#this would be the second lady dimitrescu dream.......

[tarotwithlove]

PICK A CARD 🪞ೕ how would your fans describe you if you were famous

in today’s pac we will be answering the following questions regarding your life as a famous person:

- why are you famous?

- what kind of fans would you have?

- how would your fans describe you?

reminder that this is a general reading and messages found here may not apply to everyone. take what resonates, leave what doesn't, and don't force anything if it does not fit.

BOOK A READING WITH ME · LINKTREE · SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC · TIPS ♡ tips and feedback are highly appreciated!

GROUP ONE

cards · high priestess, judgement (reversed), knight of cups, seven of pentacles, nine of wands, four of pentacles, ten of cups, high priestess. 

songs · deserve by lucky daye. levanter by stray kids. slide by øzi. amnesia by kai. amazing by mary j blige. 

my dear group one ♡ you are famous for the character or characters that you create - characters in a video game in particular. you may be credited with creating a character that fans of a franchise quickly latch onto or are especially horny over.

i specificy “horny over” because pyramid head and lady dimitrescu are the two characters that come to mind and i think that most of us are aware of how the fans react to the two of them.

your fans will honestly adore and admire you. you may be far less known than your creation, and so the group of people who interact directly with you may be smaller and more devout than the people who just interact with your creation. the hardcore fans who interact directly with you online will send you art, headcanons, and questions in the hopes that you will acknowledge them - or because you often interact with your fans in that way so they know there is a high chance that you will acknowledge them. your community of fans will be a creative and artistic one. this will be a more practical form of creative and artistic expression, with your fans going out of their way to create cosplay that is as close to the source as possible. 

many of your fans will describe you as the person who inspired them again - inspired them to create again, to get into a hobby or get into a hobby again, to go after a goal again. some may start posting their art or may apply to art institutions/for art related jobs, crediting you as their biggest influence behind this decision. your fans will cling onto you and describe you as someone that “must be protected at all cost” - especially whenever your tweets or posts go viral or your friendly interactions with fans start to get a lot of attention.

they may also describe you as someone who must be wise with their money, because you seem to live a good and well paid for life despite only putting out a small amount of work. they may also realise that you put out a small amount of work because you get paid a good salary for it - especially after this other character or game gained so much attention and renown - and because your main focus is family above all else. even if you do not post or talk about your family often (likely to protect yours and their anonymity as much as possible) your fans will often describe you as a “family man/woman first, game dev second” - or as someone they wish was their parent or close friend or family member. 

GROUP TWO

cards · ten of pentacles, four of pentacles, seven of pentacles (reversed), ten of cups (reversed), three of cups (reversed), death, ten of cups, nine of pentacles (reversed), ten of swords. 

songs · better by ama lou. unsteady by x ambassadors. video games by lana del rey. dear dream by nct dream. 

my dear group two ♡ you are more famous for being famous, than for any of your talents. though this, too, is a skill all of its own. you may be famous because of someone you know or date, or because someone shares their platform with you and subsequently rockets you to fame (think, a popular tiktoker collaborating with you, a popular youtuber mentioning you in one of their videos, a popular twitter account retweeting you).

you may experience an emma chamberlain turn of events where you transcend from internet fame into real life fame - similarly, too, where people will look at you and wonder, “how is this person famous again?”. you may garner more fame for being an influencer and sharing your personal life stories publicly. 

honestly, dear, it is quite upsetting to see the kind of fans you would have if you were famous. your fans may have a strong parasocial relationship with you, especially because of the way you became famous and because of your strong online presence. many of them will get a kick out of rooting for an underdog, and so, they may start to turn on you when you start to become more succesful and more well-known. one particular scenario may be common amongst your fans, where a tweet of them calling you mid, boring, mediocre (or anything to that regard) goes viral, only for people to reply and quote with this you’s of this person praising you months prior. you won’t even have done anything wrong, they’ll just start to feel bitter, jealous, and entitled. many of them will just start to randomly hate you. once you notice this shift, you’ll stop caring what other people say about you. you’ll continue being your authentic self and will start to consciously appeal to a different demographic of people. 

your fans will describe you as someone who was able to make a name for yourself despite how oversaturated the influencer market is. they will describe you as someone who rose above and became real world succesful not just internet succesful, despite it all. there will definitely be a split between fans who genuinely support you and “fans” who will find every reason to hate on you. some may say things like “you don’t understand them” or “you’re just jealous and looking for reasons to hate them” - especially when people mask hatred of you behind criticism of meaningless things.

what’s coming to mind is the incident with madison beer that happened a few months ago, where people were “calling out” madison beer for dancing in a bikini on tiktok. people, of course, rightfully came to her defense and rightfully presupposed that the people who were saying negative things about her were likely jealous and insecure. similar things will happen to you. you’re attractive, talented, and lucky - your fans will describe you as such and rub it in the face’s of people who dislike you just for the sake of disliking you.

your fans will also describe you as someone who gets hated on unnecessarily. they would use that “i came into the house and everybody was like, oh, pretty girl, lets hate on her” meme a lot. 

GROUP THREE

cards · six of cups, ten of cups, nine of cups, nine of pentacles, ace of swords, death (reversed), the devil, knight of wands, the world. 

songs · cry by chester lockhart. poetic justice by kendrick lamar. coming home - interlude by kali uchis. fulton street i by la dispute. 

my dear group three ♡ you are famous for doing something you enjoy or for doing something you have wanted to do since you were a child - and while that is incredibly broad, this is most true with regard to a field that has a high focus on restoration, the body, and physical performance. some of you are famous for being a part of a sport that asks you to push your body to the extremes - such as ballet or bodybuilding. while others of you are famous for your work as a coach (life coach or online fitness coach, just as two examples) or for using your platform to influence people to live a healthier, more active life. a lot of your fame comes from your ability to make yourself or your content stand out, especially in such saturated markets.

even if you are not the best, you are creative, refreshing, and relatable and know how to not only draw positive attention but keep it on you. 

your fans are people who feel as if they are at the end of the road. they may have tried everything to feel better about themselves and happy in their lives, to little or no avail. that is, until they chance upon you. your story touches them, the way you carry yourself welcomes them, and the way you live your own life motivates them.

a lot of your fans may have bought countless self-help books before, tried countless diets or exercise plans, paid for countless talks, subscribed to countless accounts and channels, but could not fix anything that they see as needing to be fixed. again, until they come across you. in a way, you help your fans break their own toxic cycles. 

your fans would describe you as someone with somewhat of a “no nonsense attitude”. you are honest about your own challenges and failings, and are always open to share the most difficult things you have experienced in life - however, you are also adamant in the fact that you have never let these things keep you down or stop you from achieving whatever you set your mind to achieving. something which is evident to your fans, even just from watching you from afar. your fans will say that this motivates them to work harder, to not give up on their goals, and to go after the life they want to lead. because if you can do it, why can’t they? if you kept persisting and saw your persistence pay off, why can’t it happen for them too? especially if you are a coach or offering one-on-one sessions, your fans will appreciate that you never ask them for more than you are also willing to give or you never expect them to do something that you yourself wouldn’t do or have not in the past down.

there’s an air of transparency here that your fans appreciate. they would recommend you to other people based on this. saying things like, “it’s not always easy, but it’s worth it,” and telling others that you are someone who can be trusted. i feel as if many of your fans will be grateful, above all else describing you as someone who helped them get their life back. 

GROUP FOUR

cards · the tower, the magician, the world, knight of pentacles, ten of pentacles, ace of swords, six of cups, the tower, six of swords (reversed). 

songs · tokyo drift by teriyaki boyz. advice by taemin. just look up by ariana grande & kid cudi. take me to church by hozier. 

my dear group four ♡ you may be famous on an incredibly small scale - more of a niche celebrity with a cult following than a household name or anything similar. you may dabble in music, acting, writing, and social media and stay somewhat unknown for a long period of time. this level of fame may suit you most, too, because you have both your real life responsibilities and your artistic hobbies - both which give you a stable enough income and allow you to live your life to the fullest. you may just be a private person by nature, keeping a lot of your art for yourself and your loved ones.

however, greater fame may come to you suddenly and unexpectedly, with something you put out there or participate in suddenly blowing up and garnering a lot of attention. it may even be something you shared or were a part of a long time ago - such as a movie or song that suddenly becomes popular on tiktok. 

your fanbase will start off as a chill, laidback one. they are a small to moderately sized group for the majority of your fame and, thus, quickly become familiar with you as well as with fellow fans. they may be people who gave up on their own artistic pursuits for the traditional 9-5 and family, and find solace in your own continued pursuit of art for art’s sake.

i feel like you would attract a lot of people older than you, around middle-aged. regardless of age, your fans would use your music (or whatever art you put out, though it may mostly be music) as a means to relax and unwind. they would also respect you a great deal and make sure to send you direct financial support even though you likely may never ask. 

your fans will describe you as an old soul, and as someone who is humble and down to earth. this may be why you attract a lot of older fans, because the way that you approach art and evoke emotion is of someone far beyond your years. they may share your art with people close to them, such as with their families, and so you may have a reach far beyond your knowledge -  i’m thinking of a pair of young friends hanging out when your song comes on shuffle, one asks the other who it is and the replies, “oh, this is someone my dad likes”.

your fans describe your art more than they describe you, which is something that you may also like. because your art is your art and should exist outside and apart from you as a person. when you become unexpectedly popular, your fans will be proud of you and happy for you (especially because many of them are living vicariously through you and have wanted this to happen for you for years), but will also wonder if you can handle all the pressure that comes with this kind of fame. when talking about you with others, they may say you feel like the kind of person who would just disappear once you became too famous. if they see other people interacting with your art, they may talk about how they knew you before you were so famous - reminiscing about the days when your fanbase was smaller and more intimate.

#** #tarot #pac #pick a card #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a pile #pick an image #tarotonline #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #tarotcreator #daily tarot #free tarot reading #tarot reading #tarot readings #channelled message #channeled message #spirituality #spiritualism

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Words Of Prey {Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU} Pt. 3

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for general themes Warnings: None AU Description: People have the first words their soulmate will say to them written on their wrist/forearm. Most people chose a specific quote (referred to as their “soul phrase”) that they use every time they meet somebody new. Summary: After a sleepless night, you meet up with your soulmate, surprised to see a side of her that you have never seen before. A side that you can't help but want to get to know better... Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Of All Your Dreams, Pt. 2: The Dreaded Dawn

Chapter 3: Second Chance

All around you, slow and steady breathing forms lulling waves of white noise, but slumber evades you all the same. Only a couple hours separated you and your roommates from the start of the night shift. Another day, another grueling workload, overwhelming yet tedious… or at least, that was what awaited your peers. As for your own fate, that was an ordeal of its own, unknown, a dark veil obscuring your future. How could you sleep when you had no plan for how to face the coming day?

Fleeting moments of rest had come to you earlier, restless slumber with strange dreams, bright visions laid over jazzy humming. It was the same tune you had heard from Daniela last night, the nature of its familiarity still eluding you. Somehow it turns into something comforting. Even now, as you once more lie awake, the melody drifts through your mind. You get so absorbed in the soft swing that you don’t notice the maidens from the day shift shuffling in- at least not until one of them is kneeling by the side of your bed, face obscured by shadow.

They clear their throat, as loud as they dare, one hand gently nudging your shoulder. When you start to sit up, they seem startled enough that you pause halfway. A nervous energy radiates from the shakiness of their silhouette, infectious, and you’re relieved when they hand you a note and shuffle off, glancing around as they go. Curiosity overwhelms, your mind eager to displace your earlier pondering and abandon the pursuit of sleep altogether.

Still, you wait another minute for the stranger’s sake, lying in the dark with the note held close to your chest. Ever so faintly the scent of vellum and cinnamon tickles your senses. Ah, you think, recognizing the smell that often accompanies Lady Daniela, I guessed as much. Who else would send you such a thing? Once you are certain the other maiden has moved on, and that no one is paying you any mind, you quietly make your way to the shared lounge.

A few square tables occupy the center of the room, with a larger rectangular one placed up against a window on one side, an assortment of shelves and dressers filling empty space along the walls. Overhead is a chandelier, relatively simple in comparison to any of those in the main sections of the castle. On the wall opposite from the window hangs a large portrait of a noblewoman, who you’ve always assumed to be a much younger Lady Dimitrescu, beautifully painted yet unsettling in nature. Always watching over those within her domain.

One of the tables is currently taken, two of the day shift workers chatting quietly over bread and cheese. The older of the two acknowledges you with a nod, but otherwise pays you no mind, which is what you expected. Despite living in close quarters, you didn’t really know either of them. At best you could say you were pretty sure they worked in the kitchen (a guess based entirely on the flour dusting their uniforms). In this case, the lack of familiarity worked in your favor, as the duo huddle a little closer to keep their conversation private, allowing you to check the note without any unwanted attention.

Unfolding the parchment, you find two things: dried flower petals, specifically from blue and yellow orchids, and a message in surprisingly neat handwriting. You’re not sure if Daniela’s cursive is normally this legible, or if she put in extra effort for your sake. Meet me before your shift starts, in the western hall. Love, your darling soulmate. Anxiety stirs within your chest once more, although you know there is no point in delaying the inevitable. With oddly steady heads, you refold the note, tuck it in your pocket, and head to change into your work uniform…

-----

Ten minutes later, including two minutes of giving a bareboned explanation for your departure to the ever-vigilant head maid, you’re carefully slinking down the winding halls of the castle. Every stray sound gives you a moment of pause, making you wonder if the other ladies of the house are already awake. It’s not unusual for them to stretch beyond their mostly nocturnal habits. What is odd is the relief you feel when you finally turn the last corner and find Daniela.

She’s at a window, watching something outside with a forlorn expression, so focused that she doesn’t immediately hear you approaching. By this hour all but the last rays of light have faded from the sky, and only a sliver of moonlight is reflected in her mismatched eyes. There’s no denying her beauty at this moment. Like a painting personified, a masterpiece come to life, urging your heart to look for the meaning in the layers of her existence. Certainly there’s a story behind the scars along the shaved side of her head, a story in the rose on her forehead… but more importantly, there is a story behind the tiny breath she lets out when she finally sees you. Air gives way to a hum, her lips curling into a tired smile, and she gestures for you to come closer.

“You came,” she says, almost giddy, her joy not quite covering up the relief in her voice. Despite all of your anxiety regarding this meeting, never once had you considered that Daniela might also be worried. For all her bravado, her charm and her flirtation, there is still a young woman with her heart cradled in her hands. Even now, she does not offer it to you. No, you merely catch a glimpse of it, as she steps closer, hesitating only once you’re close enough to touch. Something in her expression is startlingly human. The relief, the exhaustion, her usual energy giving way to a gentle hopefulness. “Did you rest well, my dear?”

“I can’t say I did,” you reply, softly. Another hum from Daniela, this time a short note of sympathy, and she reaches to take your hand in her own. A lump forms in your throat as you bear witness to the compassion in her gaze. It’s hard to believe this is the same woman you’ve seen shedding blood and tossing people around; between the change in her demeanor and your own tiredness, you find yourself temporarily setting aside your grievances. Swallowing hard, you feel compelled to admit the second half of your restlessness. “When I did sleep, I… I dreamed of you. There was simply too much anxiety underneath to stay asleep.”

“Mmm, I am glad I was in your mind, even if not in your bed,” Daniela chimes, thumb brushing over the back of your hand, subconsciously leaning closer to you. Again, the scent of her perfume washes over you, only this time you detect the metallic undercurrents of blood. It floods your nostrils, strangely intoxicating, your body instinctively shifting to align yourself with her. A grin comes to life on her face as she notices your movements. “I know that I didn’t make the best first impression, but I’m glad to see you’re finding room for me in your heart, and I promise that things will only get better from here.”

With that, she closes the last iota of distance between the two of you, and you brace for another awkward kiss. Instead, Daniela holds you. Tucks your head in against the crook of her neck, resting her chin alongside your ear (no doubt lamenting the fact that she isn’t quite tall enough to rest it on the top of your head), her arms wrapping around you loosely. The moment lingers. Covers you, a welcome blanket of comfort after an almost sleepless night.

You almost start humming her song, but she speaks up, her voice a sweeter melody than the one in your brain.

“I’m not sure what to tell my family, if we should tell them at all,” she murmurs, the slight lilt to her voice detracting from the discomfort of her words. Regardless, your body tenses up, and Daniela is quick to elaborate in her own defense. “The timing- the damn timing- may have them doubting our soul bond. To think that I would meet my soulmate the same night that my sisters mocked me for such concepts…” Bitterness seeps into her tone, and her grip on you becomes protective, as if she is already preparing to defend you from the ire and suspicions of her family.

“They may find it easier to believe when they see the words on my wrist, for better or worse,” you say, unsure whether your statement will bring comfort or heartache. Even Daniela pauses, considering, thoughtfulness eventually giving way to a slight pout. One arm uncurls from around your waist, her hand moving to trace the cursed sentence on your skin. I need a distraction, and you’ll do just fine. The sound of those words will live forever in your brain. So too, however, will the way Daniela’s voice cracked when she realized you’re her soulmate.

“You deserved better,” she whispers, her voice reduced to a terribly fragile thing. Although she refers to you, there is an underlying depth to her words, the acknowledgement that somewhere along the line, she deserved better, too. From her family, from fate, from her own hands. Soft words form in your throat, a warmth bubbling in your chest, but a faint sound has Daniela going rigid. “They’re awake. Go, hide in one of the nearby rooms, I’ll get you when it’s safe.”

Leaving no time to argue, she gives you a gentle nudge, her gaze locked on the opposite side of the hallway. Whatever she hears is too quiet to reach your ears, but you know better than to question her senses. Your earlier tension revived, you waste no time in absconding, sparing only one parting glance before ducking into a side room. The space is relatively small, its original purpose obscured by a layer of dust and scattered objects. Nowhere to hide if the ladies of the house realized your presence. And they would, wouldn’t they? Senses honed to seek out prey, to pinpoint fleeing maidens, able to taste your fear in the air. If you were lucky, they would be too focused on Daniela to bother terrorizing you.

“Hmmm, what’s this, sister? Do my eyes deceive me?” Cassandra chimes, somehow loud enough for you to hear through the door (and over the sound of your heart beating in your ears). Mirth soaks her tone, cruelties underlining the words, as if she can’t quite decide whether she’s still mad about yesterday. A laugh follows, the high lilting kind you can only assume comes from Bela.

“How strange. Our little sister is awake, bright and early, long before breakfast. Cassandra, what do you think has her skipping slumber?” Bela adds, equally as teasing, just enough of an edge to indicate intentional insult. It’s common knowledge that Daniela isn’t a morning person. Always coming late to the dining room, stifling a yawn as she does, oftentimes without changing out of her nightgown. But normally her siblings didn’t mind- more than once you had even seen them making sure her favorite dishes were still available by the time she arrived. For Bela to use this as a point of contention… the argument must have bothered her much more than you would have expected.

Unfortunately, Daniela’s attempts at defending herself are quickly cut off.

“Ooooh, I bet she’s doing what the Maidens call a walk of shame, coming back from yet another dalliance with some unlucky girl,” Cassandra says, losing more and more of the humor from her voice. Evidently, she was incredibly upset about getting thrown at the wall yesterday. Or perhaps things had only gotten worse once they moved to their mother’s office?... Regardless, this is the first time you’ve witnessed the sisters have an extended spat. “Do you think she made them pretend to be her soulmate? Made them say her special words, maybe took a knife to carve away the wrong ones on their wrist, or-”

“Cassandra,” Bela warns, still about ten seconds later than she’d normally step in. When she continues, none of her earlier teasing remains, replaced in its entirety by gentle disappointment. “That’s enough, you know that Daniela is… sensitive about these things. Now come along, we can leave her to sulk in peace.” There are several seconds of tense silence, wherein you can only imagine the two are communicating through facial expressions, before Cassandra huffs, and you hear two pairs of footsteps leading away.

Technically, Daniela had asked you not to come out of hiding until she came for you. Technically, you were still scared that her sisters might be close. But something about their behavior had irked you to the point of action; there was a haunting familiarity in the way that they dismissed her. The melody of sympathy in your chest struck several chords as you exit your hiding place, peeking out slowly, eyes catching sight of Daniela sitting on the floor, on the verge of tears. Both of her hands fiddle with themselves, flexing and unflexing to the rhythm of her distress. When she sees you, panic lights up her eyes, and she’s quick to mouth a warning, not daring to say it out loud. They can still hear us. 

Perhaps that was why she was working so hard to avoid crying. If they heard her sobbing, her sisters would only feel like their claims had been proven. With a deep, shaky breath, you steady your nerves and approach Daniela with the intent to spite her sisters. Slowly, you kneel in front of her, offering a hand for her to take. Then you silently voice the start of your plan: Say your words, your soul phrase. Her eyes widen, hesitation heavy in her heart, searching your face and measuring your confidence. When she sees the strength of your resolve, she gives in.

“I,” she starts, voice shaky, so much softer than it had been when she first spoke to you, “I need a- a distraction, and you’ll do just fine.” This time there’s an upswing at the end, an aching heart giving way to hope. She sounds even more desperate than she had yesterday, yet the feeling at the core of her speech feels different, in a way that you had never imagined. All those years you spent damning your soulmate, never once imagining a way for her phrase to be positive.

