#dimistrescu family

[np-writes]

Dating one of Alcina’s daughters be like—

Y/N: “If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d place U and I together.”

B/C/D: “Aww!”

Alcina, slamming the door open: “I heard a cute ‘Aww’ in there! Cool down!” *proceeds to spry Y/N with water, chasing them out of the room*

#re8 #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #alcina demitriscu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimistrescu #bela dimitrescu x y/n #cassandra dimitrescu x y/n #daniela dimitrescu x y/n #re8 x y/n #alcina is very protective #she loathes the thought of her daughters dating #you'd literally have to fight for some privacy with her daughters #good luck winning alcina's approval #dimitrescu family

[fridgemagnethusband]

Die Schöne und das Biest

Chapter Ten: The Weight of Trust

something something burnout’s a bitch, but i’m a bigger one!!! as an apology, here’s a longer than normal chapter. i hope this update finds you unhinged <3

(also, special thanks to our very own @jadedisaster for beta reading my nonsense at odd hours, rain or shine!!!)

Three weeks.

It had taken all of three weeks to bankrupt your patience before you’d returned to the secret cottage, abducting the herbalist’s typewriter and a handful of their journals with the intention of transcribing the most important entries. Just three weeks without Heisenberg’s company before you’d thrown all caution to the wind and gone directly against his orders.

Time better spent piecing things together instead of holding out hope for the bastard, you scoff, still annoyed with yourself for caring in the first place. Your orders with the Duke continued to disappear from the clipboard before returning in the form of crates left outside the hallway leading to the flat, so you knew Heisenberg was still kicking around somewhere in the factory. What business is it of yours whether the man showered, slept, or ate?

You absentmindedly thumb through several more weeks worth of transcribed journal pages, vision blurring as thoughts of what exactly all of this was pointing to chased you through the hallways of your mind. You’d spent countless days and nights slogging through chapter after dense chapter of Heisenberg’s textbooks and the herbalist’s various journals in search of answers to the very question, but every page read only raised more questions. Who was the herbalist, and why did he come here in the first place? Why didn’t anyone speak of him, and what fate could have befallen him? You wished you could find his name amongst his things, perhaps look for it in the graveyard. His journals painted an uncanny picture of the village in so many broad strokes, but betrayed little about himself save for his opinions and the careful treatment of his patients. You throw the stack of papers onto the coffee table with a frown.

The hematology text you’d started with sits beside the dwindling pile of unread books, seemingly as harmless as those surrounding it. Nevertheless, you side eye it carefully as you mentally sift through the slurred chatter you’d occasionally overheard in the bar over the years.

There was no shortage of gossip regarding the goings-on of Castle Dimistrescu - some believed the unsociable Countess’ enriched red wine contained the blood of the village’s most beautiful maidens, or that she drained virgins of their blood and bathed in it, or that her trio of daughters mercilessly feasted on the flesh of men. Far-fetched rumors perpetuated by half-witted peasants, you’d thought; it was more likely that the servant girls had gotten pregnant out of wedlock and run off with their lovers to neighboring villages, or that the men had gotten too drunk and stumbled into the reservoir. Goodness knows there was little else to do here. As far as you could tell, the Countess gave the village’s girls a chance to send money home to their poor families. Perhaps if you had thought yourself a little more pleasant to look at, you too would’ve sought out work in the castle at one point in time.

But then, there had also been the occasional frenzied account of a wolf-demons skulking in the night, and you had chalked those up as cock-and-bull stories too. After your encounter with the beast some time ago, you’d been a little more willing to give these tall-tales some reconsideration. The herbalist’s journal entries only further corroborated the idea that something was deeply wrong with the village, as they often made mention of the village inhabitants coming down with various respiratory and gastrointestinal illnesses, most of which the herbalist had attributed to encounters with something in the church. Could it have been intentional?

You had been given more than a few reasons to distrust Mother Miranda over the years, but to imply that she would intentionally make her followers sick? What did she stand to gain? Perhaps an opportunity to “save” them? And if Mother Miranda isn’t above making her followers sick, then who was to say the Countess isn’t turning maids into wine? You pinch the bridge of your nose, setting aside your absurd speculations in favor of a more rational approach.

I ought to ask Heisenberg about the nature of the Countess’ work next time he’s topside. He may know. Afterall, they attend the same meetings, you submit, completely disregarding the fact that the two of you hadn’t spoken in several weeks.

Or maybe he knows because he has a hand in it, suggests the ever-growing voice of paranoia in the back of your mind.

Your dubious glare lands on the remnants of the drink you’d shamelessly poured yourself some hours ago and you take one last deep gulp of it, increasingly unsure as to whether your employer’s expensive bourbon reserves were helping to drown out the venomous voice of paranoia, or fan its overly suspicious flames. Even momentarily entertaining the thought that Heisenberg could be involved in their machinations fills you with a deep sense of guilt, and you scold yourself for forming suspicions based on chatter, affiliation, and the ramblings of some herb doctor long gone.

But if not that, then what? What else did you have to go off of?

Unrequited glances across the bar? A handful of shared meals? A smattering of evenings spent together in the study? This spell of complete isolation was demonstration enough that you knew nothing about the man, that you had grossly miscalculated both his desire for company and capacity for spite. Had you really been so desperate for companionship after your father’s death that you would jump headlong into the servitude of a man who was little more than a stranger?

The hall clock chimes its disapproval in the next room and you cast your glass aside, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes as you consider the prospect of surrendering to sleep. Taking up the poker with an exhale, you spread the dying embers across the floor of the fireplace before smothering them with ash. You trace the cool wood of the banister with your fingertips, breath catching in your throat at the sound of a stray creak somewhere within the factory. When it proves to be nothing more, you climb the stairs, pulling your door shut behind you with a faint click.

—

You cross your arms, settling back onto the sofa so as to better resist the urge to push the miserable machine over the edge of the steamer trunk turned coffee table. Of course the damned thing was out of ink. It was only a matter of time, the way you’d been going at it. But for it to do this after you spent all that time cleaning it? Gave it a new home, a purpose?

You sag further into your seat as you survey the study, scattered pages littering seemingly every surface. If given enough time, you were certain you could have put everything in chronological order based entirely on how many coffee rings or bourbon spills each page contained. You think back to the room’s state before your initial occupation of the flat. Had you known it would end up right back where it started, you’d have saved yourself the trouble and left it as it was.

At least there’s not cigar ash everywhere this time.

A pang of loneliness echoes in the cavern of your chest before you can even finish the thought. Funny, how willingly you would overlook the abysmal state of the flat if it meant you could have the gruff company that came with it. Funnier still was how quickly you’d grown accustomed to said company after spending so many years by yourself in your little shack. You’d lost track of how many times you had wondered whether or not he’d come to enjoy your routine, whether he’d craved companionship too.

Don’t be silly. He’s got the Duke and the pretty barkeep and all the other Lords. He got on just fine before you came along, and he’ll get on just the same after you leave.

The next stack of untouched journals taunts you from the end table and your lip curls as you consider the prospect of copying out the herbalist’s notes by hand. Surely the time spent looking for a new ribbon or even an inkwell could be made up for by typing them out after you’d found one. The apparatus had become a strange extension of you, a fundamental part of piecing together the mystery of the herbalist’s affairs. No, a pen simply wasn’t the tool for this job. It only served to slow you down. You quickly decided you were better off tearing the flat apart instead; after all, you were the only one who had to live with the aftermath.

—

Despite your efforts, your early morning rummage proves fruitless, and you give in with little more than an “Oh, to hell with it”. At least if Heisenberg found out about your transgressions, he’d be forced to confront you, which meant you got what you wanted either way.

The groan of the gate to the plaza announces your arrival, and the Duke’s face rounds into a soft smile that you can’t help but return.

