daredevilkink | Prompt Post #1

Entry tags:

prompt post

Prompt Post #1

THIS POST IS CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #2 TO DO THAT THING.

But please keep filling prompts on this post! Make sure to link any new fic on the complete or work in progress fills posts so it doesn't get missed.

Please read the current rules before commenting on this post.

Leave a prompt. Fill a prompt. Everyone wins!

Rules:

~~YKINMKATO. Play nice.~~
All comments must be anon.
~~If you fill a prompt, drop a link to it on the~~ ~~fill post~~ ~~so everyone find it.~~
~~Warnings are nice, but not necessary.~~
~~Use the subject line for the main idea of your prompt (pairing, kink, general wants).~~
~~All types of prompts are welcome.~~
~~Multiple fills are always okay.~~
~~RPF is allowed. Crossovers, characters from the extended Marvel Universe and comics canon are allowed, but must relate to the 2015 TV show in some way.~~
~~Drop a comment on the~~ ~~mod post~~ ~~if you have any problems with meme or the~~ ~~delicious~~ ~~account. If you crosspost to AO3, please add your fill to the~~ ~~DDKM collection~~!

~~ETA: we now have a~~ ~~discussion post~~! for anything you want to talk about.
ETA2: we have a ~~delicious account~~! it's only got the first ten pages of prompts at the moment, but mod is very slowly adding the rest. mod would greatly appreciate it if you put keywords in the subject of your prompts, because figuring out one-word summaries is hard. (for anyone who doesn't have a delicious account/hates the page style, use ~~this link~~)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Matt mentioned that he does not have any food in his apartment. Is this because grocery shopping is incredibly hard when blind? None of the prices are in braille can't read the labels on the Products, and it is very difficult to push a cart and use a cane. Being the bestest friend ever, does foggy come to his rescue?

i need ALL THE SLICE OF LIFE FICS you guys you don't even know

all of them

including like seven of this particular fic

So much yes!

I imagine he uses one of those services that delivers groceries to your door, like PeaPod or whatever. Maybe they don't deliver in Hell's Kitchen during all the explosions and stuff and suddenly Matt can't get food like he usually does?

In the comics, Matt is canonically a food snob and has like 50 kinds of tea. I imagine if he lived in my neck of the woods he'd be thrilled by all the snooty hipster organic grocery stores. I have no idea what grocery shopping is like in NYC so imagine your own local store for this one lol.
---

At first he thought it had been quiet enough that Karen and Foggy couldn't hear it until, "Hey, buddy, you hungry or what?"

Matt rubs the back of his head, embarrassed that the sound of his stomach had carried that far. "Sorry, I'm out of supplies at my place, didn't get around to picking something up for lunch."

Didn't feel like picking something up was more like it; even after two nights, with the bombings, Anatoly, and Fisk, he had been flopping between nauseated and starving, and his head continues a staccato beat no matter how much aspirin he takes. The idea of going to a grocery store after everything that'd happened was too much to even consider.

"What do you mean, out of supplies?" Karen prompts.

"I get a delivery every other week," Matt explains, and hears the little a-ha intake of breath as Karen has one of her unspoken 'how do blind people' questions answered. "One was supposed to arrive yesterday, but with the bombings... it may be a few days."

"So, what, you plan on living off of coffee and take-out until then?" Foggy clucks at him like a mother hen.

"I still have tea," Matt replies, almost able to feel the disapproving glare emanating from Foggy's direction.

"Oh no, that's not gonna fly. We're going on a field trip later. Ah-ah!" he interjects before Matt can protest, "I know grocery stores and you don't mix, but I'll help you out, okay?"

Karen flares with the warmth of Foggy's friendship and turns to shuffle some papers. She seems uncomfortable at times, as if she's a third wheel, and he struggles with how to include her in moments like these. He shrugs. "If you insist."

"'If you insist,'" Foggy repeats mockingly. "Yeah, I'm going to insist you don't starve, if that's okay by you."

"He's got you there," Karen adds, and maybe he doesn't have to worry about her after all.