And now you know there has always been a kinder alternative. It’s no act when a soft exhale passes your stunned lips, nor when your hand moves to caress her cheek. Nothing could instantly undo the years of contempt and cynicism, of course, but this felt like a step towards neutral ground.

“Of all my dreams, this is the one that comes true,” you breathe, pouring your heart into the words, compiling every bit of missed opportunities into the soul phrase. The hushed words are nigh reverent. Filled with the promise that you will be softer than those that came before. Daniela’s reaction isn’t quite instantaneous, and you do not know if she is acting for the sake of her sisters, or if she is stunned by this display. It matters not- either way she cups your face in her hands, a sharp inhale transforming into airy giggles, her forehead leaning against your own.

She spares a single glance away from you, a sudden head tilt letting you know that a sound has caught her attention. But her focus is back on you in an instant, her smile even brighter than before, and you feel certain that her sisters have heard your exchange. It will be much harder for them to make fun of her romantic fantasies now that one of hers has come true. You’re not entirely sure why this matters so much to you, nor why your face feels so flush at Daniela’s closeness, all you know is that this feels like a victory. With matching grins, the two of you rise to meet the day with renewed energy.

“Come, my soulmate,” you start to say, only half playing it up for your hidden audience, “let me take care of you.”

#daniela dimitrescu x reader #soulmate au #resident evil imagines #reader insert #character x reader #oh we're so back #it's been too long

[nyctophiliq]

SWEET AND SUPPLE. lady alcina dimitrescu x reader

description. lady dimitrescu rarely favored anyone in the castle, let alone a maid like you? this must be a cruel joke or a fever dream

minors dni. lowercase writing intended, nsfw content, dub-con, groping, thigh riding, minor finger riding, blood drinking, mention of blood,

moss' notes. this originally had no notes, but this is to the anonie who reminded moss that they had this in their drafts, hope you like it :D

you were more than aware of the dangers of accepting a job at the dimitrescu castle, but that was almost seven months ago now and you might have seen horrible things happen to others, but nothing threatened you. there was nothing for you to fear anymore, so imagine your surprise when the head maid ordered you to come up to an upper level and expect a new work schedule in the morning.

rumors started to spread faster than then stupidity usually does, the entirety of the staff whispering about why would the countess choose you to take care of her personal affairs. there must have been something she saw in you, but what? you were so quiet, doing your job just as the lady has requested you when sitting down with her for the very first time then she handed you off to the head maid.

with the slightest of amount of hesitation, you followed the orders given to you and a few weeks into your new position you were comfortable to say you were closer to death each day passing. it wasn’t because you screwed up, breaking the porcelain, or not getting the lady’s tea order right, no, no, no- the lady’s questioning and tone was going to be the death of you.

lady dimitrescu monopolized you, making you the only person who was allowed to step into her quarters to clean her room, serve her food if she wasn’t feeling like going down to the dining hall but even then you were the one pouring her wine and cutting her whatever was on the menu that day. she often told you that do not mind any of the other lords when they come over and don’t let them push you around, that you must submit to her every word and you do, without question.

you were grateful for her to say that, to keep you only on the floor of her room, not letting anyone to see you in this ridiculous attire you were given. it was much shorter, the skirt barely touching your knee, the corset being smaller, clutching your breast to your chest so tightly they almost popped out of the dress. you were given perfume, shampoo, body wash, all having much nicer smell than the ones you got before.

“you missed a spot up there, pet.” the lady pointed at one of her cabinets. you apologized before getting your stool to climb up and clean off the remaining dust on top of the cupboard.

alcina couldn’t help but stare, watching you doing your job, tugging the skirt down every two seconds when you needed to reach for the farther end of the cabinet. it might have been an accident or not when she knocked down her pens and papers, asking you to pick them up. this time you could actually feel her burning gaze on your fervent thighs rubbing against each other when you leaned down to pick her things up, covering your panties with your hand, shying away from the countess’ stare.

“thank you, darling, you shall take your break now.” lady dimitrescu said, beckoning you to her bed. it wasn’t unusual for her to do that, a silent ask from her for you to serve her tea in bed this time. you gave a nod as an answer, hurrying to the table where the tray sat and hurried to her side. you put the tray down, ready to pour the warm tea from the kettle but she took a hold of your hand and pulled you onto her lap.

“you are truly a piece of art, pet, you know that?” the countess’ hand caressed your sides. the shiver running through your body wasn’t because of the fear resting in the back of your head, but because of how close the lady was to you. it was no secret that the lady’s beauty never went unnoticed by any brave soul that took a trip to the castle. she was always attractive to you, even more so when you could be this up close to her and smell her signature perfume that before you could only get whips of.

“sweet girl, you know why I choose you, don’t you?” she hummed against the crock of your neck when she leaned forward, her teeth grazing your thin skin. you shook your head, making sure you didn’t hit the lady’s head with your chin, murmuring a quiet ‘no’.

“my darling, don’t think I haven’t noticed your stares; I see everything, I know everything.” her voice was so low, laced with honey as her fingers carefully hooked under the puffy shoulder piece of your uniform and peeled it off of your shivering skin. her lips moved from your pulse point to your collarbone, giving it a tender kiss.

“my l-lady…” you choked on the air in your throat when the corset around your chest loosened, the laces dropping on your sides before the piece of clothing fell forward. you didn't feel her fingers leave your sides, let alone the ties being undone.

“lady di-dimitrescu…” you panted, your hands reaching back to get a hold of yourself on the edge of something, anything, trying to get used to the cold air brushing your nipples and the lady's burning stare eating you up. she smirked, her hand coming up to caress the skin under your breast with a slight chuckle spilling from her lips as you shiver.

"you are truly candy for the eye, in and out of your corset." two of her long finger slid up your breast, pinching your nipple as if it was a stick of cigarette. she had a pleased smirk on her face as you bit down on your lip, trying to choke back a moan that was threatening to echo in the room.

"t-thank you, my lady." you got it out somehow despite the ticklish feeling of her cold fingers tips running down along your spine to take a hold of your now seemingly fragile hip. her skin against yours sent jolts down your body, eating up all the power over your own body having it jerk forward and your clit being rubbed against a stiff wrinkle of the lady's dress.

the sudden pleasure heated your body up to five hundred degrees or more and suddenly lose yourself in a rhythm. back and forth against the lady's messy dress, pushing yourself further into it but the pressure still wasn't enough and the sensation was turning dull. your hand dipped under your skirt, looking to pull the fabric aside but being so eager and so high on the littlest of gratifications your hand shook.

"too rough?" she asked, her finger coming to toy with the front of your panties next to yours all the while her gaze searched for yours but with no yield as your arms swing around her neck for support, head hanging with your eyes squeezed shut. you earnestly shook your head a 'yes', catching her hand and trying to hint at what you wanted.

"awh, darling, so desperate huh?" alcina tore your panties with that one hand, the fabric cutting into your back and pushing you further down onto your heat. you nodded once again, blabbering something incoherent as you positioned yourself so your slick lips opened up and exposed your puffy clit to her muscle.

"that's good, keep doing that, ride my thigh pretty girl." her hand stayed under your skin, her thumb ghosting over your nerve bud. lady dimitrescu thought you were going to continue your whining, actually trying to get out understandable words that were pleading for her to put her fingers inside. you held more surprise than she thought.

you rode the lady's thigh like it was a rodeo and you were just about to win, one hand gripping alcina's shoulder while the other supported you behind your back on her knee.

"my lady... i-i'm gonna come!" your mouth opened wide, head hanging so low it was almost buried between your lady's chest. that familiar knot that you rushed all the nights you treated yourself forming in your stomach. it was embarrassing how quickly you neared your edge, screaming lady dimitrescu's name before spilling all over her. it was dazzling, white dots appearing in your already foggy vision as your hips violently jerked back and forth in short sessions. you looked like a dumb little bunny, mindlessly rutting against its owner's leg as you rode the last waves of your orgasm.

"must i mention the mess you have made?" she mentioned as you were coming down from your high, sliding her fingers out of your skirt and onto her lip. she hummed at the delicate taste of your weeping cunt, planning ahead when she gonna taste your honey from its very home.

"apologies, my lady." you breathed, pushing yourself between her legs while your hand pushed her dress further up to her waist. you pressed a few shaky kisses to her thigh before flattening your tongue on the top of it, licking your juices off of your lady's chilly skin.

"you and i are gonna have much fun, pet." she laughed, caressing the back of your head with a content expression on her face.

#📼 › moss tapes #lady dimitrescu x reader smut #alcina dimitrescu x reader smut #re8 x reader smut #resident evil lady dimitrescu x reader smut #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu smut

[saintsofwarding]

EMBRYO

Chapter 9: February 7, 2021

When Heisenberg was small, the first few years after he was given his Cadou, Miranda came to him on nights he couldn't sleep.

He was not Heisenberg, those days, but a little boy named Karl. She kept him with her, then, a stocky, hunch-shouldered little boy with hair streaked in gray. It was a side effect of his transformation, his system strained to the breaking point to keep up with the monstrous power he channeled through it.

It took years for his control to become effortless, years until every emotion didn't sent metal objects within a fifty foot radius spinning around him in a deadly cloud. That was how he got his scars, and Miranda most days would return to find him battered and bleeding, surrounded by piles of scrap, twisting the metal fragments together into crude dolls and animals, things he'd loved in his village life. He was her special child, then, certain that he with his seamless affinity for the Cadou would prove a perfect vessel for Eva's return.

What's this, Karl? Miranda would say, kneeling by his side in a rustle of feathers. She'd stroked his hair with her gilded talons, so delicately her claw points made only icy lines on his skin. Are you making little friends for yourself?

He'd nodded.

Do you need friends? Her fingers had curled, and her claws dug in just a little. Is your mother not enough?

Of course you're enough, he'd told her, quickly. But this helps me to control the gift. To make me stronger.

Good, she'd whispered.

Now show me.

He'd crooked his fingers, making the dolls move in circles across the stone floor. Miranda kept him in her sanctum, the caves beneath the village, great echoing passageways carved deep through the earth. The Black God lived in this place, the thing the boy had always sensed in the caves surrounding the village, had prayed to even before Miranda. Its heartbeat, its great, slow dreams moving like cloud-shadows across the mountainside, vast and inscrutable.

Here, its pulse vibrated through the walls, omnipresent, subtle, such that little Karl had to get used to it or go mad.

He supposed its madness might be something of a gift itself, like the Cadou. Prophets in the holy books often went mad. When the wolf-sickness seized them, were they not holy-touched, as much as any saint? He pressed his hand to the suture down the middle of his chest and wondered if he was holy-touched too.

He didn't feel holy. But Miranda said he was. Maybe he didn't need to believe. Maybe he just needed to believe her.

Now God's heartbeat was a part of him, as much as his power, which slowly, slowly became second nature. When Miranda left to oversee the village, to accept tithes and attend ceremonies and pay visits to Lady Dimitrescu in her castle and poor Lord Moreau in the deep reservoir to the village's southwest, he slipped through the ancient studded doors from her private sanctum and wandered the caves alone.

He levitated a lantern with one hand and a little device, a padlock or radio or pocketwatch, with the other. As he walked he disassembled and assembled it, over and over, letting the click of the metal components and the soft echoes of his own footsteps become a litany, keeping his fear in check as best he could.

The lanternlight played across the distant walls, touching each crag and fold of the caves with shards of light and shadow. Saints' statues swam from the darkness, long-faced and dripping with the water that rushed through this subterranean place, making its own ways, carving its own channels in the village's bedrock.

He searched for small treasures, shards of crystal, shreds of gold. He found a little compass in a niche, by some candles, like a holy offering, and took to wearing it on a cord around his neck, a charm against losing his way down here.

Once he found some ancient monastic enclave built into some deep, deep cave, the crumbling walls forever enclosing the bones of men who'd walled themselves up alive to better contemplate the Black God's dreams. Many of these skeletons bore pointed teeth, the mutagen-twisted features that told the boy they'd succumbed to wolf-sickness, the insides of their cells hatched with scratches that could only have been made by their claws as they lost their minds.

Maybe they'd found what they wanted, in the end. Maybe they were one with the Black God. That was what Miranda said.

It dreams of us all, she told him as she taught him, giving him her holy books to memorize. Every one of us.

Despite all her teachings, he was, even then, a heretical child. Karl had played with the monks' fanged skulls, setting down the lantern so as he puppeted the holy men's heads their shadows flickered over the walls, a whole audience to hear his echoed conversations to himself.

Miranda wouldn't mind because Miranda couldn't hear him. And he learned fast that Miranda didn't like to hear him talk about certain things.

When he couldn't sleep, she always knew. He curled in the blankets and cried, though why, he didn't know. Something chewed at him, some great hollow nothing behind the weight of the Cadou in his chest, but whenever he tried to look at it, to figure out what, it eluded him. Miranda always put it out of his head, anyway. He knew she was there by the rustle of her feathers, the flapping of crows' wings.

His mattress creaked as she settled to his bedside. The bitter sting of her scent, at once chemical and earthy as a new grave.

There's nothing to cry over, she'd whisper, stroking his hair again. She always did that. Maybe, he surmised years later, it was to avoid reminding herself he wasn't really her Eva, to make what was to come easier. His hair would feel like hers. The shape of his face, the heat of his skin- that would be altogether too different. You are mine, now. You have a home, a belonging.

You belong here.

Blood on the snow. The Maiden of War cut stark against a pale gray sky, her blade lifted as if to impale the looming castle on its point. The villagers on their hands and knees, heads bowed, the sound of weeping carried long on the still winter air.

Why would you ever want to leave?

The farmer who'd hidden his family beneath the floorboards rather than let Miranda take his youngest daughter. Karl had stood before him and lifted his hand; his power was there, loyal and eager. At his back, Miranda squeezed his shoulder.

Deep inside-

Now show me.

He couldn't stop his weeping. He had hesitated, resisting Miranda's command, and after the botched execution, she was so angry. She'd injected him with something that made him feel heavy, sleepy, unable to stop her as she carried him to the steel operating table, as she opened up his suture with a single scalpel slash. His Cadou's tentacles whipped free, writhing from his open chest cavity like long, fleshy ribbons, but Miranda paid them no mind. She'd plunged her hands in, as if she could find the source of his hesitation and rip it out.

You're mine now. At his bedside, she leaned down to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Her lips were cold. You will be mine forever.

She sang to him. It was in old-tongue, that with which the village grannies spoke, the language the holy books were written in. It was soft and aching, sweet and bitter. The tale of a little girl, lost deep in the forest. Searching and searching, but she never found her way home.

Did she sing this song to Eva? Karl had looked at Miranda, her pale, pretty face in the lamplight, and saw that she was crying.

It was her control, he told himself later, that made him do what came next. The manufactured sympathy and blinding, all-consuming devotion to her she had placed in all of them. It had to be. It had to be, or he would never forgive himself.

He'd reached out to her and took her hand.

And I'll stay with you, he whispered. Forever.

It was a promise he'd broken, like so many promises he'd made over his long, weary life. Now, knee-deep in snow, a sleeping Rose in his arms, he wondered if he'd have to break another.

Her breathing was a low, strangled wheeze, her body hot and cold in flashes. She shuddered; Heisenberg held her tighter, his head down against the next blast of ice wind. It howled past him, knife-sharp, visibility nil. He could make out the shadows of trees, but besides that, there was nothing to tell him what was ground and what was sky. It was all a gray blur.

They were somewhere in Hungary, he thought- they'd crossed some kind of border a few days before, had made their way through countless tiny towns and out of the mountains. They'd hiked through endless woods, past lakes so blue they hurt the eyes to look at, through disused Soviet mining camps, great rusted machinery towering against the sky. Heisenberg wanted to stay and look at these for hours, but the cold was still bitter, and Rose's fingertips began to turn blue if they didn't keep moving.

Despite this, they were doing okay, getting on well. No lycans trailed them after they left Teodora's town, freshly-relieved of its super-sized skyborne threat; they must have learned to back off once their alpha was given the wood chipper treatment. No sign of Dimitrescu, either. Wherever she'd flown off to it was a long way from here. Rose began to chatter nonstop, asking Heisenberg questions about everything- Is that a deer? What kind of rock is this? What's your favorite food? Oh, cool, that sounds yummy. Are you going to eat tons of that once we get to Budapest? Are we gonna live in a house? Can I have my own bedroom? Can I paint the walls green? About seven hours into this barrage Heisenberg began belting out whatever songs he could dredge from his mind, half to shut her up, half to keep a marching beat.

It worked. They made good time. Each day, he kept his eyes on the horizon. Each night, huddled around a campfire, Rose tucked under his coat to keep her warm, he let himself realize, as if for the first time, that he was out.

Miranda was dead.

He was free.

That was before this damn blizzard hit.

Their food supply, given to them by Teodora, was nearly gone, and though she'd provided them with enough cash to keep them afloat for a while, little good that would do if there was nowhere to spend it.

Maybe we should have stayed in town for a while. Stayed with Teodora. Maybe she'd show me her Cadou-enhanced strength again, if you know what I mean, heh. I could have helped rebuild that stupid fucking church, enjoyed the adulation of the townsfolk, maybe got really, really, really shitfaced for a week straight.

But he couldn't stay. He couldn't become for them what Miranda became for the village. He couldn't be a saint, a symbol, a hero. He would only disappoint them. Let Teo become their guardian. She was better-suited for the task, young and willful, without the weight of decades crushing her to the dirt.

And now, the worst.

Something was wrong with Rose.

She was supposed to be healed, supposed to be all right. She'd gotten her medicine, her mutation balanced out, her body's accelerated growth slowed down to normal rates. That wasn't the issue. She'd collapsed in the blizzard, mold spewing from her skin, screaming as it reached her eyes. Heisenberg, help me! He couldn't do anything, could only hold her as she wrestled for control, as the mold became blood, oozing from her mouth and eyes.

That night, shuddering and feverish, she'd begun to chant. Crying out, first, then words, an endless stream of them. Heisenberg recognized some. Miranda's speech patterns, Dimitrescu's, the villagers' gabble, even his own, things he'd said decades ago, things he'd said yesterday.

Rose's eyes flickered behind her lashes; he felt the pulse of her power, strong as the heartbeat of the Black God in its caves. In trying to merge the megamycete with the dissolved Rose, trying to siphon Eva into an inert vessel, Miranda had put the Black God itself in her head. She had made her into this, had impaled her upon a shard of the divine, and now she was bleeding out.

He carried her through the blizzard. Here we are again, kid. Each step grated through him, his joints winched so tight that moving at all was a Herculean effort. The wind roared; he grit his teeth and forced his way on.

Nearly right off a cliff. It yawned before him, snow crumbling from his boot toes, down into an abyss. He stumbled back moments before he'd have walked right out into it, plunged him and Rose alike to their deaths. Breathing hard, he stared out into the sea of snow-fog and flakes blown sideways. The roar was stronger here, was-

Definitely not wind.

Light blazed through the snow. The train rumbled past without warning, a vast dark serpent plunging from the fog and forward along hidden tracks. Cyrillic writing flashed along its sides: a cargo train, laden up with shipping containers. A few of the traincars were for ordinary cargo, smaller boxes, doors padlocked tight.

Heisenberg was already running.

He lunged down the incline and skidded in a plume of gravel, then broke into a flat-out sprint alongside the train. Its horn sounded, a bass bellow in the backs of his teeth, so loud it drowned out thought. He didn't need to think. This train, wherever it was going, was a hell of a lot better than dying in the middle of the woods.

He flung out a hand. The padlock broke in a spray of sparks. Another command ripped open the train door. He splayed his fingers, then clenched them, hooking his power onto the metal. It nearly wrenched his arm clean off; red agony ripped through his shoulder joint, but he hurtled off his feet and onto the train steps, stumbling into the traincar itself, out of the cold.

He jerked his head to the side, slamming shut the door, trapping him and Rose in rattling, vibrating darkness.

Pain throbbed, torn and bloody, deep in his shoulder. He ignored it and set about clearing a patch of floor between the crates. He popped one open and rummaged through. It were full of electronics, not food, but the air in this train was warmer than the outside, and if they were heading to somewhere, at least it wasn't nowhere.

Heisenberg plucked one of the boxes from the crate and studied it, his brow furrowed. What the hell was it? The package said telephone, but this thing was tiny. He tossed it aside, then helped Rose down, bundling his coat around her so she wouldn't have to curl up on the bare metal floor.

He settled down alongside her, holding his arm out as straight as he could bear so his healing factor wouldn't set the tissues all wonky. Fuck, it hurt. He needed a drink. Why couldn't this have been the rubbing alcohol train instead of the stupid tiny telephones train?

"You broke it," Rose murmured.

"Nah. Just a sprain." He grinned at her. "Fuckin' arm wouldn't dare break on me."

"Just like...just like before...so much breaking...he just wanted to save them..." Her words turned mumbly, mushy, sing-song. "...seven times we join our hands, seven times fall down...seven heads will turn all red when Lord Heisenberg's in town..."

"I'm gonna get us somewhere safe, kid. Don't you worry."

