#Heisenberg was by far the worse of them all

[tacticalhimbo]

Howdy hey @pheedraws , I'm your bloody valentine for this year's event held by @carlosoliveiraa !!

I had a really fun time learning about Ilona and her tense history with the rest of the family, but especially that with Heisenberg. I hope I managed to capture their push-and-pull kinda dynamic, and I hope you enjoy this! <3

Let me know if you'd like a more permanent copy of this, too! I'm always happy to provide a PDF version of the writings I do :3

Under the cut for length! (this ended up being almost 2k words hehe)

The coldest of the winter months had finally approached, thickened blankets of snow encapsulating the quaint village and its surrounding wilderness. Winds howled through the distant trees, sinking low into the narrow pathways between buildings, carrying a flurry of snow with it. Crystalline sculptures shimmered in the sun's overcast light as they fell, drawing attention to the way they'd gathered in a nearly blinding landscape. Dark stonework was accentuated by the vibrant snow, just as the flourishing pine needles were. Gnawing as the chill that lingered in the air was, there was, too, an odd comfort to its overwhelming presence. A comfort that, as the sun eventually began to settle behind the horizon and the village began to grow quiet, encouraged a few intriguing residents to take in the stillness of it all. To wander through the sparse lantern glows and out into the moonlit wilderness, abandoning the set paths for something more organic; less explored. Distant lycan howls set the boundary for it all, warnings of what may happen if one were to straggle too far away from the epicenter.

Yet even that comfort did not explain how, or why, Ilona found herself in the fields adjacent to the run-down, albeit functioning, factory on the village's outskirts.

There was no comfort in the metallic whirs and groans. No comfort in the prospect that, should fate decide to be a particularly cruel mistress, Ilona run into the factory's owner—or one of his creations. It was still up for debate which would have been worse, frankly. The hostility of the mechanical beings was simple in its nature. Programming kicking in as rusted mechanisms sputtered to life. A mere reflection of their created purpose: Defense. Lord Heisenberg's hostilities, on the other hand, were bred of arrogance. Full of malcontent. It was intentionally designed to get under the skin of whatever poor soul ended up on the other side of that wolfish grin. Yet that, too, proposed another discussion of whether it would have been better to be maimed physically, or walk away with a wounded ego. Regardless, the answer was lost as well-placed speakers crackled to life. As that grating, smug voice rang out across the field.

"Well well, what do we have here? A late night visitor, all the way from her mighty home in the comforts of the village. And what do I owe the pleasure?"

Dark eyes narrowed. "You don't. I was just leaving."

"Is that so? I don't know, might be dangerous to head back so late. Heard there's lycans about." The fact was spoken as if it were a rumor, words shadowed by a low purr resonating from the man's chest as he teased. It earned nothing more than a scoff and the roll of the woman's eyes, back turning to the building as she began to make her way down the field.

That was, until a series of rustling in the treeline created a pause. Brought Ilona to a stop as her annoyance only grew. There was no proof of it, and it was something so unlikely to consider, yet she couldn't help but clench her jaw at the prospect that—by some account—Karl had set something up to lure them. Or was it so simply as him setting up his fancy little radio, and daring to open that mouth of his? Whatever it was, two paths lay before her: Take her chances and throw herself to the 'wolves', or begrudgingly wait out the pack's hunt in that cursed factory. While the first option was infinitely more tempting, there was a weariness beginning to weigh on her shoulders. The biting cold that began to properly creep under the layers of cloth and tug at her skin; it was enough for her to begrudgingly turn herself back up the path. And hearing the static of the speakers was enough for Ilona to almost consider turning back once more. Instead, she simply glared to the closest one, sat upon the corner of the decrepit brick.

"Don't even. Just shut up and open the door already."

And, as instructed, the rustled mechanisms groaned as the factory's doors slid open, allowing the warm air from within to bleed out across the shrinking distance. Allow the whines and creaks to overwhelm the immediate landscape alongside it, subtly encouraging a quickness in the woman's steps. The lycans had heard it, too. Paused their consumptions to perk their heads toward the sound, feral eyes fixated in wait. Yet no meal came to them, and they'd simply returned to the chilled leftover at their claws' end as Ilona found herself walking right into the hands of her…

Adversary? Acquaintance? Whatever it was Heisenberg was today. And, based on the way he'd sauntered out of the distant shadows, allowing the dim light in the entry to illuminate him, it was leaning toward the former.

The brim of his worn hat concealed his features from the light, yet there was a subtle sort of glow to those fixated eyes of his. A near-clear view of the wolfish grin that stretched his skin and scrunched his nose.

"I would ask what pleasure I owed, but something…" his voice trails as he steps closer, leering at Ilona, "Something tells me it would be a wasted attempt at conversation. What could possibly have your petals so ruffled, buttercup?"

He knew. She knew that he knew. And yet, he pressed. Instigated. Ilona sighed and waved off the idea of giving him fuel. Of airing her grievances. 'It's because I'm stuck here. With you of all people.'

"It's not important, Karl." But there was no harm in a little nudge. A subtle jab that would get just far enough under his skin to keep things calm enough for the time being. Just far enough to cause his lips to curl and teeth to bare. Still, he did well to conceal the bitter feeling at being referred to so… personally.

"Oh, I'm sure it isn't. Surely it's nothing, if that pout of yours is anything to judge by. Or the little furrow of your brows." It seems he, too, is returning the nudge. Both in the metaphorical sense, and in the literal, especially as a gloved finger comes to roughly jab at Ilona's shoulder before he draws back.

It brings a more prominent scowl to the woman's features as she sighs, head shaking as she looks around for something—anything—else to preoccupy herself with amidst the mess. Piles of unsorted scrap are all that await her, and the prospect of scraping her hands against the rough metal isn't exactly appealing. So, instead, she simply pretends Heisenberg isn't there. Walks past him to, with some hesitation etching into her muscles, find a different area to plant herself in. Perhaps somewhere with a piece of proper furniture. With something less grimy to entertain her as the moon traverses the night sky and leads the sun along with it. It'd be too much to ask for a corner of the factory without Heisenberg, or his influence, especially as he trails along behind her, but at this point taking her chances with (another) Soldat would be preferable to the grating voice and smug laughter. Thankfully for both of them, much as neither would admit it, it doesn't come to that. Rather, through some rather subtle corralling on Heisenberg's part, the duo has found themselves in his personal alcove. Amidst the messy workbenches, scattered papers, and a rather intriguing wall of connections between the ragtag group. Red strings illuminating the relationships between their fucked up little family. Stiffened pieces of scrap that appear to have been thrown, and with quite some force, to decorate the spaces around Miranda's portrait. And, amidst the others, a smaller portrait of hers. A recognition that she was, willingly or otherwise, an important part of the dynamic. One that sat unmarked, highlighted by an uncertain air.

Friend, or foe? Ally, or enemy? To spare, or to tear down with the rest of them all? In a way, there was almost reassurance in that hesitation exhibited by Heisenberg. Something about the fact these waxing and waning feelings were, in a way, mutual. An intriguing series of questions echoed in her head as she'd stepped over to unpin her visage from the board. To allow her fingers to trace the weathered edges of the film as the candlelight found them. Heisenberg watched, biting his tongue for once and simply opting to bring himself back to organizing the remnants of his current project.

"So you do like me?" A tease, highlighted with an essence of genuine curiosity.

"Alive, perhaps. Jury's still out on if it goes any further, or if that's where the answer stays." Too, a tease, though there was a lingering bitterness in his voice. A seriousness that betrayed him. As it stood, he had no idea whose side she would fall on. And, albeit deep, deep down, that lack of clarity made him uneasy. Still, he did well to mask it, turning to lean with his back against the workbench, wrench twirling between gloved fingers. "For now, I suppose I could say yes."

Ilona's arms fold across her chest. "It never is quite a straight answer with you, is it?"

"Of course not. How else do you expect I keep everyone on their toes?" That wolfish grin of his spreads across his features once more, his own arms mimicking the movement of hers. "Especially now. With so many hours to kill. You wouldn't want things to be boring, would you?"

"I'd almost prefer it." Still, there's a subtle shift in her tone that betrays the minute enjoyment she receives from their bickering. A hint of potential for missing it, should things lead them astray from one another's path. "Fine, keep me on my toes all you'd like. Just don't be surprised if it grows tired. After all, not everyone is as devoid of basic manners as you are."

"So you've said, and so I continue to ignore."

Neither would expect any less from him. From one another. And as the hours passed, it remained just as so. Ilona attempting to mind her business while perusing the various work-in-progress projects scattered about. Karl finding himself particularly itchy with the urge to bother her, remind her how unfortunate the circumstances were to be stuck within his domain. A few back and forths. A few nudges and prods. Little things that ultimately left the two ever envigorated as the sun rose and the woodlands cleared, allowing for Ilona to return herself to the Village.

And for once, the two had parted on fairly decent terms. How long that lasted, only time would tell.

#txt #my fics #resident evil #karl heisenberg #ilona melnyk #heisenberg x oc #pheedraws #mybloodyvalentinesday24

[mistressofthedark033]

A long true story dedicated to my precious Heisenmoots 💖 (@vodkafolie, @crowtrobotx, @imthegreenfairy86, @margaretoakgrove)

So I was at the subway station, writing my first draft for my fanfic as I went along. I was listening to Hozier as usual to give me some motivation and inspiration, which luckily worked and therefore made me write more and more until I saw my subway arrive.

I put my phone away before I got in, because I didn't really want people to see what I was writing and I just went back to listening to my songs instead. I took a seat almost nonchalantly in a row of mostly empty seats and since I didn't remember the name of the next stop, I decided to look over to my side to check out the map that was a bit too far away from me.

And that's when I noticed this man sitting next to me. He was literally just like Karl Heisenberg and when I mean literally, I mean it quite literally. The reason why I say this is mostly because of his looks and his outfit, because it looked exactly like something Karl would wear if he lived in the modern world.

At first, I noticed how he was wearing these black leather combat boots that he definitely had for a while now by the looks of it, but as I observed him for a few more seconds, I realized just how uncanny the resemblance really was.

With his gray hair that was held up by a small ponytail, his light stubble, his rugged cowboy hat, the glasses that covered his eyes or even just how tall and broad he was compared to me. Let me tell you, the similarities were absolutely insane.

And don't even get me started on his outfit, because this man really did have style. I remember that he had this huge black leather jacket with matching leather bracelets on each wrist and he had these huge metal rings probably made out of stainless steel, including the ones that had a skull and a wolf on them, which was oddly even more in character for Heisenberg once I really thought about it.

Luckily he was reading a newspaper, so he (hopefully) didn't notice how much I tried not to smile as I looked away from him. I was mentally freaking out and screaming in my head while I managed to stay calm on the outside. I felt so many emotions all at once.

The music that was playing through my headphones did help me out a bit to chill out, but there was indeed a moment when he looked at me for a second, however I didn't notice that until I turned to see him again and our eyes met. We stayed like this for a short time until he just looked away with a kind smile and went back to reading his newspaper, which didn't help my situation at all, in fact it only made it worse. So much worse. My heart couldn't stop beating any faster after that, I swear to god.

I couldn't really believe this was actually happening to me and it still feels unbelievable to even recall this moment as I'm typing it out here. Just the memory of how this man looked at me makes me smile uncontrollably right now, so I wish him nothing, but the absolute best, because he was the highlight of my day and he probably doesn't even know it.

#I told this to my friend as well after this happened and she said the universe heard me and decided to spawn karl in 😭 #it's so hilarious to think about the fact that I'm so obsessed with this man to the point that I might have actually manifested him #sounds like the plot to some kind of a fanfic or something #karl heisenberg #re8

[lovelywingsart]

//AU// Final Revelations

-- Karl Heisenberg X OC (AFAB, She/They) --

This one is a lil short but I finally had the mental power to work on and edit... Maybe not the best, but I like it more than others!

Also: If you've read my updates before, that means yes- this is actually the 'final' written story until I start on the new sketch comic which will be the actual fight itself and takes place after this! It will be a monumental task and we'll see how long it takes me ALSKDJSAS-

Anyway, enjoy a smol chapter update!

**Remember, check out the Masterlist for more!**

-----

Warnings?: Mention of lies with explanation(and what those lies were), mild hostility, not much else???

Summary: The time has come, and meeting with the other current survivors is necessary... But so is confessing.

The sound of crumbling ground and curling mold was everywhere, filling what had once been a deafening silence after screams and gunfire. Long black tendrils covered the fields and houses, with Lycans running amok and even dying by the vary substance that created them as it erupted at random and impaled the poor creatures that ran over it. Emelia scurried her way through to a small clearing on the outskirts of the village itself, her chest heaving with occasional snarls and screeching at the creatures if they crossed her. She barked orders at the creatures in their own tongue to make them move, not slowing her own movements for a moment.

She had to hurry... She had left the now empty scrap metal heap left in the field of the factory once her family was safe, listening to the other sounds around her. ANY other sounds that weren't the ones that filled the air. Anything that could tell her where the rest of the small group of mutants remained.

She had ordered her son and partner to run. To go back to their hidden home. They HAD to run. The boy was far too young to fight, and his father... Her throat tightened as she heard frantic speaking above the mold as she neared the smallest clearing. His father had died once already. The man was worse for wear, barely walking by himself with the mangled prosthetic he managed to pull with him at the last second.

He was angry... He was PISSED. Pissed he wasn't able to fight like he wanted to, like he planned for years on doing. It stung him worse than being murdered by the very one those plans were for, but even he knew he had no choice with the state he was in. And so the two boys ran to a place the parents had only discussed while she chose to fight, a decision that even she wondered was for the best now- but she still had work to do. She made it known.

She came to a sudden, choked halt as she finally caught sight of the group she had left to meet, first noticing the now frazzled, once-white dress of Alcina. Her gaze moved between the remaining three Lords, her heart beating out of her chest with an angry anxiety as if finally settled on the one who brought them together-

Winters.

Ethan Winters.

The man who had beaten her partner close to death. The man who, despite having turned the other Lords against the common enemy they all were about to face with some mild reasoning, decided to look for their son and fight them both without speaking a goddamn word about it until the end. No, to him, Heisenberg was simply a threat, and so was she by extension until she had tobeg for her life- beg for her boys lives. It was his actions that weakened Heisenberg. That weakened HER. He didn't ask questions, he just moved, doing what they thought was trying to take their son. He didn't listen until the last moments, and it made her blood boil. Sure, he may not have known, but a simple question would have left them all fine...

But even then, despite all that, her rage towards him couldn't help but slowly trickle away into a small anger. She knew why he did what he did. And his simple reasoning was something even she couldn't argue with, even if it had caused them this pain that could have been so, so much worse.

She only started moving towards the group once more as the sounds of the mold grew, breaking her from her thoughts and forcing them to the back of her mind as she wiped away the last of the tears that had fallen without her noticing.

Donna had been the first to notice as she approached, her head snapping up with the sound of her footsteps as the Angie began to squirm in her grip.

"EMELIA!!!" She screeched, nearly hopping out of the woman's arms once the grip was loosened. Emelia flinched as all attention was suddenly on her as Angie darted towards her, and she kneeled to meet the doll in a light embrace before picking her up.

"We... We didn't think you'd make it..." the woman said quietly, her voice wavering from a mix of anxiety and fear as Moreau suddenly scuttled forward to follow the doll.

"Oh Emmy, where were you?? Are you ok???" The man said, instantly grabbing her other hand as Angie clung to her shoulders. The poor thing was almost as beaten as Karl, but he was still standing even with the green-ish red blood that covered his back and face. She managed a small smile to reassure him.

"I'm... I'm alright... I'm here." she said. She then looked up at Alcina, who's face had twisted into a strange mix of relief and confusion. "Where are the girls...?"

"With Duke." The woman said simply, though there was a clear amount of worry that appeared more on her face. "I only trust they will be safe with him, as much as I would like them to stay home..."

Emelia nodded.

"Good... Good. He knows where to go. Even I can promise they will be safe and away from this mess." She assured, and the tall woman seemed to let out a breath of full relief. She then looked to the side as she heard footsteps approach closer, only to see the stunned face of Ethan as he limped towards them.

"You..." he said, his own voice a mixture of confusion and caution. "I thought you said-"

"Save it, you bloody prick." She growled lowly. "I have a job to do, and you won't stop me from doing it..."

The other Lords were silent as she glared at him lightly, and he lifted his hands slowly in a surrendering motion while taking a step back.

"I won't. You made your point before." He spoke simply, and she nodded.

"Good..."

Her tone eased slightly as Donna approached on her other side for Angie. Alcina was the first to speak, her now suspicious gaze flicking between her and Winters.

"And, dare I ask... Where is that buffoon? Heisenberg?" She asked, the corner of her mouth twitching as Emelia flinched and Ethan began to speak.

"He's-"

"He's resting." Emelia interrupted quickly, glaring at him again with a silent warning. Another look of confusion entered the mans beaten features.

"But I saw him, he-"

"Leave it, you ignorant wanker." She snarled. "He is resting from his injuries that you had no help in. He's fine."

"But he was dead!!"

The words tumbled out of Ethans mouth before he could stop them despite the clear warning tone in her voice, and a sudden dead silence fell over them. The trio of Lords looked at him as Emelias face went slightly pale.

"D-... Dead...?" Donna nearly whispered, her voice that of mild horror as she stared at him with a wide eye. Ethan shook his head almost frantically, looking to Emelia with his own pale jolt.

"I-... It wasn't me who killed him...!! It was Miranda-"

"But you beat him to the point of weakness even more severe than them!! You LET him die by her hands!!" Emelia growled, her lip curling just slightly. She took an angry step towards him, feeling that small rage bubble up once more. "Had you listened to us, had you even bloody ASKED, he'd be HERE right now instead of-"

"Thats enough!!" Alcina raised her voice suddenly, causing the five heads to turn to her. She turned to Emelia. "If Winters claims he is dead, than how is he alive, according to you?" She asked, and her face fell immediately. "Not that I'd completely believe a man-thing, but he's managed to convince us all of his motives thus far, even by... questionable means..."

"I saw Miranda kill him...!" Ethan said, looking back at Emelia as well, who now looked mildly uncomfortable. "She tore him apart before she got to me. How the fuck is he still alive??"

More silence. All eyes were on her now, and an explanation for the given situation all but demanded simply by looks alone. She looked at them one by one, feeling her breaths become quick and panicked as her mind raced... and then her gaze fell upon Moreau.

Moreau, the only one who had known all those years ago, told a lie to save their skins. Moreau, the one who she knew would have kept the secret, who would have helped them if he could, chased off by anxieties and fear.

Moreau, the one she knew would be the most hurt if she told them all the truth now given the circumstances... but she had to.

She had no choice now.

She shook her head, taking a shaky breath and reaching to rub the back of her neck.

"He was... revived." She said finally, her voice quiet with a nervous tremble. She was met by silence once more, followed immediately by confusion.

"What do you mean 'revived'??" Ethan said, and she frowned.

"I mean exactly that." She spoke, attempting to regain what little confidence she had but failing. She froze as Moreau squeezed her hand.

"Revived... how??" The fish man asked, and she swallowed hard. She stared at the ground for a moment in attempt to think, only finally looking at him with a sad smile.

"By our son." She admitted quietly.

Ethan stared at her, slowly putting the pieces together in his head and the realization settling in his features.

"Wait, you mean... that kid in the factory...? Heisenbergs kid?" Ethan asked, his eyes widening. "You're his..."

"Yes, you bloody idiot. Who else would I have been speaking of when I begged for our bloody lives??" She snapped, only calming down as the fish Lord jumped next to her. She glanced at her friend briefly before returning to the man, keeping her gaze on Ethan hard, but steady. She watched as his face fell, and he took a step back. A small gasp was heard from Donna, and Alcinas brows raised. But she turned her gaze to Moreau, who's confusion grew almost exponentially as he listened.

"He is resting alongside Karl, as he should be..." Her voice suddenly dropped, a proud, calm expression on her face as she lifted her chin. "His power is greater than ours. More potent, even without a Cadou, though we are unsure how... Potent enough to save his father and still stand. He is far more capable than the two of us combined, but he's only a child... We won't let him fight."

"You had another baby??" Moreau asked suddenly, making her flinch while followed by a disbelieving scoff from Alcina.

"'Another'?!" The tall woman said, and the dollmaker whimpered.

"... There was... a first...?" She said quietly, as if events from years prior were suddenly clicking on her mind. Alcina crossed her arms.

"And when would we have learned of this information?!"

Emelia shook her head, waving her off just slightly.

