Mother Mae-eye can get very lonely. Either she's trapped in a pie or surrounded by children, a generally plebeian audience. Sometimes what Mother needs, the love of her children, isn't, despite her own insistence otherwise, enough. She yearns for intellectual stimulation, a companion who she can feed from but will miss if they're baked into pie. She supposes that every Mother-figure isn't complete without a Father-figure to aid in her tyranny.
When the Brotherhood of Evil freed her from her pie, at first she was disappointed in the lack of children, or at least children who she could expect the pie to work on. Everybody eventually grows immune to her baked goods, adults who don't need their mother and naughty children who are rotten to the core. Or have suffered cranial trauma.
After the initial disappointment, Mother Mae-Eye, in her distress, found herself seeking the Father-figure.
Dr. Light? Not enough authority, a man must protect his family, after all. Killer Moth? He already has proven himself incapable of raising well-behaved children. Ding Dong Daddy? Despite the name, he is rather unsuited to the plight of Mother Mae-eye. Master of Games? Too furry, she doesn't do well with fur, that's why she feeds from children, not cats. General Immortus? Too old. Many of them are too young, or not human. Mumbo? She's slightly terrified by his complexion. Trident? Smells funny. Professor Chang? Gives her the creeps.
Then she met him. Mad Mod. History of child discipline, not over 200 years old, adorable accent, way of calling children by various endearments, not blue, capable. Perfect.
***
If Mad Mod wasn't flattered he didn't know what he was. Maybe in need of a glass of milk… wait. Never mind.
Old Moddie wasn't blind quite yet, so it was obvious to him that the floating matron giving him all sorts of sweets and listening avidly to his tangents about his beloved England very much fancied him. It delighted him to no end. He always knew that there had to be one sane woman in the world. It helped that she made a mean bread pudding.
Mad Mod had, at first, been a bit thrown off by the spoon, upon realizing his cane was also a peculiar weapon of choice, however, he decided a magic spoon was actually rather… cute.
There was something about Mother Mae-eye, all treats aside, that Mad Mod had no better word to describe it than cute. The darling little hands, the sweet little nose, the rosy cheeks, the silly giggles. She was a dollop of all things wonderful and sugary and good in the world. And if his teeth aren't an indication of a life-long sweet tooth, he doesn't know what is.
***
"Does my Moddie-Muffin like Mother's gingerbread?" Mother asked, watching as Mad Mod devoured her latest batch of, non-lethal, cookie-men, with gentle adoration.
"o'course I do, poppet." Mad Mod managed after a swig of milk. Honestly, at this rate he'll be losing his stick-like physique any day now. Both knew this to be her intent, and both knew what was coming next. Indeed, it had been coming since she first offered him a slice of cherry pie.
"Moddie-Muffin, will you…?"
"O'course, poppet." Mad Mod interrupted.
"Really?"
"Who else can put up with the little snots?"
Mother Mae-eye giggled her silly giggle and Mad Mod smiled briefly before shoving a large piece of gingerbread into his mouth. Mother looked pinker than usual.
***
Their time was limited, from when the Brotherhood was still recruiting until the final battle in Paris. They were frozen in a pile of one. In a pie, to be defrosted at a later date.
/end mark and disclaimer in one- I own nothing but a rather unusual thought/
Alright. This has been haunting my brain for ages and I was forced to write it by the powers that be. I think I may have invented a pairing here, because I can't say I've heard of it before. I don't know, wanna-be king and great baking just go hand in hand. And "Moddie-Muffin"? It just seemed to fit. And the bit at the end where they can tell what they're talking about without saying it? It's a grownup thing that I haven't quite figured out yet. I don't know, I had nothing better to do.