"Worry, worry, worry. Don't worry, Mister Heisenberg. I know how to be safe." The mold pooled from her again, writhing over the walls and crates, nosing at Heisenberg's boots. "She won't ever notice..."

"Rose," Heisenberg said, but she had lapsed again, rocking back and forth as she sang and sobbed and called out names he didn't recognize, of the long-dead, of the unborn.

He made himself stay awake, even dug scavenged metal barbs into the side of his neck so the pain would keep him alert, but the past few sleepless nights, the days on the mountainside, the days before in the aftermath of the village, all took their toll. He might have been Lord Heisenberg- once- but he was still human, somewhere deep, deep inside, and it was that part which eventually rose up and succumbed to his exhaustion.

He drifted off. There was no Beneviento garden now, no Claudia or Donna, nothing but oblivion and that song. Miranda's song, drifting through the deep currents of his brain. Lost in the forest, poor little lamb. Witches and wolves await your sweet flesh. Stumble and bleat, but the briars grow swiftly. Home is faraway, and you are so lonely.

You made me this way, he called to the darkness, but there was nothing. An echo; a whisper. You're dead. Let me go. Let us all go.

He woke with a jolt to Rose screaming.

He was next to her in an instant. She streamed mold- it was worse than before, a writhing sea of it, lapping and surging at his hands, black tears pouring from her eyes. His Cadou writhed as if in response, its tentacles straining at his electric organs, straining at the call of its master's vessel. Rose's screams filled the traincar, howling, desperate, and agonized.

"It's too much," she sobbed, between the screams. Heisenberg held her down; his hands were numb, his whole body numb. Somewhere there was rage, but it didn't rise in him to scorch him. All he could think was we were out. She's dead. We're supposed to be free. "It's...too much, it hurts- help me, please, help me-"

"I'm trying," he snarled. He didn't know what to do. A mold-tentacle thudded against the metal wall, shaking the whole car. Years of chopping into corpses, buzz-sawing off limbs, pumping in chemicals and rearranging the intricate machine that was the human body- none of it was any use here. It wasn't her moldy little self that was the problem. It was what waited within, the dreams, the nightmares, the god inside her head.

Miranda, for all her century of research, her lofty claims and prophetess trappings, hadn't truly understood the scope of the megamycete, had been too single-minded and unstable to recognize it for what it was. No single mind could.

And now Rose- Eva- the girl that had been remade from both- held all of them.

Births, and deaths. Lives and losses. Every sorrow, every joy, every moment of anger, every long, bleak stretch of misery, was captured and preserved within her like an insect in amber. Every thought of everything that had ever died and become a part of the Black God's memory, its complete and perfect record of the region's collective human consciousness. Of the other mold outbreaks, too? Heisenberg didn't know. It didn't matter now; ask the philosophers when it did. Here and now, what mattered was that it was tearing Rose apart.

The power flowed from her like a river, bolts of lightning in Heisenberg's nerves. He'd tasted this instability before, though on a lesser scale. He'd seen what it left behind. A dead thing on a floor. A silence that was an ending. After Claudia, he'd become a monster, had lost all empathy for the villagers upon whose dead he'd experimented.

What would he become if Rose-

Don't. Do not think that way. The second you do you might as well throw yourself under this goddamn train.

He had to do something.

There was something.

Wasn't there always, when you were prepared to do anything?

"Rose," he said. A fresh wave of her screams filled the air. Her eyes were squinched shut, but black tears bubbled between her lashes anyway. "Kid, listen to me. You're in my head, right? Got in there with your freaky mind-fuckery and screwed around? I need you to do it again, but this time- this time, I need you to open the door both ways."

He didn't know if she heard him. Didn't know if she could. He'd make her hear him. She had to live. She had to. With a "Sorry, kid," he pressed his hands to both sides of her face, holding her still as she convulsed.

Electricity hummed and crackled, arcing over his body and into hers. The web of mold around them disintegrated, and Rose's screams cut off with a gurgle. Her back arched; her teeth shone slick and black as she gasped for breath.

She slammed back down.

Her eyes sprang open.

They gleamed golden in the lightning, and her face shuddered into a smile, familiar, slicing to Heisenberg's core. He was that little boy again, reaching for Miranda, wanting to comfort her even with her hands gloved in his blood. Fuck, nostalgia was a bitch.

"Karl," Rose whispered, and her voice was Miranda's, not its sound but its essence, the way it coiled around his name.

She blinked, and Rose's real eyes were back, irises pale against her oil-black sclerae.

"Now," she whispered. A crackle thrummed between them, and Heisenberg's Cadou shuddered, the world around him shifting. "Do it now."

So Heisenberg reached down, inside himself, inside Rose. An alien presence, searching, finding, grabbing on. He took hold of her memories, her power, the Black God itself, and he hid it all away. He chained it deep inside her, like Miranda had done to him and the other Lords. The memories of her abduction, her crystallization, Heisenberg and the others taking up her fragments, like pieces of a broken doll. Memories of her mother, Mia, Ethan's ordeal, what Heisenberg had done to him. Memories of who she was, what she was. Last of all, and most importantly: what he had just done to her.

Locked away. Good as gone.

A hollow left behind.

She slumped into Heisenberg's coat with a sigh, out cold. The last of her mold melted into nothingness. She looked almost peaceful.

All Heisenberg could think, all his stupid fucking brain could manage to come up with as he stared down at her, breathing hard, the remnants of his lightning crackling around them both, was a perfect affinity.

Without warning, a shudder passed through the train. The squeal of metal against metal filled the air, the timbre of the engine changing. He felt it in the metal around them, the vibration against his extranormal senses. They were slowing down. Was the train stopping? They were in the middle of nowhere, why the hell would they-

The train ground to a halt. Heisenberg slowly got to his feet, hands splayed. The darkness in the car was absolute.

A screech, a grind of the door's mechanism- and it burst open. Light seared into the traincar, halogen-bright and blinding. Heisenberg flinched back as it stabbed into his unprotected eyes like splinters of glass.

Fuck this shit. He reached out for the metal around him as shouts filled the air-

"He's using his mutation!" A deep voice, a little gravelly around the edges. Familiar. "Fire!"

"Bullets, Redfield?" Heisenberg yelled, with a laugh.

It cut off as a thin streak of metal flashed through his awareness; there was a sting, like a wasp, in the side of his neck. He slapped his hand up to the sting and yanked out-

Ah, fuck. A dart bristling with an orange pom-pom. Out of his neck, now, but it'd had long enough. The sedative kicked like a mule; Heisenberg went rigid as his head swirled, as the floodlight broke apart into kaleidoscopic shards.

Numbness swept over him, and his concentration lapsed. What was this, some world-class extra-strength trank made specially for bioweapons? Knowing the BSAA, probably.

Boots thudded on metal. Heisenberg collapsed onto his knees, his advanced metabolism straining to work through the sedative before it pulled him under. A silhouette stepped in front of the light, built like a fridge beneath his all-black combat gear. Grim-faced, eyes narrowed, Chris Redfield looked down at Heisenberg.

"Bioweapon secure," he said.

He faced Rose. A frown cut the lines on his face deeper. "Shit," he murmured. A strange expression fluttered over his face- relief, confusion, a profound, weary grief. "What did they do to you, Rosemary?"

"Didn't...do..." Black pushed in at the edges of Heisenberg's vision. "Fuckin'...kill you..."

Redfield's eyes flicked back to him. "Heard that before, Heisenberg," he said. "I'm not dead yet."

He spoke to someone behind him, a hazy form in the encroaching darkness. "Wrap him up and move them out. And keep him under. God help us all if he comes to on the chopper."

Fuck, Heisenberg told himself.

That was his last conscious thought for a good long while.

***

"Let me get this straight," Redfield said, rubbing his forehead with one hand, the other arm crossed over his massive pecs. "You thought that hiding out in the next valley, on the other side of the mountain, ostentatiously battling one of Miranda's other bioweapons, becoming a town legend, and vanishing into the wilderness with a child in tow would keep you under the radar?"

"What can I say." Heisenberg spread his arms. "I can't resist a good show."

The room echoed around them: featureless and chill, lights too bright, concrete walls and floor painted white. Still in his filthy trench coat, he'd left a ring of grime around his chair, marring the pristine floor simply by sitting over it. No metal anywhere. Everything was polymer or an alloy, non-ferrous, out of his control. Guards in full combat gear stood at the single door out, and a vent breathed dry, cold air into the room, keeping the temperature hovering somewhere just above arctic.

Smart, he had to admit. His Cadou was sluggish in this cold, and only its occasionally-pulsating weight in his chest told him it was still alive at all. Maybe it was nervous. He'd certainly got a kick of adrenaline when he awoke to find the pressure of a collar around his neck.

A shock collar, he'd been informed, with enough voltage to detonate his heart like a grenade, electric organs or no. He didn't much appreciate it. He didn't like collars except under very specific circumstances.

Redfield sat on the opposite side of the table. Bisecting it, and by extension the whole room, was a sheet of stout glass. A faint, drilling hum in the backs of his teeth told him it was electrified. If he touched it, bye-bye eyebrows. A few holes in the glass allowed sound. Heisenberg was almost flattered. Even without the use of his power, they were still leery he might lunge across the table and throttle the legendary Chris Redfield with his bare hands.

He'd done his research on the guy when he'd done his research on Ethan, heard the Hound Wolf Squad was rolling into Romania, smuggled in the info by means of the Duke, like he did most of his outside reading material.

He knew a thing or two more about the outside world than the rest of the Lords- Dimitrescu kept herself isolated by choice, focusing on the snow-globe-life she'd cultivated under Miranda's thumb, while Moreau he wasn't sure was capable of expanding his horizons, preferring shitty, schmaltzy movies to concrete information.

And Donna...

To think about her still elicited a clutter of emotions, from revulsion to longing. She'd cut herself off in her own way, had regressed to a state of childlike mourning after Claudia's death became the final nail in the coffin of her sanity.

Heisenberg had kept tabs on the BSAA's movement, Redfield's little cadre splintering off from it to conduct their own, somewhat less sanctioned, operations. Other stuff too, all the way back to a certain mansion in a certain mountain range in North America. Now, he took stock of the man himself. His main takeaway was weariness. The fluorescent lighting did him no favors, and past the muscle and the flinty eyes he could see the exhaustion that lay over him like a shroud. He'd spent the last three years protecting Ethan Winters and his family, after all. And now, now, in the span of less than a month, all of it was gone.

Had to suck at least a little.

Heisenberg leaned back in his chair as much as his zip-tied hands would allow and surveyed Redfield down his nose.

"And you couldn't let us go on our merry way," he went on. "Had to protect and serve against the big, bad monsters. That S.T.A.R.S training still kicking around your brain, somewhere past all the meat blocking your synaptic activity?"

That didn't get so much as a rise. Redfield simply folded his other arm over his chest and let out his breath.

"The girl you kidnapped was the whole damn point of the whole damn operation," he said. "All of this was to extract her, rescue her. And you're a hostile bioweapon whose hobby is manufacturing soldiers from infected corpses on an industrial level. So, yeah. I couldn't let you...go on your merry way. Where were you and Rosemary headed, while we're on the subject? Nowhere but an icy grave, from the looks of you two."

"You underestimate me, Chris. I always find a way out."

"Yes, you do." He leaned forward. "We've been running tests on Rosemary-"

"Rose," Heisenberg said.

Chris's expression didn't shift, but Heisenberg sensed he was waiting for him to continue.

"Kid likes to be called Rose," Heisenberg said with a shrug. "No need to make a song and dance about it."

"On Rose," Redfield went on, slowly. "My squad observed Miranda's ceremony, Rose's reconstitution from the megamycete's mutagen slurry. We knew that such a process would leave its host...unstable. Her sporadic growth spurts have ceased- your doing?"

He wasn't about to blab about Teodora. Last thing she needed was a strike team conking her on the head and dragging her to a facility like this. "More or less."

"-But there was little to be done about the mind-archive transfer. That amount of data, all in an already unstable brain...it was a wonder she didn't suffer a full cerebral collapse the moment she came out of the Mold."

"She's a tough little thing, that's for damn sure."

Redfield was silent for a long moment.

Then-

"We know you stabilized her, Heisenberg," he said. "That you repressed her abilities so they wouldn't overwhelm her."

Heisenberg said nothing.

"Easier to just let her die. Unless, of course, you had plans for her once you reached civilization. Your metal army's gone, so I get it. Cut your losses, flee the village with the next best thing. Use Rose to start up your own little prayer circle, use her as the next...what did Miranda call the megamycete? The Black God?"

Heisenberg snorted. "Like I want a bunch of morons in bathrobes sucking me off."

"Why, then? Surely she's more trouble than she's worth."

"Loads. Give me a cigar and I might tell you about it."

"Cut the bullshit, Heisenberg."

"You first, Chris," Heisenberg told him. He reached up and gave his shock collar a little tug. How long did it take to activate, he wondered. "If you're looking to wring a drop of decency from me, you're gonna be looking for a long damn time."

Redfield's hand slammed down on the tabletop, shaking it, shaking the entire pane of electrified glass. "We want to help her!" he snapped. "Understand? And you screwing with us is stopping us from getting her the help she needs."

At last Heisenberg sensed the rift, the hairline fracture in his stolid composure. He wanted to help her, too.

Well, well. Was this to be a truly honest man?

"The BSAA is prepared to cut you a deal," Redfield went on. "You cooperate, and this doesn't end in your permanent calcification."

Heisenberg kicked a boot up on the table. This was gonna be good. "Go on."

"We take control of Rose-"

"No."

"-And keep you on-site as a consultant for matters relating to the megamycete, Miranda, her years of research I know you were at least somewhat privy to. I read the documents in her laboratory. She had contact with Umbrella before it was even Umbrella. That research is the key to all of this, to understanding the Mold, to stopping the next outbreak, and the next. Stopping more biomatter massacres like the one in the village. Stopping more infectees from suffering like you and your- your siblings- suffered-"

"All at the cost of Rose's freedom," Heisenberg said.

"All with the aim of preserving her safety. Don't you see she's safest in BSAA custody?"

You're safe with me, Miranda had whispered to him. You're safe here now, Karl. Do as I say, and I'll always protect you.

"Yeah, I've heard that shit before," Heisenberg said. "Still don't believe it."

"Listen-" Redfield cut off, then began again. "This kind of treatment isn't my first choice. But this isn't my call, either. It's the best I could negotiate with the higher-ups, and believe me, what they first wanted to do with Rose when we pulled you two in..."

He shook his head. "This isn't your world anymore, Heisenberg. I don't say that as a threat. I say it as a warning. If you care about any piece of Rose, take my deal. It's the best one you're gonna get."

Heisenberg stared at him for a while, eyes half-lidded, letting the atmosphere in the room tense up and up.

"I want to see her," he said, suddenly.

"You-"

"I want to see her or there's no deal, Redfield. I know you want all my info on Miranda, so you're not gonna grab the shotgun and send me to the glue factory unless it's the last resort." He tipped his head to the side, regarding Redfield through a curtain of grimy gray hair. "Let me see her or I'll force the issue, and all that research, that century of insight into the Mold..."

He clicked his fingers as best he could with his hands bound.

"Gone," he said. "Just like poor Ethan."

Redfield's jaw quivered. Ever the professional, he didn't march over to Heisenberg's side and deck him. Heisenberg admired his restraint. He'd sure as hell deck him. Instead Redfield drew a long breath, then glanced to the guards and nodded.

"Ten minutes," he said.

"Best behavior," Heisenberg agreed.

Out they went. Winding hallways, pale and featureless. Guards in black at every door, an egghead in a white coat at his side, syringe at the ready at the first twitch of Heisenberg's power. Redfield strode ahead, giving nods to all those he passed, but Heisenberg got the impression- something in his posture, in the way his eyes settled on the faces of the occasional scientist walking by- that he wasn't fully comfortable here, either.

It's the best I could negotiate with the higher-ups, he'd said. Fascinating. Even the great boulder-punching Chris Redfield himself was under someone's thumb.

They reached a doorway that opened with a keycard into what looked like a residential section. The halls here were painted a bland beige, a few prints on the walls, the lighting far less harsh. Still, there was no escaping the omnipresent hum of a generator somewhere, the faint chill and smell of chemicals. His guards pushed him through a nondescript doorway and into a small, dim room, one wall set with an enormous pane of glass.

A one-way mirror, Heisenberg realized. On the other side was a bedroom, and in it was a woman and a girl.

The girl was Rose, curled on the bed. Sensors were attached to her head, bundles of cables snaking away to ports in the walls. The woman Heisenberg recognized, too. Miranda had brought her to the village some weeks before, had flung her into a cell in her lab, had done things to her that sent screams echoing through the caves for hours on end.

Heisenberg had listened outside the door, hand clenched around his hammer, thinking now. Now. She's distracted. Set the metal army on her, crush her to the dust. Kill her in her lab, heh, that would be poetry, wouldn't it?

But he didn't. She was still too powerful, still too wary. When she brought the kid to town, at the height of her perceived victory, bringing her down would be all the sweeter. Eventually she left the lab, giving a nod to Heisenberg waiting at the door. He'd bowed, touching his hat brim, laying it all on a little too thick.

Inside the lab, the smell of fresh blood and mutagen rose thick and sweet from the operating table, scalpels scattered in kidney dishes, glistening like rubies in the medical lighting. The woman was curled in the corner of her cell, knees to her chest, her dark hair hanging over her face. As Heisenberg's shadow fell over her, she'd looked up with a gasp, eyes wide, hands clenched on her knees.

You. You're one of...one of hers, aren't you? I saw you when she...when she brought me here...you have to help me, she's...doing things to me, she wants Rose-

Heisenberg took a slow drag off his cigar. Rose, huh?

My baby. My daughter. Oh, god, she's in there with them...I have to get to them, warn them... She'd scrabbled in the scattered straw on the flagstones, as if searching her cell for a key that wasn't there. Her eyes were too-bright, unfocused, feverish. Heisenberg glimpsed the dark stains on her clothes, the old blood that had dried and soaked in and dried again.

He'd read about her, too. All the files on Dulvey, Louisiana, the crash of the Annabelle, the mutamycete colony of which she'd been part. Another twisted little family. Other stuff. A photo of her, standing with her hand on the shoulder of a dark-haired little girl radiating mold tentacles like Rose's. A redacted past nearly as atrocity-filled as his own.

She whirled, suddenly, and hauled herself up the bars. Let me go, she begged, reaching between the bars, her bloodied fingertips brushing his arm. Please, I'll do anything.

Anything?

Anything-

Heisenberg had leaned in, and the hope in her face was a gutting thing.

Sorry, sweetheart, he'd told her. Mommy says no.

It was practical, he told himself later. She got out, Miranda would know someone on the inside was less than loyal, and it didn't take many leaps in logic to land on him. By the time he'd sent the army up against Miranda, had mutated himself and faced her lycan army mano-a-mano, Mia Winters was gone from the lab and the point was moot.

"You sprung the mom, I assume?" he asked Redfield.

He nodded. "She told us a lot, after her release. You were mentioned. I think her exact words were smug fucker with a hammer."

"Cute and has a way with words. Single, too." Redfield's look to him could have frozen fire. "When can I talk to Rose?"

"Talking to Rose was never part of the deal."

"Hm," Heisenberg said. "Unfortunate."

This next part would sting a bit.

He whirled. Guns cocked as Heisenberg cracked his elbow into the syringe-wielding scientist at his shoulder, knocking her back before she could plunge the needle into his neck. A knife sprang into Redfield's hand, its blade made of hardened polymer. Heisenberg rushed him with a maniacal laugh, his hand closing around Redfield's neck, wrenching the guy off his feet and into the air-

His skull exploded. That was how it felt, anyway; the inside of his head sheeted white. Heat seared a ring around his neck where the shock collar touched him. He smelled his own hair burning. Nasty, he thought, even as the world fell away and he hurtled once more into unconsciousness.

***

It was later that Miranda made him perform more executions. He was older, then, and his dolls became far more complex, mechanical marvels that skittered and moved on multiple legs, ticking over the flagstones. His hair grew shaggy over his face, his scars increasing by the week; his healing factor closed his accidental wounds, but always left behind a mark.

Miranda had stopped soothing each new cut, had stopped trimming his hair herself with a pair of long silver scissors and matching bowl, like some holy woman tending a child saint. After that first hesitation, after Karl had refused to kill the farmer who'd disobeyed her, the knife merely gashing the man over the cheek rather than over the throat, he'd sensed a new coldness in her.

Worse than that- a disappointment. He was no longer her special child, her perfect vessel. Like Alcina, like Salvatore, he was flawed. He became wild. Tempestuous. Cruel. No longer a child saint, but a demon-thing, savage and bloodthirsty as a newborn lycan. He pushed his power to its limits, not caring when he drew in lightning to strike the wooden buildings in the village, not caring when the villagers cowered under the power of his onslaught.

Miranda let him range where he liked, as long as he stayed within the village limits. Through the woods which had once been his sanctuary.

He found dead things. He remade them. Now the machines that had skittered on mechanical legs shambled and slouched, crawling along on decaying paws until their metal components tore their flesh ones apart.

When Miranda summoned him to her side and bestowed her presence upon the village, he no longer felt fear as the villagers shrank to their knees before them. Just a kind of numb, blank pity.