“Ah, Y/N. I was starting to think Lord Heisenberg was holding you prisoner. I take it he’s kept you busy?” He watches intently as you settle against a barrel with a small huff.

“Busy doesn’t begin to cover it. I’ve spent the last few weeks doing nothing but reading textbooks and doing laundry and governing his ludicrous machines. I’ve hardly got time for anything else, the way the equipment acts up and the way my reading pile seems to grow overnight.”

He waits patiently, giving both you and your words room to breathe. Wishing to avoid speaking about your absent employer altogether, you scan the Duke’s wares, stretching to try to see behind him.

“Say, you wouldn’t still happen to have that typewriter of yours, would you?”

“Well of course, my dear,” his pale brows furrow. “Why do you ask?”

“Ah, my ribbon needs replacing and I was wondering if you had any spools on hand.”

“No new ribbons, no. Mine doesn’t get much use these days, but I suppose I could check to see if-,” he cuts himself off before focusing his shrewd gaze on you. “Wherever did you find a typewriter?”

Shit. You’d grown so accustomed to working with it, you’d nearly forgotten you’d stolen it.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe some of the stuff Lord Heisenberg has laying around the factory,” you shove off from the barrel with an eye roll. “All kinds of gadgets, just waiting to be saved.” It wasn’t strictly a lie.

“Ah, yes. I’m quite familiar with his penchant for tinkering. Still, what use do you have for it? Don’t tell me that you’ve taken up typing?”

“Afraid so. He has me taking notes. I find it’s faster than writing it all by hand.” A bitter guilt washes over you as you lie to your only friend with ease. You’d had a lot of practice with being sneaky as of late, slipping out of the factory at odd hours to make your trek to the cottage. But outright lying?

“Ah, I see. Will you be needing any materials for maintenance? Does it appear to be well looked after?”

“No, not particularly. Go ahead and add those to the list as well, if you think they’ll come in handy.”

“Consider it done, my dear,” he jots down a short list and tucks it into a breast pocket with a smile. “Now, as lovely as it’s been to see your sweet face, I must leave you here. Lady Beneviento is expecting a delivery, and I don’t wish to keep her waiting.”

“I could take it for you,” you suggest, mouth moving faster than your brain. Unsurprisingly, his eyes narrow at the suggestion.

I have to ask her about the herbalist. This is the perfect excuse to speak to her.

“I was actually headed up there myself, on an errand. Heisenberg’s orders.” You lift your bag and pat its side for emphasis, praying he doesn’t inquire further.

He does.

“Heisenberg’s orders?” he repeats, a tinge of doubt seeping into his normally cool tone. “What business does he have with Lady Beneviento that cannot be conducted at one of their meetings?”

Had your subsequent scream not been internal, it might have been heard for miles around.

“I nearly asked the same thing, but I’m not about to let a chance to leave the factory slip me by. Even if I knew, I’m not certain I’d be at liberty to say.” You hold your breath.

His eyes search your face for a few moments too long, and he gives a great sigh, seemingly having found whatever it was he was looking for in it.

“No point in both of us disrupting her day, then. I don’t particularly enjoy the trek anyhow,” he trails, turning to grab something from behind him. Dangling wares jangle a discordant song as the caravan rocks slightly. “I do not need to remind you that my customers’ privacy is-”

“Paramount.”

“Paramount,” he echoes, holding a small parcel and twin spools of used ribbon out to you.

“I’ll take great care in getting it to her.”

“I trust you will, my dear.”

You gently tuck the items into your bag, the weight of his trust heavy on both your back and mind as you make to set off.

“Y/N?”

His voice causes you to freeze, and you turn back to look at him as you grasp the icy cold gate leading to the Beneviento estate.

“Yes, Duke?”

You struggle to hold the man’s gaze, the features of his face set in sad, resigned lines, and sadness floods your heart at having deceived someone who clearly cares so deeply for you.

“Please be careful.”

—

A spectral fog licks the floor of the narrow, steep-sided valley, carrying with it the musky-sweet perfume of decomposition that only belongs to late autumn; crushed moss, dark humus, and wet bark herald the waning daylight — an imminent omen of the long winter nights to come.

Overhead, the twisted limbs of gnarled trees claw their way across the sky, their dark silhouettes little more than blurs in the gray haze. You puzzle at the empty bird cages that hang lifeless from them, and continue to wade through the otherworldly damp – the muffled shuffling of your feet the only discernible source of noise – and a dull sense of foreboding begins to lap at the periphery of your thoughts. Struggling to see more than a few feet ahead, you become less certain with every step that the path you’re on will actually lead you to the Beneviento estate.

After a time, the walls of the ravine open up, unceremoniously spitting you out at the edge of a gorge. You stop, watching as the fog behind you lazily runs over the threshold, spurred on by your momentum. It spills into the chasm below, which flows with an even thicker brume. A quiet fear churns in the empty pit of your stomach and you swallow, willing yourself not to think about how deep the abyss may or may not be. You shift your attention to the bridge that presumably spans it, and your fear cements in your gut. The fibers that make up the ropes are frayed and worn, sticking out from the bridge wherever they’ve unraveled, and a great number of boards appear to be loose, clinging to the rope where they haven’t gone missing entirely. You doubt the rest of the bridge looks any better, but the fog smothers it well before you can tell. You lightly kick the anchoring point of the bridge a couple of times, as though that might further betray its integrity - or lack thereof.

I’m starting to understand why he’s not fond of the trek.

Gripping the main cables of the bridge, you take a timid step. When the first board doesn’t immediately give way, you risk a second, and a third. It’s not until you’re what must be halfway across that you feel compelled to look behind you, the uneasy feeling of being watched making the hairs on the back of your neck stand erect. The caw of a crow cuts through the heavy silence and your head snaps around. You struggle to distinguish its silhouette against the pale gray of the fog, but can just make out the air billowing where it’s been disturbed by the dampened flutter of wings and the glow of a single blue eye. A shiver bolts down your spine and you abandon all caution as you race to cross the rest of the bridge, ropes and boards groaning under the strain of your frantic movements.

Your feet pound a panicked rhythm into the uneven path as they carry you away from the bridge, and it’s not until you stumble over a stray root and pitch headlong into the dirt that your momentum finally stops. The sudden fall knocks the wind out of you, a sharp pain developing in your chest as you unsuccessfully gasp for air.

He’d be glad to know that my disobedience isn’t going totally unpunished.  

Clustered gravestones stare down at you as you lay sprawled on the ground, struggling to regain your breath. You manage to right yourself as it comes back to you in short, ragged gasps, the ache in your arm quickly replacing the discomfort in your chest. You stoop to collect the contents of your bag and rub your wrist reflexively, assessing the extent of the damage. The pain radiates as you test it gingerly.

Sprained, maybe.

“And all because of some fucking crow,” you grumble. “When did I get to be so lily-livered?”

A sudden sense of stillness washes over you as you take in the bunched graves. The names of the deceased are barely visible under the moss and lichens that cling to the neglected markers, their epitaphs as long forgotten as the individuals they were meant to commemorate. At the very least, you could make out that they largely seemed to belong to various members of House Beneviento. Tendrils of fog drift aimlessly between them, tangling in the bunches of yellow, hood-shaped flowers that sprout from the graves.

Must be the Aconitum variety the herbalist wrote about.

On plucking a stem, you fold it into a kerchief produced from your bag.

You turn your attention to the strange, gothic structure nestled into the craggy rocks behind the graves. It stands proud, cathedral-like in its architecture, with a small rose window and red, iron doors. They groan in protest at your intrusion, displeased that you should see fit to cross their threshold. You step into a dimly lit stone corridor and are greeted by a musty smell and the sound of dripping water; you clutch your arms to your chest as though the action might keep the damp air inside from clinging to your person.