"N-No, no... He isn't 'another', he was the only one... I..." she tried, feeling their eyes burn into her skin. She attempted to find the words, only to sigh and let her hand fall from Moreaus grip. She went quiet, her gaze falling to the ground once more.

"... I lied, Salvatore..." She whispered finally, heavy guilt evident in her voice as the confused- and now somewhat betrayed- stares made an unpleasant chill race up her spine. "I lied when I told you it was gone..."

He stared at her.

"... what...?"

The small squeak in his voice made her flinch.

"It wasn't my idea, and I regretted it every bloody day afterwards... Hated myself for it for years." she continued, looking up at him again to see a nearly hurt expression in the mans face. Fuck... "It was Karls suggestion, but... I agreed to it out of fear, even though I questioned it." She frowned. "I didn't want to lie to you, Sal... But we had to make sure she didn't find out. Every precaution had to have been taken to get this chance, to make sure she didn't rip it from me... And I listened to him."

"... I wouldn't have told her..." the man replied quietly, taking another step back. "I promised..."

"I... I-I know, Sal... I know, and I'm sorry..."she tried, kneeling down just slightly to stay level with him. "But she would have gotten suspicious if I continued to go to you, or bloody god forbid Heisenberg let you in often to check on me..." her voice was torn, that of regret and apology. "She would have known the moment she saw me... I couldn't have even gone to the surface and risk one of her damned birds catching that scent... Even the Lycans would have been tailing me."

The man was silent as she spoke, but nodded slowly as he let her words seep in. It seemed like he understood, but the hurt in his mangled face still sent a massive wave of guilt through her chest, amplifying it completely.

"It's not your fault, Sal. It was different than the shifting of Cadou effects..." she tried, earning another round of confused stares from the other two women. "I could hide that... Hell, I still can. But I couldn't hide the pregnancy... It changed me far too much, far too quickly. She would have known if she saw me a month later after we found out, and we couldn't risk anything... I didn't want to lose a chance at what I wanted for so long due to her selfish needs. I didn't want her destroying this chance like she had so many times before."

Her voice remained quiet as she spoke, the attention still causing shivers... But Moreau soon nodded, shifting slightly on his feet.

"I understand..." the fish Lord muttered, putting his hands together and fiddling with his fingers. He was quiet again before looking at her with the smallest spark of hope in the dark sea gaze. "What's his name...?"

He seemed to relax as she gave a warm smile.

"Adalwulf." She replied quietly. "He's 10 now... He was born healthy, and he's all I could have ever wanted."

"Adalwulf..." the man tried, struggling slightly with the name, but managing well. He seemed to ponder a moment before he managed a small smile and nodded. "I like that name..."

Emelia gave a quiet chuckle.

"He reminds me of his father, in the best possible way... he's a fine young man already." She held out her hand for him, relieved as he did the same. She held it tightly. "He's a kind boy... Always has been since he could walk and speak. I would love for you to finally meet him after this... I talk about all of you quite a bit."

Moreau opened his mouth to speak with a small growing excitement, but stopped as a small rumbling was heard. The group was startled as yet another mass of black mold tendrils erupted from the ground beside them, and Ethan cleared his throat.

"Look, I'm sorry to interrupt..." H started, gesturing to them. "This is... nice and all... But we need to hurry. I need to get my daughter back..." He looked at Emelia, "And you have a kid to raise."

She went quiet, but nodded as her demeanor changed almost instantly. Her expression hardened and she felt her parasite squirm in her chest, making her arm tremble just slightly in an oddly excited anticipation.

"And Miranda needs to die." She growled. Ethan nodded.

"At least we can still agree on something..." He muttered, simply looking at the other Lords. "We need a plan, and we need one quick..."

They looked at each other, their minds clearly working. Alcina frowned.

"We mustn't go in recklessly." She said. "Even I know she is powerful, even more so when desperate."

Ethan nodded.

"I got that..." he sighed, looking at the mold. "Any suggestions?"

There was silence for a moment as Emelia walked to him, joining his side as she examined the tendrils surrounding them. It only took her a few moments until something clicked, and she suddenly turned to them.

"I have an idea..." She said, earning looks once more. "It'll sound mad, and it's of the utmost importance that we're all careful... especially us." She looked at the three Lords before them as well as gesturing to herself. "But it may be insane enough to work."

Ethan looked between them, though nodded as they huddled together once more.

"Alright then. Let's hear it."

#Metalworks Survival AU #Metalworks fanfiction #re8 Metalworks #oc #resident evil #resident evil village #re8 #resident evil oc #resident evil village oc #re8 oc #heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x oc #heisenberg x oc kid #karl heisenberg x oc kid #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil village fanfiction #re8 fanfiction #lovelywingsocs #ethan winters #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #angie beneviento #salvatore moreau

[pppuffin]

HIIIII I LOVE YOUR ART ITS SO CUTEE also if you’re comfortable i’d love to hear that little au you thought of that you mentioned 👀 totally up to you though i’m just losing my mind a bit about how cool you are

WHAT WHAT WAIWAIT HII OH MY GOD ITS YOU THANK YOU SMSMM??? AND YOURE GIVING ME AN OPPORTUNITY TO TALK ABOUT MY SILLY LITTLE AU? TUMBLR USER MOURNINGSTARMACE YOU ARE TOO TOO KIND 😭😭😭🫶

MY AU MAY BE EXTREMELY CHEESY AND ITS STILL HIGHLY IN THE WORKS BUT the idea that I had is that Anastasia’s (the oc I made) power fully develops but she doesn’t make for a good vessel so she’s just. Stuck with Heisenberg now. For better or for worse who knows. Her powers are more or less like Heisenberg’s but noticeably weaker. She’s also got some chronic pain now but that surely won’t be an issue later ahaha

It sorta blends right into the plot of re8 but she ends up helping Ethan here and there (at the request of Heisenberg himself.) But ooo Heisenberg’s deal is different he just kinda wants to get both himself and the kid the hell out of the village (by killing Miranda ofc) and kinda makes Ethan help him. I think it’s like a “I’ll help you save your thing if you help me save my thing.” ordeal. Heisenberg has gone soft is what I’m trying to convey

Also sort of made an epilogue where both Heisenberg and them live and they both awkwardly try to fit back into society (it’s not going well for them.) Not sure where I wanna go with it but I have some notes written down for it :p

Things will definitely change for it cause it’s still very much new and other things have kept me busy, but that’s what I’ve got so far! Thank you so so much for all your kind wordsss 🥹🥹

I SAW YOU HAVE AN RESIDENT EVIL CHARACTER TOO AND MAY I SAY THEY ARE SO SO COOOOL UGUHUUU their design has a GRIP ON ME

#STILL FREAKING OUT HHHH #YOUVE MADE MY WHOLE WEEK GOOD PERSON

[saintsofwarding]

BURIAL

Chapter 11

(You know it's gonna hurt. Don't you?)

"It's...it's not true. I know it's not."

(Don't be stupid, Donna. Everyone leaves you except me. Everyone betrays you. And it always hurts)

"Even you?"

(Silly Donna. I'll never betray you. I only want what's best for you)

"No you don't. She's what's best for me. She makes me feel-"

(Don't you dare say whole)

"She makes me feel in control."

(You think control is what you need? The guilt will eat you alive! Your dreams protect you, dummy! You won't be able to handle living when they're gone)

"And neither will you."

(Careful, Donna. I can put you somewhere far away. You know I can. You said it yourself. I'm stronger than you. But-)

A brush of porcelain fingers, cold as a corpse's.

(-we're so much stronger together)

"She's not working for Mother."

(They all work for Mother)

"Not like that! She's not her spy. She can't be, she can't, she helped me, she stayed. She came back-" Her thoughts scrambled and stuttered. She rose and paced back and forth and back and forth. The well yawned before her, its depths endless. It might have gone down forever. "She cares about me. She's not like Violeta- she accepts me. All of me."

(Silly little mouse. Caught in a trap)

"Shut up shut up shut up shut up-" She reached up, grabbing fistfuls of her own hair. Strands broke off between her fingers like wires. The tentacles on her face began to writhe and slap against her own skin, responding to her agitation. The pressure in her head built. She gripped tighter as her voice rose to a scream. "-Stop stop stop stop, I'm not listening, I don't hear you-"

(Yes you do)

"No I don't!"

(Yes you do, yes you doooo)

"No no no!" She slammed her fists into the wall, hard enough she felt her palms split and shear open on the rough stone. Blood trickled down her arms, twisting into her flesh. Her palms grew warm. She knew without looking they'd already begun to heal over. "No! No! No! Bad girl, bad Angie, bad ME!"

She railed and screamed and beat the walls and when she was done, her throat raw and scraped, she turned and collapsed back against the stones, breathing hard, clutching at her upper arms. A strangled keen escaped her, a weird animal sound, echoing through the darkness. The pulse inside her head went on, sickening, comforting.

Angie drifted before her like a small ghost. She nudged Donna, who opened her arms to let the doll settle in them.

(She doesn't know the half of it yet. It'll be just like last time, that ridiculous blonde creature with her stupid little shoes. You can't change the past, Donna. No matter how hard you try. Even if she showed you differently, it's only a dream)

"I can't hurt her," Donna whispered. A warm tear streaked down her face.

Angie leaned forward and licked it from her cheek. She chattered her teeth. (You won't have to. You have me)

Donna hugged the doll to her chest, half-wishing she could drop her down the well and watch the darkness swallow her.

"And what would I do," she whispered. "Without you?"

(You'll see)

(They always betray you)

(And we always have to kill them. Each and every one)

***

Elena heaved aside a heap of old furniture in the attic and found it. It stared back at her, lenses filmed with dust and tinged green. She'd seen a few around the village, left over from a great war that had, a long time ago, raged beyond the valley's borders, a war that Miranda had claimed to have protected the Black God's followers from, keeping the horrors of the outside world at bay.

A gas mask. She'd never worn one, but she knew its function- some of the workers Lord Heisenberg employed at the uppermost levels of his factory, processing the junkyard detritus he unearthed from the land around his domain, were issued the same sort. This one looked to be in much worse repair, its leather strap cracked and peeling, its olive green casing scarred-up. But, examining it, Elena found no holes in it, and when she fit it over her face and inhaled, the air tasted musty, hissing in through its strange elongated filter.

Let's hope it'll be enough.

She removed it and set it in a basket, along with the other things she'd gathered from the shack out in the garden. A set of long chains, and a pair of manacles, secured with a stout padlock.

Elena climbed down the ladder. She descended the stairs. Her shadow crept beside her, silent on the gleaming wood walls.

Donna waited below, Angie in her arms.

"I...I don't know," Donna began.

"It's going to work."

"If it doesn't, she'll kill you," Donna said. She squeezed Angie tighter. "She's told me. She'll hurt you. She'll trap you so deep inside yourself you'll never find a way out."

"So fight her."

"I'm not-"

"You'll have to be. If you want this to end." Elena gripped her hand, tight. "It's okay. We're in this together."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Donna nodded, her brow creased. She stood aside, showing the curious objects she'd assembled on the small table by the rocking chair. A collection of long taper candles. A lighter engraved with a strange many-headed beast. A black mirror, small as the palm of a hand, and so highly-polished it seemed like a perfect darker double of the world. A sprig of yellow flowers in a vase.

Elena heard her small inhale.

"It was easier," Donna said. "To be dead. To be a part of the dreams, not the dreamer. It was like sleeping forever. I told myself none of it was real. But now I must wake up."

"Some say the whole world is a dream," Elena said. "The Black God's dream. Or that we're all heading toward its dreams when we die."

"So then I really have been dead all these years."

"Then you're even more miraculous than I thought," Elena told her. "It's easy to die. Harder to return from death."

Donna faced her. The look on her face had changed. Still afraid, of course. Still so afraid, that nameless fear that was the undercurrent of all their lives, and yet something in it had settled. For the first time, Elena saw resolve in her single eye.

Donna reached forward, suddenly, and caught her by the hand. "Elena," she said.

"We should get-"

"Hush," Donna whispered, and leaned forward, drawing her hand up Elena's arm, to her cheek. Drawing her face to her lips.

Her mouth brushed Elena's.

Cold, still. Just a touch.

Once, twice.

And then again. Elena's hand came up to hold Donna's face, pulling her to her; the touch of her lips became something harder, became a kiss like falling. Her fingers in Donna's hair; Donna's hands at her face, cupping her jaw, pulling her in.

Her strange cold skin took on Elena's heat as she touched her. Finally, she felt alive. Her mouth tasted bittersweet like her flowers, the faint writhe of her face against Elena's somehow, against all odds, exactly what she wanted to feel.

She wouldn't have it any other way. Wouldn't have Donna any other way than this, now, monstrous and bitter and warm in her arms.

She pulled back, a little. Elena's lips felt bruised, her face flushed; Donna's eye was bright as she looked at her and gave a nod.

"Now we get started," she said.

"Yes, my lady," Elena told her, and at last Donna broke out in the smile she'd been waiting for, full and sweet, nothing held back.

She pressed her hand to Elena's chest, then turned, gathering up the candles. She gave half to Elena, and, together, they traced out a circle on the floor, around the rocking chair. Elena lit them one by one, and soon the darkened hall was full of their light, a sphere of flicker and glow that threw strange shadows on the far walls, made them seem to leap and dance as if they had minds of their own. Elena dropped the lighter in her pocket as Donna took a seat in the rocking chair.

Slowly, methodically, she lay the other objects down at the pointed toes of her boots. The polished black mirror, laying on the rug like a thing cut out of night, and, by its side, the vase with the sprig of yellow flowers.

Pollen drifted in the gloom and underlit Donna's face, throwing harsh shadow over the fine lines of cheekbone and jaw and eye socket. Elena imagined she could see the shape of Donna's skull beneath the skin, and shivered, at once cold.

Donna exhaled, settling Angie in her lap.

The candle flames lengthened, reaching toward the ceiling, long enough to snap.

"Now," Donna whispered.

Elena took up the chains. One manacle went around Donna's wrist; the other went around Angie's midsection. She wound the long chains around and around them both, around the rocking chair.

"Tighter," Donna told her. "I can escape this."

"I don't want-"

"Tighter," Donna hissed. In her lap, Angie's teeth began to chitter, her porcelain fingers clicking against one another.

Elena pulled the chains tighter; their links bit deep into Donna's clothes, leaving smears of rust on the black taffeta. Donna closed her eye; her lips fluttered.

The candle flames spat and flickered.

The padlock clicked in place. Throat tight, Elena knelt before Donna and touched her cheek. "Hey," she said. "You still there?"

"I'm here."

"Good." Elena stood back. "Okay. What now?"

The air pressure dropped. The temperature plunged; her breath became visible in the air, and a high scream sounded in the back of her skull, a buzz-saw through bone. She gasped and flinched, but stayed rigid, stayed where she was.

It's not real. None of it is real.

"You..."

Elena looked down. Donna's voice scraped from her. "You...know this will never work..."

"So prove me wrong. Come on."

"I'm...not strong enough...we...we're stronger together, she tells me so..." A burst of manic laughter escaped her. "She whispers to me at night, all about you, all about the way your skin tastes, the salt off its surface..."

"Come on, Angie, don't be disgusting," Elena said. Her hands tightened into fists at her sides. "Donna, you can fight it. Fight her."

"You don't get it. How can we look in a mirror and not see our whole selves?" Another course of laughter. It echoed around Elena, circling her; she heard pattering footsteps, the scrape of porcelain against wood. A sharp metallic ring, like a chorus of knives drawn.

Whispering.

Little tiny voices.

The dolls are watching.

She saw them staring from the windows of the dollhouse.

Something's inside.

"Break the mirror," Donna-Angie said. "Break the mirror and keep your eyes on what you can see in front of you. Break it and you never have to cry again. Break it all and forget!"

"Don't listen to her, Donna," Elena commanded.

Donna screamed; the sound tore from her, a physical force; it raked through Elena, shaking the foundations of the house. Wood creaked, walls groaning, dust sifting from the ceiling as Donna howled and twisted in her chair. The chain links strained and screeched. In her lap Angie woke, a malevolent light glittering in her eyes, kicking up her limbs as she twisted in turn against the manacle holding her in place.

"Not fair!" she screeched. She slapped at the manacle. "Not! Fair! You don't play nice, Lupu, not nice at all!" "Well, you started it." Elena pushed forward; her limbs shook, joints turned to water. It took effort, like walking against a ferocious wind. Another wave of screams burst from Donna, black liquid spurting down the sides of her mouth, dripping from her eyes and onto the floor. It writhed like worms. The black mirror shone in the candlelight, searing-bright. "Don't make me smash you into bad memories."

"And kill Donna?" The doll lowered her head. "You wouldn't do that, now, would you?"

"It wouldn't-"

"Oh, yes, it would." Her mouth fell open. "Ohhh, poor Elena. Thinking you might be able to...what? Save her from herself? Save that sad severed little piece of Donna Beneviento from the big bad monster made by her mind? Well, tough luck, sweetie! You get the whole deal...or you get nothing! Nothing, nothing, nothing!"

"Donna," Elena called. "Donna, listen to me. She's nothing. You said it yourself, she's just an old doll your father made, and you're all grown up now. You don't need her anymore. Tell her to go! Tell her to go away so far she'll never get out again!"

"Nothing, nothing, nothing." Angie had made a little song out of the word. "Nothing, nothing, nothing at all. Shhh."

Donna slumped backward, suddenly, her face so covered with black liquid Elena couldn't see her skin anymore; her neck was twisted back at a painful angle.

No- Elena stepped forward, heart pounding, but- her hands were still moving, twitching on the chair arms.

She stopped, breathing hard. Don't fall for it. Don't lose control.

Angie tittered. "Baby's sleeping."

"Donna," Elena said, between clenched teeth. "This is...this is just light, it's just memories. Like the projector. It isn't real."

"You're lying."

"I'm not-"

"You are. I know you are. You can't love her. You're going to leave her. Everyone does. You have to understand that I'm the only one she needs." Angie leaned forward as far as the manacle would allow. "You have to get that she's too weak for anything else."

Elena took a sharp breath. It hurt. The walls shimmered around her; on the edges, in the back of her mind, waited golden sunlight.

Donna was retreating. She'd regress again, so far away that Elena couldn't reach her. Reality was agony; that place, that dream, was far easier. Again and again she'd gone there, retreated there, leaving the rest of herself to wreak nightmares on the world beyond the borders of her mind.

She'd killed, Elena understood. She didn't know how many. She'd visited horrors on the innocent, on Violeta. On her. And still she couldn't leave her. Still she stayed, her body shaking with terror, not of Donna but for her, wishing she could go to her again and kiss her face and see if she'd wake up that way.

She wouldn't. Elena had run out of options. Only the truth remained.

I'm sorry.

"It was Miranda," she said.

Angie's mouth snapped shut.

"It was Miranda," Elena said again. Heat welled in her eyes; her throat was so tight she felt like she was being strangled. "Miranda...sent me here to spy on you. Or she would have killed me and my father. I...I could only think of him...too scared for anything else. And, saints, I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry, Donna, I told her about you. About you not being able to control your powers. About...what you told me, your secrets, your fears..."

Donna was lifting her head, black liquid streaming from her. Her eye was wide, shining. Angie began to laugh, low and dark.

"You did?" Donna whispered.

Elena couldn't speak. Tears streamed down her face as she nodded.

"It's true?"

She nodded again.

This time, Donna's scream tore through her like knives. The house erupted into darkness, a storm of screams and howls and shattering, the shadows rising in monstrous form, wolves and witches and nameless things with too many claws, too many eyes, crawling toward the ring of light as if they might extinguish it.

But Elena was ready. She was fast. She'd gotten fast.

She slammed the gas mask over her face and tugged the straps tight. It sealed around her face, and her next inhale tasted not of bittersweet flowers but stale air, swirling through her lungs. Nausea rippled through her; she doubled over and retched a mouthful of black slime into the gas mask. It spattered the inside of the glass, but it didn't writhe like before, no, didn't move at all.

Breathing hard, straightening, Elena stared out through the mask. It was already accumulating a rime of yellowish dust. That must have been the pollen. The house wasn't a chamber of nightmares anymore, just a hall with a ring of candles on the floor, and, before her, twisting and tearing at her chains:

Donna.

Her hair had come loose and hung around her shoulders in lank ropes, veins standing out against her pale face as she screamed and shrieked, black tears streaming from her eyes, the doll on her lap yelling abuse at Elena.

"Cheater!" she screeched.

"You shut up," Elena snapped at the doll. She looked at Donna. "I said I wouldn't leave you. I'm not lying. I know you'll get loose from those chains eventually. And when you do..."

