#woebegone matt

[thatcakelovingwitch]

✨College Life✨

[hotmothsummer]

Yeah I love hit fiction podcast *looks down at smudged ink on wrist* wobbegong

[ltacryptid]

who wants to show up at my house in the night after screaming and sobbing on a call with me for hours about death and how I could never understand. but I trust you and I love you and how could I reject you when you show up at my house scared and tired and bloody. illl feed you and clothe you and we can sleep in the same bed and it’ll be just like old days but you’re older now and you’re more tired and whenever you see me standing in my kitchen you flinch and you’re so much quieter and I can’t help but feel like you’re hiding something from me but it’s okay. because I trust you and I love you and how could I reject you when you sit on my couch and smile at me just like old times. I trust you and I love you but when I come out one morning and the sink is on and you are gone I do not cry because you are involved in things I could never understand.

[parkeryangs]

matt woebegone "they have accidentally caused a fire - how did they do it and how do they react to it?"

x

Matt was trying to make breakfast.

It was he and Mike's first morning in their new apartment. The place wasn't great; Mike had already found a mouse hiding in his bedroom the evening before, they didn't have any hot water yet and had to carry their trash half a mile to the nearest dumpster, but—well—it was home.

Mike is sleeping in and Matt is currently having trouble with the stove. Preheating the oven was simple enough, if the rapidly rising red numbers on the small display are anything to go by, but the stovetop seems to have it out for him in particular. The knobs keep catching, and, with Matt being used to electric stoves, the gas heating element alone is a new sort of beast, but after a few shameful Google searches and nervous frowns at the sharp exhale of gas from the lines, he gets it lit.

Dressed in nothing but boxers and a ratty old band t-shirt he’d probably stolen from Mike, Matt grins in satisfaction at the flames licking up around the back left burner and then digs through the cabinets for the secondhand skillet they’d unpacked the day prior, before a whirlwind of a shopping trip for the necessary groceries.

As much as he loves him, Matt hates shopping with Mike, for groceries in particular. Trips to a bookstore or anything of the sort were fine, but if they were buying food, Mike was never one to stray from the predetermined list, or spend more time in a store than was needed, even though Matt likes to wander and shop without a hyperspecific list in his mind. Usually they rush through it and will still manage to forget an item or two, but after a quick glance through the fridge, Matt thinks they've made it out fine enough.

He settles on making bacon and biscuits and gravy. The gravy was a mix that had come in a pouch, and the biscuits were canned, but Matt, well aware of his limitations in the kitchen, figures that Mike probably wouldn't even notice in his early morning haze, and would just be glad there was any food to eat, as they hadn't picked up anything prepackaged after Mike’s claim that they needed ingredients first, before anything else.

Still—fifteen minutes pass and the biscuits are in the oven, the gravy is done and thick enough to cut with a fork, just the way Mike likes it, and Matt is standing at the stove nudging strips of bacon around on the skillet. He feels Mike before he hears him, when two arms encircle his waist, the other clearly pleased as he then rumbles, voice heavy with sleep, “You really know the way to a man's heart, Possum,”

“Good morning,” Matt drawls in response, spine straightening with the unexpected touch. “Also, when did you get so quiet? Jesus, Mikey, I’ll have to put a bell on you,” Mike laughs at that, and Matt can already imagine the sort of smile that's crossed the other man's face, sleepy and sweet. Yearning to see it for himself, he gives the bacon a few more experimental prods with a fork before flipping them over, then twisting in Mike’s grasp amidst the low sizzle of the meat, coming essentially face-to-face with the other man as he shifts.

“You made breakfast,” Mike states flatly, though he's still grinning and there's a bright gleam of pleasure that Matt catches in his eye. “You made biscuits and gravy,”

“Yeah, y-yeah, I know how serious you are about biscuits and gravy. I, uh, hope it's edible; this stove is weird,” Matt says, all too focused on the soft curve of Mike's mouth in the dim half-light of the kitchen. He kisses him, then, just because he can, one hand finding its way to Mike's jaw as the other earnestly deepens the kiss.