The heavy doors clang shut behind you, and you round the corner to find a few lit candles silently standing vigil in a stone alcove, their soft bodies merging where their dripping wax meets. The corridor is punctuated by a small, ornate elevator - not totally unlike the one in the factory - and you press the singular button on the polished brass plate embedded in the wall; after a few moments, a bell buzzes, heralding the arrival of the lift and the gate lurches open, allowing you entry. You step inside, pressing yet again the only button available to you, and the lattice shuts you into its confines. You wince at the sound, and a seed of doubt begins to take root in your stomach as you begin to wonder if you weren’t trading one cage in for another. The elevator jerks to life and you steady yourself, focusing on the clammy stone wall descending around you in an attempt to will your hesitation away.

Surely the Duke wouldn’t have let me come here if he thought it was of any danger to me.

The single lightbulb flickers overhead as if to challenge the notion.

Of course, he’s also operating under the impression that Heisenberg knows I’m here.

Another ding heralds your arrival, and you step out into a stone corridor, swatting the thought aside like an errant fly. The roar of rushing water fills the air, and you freeze in your tracks at the mouth of the cave. A cutting wind howls around you, whipping your hair and cloak into a frenzy as you steady yourself against the cold wall of the cave.

The once-illustrious House Beneviento clings to the edge of a jagged cliff face, the rocky precipice dropping sharply into the churning, frothy waters of the waterfall that cascades behind it. Steeply sloping rooflines and intricate spires stand as proud as the surrounding mountains; the long shadows they cast across the crumbling, ivy-ridden facade of the manor obscure the narrow arch windows that lurk in the recesses, their drawn curtains hanging heavy in the hardwood frames. There was no denying that the light had undoubtedly long since gone out of the manor, but you didn’t have to try very hard to imagine what it must have looked like in its full glory. Beautiful and imposing.

A flicker of movement in one of the windows betrays what appears to be the silhouette of a woman, and you fight to steel yourself against your sudden unease.

Forging on, you push through the wrought-iron gate, taking little note of the overgrown hedges, yellow flowers, and trees that line the stone path. The sense of foreboding that hangs heavy in the air further suffocates you with each step, but your curiosity pulls you along the flags, towards the veranda, up its sloping steps, and before a set of stately double doors. With a slight tremble, you raise a gentle fist to strike the hardwood before the last vapors of your resolve can fully dissipate.

You’re denied the chance as hinges, worn and rusted by years of neglect, strain against the weight of the doors; the old wood itself moans, grudgingly adding its complaint to the eerie chorus. The faint glow of warm lights and a delicate floral scent escape the widening gap, and you apologetically lower your hand as you’re faced by the lady of the house.

–

Despite the obvious ticking of a clock somewhere behind you, time seems to hang suspended in the air.

Anticipation and restlessness quietly coalesce in the pit of your stomach as you look around the informal sitting room in wait of your gracious hostess. The lighting is soft, the various scattered fixtures and candles bathing the tastefully arranged furniture in a warm yellow. Upholstered armchairs and beautifully crafted end tables consort with stray stacks of books atop complementary plush rugs. Sturdy cabinets house sterling heirlooms, fine dishes, and assortments of porcelain dolls. A heavy writing desk stands in the middle of the room, its grandeur only exceeded by the elaborately carved fireplace that stands guard behind it. A mix of old-world charm and faded elegance.

You settle into your seat, only vaguely aware of the sounds of Lady Beneviento busying herself in what you can only assume is the kitchen the next room over. The unmistakable crackles of a gramophone can just be made out over a lush orchestration and the soft clanking of cups or plates, and you wonder which fanciful room in the house it could be coming from.

The gentle aroma of something baked permeates the air, and some of the sense of urgency that had fueled your trek here begins to slip away from you at the thought of getting to eat something you didn’t have to prepare yourself. You close your eyes, pulling the velvety sweetness in, and are almost immediately startled back to reality as Lady Beneviento sets a surprisingly large tea tray down on the polished wooden table with a thud. She begins to offload a number of plates from the tray, the table quickly overflowing with an array of delicacies, and you begin to marvel at how quickly she prepared it all when you recall that she must have been expecting the Duke. Layered honey cakes with jam and cream, sweet breads, plum dumplings, and petite finger sandwiches beckon to you, practically begging to be savored.

You clear your throat, quickly remembering what few manners your father and the Duke had struggled to instill in you.

“Thank you for going to the trouble of preparing all of this. I promise not to take up too much of your time.”

She continues as though you had said nothing, placing a delicate saucer and teacup setting in front of either of you. You examine the intricate botanical pattern on the dishes intently, half-wishing to escape what was quickly becoming a suffocating awkwardness, and an aromatic steam fills the room as Lady Beneviento pours a floral tisane. The sound of a tiny silver spoon clinking against the sugar bowl grounds you, and you watch as Lady Beneviento heaps several spoonfuls into her own teacup. She wordlessly offers the bowl to you, and you grab it with a quiet ‘thank you’, taking note of how rough her hands are as your fingers brush momentarily.

You jump, spilling sugar across your saucer as your hostess finally breaks the silence. Barring your arrival, she hadn’t spoken. You had only received a soft but terse ‘come in’ and ‘please sit’ after being whisked out of the main parlor.

“You have impeccable timing. I’ve only just pulled these out of the oven,” she moves to grab the plum dumplings, placing a few on either of your plates. Her voice is cool and even, if not a bit small. “You must try one while it’s still warm.”

You reach for it with a sheepish smile, worried that if you speak she’ll spook or vanish into thin air. Taking a bite, you fail to stifle a groan as you savor the crunchy buttery dumpling that coats the tangy, juicy plum inside.

She sweeps her veil across her face with the back of her hand and tucks it behind an ear in a graceful movement, revealing a single hazel eye. Her gaze is piercing, going well beyond casual eye contact. You’re racked with an immediate sense of recognition as you stare back at her, and you’re overcome with the feeling that she sees you, maybe even knows you on a more profound level. Perhaps as one outsider recognizes another, perhaps something more. A mournful smile plays on her lips, and she continues to peer at you over a sip of her tea. You shift your eyes to the side, the intensity of her look suddenly overwhelming.

One particular porcelain doll across the room catches your full attention; she wears a serene expression, her facial features finely painted, and dons meticulously detailed clothing made from any number of luxurious ribbons and laces and silks. Something like a memory dances on the edge of your consciousness, tantalizingly out of reach.

Lady Beneviento clears her throat.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, not at all. It’s silly,” you tilt your head. “I think I might have had a similar doll as a little girl. Perhaps even the same one,” you trail off, brows furrowed as you strain to remember.

She looks over her shoulder at it briefly.

“Yes, well. The Duke sold them for me for some time. I imagine most little girls in the village had one,” she suggests with a flippant wave of her hand.

“Right,” you smile sweetly, knowing damn well your father couldn’t have afforded something so elegant. You bank the thought for later, taking another bite of the dumpling.

“Tell me then. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

You have the good sense to wipe at the corners of your mouth with the linen napkin provided as you finish chewing, mouth overly full of food. It only buys you a few precious seconds of thought, but it’s enough time to steel your nerves.

“I’ve brought you a package, my Lady.”

“A package?”

You retrieve the parcel from your bag, wrapped in the Duke’s signature brown paper and tied off with a string, and hand it to her across the table. She takes it, looking up at you with more than a trace of suspicion in her eye. “It is unlike him to not make a delivery himself.”

“That would be my fault. I offered to bring it up for him.”

“As a favor? Or has he taken on an errand girl?”

“Oh, not hardly,” you start, trying not to snort at the thought of having to make deliveries to the villagers. “I act as assistant to Lord Heisenberg.”

