#matilda the musical movie

[maybeimamuppet]

and this burning inside me would usually fade (but it isn’t today)

hello everyone!! i hope you’re having a great day!! 

welcome to technically the first thing i ever wrote for this fandom and just didn’t finish until now lol

tw for

sensory overload/meltdown

mentioned child abuse/neglect 

and please let me know if i’ve missed anything so i can add it!! :) 

enjoy!!!

—————

“Matilda?” Jenny asks when Matilda slams the door to her office open in a frenzy. “Darling, what’s the matter?” 

“Everything’s too loud!” Matilda yells before breaking down in tears. “My brain is fizzing again but it’s not a good fizzing, i-it’s a bad fizzing and-and it’s meant to go quiet now and it’s not and it won’t stop!” 

Jenny stands and rushes over, gently ushering her further into the room and closing and locking the door behind her. She crouches down to Matilda’s eye level. 

“Help,” Matilda sobs. She doesn’t say anything else, but that’s plenty. 

“Can I touch you?” Jenny asks softly. She thinks she’s familiar with what Matilda is going through. She recognizes the panic in her eyes, the tension in her little body. It makes her heart ache, seeing her six year old hurting in this way. 

Matilda nods frantically, practically pitching herself at her. Jenny takes her into her arms and holds her close, giving her the tightest hug she can muster. Tight enough to hug all the air out of her. 

Matilda clings to her and weeps into her neck. Jenny stands and takes Matilda with her. She slowly closes all the blinds on the open windows to darken the room, and turns on a fan for some soothing white noise. Silence would be preferable, but Jenny isn’t about to tell the other children outside to stop enjoying their recess time. This will just have to do. 

She heads to the calm down corner she replaced the Chokey with and settles amongst the cozy cushions with Matilda firmly in her lap. 

“You’re going to be alright, I promise,” Jenny murmurs into Matilda’s hair as the young girl continues weeping into her shoulder. 

She looks around the room as she gently rocks Matilda side to side. She’s half expecting to see things start floating or to be hit in the head with a book or something, but Matilda hasn’t been able to do her telekinesis since the downfall of The Trunchbull, much to the disappointment of the young girl. Jenny reassures her every day that she’s still a superhero even without magical powers. 

She wishes she could be a hero here. Matilda’s little fingers are digging into the skin of her back. Not enough to hurt, but enough that Jenny knows she’s truly desperate. Afraid. 

It feels wrong, almost. Matilda may only be six, but she’s strong. Beyond strong; she’s mighty. She’s practically a hurricane in the body of a little girl. And here she is, reduced to hysterical tears as she clings desperately to Jenny.

Jenny squeezes her closer. Matilda squeezes her too, as if squeezing her hard enough will get the comfort she desperately needs to seep out of Jenny like a sponge and directly into her. 

It doesn’t seem to be working fast enough. Matilda is getting more and more worked up the longer this continues. Jenny knows why. It’s a terrifying combination of sensations; especially in a young mind, and even more so when there’s no end to it in sight. 

She lets go of Matilda with a single arm to reach into a pocket of her cardigan. Matilda pauses when she feels the familiar faded white fabric of the scarf slip around her little wrist. She grips it like a vice, slipping the silky bit between her fingers and running the pads of her thumbs over the scratchy glitter woven through the fabric. 

And after a while, it does seem to help. Matilda calms on her own terms. Her desperate sobs slow to choked whimpers and gasps for breath; her harsh grip loosens as she gradually starts to go limp with exhaustion. Jenny gently pulls her face away from her neck when she finally gives a last sniffle and gently wipes her tears. 

“Goodness, my little firefly,” she murmurs. Matilda sniffles and leans into her hand as Jenny gently strokes the tears off her cheeks. “That was intense.” 

Matilda nods and sniffs again, resting her little head back against Jenny’s shoulder. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Jenny asks gently. Matilda seems to consider this for a moment. Jenny doesn’t press her. Matilda may be a genius, but for all her love of reading, reading herself and her own emotions remains a struggle for her. She eventually shakes her head gently against Jenny’s shoulder. “Alright.”

“I want to go home,” Matilda chokes against her neck. 

“I know, darling, I know,” Jenny hushes, gently pressing her lips to her hairline. “I’d ask Mrs. Phelps to take you, but she’s on the other side of town today.” 

“I’ll be alright,” Matilda says softly. 

“You will,” Jenny agrees. “But you aren’t right now, and that’s alright too.” 

“I don’t want to bother you.” 

“You could never bother me, darling,” Jenny replies sadly. “It’s my job to take care of you.” 

