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dottores · 2 years ago

Text

HELIOTROPES

pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments

summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.

genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part

warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui, mentions of past prostituion (not dottore or reader), implication of reader being slapped and getting hurt (not badly)

notes: i dont think u guys understand how much fun im having introducing the segments sobs. adhufsdiuf i might make a little reference sheet for them and attach it to masterlist if u guys want

JOY

Mutiny.

He had been dealing with mutiny for five years. He should have expected that the Iota segment wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut. He should have sewn it shut. In a matter of a week, every single one of the segments knew that their red thread had finally appeared. In a matter of a month, every single one of the segments had abandoned their projects to return to Dottore’s estate in Snezhnaya and Dottore was fed up.

This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. He knew his segments because they were him, and he knew that as soon as they found out, they would be on their way back to Snezhnaya to find out if it was true for themselves. He had half a mind to deactivate every single one of them but he figured that even if he did that and recreated them, it would just be the same issue all over again and a massive waste of resources because the segments would not change--it was why they were created, to preserve his mentality at different years.

It did not take long for the older segments to put together what Dottore was planning on doing with the red thread and their soulmate and they were not happy about it.

Dottore didn’t think he had a single day for himself in the past five years. The segments were relentless, offering to help with his research. Two sets of eyes are better than one, they would say, but Dottore knew they were full of shit. Dottore had always valued his independence highly, even as a child. There was no way that they all suddenly wanted to work with him at any given moment after years of convincing him that they were perfectly capable of running research without his supervision. They were using it as an excuse to keep an eye on him, to make sure that he didn’t make any progress on figuring out how to sever the thread, and Dottore was livid over it.

Every day, a different segment was waiting for him at his lab or in the library, pressing him to work on a variety of different projects--none being research on the red thread, of course. And to Dottore’s absolute frustration, his segments were as manipulative and intelligent as him, so whenever he tried to brush them off to do as he pleased, he was met with snide comments about so much for not letting their soulmate get in the way of their research.

He had backed himself into a corner, and it was no one’s fault but his own.

Dottore sighed as he flipped through one of Epsilon’s reports.

Ley line outcrops sprouting up more often in Avidya forest.

Possible roots in Dragonspine breaking the surface? Does Irminsul grow upside down?

Upside down, Dottore pressed his fingers to his temple, trying to think. Could it be growing in the Abyss, and the roots are traveling up through the earth past the surface?

How would that even work? Could the Abyss sustain life? Does the Irminsul tree even count as life?

One of his hands slid down his face, rubbing at his mouth as he tried to piece together the puzzle laid out before him. He would have to talk to the Balladeer. The Sixth was the one that Pierro frequently sent on missions down in the Abyss, if anyone knew more about it, it would be him… or Pierro himself, but Dottore did not necessarily want to go out of his way to talk to Pierro because it usually ended in him being sent on another mission.

“Let us go looking for them.”

It was Rho again, this time, standing at the door to Dottore’s lab. He exhaled, dragging his gaze up from the papers to the segment. Once he was acknowledged, Rho stepped into the room and Dottore raised his eyebrows waiting for him to continue. Rho looked pointedly at Dottore’s thumb, Dottore just shook his head once he realized what Rho was referring to, turning around to prepare a burner.

“You would deny the younger segments time with our soulmate? Deny them the experience of actually knowing their soulmate while they are the same age?” Rho pressed, drawing closer to Dottore. Dottore looked at Rho over his shoulder, warning him: don’t you dare come closer. Rho pressed his lips together, stopping midstep. “It’s been five years since the thread appeared, they are already five years older than Kappa. They’re the same age as Iota. Soon they’ll be older than him, and Gamma, you know how Gamma-”

“There is no way to find them,” Dottore dismissed. “Get back to work.”

“Iota has been hysterical for days, Gamma is so anxious that he can barely focus on his research. Neither of them had ever given up hope that our soulmate would appear and you’re going to refuse-”

“How do you intend for me to find them?” Dottore was getting irritated. Never had he dealt with so much insubordination from his segments until this cursed red thread had shown up. “Follow the string? We both know that’s not possible. There will be no clues for another five years, at least, and ten years is more likely.”

Rho was frustrated, Dottore could tell from the way the segment was clenching and unclenching his jaw rapidly. Dottore couldn’t bring himself to care because quite frankly, he was frustrated. He could feel the emotions of each segment, of course he knew Gamma was anxious, of course he knew Iota was hysterical. He could feel his anxiety, he could feel his hysteria. He could feel Zeta’s hope and Theta’s rage. He could feel Delta’s stress and Epsilon’s curiosity. He could feel Lambda’s indifference and he could feel every single one of his own emotions so intensely that he wanted to rip out his own hair.

He was not used to it. Even after five years, he was not used to it. He had gone centuries feeling little to nothing and he felt overwhelmed--he couldn’t figure out how to deal with this in an efficient manner and over the past week, it just seemed to be getting worse.

“We can go in the general direction,” Rho finally responded and Dottore only shook his head, closing his eyes.

He felt tired, he felt so tired all of a sudden and he wasn’t sure why--he had never felt so tired so abruptly before. He wondered if the whole situation was finally starting to set in, five years later. None of them had the nerve to confront him about this before now.

“Good luck with that,” Dottore said dryly, “All of Teyvat is south of us, you’ll have six whole nations to search.”

“You could help,” Rho snapped, Dottore could see his segment’s temper waning, and he could feel his own thinning. “Instead of trying to…”

He thought maybe it was more than just being tired over the situation.

He exhaled carefully, fingers pressing hard into the cool metal table beneath his hand. His body felt exhausted, as if he had been forced into spars with the Captain again. His chest felt heavy and his mind felt sluggish, and it was so sudden. If Dottore didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought one of his segments had the audacity to try to drug him.

Rho was still talking, but Dottore was now distracted, trying to figure out what was wrong with himself before Rho could take advantage of the apparent weakness to push him even more. His gaze drifted up to the vents of his lab, filtering the air from some of the more dangerous chemicals that he worked with in his experiments.

Had they failed?

No, Rho would be feeling it as well.

Unless it was only affecting him because he’s been in the room longer.

Even then, Dottore’s body was created to withstand what would take down the average human’s body. Chemicals should not be enough to make him feel like this. It had to be something else.

It had to be something else.

But what?

Dottore didn’t know and the longer he dwelled on the issue, the more his body betrayed him. Rho was beginning to realize something was wrong, he could tell from the way his voice was becoming slower, from the way his brows were furrowing as he observed Dottore.

What was-

The thread. Dottore’s gaze drifted down to his thumb as the thread vibrated--once, twice, three times, the daily goodnight that he had become familiar with. Every night, without fail, once the sun began to fall, his soulmate would flick the thread, he had become accustomed to it in a way that he shouldn’t have. His gaze drew to the side, to the window of his lab where the sun began to set over the snowy hills in the distance.

He hadn’t realized it had gotten so late.

“It’s been five years since the thread appeared,” Rho had reminded him.

Five years. His soulmate would have turned ten years old recently.

The third stage: emotions, pains, they would be shared between the two soulmates—begins once both soulmates have reached the age of ten.

At once, all of the puzzle pieces joined together before his eyes--the tiredness, the influx of emotions that did not belong to him or one of his segments, the odd, momentary pains that would prick his hands and knees. They were not his emotions or his pain. It was not his fatigue.

It was his soulmate’s.

Dottore was many things--a scholar and a Harbinger, but above all, he was a fool and suddenly, a very, very mortal one at that.

Some people thought it romantic that Celestia prevented soulmates from finding one another before their fated meeting. Dottore thought it was absurd—especially because he had to deal with… this.

The Iota segment was sobbing, curled in on himself on the ground, babbling about how their string was gone and their soulmate was dead. Dottore wondered if he should be embarrassed, staring at the younger version of himself, unimpressed and unmoved by the outburst, arms crossed at his chest as people in the city began to look their way--never for too long, because they knew exactly what the symbols that adorned their cloaks meant, but long enough that it was beginning to tickle his nerves.

The Delta and Gamma segments were trying to calm him down, telling him that no, their soulmate was still alive and yes, the thread was still there--Iota just couldn’t see it because it disappeared from his view. Celestia’s oh so convenient way of stopping soulmates from tracking each other down before they were meant to meet each other.

Dottore shook his head, exasperated when all attempts at soothing Iota failed. This was exactly why he didn’t like bringing his segments out with him, it always became some sort of project. Dottore’s lips twisted into a frown as he contemplated just leaving them to continue further into the city, in the direction of the old building that was rumored to be the base of the new black market network spreading throughout the Snezhnayan capital, encroaching on the territory of the organization that had been working with the aristocrats and the Fatui for decades to keep the economy stable.

Dottore was the one sent to shut it down before it got out of hand, sent to defend their ‘partners’... and perhaps get a few important figures in their debt. He hadn’t necessarily wanted to go but he figured while he was out, he could get Gamma the supplies he had been looking for before he had started having a meltdown over their soulmate, but once Iota found out that Gamma was joining him, Iota insisted on coming along… and since Iota was tagging along, Delta demanded on coming too, not one to let the ten-year-old segment out of his sight for long.

Dottore supposed it was for the best, he could leave the other two to handle the outburst while he went to shut down the new competition.

The wind was brisk against his skin as he made his way down the dirt roads, small vendors lined the streets, their stands dusted with snow, the shop owners bundled beneath heavy cloaks and furs. None of them dared to try to sell their products to him--instead, he only received wary glances and hushed whispers as he passed by.

The people of Snezhnaya did not trust the Fatui. They had no love left for the Tsaritsa and her followers, placing all of their faith in the old aristocratic families of their motherland instead. The noble families kept the coffers full and homes warm in the dead of winter where their Archon had abandoned them and the Fatui cared for naught but their own goals and ambitions.

There was some truth behind their reasoning, Dottore acknowledged as he turned down the last side street. The Tsaritsa did abandon her people to prepare for the war against Celestia, even if it was for their own good in the long run, and the Fatui did only really care for their own goals… or at least Dottore did. Capitano, Arlecchino, Pulcinella and Signora, they all had varying degrees of sympathy for the common folk but it didn’t matter because when it came down to it, they would always put the downfall of the gods first.

And that disconnect would always keep the aristocrats a level above the Fatui when it comes to good relations with the civilians. It was none of Dottore’s business, he didn’t handle politics--that was up to Pulcinella to try to fix--but it was beginning to affect his research. His funding was decreasing rapidly, and between that and dealing with his segments and the influx of emotions from his soulmate, Dottore was at his wits end.

His soulmate was an anxious little thing. He had learned how to differentiate between which emotions were coming from his segments and which were coming from them. There wasn’t much he felt on their end besides nervousness and tiredness at night and as frustrating as it was, he could not close off their emotions like he could with his segments. No matter how hard he tried to ignore the waves of drowsiness and apprehension, they always managed to trounce him at the most inopportune times.

But it was midday now, so he shouldn’t be at risk of any unwelcome sensations. He figured it was the best time to confront their new enemies.

Dottore exhaled as he finally reached the old building—it was worn down, the wood of the door split down the middle. He was not sure what he was expecting but it was not this.

He frowned as he pushed the door open, bracing himself for a group of enemies inside only to find an empty, unfurnished room. His frown deepened, gaze darting around as he tried to figure out if this was some sort of trap or if the place had been abandoned… and if it had been abandoned, that means the Fatui had a rat to sniff out.

… But the place didn’t seem to be abandoned. In fact, it looked as if someone was living there. Water was boiling on a stove in the corner of the room, there was a half-eaten meal on a dingy kitchen table, and on the opposite side of the room, there was a bed with half-made sheets.

He wondered if the location he was given was wrong because this place appeared to be a refuge for a homeless person.

There was a door at the end of the room with a dim light glowing from beneath and Dottore decided he better at least try to get some answers as to the actual location of the base before heading out, lest he deal with the Jester’s displeasure again.

A thin layer of snow coated parts of the hardwood floor, having trespassed through the split roof above, crunching beneath his boot as he approached the door. He didn’t waste a second when he got to the door, pushing it open hard—perhaps too hard, considering it nearly came off the hinges as it slammed into the wall.

Dottore’s eyes narrowed on the only figure in the room. A young man, no older than nineteen or twenty, leaped to his feet, violet eyes unfocused and wild at Dottore’s arrival. He was tall and thin, too thin, dark hair poorly kempt. He would have brushed him off as another homeless citizen of Snezhnaya, to be dead as soon as the first blizzard of the winter hit… but Dottore hesitated, noting the inked quill in his hand, and the parchment on the desk he was sitting at.

Two long strides and Dottore was at the desk, snatching the parchment before the man could react. His eyes scanned the words rapidly, reading the list of requested goods, and it didn’t take long for him to put together what was happening.

He raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, “Where are the rest of your men?”

The man did not respond.

“I advise you to answer my question lest you find yourself without your head,” Dottore said dryly, placing the parchment back down and looking up at the man, who he could only assume was running the competing market.

“There are no men.” The response was clipped and cold, Dottore’s eyes trailed down to where jagged nails were digging into his palms—he was scared, trying to hide it. Good. “Only me.”

“Only you?” Dottore asked, amused. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t care if you believe it,” the man retorted.

“If you care about your life, you’ll care about what I believe,” Dottore countered, watching the way the man stiffened at his words.

“Does it matter what you believe, or if I care about my life?” the man asked, voice quickly. “Or will I die anyway?”

Dottore smiled thinly, “I haven’t decided yet.”

The man looked frustrated. Dottore was unbothered, waiting for him to speak--the following silence was cold, tense. Dottore liked to believe he was a patient man but he was also a man who did not like his time being wasted.

One man causing such a ruckus amongst their partners… he considered the possibility of it actually being true. He didn’t think there was any chance of it, logically. The original organization has controlled Snezhnaya’s economy for centuries now--it was well embedded in society, the aristocrats depended on it, the civilians depended on it, the Fatui depended on it.

One man-

“The people aren’t as fond of the aristocrats as everybody thinks. They’re just the only option when the Fatui is the alternative,” the man finally said, “and it doesn’t matter what organization is running the market, when it comes down to it, the people keep the economy alive. The Triglav have been decreasing the quality of their products--watering down alcohol, reducing portions of produce in the markets--they thought the people would remain ignorant to it.”

Dottore mulled over his words, as far as he was aware, the Harbingers were also ignorant to the Triglav fiddling with the economy and goods. He wondered if the aristocrats were aware, working with them to shave some extra profits off the civilians. More irritated, he wondered if this was part of the reason why his funding was being affected.

“Except they realized,” Dottore mused, eyeing the man, trying to figure out how he became involved with it.

“Except I realized,” the man corrected sharply, giving Dottore another wary glance before he sat back at his desk. “I was the one that noticed what they were doing. I was raised on the streets of Novotroizov, just outside the capital, but I spent most of my time here-”

“I don’t care for your life story,” Dottore said. “Get to the point.”

The man smiled but it did not reach his eyes. “I had connections here in the city, it was not hard to siphon off unhappy contractors from the Triglav once they knew that they were being swindled by them and their families were suffering as a consequence.”

Dottore hummed to himself, “And where did you learn to read? Write? Understand economics?” he asked doubtfully, gaze drawing over the man as he dabbed the tip of his quill back into the dark ink.

The man hesitated, quill hovering over the parchment for a moment before he cleared his throat. “I worked at one of the higher-end red houses in the city, one that the aristocrats and the elites of the Triglav enjoyed to frequent. They run their mouths without care as to who might be listening. I learned much from them.”

Dottore almost smiled. Almost. The irony of the Triglav being the one to create their own competition was just a bit amusing to him. He rarely dealt with their elites personally but they were very quickly becoming a hindrance to his research and all hindrances must be dealt with.

Must be dealt with. Dottore looked at the man with a new light, an idea forming in the back of his head. The Ninth and Eleventh spots were now free, and so long as the Triglav controlled the economy, the Fatui’s money would at least partially be at the whims of the aristocrats that work with them and the organization's elites as the Fatui did not have their own bank…

“Well, as I see it, there are two options, I-” Dottore paused suddenly, a stinging feeling sharp across his cheek, as if he had been slapped, and a jolt of shock. Or, not him, his soulmate, he realized, gaze darting down to the thread on his thumb, because the man hadn’t moved from his desk, his knuckles white around the wood as he waited for the ultimatum. He forced himself to continue, voice tight, trying to mask the rising anger, “I can kill you, resolving this issue all at once, or we could try to find some use for you in our ranks.”

They were slapped, Dottore could feel echoes of the stinging sensation across his cheek, the shock that had run through his soulmate’s body, he could still feel the shock, now riddled with distress. Ten years old, he could barely constrain the rage pooling in his gut, he could barely control the way his mind brought him back to his own childhood with his parents and the unpleasant adults living in the village, who is slapping a ten year old? And with that much force?

He could barely focus on the situation at hand--luckily, the man was still sitting in front of him, he hadn’t moved or spoken, suspicious of the options he was given, but Dottore needed to calm himself before he did start speaking so he could respond properly.

But he couldn’t, and he felt so, so human because of it, vulnerable to emotions that were supposed to have been killed off a long time ago. He hated it. He hated it so much, his entire life--everything that he had built for himself felt as if it were crumbling. All of those years of teaching himself how to control each and every little emotion, all of those years learning how to seal away the unwelcome ones and channel them into something that was easier for him to process, they were wasted because the gods finally decided to curse him with this damned thread.