She swallowed.

"Whatever you choose to do, I'm still gonna help you," Elena told her. "I trust you. I love you. Hold on."

She turned, already tugging the keys from her bodice, and ran. Down the darkened hallway, straight for the elevator.

Straight for the basement.

***

(You see? You SEE?)

"This isn't funny anymore, Angie!"

(Oh, I'm funny? How flattering)

"Just leave me alone..."

(To mourn? Poor Donna. I know you thought she'd be the answer to your loneliness but your answer was right in front of you all along...)

"I...I don't care."

Angie's eyes sprang wide. She drifted before Donna in the murky darkness, lace veil billowing around her.

(What)

"You can't bully me anymore."

(How dare you talk to me like that. After all I've done for you!)

"I...I know. And I used to need it. I used to want it. But I know now I can survive alone. And I don't care what you say."

They faced one another, now, like they had so many times before. The echoes of Donna's hoarse voice spilled around them, surrounding them. Surrounding her; for the first time in a long time her heartbeat spiked- not from fear, but from anger.

No: rage.

It boiled through her, a white-hot sear through her veins. Rage against Elena, against Miranda, against her parents, against her own weakness and silence and terrors. She wouldn't turn it against herself, not this time. Angie wasn't the issue here. Angie was a part of herself, always had been, a part she'd rather not face. But now here Angie was, looking her in the eye, commanding her body like a puppet. She saw, dully, as if watching a badly tuned television, her own body twisting and screaming in the chair, throwing herself against her chains so hard they'd leave bruises. Felt Angie's righteous hatred against Elena standing before her, dark eyes wide and focused on her with a ferocity Donna hadn't seen for a long time. If she had, ever.

She was so beautiful. She'd become so beautiful to her.

Fight it, Donna, she said. Come on. Fight it. Was it real? It didn't matter.

(No, Donna. She betrayed you. Now do to her what you did to everyone else you loved. Feel nothing. It's safer that way)

"I can't..."

(Let me do it. Let me hurt them. I can dream up tortures that would make even Dimitrescu shudder, just you wait and see! Prisons of nightmares. Endless. Glittering. Full of teeth. You know I can. I'll keep you safe)

"I...I don't need you to protect me."

(Don't do this, Donna!) A note of panic entered the voice. The sound of it changed, becoming more childlike, less sinister, a little girl's voice crying out for her. Claudia's voice. (Please, please don't do this to us-)

"No." Donna grabbed the doll in both hands. She writhed and gnashed her teeth but she hung on as tight as she could.

"I," she said, through grit teeth, "Don't. Need. You. Anymore!"

Angie began to laugh. The sound eclipsed the echoes of Donna's voice, the flare of her defiance burning through her; the darkness pressed in, twining up Donna's skirt and over her skin like tendrils of black mold. The doll's eyes gleamed as she leaned in.

(Little Dolly Donna. Then you leave me no choice)

She realized it an instant too slow. A call. An echo ringing down the mycelial connection that weaved around her, a web across the whole of the village, a web that connected them all. Donna, more so than most. And wasn't Angie a part of her?

"Angie, no," Donna choked, but it was too late.

(Better tidy up, Donna.

Mother's coming)

***

Elena didn't dare remove the gas mask. Tears dripped down her face, salty on her lips. She tried to steady her breathing, slow her heartbeat.

Just stay calm.

The elevator slid downward, downward, the rumble of its mechanism shuddering in Elena's gut.

Just keep going.

The sound of Donna's screams and Angie's cackling had long-since faded, and the silence had rushed in, the loudest noise that of Elena's too-fast heartbeat, thudding in her ears like a ceremony drumbeat.

She'd spat up a couple more mouthfuls of black liquid. It smelled floral. Was that the pollen's effect on her body? She had no doubt spores were deep in her brain, now. Maybe...maybe Donna had retracted her control once she'd put on the gas mask. Maybe a tiny part of her had recognized that Elena wanted to help her, and had relinquished control over her.

It was a small hope, a foolhardy one, but Elena would hang onto it with everything she had. She'd believe it.

Down, and down, and down, into the depths. The weight pressed on her mind, a surface tension easily snapped. The air chilled, like before, and the darkness came up to meet her, and then the light slid up from her feet to her scalp and the elevator was grinding to a halt with the wheeze of gears. Ding, it went.

Elena slid open the gate. Her first step creaked on the dusty floor. She paced ahead, past the door to the study, past the door that was locked. She tried it again, and it creaked open at a push. Inside was a storage room, shelves full of an enviable stock of fabrics, filing boxes, broken furniture, stacks upon stacks of old film reels for the projector. Nothing moved in the shadows; nothing was out of place.

Elena moved on. Her shadow moved alongside her. She felt a faint rumble underfoot- water? Surely not the falls, this far down. How far belowground was she, anyway? She'd tried to count during her descent but lost the numbers after she reached fifty. Deep in the cliffside.

That's where the Black God lives, the priests had said in church, once, reading from Miranda's tomes and treatise. Far, far below us, for the world is its womb, and the divine is birthed in its endless dreams.

These didn't feel like divine realms to Elena. The air was damp, crawling against her skin. Black mold dripped down the walls, infecting the antique furniture, the comfortable chairs, worsening the further down the hall Elena went. Deeper, deeper. She kept track of the hallways, the turns, but it all looked the same, whitewash and wood panels, gloom and flickering lights held within glass sconces on the walls. She passed the phone on its stand. It didn't ring. She hurried by and on, turning a corner, facing a hallway so pitch-black she could not see more than an arm's length ahead, even with the lit sconce behind her.

Her breathing quickened. The darkness seemed to shift before her- movement? Her fear making monsters where there were none? She reached for her flashlight and clicked it on. It illuminated, harshly, the whitewashed corridor, the darkened sconces, the cracked floorboards. Something skittered away from the light. She shone it up and flinched.

It glanced off doors. A pair of them, heavy wood with brass handles.

Elena clenched her teeth. There's nothing here. All your nightmares, they were inside you the whole time. A mirror, remember?

But still she felt it. Like a memory, forgotten. A terrible act, remembered not by her mind but with her body, with her nerves and her breath and the drone of dread in her gut. A weight, deep inside. A weight, warping the world around it out of shape, so heavy it pulled all things toward it.

Somehow, her foot moved. She stepped into the darkness. The sound of her breathing quickened inside the gas mask, the haze of pollen thickening on its lenses. The doors came closer. One was cracked, a gap of light shining from the far side.

She pulled open the doors.

Elena remembered this room. She'd seen it only through a haze of drugs and pain, when she'd first glimpsed Donna without her veil. Arm flayed open, being stitched back together. A low-ceilinged stone room, walls supported with rock arches. An ogre's kitchen from a fairy tale. The table was there, stout wood scarred like a butcher's block. From racks on the ceiling hung not corpse limbs but half-finished dolls, some missing eyes, some limbs, some their clothes, naked and sexless. Others were just heads, their wire armatures dangling below them like viscera. On shelves around the room waited doll parts, a sewing machine, a workbench arranged with paints and colorless glass eyes.

Through a bank of windows to her left Elena saw, lit with a blinding greenish light, what looked like a medical room, brown glass jars of chemicals lined up on counters, syringes and scalpels gleaming hungrily.

Something waited there, on a steel tray, on the countertop. A gleam of gold.

Elena moved closer. She stepped into the greenish light and stopped, staring down at the thing in the tray.

It was hair. A long, braided hank of blonde hair, attached to a scrap of bloody skin. The braid was secured with a red ribbon.

Violeta's hair.

The dread deepened. Elena felt it in her chest, on the back of her throat. Her heart pounded. Her nerves trembled, on the verge of fraying.

No. Don't you dare lose your nerve now. She could still be down here. Somewhere. She could still be alive.

Elena backed from the medical room, turned from the workshop, and stepped down an adjoining corridor. The hallway changed around her, transitioning from whitewashed walls to stout stone, slick with damp. The lights were now naked bulbs on wires, buzzing, releasing a faint wash of amber light that rendered all shadow twice as dark.

Strange objects waited on shelves. Broken dolls and odd little ornaments, music boxes covered in grime as if unearthed from a grave. Primitive statuettes with pits for eyes, carved from wood or crystal.

Elena clicked on her flashlight. It hit a door before her. This was different than the rest of the place. It looked ancient, wood warped and blackened, clinging to dark iron hinges that spiraled like goat's horns. The handle was dark iron, too, and carved into the door's center was the Beneviento moon and sun. It looked, like the statuettes, more primitive than Elena had seen before, as if this place was far older than the rest of the house. It looked older than anything Elena had ever seen before. Was this part of whatever had come before the house? Whatever had rested on this land centuries in the past?

She didn't know. But she recognized the metal of the handle, of the empty lock below. She reached for the keys around her neck and for the first time took up the small iron one, the key Violeta had seen fit to hide away.

It fit and turned. The lock dropped with a heavy thud. Elena felt it in the pit of her stomach. The hinges sang as she pushed the door wide, as it fell open to complete darkness.

She'd thought she'd seen dark before. Nothing like this. Nothing like this emptiness. Away, and away, echoes fanning into the void. She lifted her flashlight before it overtook her. Steps stretched downward, a descent into a black pit. Hand-chiseled, flagstone, slick with damp and years of grime. The dread deepened to a pulse.

You can't do it.

She did. Her foot slid onto the first step, and she kept going. Down, and down, and down. Her flashlight beam flickered; she gave the flashlight a smack and it steadied. Was it dimmer than before? It's your mind playing tricks. She couldn't let the fear win.

On and on through the wending halls.

The heavy mineral smell of the place was thick in her head, even through the gas mask. The smell of a deep world, decomposed.

Soon her hands and feet were numb. She kept going. Water dripped from somewhere ahead. An end to this purgatory of stairs?

Don't look back.

The flashlight beam caught on the jagged arch of an empty doorway and the slimy flagstones of whatever lay beyond. Elena stepped from the last stair and onto flat stone. Dust drifted in the air. Echoes plashed around her. She heard, again, water, and felt the humidity of the air on her bare hands.

The walls curved inward. A circular room? In the middle, something rose from the floor- a low stone wall?

No. A well.

Elena's breath caught. She stepped closer. It opened before her, a mouth, an empty eye. A yawning circle of perfect blackness. Rusty rungs were bolted into its sides. Elena moved to its edge, then stopped. Her flashlight beam had touched something on the far side of the room. Something slumped. A flash of gold.

She lifted the beam.

For a moment she wasn't sure what she was looking at. A mannequin, surely. Its white legs were sprawled, one bare foot twisted to the side. Fine black lines circled its ankles, its knees. Elena's gaze traveled up the legs, past the long skirt embroidered with red silk flowers. The matching bodice, the dangling, boneless arms, the hands curled against the floor. The head, twisted sharply to the side. Long ringlets of blonde hair fell around its face.

Glass eyes stared off into nothing.

"V...Violeta?" Elena whispered.

It was her. But it was a doll, too. Those weren't lines on her limbs, they were joints, as if each part of her body had been disarticulated and put back together. Her skin was glossy like porcelain, two red circles painted on her cheeks. Her hinged mouth hung open, her eyes wide and sightless, one cracked down the middle.

Elena began to shake. No. No. The doll's chest was split open as if with an axe chop. A curled, tentacled shape waited inside. Maybe it had once been fleshy, fetal, but now it was white crystal, glimmering amidst patches of sticky dried gore.

Elena couldn't move. She felt locked in place, unable to so much as breathe. Somewhere, her mind screamed at her to run, get out. But all she could do was stand, locked in place, and stare at the thing slumped there against the wall, half-waiting for it to move.

But it wouldn't, would it? Violeta had said so herself, in her journals. Donna had tried to give her the gift. And the gift had rejected her.

"Poor, poor Violeta."

A lightning-sear. A crack through Elena's whole system. It brought her back to life, broke her paralysis. She whirled. The flashlight beam fell on Angie and Donna, standing in the doorway behind her.

"What did you do to her?" Elena's voice grated from her throat.

"To her? Tried to save her, ungrateful thing. She saw Donna's face and oooh, didn't like that very much. So shallow." Angie chattered her teeth as she raked her hand down the cracked side of her face. "Called us a monster. So I showed her what monsters do. I showed her Claudia. Just to scare her. And it did!"

She let out a cackle. "We thought she was gone for good but she came back. Said she wanted to talk. But talk was not what she wanted, oh, no. She had a knife, smuggled out in her skirts, and she almost got us, too. Nasty, nasty. So we showed her something else scary and in the struggle and the screaming she fell down the stairs and cracked her head right open."

Angie shrugged.

"So...Donna gave her a piece of her gift," she went on. "It didn't work. She didn't come back to life. But look at her now! Isn't she pretty?"

"It-" Elena's mind raced. "It wasn't you, then. It was only a mistake. She wasn't supposed to die, was she?"

She looked at Donna, holding Angie, silent behind her black veil. "None of it was your fault! Not your parents and not Violeta. You wanted to save them all-"

"Not our fault?" Angie's shriek echoed off the walls. "I'll show you what's our fault! I'll show you right now!"

She sprang from Donna's arms and into the air, smacking into Elena and hanging on with hooked porcelain fingers. She was surprisingly heavy; Elena screamed and swung round, but the doll clenched down. She felt her scrabble at the back of Elena's gas mask, felt the gnawing of sharp little teeth-

"Get off me!" She swung round again, for the wall this time, hoping to scrape the little monster off, but-

Oh, saints-

Cold air rushed over her face. She held her breath, but maybe it was too late, maybe breathing it didn't matter. Maybe it had been in her all along.

The dream rippled before her, through her, and she slumped as Angie leapt from her and back to Donna's waiting arms.

Elena panted, breathing lungfuls of the pollen-filled air. What was the difference now? She lifted her eyes to Donna, understanding. A hole in the world. A weight that pulled all things down with it.

"You killed Claudia," she said.

#resident evil village #re8 #re8 fanfiction #re8 fic #donna beneviento #elena lupu #donna beneviento x elena lupu #karl heisenberg #donna beneviento x oc #mother miranda #resident evil #re8 oc #claudia beneviento #angie beneviento #gothic romance #gothic horror #chapter 11

[heisendaddysimpswritings]

𝑩𝒆 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑶𝒃𝒆𝒚— 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑰

summary: on the falconry trip with your mother and the benevientos your thoughts only were with lord heisenberg as you tried to think about a solution for your emotional chaos.

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pairing: Karl Heisenberg x fem!Dimitrescu!Reader

word count: 1163

tw: royal au

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The last day was stuck in your memories. You couldn't close your eyes without vividly seeing Heisenbergs face in front of you. Without seeing his yellow eyes scan up and down your features. Without thinking of what could have happened if the didn't back away. What could have happened if you had courage to do so...

No no no! What are you thinking of? He's an asshole! Or at least your mother told you so. He probably just messed with you and you shouldn't fall for that!

Even though you really wanted to see him again those thoughts kept sticking in your head, next to his face and voice.

A knock on your door let you focus on the real world again.

"Miss, it's time for breakfast."

"I'm coming!"

You got up and put your dressing gown over your nightgown before walking out of the room and going with the maid in the dining room.

When you arrived everyone was already sitting at the table and had starting eating breakfast. You sat down next to one of your sisters, starting to eat as well.

This time no words were said. All that could be heard was the sound of metal on metal and the one of chewing.

"The Benevientos invited me for falconry today afternoon. I want you to accompany me (name)."

You almost choked on your food when you heard the words your mother had spoken.

"And no objections (name). You're of legal age now, what means you have to participate in such activities. That's your job as my daughter."

"Yes mother."

You didn't like the idea of it. It's not like you didn't know how to ride, that you knew more than enough. You just weren't interested in hunting small animals with a falcon. Suddenly a thought popped up in your head.

"What route will we take?"

"I don't know yet. Probably the one in the other direction of the factory, after all we want to hunt animals."

Damn it. Exactly the one you didn't want to take you had to. Now you couldn't wander off like you intended to.

....

Noon came. You and your mother met in the stables, already dressed in your riding gown. The stable boy first guided your mother's horse outside and then your own. As you were about to ride to your meeting spot the stable boy called out and asked you two to be careful on the way.

With your horses it didn't take long to reach your destination, only about ten to fifteen minutes. There already waited Lord Beneviento and his daughters, his wife didn't accompany them this time.

You had no connection to them, not even the daughters who were only a bit older than you.

"Ah, Lady Dimitrescu and Miss (name)!"

"Lord Beneviento! Thank you for the invitation!"

"No need to thank me, you know I love to spend time with you!"

The two of them laughed and rode together ahead of their children. You and the Beneviento daughters rode in one line, but you didn't want that. You'd rather just ride off to the factory, but with every step you strayed further from it.

You watched your mother and the Lord have small talk and laugh together, letting their falcons do what they want, here and then calling them back for them to take a break.

As you watched them talk your thoughts started to drift off again. For the second time today you had to think about last evening. Had to think about how close Heisenbergs face was to yours. You felt your heart beat faster and your face brighten up from the thoughts you had. Hopefully nobody noticed that. Even worse would be if one of them could read your mind. What would they think of you? Above all, what would your mother think of it?

You shook those thoughts off. They were your thoughts in your head, nobody was able to hear them, except for yourself.

You turned your head around to see how far you're from the factory away. As you looked at the horizon all you could see was the big mass of tress behind you, no glimpse of a factory. Not even the chimnies you were able to see anymore. You must have been really far away from the place of your desire. But you couldn't just ride off, could you?

"(Name)?"

You looked over to your right and saw that Donna was looking at you in awe.

"Is everything okay?"

"Everything is alright, why are you asking Donna?"

She just shrugged and concentrated on riding again. Even though she was a little weird sometimes she was an overall nice young lady. An attractive one at that. You were sure she'd soon find a man of her own.

The ride just seemed to drag itself on and on, seemed like it's never going to find an end soon. All that bothered you much. You'd rather be somewhere else right now than here. Rather be in someone else's arms than here. You shook your head in surprise of your own thought you just had. How could you think of Lord Heisenberg holding you in his arms? In his strong and muscular arms... Holding you tight to his chest... His hot breath fanning over your neck... No stop! You mentally slapped yourself for the thoughts you had. There's nothing going to happen between the two of you. After all your mother would scold you and kill him for it! And still the thought of getting closer with him, the thought of getting to know him better and the thought of seeing him again gave you a weird feeling in your stomach as if you were becoming sick and have to vomit any second. You didn't know what this feeling was but it somehow made you happy. You wanted to feel it more. You wanted to feel it again. Maybe even while Lord Heisenberg is around you.

....

After what felt like hours you and your mother finally came back to the stables and leaving your horses behind in the care of the stable boy. The two of you then made your way back to the castle and up to your rooms, changing your clothing for the upcoming dinner.

You sat down on your bed, putting off your shoes and let yourself fall down onto the soft mattress. You thought about what you should do about those weird feelings and thoughts you had about Lord Heisenberg. Should you just swallow them and ignore them or should you go after them? On one hand you feared your thoughts and feelings will eat you up from inside out and in the other hand you feared the wrath of your mother if she found out about them. Maybe you should give yourself some time to sort your feelings and thoughts. Maybe you should stop thinking about the Lord and concentrate on your new role as a grown up woman. Maybe that'll work.

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𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

@ems-alexandra | @cyberghost1009

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𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #heisenberg smut #karl heisenberg x y/n #karl heisenberg x you #karl heisenberg x reader #house heisenberg #resident evil heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #heisenberg x you #heisenberg fanfiction #resident evil #re village #re viii #re 8 village #resident evil imagines #resident evil 8 #resident evil viii #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #donna beneviento #lady beneviento

[crowtrobotx]

A little stupid thank you to @grisailledreams for bein’ a good friend and also consistently supporting my mediocre writing, to the point where she gets mad if anyone beats her to being the first comment on a Chrysalis chapter lol. 💜 Ily.

This is largely just for her but because some of you care about Astarion and Karl/Kris, here’s a fun little crossover I decided to share on here rather than solely in private. Brynne is her OC, and Karl is a Dwarf artificer in BG3 because it’s funny and I said so.

Title: Feline Fancy

Words: 1301

Pairings: Astarion x OC, background BG3!verse Karl Heisenberg x OC (they’re also sometimes a polycule. Everyone is bi/pan and nothing matters.)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

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“Good Gods. It’s like watching a flea-ridden stray put on a show for scraps.”

“Astarion. Be nice.”

“I am being nice. I didn’t say the worse version that was rattling around in my head.”