“But-”

“No buts, young lady,” Jenny insists. “You’re going to stay right here and rest until it’s time for us to go home.” 

Matilda is quiet again. Jenny knows Matilda feels like a burden, another thing they’re both working through. Eventually, she feels a little, “Okay.” mumbled into her neck. 

“Good girl,” Jenny says. She primps up the beanbags and rests Matilda on top of her makeshift bed. Matilda cuddles the yellowed white scarf like a teddy bear as Jenny gently covers her with her cardigan. “I love you.” 

“I love you,” Matilda echoes softly, finally giving the faintest of smiles. Jenny stays until she drifts off to sleep and hopes she dreams of simple, comforting things. 

It’s easy to forget how young Matilda truly is. How much she’s seen in her short life. Jenny is beyond proud of the strong, impenetrable front that Matilda puts up, but she knows that behind it is a frightened little girl in desperate need of love and care. 

And as Jenny does everything she can to help the one in front of her heal, she feels the one mirrored inside herself begin healing too. 

She watches as the tension fades from Matilda’s small frame, as the worried lines are etched away from her angelic little face. She gently kisses her forehead before she returns to her desk to keep going with her work. 

—-

Matilda wakes from her nap after about an hour. Jenny can’t find it in herself to make her return to classes, so she allows the little girl to stay with her. Matilda helps tidy her desk, and double checks her math on the monthly budget for her. 

She’s reading Jenny’s personal copy of Anne of Green Gables in the corner as the day comes to an end. 

“Time to go home, darling,” Jenny says gently. Matilda looks up and carefully marks her place with one of the special bookmarks they had made together before she takes Jenny’s outstretched hand. 

Jenny tries not to worry as Matilda is practically silent on their walk home. Matilda usually spends it prattling off facts about the trees or bugs or birds or whatever she can see around them, or talking about the twist in whatever book she’d been reading most recently, or talking about what she’d learned in her advanced classes that day. 

Today she’s quiet, simply holding hands with Jenny as she trudges through the tall grass towards their home. 

Jenny unlocks the front door when they arrive. Matilda hangs her book bag on her hook and takes off her shoes. Jenny hangs her purse on the next hook and takes off her shoes as well, resting them neatly next to the little Mary-Janes. 

“Do you think I’m strange?” Matilda asks as she sits at their kitchen table to wait for Jenny to make tea. 

Jenny pauses with the kettle in her hand. She knows Matilda is too smart, too clever, can read her too well, for her to answer with her gut instinct of, “No.” 

As she grabs the cups down from the cabinet she comes up with her response. “Do you think you’re strange?” 

“…Yes,” Matilda says. “But don’t you think I’m strange?” 

“Yes, I do,” Jenny says simply. Matilda blinks in surprise at the bluntness of her answer and furrows her brow at her reflection in her tea. 

“Oh.” 

“And I am too,” Jenny continues. 

“No you aren’t,” Matilda protests suddenly. 

“Aren’t I?” Jenny hums, raising an eyebrow at the little girl. Matilda blinks at her. Jenny can practically see her neurons firing rapidly behind her eyes. “Tell me some synonyms for strange.” 

“Abnormal,” Matilda recites immediately. “Unusual. Bizarre. Atypical, weird, deviant, irregular. …Different.” 

“Exactly. Different,” Jenny says. “You’re different. I’m different. Everyone’s different. And everyone’s strange, in their own way. It’s those strangenesses that make us… us.” 

Matilda is quiet again. Jenny gently reaches out her hand for her, fingers arched in the shape of a loose claw. Matilda looks up and gently presses the tips of her own against them. It grounds the little girl enough to look into Jenny’s eyes. 

“You are strange,” Jenny says softly. “But you’re you. And you’re an absolute miracle, Matilda.” 

Matilda gives her a half smile and takes a drink of her tea. They hold hands as they finish their drink in a peaceful quiet. Matilda finishes hers first and comes to settle on Jenny’s lap. Impishly, she takes and sneaks a sip from Jenny’s mug as well, giggling faintly as she earns herself a gentle bop on the nose. 

Jenny downs the last of her tea and cradles Matilda in her lap. Matilda rests her head against her shoulder contently and asks, “Why didn’t my powers come back?” 

“What?” Jenny asks. 

“Earlier,” Matilda says. “It felt the same. Like my brain was too big to fit and was gonna burst completely out of my head, but I couldn’t do my magic. Nothing happened.” 

“I’m not sure, darling,” Jenny says. “Why don’t you tell me what happened before you came to see me, and we’ll see what we think?” 