Mike mumbles something about being glad he’d brushed his teeth already, then nudges Matt away from the stove, backing him hurriedly up against the fridge. Matt hears a magnet fall as his spine collides slightly too roughly with the stainless steel door, but can't find it in himself to really be bothered, all too enamored with the way Mike is already clinging to him like a lifeline.

Truthfully, neither of them can be sure when the fire started after that.

Matt smells it first—the sudden rush of smoke mixed with charred meat—and he all but tears himself away from Mike, hitting his head on the fridge door in the process. He curses at the spark of pain, then curses again when he sees the now-flaming pan, still perched neatly over the burner. “What the— I-I’m going to burn the fucking apartment down on our first day,” he hisses, then falling into another string of swears.

To his part, Mike has accepted this turn of events rather well, turning off the burner before darting towards the pantry and chattering half to himself about whether or not they'd grabbed a box of baking soda.

“Fuck,” Matt snaps again, frantically tearing through the drawers before snagging another pan, flipping it over to crush the flaming bacon beneath it and the other pan. This has the desired effect of killing the source of oxygen, treating him only to another nasty cloud of smoke after he lifts the pan off of the charred remains of their breakfast following an agonizingly long wait.

The other then opens the kitchen window without a word, fanning the smoke uselessly towards it. “Well. I think we should probably change the battery in the smoke detector soon, huh.”

Matt can't help but laugh, fidgeting with the burnt pieces of bacon in the pan. “I hope you like your bacon…crispy?” he offers with a shaky laugh, tipping the skillet to show Mike the wrecked remains. “Maybe ashy is a better word. I think it’d crumble if you tried to eat it; sorry about breakfast. I-I wanted to surprise you,”

“I’m plenty surprised,” Mike snarks quickly in return, before his gaze flicks in the direction of the pot of gravy and biscuits, untouched by the fire. “That still looks edible, though. A-and once you get past the burnt smell, it does smell good in here. You did good,”

Matt smiles, and, leaving the remains of the bacon behind, they eat biscuits and gravy on the floor of their living room, paper plates cradled in their laps and shoulders brushing together whenever one of them moves.

[falloutcoys]

Directors commentary for any of your woebegone fics! I love them all and I can't choose!

aaa thank you! I'll talk a bit about this house will never forget your name! i'm fairly proud of that one lol (of quite a few of my fics but esp this one)

Fanfic Writers: Director’s Cut

so, it started out from an ask game that was like "give me a lyric and I'll tell you what kind of fic I'd write with that title", and Finch sent in that. and him and I were already on an angsty Mattkey kick in the DMs, so it was on my mind.

Safehouse and Respite are two of my favorite early episodes and I really love the relationship they have where, no questions asked, Matt took him in. There's a couple lines talking about how Mikey didn't feel he deserved it, and how it was the house he killed Matt in, but I really felt like digging into that a bit more—I totally get why it wasn't addressed more in the ep, but that's one of the things fanfic is for lol, digging into things the show doesn't!

I had this idea of 'haunted house, but you're the one haunting it'. And it was very reminiscent to like, my own experience going back and living in a place that something very traumatic happened. It's always there, when you least expect it you turn around and it's like it happening again. And in canon even though it never it happened, it did once, and the remnants of that would remain (even if only in Mikey's head). All those disparate pieces fit together nicely and the fic just, happened haha

also not to toot my own horn but I really like the following line lol

He went skyrocketing past ‘giggly and distracted’ to ‘trapped in his own head’, which was the last place Mike Walters ever wanted to be.

also taken from experience, before i quit i kept getting trapped in my head every time i smoked and it SUCKED

[luxflora]

1. This (ryan & cannonball being forced to play woebegone, and ravi veing involved) is the funniest thing that's happened in this show since........ maybe the second pig Mike had to kill? Or Mike's extra credit challenge? It's fucking hilarious.

