mess in her corner, and she'll be fine. Her hobbies include storytelling, dissing Star, and doing the most bizarre stuff in the background of any given scene. She owns her weirdness. She's annoying, but that just makes her more fun to write.
Mocel - Mocel is mad at Eclipsa. She's mad at all Mewmans, really. She cares a lot about Miquiz, and she hates that he's locked up while she, with her lightweight ash body, can sneak out whenever she likes. The world isn't fair, and she knows it.
Miquiz - Miquiz is dying a second time. The dark magic wound on his chest is expanding. He doesn't want to leave, not without seeing the sun again, but he may not have a choice. He doesn't want to leave without saying something to Eclipsa, but again, no choice. He doesn't know what to do.
Tecolo - Tecolo is just vibin. He wants to see Ludo again, and he will, but he's mostly busy having fun with his dead and living relatives after centuries floating in the void.
#svtfoe#svtfoe critical#svtfoe negativity#svtfoe rewrite#svtfoe salt#star vs the forces of evil#samatfoe#art#my art#my posts#update#sunday: i'm posting the short story. two weeks after that s5 officially begins.#queue queue
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"come in," she said, "I'll give you shelter from the storm"
Marceline woke to the smell of something amazing cooking.
Her reactions were a little less startled and a little more excited every time she woke up and remembered that Simon was back. She quickly dressed and flew down the stairs and into the kitchen as Simon was finishing whatever it was he was making. His hair was pulled back in one of Marcy's hairbands and was wearing a bright pink sweater gifted from Bonnie over top his usual white collared shirt and black slacks. He looked so different from how she remembered him growing up but he was still her Simon.
"Good morning, or rather good afternoon, sleepyhead," Simon said with a smile as he flipped something in his pan. "Sit down, I'm almost done. I have something I want to talk to you about."
"Is this something the thing you've been talking to my girlfriend in secret about for the past few weeks?" She asked playfully. Simon groaned.
"How could you possibly-"
"I've known Bonnie for hundreds of years, you think I don't know her tells by now," Marcy grinned. "And it barely took me a year to learn all of yours."
"Yes, yes, I shall always be the Watson to your estimable Holmes so here is your reward for another case brilliantly solved," Simon said with a flourish. He placed a completely red grilled cheese sandwich in front of her with a bowl of tomato soup. "Strawberry jam toasted bread with ham, red bell peppers and tomato. The cheese I soaked in the jam too, it's not as red but hopefully it'll taste better than the beet juice cheese I made for you that one time. Bon appétit, mon cher."
"That beet cheese haunts my nightmares," Marcy said, trying to act casual when she wanted to cry with how much love she was feeling. She thought she had lost this forever and having it back, it was a miracle she couldn't put into words. "You don't have to go to this much effort, I can eat anything red. It doesn't even have to be real food."
"I like to cook and I like to cook for you. Sharing a meal together is something you do with your loved ones," he smiled and sat down with his own soup and sandwich. "I have a second chance to enjoy the little things in life and I don’t want to waste it.” He said, biting into his sandwich.
“Yeah,” she smiled back as her fangs sampled the sandwich. Deliciously red and made with love. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Oh uh,” Simon looked flustered and ducked his head closer to the soup. “I hate having serious discussions over a meal. How was your show last night?”
“Fine,” Marcy said with a suspicious frown. Simon was being cagey but she’d get it out of him eventually. “It was just a small gig at Dirt Beer Guy’s new place. It would have been better with my partner there. You can’t spend all your time inside reading those dusty old books, you know.”
“I’m not your partner, Marcy, I’m your-” Simon paused and turned away with embarrassment scratching at the back of his neck. She found herself wishing he’d just say what they both felt but he trailed off as usual. “Music is just a hobby for me, I’m not nearly the professional you are. Besides I’m not really suited to the kind of music you play, trying to keep up with you would just diminish your natural talent.”
“Dude, you’re like the best pianist I’ve ever heard and you know all those old world songs,” Marcy argued as she slurped up the remaining red in her soup with annoyance. “And you’re no slouch on the guitar or violin or drums or-”
“I don’t play the drums, Ice King did,” Simon interrupted with a flat frown.
“Yeah, okay whatever,” Marcy grumbled as she floated up and gathered up the now empty plates to clean. “So come on, stop avoiding the issue, what did you want to talk about?”
“I don’t want to have this conversation angry, let’s relax with a little jam session first,” Simon said cheerfully. “It’s been a while since I’ve been on strings, I’ll join you today on guitar. Just like the good old days.” The image of Simon’s large, blue tinged hands on top of hers on the half broken guitar they’d scrounged from the rubble, lightly moving her fingers over the frets. His gentle voice walking her through the notes and the beautiful sounds they’d made to fill the apocalyptic silence.
Even after a thousand years of insanity, he knew just how to tempt her.
“I’ll grab my guitar while you finish up,” he said before rushing out of the kitchen. She was drying her hands when the sound of a tuning guitar flitted through the house. Marcy had dreamed of a situation like this: her and Simon safe, with no magic or madness or sadness between them, just hanging out. But sometimes a wall could be made of other things too. She grabbed her bass as she floated into the living room where Simon was strumming his acoustic with deep concentration. She sat next to him on the couch and began strumming too, the familiar motions leeching some of her tension.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, playing their own thing with the separate melodies sometimes coming together and harmonizing. Every now and again she’d recognize something he played, some dim lightbulb of a memory from when she was a child listening to music on the radio. Simon always got a little sad when she reminded him of the world they’d both lost. She’d mourned and moved on but it was harder for him to let go.
"Marcy, I need to move out,” Simon said suddenly, snapping her out of her head. She jerked a discordant chord on her guitar as she dropped it, causing him to wince. “Princess Bubblegum is getting me set up with a little place on the border of the Candy Kingdom," he continued awkwardly.
"Move out?" Marcy yelped, reaching over to grab Simon's hand then quickly releasing when she saw him wince. "Why? You've only been back as yourself for six months! You're- you're not ready yet! You can't live on your own in Ooo, you'll get killed!"
"I got through the apocalypse, remember. I believe you were there," he said with a raised eyebrow.
"Is it the house? Too small? Too dark? We'll move together, somewhere bigger and brighter that has everything you need-"
"The house is fine, Marcy," Simon sighed, "it's not that it's..."
"Is it me?" She asked quietly. Simon set aside his guitar and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close. Marcy tried to relax into his touch like she used to but instead dug her hands into his sweater and held on tight.
"No, Sweetie, no, of course not. Believe me, this isn't an easy choice for me either but... Marceline, we always knew this was going to be temporary. You're a beautiful, brilliant, vivacious young woman and you don't need an old dinosaur cramping your lifestyle."
"You're not, I promise. I love having you here. I am so happy I get to see you everyday, to wake up to your cooking and making music together," she said, pulling back to look up at him.
"And I treasure those things too but Marcy, you're not going out with your friends, you're canceling shows and I know you don't feel comfortable bringing your girlfriend around when I'm here. I don't, I guess I'm worried about trapping you."
"You're not, I want you here, I promise. There's always other parties, other gigs and Bonnie, well she's old too, she knows that the most precious things are the ones that-that won't be around forever."
Simon was human again and that meant he was no longer deathless. He'd been in his mid 30s when he first wore the crown, hardly a spring chicken but not old either. That left Marcy about 50 years or so before he was gone and there was no magic on Earth or beyond that could bring him back while she went on and on and on and on and-. She loosened her grip on him before her claws put holes in his sweater, or him.
"Sweet Girl, I know what it's like to cling to something because it’s safe and familiar but we can’t live in the past. I, well, I need to find my own way. You know, learn and adapt like you have and I can't do that living in the backroom in the house of my uh... friend. We’ve had time to reconnect and recover but now it's time for this old bird to fly from the nest."
“You could stay if you wanted,” she said softly, weakly, feeling like the abandoned child she never really stopped being. “You could live here with me the rest of your life and I would love you every minute of every day. If you really want to move out, find your own space, I’ll gladly help. But I want you to know you are always welcome here, in my home and in my life because- because you’re like my dad and nothing will ever change that or how I feel about you.”
They never really spoke the words: dad, daughter, family, even if that's what they were to each other. There was always the risk Hunson would overhear and take it out on Simon. But also 'dad' had come to represent disappointment and anger and fear while 'Simon' fit the meaning much better. Who needed a dad when she had a Simon?
“Oh Marceline,” Simon said softly, resting his cheek against her hair. “I don’t deserve your love after what I put you through.”
“Like you said, we can’t live in the past,” she mumbled, squeezing him as tight as she dared. Time moved so quickly for her, how many more times would she get to hug him before he was gone? They stayed like for a while before he pulled back and wiped his misty eyes underneath his glasses.
"Princess Bubblegum said the place should be finished soon. It's not very far and, you, likewise, are welcome to visit anytime. I've even asked the Princess to set aside an extra bedroom for you and Finn if ever you need somewhere to stay." Simon said, breaking eye contact to grab his guitar and lightly finger the strings.
"Do Finn and Jake know about this?" Marcy teased. It's been an endless source of amusement watching Simon latch onto Finn like a mother hen and for it all to fly over the boy's head. Simon cooks for them, teaches Finn when he can pin the boy down between adventures and positively dotes on him and her unofficial little brother still didn't get it.
"Jake thinks it's a great idea," Simon sniffed. "Finn is almost 18 and full of reckless, teenage energy, not to mention a whole load of unaddressed trauma. Jake's getting older, he can use all the help he can get managing Finn."
"Word to that," She laughed. The heavy emotional pall lifting, she picked up her bass again and played the same simple melody as Simon. "Was that all you wanted to talk about? The house?"
"No," Simon looked uncomfortable. "I've put it off too long really but with the house set to be up soon, I do need to collect the rest of my belongings from the uh..."
"Oh yeah, you had that whole secret room in the Ice Kingdom, all those books and artifacts and stuff," Marcy noted.
"The last remnants I have of Betty are there too," Simon said dully. They don't talk about her much, mostly because the grief and guilt reminded both of them too much of Ice King. He still had his bad days spent alone doing glob knows what in his room. "I have a lot of things I need to get that I’ve been putting off because well…”
“It’s got to be weird,” Marcy said with an understanding smile. “You were Ice King then Gunter is now Ice Thing. I think everyone needed space after what went down. Me and PB can go get your stuff if you want.”
“No, no, it needs to be me. I can’t run away from the past forever,” Simon sighed. “I could use your help with moving as well as sorting through what’s important and what’s just sentimental junk. I collected as many pre-war artifacts as I could before I was consumed by the crown so I’m not even sure what’s all there.”
“Of course, I’m sure Finn would like to be involved too if it’s about human stuff,” Marcy said
“I’ll message him and I’m pretty sure Gunter gave me his new number too,” Simon muttered absently. “The Ice Kingdom still doesn’t have any citizens so hopefully Gunter will be able to accommodate us.”
“But that will probably take some time to coordinate,” Marcy said in a lilting tone, “and you still owe me a jam session. Show me that one song you used to play on guitar all the time, you know, the one that goes like-” she hastily strummed out a few chords. Simon laughed.
“A thousand years after the end of the world and Bob Dyland still endures,” he said, making some minor adjustments to his tuning keys. “Ok, my memory isn’t what it used to be so don’t complain if I get the lyrics or melody mixed up. So it’s a simple song that has a repeat rhythm of D, G, C, G. Got it? Ok and a one and two and a three-”
The house was soon filled with music and laughter and lots of love.
#adventure time#simon petrikov#marceline abadeer#finally finished#this is gonna be part 1 of 3 or 4 part series#exploring simons relationship with his kids through music#song title is shelter from the storm by bob dylan#love simon and marcy but look at all the regrets and abandonment issues and avoidance tactics they have stuffed into a trenchcoat#they're both overly clingy and distant at the same time I love it#both clinging to a past that doesn't really exist anymore and trying to cope with this new reality#they make me insane
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Memory of a Memory Review
Finn and Jake rush to help Marceline at the calling of a wizard. It’s sweet that Finn and Jake run faster when they find out it’s their friend in peril. Finn and Jake show a lot of care for Marcy in this one. We’re at the point where they view Marceline as one of the most important people in their lives. This is really the last episode where Finn and Jake’s relationship with Marceline feels ever-evolving, this is basically the status quo of their dynamic for the rest of the series. The “wizard” knowing to turn to Finn and Jake, implies that Ash has done his research on the current state of Marcy’s life, and has probably been spying on her. Claiming he’s her spirit animal is absurd but funny. It’s an obvious hint that he’s lying, but it’s easy to believe that it could be true in this weird world.