“I felt… strange, when I woke up this morning,” Matilda begins. “Like all my senses were… working harder. The birds felt louder, and I-I could feel every little teensy crumb on my toast at breakfast, even on my littlest fingers.” She wiggles them to demonstrate. “And I couldn’t learn in class. The teachers were talking, but I couldn’t really hear them because everything else was just as loud, and then it was lunchtime and the cafeteria was too loud, and I got scared. It felt like… something inside me… something inside me… broke.”

“And that’s usually when your powers came out? When you felt that breaking?” Jenny asks. Matilda nods. “Did you ever have that happen before your powers?” 

Matilda thinks this over for a moment. “I’m not sure. I-I think, maybe. Sometimes when… when my…” 

She trails off. The subject of Matilda’s biological parents is still sensitive for her, and Jenny doesn’t press her. Matilda talks when she feels the need to, and beyond that, Jenny doesn’t feel a need to bring them up. 

“Sometimes when they’d yell,” Matilda continues softly. “I’d feel the burning, but… I couldn’t do anything. Scream or cry or get it to stop. Even when I broke inside.” 

“I’m starting to think,” Jenny begins softly. “That maybe your powers weren’t connected to your brains at all.”

“What? But-”

“I think they’re connected to your heart, Matilda,” Jenny says. “You’ve had this fizzy feeling, this… scary breaking inside feeling, before and after you had your powers. But you only had the powers when you knew people you cared about were hurting. Your heart wanted to protect them, and yourself, and it knew you could. So it… gave you a special little gift. And now that you and your loved ones are safe, you don’t need the powers anymore, and you’re just left with the… feeling.” 

���Then what is it?” Matilda asks, looking curiously into Jenny’s eyes. 

“Have you ever heard of something called sensory overload?” Jenny asks. 

“I read about it in a neurology textbook once,” Matilda says. “It’s common in people with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, autism, and other similar disorders.” 

“That’s right,” Jenny says. “Do you remember reading anything about what it feels like?” 

“No,” Matilda says. “The book was for doctors, I don’t think it was meant to give much detail about what someone experiencing it is going through.” 

Jenny nods. “Well, it… sounds to me like it’s what you get. Noises being too loud, lights being too bright, certain textures can be overwhelming. Sometimes that all builds inside you, and if you aren’t prepared to handle it, you can get the… breaking feeling.” 

“I thought I was just being babyish,” Matilda mumbles, tugging at a loose thread on her dress. Jenny gently slips her hand into the little one’s to stop her. 

“Having feelings is not babyish, Matilda,” Jenny insists. “Especially ones you can’t control. You’re only six. I’m not convinced you don’t know everything else already, but your mind is still learning how to regulate itself. Sometimes you’re going to be overwhelmed.” 

“I never used to cry,” Matilda says. “When it happened before.” 

“That can happen too. Sometimes the way you process things changes,” Jenny says. “And… something tells me you didn’t get many chances to cry in front of someone who cares before we met.” Matilda nods. “Sometimes asking for help is the best thing we can do for ourselves. And I think your mind is learning that you’re allowed to ask for help now. And you did.” 

“Have you ever had it?” Matilda asks. “An… overload?” 

“Yes, I have,” Jenny says honestly. “I know how frightening and upsetting it can be.”

“It hurt,” Matilda mumbles. “My chest aches.” 

“I know that too. The best thing you can do now is rest,” Jenny says. “We’ll have a nice quiet night in together, hm?” 

Matilda gives her a soft smile and nods eagerly. Jenny squeezes her close as Matilda winds her arms around her neck for a hug. 

“I love you, Matilda,” she whispers. 

“I love you too, Mummy.” 

“I’m proud of you,” Jenny continues. Matilda pulls back and gives her another odd look. 

“What for?” she asks quizzically. 

“Handling your overload the way you did. You were very brave to come ask for help, and you listened and were willing to try everything I suggested that might help. And I’m proud of you for making it through that. It’s overwhelming, but you dealt with it so well,” Jenny says. She’s learned over the few months they’ve lived together that Matilda doesn’t believe vague ‘well done’ statements, so Jenny makes a point to get as specific as she can. 

“Oh,” the little girl says. 

“Let’s get you into a bath, that’ll be nice and calming,” Jenny says. Matilda nods and takes her hand to be led upstairs to the restroom. 

In the beginning, Matilda would protest every time Jenny tried to aid in taking care of her. I can draw my own baths, Miss Honey. I can make my own food, Miss Honey. I can choose my own clothing, Miss Honey. 

Jenny always said, I know you can. Do you want to? 

Matilda always hesitated, before she said, No. 

Matilda picks a soothing lavender bubble bath. She’d chosen some as a part of a spa day kit they’d put together as a gift for Lavender’s birthday. They’d both fallen in love with the soft floral smell of it and gone back to buy more for themselves. 