2. We stan Marissa and Matt.

3. Cole is INTERESTING. We shall follow his career with great interest.

[musicarenagh]

Matt Warren's Lyrical Catharsis in "It All Made Sense" Breaking through the surface of indie alt-folk genre, Matt Warren stirs a pot of raw emotions with his latest single, "It All Made Sense." Bared down to the basic instrumentation - sparse yet vibrant guitars, a kick drum beating like an anxious heart, the rhythmic whisper of a tambourine, and a voice seeped in genuine sentiment - this track goes beyond merely being music. It's an intimate journey woven into melody and rhythm. https://open.spotify.com/album/4taaeXXGZdYRDWud7oE1bM The first impression that seizes you when you lend an ear to "It All Made Sense," is its refreshing simplicity. The crisp acoustic instrumentation serves to underscore the intimate nature of Warren’s narrative, providing understated yet poignant harmony that is both resonating and comforting. Complementing the alluring guitar strings are soft rhythmic strikes on the kick drum and tambourine—an organic heartbeat infusing life into otherwise woebegone sentiments. However, where the song truly shines is through Warren's seamless fusion of relatability and introspection within his lyricism. Emerging from this male vocalist is a balladeer’s tale about love lost and self-discovery—from heartbreak to healing—that anyone navigating similar waters will find solace in. [caption id="attachment_52022" align="alignnone" width="1500"] Matt Warren's Lyrical Catharsis in "It All Made Sense"[/caption] Warren delivers these lyrics in subtle and controlled strokes. His smooth vocal performance requires no excess embellishment to hit home—it echoes every human's need for genuine connection and stings with every false promise received or given. His sorrowful baritone feels like a friend whispering words of commiseration on those cold nights when doubts creep in. "It All Made Sense" foreshadows towards what awaits listeners in his forthcoming album 'Excited to Die'. It illustrates how he explores solitude from different angles—a place where it could indeed lead to catharsis or spiral down into a pit of despair. As such, this single has stirred anticipation as fans eagerly wait to hear the other adroit ways he promises to navigate these potentially treacherous sonic terrains. Matt Warren's "It All Made Sense" is a gem inside the landscape of indie music that will remain stuck in your head, not for its catchiness but for its raw depiction of reality. It's a comfort song for those in pain and illuminates the heart-wrenching beauty of human emotional experiences. Your vibe might be mellow when you send this track spinning; however, your mind won't stop disentangling his web of emotions long after the last chords have faded. Follow Matt on Bandcamp, YouTubbe, Instagram and Twitter.

[writer59january13]

MINDFULNESS = PSYCHIC SURVIVAL.

My motto comprises to exalt in this moment rather than delude myself with any grandiose illusions.

PREFACE: PREPARE TO SET ASIDE A PARTIAL ETERNITY TO PERUSE THE CONTENTS OF THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE.

Ohm my...volt a mort... coalescence of coaxed friendship analogous to miarculous birth

whoa there lovely reader, no doubt without resistance,

your smile can generate

amp pull power to light up earth noah matter this totally tubular stranger

unknown to thee as Adam, evokes an aura, charisma, enigma,

patina, persona...wis spurs this note to kindle courtesy tinder warm fine companionable individual connection

exuding sheepish mirth

per intuiting your wool e worth.

I enjoy making accessible, convincible, evincible, gullible, intelligible,

kissable invoking comments perhaps on account oof a cerebral dent though many respondents rage at this gent sans his playful wordiness leant

only genuine acquaintanceship meant,

and their valuable time spent to decipher my gibberish, which binary logorrhea might rent asunder unsuspecting cyber surfer

evicted out the human league

since possessing propensity

for presenting ambitious, burdenous, conspicuous, disadventurous, onerous,

and tremendous cerebral task necessitating hours decrypting blurb subsequently forcing whatever gender appended recipient

to an anonymous he/she,

forsaking their precious time maybe even unwittingly affecting individual impacting his/her employment ending result they/them live in a tent.

This poet knows a mew lion

ranges of feline artful dodging cat skills, (especially when cavorting among comedians associated and linkedin with Borscht Belt - ha) concocting incomprehensible confusing trills.

Some of these claws pickling skills include maintaining mouse sized dignity muttering cheeses crust (while under fire from Stuart little), kibitzing, nibbling on self crafted bon mots, and rubbing dead giveaway crumbs (from double entendres) using all faux paux into thy maw paw cent less whole foods masticating mouth, where commestibles enter without choppers.

Sanguine at one hundred minus thirty six, or two squared + three squared + four squared + five squared + square root of one hundred = an apt and pithy phrase to matt's matrix labyrinth best characterized as a twisted maze (along a boulevard of broken dreams) lodged deeply inside this dutiful dada shackled to an endless role of scullion, but silently gesticulated for salvation.

