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themagical-soup-spaghetti · 21 days

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Not requested!!

Karl Heisenberg x abused!male reader

Summary: Reader has stumbled across the factory while running away from his abusive ex husband who is seeking revenge for their divorce. He quickly finds a way into the factory and finds a place to hide, awaiting his ex husband's departure from the premises, where Reader meets Heisenberg for the first time.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of abuse, memories, abusive husband, trauma, mentions of attack, blood, scars, mentions of open wounds, mentions of attempted murder, semi soft Heisenberg

Cold, harsh air whipped Y/N's face and wounds as he ran through the snow that wad laid so softly on the ground. Snow was falling all around, and Y/N wasn't really prepared for the weather today. He expected to stay in his home, near the fire with a good book, maybe some hot cocoa or coffee or tea. So for the past 5 minutes, he's been running in a tank top, red flannel pajamas bottoms, Santa socks, slippers, and a long red robe. Not the most ideal running attire, especially in the cold and snowy weather.

Y/N's cheeks were extremely red and cold, but he was to fear struck to even notice the cold nipping at his exposed face and hands. All he was focused on was trying to find a place to hide away until his ex husband, Markus, had given up on his pursuit. His eyes scanned the open lands, nothing but snow and the occasional rustling of bushes or trees. Along with snow crunching under Y/N's slippers.

A little background on Y/N's relationship with his ex husband, and why this is all happening.

Y/N had been married to his ex husband Markus for 10 years, withstanding abuse of different varieties. Being physically hit with fists, knees, feet, beer cans and bottles, glass or ceramic vases, basically anything that was in reach that would do some sort of damage to him.

Once Y/N's parents had heard about this, they had called the cops and Markus was brought to jail. During his time in jail, he was served with a divorce notice and was taken to court. Ultimately loosing everything that he owned during his marriage, being his home, his cars, ect. Markus had plotted throughout his entire jail sentence to destroy everything that was now in Y/N's possession, or to ultimately kill Y/N altogether. On multiple occasions, Markus had tried to kill Y/N in subtle ways that wouldn't point to him. Cutting the brakes on Y/N's car, messing with Y/N's engine, ect. Soon Markus got tired of his attempts failing and decided right out he was going to murder Y/N himself.

Which is what got Y/N into running for his life. Now back to the story!

Y/N's head spun in all directions, looking for somewhere to hide. He grew more dizzy by the second; the cold and his open wounds finally getting to him. He then came across a building, factory looking. And he decided then that he would hide there. Y/N checked his surroundings, and hearing the steps of Markus become closer with every passing second. He immediately started to run towards the factory. The first entrance Y/N tried was sealed shut by something on the inside, so he ran around the building to see if there was another way in. Low and behold, there was another door that was wide open, which was a little worrisome. But that was his only option of safety so far, so he went into the building.

Several minutes had passed since Y/N had entered the factory and found a hiding spot amongst a bunch of machinery and metal scraps. It was silent inside other than machines moving, and the sound of Y/N's soft breathing. He could feel blood slowly rolling down his face, and his leg. But he tried not to move to wipe it or cover the wounds. He wasn't sure if there would be any noise if he moved. The wind whistled outside, and soon there was the sound of shouting. Markus has found the factory. There was the heavy crunching of snow before there was a pounding on the locked door Y/N had tried to enter through earlier. Then there was a sound of heavy footsteps on the wood inside.

"Who's inside of this place?! Are they going to kill me when they find me...?"

They subsided just as quickly as they came. It seemed the person who was inside was standing relatively close to Y/N's hiding spot.

"Y/N you open this goddamn door right now before I fucking bust it down!!" Markus shouted, pounding on the door with a good amount of force. Metal could be heard moving, and the door slamming against the walls inside was very evident. Markus was clearly about to start shouting, but instead took a step back in the snow. "Who- Who the hell are you?!"

"I assume that I could ask you the same thing," A voice unbeknownst to Y/N spoke, semi-deep, a hint of an accent in some words, it wasn't an accent that he could make out from his hiding spot amongst the metal scraps. Y/N listened further, "But... Since you so kindly knocked on my door, I'll give you three seconds to leave before things get ugly."

Markus was about to protest, but hearing the unsheathing of something metal, the sound of running across the snow could be heard getting fainter by the second. The door closed and was locked once again with metal, and heavy footsteps rang across the wooden panels of the floor once more.

Y/N stayed silent, shaking softly from the fear of being found by the person who was currently walking around in the exact room he was in. He took a shaky breath in, and right at that moment the metal he was hiding behind was moved at a rapid pace.

His hands lift in front of his face, and he scoots closer to the wall behind him. He can almost feel the cold through the wall. Footsteps grow closer, slowly, slowly, then they stop. Right. Infront. Of Y/N. There isn't any movement for a while between the two, just small breaths and hicks from Y/N as he slowly begins to cry.

"Please don't hurt me..." Y/N finally speaks up, softly, quietly, almost inaudible. There was a small gasp from the person in front of Y/N. The floorboards cried out as the person sank down in front of the shuttering man.

A rough feeling hand grabbed one of Y/N's, pulling it away from his face. He shut his eyes tightly, pulling whatever he could away from the person in front of him. "Come on, I'm not gonna kill ya, open up." Y/N was hesitant, but slowly opened one eye. There was a man with a beard, brown hair that reached the bottom of his neck, and a pair of sunglasses. He had his hat to his chest, his lips pressed and brow furrowed with a bit of worry. "Here, stand up."

The man spoke, helping Y/N stand. The man was much taller than Y/N, standing around 6'5 at least. No more than 7 feet though. Y/N cowered before the man got on his knees to seem less intimidating. "Hey, hey, relax. I'm not going to do anything to hurt you." This put Y/N slightly at ease, but he was still tense. The man sighed softly before dipping his head slightly. "My name is Karl Heisenberg, I own this factory."