Jenny adds a sizable dollop to the running bath water and fetches Matilda’s towel as it fills to the proper level. Matilda starts unbuttoning her uniform when she returns. 

“Take as long as you’d like, alright? Just relax,” Miss Honey instructs as she leaves the towel folded on the counter. Matilda nods and smiles as Jenny kisses the top of her head and leaves her to her bath in privacy. 

-

Matilda takes her sweet time in the bath. Jenny doesn’t blame or bother her, though the water must be cold by the time she hears it draining through the pipes. 

Jenny looks up from the lesson plan she had been creating when she hears little feet padding down the stairs. She looks up and smiles when she sees Matilda wrapped in her towel with the little butterfly hood pulled up. Matilda had gawked when Jenny first pointed it out in the store, but after a few weeks she’d taken quite a shining to her blue butterfly towel. 

“All clean?” 

“Behind my ears and all,” Matilda nods. Jenny grins. 

“Good. Shall we go choose some pajamas?” she asks. Matilda nods again and follows her back upstairs. 

She asks softly, “Could we wear the matching ones?” 

“Of course,” Jenny says with a smile. “I’ll go get mine.” 

She wasn’t planning on getting changed into her own pajamas so early in the day, but after the day they’ve both had, she thinks it might do them both some good. Matilda smiles as she returns to the room in her yellow nightgown; clad in a smaller version of the very same one. 

“Comfy?” Jenny asks with a matching smile. Matilda nods contently. “Good. Let’s do your hair, hm?” 

Matilda inhales sharply, but she nods. Jenny, of course, notices. 

“You don’t want to?” 

Matilda looks away from her, shuffling her fingers between her hands. Jenny knows that’s one of her anxious fidgets and gently crouches down in front of her. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” she says softly. “Do you want to wait and do your hair later?” 

Matilda shakes her head, but she still won’t look Jenny in the eye. “…I don’t know.” 

Jenny frowns sadly and gently reaches for her hand. Matilda stares intently at their interlocked fingers as Jenny gives her a squeeze. “Are you still feeling a bit overwhelmed?” 

Matilda nods. “I’m… I’m worried the hairbrush will make it worse.” 

“That’s alright,” Jenny says lowly. “I understand. It can be an overwhelming sensation.” Matilda nods. “Can you think of anything that would help you through it?” 

Matilda hesitates for a second. Jenny smiles as she finally looks up and meets her eyes. She can see her trying so desperately to think, to speak, to ask for the help she needs, but she’s never had this sort of experience before. Jenny knows how hard those first, “I need help”s can be. It took her years. 

Matilda is growing more and more frustrated with herself as time goes on and she can’t think of anything that might help her. Jenny moves her hands higher; close to her shoulders and gradually squishes her way down Matilda’s arms. 

“It’s alright, darling,” Jenny says quietly. “How about we start with picking the hairstyle you want after we brush it out? We’ll work back to this.” 

“Will you do the French braids?” Matilda asks softly. 

“Of course,” Jenny says. “You want two?” 

“Yes,” Matilda says. 

“Two French braids,” Jenny says. “Now… you’re worried about how the hairbrush will feel on your head, or something else?” 

“Yes,” Matilda says again. “And… I don’t like when my hair drips on my clothes.” 

“Alright,” Jenny hums. “We can put a towel around your shoulders to catch any drips, would that help?” Matilda nods. “And… what if you read me something, so your mind has something else to focus on? And you can let me know if you need me to stop brushing for a moment if you get overwhelmed. How does that sound?” 

“Okay,” Matilda agrees quietly. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, darling. Let’s go,” she says. 

Matilda grabs her stuffed worm off her bed and heads down the stairs. Jenny grabs Matilda’s hair kit from the restroom and follows after her. She smiles as she sees her daughter standing on her step-stool and looking intently at their bookshelf. She stands on her tippy toes to grab a thick book from a high shelf and almost falls as she pulls it into her arms. Jenny rushes over to catch her, but Matilda just giggles at her panic. 

“Very funny, giving me a heart attack,” Jenny says, gently chucking her under the chin. 

“Sorry,” Matilda says. “Les Misérables?” 

“If you’d like, sure,” Jenny agrees. She’s a little bit concerned it’s too morbid for the child, but Matilda has read plenty of dark books before. They’ve had several interesting debates and discussions about War and Peace and Crime and Punishment. 

Matilda takes the book and settles on the ground in front of the sofa. Jenny sits behind her and gently brackets Matilda’s shoulders with her legs so she has the best angle to work. She carefully drapes a dry towel around her small shoulders like a cape. Matilda holds it in the middle so it doesn’t fall off and opens the massive book with her little hands. 

