٠ ࣪⭑JUST A GARDEN? NO SUCH THING ٠ ࣪⭑
-Reader: FEM reader -TW: none -Character: Dr DOOM (Marvel series) -Summary: You are a struggling reporter and writer . Just when you thought you could lose your job, THE Doom sends you a letter inviting you for an interview. This is an incredible lifetime opportunity. -Word count : 1675 -Music to listen to: Vicarious -A/N: One of the first I'm writing for Doom, he's my favourite character. I was so devasted when they revealed the actor for the film..sigh,,, I'M GONNA WRITE MORE
"So…Your Majesty,.."
Uneasiness urged you to address him in a specific manner. However, despite your attentive choice of words, there was still no response from him. The silent atmosphere was occasionally interrupted by birds chirping. As soon as you stepped through the gates of the garden you were greeted by a marble fountain that decipted a robust figure in a robe with an upturned palm towards the sky. Water cascaded from its palm in endless streams, pooling in the ornate basin below. You didn't immediately recognise the craftsmanship. It was presumably an old Latverian monument, no doubt sanctioned by Doom to endure through time.
Trying to steady yourself and avoid stuttering in front of him, you coughed into your sleeve.
"I've recieved your letter. Twice,actually"
To begin with, you are a struggling reporter and writer, barely managing to publish anything beyond the usual pieces for your local community theatre and pet parades, certainly not the kind of person who covers international political enigmas such as Doom himself. So, when you first saw the beautifully crafted letter in your mailbox, you were pretty skeptical. Maybe it was just an awful joke from one of your coworkers who faked a cursive and elegant font to be accurate, a wax seal, and fancy textured paper that felt too regal from your regular letters. Rolling your eyes, you decided to set it aside on your desk.
The next week brought another letter. Identical in appearance, but this time more insistent about an interview. Yet again, you still weren't convinced…However, the signature…it was unmistakable. That afternoon, you spent it comparing it, searching for verifications on the internet, again and again…and the moment of realization finally struck. A wave of anxiety washed over you.
Now you are here. With him. The plane tickets, your luggage with all your essentials and your temporary room for that day had all been paid on his behalf.
Meeting Doom in person was scary, to say the least. Tall and imposing, he exuded a cold aura of authority that felt almost suffocating, dressed from head to toe in heavy armour, fancier than the ones commonly seen in public broadcasts. Everyone in his presence felt smaller, as if gravity bent in his favour. Worst of all, you couldn't read a single expression behind that iron mask that concealed his features. And yet, beneath that impenetrable facade, there were occasional, almost imperceptible shifts in his voice.
Still, he hadn’t been unkind. Just…eh...unreadable.
He hasn’t said much since greeting you, he led you calmly through the garden’s stone paths, his cloak swishing behind him. His gloved hand briefly brushed a nearby wall as he walked, until eventually, his gaze rose to the statue that hovered above the fountain, a sculpture that depicted himself.
"A scholar once claimed Doom's land had no soul," Doom mused, mostly to himself, stepping closer to the fountain. "That it was cold, ruthless, lifeless…Writer, Doom invites you to share your perspective. Doom would be eager to be impressed."
You held your breath for a moment, and for the first time in your life, except for that one time during a university exam, you were frozen in place. Who wouldn't be? This interview could literally change your life. Having had the privilege of a private interview with Doom himself. Your lips moved before your brain could come up with a carefully crafted sentence.
"It certainly is imposing, not just a mere decoration for a simple garden-" you glanced at his back "-Old, but carefully preserved. It's not lifeless, just… restraint-"
He turned his head slightly. There's a pause, a moment of consideration, perhaps.
"You are not what Doom expected."
There was no sarcasm, just an observation. Brutally honest, the best you could expect from him. Was it a death threat? Should you be more scared than you already were?… Was he being nice…?
You weren’t entirely sure whether that was a compliment, a warning, or something in between.
Still, you smiled faintly and lifted your notebook from your bag, pen already in hand.
“I get that a lot,” you muttered, then cursed yourself internally. Smooth. You were going to get killed and then banished from Latveria for the rest of your days in every universe.
The atmosphere was eerily quiet. He didn’t laugh. Of course, he didn’t. Yet, the faint shift in tone when he next spoke almost sounded like… amusement.