"Own it? This place?" Y/N thought to himself, curious about how this man came to own a place like this.

Y/N grew less tense as he stared at the man, Karl Heisenberg. He took a deep breath in slowly. "That's nice..." Heisenberg watched Y/N for a minute, then two, then he spoke again.

"Who is that guy to you?"

Hours passed, Y/N had explained his relationship with Markus to Heisenberg; the taller man had patched up his wounds, and they were now sitting down for a cup of tea.

"How did you find this place anyway?" Heisenberg asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Y/N smiled and laughed a bit. "Well, it's a giant factory in the midst of a bunch of snow... It kind of stands out.."

"Well I suppose you are correct.." Heisenberg spoke before trailing off. He stared at Y/N for a bit before he spoke again, "If he did this to you before, he's bound to come back again. We'll go to your house and grab your things. You're staying here until I can build you a home closer."

Before Y/N could protest, Heisenberg had stood and walked off, probably getting something ready to take him back to the house to collect his things.

Time had passed once again and now all of Y/N belongings were in a room that Heisenberg had cleared out for him. He sat in the room, looking at all the things thst had been brought. His bookshelf, his recliner, the mattress that was now on a bedframe thst Heisenberg had made for him, and some extra things that Heisenberg had made. It was really generous of him.

Y/N wasn't sure what to expect, but he prayed that it would be better than his time with his ex-husband.

A/N: HI!! I finally posted again, if you have any requests for me I will gladly complete them! Have a good day <3

#male reader #karl heisenberg #resident evil #resident evil x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenburg x male reader #heisenberg x reader #lord heisenberg #Heisenberg x male reader #angst #tw abuse #re8 heisenberg #abused reader #male reader x male character #lgtbqia+#lgbtq #lgbtq fanfiction

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wallflowerimagines · 1 year

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Karl hating his metal form, reader stumbles upon him during one of his fits and he accidentally transforms. Angst ensues 😶♥️

.... I like the cut of your jib babes.

Body Horror, Angst Ahoy.

Transformed! Karl Heisenberg x Reader

The worst part is the noise.

The pulling and twisting of skin and muscle pops and pulls, and the bang of metal colliding and fusing with skin snaps with an electric charge. You hear the ozone buzz in you ears, taste it on your tongue, and watch helplessly as the form in front of you warps beyond recognition.

And layered on top of it all is the unhinged laughter.

You could have comforted him through yelling and screaming. You'd done it before, you were more than willing to do it again...except today was something worse. Your attempts to talk him down had failed at every step of the way, and it had become abundantly clear that this was something entirely different-- it wasn't a tantrum. It wasn't a fit.

This rage was cancerous.

The form in front of you grows from both the inside and the outside, muscles splitting into fibers like the limbs of an amoeba and snatching metal from the air to pull into the writhing mass. His legs snap backwards at the knees, but you can barely bring yourself to worry about that when his bones puncture through his skin before being knit together with industrial steel.

The-thing-that-was-Heisenberg turns in place to face you, and the screech of metal that comes with the movement is loud enough that you finally need to cover your ears....

Which fully exposes your terrified facial expression to the monster in front of you.

It's laughter grows even more hysterical.

"Speechless, are we?!" The monster's disembodied voice shakes the ground. "I don't blame you! It's hard not to be, when faced with all this!"

Saw blades larger than a house slam down inches away from you, the force of the impact so great it sends you tumbling to the floor.

"GET OUT!" It roars.

The blades begin to whir loudly-- but the sharp sound isn't loud enough to disguise the horrific noise of the monster's own flesh tearing beneath the spinning metal.

(You're too frightened to notice that the blades aren't actually moving towards you.)

It takes everything you have not to cower on the ground. Instead, you sit upright and try to stop your lips from trembling.

You don't say a word, but you don't move away either.

Pistons depressurize and hiss as something that could have once been a face towers over you. There's a human eye there, and the edges of a mouth that looks somewhat familiar.

"You're supposed to listen to me," it's voice is a hissing slur. "when I tell you to run."

And despite the terror in your throat, the blades spinning right next to your torso, and the crackle of electricity stinging your skin and no doubt arcing burns in it's wake--

You lean in.

You cup it's--his face between your hands and lean your forehead against his. Then you close your eyes, and you pretend you're leaning against warm skin and not hot steel.

When he pushes back, your heart breaks.

It's just Karl. He's just a little different. You know him. He needs you.

You try to pretend you're not afraid.

(It's even harder than pretending the tears dripping across your fingers don't exist.)

#resident evil village #re8 #resident evil 8 #karl heisenberg #karl heisenburg x reader #lord heisenburg x reader #angst #body horror

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hannibals-favourite-meal · 8 months

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Hi, I was hopefully I could request a fem reader x heinsburg from the resident evil series, maybe like the reader is mother miranda daughter and uses reader to keep an eye on all the other characters but her and heinsburg fall in love, and maybe get married in secret or maybe they leave the village just before it blows up and live a happy life together

.⋆｡To Our End｡⋆.

Karl Heisenberg x plus size reader

Change was coming and it was coming quickly but Heisenberg wouldn’t let either of them fall to the wayside without a proper goodbye

Warnings: canon typical violence, reader is one of Miranda’s children, angst, secret relationship, I try to follow the events of the game, mentions of death, ambiguous ending

WC: 1.5k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Mother Miranda had her eyes everywhere in the village. She knew everything that happened in her domain and it was because of one of her daughters- Y/N.

The youngest of her children, the most favoured. She blended into the shadows, moving with a quiet step and only leaving a chill breeze and a feeling of dread in her wake. Even Dimitrescu feared her and avoided her as much as possible.