Judging by the oppressive darkness and quiet that bore down on the little wilderness camp from all sides, it must have been somewhere in the wee hours of the morning by now. The crickets had stopped their shrieking, at least, although Brynne’s light plucks at her lute sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness. Between the heavy sensation pulling at his eyelids from the cheap wine - Baldur’s Grape, what a joke - and the buzzing sensation in his blood still present from feeding on an unfortunate bandit earlier, Astarion was trapped in a strange chasm between exhaustion and mania, one that was making him exceedingly grouchy. The sight of the pair on the other side of the bonfire wasn’t helping - even against the bright orange glow of flame he could make them out, and fuck he couldn’t escape from the sound of the infuriating giggles.

The party hadn’t known each other that long. They were still feeling each other out, which sometimes led to awkward situations like tonight, where the quartet had argued about the watch schedule to the point that they had all decided to stay awake out of pure spite.

Though he would stake himself before he admitted it, he trusted Brynne’s judgment, for the most part. If she said their two new companions were a value to their cause, then so be it. It was true that the elves’ talents, while useful, were better suited to petty thievery than full on adventuring. Having an exceptionally angry outlander who regularly threw fully grown men over bar tables and a deeply insane artificer with a moral backbone best described as “jelly-like” at least gave them a fighting chance.

But did the Dwarf have to be so damn dramatic?

Karl had announced (loudly, far too loudly) to the group that he was going to bed some time ago before sauntering off to the tent he and his partner shared. Kris, a Barbarian woman and the partner in question, had simply shrugged and continued sharpening the monstrous greataxe she bore that was almost as tall as Astarion himself. When she hadn’t followed after an hour, Karl had poked his head back out with the look of an petulant child plastered on his face, sighed loudly, gone back inside, sighed even louder, and then stomped back outside to plop down in the grass at Kris’s side.

If Astarion didn’t know better, he’d have almost said that she’d smirked at the display, as if she’d quietly concocted the whole thing herself. Cheeky. A few minutes passed in silence - rare for the party - before Karl wordlessly flopped to his side, head landing squarely in the Barbarian’s lap.

What had followed was the expected quick bickering that the couple seemed to use as some twisted variety of foreplay, culminating with Kris abandoning her task and begrudgingly beginning to scratch her short nails through his silvery hair and beard. The Dwarf, apparently not content with merely acting like a lap animal, proceeded to debase himself further by periodically rotating and shifting to ensure that she reached the right spots and making sounds that wouldn’t have sounded out of place coming from a content Owlbear.

Astarion wanted to vomit.

“It’s pathetic,” Astarion said, taking another swig of the dry red. “Truly, truly sad.”

Brynne sighed at his side and set her lute to lean against the fallen log they were sat upon. She’d been trying to tune it to little avail - the strings badly needed replaced, but they were so far from refined civilization at the moment that just getting the instrument to survive until the next backwater luthier popped up would be an achievement.

“Well, I think it’s sweet.” The pale pink of her skin was lovely in the firelight, and the deep green of her wavy hair made it seem to blend into the dark of the sky overhead. She was ethereal, beautiful, too good to be in the situation they’d found themselves - which meant, for Astarion, that she was also infuriating.

“You would,” he sneered. “You think everything is sweet. Remember when we passed by that ridiculous Tiefling caravan a few weeks ago? You burst into tears at the sight of the pseudodragon hatchling they had in that cage.”

“It was so small!” Brynne whined. She covered her face with her hands and groaned. “I just wanted to bite it!”

“And there! Hypocrisy! You’re always chastising me when I say the same thing.”

“Because you mean bite as in ‘break skin and drain blood.’ I mean bite in the way that you chomp on a baby’s chubby cheeks. It’s different.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. He lifted the goblet to his lips once more and was vexed to find it empty. He was pretty sure the only alcohol left was the Barbarian’s whiskey flask, and even he wasn’t arrogant (or stupid) enough to ask her to share. It seemed he’d have to greet the morning sober. What a shame.

Another low chuckle from Kris. Another contented sigh from Karl. It was maddening.

“Why does she put up with it?” he mused aloud. “He acts like this all the time - like if he doesn’t get attention for ten minutes he’ll burst into flame! And she enables it!”

Brynne didn’t respond. She only turned her blue-eyed gaze to him and raised a brow, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just…. Baffling! How did he even feed himself before meeting her? What’ll we do if Kris has to go off on her own for a few days? I’m certainly not going to give him head scratches like he’s the world’s most bedraggled mutt. It’ll be like having a full time job! If the rest of us adults can get by without being pampered like child emperors, the Dwarf should be more than capable.”

Brynne blinked.

“You want to get petted, too.”

“Indeed.”

Astarion rolled onto his back and settled his tousle of white curls into Brynne’s lap. The Wood Elf laughed, like a high ringing bell, and clicked her tongue. “You’re certain you’re not some kind of polymorphed cat?”

“If I am, you’re the sucker who can’t resist getting a good purr out of me.”

The night hid whatever blush might have blossomed on Brynne’s cheeks. She lightly slapped his hand and settled back, ready to get comfortable until the dawn bled color into the sky.

“No beard, so I’ll have to just focus on your hair, if it pleases your majesty.”

“Do be careful not to mess it up that much. I put a lot of effort into looking flawless, you know.”

“Too bad it’s not working.”

“You wound me, my lady.”

Brynne snorted. “Fair is fair, you blood sucking charlatan.”

She threaded her fingers through his curls, the gentle scratch of nails on his scalp eliciting a light shiver that shook its way down his spine. Once again, he’d rather go back to eating rats than confess just how chuffed he was to have her full, adoring and undivided attention, even for a moment. Come morning, the focus would be back on surviving the mountain pass, rationing supplies, trying not to attract the attention of whatever ancient things lurked in the shadowy crevasses that loomed overhead.

He still had doubts - still found himself occasionally wanting to run off and risk his chances alone. But, to his delight and horror, those desires grew weaker with each passing day, each passing swipe of her hands across his head.

Astarion shut his eyes, lips pulling into an easy and content smile, and missed the loving yet exasperated head shakes exchanged between Brynne and Kris from across the fire.

#this is so hyper specific to our interests/OCs and I do not care #okay to rb/share but bg3 fandom if you start acting like clowns on this you will get blocked <3 #same with re8 fandom but most of you left are cool so I’m less concerned there

[littlelesbinonny]

The Devil’s Den

Chapter 9: In Which Rusted Gates Open Up Pt. 1

You can read this also on Ao3 at:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

Donna and Alcina went their separate ways.

There was an undeniable damper placed over Alcina, trapping whatever bliss she had left over from the night with you.

She could sense the wayward glances from many of the vampires she passed on her way through the underground city. The news of Charles' beheading of course spread like a wind-blown wildfire, and vampires were nearly worse than gossiping small towns folk. The bit about the 'human pet on the side' would likely be picking up much more steam now.

Vampires keeping humans as 'pets' wasn't so uncommon several hundred years ago, in fact it was nearly regular practice. But fighting and bickering and pissing matches usually turned things exceptionally ugly between vampires, the humans were always the recipients of the worst of it, and any vampire with some semblance of their humanity left intact ended up wounded beyond repair at their deaths.

Mother Miranda had put an end to human pets and lovers long ago. It was far too risky and they didn't survive well underground like the vampires did. And, she found it tacky and unbecoming of a vampire to be so weak.

Alcina shuddered at the memories that crawled back in about that fateful night. She could still feel Mother Miranda's blade in her side at times.

She scoffed. If only that had been the worst of the damage.

Regardless of her suffering, it didn't change who she was deep down. Not every spec of her humanity had been expunged.

Let them talk, let them plan, let them be conspiratorial.

She didn't care.

Should she be worried? It was good as anyone's guess at this point.

The threat was real. But so was she. Through her long reign as monarch, there had only been three to tests their limits with her. Charles was the latest, and the other two ended about the same way. Alcina wasn't to be trifled with. They knew this, vampires and lycans alike. But there would always be the menacing little funguses growing somewhere in the dark.

Putrid fucking imbeciles.

Humanity in tact or not, she did not lack brutality and vengeance.

Upon entering the front door, she could hear her daughters in the kitchen riled up about something. As she removed her jacket their loudness gave way to laughter, and then she heard that voice.

At the kitchen island was Bela, Cassandra, Daniela and Heisenberg.

Who was lighting something on fire on the marble countertop.

"What the hell are you doing, Heisenberg!" Alcina shouted, hands on her hips and a scowl to unravel even the tightest rope.

"Ah shit - uh - Alcina -" he garbled taking some left over matches out from between his teeth, "just showing the girls some fun science!"

The girls were immediately trying to cover up the very apparent mess that had been made; stuffing things in their pockets and handing more things behind their backs to Heisenberg as if their mother wouldn't see.

Her visage hadn't changed and Daniela piped up immediately.

"Uncle Karl was just showing us some cool new pyro techniques! We haven't broken or ruined anything! We uh, we weren't sure when you'd be home - we were going to have everything cleaned up!"

"Clearly. But really, in the house, Daniela?! Heisenberg if you blow up my manor I swear - "

"No, no! Nothing explosive, promise - it's all fire, no bang," Karl tried as he scooped a pile of some sandy looking material to one side, "doesn't even hurt the surface, see?"

"That is not helping your case," Alcina bit, "I have told you time and time again if you must play with your little experiments and weapons DO NOT DO IT IN MY HOME, and girls, you know better."

There were a bunch of muddled whispers and murmurs as the girls helped Karl clean up and pack his stuff. Alcina was already pouring herself a glass of blood wine and rubbing her forehead in perplexed amusement.

Karl cleared his throat and said a quick goodbye, tipping his hat to Alcina as he skirted his way out the door.

Everyone was now quiet. The girls were doing their best to hide their snickering but it did halt the moment Alcina turned her stern gaze their way.

"Why was that hairy overgrown trilobite in our home?"

"Sorry, Mother," Bela offered first, stuffing her smile, "he knows how much Dani and Cass love fire and brought over some materials that burn really pretty colors when lit on fire."

Alcina took another sip of wine and raised her brows, "Ah... and how did he come to this discovery?"

"Accident." The three answered together.

She nodded in unsurprised fashion and walked over to each daughter, kissed them on their foreheads, and left for the hall.

"I'm turning in for a while, girls," Alcina called disappearing further into the manor, "and Dani, don't you dare light more of that on fire - I know he gave you a handful before he left!"

Cassandra and Bela looked at each other with wide eyes before bursting into giggles. Dani frowned.

Alcina closed the door to her bedroom and undressed, wrapped herself up in a white silk robe, and took a seat at her vanity, staring at herself in the mirror.

She was feeling bitterly numb.

Donna had a way of keeping her grounded when she needed it. But she didn't want to feel grounded. She didn't want to be tethered to the earth. She wanted to be with you, wherever you were, wherever cause and effect might take you both. But, alas, perhaps this happiness wasn't hers to have.

Perhaps that was just Mother Miranda talking.

Alcina leaned forward on the vanity and buried her face in her palms, taking slow steady breaths, mulling over the reminder she was always in danger.

So much power. Power to do nearly anything in the world, and it came with a heavy price. No freedom.

Stupid.

So fucking stupid.

After she finished her wine Alcina drew a bath and fully submerged herself, lavishing in the warm embrace of the water, a glint of a thought wishing perhaps it was your arms instead.

NO.

She scolded herself, emerging to the surface with a short gasp for air.

Alcina ran her long fingers through her soaked hair and leaned back into the tub. Staring into nothingness, regulating her breathing as she wiped the running mascara from under her eyes.

Her hand slowly trekked to her side where she fingered the large, ugly scar there.

'I want to make sure you never forget this as long as you live, Alcina.'

Held up by one arm, weak, and at her mercy, Alcina screamed out as Miranda plunged the dagger just below her ribs. The searing pain and fire that tore through her from the blade made her insides shrivel and cake like dried mud. It was excruciating.

'This is only half a price to pay, Alcina! You should be grateful you're one of my favorites!'

Alcina swallowed the memory with a gulp and shut her eyes.

It still wasn't as painful as the loss of her.

She feared more debts.

She feared for you.

But more than anything, she feared life now without knowing you.

Was it worth it?

What danger was she intentionally placing you in front of to face?

~

The next day was... weird.

You weren't sure if it was the lack of sleep, but everything seemed to be different.

Noises were more intense. Lights were more intense. Colors, vibrations, smells, surfaces under your fingertips, you name it.

You didn't have a hangover though, could it have been the wine?

Lack of sleep, or wine.

Or, both?

Anyway, all you knew was that shit was just weird. You didn't sleep very long, give or take 4 hours, and you were up and out the door to grab some actual food for your apartment. Wine and pancakes were fine once a month for 'sustenance', but you couldn't live like that.

You did know, that beyond all the hyper sensations you were dealing with, you were happy. Content, even. And that was a big deal.

Sure, you could always make yourself comfortable; nestle in to any situation and create a semblance of peace, you were uncannily adaptable that way. Always had been. But you were actually happy. You had some vigor in your veins. It had been a long time since you'd felt that way, to be honest.

Yes, your lady vampire, Alcina, played a huge role in it.

You had hooked yourself up in the idea of her like one chain link to another. She was enthralling. A bewitching experience. It seemed like the more you thought of her the more alive you kept feeling.

Man, hyper fixations were a bitch.

But, whatever, right? If chasing dopamine and serotonin involved her, you'd chase till you were dead.

Besides, this was no one-sided prey versus predator. She was fully as involved as you were, whether she would show it or not, you could tell. What vampire in their right mind does what she was doing? And what human in their right mind played along?

You could be insane together, that was fine with you.

Then again, it got you thinking. What was she doing, exactly? What was the end game here? Was there one? Did there have to be one? What was in it for her? What was in it for you? How long was this whole thing going to last?

Jesus Christ could your mind shut up for half a minute.

When you made it back to your apartment you went into a cleaning tizzy; half from overactive nerves about everything, half from anxious excitement for her return tonight.

She would be back tonight, right?

Well, at least you'd have a clean apartment regardless.

There were moments as you were cleaning, so immersed in your thoughts, you could almost feel her hands on your face again. See her reflective grey-mirrored eyes shimmering in front of you; an ocean full of seafoam and starlight, silver feathers and pale golden rays. You could stare into those eyes for hours. Days. Fuck it, eternity.

You could nearly make out every line on her face, every crease and delicate wrinkle; the laugh lines, the crow's feet, the perfect paleness of her skin tone, the drastic contrast of her crimson lips... a spark erupted in your core as you imagined kissing those lips yet again and you had to stop wiping down the counter and pause.

"Holy shit..." you mumbled, dragging the back of your arm across your brow, the overwhelming sensation of heat flooding your stomach increasing before eventually giving way.

Holy shit, indeed.

Alcina beckoned forth unspoken things from your body you really could not describe accurately even if you tried. If a panic attack could be brutally arousing and pleasurable all in the same breath, that's the best way you could explain it. Like how your stomach drops out from under you when a roller coaster plunges several hundred feet. You think you're going to die for those brief moments, not knowing if your body will handle the overpowering adrenaline, and then - poof - back to earth, back to reality, you made it out alive.

And you were definitely shaking.

You took a big long drink of some icy water and decided a cool shower was very likely in order.

Rarely did you wish away your days, but today was a bitch of an exception. You. Were. Ready. For. Night fall.

You had spent more hours than you can ever recall getting ready.

Luckily you had plenty of time.

The apartment was spotless, cleaner than it'd ever been since occupying it. Candles of every color were everywhere; on shelves, on tables, the bookcases, and windowsills.

You chuckled. This place looked like a witch's coven getting ready for a sacrificing ceremony. But it was pretty, dammit!

Natural light, candlelight included, was your absolute favorite. If you never had to have an ugly ass overhead light on ever again in your life it'd be too soon. This is how you liked it. Easy on the eyes. Comfortable.

Finally pleased with everything you turned on some easy listening lofi, laid back on the couch, and waited.

Alcina stood outside at the bottom of your apartment complex. Hands in her long trench coat pockets, eying your windows on the 17th floor that were lit like the sunset. She smiled.

It was a little late, well passed 11, but she knew you were still awake.

Scaling the building with little effort she hopped her way off your balcony banister silently, noticing the glass door was already open.

She allowed herself in and shut it, walked through your room, down the short hallway, and found you lounging on the couch scrolling through your phone.

You looked beautiful. It made her teeth ache.

Alcina cleared her throat gently and leaned against the wall, folding her arms under her chest and tucking one ankle behind the other.

Your eyes shot in her direction and ate her up with a knowing smirk, excitement revving it's engine at her mere presence.

Yes! You knew she'd come.

Rising slowly and reaching to your side you grabbed her gloves and held them in the air, "Come back for these?" you asked as your smirk widened.

Her own also grew, "Perhaps."

Her reply was so confidently smooth it frazzled you. Lifting yourself off the couch you made your way towards her, stopping in the middle of the living room, gloves still in your hands.

"If I give them back will that null and void your visiting policy?"

Alcina nearly snorted. You were insufferably cute. And irresistible.

Two of her long strides brought her face to face with you. Peering down into your eyes she pursed her lips and leaned in very gently towards your ear; "That remains to be seen," she cooed, brushing her lips ever so slightly against your cheek as she pulled away.

Your whole being quaked.

There was another shot of that familiar adrenalin. Her scent left you lightheaded, not to mention the silkiness of her voice, the lips grazing your cheek.

Goddamn.

This one was going to hurt. She was going to hurt. You didn't know exactly what that meant. But that's all you knew.

The way she sauntered passed you and took claim of the chair once again had your jaw slacked and brain sputtering.

So rude. So good.

Alcina knew it.

She had taken off her trench coat and laid it across the back of the chair, revealing her form hugging high waisted pleated pants, black of course, and a gold silk, high collared button up blouse. The buttons were undone just enough at the top. Of course they were.

Of course they were.

Goddamn. She looked like an uptown millionaire lawyer ready to take down an entire courtroom.

I'm guilty! Throw me in the can! Your mind shouted.

You cleared your throat, more for yourself, and sat where you had the night before.

Alcina eyed you intently as you fidgeted like a fussy cat until you had found your desired resting position. She wanted to cup your face and adore you so much more closely.

"Ok, so..." you began, upsetting the silence, fingering her gloves that rest in the crook of your lap, "I have so many questions, may I ask?"

Silver hues glinted as her eyelids narrowed slightly, her smile widening as she tilted her chin up and mused on your question.

"Ask what you like. I will answer or I won't."

Well. Ok then.

Now where to start?

Feeling the gloves at your fingertips, you looked down quickly at then back to her, "On your gloves, what does the A. D. stand for?"

Oh dear. You wanted her full name. You didn't miss a thing, did you.

"It is my initials; Alcina Dimitrescu."

You couldn't have stopped the widening of your eyes if you tried. That was easily the most beautiful, eloquent name you'd ever heard in your life.

"That's... that's gorgeous. What nationality is that?"

Alcina's grin was fed by your delight, "Romanian."

"Are you from there or were you born here?" you pressed, the hunger for her story getting more and more famished.

A sigh left her lips. Surely you'd ask all these things eventually, clearly she couldn't stay away, so, off the deep end you were going.

"I was born there, yes."

She sure wasn't offering up much information without a fight, was she. You began to realize your approach with her would have to be just as cunning. Fine. You can play that game.

Perching your chin on your palm you ate her up with your eyes, "Tell me how you ended up here in New York, what brought you all the way over here?"

Hmph. Now you were asking the right questions. Fine, Alcina decided to give in.

"My career brought me here. I was an only child born to a business obsessed family; their focus and ambition was wine, and I, being the only child was solely expected to take on and over said business. I wanted nothing to do with it. I was drawn to music, the arts, anything that gave me attention, as I got none from my parents. Luckily, I was born with a gift of singing. I honed it, perfected it, and joined a jazz band at a young age..."

Her musings took her down a dreary walk of memory lane but she pushed the dampness aside and continued.

"I was fortunate enough to have a manager who cared more about my thriving than my parents and urged us on to bigger and better things, here in the United States."

What the hell. Well that definitely explained how absolutely captivating her humming was last night. You wanted to hear her sing so badly. Actually sing. Not humming. But you could come back to that, another thought had its hand raised and flailing in the front of the classroom.

"When... when was that?"

"1949."

Ope. There it is. You knew she was likely much older than she appeared, vampires being undying and all, but you didn't want to come right out and ask so blatantly. Was that rude in the vampire world? You didn't know.

"So... when, er, how did you..."

"Become what I am?"

You licked your lips after tentatively nodding. You legitimately couldn't help your curiosity, but you didn't want to overstep or be rude. How the hell does one navigate a Q and A with a vampire?