She stops mid-sip, something like bewilderment briefly flashing across her face, and you puzzle momentarily over another bite.

Perhaps he hadn’t mentioned bringing on an assistant. Or is she simply surprised that he would bother with someone like me?

It only takes her a moment to regain her composure before she presses on, cutting your speculation short.

“So you are here on his account then,” she posits, her voice going somewhat flat at the notion. She reaches for a finger sandwich before settling back in her chair.

Tension begins to weave a tight web across the table and you scramble to unravel it before Lady Beneviento detaches from the conversation altogether. You set your cup down with a clatter, some tea sloshing over the side and onto the saucer.

“I’ve misled you,” you apologize, voice unsteady as you rifle through the contents of your bag. “I’m not here on his business either.” Producing the copy of Alkaloids of Mountainous Plants, you place the book in the middle of the table as explanation. Time stretches further, your certainty that it was a mistake to have come here growing with every passing second, and you search her face for any signs of recognition.

Her tea cup rattles against the saucer as she moves to set it down, and with still trembling hands, she reaches out to take the book. She smooths a hand over its cover, a stray cat come home, before clutching it to her chest.

“You’re not supposed to have been able to-” she starts, her face equal parts disbelief and distress as she calculates exactly how you could’ve come across it. “How did you get this?”

There’s a pregnant pause as you both contemplate what all the other might know. An intense twinge begins to blossom behind your eyes, something foreign exerting pressure on the boundaries of your mind. You glance suspiciously at your tea, squinting against the sudden pain, and proceed as though the question hadn't been posed at all.

“I’ve come to ask if you know the herbalist who used to live outside of the village.”

“Well of course I knew her, she was-” her voice is hasty before faltering, and she presses her hand to her mouth with a small gasp.

The worst of the headache recedes nearly as quickly as it came on, leaving a lingering ache in its place. You rub your temple as Lady Beneviento looks at you, the look of horror on her half-shrouded face thinly veiled at best.

It hadn't even occurred to you that the herbalist might be a woman. Suddenly, the herbalist’s offhanded mentionings of being distrusted by the village made more sense; not only was the cottage grossly removed from the village, but it housed a single woman practicing medicine. You nod sympathetically, no stranger to the sense of alienation that must’ve haunted her.

“What was she like?”

She fidgets with her hands in her lap, and you observe her wrestling with the personal consequences of revealing her thoughts. Her eye darts around before landing on you, and the trust she considers placing in you is palpable. She takes a single deep breath of resignation and reaches for the teapot, pouring both of you more as though you hadn’t spilled it across her nice table linens.

“She was an outcast,” she answers, mouth a little tight as she replaces the teapot. “And kind beyond measure.”

It was evident enough from her journal entries. She cared deeply for the people of the village despite their obvious aversions, and went to lengths bordering on strange to make sure they received the treatments they needed. You relax slightly in your chair, growing more comfortable in your mutual discomfort.

“Is that what drove her to leave? Being an outcast, I mean.”

A sharp, metallic clang echoes throughout the room as Lady Beneviento’s spoon crashes against the wooden floor. A series of softer, arhythmic thuds amplify the noise as it bounces slightly, and the resonant tone reverberating through the room tapers into silence.

“Leave. Leave?” Hysteria creeps into her voice as she chews on the word. “Whatever gave you the impression that she could have left?”

You reel at her sudden change in demeanor, stammering as you rush to make yourself understood.

“I just thought that since she’s not here anymore and nobody speaks of her she might have-”

“No,” she asserts, rising from her spot at the table without warning. There is a dangerous edge to her voice that you wouldn’t have previously thought her capable of, and you watch as she grips the edge of the table with ferocity. “She was overly inquisitive, and took inconsiderate risks despite being warned. Her search for information despite predictable consequences was her undoing. In fact, she’d have been better off had she never come here in the first place.”

Your jaw hangs slack, composure momentarily shattered in the face of raw emotion. Perhaps you weren’t so different, having wandered up here impulsively with little regard for possible repercussions. You close your mouth, swallowing the shock as you struggle to find words.

“My sincerest apologies, my Lady. You have to know I had no intentions of upsetting you when I came here.”

She straightens, brushing her dress front off before folding her hands, the image of nobility if not for her heaving chest. Not wanting to overstay your welcome anymore than you already have, you start to gather your things and stand across from her, watching as she readjusts her veil.

“I had better get going.” The initial strike of a grandfather clock chiming cuts through the charged air, each additional bong seemingly louder than the last as the two of you face one another, motionless. You grasp the strap of your bag, slinging it across your shoulder and tugging it into place before draping your cloak around your shoulders - the first comfortable sensations you’ve experienced since arriving. “Thank you for the tea and dumplings, Lady Beneviento. You’re a talented baker.”

She dips her head, following you out into the formal parlor. You catch a glimpse of her portrait on the wall leading up the stairs and are surprised by how much younger and happier she looks.

Seems not even the Lords and Ladies are immune to the toll this place takes on people.

She opens the door for you, cutting you off as you inhale to thank her one more time.

“I think it would be unwise for you to return here.”

You give a single nod, taking your leave.

The walk home is largely uneventful, save for getting to appreciate the contents of the garden you’d previously ran through and having to navigate the bridge one more time. The Duke’s caravan is gone when you get back to the plaza, somewhat to your chagrin but mostly to your relief. He hadn’t mentioned that he’d be leaving when you’d spoken earlier, but then, you didn’t exactly tell him of your plans either.

Your feet are heavy as you slog up the steps past the ruins, but your thoughts weigh heavier as Lady Beneviento’s words ring out in your mind.

Her search for information despite predictable consequences was her undoing.

“Undoing,” you mutter, chewing your lip. “Undoing as in destruction, or undoing as in death?”

You recall that the herbalist had suspected the villagers of getting sick after being exposed to something in the church - wine or bread if memory serves - but at no point had she outright accused Mother Miranda of having tampered with it. It was Lady Beneviento herself who had urged the herbalist against bringing it to Miranda’s attention. Urged her against crossing Mother Miranda. Perhaps your drunken musings from the night before hadn’t been as baseless as previously thought.

You lean against the bridge a moment, watching as the waters of the reservoir race below. As much as you didn’t want to consider the possibility of Heisenberg colluding with Mother Miranda, it seemed impossible that he wouldn’t know anything about her dealings in the village. After all, what reason would she have to form an alliance with the Four Lords of the Village if not to use their influence to some extent?

You set the line of thought aside for the time being as you squeeze in through the iron doors of the factory, choosing instead to focus on making a beeline for the bath. It would all make more sense after a bath.

–

You linger in the vestibule as you fiddle with the last few buttons on one of Heisenberg’s shirts; you’d tailored enough of them to get you through the work week, and figured there was no harm in keeping one or two of the more stained ones to sleep in. At least any ink smudges acquired while fiddling with the typewriter wouldn’t look amiss.

The hardwood floor is cold under the pads of your feet, and you repress a shiver while you dig your gifted ribbons out of your bag before heading toward the study in search of a drink worthy of tonight’s undertaking. Strange didn’t quite cover the scope of today’s events, but it had certainly left you feeling as such. Maybe had your sleep schedule been more than a sad afterthought, you’d have crawled into the middle of your plush bed and slept it all off, putting some much needed distance between you and your escapade. Regrettably, this was not the case.

You blindly grope for a glass, and when your fingers finally connect, you set it on top of the bar beside your ribbon with a dull thunk. The decanter feels a little lighter than you remember, but then, you hadn’t done much to rectify that. You free the stopper, sloshing the now-liberated liquid into your glass with less expertise than perhaps necessary.

Hope it’s not too expensive.