Yet there was one who actively sought her out.

“My darkest darling, how kind of you to bless me with your beauty on this dreary day.” Y/N stepped from the shadows of Heisenberg’s workshop and into the dim light with a bashful smile. The man had been hunched over his desk, toiling away on some new project of his but immediately stopped when he sensed her presence.

She practically fell into his outstretched arms in her haste to be in his embrace once more. The smell of motor oil and copper overwhelmed her senses as his warmth enveloped her. For a brief moment, the voices of all the people in town and Mother herself were chased away and her mind went quiet, as it always did when he was beside her.

A chuckle rumbled through his chest before the rugged man planted a kiss to the top of her head, revelling in the feel of her soft body against him. “Mother has something planned and it’s big. She believes that it will succeed but I know that it will kill us all.” Her voice, like the shadows she inhabited, was wispy and weak. But it grabbed his attention even more than the most powerful of sirens.

“I suspected so. She has been quite fixated on her daughter as of late.” He hugged her tighter as one of his large hands travelled to the back of her neck so he could keep her pinned to him for as long as he could manage. “We’ll figure it out- we’ve survived before, we can do it again.”

She nodded and nuzzled into his touch but the fear that slowly grew in her belly could not be tamped out so easily.

——————

The lycans were going wild- like rabid dogs they constantly howled and snarled, eager to be let loose. Y/N could taste fear in the air, it clung to everything like smoke after a fire. There was only a small collection of villagers left, holed up in a single building at the edge of town.

She snuck them food and medicine, leaving it on their doorstep but they never looked out. She heard babies crying as their mothers desperately tried to keep them quiet and her cold heart clenched behind her ribs.

Mother’s call pulled her away from the survivors and she melted back into the shadows, reemerging in the church built for their maker.

Donna and Angie were already perched in their usual chair, faithfully sitting in wait while Heisenberg was hugging the far wall, hat lowered over his face, at least until Y/N’s light footsteps filled the space.

Her eyes met the reflective glasses of her lover but did not remain there for long, lest the others realise the true nature of their affections. Dimitrescu stormed into the cavernous room, rage in her stride. “Why have you called us here?” She demanded, earning a scoff from Karl as he lit a cigarette. She levelled a glare at him before her attention turned to Y/N.

“You. Why has she called us?” Yet she remained silent, clasping her hands in front of her like the dutiful daughter she pretended to be. “Useless.” The giantess scoffed and turned her back on her youngest sister. Y/N felt Karl’s gaze still fixed upon her but she did not meet it. He loved to tease even when the risk was far greater than the reward.

“Mother is not here yet?” Moreau lumbered in next, carrying with him the sour smell of salt water and decaying kelp.

“Do you see her here?” Karl retorted sarcastically as he breathed in the homegrown tobacco. Moreau ignored him and took his place beside Y/N, blocking her view of the others. She did not mind though, she preferred to be hidden from her ‘siblings’, it allowed her to watch the broad shoulders and overpowering stature of the man she loved without judgement or detection.

“Silence.” Miranda spoke through Y/N’s voice, immediately shutting up the bickering of her children. They did not turn to the youngest of them but instead to the altar where the air before it began to shimmer and warp as crows gathered together in a black mass that quickly took shape.

Y/N slunk back even further, her job now done as Mother appeared before her children. She trembled as anxiety mounts in her belly and her mind screams at her to run from whatever plan Miranda had for them.

Five jars were lovingly placed on the altar, each one radiating a venomous yellow light and containing a dark object within them that was obscured by the fogged glass. “My children, this will be the greatest and most important task that I have bestowed upon you. These urns contain a new age for us, a new beginning of light and power. You will each receive one and I expect that you will guard it with your life.”

Moreau took his quickly, tucking it into his bulbous chest as a mother would hold her infant. His glassy eyes filled with blind obedience- he would do anything for Mother’s approval.

The others rightfully hesitated but a withering look from their maker urged them forwards. Karl was the last to take his jar. His large calloused hand curled around the glass and he chanced a look at the shadowy figure to his right.

He could see the fear and the anxiety in her stance as clear as day. They both knew that this would be the last task that Mother would give them, their usefulness would run dry.

He needed to act fast.

——————

“My love, we are in the middle of a war, do you really think a romantic night is necessary?” She asked but yet still approached him in the vast field wearing her best dress. The dark velvet clung to her generous curves in a way that drove the man insane with want.

He took her much smaller hand on his own and laid a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “That is exactly why we are having this night to ourselves. I wish for a perfect night with the woman I love before everything falls. Alcina has already been killed and I suspect that my number will soon be called.” His icy blue eyes, now not hidden by his dark glasses, reflected the bright moonlight like a still lake, capturing her in their beauty.

“Do not say that, we can fight this, we can survive.” She pleaded as he pressed another soft kiss to her inner wrist, savouring the way he could feel her heartbeat against his lips.

A chill breeze washed over them but neither of them were affected by the cold, they hadn’t been for decades. “Ethan Winters will stop at nothing to get his child back and not only have I angered him but I hold a piece of her. I just want you to grant me one last wish before I am to perish. Let me be selfish one more time.”

She shook her head. “Then he shall kill me too. I am one of Miranda’s children. I am a monster.” Karl smiled at her.

“You are not a monster, not like the rest of us. You use your gift to protect and to guide from the shadows. Ethan knows this and he will spare you.”

“What did you do?” Her voice carried off on the wind, weak with disbelief and grief for a loss she had not yet experienced.

“I made a deal. He gets his daughter and he helps me kill Miranda but he spares you. I suspect that I will not live to see dawn.” Tears black as night rolled down her full cheeks and he knew that she would fight him but she would not deny his request, she never could.