Ash claims he can’t be the one to help Marcy because he has no arms. It’s a funny excuse that works to add more suspicion. Finn and Jake enter Marceline’s memories to erase a sleeping spell. It’s an exciting premise on the face of it, given we still know almost nothing of her backstory. We start at an early point in Marceline’s life, and move mostly in chronological order throughout. We see a destroyed city, our first brief look at the world five or so years after the mushroom bomb dropped. It also serves as confirmation that Marceline lived through the apocalypse. She looks two or three years older than in the “Simon & Marcy” flashbacks, but maybe two years younger then when Simon abandons her. Her age, and possession of Hambo, places it between “Simon & Marcy” and the second flashback in “Everything Stays”. So, where the fuck is Simon? She’s running around all by herself. There’s a couple possible hand waves. Simon could be behind a tree taking a shit. He was at a period of his life where he had less control over the crown, so maybe he flew off on a crown-induced escapade, or purposefully distanced himself when he knew he was going to have an episode. He could also be searching for ways to summon Hunson Abadeer. It’s not exactly canon-shattering, but it's definitely a bit of a continuity error. The crew had some idea that there’s a deeper connection between Ice King and Marceline, as evidenced by hints in “Holly Jolly Secrets” and “Marceline’s Closet” this season, but this scene is clearly a result of them not really having the Simon and Marcy backstory planned yet. The most striking disconnect is little Marcy calling Hambo her “only friend”. In “Betty”, Marceline instead refers to Simon as her only friend during that period of her life. Marceline sews Hambo’s button eye back on, like Simon how sews a button back on Marcy’s overalls in “Simon Petrikov”. Simon must have taught her how to sew in the interceding years. She tells Hambo she’s hurting him because she loves him. This might be a coping mechanism she picked up on from Elise and/or Simon.
Finn and Jake pass by Marceline picking her nose, showing for the first time how gross she can be while by herself. Next we get to see the infamous fry eating incident, and they even got Martin Olson back for this short cameo. Marcy looks a few years older than in “Marcy & Hunson’s” flashback. I don’t think Marcy was with Hunson this whole time, it wouldn’t make sense for them to be on Earth together for a few years. This must have been one of Hunson’s infrequent awkward visits, possibly the first time they saw each other since their reunion in the previously mentioned episode. She may have even gotten the bass axe during this visit. It’s cool seeing Adventure Time already building on its pre established backstory, and they continue this trend in the next memory. Ash helps Marcy move into the treehouse, referencing “Evicted!”.
Next, probably a couple years later, we see Marceline clearly feeling checked out of her relationship. Ash comes home, revealing he sold Hambo to a witch (Maja) to get a new wand. Marceline dumps Ash, and Olivia Olson’s voice acting here is incredible, especially the “it’s over you psycho!”. Marceline dated Ash during a time when her self-esteem was at its lowest, feeling like a monster that didn’t deserve any better. Ash was probably a rebound after her relationship with Bubblegum, probably starting a relationship with him within a few decades of her breakup with PB. Ash and Marceline’s relationship is very uncomfortable to watch. The “Mar Mar” pet name makes me queasy. Ash still somehow manages to have one funny line, saying he didn’t ruin “all” of her life to defend himself. The episode just gives us tiny glimpses into a few parts of Marceline’s life. Later episodes make this up, but it would have been nice to get just another couple memories in this one. It’s funny in hindsight how we skip over all the biggest parts of Marceline’s past (Elise, Simon, the vampires, PB). If this was a later season episode, Simon and Bonnie definitely would have made appearances.
Finn and Jake jump into the memory core, which has an unbelievably cool design, with white silhouettes over the black background. Each of the memory balls has a corresponding symbol, and I’ll do my best guess to analyze the meaning behind many of them:
-A portal to the Nightosphere: a memory involving Hunson, possibly the events of “It Came From the Nightosphere”
-A roll of yarn: the first memory Finn and Jake entered of Marceline sewing Hambo
-A weight: working out after her break up with PB or Ash
-Marceline’s high heels from “Evicted!” and “Henchman”
-A tree: the memory of Marceline moving into the treehouse
-A wolf: her dog Schwabl
-A snowman: Simon and the ice crown
-The shovel and/or grave: the death of Elise
-A hand: no idea, maybe meeting the tribe of humans in “Everything Stays”?
Finn and Jake return to the physical world, and Ash reveals he had Finn and Jake erase the memory of their breakup. Her memories of moving on from the breakup must have been altered by this too. Ash intends on bringing her back to his place. This is basically just a metaphor for date rape drugging and has to be the most traumatic thing Marceline has experienced in the present timeline of the series. Another sign of abuse is Ash’s negging, with the “that’s a relief” to Marcy saying she’s going to freshen up.
Jake tracks Ash and Marcy down with his rarely used super-scent. Jake bashing the shed to get Ash’s attention, only to find it's the house of a defenseless goblin, is the funniest joke of the episode. Finn runs in to tell Marceline the truth. Marcy says that Ash doesn’t like her hanging out with “mere mortals”. In addition to showcasing another red flag, controlling who she sees, it provides more context to the time of their relationship. It’s the second Marceline episode in a row where bad people from her past are shown to reinforce Marcy’s past ambivalence to the lives of mortals. She was probably part of the ghost gang from “Heat Signature” shortly before or after her breakup with Ash, more company that reinforced her low self-esteem.
Finn brings Marceline into his own memories, set inside his childhood home with Joshua and Margaret. We can see Jermaine in one of the pictures. There’s other dogs too, presumably from Joshua and Margaret’s extended family (maybe the grandmother mentioned in “Ignition Point” is one of them). Marceline sees baby Finn perform the “Buff Baby” dance. It’s second only to “Bacon Pancakes” in terms of viral sensation. It’s funny and cute, but a bit overrated. It also shows how young Finn was when he became obsessed with fighting evil. Finn looks a few years older than the flashback in “Memories of Boom Boom Mountain”, but a couple years younger than in “BMO”. Finn showing Marceline his memory of seeing her memory is such a clever solution, foreshadowed by the cleverly named title of the episode. She immediately seems to believe Finn, even before seeing the memory. This shows the trust she’s gained for Finn over the series, and that she has always known that Ash is a terrible person capable of evil. She has a muted reaction to this, but you can tell she is hurt inside.
They really go all the way with portraying Ash as a stereotypical misogynist, with him literally telling her to get back into the kitchen. He’s a loser who can’t even make his own sandwich. Marceline and Finn beat up Ash, which is a justified response to attempted sexual assault. He’s one of the most sociopathic characters in the series, and the most despised character among the fans. He has his own hatedom. He’s fun to hate, but he’s a good character that provided a great foil to Marceline while showing the reality of how some men behave towards women. Jake stomping him with a giant foot is a perfect ending. The episode follows the route of “It Came From the Nightosphere” in using Marceline as a way to explore trauma more specific to the experience of a young woman or teenage girl. It’s also really nice to get some good Marceline drama that’s not tied to Princess Bubblegum or a parental figure for once.
Grade: A
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🍑 Matt + a friend confessing her love for him?
ohhhhhhohohohohoh okay
I’m going college!matt for this one cuz that is the ✨VIBE✨
you oughta know - matt murdock x fem!reader
✨kay’s 300 follower celebration✨
he’s frustrating, is what he is.
frustratingly handsome, frustratingly kind, frustratingly easy to get along with. frustratingly frustrating.
you’ve never been so frustrated in your life.
and he knows exactly what he’s doing, you just know it. you’ve been studying for hours, bent over your ancient laptop, glasses sliding down your nose every chance they get, and there’s matt, apparently fine to lean back in his chair and relax instead of freaking out and poring over his notes like you are.
it’s nearly midnight, and the two of you have been in the library since well before the sun was still up, foggy having abandoned you earlier to go chase marci around the campus bar. he’d all but begged matt to go with him, but matt was adamant, intent to stay in his chair at your table until you were ready to go. “it’s the chivalrous thing to do, fog,” he’d said. “not about to let her walk home in the dark, c’mon.”
foggy had offered you a quirked eyebrow, grabbed his coat, and shouted his goodbyes, earning glares from every other table in the library. you’d both giggled like crazy, a short reprieve from the brain-numbing reviews you were running through.
you’d met matt on the first day of second year, having transferred to columbia for a scholarship. foggy had been a half-step behind, crowing at matt that, “how is it, man, that you’re blind, and yet you always find the prettiest girls to hit on?”
you’d blushed, matt had chuckled, and the rest was history.
it’s not…flirting, per se, but it’s…banter. you have a good rapport going, one that translates well into the few classes you share, even earning you bonus points on your mock trial for ‘partner chemistry’. matt’s just easy to talk to, fun to look at, and he’s genuinely a good person. it’s a triple threat, and honestly, you didn’t stand a chance.
and he knows it.
grades-wise, it’s like a battle royale between the three of you. your law marks are almost neck and neck, matt at the top of the pyramid, you floating somewhere in the middle, and foggy with a solid (and still wildly impressive) bottom tier. but you and matt took spanish together, and son of a bitch if you aren’t this close to failing.
slamming your textbook closed and shoving it away, you heave a breath, ignoring the few dirty looks that are thrown your way. it’s too late for this. “I’m gonna fail,” you declare, pushing a hand through your hair and starting to gather your things. “might as well just accept it. I’m gonna fail spanish.”
“you’re not gonna fail spanish,” matt retorts, still leaning back in his chair, feet kicked up on the one beside him, arms crossed over his chest. his glasses are pushed up his forehead and his eyes are closed, lashes fluttering slightly. how can someone look so good just…sitting there? “c’mon, you’ve been staring at this stupid book too long. you need a break.”
you slump onto the desk, pushing your face into your crossed arms. “the exam is tomorrow. I’m gonna fail, murdock. it’s inevitable.”
“the only thing inevitable,” he starts, head turned in your direction, glasses slipping back down into place on his nose. it’s hopelessly endearing and your chest is aching, “is you coming back to the dorm with me and drinking something other than chai tea.”
you go to reach for your book, to flip it open again, but he grabs your wrist, fingers curling around your pulse. “don’t hate on my tea.”
“no hate,” he laughs, squeezing your wrist, “but you’re coming. let’s go. rapido!”
“fine,” you concede. “but I really don’t want to listen to fog and marci have sex in the bathroom again.”
“which is why we then go to your place if they come home,” he says brightly.
you roll your eyes, knowing full well he can’t see it, and start to shove your books into your bag, shutting down your laptop and stowing it too. matt has less to pack, and waits expectantly, unfolding his cane and taking your elbow when you nudge him gently and offer it.
it’s a quick walk across the campus to the dorm matt and foggy share. maybe it’s strange, but you’ve always liked walking with matt, his big hand tucked into the crook of your arm, his bicep firm against your shoulder, leading him through campus between classes. he claims to like your pace better than foggy’s, and you’ve sat on the almost-compliment since he said it, tugging at your heartstrings every time he asks you to go somewhere on (or off) campus with him.
their dorm is a mess. well, more specifically, foggy’s side of the room is basically a trash can, takeout containers and beer bottles littered across every available surface, while matt’s side is much tidier, his bed forever unmade but his desk orderly and his closet even more so.
you’re always quick to perch on matt’s bed, unmade or not (his silk sheets are so much nicer than the dorm standard), and you find your place at the foot while he crosses to the makeshift bar cart him and fog have set up, an old desk they stole from the empty dorm across the hall and a stack of red solo cups from your last rager.
“I’ve only got that orange-flavoured scotch foggy bought,” he calls to you, fingers running over the different-shaped bottles, “or blackberry gin.”
“what is with foggy and fruit-flavoured alcohol?” you reply, making a face. “gin please.”
he hands you a cup a moment later, and you waste no time, tossing the whole thing back in one go. you let out a squeak as it settles through you, reaching over to put the empty cup on matt’s nightstand. once you’re upright again, he takes a spot beside you, sipping his own drink, the mattress dipping with his weight and pushing the two of you closer together.