And then he felt it--an odd, foreign emotion curling in the depths of his stomach, something that was not of his own nor of his segments, something he hadn’t felt since the day he was chased out of his village.

Fear. Fear coming from his soulmate. Was it because of whatever was going on where they were? Or could they feel his anger and it was scaring them?

Dottore didn’t know, and he hated not knowing, but he hated even more the fact that he somehow cared enough that it made him calm down when he hadn’t been able to make himself calm down on his own.

“You don’t even know my name,” the man accused, but his tone was more hesitant, considering Dottore’s offer. Dottore forced his attention back to him, despite the way his thoughts lingered on the phantom pains against his cheek. “I don’t have a vision, I don’t-”

“Yes,” Dottore agreed. “I did not ask because I do not care to learn it--if your existence demonstrates itself to be useful to us, you will be given a new identity and a role to play in the coming war, you will have to leave your name, family and companions behind to take up the mantle… though I doubt that will be difficult for someone like you. Whether or not you have a vision is inconsequential--again, should you prove yourself, you’ll be given an even more potent version of one, one that does not have shackles of Celestia attached to it.”

There it was, Dottore thought to himself, letting out a huff of amusement once he caught the greed flash through the man’s expression. Hooked, the prospect of power would seduce even the most virtuous man, and he knew as soon as he stepped into this room that the man before him was no man of honor.

“How will I know if I’ve proven myself?” the man asked.

“You will know,” Dottore said dismissively, turning on his heel to leave before another unexpected bout of emotion or pain swept over him. “Do remember who got you to your position, if this works out. I will need considerable funding for my research… and don’t bother trying to run, we will find you.”

“If everything has been discussed, I’ve had quite enough of tonight’s theatrics,” Pierro’s voice was cold and sharp as he rose to his feet, preparing to dismiss the Harbingers from their meeting.

Dottore waited, eyes drawing across the eight other Harbingers, waiting to see if any of them would speak up. The Balladeer was livid, having spent the majority of the meeting arguing with the Marionette and the Knave, with the Knave’s pet following along making disparaging comments. None of the rest of the Harbingers appeared to intend on saying anything, so just as Pierro was about to dismiss them, Dottore cleared his throat.

At once, all sets of eyes turned in his direction, stares with varying degrees of annoyance trained directly on him. Dottore only smiled thinly, “I would like to discuss an option for the empty seats… or one of them, at least.”

“Perhaps you’ve become slow of mind in your old age,” Scaramouche said sharply. Dottore raised his eyebrows beneath his mask, not even bothering to call out the hypocrisy. “We discussed this for nearly an hour already and you didn’t bother to give input once.”

“I had no interest in interrupting squabbling children,” Dottore replied dryly, turning his gaze back to Pierro, who looked exhausted as he sat back down at the head of the table.

“Speak, Dottore. How faired the mission against the organization usurping the Triglav?”

“There was no organization,” Dottore said. “Only one man. I believe it to be prudent that we find a spot for him amongst our ranks. Perhaps not as a Harbinger… yet, but a chance to at least prove his worth.”

“One man?” Sandrone questioned, tone laced with disbelief.

“I find it hard to believe as well,” Pulcinella agreed, dark eyes piercing into Dottore. Dottore met his gaze, undeterred, annoyance tugged at his stomach--he hated being doubted.

“I can assure you, mayor, that I would not waste our time with dubious information,” Dottore drawled, fingers tapping against the wood of the table.

“I oversee the nation for our esteemed organization. I believe I would know-”

“Did you know that the Triglav were decreasing the quality of Snezhnayan and foreign products to make more of a profit off of the common folk?” Dottore interrupted, lips flat as his amusement dwindled. Pulcinella did not respond, and he took that as answer enough. “I see, so you do not know everything about the nation, do you, mayor?”

“Make your point, Dottore, this meeting has lasted too long already. I have other matters to attend to,” Pierro said. Dottore was glad his eyes were hidden beneath the mask.

“The man undermining the Triglav is an orphan, homeless, making by on nothing but connections he formed on the streets. Could you imagine what he would be capable of with resources to back him?” Dottore pressed. “We do not have the support of the people, we do not have an economy backing us, the aristocrats and the Triglav are in bed with one another, working together to sabotage us. It’s only a matter of time before this situation spirals into civil war, and Her Majesty is very much against that.”

“And you think one man will solve all of our issues?” Arlecchino asked, but she didn’t sound as doubtful as much as she did curious, watching Dottore carefully as she waited for him to respond.

He considered her words. It would be bold of him to claim that it would, as he had no reason to believe that this man would solve all of the internal issues that the Fatui were facing. He was promising, yes, but promise was just that--promise. Dottore had watched even the most promising minds in the Akademiya fall to ruin before they could make something great of themselves.

But if they didn’t think he was confident in this, it would be shut down. And any chance at increased funding for his research would be shut down along with it, which is what it boiled down to for him at its core. He needed more funding.

“I think he can solve a significant amount. The mayor clearly cannot handle internal affairs on his own. He doesn’t even know half of what’s going on right beneath his nose. The Triglav have been slighting the people of their goods and us of our money. Funding has been decreased-”

“Ah, of course,” Dottore’s eye twitched at the interruption, not even bothering to look at Scaramouche as he readied himself to respond to yet another snide comment from the Sixth. “That’s what it comes down to, your funding. How…”

Pain. Blinding pain shooting up through his hands and forearms, as if a million jagged rocks were digging into his palm and tearing through the flesh, as if he had taken a particularly bad fall and braced himself with his arms, drowning out the rest of the Balladeer’s comment. Were he a lesser man, he would have hissed at the sudden pain, maybe even flinched. Dottore was no lesser man, and he could not afford to give any sort of hint about the red thread tied around his thumb to the vultures perched around him who would take advantage of the weakness at any given moment.

Instead, he inhaled, forcing himself to continue, annoyance becoming more severe with each passing day as this was now the second time he was interrupted during an important meeting because of his soulmate.

“Yes,” Dottore said sharply. “Perhaps with better funding, we could make you into something greater than just a mere puppet. Your durability will only be of use for so long, and what will happen to you then? I can see the cracks already. You are not indestructible, Scaramouche.”

Scaramouche did not respond, and Dottore took the opportunity to continue.

“He is a commoner, an orphan, with enough connections throughout the people of Snezhnaya to displace the Triglav without any resources beyond his own mind and those connections,” Dottore continued. “You cannot convince me you do not see the potential this could bring us--nigh-complete autonomy from the Triglav and a wedge between the aristocrats and the people.”

“The consequences for if it fails…” Pulcinella trailed off. “We could be facing civil war far sooner than we’re ready for. The Triglav will not take kindly to us trying to unseat their monopoly… the aristocrats even less so.”

“We will win if it comes to war,” Arlecchino said. “What are they going to do, throw their gold coins at us?”

“No, they will throw our people at us,” Pulcinella responded coldly. “It’s not a matter of winning the war that’s the issue. Our military is dominant, in comparison to their forces. The issue is minimizing civilian casualties, which will not be possible without proper preparation. That could take years, decades. Her Majesty will not want us to antagonize while the people are at risk.”

“I will not go another year, much less decades, without proper funding,” Dottore said, poison dripping from his voice as he spoke. “We have been handed the opportunity to finally become the dominant power in Snezhnaya on a silver platter. We would be fools not to make the most of it. I am no fool, Pulcinella.”

“And if it fails?” The Captain spoke up for the first time, voice low. “Pulcinella is right, we cannot afford the backlash that this failure might bring us.”

“If it fails,” Dottore said tensely, “then I will kill him before it can be traced back to us.”

“Very well,” Pierro said after a moment of silence. “Bring him in, if he proves himself, we will consider replacing one of the two empty seats.”

Plink. Plink. Plink.

Dottore’s eye twitched, gaze drawing from the parchment in front of him to the countertops across the room, where the leaky faucet dripped to the metal of the basin incessantly. He inhaled sharply as he forced himself to look back at the report, trying to figure out what exactly Theta was trying to get at with the conclusions of his residue research.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

Dottore exhaled through his nose, lips pressed together thinly as his gaze drew back to the faucet. Even in his rare moments of peace, where his segments were busy or asleep, the universe somehow found a way to disrupt him.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

Dottore rose to his feet suddenly, the metal legs of the chair he was sitting on scraping against the ground loudly as he grabbed the report and left his lab, intent on finishing the reading back in his own room. It was getting late anyway, the moon was rising, and it was only a matter of time before his little soulmate made their way to bed and forced their own fatigue onto him.

He made his way down the dark halls quietly--as if on cue, he felt those familiar tugs, three, each with half a second between them. Goodnight, his soulmate was telling him, and he only shook his head, glancing down once before turning his gaze back ahead.

He would have to figure out how exactly he would integrate the boy from the city into the organization, and get him the resources he needed to actually be able to do something more than siphon off contractors of the Triglav. He didn’t know how though--it would have to be subtle so as to not draw the attention of their enemies until they were in the position to actually challenge them. If they found out that the Fatui were working under their noses to mess with the economy that the Triglav had built, they’d have a lot more issues to deal with than they’d like.

Unfortunately, Dottore was never good at subtlety.

If it were up to him, he’d simply remove the issue, just as he nullified extraneous variables whenever they rose to issue during his experiments. With the aristocrats and the Triglav out of the way, the Fatui could do as they pleased, Dottore could do as he pleased without all of the restrictions placed on him by the Jester… but alas, the Tsaritsa did not wish to draw the ire of her people any more than she already had, much to his displeasure.

Would one man be the change they needed to get the upper hand over the Triglav and the aristocrats? Dottore didn’t know and he despised not knowing, he hated uncertainty. He was a methodological man, a calculated one--he set plans in motion and saw them through to the end. He was able to map out all possible conclusions and plan accordingly, but he couldn’t for this, and he didn’t like it. Every time he thought of one possibility, another issue arose, and then another, and then another until the whole thing was spoiled and Dottore had to start from scratch.

It felt more like a gamble than a thought out plan. Dottore hated gambling.

Was this the best course of action? Was this going to help him in the long run? What were the chances it even succeeded?

Low, he determined. There was a good chance that even if the young man from the village was able to make something out of the resources he was given, he would still be forced to fall on his own blade if the situation took a turn for the worse with the other two parties. He didn’t particularly care for the fate of the man, but he had a feeling that if it got out that Dottore was the one behind the whole operation, his already depleted funding would turn to dust between his fingers.

Then you can’t let it get out, Dottore decided, stepping into his room--dark and cold with the candles and fireplace snuffed--which meant he would have to take out the man on his own before the Triglav and aristocrats could go about interrogating him… He would have to be ahead of the flow of information, and he had never been one to insert himself into webs of spiders and nests of snakes.

But, that’s assuming the worst case scenario, Dottore mused. Should all go well, the elites of the Triglav will be hung, and the aristocrats will finally be displaced from their position at the top. Dottore will have significantly increased funding, and they might very well finally have their Ninth or Eleventh seat filled again.

As he reached the desk at the far corner of his room, Dottore’s chest felt heavy in a way that he had never felt before. Dottore exhaled carefully, placing down the report and taking a seat as he tried to figure out what was causing the strange feeling. Not his segments, he was confident that he had been able to seal off their emotions from his, and it certainly wasn’t his own emotions making him feel this way.

And if that’s the case…

He sighed, gaze drawing down to his thumb, then it must be you.

As soon as he redirected his attention to where the thread was tied neatly around his finger, he felt the soft little tugs. Slow, uneven, he could practically see the pout spread across his soulmate’s unveiled face. It had been quite some time since the daily goodnight tugs, and from what he’d been able to tell over the past five years, his soulmate would always fall asleep soon after the goodnight.

What is the matter? he mused to himself, biting back another heavy sigh as he stared at the thread as if it would give him a verbal response. He realized, distantly, that he was wasting far too much time on this—he needed to finish figuring out first, what Theta had been trying to write and then, what it even meant—but he found his attention anchored on the thin thread, on the soft, slow tugs.

The sinking feeling in his chest was becoming even more intense, and it was sadness, yes, but there was something else. Not for the first time, Dottore damned himself for his inability to properly understand and process emotion.

It was cold, empty, but somehow oppressive and shadowy all at the same time. A part of him wondered if a child should even be feeling this way, but then he thought back to his own childhood—to the Kappa and Iota and Gamma segments—and something inside him twisted, dark and ugly as he considered what that might mean for his soulmate.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the rush of anger. He didn’t like the surge of protectiveness, the urge to shield someone he didn’t even know from the cruelty of the world as he did for his younger segments. He didn’t like that he couldn’t control it. He didn’t like that he couldn’t ignore it. He didn’t like it.

A stranger, the rational part of him hissed. They are a stranger, control yourself.

A stranger that is meant for you, a dangerous, dangerous part of him argued, voice smooth and alluring, a siren that could reel in even a sailor of the strongest willpower. Your fated.

Fated by the same gods who have cursed you a thousand times before, the harsher voice snapped back, grating in his mind, tearing through his head like grinding gears. This is another one of their cruel tricks, and you are playing right into their hands.

Dottore could feel his head aching and that void-like feeling was only getting worse. His chest felt like a gaping hole, like the heart of the abyss, and he felt like a puppet, whose strings were subject to the whims and emotions of a ten year old.

Why do you feel like this? Dottore wanted to demand, let me fix it so I can return to my work in peace.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he couldn’t help but notice the way the tugs on the thread were becoming slower, less insistent… as if the person on the other side was giving up hope.

Is that what you want? he thought to himself, incredulity fogging his mind as he put together why his soulmate was feeling these emotions. His finger lifted on instinct, ready to test his hypothesis as he gave a small tug on the shared thread.

The change was instantaneous—sharp and sudden enough that Dottore felt whiplash as his heart leapt from his chest, mind doused in a sort of euphoria that he only ever felt when he made a breakthrough in his research.

Dottore shook his head, forcing himself not to roll his eyes when he realized that the wave of depression stemmed not from a situation happening in their life, but instead from a lack of attention.

He was annoyed at the disruption to his research, but with that ugly feeling gone—the coldness replaced by a very unfamiliar sense of warmth and a light, bubbly feeling in his chest, a childish sort of joy that he wasn’t sure he had ever experienced before—he could finally breathe again, the air felt fresh in his lungs and his mind felt clear. He was able to refocus on the report in front of him with an ease that he hadn’t had before.

Unfamiliar, he repeated to himself, red eyes drifting down to the thread one last time before he took advantage of the new concentration, but he wasn’t sure if it were entirely unwelcome.

reblogs appreciated!

#dottore x reader #dottore smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #dottore x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x you

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lovelyinconsistentices · 11 months ago

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°˖➴ 𝚂𝙸𝙲𝙺 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝚂 ⋆· ༘ *

‧₊˚ ꩜彡┆𝚂𝚄𝙼𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈 .ᐟ

Reader plus Scott are sick from food poisoning, leaving Wallace to take care of them as he fortunately didn't get sick. Basically him being perfectly fine, besides the fact he has two people to take care of now. But it's not like he minds it, as long as they avoid puking in bed and on him that is.

✎ᝰ.┆𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚁𝙴 .ᐟ

Third-Person point of view, Oneshot, light fluff. Also, Scott Pilgrim Vs The World version.

‧₊˚ ꩜彡┆𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂 .ᐟ

Wallace Wells X Male Reader, and then we have Scott. Always the third wheel.

✎ᝰ.┆𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙾 .ᐟ

Cupid's Chokehold / Breakfast in America by Gym Class Heroes.

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𝙰𝚄𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚁'𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙴

Thank you so much for 100+ notes, I'm so proud of this oneshot for Wallace Wells and can't wait to write more for him. During the time of this I was suffering from food poisoning, so this was practically self-indulgent for me. Also, here's the Second-person version if you'd prefer that. I'm so happy people seem to enjoy it, thank you for reading and for new people I hope you enjoy! <33

The male emitted a soft groan, his body slumped over the toilet as he braced himself for the possibility of vomiting. He felt dreadful—his stomach aching intensely, accompanied by a slight wave of nausea. Standing a few feet away in the bathroom doorway was Wallace, clad only in his boxers and the button-up shirt he had worn the previous night at the bar. The circumstances that led the other male to this state were an entirely different story.

The night before, when they both returned home, they found Scott busy cooking dinner. It wasn't unusual for Wallace to bring home hookups or boyfriends, so Scott didn't mind. Besides, they hadn't been heavily intoxicated upon arrival, having consumed only a moderate amount of alcohol prior to leaving. Wallace seemed somewhat disoriented, his mind still slightly foggy, but he managed to comprehend the conversation between the two men. As for M/n, he was relatively sober.

The male engaging in conversation with Scott, while Wallace interjected occasionally with a few remarks whenever he felt inclined to do so. After ruffling Scott's hair and grabbing a drink from the refrigerator, Wallace made an effort to pay attention, even though he wasn't particularly interested in their awkward exchange. He felt relieved that the two seemed capable of sustaining a conversation for such a prolonged period. Soon, Scott offered a plate of food, and everything appeared fine, except for the overcooked pork chops.

Given his own inability to cook pork chops flawlessly, M/n understood the situation and didn't want to be impolite, so he accepted the meal. Eventually, Wallace finished his drink and began preparing for bed, removing his shoes and coat before plopping down on the mattress with a sigh. Meanwhile, Scott and M/n were still trying to finish their meals. M/n engaged in small talk with Scott, who responded with brief sentences while standing nearby.