“So, on my last night walking this Earth-“ Her hand remained in his grasp as he knelt on one knee before her. “-Let me make you my wife.” He produced a ring from the pocket of his coat. She gave a very undignified squeak and his eyes sparkled.

“Yes. Yes!” The dark metal, folded by his own hands, slid onto her finger, fitting perfectly as he knew it would. Y/N beamed and the shadows that naturally trailed behind her brightened to match her breathtaking smile. Before the ring even had the chance to settle against her skin, she threw herself into his strong arms, her lips connecting with his in a kiss that both radiated love and unimaginable fear.

Karl fell back into the long grass, dragging her soft body fully on top of him as the kiss quickly grew into something more.

Their vows were howled into the night in shadow and in gunpowder, weaving together a tapestry that would never be completed. Their love, while born from evil, would last far beyond its destruction. They would love until their end.

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trippin-over-my-fandoms · 2 years

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If it wasn’t obvious already- I’m obsessed w resident evil village and making picrews of it so here are the four lords imagined as children using this picrew

#re8 #resident evil #alcina dimitrescu #karl heisenberg #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #resident evil village #re8 village #I thought the butterflies fit Donna #it started w Karl bc I wanted some angst and then I was like hey I would make the others #picrew #also yes they do all have blue eyes #if you look closely at them and Miranda they all have the same pale blue eyes

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princess-library-dead-account · 10 months

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The Price of Love

Part two

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg X Gn!Reader

Word count: 1288

Genre: Smut, kinda angsty

Warnings/tags: Hate sex, degradation, bottom Karl Heisenberg, yandere Karl Heisenberg, top reader, afab reader, pegging, Karl being a loser, it says yandere but he’s actually really gentle, established relationship, reader is mean

You do this because you hate him. Lord fucking Heisenberg, decided he had the right to steal you from the village. Your family, your life, your job- gone. Just like that. You hate him. Everyday, every damned day- you’d think it was all just a bad dream, that you’d wake up in your own bed.

But no.

You'd wake up in bed together some days. Most days you would wake up on the couch, not able to bear how he’d cling to you in your sleep. You’d make your own breakfast- he never ate any, instead opting to chug a mug of coffee. Then he’d fuck off to the lower levels, working on his experiments. Leaving you alone with your thoughts. You tried to keep yourself busy, you really did- you’d clean the living area of the factory, you’d read, draw, you’d do anything- just to keep your mind off him. But it never worked.

You hated him- and the worst part was, he’d let you. He might raise his voice occasionally, but he’d apologize awkwardly right after. He’d be… sweet, or as sweet as someone that played around with corpses as a hobby could be. He’d murmur about how much he loved you on the rare occasion you lied in bed with him. He’d try- and fail- to make you dinner, the chicken burnt and blackened, completely unseasoned, and the carrots only slightly warm, still hard and raw. He’d awkwardly give you a small kiss on the top of your head before he headed down to work on the soldats.

But- you couldn’t like him, could you-? He’s sick- he kidnapped you- he took you from your life. No. You hate him. You want nothing more than to cause him pain, to destroy him. And he’d let you. And he’d… like it. And you would too, as much as you hated yourself for it.

You sigh, looking down at the gray haired man on his knees below you. You stood on the carpet floor of his bedroom, wearing a harness with a purple dildo. The toy rested in Karl’s mouth, and he looked up at you with pleading eyes. He wears nothing but a pair of raggedy boxers, and you wear just a baggy shirt. Something in you snaps, and you roughly grab a handful of his scraggly hair, forcing him down on your cock. He splutters, wet sounds coming from him as he chokes on your length. You grin slightly at his noises, and he desperately bobs his head on your strap. You pant, watching as he squirms, a tent growing in his boxers.

“Pathetic.” You spit out, your voice a low growl. Karl whimpers against your cock, squirming slightly as he tries to keep up with the brutal pace you’ve set. You continue fucking his mouth, taking in his soft whimpers, watching as he grows increasingly restless. He rubs his legs together desperately, squirming under you. You pant, watching with sick satisfaction as his eyes begin to water, and a little drool spills from his mouth. You continue using him, before his hands come up, pawing at your ass, trying to get your attention. He murmurs, trying to speak, but it’s muffled by the toy. You don’t really care what he has to say, opting to thrust harder into his throat, relishing his gags. He attempts to speak again, this time a little louder. You pull him off your cock with an annoyed expression, and he pants slightly, his face flushed from a mix of arousal and humiliation.

“What?” You hiss out, grabbing him by the hair.

“I-“ he chokes out, his throat scratchy and abused.

“Speak, you stupid slut”.

“I- p-please fuck me-“ He whimpers out, his voice small. He looks so pathetic, his hazel eyes tearing up from your merciless use of his throat.

“Please fuck me-?!” You mock, your face contorting into a sick grin.

“Sweetie-” He starts softly, before you cut him off.

“PLEASE FUCK ME?!” You laugh loudly in his face.

“Sure, Karl.” you respond, saying his name like it makes you sick.

“-but you asked for this” you murmur, eyes narrowing. You grab a handful of his gray hair causing him to cry out, and you throw him onto the bed. He lays down on his back with glazed eyes as you rifle through his nightstand. You find what you’re looking for, a small bottle of lube. You squirt some on the strap, spreading it around with your hands, before crawling on top of Karl. He whimpers softly, rubbing his thighs together to try and stimulate himself.

“You’re pathetic.” You murmur, practically ripping his underwear off as you throw it onto the floor. He whines at your words, shifting on the bed. Your hands grip his thighs tightly, spreading him open, and you prod the strap against his tight hole. He moans softly, bucking his hips into you. You enter him slowly, filling him up with just the tip. He moans needily, his hands coming up to gently paw at your back.