Jenny picks up the hairbrush and carefully starts combing through the damp ends of Matilda’s hair as she begins to read. 

“In 1815, M. Charles-Francois-Bienvenu Myriel was Bishop of D——— He was an old man of about seventy-five years of age; he had occupied the see of D——— since 1806.” 

Jenny hates to admit it, but she’s only half listening to Matilda read. The other half of her is deep inside her own mind. 

Jenny had always loved children. She knew by the time she was ten years old that she wanted to be a teacher. To help, to educate, to care for, to love as many generations of children as she could possibly squeeze into her life. 

To do her part to make sure no child ever felt how she did growing up. 

The one thing she never saw herself doing was having children of her own. 

Years upon years of being told how unlovable she was wore heavily on her and frightened her completely away from ever looking for a partner. She’d always figure it would happen if it was meant to, but she was never very fussed by the idea of a life of relative solitude. 

The mere idea of pregnancy was also terrifying to Jenny. After what her mother had been through to bring her into the world, she knew she didn’t want to risk all the dangers that can come along with carrying and birthing a child, rare as they may be. She couldn’t bear risking any potential child she’d have growing up without their mother. 

Adoption would have been the most likely solution, if Jenny had ever decided concretely that she wanted children of her own at all. 

Truth be told, the idea of being a mother to any child, biologically hers or not, terrified Jenny to the very cells she’s constructed of. Who’s to say she wouldn’t snap, be as abusive as the tyrant her childhood had been ruined by? Who’s to say she wouldn’t completely ruin everything some other way as a result of her trauma? Or, even worse, who’s to say she’d be a decent mother in the first place, regardless of what her own childhood was like? Regardless of what she went through? Who’s to say she’d have what it takes? 

Parents of her students would constantly rave about how kind and patient and wonderful Jenny was with their children. Jenny could never help but to doubt their every word, somewhere deep down inside herself. They’d always ask when she would be having children of her own. “Whenever it’s my time to,” she’d always say with a falsely content smile. 

She’d been terrified upon meeting Matilda for the first time. Her heart seemed to reach out of her chest for the little girl, and every day she got to spend as her teacher let it get further and further away from her. Eventually, she found herself wanting to… let it go. The heart wants what the heart wants, after all. 

Part of her had always known how their story would end. Happily, she’d hoped. But Jenny knew she couldn’t allow the Wormwoods to keep on as they were. She’d had trouble breathing simply being in that house. So many reminders of her own childhood. 

Matilda’s unbrushed hair, her dirty hands and feet, her out-of-fashion and ill-fitting clothes and shoes. Not a toy or a book in sight. Argumentative parents who weren’t afraid to curse one another out or shout full volume right in front of their young child. Matilda already knowing strategically how to avoid setting them off at her. The way she tried not to let Jenny know. The slight fear in her eyes when she realized Jenny knew anyway. The amount of stairs Jenny heard her run up to reach her bedroom. The size of the window the young girl was watching her through. 

Jenny cried herself to sleep when she went home that night, wishing and praying to a higher power she never believed in for something she could do to help this child. 

And she had no idea why. 

She’d had a few similar cases before. Foster children who were clearly only there so the foster families could get a paycheck. Children from large families who weren’t getting the attention they needed or deserved at home. The, blessedly few, that warranted a ring to the police. 

She did what she could for those children. Having extra snacks around so they could eat, styling their hair if their mothers couldn’t or didn’t before school, staying late to help with reading or arithmetic practice. She’d smile and say hello and hope they were well once they’d left her class, and she kept her door open as a safe space if they ever needed anything. She knew every child was special and she did her best to treat them as such, but she had never felt any particular calling or urge to do more than what she had done for those children.

Until she met Matilda.

Something about Matilda spoke to her. Something about Matilda called to her, plead for help, though the girl herself didn’t outright. Or maybe it all happened the other way around. 

She’d been terrified, but the most certain of anything she’s ever been, when she’d begged Harry Wormwood to let Matilda stay with her. It was almost as if something in the universe briefly took over, said, “Wait a moment, this isn’t how your stories are meant to end.” 

Something saved them both. Jenny likes to think it was the both of them saving each other. 

Regardless of where they came from, no words had ever felt more correct passing through her lips than, “Let Matilda stay here, with me.” 

And goodness, that hug. Little arms and legs wrapped completely around Jenny like a vice, the small sobs of relief and mourning and hope shaking the girl in her arms. Similar tears pouring down her own face into Matilda’s blazer as she clung just as tightly to her daughter. 