"Come" He said. You had to shake off your overthinking and refocus on reality. Without looking at you, Doom continued. “There are older parts of the garden as well. Places even ministers do not enter without Doom's permission. There, you could begin Doom's interview”
ᯓ★
Not exactly Pulitzer Prize material, but at least in your head, you guessed it was something. You were still trying to sound composed, professional, but it wasn’t easy. His presence had made you feel scared shitless of him, and honestly, part of you still was. He could disintegrate you in a fraction of a second with just a flick of his wrist. One wrong word, one misplaced comment, and you might end up as ash.
From the moment you walked into the garden, you felt like you were walking on eggshells. Your voice was a few notes higher than usual every time you asked a question. But you had to do this interview, and you were already imagining how the headline would look.
Fancy text, maybe you could imitate the Latverian cursive to captivate a wider and curious public. Best of all, a catchy title :
“An Afternoon in the Garden of Doom.” Or maybe it would be best to come up with another title once you get home and brainstorm different ideas.
Without question, it would be the talk of the town,…no, even better. The talk of the ENTIRE continent. This thought alone gave you another rush of adrenaline, so much so that you could already picture your editor’s shocked face, jaw on the ground as you laughed smugly at him.
A soft huff of amusement echoed from behind Doom’s iron mask, barely audible beneath the faint whir of his armour. His gaze remained fixed on you, unmoving, waiting for your next insight.
Snapping out of your thoughts, you continued, "-Why the choice in this pose?" gesturing towards the statue, one of the many meticulously carved in stone, robed and dignified.
You didn’t wait for his answer. Instead, you scribbled in your notebook feverishly, noting every word, every pause, the curve of the paths, the placement of the flowers, even the fact that the vines had clearly been trimmed by precise hands, perhaps by one of his many doombots.
He never snapped. He never brushed you off. If anything, he seemed… oddly tolerant. Maybe somewhat amused…? Akin to a pet owner observing his hamster performing little tricks to earn trinkets.
Hours passed and the sky unfolded slowly, casting long shadows across the tall hedges. A strange rhythm settles between the two of you: while you moved from statue to statue, corner to corner, every so often coaxing another answer out of him, he actually responded, calm and collected, at every answer.
Patient, calm, collected. As if he had all the time in the world acting more like a guide rather than a tyrannical ruler, and for now, you were allowed to borrow a fragment of his time. Everything felt as though time and space had just suspended, held in place by Doom’s will alone.
The garden’s silence grew denser with each passing step as a gentle gust of wind whispered through the hedges. Soon, another statue came into view.
It was Doom again, unmistakably. Yet this composition felt… different from the previous ones. There was a figure, a woman of early middle age you assumed, beside him. One of her hands rested gently on his armoured forearm. Her expression was serene. There was no label or plaque accompanying the sculpture, which left you pondering. The atmosphere surrounding it suggested you of something deeply personal.
The question came cautiously, with the tone one might use when stepping onto sacred ground.
“A relative? Or a… particular muse?” You tentatively pointed towards the new female figure.
For a moment, the air felt heavier, and the wind stilled. He remained silent for quite some time.
"My mother," He looked first at the statue before meeting your gaze directly. At that point, you realized it would be best not to ask any further questions.
it was then that you understood.
This wasn’t the place to dig further.
No follow-up questions. No clever comments. Just a slow, respectful nod as you lowered your pen slightly. You weren’t in the right current position to ask him further questions.
Noticing your stiffness, Doom turned, his cloak shifting with the motion, and began to walk toward the next path, expecting you to follow him.
The dense and towering hedges loomed above you, creating intricate pathways. To truly explore that garden, you would need more than just a single day, perhaps more than several…
ᯓ★
The notebook you've been writing in since you got there was now more than halfway full of notes and scribbles you were to fix once you got home. With the sun gone, the stars were more visible under Latveria's sky.
It had been some hours since you'd walked around the place, managing to interview him with not many pressing questions (the anxiety was still there), but enough to fill your entire booklet.
"I wouldn't even know how to repay you for this lifechanging possibility…almighty Doo-"
He nonchalantly raised his hand, side eyeing you, "Please, between you and Doom, Doom is enough."
Now he turned to you fully, arms crossed over his imposing frame. "Write of this place, writer. Let the outside world see what they choose to ignore.
Most of all, remember, words, like all things here, should serve a purpose, Doom's purpose.
There was no threat in his voice. But there was no mistaking the gravity either
"That will be enough for Doom."