“Ah— m-more- ”he whimpers softly against your ear, his beard tickling your face. You growl, sinking the strap into him until it bottoms out inside him. He moans loudly, his hard cock rubbing against your stomach as you thrust into him. He whimpers as you increase your pace, his hands gently scratching at your back. You groan at his submissiveness, holding yourself on one arm and moving your hand to ghost over his dick. He cries out, bucking his hips into you. His face is flushed, a sheen of sweat on his tanned face. You lean down, slowly licking a stripe up his cheek, groaning at the salty taste. He makes a sound in between a moan and a whimper, pawing at your back adorably. Your fingers run teasingly over his cock, before fully gripping his length, jacking him off. He mewls, squirming as you thrust into him. You pant, watching as he falls apart on your strap. He cries out, tucking his head into your neck as he cums with a cry. He spurts sticky white ropes onto his soft stomach, some hitting you. His cock twitches against your stomach, softening. He lets out a low whimper, holding you tightly as he pants.

“Ah- buttercup- mm-” he murmurs softly. His blissed out expression turns into a guilty and embarrassed one as you look down at him with a mix of disgust and shame. You pull out of him slowly and he whines softly, chasing after the toy. You look down at him, before getting out of bed.

“Buttercup- ‘m sorry-” He starts, beginning to apologize for how fast he finished, shame turning his face even redder. You take the harness off, and slam it on the nightstand before leaving the bedroom.

“Y/n, please-”. He starts, moving on the bed so he sits up. You look over at him as you stand in the doorframe. His face is still slightly flushed, his eyes watery. His expression is pleading, like he wants you to stay. You sigh.

“Goodnight, Karl.” You say flatly, before leaving and shutting the door. You walk a few steps over to the living room, before flopping onto the couch, exhausted. You yawn, feeling your eyelids grow heavy. You shift the couch, unaware of his muffled sobs as you try to drift off to sleep, your heart heavy. The couch is uncomfortable, but it's better than having to sleep in bed with Karl. You try to purge the image of him from your mind, him sweaty and flushed and covered in his own cum. His eyes pleading adorably, his body so soft and malleable.

Because you hate him.

Right?

#karl heisenberg #resident evil #resi #resident evil village #resident evil eight #resident evil 8 #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x reader smut #bottom karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x top reader #yandere karl heisenberg #yandere karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x reader angst #karl heisenberg x reader hate sex

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crowtrobotx · 3 months

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Chrysalis Chapter 16 is up on AO3!

#yesterday i brought you romantic angst. today: more of the same.#karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg #resident evil fanfiction #karl heisenberg fanfic #chrysalis (fan fic)#heisendad

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ur-local-coping-mechanic · 11 months

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I don't care if it hurts

I wanna have control

I want a perfect body

I want a perfect soul

#yes this is because I saw gotg3 and have been dwelling on it #karl heisenberg #resident evil village #re8 heisenberg #re8 fanart #re8 #resident evil fanart #re8 headcanons #karl heisenberg fanart #oh the angst #Spotify

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fridgemagnethusband · 9 months

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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

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drefear · 1 year

Text

Reach for Me (SMASH)

I could fall in love with you

I could fall in love

The nights began to feel natural, him sleeping beside me and both of us staying to our sides, only to find that when morning came, we’d both be holding onto one another and warm in each other's embrace. He usually woke up first and would always try to untangle us without waking me up, too embarrassed to face the reality of us being so close to one another, touching so intimately.

In my dreams your dreams come true

Say you'll dream of us

Soon, we just started to not fight it, to embrace the closeness of each other at night. I’d feel him stir in his sleep and pull me close, to which I’d instinctively curl closer and pull him in. The scent of his shirt is burned into my brain as I inhale him over and over all night.

At night when the bright stars are burning high over Manhattan

All washed out in neon

And hidden from view

The sounds of the factory hum all through the night and every time I turn over, a hand snakes around my waist and pulls me back into the hot burly body of the man I’m continuously falling more and more in love with.

But when the power goes out and you look up from Brooklyn

Will you reach for me

Reaching out for you

Oh, will you reach for me

Reaching out for you

Not a moment goes by when I don’t feel his breath on me, hear the quiet snoring coming from his lips. Even if I get up to get a glass of water, I feel him hold me from behind when I’m in the kitchen. As if tethered by a string, he never feels far behind me and I to him.

I can tell you're unprepared

For what will happen next

Nothing now could change my mind

Or make me want you less

Months of this constant game in our unconscious and pretending not to be aware in the daytime, we finally crossed a line. Waking up to see him thrashing and sweating, a nightmare obviously disrupting his slumber, and I shake him awake to help calm him. The desperate look on his face as he scans me for comfort and without a moment to lose, our lips connect. That night, we made something out of the tension we shared and created a bond with it.

Do you want this tonight when the bright stars are burning high over Manhattan

All washed out in neon

And hidden from view

But when the power goes out and you look up from Brooklyn

Will you reach for me

Reaching out for you

Oh, will you reach for me

As the days went on and we found out about that woman’s schemes, he built an army and created a war in his mind that no one else knew about, a war I couldn’t help fight in, he wouldn’t let me. My words failed to quail the fighting in his head and my body began to become his compound, where he would retreat to for safety and enjoy the sanctity of our aloneness. Whether furious, rushed and harsh, or soft and slow, our nights became our own and we started down a path he’d soon stray from, with me unknowing.

I could wait for you

Will you reach for me

Reaching out for you

I'm reaching out for you

My screams filled the night sky as fire and smoke filled our land, our home. We made a place of metal and mindfulness, to work towards a life without a curse hanging above us like a raincloud, but he took on this burden and charged against someone who wasn’t his enemy. The ragged breathing I could hear from the machinery surrounding him made my feet fly faster, panting against the pollution in my lungs as I neared his false body.