“hey,” he says after a moment, “you really shouldn’t worry about spanish.” when you start to protest, he holds up a hand. “I mean it. you’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met, all right? you’re gonna do great.” he gives you a bright smile, reaching over and taking your hand, squeezing it lightly.
in return, you groan loudly, flopping back on his bed. “god, why do you do that?” you almost shout, blaming your volume on the alcohol now quickly making a home in your bloodstream. “you know exactly what you do to me, don’t you, murdock?”
he plants a hand behind himself and turns to face you. “do what?”
“tell me I’m smart or stay at the library so I don’t walk home by myself or, or…”
you both speak at the same time.
he says: “or be your friend?”
and you say: “or make me fall in love with you!”
oh.
oh.
you stand up so abruptly it’s a miracle you don’t shove matt off the bed. your fight or flight instinct just kicked in and everything is screaming flight! get the fuck out of here asap! so you’re running around the room, trying to find where you left your shoes and your bag and your jacket and where the hell is your phone and oh my god, did you actually just say that?
and then he calls your name, and you freeze.
“I could say the same thing to you, you know,” he says, his voice low as he finishes his drink and stands from the bed. he pulls his glasses off, sets them on the nightstand, and takes a slow step towards you, then another. you put a hand out when he’s close enough, and his palm flattens against yours, fingers curling around your wrist like they had in the library, a foot of space between you still
“why do you always call me out on my bullshit or call me murdock or do that stupidly adorable thing in class where you nudge me every time they change the slide? or how you always walk with me and make me feel like I’m a regular person, and that day, when you told me it was snowing, and you described it to me like you were writing a damn poem. you made me fall in love with you too, okay?”
he pulls on your arm, and you stumble across the carpet, straight into his arms. he catches you easily, and your hands grasp his shoulders, feeling the muscle jump in your touch. he’s fit as hell, and you’ve noticed.
his eyes are on you, and you can feel it. it’s the strangest thing, knowing he can’t actually see you, but his gaze is flitting over your face like he can, his dark eyes only made darker by the dim light, but you can still see the honey-streaked brown you’ve come to know and love.
matt’s mouth cracks into a grin and he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”
you just nod.
it’s chaste, at first. it’s his fingers tangled in your hair and yours curling into the hem of his t-shirt. it’s soft lips and stolen breaths and a whispered I’m so in love with you that’s so quiet you think you might imagine it, but then he says it again and your whole being starts to tingle. his skin is so soft under your fingers, letting the pads of your thumbs slide under his shirt, feeling the dip of his hip and the curve of his waist. desperate kisses, wanting kisses, gently tugged lips and the soft swipe of tongues.
it’s chaste, and then it’s not.
he pulls you closer, the space between you disappearing, and then starts moving backwards towards the bed. matt goes first, sinking onto the mattress, and he’s pulling you into his lap before you can protest, hands hooking behind your knees and then moving up to grab your ass, squeezing once. it makes you gasp, the sound pouring into his mouth from yours, and he grins, hauling you closer, rolling his hips up into yours in a way that lets you feel just how excited he is.
there’s a bit of adjusting, some sliding on the silk sheets, and at one point, you’re straddling his thick thigh, the muscle hard between your legs, and matt tries to pull you up, but only manages to drag you across his jeans. between the seam of your leggings and the feeling of his thigh, there’s no way you can bite back that moan, eyes squeezing shut as it falls out of you.
“what?” matt asks, and you can hear the grin in his voice, mouth close to your ear as he drags his lips along your cheek. “did you like that?”
“it felt good,” you admit, grabbing his face blindly, pulling his mouth to yours for another searing kiss, this one much less chaste than the first. matt plants his foot, lifting his thigh against you, and you sigh heavily into his mouth. “fuck. really good.”
matt pulls your hips down hard, dragging you in just the right way, and you moan again, feeling that white-hot zip of electricity worm its way up your spine with every move. “you have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this,” he whispers.
he keeps kissing you, releasing your hips only long enough to drag your shirt up your body, tossing it somewhere on the floor. you move more than willingly where he wants you, shuffling back at one point to peel your leggings off, giving him space to yank his t-shirt off and kick off his jeans.
it’s a trip, sliding into his sheets with no barrier between him and you. sure, there’s been a few drunken nights when you crashed in his bed and woken up the next morning with his arm wrapped around your middle, but you’d always been fully clothed.
this is entirely different.
he puts his hand between your legs, fingers seeking out your warmth, and you guide him, gripping his wrist in both hands, murmuring yes, matt and oh, right there until he starts kissing the words out of your mouth.
there’s a bit of fumbling, an awkward reach into the nightstand for a condom, the shuffle of underwear around ankles getting caught in the sheets. but then he’s hovering above you, one elbow planted beside your head, other hand angling himself correctly. “ready?” he asks, and you breathe out a yes.
he knows exactly what he’s doing.
he manages to find the perfect pace, curving a hand around your thigh to push your leg wide, his hips bearing down on yours with every thrust, but you love it. he finds places inside you you weren’t aware even existed, filling your body with pleasure you’ve only dreamed about. you keep your hands on his face, his stubbly jaw in your chin, watching the feelings cascade through his features.
“matt,” you moan when he finds that spot, giving it the attention it requires, leaving you a squirming mess beneath him.
“tell me, baby,” he whispers, burying his face in your neck. “I wanna hear it.”
“I’m gonna—” your words choke off in a moan, tossing your head back on the pillow, matt’s mouth closing around your throat.
“good girl,” he whispers, hips still snapping into yours. “that’s a good fucking gir—”
then the door bursts open, light from the hallway flooding in, and you both freeze. foggy stands in the doorway, a very surprised marci at his shoulder, and before you can even react to fog’s sputtered “oh fuck, oh my god, oh shit, wait, you’re—”, matt’s grabbing the pillow beside your head and launching it at the door. foggy yanks it shut in time to miss the projectile, and you burst into giggles.
matt joins in for a moment, that handsome smile on his face, but you watch as it goes almost serious. his pace resumes, unrelenting and moan-inducing. you’re a mess, and you don’t care who knows it. he starts to curse under his breath, curving a hand around the side of your face, thumb riding the line of your jaw. “you have no idea how good you feel.”
you whine his name again, taking the messy kiss he offers. you’re halfway there again already, and it only doubles when he lifts your thigh, hooking your knee over his shoulder, and goes deep. he must feel you clench, because he gasps loudly, a groan cracking through his throat, the sound desperate and delicious. a few more stutters of his hips, and then he’s pushing his face into your neck again, teeth clamping hard on your pulse, a muffled moan reaching your ears.
he slumps against you, the two of you a sweaty pile of limbs between his silk sheets, and you sigh, more happily than you have in a while. you put a hand in his hair, pushing the damp strands away from his face, and he hums.
“hey, matt?”
“mm?”
“how do you say, that was really hot in spanish?”
a beat, and then, “you really are gonna fail, aren’t you?”
—————
murdock tags: @saintmurd0ck @lazyxsquirrel @mindidjarin @freshabogados @steadyasthe-flowers @whosfrankie @ancientbeing10 @plutoneu @grounderprincesslookspissed @hellskitchenswhore @hoewkeyesblue @simple-lovebot
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#kay’s 300 follower celebration#matt murdock#murdock#mutual bbys#my fics#you oughta know#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock x you#matt murdock smut#daredevil#daredevil x reader#daredevil x you#daredevil smut#college!matt murdock
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Okay, I love your snow queen au so much and I want to see where it’s headed for the future, but one question before I forget abt this bit: How did Snow Betty’s dynamic with Marcy work exactly? Betty never struck me as quite as motherly compared to Simon. More like awkward cool aunt vibes. Will be real with you, and never unfair, and does her best to comfort you if she sees you need it, but not good at being intuitive, or dealing w/kids, sort of talks to you mostly like a small adult at first and clumsier with getting down to the kid’s level. Obviously she’d still have a caring side, but I’m just curious about their dynamic.
Did Betty have to sort of adjust to getting better at being more parent like to Marcy at first? Did she always toe a line between mother and sister/cousin-ish? Did Marcy end up having a harder time expressing her feelings or needs because of Betty being more in her own world and less obviously emotionally giving than Simon? Did Betty get more motherly over time (ik in the show she’s not really given a chance to be more than off in her own world so it’s not totally fair)?
And their separation, woof, their separation. How did that go, the lead up to it and after? Did Betty decide to leave because she was scared of hurting Marcy too, and/or because it was too exhausting fighting the crown and caring for Marcy and she was afraid of what would happen if she stopped? Was Marcy willing to verbally beg Betty to stay or did she take it more quietly? How did Betty tell her?
Did Betty summon Hunson to take care of Marcy? She’s still into the things Simon is into, magic-history research vibes, but seemed like her skills still lay on a slightly different bent..?
Betty and Marceline’s relationship isn’t something I’ve had much opportunity to explore yet, which is ironic since they’re the focus of the fic’s second chapter! You’re definitely right about Betty being a bit less directly parental than Simon is, which is why I’ve decided to give her more of a gradual fall into parenthood rather than a willing shouldering of responsibility. Simon went into this knowing he was going to be Marcy’s father figure, Betty got whacked in the face with the idea half a month in when a sleepy Marceline called her ‘mom’.
Betty isn’t as good with kids, mostly because she tends to forget that they need a softer hand with certain things. in Marceline’s case this is mostly fine, but there are points (such as encounters with the oozers) when it becomes more obvious that Marceline is still fundamentally a terrified seven-year-old girl who feels completely alone in the world. Betty’s realization of this is what leads her to start being more soft and parental towards Marcy, whether consciously or unconsciously. Marceline, in turn, grows closer to Betty until they eventually form a more parental bond, but you’re right about Marcy having a bit more trouble with just talking about her emotions since, as you said, Betty is less emotionally vulnerable and more in-her-own-head about a lot of stuff. Betty also has to work through this, which she starts doing when she sees that Marcy is now having trouble with it, but ultimately she isn’t able to get through this block completely before she’s consumed by the madness of the crown.
which then brings me to their separation! I believe I’ve mentioned it offhandedly on another post, don’t remember which one, but Betty eventually falls to the crown when taking a final stand to fend off a band of vampires that are after her and Marceline. previously, Betty hadn’t used the crown nearly as much as Simon since she’s more physically capable and also more willing to straight-up Attack, meaning that she’s actually with Marceline for longer, hence how she meets the vamps. Marceline of course has some internalized guilt about being the reason Betty had to put the crown on that day, thinking that maybe she wouldn’t have fallen prey to it that day if she hadn’t had to defend Marcy against the vamps. Simon is actually one of the people who helps her get through that later because he, as the only other person that knew Betty and not just Snow Queen, is able to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault and Betty would never blame her for any of it.
Betty did not, however, summon Hunson, as she never ended up leaving Marceline in the same way Simon did — Betty’s thinking was a lot more along the lines of ‘the longer I stay, the longer we have together, I’m sure you’ll be okay as long as we’re together’, whereas Simon’s thoughts were more ‘I’m terrified of hurting you, so it will be safer for you if I’m no longer here to present that option, and I’ll make sure there’s someone else to be by your side in the meantime’. Snow Betty is a lot more impulsive and more willing to hold on than Ice Simon was, especially because Betty wore the crown far less and therefore had less opportunity to actually see it hurt Marceline. Simon had seen that, and so he knew how dangerous it was and in his mind, acted accordingly.
#adventure time#snow queen au#betty grof#simon petrikov#petrigrof#petrigrof role swap#marceline abadeer#mushroom war#answered asks
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okay been a few days: finale thoughts.
first: i liked it. it wasn’t BAD. it was mid but it wasn’t Bad. I think my ranking of 6.7/10 is still pretty accurate lol. I enjoyed it. But now I complain
Pacing was crazy. I don’t know why we spent like, half of Simon’s runtime 1000 years in the future. And then the other half of Fionna’s world (which I cared a lot less about) was focused on like. 3 separate scarab fight scenes LOL.