The soft snick of a lighter’s sparkwheel sounds behind you, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you carefully replace the stopper to the decanter. You raise your glass to your lips, pull a generous mouthful of bourbon across your tongue, and chew it casually, slowly, in the hopes that it might better coat the razor sharp edges of the words to come.

A swallow, an exhale.

When the oak finish has dissipated completely from your palate, you turn around and inhale the heady smoke blooming between the two of you, allowing yourself one last indulgence before you face the music.

You open your eyes to the crimson glow of a lit cigar reflected in a pair of onyx lenses.

“You’ve been busy, doll.”

Taglist: @artist-bby @ambiguous-g @honimello​ @butterflysist3r @spac3witch @xyinparadise​ @fantrashtic-emily @emmathedestroyer @eleeloo @strayczennies @reddbishop​ @cakelover365​ @jackysenpaii​ @lilcocakitty​ @pinemangojuice

#Die Schöne und das Biest #resident evil village #re8 #Karl heisenberg/female reader #donna beneviento #karl heisenberg #self insert #fluff #angst #eventual smut #karl heisenberg x reader #reader insert

[safic4-m]

🤎💉Cum for me

Pairing: Diane Sherman x Fem Lector

Author’s note: Request made bycherylz170810, who asked for a one-shot with Diane, jealousy and smut. In this one-shot there is a small reference of what’s to come.

Word count: 1226

~Master list~

One-shot

Wattpad

You didn’t understand why Diane hated your new neighbor so much, she was a nice woman, you had similar tastes in many things and finally you had someone to share these things Diane didn’t like.

-Cara, I have to go.

-Why?

-Diane will be here soon

-Nooo please stay,- she says pouting.

-I can’t, besides we have an event today

-It’s ok leave me- always dramatic

-It’s not like I’m leaving forever

-Of course you’re trading me for Diane

-She’s my…- being interrupted when she hears someone knocking on the door

Cara gets up to open the door and from your place in the living room you can hear the conversation.

-Mmhh… T/n…

-Leave my wife alone

-Excuse me?

-I want you to stay away from T/n

-But…

-Stay away from her

With that last you hear Diane walk away and you excuse yourself to Cara to go see your wife.

-What happened?- you ask the redhead with intrigue as you find him in the kitchen.

-I don’t know what you’re talking about,- she replies, filling a glass with water.

-I was with Cara,- you say, watching her stiffen.

-What’s the matter?- you ask softly -you’re not like that.

-I don’t like her,- she says angrily looking away.

-You’re lying,- taking her jaw to make her look you in the eye.

-I don’t… I don’t like her,- she says softly.

-Something else is going on and you don’t want to tell me,- just a few centimeters from her lips.

Diane breaks the space between you claiming your lips, her tongue enters your mouth making you moan, only to make her believe that she is the one dominating the kiss,

-Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?,- you ask breaking the kiss.

-Maybe,- she says above a whisper to try her luck.

-So that’s how it’s going to be?- you ask leaving a few kisses along his neck.

-Maybe,- he says between gasps.

-No,- slipping your hands under her sweater, -wrong answer,- making her moan as you suck on a sensitive spot on her neck.

-And what are you going to do about it,- she says writhing under your touch.

-Let me think about it,- caressing her breasts above her bra.

-Please..,- she says arching her back.

-Since you won’t tell me the truth, I’ll have to get it out of you any way I can,- you say a few inches from your lips.

You kneel in front of her and remove her pants and underwear, you run your tongue over her lips stopping on her clitoris for a second, this simple action makes her squirm in place, clinging to the breakfast bar.

-Fuck me,- she says when she sees you do nothing.

One of his hands tangles in your hair and pulls you closer to where he needs you most. You grant her and begin to eat her out, her moans start to get louder the closer she gets to her orgasm.

You pull away from her listening to her moaning in frustration and before she can say anything you speak up.

-How sad that only good girls can cum,- leaving a kiss on her clitoris and you stand up.

-Please… I’m a good girl,- squeezing her thighs together to get some relief.

-Really?- you ask rhetorically with a raised eyebrow.

You leave her there and go up to your room, when Diane comes in she hears you are in the bathroom, she wanted to cum, but knew if she did she would get in trouble. When you come out of the bathroom you find your wife lying on the bed squeezing her thighs together.

-Are you going out?

-Today is dinner with the Dimistrescu family,- you say, untangling your hair.

-Right… I forgot,- getting out of bed to go to the bathroom.

-If you behave yourself I promise to reward you,- you say seeing her expression change to a more cheerful one.

_-_-_-

The dinner was amazing, and the food had been exquisite, but you couldn’t say the same for Diane, you had spent most of the dinner fussing under the table, by the time the evening was over your wife was a writhing mess in her place.

When you got home she had rushed upstairs to the bedroom and of course you would give her what she wanted, but you were going to give it to her very…very slowly.

Diane’s shallow breathing filled the room, after being denied orgasm for the third time, a loud, needy noise escaped her.

-What was that?- you tease biting your lower lip.

Your index finger ran tantalizingly slowly up and down her slit teasing her as you had been doing for the last twenty-five minutes. Your wrist was starting to ache but you couldn’t care less, not when you could enjoy the view in front of you.

Her moans had become more desperate as the minutes passed, her hands clenched the sheet tightly and her hips swayed at your touch. Diane’s teeth sank into her lower lip as she let out another moan.

-Please…- lifting her hips for more contact.

-If you do that again, I’ll stop,- gently slapping her thigh in warning.

-Please touch me…I promise I’ll be good- his voice barely above a whisper.

-Just a little more,- running your fingernails up and down her leg.

She sank into the pillow with a snort of frustration.

You loved seeing her undone by you, you fed on the image of her underneath you with her reddened face and chest covered with marks you had made, her shallow breathing and tousled hair

-Do you have any idea- you whispered, leaving a trail of kisses down her body until you reached her mouth -how beautiful you look now?

Diane moaned into the kiss, as you ran a hand down her body, making her shudder, the kiss broke by making her moan loudly as you began to make circles around her aching clit, but your touch was too gentle to get her release.

Desperate little gasps were coming from her and you were beginning to take pity on her.

Nestling between her legs you pressed your mouth against her center, sucking gently on her clit and swirling your tongue over it. Her hips jerked and a soft cry came from her, you smiled, lazily slid your tongue in to tease her entrance, pushing just a little before returning to her clit.

Your eyes couldn’t take your eyes off her as you pleasured her, sucking, licking and teasing her entrance; repeating these motions over and over until her walls contracted.

Diane dug her heel into the mattress as her legs trembled from the amount of pleasure she was feeling, it was taking all her strength not to cum at that moment.

You slide two fingers inside her without warning, making her moan loudly, you curve your fingers inside her finding that spongy spot that makes her go crazy; you suck on her clit humming and making the vibrations, trigger a great amount of pleasure. Diane’s back arched as her knuckles turned white from the tight grip.

-Please…- she pleads, her breath catching in her throat, -I can’t..- whimpering.

-Cum for me,- bringing her to climax.

Her hips jerked violently, as she threw her head back with her eyes closed and biting her lip hard.

After cleaning her you settle in next to her pushing aside a lock of hair and leaving a kiss on her forehead as she recovers from her orgasm.

-You did so well,- kissing her tears with love, -I love you,- taking her in your arms to let her rest.

-I love you too,- before falling into the realm of sleep.

#run #diane sherman #diane #diane sherman x reader #diane x reader #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader

[trashartgalleries]

Dream/Nightmare That I Had Last Night

I'm typing this on my computer because my phone wouldn't efficient enough for me to tell this story... anyway!!

Slight body horror/blood and gore and cringe warning

The dream/nightmare starts off kind of normally; me and my family chilling at home with the random occurrences of a familiar woman (who's a witch, for some reason and our neighbor) coming over to spend some time with us. She seemed nice until a few days pass and weird things happen at her place and she sends these women dressed in black to our door. My mom tells us to keep the door locked, not to leave the house, and not to let anyone in or out.