Sooner or later, both men finished eating and prepared to retire for the night. M/n didn't seem to mind if it would be a snug fit with all three of them sharing the bed. He slowly discarded any unnecessary clothing items before lying down next to Wallace, who had already fallen asleep, likely due to exhaustion. It didn't take long for Scott to follow suit, curling up on the other side of Wallace and drifting off to sleep a few minutes later. And now, in the present moment, M/n found himself sitting in front of the toilet, holding his head and emitting another groan.

"I swear, when your roommate wakes up, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind," he exclaimed aloud, irritated by the situation but primarily focused on his own discomfort. In response, Wallace chuckled softly as he peered down at M/n. "He didn't do it intentionally. He had a rough day and probably forgot you can't put the meat back in the freezer after it's thawed out," he explained in a gentle tone, offering a water bottle to M/n, who promptly accepted it. M/n then opened the water bottle, scoffed, took a few sips, and next quietly thanked Wallace.

"Rough day, huh? Well, unless he plans on making me breakfast and kissing away my pain, I'm not interested in his excuses," M/n teased, his tone light. However, as he clutched his stomach and sighed, his brows furrowed. Just as he was about to speak again, Wallace interrupted, quietly approaching from behind and bending over to bring his face close to M/n's, whispering, "Well, I'd be more than happy to make it up to you in other ways." M/n glanced back, encountering Wallace's familiar mischievous smirk.

He promptly pushed Wallace's face away, shaking his head. Although the offer sounded enticing, M/n couldn't help but emphasize his current state. "Unless you want me to vomit all over you, I suggest you move away," he retorted with a groan, followed by the sound of retching as he leaned against the wall for support. Wallace then cringed in disgust, sighing as he patted M/n's back.

"Yeah, let's avoid that scenario as much as possible. Speaking of which, I should wake up Scott, just in case. It's better to be safe if he's also feeling sick and I don't want him making a mess everywhere if he begins throwing up as well," Wallace explained, stepping away and stretching as he prepared to leave. He turned back before departing, parting his lips to speak. "I'll put the kettle on the stove. Would you prefer tea or coffee?" he inquired. M/n took a moment before responding, "Tea. My stomach probably can't handle coffee right now." Wallace hummed in acknowledgment before leaving, most likely heading to the kitchen.

After some time, M/n emerged from the bathroom. The sound of the whistling kettle in the kitchen immediately caught his attention, and he noticed Wallace fully dressed, sorting through mail. Meanwhile, Scott remained fast asleep in bed, his head covered by a pillow. The male decided to tackle the situation first, so he put on his jeans and buttoned them up before approaching the mattress and bending down. "Rise and shine, Scotty! I know you might prefer to sleep in, but your stomach will soon demand otherwise," he announced aloud as he gently shook Scott, eliciting a groan in response.

Scott rolled over, his eyes immediately focusing on the other male. He then shook his head, sighing as he didn't want to get out of bed. "Can you put a shirt on?" was the first thing to come out of his mouth as he sat up. The male, just nodded and stood up. "Sorry, I forgot how provocative my chest could be. I'll put a shirt on now," M/n teased before retrieving his shirt and pulling it over his head. He then made his way into the kitchen, and Wallace, who was also present, let out a huff in response to M/n's comment.

"Very provocative. Next time, don't put on a shirt. That way, I'll have a nice view to watch as I eat my breakfast," Wallace joked mischievously, earning an eye roll from both Scott and M/n. Scott took his time getting up but eventually headed to the bathroom to take care of his business, while M/n started preparing tea in the kitchen. He poured hot water into a mug and let the tea steep, hoping it would taste good despite not recognizing the brand. Meanwhile, he began gathering the necessary ingredients for breakfast from the fridge.

"Right, Scott! Once you're done puking your guts out, we need to make sure you didn't put any other meats back in the fridge after they thawed out. Can't risk food poisoning again, and I, for one, will not eat any meat for a while because of this, well besides bacon at least," M/n stated audibly enough for Scott to hear him, referring to their present incident of food poisoning. He looked down at the pack of bacon on the counter and then moved to retrieve the silverware and plates. Wallace chimed in as he observed M/n's preparations. "I thought I was the one making breakfast?" he asked, his gaze following M/n's movements.

"Yeah, and I thought I'd be woken up with morning kisses instead of my stomach trying to kill me in my sleep. But if you want, you can make breakfast. I'm just getting everything ready. Now be a dear and relax. Enjoy your coffee," M/n replied, standing next to Wallace at the counter and setting down a bowl before checking his tea to see if it was ready. Wallace just hummed in response, watching M/n with amusement. He brought the mug to his lips, took a sip, and then placed it back down.

Wallace was then about to say something when he got interrupted by M/n quickly walking past him towards the bathroom. Scott, who had just emerged from the bathroom fully dressed, raised an eyebrow at Wallace as he made his way to the counter and picked up the mug of tea that M/n had left behind. Unfortunately, he burned his tongue as he attempted to take a sip and let out a hiss of pain. "Morning, sunshine. How are you feeling?" Wallace asked with a smirk, turning to Scott and observing him slowly blowing at the tea to cool it down. Scott then muttered in response, "Like I'm dying." He seemed to be handling the pain, but the discomfort was evident on his face. Wallace nodded and took the mug from Scott's hands, pushing the kettle towards him. "I'll start breakfast soon, hopefully," he replied before heading towards the bathroom with his coffee and M/n's tea.

Once Wallace finally entered the bathroom, he set the mugs down on the floor and began rubbing M/n's back in circular motions, trying to make him feel at least a little better given the situation. "Do you think you'll be able to survive the rest of the day?" Wallace asked, to which M/n shook his head and inhaled sharply. "I want to curl up under a pile of blankets and not wake up until this all goes away. There's no way in hell I can deal with this for the rest of the day."

"I might have to take a sick day off. I can't work with this until it passes," M/n continued, gripping the side of the toilet. Wallace nodded, pressing his chin against M/n's shoulder as he continued rubbing his back. "I don't mind running to get some medicine. You can lay down in bed and try to get some rest while waiting. How does that sound?" Wallace suggested, sitting there with M/n. M/n let out an audible sigh and then replied, "Please, that would probably be better than anything at the moment."

Wallace promptly enveloped his arm around the man's waist, responding with a simple hum as he leaned against him. Eventually, they both exited the bathroom, with M/n finding solace in bed, attempting to manage the pain while Wallace took charge of preparing breakfast. Sensing his own discomfort, Scott chose to remain at home for the day, settling into the armchair and engaging in a conversation with Stacy, who had called to check on him. It appeared that Wallace had already updated her on the situation, resulting in a lecture about being more cautious.

In due time, Wallace completed breakfast, serving himself and Scott plates of food, while M/n declined due to his unsettled stomach. Sensing the male's need for nourishment later, he saved a plate in the refrigerator. Once breakfast was finished, Wallace donned his coat and ventured out to procure medicine. Fortunately, his absence was brief, and upon returning home, he discovered Scott comfortably seated in bed, engrossed in a comic book, while M/n peacefully slumbered. This brought Wallace a measure of relief, knowing they were getting the rest they required.

He ensured that provisions were readily available for when M/n awoke. Simultaneously, he handed Scott a mug of tea along with a couple of vitamin pills. He then tossed the bottle of Pepto-Bismol he had obtained to Scott, who managed to catch it with some effort. Once settled back into his armchair, Wallace resumed his seat and perused the newspaper, reading through its contents. He resolved to remain in the company of the two individuals, ensuring their well-being.

#Spotify #wallace wells x reader #wallace wells #scott pilgram takes off #scott pilgrim vs the world #Scott Pilgrim

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navigatebetweenthelines · 5 months ago

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Because a lot of you seem to be conflating intelligence to mean a single thing im going ro spell it out for you

DAZAI!

quick on his feet. He reads body language pretty well. he knows what to expect. His disadvantage is that he tends to project his own expectations onto others and this clouds his judgement. He is "intelligent" in the way thar he has a great capacity to improvise in tricky situations. He doesn't know everything he just always makes sure to have a plan B C D E F and G. Thats it

RANPO!

he knows all the facts about any given situation. His biggest disadvantages are that his judgement is shoddy at best and he doesn't always know what to do with that information. He is used to disregarding information for the sake of peace but that often means he ends up too close to the wrong people. He forgives EVERYONE he gives everyone a second chance. For as much as he sees the bad in a person he sees the good. He is unreliable and inconsistent. The good this about him is that as soon as he realizes his mistake he never makes it again.

POE!

JUSTTT as smart as Ranpo. He can GATHER as much information as Ranpo but it takes more effort. He has a lot of resources and technical know how. He knows technology, he knows politics, international law and most importantly people. His biggest advantage is that he knows exactly how to pressure people into doing what he wants. His mysteries are tailor made so that people can only escape when they realize what he wants them to. It is becuase of this that he saw society as a farce. That's why Ranpo and him are such a good team. Ranpo can see everything and Poe knows what to do with it.

Louisa!!!

She can slow down time when she's focused THAT'S her ability. She is capable of thinking of every possibility and coming up with dependable statistics. She's smarter than Dazai but less of an asset because her analysis relies on what she is aware of. In the world of BSD there is ALWAYS something no one is aware of. She isn't as capable of recovering quickly from a miscalculation so she really only has one shot.

Chuuya!!!

He doesnt need to use his intelligence most of the time because he can pretty much brute force his way out of most things. His intellegence relies on instinct. He has GREAT instincts. He knows when a situation has gone sour. Of course he doesnt usually verbalize it because with Dazai he doesn't need to and when he's alone why would he announce it to an enemy. He knows when he's safe and when he isn't. His biggest disadvantage is that he doesn't always listen to those instincts. In terms of priorities he almost always puts himself last and that leads to a lot of problems.

NIKOLAI!!!

Nikolai is similar to Chuuya except a bit more extreme because no one's life is his priority. His motivations are unclear and he always goes for the most imoral option. He isn't concerned with a specific desired outcome it is the inconsistency of his own actions that drive him.

FYODOR!!!

Kinda like Poe, in that he knows how to work people, but to a lesser extent and a little like the chameleon that Dazai can be but to a greater extent: he KNOWS people. He knows what a person wants more than anything and he promises that to them.

His biggest advantage is that he is smart enough to ally himself with people who have nothing else to live for. Sigma, Nikolai, Bram (before Aya), Nathaniel and Fukuchi are all outsiders. They are alone but desperately want to feel like they belong. Fyodors biggest disadvantage is that if those people find belonging elsewhere his influence on them shatters. He seems to be aware of that? Idk it's too soon to tell.

Mori!!!

He isn't crazy smart. He's just sadistic and cruel. He picks easy targets (children) and slowly takes away their agency. He undoes them until they have nothing to live for and they then become perfectly obedient adults. His biggest disadvantage is that he relies on the chain of abuse and that isn't sustainable as a dynamic for power. Chuuya and Akutagawa have no one above them to preassure them to listen to orders now that Dazai is gone. Also the extreme amounts of abuse he relies on is impossible to ditch out to EVERYONE. That's why he relied on the chain of abuse but that's failing. Mori isn't smart. He's a coward. He takes the shortest path no matter the resistance.

FUKUCHI!!

isn't smart either. He is just THE BEST chameleon. He hid in plain sight. He knows war and war tactics. He's a great spy and facilitating a strong bond with the target is a spy strategy.

They are not all the same stop conflating their perspectives as "knows everything". It leads to a lot of misunderstandings and a lot of misinformation. DAZAI IS NOT RANPO! He doesnt know everything. He's just really good at pretending he does.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd ranpo #bsd poe #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #bsd fyodor #bsd analysis #bsd louisa may alcott

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captn-trex · 2 months ago

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technical devotion, part seventeen: taken

a/n: it's echo day!!! that's why i'm posting this two days late.... definitely not because this chapter put me in a massive rut..... aha, nothing like that.

warnings: canon typical violence, someone held at gun(blaster)point, some unwarranted touching, angry clone nose scrunch hehe

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Echo awoke to an empty bed, in an empty room. The silence was stifling, and he let out a long breath to break the uncomfortable feeling.

In the two times he'd stayed with Kan, she had not remained in the bed when he had woken up, just leaving the bed lingering with her scent. He would give anything to wake up to the sight of her, the feel of her, alongside that divine scent, just once. He was sure that he could die a happy man then.

He eventually hauled himself from the bed, noting how little discomfort he got from the injury he had sustained to his back, and also how rested he felt. He quickly pulled on his clothes and exited the room, checking to make sure no one saw him leaving.

The idea of people knowing that he spent the night with Kan was both electrifying and terrifying. In some ways, he'd like for people to know that she was his, in some sense. Then again, she wasn't his, they were just friends. Good friends, best friends perhaps. Echo couldn't stop the nagging voice in the back of his head that told him that even best friends don't cuddle in the middle of the night, that they don't intertwine their bodies as if trying to mould them into one.

He also wouldn't presume that Kan would want anyone knowing he stayed with her, in fact, he assumed the opposite. He wouldn't embarrass her in such a way. So, he was careful in making sure nobody saw him leave, tiptoeing away quickly. He made his way down the hall and opened the door to the command room, finding Rex and Kan bent over the central holotable in deep discussion. They looked up as he entered, and Kan offered him a small smile.

“Echo, perfect timing” Rex said, standing up straight, “I need to talk to you about this mission”

“What about it?”

“I'm going to need you to lead the main objective” Rex informed him.

Echo drew his eyebrows together, “Why not you?”

“I'll be Kan's backup”

Echo looked between the two of them for a moment, his lips pressed in a hard line as he struggled to control his thoughts.

“Rex can I speak with you outside?”

Kan frowned deeply, and watched as the pair of them left, shutting the door behind them. What couldn't Echo say to her?

“Rex, you would lead better, send me as Kan's backup instead”

Rex sighed aggressively, suppressing an eye roll. He knew exactly where this comment was coming from. “Echo I need you to be objective about this. Kan is perfectly able of handling herself and you're one of the most capable soldiers here. She will be fine, I will be with her and I need you to lead this squad”

Echo ground his jaw with indignation. He knew Rex was right, but he felt protective over Kan, and he just wanted to know that she was safe at all times.

“Are you sure that-”

“Echo” Rex said firmly, giving him a knowing look, “I understand, okay? I know you want to keep her safe, but she signed up for this rebellion and she knows as well as you and I that there are certain risks involved”

“But-”

“She wants to do this Echo” Rex cut him off, “You know what she's like, she wants to help and we need her on this mission. I'm sorry, but this is final”

Echo sighed, “Fine”

Rex walked back into the command room, and Echo looked up and met Kan’s eyes from the doorway. She looked confused, maybe even a little hurt, and he felt awful for being the reason why. He offered her a small smile as he joined them in the room, but it clearly did little to ease her worries. As he came to rest beside her, and they continued finalising the mission plan, he hooked his pinky finger with hers, the silent reassurance that everything was fine.

Kan relaxed. She could ask him about it later.

Kan stepped off of the ship, taking in her surroundings. It was a forest of some sort, large trees shrouding her and the clones in darkness, not that there was much light left to begin with. It was a little wet underfoot, but there were also dry leaves scattered about as if they had just fallen from the trees, clueing her in to the season the planet was in. Echo was quick to be at her side, his eyes scanning around what could be seen in the darkness for any immediate threats.

“This way” Rex gestured, leading the group.

The clones all followed after him silently, leaves crunching beneath their feet. Kan noticed Echo sticking close to her side and bit the inside her of her cheek, confused thoughts swirling inside her head. She watched the way he would look at her, almost as of to make sure she was still there, and then survey the environment, looking ahead of them and to their feet.

“Echo, I can handle myself, you don't need to look out for me” Kan said, hoping her assessment of the situation was correct.

Echo sighed, looking to his own feet, “I know, I'm sorry”

“It's okay” Kan said quietly, smiling up at him and gripping his hand for just a second.

He gave her a small sheepish smile in return as his heart lurched at the feeling of her hand finding his in the darkness, and they continued on their journey. Kan then cleared her throat.

“Uh, what were you talking to Rex about yesterday?” She asked, her voice a little hesitant, as if holding back how much she really cared to know.

Echo gave her a puzzled look, “When?”

“When you came into the command room, you didn’t want to say something in front of me” Kan replied, then quickly turned the words over again in her head, “I mean- sorry, if you don’t want to share with me that’s okay, of course”

“It’s not that” Echo sighed, “I was just asking if I could go with you instead of Rex”

“Oh” Kan said quietly, “Why?”

Echo chuckled a little. To him, and everyone around him, his monstrous crush on Kan was so painfully obvious that it was just getting a little ridiculous that she hadn’t noticed, or at least said anything. He reckoned that she in fact hadn’t noticed, or perhaps she would not afford him the small touches that she did; the gentle grip of his hand, the intertwining of their pinkies when one of them was nervous, the short squeezing hugs when she was excited. And no less, letting him stay with her in her bunk. He figured that Kan had absolutely no clue. Somehow that all made sense to him.

“I just want to keep you safe M’aira” He said lowly, casting a glance her way.

Kan’s heart skipped a beat.

“Oh, thank you” She spoke unsurely, not entirely certain of how to respond.

Echo huffed a small laugh, “You’re welcome, I guess”

Kan couldn’t stop the broad grin that spread across her face. It was getting harder to act like Echo didn’t affect her at all. Everything he said and did just made her so giddy, and she had to admit that she truly enjoyed it. It was fun to exist in this space, where she felt like she was on the cusp of admitting her feelings for him, with some kind of palpable but pleasant tension building. It was equally terrifying and electrifying.