Casper and Nova are fun concepts, but they’re not really. Accurate? They’re so heavy handed with their message of “petrigrof is unhealthy” that they kind of just. Get the dynamic wrong on how. Which is weird. Especially after we just had a whole Simon and Betty episode. It kind of paints Simon as some pushy guy responsible for all the hardships in the relationship. Like, uh, Simon wasn’t making all the choices in the relationship, guys? His problem was pretty much the opposite; he didn’t *make* any solid choices. Betty was the one that did whatever. Jerry literally establishes that Betty was incredibly impulsive about love and such. They’re still unhealthy; there’s still the thing where Betty ended up living her life around Simon because of the curse. But like. I don’t know why they portrayed Simon like that.
Also, they don’t even acknowledge in their heavy handedness that they’re literally like, doomed in every universe. That’s what this series has been building up to right? Simon doesn’t find the crown? They die in the mushroom war. The star universe plays out. Ooo is wiped out at the hands of vampires and they eventually starve too. But then they show Simon getting on the bus with Betty as The Right Thing To Do which is kind of crazy.
Missed opportunities for the whole show: Having F&C cast and AT cast interact aside from Simon. Simon and Ice King interaction. More Simon and Betty interaction. Crying Simon. Using the decade long animation error of Simon having white eyes before the crown as a plot device rather than just pretending it was on purpose (like what they did with the second crown in Crossover.) SIMON. AND. MARCY. INTERACTION. WHY SET IT UP IF YOURE NOT GONNA KNOCK IT DOWN. IT WASNT EVEN IN THE FUCKING MONTA
I did like the rest of it though.
The Simon and Betty moments were good, just wish they were more substantial. And just. More. The no regrets scene was really good. Also, seeing Fionna and Simon's friendship. They're really cute.
I'm a little mixed on Fionna's world becoming magical, but I feel like it works because it's just Slightly. She still learned to appreciate her life as is, but Cake gets to be herself - Especially important when you see the connections between Cake and Simon. (Cake robbed of her mind due to the lack of magic, desperately trying to find a way to get it back or communicate.)
I feel that it should've been way more emotional though. The closest we got was the "too much" scene, which I REALLY liked, but I kind of find it hard to believe Simon "I don't want to move on" Petrikov just Got Better after seeing his fiancée die and then being told that everything was his fault. But yeah, I wish we had More closure on like, his Panic Attacks or depression. He also just kind of. Learns his life matters out of nowhere. Like, good for him, but boy where did you get that from. Tell me in words. Also he should’ve thrown up upon seeing Golbetty (half joke, but more reaction please.)
I’m glad he's moving house though. I’m alright with this as an ending. (And even better with it as a season ending.) But also, get that man away from the bar.
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Companion piece to https://www.tumblr.com/sicklyseraphnsuch/729835039196676096/write-something-about-marceline-meeting-up-with?source=share
Marceline sighs, sinking out of the air to lie down next to Bonnie. She lets a pair of pink arms wrap around her as she breathes out, slow and sad. She's not technically alive so she doesn't need to breathe. But sometimes, there's nothing like a good, long exhale to really take the pressure off.
"It's like my mom all over again," Marceline murmurs, leaning into Bonnie's warmth.
"He just wanted to protect you."
"I don't want protection. I want the truth." Marceline squeezes her eyes shut. "And when has hiding the truth ever protected me?"
"Well..." Bonnie rubs a small circle on Marceline's arms. "Then... Maybe it's to protect himself."
Marceline twists in her seat, eyeing Bonnie with a skeptic look.
Bonnie swallows a laugh. "Hey, put those peepers away. Let me explain." Her smile softens at the edges, turning faint and fraying like a coat worn too many times.
Marceline grabs Bonnie's hand and gives her a supportive squeeze.
Bonnie squeezes back. "OK, well... It's like this. You don't have kids, so you don't have a point of reference. But I've raised every single one of my candy citizens. And you were there when I ended up living in that old cabin. My kids kicked me out and I... Well, I broke down. I spent so much of my life as the caregiver, the protector, the mother - I had no idea what to do when I wasn't any of that. It's not like I had any other kind of relationship with my citizens."
"No offense to your people, Peebs, but they're not exactly the sharpest tools in the shed. You have to protect them. And I like to think that I'm smarter than your average Cinnamon Bun."
"Yes, but that's not my point. Marcy... What if Simon was protecting himself? What if your mom was saving herself one final hurt? If they weren't protecting you, then what good were they? What have they ever accomplished really? It is selfish. But I think... people have to be sometimes, otherwise they'd fall apart."
Marceline studies Bonnie, remembering the days when she wore a plain t-shirt, jeans, cowboy boots, and a baseball cap. She remembers a vegetable patch of some kind, a shoddy little log cabin, with a way of life so far removed from Bonnie's usual style. Finally, she remembers tears in an underground tunnel, and a confession that spilled out between sobs. Oh. Okay.
"That doesn't make his actions okay. He definitely didn't think about you when he decided to go Crown Hunting."
Marceline bits her lip and it's not until Bonnie reaches up to wipe her chin that she realizes her fangs sunk straight through the skin.
"It's... It's so - so hard to believe that I matter to him. He always says he loves me, but given even a sliver of an opportunity, he would get up and leave. Like, how am I supposed to reconcile that!"
"Yeah, it stinks like moldy breadballs."
"How am I supposed to help him? I get what you're saying. But there's got to be something that I can do! It can't just stay like this!"
Bonnie says nothing in reply. She traces absentminded patterns on the mattress. Marceline watches her for a few seconds before turning away. More time passes, slow and thick as molasses. By then, Marceline is ready to sleep on it. But her brilliant, beautiful girlfriend finally replies.
"Patience. I think. That's all we can give him right now. Patience and... well... Even as dull as my candy citizens could be, we eventually figured out a way for me to be less... out of reach, you know. I got to learn their hobbies and I... Well, I try to enjoy their hobbies as best I can."
"What about your hobbies?"
"I include them in my experiments whenever I can."
"Ah... I should have known."
Bonnie pouts at her before leaning forward and bumping their foreheads together. "Maybe he's not ready to stop protecting you. But maybe you can start befriending him. When he's more comfortable with the idea of being your friend, maybe then he can move away from being your caregiver. Does Simon even have hobbies?"
Marceline can't really think of any. She can't really think of anyone that Simon hangs out with. And wow, in hindsight, the answer was sooo obvious. How did she not see it earlier? Was she some kind of genius to miss out on such a simple answer?
"Why do I get the feeling that you just dissed me in your head just now..."
Marceline flashes her a playful smirk before kissing the frown off Bonnie's face.
"Tomorrow, when we're moving his stuff, can you help me get him to talk? I can't be all buddy buddy with him when he won't stay in the same room as me for more than five minutes."
"Oh say less, girlfriend."
#adventure time#fionna and cake#simon petrikov#marceline the vampire queen#marceline abadeer#princess bubblegum
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there's something fiction about the way that reality's going
(read on AO3)
SUMMARY: It's bad enough that Foggy has to spend his Saturday morning giving bad news to some overly-ambitious campaign manager. It's unforgivable that he turns out to be hot, of all things.
[AKA - The West Wing AU]
A/N: here's part 1 of that west wing au i've been talking about writing for months. I put copious notes (including a mild content warning for the 90s as a time period in general) on AO3, so I'd recommend reading there if you want more info. big thanks to @firstelevens for talking me off several ledges during the writing, editing, and posting processes for this fic!
“You know what’s sick, Karen?” Foggy asks, as he rounds the corner of her desk.
“Sick like bad, like the flu?” she asks, not looking away from her computer. “Or sick like good, like a skateboard trick?”
“Sick like disgusting and perverted.”
“Ooh, I am not sure I want to know.”
“Too bad,” he says, as he tosses his duffel bag into his office. It collides with a filing cabinet, but doesn’t knock anything over, which is pretty good from this distance. “I have reached a new level of depravity.”
“Congratulations?”
“Thank you. Ask me how.”
“Must I?”
“Yes.”
Karen sighs. “How did you reach a new level of depravity?”
“I found myself thinking, while flying with the President on Air Force One, ‘god, this sucks!’”
“That’s your new level of depravity?” she asks, unimpressed.
“Karen, I’m telling you I’m bored of flying on Air Force One! The President’s private plane is boring to me. The novelty—of Air Force One—is gone!”
“And that’s all?”
“‘That’s all’?! Karen, I—”
“I heard you the first twelve times," she says. "You’re a real sicko, Foggy, I get it.”
“This revelation means less to you than I anticipated,” Foggy says, idly fiddling with the things on her desk.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” she says, filing something. “I kind of thought you picked up a new, exciting fetish while in Pakistan.”
“Unfortunately, no. At least, not that I’m aware of.”
“There’s always next time,” she replies. “Did you bring me back anything?”
“Also no. In my defense, you didn’t tell me you wanted a new, exciting fetish while I was there.”
“A good boss would know without having to be told.”
“Oh, no. They’ll take away my ‘world’s greatest boss’ mug for this!”
“You don’t have one of those,” she says, frowning.
“And whose fault is that?”
“Looks like we’ve both got some work to do,” she says, turning her attention back to her computer.
“Speaking of that, what are you doing here on a Saturday?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Almost always, but in this case…”
Karen looks at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “Foggy, you have a meeting.”
“I don’t schedule meetings for Saturday mornings,” he says. “And certainly not after I’ve been away in Islamabad with the President for three days and on a plane for 15 hours.”
“Yes, but this is Marci’s meeting,” Karen says. “The one you promised to cover for her, since her cousin had to move her bachelorette weekend up two weeks to—”
“This weekend. Fuck!” Foggy closes his eyes. “Oh, I should not have agreed to this! This was so stupid. I’m so jet lagged right now and I’ve been wearing the same suit for like two days.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Ew, why?”
“I packed in a hurry and I miscounted—you know what, forget it! I would still smell like airplane, regardless.”
She steps around her desk to put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not even that—Good god! That is not what airplanes are supposed to smell like!”
Foggy sniffs his shirt and winces. He was kind of hoping he was just being dramatic. “Pakistan is a very populous country,” he says, weakly. “And we were in the capitol, so lots of people, in close quarters…”
“So, unless this guy has a sinus infection, he’s going to be able to smell you from down the hall.”
“Karen, please! I am begging you…”
“Do you have another suit?”
“Not one that smells better !” Foggy exclaims. “Do I have time to go out and buy a new suit?”
“Your meeting is in 30 minutes, and I’m guessing you still need to read the briefing packet Marci left you, so you know what this guy wants to talk about.”
“This is the guy from the Bryant campaign? Mitchell…something?”
“ Matthew Murdock, yes.”
“I know what he wants to talk about,” Foggy says, waving a hand at her.
“Oh, just read the damn packet!”
“I need to find something to wear that doesn’t smell like I walked here from Islamabad, okay?”
“I’ll ask around,” Karen replies. “You prep for the meeting.”
“You’re going to ask around ?”
“Yes."
“To see if someone in the building has a suit I can borrow?
“Foggy!”
“I feel like you’re vastly underestimating how weird of a request that is!”
“Not all men are as suspicious as you.”
“Most men are more suspicious than me, firstly,” he says. “And secondly, even if you found someone in this office to accept this absurd request—on a Saturday, no less!—suits are supposed to be tailored. I’m going to look weird in someone else’s suit!”
“What’s worse: looking weird in an ill-fitting suit or smelling weird in this one?”
“Maybe he will have a sinus infection,” Foggy muses.
“Yes, because praying for that is less weird than my plan,” Karen says, with an eye roll. “Wait, you have a gym bag!”
“In my office? Yeah…”
“And last week, that budget meeting got rescheduled and you couldn’t go to the gym after work because it was already closed when the meeting wrapped up!”
“Yes! Why are we excited about this?”
Karen’s practically bouncing on her feet. “Because if the bag is still here but you didn’t go to the gym, that means the clothes are clean!”
“You want me to meet with the manager for a congressional campaign in my gym clothes?” Foggy asks.
“Your clean gym clothes!”
“I can’t meet him in my gym clothes!”
“Why not?”
“It’s unprofessional!”
“It’s Saturday! You’re…laid back! You’re chillin’!”
Foggy shakes his head at her, because it’s extremely clear to him that she’s never said that word in another context before in her life. “Just chillin’ at the White House! Now there’s a TV show I’d watch!”
“ Foggy !”
“It could be like this President’s version of FDR’s fireside chats! You’re a genius, Karen!”