A few more days pass and the knocking stops, but these weird... flesh monster things start swarming out of our house. One has my dad dangling out its mouth, the other crushed my little younger sister to death, another ate my older younger sister and my older younger brother. I was able to save my younger two brothers (who're toddlers) and my mom was outside asking the witch questions. I ran outside to my mom, with my bros, as the flesh monster things moved towards the witch. It's then my dream reveals that the witch was... Mother Miranda from fucking Resident Evil. I tell mom, "We gotta go.", I congratulate Miranda on the success of her experiment (so she doesn't kill me or ma or my bros) and we get in the car and drive off as fast as we can as the four lords from RE:8 walk next to Miranda (I shit you not, real life me was like "wtf...? Aren't all yall dead?").

For some odd reason I knew the number and location of a BSAA base near the town, and I drive my remaining family there. We pull up, get checked and screens, and then I tell them what happened. The BSAA tell me that me and my ma and my bros are welcome to stay here for as long as we need until this is all over.

The BSAA start looking in to what Miranda did, and a BSAA dude comes to the rehab/protection room me, ma, and my bros have been staying in and is like, "If you all want to continue your stay, then one of you must join the fight against Miranda." or some shit like that. I volunteer because I don't want my lil bros to be motherless, and so I go through a bit of training and sent into the heat of battle with.... young Chris, young Leon, and RE:7 Ethan fucking Winters. As this point in the dream, rea life me is like "huh???", but i was too curious about how this would end so I didn't open my eyes.

Me, Chris, Leon, and Ethan make our way through my destroyed neighborhood and find my house. We search it for the flesh monsters, but find the pods that they hatched from. Turns out, Miranda was planting these in my house every time she came over to visit. We slash the pods, run into the four lords, and enlist their help in stopping Miranda. Moreau, Beneviento, and Dimistrescu felt back about what happened to my family, and Heisenberg just wanted to throw hands.

Shit happens, I find out that my family was alive and sealed inside the flesh monster, we take down Miranda, and I wake up to get ready for work.

Talk about fucking C R I N G E

#just talking #talking #dream i had #nightmare #lowkey cringe #cringe #resident evil 8 village #resident evil #re8 mother miranda #mother miranda #chris redfield #ethan winters #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #karl heisenberg #alcina dimitrescu #salvatore moreau #donna beneviento #no proofreading we die like men

[narinni]

🎀𝐹𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝒫𝒶𝑔𝑒🎀

Hello Dear! For my very first post i would like to define exactly what I will be posting and my rules.

🎀𝒩𝓊𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝒪𝓃𝑒🎀

I will be posting drabbles, scenarios, and reactions. Writing is mainly the point of this blog, but I’m definitely open to discussing topics like culture, politics, fashion, but not that often. I also will only post in English. It seems simpler to just post in one language, but you can request things and talk to me in another language, as long as it’s one I understand(see my bio). Also, because there is a pretty big chance of me posting nsfw content, I want NO MINORS to be interacting with NSFW content.

🎀𝒩𝓊𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑜🎀

I will write about most genres and scenarios, but here are some I can definitely do:

Genres( like blank!character x reader, or character x reader{fluff}, or character reaction to blank)

~NSFW

~Smut(limited will be explained)

~Fluff

~Angst

~Crack(maybe)

~Yandere(limits will be explained)

~Tsundere

~Basically all the deres, lol

~ooh almost forgot, I will write for any gender and specified pronouns! If you have a specific way you want yourself to be referred to(like size, features, race, ethnicity, personality), make sure to include that!

Characters/People:

~SEVENTEEN(ot13)

~Twice

~Viviz

~Monsta x(ot 7, Wonho will always be apart of monsta x to me😭)

~IVE(no smut for minor members)

~NCT

~AOT(all characters)

~Kakegurui(no smut for minor characters)

~Haikyuu(no smut for minor characters)

~Madoka Magica(no smut for minor characters)

~Howl Pendragon

~No Face

~Barbie

~Ken

~Alan

~Literally any Ryan Gosling character

~Patrick Bateman

~Leon Kennedy

~Ada Wong

~Claire Redfield

~Chris Redfield

~Jill Valentine

~Ethan Winters

~Mia Winters

~The Baker family(minus evelyn)

~Lady Dimistrescu

~Bella, Cassandra, and Daniella

~Mother(mommy) Miranda

~Carl Heisenberg

~Ryu(street fighter)

~Ken(street fighter)

~Cammy

~Chun-li

~Vega

~Luke Sullivan

~Cody Travers

~Basically any SF character that isn’t a minor(it’s way to many to list💀)

~TF2

~Red Dead Redemption

~Horror Movie characters(I’ll look them up if idk, and see)

~XQC(he’s annoying as shit but he’s a cutie)

~Hasanabi

~Jerma985

~Ludwig Ahgren

~QTCinderella

~Joel

~Vinny

~Ster

🎀𝒩𝓊𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒🎀

Here’s some things I will NOT do:

~Rape(self explanatory)

~Nothing too freaky(peepee poopoo stuff💀, feet)

~Smutt or anything remotely sexual for a minor(character or real person)

~Su*cide(self explanatory)

~Overly descriptive gore(yes I will write about death, murder, and injury, but nothing over the top and super descriptive)

Hooray You made it to the end! I will be posting on my own accord, but feel free to request anything that’s on the list. I will try my best to get to any request, but I am a busy college student(yay psychology😒). I do apologize in advance for any bad grammar, English isn’t my first language but I think I do pretty well.

🎀𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇🎀

#first post #fanfic #aot x reader #yandere #xqc x reader #xqc #resident evil #jerma x reader #jerma985 #ludwig ahgren x reader #ludwig ahgren #seventeen #seventeen x reader #yandere x reader #yandere seventeen #ive #ive x reader #viviz #nct x reader #monsta x #barbie x reader

[themommyolympics]

ROUND TWO RESULTS

The results from Round Two are in!

1. Lady Dimestrescu (Resident Evil) vs. Ursula (Little Mermaid) 2. Morticia Addams (The Addams Family) vs. GLaDOS (Portal) 3. Eda Clawthorne (The Owl House) vs. Elvira Mistress of the Dark 4. Miss Frizzle (The Magic School Bus) vs. Yor Forger (Spy x Family) 5. Marge Simpson (The Simpsons) vs. Maleficent (Sleeping Beauty) 6. Bayonetta vs. Xena (Xena: Warrior Princess) 7. Nadja of Antipaxos (What We Do in the Shadows) vs. Jessica Rabbit (Who Framed Roger Rabbit) 8. Lady Eboshi (Princess Mononoke) vs. Miss Piggy (The Muppets)

Special awards will go to Lady Dimestrescu for beating the sea AGAIN. And to GLaDOS for a truly passionate campaign!

We're down to the top 8 now. The next matches will be:

1. Lady Dimistrescu (Resident Evil) vs. Elvira Mistress of the Dark 2. Maleficent (Sleeping Beauty) vs. Nadja of Antipaxos (What We Do in the Shadows) 3. GLaDOS (Portal) vs. Yor Forger (Spy x Family) 4. Bayonetta vs. Miss Piggy (The Muppets)

The Polls will be open until next Tuesday, April 18!

May the best Mommy win!