This spruced up fun guy (and not unduly coy -- see) pines for friendship to cure nostrum from domestic plight i.e. living like a caged rat in cell bite size state.

Just a spoonful of sugar (hummed to that classic mary poppins melody) will most definitely help this medicine go down.

Mine current existence like a modern Henry David Thoreau bound by dependency of the twenty first century civilization.

After perusing this rambling prose (from mine being psyche feeling walled in), you might judge this personal struggle more on a par with Oliver Twist.

I sincerely seek salient gallant wings (with or without dish pan hands) to take this humble human being who can (ha) bring a fairy tale ending to my Cinderfella patterned existence.

Away I want to soar no matter such fantasy a fool's paradise.

An extra ticket to paradise (actually four powerball tickets bought today – September 7th, 2023 for that reason) just needs to be made manifest, and thee could be a boon, balm, salve, and tonic plus receive preferential treatment to travel in tandem with one stranger in a strange land.

Only upon surrendering to a deep and peaceful boss ah nova heavy metal sleep, (which dream state will take place soon) does the fictional world (within the wide wedded web of this wayward thinking wanderer) take hold and serve up a brief hiatus to a life devoid of contentment.

This amateur baker would cook up a souffle or rhubarb ken pie if willingly processed from mine own personal lake woebegone awash with raw bits of flotsam and jetsam and empty boxes of powdered milk biscuits, the one with big blue stains on the outside.

San sol invictus served ancient civilizations as their com-stock load.

Like a modern day icarus this wedded warbler mulls the possibility of finding a real live likeness of what constitutes a hologram of his mythic muse, who exudes able bodied confidence donning every filament.

Keep on dreaming cyber buddy, an anonymous reader might think, telepathically communicate or even communicate via email, which idealism goads me to broadcast the following fanciful (and perhaps not so far fetched) feasible find among the frequent purveyors of this website.

The vague nebulous barely perceptible kernel of a fictional account per my own conjured up vision (as pertains to what might comprise a companionable buddy to me) could conceivable materialize into an actual arch de triumphant revelation once landing this wistful nugget of an idea into the conscious of unconscious mind of an unknown galivanting fellow writer, who just by a fluke (of the worm holes populating the universe) finds themself piqued with curiosity about me.

Not a whit of information yet exists about this dabbler of prose, who envisions himself in seventh heaven (no matter he in truth really admits to espousing an atheistic outlook on the cosmos), where fickle finger of fate (usually the middle one raised by an obstreperous onlooker) ideally finds me all in the family within human species able to articulate in a civilly (disobedient) and democratic manner emotions, ideas, sentiments and thoughts with an unpretentious air of sophistication.

Said Homo sapien (meaning balsamic scented hominid) would also possess a cosmopolitan demeanor, yet clear of all any modest knotty suaveness, but also able, eager, ready and willing to allow, enable and provide quite an ability to get into an amazing tangle of literary profundity.

This older fellow seriously believes he got borne in an in apropos century and revels in another illusory consideration - aside from trying to summon forth a living gal of flesh and bone from this overactive imagination maybe an accompanying bipedal hominid within medium of time travelling.

Frequent farcical notions flit to and fro inside the biggest sex organ triggering bonafide premature ejaculations of bonhomie. Case in point hair with not an immensely large head.

This wordsmith would feel at home if transported to the renaissance or medieval ages, or more recently that war between the north and south.

If hedging bets with yours truly being a reincarnated union soldier of yore, you no doubt already can infer, where thy political and more pertinently national federation of me as singularity amidst webbed wide world would get cast.

Okay, the original aim of (what many might hashtag as yahoo) really wishes to explore make believe world, and just maybe prick inquisitive online browser, who although she might not be seeking male relationship just by happenstance or circumstance experiences some inexplicable necessity to reply.

In the event should lady luck liberate yours truly would be like a divine guiding star, I know best to tamp down any precipitous illusions of grandeur, but would let the natural course of familiarity usher the chap a roan of sacredness to be cherished for however short or long such a friendship might endure.