“I’m being helpful and you’re being such a dick about it,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You’re right,” he says, putting his hands on her shoulders in a conciliatory gesture. “And I appreciate it. But I can’t wear gym clothes to this meeting.”
“It wouldn’t be that weird! You could come up with an excuse—”
“No, I understand. It’s just—I barely look good in a suit. I can trick people into taking me seriously in a suit. If this guy sees me in basketball shorts, he’ll never take me seriously.”
“You look good in a suit, no qualifiers,” Karen says, firmly. “And honestly, it would probably be charming to him if you were in gym clothes. And lastly, you are the deputy chief of staff at the White House, Foggy. People take you seriously. You are serious.”
“That was wall-to-wall bald faced lies, but I do love you for it,” he says, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “And if I’m being honest with you, I’m nervous about the optics of dressing casually for a meeting where I know I have to give someone bad news.”
Karen frowns. “What’s going on?”
“The campaign this guy is running, it’s Bryant’s campaign in the 21st district in New York State. It’s a district that, historically, a Republican always wins. From what I know, and what Marci’s told me, this guy wants more help from us, and more funding from the DNC, to get Bryant elected instead.”
“But we’re not going to do that?” Karen asks.
“No, we’re not.”
“Why not?”
“Because Bryant sucks,” Foggy admits, with a small, mirthless laugh.
“Worse than the Republican who’s running?”
“He’s the incumbent and we know what to do with him, at least.”
“Still,” she interjects, frowning deeper, “it’s not…great…”
“It’s political maneuvering to be sure,” Foggy says, “but that’s the business we’re in, like it or not.”
“Yeah, so…”
“So, showing up to this meeting looking ready for an aerobics class and then telling this guy he’s up a creek and the DNC isn’t going to throw him a paddle might be a bad look. At least if my suit’s wrinkled and I smell bad, he can write it off as me being an overworked staffer.”
“Which, you are.”
“Exactly!”
“Yeah, okay. I get it,” Karen says, moving back to her desk.
“I have a few minutes?”
“Yeah, read the thing on your desk.”
“I don’t need to—”
“Marci wrote it so you could—”
“Marci’s secretary wrote it, and you know that.”
“And Marci’s secretary’s work has less value than Marci’s because…?”
“Ah, okay,” Foggy says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’ll read the thing.”
“Do you need coffee?”
“Desperately.”
She nods. “Okay, I’ll get you some, so you can read.”
“Thank you. And while you’re at it, see if Jeri’s secretary is in and ask—”
“Excuse me,” a voice behind them says, and they both startle.
“Hi, can I help you?” Karen asks, automatically and politely, as she turns to face the man.
“I hope so,” he says. “I’m looking for Karen Page.”
“Then I can definitely help you,” she replies, cheerfully. “That’s me.”
“Oh, excellent,” the man says, offering her his hand. “I’m Matt Murdock, from the Bryant campaign. I have a meeting with Mr. Nelson at 10.”
“You’re…from the Bryant campaign?” Karen asks, hesitantly.
Foggy knows how she feels. Absolutely nothing about this guy says ‘campaign manager’ except for the quality of his suit. He’s so glaringly handsome in a professional-athlete-who-also-gets-modeling-gigs kind of way that it takes Foggy a full minute to clock that he’s wearing sunglasses indoors (something a professional athlete/part-time model would do) and carrying a white cane. Bryant’s campaign manager is blind. That’s almost as unexpected as him being hot.
“Yes, I know. I’m a little bit early,” he says, either willfully or obliviously attributing Karen’s surprise to the wrong thing.
Karen recovers quickly, though. “Not to worry,” she says, finally taking his hand and giving it a polite shake. “We appreciate your punctuality.”
“Well, I appreciate that handshake,” Matt offers, charmingly. “Very commanding, very firm!”
Much to Foggy’s amusement and vague annoyance, Karen lets out a hopelessly charmed laugh at that. “Thank you, I—uh, I do my best.”
Foggy gives her a wide-eyed look, and she gives him a helpless and slightly embarrassed one back. He shakes his head before inclining it towards Matt, who either hasn’t noticed him or is avoiding acknowledging him, for whatever reason.
“Would you be so kind as to let your boss know I’m here?”
“That, uh, won’t be necessary,” she says. Karen never stammers. This is so funny. “He’s, um—well, he’s right here! Foggy, are you ready for Mr. Murdock?”
Foggy does his best to hide his smile. “Am I ever!” he says, gamely, and steps forward to shake his hand. “Franklin Nelson, at your service. Everyone calls me Foggy, so you should too!”
This, somehow, catches Matt off-guard, which given his otherwise smooth and unflappable exterior, is kind of impressive. He very clearly expected to wait to be seen, and possibly hoped to have more time to flirt with Foggy’s assistant, judging by the looks of things.
“Hello,” Matt says, stiff with awkwardness. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Same here,” Foggy replies. “Delighted to make your acquaintance! I am holding out my hand for you to shake, for the record.”
“Oh, right. I’m so sorry,” he says, as he hurries to take it.
There’s an awkward moment as he sort of guesstimates where Foggy’s hand is before making contact and Foggy’s left to wonder if he could have made that less weird somehow and feel slightly embarrassed that he doesn’t know the protocol for this situation. And he’s already feeling pretty embarrassed that he smells like a 15 hour flight in front of this very handsome stranger, who can probably smell him even more than the average person. Unless that stuff about depriving one sense making the others stronger is bullshit, which it might be. Foggy’s tempted to ask but that seems likely to make the situation more awkward still.
Matt’s palm is a little rough in places, which is kind of nice. Foggy’s is, he knows, not even a little bit rough. He’s got the smooth baby soft hands of someone who has always been an indoor kid and then grew up to be a lawyer. No calluses to speak of whatsoever. It makes him wonder where Matt, likely a lawyer himself, got his from. And now he’s been holding this hot guy’s hand for too long. Perfect.
“Well, why don’t you step into my office?” he asks, dropping it quickly.
“You’re sure? I know I got here before our appointment.”
“No trouble at all,” Foggy says, with more enthusiasm than he feels. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“Oh, yes,” Karen pipes up. “We have coffee, tea, soda, water—”
“I’m good,” Matt says, with another charming smile in her direction. Foggy’s still waiting for his. “Thank you, Karen.”
“Yes, thank you, Karen,” Foggy says brightly, and she sticks her tongue out at him.
“Actually, Foggy, could I borrow you for a second?”
“Absolutely.” To Matt, he says, “You can go right in and I’ll be with you shortly. There’s a chair in front of the desk, where…chairs normally are in an office.”
This, for whatever reason, makes Matt snort in amusement, which is somehow better than getting a smile out of him. “Yes, I think I can manage,” he replies, and moves towards Foggy’s office.
“Great. Be right there!” Once he’s gone, Foggy leans in close to Karen. “What’s up?”
“Just wanted to point out that you should have listened to me and worn your gym clothes after all,” she says, flipping through a file on her desk disinterestedly.
“Yes, yes, I know. Karen Page the Wise, let her instincts never be doubted again,” Foggy says, miming genuflection.
“Do you still want a coffee?”
“I’ll grab it when I’m done. Hopefully, this won’t take long,” he says. He leans in even closer and drops his voice to a whisper. “By the way, is this guy a real campaign manager or is he just auditioning to play one on TV?”
“ Foggy ,” Karen exclaims, with an eye roll.
“I’m sorry, but he’s, like, stupid handsome!”
“I hadn’t noticed,” she sniffs, feigning disinterest.
“Uh huh,” Foggy says, unimpressed. “Well, he noticed your firm handshake, that’s for sure.”
“You really are more perverted than when you left, aren’t you?” Karen says, amused. “Now, get in there and disappoint that beautiful man.”
“Lucky for him, that is something I’m very good at.”
Karen snorts at that, and returns to her work. Foggy goes back to his office and is pleased to see that Matt has managed to find a seat.
“Sorry about that,” he announces, as he settles into the chair behind his desk. “We’re a little bit scattered this morning. I just got back from Islamabad about twenty minutes ago.”
“Well, I appreciate your time.”
“Don’t mention it. Listen, Michael…”
“Matthew,” he says, surely seeing through the power play but not pointing it out. “Matt, if it’s all the same.”
“Right, sorry. Hey, at least, I knew it was one of the gospels from the Bible, right?”
The unbothered, generically pleasant expression on his face doesn't falter as he says, evenly, “There is no gospel according to Michael in the Bible.”
“Maybe not in yours,” Foggy replies, hoping he covers his nerves well enough that Matt can’t hear anything in his voice. “There’s a Saint Michael, though, right?”
“Yes,” Matt says, cracking a barely-there smile. “He’s an archangel, too.”
“An angel and a saint? Sounds like a lot of work. What’s his deal?”
“His ‘deal’?”
“Yeah, like what’s he the saint of?”
“Oh, like his patronage?”
“Yes,” Foggy says, snapping his fingers. “Like is he the guy to pray to when I’ve got a hangnail or a flat tire?”
“No,” Matt laughs, shaking his head. “He’s considered the patron saint of police officers, the military, paramedics, the protector of the Jewish people and the Vatican, as well as Germany, the Ukraine, and Brussels.”
“Wow, can you do that for all the saints?”
“A good amount of them,” Matt replies. He shrugs before adding, “I went to Catholic school.”
“That must come in handy.”
“You’d really be surprised how little it comes up,” he says, drolly.
“Really?" Foggy asks. "Not even when you have a flat tire?”
“I would probably call AAA first, in that scenario. The saints tend to take their time.”
“Solid point.”
“Listen, Mr. Nelson—”
“God, please, like I said: call me ‘Foggy’. I’d do the classic ‘Mr. Nelson is my father’ bit but I’m pretty sure no one calls him that either.”
“‘Foggy?’ Really?” Matt repeats, incredulously.
“Yes, it’s—not important why. It’s just—it’s what everyone calls me.”
“Fine,” he says, leaning forward in his seat. “Foggy, then. As much as I appreciate the opportunity to show off the benefits of my Catholic upbringing and education, I didn’t come here to talk to you about the patronages of various saints.”
“Yes, I knew that, actually. I’m sorry. I was stalling.”
Matt slumps back in his seat at that. “You’re going to tell me you can’t help me.”
“Listen, if this had been my meeting from the start, I would have told you not to bother coming down.”
“In your colleague’s defense, she did tell me that.”
“Well, then, I’m surprised you did it anyway.”
“You wouldn’t be, if you knew me better,” Matt replies, with so much confidence it borders on cocky. He gets five percent hotter in Foggy’s mental estimation from that alone.
He clears his throat. “Your candidate is running for a seat in New York’s 21st district. Democrats never win in the 21st. It’s simple math.”
“Yes, historically, this district goes red in elections, but that doesn’t mean, with the right democrat and proper funding from the DNC—”
“That’s true,” Foggy allows.
“So, what’s the issue?”
“You don’t have the right democrat.”
“I…what?”
“I’m saying, Bryant isn’t the democrat to flip the 21st.”
“According to whom?”
“According to me.”
“Is there anyone else I can talk to, then?” Matt asks, clearly keeping his patience on a very tight leash if the state of his jaw is any indication. Not that Foggy is admiring his jawline at a time like this.
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Foggy, I came down here—”
“A waste of time, as promised, but hey, at least you made a new friend!”
“You and I are not friends.”
“I meant you and Karen," Foggy says, blithely, "but ouch.”
Matt's jaw somehow clenches even tighter. “I want to talk to someone who’s going to take me seriously!”
“You are talking to someone who’s taking you seriously,” he says, earnestly. “Trust me, Matt. It’s not you, it’s your candidate.”
“Well, that’s a new one,” he says, deflating.
“Bryant is a centrist—”
“It’s a Republican stronghold!” Matt exclaims. “Who else has a chance to flip the seat? Do you want to put a diehard socialist on the ballot instead and see how they do?”
“More than anything in the world, yes,” Foggy replies. “But this isn’t about what I want.”
“The incumbent is a right wing clown and he lends legitimacy to their rhetoric. I think the country would be better off with him out of a job. I’m sorry that the White House and the DNC disagree, but—”
“You’re right.”
“I’m right?!”
“You’re right,” Foggy says. “With an asterisk.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Just a tiny footnote, really. He is a right wing clown, and he should be voted out of office, but he’s also a boon to the DNC.”
“How exactly does that make sense?”