This is how he finds himself standing in the doorway of whatever local grocery store Foggy goes to, assaulted by the myriad smells of the contents of the shelves and the incessant squeaking of poorly-maintained cart wheels. The human brain, no matter how chemically altered, can only process so much at any given time. He's being dramatic, of course, but that doesn't change the fact that he goes out of his way to avoid places like this with too many sensations.

Foggy nudges the back of his left hand and he obediently brings it up to the crook of Foggy's elbow. "No, grab the cart. It'll be easier."

"I'm not holding on to the cart with you," Matt says incredulously, thinking of the way he'd trail alongside his father, small hands weaved into the side of the basket and getting pinched when it inevitably turned in a direction he wasn't expecting, pulling his fingers into odd angles.

Foggy snaps him back to reality. "It's too crowded in here for your cane. Don't be such a baby and hold on."

Matt heaves a small sigh but does as he's told, moving his hand to the end of the cart's handle, the other bringing his cane up to his chest and out of the way. "I don't need much," he reminds Foggy. "Let's just get this over with."

It's not just an excuse to get out of there quickly; Matt tries not to keep more food around than he needs, and his bi-weekly deliveries are carefully chosen to give him just that. He finds excess food to be distasteful, partly due to a general dislike of waste, but also due to the unavoidable, irritating stench of food past its prime.

They walk up and down the aisles as Foggy throws out suggestions - Pop Tarts are two-for-one, assorted boxes of crackers are $1 off, ooh, vodka spaghetti sauce - but obediently only places what Matt requests in the cart - raw oats, free-range chicken, vegetarian-fed eggs, organic broccoli.

"I can taste the difference," Matt insists when Foggy tries to tell him the grain-fed eggs are almost half the price.

He isn't sure what Foggy's holding now, but by the familiar crinkle of the bag, he can hazard a guess. "Whatever that is, it had better not be those cheese things you're always eating."

"What's wrong with the cheese things?" Foggy says guiltily, putting the bag back on the shelf. "Cheese things are good."

"Sure, if you like chemicals," Matt sneers, and he swears he can actually hear Foggy roll his eyes.

"I forgot what a snob you can be about food, jeez." There's no heat to the words and Matt grins, but bumps his shoulder into Foggy's all the same.

"How about you throw in an avocado?" he asks, unable to resist as they pass through the produce section on the way to the registers.

"You will never let me live that down, will you?" Foggy groans. "I never claimed to be good at languages!"

"And apparently that includes English," he taunts.

Foggy offers to help him carry the bags home as they exit the store, but Matt waves him off. His left arm is rapidly cooling in the night breeze now that they're no longer walking so close together, and he shakes it off. "I'll be fine. Go home and eat your chemical puffs." He's pretty sure that Foggy just flipped him off, but also that he kind of deserves it. "And Foggy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Any time, buddy."

Outside on the sparsely populated streets he could hear Foggy's heartbeat clearly again, the steady thump-thump-thump an assurance that Foggy means what he said, as he always does.

So freaking cute! This fic is like the written equivalent of a warm hug.

This is the cutest thing, oh my gosh.

Matt the food snob is wonderful. I love how Foggy just rolls with it. Thanks for writing!

Aaaaahh, this is so sweet! Love it.

AWH, I love this! Nicely done, author!anon!

Aww, cute! Very nice fill.

Love this <3

Aww.

The summer after they finish undergrad, Matt and Foggy face the same rite of passage that all young men must eventually conquer: learning how to feed themselves.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Foggy says. "We can just order Chinese."

Matt shakes his head. "I think it's possible to overdose on MSG. It's called a heart attack, actually."

Foggy makes a dismissive sound. Matt can hear him throwing a baseball up and down and up again. "We're young, healthy, virile men. Besides, if we eat enough, we'll probably develop an immunity."

Matt doesn't bother answering that one. He's got six-pack abs to maintain, and his training regime is lagging now that he's living on a steady diet of General Tso's chicken. Stick would be ashamed.

"I'm going to the grocery store," Matt says, going to retrieve his cane from the corner by the door.

Foggy steps in front of him hastily. "You can't do that, Matt. We're not supposed to let the neighbors see us, remember?"