Oh yes, an ongoing (specifically offline) interaction motivates this doubting thomas fool hardy spurious posting to be ransacked with absolutely total consent in an effort to be plucked from this (utterly difficult to describe) morass of contemptuous husbandry discontent with self, yet consideration to stay faithfully married with wife (since July 25th, 1996) would be a moderately strong consideration.

So, now with a zing

or an unexpected

gold plated invitation after yodeling hoop ye kin be a yang 2 me yin Asia step into the digital xing via summit da fall low wing written ass jest byte ting

tongue in cheek unsure if phone will ring in an effort to hear pleasant,

yet discordant musical ka -- ching for cherished pennies, nickels, dimes,

et cetera from heaven to bring.

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

@incorrect-woebegone-quotes Matt and Mikey

Person A: Why is it that only halfway through a conversation I realise that I've been oversharing all along?

Person B: Still better than realising it after the conversation is over and overthinking about it till 3 a.m.

[mintgelato]

heard the call and as a caught up woebegoner I went into a frenzy to fill this out. notes:

if we wanna reach I think you could make a case for the matt car crash as a tragic backstory and the different iterations as sidekicks

all the wisecracking is what keeps the Intense bar from being totally full lol

I do think he qualifies as both an angstlord and a poor little meow meow. at least in my heart y’know. like we’ve reached that point

and yes the things I want him to have are incredibly conflicting ok I love drama and I especially love to see mike walters in Situations

[workingforitallthetime]

ok your tag about briss being perfect for vegas got me thinking! he really does suit vegas. maybe it’s the socal in him but he was meant to play hockey somewhere where it never snows lol.

but… any thoughts on our other rookies fitting their teams’ vibes?

this is a fantastic question, anon. brendan is of course exhibit A of a player being drafted to exactly the right place (i think i dumped my thoughts on this into the accidental marriage fic). but here are some other rookies (or so) whose vibes align with the team that picked them:

trevor zegras/ANA: sunny. unbothered. a strange experiment that somehow worked out really well.

jack hughes/NJD: this could be a bit of a chicken or the egg thing. do the devils have bratty kid brother vibes bc they drafted jack, or did they draft jack bc they had bratty kid brother vibes? either way the shoe fits.

matt boldy/MIN: i’m so glad that minnesota summoned this tall socially awkward scandinavian to his spiritual home. (note: i have no idea what boldy’s heritage actually is. but that is a man who looks like he grew up in lake woebegon.)

spencer knight/FLA: you forget all about them but they’re out there being very competent.

shane wright/SEA: they’re trying so hard, you guys. so hard! alexa play brutal by olivia rodrigo.

seth jarvis/CAR: endearingly ugly fast-as-fuck boy fits right in on the island of misfit toys.

isaac howard/TBL: look, we all saw the suit.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

first couple episodes of woe be gone i was like ‘oh this might be a little too scary for me, especially listening to it alone in the dark’, but actually it’s super funny:

“Dragging a body into the woods and covering it up is hard, etc etc etc. You may well have noticed that I perpetually underestimate how difficult these challenges are going to be from a physical standpoint. Maybe I need to start hitting the gym. CANNONBALL was probably great at dragging corpses into the woods. I was super jealous.“

��She was too small to move a body, so I was there to help with that. Maybe most importantly, I was also there to tell her that she was doing the right thing. She absolutely wasn’t, obviously, but it was important that I tell her that she was.”

“With her playing, I won even if she won. It was like having 2 bingo cards. It would be nice going into a conversation with CANNONBALL holding all the cards. They’re playing cards now, not bingo cards, we’ve changed metaphors.”

“But if she doesn’t kill me and someone surpasses her in the game then I die. And if she kills me, I die. People die when they are killed!”

“Scruff is a dating app, mostly for masculine gay men looking for other masculine gay men, but its use is a little bit broader than it sounds from that description and its more feature-rich than Grindr and apparently there are local guys in your area who are down to alter spacetime tonight.”

“I could use the money. It’s not like I’m out here doing ad reads. Don’t you hate standing on your mattress at the post office? Then, you need socks. Warby Parker socks. Whether your hairline is receding while you hike through the  forest in the pacific northwest or your dick doesn’t work right while you sit and write a script for a podcast, Stamp.com is right for you. Enter code WOEBEGONE to get 10 stamps.coms with your first Squarespace order.”