“Every time he opens his mouth, the DNC pulls a quote, puts it on a direct mail campaign, and raises tens of thousands of dollars off of their members’ outrage. As long as we keep him in front of a microphone, we can basically print money for ourselves.”
Matt rolls his eyes. “What a reassuring thing to hear from a representative of my government.”
Foggy laughs, unexpectedly, which just makes Matt glare in his general direction. “Technically, we are the only ones who should be printing money, but that’s beside the point.”
“Are we at least approaching the point sometime soon?”
“You’re familiar with the phrase ‘better the devil you know…’”
Matt sighs. “‘Than the devil you don’t’. Yes.”
“Bryant’s the devil we don’t know. Dashwood’s the one we do.”
“Bryant is a democrat, Foggy.”
“Barely, and I don’t want it to be my job for the next six and a half years to make sure he’s not going to be the swing vote on every measure we want to get passed through the House. And it will be my job, Matt.”
“Well, if you keep selling out viable democrats like this, I don’t think you can count on re-election as a matter of course like you just did, so let’s call it two and a half years to be safe.”
Foggy leans forward onto his forearms. “Sweetheart, you don’t have a viable democrat on your hands, and that’s the nicest way anyone in this building is going to put it, so let’s quit while we’re ahead.”
“Easy for you to say,” Matt replies, standing. Foggy mirrors him. “I appreciate the condescension, by the way. No one’s called me ‘sweetheart’ in a long time.”
“No trouble at all,” Foggy says. “Feel free to stop by anytime you need your ego stroked.”
Matt laughs, or really huffs, putting his hands on his hips. He’s either getting a second wind on this argument or they’re about to get into a fistfight. He might have made that last retort too flirty. Some guys, by which he does mean most straight guys, will really take any opportunity. Luckily, a knock at the door cuts their standoff short.
“Foggy, the President wants anybody who’s available in the Oval Office in five,” Marci says as she barrels in without waiting, before her eyes land on Matt. “Oh, sorry to interrupt.”
“Marci, this is Matt Murdock, from the Bryant campaign,” Foggy says, begrudgingly. “Matt, this is Marci Stahl, deputy communications director. I believe your original meeting was supposed to be with her.”
“Yes. Hi,” Matt says, cheerfully enough, but the set of his shoulders remains tense.
“Matt, so nice to meet you,” she trills, giving Foggy a wide-eyed look over his shoulder as they shake hands. Of course she immediately clocked how attractive he is. Sometimes he thinks that an unfortunate side effect of them dating and then staying friends for so long is that they basically have the same brain. “I’m so sorry for sticking you with Foggy here. There were some scheduling issues with my calendar.”
“Not to worry,” Matt says, tightly. “Foggy’s taken excellent care of me.”
Marci purses her lips in amusement. “Isn’t he just the best?” she says, grinning at Foggy sadistically. “If I had my way, I’d foist all my downer meetings on him, because he always handles people so gently. Not my strong suit, I’m afraid.”
Foggy rolls his eyes, but Matt beats him to the punch. “‘Downer meetings’?” he asks, deceptively pleasant.
“Yes, well, it’s a pity about Bryant, but you’re young, as I can now see. You’ll have other campaigns, ones you can actually win.”
“We haven’t technically lost this one yet.”
Marci gives Foggy a look, before shaking her head. “So true,” she says, giving Matt’s arm a squeeze. “Anyway! Safe travels! Foggy, like I said, five minutes.”
“I’m in the middle of a meeting,” he replies, annoyed.
“It’s the Cruz case.”
“That’s going to—”
“It came back 5-3 against,” she says, cutting him off with a significant look at Matt. “That’s why I canceled my trip. We’re all hands on deck.”
Foggy sighs, but only because it would be inappropriate to swear. “Okay.”
“Five minutes.”
“I said, ‘okay’.”
Marci nods and departs in her usual cloud of Chanel perfume and hyper competence, her heels clicking down the hallway until the sound fades completely. Foggy rubs his face, thinking miserably about how this is just the beginning of what will most likely be a very long, bad day. He’s going to need to send Karen to his apartment to get him some clothes. He’s going to need twelve coffees, ideally right now, but he’s got to deal with Matt first. When he looks over at him, he’s standing there, shell shocked.
“I’m sorry about that,” he says, because he honestly is. “She’s—it’s not always like this.”
Matt seems to spring back into action like a spell has been lifted. “It’s fine,” he says, picking up his briefcase and his stick. “You have to get going.”
“It’s not—”
“Don’t say it’s not important, for my benefit. It sounds important.”
“I can walk you out,” Foggy says, coming around the desk towards him.
“I can manage on my own,” Matt says, not unkindly but not meekly either. The implication that he wants to end this interaction sooner rather than later is barely implied.
“Of course. It was, uh, lovely to meet you.”
“Sure,” he replies, not reciprocating the sentiment but extending his hand as they pause in front of Karen’s desk. Foggy takes it and gives him a firm handshake.
“Karen, could you—?"
“I’m fine,” Matt interrupts. “Thank you, though. Karen, a pleasure.”
“You too,” Karen offers. “The hallway behind you leads right to the exit. You’ll need to sign out with security.”
“Thank you,” he says, and departs without further fanfare.
“How’d he take it?” Karen asks Foggy, once he’s gone.
“Super well,” Foggy chirps. “In fact, we’re thinking this summer for the wedding.”
“That’s fast,” Karen says, barely hiding her smile.
“What can I say? When you know you know.” He sighs deeply. “Marci told you about the Supreme Court thing?”
“Yeah. You want me to go grab you a change of clothes from your place?”
“Yes, please. You need my keys?”
“I have your spare still,” Karen says, as she gets up and puts on her coat. “Need anything else while I’m out?”
“The world’s largest coffee, with as many espresso shots as the law allows.”
“Got it,” she replies with a nod. She’s already on her way out when he grabs her by the elbow to stop her.
“Am I, like, the world’s biggest asshole?” he asks, earnestly. “And be honest, because I feel like the world’s biggest asshole right now.”
“You’re not,” Karen says, immediately, squeezing his arm. “You’re the best person I know, but you’re jet lagged and overtired and stinky and now you have to spend the rest of your day talking about the death penalty. That would put anyone in a bad mood.”
“Yeah,” Foggy says. “Thanks.”
He lets her go, then, because they’ve all got work to do, but her words don’t reassure him like they usually would.
Foggy waits on the sidewalk out in front of St. Patrick’s the next morning with ten minutes to spare before the 10 AM mass gets out. He finds himself wishing he had cigarettes, which he only ever wants when he’s nervous and needs something to do with his hands. He’s complained about this before, unwisely, with his mother in earshot, which had led to her snapping at him to take up knitting if he needs something productive to do with his hands. The worst fight he can ever remember having with her was when she found cigarettes in his room when he was home from college once. What is it about being within spitting distance of a Catholic church that brings up all his repressed guilt like that?
He probably could have brought coffee, but he’s not sure if Matt declined yesterday to be polite or if he genuinely doesn’t drink it. Either way, Foggy couldn’t begin to guess how he’d take it, so it’s probably better to just skip it entirely. He doesn’t need to bribe him, and he doesn’t need anything to occupy his hands. He’s senior staff at the goddamn White House. He doesn’t need to be nervous.
Over his shoulder, he hears the sound of voices starting to drift over from the doors and of footsteps on the stairs. When he glances over, he sees crowds starting to form at the entrance. He remembers, suddenly, from a few christenings he was forced to attend for various cousins, how much people like to stand around and gab after mass and hopes that, by virtue of not being at his own church, Matt won’t be stuck talking to a bunch of old ladies for too long.
Thankfully, it’s only a few minutes later when he emerges from the crowd, easy to spot with his glasses and his stick, head down and separate. Foggy hesitates for a second, worried this will be an intolerable intrusion on something, well, sacred, but he did go out of his way to talk to him. It will be even less excusable if he doesn’t go through with it.
Matt’s head swivels in the correct direction when he hears his name called and Foggy would guess he’s good at identifying voices, both in general and in his line of work, where schmoozing and networking are so essential. Matt’s already at a disadvantage, not knowing people by sight, so he can only imagine he’s found a way to compensate for it. He’s guessing he knows who it is before Foggy even says, “on your right,” and approaches him.
“Foggy?” Matt asks, and he’s not sure if he’s guessing or just expressing surprise.
“Hi,” he says, and it comes out weirdly shy, because of course it does. Matt’s still dressed nicely, like he was yesterday, though he’s ditched the tie and thrown a sweater over his dress shirt instead. It’s like he knows about Foggy’s childhood crush on Mr. Rogers.
“Hi,” Matt says, with a laugh. “Did we—don’t tell me this is your church.”
“Yes, I moonlight as an organist at St. Patrick’s. Just for the tips, though.”
“I—what?”
“Sorry, I’m kidding. I don’t go to church here. I went to see you at your hotel, I was hoping to catch you before you checked out, and the receptionist said I’d just missed you and that you’d gone to church.”
“She told you where to find me?”
“No, I guessed. I mean, St. Patrick’s is the closest Catholic church—you mentioned Catholic school yesterday, so I figured it was the best bet—and of course, it’s, you know, historic and beautiful, with all that stained glass and the, um…”
Matt tips his head to the side, considering him as he fumbles for words. He looks amused, at least, and not deeply offended, which is probably a good sign. He also looks like he’s waiting for Foggy to admit defeat, which is never going to happen.
“The acoustics are probably also good,” he finishes, pathetically, and Matt laughs, not like he did yesterday, all guarded and cynical with disappointment. He laughs big and unrestrained and maybe even delighted. Foggy gets the sense that he’s a little surprised by it himself.
“Yes, the acoustics were wonderful,” he says, and his eyes are crinkling attractively at the corners.
“I’m an idiot,” Foggy says, in the direction of his shoes. He doesn’t need to hide a blush from Matt, he figures, but he does it anyway.
“No, that was…” Matt takes his time searching for the word, and Foggy’s heart races. He shakes his head, helplessly. “‘Acoustics.’ You're cute.”
“I…” Foggy has fully lost his train of thought. He tries to remember a single time he has said something coherent in his entire life and fails. His brain has shut down, possibly permanently and forever.
“Sorry, that came out wrong," Matt clarifies, after a moment's pause. "What I meant was, that was a cute thing to say.”
The part of Foggy that was wondering if it would be weird to ask a guy who just got out of church if he was, perhaps, a friend of Dorothy immediately withers and dies on the spot. That was the straightest point of clarification he’s ever witnessed in his life.
“Well,” Foggy says, remarkably normally after the emotional journey he just went on, “you don’t know this, since you can’t see, but you were right the first time. I am adorable.”
Matt, thankfully, laughs at that too. “I’ll defer to your expertise on the matter.”
“I appreciate that.”
“So, you were looking for me at my hotel?”
“Yes!”
“Can I ask why?”
“I—right. That is the sort of thing that requires explanation.”
“Yes, it is,” Matt says, patiently.
“I wanted to…apologize for yesterday,” Foggy says, letting the words flow out on an exhale. “You didn’t catch any of us on our best day, and while nothing I said to you was factually incorrect or inaccurate to our position, I feel like you weren’t treated with the respect you deserve and I really regret that. None of that is how we do things, and it’s not who we are. I hope, at my best, it’s not who I am, either.”
Matt doesn’t bother to hide his surprise. After a moment, he says, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t worry about it. I fully acknowledge that I ambushed you—at a church, of all places—so I’ll just…”
“I appreciate it,” Matt says, suddenly. “The apology, not the ambush. Although, I guess they’re sort of intertwined at this point…”
“Sure,” Foggy laughs.
“You really didn’t have to—”
“I felt bad. It was badly done, and I wanted to try to make it right.”
“Still, I’ve been in professional politics for almost a decade now, and I can count the number of heartfelt apologies I’ve received on one hand. It’s not the sort of thing everyone does.”
“Well, it’s a thing I do, when I’m wrong. And I was. I’m genuinely sorry.”
Matt acknowledges this with another tilt of his head. “You weren’t wrong about everything, unfortunately.”
Foggy frowns, trying to parse what this means. “I’m not sure I—oh my god! Matt!”
He winces. “Do not gloat!”
“I’m not!” Foggy practically shouts. “I won’t. I promise! But, if I’m understanding you correctly, you know?”