Her daughter. 

Jenny comes back into herself and realizes Matilda’s thick hair is already half brushed. She’s also a solid fifteen pages into their story, and her shoulders are very tense. Jenny gently sets the brush aside and presses down on them, giving a firm but gentle squeeze to coax Matilda’s attention. 

“Deep breaths, darling, let’s take a break,” she says. “You’re alright.” 

Matilda takes a deep breath and clings to Jenny’s hand. 

Jenny knows in that moment that she’s doing decently at this whole mothering thing, after all. 

She gently runs her thumb over the back of the small palm in a repetitive, soothing motion. Squeezes in response to the squeezes the little one gives from time to time. 

“I’m okay now,” Matilda says after a while. 

“Are you sure? You can take all the time you need, firefly,” Jenny says. Matilda nods. 

“I’m sure.” 

Jenny nods too, even though Matilda can’t see her, and picks up the brush again. Matilda picks up where she left off in the book as Jenny carefully strokes through what remains of her unbrushed hair. 

“Hard part done,” she says proudly when her hair is all brushed through and sleek. Matilda’s shoulders sag in relief. Jenny chuckles and bends to kiss her cheek. She gives her a break for a few minutes before she carefully parts her hair down the middle and starts intricately twisting it into braids. 

Matilda’s hair had been one of her first priorities when they’d moved in together. Matilda was always trying to hide it or hide behind it. She knew she didn’t like having it unbrushed and unstyled when all the other little girls had their hair tied neatly with pretty bows or ribbons or in cute pigtails. She simply didn’t know how to take care of it herself. 

Jenny makes a point to brush it after every bath, and style it for her every morning before school. Matilda deserves to feel beautiful. 

“There we are,” she says as she snaps the small elastic band into place around the end of the second braid. “All finished.” 

“Thank you,” Matilda says, tipping upside down to see her. 

“You’re very welcome, darling. Have you got any homework? We have a bit of time before we should start preparing dinner,” Jenny asks gently. Matilda shakes her head. 

“Only reading. And I’ve already read it through six times.” 

Jenny nods. She had missed a significant portion of the day, and her morning classes tend to give less homework by comparison anyway. “Alright then. Why don’t you come up here and we’ll read together?” 

Matilda happily climbs up and joins Jenny on the sofa. Jenny turns so she’s half sitting and half lying down, and Matilda settles in the cradle formed by her body. Jenny holds the heavy book so they can both see, and they begin to read silently, but together. 

This is one of their favorite new pastimes. Whenever they both have a spare moment, which are unfortunately few and far between, they like to cuddle up with a nice book and read. Matilda gives her a gentle tap whenever she finishes a page. She reads much faster than Jenny, but as they’ve started to do this more regularly, she’s gradually started to slow down and take a bit more time with her stories. 

Jenny turns the page when she finishes, and the process begins again. Jenny listens to the ticking of the large clock on the wall across the room; the quiet, quick breathing of the girl in her lap; the rustle of fabric as one of them shifts occasionally or the crinkle of the pages as they turn. 

When the clock chimes the hour, Jenny sighs and marks her place with her finger. “Would you like to keep reading or come help me prepare dinner?” 

Matilda’s only response is to carefully slip a bookmark into position. Jenny smiles and shuts the book, resting it on the small table behind her head and gently patting Matilda to coax her to stand. 

“What are we having tonight?” Matilda asks as they walk to the kitchen. 

“I was thinking pasta, maybe with some chicken?” Jenny says with a conspiratorial wink. Pasta and chicken are two of Matilda’s absolute favorite foods. Apart from books, the two together is basically the quickest way to the little girl’s heart. Sure enough, Matilda noticeably perks up and rushes the rest of the way with a happy squeal. Jenny chuckles and follows after her. “Careful, darling.” 

Matilda immediately drags her step-stool over to the sink and starts scrubbing away the germs of the day. She giggles as Jenny follows suit, wrapping her arms around her from behind and racing her to get the soap first. Matilda wins, but Jenny gets first go with the towel.

Matilda watches curiously as she pulls all the ingredients they’ll need from the refrigerator and cabinets. 

Surprisingly, out of almost everything the two of them have had to face together since Jenny took custody of Matilda, one of the most difficult things has been Matilda’s diet. She’d spent five years existing almost exclusively on snack foods and microwaved meals. Those have their place, but Jenny was desperate to get a vegetable into that child. 

It had taken time. Jenny didn’t force her to eat anything she wasn’t comfortable with while their lives together were adjusting into a comfortable area and they were both getting used to the idea of being a family. But after a while, she started encouraging her to try new foods. 