And when Miranda ordered him to lift his hammer over the head of a heretic, he didn't feel anything at all.

Years it took for him to feel again. Anything. Had she stolen his emotions along with his memories? Had she reached inside him and simply turned them off? Maybe it was better that way; then it was her fault, not his.

The sanctum began to reek of dead things, bad enough that Miranda banished Karl under the guise of reward to the ramshackle, disused factory on the village outskirts, surrounded by a vast war-era junkyard and built over a particularly extensive wing of the Black God's cave system. This was the one-time empire of House Heisenberg, she explained, and thus his birthright.

He took the name and pinned it to himself like a badge. Anything, for identity. Alone in the rusty, echoing darkness, exploring the complex like he had once explored the Black God's tunnels, he began to think about bodies. His own, cut open and rearranged. The ones he'd made. The ones he'd found, maggots squirming in their ribs. Making them move. If he could make them move, he could make them do anything at all. Anything he wanted.

Just like her.

It seemed she'd taught him well.

Miranda's focus had turned from him, as it always did. This time, though, it didn't settle on one of the villagers, but on the two daughters of the Beneviento family to the northwest of the village. Descendants of royalty, of one of the ancient kings of the valley, the original settlers of this lonely mountain place. Clever folk, all of them, quick with their hands and their wits. Too clever to live, as it turned out. Recently the family had dwindled to two. The parents were dead, consumed by the waterfall that thundered outside their mist-shrouded mansion. Maybe the sound had driven them mad. Maybe the Black God had whispered its darkest dreams to them, and it had cracked them, deep inside.

Maybe Miranda had paid them a visit.

Go to them, she ordered Heisenberg. He might have fallen from her favor, but he still had his many uses. She circled him, a hiss of feathers against the shadows. Watch them. The younger girl in particular. She's a special one, that Claudia. Watch her, and tell me what you see.

He'd hefted his hammer higher on his shoulder. Like a hawk.

I know you will.

She'd stopped before him and trailed one claw down his cheek, gently brushing his lower lip with her thumb.

You're still perfect, you know.

That was Miranda's mistake. Assuming she had absolute control. Assuming that control was unassailable. But the strong would always destroy the weak- that was the way of the world. And in the end, she was no match for the strength of his vengeance.

***

Redfield wore a choker of bruises in the shape of Heisenberg's right hand.

"Heh," Heisenberg said. "Pretty necklace."

"You know how much clout it took to convince my superiors not to crystallize you on the spot?" he muttered. Heisenberg could imagine. He looked like he'd aged years over the previous night. After Heisenberg had attacked, he'd been wrestled to a cell made for rampaging bioweapons, bolted down, and subjected to repeated flashes of blinding light to further fuck his brain into black goo. A nice little injection of tranquilizers later, and he was on the train to sleepy town.

"This won't end well for you," Redfield said. "No matter the outcome. Rose belongs here. What kind of life did you think you were gonna give her, anyway? As your protege? As part of another family, like Miranda's, like the Bakers, the two of you against the world?"

"Better than being locked in that depressing fucking room in this depressing fucking place," Heisenberg said.

"You seriously think that? There are organizations out there who would use her for...inconceivable horrors. Both against her and against everyone. What she is, who she is- there's never been anything like it before. People will want that kind of power. They'll hunt her down like an animal. Here, she'll be treated like a person."

Heisenberg laughed, slow and bitter. He kept going for so long that Redfield began to look a little unnerved.

"Shit," Heisenberg said, at last. "They really have screwed you around, haven't they? You really believe that? You do, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter if I do or not," Redfield said, stolidly. "I'll make sure of it."

"Do you know what it's like?" Heisenberg said. Redfield's eyes narrowed. "To be taken? To be reached inside? To be looked at like a monster, like a god, like both, until you don't know what you are, until your mind's so broken all you can bear is do as you're told or destroy everything around you?"

He leaned forward, collar scraping at his neck. The guards shifted in the corners, adjusting their grip on their polymer weapons.

"I'll fight until I'm glittery dust so that can never happen to her," Heisenberg said. "I'll run forever, kill anyone who gets in my way, so she doesn't have to live through that humiliation. That desecration. So she can be who she wants to be. Not what the world makes her into."

Redfield touched the handprint bruise on his neck. He glanced at a guard and nodded. "So you've decided," he said.

There it was again- that crushing weariness. Heisenberg sympathized. Mostly. The door to the interrogation room opened and in came an aide carrying a tray with a plastic water bottle and a cup on it. He set it down by Redfield, who set about pouring the water.

"Yeah," Heisenberg said. "I've decided. Not the original plan, but, hell, you wore me down."

Redfield's eyes cut toward him. "I'll try to have them make it quick."

"Me too," Heisenberg said.

"What?"

The aide who'd brought the water swayed, hand fluttering to his chest. His brow creased in confusion.

Heisenberg smiled.

"My plans might all fall to shit, Redfield," he said, "but you can't deny I'm a fantastic improviser. You shouldn't have said all that about Rose. You shouldn't have threatened me. And you really shouldn't have brought in the guy with the pacemaker."

Redfield blinked.

Then realization struck, and Heisenberg was rewarded with the most glorious look of oh, SHIT he'd experienced for a long, long time.

With a jerk of his head, the aide's chest exploded, a blast of gore and bone fragments. Metal shards rocketed from his gaping chest cavity as he collapsed; one went straight into the lights, plunging the entire room into darkness. The others slashed over the guards' throats before they could activate his shock collar; he'd noticed the delay the night before, the instant between their reaction and the jolt of electricity in which he had plenty of time to do his thing.

The electrified glass shattered under multiple impacts. A metal shard sliced past him at bullet speed, cracking off the fastener of his collar. He tore the thing off and flung it, then vaulted the table, slamming boots-first into Redfield's chest. He went down hard, the back of his skull cracking against the floor. Heisenberg ground his boot heel into his wrist.

Bones went snap, crackle, pop.

"Shhh," he told Redfield. A metal shard darted forward, stopping centimeters from Redfield's eye. The man breathed hard, sharp, quick, pants, not looking away, not blinking. "Key card for Rose's cell. Now."

"You- bastard-"

"Not what I asked for."

Redfield surged under him, shoving him off before he could pop his eyeball like a water balloon. Shit, he was strong. What did he eat for breakfast? Nukes? Heisenberg ducked his swing, a right hook that might have well taken his head clean off. Outside the cell, an alarm started up, blaring and insistent.

They'd have company, and soon.

Redfield tore his sidearm from its holster and leveled it at Heisenberg's chest. Metal flashed: the pacemaker components, pressed into a blade. The gun fell apart, its barrel sliced cleanly off. The trigger went click. Redfield sucked in a breath.

Heisenberg moved his fingers.

The blade flicked to Redfield's throat.

Heisenberg leaned in and snagged his keycard off his belt. "No hard feelings, Chris," he said, amiably. "But next time I see you, I'm killing you real slow."

He flashed him a grin, then split the blade in half and clamped the metal strip around Redfield's wrist, welding it in a spray of blue sparks to the table.

The door came open with a flash of his brand-new keycard. Heisenberg kneed it open, about to step into the red-lit corridor.

"She'll never forgive you," Redfield called. "When she finds out the truth."

Heisenberg hesitated.

"Then we'll see how much better off she is," Redfield told him.

Heisenberg said nothing. He left Chris Redfield in the interrogation room and plunged into the maze of corridors beyond.

BOW breach detected. The automated voice droned on and on, even as waves of shock troops hit him, riot shields and electric batons, polymer guns and the kitchen sink. Heisenberg tore free everything he could use. Fillings in the teeth. Buckles and aglets. Even someone's bellybutton ring; ooh, that one sounded like it hurt. Scrap orbiting him, he tore through the base, lightning crackling from his skin, searing blackened scars into those pristine white walls.

BOW breach detected. Past labs, red-lit and churning with chaos, scientists evacuating through side door boltholes, fleeing him in droves. Screams lit the air as they saw him coming, wreathed in lightning and metal shards, tearing their facility and security alike apart.

Heisenberg didn't fucking care. They weren't his concern right now. Let these mortals run off and do their little science experiments. None of them understood real power, the kind he wielded, the kind that had destroyed him. They'd take it and dissect it, lock it in chains, find its beating heart and pin it on a board.

One of the scientists scrambled into a corner as he moved past. Heisenberg stopped just ahead of him, then turned back, staring at him with brows raised through the screaming and the fleeing.

"No!" the scientist cried as Heisenberg ambled toward him. "Please- no- I have a family-"

"Nice," Heisenberg said. "I love a cliche."

He knelt, grinning, and plucked off the scientist's round sunglasses. Not exactly the same kind as his- those were vintage, dammit- but they'd do. He slid them on his nose, gave the man a salute, then continued on his rampage.

He scaled a lift shaft and emerged into the upper corridors he recognized from before, the beige hallways with their boring bucolic prints. Now, they were darkened, lights out. In here, the alarm was muffled, the automated voice distant. Silence rang, all the more eerie for the thunder of gunshots and screams that had filled Heisenberg's head minutes before.

He pressed forward. All the goddamn doors looked the same. He tried a few, peered into empty rooms, a gymnasium, even a swimming pool. At last he found the observation room, unlocking it with a swipe of Redfield's keycard.

Its one-way mirror was like a pane of pure darkness. The lights in the room beyond were out. He saw his own reflection in the glass, his shades agleam, the rags of his trench coat streaked in gore. He broke the glass with a chunk of metal and watched the glass rain away from the dark room on the other side.

"Rose?" he called. "Kid?"

"You're not taking her!"

The voice burst from the darkness, raw as a scraped knee. Heisenberg saw her, then. Mia Winters stood in the middle of the room. Behind her, Rose still lay on the bed, still hooked up to that octopus of wiring, still seemingly out cold. Mia's face shone pale, pinpoints of blue from Heisenberg's lightning reflected in her eyes.

She held one hand clenched, the other canted slightly behind her back, out of Heisenberg's view. Some kind of makeshift weapon, he assumed. Smart girl. She was no stranger to a brawl, he knew, nor to surviving by any means necessary.

He strolled forward, stepping over the divide between the rooms, splaying his hands. His orbiting metal scrap tightened around him, points aimed straight for Mia like a halo of daggers. She held her ground, her face set, that too-bright gleam still in her eyes. She looked like some kind of feral animal, halfway to snapping, halfway to gnawing her own leg to the bone.

"What was that, sweetheart?" Heisenberg said.

"Take her and I'll kill you," Mia snarled. "I've already lost my husband. I'm not losing my daughter, too."

"You already lost her once. What's a second time?"

"And I've executed bioweapons before," Mia said. Her voice was low, slightly choked, bitter. Like she was using the words both as threat and punishment. "What's another?"

Heisenberg chuckled. "Cute." He flicked his hand. One of the metal shards rose between them, point glittering, poised between Mia's clavicles. "I don't especially want to kill you, but-"

She struck with a scream, faster than Heisenberg expected. Her weapon flashed: a polymer knife, too-sharp on the business end. Had she whittled it into a weapon once she heard the alarms sound, once she knew Lord Heisenberg was coming? The metal shard sliced over her shoulder as she ducked it, impaling itself with a crack in the opposite wall.

Her arm arced down. Heisenberg caught it in one palm. She was stronger than she looked, her teeth bared, her eyes gleaming through a curtain of hair. She strained, throwing all her strength, all her weight against him; the knife shook in her hand, point still aimed for the side of Heisenberg's neck.

"Good one," Heisenberg told her. "Still, gotta critique you on-"

Force slammed him right in the side. He cut off with a snarl and looked down. Another utensil- the handle of a polymer fork- stuck out of his stomach. Mia gripped it tight. In a swift movement she ripped it out and stabbed him again. Blood and mutagen spattered the floor.

"Bitch," Heisenberg told her, appreciatively, and flung her. She spun through the air with a cry and struck the wall, sprawling to the floor in a crumpled heap. Metal shot toward her, twisting around her wrists, her ankles, her throat, and pulling tight, cutting off her breathing to a pained whistle. She gasped for air, but Heisenberg didn't let up on his restraints.

"Stay down," he told her.

He went to Rose on the bed and scooped her up, snapping the wiring from her head with a wave of his hand. She stirred as he cradled her to him, brushing his hand over her cheek.

"C...can't...take...her..."

He turned. Mia twisted against her bindings. Tears streaked her face. "Please," she said. "Give her...back to me..."

Heisenberg made a sound like tch.

"I know all about you, Mia," he told her. "All about your fine work in America. All about the E-Series, all about sweet little Eveline. You really think you deserve another child after what you did to her?"

And he turned, and strode out, followed for a long, long time by the sound of her screaming Rose's name.

[thehuntiswhatdefinesus]

I love the wolf’s and Cassandra’s bickering so much.

Why does it feel like they would use the ‘your mom’ jokes on each other 😭

(Sorry for the long wait! I saw this ask the day it was sent, but I just had this urge to write a little text in reply and I couldn't come up with an idea until today, haha.) They absolutely would use 'your mom' jokes! They might also definitely resort to using 'your mom' as insults in an argument! And the werewolf would immediately fuck up by using a 'your mom' insult in a place where Alcina can hear her. Like, imagine this scenario…

The werewolf shook her head, sending little droplets of water splashing. It had been raining all morning and noon but that sure hadn’t stopped her from heading outside, hoping to hunt. The urge had been prodding her for some time, had made falling asleep as much of a difficult task as staying asleep. More often than not it had even startled her awake with blood-soaked dreams and a gnawing hunger.

So, out she went, weather be damned.

Her hope had been that a certain huntress would join in, accompany her, but the weather made it difficult, what with the temperature of the rain and the moisture in the air making it hard for the daughters to take on the shape of a swarm.

So, alone she went.

And alone, she returned.

Soaked and with nothing to show but wet soil on her pants and twigs in her wet hair.

“Enjoyed your little hunt, pup?”

The werewolf’s eyes darted across the hallway, where Cassandra stood leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest with a playful little grin on her lips. She could feel the huntress judging her appearance and the werewolf huffed in return.

“I did.”

“Where’s your prey?”

The two stared each other down and with each second of silence that passed, Cassandra’s grin grew a little wider.

“… it escaped,” the werewolf begrudgingly admitted, shifting her weight from one mud-covered boot to the other.

“Did it now? I wonder how that happened? Wait, no, let me… guess,” Cassandra whispered, pulling away from the wall and stalking towards the werewolf. “Mud on your boots… and you leave tracks without an impression of the shape of your sole… mud on your knees and sleeves… hmm. Alright, here’s what happened. You lost traction and slipped on the wet soil.”

The werewolf grit her teeth. Caught. That’s exactly what had happened. A turn that was a little too tight, a slip and… the buck ran and she just barely managed to catch herself and avoid face-planting into the mud.

“So?”

“You didn’t shape-shift?”

One eyebrow raised, the huntress approached the werewolf, circling around her with a curious expression and a little tilt of her head.

“And return to the castle with my fur soaking wet and covered in mud and twigs?” the werewolf grunted, half-serious, half-amused. As if Lady Dimitrescu would forgive her for shaking the excess water off in the main hall…… again. It was bad enough that she left tracks of mud in her wake.

“Oh, you know Daniela would bathe you, if you did,” Cassandra teased. Her fingers touched the smaller woman’s shoulders, walking alongside from one shoulder to the other as she circled.

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

“Sounds like you’re a water-shy little puppy.”

“Says the one that didn’t want to accompany me for fear of getting wet,” the werewolf took a step forward, blocking Cassandra’s path, leaning into her vision. An amused chuckle was all she got in return, with the huntress giving her a little shove, forcing a separation.

“You know there’s a very valid reason for me to avoid getting wet,” she said, but remained in place, eyes now focused on the werewolf. “Hmm. Maybe you just want to see this white shirt soaked and see-through, don’t you, pup?”

As if for emphasis, she brushed down the front of her own shirt, up to where the bodice started.

“You wish,” the werewolf snapped, glaring at the woman before her.

If only her reply didn’t sound so half-hearted and rushed.

Cassandra chuckled.

“Maybe I do. But not in the main hall,” she murmured, raising one hand to caress the werewolf’s jawline, drawing her in closer, the beckoning eagerly followed. From nearby, she could hear footsteps, slow, purposeful, but heavy. It could only be the lady’s.

“What, scared someone is going to see?” This time, it was the werewolf that couldn’t stop the grin on her lips. “Didn’t expect you to be so shy.”

“Ha! That’s a lot of bark for someone with no bite,” Cassandra withdrew her hand and the werewolf had to hold back a whine at the loss of contact. “You’re the one that would panic if someone were to walk in on me bending you over that vanity and making you cum at the mere touch of my fingers. All flustered and shy.”

The werewolf struggled to stop her mind from derailing into inappropriate thoughts while she was still very much soaked to the bone and half covered in dirt. She took a breath, furrowing her brows. Focus. Don’t let Cassandra get the upper hand.

Do something. Say something.

“Your mom is all flustered and shy.”

Silence.

The slow steps had stopped.

Both of Cassandra’s eyebrows shot up. In disbelief, perhaps? Maybe she didn’t expect the werewolf to resort to this level of petty? Then her eyes followed the movement, darting up, fixating on something behind the werewolf, something very tall.

“I beg your pardon, mutt?”

The werewolf’s breath caught in her throat, heart leaping in her chest and stomach plummeting all at once. She didn’t dare turn her head, didn’t dare face who was very much the lady of the castle, who had literally just overheard her.

“I-”

Something grabbed her by the coat, slowly, slowly lifting her off the ground and turning her until she was face to face, eye to eye with Lady Dimitrescu. How had she gotten this close, this fast?! Without the werewolf’s ears picking up the noise?!

“S-sorry?” the werewolf spluttered, hanging limp in mid-air, trying not to let out an excessive amount of little canine whines and whimpers. The lady fixated on her for an awfully long time – five seconds? Ten?

Finally, mercifully, the lady seemed to have decided that today was not the day that the mutt would be kicked out of the castle for being a nuisance.

“You are lucky, I am aware of the increased use of this specific vernacular in the past decades,” Lady Dimitrescu said and lowered the smaller woman back down. The werewolf’s feet touched the ground but she didn’t dare make a move yet, still staring up in fear. “However, my patience only lasts so long and the current state of the main hall is rapidly draining it. If this floor is not clean within the next twenty minutes, we will be having words, mutt.”

#your questions #answers #cassandra dimitrescu #the werewolf #alcina dimitrescu #text bits #resident evil village

[goodgriefwhatanerd]

The Young Lord's Dream

The R E: 8 DLC sure made me feel things, but the most coherent one was "wow that first section would be an incredibly thematic nightmare for my S/I" so I wrote a thing.

*

I wake up in the deep dungeons, the cold smells of mould and old blood filling the air. After spending so many months of so many years in the place, I thought I knew every inch of Castle Dimitrescu, but these mazes of cells are alien to me.

Pulsating viscous black fluid crawls across the walls and I have sense enough to keep my distance, but what scares me is what I see in in the next darkened corridor.

The lady of the house is well known to collect beautiful young women and keep them long after they have been drained of humanity and blood. The black clad women in the cells are not amongst those maidens.

I recognise every pale, frightened face. I see it every day in the mirror.

They aren’t me, but they’re what I could have been. If I’d had the good manners to starve myself. If I hadn’t cut off my lovely blonde hair. If I hadn’t been so rude as to call myself a man and had accepted life as a beloved doll.

My lovers say they don’t mind that I can’t take the role of a man even as I refuse to be a woman. But everyone knows men aren’t welcome in House Dimitrescu. Alcina calls our dear Duke and myself exceptions. Her daughters call us their fathers. The whispering worm of doubt calls them all polite lies.

And here is proof that it was right, staring right back at me...

Screams pull me back to the present.

I don’t know when the cell doors opened, but now the girls are all around me, running in a panicked herd. Following slowly yet inexorably are ghouls born from the black tar-like pools. They are white as death and drink the very life from those they catch.

It takes several seconds before I realise I should run. There is no direction, no reason, no thought. A screaming face, water running across grey stone, barrels, grasping hands, a rusted lock which shatters with a kick. Everything is fleeting glimpses of sense in chaos.

It’s only by luck that I find the stairs. I hare into the kitchen and a new fear settles like lead in my stomach.

It was only yesterday that the girls dragged me in here to help them bake. The memory is bright and fragile, lying over the dark, dust covered room that can’t have seen human footfall in years.

I start running through the castle, shouting for anyone I can think of, from my beloved Alcina to poor Sofia who had to tidy up our mess after the fire got put out.

No one, just more empty room of dust and rubble and the hideous black slime.

And then I hear it. That laugh. I know it as well as my own heartbeat.

Not wasting any more of my breath shouting, I run up the staircase as fast as my aching legs and lungs will take me.

There’s light coming from under one of the doors. I throw it open and run towards the Duke, arms already outstretched.

I’m halfway across the room before I realise something is wrong. Beneath the porcelain mask his mouth is cruel. I can’t see his eyes, but his gaze still pins me to the spot.

“What’s this? A little rabbit delivering herself to me? My, what a surprise this is.”

This man is not my husband. He may wear the Duke’s face and voice, but that is all there is of him.