Alcina nodded in response, understanding your curiosity and eager mind.

"I inherited my families rare blood disease, porphyria cutanea tarda. It ailed me from a young age but it stayed manageable enough. It wasn't until I was in my 20's that it began producing severe setbacks. Treatment back in those days was primitive, minimal at best. Doctors didn't understand it the way they do now, so my ability to bounce back continued to decline. Unfortunately, my illness split up the band; we dissolved not 5 years in being here, and I became progressively sicker as the years went on. I had no one to take care of me and I became nearly bedridden in my final months."

Her eyes had dropped away from you and to the floor as she readied herself to relive the short recap of what she was now about to tell you, Alcina's melancholy doing its best to rear its ugly head.

"It was in 1958 when I was turned. A vampire, Mother Miranda, found me. I came to find much later she had been a fan of the band and heard me sing many times. After my disappearance from the stage she sought me out, only to find me very near my death. She offered me a new life, and I took it."

Your heart ached. Yes, this was a trial version of the story, but still. Alcina was alone, sick, dying, with no one in the world to turn to. You knew how that felt and it upset you greatly she had to endure it. But there was another solemness behind the words, something stinging about this Mother Miranda she spoke about. As if a way out of death had been offered, yet it seemed heavy, burdened with a different affliction, a price.

How could you respond?

"I'm - I'm really sorry, that you had to suffer alone."

Alcina returned her gaze to you. You were so genuine it almost hurt.

"It is not for you to apologize for."

There was a strong softness behind her eyes now, that hidden gem of her truth you'd barely caught a glimpse of last night, now more forthwith and presented to you. You didn't want the sadness to snuff out her story.

"How old are you now, then?"

A brief pause lingered as Alcina thought, a tilt of her head and then the reply, "108, as of last November."

Oh. Wow.

"A November baby, huh?"

"Yes, November 4th, 1914."

"Ooo, a Scorpio."

"Oh dear," Alcina huffed a laugh, "you do seem the type to be into astrology."

"Hey, don't knock it," you giggled back, "it's entertaining!"

You. Loved. Her. Laugh. You could listen to that all day long. It was perfect. The way her laugh lines deepened, excruciatingly beautiful, the turn of her lips, how the fuck was anyone this perfect?

A little more laugher later you scooted just a little closer to the arm of the couch and studied her, "What was it like, being turned?"

"Painful," her response came swiftly, yet surprisingly devoid of emotion, "it's a sensation I cannot describe. The aftermath, though, was very... rewarding."

"How do you mean?"

"It is a rebirth of your body. It dies, you, your body dies, and then when you reawaken everything feels new. It's almost as if you're relearning everything you once knew after forgetting. Only, the heightened sensations never go away; every sense within you is magnified tenfold," she halted briefly as she reminisced, "things are a familiar new, things you once considered intense now pale in comparison. It's exhilarating in the beginning, and then you must learn how to control it."

"Like hunger, right?"

She nodded slowly, remembering the visceral, devouring hunger she felt in her young vampire years. A spark flickered in her eyes, "Yes... especially the hunger."

You remember her bite all too well. You'd be lying if you said you didn't wish for it again; to feel her so close, helpless in her clutches, those fangs piercing your skin as her warm mouth drank you in.

You needed a segue quick.

"Do you..." your voice cracked a little, "do you like being a vampire?"

How on earth was Alcina supposed to answer that question? That was an hour long explanation at best. How does one explain the pros and cons to something of such magnitude? It had cost her so much, and yet her gains were nearly measurable.

"Yes. And no," Alcina replied with a new tone upon her voice, thoughts drenched more of what she lost, gave up, and had torn away from her more than her gifts, "that's an explanation I cannot give you."

Her voice finished as a whisper and you regarded her there in that moment. This was a true display of her depths, of the core of who she was, and you wanted to reach out, into her, pull it from the recesses of the dark and hold it close to you, next to your heart and heal whatever wounds you could.

There was never a doubt in your mind that the stories and movies depicting vampires held merit; how could a person who could not change manage in an existence that never stopped changing? Was it a gift or a curse? How does one play the middle ground?

Boldness gripped you.

"Alcina," you said, reaching out slowly to place your hand over hers that rest on the arm of the chair, "you don't have to explain anything, you don't even have to answer my questions, I just can't help but to want to know you... you owe me nothing."

You were an enigma yourself, indeed.

Alcina's whole body warmed at not only your touch, that soft, gentle, unique touch, but so much so at your words. Oh, you are pressing my limits, my pet, she thought. Your pureness was refreshing and wholly encompassing, she wanted to turn into you away from the world just as badly as you did her, it seemed.

Dare she?

#alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu/reader #alcina dimitrescu/female reader #alcina dimitrescu/original female character #lesbian #wlw #f/f #fanfic #fic #karl heisenberg #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #mother miranda #slow burn #pining #angst

[therewasatale]

What Is Important (part 4)

Part 4 - trick?

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

On Ao3.

You started to wake up slowly from a short sleep. Someone called your name and you felt fingers stroking your face. Maybe you were still dreaming.

"(Y/N), we've arrived. Wake up."

Heisenberg's voice was far too gentle compared to how he usually spoke. You were about to turn around, when you felt the hot throbbing of your wrist. The memories rushed you at the same time. Mother Miranda got to you and she could be after Heisenberg. You sat up with your heart pounding, your eyes searching wildly in all directions, waiting for the pulsating black branches to entwine and capture you again.

"Hey, it's okay, we're safe."

You looked at the man kneeling in front of you. "Karl?"

"Yeah, I'm here, you're safe."

"Where? Oh god, my head." You had to take a few deep breaths.

"Easy, take your time. We're safe."

"Where are we?" Your eyes were slowly getting used to the semi-darkness. The car wasn't rocking anymore.

"In the way back towards the factory." Heisenberg nodded but didn't move.

"Back? Good, that's good, let's get inside. I want to take a bath and sleep for the next three days. And I want to have a weapon on me, from now on."

"(Y/N) ..."

"A gun, I need a gun. I know we've talked about it before, but now, I'm sure."

"(Y/N)."

Finally, his voice reached you. "What is it, my lord?" You glanced at him, head still throbbing.

"Listen," he let out a slow sigh. "You can't come back with me."

You tried to read the emotions from his face, but he didn't look back at you. "What do you mean?"

"It's too dangerous. The Duke can take you away, far from her, and the village. So, Mother Miranda couldn't find you, but you need to go now."

His words reached you, but you didn't want to hear them at all. "Yeah, no. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes you're going to, you almost died!"

"I'm fine." You said it still in a serious tone but your voice wasn’t that firm anymore. "I'm fine, aren't I? She didn't do anything. I'll be fine."

"You're everything but fine. You're still shaking." He grabbed your still trembling hands.

"It will go away." You tried to stop the shaking by flexing your muscles.

"That's not the point!" He started to lose his patience. "She could have killed you. Or done something even worse! I can't let that happen."

"But-"

"You need to get away from here. From this fucked up place." He squeezed your hands and then let go of one with a nervous sigh. "From me."

"And where should I go? What should I do after?"

He let out a dry dark chuckle. "Anywhere. It's safer everywhere than here, you can get a life, a real one. You're still a human, and you learn quick."

He was right. The part of you that was logical agreed with him, and some others wanted to escape at all costs. You didn’t have to close your eyes to feel the black tentacles around your body again. Or to feel your breath becoming harder. Deep down it was as if your mind still believed you were entangled. Your throat throbbed painfully too. And you won't forget Miranda's words while you live.

You should run, as soon as you could, so far that they might no longer be able to find you.

But that was only part of your being. Your hard-headed and emotional self, disagreed vehemently. The idiot, the insistent part of you, wanted to stay and persevere even though they almost planted something in you. Because you escaped because you've already survived so much of it. And you wanted to be with him. You decided to listen to those thoughts and feelings instead.

"I'm not going anywhere, Heisenberg." You looked into his eyes. And you saw worry, from which anger began to bloom.

"Why do you have to be so ungodly hard-headed?! Can't you see that I'm trying to save you!"

"I'm not listening, because I don't want to leave you."

"Why? Why would you want to stay in a hellish place like this?! Surrounding with a bunch of freaks, who could only kill and hate! You're not like us; you can have a normal life! You don't belong here; you are not indebted to me! You can GO! "

"I want to stay, because I love you, you blind fucking idiot! And I owe you!"

The horse standing in front of the chariot slowly tapped a couple of times with its hooves.

The lighter closed in the Duke's hand.

"I'm not an idiot." Said Heisenberg after a couple of seconds, staring at your blushing face.

“Yeah, I'm not surprised that’s the only part you answer.” You couldn’t stop the snort that escaped you.

"I-" He stared at you.

"Thank you for the trip, Duke." Moving past Heisenberg, you walked to the door on the side of the cart.

"Don't mention it, (Y/N). Have a nice evening."

"Safe ride to you, Duke."

Stepping out, you took a deep breath from the cooler air. It only took a few hours, for the night to arrive in and around the village it descended especially quickly. Winter was coming soon, with the first snow arriving in the village in the next few weeks.

You started to walk slowly towards the factory. Your legs still shook a little at times, as your body twitched.

What happened back there still swirled around in your head.

The Duke blow a small puff of smoke. "I think you should go after them, my lord."

Heisenberg gritted his teeth and hurried after you. He could clearly hear the Duke chuckling behind him and then the sound of the horseshoes as the merchant continued on.

"(Y/N)," he called after you.

You stopped, but didn't turn. He stared your back.

"What?"

"You- what did you… is…" It was not the first time he was let down by words. He could be loud, vehement, but mostly just loud. But now, now he was just confused.

"You really fucking suck at this emotion-stuff, don't you?" You glanced back at him over your shoulder, revealing your slightly blushing face.

"You-"

"You already said that."

Heisenberg snorted and pulled his hat across his face. "Shut up! That was a nasty trick."

Now it was your turn to get confused. "Trick?"

"Well, it was, wasn't it?" He asked with an almost sad smile. "A lie. To stun me, so you could leave." It was the only answer he could think of. This day was already messed up enough, HE was messed up enough. You were just stubborn to listen to anyone; not like he was mad at you. It was this hard-headedness that caught his attention when you got into his factory and what he loved about you to this day. This, and much more.

"You really can be a moron." Stepping up to him you waited until he met your eyes. "It wasn't a lie."

"Yeah, sure." He chuckled again with that sadness in his eyes. But he froze as you leaned closer in for a kiss.

It was awkward at first. He didn't have the chance to close his eyes, and you had to get closer.

After a couple of seconds, you pulled away. The blush deepened on your face, and now the red color also spread through Heisenberg’s face.

"Oh."

"Oh?" You rolled your eyes, but you stayed close to him. You prayed that he can’t hear your drumming heartbeat. "I didn't lie."

"But-" his gray eyes looked right into your soul. "Why?"

"Oh, believe me, I had asked that question from myself for months." Finally, you could take a deep breath. "Listen, I don't want to leave you, I know Miranda can be dangerous, but I don't have anywhere to go." Reaching out you gently put your hand on his face. His beard felt rough, like you imagined before.

"And you say I'm the moron." He pulled your closer to himself, and before you could say anything he kissed you.

Grabbing his coat, you snuggled as close as you could and let out a gentle murmur while he held you close.

Neither of you wanted to let go for a long time. Not until when you felt the cold sting of the evening breeze on your arms. You glanced up at him shuddering as you saw the tenderness in his eyes.

"So, you will stay." He slowly started to caress your back. After the panic, terror, anger, hate, he - maybe only for a couple of minutes, or hours - felt happiness.

"Yes, I will stay."

"Because you love me."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help but feel your flaming face. I didn’t have to say anything, Heisenberg giggled deeply and still warmly and kissed your face.

"All right. Let's go." He took you into his arms and hushed you before you could say anything. "That bitch hurt you, I'm gonna make sure that you will be all right. And after that, we will figure something out." He began walk towards the factory with you, his arms pulling you closer, keeping you safe. "I won't let her or anyone else lay another finger on you."

Hiding your face into his neck you slowly murmured. "All right, love." You fell asleep, not seeing the lord turning an even deeper red than before. But with even more warmth in his eyes.

#resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil heisenberg #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #heisenberg x reader #heisenberg imagine #copper

[lovelywingsart]

//AU// Touch Like Gauze

-- Karl Heisenberg X OC (AFAB, She/They) --

The follow-up to Words Like Bullets, as well as... what is actually yet another small turning point for them. Their dysfunctionality came to a head, but now it should be a little better...

Mostly.

(This also ends the little two-part I made to vent out my own emotions! Thank you for bearing with me :'D )

**Remember, check out the Masterlist for more! <3**

-----

*Warnings?: Angst, yelling/argument, child fears, apologies, guilt, more hurt than comfort but still a bit of comfort, genuine emotional talk

Summary: Some time after the 'explosion', and Emelia is faced with a pressing question from Adalwulf, as well as the resolve to attempt to own up to her fuck up mistake...

But will it 'work' is the question.

It had been a few days since the blowup, and it was the only thing plaguing Emelias mind as she worked her routine. Most of her routine, at least; Adalwulf seemed to tremble lightly around her since he ran off, and Heisenberg ignored her entirely.

No, not 'ignored'... He AVOIDED her.

Not a single word, not even a glance... Communication of any kind was basically nonexistent, and he worked as if she didn't exist. The only time he even spoke was to their son, who barely wandered much at all now. Even his body language when she so much as caught a glance of him told her all she needed to know, and it quite honestly killed her.

She adjusted some things in the room as Adalwulf had gotten ready for bed like usual, not fully speaking unless asked. She glanced over every now and then, feeling his hesitation each time he moved towards her. While it had eased in small time, the hesitation was still there, and it made her feel worse with every moment passing. But she continued to pick up and shift a few things as was their 'routine', patiently waiting for her son to crawl into bed. But once he did, he frowned after a few seconds.

"Momma...?" he started quietly, and she paused.

"Yes, darling?" She asked calmly, though couldn't stop the feeling of panic in her gut.

"Is being like Papa a bad thing...?"

His question made her freeze entirely.

... Oh no.

She glanced at him, though instantly regretted it as she saw the look on his face. He wasn't afraid, but nervous... far too nervous to even speak, much less meet her eye. The look was almost enough to make her heart shatter in her chest, sending a wave of pure, skin crawling guilt through her system.

"... What...?" She managed, unable to prevent the somewhat horrified tone she gave. Adalwulf cuddled into the sheets, swallowing almost nervously.

"You told Papa I shouldn't be like him... Is that bad...?"

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

"I... N-No, that's..." she tried, her mind turning desperately in only a few seconds. She ran the conversation through her head for what felt like the millionth time, flinching as she remembered her words... Flinching as she remembered his face.

The guilt sent a cold chill through her body, and she had to sit down again. She felt eyes on her as their son watched, concern and even mild fear twisting his features in a way she knew a child shouldn't have to feel. She looked at him before her gaze shifted to the door, and she finally let out a shaky sigh.

"Adalwulf... Love..." she started, her voice nearly cracking. "I... What I said was... wrong. Very, very wrong..."

She managed to stand, hesitantly making her way to the bed and sitting on its edge. The boy tilted his head in a nervous curiosity, and she shook hers.

"I was upset... Cross with him because I-" she paused, looking down at her hands, "... I don't want you to get hurt, love... I just don't want to risk you getting caught in this... But I shouldn't have said that."

"... But you did..." came the reply, and she flinched.

"Yes, I... I did. I did, and I regret every bloody word of it."

She had to pause for a moment, feeling her throat tighten. But she managed to breathe, attempting to lessen the feeling as she finally looked at him.

"Your father is a great man... You've seen what he's done already, what he's capable of... Nothing I do could ever compare." She said, nodding to the door. "He does what he can to protect us... To protect you. He cares about you far more than I've ever seen a single man care about anything in his life..." she held out a careful hand, and while the boy flinched slightly, he reached out to hold it. She only closed her fingers around it gently in a calming gesture as he looked at her.

"Nothing would make me happier than to see you grow with his spirit and creativity." She said quietly. "Being like him... isn't a bad thing. I said something horrible, and I know I shouldn't have... It isn't at all what I meant to say, but... that isn't an excuse."

He was quiet for a moment before looking down sadly.

"Papa was really upset..." he nearly whispered. "... I don't like it when he cries... It's scary..."

Another flinch.

"... I know... I don't either... I never have." she said, her voice cracking again as she felt a sting at the corner of her eye. She couldn't stop it as it grew, the guilt finally breaking.

"Never... Never think that being like him is bad, darling... please. I regret every word of what I said... And I can't apologize enough that you had to witness it..."

She fell silent again, finally allowing a single tear to slip through.

"I'm sorry, love..."

She felt him squeeze her hand slightly.

"You should tell Papa, too..." came the soft reply, and she nodded.

"I know... I know. I will. I only hope he'll accept it."

Her words were met with a confused look, and she gave a sad chuckle.

"Sometimes... sometimes we can't accept apologies." She explained, understanding his silence. "Sometimes the things we do are too harsh... far too cruel for someone to forgive us, especially so willingly..." she went silent for a moment. "I'll be lucky if he even wants to speak with me now, much less hear excuses..."

"What if he doesn't wanna talk...?" Adalwulf asked, tugging on her hand slightly. Emelia gave a light shrug, though leaned down for him. She couldn't help but smile as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders how he could in a hug, and she did the same.

"Then I suppose... I'll respect his wishes. I'll have no choice." She replied quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead as she pulled away. But the boy frowned again even as he shifted to lay down once more.

"... If he doesn't, will I still have a Papa?" He asked, the question sending another chill down her spine.

"Yes, of course you will...!" She assured, trying to offer a small, reassuring smile. "You will always have a Papa... just like you'll always have me. It just... may take a while for him to be ok. But how he feels about me means nothing about how he feels about you." She held his hand tightly before finally standing again. "He cares about you very much... He always has and he always will."

The boy nodded as she finally made her way to the door again, though quickly called out.

"I love you, Momma..." he said, and she paused. She turned to look at him, seeing a small wave. A small smile graced her lips as she did the same.

"I love you too, darling." She replied. But another question made her pause before she walked out.

"Can you tell Papa that too...?"

She didn't move for a few moments before nodding.