They’d started a garden together, which had helped immeasurably. Matilda getting to see the process from seed to food made her much more interested in sampling new fruits and vegetables. 

That’s not to say she enjoyed everything she tried. Jenny picked up on her tastes quickly. Strawberries are a yes, raspberries a no. Blueberries are a sometimes, especially if they’re in tasty homemade muffins. Matilda loved carrots, but detested cucumbers. She’d only eat tomatoes if they were in a sauce or something of the like. She’d eat leafy greens like spinach or kale if they were in a smoothie with loads of her favorite berries, but not otherwise. And, most interesting to Jenny, she loved broccoli and Brussels sprouts. 

“What’s this?” Matilda asks when Jenny places a bell pepper on the counter. Jenny smiles as she grabs the chicken and gently closes the fridge with her hip. It’s so rare for Matilda not to know something. Jenny adores any moment she actually gets to teach her about something new. 

“That’s a bell pepper,” she explains. “They can be red, orange, green, or yellow. And they aren’t spicy, they’re actually quite sweet.” 

“Oh,” Matilda says. Jenny grabs a couple of cutting boards and knives from their spots and places them in front of herself and Matilda. She’d originally been hesitant to give her child knives, seeing as she was only five at the time, but Matilda had rapidly shown she had more than enough motor control and responsibility to be able to help chop, slice, and dice. Sometimes she’s even better at it than Jenny. 

Matilda watches interestedly as Jenny pops the core out of the pepper and shakes the seeds into a bowl. She might try to grow some when it’s the season. Jenny slices half the pepper into long, thin strips; about the width of Matilda’s finger and only a bit longer. 

“Sniff it?” Jenny asks, picking up a strip and doing exactly that. Matilda takes one and hesitantly holds it to her nose. “What do you think?” 

“I don’t know,” Matilda says honestly. “I think I like it.” 

“Good,” Jenny says with a smile. “Think you’re up for giving it a nibble?” 

Matilda hesitates again, but she carefully chomps into it with her molars so she can get a feel for the texture and a hint of what sort of flavor it might have. She pulls a face at whatever she experiences and looks at Jenny in disgust. 

“Don’t like it?” Jenny asks, trying not to sway her voice one way or another. She can’t expect Matilda to like every single food she tries, and she knows one of Matilda’s biggest worries is disappointing her. 

She’s surprised when Matilda takes a bite of her piece of the pepper. She chews it thoughtfully and swallows before she shakes her head and gives the rest back to Jenny. 

“No, thank you,” she says quietly, almost like an apology. 

“Alright, love. More for me, then,” Jenny says. Matilda smiles and helps her cut up the rest of it, along with some broccoli so Matilda can still get a vegetable in. She sneaks a few bites of it raw before she adds it next to the pepper on a baking tray to be roasted with some oil, salt, and pepper. 

They chat about little things as they prepare the chicken and the pasta. Matilda helpfully stirs the Alfredo sauce they’re making to tie it all together while discussing some film Alice had told her about at recess that morning. They usually don’t spend much time in front of screens, but Jenny does have to admit that it sounds interesting. Might warrant a special day out. 

Matilda holds their saucepan steady while Jenny drains and adds the pasta, and watches eagerly as the broccoli gets tossed in too. They slice their cooked chicken breasts into chunks and add it in. Matilda’s gets plated up then. Jenny adds the bell pepper and dishes up her own portion. 

Jenny did secretly have an ulterior motive choosing to prepare this dish tonight. She knows how hard it can be to eat after a meltdown, especially something nourishing and filling. Matilda absolutely adores everything on her plate, as Jenny had learned through careful observation. The first time they’d had Alfredo pasta the then five-year-old had wolfed down three adult sized portions in a heartbreakingly quick manner. It’s become one of their staple meals ever since. Chicken and broccoli just make it an extra special treat; with some added nutrients as a nice bonus. 

Jenny smiles as Matilda seems to get some energy back now that she’s got something good in her belly and had some time to recover from the events of the afternoon. She’s smiling and chattering again, just like Jenny is used to. Jenny just smiles and listens as she eats her own dinner. 

“Could we watch the sunset?” Matilda asks as they do the dishes together. They’d split chores fairly evenly. Jenny does the laundry, Matilda sweeps and mops. They both pick up after themselves and do the cooking. But they both hate doing the dishes, so they do them together whenever they get a chance, just to make it the slightest bit more enjoyable. 

“I don’t see why not,” Jenny hums as she dries the last fork and hands it to Matilda to put away. “Why don’t you go fetch the blanket?” 