Here, I am no one’s husband. I am loved by no one. I’m just another girl to be played with and tossed away.

When the ghouls reach for me, I don’t even bother to fight.

#but a humble merchant #her ladyship

[uniquevocashark]

Second person pov, tw gaslighting, implied/referenced blood drinking and physical assault

In which Catherine is comforted by Igraine

"Drink your soup, Catherine." Igraine chides gently, one hand pressed delicately against your stomach.

You blink, bleary, and make a motion to move the bowl in your lap up to your mouth. Igraine cups your hands gently, and you lean back into her even more, and she lifts it for you. You suckle at the thick tomato and onion paste and sound like a mud puddle sucking in a frog. You turned your head and Igraine pulled it away, slow enough that it stopped your head from spinning.

You hadn't meant to come here. You had wanted your bed, and the thin comforting sheets to pass out on, and the candles that never went out, and the group of people there to rest with and—

"—erine, are you listening? Don't fall asleep yet."

And you wanted comfort, you thought blearily, looking at Igraine's flat expression. Someone who could turn the bile in your throat into soft, indulgent, swallowable sins.

You blinked at her slowly.

"Catherine."

It took you a minute to wet your lips, weighed down by exhaustion and tomato flavouring, "Yes?"

Her fingers forces your eyelid open, and you could just make out the end lines of her squint along her face. When the candle had been snuffed, you couldn't say.

She rubbed your cheek in what you would call affection, later, "You're really quite out of it."

You're mind worked sluggishly. You had that meeting and then. You touched your neck, felt the soft bruise there, and winced. "Ow."

"Easy," Igraine murmured softly, rubbing your arm, "Do you remember what happened?"

"Vaguely."

"Describe it to me."

You shifted away from her, and she pulled you back with a simple hand on your chest. You collapsed into her and she brushed your hair off your cheek, your noses touching.

"I had a meeting with her," you said glumly, digging your nails into the bowl, "We were, she was—"

"Angry?"

She rubbed your collarbone. "Hungry."

"Hm. Continue."

"The wine wasn't right. Taylor messed it up, she took my blood."

"You gave it," Igraine suggested gently, her thumb stroking along your skin, "as was the right thing to do, in such a situation."

You rolled the words over in your muddled mind, and you thought vaguely that you had said something before she bit into you, hadn't you?

"Um." You said, frowning, and couldn't wet your lips to keep talking.

"Don't be silly," Igraine said, fondly. "You wanted her to bite you. You offered her your blood, didn't you?"

You nodded, unsure. "I might have."

Igraine's eyes were bright, and you realised you'd been pressed flush into her body. She was warm, and clinical, and sharp in ways that Lady Dimitrescu was soft in. Igraine's hand caressed your cheek, "It must have been magnificent."

You tried to shrug, more interested in the way her thumb was indenting a mark into your cheek, "It was."

"You are so lucky, Catherine," she sighed, prettily, "Alcina never asks for my blood."

You felt your face warm and Igraine licked the new droplets making gentle trails down your shoulder, and you watched them melt into her tastebuds and disappear into her mouth.

"I guess—"

She kissed you and you melted instantly into her lips, barely feeling the sting of the gauze she pressed onto your bleeding wound.

"Most can only dream of that privileges," Igraine looked at you and smiled against your bloodless lips, "you're so lucky."

You sighed into her mouth when she kissed you again and closed your weary eyes to the sound of her voice.

#turns out i dont like tomato based sauces for my pastas #dimitrescu staff ocs #igraine: worst boss of the year #catherine house steward of the castle #igraine wesker chief of castle staff #the real situation is that catherine almost died and igraine dragged her out before she did‚ and is now lying through her teeth #to keep catherine from freaking out too much #no catherine‚ you didnt get attacked because lady d was in a bad mood #you offered your blood #anyway #evil lady d is evil #not proof read i die like a maiden

[coughsyrep]

Dying (For You to Love Me)

Alternate Ending: The Five Stages

Summary: "...she feels her throat tickle. She absentmindedly coughs, expecting that to be the end of that, but the feeling persists, and she coughs harder. Suddenly she sits up, feeling like she was choking. She thumped a fist on her chest several times before she feels something flit past her lips. She takes a deep breath, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes before looking down. A large, light pink petal sat on the floor in front of her."

Chapter One is based around requited love.

Chapter Two is an alternate ending based on if the love wasn't returned, and focuses on the Dimitrescu family and their dynamic rather than a romantic relationship.

2797 Words

Link to AO3 if you prefer that format:

Dying (For You to Love Me) - Chapter 2 - traviswrites - Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) [Archive of Our Own]

If you'd prefer to read it here:

Denial

Daniela won’t die. She won’t die, because the maid will fall in love with her, and it’ll be one of the fairy tales that she’s always dreamed of. At least, her mother and sisters want to believe this, because it has to be true. Right?

Anger

Daniela gasps when the bullet forces its way through her chest, the flies that it pierced dropping to the ground. The only thing stopping the momentum of the bullet were the now impenetrable vines that made her every breath painful, not even the force of the attack able the severe the intertwining monstrosity. She collapses onto her knees, though the sound not as loud as the man’s when it thuds onto the ground, his neck at an unnatural angle. Both her middle sister and her Floare stare at her with wide eyes, the latter taking tentative steps before kneeling next to her, arms wrapping around her as Daniela falls forward.

“Draga mea,” she whispers, gasping for breath as one lung collapses around the plants, leaving no room for air. “I love you, draga mea, with all that I am. No story could…” She wheezes, a petal falling from her lips as she shudders, “…could compare to ours.”

“My lady,” Floare whispers, pulling her closer, trying to show her comfort in what she knew would be her final moments.

“I don’t want to die,” she whimpers, voice cracking as she begins to dissolve to dust. “I don’t… but for you, I…” A final sigh left her lips as she crumbled on Floare’s lap, dust already sticking to the black cloth of her maid outfit. The quiet moment didn’t last though, as a growl from behind her made Florae’s head spin. Cassandra’s lips were turned to a snarl, the makeup around her eyes stained down her cheeks.

“This is your fault!” The cold metal slashed at her before she could react, one eye immediately perforated while the rest of her skin was separated in two. Cassandra grins at the scream that’s releases, grabbing the hands that cover her eye and licking the blood as it trickles towards her chin. “Average at best,” she growls as she throws her down, wiping her lips with her sleeve. “Why her love for you led to her death makes no sense. But make no mistake,” she slashes at the cowering girl again, this time catching her arm and pulling her along, a straight path to her mother’s room, “it shall lead to yours as well.”

-

-

Floare never made it to the basement. She instead stayed in Lady Dimitrescu’s bedroom, hung from the ceiling or chained to the floor. Either way, she was never without hooks dug into her skin, keeping her prisoner as the daughters or the matriarch herself came in to toy with her, the wounds they left always tended to so she’d be forced to continue living. The deep gashes were stitched, the burns had salves applied, the punctures were wrapped and bandages changed frequently. The three surviving Dimitrescu members promised that Floare would survive as long as Daniela had, if not longer.

It was the second night of the third week, and she was trying not to whimper as the matriarch slept, knowing she’d only receive punishment for waking her up. But Bela had been ruthless that day, having to go into Daniela’s room to find a notebook that her sister had stolen as a prank before she had gotten sick. She came in enraged, holding a jar of wilted flower petals.

"You still claim innocence?” She says calmly, yet the fire in her eyes and the bloody knife in her hand said differently. “You act like you have no fault?”

“I’ve done nothing!” Floare cried out, hyperventilating when she watches Bela walk to the fireplace again, holding the knife over the flame until it burned red.

“You’ve done everything,” she hissed, relishing in the agonizing scream as she presses the blade to Floare’s hip, her other hand holding her so she couldn’t escape the pain. “You killed her.”

A phone ringing in the other room makes her gasp, along with making her lady sit up straight. After a tense moment her lady sighs, rubbing her eyes as she swings her feet off the bed, beginning to walk towards the door before pausing to look at Floare. Despite trying to make herself small, her lady smiles, walking back towards a lever beside her bed, placing a hand on it.

“I’m not sure if I trust you enough to stay on the ground while I take this call,” she says thoughtfully, though her smirk is malicious. “Perhaps I should take an extra precaution.” Floare’s heartrate spikes at the words, the hooks in her Achilles’ tendons making themselves known.

“Please, my lady, I…”

“Oh, speaking out of turn?” She tuts, shaking her head. “Now I know you won’t be a good girl.” With that she pulls the lever, and Floare’s cries of fear turn to screams of pain as she’s lifted by her feet, head already dizzy from the blood rushing towards it. She hears her lady speaking but can’t decipher it, her pleads not stopping even after the door closes and she’s alone.

With each moment that passes she feels her skin rip slightly more, the tears running up her forehead slowing as she begins to lose consciousness until a snap of ligament and tear of skin is heard, and one leg dangles freely. Mere seconds after the other does the same, and she free falls, landing on her head. Alcina hears the snapping of bones from her room, but only nods at her daughters to go check on it, only stopping her call with Mother Miranda when she hears their screams of anger.

When she walks in, she finds the maid dead.

-

-

Bargaining

Without the laughter of the youngest or the sounds of pain from the maid, the castle was too quiet. Alcina and her daughters rarely spent time together anymore, all throwing themselves into their work and trying not to… think. And when Donna first came and saw the condition of the family, she had a proposition.

“See her again?” Cassandra asks, immediately on edge. “What does that mean?”

“It won’t be forever,” she says quietly, holding an oddly obedient Angie in her arms, “but it will be similar to having her back.”

“But it’s not truly her?” Donna nods at Alcina, who lowers her head. “So then what’s the point?”

“Some see it as… cathartic.” She shrugs, holding Angie closer to her. “To be able to talk to a loved one who is gone. I thought I’d offer.” The three Dimitrescu women are silent, each trying to imagine what it’d be like to talk to Daniela again before Bela steps forwards, her hands behind her back.

“I’d like to see her,” she says, voice wavering despite her confident façade. “I’d like to see her again.”

“Me too,” Cassandra jumps in immediately after, going to stand by her sister. “Just… yeah.” Donna’s veil turns to Alcina, who only pauses for a moment before nodding. Donna breathes out, breath caught by the veil but yellow pollen escaping through the edges. The three fight their urge to hold their breath, knowing the effects it could have, but after a minute they hear a vase tip over behind them. The all quickly turn to see a familiar red head, looking at them sheepishly as she fakes her innocence.

“Dani,” Bela whispers, walking over to her and tentatively putting a hand on her shoulder. Upon feeling that her touch was real, she pulled her into a hug, one that Daniela immediately nuzzled into. Despite Cassandra’s usual cold demeanor and dislike of touch, she too swarmed to join the hug, all three of their flies buzzing excitedly at being reunited. It was when Alcina stood that the three broke apart, though Bela and Cassandra stood protectively by her side as she made her way over, kneeling in front of the youngest and caressing her face.

“I’ve missed you, my darling,” she says gently, eyes watering at the sight of her youngest happily nuzzling into her palm.

“Mamă,” she purrs happily before freezing, eyes glancing back to the vase that she broke when she had gotten there. Her mother chuckles, scratching gently on the shaved side of her head.

“Don’t worry about that right now, darling. Nobody’s mad at you.”

“We just miss you,” Bela says quietly, taking her hand, and Cassandra nods beside her. “We’re happy you’re here again.” From behind them Donna’s breathing becomes harsher, less pollen coming out with each one.

“You… you all still love me?” Alcina nods, leaning down and kissing the tattoo on her forehead.

“We could never stop, my darling.” The three surviving Dimitrescu can’t help but smile at the glow that Daniela emanates at the statement, the familiar giggle hitting all of them hard.

“Alcina…” Donna wheezes, and she looks back to see Donna clutching her chest, Angie sitting beside her. She furrows her brows at the woman, shaking her head.

“Can you not wait another moment? I’m trying to-”

“Mamă!” She turns at Bela’s voice and sees Daniela flicker, but despite the show that she’s just an illusion she can’t feel like she’s losing her daughter again.

“Daniela, not yet, please…” But with a serene smile, Daniela dissipates before their eyes. A tense silence fills the air as Alcina stands, glaring over her shoulder at Donna.

“Out.” She watches as the woman pauses before extending her claws, swirling on a heel. “I said out!” As she watches the woman in the veil make her leave, she hears her daughters fly away as well. With a glance back at the vase she sighs, rubbing her temple before making her way to the cellar.

Depression

Alcina doesn’t remember the last time she has drank this much. It was becoming a problem, as with Cassandra’s growing anger there was a lack of blood supply, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She left her daughters to her own devices, as long as she didn’t have to have a sober thought. As long as she didn’t have to think of how she was a bad enough mother to lose Daniela, a bad enough mother to let her daughters fall to the states that they were now in.

The necessary paperwork for the wine company was piling up, as Bela found herself having trouble reading past a page before losing her concentration. The same applied to everything in her life, in fact. Music, which had once been something she turned to when stressed, now seemed like a chore. Studying for fun was once a past time for her, learning anything she could, but now every new subject seemed to fly over her head. And reading? She couldn’t even step into their library, much less find a book.

And then Cassandra. She was angry before, but it was controlled. It was what made her a sadist; she could extend a person’s suffering, but now she couldn’t look at a person she was meant to torture without going for their jugular. They’ve always been understaffed due to her and her sisters, but now the castle was damn near empty. And the quiet made it so. Much. Worse. She was tempted to go out to the village on her own, the snow that covered the ground this time of year be damned.

And that was her plan. She made sure to wear her thinnest cloak, telling herself that if she couldn’t handle the cold then she didn’t deserve to live, when she smelled it. She took a deeper breath, course changed to another hall that she always associated with blood but never this kind. Lycan.

With her sickle pulled out she carefully stalked the halls, eyes darting back and forth until she reached a door she hadn’t seen in months. The emerald in the center had been freshly polished, and the door opened slightly. She growled at the sight, seeing red at the fact that someone dared to go into her sister’s room. When she kicked open the door, the maid screamed for less than a second before it turned to choked gurgles, her body slamming into the wall outside of the room, neck slit wide open. Cassandra glares at the corpse before the scent catches her attention again, and she eyes the bathroom.

With a raised sickle she wrenches open the half open door, noticing that all of the cabinets were open, one giving off the sickening stench. She crouches down, retching as she pulls out a collar before huffing as she reads “Puppy” written on a tag that dangled below it.

"Well if Mother won’t let me have a pet, I’ll just have to catch one myself!” Cassandra snorts, shaking her head.

“You’re never domesticating a Lycan, you know that.” Daniela pouts at her, crossing her arms.

“You’ll see! I’ll get it a collar and everything! Property of Daniela!” Cassandra hums, turning back to her sickle to end the conversation, ignoring when Daniela leaves with a huff.

She didn’t even realize she was laughing until her stomach hurt, doubled over as she clutched the collar tightly to her chest as tears rolled down her cheeks. Her laughs echoed down the hallways, catching her mother’s and sister’s attention, both of whom make their ways to her.

“Cass?” She looks up at Bela, hiccupping during her fit. “Cass, what’s going on?”

“She actually tried,” she giggled, holding up the collar, “she actually fucking tried!” Bela took it, holding the collar so that both her and her mother could see the tag, and after a moment their mother chuckles as well. The sisters both look up at her, the sound magical compared to the silence that they’ve heard since Donna’s trick.

“She was always the imaginative one,” Alcina says, shaking her head. “She probably would have, given more time…” The three pause at the statement, Alcina immediately regretting it until Bela took her hand.

“She always spoke about all of the books she would someday read as well,” she says, reminiscing on the memory. Cassandra nods, snorting as she drops her head.

“She once bet me a weeks’ worth of liver if she could read the entirety of Dracula in a day. Shouldn’t have underestimated her.”

“She only bet you a week? She bet me a month, same book!” The three laugh, Alcina gently taking the collar from Bela and sighing. She watches as her two eldest talk about Daniela, and wondering if, instead of the way they’ve been acting, there was another that would better honor her youngest?

Acceptance

“Do you not know what centered means?” Alcina shouts, the workers Heisenberg had lent her cowering as she walks to the center of the library. “I want it directly under the skylight, do I have to do this myself?” Without waiting for an answer she lifts the statue, carefully moving it until it’s to her liking, then backs up to admire it. “There. Now out, all of you.”

The workers scatter, leaving Alcina alone with the memorial of her youngest daughter. Her height is exaggerated, taller than her sisters though still shorter than Alcina, the marble made to look as soft as the fabric of the robes that had once graced her. Her arms were outstretched, hands flexed outwards, face tilted upwards and one leg kicked back as if she were preparing for a swan dive, a pose that Alcina saw fitting for her vibrant daughter. When the sculptor had asked if she wanted to add flowers, saying it added to memorial pieces, she immediately said no. Though Daniela would forever be one of her three roses, flowers had done enough. Besides, there was no need to add extravagance when Daniela was the subject.

“Mother?” She hums, looking back when she hears Bela and Cassandra fly in. They both look at her nervously, and she gives a tilt of her head. “We… there was one more thing, that we’d like to add?”

“Of course, my dear girls.” Bela gives Cassandra a reassuring nod. The middle child blows out a breath before stepping forwards, pulling Daniela’s necklace from behind her back. Alcina gasps, and Cassandra takes a step back, but her mother gives her a smile, nodding to the memorial.

The two eldest Dimitrescu women watch as Cassandra places and secures the necklace with shaky hands before falling back to the other side of her mother, all three standing in a line as they take her form in. Alcina places a hand on both of her daughters’ shoulders, nodding as she lets her tears fall freely.

And for the first time since they lost Daniela, the three feel like they can breathe again.

#alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #house dimitrescu #resident evil 8 #re8 #re8 dimitrescu #dying (for you to love me) fic #100% pasted this in a friend's twitch chat when i thought i had something else copied to the clipboard btw

[bluepandastarfish]

Chocolate Cake And Blood Wine: Chapter 4

Lady D x OC

That night most of the other girls left me Alone, apart from a few dirty looks and whispers- but not too bad all things considered. The next morning I was woken up by the head maid, who handed me a new modified schedule which allows me enough time everyday to make Danielas desert, I do not know enough recipe for this but I'm sure I can find a book in the library.

Which leads me to now, on my way to the library during lunch (instead of getting lunch which probably isn't very good for me) to find a recipie book. I think I can put chocolate in something that Daniela would like, but Loana said I would die a horrible and painful death and, as tempting as that sounds, im not really in the mood to experince that. Also, I now have to take the desert out to the table myself because of that stupid bitch who decided it would be funny to tell the family of canabilistic hotties that I poisoned their food.

Not to mention the fact that last night I had some… untamed dreams about Lady Dimitrescu, I mean who can blame me? She is smoking ho-

"Andrea." Lady dimitrescu sounds pleasantly surprised when I open the door to the library. She is sat in an armchair in the centre of the room, reading a book that is deffinatley to small for her hands… she has massive fingers… oh shit. "What a pleasant surprise." I cant tell if she's being sarcastic or not but- wait she is wearing reading glasses… why does that make her hotter? "Why the blush, dear?" She smirks and lowers her eyes back to her book.

I am not blushing, I promise. "Not blush, my Lady… I'm just a bit hot as I have been tending the the fireplaces this morning." Smooth, didn't even stutter. I make my way to one of the shelves, now out of the lady's sight.

I hear her sigh "I hope you don't make a habit of skipping meals, pet" she sounds annoyed more then anything. "I can't have my bugs' "best friend forever" starving herself" I hear a small smile in her voice.

"Ye-yep well- you see- I." I turn the corner of the bookcase to see that she is already looking, as if waiting for me to appear again. She raises one eyebrow in question "Well… I'll grab soemthing in a bit, like I said yesterday, most of the others aren't very fond of me. So it's just easier if I don't eat with them." She sighs again and closes her book,setting it down in her lap.

"I have had a word with the head maid about that, she told me she is going to keep an eye out." That woman is a liar- half the time she joins in on it as well. Instead of telling the lady that I simply nod my head and continue to admire her. She tilts her head and grins at me (for a second I think I see fangs, but as soon as I do they are gone). I bow my head.

"I- um." I stutter and look at the bookshelves around us. "Looking for a recipe book?" I look back at her face and quickly add. "Would you happen to know where that would be, my lady?"

She tilts her head and bites her lip slightly before smiling once again. "I believe I do" she gestures to her left, where another bookcase stands. "4th shelf, if I remember correctly" I look up to the 4th shelf on the bookcase she gestured to and notice that it is far to hug up for me to reach, I sigh and look around the room- hoping to find something to stand on. But there is nothing.

Maybe if I climb the lower shelves? I make my way to the bookcase and grip the 3rd shelf in an attempt to pull myself up. I fall on my ass as soon as I try to stand on the 1st shelf, this is so embarrassing. "Please, allow me." I hear the lady's voice from above me and look up from the floor to see her smirking down at me. "Of course such a tiny maiden would need help" her tone is teasing as she effortlessly reaches down to the 4th shelf and grabs the book. She looks back at me and raises an eyebrow. "You do seem quite short for your age, hm?". I swear I'm dying… I'm feeling many things, I mean she is ridiculously big and she could life me without a lot of trouble. She could man-handle me any day.