Once I found him, I plunged my arm in as far as I could and felt the plush feeling of his skin, still warm and heaving air, prompting me to pull the metal around him apart piece by pieces. I had gotten him almost out when the man approached with a gun in hand, watching me cry and beg for my love to stay awake. I could fix this. I looked up at him and begged, pleaded he leave us alone, to which he just walked away in silence, and I looked down to see the only person I couldn’t breathe without, in the scrap pile, bloodied and barely alive. As he reached for me, I fell into his chest and held him tight.

Hours, days had passed, maybe even weeks that I focused day and night to fix him, to make him open those eyes again, and I slept by his side, in our home, next to our bed, where I’d wait for him to reach for me again.

#heisenberg x reader #heisenberg #angst #resident evil #resident evil 8 #re8 #karl heisenberg #drefear playlist

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averysexyleon · 7 months

Text

in which wintersberg goodbye - i crey 4ever

(MAJOR spoilers for my fic ahead)

If that time comes for me, I need you to let me go in peace.

Ethan smiled when he recalled the words-smiled at the brunette, but it was a fake smile, in which tears slipped out of his squinting eyes and his lips were trembling so badly he could barely talk.

“I don’t feel very peaceful,” he choked out, in a distraught tone, and waited for the brunette to tell him not to worry. To wink, or to reassure him that he would be right out. To banter. To laugh at Ethan’s bad joke. Instead, Heisenberg’s chin tilted up and in a serious tone he answered, “I do.”

—--------------

Instantly, he was transferred back to their rainy night in the car. How his gaze traveled to and fro between Karl’s deep forest green eyes. How spellbound he was by the mysterious stranger. “You really do like when I laugh?”

“I do.”

“Sounds like you’re practicing vows.”

"Maybe I am."

—--------

“S-sounds like you’re…” Ethan’s voice faltered.

Heisenberg finished the sentence as his hammer began to ring so loudly it nearly drowned out his voice. “Maybe I am.”

“I love you.”

#wintersberg #karl heisenberg #ethan winters #resident evil village #angst #fanfic angst #delicious

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mishwanders · 1 year

Text

Chapter Eleven {Saint}: Believe Me

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg x GN!Disabled Reader

Summary: A gift is dropped off in Mother Miranda’s sanctuary and you go to see the maker of it. Things escalate and the light in your world begins to dim and fade.

Warnings: Heisenberg and Saint get into an argument, scars, childhood trauma, Mother Miranda's forced experimentation on Heisenberg, scars.

Read On AO3 { X }

You made your way down into mother Miranda’s sanctuary. You had begun to do quite a bit more traveling around the village for Mother Miranda while she was attending other duties and your body was beginning to succumb to the pain. The village had gotten even colder as the days drew on and it was quickly dissolving your resolve as well as your nerves. You shut the door behind you, letting out a sigh of relief as you leaned back against it. You were happy to be within the comfort of the walls of this small room once again, away from the bitter cold.

You glanced around the room, seeing Mother Miranda with her back turned to you. It was rather odd, she typically greeted you every time you stepped into the room. You made your way next to her side to see just exactly what was holding her attention. There was a large box laid on the table in the middle of the room.

“It’s for you.” Mother Miranda said, breaking the silence. “Seems to me like you have a secret admirer.”

You looked at her confused, the shock from her words evident in your eyes.

“What? Who do you think it’s from?” You asked

“I haven’t taken a look at it yet, but the Duke’s errand boy said it was a gift.” She explained, pulling a stool around for you to settle down on. “Go ahead and open it. I’m curious to see what it is.”

You nodded and sat down, resting your cane against the table. You opened the box and your eyes lit up in surprise at what was contained inside. It was a beautifully handcrafted cane. You picked it up out of the box, inspecting the details on the metal topper that was formed to look like a fox, the metal inlay that was placed within the dark wood. It had some weight to it, more than you were used to with your other one, but it was just enough to keep it sturdy. You stood up from your seat, placing it on the ground beside you, attempting to move around with it. You made your way around the table with ease and stood back in front of Mother Miranda, smiling happily over it.

It was absolutely perfect.

Mother Miranda picked up the note from within the box, taking a quick look over it. She smiled at the contents of the letter.

“It doesn’t say who it’s from, but considering the handwriting and the handiwork - there’s only one person who could have done this.”

You looked up at her in surprise. Did Heisenberg really do this for you?

“Have you two done anything to spur this on?” She asked curiously, “He’s not one to give gifts like this.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, the embarrassment settling onto your face.

“N-no. We just went out on business as always. I had no clue he had any of this planned.” You replied honestly.

She smiled at you.

“Well it seems Lord Heisenberg has taken a liking to you. The last time I’ve seen him make a gift out of the goodness of his heart was so long ago…” she trailed off, lost in thought. “Why don’t you go to him? He surprised you with this, why don’t you go surprise him?”

“I guess you’re right.” You said, looking down at it. “Will you be alright if I do?”

Mother Miranda chuckled at you, taking your hand in hers and pulling you over to her gently. You allowed yourself to be led as she looked at you kindly.

“Of course my dear Saint.” She replied, “Now go, I promise I’ll be just fine.”

You thanked mother Miranda and let go of her hand, leaving her to her work. You made your way back out into the cold, this time with your new cane in hand. You traversed the village landscape, through the gates and across the bridge, back to the factory gate where you didn’t wait long. They opened and you didn’t hear a single word from Heisenberg over the speaker.

You couldn’t help but wonder if the man knew you were coming. Had he planned this?