“I have to get ready for my heist. My new heist, much different from my old heist where I opened a door and walked inside a room where I didn’t get the thing that I went there for. The kind of heist where I snake my arm into a mailbox and hope that there is an envelope in there.”

“I was hesitant to put in earbuds and listen to music or a podcast because I didn’t know how if it would mess with the results and I didn’t want to be caught off guard. There could be any sort of surprise out here waiting for me.

Do you remember the cold open? :) Do you remember what the title of the episode is? :) :) Have you figured out what the surprise that was waiting for me was? :) :) :) Are you tired of standing in line at the post office? Then you need Stamps.com[cut]

So there was a bear after all”

“As a murderer myself - not to brag - I know how conflicted I was when I killed Matt.”

“It was my time to strike. And then when I actually struck, it turned out that it was me that hit by / I was hit by / a smooth criminal, Ryan. Except Ryan might not have been a smooth criminal at all, just a… rough miscreant like me. Anne, are you okay? Are you okay, Anne? And that’s enough of that. Too much, even.”

“This whole operation goes much higher than some guy that I met on Scruff one time. Actually, now that I say that out loud, of course it does.”

“But friends manipulate each other all the time, right? Maybe not on purpose, but if you know someone really well and you want them to act in a certain way, then you can do or say things that make them likely to do those things. It just sounds worse the more I elaborate, I’m really digging a hole here.”

“And you know what they say: you can’t make an omelet without tricking someone into shooting Mike Walters. That might be a regional saying.”

[ltacryptid]

MUTUALS do I kin Matt from woebegone or am I just insane

(I haven’t listened to ANY recent episodes. I’m on like. 50)

[cornfields-and-bad-dreams]

We should be lovers instead

Fandom: Achievement hunter, royal au.

Pairing: Jeremy/Matt

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,820

Matt and Jeremy were close, closer than a prince and servant should be. The two were best friends and had been since a young age. It was Matt's sixth birthday and the castle was filled with party guests. Of course, Matt didn't really care about all the people, hell he didn't care about the presents, he was used to the way people would try and please him whether it be by words or gifts. What Matt cared about, what he wanted was his cake. He'd always been a very food-driven child, and as a prince, it was his right, was it not? But Matt was expected to sit and stay as party guests, the majority of which were adults, trickled in and out to try and appease him.

Matt was not an idiot by any means of the word, in fact even at his young age, Matt was quite sharp. He knew the party was less about him and more about the grand show of it all, his parents liked to have lavish parties and at any chance to throw one they did. An upside to this though was that his parents and everyone else in attendance were more occupied with their own enjoyment to pay attention to him. This gave Matt the perfect opportunity to sneak off to the kitchen.

Stepping into the kitchen Matt was met with the aroma of many food dishes. And right in the middle of the kitchen on a counter sat the most beautiful cake Matt had ever seen. It was chocolate with chocolate frosting a chocolate drizzle, dollops of whipped cream, and adorned with strawberries. Surprisingly the kitchen was empty, or at least it appeared to be. As Matt made his way over to the cake a voice from behind him spoke up.

"I don't think you're supposed to have that yet."

Turning around Matt was met by another young boy his age or younger. The boy shuffled his feet and looked down.

"Your highness." The boy added, "B-but it is your party, and I just work here in the kitchen." The boy took a step back and bowed nervously.

"You don't have to do that," Matt spoke softly

The boy gave Matt a confused look.

"You don't have to call me your highness, or bow. You can just call me Matt. And I know I'm supposed to wait for the cake, but it's been hours and no one is paying attention. Do you want some cake too?"

The boy looked around the kitchen then nodded slowly, a smile creeping onto his face. The two boys giggled and made their way over to the counter, pushing two stools up to it the boys climbed up and started to cut into the cake.

"I didn't know there were any other kids in the castle, what's your name?" Matt asked as he removed a big slice of cake.

"Jeremy."

"Well, Jeremy I hope we can be friends."