It was almost seven klicks of walking before they reached the perimeter of the Imperial prison that was buried within the valley below. Rex brought them to a stop, and everyone gathered around him.

“Alright, I don't need to tell you all how dangerous this mission is” Rex began, “You understand perfectly well. It is unlikely that there won't he any push back from Imperial forces, so be careful, and keep them occupied while Kan and I do our part. We'll be going in and out this way, and you're that way. Good luck, radio silence from this point on”

As Kan turned away, Echo grabbed her arm instinctively, making her frown as she looked back at him.

“Be safe, M'aira” He urged quietly, his grip on her arm tightening just a little to drive his point home.

Kan's gaze softened, and she took a step towards him, a smile gracing her features as she looked up into his worry-filled eyes.

“You too, Echo” She said softly.

Echo opened his mouth to say something more, but nothing came out. Instead, he dropped his helmet to the ground and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her into a tight hug.

Kan was surprised, to say the least. She had hugged Echo a number of times, but he had never been the one to initiate it before. She snaked her hands around his waist and held him equally as tight, as he buried his face in her shoulder.

“I mean it, be careful” He reiterated in a murmur.

“I will. Don't get shot again alright?” Kan replied.

Echo chuckled a little bit, “I won't promise this time, but I'll try not to”

Kan tutted, “I guess that's the most I can ask for”

Echo lifted his head from her shoulder a little, his mouth tilting towards her ear so only she could hear, “You could ask for anything and I'd give it to you M'aira, just know that”

He then pressed a gentle kiss to her temple and stepped back, giving her a quick smile before grabbing his helmet from the ground and walking away.

Kan was positively dumbfounded. Her mouth hung open as she watched Echo join his squad. Her heart swelled with affection and a desperate longing that blinded her for a moment. The other clones hadn't been watching the exchange, but Rex on the other hand, was smirking when Kan turned towards him.

“Shut up” She rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t say anything” He held his hands up in surrender.

Kan grumbled a few unintelligible words as they made their way towards the way in they would be taking, and Rex held his tongue, electing to wait until after the mission was finished to tease her.

Getting in was easy. Even retrieving clones from their cells had very little pushback. But it was the getting them out that was the daunting part.

Echo signalled that it was safe to move, and the group of prisoners followed after him, hugging the walls to stay as hidden as possible. They ran into a some guards along the way to the ship, but a few stun blasts made short work of that problem. Though, Echo began to get nervous as he heard the crackle of someone trying to comm him in his ear.

“Ech- - We’re g- - -eave, don- -eed-”

It was Rex, but with the limited information, Echo couldn’t tell whether or not he was in trouble. He didn’t sound especially distressed, but Echo’s heart leapt to his throat nevertheless.

“Rex? You’re not coming in clear. What’s the matter?”

He didn’t get any sort of reply, not even static, which just worried him even more. Once he had got the clone prisoners settled in the ship, which had been brought to the landing platform on his command, he grabbed Howzer to let his worries be known.

“I think something might have gone wrong on Rex and Kan’s end” He informed him, and Howzer’s eyes widened.

“What kind of something? Why?” He asked hurriedly.

“I don’t know, Rex was trying to contact me and it was breaking up, and now he’s not responding at all”

“Kriff” Howzer ran a hand through his hair, “What should we do?”

Echo looked towards Gregor and realised he had been listening in, “Can you hold the fort here while we go back in?”

“I’m on it” Gregor gave him a small salute and that was all Echo needed to turn on his heel and bound back towards the base.

Echo and Howzer ran through the prison, towards the area that they knew Kan and Rex to be in from the mission briefing. They ran past the unconscious bodies of the guards which they had incapacitated previously, and came upon conscious ones to which they had the same solution. As they got close Echo tried contacting Rex again.

“Rex? Rex, come i-”

“Ah! Perfect, just who I’m looking for” A cold, sneering voice interrupted Echo as he rounded the corner, “And you came to me, how opportune”

Echo whipped out his blaster but the stormtroopers surrounding the Imperial officer did the same. Echo could see that the officer had hold of Rex’s comm, but Rex was nowhere to be seen.

“Echo? Was it?” The Imperial rocked forwards onto the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back, “I hope you know I have troops on the way to retrieve my prisoners”

Echo scrunched up his face, refusing to give any of his own commentary on the matter.

“Don’t you care at all? And I thought clones were supposed to be fiercely loyal”

“You don’t know anything about us” Howzer piped up, his nose scrunching in disgust to match Echo’s.

“Do I not?” The man said impassively, his head tilted to the side.

Howzer growled from beside Echo with frustration, “Give us back our brother”

“Hm, perhaps” The officer seemed to be considering it for a moment, his finger tapping at his chin. “Or perhaps not” He shrugged and then called out, “Bring him out”

A pair of stormtroopers dragged in Rex from a side door, hanging limp as they held him under his arms and throwing him onto the ground. He knelt before his brothers, his head hung and wrists bound together. Echo was so sure that Rex would never have the fight beaten out of him, but here he was, beaten and broken, defeated on the floor. Echo could only thank the stars that somehow Kan had avoided this confrontation, and the imperial noticed him let out a small breath.

“Oh, and how could I forget” The officer grinned sadistically, “Bring out the other one too”

To Echo’s horror, a stormtrooper then dragged in Kan, holding her by the hair while her hands were bound in front of her. She was resisting, but had a cloth tied around her mouth, stopping her cries from being coherent. She was thrown onto the floor next to Rex, her knees hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

“Now, troopers, I'll make you a deal” The officer continued, “I'll let you take one of them, a show of good will, and I'll keep the other, if you just tell me which one you want”

Echo couldn't speak, he couldn't breathe. It felt as if the wind had been kicked out of him as he took in the sight of the two people he cared for most, kneeling before him in such a state.

The imperial continued, “Of course, I don’t expect you or any of your pathetic brothers to actually make it off this planet, but all the same, I’ll be kind enough to let you hope”

Echo knew the man was stalling for time, and he knew that he was letting it happen, but he couldn’t find anything to say, even to spew insults at him.

“Come on, or I'll have to choose for you” The imperial officer said with a mock impatience.

Echo looked to Kan, and she shook her head slowly at him. He couldn't in good conscience choose either of them, but the idea of leaving Kan in the hands of these monsters turned his stomach.

“Alright too late” The imperial huffed after a minute, and pushed Rex forwards, “Have him, I'm keeping the girl”

Howzer rushed to receive Rex, taking his arm around his shoulders and bringing him to stand beside Echo, who had since drawn his blaster on the officer once more, his body practically shaking with rage.

“Ah, ah, I don’t think so” The Imperial spoke calmly, a small smirk appearing as the five stormtroopers in the room all turned their blasters to him.

“Let her go” Echo ordered, but the Imperial just laughed.

“Oh I don't think so” He said, tipping Kan’s chin up to look at her face as he stood just behind her, “I couldn't let such a pretty little thing slip from my grasp”

Kan instinctively pulled away but the Imperial grabbed her neck, forcing her to keep still. A small whimper sounded in her throat and Echo's heart lurched at the sound.

“Get your hands off her” Echo seethed, striding forwards.

“Stay put” The Imperial barked, pulling Kan’s head back by her hair and pointing a blaster to her head, “Or she gets it”

Kan was trying to say something from behind her gag, and now that he had drawn closer, echo could see the tears streaming down her face. His heart reached out for her, hoping beyond hope that it could wrap around her and seize her from this despicable man’s grasp.

“What is it sweetie?” The imperial said in an overly-sweetened tone, loosening the cloth a bit to take it out of her mouth.

“Echo, just get out of here. I'll be fine” She breathed out. Her voice sounded strained, her throat raw and aching.

“I'm not leaving you-”

“Echo! Please. I'll be okay, please go” Kan spoke so desperately, but Echo’s desperation to save her was just as strong. He stepped forwards, but the Imperial officer pushed the barrel of the blaster into her temple. Kan squeezed her eyes shut, her head pounding with how tight the Imperial was holding her hair.

“Rex, please get him out of here” She begged.

Rex gave her a reluctant look, but when her eyes opened and focused on him with an unyielding and stern stare, it made him muster up what little strength he could and he grabbed Echo’s arm tightly, pulling him back. Howzer also threw an arm around Echo’s middle and dragged him backwards towards the way out, knowing it wasn’t going to be an easy task.

“No!” Echo was screaming at the top of his lungs, fighting to get away from his brothers, but it was no use. He could only watch in anguish as Kan's defeated form grew further and further from him, out of his grasp and into the Empire's.

Echo continued to protest in desperate cries, not even paying attention to the blaster fire that ripped through the air when they made it to the landing platform. When Gregor’s eyes locked onto his brothers dragging one of their own back to the ship, he threw his blaster to one of the others and sprinted for the controls, closing the hatch once they were aboard and leaving with immediacy.

“No! We have to go back!” Echo argued with Rex, his face stern but his cracking voice betraying his desperation.

“Echo, we will. We’ll get her back, okay?” Rex tried to soothe his worries but it was no use.

“We can’t leave her there! She won't-”

”Echo!” Rex snapped at him, grabbing his arms, “Kan is strong, you know that. She will be fine, and we will go back for her as soon as possible”

Echo’s chest heaved, tired and out of breath from screaming. He wordlessly slumped onto the floor, taking his head in his hands and letting Rex rest a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t understand, she- she was tortured before, if they hurt her-”

“They’re not going to touch her Echo, we’re going back for her” Gregor crouched by his brother and gripped his forearm tightly in support, “We won’t give them the chance”

Echo wanted to believe him, but the sinking feeling in his stomach told him that it wasn’t going to be that easy.

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rosesloveletters · 1 month ago

Text

Jawbreaker Heart - Chapter One

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Audrey Benedict (Fem. OC)

Word Count: 3,867

Warnings: no major content warnings apply.

Summary: At the height of its popularity, the Wonka brand had become a household name, synonymous with the whimsical and imaginative creations of its enigmatic founder, Willy Wonka. Yet, despite the brand's immense fame, Wonka himself remained a mysterious figure, preferring to spend his days immersed in the boundless realms of his own creativity. Wonka's carefully guarded solitude was shattered when his precious candy recipes were stolen, a devastating blow that transformed the once carefree and capricious chocolatier into a bitter, cynical dreamer. No longer able to trust in the blind faith of the public, Wonka is forced to navigate the complex and often treacherous channels of both business and creative endeavors, learning to trust again as he comes to accept that he cannot shut out the world forever, nor the prospect of love. As he grapples with these newfound challenges, a young woman captures the reclusive chocolatier’s eye and reawakens long-dormant memories, reminding Wonka of the true purpose that has driven his life's work - to bring joy, wonder, and a touch of magic to all who experience the fruits of his labors.

[ A Gene Wilder Wonka fic. ]

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika-graphics on Tumblr.

Ten Years Later

As the first faint glimmers of dawn began to peek over the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the city streets below, a weary figure stood motionless by the window, gazing down upon the familiar scene that unfolded each morning.

This was the only respite Willy Wonka allowed himself - a brief moment of solace before the relentless demands of his high-powered corporate empire would once again consume his every waking hour.

With a heavy sigh, the man's eyes followed the lithe form of a young woman as she hurried along the sidewalk, her brisk stride and determined expression betraying the routine nature of this early commute.

He knew her path well, having observed it countless times before, an almost hypnotic ritual that provided a fleeting sense of connection to a world beyond the gilded walls of his executive suite.

Yet, as he watched her disappear around the corner, a twinge of envy stirred within him, for her freedom, her simplicity of purpose, her ability to navigate the world without the burden of a multi-million-dollar empire weighing upon her shoulders.

Deep down, he knew that he could no longer sustain this pace alone, that he would need to entrust aspects of his business to capable hands. But the very thought of relinquishing control, of exposing his vulnerabilities to a stranger, filled him with a profound unease - a reluctance borne of years spent building his empire through sheer force of will.

Still, as the first rays of dawn illuminated the city below, he could not help but wonder if, in his relentless pursuit of success, he had somehow lost sight of the very things that made life worth living.

With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the quiet street, watching as the young woman disappeared around the corner and out of his sight beyond the factory gates.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that suggested inner conflict.

He mourned the premature loss of his meticulously maintained appearance - perfectly styled hair, impeccably groomed curls, freshly pressed clothing, and shined shoes.

With much higher stakes than just two years prior, he had far less time to devote to superficial concerns like his appearance.

Willy Wonka's eyes narrowed as he glared at the memory of the young man he had once been, the naive and foolish version of himself that had trusted his employees with the closely guarded secrets of his chocolate factory. How utterly idiotic he had been, to think that those greedy, grasping hands would not eventually turn against him and try to steal away the very lifeblood of his business.

For years he had been forced to shutter the factory's doors, unable to produce a single morsel of his world-famous confections for several years, all because a cabal of traitorous workers had gradually absconded with his priceless recipe formulas, piece by piece.

The weight of that responsibility, the burden of having to rebuild his empire from the ground up with no staff to assist him, had become a crushing, all-encompassing force that threatened to drown him in its relentless tide.

Wonka had always expected that others might try to take advantage of his genius and exploit his creations for their own gain, but in his wildest nightmares, he had never imagined that his greatest enemy would turn out to be his own naive trust in those he had once called his most trusted allies.

Now, as he surveyed the empty, echoing halls of his once-bustling factory, he swore a solemn vow that he would never again be so foolish and would safeguard his secrets with an iron grip and trust no one, for in the end, the only person he could truly count on was himself.

Blinded by the promise of freedom, he had trusted those who sought only to destroy him, granting them access to his life's work. Riddled with regret, he berated himself for not defending against their true intentions from the start, having naively accepted their offer of solace – the chance to retreat into himself and shut out the world.

Yet, paradoxically, it was within his own creative mind that he found true liberation. The irony was not lost on him – the very faculty that had imprisoned him also set him free.

Now that he had found the Oompa Loompas who were so grateful to be rescued that they offered their assistance in his factory, he was able to reopen, but Wonka struggled to keep up with the overwhelming demand for his confections.

He excelled at operational tasks but delegated the paperwork and business side of his corporation to others. As an artist and inventor, his true priorities lay in creating.

He disliked admitting ignorance, not because he failed to understand, but because he did not want to waste time on paperwork at the expense of his creative pursuits.

He was burning the candle at both ends, desperately trying to supply the world at the breakneck pace they were being purchased and consumed.

Knowing he risked losing everything he had worked so hard to build, Wonka knew he had to make a change before it was too late.

***

Flashback – three months prior

“With all due respect, sir, you can’t keep living like this,” Mr. Wilkinson’s nasally voice grated on Wonka’s nerves.

Wonka gritted his teeth, his hand clenched tightly around his pen, the tip stabbing into the page and splotching it with ink. "I can and I will continue living this way, if it means I won't be made a fool again," he said in a curt tone.

Wilkinson was taken aback, as Wonka's uncharacteristic display of frustration caught him off guard.

Wonka's typically crystal blue eyes had turned stormy, and his cheeks were flushed with color.

Wonka pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a frustrated sigh.

"I will do whatever it takes to keep this company afloat," Wonka declared, his tone firm and unyielding. "However, do not expect me to simply trust anyone - not until I find someone I can truly rely on. If I am to maintain this company's success, I must remain in complete control. I cannot afford to trust indiscriminately."

"I didn't mean to suggest you should hire just anyone," Wilkinson clarified. "I only meant you should hire someone. You aren't obligated to offer a job to every applicant or interviewee."

Wonka considered Wilkinson's statement, though remained unconvinced.

Wonka remained on the defensive, explaining, "The Oompa Loompas have only been in my care and supervision for several months. Surely, after some adjustments, they could be trained at some of the more..." He trailed off, then firmly stated, "No, I cannot put just anyone in charge of that. Invoicing, bills, letters...it must be done by me. There is just no other way."

Mr. Wilkinson empathized with his employer's plight.

Willy Wonka had been a young, vibrant man, but his success had come at a price.

Trusting the wrong people had turned him bitter and cynical, skeptical of others and their intentions. The once-sparkling blue of his eyes had dimmed, swirling with storm clouds. It was a sad fate for the once-promising young confectioner, who had risen to world renown only to be slowly stripped of his self-esteem, taken advantage of by his own most trusted and valued employees.

Success had not been kind to Wonka.

Wonka was embarrassed, a fact not lost on Mr. Wilkinson.

With a gentle, fatherly tone reserved only for Wonka, whom he had come to see as a son, Wilkinson said, "It was merely a suggestion, sir. There's no need to decide right away."

He then added, “I believe you'll know when the time is right.”

***

End of Flashback

Wonka's assistant had been proven right, though he was loath to admit it.

Reluctantly, Wonka conceded the truth - he could not simultaneously oversee the factory, keep up with paperwork and bookkeeping, devise new confections, and expect to find joy, fulfillment, and a good night's rest.

Exhausted, he dragged a hand across his face as he contemplated his options.

Inevitably, he would have to reenter society, no matter how much he wished to remain isolated. Though the prospect filled him with dread, he steeled himself to confront the challenges ahead, even if it meant facing them reluctantly. If doing so allowed him a moment's peace, he would find the strength to persevere.

Exhausted from his relentless work schedule, even his loyal Oompa Loompas had begun to notice the strain on their employer.

With a resigned sigh, he tore himself away from the window and hurried through the rest of his morning routine, barely registering his own actions.

Becoming overwhelmed to the point of losing focus was never his intention.

Running a business this way was far from ideal, yet he held himself to an unrealistic standard, chastising himself for expecting anything less. Despite his disciplined nature and ability to make it work, the toll on his well-being was evident. Still, he took immense pride in his hard work and diligence, his heart remaining light and full of hope.