“About Bryant? Of course I do! I work for him!”
“That begs the question of why?”
“Why do I work for him?”
“Yes!”
“I’m not in politics just for the love of it, Foggy. I’m a professional political operative, I need the work!”
“Yeah, but Bryant?”
Matt makes a face at him. “Do you imagine there’s a seller’s market out there for blind campaign managers?”
“No, but—” Foggy pauses and really considers this. Matt keeps things upbeat, from what he can tell, brushing off references to his disability easily enough by all appearances, but it must actually be brutal out there for him. “No, you’re right. It’s got to be tough. Even for someone as good as you.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m not saying it to flatter you. Considering you’re working in a district that virtually always votes red, and you’ve got a dud for a candidate, your numbers are very impressive. I mean, unless you’re handing out headshots at campaign stops, I don’t understand how you’re doing it at all.”
“Headshots?” Matt asks. “Of me?”
“Okay, don’t you dare try some sort of aw, shucks routine with me. I know you know you’re handsome.”
Matt laughs, tucking his chin in a remarkably shy gesture from such a confident asshole. “That’s a good one, though. Headshots. I’ll have to write that down.”
“Maybe the 21st district will flip after all.”
“Okay, I know I’m not that handsome.”
Foggy wants to argue the point, but he’s also done enough embarrassing himself for one day and it’s not even noon yet. He’s got to stick to the matter at hand. “Listen, what I said yesterday—”
“Consider it forgotten. Really.”
“No, uh, what I said reflects the opinion and the decision of the White House, even if the delivery left something to be desired. But the administration, specifically the President, wanted me to be clear with you that, Bryant aside, if you ever found a viable candidate, we’d get interested in a hurry. We remain very impressed by your work, if not your candidate.”
Matt appears intrigued by this. “Did anyone happen to specify a better candidate by name?”
“Well, the suggestion was raised that you might fit the bill.”
“Raised by whom?”
“That I couldn’t say,” Foggy demurs, and Matt does that little head tilt again, so he mimes locking his mouth and throwing away the key before he realizes Matt can’t see or appreciate it. It’s also a very dorky thing to do, so that might be for the best.
“You want me to run for office?” Matt asks, instead.
“It’s just a suggestion,” Foggy says, putting his hands up defensively. “Something to think about for the future.”
“The distant, distant future, maybe…”
Foggy shrugs. “Sure. Either way, you’ve made some friends in D.C. this time around. Your next campaign will be easier, I promise.”
“Well, I have to make it through this one first,” Matt says, grimly, running a hand over his jaw in distress. God, even distressed, he’s still ridiculously handsome.
“Hey, if all else fails, you can always pray to Saint Thomas More.”
Matt gives him a baffled look. “What?”
“You know,” Foggy says, putting his hands in his pockets, casually, “the patron saint of statesmen and politicians.”
Matt’s smile of delight and comprehension is like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, which is a sentiment Foggy would have dismissed as overly and unnecessarily poetic and saccharine probably twenty minutes ago. His words to Karen yesterday— when you know, you know— come back to haunt him and it is so unfair and yet completely expected that this would happen to him, of all people. He’s known this guy for probably thirty minutes total and still, he knows Matt is special. That this is the beginning of something, even though it probably isn’t going to be what he wishes it could be. This is, bizarrely, a talent of his. He knows when someone is going to be important to him, usually right from the start. He knew it with Marci. He knew it with Karen. He knows it now too.
Son of a bitch, he thinks. This might hurt.
“Where did you learn that?” Matt asks, his voice gone kind of breathless around his smile.
“Not to brag, but I have access to many things in my line of work,” he replies, trying to stay casual, despite the revelations, “including several volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica.”
“Fancy,” Matt says, with a laugh. “I appreciate the tip.”
“I couldn’t find the saint to pray to specifically for car trouble, but Saint Christopher or Saint Frances of Rome are the patron saints of drivers and Saint Catherine of Alexandria is the patron saint of mechanics, so any of them would do in a pinch. In case you were wondering.”
“Saint Christopher,” Matt replies, “is the patron saint of all travelers, actually.”
“Show-off!" Foggy exclaims. "You didn’t even have to look that up!”
“Every Catholic household has a medal or something for Saint Christopher kicking around,” he says, with a smile. “You didn’t stand a chance, I’m afraid to say.”
“What gave me away?”
“Oh, everything. I can spot a Protestant at fifty paces, especially the Christmas-and-Easter variety. It’s like the first thing they teach you in Catholic school.”
“Sure. I mean, what else are they going to do with all that time they’re not teaching you how to put condoms on bananas?”
Matt laughs another one of those big, unexpected laughs, almost staggering back with the force of it. “Yeah, abstinence only makes for very short lesson plans.”
“I’m guessing you all managed to figure out the basics anyway, just from the CDC data I’ve seen,” Foggy says, fully blushing all over with the pride of making Matt laugh and his own stupidity at bringing up Sex Ed in a moment like this. Sometimes he just truly cannot stop himself.
Before Matt can confirm or deny that he knows how to use a condom (seriously, what’s the matter with his brain?) Foggy rushes to add, “Also, thank you for giving me the credit of going to church on Easter. My mother will be pleased to know I’m fooling people into thinking I’m a nice young man, rather than being obvious with my true heathen nature.”
“You are a nice young man,” Matt says, softly, with the appearance of having sobered slightly. Maybe Foggy shouldn’t have called himself a heathen. Maybe he was being too obvious, the coded aspect of the code word too unfortunately crackable. Oh, well. “At least, I assume you’re young? I’m guessing, from the sound of your voice.”
“I am. I mean, I guess I am. Is 34 young?”
“For the deputy chief of staff for the White House?” Matt asks, eyebrows raised. “Yes! Are you serious?”
“Well, then.”
“You’re my age.”
“And?”
“You’re very successful.”
“I got lucky," Foggy says, with a shrug. "I was in the right place at the right time. That’s all.”
“Yes, because being in the right place at the right time is something to scoff at in our line of work,” Matt says, looking unimpressed. “And definitely completely negates the fact of you being good at your job.”
“I don’t know if I’d call that a fact, per se…”
“I’ll settle for it being my professional opinion, then, and people generally pay me good money for that kind of thing.”
“Well, I left my checkbook at home, unfortunately,” Foggy quips, and is rewarded with a sharp, almost shark-like smile from Matt. “All I can offer you is my gratitude. I mean, unless—?”
“Yes?” Matt asks, when he doesn’t immediately finish his thought.
“Well, you probably have to catch a flight or a train or something soon, right?”
He nods, brow furrowed. “Yeah, my train is out of Union Station at 1:30. Why?”
“Nothing, I—I’m sure you’ve got to—and I should, probably—”
“You should probably just say whatever it was you were initially going to ask me,” Matt says, head tipped, once again, with interest.
“Right,” Foggy laughs. This is so, so stupid. “I was going to say, if you had time, I could buy you a cup of coffee, to complete my apology for yesterday and to chip away at your consulting fee.”
Matt visibly hesitates, which, of course he does. Foggy made the world’s worst first impression and insulted him yesterday. He apologized for that, sure, but Matt’s still probably not pleased about the DNC’s decision and this wasted trip to D.C. to talk about it. One pleasant conversation doesn’t make them friends or anything.
“That's not necessary," he eventually replies, though not with a great deal of conviction, which is strange. With anyone else, Foggy would assume they wanted him to insist, but somehow he has trouble imagining that's the case here. "I'm sure you'd like to get back to your Sunday plans."
"My Sunday plans are this conversation and going into the office to debate the finer points of the death penalty. You have a pretty low opinion of yourself if you think your company ranks lower than that."
Matt seems to relax at that, oddly enough. “So," he says, with a self-deprecating smile, "this is probably the part where I should admit to an unhealthy amount of curiosity about where you’re at with the Cruz case.”
Of all the things he expected Matt to say, that certainly had not occurred to him, which means he blinks in surprise for what turns out to be a little too long.
“Sorry,” Matt says, mistaking Foggy’s pause for something it isn’t and wincing in apparent embarrassment, “I heard about it on the news. The Supreme Court’s decision, I mean, and I’ve been following the case for a while. When Marci mentioned it yesterday—I shouldn’t have said anything, but—”
“No, not at all,” Foggy says, hurriedly. “I’d honestly love to get your opinion.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I mean, you just admitted to following the case, and you’re a lawyer by training, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“Right, so that, and you know the political landscape we’re situated in at the moment as well as anyone, running this campaign, dealing with the DNC. Even if you want to give me your opinion as a Catholic, I’ll take it. It’s…we’re basically taking all bets, at the moment, if that’s not insulting to admit.”
Matt laughs lightly. “Not insulting. I think on average there was a majority of flattering sentiments in there.”
“Good,” Foggy says, sighing in relief. “That’s how it was intended.”
“I take it the President hasn’t made a decision on whether to stay the execution or not?”
“No, that’s why I’m heading into the office on a Sunday. We’re all trying to figure out our options.”
“Well, I have thoughts.”
Foggy laughs this time. “That’s what I like to hear.”
“I will, however, defer to you on the subject of where to get coffee in this neighborhood,” Matt says.
“Oh, right. Well, actually, if we cross up here—”
Foggy steps forward to gesture in the direction he means before he remembers that it won’t do much good. At the same moment, Matt steps forward too, towards Foggy, and holds out a hand in what looks like a conciliatory gesture. Foggy pauses, waiting to hear his objection or question, and not thinking too hard about how close they are now.
“Could I—that is, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, as we walk, could I hold onto your arm?” Matt asks, and he doesn’t sound embarrassed so much as tired. Foggy gets the sense that he doesn’t like asking for help or relying on people very much. “It makes navigating the sidewalks and everything easier. If not—”
“That’s fine,” Foggy interrupts, feeling only slightly bad that he’s this eager to comply. He’s mostly doing it to be nice, but there is a small part of him that’s excited because a cute guy will be touching him, which feels sort of bad. “I mean, I’m happy to—”
“Thanks,” Matt replies with just a small quirk of his mouth. If he’s noticed Foggy’s eagerness, he’s not calling it out, which is kind of him.
“Do you…know where my arm is?” Foggy asks, like a moron, making Matt laugh.
“It’s, well, it’s in this general vicinity, right?” Matt’s middle finger ends up jabbing into Foggy’s stomach, which is ideal, of course. Now Matt knows he doesn’t have abs of steel, a thing he was definitely going to pretend to have until directly contradicted. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Foggy says, and just grabs Matt’s hand to get it over with. It’s not important or monumental in any way—they shook hands yesterday, so it’s not even the first time they’ve touched—but his pulse starts to race nonetheless. He places Matt’s hand on the crook of his elbow as quickly as he can without making it weird. Except that now he’s trying to remember the last time he held hands with someone and upon consideration, he thinks it’s been a while, which makes him sad to think about.
“That’s my elbow,” he says, stupidly, because anything else he could say at this moment would somehow be more embarrassing, which is impressive.
Matt laughs, just a little huff of amusement, but his eyes crinkle adorably again and that’s good enough. “I figured that out,” he says. “Thank you, though.”
“Right. Um, so as I was saying, if we cross the street here, I know a place only a few blocks away. Hopefully, it won’t be too busy on a Sunday morning for us to get a table.”
“Okay,” Matt says, nodding. “I’ll follow your lead.”
“Great,” Foggy says, but doesn’t move. He stands there awkwardly for a moment, not sure where this temporary immobility is coming from. “I, uh, I’ve never done this before.
“Gotten coffee?”
“No, uh, that I’ve done, actually, if you can believe it," Foggy says, with a laugh. "I’ve never led someone before? I just don’t want to make you trip or anything.”
“It’s just an extra precaution,” Matt explains, calmly. This is probably something he explains a lot, Foggy realizes with some amount of shame. “I can get around fine on my own, but especially someplace new, this helps.”
“Should I point out obstacles or something? Does that help at all?”
“You’re taking this very seriously,” Matt says with a smile that might be at his expense. In which case, Foggy thinks, it is fully worth it. It’s a good smile.
“Yeah, sorry, I just—”
“You can point things out, that’s fine, but I trust you won’t lead me into any open manholes or anything like that.”
“That’s a lot of trust, man,” Foggy says, and Matt laughs. “I mean, you’re talking to someone who loves some Looney Tunes shenanigans.”