“Okay!” Matilda agrees, rushing off with a flourish. Jenny hangs the dish towel up and follows the sounds of her rooting through their hallway closet. 

Matilda hugs the rolled up blanket close and goes running out into their front lawn. They’ve taken to doing this almost every night they can. Sometimes they bring a book, sometimes they chase each other all through the trees and around the garden, sometimes Matilda shows off her best cartwheels and other tricks, and sometimes they just lie together on the ground and live. 

Those nights are their favorites. 

Jenny unrolls the blanket and kicks off her shoes, spreading out with a stretch on the soft quilt. Matilda does the same and tucks herself against her side. 

Some starlings chirp overhead and fireflies twinkle faintly around them. Neither of them speak. They simply listen to the music of the world around them. Bird songs, bugs chirping, the occasional breeze ruffling the highest branches of the trees, Matilda’s swing clonking against the trunk of the large oak tree it’s suspended from. 

Matilda fidgets with the hem of Jenny’s nightgown; simply to have something to occupy her hands. Her eyes are firmly on the sky, as the blinding blue turns to shades of purple and pink and orange, and the faintest of stars begin to twinkle as the sun ends another day’s journey. 

“Have you ever wished on a star?” she asks softly when the moon is in full glow above them. 

“Yes,” Jenny replies quietly. “I used to wish on them all the time when I was a little girl.”

“Me too,” Matilda says. “Did any come true?” 

Jenny turns her head at a strange angle to smile down at the child. “Yes, they did. Did any of yours?” 

Matilda simply nods and cuddles in closer. 

Jenny knows how this night will end. Matilda will eventually drift off, lulled by the peaceful, dulcet tones of nature around them and by the steady beating of Jenny’s heart. Jenny will undoubtedly end up carrying her inside and tucking her securely into bed. 

She doesn’t think she’s ever been so content to know something. 

“I love you,” she whispers, stroking the tips of her fingers up and down the arm Matilda has lying over her waist. “My miracle.” 

“I love you too, Mummy.”

—————

thank you for reading!! hope you enjoyed!!

[dinersaturn]

Now THAT’S HOW YOU ADAPT A MUSICAL

[merp-blerp]

I understand that the new Matilda movie is coming to Netflix, but that doesn't mean the OLC soundtrack had to be made unavailable in the USA 😕

[pintsofguinnesmakeyoustrong]

a handful of my favourite letterboxd reviews

bonus: the iconic, the legendary, the sensational ~

[deathbutwithfuzzyanimals]

Literally insane how Danny Phantom DCU crossover has more fics on AO3 than many smaller fandoms. This makes my best friend very mad when I point it out. It is also hilarious the number of people writing fics for the crossover fandom who have consumed neither source material and just know what they’ve read in fanfic. The people who built this fandom from the ground up really went ‘let’s make an entirely new media that people will consume and build upon and enjoy that has more plot and analysis of Danny Phantom than the actual tv show’. Truly the goncherov of fanfiction. West doesn’t exist. Red Huntress never had a name. There was a single episode about an ‘ice core’ that was never mentioned again and now ghost cores have almost consistent usage. Anyway I just appreciate the beautiful fandom that is to Danny phantom and DC comics what heathers the Musical is to Heathers the movie.

[stevenrogered]

Roald Dahl's Matilda the Musical (2022) | dir. Matthew Warchus 

[paleode-ology]

in every universe ms honey is the most perfect woman ever

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was starring in a play version of Matilda as the dad but when it was my time to show up on the stage, I couldn't find my hat and I panicked so much I woke up.

Before this I burned the stage down to make it more "movie accurate".

[elphabaoftheopera]

If I had a nickel for every time a child actress played Matilda in Matilda the Musical and then went on to star in a blockbuster horror movie I'd have two nickels

which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice

[ezzakennebba]

abigail 🩸

[secretagentsagainstwhatever]

Chicago, Cabaret, Moulin rouge, Anastasia, SIX, Matilda The Nightman Cometh

[okthatsgreat]

matilda wormwoods home life is very very tragic and sad yes but there is something very funny about how pathetic her parents are like not only do these two grown ass adults have beef with a five year old girl but they are also actively losing

[rococobimbo]

Shoutout to Miss Honey from Matilda fr, gotta be one of my favorite genders

[snekjoy]

The good (matilda 2022) the bad (dear evan hansen 2021) and the ugly (cats 2019)

[insert-cliche]

There is something so profound to the Matilda lyrics "you were just holding my hand, you were just there for me" because it implies that it's still my own responsibility to change my story, but it's so so so so important to have someone/some people to stand by you and JUST be there for you while you rewrite it.

[hojarascart]

We are revolting children! 

.

linktree