You made your way up the slope to the factory, where the doors were wide open, Heisenberg still out of sight. You followed the path as you had last time, walking through the lonely and darkened halls until you found yourself back in a place where you had stood weeks ago when you first came to visit him to discuss his work with the gift.

You stopped in the middle of the room, seeing Heisenberg leaned up against the desk to your right with his arms crossed. His coat, hat, and mossy colored glasses were removed from his person, his hair tied back messily into a bun. You could see there was something laid upon the desk behind him - you’d caught him in the middle of his work.

“Why are you here?” He asked, eyeing you up and down.

“Doesn’t it seem obvious?” You asked, placing the cane steadily in front of you.

“Enlighten me.” He said, cocking his head to the side. You could see the pull of a smile at his lips when you moved the cane into his view.

“Well, I got this new cane today. Someone dropped it by Mother Miranda’s sanctuary as a gift. Has some of the finest craftsmanship I’ve seen in this village in a long time.” You explained

You could see the pride fill his eyes at your words. You couldn’t help but chuckle, knowing that he was eating up the attention.

“How do you like it?” He asked

“It’s wonderful. A work of art, truly. I feel like this belongs in a museum somewhere and not in my hands.” You praised, “But why did you make it?”

“Your other one is shit.” He replied with a chuckle, “After seeing how difficult it was for you to get around with it, I knew you needed a better one.”

“So you really went through the trouble of making it by hand then?” You asked, the hint of hope evident in your voice.

You knew he heard it, watching him straighten up, giving you a gentle nod in response. The two of you stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity. The things that had been left unsaid for so long filling up the empty space between the both of you until you finally had the courage to speak.

“Heis… Are things okay? Between us, I mean. You don’t hate me any more, right?”

You could see the shock on his face when you asked him that. It was like he wasn’t expecting it. Which then made you question yourself - what you thought was true about what had happened between you two. He moved away from his spot by the desk and came over to you, his hands coming up around to the sides of your arms, fingers gently grazing them as he looked into your eyes. You felt your lip quiver as you continued to speak, holding his gaze.

“I - I just… I’ve spent so long trying to get you - my friend back.” You explained, “I just want to know that you don’t hate or despise me any more.”

You watched as the shock in his eyes quickly turned, souring, as if he was hardening himself to you once again. Everything in you wanted to scream at him, to beg him to not close up on you - not now.

“Everything’s always been alright between us.” He said quickly before dropping his hands and turning away from you.

You scoffed. Was he really going to be like this right now? Was he really going to lie to your face?

“I beg to differ.” You replied, the anger filling your voice. “You’ve pushed me away for years without so much of a reason or an answer as to why. Only recently have you begun to even pay me any mind at all. What’s changed, Heis?”

“Nothing’s changed.” He replied through gritted teeth. You could hear the annoyance in his voice.

“Well something has!” You yelled, exasperated. “Y-You…”

You stopped yourself from speaking any further as your emotions came bubbling to the surface. The ceasing existence of your words forced Heisenberg to turn around and face you. The way this man made you feel - it was as if he was hammering cracks into the walls that you held for many years, and you felt like it was all going to break away, burst through you like water through a broken dam. You took a deep breath and recomposed yourself.

“You confuse me, you know that? At times, you're the Heis I know, the one who I grew up with, the one who was kind to me, the one who treats me like a human being. Then the other, Lord Heisenberg, a brash man that continues to play with my emotions whenever he feels like it.”

Heisenberg reached out to grab your arm, trying to take hold of you once again, but you stepped backwards, in an attempt to stop him. You tripped over the broken tile on the floor and began to fall backwards. You closed your eyes to brace yourself with the collision on the hard red tiled floor, but the collision never came. You felt Heisenberg wrap his arms around you, stopping your fall, gently pulling you back up, his power making sure your cane did not fall. He continued to hold you in place, close to him. The sadness was evident in his eyes.

“Things are… complicated.” He explained, his voice just a bit louder than a whisper. “Even if I told you the truth, I’m not sure you’d believe it.”

“How could you possibly know that if you’ve never tried?” You asked

He let out another sigh, allowing his arms to fall away from you once more.

“Because you’re just another one of hers.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, your words coming out more harsh than you expected. “What does Mother Miranda have anything to do with this?”

“You’re just another one of her fucking pawns.” He snapped, raising his voice at you. “She’s molding you into what she needs - turning you into a blind bat to worship that damned mold that’s been surviving in that cave. Do you even realize that you’re being manipulated by her, just like everyone else has been or do you just enjoy it?”

You stared at him, mouth agape, dumbfounded. What the fuck was he talking about?! Why was he speaking so ill of Mother Miranda and accusing you?! He let out a huff at your expression, shaking his head.

“Ignorance is bliss it seems.” He replied

He turned away from you, making his way over to the gray curtain on the wall. He looked up at it momentarily, hesitating. He finally pushed the curtains back away from the space, out of your view. You stood there in surprise - he had papers strewn about the wall, red string moving about connecting his layout. There were also pictures of people - some of which you’d never seen before, other’s you recognized as the other Lords, the Duke, Mother Miranda -

And the image of you right there with them.

Heisenberg grabbed the chair from the desk and placed it before him, gesturing for you to sit.

“You want the truth? Take a seat then, you’ll learn every bit of the bitter truth.”

Now you found yourself hesitating to move. Was he being serious? You looked towards the board once more. It was truly the work of a mad man. But when you looked back into his eyes you could see it - he was very serious about this, whatever his truth was, whatever it was on that board, he believed it with his entire being. You finally moved closer to him, taking your seat in the chair in front of him. You placed the cane in front of you, resting against your legs as you looked up at him.

“Mother Miranda isn’t the type of person you think she is.” He began

You scoffed at him and attempted to stand up and leave, but he placed his hand on the back of the chair, leaning in close to you. You could feel the air in the room thicken with tension, see the honesty, the anger peering at you, as if it were drilling holes into you.