“Well, then I guess if someone paints a wall to look like a train tunnel, we’re both in a lot of trouble.”
“I’ll try to be strong,” Foggy says, “and vigilant.”
“That’s all I ask.”
Foggy realizes this is probably the moment they need to actually start walking, otherwise they’re just two guys who have linked arms outside of a church. He moves hesitantly in the direction of the crosswalk, tugging Matt gently along with him, and it doesn’t feel anywhere near as awkward as he was expecting. It just feels nice.
“You see?” Matt asks, leaning against his arm. “It’s just like walking with a person!”
Foggy digs his elbow into Matt’s side in retaliation, which just makes him ping-pong away from him before bouncing back, already laughing. “Have all the fun you want,” Foggy says. “Just remember, your life is in my hands.”
“And how very capable they are,” Matt says, mildly, still grinning.
Foggy feels himself blush and he’s very thankful at this moment that Matt probably can’t tell. It’s the only advantage he has in this situation. Naturally, of course, he decides to cancel out that advantage immediately by saying something stupid.
“By the way, this is what I normally smell like,” he says, as they wait for the walk signal.
Matt raises his eyebrows at him. “Oh?” he says, while giving nothing away, like a total bastard.
“There’s a lot of good reasons not to take a meeting straight off of a fifteen hour flight, it turns out,” Foggy says, trying not to die of embarrassment. Maybe Matt hadn’t noticed. He thought he’d just been too polite to say anything. “I want it on the record that I, you know, shower regularly and wear deodorant and everything.”
“Noted,” Matt says with another cryptic smile. He might even inhale a little bit deeper, though Foggy might be imagining that.
“Fine, I might even smell a little better than normal. But that’s all you’ll get out of me!”
So what if he had put on cologne that he usually forgets to wear? It was a drop if it was anything. And he only did it because of what a clusterfuck yesterday had been. He’d felt he had something to prove to Matt after that conversation went so poorly.
Matt, of course, seems to be enjoying himself immensely. “I’m impressed,” he says, as they cross the street. “If you’re willing to go to these lengths for the likes of me, I can only imagine what you’d do for someone important.”
He doesn’t mean it like that, Foggy reasons. It wasn’t intended to make him sound like, well, a bit of a whore, but it lands like that, for whatever reason. Like he’d been strategically deployed by his superiors to smooth things over, to butter Matt up to avoid burning a bridge they might want to cross someday. But, as much as he’d love to slather him in butter right now, that is not the case and, unfortunately, it’s also not a way that Foggy’s allowed to think about this person.
“You’re important,” he says, after a moment’s pause. “We’re fucking democrats, Matt. Our whole thing is that we think everyone is important, right? And, even if you somehow weren’t, I’d still be here. Even if no one asked me to be.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Of course not,” Foggy says, more breezily than he feels. “But my point still stands. I know all this stuff with the DNC is discouraging, but don’t let it sour you on all this. You could very well be the future of the party.”
Matt laughs, nervously. “I don’t know about that.”
Foggy shrugs, which he trusts Matt can feel. “I’ve been told I have good instincts for this kind of thing.”
“Now that I can believe,” Matt says.
When Foggy turns to look at him, he finds Matt already regarding him with interest. He thinks again of his conviction from earlier that this is no irrelevant run-of-the-mill meeting—one of dozens he'll take this week, and hundreds he'll take this year—but rather the beginning of something important. He feels certain that this won't be the last he sees of Matt Murdock and wonders if the same thing is going through Matt's mind too as they walk together. If he's willing to be honest with himself, he can admit that's not just something he suspects will be true; it's something he hopes will be true too.
🏳️🌈 💖
#i don't enjoy formatting fic for tumblr but it's part of the posting process for me#in case some people prefer to read here#anyway please enjoy and happy pride to whatever these two got going on#daredevil#foggy nelson#matt murdock#karen page#matt x foggy#mattfoggy#ship names remain my mortal enemy when it comes to tagging#whatever yall call it...it's them....the BOYS#the west wing au#this is my first non-prompt fill fic in literally so long i've forgotten how i format this stuff normally#homelywenchsociety#that’s my writing tag! don’t worry about it!#series: a more perfect union
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Bedknobs and Broomsticks and the Beautification of War and Witchcraft: Siana’s Panel Presentation
Robert Stevenson and Ward Kimball’s 1971 fever dream of a musical combines action and animation, war and witchcraft, feminism and effemination, and a classic Disney fantasy touch. Based on the books by English children's author Mary Norton, the story follows Miss Price, the town's "crazy lady", "spinster", and secret witch, as she takes in three young siblings displaced from London during World War II. The four join with scammer/magician Emelius Browne to search for a spell that could “end the war”. Let’s take a closer look!
Narratives and Myths: The Disney-fication of Witchcraft
Stevenson and Kimball Disney-fy witchcraft through Angela Lansbury’s character, Miss Price. Storytellers throughout history often present witches as antagonists or villains: Hansel and Gretel (1812), Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), and The Sword in the Stone (1963), to name a few. Of course, by 1971, people worldwide could associate “Good Witch” with Glinda (1939), but she was not a catalyst for similarly-natured witches. Miss Price embodies a sense of normalcy and country charm that makes witchcraft seem more like a hobby rather than an all-encompassing characterization of evil. More broadly, Bedknobs and Broomsticks presents magic as realistic, providing the audience with an “anything is possible” mindset.
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Depictions of Femininity and Masculinity: Just Feminist Enough
Being a witch simply slots into Miss Price’s identity: she is a single, private, middle-aged woman who lives alone in a large home fairly far from the town center. From our first encounter with her character, we can tell that she does not conform, and has no interest in conforming, to 1940s societal expectations regarding how a woman her age should present herself.
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In her article “My Fair Lady: A Voice for Change”, scholar Marcie Ray notes that as America and Western Europe called in second-wave feminism, there came a filmic trend of musicals “[employing] the single girl character to depict the changing nature of (white) female sexuality” (293) as opposed to following a strict love plot. In a later section, “Eliza as the ‘Other’”, Ray discusses the tool of othering the lead female protagonist so she appears to have room for improvement, growth, and assimilation into proper society. Miss Price follows this formula, presenting palatable white femininity and feminism, but ultimately reverting to heterosexual expectations: Mr. Browne, once her anonymous professor of witchcraft, quickly becomes her love interest.
Aligning with the ongoing feminist movement at the time of this film’s production, Mr. Browne’s masculinity, and attached agency, come into question rather than being accepted as fact. His introduction in the film establishes him as a trickster, con artist, and coward. Miss Price turns him into a bunny multiple times, to which he replies “Miss Price, a word about your tactics: if I know I’m being changed into a hawk or a tiger, or something with a bit of flash, but always a fluffy white rabbit? It’s incorrigible!” This power dynamic cements Miss Price, and her playful, modern take on femininity, as the authority and lead throughout the film.
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Class and Racial Subtexts: “Portobello Road”
The backdrop of World War II connects all the characters in this film through an environment devoid of abundance, and an expectation of having “less than”. Any hints of wealth or a British upper class can only be seen in what’s left behind during the height of the war rather than through individual characters.
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The over ten-minute-long “Portobello Road” musical sequence demonstrates this time of unity through scarcity through color, music, and performance. The street, either through set building or editing, appears gray in itself and tinges everyone walking along the street similarly. This area of London feels communal and bustling while simultaneously being economically disadvantaged. The song, sung by all five of our lead protagonists and by the large ensemble, speaks of riches, fantasy, and possibility: the Portobello Road market is a symbol of hope, even if momentary and unfeasible.
There is little racial or ethnic subtext in this film - past, of course, the significance of WWII and all those groups ostracized, interned, and killed during the time. Portobello Road, however, curiously introduces a densely diverse enclave of London, including spotlight moments of Sikh soldiers, Scottish dancers, and Trini performers. Past their brief musical moments, we do not analyze or revisit these characters. We are, however, shown our five white protagonists interacting with these minority groups in a normalized, meaningful way: dancing, playing, and smiling alongside each other in this utopian street fair. This scene aligns more with the decade of the film’s production (late-60s and early-70s) than it does with the period in which it’s set (1940s).
Significance to the Audience and Temporality
As briefly mentioned earlier, the character development in Bedknobs and Broomsticks is critical to ensure the comfort of 1970s audiences. Miss Price is just feminist enough, the children as just boisterous enough, Mr. Browne is just crass enough, and everyone is just poor enough. There are many things a contemporary audience can problematize about this film: Miss Price’s reverting to patriarchal expectations of marriage, love, and motherhood; the romanticization of war and, specifically, WWII; Mr. Browne’s sexist remarks about women's memories and professional capabilities. At its core, however, this is still a Disney fantasy with loveable, quirky characters, catchy musical numbers, and an entire additional animated world to fall in love with. There’s a steadfast formula that makes this film enjoyable despite its generational immobility.
Critical Discussion Questions
How do we create lovable characters whose backgrounds are classically/traditionally/stereotypically rooted in horror, antagonism, and/or villainy (ex. witches, con-artists, monsters)?
What generational differences do you see embedded in your film / what changes should/would be made in a remake?
Are love plots actually necessary to the plot of your film or other musicals? What would look different about the trajectory and public reception of the film without a love plot?
@theuncannyprofessoro
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So, would you say Owl House did a better job in managing to balance out Luz, Eda, King, and Hooty as the main characters while still giving pretty solid stuff with the second tier major players like Amity, Willow, Gus, and Hunter than Amphibia did with balancing Anne and the Plantars as main characters with Sasha and Marcy as second tier major players and why?
Hmmmmm... interesting. So, despite a lot of the parallels the two shows have, I think in this regard it's a bit apples and oranges. I would argue that the Owl Crew get roughly the same amount of attention and development as Sasha and Marcy. That's not the reason Sasha and Marcy's arcs feel unsatisfying (imo ymmv)
Luz's friend group she develops in the B.I. are all great characters. They bring fun perspectives, dynamics, and variety to a lot of episodes, but they ultimately aren't essential to the main plot. They are important supports for Luz's development and arc, but when the crucial plot moments happen. That's Luz's time to shine. In the season 1 finale they are completely absent from Luz's rescue attempt (though Gus and Willow do drum up a rally in favor of Eda, her escape isn't really dependent on them). In the season 2 finale while they are there for the big boss fight they aren't there when Luz tricks Belos and aren't the deciding factor in the day being saved(?) That honor goes to King for getting the Collector out and convincing them move the moon. The show is better for their inclusion, but if they were removed the main plot the central conflict would still stand
The reason why I think Sasha and Marcy's arcs feel off is because they aren't secondary characters. They are both plot crucial gears on the main plot and not just Anne's arc, but the core to understanding her character.
Sasha is the main antagonist of the season 1 finale. Anne fighting back against years of toxicity to defend her new family is a huge turning point for her character. It's easy to infer that some of Anne's issues with self confidence and her general reckless behavior can be traced back to her friendship with Sasha, both of which drive many a plot in season 1. But also Anne's willingness to fight for the people she cares about I think can also be something she emulates from Sasha's more admirable characteristics pre-development.
Marcy's motivations and actions cause almost the entire plot to happen. She's the one who brings them to Amphibia starting the whole story. Her hiding this fact and desire to stay with her friends gives Andrias the leverage he needs to acquire the charged box. Marcy getting Anne and the Plantars out of true colors unscathed (physically) allows Anne the chance to live long enough to finally Andrias. Marcy is also the source of some of Anne's other insecurities. Being constantly compared to her genius friend probably wasn't easy. You can see echoes of Anne's protective streak we see in season 1 in her dynamic with Marcy pre-Amphibia. Marcy's dynamic with Anne and Sasha also lets us infer that there was a very powerful friendship at the center of this murk of toxicity that Anne and Sasha's dynamic is embroiled in.
If you removed Sasha or Marcy from the narrative, you would need massive rewrites just to get the plot to work. Their removal would make Anne's history pre-Amphibia feel a lot less rich and her character less nuanced.
They are treated like secondary characters but they don't feel like secondary characters. It's why so many people latch onto the trio So when their arcs were rushed or dropped it leaves myself(and many it seems) unsatisfied.
So. Yeah. Apples and Oranges. It's three am gonna tag this and sleep.
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