After that day Matt and Jeremy spent more time together and Jeremy was eventually made Matt's personal servant, meaning they got to spend even more time together. Over the years the two grew closer and closer to the point where they were nearly inseparable, anywhere one went the other followed, they'd stay up late together, and even sleep in the same bed from time to time. Even when tragedy struck and Matt's parents were taken from him, Jeremy was there for him in his time of need.

As prince regent, Matt ruled the land, and it was a stressful job. Yet Jeremy was there by his side and that gave him strength. Yet the day came that Matt was expected to marry. No king without a queen and a kingdom needed a king. Matt had no idea what he was going to do, he hadn't given it any thought until then. Matt's royal advisory had a solution, yet it was one Matt was not pleased with. They suggested for Matt to spend time with a multitude of royal and noblewomen as to hopefully meet someone he liked. It was a simple solution, and one that was rather standard, but still Matt had no interest in meeting anyone. It felt wrong to Matt, he'd always imagined that he'd meet the right person and fall in love naturally over time. He hadn't expected to be thrust at many different women and forced to choose one so quickly. Yet Matt was given no choice, the kingdom was growing restless and the people wanted a queen. Thus the search for the perfect bride commenced.

The women came in droves to meet Matt and with everyone that came through the castle doors, Matt noticed a change in Jeremy. It was hard to put a finger on at first, Matt felt like things were different but couldn't tell what it was. Jeremy seemed more on edge, quicker to anger, and a bit distant. Then Cassandra entered the picture.

The advisory had grown tired of waiting for Matt to choose and decided that if he didn't choose someone soon they would choose for him. Matt thought long and hard about all the women he'd met and eventually came up with the decision that Cassandra was the most pleasant one he'd met. Not to say he liked her, he just disliked her the least. Matt began spending more time with her, getting to know her, and hoping that if he tried hard enough he might convince himself he'll be happy with her. But as soon as he'd started spending time with her Jeremy completely changed.

Jeremy watched from the sidelines as women practically threw themselves at Matt, he began spending more time with them than he did Jeremy. Jeremy knew that this wasn't what Matt wanted, that he was only doing this to please others, but still, a part of him was hurt. Yet Jeremy stuck it out, a part of him denying the inevitable and denying the truth of his feelings. Jeremy had convinced himself this jealousy was platonic, that he only saw Matt as a friend. But then Matt actually made a decision, and Jeremy couldn't stand it anymore.

Jeremy shut down, isolated himself, and actively avoided Matt. Anytime he had to be around him he was curt, and he only referred to Matt as your highness or your majesty as opposed to his name as usual. Every day he woke up to find her still in the castle and every night he would cry himself to sleep. Jeremy had finally accepted the truth, both about Matt and Himself. Matt was going to marry Cassandra and Jeremy was in love with him.

Jeremy couldn't stay in the castle any longer, he couldn't watch as Matt married someone else, he had to leave. Drawing up a note Jeremy left it where Matt would find it and hurried to his room.

Jeremy packed quickly yet silently, aiming to leave as soon as possible, the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching his door pulled him from his task. His door swung open and the prince entered hurriedly, his pace slowed with each step he took into the room until he was standing an arm's length from Jeremy. Matt eyed the bag Jeremy has been packing, his gaze quickly turning to the man himself.

"You're, actually leaving." Matt absentmindedly played with the hem of his shirt, rubbing and pulling at it, balling it up in his hands.

"Yes. I'm afraid I cannot stay here much longer." He turns away as he speaks, unable to meet Matt's eyes.

"Jeremy, what are you talking about? What's wrong? You haven't been acting like yourself." Matt moved forward taking hold of his wrist, yet Jeremy pulled free.

Stuffing the rest of the clothes he has laid out into his bag he secured it shut and pushed past Matt sheepishly.

"I'm sorry your highness, but I'm unable to find happiness here anymore."

Matt's eyes widened and his jaw fell open, he stood frozen for a second processing Jeremy's words and his retreating form moving for the door. Snapping back to action Matt raced in front of Jeremy, his left arm catching his right shoulder as he practically drifted around to stop before him.

"Why..." The sudden action having caught Jeremy off guard forces him to look Matt in the eyes and as he does he rips the words out of Matt's throat. Tears well in his eyes as he looks down on the shorter man, he wishes to speak so badly but nothing will form.