Willy fought to keep his passion burning, but the flame was fading, on the verge of extinguishing.

He needed to act fast and deliberately to reignite the fire within and revive the joy he once felt for his beloved factory - a source of his greatest happiness that now weighed heavily on him, causing more turmoil than he dared admit, even to himself. The demands of his career had become a burden, not a blessing, a realization that filled him with dread.

What was once a passion had become merely a job, stripping him of the joy he once found in his work.

As a creator at heart, the business side of his endeavors had drained his enthusiasm, just as he had feared.

He fondly remembered his dreams of becoming an inventor and visionary unlike any the world had ever seen. Yet his true potential remained largely undiscovered, known only to those perceptive enough to recognize it.

Despite his immense creative power, he often failed to fully grasp his own true nature. Ideas simply came to him, and he eagerly tested them by inventing novel and captivating recipes to share with the world.

But at what personal cost did this come?

After enduring such tremendous loss, he struggled to regain his trust in the world.

Having chosen to share his gift with the world, he was prepared to pay the price, even if it cost him everything he had left.

***

“I suppose you know more than I sometimes give you credit for, old friend.”

Mr. Wilkinson stifled a faint smile as he swirled the tea in his cup, watching a tendril of steam drift into the air from the hot beverage. "We all go through life at our own pace," he spoke with the tactful wisdom of an elder gentleman - a quality he was glad to see Wonka also still possessed, despite the events of the last decade. "The only thing that matters is that we eventually arrive at the destination meant for us."

Wonka remained unaffected by Wilkinson's words of wisdom, which were meant to help rather than hinder. It was either too early in the day to appreciate his assistant's advice, or his cynicism had deepened beyond what he recalled.

Wonka stood up from his desk, huffing with frustration, and paced the length of his office.

"Yes, yes, I understand that," he said impatiently.

The once-vibrant, lively space had grown dingy and dull. Bare except for a few prized art pieces he had collected over the years and a tall filing cabinet in the corner, the room felt empty. Across the walls, the yellow striped wallpaper, decorated with swirling yellow roses, was torn and ripped, revealing pitted holes if examined closely.

Wonka grimaced, repulsed by this space.

Returning to the fateful spot he had stood upon to learn of the theft of his recipes, a bitter taste lingered in his mouth as bile rose in his throat. Swallowing his discomfort, his piercing gaze settled on his loyal assistant - the sole survivor after his recipes were stolen.

Overwhelmed by frustration, Wonka wrenched himself from that spot, fearing he might take root and become immobilized. "I can't lose sight of myself again," he muttered.

Knowing how rarely Wonka opened up, Mr. Wilkinson was careful not to do anything that might disrupt the process. The idea that his boss was finally starting to embrace a concept Wilkinson had proposed months earlier was too crucial for him to interrupt now.

Wincing at the painful memory, Wonka admitted, "I was reckless in my naivety. It won't happen again."

"I cannot guarantee that no one will ever try to take advantage of you again," Mr. Wilkinson said cautiously, as Wonka's stern gaze prompted him to continue with caution. "However, opening yourself up with trust and vulnerability is necessary to find people who will not exploit you."

"As greatly as your philosophical lesson is appreciated," Wonka's gruff sarcasm did not seem to outwardly offend his assistant, "what I need now is an idea."

"The right measures rarely elude you, sir," Wilkinson reassured him.

Wonka masked the look of disgust on his face, not wanting to appear ungrateful of Wilkinson’s reassurance.

With a resigned sigh, Wonka admitted, "I've been hard on you."

Though Wilkinson's expression remained unchanged, he did not blame Wonka for the rift in their relationship.

"I must apologize for how I've treated you, my dear friend."

Wilkinson shook his head, saying, "That isn't necessary. It has been a difficult time for both of us."

Wonka silently nodded, agreeing with the sentiment. Although grateful to avoid someone else’s blame, he would always hold himself accountable.

Filled with renewed purpose, he strode back to his desk and declared, "It's time I hired an office manager. I'll draft a memo to run a help wanted ad in tomorrow's paper. I want that ad posted everywhere - on every street corner, in every window, in every open space in this town, especially along the front wall of the factory grounds."

With no other choice, he had to dive into the deep end with full commitment - sink or swim. Anything less than his utmost vigor would leave him paralyzed by fear.

Wonka was not the type to surrender easily.

Wilkinson furrowed his brow in concern over his boss's sudden manic energy.

"We'll be overwhelmed if you proceed with this, sir," he warned. "I sincerely hope you've given more thought to interviewing and reviewing resumes at that scale than you have to the execution of this ad campaign."

Wonka urgently exclaimed, "There's no time! There’s so much time and so little to do! Wait a minute…strike that, reverse it. Besides…”

A knowing smirk crept across his face as his words trailed off, his eyes sparkling with mirth and amusement, as if he were reveling in some private joke. "I have my ways..."

Wilkinson bristled, having finally caught on. "This isn't about her," he growled, his gravelly voice tinged with a hint of a growl. "Tell me this isn't about her."

Wonka's eyelid twitched, betraying no other visible reaction to his assistant's statement.

"I'm a bit hard of hearing, dear friend," he said, "so please speak a little louder next time."

"Enough of the act, Willy! I see right through your facade. The world may be captivated by your charisma and wit, but I know the real you. I've witnessed you at your lowest, staring out that window, waiting like a madman with an agenda for her to walk by."

“How dare you!”

Wonka erupted in a barely restrained fury as his assistant challenged his delusional fixation. Despite his efforts to conceal his obsession, Wonka's furtive glances and exuberant yearning had not escaped notice.

Now, faced with the reality of his disturbing infatuation, the man's fragile grip on rationality began to unravel. His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, jaw clenching as he struggled to suppress the volcanic rage building within. This was his muse, his goddess - how dare anyone challenge his twisted, romanticized vision of her!

In his mind, she belonged to him, and he would destroy anyone who dared to interfere. Wilkinson’s pleas for him to see reason only further inflamed his volatile emotions, driving him closer to the edge of insanity. With a low, guttural snarl, he advanced menacingly, all sense of self-control crumbling as he succumbed to the deranged delusions that had consumed his every waking thought.

This woman was his destiny, and he would stop at nothing to get to know her, even if it meant annihilating anyone who stood in his way.

Wilkinson had never witnessed Willy Wonka in such a rage before, but the chocolatier continued unabated. "How dare you suggest I'm doing this just for her! This isn't only about her - it's about finding someone I can trust to help manage my factory. If she's the one, then so be it! I don't understand why you're so upset about it."

“What is it about her?”

Wilkinson's question gave him pause, as he pondered what exactly it was about her that had captivated him so.

The girl herself had not solely intrigued him, but rather the notion that she existed in her own private realm, free to act and behave anonymously - a freedom he deeply yearned for. He craved the obscurity she seemed to possess, a liberty he could only momentarily experience. No matter his efforts, he found it impossible to truly create or maintain that elusive sense of anonymity because he could never divest himself of his renown.

Wonka's eyes lost their fiery intensity as he hunched forward, leaning wearily against his desk. "I...I don't know," he stammered, the words laced with defeat.

Wilkinson tried a softer approach, hoping Wonka might be persuaded to explain himself. "You've had your eye on her for a while now. You know if she finds out you've been watching her like this, it won't end well."

Wonka snapped, "Don't you think I already know that?" His voice trailed off, and a pang of guilt struck him through the heart.

He could not maintain the role of passive observer indefinitely. However, if the young woman discovered his daily surveillance of her commute, she would vanish completely, like a ghostly apparition.

Despite their close relationship, Wonka was unwilling to confide his personal desires to his assistant.

Wilkinson knew that Wonka had a fondness for the girl, though the reasons were unclear, but he saw no need to delve further into the matter, at least for now.

Wonka shook his head dismissively. "She won't find out." As he spoke, he turned and rummaged through the papers on his desk, eventually locating a pen. "And besides," he added, "mere observation is not a crime."

“Will you at least enlighten me as to why it must be her?”

Perplexed, Wonka remained silent, unable to explain why it had to be her.

He of course understood the reason, but grappled with whether he should reveal it.

Suddenly, gentle laughter, innocent hazel eyes, and a kindred spirit overwhelmed his senses.

She had once understood him.

Unless his memory was failing him, he had never met her before, yet she felt familiar.

Wonka's response was vague at best. "I can't explain it," he said, "it's just...a feeling."

After years working for Willy Wonka, Mr. Wilkinson understood the deep passion Wonka felt for his factory and anything else which captured his fancy. It was the heart and soul of Wonka's artistry, and without Wonka's intuitive vision and unwavering commitment, the Wonka brand would be nothing more than a name.

Willy Wonka's most cherished desire – a profound feeling that surpassed even his grandest imaginings – lay at the heart of it all.

Wonka couldn't quite place it, but he sensed this woman was more than she seemed. He was confident the answers would come to him eventually, yet they continued to elude him, leaving him with nothing but an overwhelming yearning for what he lacked.

"I suppose there is nothing I can do to convince you to trust me on this,” Wonka replied with a weary sigh.

“When have you ever known me to mistrust your judgement?”

Wonka scoffed in disagreement with Wilkinson's claim.

Wilkinson continued, "However, my trust in you does not necessarily mean I believe your judgement is sound."

Wonka's attention drifted as Wilkinson spoke, his mind consumed by thoughts of the mysterious girl he encountered each morning.

What was it about this stranger that so captivated him, unable to remove her from his consciousness?

He found himself entranced by her, unable to shake the lingering impression she left on his mind even after she had was gone.

Was it her striking beauty and self-assured poise? Or did a deeper, more inexplicable connection draw him in - a sense of familiarity he couldn't quite explain, despite their lack of prior acquaintance?

Willy pondered what it was about this woman that had etched her image into his memory, setting her apart from the countless anonymous faces that streamed by his window daily.

Was it merely the serendipity of their paths crossing, or did she symbolize something deeper - the untapped potential of every fleeting interaction, the unknown that lies within each chance meeting?

This sight of her had awakened something deep within him - emotions and questions he hadn't confronted in years.

As he stood transfixed by thoughts of her, he realized she had become inextricably linked to his own sense of self, a mere stranger who had left an indelible mark on his psyche.

He had lost his way and allowed himself to become numb to the true purpose of his craft and, consumed by his own imagination, he had dangerously assigned undue significance to a stranger.

Her eyes reflected the same joy and delight that had first drawn him into the world of confectionery all those years ago - that simple pleasure of creating something that could bring happiness to others.

The true motivation behind his candy-making venture was not to accumulate wealth or pander to the public's demands, but to rekindle the whimsical, unconstrained creativity that had once fueled his pursuits.

Despite his jaded outlook, this young woman had somehow pierced through the veil of cynicism and disillusionment that had clouded his vision. Her presence reminded him that the true reward in his work came not from the bottom line, but from the joy and delight experienced by those who indulged in the fruits of his labor.

He was determined to find greater fulfillment and resolved to refocus his efforts on pursuing his own passions. Through this personal journey of self-investment and realignment, he knew he would discover greater satisfaction.

“Are you listening to me?” Wilkinson's grating voice was wearing on Wonka's nerves, causing him to grit his teeth.

"Yes, of course," he replied tersely, "I'm not so lost in my own world that I can't tell you don't have as much faith in me as you try to imply."

Wilkinson's brow furrowed as he spoke sternly, "You'd better have a plan, and a damn good one."

Wonka's expression shifted to a smug smirk as he cryptically replied, "I have a few."

#willy wonka #willy wonka and the chocolate factory #willy wonka 1971 #wilder!wonka #1971!wonka #willy wonka imagine #willy wonka and the chocolate factory imagine #willy wonka x oc #gene wilder #biblio :: 📖

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dailyadventureprompts · 2 years ago

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Villain: Dastigaan, The Maddest Mage of our Age

There’s a secret they won’t tell you about descending into the pit of madness. It’s that once you realize there’s no bottom your fall begins to feel a lot like flying.

It’s a well known fact that casters frequently meddle with powers beyond their understanding, at risk of not only inflicting trauma to their surroundings and their own mind, but onto reality itself. Dastigaan was the sort of mage folk all to reductively refer to as “mad”, the sort that confused the trauma he caused with an indicator of his growing power, and sought to cause more as a means of pushing his limits. He dealt with dark powers and lost himself in the forbidden reaches of the multiverse, returning home as a catacylsmic storm of arcane power that just so happened to still wear a mortal’s skin. Before he could unleash his terrible power he was caught and imprisoned by the great mages of the realm, an imprisonment that’s lasted for decades and will very soon come to an end, possibly with the party’s unwitting aid.

Adventure Hooks:

Dastigaan’s escape begins in the most innocuous way: The heroes come into conflict with a belligerent magic shop owner, who over promises on the capabilities or reliability of particular items and then throws the party out (using telekinisis) when they come back to complain. As they’re picking themselves up off the ground, a helpful tiefling by the tame of Tristham approaches to help dust them off and offer commiserations. the shopowner was an old business rival of his who elbowed him out of the magic trade and has been running roughshod over all the other enchantment vendors in town. Mutual cursing of the shopowners’s name turns into an offer of drinks, which turns into a completely innocent discussion of just how one might get into the shop and swipe a few choice items along with the owner’s collection of crafting diagrams. After the party returns victorious and after the heat dies down, Tristham will mention that he just so happens to have another job in the works, and that the party have just so happened to prove themselves more than qualified for an interview.

The architect of the big heist is one Ildra of Volennwal, a retired military officer and decorated war mage in her 60s who became dissolusioned with the kingdom’s goverannce after sustaining heavy personal injury including the loss of one of her arms to secure a victory that the diplomats traded away for trade concessions before she had even recovered. IIdra apparently has a plan to break a vault full of treasure held in reserve by the crown in the case of wartime, but is skeptical of the parties abilities to help pull it off despite her quartermaster Tristham’s appraisal. If the party want in, they’ll have to prove they can handle some danger... say by raiding a particularly notorious dungeon and bringing back a relic that will be useful in the caper

Drawn in by the promise of good pay and rich rewards by heisting an arcane vault, the party are half way into the execution of their plan when they discver that what they’re ACTUALLY doing is helping to break one of the most dangerous casters alive out of wizard jail. Do they abandon their plan an attempt to escape? Turn themselves over to the authorities? Go through with it and embrace their future as troubleshooters for a would be tyrant? They better make their decision soon, Ildra brought a small army of her old mercenaries buddies as a plan B of brute-forcing the jailbreak, and they won’t be too happy seeing their point-team turn tail and run.

Background: Far from the gibbering, nonsensical caricature that one could assume of most “mad” mages, Dastigaan is calm, cool, and in many ways perfectly reasonable. Backpacking through nightmare dimensions let him shrug off the destructive impulses of his youth and come to terms with what it really means to be a master of the arcane. The problem is where this reason will take him, as in order to avoid further pain, imprisonment, and attempts on his life, Dastigaan decided a few decades ago that each and every mage that acted against him or aided in his imprisonment must be made an example of. In order for these examples to be effective, they must be so direct and horrifying that they scar themselves onto history, a personal apocalypse delivered to each of the realm’s greatest casters to ensure the world learns from their mistake in opposing him.

This was exactly Ildra’s intent, having studied at the knee of one of those powerful mages and realizing far too late how his loyalty to the realm and distance and lofty position made him out of touch with the sacrifices of common people his grand stratagems necessitated. Knowing that she could never hold him, or the crown he served to account, Ildra remembered one of the old wizard’s forwarnings about the Maddest Mage of the Age and knew she had a weapon.

Further Adventures:

If your party don’t pick up on the original magic shop plot-tread (bastards) consider having them join up with the mercenary company that Ildra employs, or come into service of one of the mages Dastigaan is going to eventually target just before he escapes on his own.

The escape of the Maddest mage of the Age is going to make the great wizards and sorcerers of the realm shit their collective robes, having them stockpile arcane weapons, vanish completely as they flee to other planes, or drop all their responsibilities and disguise themselves as commoners while they wait for this all to blow over. While the panic and the chaos it brings begins to trickle down to the commons, the party end up adopting a skittish grey cat who seems intent on following them about for protection. This cat is infact Ildra’s mentor, having polymorphed himself into an easily overlooked form with a collar of nondetection.

While he possesses innumerable forbidden magics learned in his time beyond the stars, Dastigaan’s chosen method of avenging himself against his captors is to open the door to his good friend the outergod of paradox and let the lovecraftian horror horror go to work. Each of these violations results in the creation of a grisly monument, proportional in size and horror to how culpable Dastigaan believed that victim was in his imprisonment. Some are merely fist sized idols of clay and still living meat, others are grotesque instillation that eat up the lives and bodies of an entire city block.

#villain #dnd #dungeons and dragons #d&d #5e #horror #heist #theif #shopkeep #low level #mid level #Merchant #mercenaries #jail break #wizard #warlock #sorcerer #warfare

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b1tzverse · 1 year ago

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1/6

I finally bit the bullet and started on my Rogues full-bodies, and of course I had to start with the three Rogues who made this AU to begin with! I’m also gonna use this post to ramble about them a bit!

As different as these three may seem, they’re all artists at heart. And that’s what brought them together! In a way.

I don’t want to get into how they met just yet, but I do want to talk about them in present day terms. As of now, all three of them live on the far outskirts of Gotham in Lazlo’s farmhouse. Lazlo was less than thrilled by this at first, and actually tried to get rid of CF and MM on multiple occasions. But after a while he caved, and let them stay. Not without a price, though. Money means nothing to Lazlo, he’s perfectly self sustained and fully capable of stealing anything he can’t grow or make himself. So, instead of the kid’s paying him to live in his house, their form of “rent” is helping Lazlo around the house and farm.