#The mommy olympics #lady dimetrescu #elvira mistress of the dark #resident evil #elvira #maleficent #sleeping beauty #nadja of antipaxos #nadja wwdits #wwdits #what we do in the shadows #glados #portal #portal 2 #yor forger #spy x family #bayonetta #miss piggy #the muppets

[ladydimitrescuworship]

I had an idea of separate scenarios for each Dimitrescu family member where Ethan kills one of the Dimistrescu daughters and, because I choose to ignore that, they try to use the crystallized remains to revive them (Ethan died and revived, I don't see why they can't haha) and it plays out like one of those tropes in a drama when a character has a near-death experience and their loved ones are stuck waiting outside to see if the operation saved them successfully. Anyway, in these scenarios, a maiden or Y/N or whoever you want to imagine comforts a worried Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, or Alcina, because I kind of want them to be on the receiving end on the comfort for once.

I absolutely love this anon it makes me feel better 💗

I've played Resident evil for a long time and I knew it wouldn't go any other way story wise for them. But fics and canons like this keep them alive 🥰

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #anons #send anons #asks #Anonymous #cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #Lady Dimitrescu x maiden

[undyingembers]

oh I definitely have to know about Family Halloween Portrait!

Heh, it's a drawing that I'm planning on doing for Halloween (so, relatively soon). Idk. One day I just had this idea of Leonosa dressed as Lady Dimistrescu from Resident Evil, which then gave me the idea that the homunculus girls (namely Giselle, Opal, Grace, and Talia) would dress as the daughters. Magnolia and Daeran can be Angie and Donna Beneviento. I guess they’re all going to a Halloween party.

It's a little ambitious, but I think that could be fun. I also haven't really started it yet, so I don't have anything to show at the moment.

#dragonologist phd #thanks for the ask! #commander lenarius #lenarius #the homunculus children

[parasadist]

 @ladysmaid sent: ❰❰ DYING ❱❱ sender finds the receiver near death / “ don’t  die . ”  @ cass plz 🥺

       she’s so cold.

       winter itself has burrowed beneath her skin, finding a home in her chest & her throat & her skull, ravaging her with crisp winds that threaten to carry her away - through the open armory wall & into the decrepit remains below. somewhere far from the castle, from her home, from all that she has sworn to uphold & serve & protect & it’s so cold.

       ( bela, i’m so fucking sorry )

       her vision blurs & hazes, reflecting the crystalizing of her body. a kaleidoscope of images & colors unable to find rhyme or reason in the shapes. cassandra squints against the confusion, against the rush of ( COLD, WHY IS IT SO FUCKING COLD ? IT HURTS, MOTHER, IT HURTS ) air that surrounds her, desperate for cohesion, for something to anchor her. for the familiar sight of her mother’s sharp golden gaze & the blood red staining her lips. something, anything, please.

        trembling, hardening fingers reach, struggling, grasping hard at the whisper of fabric that dances in the reflections of her gaze. it’s soft, she thinks. it’s comforting. it’s warm. it’s a welcome distraction from the chaos inside her, around her, that is her. comfort is familiarity & familiarity is family & family is MOTHER. it is the stability of arms holding tight around her torso, pulling her, dragging her downwards, cradling her against the rigidity of their body, determined to keep the breeze from carrying her away.

       MOTHER!

       strangled sounds curdle in her throat, struggling to find voice in the quieting buzz of swarms that create her form. every fly that is her body is panicked, frantic in the rapid motions of wings quickly, gradually, all at once, going slower & slower, losing momentum, losing strength, losing. failing. succumbing.

       “ m - mother, ” she strains, choking on the plea. MOTHER, HELP ME. MOTHER, I’M SCARED. MOTHER, I’M SORRY. MOTHER, MOTHER, MOTHER. alcina would be here. she would comfort cassandra, wipe the blood from her chin, comb the waves in her hair aside & scold her for her carelessness. alcina is here. she has to be. ( it must be her, please, be her - ) no one else would hold her so tenderly, let her feel so small & so safe even as the shivering in her body refuses to cease. even as the cold envelopes & smothers her, even as despair threatens to strangle her with its vicious grip. cassandra swallows down the fear.

       ( “ don’t die ”. )

       ... she’s dying.

       ( MOTHER will chide her if she dies without dignity.  )

       is this her punishment ? to die for failing bela ? for failing mother ? for failing the dimistrescu name ?

       ( who will protect daniela ? )

       she doesn’t want to die. 

       she isn’t supposed to die. 

       resolve is the only warmth left, an ember before the flame, starving for kindling to devour. but no flame can withstand the village’s winter. bloodstained teeth grit, held so tight that the sound of cracking bone & exoskeletons almost drown out the sound of howling winds outside & the agonized screams threatening to fall from the edge of her tongue.

       ( MOTHER WILL BE SO DISAPPOINTED. )

        cassandra chokes on the sob that viciously claws inside her chest. every bone in her body is heavier than lead, fragile as glass, fragmenting & cracking, threatening to crumble to dust. frost clouds the glassiness of her eyes, bathing the armory in hollow greys. it takes all of her strength to clasp on to the figure holding her close, faltering senses able to recognize the scent of something ...  familiar. of clean linens & mint.

       indra.

       ( mother never came for her... )

       she doesn’t want to die. 

       cassandra dimitrescu is ferocity, she is bestial. she’s supposed to be the hunter, not the prey. she was reborn to be strong, unwavering, merciless. but in her eleventh hour, her senses dull, leaving only the frantic thrum of indra’s heartbeat & the rush of the brutal gale.

       is this weakness ? this helplessness, this devastation ? it’s worse than the humiliation of failure. it’s worse than the harsh bite of winter that hardens what remains of her to crystal. it’s worse than anything she’s ever known.

       she doesn’t want to die.

       it’s so unbearably cold.

#i combined these bc it just made sense #blows u a kiss #ngl i've been working on this off and on for four months #and now it's my 100th post omg #♢ 𝐃𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐔. / i. village of shadows. #♢ 𝐃𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐔. / in character. #ladysmaid #death tw //

[ladykailolu]

Yo!

I was wondering, how does Jodie deal with Asshole Mcgee (Mela's evil fiance)

I can only hope that she probably wants to beat the shit out of him

Jodie does want to punch him in the face. He's rude to her, he's arrogant, he's a fuckin jerk, and on top of all that, he hits Mela when he's angry!!!

Alas, Jodie is not powerful enough to challenge him (literally AND metaphorically--he's so much richer than her financially that it's ridiculous). And she's clumsy too--she trips over nothing in the air at all, so there's no way that she can throw a punch of slap that would hit.

She thinks of herself as a knight and the great Big Fancy House Mela and Asshole Mcgee live in as the castle and Mcgee is the ruthless king protecting the locked up and tortured princess (Mela).

But there's nothing that Jodie can do about it.

That is...until she gains her stand. The force that binds all stand users brings Jodie closer to Lady Dimistrescu Mela's dancing mentor (who is also a stand user). And this brings her closer to Mela.

(BTW BTW BTW I can't get over how Jodie is Johnny's reincarnation. Like, if I had the art skills, I'd draw something related to that)

Oh! And there's one point where Mcgee finds out that Jodie is essentially stealing away Mela and thus his future and everything that he wants. Because Jodie was trying to get Mela out of there so she may live a happier and less painful life. So Mcgee puts his hands on Jodie, but Jodie manages to get away but disappears. Mela hears about this attack and plots to leave Mcgee at the altar and embarrass them before going to find Jodie.

I don't think Mcgee would be like the Main Buddy of Jodie's part. In fact, I was imaging a parental figure to either Jodie or Mela could be the main baddie as symbolic of breaking away from the oppressive and toxic hold a family member can have on you. That's the main theme in Jodie's part--breaking such a tight hold and achieving freedom and one's happiness, even if that will bring a lot of hardships down the road.

I'm toying with Mcgee being another stand user. Either him or his cronies are stand users that try to hurt Jodie.

#Jodie Joestar #Mela Aspesi Zeppeli #Armani jojo #jjba #jjba oc

[cosaslocasdeunafangirl]

—There was a man before there was a beast, but who remembers that?