My mouth hangs open as I stare up at her in silence, she is smirking as if she can read my… less then innocent thoughts. I swear I see her lick her bottom lip- but that could by the my weird imagination. "Really is such a coulorful blush, darling." She chuckles and leans down by the waist, her cleavage now directly in my eyesight. I keep my wide eyes on her face as my breathing picks up, she tilts her head and placed the book in my frozen hands. She goes back to full height and walks over to the arm chair again. "Well, pet, I expect you got and your leave now. Have Loana cook something for you." She puts her reading glasses back on and flicks her hand in the direction of the door.

I nod quickly and stifly make my way toward the door And hurriedly shut it behind me as I leave. I clutch the book to my chest and slump against the door.

"Ohmyfuckingmothermirandablackgodshitfuck" I whisper to myself. "What. The. Fuck." I push myself off the door and look at my feet as I run toward the kitchen. I keep through the doorway and throw myself against the island. Loana turns and looks at my boneless body with indifference, I lift my head slightly and gasp. "Loana! I think I'm dying!" I let my head collapse back onto the counter.

I cannot believe my life. Why. What. WHAT.

I am- very gay?

Yes we did establish that I suppose.

Fucking hell I am done. Dead. I can't live like this. I think I'm combusting. Why is my face so hot.

…why is everywhere so hot…?

I can't even- How- I dont-.

WHAT THE FUCK?!

#lady dimitrescu x oc

[justanothersimp21]

Can I have 10 7 and 12? With Alcina. I love the idea of her writing us a letter and leaves it for us. Then in the morning she wakes up and we are in her bed just like "Kiss please?" Making her mind melt as she flushes.

🥰🥰🥰

🌺🐝 Bee Anonymous 🐝🌺

“I would like my good morning kiss now.”

“Is it fair to say that you read the love letter and that this means ‘yes’?”

“You getting so flustered is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Your eyes scoured the letter in your hands for the hundredth time, a huge smile on your face.

‘My dearest Y/N,

I can no longer deny my feelings. Ever since you’ve set foot in my castle, you’ve managed to draw my attention.

Your smile, your laughter, the certain gleam in your eyes whenever you do whatever makes you happy.

If someone were to tell me that I would fall for a human— and my very own chambermaid at that— then I would’ve laughed and sliced them into ribbons.

Yet, here I am, writing a love letter to you.

I realize that my feelings may very well be one-sided but I’m hoping that you return them.

I, by no means, am forcing you to like me. I completely understand if you want the relationship between us to remain the same.

But if perhaps you’d wish to be with me in a more intimate way, then please let me know.

Yours truly, Alcina Dimitrescu.’

You had found the letter on the floor of your bedroom when you opened your door, about to turn in for the night. It was obvious someone slipped it under your your doorway while you were out doing your daily tasks.

When you read it for the first time, you couldn’t conceal the shit-eating grin on your face.

She returns your feelings! She likes you the same way you like her!

The Alcina Dimitrescu!

You had thought for sure that someone of her status and power would fall for someone in the same league as her.

But nope. She fell for you.

You’ll give her your answer tomorrow, it’s not like you can go barging into her room now. She was already sleeping and you didn’t wish to disturb her.

You flopped onto your bed dramatically with the letter clutched into your chest, hugging it. The smile on your face wouldn’t go away.

The smell of her flowery perfume lightly emitted from the letter.

With a happy sigh, you gently folded the letter and placed it on your nightstand, not wanting to wrinkle or damage it in any way.

You closed your eyes and easily slipped into a light sleep, your dreams full of a certain 9 foot vampire.

. . .

It was your duty as the matriarch’s chambermaid to wake her up in the morning.

Usually you didn’t mind it but now that you were dying to give your lady a response to her love letter, you were eager to wake her up.

Still, you waited until the correct time before you made your way to her room with your heart pounding harshly in your rib cage.

Once inside her room, you cooly walked over to her large bed, looking calm and collected on the outside but was internally freaking out.

You held back a coo at how adorable the matriarch looked while sleeping, and took a quick second to admire her features.

Sleeping beauty.

That’s who she reminded you of.

Maybe you should kiss her awake? No, the two of you aren’t at that level of relationship just yet. In fact, it’d be better to have her consent before doing so.

You do hope that good morning kisses would be a reoccurring theme after you give her your response.

…Or maybe that could be your response.

With that thought in mind, you carefully climb on the bed and gently call out, “My lady? It’s time to wake.”

Almost immediately, the matriarch’s golden eyes snapped open and locked with yours. As you notice her eyes adjusting to take you in on her bed, you grin.

You swear you notice a very light pink hue on her cheeks as her eyes finally adjusted and she was fully awake.

“I would like my good morning kiss now,” You declare cheekily.

Alcina looked somewhat shocked at your bluntness yet her eyes held hope, “Is it fair to say that you read the love letter and that this means ‘yes’?”

You giggled softly and nodded your head, “Yes.”

As soon as the word of confirmation left your mouth, soft lips were pressed against yours almost desperately. You closed your eyes and eagerly kissed back, returning the same amount of passion given to you.

It was telling that she was infusing all of her emotions into the kiss. You felt them all.

The happiness, the relief, the want.

You pulled away when you started to feel lightheaded, desperately taking in breaths of air. You slowly open your eyes to stare into a honey colored gaze.

Alcina’s cheeks matched the color of your own, a deep blush prominent. She gave you a lopsided smile, a small chuckle escaping her.

It was very jarring to see her so happy yet nervous.

You grin and murmur, “You getting so flustered is one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.”

————

Not exactly how you requested it but I hope it’s good enough :)

#requested #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x you #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x you #alcina dimitriscu x reader #resident evil village #fluff

[redheadsinmybed]

Your Mommy

Chapter one of Loving a little: RE

Alcina Dimitrescu x Fem Reader

Little reader

Description: You aren’t feeling well. What happens when Alcina try’s to make you feel better???

Notes: hey yo :) this is my first story with this pairing, it probably won’t be my last because I absolutely love Alcina and reader together! Anyways I hope you enjoy!!

When you wake up you know something is wrong. You felt weird, maybe it is just an oncoming cold. You roll over and huff when you don’t feel a warm body next to you. Instead of opening your eyes and looking around the room you call out for someone.

“Alci?” You ask in a horse whisper, knowing that the lady of the house was probably around.

Alcina Dimitrescu was and will always be the most beautiful living creature that you’ll ever see. You were abandoned by your own when they found out you were gay. In fact they were so cruel as to tell the whole town. Everyone that you ever knew or trusted abandoned you when you needed them the most.

For your parents it wasn’t a big deal. They were never good parents, they never wanted you either. Their dream child was a male that could provide for the family and have a chance with the princess of the village. Unfortunately they got you: a lesbian. Which wasn’t that bad. You still could’ve had a chance with the princess, if she was secretly gay. They treated you like you weren’t worth the dirt on the bottom of their shoe’s. Your dad was an abusive drunk, and your mom was never around. You know that leaving was the best thing that you could’ve ever done. It lead you to your beautiful Alcina.

When you don’t hear a response you call for her again.

“Alcina?” You say louder this time.

“Yes, love?” You hear the countess say. Your eyes open and you turn your head towards her voice. Your breath never ceases to stop whenever you see her. She’s so damn beautiful, all 9 feet of her. Plus 6 inches with her hat and shoes. You love all of her, the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly.

“Don’t feel good,” You whine. You felt small. Like anything that you would normally do is too hard to do.

“What’s wrong, love?” Alcina says. You whine again.

“You have to use your words baby, otherwise I won’t know how to help you,” Alcina says, coming to sit by you on the bed.

“Feel weird… small,” You say quietly. You scootch over to where Alcina is sitting and crawl up into her lap. You wrap your arms and legs around her waist and rest your head on her chest. You sigh happily her arms wrap around you and her chin rests on her head. You yawn and snuggle closer to her, if that was even possible.

“Close your eyes baby,” Alcina says. Your eyes close and her heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

When you wake up you are still in your lady's arms. You lift your head up from her chest and look around, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You spot some objects on the nightstand next to the bed. There was a sage green pacifier and an owl stuffed animal. There was also a sippy cup and a bottle. You stare at the items for a while, feeling drawn to them.

“Baby?” Alcina says. You feel her chest rumble as she talks. When you look up she’s looking down at you with a soft expression.

“What’s all that?” You ask, nodding towards the nightstand.

“Well baby, while you were sleeping I did some research,” Alcina says.

“And it lead you down a rabbit hole for baby stuff?” You ask her. She chuckles softly.

“No baby, I want to try something with you. Only if you want to, but I think it might help you feel better,” Alcina says. You look up at her.

“I trust you, I think I want to try it. What do I need to do?” You ask her. Alcina smiles down at you and grabs the stuffed animal owl.

“Here hold this baby girl,” Alcina says. You went to reach the owl until you heard her call you that. You feel something indescribable and look up at her. During sex Alcina sometimes made you call her “Mommy” and you were refured to as “Baby girl” it honestly lead to one of the fastest orgasms you’ve ever had. But hearing it now, it didn’t feel sexual. It feels safe.

“It’s okay Baby girl, just let go. Mommy will be right here, promise,” Alcina says, you gasp. You stare up into her golden eyes. You felt a pull. It’s getting stronger each time Alcina calls you “Baby girl” and every time she calls herself “Mommy”.

“Baby girl, Mommy needs you to let go for her,” Alcina tries again. You feel the pull take over you. Everything goes blurry for a second. And then, everything is clear, and all that matters is the golden eyes staring into yours.

“Mommy?” You say in a whisper. Alcina gives you a sweet smile hearing you switch.

“There’s my baby girl,” Alcina says. Alcina did some research while you were sleeping. You had introduced the Dimitrescus to technology and taught them how to use google. At first the girls were flabbergasted when you first showed them. But they’ve gotten used to it since then. Alcina had indeed gone down a rabbit hole. From searching “feeling small” to “little space” Alcina had found what might be wrong with you. With lots of research Alcina found out how to make littles switch, which had worked on you. Alcina knew right away that you might be a little from your traumatic past, so she was glad that she got you to switch.

“Hi baby girl,” Alcina says with a smile that lights up the room. You look around the room and wonder where you are. You start to get scared because you can’t remember. Alcina sees the features on your face turn from curious to worried real quick.

“Hey, it’s alright baby girl, look at Mommy,” Alcina says. You look back up to her and the little crease on your forehead disappears.

“Baby, do you know who I am?” Alcina says. You nod as you gaze into those familiar eyes.

“Alci,” You say.

“Very good baby girl. You can call me Mommy, would you like to call me that?” Alcina asks. You nod and try it out a few times.

“M-mommy… Mommy. My- my Mommy?” You say looking up at her with hopeful eyes. Alcina chuckles and brushes away a strand of hair that fell into your face.

“Yes baby girl, your Mommy.”

#alcina dimitrescu x female reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady alcina #countess alcina #little reader #age regression #caregiver #little space #little #fluff #cuddling & snuggling #Loving a little: RE

[tu-sugar-mami]

Warnings and uh tags?: reader death, unsolicited angst. Don't read honestly, it's crappy, im feeling angsty today don't read, this doesn't make sense at all but meh bc i always hurry i have no patience. Happy ending if course but still

###

Alcina can't understand it.

You're just another maiden of the bunch. Why are her eyes tearing up?

You're nothing more than a simple servant, as disposable as any other, just a toy kept around for her amusement only. Sure, she might have gotten a liking to you, an uncommon fixation but nothing else. So why? Why is her stomach churning with worry and why is her her mouth dry at the sight of your limp body trapped under the fallen bookshelf? Why are her eyes watering and her heart beating uncontrollably when she can't hear yours even if she's straining her ears.

When she heard the thunderous roar of something clashing to the ground she was ready to lecture you, wasting no time in climbing up the stairs with hurried steps in search of you, but her feet stopped abruptly at the sight that greeted her: Half of your body buried under the heavy wood, books littered all around you and blood spilling out of your mouth.

It takes a moment before she spins into action, pushing the bookshelf away and kneeling beside you. She doesn't know what to do, she's afraid of touching you and risk hurting you even more but she can't bring herself to call for help.

She's angry at you, at herself. At you because why did you have to be so reckless? You're fragile, human, mortal, and yet you're stubborn in doing things your way. At herself because she should have known better than to leave you alone.

With gloved fingers on your neck she checks for a pulse. You can't be de— No, she won't finish that thought, she won't accept it. There isn't a pulse but she is not letting you go.

Careful to control her strength Alcina picks you up, cradling you in her arms and close to her chest. You've always been soft and squishy, great for cuddles and hugs, but the way you feel in her hands as she carry you downstairs is way too wrong, like a pouch of glass marbles. Your face is pale and your limbs sway like those of a rag doll. At this point even Donna's dolls and puppets seem more alive than you do.

Alcina orders a carriage to the first maid that crosses her way. Her cracking voice harsh to the maid's ears while she scurries to bide the order she's given.

The daughters somehow hear the fuss and go to investigate. They find their mother trying to hold back tears, though unsuccessfully, since some of her makeup is already smudged.

"Don't." Is all she say when one of the girls try to touch you. They're worried at the dull, lifeless tone in her voice, but they obey nonetheless.

Alcina doesn't know why she's acting like this. She doesn't know why suddenly you're worthy of her wasting precious time to try and save you.

She remembers how you had never been afraid of anything, not even when you were sold to her by your parents. She wonders if you are afraid of never waking up again.

During the whole journey to Moreau's —the only one that appears in her mind when it comes to someone able to help— she never lets go of your frame, cradling your pale cheek in her hand, her thumb caressing your now cold skin.

Why is her heart hammering in her chest? Why does she feel like grieving the loss of something precious? Why is she suddenly overwhelmed by all these emotions? It doesn't make sense, not at all.

Moreau is curious as to why Lady Dimitrescu's carriage is pulling up at his door, and at such hour at that. He's not expecting a teary Alcina carrying a young maiden in her arms, ordering him to save you, and when he states what she already knows she begs for everything that is holy that he still try because you can't leave her, not like this.

Alcina didn't know how important you had become to her until she realized your smile was gone, until she realized you were not going to sit on her lap and giggle when she corrected historical events on modern textbooks again. It hit her like a bucket of cold water that you were not going indulge in playful banters whenever she's stressed again, and of course you would not braid Bela's hair while retelling stories of old books by the fireplace anymore.

It hit her that you were, in fact, not just another one of the bunch, no.

But it hit her even harder that she was the only one at fault for this.

She had been the one to send you away with a wave of her hand, annoyed. "If you want to be useful go and do something, but don't stand there like a nuisance." She had said. She was bitter. She had heard you talking with another maid, a friend of yours, about how you wanted to leave and explore the world and everything it had to offer. She thought you weren't happy with her and that hurt her, so she did what she always did when hurt: hide behind a cold mask.

She hadn't meant for you to go to the library. She hadn't meant for you to die. And now she was praying to every god she knew to get you back.

The only option left when Moreau can't wake you is to go with the only other person capable of beating death. Miranda.

And so Alcina does, and by a miracle mother Miranda agrees to try, but her motives as always are twisted. You do wake up, but you're not you anymore. A soulless beast has replaced the sweet, flirty maiden that was before. Alcina thinks she can handle it as long as you're back with her, but she's proven wrong when you get out of control.

No one admits it, but they pity her.

No one was to say it, but it's clear they have to put you down, out of your misery.

Alcina pulls out her claws and with a single tear rolling down her left cheek, she strikes...

...

...

...Alcina wakes up with pained yell. She's drenched in cold sweat. Her heart is beating a mile per hour. She touches her face and feels her cheeks sticky, wet with tears.

At her side you wake up too, startled, looking your surroundings for a sense of orientation. Next to you is your beautiful wife, sitting, crying her eyes out, covering her mouth with a hand in an attempt to quiet her whimpers. The grasp of sleep abandon you in a blink and in a second your arms are surrounding her.

"My love, it's okay. You're okay, it was a dream, everything is alright." You say while swaying side to side trying to calm her down. You cup her face, kissing her tears away while caressing her tear stained cheek.

"You died... I killed you." She whispers desperately. You shush her and hold her close to you.

"That will never happen. It was just a nightmare." You say. After a kiss is properly placed on her forehead you manage to lay side by side, and even though Alcina is much bigger than you she's hiding her face on the crook of your neck.

She won't say a word, but you know she won be able to sleep again. In the darkness and quiet of the large room your voice starts to sing a sweet, soothing lullaby while you fingers tangle in your lover's hair and start to play with it. "I love you, Alcina." You say out loud when you feel Alcina's heartbeat lower to a tranquil pace and you're sure she's drifting back to her slumber. "I'll be here for you, always."

------

If you love my work, buy me a coffee?

#alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina x maiden #alcina dimitrescu x female reader #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x female reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #re8 #my fic #salvatore moreau #lord moreau #mother miranda

[jmalchanceux]

You are pregnant (Headcanon) - Donna Beneviento

- You live together less than a year when she broaches the subject, Donna simply loves seeing you with Angie and how patient and loving you are with the doll she considers a daughter, she has imagined several times what you would be like with a baby, a child of yours and hers. She casually asks you if you want to have children someday and when you answer yes, the doll maker becomes quiet, thoughtful;

- She asks Mother Miranda for help so that she could get you pregnant, some modifications cadou allowed her to do this, you were surprised by the phallus when decided to have fun between four walls but you didn't think it was fertile and didn't worry about protection, she didn't warn either;

- In the following weeks she became more clingy and sweet than she usually is, Donna massages your feet before bed, prepares you herbal baths, cooks anything you want to eat and you attribute the weight you gain in a few months to this, but then came nausea and dizziness that hit you morning after morning like a punch in the stomach, you believe you are sick and strange the smile she gives you, as if you had said something silly, after that you have an ugly discussion about how she tricked you and got pregnant without consent;

- The relationship gets awkward at first, but you can't resist the doll maker who continues to pamper you and talk to the baby all night, lots of affectionate moments that quickly bring you two back together again, by the end of the third month you are totally reconciled. Donna and Angie can't stop talking about baby names, they have many ideas and both believe it's a boy, since you have no way to find out the gender even with Miranda there are no options left but to wait for the surprise;

- Donna has always wanted a family since she lost all her relatives at a young age and didn't think about the consequences of getting you pregnant without consent, so absorbed in the idea that she could start her dream family with you that she didn't even realize she was committing a kind of abuse, for several months she begged for an apology even though you had already told her that you forgive her and cried in your lap several times for it, in the end you both came to an agreement that a much desired child came at the right time although in the wrong way;

- There is a room left over where the baby's room would be, but Donna insists that the crib be in your room so that you could be close and meet all the child's needs, Angie wanted one too and with much difficulty you convinced her to sleep in her own room. Anyway, the other room has been decorated with autumn colors and there is a musical mobile above the furniture with several plush toys, created by Heinseberg, you also got a blanket embroidered by Lady Dimitrescu herself, the two siblings are excited about the arrival of their nephew, just like your wife and adopted daughter they faithfully believe it will be a boy;

- The Dimitrescu sisters, on the other hand, are betting that the baby is a little girl and they have learned to sew dolls like their aunt, creating a copy of each family member that have been placed on the bookshelf in the bedroom along with the children's books they have given away. Salvatore also thinks is a little girl and couldn't wait to spoil her as he does his other nieces. Mother Miranda doesn't take much interest in the child beyond the expectation that it will be a successful mutation cadou;

- At seven months you still don't have everything planned, there isn't even a birth plan, but when your waters break prematurely during a dinner at the Dimitrescu castle you are forced to deliver your baby in one of the rooms of the luxurious residence, Heinseberg and Salvatore take care of the girls while Alcina helps Mother Miranda bring your baby into the world;

- The labor is long and exhausting, Donna doesn't leave your side for a second and fills you with words of encouragement, praise, and thanks for bringing your heir into the world, after hours and the scare of a premature birth a baby so small it could fit in a shoebox comes into the world, a healthy little girl named Caterina Beneviento.

(Caterina is one of several variations of the name Catherine/Katherine and means "pure", Donna would love the meaning itself and how sweet and chic it sounds, principally with her last name)

Buy the author a coffee / Masterlist / AO3

#resident evil village #resident evil donna #donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #female reader #angie beneviento #headcanon #re8 headcanons #fxf #alcina dimitrescu

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: M for mature. Blood, more blood, heavy language, seriously lots of blood. Literally the bloodiest/most detailed thing I've written. Genre: Super angst with some fluff to ease the pain. We're talking putting honey in your cup of poison to make it taste better. The ending is split, with both a happy and a sad ending. Warnings: Minor surgery (technically?) while the patient is fully awake (that's the reader, btws), blood loss, graphic depiction of a wound and how said wound is taken care of. Possible trigger for self-harm, as the reader is performing part of the surgery themselves. Also brief mention of cannibalism in the bad ending. This may very well be a Dead Dove: Do Not Eat sort of thing. Notes: While I have more medical knowledge than the average person, due to my Girl Scouts training + having a mother as a nurse, I am in no way shape or form a medical professional, and do not suggest that the methods of treatment used in this fic be taken seriously. If you find yourself seriously injured, do not attempt to replicate anything you read here. Only a portion of this is based on a real-ass incident I went through, the rest is based on a dream, and what I experienced was not what you want to do in an emergency.