"Of course."

~~~~~

The walk down to the room he was in was anxiety inducing, her heart speeding up in a mild fear as she thought about why she was here. What would he say? Would he say anything? Would he just leave again? She only pressed herself against the wall as she arrived, listening to him work. Or, listening to the small sounds of pieces hitting each other, with the occasional squeak of a screwdriver and crackle of electricity. The man himself made no sound- not even a single hum. She could barely hear him breathe... She wondered if he knew she was there.

She was silent for a few moments before finally taking a breath and turning the corner slowly.

"... Karl...?" She asked quietly, her voice nearly a whisper.

She flinched as she saw him freeze, his muscles going rigid as if he were a machine grinding to a halt. She could almost feel the defensive chill along his spine as his power fanned out just slightly, halting the airborne pieces in their tracks. She didn't move, however, almost afraid of what he would do if she approached. But he said nothing, barely moving his head in her direction in reluctant acknowledgement. She still didn't move.

"... I've put Adalwulf to bed..." she said quietly, watching as he twitched slightly. But he returned his attention to the pile of wires on the table, starting to move his hands again.

"What do you want." He asked lowly, the coldness of his voice making her flinch. She only backed away slightly, avoiding a small group of closely floating bolts. But she stopped moving again, hugging her arms as she swallowed nervously.

"... I... I wanted to... possibly... talk..."

She spoke slowly, her words careful as he worked. But he made no reaction, almost completely ignoring her.

"Not interested."

The response was just as cold, and it sent an unpleasant chill down her spine. She was silent for a moment before clearing her throat slightly.

"Karl, I-"

"I said I'm not fucking interested." He growled suddenly, making her jump. She watched as he continued with his work, his body moving slowly and rigidly and reminding her of a machine once more. But she tried again nonetheless, trying to gain the least bit of confidence. For their son. This was for their son...

And she knew it was for him, too.

She took another breath.

"... U-Uhm... I see work is going-"

"How about you leave me the fuck alone!!!" He snapped, suddenly turning to face her with teeth bared. She froze in place before taking another step back.

"I-I just wanted to-"

"Wanted to what, Emelia?!" He snapped again, making her take another step back. He was only a few seconds away from exploding from held in emotion, and she knew it. "Wanted to come back talking your shit?? Patronize me? Demonize me like everyone else fucking does?" He took a step towards her, poison dripping from his words as he spoke with a pained snarl. "How 'irresponsible' and 'immature' I am? Maybe how bad of a fucking father I am, huh? Is that it?? Like it always fucking seems to be now???"

His voice rose until he was yelling, the sound making her shrink on herself. She tried to speak, her voice wavering with the smallest twinge of fear.

"N-No, I-... N-None of that, I just-"

"THEN WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!"

His yell nearly echoed off the walls, and she couldn't help but throw up her arms in defense of her head with a small, screaming yelp as a pulse of his power sent things flying away from him. She took a few steps back, her body now trembling as she heard him take heavy, near wheezing breaths- that nearly stopped as she hesitantly moved her arms to peak at him. His own breath caught in his throat as he saw the wide golden eye from behind her arms, filled with fear and regret as she attempted to stop herself from sobbing. She watched as he backed away, turning away from her in order to hold himself up against the table.

Nausea twisted her stomach as her knees nearly collapsed under her, making her stumble back into the stone wall behind her. She still kept her arms up slightly, only lowering them once every metal piece was on the ground again. But soon she let out a choked sob- but not out of fear, no... the fear had lessened as soon as he turned his back, though she was highly aware it should have been the opposite. No, the sob came from guilt. Guilt that made her want to puke right then and there. Guilt that made her instantly hate herself for daring to face him with the hopes it might be ok. Guilt that, very obviously, she had every right to feel.

Guilt that grew and grew the more she stared at his back, knowing full well he had every right to harm her if he so chose to-

But he didn't.

He flinched as he heard the sob, but made no other movements. Not to work. Not to walk. Not even to breathe. His only action was to listen, just barely hearing the words that came out of her mouth.

".. I-I... I'm... s-... s-sorry..." she managed, unable to hold the sobs in. She leaned back against the wall before sliding down to the ground. She kept her arms up, covering her head out of near shame as she attempted to stop herself. Crying now only caused more guilt. She didn't feel like she deserved to at this point... She felt like she deserved to get hit with every little piece of scrap that, she noticed with one glance around to the marks on the ground, had purposely spun or swerved avoided her.

"I'm... s-so s-... sorry..." she repeated, very voice cracking and muffled. "I'm so sorry..."

He didn't move. He kept himself braced against the table, though his shoulders began to tremble as she spoke into her arms, her voice just barely audible.

"I-I'm sorry, I-... I didn't-" she tried.

"Didn't what."

His own voice startled her enough to cause a hard flinch, and she tried desperately to wipe at her face.

"I-I didn't... d-didn't mean..." she tried again, her body still trembling. She managed to take a few wavering breaths, though could still barely speak as she stumbled through her words. "I... I-I'm sorry... I... I-I didn't mean it.... that way... I sh-shouldn't have said it... I shouldn't have... I didn't mean that-"

"Then what the fuck did you mean." he snarled, and she froze.

His own voice wavered, and she looked up as he reached to wipe at his own face. His shoulders trembled fully now, though he was clearly trying to stop them with small shifting movements. Her gaze dropped to the ground once more.

"... I don't know..." she nearly whispered, and she could almost hear him turn to glance at her. He was silent for a moment before speaking again.

"Give me one goddamn reason." He said simply, his voice wavering as if he were attempting to not break. "Think. Really fucking hard. Why I shouldn't just walk the fuck out right now. Why I should listen to you when all you could do is fucking say it again in one way or another."

Poison dripped off of every word despite his emotions, and scraps were lifted once again. But she simply shook her head, attempting to stop the choked sobs that forced their way through her throat.

"... I don't have one..." she replied weakly, and he looked back at the table.

"... I thought so." He mumbled. But he still didn't move, and she leaned back against the wall with free flowing tears.

"... I don't want him to regret this..." she squeaked, and he went rigid. "I... I don't want him to... to grow up and look back... and hate us for this... for letting him be a part of it..." she wiped at her eye. "... I didn't want him to grow up with this... to grow up and hate himself for this... to walk on eggshells and blame us, just like we do now..."

He didn't move. Her words lingered in the air for a few moments until he took a slow, quiet breath. Despite being on the floor, she couldn't help but press herself to the wall more as she watched him finally turn to her. The look on his face made her feel as if she were in danger, letting his emotion be visible for a rare moment. His confusion. His anger.

His look of mild betrayal that made her chest ache and stomach twist.

There was still silence as he slowly walked to her before stopping only a few feet away. He crouched in front of her, letting her see his face in somewhat better detail; He was tired. The man looked exhausted, eyes slightly red from days worth of anger, tears, and more sleepless nights. She stared at him for a moment before looking down in shame.

"I'm so sorry..." she whispered. "Nothing I do can make up for that..."

He was silent for a moment before giving a huff.

"He heard you." He said quietly, his voice strained as if he were in pain- And honestly, he was. "He heard you, Emelia. Loud and fucking clear. Every goddamn word you said. He followed you out because he was worried, and then got slapped in the face with that. And I know damn well that's some kinda shit you would do, isn't it?"

She took a breath, but nodded. He continued.

"I'm not the best fucking advocate for this shit. I'm not 'top tier'. I'm only fucking 'useful' because of that bitch. I know I'm fucking nothing otherwise, not to anyone... Except for him." He said, narrowing his eyes. "Not them. Not you, fucking obviously. Only him." He nodded to the door, his lip curling. "You know damn well I'll do anything for that fucking kid, and now you've got him wondering that the fuck he did wrong." He tilted his head as she flinched at his words. "I'm not fucking perfect, Emelia. I've murdered. Robbed. Conned the fuck out of people as a kid to live. Made it so those fucking villagers cower in fear if I so much as look their way. I'm far from a fucking Saint. But that doesn't mean that you are, because you've done the same. Exact. Shit."

His voice came as a growl with each word, leaning forward slightly as his face twisted into anger that mixed with the hurt. She finally looked at him, fully expecting him to lunge forward- but he didn't. Instead, he managed to keep himself calm enough to stay where he was, his usually bright eyes dulled from days of tears and pain. It made her heart lurch unpleasantly in her chest, though she couldn't bring herself to look away. He gave another huff.

"Just because you're his mother doesn't mean you're immediately a fucking angel." He hissed. "Just because I didn't push him out of my cock doesn't make me any less of a fucking father, and it took me a long damn time to realize that. But apparently you didn't."

"... I know..." she said suddenly, her voice small and cracking. He went silent, and she continued as she wiped her face. "I-I know, I..."

She took a breath, though finally slumped against the wall again.

"I'm so sorry..." she started, keeping her eye on him. "I never said you were any less of a father than I was a mother... I never wanted to say that..."

"And yet I'm the one who's bad with words." He added bitterly. She shook her head.

"We... We're both bad... But... I'm... worse..." she managed, looking over to the door. "I never should have said that... It... its not what I wanted to say... It was never what I wanted to say, not matter how upset I was... And I can't tell you how bloody sorry I am..."

He stared at her, taking a breath. He seemed to calm for a moment, shifting to fully sit on the ground in front of her with a small pained grunt as he moved his leg.

"What the fuck were you trying to say, then?" He asked quietly. "What the fuck did you mean 'like me'? What the hell does he think?"

She looked back at him, feeling her breath catch in her throat. Most of his anger had diminished, and now he just looked... sad. Broken, almost... She gave a light sniffle.

"I don't want him to be bitter... I don't want him to focus on revenge and plotting... And I... I know that it's... It's both of us... not just you..." she started, moving to wipe at her eye again. "I don't want him to turn out like me, either... I just..."

She paused for a moment, looking at him before letting out a sigh and closing her eye.

"I want him to be a child... No duties, no work... I don't want him hurt... I don't want him scarred like us... like you... because a child doesn't deserve that." She spoke quietly, moving to hug her arms as she met his gaze again. "You never deserved that, Karl... I don't want him to suffer in a world you've suffered... I don't want him to grow up thinking that working himself to death with no break is what needs to be done, and I don't want him to hate us, hate you, for making him think that..."

She held his gaze, watching him grow more and more tired with each word.

"He has a choice, Emelia. He always will... I never did." he spoke quietly, making her flinch again.

"I-I know, I... He does..."

She swallowed lightly, taking a breath.

"He loves you, Karl..." she spoke softly, and he froze. "You're his father... He adores your entire being. He looks up to you and he has your spirit... I never want that to change. I've told him as such." Her voice began to crack slightly. "No matter what I say, I would rather him be happy and creative with you as a father then questioning your care for him with me as a mother."

He was the one to break the gaze now, looking at the floor. She could see the emotion swirling in his eyes as he chewed the inside of his cheek and fought off the tears that built for what seemed like the millionth time, and she felt the same.

"You're the best father he could have, Heisenberg..." She said quietly. "I just want him to be safe..."

"You don't think I want the same?" He asked quietly. "You think I'd just... willingly put him in danger? Willingly put him in the way of that bitches fucking grip?"

"No... Never."

He nodded.

"Yeah. Never. Because I'll be damned if I let him suffer the same fucking way I did. I decided that the fucking moment you told me." His words were quiet, though his voice held a small power she seldom heard- though typically it was in defense of her against others.

Now it was in defense of their son against her.

But she didn't argue.

"I didn't want it to be mine because of the fucking implications. I'll be the first to admit it, alright? I didn't. But I fucking accepted it pretty damn quick. And now he's here, and it's been years... It's been five years and I haven't gone back on that, Emelia." He looked back at her, baring his teeth. "It's been five fucking years and I would risk my fucking life for that kid without a second thought. If she ever finds him, I'll be the first to go. Fuck all the work down here, fuck the others, fuck this entire goddamn operation. I don't give a single goddam if I rot for everything I've done, if protecting him is the only good I do in my life, then so be it. And I'll be damned if you ever try to say otherwise."

He fell silent again as the last words left his lips watching as she began to tremble. But she forced herself not to cry- in fact, now she felt too exhausted to cry.

The silence remained between them for a few minutes, letting words and emotions sink in. He remained on the ground in front of her, finally allowing himself to physically relax- but only shortly.

"... He asked me if he would 'still have a Papa' if you didn't forgive me..." she said suddenly, her voice quiet and wavering. He froze, looking at her once more.

"... What did you tell him?" He asked, obviously cautious. She couldn't stop the corner of her mouth from twitching into a small, sad smile.

"I told him he would have you no matter what... No matter what you thought of me after this... He'd still have us both."

He was quiet for a moment longer.

"... And do you expect me to forgive you?" He asked, watching as she shook her head.

"Not at all... In fact I wouldn't be surprised if you hated me entirely now." She replied simply, only to look up in surprise as he let out a quiet, huffing chuckle.

"Well... can't say I 'hate' you..." he mumbled, and she sighed.

"I can't say that's much of a relief..." she admitted, her voice quiet. He shrugged.

"I don't know what kind of 'relief' you'd be looking for."

She thought for a moment.

"... The kind of relief where I know you wouldn't leave him because of my mistakes..." she whispered finally, looking at the door. "I may deserve it, but he doesn't..."

"No. Neither of you do."

She looked back again, staring at him.

"... What...?"

He shrugged.

"I won't leave either of you. Him because he's my kid... You because I think it would be fun to see you life with your choices, hm? Watch you relive it every once in a while like the 'vengeful' bastard I am... Can't really witness that if I leave, now can I?"

She kept her eye on him, though finally sighed.

"I suppose not..."

"Good." He said simply, suddenly moving to push himself into a stand.

She watched with confusion as he walked over, only to jump with a yelping gasp as he suddenly leaned over and grabbed her arm. He yanked her up roughly, though let go instantly as soon as she was on her feet. She rubbed her arm as she wobbled slightly, the confusion in her face evident.

I-... What?" She asked quietly, and he nodded to the door.

"Gotta say goodnight to my kid." He said simply. "You can work or you can come with. Pick one."

Her eye widened slightly as he nodded to the door again and walked out, though she couldn't help but follow behind slowly with a wavering breath.

She stayed a few feet behind him in silence, making sure to keep her distance as she followed through the caverns.

~~~~~

Heisenberg paused as they finally reached the room, hearing as Emelia stopped a few feet behind him. He didn't even glance back before popping the door open just a bit and peeking in. A small light illuminated the room and he saw his son, curled up with his back against the pillow and a small, colorful storybook in his hands. It didn't take the boy long to realize as the door opened, looking over and instantly smiling.

"Papa...!" Adalwulf said happily, quickly dropping the little book. His father gave a quiet chuckle, making his way over to sit on the bed.

"I thought you were supposed to be asleep..." he said quietly, lifting his arm. He couldn't help but smile as he was instantly met with a tight hug to his side.

"I couldn't sleep, so I wanted to read..." Adalwulf replied quietly, glancing over as his father patted his arm. His eyes widened as he watched Emelia slowly lean against the doorframe. "Momma???"

She gave a small smile, but didn't move.

"I just... wanted to check on you." She said quietly, though the smile on the boys face eased her just slightly.

"You're back together now, right???" He asked excitedly, and both parents froze. Emelia was the first to speak, catching Heisenbergs glance with a nervous swallow.

"It, uhm... It's... complicated, darling... We-" she spoke quietly, though he interrupted before she could say much else.

"That isn't important." He said quickly, and Adalwulf looked at him. "You need sleep."

He chuckled as the boy let out an impatient hum, though looked up at his mother.

"... Hug, Momma...?" He asked quietly, keeping a tight hold on his father with one hand while reaching the other out for her.

She froze as he made a small grabbing motion with his hand, her gaze instantly flicking to Heisenberg somewhat nervously. He said nothing, only glancing at her as if to test her movements; only to give a soft huff.

"Well? Give the kid what he wants, will ya?" He said quietly, feigning a playful tone she knew was only to keep their son calm. Even he knew she was hesitant, but he wouldn't say anything with the boy right there.

She was silent for a moment before clearing her throat and offering a somewhat forced smile.

"S-Sorry... Sorry. Of course." She managed, somewhat copying his tone as she finally moved forward.

She watched Heisenbergs eyes follow her, taking in every move she made as she carefully sat down on the opposite side of their son and wrapped her own arm around his shoulders. She couldn't help but relax slightly as he grinned, hugging her as much as he could with his free arm.

"Can we play tomorrow, Momma??" Adalwulf asked, looking up expectantly. Emelia paused, though cleared her throat quickly as she gets the fathers gaze deepen.

"Of course, love." She replied quietly, managing to smile as he wiggled slightly from excitement. He then looked up at his father.

"What about you, Papa???" He asked, and then man's face faltered slightly in a near genuine surprise. He was quiet for a moment under the expecting gaze of his son before clearing his throat.

"I, uh... I'll think about it." He said, only to be met with a pout.

"Please???"

He was quiet again before sighing.

"Maybe." He said firmly, but gently. "Can't give an answer right now, pup... Still got a lot to do."

The boy frowned slightly, only to look at his mother who gave a light shrug.

"He's right, darling..." she said quietly, glancing at his father. "... But we'll talk about it. Alright?"

Adalwulf went quiet for a moment before nodding with a smile.

"Ok, Momma..."

They fell silent once more, Adalwulf cuddling to both parents as much as he could despite them having space between them. It was clear that even after a somewhat short time, he was happy to have them both in one room again. Each felt his small grip on their shirts, even as he began to grow increasingly tired. His grip barely wavered until his eyes were heavy lidded.

Emelia kept her eye on him, rubbing his back gently before patting it.

"Alright, love... It's time to sleep." She said quietly, only to be met with a tired whine.

"... I don't wanna..." came the reply, and she tilted her head.

"You wanna have the energy to play tomorrow, don't you?" Heisenberg chimed in, obviously more relaxed than he was to begin with. The boy nodded slowly, and his father thought for a moment.

"... If you go to sleep now, I'll think extra hard about taking a break tomorrow just for you." He said simply, nearly snorting as his son seemed to perk up and nod.

Even Emelia gave a light chuckle as the boy scooted back against his pillow once more, waiting for both parents to stand before pulling up the covers. She took the book from the bed and set it on the side table, instantly moving to tuck the covers around his shoulders.

"Let me know when you're awake, alright?" She smiled. "I'll be here right away."

"Ok Momma...!" He smiled, moving his arms out from the covers to reach for her. She couldn't help but chuckle lightly as she did the same, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he hugged her. She then reached over, grabbing the small stuffed horse he kept at the corner of the bed.

"Don't forget this." She said, feeling eyes dig into her back. He grabbed it with a smile.

"Thank you, Momma." He said, only to look behind her. She turned to follow his gaze, her eyes meeting Heisenbergs as he tilted his head. He was quiet, watching her as she turned back to their son with a smile before standing.

"Night, Momma...!" Adalwulf chimed, and she nodded.

"Goodnight, love."

She stepped away slowly, glancing over as his father stepped forward. He met her eye for a moment before she looked away, feeling him brush past her. She paused at the doorway, turning to watch as he sat down for the second time. There was a lurch in her chest as he leaned down for a hug again, nearly looking down as she watched how tightly the boy clung to him. One glance from him was enough to finally make her back out, leaning against the outer wall.

Adalwulf kept his hold around his fathers shoulders, his face falling slightly after a moment.

"Papa...?" He asked, his small voice quiet. Heisenberg tilted his head slightly, but didn't let go.

"Hm?" He gave a questioning hum.

"Will you really think about tomorrow...?"

He paused, but nodded.

"'Course I will, Pup. I always keep my promises, don't I?" He asked, being met with a tiny nod against his shoulder. "Keep your promise too. Get some sleep."

"Ok..." the boy said, finally releasing his grip. "I love you, Papa..."

Heisenberg froze for a moment, though took a breath to ease the tightness in his chest.

"... love you too, Pup." He replied quietly, his voice nearly a whisper. It was still odd to say despite rarely using the word, but now he felt it was... important.

He said nothing else as his son smiled brightly at him as if excited he had responded before cuddling back into the covers. The silence remained as he stood up, making his way to the door- but was stopped by a small voice once more.

"Night Papa..." Adalwulf said quietly, watching him from halfway under the blanket. He turned to him for a moment before giving a light chuckle.

"Night." He responded simply, finally closing the door behind him.

He kept his hand on the handle, seeing Emelia wipe at her face from the corner of his eye. He was still silent as he backed away from the door finally, turning to walk past her. She kept her gaze to the ground, hugging her arms tightly to her chest. He only made it a few feet away before she took a breath.

"Karl..." she said softly, her voice somewhat strained- but he heard her. He paused his walking, turning his head slightly in acknowledgement. She tapped her own arm, forcing her lip not to tremble as it so desperately tried to.

"... I'm sorry..."

Her voice was but a whisper, wavering slightly as she spoke. She didn't even have to look to know his body went rigid. He knew she was. He knew she wasn't saying it for show. She never said it for show. He knew by the way she looked at him with genuine guilt he wasn't used to from anyone else, the way she accepted the possibility of mild distain and her surprise over him denying it. He knew from the way she talked to their son moments prior, and her departure from the room to leave them alone.

He knew she was truly, honestly sorry, and he couldn't help but be drawn back to her because of it.

He stood for a few moments before finally letting out a quiet huff and starting to walk again.

He knew she was sorry, and he wanted her to know, too.

Emelia said nothing more, keeping her eye to the ground as his footsteps slowly grew further away. She didn't stop him. She didn't want to stop him. Even she knew chasing him down would make it worse... And so she stayed where she was, only sliding down the wall to sit as his steps faded away and into the muffled, rhythmic hum of the machinery that surrounded them.

#Metalworks Survival AU #Metalworks fanfiction #oc #resident evil #resident evil village #re8 #resident evil oc #resident evil village oc #re8 oc #heisenberg #karl heisenberg #lord heisenberg #re8 heisenberg #heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x oc #heisenberg x oc kid #karl heisenberg x oc kid #heisenberg kid #heisenkid #lovelywingsocs #heisenberg x oc fanfiction #resident evil village fanfiction #re8 fanfiction

[friendshipgun]

🍈 Who’s your blorbo and what are some of your favorite headcanons/ideas about them that repeatedly show up in your fics? Free pass to rant about blorbo opinions.

ooooh gosh this is like giving me a blank check lol. it's also a bit hard bc so much is gonna be spoilers so what i'm gonna do is bend the rules a bit and hit the stuff for both Karl and Ethan that's not spoilers (two blorbos for the price of one):

>> Ethan was on the swim team in school! This particular headcanon brought to you by a comment from the playthrough of RE8 i first watched about the way Ethan moves to protect his body when Heisenberg knocks him into the water. dude also (bc video game) doesn't struggle with water in general, so that translated to him being comfortable with it and even really enjoying swimming.