“You said you wanted the truth, so stay.”

You swallowed hard in response, staring back up at him.

“Fine. Proceed.”

He slowly backed away from you, rubbing his gloved hand over his beard as he looked back at the wall for a moment before putting his attention back onto you.

“Like I said, she’s not who you think she is. She parades around like she’s this great mother figure, this prophetess, but she’s neither of those - she’s a goddamn scientist who went mad with grief over her dead daughter and has been doing experiment after experiment with the fucking mold to bring her back.”

“That’s preposterous.” You said, refusing to believe a word that was coming out of his lying mouth.

“Is it?” He asked, “You’ve seen what comes from that fucking thing, the monsters it creates, the powers it gives. Have you seen all of her works, her notes, her case files - or has she been hiding things from you? Come on Saint, tell me, what has she written about myself and the rest of the Lords hmm? Have you seen the books she created specifically for us?”

“This is absolute nonsense, Heisenberg!” You replied, “Of course I’ve seen all of her notes! She trusts me! Those books don’t exist!”

He shook his head at your response. He wasn't listening to you.

“It seems like she doesn’t trust you as much as you thought, Saint.” He said, “I’ve seen them, watched her write in them as she infected me. I know they exist.”

You were about to argue with him more over it, but Heisenberg realized he wasn’t getting through to you - just telling you and showing you this wall wasn’t good enough in his mind. He sunk to his knees before you, his hand working quickly at unbuttoning the top half of his shirt. He moved away the fabric of it and his undershirt, showing you the large scar across his chest.

“I didn’t want this damned thing she calls a gift, but she took me and she tried to turn me into what she wanted.” He confessed, “I was so close to becoming it too - the closest she had ever gotten, but still not perfect enough to be a vessel for her Eva. Instead of killing me she just made me one of her fucking pawns, one of the Lords in this fake family she’s created.”

You sat there in disbelief, your eyes locked onto the scar. So all of those years ago - the bloodied bandage you had seen - that was from the cadou. You reached out your hand to him, gently touching it. He didn’t pull away from you, knowing you needed to do this in order to get you to understand. You trailed your hand along it, feeling the cadou moving underneath the surface.

“I pushed you away because I thought it would be better for you, that you wouldn’t get mixed up in her mess, but I see I was fucking wrong about that.” He explained, “It’s like you dove head first into it.”

You removed your hand from him, looking down into your lap now in an attempt to hide the hurt and pain that was pouring out of your eyes. It was no use though, he could easily hear it in your voice.

“What else did you expect me to do?”

You quickly looked up at him now, the tears streaming down your face. Your voice cracked as you spoke.

“Do you know what it’s like to not be what everyone else considers normal? To be seen as something that shouldn’t exist because you can’t move properly or do what others can with ease? She - she never looked down on me like others do. She gave me a chance to make something of myself.”

You could see it on Heisenberg’s face - he understood your pain, he knew what you were feeling. He reached out and took your hand in his, his gloved thumb gently rubbing over the top of it in an attempt to soothe you.

“Believe me, I do… Why else do you think I hold up here? I’m nothing more than just a broken experiment to her. She took my normal away from me the day she infected me with this shit, forcing me into this position of fake nobility. I had no choice but to isolate myself - I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

The two of you sat there for a while, staring into the other's eyes. You were desperate to find any hint of a lie within him, within his words, but there was nothing but his vulnerable honesty. He was telling the truth.

“I pushed you away because I wanted to keep you safe from her. I didn’t want her to try and use you against me, but she still found a way in with that goddamn mold. She pretends that it’s some god that it’s all powerful - she’s only half correct there. It’s got power, but it’s not a god - never has been, never will be.”

“That’s not true.” You replied, shaking your head. “It is.”

“Have any of your prayers been answered by the damned thing?” He asked

That question hit harder than you expected, like a knife through your heart. You were angry that he would even begin to bring that up - he knew exactly what you had prayed for so much as a child, wished and dreamed for. How dare he fucking do this? You couldn’t stop yourself from reacting. You slapped him hard across the face, knocking him back onto the floor.

“Fuck you.” You spat back at him.

You stood up from the chair, backing away from him.

“This was a mistake.” You said, heading for the door.

But you were quickly stopped in place, feeling as if the cane was bolted down to the ground. You looked back at him, even angrier now that he would attempt to keep you here against your will like this. You turned to face him one last time. He said that he wanted to tell you the truth and you gave him that chance. Now it was your turn.

“You know, I’ve tried so many times before to break through those walls of yours because I really wanted to help, to be your friend again, to try and mend whatever I had broken. But you just keep pushing me away, so what did you expect from me? Did you really think I was just going to sit back and stay the same forever?” You asked, “I had to carve out a life for myself in this village just as you had to with your predicament. I had to turn to something for comfort too. You found comfort in your isolation whereas I found mine in the black god because it was the only thing there for me!”

You felt his power on your cane loosen up, returning it back into your own. You moved it closer to you and shook your head in disbelief.

“You meant more than you ever realized, and it hurts to know that you are right here, and yet so far away at the same time. I wanted nothing more than for things to be okay between us, but then you keep throwing my life choices in my face like I’m the one who made a bad decision when I was just trying to survive!”

You turned around, refusing to look him in the eyes.

“Goodbye Heis.”

Chapter Ten: An Honest Man

Chapter Twelve: Small Things

#resident evil fic #resident evil fandom #resident evil fanfiction #karl heisenberg x you #karl heisenberg x y/n #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg #re8 fic #re8 fanfiction #mother miranda #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #our moral decay #all aboard the angst train #series: our moral decay

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littlelesbinonny · 10 months

Text

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?

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