When it comes to the more nefarious activities of these Rogues, they don’t actually work together all that often. Their personal goals and methods are just too different to keep a sturdy team dynamic. (Karla and Darius are more than glad to stay away from Lazlo’s whole Human Doll thing.) But this doesn’t mean they won’t work together at all, it just means they only team up for smaller schemes.

#b1tz arts #b1tz!verse #batman au #batman rogues #lazlo valentin #professor pyg #basil karlo #clayface #darius chapel #music meister #batman rouges gallery #batman fanart

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lewmagoo · 2 years ago

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before the devil comes for you | robert "bob" floyd

chapter three previous chapter

summary: the year is 1975. robert floyd is a young reverend haunted by demons from his past. fresh out of seminary, he is led to take up a backwoods church in a small mining town. there, he meets a woman who is in the midst of questioning the very foundation of her faith. as their worlds collide, robert soon finds himself tangled in a web of temptation and lies. with the past he’s spent so long trying to outrun quickly closing in, he is faced with a decision, in which he must either condemn the woman he loves, or turn his back on his faith.

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pairing: robert "bob" floyd x oc (fairlight mackall)

warnings: 18+ ONLY, heavy religious themes, mentions of death, mention of gunshot injury, misogynistic idealism, verbal abuse (fairlight's father berates her)

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Reverend Robert Floyd wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting when the Lord had led him to the village of Backforty Gap.

No matter how he pictured it in his mind, nothing could have prepared him for the reality of life in this place. He’d barely been in the village for three days, and he was already laying hands upon an injured man, beseeching the Almighty not to take him from his family.

Bob quickly learned that life in this place could be frightening and arduous. In fact, it almost seemed that the people just expected life to be that way. They believed that God was testing them, and that everything that happened to them had a heavenly purpose.

They believed it so deeply that Bob wasn’t sure they’d be willing to listen to anything else. He had to choose his words carefully so as not to upset the apple cart. Especially when Jed Allen’s children were asking him all these questions as he looked after them the night after their father was injured.

Doc McHone had insisted that he wanted to keep Jed at his place overnight to see that he made it through the night. Their mother, Livy, refused to leave her husband’s side. The prospect of leaving him even for a few hours almost sent her into hysterics.

It seemed that the only one who could calm her was Bob, just as he’d done in the beginning when Jed had first been brought to the doctor. Bob prayed over her and her husband, and it seemed to settle her considerably.

She had reason to be so distraught. The thought of losing her husband was more than she could bear. She had only just lost her second eldest child to the war. Samuel Allen was only eighteen years of age when he died. Killed within the first few weeks of combat. His body had been shipped home, leaving the Allens to bury their son and brother themselves.

There was no fanfare. No gun salute or folding of the flag. He’d simply been lowered into the ground in the middle of the local Pratt Cemetery, a soldier forgotten. The story had been relayed to him by Fairlight, who’d told him in hushed tones, so he knew what he was dealing with.

His heart went out to Livy Allen and her children. The sight of her bent over her husband, whispering repeated prayers, was gut-wrenching. And the children broke his heart, too. Especially young Will, who’d been the one to witness his father sustain his injury.

It was clear that this family needed all the support they could get. The responsibility to provide that support weighed heavily on the young preacher’s shoulders. He hoped he could offer them the comfort they needed.

This resulted in him spending the night in the Allen’s weatherbeaten old house, dutifully watching over each and every one of those children. Zinnia, being the oldest at twenty years old, was responsible for the children in her mother’s absence. And she was perfectly capable of taking care of her younger siblings. But Fairlight had known Zinnia her entire life. And she knew when her friend needed help. She could see that the girl felt incredibly lost and alone. Although their friendship was not what it once was, she still cared about Zinnia, and wanted to offer help during a difficult time.

That was how Bob and Fairlight had found themselves here, laid out on an uncomfortable, worn wooden floor, surrounded by sleeping children. There were a few bedrooms in the house, but the siblings were so shaken that they didn’t want to be apart. So everyone had fallen asleep on the floor in the sitting room.

Bob hadn’t slept a wink all night. He was too busy contemplating the weight of it all. Was he truly cut out for this? His mind kept replaying the events of the day before. The way he’d barely been able to handle it. Seeing that bullet wound in Jed Allen had awakened memories he thought he’d pushed aside long ago. It reminded him of the wicked things he had done.

He knew that his sins were covered by the Blood, but that didn’t mean that he still didn’t struggle with guilt. It made him wonder if becoming a preacher was the best decision. But then he thought of his mother, and how proud she’d been when he informed her he was going to seminary.

When he graduated, he would never forget the gleam in her eyes as he presented her with the certificate confirming that he, Robert Nathanael Floyd, was now an ordained minister. She’d taken his face in her hands and whispered, “thank you, Lord, for bringing my Bobby back to You.”

How could he disappoint her by giving up so easily?

And then he thought of Fairlight. He could still hear her melodic voice carrying out into the warm air, soothing his nerves, and bringing him back down to earth as she sang to the children.

Here was a woman who’d lived in these mountains her whole life. She had faced great adversity and still remained the epitome of grace and strength, even in the midst of her backwoods community.

And Bob admired that about her. He found himself inspired by her, and it seemed that her resolve had been just the push he needed to make the decision to stay here for as long as the Almighty would have him do so.

So, he decided that sleeping on a hardwood floor all night was worth it, if it meant he was fulfilling his purpose here.

He rose with the sun that morning, careful not to step on any sleeping children as he crept outside onto the porch, pulling the heavy wooden door shut behind him. It was time to talk to the Lord.

He spent a few minutes praying and taking in the mountain air. The morning was warm, but it was comfortable. Birds sang above, songbirds rehearsing their chorus. The way the house was situated, one could see the sunrise from the porch. And that’s what Bob did. He watched the rays of light filter in through the trees, smiling to himself at the thought. This place was one of great beauty and splendor. He marveled at it all.

But his tranquility was soon interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open. He turned, only to find Fairlight stepping onto the porch, her feet bare, as they often were. She smiled at him, a sleepy smile that was surely the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

He stopped himself before his mind could wander too far.

“Morning’, Preacher,” she greeted him as she eased the door shut. “How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Hardly a wink. But it’s alright, I can always catch up on sleep tonight. What about you?”

“Not any better than you. But it seems like all the little ones all got some sleep, which I was hoping for. Poor things went through a lot yesterday.”

Bob hummed as she moved to stand beside him, leaning against the porch railing. She’d let her golden locks out of the plait they’d previously been weaved into, and her hair framed her face. He thought it looked like a halo, of sorts.

There it was again, that stubborn mind of his beginning to wander. He forced his thoughts of her beauty aside and continued speaking.

“I was thinking I would pray with them before we leave today,” he remarked.

Fairlight nodded. “They’d like that. Especially Zinnia.”

“Are you two close?” He asked, out of curiosity.

The girl shrugged, her fingers running idly across a rough patch of wood. “We were, once. We grew up together. She’s a little younger than me, but she’s the only girl close to my age around here, so we were drawn to each other, I guess you could say. But lately, we’ve been growing apart. Mainly because she’s getting married soon and I don’t want any part of it.”

At her explanation, Bob’s brow furrowed. He knew he was essentially engaging in gossip by asking further questions, but he figured the Lord would forgive him, so he asked anyway. “Why is that?”

“The man she’s marryin’…I don’t like him. I think he’s no good for her. But she insists it’s the Lord’s plan for them to be together. But he acts like my—” she stopped herself, second-guessing the words she was about to say. My father. Instead, she said, “he believes all women are good for is getting married and popping out babies.”

Realization lifted his brow. “Oh, I see,” came his reply.

“What do you think about that, Preacher? Do you agree with him?” She asked. He looked at her, and found that she was not trying to trap him with her words. She was merely curious, and he could see how conflicted she was.

What did he think about it? He decided to be honest with her, simply to ease her mind. “I disagree. Women are meant for so much more than that.”

“You think so? Because my entire life, I’ve been told my worth is in my ability to bear children.” Fairlight lifted a delicate hand to her abdomen, just over the place where her womb would be. “I-I don’t want to have babies. I don’t want to bring them into this kind of life. Is that…is that wrong of me?”

Bob felt an ache blossom in his chest at her words. She looked so lost, standing there in her bare feet, her gray eyes filled with something akin to fear, or uncertainty.

“No, it’s not wrong. From what I’ve seen already, life out here is hard. I don’t fault you for deciding you don’t want to bring a child into it.”

“Daddy says it isn't right for a woman to not want a child. Says there’s something wrong with a woman to think that way.” But Fairlight didn’t trust her father’s judgment about such things. He couldn’t even keep the wife he had. She had fled from his harshness, unwilling to bring any more children into their union.

Fairlight would never forget the day she left, small as she was. Opal had wanted so badly to take her daughter with her, but Montgomery would not let her. He refused to allow her to even say goodbye.

It was a scene that had been forever burned in Fairlight’s mind. And while Mont had done all he could to poison her memory of her mother, and insist that Opal was selfish and unloving for what she did, it hadn’t worked the way he’d intended it.

Now, at nearly twenty-two, Fairlight was beginning to understand her mother’s reasoning for leaving. She had to, for her own well-being. It was either escape, or suffer at the hands of her controlling husband.

Mont, however, insisted on telling people that she had died. Mostly because his pride was so severely wounded that she had outright left him. He couldn’t face it, not even now, almost sixteen years later.

That was the story that Bob had gotten. But it wasn’t true. And Fairlight was itching to tell him that. However, she was afraid of how her father would react if he found out she blurted such a thing to the preacher. So, it was one thing she kept to herself.

But now, as they stood there on the porch, and he gazed upon her with those deep blue eyes, she felt like she could tell him anything. It was an odd feeling, one that she hadn’t experienced with anyone before. No one ever bothered to truly listen to her. But here was Robert Floyd, a man she’d only known but a few days, who made her feel seen for the first time in her life.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said with conviction. His gentle voice pulled her from her reverie. “I don’t believe God intended you to only be good for reproducing. He gave you a beautiful, strong mind. You’re so much more than your ability to bear children. Don’t you ever forget that.”

His words struck her, and she felt tears well in her eyes. She’d never heard the men in her life, let alone a preacher, say such things. The old preacher, Reverend Daniels, had held the same archaic views as all the other men in this community. He strongly believed things should be done the old-fashioned way.

Robert Floyd didn’t think that way, however. And part of her was concerned for how he would fare in this church. But in her emotional state, she could not utter anything more than a “th-thank you.”

Bob smiled softly. “I meant every word.” But he couldn’t fathom the fact that this woman, this kind, gentle, strong woman, had been reduced to something so one-dimensional. It made his chest warm with indignation toward the ones who’d made her feel this way.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He needed to keep his emotions in check. Maybe, if the Lord allowed, he would be able to gently nudge the congregation into changing its views on such matters. But even he knew that was foolishness. A people set in their way will not easily sway.

Even so, he hoped he could at least be an encouragement to the girl before him. She deserved that much.

Unbeknownst to either of them, something changed between the pair that morning, as they stood on that porch. A bond had started to blossom, just barely beginning to take root in the rich soil. And it would soon flourish into so much more than they ever could imagine.

Until then, they remained in a delicate push and pull, only just getting to know the other. Bob welcomed her friendship, in a land where he didn’t know anyone, and was trying to find his footing. Maybe he was letting himself become too familiar with her, after only knowing her for a short time, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He longed to say something more, but the sound of the door opening drew both of their attention elsewhere. There stood the eldest Allen, Zinnia. She greeted the reverend, and while she spoke with him, Fairlight slipped away, intent on making breakfast for the children before she and Bob departed for the day.

As the children awoke, the morning became quite hectic, but soon, they were all occupied with their food. Bob sat at the table with them and spoke to each of them, learning their names.

There was the youngest, Imogen, who was only four. Then there was Isaac, who was six. Then eight-year-old Will, fourteen-year-old Silas, and of course, twenty-year-old Zinnia. Bob took the time to learn something about each of them so he could file it away in his mind to use later as a talking point when he saw them at church on Sundays.

When breakfast was over, he said a prayer over the family, asking God to heal their father, and provide his family with comfort.

Then, the flaxen-haired girl and the preacher were off, wandering out into the warm May morning.

Fairlight knew the roads and trails like the back of her hand, so she had no difficulty leading Bob down the old gravel road, which was so worn down that it could hardly be called gravel anymore.

As they walked, Fairlight was deep in thought, her feet, now covered with a pair of shoes, kicked at random stones along the way. Although the silence was comfortable, Bob could tell she was deep in thought.

“Can I ask you a question?” She finally spoke. A stray rock flew with the momentum from her kick, landing in the nearby woods with a thud.

“Of course,” Bob replied, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. He felt the coolness of his pocket watch, the one from his grandfather, against his fingers.

“I’ve been thinking a lot of Jed Allen, and what happened. And I…I’m wonderin’, why would your God let something like that happen? He’s a husband and a father to six growing kids, who can’t get by without their daddy. Why would He try to take him from them?” As she spoke her words, she feared that maybe she was toeing a line that she wouldn’t be able to come back from.

Bob was taken aback by a specific part of her statement. “My God? Is He not your God, too?” The moment he asked the question, he regretted it, because she shut down.

Her cheeks burned as she shook her head. “I-I spoke wrong, I’m sorry.” She ducked her head and wouldn’t look at him.

So he stopped, shoes crunching against the ground as he did. “Fairlight, wait. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that. You just caught me off guard.”

Just ahead of him, she stopped as well. When she said nothing, he continued. “To answer your question, I don’t fully know why He allows these things. Personally, I think He allows them to test a person’s faith. To see how you fare in the day of adversity.”

His answer did nothing to give her peace. In fact, it only deepened the feeling of hopelessness that she’d had for a long time. “I still don’t understand why a God who is supposed to be merciful would allow things like this.”

“Some things aren’t meant for us to understand.” He tried not to let on that he was floundering.

“To answer your question about him being my God, I don’t know. I struggle to have a relationship with Him after everything I’ve seen in these mountains. Life here is brutal sometimes.”

Her reasoning made sense to him. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I understand why you might. But for me, God is all I have. I’ve gotta trust in Him or I don’t have anything else to fall back on.”

But to Fairlight, that seemed more like blind trust. She wondered if the preacher had ever experienced any difficulties in life. If he had, maybe his outlook wouldn’t be so positive. “Do you even know what it’s like to suffer?” She didn’t mean for the accusatory words to come out, but they did anyway, and as soon as they did, she recoiled at her own boldness.

Bob’s shoulders went tense. His face hardened. Gone was the tenderness in those cerulean irises. “Once upon a time I was at death’s door, well on my way to eternal damnation. But then I found Jesus, and He changed my life. Saved me from myself. So don’t you dare assume I haven’t experienced any hardships. Because you have no idea what I’ve gone through.”

But did he really believe the words he spoke? Had he found Jesus, or had he simply found religion, and a way to ease his mother’s worries? Either way, he knew he was no longer the person he was before, and that was all that mattered.

“I’m sorry,” Fairlight whispered.

Bob softened. “It’s okay. I guess I got a little too hot under the collar. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just…I’ve been through a lot these last few years and now I feel like I’ve finally found some semblance of peace.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you found peace. I’m still lookin’ for it myself.” She envied him, and wished she could find it in herself to put blind faith in the Almighty. It would make life much simpler. But she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to do that.

“And I pray you find it,” the preacher said.

The conversation drifted off into silence, and the pair resumed their walk, deciding it best to move on from the subject. There would be time to revisit it later, if need be. Until then, Fairlight much preferred not to think about her feelings about the Almighty, and about religion. Facing her feelings was a difficult pill to swallow. And she could only imagine the way her father would react if he found out she was questioning everything he’d taught her.

No, she couldn’t speak of those things to anyone else. Bob had to remain the only one privy to them.

That conversation they had on the road was tucked away in their minds, forgotten as the week began to pick up speed. It wasn’t long before Sunday was quickly approaching, and along with it, a crushing anxiety that had begun to pressurize within Bob’s chest.

He had been poring over his prepared sermon for three days. He spent most of those days at the river near the Mackall property, seated on a larger rock on the riverbank, his Bible open in his lap as he whispered prayers, asking the Lord to give him wisdom.

He enjoyed solitude during those days. On the third day, however, a welcome distraction came in the form of Fairlight approaching with a basketful of lunch she had prepared for him. It was Saturday, the day before he was to give his very first sermon in Backforty Gap. His nervousness was palpable. But Fairlight didn’t judge him for it.

“Made y’ some tomato sandwiches with the tomatoes from my garden,” she said with a smile as she handed him one of the sandwiches, wrapped in a piece of cheesecloth.

Bob smiled gratefully. “Thank you, I really appreciate it. Was just thinking about how my stomach wouldn’t stop growling and interrupting my prayers,” he said with an airy laugh.

“You’re welcome, Preacher,” she replied.

As he began on his lunch, he watched as Fairlight stepped forward, her perpetually bare feet dipping into the edge of the water. She was quiet for a moment as she gazed upon the water. But soon, she broke the silence. “You’ll do just fine tomorrow, I know it.”

He looked at her for a moment. He felt comfortable enough to be honest with her. The last few days, ever since the moment they shared on the walk home, a comradeship had begun to develop, and they found themselves talking to one another more and more.