{Wounded Love}

This was a mistake. Blood stains your leg, your fingers, and bruises start to form all over your exhausted body. And for what? Why had you, a tiny, fragile human, dared to pass through this damned, lycan-infested forest? Because a woman who didn’t even love you asked you to. Now you were going to die, body certain to get left out in the cold or reduced to a pile of gnawed bones. If you had more strength remaining, you might have slammed your hand into the ground in frustration, or screamed until your lungs burned from something other than frost.

But that wouldn’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t help you get back to the castle, wouldn’t ease the racing of your heart. So you settle for the only thing that might do any good: One quick motion pulls the scarf from your neck, sending a chill down your spine that you promptly ignore. Even with shaky hands and numb fingers, your experience is enough to let you wrap the cloth around your leg, tying the ends in a knot to secure it. The pressure hurts, just not enough for you to prefer bleeding out. A test step reveals that walking is mildly more difficult now.

“I’m going to haunt her,” you muse, under your breath, tears starting to freeze at the corner of your eyes. Still, you are as quietly determined as ever, and so once more you limp down the path. Every time you put weight on your injured leg it protests harder. If not for the snow and ice covering the ground, you might have quickly searched for a walking stick. “What could be so important about this damn package? Couldn’t Doug or whatever-his-fucking-name-is deliver it? Man can practically teleport, and here I am, watching as blood loss and hypothermia race to see who can kill me first.”

Gods were you angry. Why had this happened so soon after you had settled in? Finally you had been comfortable in Castle Dimitrescu, no longer as frightened of the residents, even finding them… charming, in a way. Then the Lady of house called to you for what she claimed to be a simple errand. You had believed her, even when she explained that you would have to leave the relative safety of her home. What a fool you had been.

“What a fool she must be,” you murmur, “to think me safe here. To think I could outlast wolfmen prowling the village outskirts.” Would she even care if she saw you now? Would she be surprised, disappointed? Would she do something to change your fate? There was no reason for her to do so. It didn’t matter how much you had helped her, how much she claimed to appreciate what you did (heavy lifting, repair of clothing, massages). You were as replaceable as any other Maiden there was. And that, that was what made you have a double-take. It came to you in that moment, a thought so painful that you could not deny it was the truth. “She never thought I would survive.”

Bitterness coats your tongue, like blood in your throat, and your brain demands that you destroy your cargo, the very thing that got you sent here in the first place. You almost do it. Feet stopping, arms shrugging the carrying straps off, bloody hands taking hold of it. Tears fall, just two, and hit the package. At that moment your plan changed. This new idea would be far, far more satisfying… as long as you succeeded.

------------------------

Spite was one hell of a drug. Enough of it and you could march your warm corpse right back to the castle, fist banging on the front door with everything you had. The path had been shorter than you thought, thankfully, but it had still taken so much out of you. Now you were leaning against the door, sliding down it, unable to support your own weight. Nothing inside the castle stirred. Were they ignoring you? Was Alcina really going to let you die inches from your “home”? Fuck that, you thought.

“Alcina!” You scream, loud as you can, startling the birds in the distant trees. The word echoes around you and rattles inside your ribs. It’s not enough. “Damn it, I am seconds away from dying, get out here now so I can look you in your fucking eyes!” Something tears a little in your throat, turning the last of your words into a hellish screech, leaving you to gasp and croak in the snow. You go to wipe your tear-filled eyes with your hands, only to remember just how much blood they’re covered in.

Sobs overtake you in just a few moments. You’re blinded by tears, deafened by sorrows, and numb from all the cold. In the aching seconds before you black out, you can only barely make out the silhouette of someone rushing to your side…

------------------------

The first thing you feel when you wake up is mind searing pain. You try to jolt upwards, only to find a pair of strong, gloved hands holding you down. Someone shouts something, but you can’t make it out, and you feel another hand gently squeeze one of your own. Pained gasps escape your throat one after the other, but whatever is hurting you doesn’t stop. It takes a full minute for you to adjust enough to make sense of where you are. At last, you understand what’s being said.

“-it’s okay, shhh, please, we’re trying to help,” says none other than Lady Dimitrescu herself. She’s the one holding your hand, doing her best not to hurt you with her grip, trying desperately to calm you down. One the other side of you, Cassandra is positioned to hold you down. There’s a tight-lipped scowl on her face, and her brow is furrowed, but she’s not looking at your face, but rather eying somewhere in the opposite direction. Following her gaze, you find her older sister is sitting near your injured leg, and is undeniably the source of some of your pain. In one hand she holds a bottle of alcohol (notably not the wine her family produces), the other holding a wet cloth to your wound. No wonder it stings so much.

“Shit, shit, stop,” you growl, barely getting the words out. But all anyone does is look at you. Alcina’s mouth opens to speak, only for you to cut her off. “I’ve got medical training, for the love of Mother Miranda let me help! How long have I been unconscious?” This time Bela stops, glancing at her mother for direction. The grip on your torso grows looser, with Cassandra evidently heeding your words, and you take the chance to sit up, careful not to move your leg. At this point you realize that there’s a needle of sorts in your arm, attached to a tube, which trails up into a blood bag. It’s clearly been improvised with equipment from the “wine-making” part of the castle.

“Fifteen minutes at most,” a new voice chimes, from somewhere behind you. “I got that cloth you wanted, mother, but something tells me I’m not done fetching things.” Ah, Daniela Dimitrescu. Was the whole family helping you?... Why? As much as you wanted answers, there wasn’t (currently) time for questions. Not when one glance at your leg tells you that some of your flesh is rapidly decomposing. The wound was made only an hour ago, and already it was getting deadlier than you could even process.

“I need a sharp, clean knife, a needle with thread, a glass of water, and someone needs to put a metal tool, sterilized, on the stove, right now,” you said, finding it easier to talk now that no one was cleansing your wound. Without hesitation Daniela dispersed into a cloud of insects, heading towards the kitchen, while Cassandra stood up and moved towards the stairs.

“Guess I’ll get the needle,” she said, sounding rather unenthusiastic.

“What are you planning?” Alcina asks, more concerned than you had ever heard her before. Attempting to reassure her, you manage a small smile before explaining.

“Got scratched and slobbered on by a lycan. Whatever they have, it’s infectious. If I want to save my leg, or at least have a chance at surviving, I have to take measures to reduce the likelihood of an infection,” you say. Now Alcina is slowly stroking her thumb across your hand, eyes narrowed with concern. There’s a look on her face that you can’t quite parse, something she’s not saying. For now you ignore it and continue going over your plan. “The best thing would be to amputate. The tourniquet might have helped prevent the saliva from getting further into my body- and I do mean might- but I can’t keep it on forever. Problem is… I don’t want to lose it. God, I’m terrified of that, and with what we have in the castle I… I’d be more likely to die of shock than not. So, well, forget that idea.

“I’m just going to remove the wound. By making a bigger wound. It’s crazy, I know, but this will kill me if we do nothing. It will probably kill me if we do. The technical term is some shit like ‘de-bride-ing’?... No, debridement, I think. Except normally the poor fucker getting cut open is asleep for the procedure.” By the time you’re done, Lady Dimitrescu is looking at you with horror. Yeah, you had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the idea. “Look, if this is too much… if it’s not worth saving me, if you’d rather give me a quick death, I understand. If I were-”

“Don’t be foolish, dear. You will not die, not as long as something can be done about it,” Alcina replies, quickly, eager to stop hearing you talk about dying. It’s… strange to hear her sound so confident about saving you, even stranger to realize what she called you. As if reading your thoughts, she shifts in her seat, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Shyness didn’t suit her, and you imagined it was more about her finding the right words. When she speaks, she’s looking right at you again. “I have hesitated to tell you the truth, and now I find the world playing a cruel trick on me, trying to take that which I adore. But I don’t want to aggravate your stress right now. Please, think nothing of what I have said.”

Before you could reply, footsteps reached your ears, and soon enough Daniela returns. In one hand she holds a large pitcher of water. In the other? Several knives, of various sizes, one of which you’re pretty sure you’ve seen Cassandra playing with before. As soon as you see her your face lights up, glad to be able to start the procedure.

“Oh thank fuck- or, I mean, thank you, Lady Daniela,” you stutter, reaching out as she offers you the items. Thankfully Bela had already made room on the table at your side, where she had set the bottle of alcohol down. For a moment you had forgotten that she was there. Had she already known about her mother’s feelings? Based on her lack of reaction, you could only assume that she was well aware. “I’m gonna scream, B-T-dubs. Just, uh, cover your ears?” You offer, already holding your chosen knife (big enough to be effective, small enough to offer precision).

“So… you’re going to do this yourself? Didn’t think you had it in you, red. Try not to cut anything important. Wouldn’t want to have to clean that mess up,” Daniela teases. As soon as she’s finished she has to shift into a swarm, as Bela flat out throws a knife at her. For a moment you freeze, watching as Alcina rises to her full height, staring her eldest daughter down. Behind her, Daniela reforms, clearly using her mother as a shield. “I was just trying to relieve the tension, jeez. It’s like you think she’s already dead.”

“Don’t speak another word!” Alcina snaps, sending a frightening stare towards Daniela. You cough, awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Meanwhile Bela is pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, clearly tired of dealing with her sister’s sense of humor. “No one will speak a word until this is finished, unless my dear needs something, understood?” Both the girls nod at that, neither feeling a need to risk any further ire.

“I’m just going to start working now,” you awkwardly chime, taking a deep breath before leaning in towards your injured leg. On closer inspection you can see a strange, dark residue in the wound. They’re specks, scattered along the length of it, and they seem more common the closer you look to the gash’s center. Gross, you think. Half curious, half checking for legitimate reasons, you bring your other hand to the cut and gently spread both sides apart. It hurts like hell, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming. But sure enough, the residue is practically solid at the deepest point of the wound. “Those lycans really should be on leashes.”

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Daniela exchange looks with Bela, but neither of them disobey their mother (yet). Shaking the thought away, you finally get to the brunt of the task at hand. Your hand moves slowly, reluctant to inflict such damage against its own body. As soon as the tip of the knife touches your skin, you start to doubt your ability to do this. It takes looking at Alcina, seeing the way she watches you with equal parts concern and tenderness, to remind you why you’re doing this. Death just wasn’t something you could accept right now; not after what she had said, what she had implied.

The knife is fantastically sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed before your flesh gives away, cells letting go of their neighbors like it was a casual affair. You start at the left side of your injury, digging down a little, trying to only go as deep as you needed to. Tears formed in your eyes but you quickly blinked them away. As the first of many screams leaves your mouth, you turn and twist the knife, cutting to the right, then up. Like scooping the seeds out of a pumpkin. Fresh blood springs from the wound, starting to fill up the crevice. Quickly you discard the skin you removed by tossing it into the same bowl that Bela had put a bloody towel in earlier.

“Yes,” you shudder through gritted teeth, “this hurts so fucking bad. No, I don’t need someone to take over yet.” At this point neither of the present sisters are looking at you, seeming oddly uncomfortable at the sight of you cut up like this. Hadn’t they done worse to your fellow Maidens?... Whatever, the thought couldn’t last long when you still had work to do.

Next you take a fresh, damp cloth and dab at your injury, ignoring how it throbbed beneath your touch. Then you resumed cutting, forced to press the knife deeper in order to remove the spreading residue. If you had been a scientist, this would have been utterly fascinating to observe. Whatever had been in the lycan’s saliva was slowly eating at your flesh, but not outright dissolving it. No, it simply left the skin where it was, but killed and rapidly broke it down. Yes, it would have been fascinating, if not for the fact that there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to outpace the bacteria.

With this in mind you force yourself to hold in your next scream, hoping to make it easier for you to focus. The knife continued to cut, going lower, setting nerves alight as it did. Your vision starts to blur, and for a few seconds you think you’re going to black out. Someone says something you don’t hear, and then suddenly there’s a hand on top of your own. When your vision clears you see Bela is responsible, her grip keeping you from dropping the knife. She doesn’t let go until you give her a clear nod. Even then, she seems reluctant to let you continue.

Around this time is when Cassandra returns. Her footsteps catch your attention (it’s your understanding that carrying objects is much harder in swarm mode), and you spare her a quick glance before getting back to work. A few moments later she’s placing a set of needles and a long spool of thread next to you. Ironically, they’re the same tools that you’ve used to repair and adjust Alcina’s dresses over the past year. Hopefully they work just as well on flesh, you think. Your next thoughts are canceled out by unbelievable pain. More cries leave your lips, and your hand starts shaking. Panic is settling in fast, your movements getting sharper, leading you to make a brash decision: Time to care less about precision and more about speed.

“Distract me, please,” you gasp between grunts. No one responds at first, and you know they need clarification. Speaking is getting harder by the second, but you do your best. “Brain can’t process many stimulants, same time. Just- fuck- trace skin around wound, touch hair, anything.” Somewhere between your semi-broken sentences and screams, Alcina gets the message. She’s moving closer, now, behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other rubbing gentle circles on your undamaged leg. Across from you Daniela is too busy pacing to help, though you can hardly blame her.

“Should I get the metal thing from the stove?” Cassandra asks, silently hoping that Dani hadn’t assumed someone else was going to handle that part. You’re still in too much pain to talk, so you half nod half grunt in response. Not bothering to say anything, the middle child takes off, swarm moving at what might be a new speed record.

As much as your hands are shaking, you still manage to cut away another strip of flesh, tossing it aside with even less care than before. This time Bela wipes the wound for you, practically reading your mind. The moment her hands are completely out of the way you start cutting again, crying out, throat shredded to pieces from all your screaming. Alcina sounds like she might be close to sobbing, but she doesn’t stop her movements, doing her best to distract you just like you had asked. Even Bela helps, now, tracing spots around your injury whenever she knows she won’t be in your way. The effect is minor, in the end, hardly making a dent in how much pain you’re processing.

If you survive this, though, you’re hugging every daughter as tight as you can and showering them with affection… but only after you finish doing the same for their mother.

“You are so brave,” Alcina murmurs next to your ear. It’s even clearer now how close she is to crying, her voice seconds away from cracking. Hearing her like this almost hurts as bad as the initial lycan attack did. “You are so strong. No other mortal could ever be your match. Do you understand, my dear? You are blessed, divine, and I love you so much.”

In any other setting, her words would leave you melting in her arms, radiating affection so strongly that you might as well have been radioactive. Instead, you are unable to respond, or even look her way. All you can do is press the knife to your skin again, showing your own feelings by destroying yourself for her.

The blade is starting to find more resistance, and you’re having to pause more often, spots appearing in your vision. Going faster only makes things worse, your hand threatening to slip. You’re determined to finish this, no matter what, but your need to control the situation is gradually making things worse. Alcina notices this before you do, and acts before you have a chance to protest.

“Bela, the knife,” she says, then tightens her grip on your waist. Your confusion shifts to panic as your arm is carefully, but forcefully, pulled away from your wound. “Can you finish the job?” It takes you a few moments to realize that Alcina isn’t talking to you. No, she’s speaking to her eldest daughter, who doesn’t hesitate to take the knife away from you. It’s so easy for her, between her strength and your weakness. “Don’t struggle. Let us finish this.”

Protests rise from your throat and die in your mouth. Pain flares harder now that Bela isn’t distracting you. Once more your vision goes dark, but this time there’s no pause, no hesitation. You are suffering, horribly, and the Dimitrescu family refuses to make you hurt longer than necessary. It’ll be over soon, you think, not knowing whether you refer to your pain or your life itself.

Something wet drops onto the back of your neck, then darkness overtakes you…

------------------------

“Damn those lycans, I should string Heisenberg up myself! They’re his responsibility, after all,” Lady Dimitrescu snarls, trying to ignore the tears in her eyes. Now that you’re unconscious, unable to hear what ails her, she feels free to voice her thoughts. “The damn things should never have come close to the path to the village.”

“What if she strayed from the path? Wouldn’t that explain it?” Bela suggests, even as her hands work to remove what seems to be the last piece of dead/infected flesh from your leg. She hates how the words feel in her mouth, hates suggesting that you of all people might have betrayed her mother’s trust. But it makes sense. After all, this whole mess, with you leaving the castle to retrieve a mysterious package, was all a test to see if you would try to run. It hadn’t been her idea, and Bela admitted to herself that she thought it was unnecessary.

“On the way back? Why would she bother getting the package if she intended to run?” Lady Dimitrescu asks, right as Cassandra returns. The middle child is practically juggling the metal spatula she’s carrying, irritated (not harmed) by the heat it produced. One of her brows perks up when she hears the conversation, but she keeps any thoughts she has to herself.

“Just a thought, mother, I didn’t quite believe it myself,” Bela chimes, after a pause. With that said she holds up her hand with pride, clutching between her fingers the last of the decaying flesh. The way the others react, one might have thought that a miracle had been performed. Daniela clapped her hands together, giggling a little, and finally stopped her pacing. “Don’t celebrate too much, now,” Bela reminded her, taking the spatula from Cassandra as she did. “There’s still plenty to do. It’s a good thing she’s not awake for this part.”

A good thing, indeed. She uses her fingers to spread the remaining skin a little, giving a quick examination, then deciding that she had successfully removed all remaining residue. Keeping her fingers where they were, she pressed the side of the spatula to your skin, putting the most pressure at the center of the wound. Three seconds passed, then she lifted her hand. A pause. She pressed it back into place, keeping a close eye on the affected area. This repeated several times, the gaps being necessary to prevent unintentional damage. Once the wound seemed properly closed she set the spatula aside.

“Is that it?... Did we save her?” Daniela asks, opting to finally sit down in a nearby chair. Something about her word choice makes both of her sisters scoff.

“I could sew it closed, as a precaution, but there’s no way I’d do it the way she had intended. It might be best to just give her time to rest, and see what she thinks when she gets back up,” Bela answers. For a moment her words hang in the air, but eventually Alcina gives a little nod and a hum.

“Very well. I shall carry her to my quarters, where she won’t be disturbed. Please, let one of the Maidens know to bring some food up this evening,” Alcina says, gently taking you into her arms as she does…

------------------------

BAD ENDING: It’s been six hours, with no sign of you waking up. Your other wounds had been examined, cleaned, and bandaged. Food had been carefully prepared and brought up to you, though it now remained on the bedside table, untouched. Alcina has gone to call Mother Miranda, intending to speak to her about the growing unrest of the lycans, as Heisenberg hadn’t answered his phone. For the first time since you returned you are alone. It is now, of all times, that you awaken. A gasp sends you into a coughing spree, forcing you into a sitting position. The space around you feels like it's moving, and your vision blurs. Blood spills from your mouth as you finally regain the ability to breathe.

Seconds later your vision clears, but what you see is enough to make you wish you couldn’t. The blood that spilled onto the sheets is a dark red… with even darker spots scattered throughout it. All at once you know what happened: Residue had hidden from you, or gone deeper than your wound, infecting you before you ever stood a chance. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, but something deeper starts calling to you. Something older. Darker. It drags you to your feet, ignores the pain of your wounds, and sends you out the bedroom door.

Your mind is racing, thoughts never quite clear enough for you to understand. It doesn’t feel like you’re in control of your own movements. Was something else in charge, or were you operating on an infection powered autopilot? Answers weren’t coming, just bloodshed.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed yet!” A voice calls out to you, making you turn to investigate. On the other end of the hallway is a maiden, one you instantly recognize. You’ve worked with her before, plenty of times, tag-teaming more tasks than you could count. She was like a sister to you. When she sees the blood staining your clothes, she gasps, then moves to support you. “Please, Lady Dimitrescu will be so upset if you-” her words melt into a blood curdling scream. For a moment you don’t understand.

And then you swallow, a chunk of hot meat slipping down your throat, and the scream dies down.

“What?...” You whisper, finally tasting the blood in your mouth, watching as your friend’s body falls to the floor. There’s a chunk of flesh missing from her neck, and the dots connect themselves in your head. You did that. Every part of you wants to scream, wants to cry out and beg someone to come kill you. Instead you fall to your knees, hard, uncaring. Your hands move themselves, grasping at the still warm corpse. Something has made you stronger, or at the very least removed the mental limits that kept you from destroying yourself. Flesh gives under your touch, tearing like paper, and you start crying as it reaches your mouth.

Footsteps approach, thundering fast, and you want to warn whoever it is. When you turn to look, you feel your hands let go of your meal. Your gaze meets that of a stunned Cassandra Dimitrescu, then drifts to the sickle in her hand.

“Kill me,” you growl, voice distorted, practically echoing. “Kill me now!” Not needing to be told a third time, Cassandra moves lightning quick, swarm-jumping forward before manifesting behind you, sickle dragging across your throat in one smooth motion. But it’s not enough. She realizes this, though, and slams her foot into your back, sending you tumbling forward. It’s enough to prevent you from countering, which gives her time to advance again, this time pulling a knife from her boot and driving it into the center of your back. When you scream, it’s not with your own voice, but that of a monster.

“Fucking fuck, what the fuck, red?” Daniella asks as she rounds the corner, eyes immediately landing on your bloodsoaked mouth. She’s quick to take in the scene, drawing a conclusion easily, even if it breaks her heart a little. Your vision fades as she approaches, and you know that it’s finally over. If only you had expired a few seconds earlier… because the last thing you hear is the startled cry of your would-be lover.