Hiding from the neighbors is the chief inconvenience of an illegal Craigslist sublet. It's especially inconvenient when they run out of toilet paper, or food.

Matt sighs. "It's two o'clock on a Wednesday. No one's going to see."

Foggy takes in a long breath, and Matt knows exactly what question is coming.

"Are you sure you can --"

"Yes, Foggy," Matt says, not bothering to let him finish. "Blind people go to supermarkets too."

***

Grocery shopping isn't as tricky as some people imagine. His dad had never been very good at it, so Matt had kept up with it even after the accident. It was the only way to avoid living on a diet of TV dinners they couldn't afford and Cheetos that reeked of yellow number six.

The produce section is easy. There's really no mistaking an artichoke for an ear of corn, or a bundle of asparagus for an avocado. The only problem is when the management asks him to leave if he spends too long sniffing out a perfectly ripe cantaloupe. Apparently spending twenty minutes sniffing melons looks creepy.

The meat section is pretty easy too, except the aroma of so much raw flesh gets overwhelming if he lingers too long. He doesn't need to spend very much time there anyway; only an idiot would mistake a whole chicken for a sirloin steak.

Dairy can result in unpleasant surprises when he's not paying attention -- like the time he grabbed the one carton of buttermilk hiding between the cartons of half-and-half. He should've smelled it, but he didn't. At least, not until he was pouring it into his morning coffee in an exhausted stupor.

For the rest of his shopping, he relies on memory. Protein powder on aisle seven. Canned goods on aisle two. The beans are at the end of the left side, and the cannellini beans he likes to put in chili are always on the third shelf -- or at least, they're supposed to be. Sometimes a random asshole discards a can of cherry pie filling right in the middle of the beans. Matt can never tell the difference; tin cans smell like tin cans, no matter what's inside.

This is why he makes a point of getting to know the clerks. Mrs. Chang, his favorite, works on Mondays and Wednesdays from twelve to six. She always warns him if the manager moved his favorite fruit cups to the other side of the store, and she says something if there's a random can of sardines mixed in with his pumpkin pie ingredients.

All in all, he's a much better grocery shopper than Foggy, who never checks to see if the eggs are broken and forgets the bread when he's distracted by a new flavor of Doritos. Of course, when law school hits, all their fledgling adulthood skills are put to the test. Foggy stops doing laundry, and Matt ends up making random grocery trips at 10:30 p.m., when the only clerk is a stoner who has no idea where anything is. Most of the time, it doesn't matter. Occasionally Matt comes home with surprises.

Those nights start with Foggy rifling through the grocery bag -- eagerly at first, because he likes to know what he's going to be fed. Then there's a pause.

"So...what's for dinner tomorrow?" he asks, voice carefully neutral.

"Chili," Matt says.

Another pause, and Matt knows Foggy is weighing responses. There had been an incidents in which Matt's experimental cooking techniques had clashed with Foggy's decidedly meat-and-potatoes tastes. Foggy had learned not to complain, at least, not if he wanted to be fed.

"Do we have to put pumpkin pie filling and olives in the chili?" Foggy asks finally. "I mean, if we could just do one or the other, that would be nice. I'm thinking the olives, but if the pumpkin pie thing is important to you..."

Matt drags himself off the couch and back to the kitchen counter. He pulls the cans out of the bag one by one, but they're all the same -- squat, fourteen ounces, smelling of tin and the dye used to print the labels.

"What else did I buy?" he asks.

He hears the cans clatter against the counter as Foggy picks them up and puts them down.

"Uh, canned asparagus. Gross. Some corn. We can work with that. And zucchini. Who eats canned zucchini?" He slides down onto one of their bar stools -- the one with the creaky leg -- and slaps Matt on the arm. "They rearranged the whole store on you again, didn't they?"

Matt sighs. He'd really been looking forward to that chili. "We'll order Chinese."

***

When graduation is looming on the horizon, Matt and Foggy decide to get their own places. It's the adult thing to do, right? Besides, Foggy's worried that girls don't like him because they think he and Matt are a couple. Matt's worried he'll kill Foggy if he sticks his fingers in one more weird dollop of mustard splattered on the outside of the jar.