“I sure hope so. I can do all things through Christ.”

“Who strengtheneth me,” she finished. Even if she was unsure of her beliefs, she still knew the Scriptures from cover to cover. She turned, looking over her shoulder at Bob. The wind blew strands of hair from her braid, sending the tendrils around her kind face. “I reckon I should warn you about some congregation members while I’m at it.”

Bob raised a brow. “Oh?”

The women nodded. “Mm. Mainly, you should watch out for Verity McNeal. She’s the church busybody. And she will suck up to you like a leech. She’ll want to be in charge of all ministry social events. And she doesn’t like to take no for an answer.”

The reverend nodded, swallowing his bite of sandwich before replying. “Noted,” he said. “Anyone else?”

“Yeah, there’s a man named Hawk Neiman. He’s not a church-going man, but I know he’ll probably be curious about the new preacher. He’s mean as a snake, especially when he’s drunk. He doesn’t take too kindly to newcomers here. So, just be warned.”

Bob appreciated her warnings. It gave him an idea of what to expect. But it did nothing to quell his anxiety. He wondered just how he was going to handle these people. However, it didn’t matter. It was all in the Lord’s hands.

Come Sunday, he’d learn exactly why she’d chosen to warn him.

And Sunday most certainly did come. He was awake bright and early, much too anxious for what was to come. He said his prayers, dressed in his Sunday best, which was a plain brown suit he’d found at a thrift store because he hadn’t had enough money for a new one.

He gazed at himself in the tiny mirror hanging from the wall. Did he look presentable? Did he look like a man of God? When he gazed upon his face, all he saw was a boy. Lost, afraid, lying to himself by trying to insist that everything was going to work out just fine.

But he wasn’t alone, for in the house nearby, Fairlight was in her bedroom, dressing for church. Or, rather, kneeling in the middle of the floor, frustrated because she couldn’t find a thing to wear. She didn’t have much at all. A few plain dresses for everyday, two Sunday dresses, one pair of good shoes, and one pair of everyday shoes.

But she did know where a few other, nicer, dresses were stored. In her father’s room was a wardrobe, entirely untouched, filled with women’s clothing. Her mother’s clothing. Montgomery had forbidden Fairlight from wearing any of the dresses, but today, she was going to break that rule.

Her father wouldn’t like it, but she was hardly thinking of the consequences. She supposed all she really was thinking about was her own vanity. Why did she even want to dress up in such a way for Sunday service? She’d never felt the desire to before.

But deep down, she knew why. There was a certain young preacher who would stand before the congregation that day. Foolishly, she wanted to impress him. She knew it was the wrong mindset to have, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care as she crept across the hall and into Mont’s room.

She opened the old wooden wardrobe, revealing the array of dresses. Running her fingers delicately over each one, she finally decided on a pale pink dress, one that would compliment her hair and complexion. Then, she scurried back to her room, and began the process of readying herself for church.

Soon, she stood before the small mirror that sat upon her dresser, admiring her outfit. It fit like a glove, and left just enough to the imagination to still be considered modest for church. She couldn’t help but beam. With her hair falling loosely down her back, she felt beautiful.

Her smile didn’t leave her face as she descended the stairs, floating as if she were on a cloud. At that same moment, the reverend was just stepping into the house, ready and waiting for the Mackall duo so they could all head to church together.

He lifted his head as he walked through the door, eyes widening as he saw Fairlight coming toward him. Suddenly, couldn’t find the words under his tongue. She looked like a vision in a sweet pink dress, her hair framing her face.

She smiled warmly at him as she stepped from the last stair. Bob hesitated, considering whether or not he should compliment her beauty. He knew it was highly inappropriate for him to do, but he found himself saying the words before he could stop himself. “You look lovely.”

The apples of her cheeks went pink. “O-oh, um, thank you,” she said in reply.

But the delicate moment was soon interrupted as Mont walked into the house, screen door slamming shut behind him, his boots scraping loudly against the wooden floor as he made a beeline for the wash basin in the kitchen.

He hadn’t yet noticed Fairlight’s attire as he pumped the water with the manual pump, scrubbing down his dirt-marred hands. “Be ready to go in a minute,” he announced over his shoulder.

“We’ll just go ahead and get in the truck,” Fairlight quickly said, hoping to get out the door before he turned and looked at her.

But it was too late. He turned around, wiping his hands down with a cloth. And then he stopped. Intense blue eyes looked her up and down, and his gaze hardened. “What are you wearing, girl?” He demanded.

She blanched, and Bob noticed it. “J-just one of Mama’s old dresses,” she replied. She no longer felt the boldness she had before.

“You know you ain’t supposed to be wearing that. What’s the matter with you?”

“Daddy, please,” she said, her voice wavering.

Bob was floundering beside her, unsure of what to do. She looked to be on the verge of tears, and the sight sent an ache through his chest.

“Go back upstairs and change. Now.”

“I don’t see the problem with her w-”

“This ain’t your concern, Preacher. I’ll handle my own daughter. Why don’t you wait outside?”

But Fairlight shot Bob a look. Please don’t leave me. So he didn’t.

“There’s no reason I can’t wear her clothes. She’s been gone fifteen years!” Fairlight tried to reason.

“I said go CHANGE! Or I’ll rip that dress off of you myself!” He bellowed.

Bob watched in horror as her stormy eyes welled with tears, and seconds later, she spun on her heel, rushing back up the stairs, sobbing as she went. Shocked, he looked at Montgomery. The man was heaving with an unfounded rage.

With a groan, he pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. “I told you to wait outside. But I sure am sorry about that, Preacher. I’ve got no patience for acts of rebellion.”

Bob bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself to remain calm. “A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger,” he quoted from the fifteenth chapter of Proverbs, staring pointedly at the man before him. “I know it’s not my place, but your daughter isn’t a little girl anymore. She should be allowed to make decisions for herself.”

Mont squared his shoulders. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed outta my family’s business and stuck to preachin’.” Then, he walked away, leaving Bob reeling.

He couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. He longed to check on Fairlight, but he didn’t dare cause any more problems, so he slipped out the front door instead, opting to wait outside. This situation was more dire than he’d even realized. What respect he had for Mont, was now gone.

But there was no time to dwell on it. A few moments later, Fairlight came through the door, now dressed in a plain gray dress, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Bob tried to reach out to her, but she shook her head and simply climbed into the truck bed, taking a seat with her back toward him.

The preacher sighed softly and decided to climb into the passenger side. Soon, Mont was climbing into the driver’s seat, and then, they were off to church. Both men were silent as they went along, neither desiring to speak to the other. What a way to start his first Sunday as pastor.

When they pulled into the tiny gravel parking lot, which could hardly be considered as such, Bob was quick to jump out of the truck first, eager to put space between him and Mont. He whispered a prayer to the Lord, asking Him to calm his spirit and help him focus on his ministerial duties.

He pushed the argument to the back of his mind and put on the mask of the God-fearing preacher, preparing himself to greet congregation members. It wasn’t long before the first family arrived. He dutifully greeted them, introducing himself and informing them that he was eager to take on the helm of their new pastor.

The Allen family showed up, sans Jed, who was still recovering from his injury earlier in the week. The children were happy to see Bob again, and he greeted them with a smile and told them to find a seat wherever they liked.

Then, there was Verity McNeal, the woman Fairlight had warned him about. And oh, had she been right about her. She was incredibly forward, shaking Bob’s hand with vigor. “Reverend Floyd! So nice to finally meet you! You are a Godsend to our people! We’ve been lost little sheep with no shepherd this whole time. The Lord has sent us our shepherd at last!”

“Oh, I’m just following wherever He leads me, ma’am,” Bob replied with a smile. Her hands were still clasping his. Her sharp green eyes unnerved him.

“Well if you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask! I just live half a mile up the road, go south and my trailer is on the left. You can’t miss it! I’d love to meet with you and discuss your plans for the ministry!”

And then she was flouncing away, leaving Bob a little flabbergasted. However, the time to start the service was quickly approaching. So, he decided to make his way up to the pulpit to prepare.

He could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he walked. He knew they were silently judging him, wondering if he would be everything they hoped he would be. He didn’t expect them to accept him right away, but he was willing to wait patiently for them to do so.

Finally, he turned on his heel to face them all, and he offered a warm smile. He couldn’t help but let his gaze shift to Fairlight momentarily, who sat on the front row beside Montgomery. She did not return his smile.

“Good morning. I’m your new preacher, Robert Floyd. It’s a pleasure to stand before you this morning. I’m really looking forward to getting to know you all, and leading this flock God has given me.”

There were some echoes of good morning, nodding of heads, hummed responses. He took that as his cue to continue. “I’m from Indiana, born and raised. My mama raised me to fear the Lord and took me to church every Sunday.”

He continued on, recounting some more details, such as what seminary he graduated from. He got the sense the people didn’t care about that. They were just glad to have a preacher to replace the old one.

“Well, enough about me. Let’s get on to the Good Book, shall we?”

And so, his first sermon in a new land had begun.

But he barely got ten minutes into it before all of the sudden, the church doors swung open, echoing through the quiet room. Bob trailed off, a little surprised. His eyes flickered to the back, where a lone man stood.

He wasn’t very tall, but he had an intimidating air about him. His eyes were hard-set and calculating. A full beard covered the lower portion of his face. He was every bit a mountain man as they came.

Bob knew who he was instantly. “Good morning, Hawk. I was told you might join our service today.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Just came to see what all the fuss is about. Y’ don’t look like much.”

Bob ignored his insult. “You’re free to stay and listen to the sermon, if you like,” he said.

Hawk mumbled something unintelligible and then took a seat on one of the old wooden benches. Then, the preacher cleared his throat, and continued like nothing had even happened. The people marveled silently to themselves. If he was unphased by Hawk Neiman, maybe there was hope for him yet.

After the initial interruption, the rest of the service went on without a hitch. Bob preached about loving thy neighbor, which he thought was a safe subject for his first sermon. He could focus on more hard-hitting topics later on, after he was established.

Before long, the church hour came to a close, and he dismissed the congregation with a prayer. Afterward, he found himself standing at the door, bidding goodbye to each member as they left.

“Beautiful sermon, Reverend!” Verity gushed, nearly scaring the daylights out of him when she popped up out of nowhere. “The Almighty really spoke through you!”

“Oh! Uh, tha-thank you. Praise the Lord,” he graciously responded.

She babbled on about some church event coming up, but Bob found himself tuning her out when he caught sight of Fairlight, walking out through the church doors.

“Yes, that all sounds wonderful. I’ll be in touch with you!” He said to Verity before he slipped away from her, intending to talk to pale-eyed girl.

But then he saw her father was right behind her, and he thought against it. That didn’t stop Mont from catching him, however.

“Great sermon, Preacher,” the man said, as he shook Bob’s hand firmly. Then, he hesitated a beat before he said, “about earlier. Would you be willin’ to agree to let bygones be bygones?”

Bob didn’t think he could let bygones be, but for the sake of civility, he nodded. The Lord did command His children to forgive, after all.

“Now that your first service is out of the way, is there anything you need? Any supplies or help or anything like that?” Mont offered, as if everything was peachy keen.

The reverend almost declined, but then, he thought of something. “Actually…I was thinking, with all I have to do, it may be a little difficult for me to keep up with making sure the church is clean and ready for Sundays. Do you happen to know of anyone who’d be willing to help?”

Mont nodded, and without hesitation, he said, “Fairlight’ll do it.” He didn’t give her a moment to think about it, or answer on her own.

Oh, um, are you sure?” Bob questioned, directing it at Fairlight.

She opened her mouth to speak, but her father cut her off. “She’ll be fine, she’s used to cleaning. It’s what she’s good at. She can start tomorrow, if that’s alright with you.”

“Y-yes, that’s fine,” the reverend answered, taken aback.

“Then it’s settled. Now let’s get home.” Abruptly, Mont turned to head to the truck.

Bob fell into step beside Fairlight, waiting until her father was out of earshot to speak. “He shouldn’t have spoken for you like that. You don’t have to help me if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s better that I don’t shake the hornet’s nest any more than I already have. I’ll be here tomorrow to do the job.”

“Fairlight, you deserve to be able to make your own decisions. He shouldn’t just decide things for you.”

“Preacher, just leave it.”

“But-”

“Bob, please. There are things you just…don’t understand. It’s best I do what he says.” And with that, she ducked away, making her way to the bed of the truck, leaving Bob staring after her.

He only came back to himself when Mont asked if he was riding home with them. “Actually…I think I’ll walk. Need some time alone.”

“Suit yourself.”

He watched the truck head off in the distance, and he breathed a deep sigh, his chest aching from all that had taken place that day.

His heart bled for Fairlight. He hadn’t realized just how controlling her father was until now. He imagined how trapped she must feel, and he understood why she was questioning everything she’d been taught. If he had a father like that, he would question everything the man taught him, too.

She had no say in many aspects of her life. As long as she was under Montgomery’s thumb, she could never be her own woman. Bob thought that it was a terrible tragedy.

And as he turned to close up the church for the day, he was struck with stark realization. Here he was, thinking he’d been led here to minister to the poor people of Backforty Gap.

But now he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it wasn’t for them. It was for her. He had been called to this little mountain holler to watch over the flaxen-haired girl with the stormy eyes.

And watch over her, he would.

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#bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x oc #robert floyd fanfiction #robert floyd x oc #robert bob floyd fanfiction #lewis pullman fanfiction

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monarch-afterdark · 6 months ago

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Titan History: Rodan

Welcome once again to Monarch: After Dark, the digital gateway between you and the organisation dedicated to navigating and understanding this troubled new world we live in.

Before we begin, we would like to take a moment to thank you all once again for your engagement with this platform. Just today, Monarch: After Dark has surpassed 50 followers, a great feat in our goal to help the public learn more about and understand the world of the Titans and beyond. We here on the After Dark team appreciate each and every person who interacts with the blog, and hope to see more of you join as we continue this journey together.

To mark the occasion, we will be making an earlier-than-scheduled return to our "Titan History" series with a Titan who has become something of a popular tourist attraction in recent years; the winged demon born of fire, Rodan.

(Pictured above: The USS Argo approaching Rodan as he rises from the Isla de Mara volcano, circa. 2019)

Monarch Database File: Rodan

Monarch Designation: Titanus Rodan

Height: 154 feet

Weight: 39,043 tons

Wingspan: 871 feet

Nature: Bio-Volcanic

Behavioural Classification: Destroyer

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The largest currently known case of "magmafauna" (a term coined by Monarch for superspecies biologically adapted to volcanic environments), Rodan is an impressively intimidating pterosaur-like Titan perfectly adapted to his resting place within the volcano of Isla de Mara. It is speculated by some within Monarch that Rodan's parents had nested within the volcano long ago, Rodan himself seems biologically molded for his home.

Rodan appears to almost be made of volcanic rock, cooled magma coating his wings. Red cracks glow through his wings during flight, giving the impression that the Titan oozes lava as he soars through the air. Due to his volcanic nature, Rodan does not "bleed" as organisms traditionally, as an injury sustained from Mothra's stinger in 2019 only resulted in magma coming out. Truly, Rodan seems to be a living volcano.

His range of abilities similarly match the destructive potential of volcanoes. Capable of flying at supersonic speeds, Rodan need only fly over a city to destroy it, or he can create a powerful sonic thunderclap capable of dispatching several fighter jets with a single strike. His razor-sharp talons and beak aid in dealing with other Titans up-close, and his internal tempearatures can reach such heights that they can burn his opponents if he gets close enough. According to one account, Rodan can cause volcanoes to erupt simply by flying past them.

(Pictured above: Rodan battling Monster Zero within the latter's storm beyond Isla de Mara, circa. 2019)

While Rodan's existence was known to Monarch as early as 1973, the Titan itself would not be discovered by the organisation until 1991. Under the guise of "environmental research" (a tried-and-tested excuse), Monarch quarantined the volcano of Isla de Mara. As the years went on, the quarantine zone became a fully-fledged Monarch facility, forced to operate with aerial satellites as the volcano's temperatures rendered standard Monarch equipment impossible to use.

In 2019, following the awakening of Monster Zero in Antarctica, former Monarch member-turned eco-terrorist Emma Russell used the ORCA sonar device to awaken Rodan, despite Monarch forces still attempting to evacuate the population of Isla de Mara below. The civilians watched with silent horror as Rodan rose from the volcano, before running screaming as the Titan took notice.

In an effort to divert Rodan's attention, Monarch's command ship USS Argo and its fighter escort Gold Squadron fired on Rodan to draw his ire and lead him to a massive storm generated by Monster Zero, who was headed to the volcano itself in response to Rodan's calls. Rodan took flight, still causing massive damage to the city, before engaging Gold Squadron in a dogfight as the Argo led him toward the larger Titan.

(Pictured above: Rodan emerging from the clouds to engage Monarch forces in the sky, circa. 2019)

As Rodan made short work of the Gold Squadron, including one documented instance of the Titan "smirking" before using a barrel roll to finish off the remaining jets, both he and the Argo arrived within Monster Zero's storm. The two Titans clashed almost immediately, Rodan holding his own for a while until Monster Zero shot him out of the sky.

Rodan recovered from the attack quickly enough to evade the Oxygen Destroyer's deployment on Godzilla and Monster Zero, and quickly returned to his volcanic home in order to bow before Monster Zero, which recently staked its claim as the Alpha Titan following Godzilla's supposed demise. During the multiple Titan attacks provoked by Monster Zero, Rodan was reportedly responsible for setting off the Ring of Fire around the Pacific Ocean.