>> Karl learned English from watching old movies (i think this is a fairly common headcanon but i still really like it!) but i also like to think about him being, after a certain period in time, unwilling to actually ask for anything directly so is limited to using his powers to basically spy on whatever Moreau is watching. which means being limited to Moreau's taste in film. and i like to think about Moreau getting really into Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks romcoms and then trying to watch Forrest Gump but getting too sad and never finishing it so Karl's just forever like "how tf does it end." ongoing joke with my beta that it comes on TV at a few of the motels him and Ethan end up at but he still manages to always miss the end and he's just like extremely >:( about this one movie in particular.

>> [minor spoiler for most recent chapter of 'sunshine', so feel free to skip this one] Ethan restored the car he drove in RE7 himself. i like thinking about him having worked so hard on this damn car, being super proud of it...which makes it worse that it explodes in Jack's garage rip.

>> due to the cadou/mutation Karl has heightened senses. the one i write about the most is his sight; just like the idea of him wearing the sunglasses bc he has light sensitivity (He Wears His Sunglasses At Night, etc.) so incredibly good night vision but struggles during the day/in brightly lit rooms. also just as a slight addendum: Karl runs hot for the same reason, cadou/mutation.

>> no one on this earth is better at compartmentalizing than Ethan Winters

>> was trying to figure out what Karl would have been eating for all the years he lived in the village bc there's no way in hell he was tending a garden or cooking for himself and i determined that it had to be largely expired MREs he found at the factory (i've been going with the idea of the factory being used to make military equipment, thus the tank and the blank dogtag Karl wears) but i also joke with @underlockv about him just eating rats. this is what i was thinking about when he says he's "eaten far worse things" in ch8 of 'sunshine' lmfao.

#there's a bonus moreau headcanon in there too lol #anyway there's other things i'd really like to go into in more detail but i also don't want to spoil anything #maybe i'll revisit this later idk #but thank you so much for the ask and the chance to ramble like this! c: #i've actually been meaning to do a whole post about ethan compartmentalizing but i keep forgetting/getting distracted but MAYBE ONE DAY #ask tag the tag for asks #spirit hat

[saintsofwarding]

BURIAL

Chapter 3

Someone yanked the sack off her head. Elena blinked, eyes adjusting to the gloom. The church, she realized, with a shiver. The same church she sat in every Sabbath-day, to hear the priests read from Miranda's holy writ and extol the miracles of the Black God. Close, and warm, and glimmering with gilt and embroidery and polished wood, it was usually a sanctuary, a place she thought of when she visualized peace.

Now, Miranda stood before her, blocking her view of the altar. The priests moved around her, lighting candles, filling the small church with the shivering glow of their light. It shimmered off Miranda's feather mantle, darkly beautiful, glistening black. It touched each piece of her golden mask, and her eyes beneath, bright as a predator's.

The chain hung loosely around Elena's body. Was Lord Heisenberg gone? It was his power that had made the thing move, had given it life. Now it was dead again, leaving Elena unbound.

She still didn't move. She waited, each breath overloud in the hush. She was alive. Miranda hadn't ordered Lord Heisenberg to smash her skull in. Why?

Why?

"Was that your father?" Miranda asked.

Elena found her voice. "W-what?"

"Was that your father, in the square?"

"No- I...no, he wasn't."

"And yet." Miranda tilted her head, slightly. "You tried to save him."

"Tried?" She glanced toward the windows, but the curtains were drawn. She faced Miranda again. "He was...innocent, please..."

"Innocent," Miranda echoed. "Sweet girl. Do you know how it is we survive here, in the valley of the Black God, beset on all sides by the monsters of the divine? Faith. In each other. In what we can give. So we can search for the truth."

"And...um. What is the truth?"

"That we all must play a part. And if we cannot..." Miranda's hand opened with a sound like knives drawn. "Then we've betrayed the Black God, haven't we? Betrayed its holy work of keeping us alive? That farmer was faithless. And though it pains me, I must do what needs to be done. As must you."

Elena blinked. Her furious pulse had begun to slow, the black spots at the edges of her vision fading. "I..." She had to stop, then start again. "I don't understand."

Miranda smiled. "I know."

Heat pushed at Elena's eyes. All of that, and he was dead anyway, another suitcase delivered to his family, another wound, another hole in a daughter's heart. But as her thoughts formed, and the rage crystallized behind them, that pressure slid into her head. An icy dagger. The tang of blood and mold.

She stiffened. Miranda hadn't moved.

The ice turned to warmth, melting, soothing. It washed at her thoughts and smoothed them over, sand on a shoreline, lapping the rage away. Soon, Elena wasn't so sure she'd ever been angry at all.

"Let me help you understand," Miranda said. "Leave us."

Not Elena. Her priests retreated from the church, leaving Elena alone with Mother Miranda. The candles flickered, filling the dusty air, touching the blackened beams of the holy place. Miranda at last moved aside, revealing the altar, her icon enclosed in gilt and wreathed in flowers and ribbons and strings of dried fruit, flanked by portraits of her Four Lords. Miranda ran her talons along the frame of her icon.

"Your name is Elena Lupu, isn't it?" she began. "I don't see your father with you."

"No, he's...he's unwell."

"A tragedy. And a far worse one if he were to succumb to his illness. Sickness of the spirit is so often more devastating than that of the body. Especially after loss of...a loved one." Her eyes glimmered in the candlelight. "Don't you agree, Elena?"

"He's not going to die. I take care of him."

"A dutiful daughter. I admire that." She faced Elena again, then approached, her step silent on the ancient floorboards. "I admire your courage, loving your family the way you do. How far does that courage go?"

"What do you mean?" Elena's throat wrenched tight as Miranda stopped before her, the incense smoke twining thick and serpentine from the altar not masking her bitter scent. It crept into Elena's head, deep into her lungs; she imagined, on reflex, the insidious veining of something deep belowground, hidden from the sunlight, black and choking-

"I don't want to have to kill you," Miranda told her, sorrow in her voice. "Or your father." She reached out to stroke Elena's head, the points of her talons cold against her skull. "But I have little choice, if you don't perform the Black God's will."

"I...I can," Elena stammered. She felt her father's hands in hers, heard his gruff old voice. His wracking sobs from behind closed doors, after her mother had never come home. Her pulse spiked again, pushing against the drowsy calm in her mind. "I will. Whatever you want. Just...don't hurt him, please."

"Good." She lifted her hand. "Then I have a place for you. Lady Beneviento requires a maid of all work."

Elena went cold.

Lady Beneviento. A mist-wreathed valley. The rumble of vast falls, never ceasing, such that the sound of them might drive you mad. A graveyard that stretched over the mountain flanks, black earth oozing with the diseased blood of those who'd been cut down by plague, by famine that followed, buried ten to a grave so when it rained the bodies had floated up from the dirt, white and swollen with rot.

None Elena knew crept past the plague pits, past the labyrinthine paths and through the misty woods and over the ravine. Not even Andrei would dare, brazen as he was. Things happened to you, past the ravine. Things happened to you, and you never came back.

And Lady Beneviento herself?

A shadow on the edge of her vision. A specter in black. Barely human, clutching at the doll like it was the puppeteer and not her. Lord Heisenberg, who sang to metal and took the dead, a grinning reaper dressed in ash and rags; Lady Dimitrescu, whose palanquin always smelled of blood and roses; Lord Moreau, twisted, tumorous thing, wracked with wolf-sickness, whom Elena had heard wailing from the direction of the reservoir some black nights, the sound both awful and piteous. She knew them, worshipped them, relied on them like she and everyone relied on Mother Miranda, but- Lady Beneviento? No one knew her. No one could. No one came back.

Her mouth was dry.

"Surely..." she began.

"...Someone else is more suited to go?" Miranda finished for her. The icy talons flexed inside Elena's mind; she sensed, with all that she was, it would be no effort at all for those talons to clench down, to tear away all that she was in one swift wrench.

She licked her lips.

"My dear child's last servant never returned, and she requires a new one," Miranda went on, gently. "For her safety, and her comfort. You care for your father. You can care for my daughter."

She paused.

"More than that," she added. "Lady Beneviento is...uncooperative. Ungrateful. I suspect she thinks far more than she allows me and the Black God to know. And that will not do."

Her hand slid to Elena's chin, a single cold clawpoint against the underside of her jaw, pressing in. Elena felt it, the delicacy of it, how it would be no effort at all for Mother Miranda to slide it deep, deep in.

"Watch her," she murmured. "What she does. Where she goes. How she does it. And tell me everything."

She slid her claw in, just the point, just enough for Elena to feel it. The cold, then the heat of blood welling; her breath caught. Miranda's eyes brightened. She was smiling, Elena saw, her perfect lips sliding back from perfect teeth. She was so beautiful, beneath the mask, and Elena knew beyond a shadow of a doubt she had never been so afraid of another living thing in all her life.

"And if you don't..." Miranda whispered.

Her voice trailed away. Elena heard the faint muffled echo of music, in the direction of the square. He was dead, she realized. The man she'd tried to save. He was dead, and they were dancing. Was his blood in the snow? Had Lord Heisenberg taken his broken corpse? She tried to recall his face, but it was her father's she saw there instead, cowering in Miranda's shadow.

And then it was hers.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Yes," she said. "Mother Miranda. I serve you and the Black God, now and always."

"Sweet girl." Her talons slid from Elena's chin, and she stroked her cheek, now, soothing and slow, like her own mother had once done for her as a child. "We all do."

***

She stumbled home, numb and nerveless. Lord Heisenberg hadn't returned to his factory; he followed her, ambling after her as she weaved through the ribbon-festooned streets, the sound of the festivities echoing over the buildings. She couldn't join them. You must leave before dark, Elena, Miranda had ordered her. Otherwise you might stumble and fall on your way, and we mustn't have that.

She put out a hand to steady herself against a house. The smell of cigar smoke rolled over her, and she glanced back. Lord Heisenberg stood a few yards back, his gore-spattered hammer dripping fragments of flesh, his ragged coat black with blood.

"Are you...are you taking me all the way to Lady Beneviento?" Elena managed, voice hoarse.

His grin flashed. "Nah, sweetheart, that place is creepy as fuck. Making sure you don't run before you get going, more like. I'd have to run you down, and I'm more the strolling type."

He made a theatrical gesture with his cigar, smoke trailing through the air. "Nothing personal. You're a lively one. I like that. Hell of a waste of good meat, seeing you get torn apart by hungry lycans."

Elena shuddered. She scrubbed her hand over her mouth and stumbled on, not stopping, not even with his footsteps behind her, not until she reached her yard and her house. Chickens flapped away from her, like before, when everything was still all right. She managed to push inside and slammed the door, throwing the bolt before she realized what she was doing. Would Lord Heisenberg be insulted by her locking him out? Not that it would stop him; he could tear the whole damn house apart with a click of his fingers.

But he didn't force his way in, didn't start breaking things. She heard him pacing around the house, heard him muttering, then humming, some song she didn't recognize. He passed by the kitchen window and was gone again, making his rounds.

Does she really think I'd try to escape? And would she? No, she told herself. No. Maybe someone bolder, someone braver-

Someone with nothing to lose.

Her hands clenched. She didn't hear the shuffle of her father's slippers on the floor, didn't notice him until he said her name.

"Elena? Back so early?"

She whirled. He stood in his bedroom doorway, white hair sticking all ways up, one of his battered old books tucked under his arm. He gestured toward the oven. "Stew's done. You come back to keep me company, girl? Might as well have some stew so long as..."

He stopped. His eyes narrowed, taking her in. Again, heat welled in Elena's eyes. She crushed her palm to her mouth.

"What's wrong, 'Lena?" her father asked.

"Oh, Pa," she whispered.

She crumpled to the table. Her father stayed standing. Don't tell him. Don't frighten him. Not after Mother. You mustn't. "I...I was chosen," she said. "I'm...I'm going to work for Lady Beneviento. As her maid of all work. It's...it's such an honor..."

Her father stared at her. There seemed to be no life in his eyes.

Elena made herself stand. "I have to go," she said. The sound of Lord Heisenberg's humming moved past the window again. Her father didn't even look. "I need- clothes-"

She went to her cot and yanked out her mother's suitcase. Blouses, skirts, her everyday shoes. What else would she need? Would she be provided with a uniform? With tooth powder and night cream? Best to take that. Seemed a little mundane, a little too human, for the house of the Black God's own chosen. She took a couple books, too, her favorites all dog-eared and foxed. Strange, to be thinking of books and tooth powder when by all rights she wouldn't see the morning.

Her skirts rustled at the floorboards. She needed to change. She'd gotten the red silk dress dirty after all, when she'd fallen in the slush.

It couldn't be helped. She stepped behind her dressing screen and changed, tearing at the knots, the frogging, nearly tearing the silk, her hands shook so bad.

Elena re-emerged in skirt and cardigan and kerchief, her hair falling from its braids. Deftly, numbly, she fixed it in the single age-spotted oval of mirror glass above the mantel. She licked her thumb and rubbed at the rusty smear of blood Miranda had left on her face. Elena lifted her chin; the mirror showed the puncture wound, livid and slightly swollen.

It reflected her father, who had sunk into a chair. He gripped its arms in his twisted hands, staring off into a corner.

"Pa," Elena said.

"Don't leave me," he asked her.

Don't you get it? If I stay you die. We both die. This is the way it works, you stupid old man, Elena wanted to scream. Mother died, too, but at least she served a purpose, unlike you- But he was so tired, and if she spoke she'd start to sob.

She couldn't. She couldn't leave him with that. She crossed the room and knelt before him, taking his hands like she had before.

"I'll be back," she told him. It felt like a promise, more so even than the one she'd made to Mother Miranda. She gripped tighter. "I will. It won't be like- like last time. I will come back."

"You don't know that."

"No," Elena admitted. "But I'll try. With all I am. I'll...I'll send a letter to Andrei, ask him to take care of you-"

"That little punk?"

"He's a good lad. He'll do all right."

"Please, Elena, be careful."

She didn't know how much she had control over that sort of thing, but she nodded. "I will. You too, old man."

Impact slammed the front door. "What the fuck is taking you so goddamn long?"

Elena didn't answer. She grabbed her father up in a hug, as long as she dared, holding onto him. Then she let him go.

"Love you, Pa," she told him. On reflex, she took her jawbone charm from round her neck and pushed it into his hand, where it winked, glass beads shining like crows' eyes. "For luck."

"You're the one who needs it."

"No." She stood and went to her rifle, still hanging on its peg. It slipped into her hands, its familiar weight stilling their shake. When she slung it over her shoulder, its accustomed place, she knew there was nothing else she could do. "This is all the luck I need."

***

Eyes followed her as she left town, as she crossed the square, as she looked straight and didn't cry and kept her head up. The morning had darkened, the winter sunlight hidden once more beneath a dense layer of clouds, low and opaque. By the time she trudged up the muddy, rutted track toward the Giant's Chalice, the first flakes of snow had already begun to fall.

Lord Heisenberg didn't say a word to her as he followed her up the track, through the gates and beyond, into the stone circle and the ruins, the massive stone chalice collecting its beard of icicles. He didn't slow, didn't stop, until she came to the great gates emblazoned with House Beneviento's sun and moon crest.

His footsteps had ceased. Elena stopped before the gate, her hand outstretched. She pushed at the gate. It rattled, hinges squealing. Locked.

She looked back. Heisenberg stood by the chalice, smoke curling from beneath the brim of his hat. He'd braced the head of that massive hammer against the ground and leaned on it like a cane.

"Do you have a key?" Elena said. Her voice sounded thin and small in the falling snow, like a little girl's.

"Key," he chuckled darkly, and flicked a hand. There was a metallic chunk from the gate, and it creaked open, releasing a thread of frigid wind.

"Oh. Right." Elena shivered, then braced her palm to the gate. "Guess I should have seen that coming."

She paused.

"Are you...taking me all the way up, my lord?" she asked.

His snarl of laughter was harsh as a hunting lycan's. "I'm not your fucking babysitter."

"If I die, Mother Miranda won't be happy."

"Yeah? And she'll find another girl. Another stupid kid with aspersions of martyrdom to toss into the meat-grinder. You think I care if you end the night at the bottom of the ravine, crows digging around in your orbital socket? Nah. There's always another you. Infinite fuckin' resource, around these parts."

"I'm not a martyr," Elena said quietly. "And I don't plan on falling down the ravine."

"Oh?" He pointed toward one of the statues of goat-headed holy men that overlooked the Chalice. "Ask the saints, martyrs all. Ask how many of them are still fuckin' breathing."

"I trust Mother Miranda," Elena said. "I trust what she asks of me."

He laughed again, dry as an old bone. "Kool-aid," he said, "swigged."

Elena had no idea what this meant. She stood there in silence, only one question left. She knew she had no business asking it, that she'd already taken up far too much of a great lord's valuable time, but- hell, she was going to die anyway, wasn't she.

"What's she like?" she asked.

Heisenberg paused. He lowered his hand. "Huh?"

"Lady Beneviento. She's your sister, isn't she? What should I expect?" She bowed her head. "...My lord."

He snorted, but seemed to study her through his dark glasses. For a moment, Elena thought he might actually tell her.

"Completely batshit," he said instead, cheerfully. He scratched at his tangled gray hair, under his hat. "Truth be told, sweetheart, we don't exactly have heart-to-hearts."

He extricated his hand and made a shooing motion. "Now, go on, be a good girl for Mommy, trot up the mountain to die."

Elena didn't move. She licked her lips.

"Are you-" she began.

Before she could say the next words- scared, too- he'd splayed his hand. "Enough of this shit. Bye-bye, buttercup."

Elena yelped as her rifle snapped forward as if someone had reached through the gate and yanked it, hard; its strap caught at her shoulder, pulling her stumbling and half-falling through the gates. She slammed palm-first into a tree on the far side and whirled, just in time to watch the gate crash shut.

The lock went chunk.

She lunged for the gates, but they were locked tight. Elena grabbed at the handle, rattled it, swore at it, but all she heard was the wind picking up, was the calls of crows circling high, high overhead.

"Bastard," she hissed.

All her energy seemed to have left her. She wanted to slide to her knees, to sprawl in the deep, undisturbed snow and sob until she was empty. Now that she was alone, she could. No Pa, no Miranda, no onlookers, no Lord Heisenberg.

But the longer she stayed, the more daylight she lost. And she couldn't be out here at night. She let herself rest for a moment, forehead pressed to the icy wood, then turned and settled her rifle and stared up the mountain path.

It was so overgrown it looked nearly impenetrable, a tangled wilderness of briars and twisted plants, pine trees and malign branches and mist, shadowed by rock walls, the flanks of the mountains themselves. Elena squinted into the mass, letting her hunter's eyes search for gaps and pathways. She found it soon enough- a narrow, winding track, a way through the wilderness.

One hand gripping her suitcase, the other her rifle strap, she ducked into it and began her way up.

It wasn't long before she caught sight of the first graves.

They swam from the mist- headstones, cracked and water-stained, lichen and time obscuring whatever names had once been set to them. Wind soughed through the trees, singing past carved angels, past extinguished lanterns on long, pendulous chains, past the dried flowers and lemons and stacks of lei set on the graves, the last gifts of the living to the dead.

Elena picked her way through the graveyard, on and on and on, her hands growing numb even inside their gloves. Soon, she was so deep in the graveyard she could barely tell what direction she'd come from. She didn't think she could find her way back even if she tried.

Snow showered from a cliff; she whipped round, but nothing was there, nothing but the descending mist, the endless trees.

Just keep moving. Her mother had told her so many stories of ghosts, how they made nests inside your brain and whispered terrible things, terrible secrets. You're under Mother Miranda's protection. Ghosts wouldn't dare.

But Lord Heisenberg had said- hadn't he?- that Miranda didn't care, that if she died there would be another girl, and wasn't she a replacement, anyway?

No. You can't think that way. You think that and you might as well lie down and freeze to death. Remember why you're here. Who you're here for.

She left the graveyard, crossing a long, long bridge, rope and planks clinging on with rusty nails, a frozen river thundering far below. An eerie, fluting cry echoed from above, leathery wings stirring the mist, but Elena kept her eyes on the path ahead of her. A pair of wrought-iron gates loomed beyond, scrolled and exquisite. A single lamp hung by the wayside, flickering as Elena approached.

The gate burned against her hands, through her gloves. It was unlocked, and groaned wide at a push. She passed through and into a garden. It spread around her, fading into fog- trellises and glasshouses, fences sprouting from tussocks of frozen grass, plants withered and dead in the bitter mountain cold. All except one. Everywhere, alongside the road and in the ditches, at the feet of the statues of cherubs and weeping nymphs that dotted the garden pale as corpses, grew shoots of yellow flowers, bright and abundant.