“No! No, darling, what happened-” Alcina finishes her sentence, but you do not hear it. You do not hear anything, anymore. You do not know it… but there will be hell to pay for your death.

------------------------

GOOD ENDING: When you awake, you find yourself in the softest sheets you’ve ever touched, a warm and familiar presence next to you. The first thing you see is Alcina’s sleeping face next to your own. She’s on her side, one arm around your waist, the covers pulled up to her hip. Warmth fills your chest as you take in the sight. For a few moments you just… appreciate this. Never before had you imagined that you would get to wake up next to the woman you loved so much. A sigh, one of bliss, leaves your lips. Slowly you move forward, gently placing a kiss to Alcina’s cheek. Seconds later her eyelids flutter open, and she tiredly takes you in.

“You’re… awake,” she murmurs, hardly awake herself. But her fatigue doesn’t last long. As soon as she’s fully processed the situation her eyes go wide. Then she’s pulling you closer, careful not to hurt you, and peppering little kisses over your face. “I’ve been so worried, dear. You scared us so much.” The hurt in her voice leaves you restless, making you curl up against her, desperate to soothe her worries. Moving hurts a little, but not enough to dissuade you from your goal.

“I’m sorry, love,” you say, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m okay, I’m alive, the plan worked out. You don’t have to fret for me anymore. I won’t leave you, I promise.” Slowly but surely, Alcina calms, exchanging kisses for softly running her fingers through your hair. There’s such love in her eyes that you can hardly believe you aren’t dreaming. “You’re amazing, Alcina. I could stay like this all day.”

“Maybe we should,” she offers, chuckling a little. Once again you give her a quick kiss, unable to resist the urge. “I should have never asked you to leave. I should have just trusted you.” The words give you pause, and you tilt your head in confusion. Realizing that you still didn’t know the full story, Alcina frowns. “The package is worthless, just a bundle of straw and a few rocks for weight. It was never what I cared about.”

Tension builds in your chest, and for a few seconds you have no idea how to react. It takes a minute for you to think, to connect the dots, but once you do it’s a tad bit easier to breathe. A scowl twists your lips as you think of what to say.

“If I had known that Heisenberg was forgoing his duties, I never would have sent you outside,” Alcina adds, the silence taking its toll on her.

“You shouldn’t have sent me either way,” you respond, bitterly, thinking of all that you had seen and heard on your journey. “I would have done anything to prove to you how I feel. There are other ways to show devotion- far less dangerous ways, at that.”

“I know, dear. You have every right to be angry… and watching you suffer has taught me all that I need to know,” Alcina says, still playing with your hair, trying to ease the tension. As upset as you about this recent revelation… it’s not enough to change how you feel about her, and you want her to understand that, fully and completely.

So you lean into her touch, let your eyes drift close for a moment, then softly place one of your arms around her as best as you can.

“We’ll need to talk about this more… just not right now. Right now, I need you, Alcina. I need to hold you, and be held by you, and just know that you’re here. That I’m here. That neither of us are going anywhere,” you say, resting your forehead against hers. “I need to feel safe, and your arms are the safest place I can imagine. Stay here with me?”

“It will be the easiest thing I have ever done.”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #tw blood #tw self harm #tw cannibalism #blood blood blood oops #I wrote this instead of sleeping because my hands cannot be stopped #typeity type type type #sorry if the formatting is off #i'm trying the new editor or whatever #if it's fucked I'll fix it whenever I wake up

[krispytidalwavesheep]

Hopes and Dreams Part I

.I have this idea in my head since I saw the first trailer of Resident Evil 8, which was in March? This will be multichaptered and english isn’t my first language, so if anyone of you likes the story enough and is willing to be my beta, I would greatly appreciate it. *** About the story: Reader was Alcinas first lover and got reincarnated over the centuries. Alcina lost her everytime and after the fifth, she just gave up on ever finding reader again, because she couldn’t take losing her anymore times. But as fate would have it, the reader will find her.... Chapter One

Five. Five times Alcina has seen you reincarnated and crossing her way, and yet, fate always found a way to take you from her. The last one was particularly grueling. She remembered the day she lost you, as if it happened yesterday and considering her immortality, it may have been. You looked so happy and excited when you said your goodbyes, and Alcina could understand that. The titanic was a big thing then, even more so after the tragedy that unfolded. You were one of the many victims of the sheer stupidity of men, at least in her opinion and she hasn’t been the same since. Every single one of your deaths was devastating, but the last one was the one that broke her. Bela was there to take care of her, but something died within Alcina when she heard that fate had taken you away from her yet again.

When Cassandra and Daniela came into her life, it certainly helped, but she still grieved for you to this day. Usually, she would search to the ends of the world for you, but she couldn’t stand to lose you, if she ever found you again. She couldn’t do that to either you or herself.

She straightened her dress when she got to her feet again, gently stroking a hand over your grave. Well, the first you, anyway. The only one where any remains were found to be buried. You loved the lake near the castle, no matter in which life. Some asked about the tombstone, but she would just smile and say that it was someone she cherished when she was young, never revealing the whole truth. The first you lived the longest and happiest, before Alcina was turned. Centuries before Mother Miranda found out about her and the other lords.

Her musing was disrupted when she heard distant howling. It seemed like Heisenberg’s Lycans had found another victim, and they were oh so messy in their killing. She harrumphed and started her trek back to the castle, ignoring the ever-closer growing howling. That was until she heard rustling and a figure, cursing like a sailor rushed out from the bushes. Your eyes met and time seemed to stop for both of you.

***

You were furious with yourself for letting your guard down. You have been hiding away in this remote village for two years now, so far avoiding any supernatural beings. But it seems your luck had run out. You were checking your traps in the forest, never noticing them sneaking up on you. Which was a feat in and on itself, normally you could smell them miles away. During your travels you had to fight of many supernatural beings, a pack of Lycans shouldn’t be a problem, but the forest was dense in these parts and you knew when you were at a disadvantage. So, you ran, hoping to distract them with the chase long enough to form a plan.

Meeting her wasn’t part of the plan. You have never seen the lady of the castle, but you heard enough to know exactly who you were looking at, her height being one dead giveaway. Yet something about her made you stop dead in your tracks, the pack of Lycans chasing after you completely forgotten. Her honey-colored eyes stirred something in you, some feeling of familiarity you couldn’t quite place. Your heart clenched, not entirely in an uncomfortable way, because she was just so stunning. If you weren’t gay before you sure as hell were now. What intrigued you even more was the look of utter shock in her eyes, mixed with other emotions you could have named, if it weren’t for the Lycan crashing into you and propelling you down the small cliff you hadn’t noticed before.

“Motherfucking mutt!” you hissed and pulled the knife from your boot. You skillfully spin the Lycan underneath you, stabbing the knife into the Lycans chest to soften your fall. But another four already jumped right after you and you were still distracted by the lady, who apparently decided that watching you would be a nice way to kill some time. With a sickening crunch from the dead Lycan you landed on the edge of the lake. The others where circling you, growling menacingly. With another sickening crunch you pulled your knife free and took a defensive post. You kept most of your concentration on the Lycans, but the woman was still distracting you somewhat.

‘Might as well try to impress her’ you thought and grinned up at her, which was your second mistake that day. You felt sharp claws digging into your left leg and hissed in annoyance.

“Not cool, man!” you huffed and kicked him in the throat. The desire to impress equally impressive tall, beautiful women left your mind and you made quick process of the remaining Lycans standing in your way. You kicked the corpse of the one that got you for good measure, cursing under your breath. When you turned around you noticed that the lady had made your way to you, still staring you down as if you were the weirdest thing around here.

“I would help you, but it seems you have the situation under control,” she said, and a shiver ran down your spine. Her voice was like liquid honey and your heart clenched again. You absentmindedly rubbed your chest and said “Well, they are not the first supernatural being I have encountered, and they aren’t the most dangerous ones.”

She seemed impressed with your answer if the slight smirk was anything to go by. Her gaze wandered down to your leg and something in her eyes changed. Some far away voice in your head screamed for you to run from her, but you felt weirdly safe around her.

“Believe me when I say that I taste quite awful,” you said and grinned. That seemed to pull her out of her daze, and she stepped closer to you. You gulped a bit when the realization of how tall she truly was hit you, but you wouldn’t back down either. Craning your neck to keep looking at her face you stood still and waited. You should be scared shitless and still you felt as if no danger was coming your way. Yet.

“You should take care of that, before you attract more of them” she simply said and turned around. Sheer stupidity, paired with a malfunctioning brain to mouth barrier made you utter your next words “Well, shouldn’t you be the one to help me out, considering that I only got hurt, trying to impress you?”

She turned around so fast that you just knew she popped something. She was upon you in seconds and hissed “Excuse me?”

“I- I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” you stuttered and felt a blush creeping up your face. All her beauty and your weird feeling aside, she was still someone infinitely more dangerous than 200 Lycans combined. What exactly had you gotten yourself into? 

***

Seeing you tumble out of the woods came as a shock to her system. No matter how many times you got reborn, she would always recognize you, though you certainly looked more different than ever before. Not that Alcina had much time to look at you, when just a few seconds after your eyes met a Lycan barreled into you. Her feet moved on her own, ignoring the other Lycans tumbling down the small cliff, when she rushed to the ledge of the small cliff just in time to see you landing on the dead Lycan.

You were certainly feisty and skilled this time around and the grin you threw her way made her feel things she thought long buried. Until one Lycan got to you and she saw red, but when she came down, she only saw you kicking a dead Lycan before he turned into dust. Alcina was rather impressed when you made that off-hand comment about encountering other beings before. Which would explain why you didn’t react to her like normal people do.

No matter how many times you two met in the course of history, there were certain things that never changed: you always looked similar to your you before, and your smell. Looking at you now, she realized that this time, a lot has changed. The most obvious being your smell. You still smelled like you, but something was underneath all that, that made you somehow all the more alluring to her. Something in your blood sang to her and it confused her a great deal.

You were always kind of shy and timid around her when you first met, but the confidence you oozed made you all the more attractive and Alcina felt as if she was betraying your past lives with that thought. Hearing that you encountered supernatural beings before made her stop dead in her tracks. What was your life like until you met? What happened to you to change you so fundamentally? But your next words shocked you more than she would ever admit

“Well, shouldn’t you be the one to help me out, considering that I only got hurt, trying to impress you?” you said with such an insufferable grin that Alicna had the impulse to strangle you for the first time in her long life.

“Excuse me?” she hissed and clenched her hands. Not that you would notice. But apparently you didn’t mean to say that, if your blush was anything to go by. Still, Alcina was fuming at the blatant rudeness, but also shocked at your bluntness. Your new personality was… still somehow endearing and interesting. She couldn’t fit your current you into the picture she had of you which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“What is your name?” Alcina asked and took a few steps back to get a better look at you. The smile you gave her was apologetic when you said “Excuse my poor manners, I really don’t know what has gotten into me today. My name is y/n.”

“I am Lady Alcina Dimitrescu, but you will call me Lady Dimitrescu or my lady. You would do good to remember your manners, little one.” She said and offered her hand to you. You gave her another stunning smile as you took her hand and bowed to give kiss to her knuckles that did ABSOLUTELY not fluster her, before you purred, “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

You would be the certain death of her this time around. She was certain of that. She should keep her distance from you, it wouldn’t do to become to attached to your, your attitude would get you killed rather sooner than later. But what she said was: “Come now. The castle isn’t that far, and night is almost upon us. It wouldn’t do to stay out here, with you being injured.”

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader

[heisenho]

Dreams

Alcina Dimitrescu x Fem!Reader

Summary: Being a maid for the Dimitrescu is all fun and games until you realize big tall vampire lady is very hot.

Warnings: 18+!! MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT! Fucking in front of a mirror, blood, swearing, oral sex (fem receiving), uuuh idk if you need any other warnings, let me know!

A/N: HEHEH DOUBLE POST DAY BABY! Posted my first heisenberg fic just a few hours ago, thought I might as well post for my wife as well! Thanks for reading, and as always, I hope you enjoy ~Beff

Being a maid for the Dimitrescu was exciting. You were obedient and soft spoken and polite, everything the Lady and her daughters could ask for. You didn’t pry, you didn’t wander where you weren’t supposed to, you did your job and you were damn good at it.

You had been very spaced out lately though. You couldn’t seem to figure out why at first, but then it clicked. When you had started work there, mostly the daughters interacted with you. You did not see The Lady very often. Suddenly, after a few weeks of working there, she showed up more often.

Her large stature (and bust) were hypnotic. You couldn’t help but stare and fumble (gayly) when she noticed your eyes glued to her beautiful ass or boobs. Your face would heat up, your eyes widening, and you’d turn immediately.

Lately you had even been dreaming of Lady Dimitrescu. A recurring dream. One where you’d accidentally hurt yourself, and she would be there beside you, checking on you, but then... She’d gently take your arm, and suck slowly on the wound, until you’d finally wake up. A heat between your legs and hunger in your eyes.

Wearing a sexy dress did not help either. You imagined Lady Dimitrescu slowly pulling it from your frame, or even ripping it off of you, violent and fast.

“Oh, dear,” You heard Lady Dimitrescu speak from behind you.

“Yes, my lady!” You turned, startled.

“I have been informed by my daughters that...” She paused. Swallowing hard, you waited for the worst. Her gloved hand moved towards the vase you had just been cleaning and she swiped it, fast. She showed you her finger and your stomach turned.

Dust.

“They informed me that you aren’t doing the best. Not anymore.”

With wide eyes, you put your hands up, “I promise, Lady Dimitrescu, I can do better! I just, I had been... Distracted-”

“Hm, what was distracting you.”

She placed her hand on her chin and cocked her head. Your breath caught in your throat and you shook your head, “I mean, no- nothing. I can handle it.”

“Obviously not. I mean, dear, I can smell your arousal from here.”

Your jaw dropped. You brought your fingers towards your bicep and gently pinched. Alcina scrunched her nose up, giving you a curious look.

“Oh, no, I’m not dreaming.”

The feeling of wanting to run rushed in all at once. You turned from the woman and almost started to take off in a sprint, until she just took one step forward and to the side, and she was in front of you. Just like that.

“I will have to punish you for trying to run if you do so again.”

You nodded, “Yes, my lady.”

“Good, you understand.” She brought her hand to your chin and lowered herself to your level, “You are very attractive, dear, very... curious... I think I can help you with your-” She paused, “Problems. If you would like that?”

You blinked a couple of times, in absolute awe of the woman in front of you. You nodded and Alcina took your hand in hers, and began to lead you upstairs to her room. Your breath hitched as you realized what was really happening. Lady Dimitrescu was taking you to her personal chambers, to (hopefully) fuck you. But... what if you were about to end up like the other maids?

Fear struck you quickly, but curiosity was taking over. You wanted to know what the Lady was about to do with you.

“Sit on my bed, dear.”

You nodded and shuffled towards the bed, watching as the tall vampiric woman slowly took her gloves off. She stalked towards you, a predator to prey, your eyes resembling that of a small doe.

“Lady Dimi-”

“Please, dear, when behind closed doors call me Alcina.”

“Yes, ma’am- Alcina.”

She smirked down at you. She fell to her knees in front of you and cocked her head at you. “The way you say my name, so soft and innocent. How about we break that?” Her cheshire smile sent chills down your spine. “Lay on your back.”

You followed her command instantly, lying flat on your back, legs hanging off the large bed. Suddenly, your dress was being moved upwards and a hand was on the elastic of your underwear. You sucked in air at the chill of her icy fingers and let out a soft mewl.

You looked at Alcina and noticed her hat was gone. She was in her dress still, leaning over you. Your eyes wandered to her breasts and you had to stop yourself from reaching out for them. You weren’t that brave, not yet.

“Are you okay with this?” She asked, one of her hands pulling at one of your thigh high socks. “Being absolutely vulnerable in front of me?”

It sounded almost rhetorical. The first part was sincere, but as soon as she brought up the vulnerability, she seemed heavily intoxicated by your innocence and vulnerability.

With a shaky voice, you replied, “Yes.” Your eyes met hers as you nodded.

“Perfect.”

Within seconds your dress was pushed up to your stomach, one sock was pushed half way down, your panties had been ripped off, and Alcina was at your cunt, breathing in your arousal.

“Hmm,” Alcina hummed, “I haven’t been this close to someone in a while. This is divine.” Her pupils were blown wide and her voice... she sounded absolutely feral.

Alcina plunged her tongue deep inside of you, licking stripes up your pussy, before reaching your clit and giving it well deserved attention. You let out a soft moan and gripped the sheets under you.

“Good girl,” Alcina praised you, causing you to grow even hotter, “Let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.”

“Alcina!”

Your back arched and your pushed yourself closer to Alcina, trying your best to make her pick up the speed. Her hand moved to your hip, holding you down. “Don’t be so wiggly.” She warned. You swallowed hard and nodded, mostly to yourself.

Alcina’s tongue was deep inside you, before pulling out and licking up towards your clit once more. Her tongue moved back to your entrance and her thumb pressed against your clit, moving in circles around the bundle of nerves.

“Alcina- so close, please!”

Alcina hummed against you, and you were sent over the edge immediately. Your body was shaking against her until she pulled away, smirking down at you.

“You’re wonderful,” Alcina spoke very kindly towards you, causing a heat to pool in your stomach, “let me fuck you in front of a mirror.”

All you could do was sit up and nod. Alcina nodded back and stepped away for a moment. “Get undressed, I’ll be right back.”

You slowly pulled your dress off and decided it would be best to keep your sexy little thigh highs on. You decided that, that would be a good look.

Alcina came back, a large mirror in tow. You were baffled by her strength sometimes. You were mesmerized by her constantly. She set it down in front of the bed. And you noticed just how naked you were.

“The socks, those are a nice touch.”

Alcina began to take off her dress and mumbled something about not wanting to ruin it. You wondered what she meant. She stood in front of you now, in beautiful lace underwear.

Alcina sat on the edge of the bed and patted her lap. You obliged and scooted towards her. She grabbed you, easily lifting you onto her thigh. You were facing the mirror, legs spread, straddling her right thigh. You could see your pussy perfectly in the mirror, you were almost self conscious.

“You’re so lovely aren’t you... I need you to know just how lovely you are.”

You were wet all over again. “Alcina.” You whined.

Alcina tensed the muscles in her thigh and you sighed. She gave an experimental bounce and you let out a soft moan. “Please, please let me cum again.”

“Of course, you deserve it, dear.”

“Are you not going to touch me?” You asked, deflating instantly.

“No, no, you will be getting off on my thigh, and my thigh alone.”

Instinctively, you began to grind into her thigh. Feeling Alcina bounce her leg every once in a while, with no rhyme or reason, kept you going. You were chasing a high that you needed to get from her, and from her alone.

“So good, dear,” Alcina ran her hand down the side of your ribs and you let out a mewl, crumbling onto her thigh.

“Please,” tears brimmed your eyes, “Please touch me.”

Alcina let out a soft laugh, “You are truly so cute, my dear pet. I’ll make a deal with you.”

You nodded violently, ready to hear what she had to say.

“So eager, and you don’t even know what it is.” Alcian brushed your side again. “I’ll get you off, if you let me drink your blood.”

“Who loses in this situation?” You questioned, leaning back against her, still grinding into her thigh.

“Oh? You want your blood drained from you?”

“I’ve dreamt about you fucking me and sucking my blood, fucking and sucking if you will, since I got her-”

Alcina shushed you, and gently asked for you to close your eyes. You did so and then heard the sound of... metal? Beside you. Something scratched at your bicep and you sucked in air harshly. The metal sound came again, but no more pain.

“You may open your eyes.”

Looking in the mirror, you saw her staring at your bleeding wound. Alcina promised to only take a little as her lips met your skin. You nodded and she guided her free hand towards your pussy once more.

Alcina tensed as she tasted your blood and a moan escaped her mouth. She licked and lapped at the blood, while you were grinding into her thigh. Her fingers played gently with your clit. Your movements became rushed and harsh, you were humping against her quickly.

Becoming dizzy and lightheaded quickly stopped that though. You reached your orgasm, and assumed it had hit so hard you were seeing stars from that. But when your vision unblurred, you noticed Alcina’s bloodied face in the mirror, still biting down and licking on your arm.

“Alcina!” Your voice, still filled with pleasure, caught her attention.

She gave one final lick and wiped her bottom lip.

“I only took a little.” Alcina noticed your tiredness and her eyes widened, “Come here, dear. Maybe we should go to bed, you seem tired.”

You nodded. Alcina picked you up and lied you down on her pillows. She lay beside you, her hand gently brushing against your skin, causing goosebumps. You let out a quiet moan and cuddled against her chest.

“Thank you,” You whispered to her, eyes closing, hoping and praying this really wasn’t a dream. Hoping when you awoke, she would still be there. But for now, all you needed was her, you focused on her as you drifted off.

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #alcina x reader #re8 #ngl this wasnt beta'd #so i apologize in advance for any mistakes #i will fix them as i find them #which is why the whole thing is under a read more #anyway! #hope yall enjoyed! #beff writes