Working directly alongside Monster Zero, almost like its personal guard, Rodan fought off military and Monarch forces in Washington, DC. He later turned toward Boston when the ORCA was activated, arriving just in time to intercept Mothra when both she and Godzilla were gaining an advantage over Monster Zero.

Rodan kept Mothra oocupied, ramming her into buildings and using his lethal temperatures to burn her wings to weaken her. Going in for a final attack, Rodan was met by Mothra's stinger, impaling him through his shoulder and incapacitating him for the remainder of the battle.

Due to his volcanic nature, Rodan was able to survive through the thermonuclear pulses given off by Godzilla when he entered a superheated state, and managed to recover to fly off presumably before a thermonuclear explosion consumed Boston and destroyed Monster Zero's body.

(Pictured above: Rodan roaring at Godzilla, moments before accepting him as the new Alpha, circa. 2019)

Rodan was the final Titan to surround Godzilla in Boston following Monster Zero's demise, still bearing the injury sustained from Mothra. He roared up at Godzilla but was met with a glare, moments after which he bowed down before Godzilla, the first Titan to do so, accepting Godzilla as the true king of the Titans.

Following the Monster Zero crisis, Rodan took refuge in Fiji, where he established a new nest for himself. His presence led to a spike in tourism from people wanting to glimpse the Titan.

To date, Rodan remains dormant in Fiji, and has had no involvement in any of the Titan crises since the Monster Zero crisis.

-----

And that's all she wrote for Rodan! The Titan's re-emergence has been both hotly anticipated and dreaded by the public since his return to dormancy, with many wanting to see the Titan in action once more...presumably because they are far away from wherever he is and thus unlikely to be blown into another country by his supersonic winds. We here on the After Dark team, would indeed want to gleam more data from Rodan, though preferrably from a safe and comfortable distance.

Until next time,

Monarch: After Dark

#monarch #monarch after dark #monsterverse #godzilla king of the monsters #godzilla kotm #rodan #titanus rodan #monster zero #godzilla #titanus gojira #kotm 2019 #mothra

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lloydfrontera · 2 years ago

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another thing i can't forgive the webcomic on downplaying or outright skipping in order to make room for comedy is the commentary on classism and how absolutely terrible life can be when you're poor. i'm not saying they don't talk at all about it, they do! they have done some scenes that i really, really like so we know they're perfectly capable of it! so that makes it all the more noticeable when they,,, don't.

like i've already talked about how they massively changed the scene with sir blanc, where instead of lloyd showing him just how draining and tiring and hard it actually it is to work in construction and how much respect those workers deserve rather than how sir blanc had been looking down on them, they made it into a "if you flinch you lose" sort of deal

i liked that scene! it's quiet and calm and it gives us insight into how lloyd sees the world and why he acts the way he does to his workers. there's even a bit where lloyd offers him five times the salary of his civil engineers and sir blanc tells him it's not about the money, subtly implying it's insulting on lloyd's part to think he cared about money when his pride is on the line. and then lloyd completely shuts him down by telling him that of course money is important, people break their backs every day to get enough money to support themselves and their families, why wouldn't it be important?

for many people shoveling is the only way they can sustain themselves, it is their last lifeline and hope, the very job sir blanc was making fun of is what kept a house over their head and food on their table. and it's only after lloyd explains all of that to him that he also shows off his mana blast. he doesn't need to order sir blanc to do anything because, well, why would he? he made his point perfectly clear.

it's such a poignant scene!!! and in the webnovel we get,, well,, this:

it's kind of amazing how they,,, apparently missed the point of the scene?? like yeah sir blanc learns to respect lloyd and the construction work they do, but not because he thinks every job is inherently worthy of respect and there's not such thing as unskilled labor but because,,, lloyd is good at fighting monsters and saving people with unconventional methods. that's kind of it.

idk it feels like such a shame we lost that bit of character understanding and development even if we did get an absolutely hysterical scene out of it.

then there's also this scene a little bit after lloyd gets ggoming where he reflects how important reputation is and how much the money you have affects that. he was a poor guy, no house, no family, living in a cramped goshiwon, barely any clothes, with two or three faded sweatshirts for the entire year and a cheap haircut every three or four months.

he didn't have the money to worry about his appearance and it showed, which also affected his self-esteem and the way he carried himself, with hunched shoulders to occupy as small space as possible. and because of that the way people treated him was terrible, looking down on him with disdain and suspicion, constantly watching him any time he went to buy something because they thought he was looking to steal something. even outright accusing him of it.

it's horrible and harsh and a reality for many people and part of the reason he's so worried about building up a good reputation. he knows how terrible life can get when you don't have one and can't afford to get it.

and in the webcomic we get:

i swear i'm not trying to be mean nor overly critical. i promise i do love this webcomic, it makes me laugh so much and i wait every new chapter shaking and screaming. but c'mooonnnn

tged is about a modern day civil engineer raising absolute chaos in a fantasy setting with a giant hamster and his put upon knight following him everywhere he goes. but it also does have important themes weaved into the narrative that you can't just skip over without losing part of what makes it so good!

i'm begging here, just give us an earnest scene every once in a while, there's no need to make a joke at every turn, we're big boys (gn), we can handle a serious scene every couple chapters! we used to have those! chapter 5 had a great scene about suho's struggles in his previous life! chapter 26 was also amazing! it had its funny moments but it allowed itself to have a calm, quiet, sad moment that gave way to an earnest moment with lloyd and the summons! it's clear they can do it, they've done it before!

i just,,, i think there's so much to explore in the webnovel, that isn't being fully used in the webcomic and it's just such a shame :( so if you can i really encourage you to read the novel, it fleshes out and endears you to the characters so much more, i really do recommend it!

#i talk a lot <3 #tged #the greatest estate developer #lloyd frontera #valelardi blanc

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drawing-way-outside-the-lines · 11 months ago

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Fendinn McKinney*Supporting Character

Partner(s): None Parents: Alasdair McKinney & Éabha McKinney Kids: Aoibheann McKinney Siblings: Age: Immortal but translates into start-mid 40's Birthday: 13th of August. Height: 188 cm (6.1ft) Body type: Slim but toned Eye color: White/gray/wine Classification: Immortal/demon Known powers: Shapeshifting/Falcon, posession, Darkness Consumption (The user can consume and digest darkness/shadow to sustain themselves and their powers.) Darkness Aura (The user can release and surround themselves in/with darkness/shadow for defensive and/or offensive purposes, possibly becoming almost untouchable. The aura may also give the user enhanced physical capabilities such as speed, strength and durability.) Darkness Dimension (The ability to access a dimension of nothingness, Instead of beating bad guys into submission, you can toss them into the darkness dimension where they're faced with their own mortality and ultimate nothingness.) About: ~ Scottish/Irish. ~ Keeps to himself, even when he's around others. ~ Doesn't talk much. ~ Not asocial, just don't care much about anything or anyone. ~ Not to be rude, he just lacks the care gene. ~ Strolls through life unbothered. ~ His hair always falls perfectly in place. ~ One of the older McKinney's though you wouldn't expect. ~ His name has several meanings, such as 'he who tempts', 'enemy' or 'the devil'. ~ Hates stepping in sticky things! ~ Doesn't believe in holding back, regarding anything. ~ Can't stand the smell of lavender. ~ Has a daughter he will defend for anything, though she wants nothing to do with him (he may have eaten her hamster or fiance or something like that) ~ Will pay the highest price to never let anyone close. Ever. ~ Extremely private. ~ Likes to play with his food. ~ Ignore ignore ignore. ~ You are possible less. ~ Loves; Brandy, sex, blood, striking matches, clementines, violin music, sweet tobacco, pumpkin soup and darkness. ~ Dresses in the same leather pants and the same sleeveless turtleneck sweater. ~ Smells like pine cones and gunpowder. Fendinn's tag Fendinn's house/home Fendinns's moodboard Ask/answer pic:

One song to describe him: Simon & Garfunkel - I am a rock.

Personal play list: Just Paganini

#Fendinn McKinney #Demon #Irish demon #Scottish demon #immortal #supernatural #simographysup #ts3 #sims3 #sims 3 #simblr

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melia-vibes · 2 years ago

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Bloodmarked Character Analysis and Opinions: William Sitterson

Spoilers ahead!!

1. William is the most emotionally intellegent person in the entire book. Argue with ya mama

2. William Sitterson is one of the best friends anyone on this planet could ask for (Alice Chen us the other). He is kind, protective, and isn't afraid to be commanding when need be. I loved every moment when he had to slip into a commanding or violent role. It shows that he is a multifaceted person and while he is normally mild tempered, he is that way bc he chooses to be. He is capable of being ruthless and stern but he doesn't want to be.

3. Healer William. William's disposition set him up perfectly to be a healer. In both Legendborn and Bloodmarked, any time something went wrong, his first thought was for anyone and everyone around him. His protective and almost defensive nature is so beautiful to watch and see how it challenges him when he must go against it and go on offense. When he had to help Sel interrogate Kizia we saw the extent of his physical strength but we also saw the extent of his mental strength. He hated doing it but he still crushed Kizia's hand bc he needed to.

4. William is selfless. He does what is required of him regardless of the personal consequences. He hides his pain about Whitty, he allows himself to be held hostage by the Regents, he hurts Kizia, he heals Bree while holding a fucking goruchel, he almost reveals himself bc of a pair of racists, he breaks up with his Bf. William will do anything for his friends bc who is he if he doesn't. When he says, "I am still a healer." He says it to remind himself who he is. He is annoyed when he has to admit that his magic won't help Selwyn. William knows his strengths and plays them well but having to hurt people when he is going to be a doctor and the number 1 rule is "first do no harm"? That is hard and I hope Bree honors her promise to make the Regents pay.

5. I hope he and Lark get to know each other more in Bree's absence

6. He's insanely smart. He nerded over the idea that Bree could be tapping into DNA memory. Also, I love that Deonn chose to allow him to be detailed about what injuries Bree sustained when she was cut open by the demons. I think it was a small tid bit that showed William knows what he's doing and is incredibly talented.

William my beloved. He deserves the world

#legendborn #selwyn kane #tracy deonn #i love him #william #william sitterson #scion of gwain #gwain #healer #Bloodmarked #character analysis #briana matthews #argue with your mother

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thelediz · 5 months ago

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I haven't watched Sonic prime bc something in me went "egh, no" after the first three minutes but when I heard abt Nines I immediately though about how you said Tails could be incredibly dangerous and his relationship with Sonic raised him out of a bad path hehe. I just kind of gauge Sonic and Pokemon stuff through your worldbuilding now lol I can't help it

Asides from that, I wanted to ask your thoughts abt Sonic's relationship with Gaia! You've mentioned you had Thoughts abt it in a couple of posts and it stuck to my mind bc I've always thoughts of Chip as a very one-off character (as in, I like him, but I've never thought of the Gaia mythos outside the context of Unleashed) but since you made a point of highlighting environmentalism in the Lost Prince I'd honestly really love to hear however much or however little you've thought on his relationship with the personification of the planet (both of them, even!)

Let me reassure you that "egh no" is a perfectly valid reaction to any media. Especially the first three minutes of ANY episode.

As to Sonic and environmentalism - honey, don't tempt a 90s kid.

I would argue that finding a balance with nature and sustainability has been part of the Sonic franchise since AT LEAST Sonic CD, if not the very beginning. And Sonic himself has been a literal force of nature since his inception, you just don't get into it very often because his ACTUAL purpose is to show off how the Mega Drive can go very fast with lots of colours, stop thinking about it so much.

(And you are skirting DANGEROUSLY close to my going on a gushing rant about why I love this franchise and the whole concept of controlled chaos. I shall try to contain myself.)

First off. I repeat: the actual purpose of Sonic the Hedgehog was to show off the capabilities of the Mega Drive and the technical skill of Sonic Team. Play any Sonic game on any platform (except 06, Lost World, and Boom, which all had Other Issues) and you will see how that team pushes the hardware to its absolute limit without causing problems. These people are skilled developers and they want you to know about it.

Now let me get madcap about character symbolism and worldbuilding.

Now, there's obviously the whole thing about Robotnik/Eggman being evil technology and polluting the environment, yes, yes, par for the course with half the other villains created in the 90s.

But the thing that made the Sonic franchise different is that Sonic never had any issue with technology AS A CONCEPT. He flies a bi-plane, Tails is an inventor himself, the good future as depicted by the Sonic franchise ALWAYS incorporates both technology and nature, and the whole idea of using chaos as a power source is basically code for sustainable engineering and renewable energy, because CHAOS ITSELF is as natural and inescapable as the sun and the wind and the only way we're going to lose them as a resource is if we -

Okay.

Stop.

Come back to the point.

Sonic's relationship with Gaia and the environment. Great.

Short point to be taken as a given, but which I can understand newer fans not realising because of the world they grew up in: the Sonic franchise, since its inception, has carried a theme of sustainability. You can take this to extremes by pointing out some vaguely anarcho-environmentalist takes about freeing captured animals, but I think it's more about the theming.

Every Sonic game starts in Green Hill Zone or a close equivalent: they're always lush and green and beautiful, and the deeper into Eggman's territory you get, the less naturalism you see. Eggman has gotten better about pollution, but he is always destroying nature in favour of machines. He uses and abuses the resources he finds until they cease to be visible, if not wiped out entirely. He has no thought about what he's going to do when these resources run out. He has no interest in how his desires impact the rest of the world. He just wants to build his theme park, staffed by robots, and anyone who disrupts that plan is impinging on HIS DREAMS and -

-cough-

Anyway.

Meanwhile, while Sonic and Tails use resources, they do so in measured ways, and only ever enough for their needs. In fact, in games like Sonic Colours, the resources (wisps) are actively forcing themselves on Sonic to be used. They transform him, and he just kind of goes along with it.

Because (and this is where I begin to actually answer your question), Sonic is a force of nature himself.

There are many versions of early Sonic lore, and you can take whichever one works for you, but in some of them, Sonic's first appearance in the world was him just... wandering lost in the woods, with no memory and no idea how he got there. He just appeared.

A spirit that appears when influence is needed on the world

Similarly, in most franchises these days, Sonic doesn't... live anywhere. He wanders the earth, he goes where the wind takes him, he isn't trying to do good, necessarily, he just stops the spread of bad when he sees it. In most current franchises, even when he DOES have a fixed address, it's... weird. Basically just a place for him to get out of the rain and store his strange collection of Stuff. Because he doesn't and isn't supposed to exist in the way of 'normal' people. He just is.

A lot of this is tied up in Sonic's relationship to Chaos, but I'd argue that nature and creation are inherently chaotic things. Have you ever seen what happens when a rose or blackberry bush is allowed to grow on its own? Madness! Trees will grow wherever they want, dandelions think a scrap of dirt in concrete is a wonderful spot to start a family, animals don't care about this concept of personal property that you have, and the human body doesn't give a damn about your 'schedule', it has NEEDS, dammit, and YOU ARE NOT PROVIDING THEM.

Go drink something. When was the last time you felt sunlight?

Anyway.

Even in the franchise, Sonic is unique among the characters for his relationship to chaos. All three male hedgehogs can use Chaos Emeralds to turn Super, but Shadow is artificial, and there is an argument that Silver is Shadow's son (don't @ me, I'm not invested and I don't want to get into it. Just accept the Dragon Ball Z reference and move on). Sonic is still an anomaly.

ALSO. Since Sonic Adventure, Chaos has been tied to emotion, and Sonic represents the positive side of that. The Water God Chaos represents the negative side of it. When they do battle, and positivity wins, neither side is destroyed. They just calm down and go away. You can't destroy emotion, you can only -

STOP.

So. If we agree that chaos is a part of nature, and Sonic is inherently tied to chaos, then you can see how Sonic can be read as a LITERAL force of nature. He exists to exert nature's influence and re-establish balance by being a positive chaotic force on the world.

And that's why he can also be inherently problematic because sometimes humans need nature to be controlled in order to live safely and SERIOUSLY LEDIZ STOP

The Adventure series made the subtext supertext, and Unleashed happily made it TEXT, but it's always been there. Sonic has always disrupted manEggman's march over the environment with nothing but his speed and natural resources.

Chip was a one-off character, but he is the continuation of a discussion enforced by Chaos, and then Shadow, and in many ways Metal Sonic, and Merlina, and lately followed up by Sage: personifications of how humans and their technology can disrupt and be disrupted by natural forces. Sonic's continuing triumph over these forces is a reminder that with good intent and effort, we can find a way to survive and maintain a sustainable future.

-DEEP BREATH AS WE EMERGE FROM THE THEORY MINES-

Watch me defend the Sega mandate about who can have a Super form with this madcap theory of mine

Listen to me get all cultural studies about how this ties Sonic into the storybook series because fairytales are implicitly tied to nature fables

The point is, Sonic is tied to nature, and so whenever the planet OR technology is personified, in any way, shape, or form, he WILL have a relationship with it.

And I will go back in my box now, thank you for not getting upset with my ramblings, please.

#it's an ask!#sonic the hedgehog #environmentalism #symbolic storytelling #sustainability fables #seriously #it sounds insane until you even start to think about it #but the fact it's not blatantly obvious to the younger generation makes me so happy #you've been raised in a world where you don't need to be lectured about pollution #you've been raised to think caring about the environment is basic #you don't understand how incredible that is #but I admit #I do sound a little bit crazy #it's just a GAME THEORY

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