(Karl Heisenberg)

#Karl Heisenberg #Heisenberg #RE8 #resident evil village #Capcom #horror game #poetry #sorry my bad english #mia winters #Alcina Dimitrescu #dimistrescu family #Heisenberg x reader #spilled ink #resident evil

[raptorsenshi]

So here is a little something more in-depth to go with my post from yesterday which was emotionally charged because I am Very Tired of this mindset invading fandom spaces whenever Tumblr latches onto something.

I take no issue with people liking Alcina Dimistrescu and her daughters. Hell— I adore them and I’m the biggest simp for vampires and vampire aesthetics. I also have zero issue with being upset about their deaths; Alcina’s grieving as a mother and Daniela’s pleas about not wanting to die were heartbreaking. 

The issue is woobifying them and acting like they were UwU Babies who did nothing wrong and Ethan was the cruel aggressor who came into their home and started killing them. It’s simply not true on either front. 

Ethan was captured whilst looking for Rose— he hadn’t harmed ANY of them at that point. And when he was told she wasn’t there he tried to leave. The daughters found him, pursued and attacked him. What did you expect him to do in that situation? Was he supposed to just allow them to attack and kill him? Obviously not. 

It then turns out that it was a lie anyway: Rose was indeed within the castle or at least a crystallised part of her was. Which is revealed after Alcina’s boss fight. 

Even if you take Ethan’s personal conflict with them out of the picture they weren’t exactly harmless before he came along. They were mutilating, experimenting on and murdering young girls kidnapped from the village. They were drained of blood after being tortured and many of them were infected with the Mold and Cadou and became the Moroaică found in the castle’s cellars. Like was Ethan supposed to just waltz on by and let them carry on doing that? Was he supposed to just ignore the innocent people they had brought so much suffering to? 

The Four Lords are victims of Miranda to be sure and hilariously it’s Donna who is the most tragic but there’s little outrage about her death when it’s probably the one least deserved. 

But being victims of Miranda doesn’t absolve them of their own crimes; they were sapient creatures with much of their autonomy intact, they had the ability to think and act of their own accord and yet they ALL chose to harm people outside of Miranda’s orders— Alcina, Salvatore and Karl all subjected people to horrific experiments of their own accord. Alcina’s daughters exist because she captured and drugged numerous girls and allowed them to be eaten alive by a botfly species that - with the help of the Mold and Cadou - then took their forms. What about those girls originally? Their families? 

The reality is with the exception of Donna given she is mentally a child and cannot fully comprehend all of her actions, they all embraced their monstrous gifts and saw themselves as superior or were willing to do anything for Miranda’s love and attention. As pointed out they are not mindless monsters acting on instinct, they can think and feel and choose to do this. 

The Resident Evil/Biohazard series has numerous examples of intelligent B.O.Ws and infectees choosing their humanity over a god complex or bestial instinct: Steve Burnside, Manuela Hidalgo, Jill Valentine, Ethan and Rose Winters are all humans infected and/or experimented on with various bioterrorism agents, all of them fought back against infection to maintain their humanity, all of them utilise it for good. 

We also have people like Albert and Alex Wesker and Jack Krauser who were also victims of experimentation (some willing and some not) who like the Lords became twisted and monstrous inside and well as out. 

No one acts like the Bakers should’ve been left alive even though they were innocent people made into monsters because we recognise they were too far gone and couldn’t be saved and needed to die for their own sake and everyone else’s. The same is true for the Four Lords. 

They have tragedy and sympathy but aren’t and cannot be absolved of their actions and crimes. It’s perfectly fine to love villains, adore them even. It’s fine to be upset when they’re killed. But stop jumping through hoops to excuse them and act like they did nothing wrong. They did and they didn’t want redemption and because it’s a RE game, they were going to die for it. 

It’s okay to just like villains for their aesthetics and being villains y’all. You don’t have to make them into something they weren’t. 

#resident evil #resident evil spoilers #alcina dimitrescu #ethan winters #dimitrescu daughters #anyway here take a more structured post on my issues

[in-our-veins]

Re8 and Re7 have parallels, probably for the theme of family going on. But also that in Re7, Jack dragged Ethan to his family dinner, and in Re8, it's Heisenberg who dragged Ethan to his family meeting.

There was an argument here and there, no one got anything cut off besides the obvious bickering between Heisenberg and Lady Dimistrescu, and Heisenberg winning the fight on who gets Ethan. :)

#resident evil 8 #resident evil 7 #re8 #re7 #ethan winters #karl heisenberg #lady dimitrescu #jack baker #lucas baker #text #words #parallels

[ladyorlandodream]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader, Alcina Dimitrescu & Reader, Alcina Dimitrescu/You, Alcina Dimitrescu & Original Character(s) Characters: Alcina Dimitrescu, Lady Dimitrescu, Original Characters, Original Female Character(s), Alcina Dimitrescu's Daughters, The Duke, Bela Dimitrescu, Daniela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu Additional Tags: after the ending - Freeform, museum, alcina's crystal, i will add tags, Searching for answers, Back to Romania, the duke saved the dimistrescu's family, the duke is a good guy, reader is a Mess, reader will help somehow Summary:

A strange anonymous box arrives at your museum. As a director, it is your obligation to check its content. Your attention falls on a particular crystal with a feminine shape. This will change your life forever.

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu and reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu fanfic #night at the museum ispiration

[verycherrymary]

There's something that has been bothering me about one of the lines of dialogue in Resident Evil: Village and I'm wondering if anyone has any insight.

**Spoilers ahead, look away now!!**

Okay, so when Bela is chasing Ethan she says "I can't believe Cassandra caused all this mess." It was in the demo and I thought it would be addressed in the game but maybe I missed it?

What exactly did Cassandra do? It was Bela who dragged Ethan in, which she so proudly states to her mother. Ethan escapes by himself with no help from anyone. Is it just an older sister blaming shit on her younger sister?

I get the feeling Cassandra is the punching bag of the family. Lady Dimistrescu really calls on her a bunch of times and lectures her. Cassandra's lines also really indicate that she just wants her mother to be proud of her and Cassandra is also the only daughter that can hunt you side by side with Alcina which just shows how hard she is trying.

Which makes Lady D's cry out for her only to find out she's dead all that much more upsetting and the "you have incurred an impossible debt" line is so desperate. (Not to mention that her sadness when she calls out Cassandra's name.)

I'm just trying to collect all the lines said by the Dimitrescus (because their story is all I care about, sorry RE fans I know I'm invading your fandom).

So yeah just wondering if anyone had any thoughts?

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu

[themommyolympics]

ROUND THREE RESULTS

Hi everyone, sorry for the quick break from the tournament. I was traveling abroad and internet was a bit difficult. But I'm here to announce the results of Round Three!

1. Lady Dimistrescu (Resident Evil) vs. Elvira Mistress of the Dark 2. Maleficent (Sleeping Beauty) vs. Nadja of Antipaxos (What We Do in the Shadows) 3. GLaDOS (Portal) vs. Yor Forger (Spy x Family) 4. Bayonetta vs. Miss Piggy (The Muppets)

This week we're moving into the semi-finals and we've somehow amassed to genre's of Mommies. We have GAMER MOMMIES vs. FUNNY GOTH MOMMIES.

Elvira Mistress of the Dark vs. Nadja of Antipaxos (What We Do In the Shadows) GLaDOS (Portal) vs. Bayonetta

The polls will be open until next Tuesday the 2nd.

May the best Mommy win!

#The mommy olympics #nadja of antipaxos #nadja wwdits #what we do in the shadows #wwdits #elvira #elvira mistress of the dark #glados #portal #portal 2 #bayonetta #bayonetta 2 #hiding in plain sight