Jeremy's heart ached, this wasn't what he'd wanted, this wasn't how he'd planned things to go. Jeremy knew he couldn't spare Matt lament but he'd hoped to leave without seeing it himself, this was selfish, Jeremy knew that, and he was deeply ashamed. Placing a hand partially over Matt's, he gave it a squeeze. Closing his eyes he leaned in to rest his cheek against the exposed fingers, looking up at

Matt with woebegone eyes a bittersweet smile graces his lips.

"I wish you happiness in your marriage," he speaks.

In a split second, Matt is hit with realization and clarity, Matt pulls Jeremy in closer by both shoulders as the tears in his eyes break free. The two men are closer than they have ever been before staring eye to eye, their breath fanning across each other's lips.

"Matt." it's his own name whispered on Jeremy's breath that pushes him the final inch, he connects his lips with Jeremy. His left arm moves to wrap around him holding him close while his right-hand cups the back of his head. It feels like an eternity that they stand in their embrace before Matt pulls away.

"I've been a blind man, blind to my own feelings and yours. Blind to what I was doing to you. I'm sorry Jeremy, I'm so sorry." More tears stream down his face and he gives a small hiccuping sob. Jeremy holds his face brushing away his tears as he shakes his head ever so slightly.

"I've been just as blind, we're both to blame. I forgive you if you forgive me."

Matt leans into Jeremy's touch.

"With my heart and soul."

Jeremy kisses Matt again, drawing back to look at him.

"What about Cassandra and the advisory? They're not going to be pleased."

"To hell with them, you're the only thing I want, the only thing I need."

"But the people want a queen."

"Are two kings not as good as one?"

"This is unorthodox."

"I've never been one to follow rules."

The two laugh, Matt slips a ring off his finger and places it on Jeremy's.

"Must I propose, or may I presume you'll say yes?"

"A thousand times over."

Matt pulls Jeremy close tucking his head below his chin.

"I promise, things will turn out well for us. Even if we have to fight for it."

"I love you."

"And I you."

[arcticdementor]

Thinking about how one really could write a dissertation-length paper about the socio-politico-cultural significance of and reasons for the fact that conservatives defend Chik-fil-A more passionately than they oppose abortion. I’m thinking a lot could be written about the alienation and atomization of American conservatives, due to many factors like suburbanization/exurbanization and spending so much time in their cars that they only feel safe there, such that they feel most connected to and identify most with a drive-thru window. One could also apply the class analysis in Paul Fussell’s book — are these people afraid of table service and the socially fraught interactions it involves, kind of like Garrison Keillor’s family’s comic nightmare of an experience eating at a restaurant in “Lake Woebegone Days”? Are they the type that regards tipping as a swindle? And, of course, one can see the fully domesticated nature of conservatism — the factory farming used to produce the meat-on-demand-while-you-wait-in-your-car is mirrored in the way conservatives think political “activism” is buying a chicken sandwich in a wrapper and eating it, something they are likely to do on any given day anyway. They are practically in the same cages as the birds, and about as “active.” And the behavior of conservatives when they see a black person on the same side of them in a political conflict is indistinguishable from the behavior of under-30 gay men out at a bar on Friday night when a drag queen steps onto the karaoke stage.

Matt in VA

[hqassemble]

𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐄, MATT MURDOCK. the avengers need you. you have 12 HOURS to report to headquarters, or they might find a replacement. CHARLIE COX is now taken. 

( CHARLIE COX + HE/HIM + MALE ) ; another returned walked into PADDY’S today. all they told me is that they’re called MATT MURDOCK & they’re A LAWYER i can’t believe they were ACTION when the first snap happened, they must be glad to be back with FOGGY AND KAREN. they’re doing their best to readjust to being back, trying to stay BUOYANT but sometimes, they can’t help but be WOEBEGONE. whenever i see THE COLOUR RED, AND PUNCHING BAGS, it always reminds me of them. they’ve been heard calling themselves DAREDEVIL because of their SUPERHUMAN + ECHOLOCATIVE RADAR SENSES AND ACROBATIC, MARTIAL ARTS AND STICK FIGHTING. it looks like they are a part of the NEW AVENGERS group. i hope they survive everything that’s coming next & readjust to being back. ( s, 18+, gmt, she/her )