Pollen drifted round them. It winked in the darkness, and Elena couldn't help but stoop to catch a mote of it on her fingertip and stare in wonder as it glowed on her skin, a tiny ember.

"Beautiful," Elena whispered.

Had Lady Beneviento grown them? There was no place for flowers in their patch of earth out back of their house, in the village. Too much food to grow, and this mountain soil was thin enough as it was. Looking around, Elena saw there were few vegetables in this garden at all, just flowers and ornamental vines and trees. Maybe they were elsewhere. Maybe Lady Beneviento didn't need to grow her own food. Plenty of gardens in the village, after all, and hands to harvest them.

Beyond the garden,

Another grave.

It rose from the heart of a small clearing, ringed with other, lesser headstones like handmaidens flocked about their lady. This one was vast, taller than Elena, a great rock tombstone overlooking a cracked slab carved with floral patterns, with words. Elena couldn't read them through the gloom, even though the stone, the clearing, the trees leaning in as if to listen, was filled with the faint honey glow of candles. Fresh-lit, few had gone out, though the wind was picking up, so strong above the trees it thrashed and raked at them, herald of the coming blizzard.

It touched Elena's hands, gilding loose strands of her hair as she crept closer, stopping at the edge of the gravesite.

The candlelight glimmered off countless eyes, making them look half-alive in the gloom.

Dolls. Dozens of them. All of them the same, or nearly, black-haired and white-faced and dressed in dark gowns, children going to tea. They stared ahead, standing or sitting or slumped amidst wreaths of dried flowers. Other things, too- little wooden animals, beads and sweets, even a book, though it was water-stained illegible. More golden flowers added their glow to the clearing, and in their proliferation Elena tasted what must have been their scent, a bittersweet edge on the back of her tongue.

A doll's eye winked up at Elena from the snow and she plucked it up, rolling the cracked glass marble between her fingers.

She set it swiftly down at the foot of the slab. "Sorry," she whispered to it, like she'd done to the dead rabbit.

Who was buried here? Someone important, no doubt. An ancestor? It had to be. Lady Beneviento had no daughters, no relatives. Except the Lords, of course. And Mother Miranda.

Miranda.

She couldn't stay out here. If she didn't get to House Beneviento fast enough, Mother Miranda might think she'd run off. Elena stepped back from the grave, and with a last look at the massive grave, the silent dolls, she hurried past, into the red gatehouse, into the elevator, and up the long climb toward the summit of the mountain. At last, the elevator spat her out, and she crept from the cave, emerging from its mouth.

She'd arrived.

The house came into view slowly. First, a great dark shape, a looming, crouching void in the world, clinging to the cliffside. The ground vibrated underfoot, the wind lush with frigid moisture; the waterfall, Elena realized. It erupted from some higher point on the mountainside, a massive, ferocious, impossible upheaval of water, huge enough to drown the whole village. As Elena neared the house, the great structure began to take on form through the mist, piece by piece. Turrets and patchy roof tiles, a finial like a stiletto dagger, empty-eyed windows. Cracks in the masonry, plaster sloughing away like diseased skin to reveal the stonework beneath. A great wrap-around the porch, balconies so close to the cliffside they seemed seconds away from sliding off the edge.

Yet more gardens grew from the snow at the house's feet, tangled and blackened save for the yellow flowers growing in abundance all the way to the edge of the porch.

Elena mounted the first step, paused, listened, then the next. The windows reflected her pale face, her wide eyes. She glanced down the porch. Nothing but an old chair, a set of wind-chimes, the sound silvery in the next gust of wind. The doors waited at the top of the steps, double, polished wood and verdigrised brass.

Elena let out her breath and took a few precious seconds to smooth down her hair.

They opened under her touch.

Heat spilled over her. Elena flinched, but nothing jumped out at her. Nothing happened at all. She blinked, took a quick breath, then stepped over the threshold, closing the doors behind her before too much snow got in and ruined the fine antique carpets of the entryway.

She found herself in a hall, wood-paneled walls reflecting the grated fire with a rich, syrupy glow. Her gaze traveled through the heights. Paintings hung on every wall, oils, mostly, still lifes of fruit, bucolic or seaside scenes. Everywhere were bookshelves, and side tables, and ornaments of porcelain or copper or lacquer, chairs upholstered in green leather, rugs slung over the floors and fire crackling merrily and the buttery glow of electric light beaming down from the tasteful chandelier overhead.

Is this really House Beneviento? The stories, the warnings, the ghost tales and night terrors all seemed distant. Elena waited for a snarl, for long, pale fingers to close around her throat, for ghosts to rise from the shadows and pull her into their cold embrace, but nothing happened.

A clock ticked on the mantel. Somewhere, deeper in the house, floorboards creaked. A footfall? Or just an old house with the cold in its bones?

Elena took another step, her brows raised, her lips parted. A rocking chair waited by a gramophone player- she gasped at this; few people in the village had one, and she ached to look at the records, to see if there was any music she recognized- and alongside it, on a small table, rested a basket of knitting-wool.

Elena examined it. A pair of knitting needles was thrust through a ball of wool, and alongside the basket, a long, sharp pair of silver scissors rested on a doily.

Elena ran her hand over the doily. Its linen was so fine it felt smooth as water, the scalloped edge finished in golden silk. Exquisite. Not even her mother could have made something as masterful at this.

Silk rustled.

With a start, Elena looked up. The doll waited for her in the rocking chair, which creaked back and forth as if suddenly disturbed.

She hadn't been there before. Long and lanky, limbs jointed with rusty eye bolts, dressed in layers of antique lace like a miniature bride, her spidery hands were folded in her lap, her little black shoes crossed primly at the ankle. Her face, childlike, yes, but- off, rived down the middle with a curving crack that had been put back together...inexpertly, was crowned in a circlet of dusty silk flowers. She stared into nothingness, blank and wall-eyed.

Elena glanced around, but no one was there.

"How did...?" she began.

Her voice lapsed into silence. She must have missed it. She did, she told herself. No one else was here. Lady Beneviento must be out. And she was alone in the house.

"Just you and me, I guess," she told the doll.

The firelight flickered off its misaligned porcelain face. Maybe she had once been pretty, but time and wear had...well. Enhanced her. Why not fix the thing? With the skills the house's mistress surely had, judging by the workmanship on the doily, she could make her good as new.

It wasn't her concern. Elena brushed past the little bride and looked up at the stairs, which ascended to a mezzanine. A darker rectangle on the wall, a prominent absence, told her there must have once been a portrait hung there.

Out for repairs? Maybe it was an unflattering likeness.

There was no sign of instructions, so Elena explored the house- slowly, in case she wasn't alone after all. There wasn't much to explore, though it was, of course, bigger than her father's house by far. Bigger than anyone's house she knew, honestly, she could have seen a family of twelve comfortably living in this emptiness. She made her efficient assessment of the place. Kitchen, dining-room, a reading-nook with a pair of porcelain teacups on a polished table. Books stacked, stove hot, a sprig of yellow flowers in a bud vase. A flower-papered hallway led to an atrium, and a brass grille fenced off the entrance to another elevator. The grille was locked. Elena was quietly glad. Enough of gates and locks and keys for today.

She circled back to the main hall and up the stairs; most of the doors were locked, too, but one came open under her hand, a small, narrow bedroom. The linens were fresh on the bed, and a candle flickered on the bedside table, illuminating the single cupboard and washbasin in a corner.

That was clear enough. Servant's quarters. She quickly slung her suitcase on the bed and leaned her rifle in a corner, where she'd see it if she woke up in the middle of the night. The water was steaming hot and Elena gratefully plunged her numb hands in; soon, feeling began to ebb back into her body. She washed, all over, and flanneled herself dry, not caring at the threadbare fabric of the towels. She almost groaned in relief when she pulled the pins from her braids and brushed loose the stiff brown tangles of her hair. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she'd bound them up, and over the day they'd begun to ache, pulling at her scalp as if to peel it off.

She went to the wardrobe and pulled it open, humming a dancing-song. Inside-

She went still.

Clothes. Neatly folded, well-made of good linen and wool. Her heart leaped. Are these for me? But when she pulled them out, Elena saw they were much the wrong size for her, made for a girl shorter than her by a good few inches, and significantly more curvaceous. Elena- tall, straight-figured, and bustless- had no business trying to get into a skirt with a waist that small. She searched the seams and found a tag, embroidered in neat letters with a name.

Violeta.

Violeta. The girl who was missing. The last girl from the village who had come here, and who had never gone back.

Elena folded the clothes again and replaced them in the wardrobe. She closed its door with a neat snap. Curtains of hair falling round her face, her skin glowing pink from being scrubbed, she changed into a fresh blouse and skirt and stood, clean, dry, and warm. She glanced toward the window. It overlooked the waterfall, the plunge down, down, down. Such a long way. She couldn't see the village lights from here. It was as if it didn't exist at all.

And when she died up here, vanished like Violeta, her name would be whispered, then silenced, and never said again. And she'd be forgotten, too.

Would her father get the suitcase back this time?

Elena sat slowly on the bed. She went to her side, facing the wall, and curled up, knees to her chest, hands pressed to her stomach. The grief opened inside her like a wound. When she began to cry she let herself, and didn't stop, not even as the darkness fell in the small, cold, unfamiliar room, not even when the candle by her bedside burned itself out.

#resident evil village #re8 #re8 fanfiction #re8 fic #donna beneviento #mother miranda #elena lupu #karl heisenberg #resident evil #angie beneviento #claudia beneviento #donna beneviento x oc #donna beneviento x elena lupu #gothic horror #gothic romance

[timelessxmemories]

"Repressed Memories."

Closed starter with: @dollskilled

Pairing: Cleo x Heisenberg

He stands here now, staring up at the moon with an almost blank stare, repressed memories coming out of the surface, starting to bloom and flooding Heisenberg’s mind, darkening his thoughts, his mind becoming numb with a fog that made his head spin, a pain he hadn’t felt for years now. A pain that struck his lungs, making it hard for him to breathe and wrap his mind around things that seemed to be far more complicated than how they actually were. As the memories flooded back from where he had once buried them, his gaze darkened and his knuckles began to turn white from how tightly he was holding onto his hammer. As his gaze darkens, he soon comes to the conclusion that he can trust no one. A heavy scowl falls from his lips as he begins to walk aimlessly through the forest, unsure of where exactly he was headed, but he knew that he needed to get away from everything, everyone. He didn’t understand why only he was being given punishment for his past mistakes. When there was so much worse out there? It felt as if the weight of the world was upon his shoulders. It felt as if he was slowly drowning in the mistakes he’s made in the past. Those same mistakes haunting him and weighing him down, refusing to let him progress forwards.

He stops at the lake, sitting down on a log, watching as the water lapped over itself, and riding up the sand. He shuts his eyes tightly, placing his hammer down and giving a soft sigh as memories of his childhood, before he became the same monster he is today rushing back. His mother’s gentle laughter echoing out through his mind as a frown appears on his face, leaning forwards, placing his head in his hands as he tries to steady his breathing and push those same memories into the back of his head. He knew he had gone too far, but was it really his fault? He didn’t understand as to why out of all beings out there, he was the one to become an experiment? He couldn’t wrap his head around it no matter how hard he tried.

He remembers the day he had become an experiment. He remembers the lifeless corpse of his mother lying dead on the ground. He remembers being ripped away from his mother, he remembers screaming out for no one in particular, the pool of blood that had been beneath him, the way he was thrown into an isolated cell, he remembers it all even if he doesn’t want to. The memories burned into his mind as he soon stands up, his head facing the ground as he eventually arrives back at his factory, stepping inside and taking his coat off, along with his hat and shades, throwing them aside somewhere, before heading into the factory’s kitchen, grabbing a bottle of Whiskey, popping the lid open and taking a long drink in an attempt to forget. To forget the pain. To forget the memories that never seemed to ever go away. He was in so much pain. But yet, he hid it so well so that no one would worry about him. He believed that since he was a Lord, he shouldn’t show what he’s really feeling. Afterall, he wasn’t always a Lord. He didn’t even have a choice. He was just simply taken, and that was that. He once was able to show his feelings, but now? He had seemed to have forgotten what it was like to show his real feelings. The world felt like it was going faster than it ever had before.

#{ 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭! 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳! ;; karl heisenberg } #{ wish ; in character }

[dxrknessembr8ced]

After Hsien-Ko once more evolve through metro city to adapt to her environment and to the weather conditions of the now city of the damned. The undead have undergone a similar process of evolution far more horrific and gruesome than what the jiangshi have gone through. Through the T-Erebus virus the undead have become far more violent and aggressive while half of them mutated into new nightmarishly powerful bio organic weapons, that's bad enough but it gets far worse as new breed of B.O.W.s are given supernatural properties coming in all forms of deadly through the supernatural aspects of the virus taken from Hsien-Ko's body and essence, using that dark essence and create monstrosities that man has seen from their very worse nightmares. These new breed of horrors appear im shapes and sizes, using either the powerful dark magic weaponize to the core from the magic used to create what Hsien-Ko is as of now and will tear apart all in their path with from military forces or New Shadow Law operatives with an iron fist.

While supernaturally enhanced bio weapons are nightmarish, they're not alone as an even worse type of zombie make their way into the city and worse? They're all man made bio mechanical abominations created by the cult of Las Erebus to provide and serve their god, Hsien-Ko as soldiers and nightmarish warriors of war and mayham. These beings are Erebus - Soldats, biomechanical super soldiers of the cult heavily inspired by the mold mutant Karl Heisenberg but instead of mold, these creatures are created from the contaminated flesh of Hsien-Ko. Stronger and more resilient than the soldats back at heisenberg's factory these beings will fight and die for Erebus until the very end.

Even the nightmarish Seraphim, cell divided clones of Hsien-Ko have evolved and gained more strength of that of a tyrant, as just as always spread like cockroaches alongside these supernaturally enhanced B.O.W.s with extreme prejudice searching and killing any and all survivor they came across, the city is now complete impossible to save from the moment the red mist like fog variation of the virus spread global from the villages and now half of the planet but now? This is now a complete killing jar, absolute overkill by mother nature herself. The streets will no longer run red, it will run absolute chaos and the sounds of screams that are the music to their ears as the bio mass she left behind is growing and spawning more of them by the day.

#{ @dxrknessembr8ced } #{ Gruesome Evolution } #{ The Children Of Erebus } #{ Let The Games Begin }

[margridarnauds]

F K and X for the ask game GO

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“I’m going to need to ask the Duke if he has new stock in,” Heisenberg said. “I’m running out.” 

“He seems to keep up,” Ethan says. “I wonder how he does it, with Miranda controlling everything in the village.” 

Heisenberg shrugged. “I never ask. He sells, I buy, and I don’t go any deeper than that. He’s been around since before I was part of things. But he sells a damn good cigar, and, when he isn’t being cryptic, he’s good company after a few bottles of țuica.” 

“Bottles?” He’d tried a shot of the stuff once, when he’d first moved, and it gave vodka a run for its money. Tasted bit like gasoline and paint thinner combined, with a bit of a plum taste thrown in to make it palatable. Nearly knocked him out.

“Hey, everyone has their vices. Increases the appetite.” He paused. “It used to be a way for people in the village to make a little money on the side. Before every meal, they’d make a toast to Miranda, put a little glass on the side of the table for her. Waste of good alcohol, if you ask me. What the woman needs is a goddamn blunt.”  

Against his own will, Ethan laughed. He wasn’t supposed to be laughing - Rose was in danger, Mia was dead. Everything was at risk, everything. But he hadn’t slept in over 24 hours, unless he wanted to count being knocked out and dragged around by Heisenberg (which he didn’t), and he’d worked enough late-night shifts to know what that did to anyone’s sense of humor.

“What?”

Ethan was able to compose himself enough to say, in the most solemn voice possible, “In life and in death, we pass the bong to Mother Miranda.”  “Okay, now that’s just awful, even for me.” Heisenberg chuckled. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

So, this scene is coming immediately one of the tensest moments of Door #2 -- it's a time where we start really seeing consequences for the characters and what they've done and the decisions they've made. You have, for the very first time, someone actually dying because of Heisenberg's decisions, on page, you have Ethan not being able to save someone with the power of friendship, and so this is a bittersweet moment where there's all THIS haunting them while there's also a tiny bit of comic relief. (Yes, I DID get Neil Newbon, Heisenberg's VA, to do an autograph he signed "In life and death we pass the bond to Mother Miranda" and I would do it all over again.)

Resident Evil has always had this interplay of comedy, tragedy, and horror, and that's what I'm trying to tap into here, especially with Ethan, since Ethan in particular is a protagonist who has this absolutely devastating character arc while some of his canon dialogue includes things like "That's not groovy." And Heisenberg, in-canon, gets relatively few chances to see that, since in-canon, Ethan spends most of his time being extremely pissed off that his daughter's been kidnapped...totally understandably. Here, he's really getting to see, for the first time, that Ethan has a sense of humor. It's a sign of how far they've come that Ethan is able to approach him like this, getting into his physical space, without Heisenberg snapping at him, and it's a sign on the reverse side that Ethan is starting to feel comfortable enough with Heisenberg that he can joke around with him a little, even if it's in the calm before the absolute shitstorm of the third act. (Also it's a very relatable thing for me as a grad student because my sense of humor really takes a nose-dive at around...I would say the 16 hour mark without sleep, getting progressively worse the longer I'm up.)

I was also really proud to bring in a bit of world building re: the țuica and Miranda -- One thing I wished we'd gotten to see more of, and this is going to be VERY "of COURSE, you're a MYTHOGRAPHER" moment, is that we have this pagan village cult in Romania and we get to see very little of how it functioned. The village ITSELF in Resident Evil Village is possibly one of the biggest wastes of good potential I'd seen, like what does a village that has been under her thumb for over a hundred years look like? What kind of rituals, besides the one we see on screen, did they come up with as a way of appeasing her? What does this blend of pre-Christian belief + Miranda *look* like? And I'm not just looking into edgy "OH MY GOD HUMAN SACRIFICE" because I often feel like human sacrifice is a bit of a cheap way out of things (and I don't think it works for Miranda's MO anyway -- we know there were human sacrifices *before* Miranda, but I'm not sold post, though I think that often depends on how you define "human sacrifices") -- I'm interested in the day to day rituals that Miranda would instate as a way of ensuring their complete loyalty and devotion, including offerings. The world of RE: Village is a lot of fun to pick apart and this was a great chance to do that a little while also letting the characters have a bit of a break.

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

I have spoken about a LOT of REALLY angsty ideas, including some that I'm not sure I can *talk* about here without multiple TWs, all of which you probably know about.

Probably the single angstiest idea, since literally no one is having a good time here, is the Marie Antoinette Canon Divergence AU where Margrid feels guilt ridden after the trial and decides to take Antoinette's place -- it was very much "Servant of Evil"/Tale of Two Cities inspired and it was my attempt at kind of going "...what would have happened if Antoinette DID survive?" Her husband's dead, she's been separated from her children, and there is going to have to be a high human cost to keeping her alive. You know, what happens? (And of course there is Margrid/Orléans and of course it is angsty, because (1) Orléans knows her well enough to know that she'd do something like this and (2) She's too determined to back down from this once she's made her mind up)

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

Lazare is kind of the expected answer, isn't he? It's a lot of fun to work with him because he's this man in this massive position of power -- he is at the height of where you can really be at his age and his status in the ancien régime, he has his own men under him, he has a massive amount of status at court to the point where the King both (a) recognizes him and (b) takes his military advice into account, and, depending on the production, he doesn't seem to be older than 30, maybe as young as ~25. It's fun to seem him humbled and to chip away at all those little niggling insecurities, to really dissect what makes him tick and then use that against him and to bring out those vulnerabilities that make him interesting.

I feel like something that...doesn't hurt is that we don't see what happens to Lazare post 1789. Like, he's Ronan's greatest antagonist, he's the reason Ronan started all of this, and then we don't see him after Ronan dies and, depending on the production, again, he's *directly* responsible for it. And you can say "well, we know what happens to the nobility" but...do we? Do we? Because, if we assume he's a member of Artois' faction, which has a decent amount of canon behind it, or as much as we're going to get...Artois' faction overwhelmingly got the fuck out of France. I think that Lazare might NOT choose to do that because I think he's (1) a stubborn shit and (2) would live in denial about the state of affairs, but the truth is that, despite the popular image of what a victim of the Revolution looked like, Ronan had he lived would have been at more risk of becoming a victim of the Revolution than Lazare. So it's satisfying, on some level, seeing some amount of emotional payoff for Ronan's death, this sense of Lazare surviving but never really fully recovering from July 14.