Living alone has a lot of perks. There's no way to get sexiled from his own apartment, for one. He never has to contend with the aroma of Foggy's overflowing laundry hamper, for another. Best of all, he's free to organize the fridge however he wants. That means he can keep the condiments in alphabetical order, and he never has to sniff blocks of cheese that smell like sweaty gym socks while he's hunting for a block of cheddar.

The thing is, cooking isn't fun when there's no one to share it with. The shopping list dwindles to eggs and spaghetti and Raisin Bran, the bare minimum to make him feel like a responsible adult while he fills up the fridge with beer. He barely ever goes to the supermarket anymore, except for the Friday nights when he knows that Foggy will come over, open the fridge and ask what's for dinner.

Oh, I love this and I love that you built up more of the community around them, from nosy neighbors to helpful (and not-so-helpful) cashiers, nice!

Aw, that ending was so perfectly bittersweet. I love how much Matt loves cooking for Foggy.

Awwww <333

Oh, gosh, oh, GOSH, this was PERFECT, but that ending is so so sad! *whiiiines*

People think Matt's cupboards are bare because blind people cannot navigate the grocery store. They're wrong. There's no mistaking the smell of a ripe cantaloupe or the feeling of an artichoke beneath your fingers. Chicken legs do not feel like chicken wings, and if you do not feel like considering the subtle differences between a pork chop and a sirloin steak, you can buy it from the meat counter instead. For the rest there are apps that read labels -- not always perfectly, not always when the font is strange or the surface is curved, but well enough find the things you're looking for. You learn not to be picky about whether your peanut butter is chunky or smooth.

The difference between Matt and everyone else is that Matt only buys what he needs. Oatmeal is the best breakfast; a big cardboard canister of Quaker oats will last at least a month, longer if you make it stretch. Good weeks, you can make it with actual milk; bad weeks, you eat it with water and you don't complain. If you buy cereal, you grab the biggest box from the bottom shelf. It tastes like sugar and chemicals, the flavors of childhood. For dinner, you eat an egg or two. You fill up omelets with vegetable scraps and leftover meat from Sunday night dinner. Maybe you can sprinkle some cheese on top; maybe you can add the green tops from the scallions. No point letting those go to waste.

Matt remembers the dread in the pit of his stomach when his father, flush with cash after a big fight, came home with steaks. He wanted to say the meat wouldn't stretch, but the words died in his throat when he saw the smile on his father's face. Instead he pretended not to be hungry. He put half his steak back in the fridge; his father would need something good to eat before practice the next day.

There's money now to buy whatever he wants to eat, but thrift feels safe -- the only thing left from when his father was still alive, a relic of his childhood intact even though there are silk sheets on the bed and an Ivy League diploma on the wall. He scrapes his knife inside the mustard jar until there's not a drop left, eats the bananas even if he let them get too brown, never buys another container or rice till the last one is completely empty.

There are so many sins on his soul. Waste won't be one of them.

Oh my gosh, that ending, it just made me tear up. T___T

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Prompt Post #1

Matt Murdock vs Grocery Shopping

Re: Matt Murdock vs Grocery Shopping

Re: Matt Murdock vs Grocery Shopping

Re: Matt Murdock vs Grocery Shopping

FILL: Gourmet is Kinda My Thing 1/1

Re: FILL: Gourmet is Kinda My Thing 1/1

Re: FILL: Gourmet is Kinda My Thing 1/1

Re: FILL: Gourmet is Kinda My Thing 1/1

Re: FILL: Gourmet is Kinda My Thing 1/1

Re: FILL: Gourmet is Kinda My Thing 1/1

Re: FILL: Gourmet is Kinda My Thing 1/1

Re: FILL: Gourmet is Kinda My Thing 1/1

Re: FILL: Gourmet is Kinda My Thing 1/1

FILL: Rites of Passage (Gen, PG)

Re: FILL: Rites of Passage (Gen, PG)

Re: FILL: Rites of Passage (Gen, PG)

Re: FILL: Rites of Passage (Gen, PG)

Re: FILL: Rites of Passage (Gen, PG)

FILL: Waste Not

Re: FILL: Waste Not