#alcina dimitrecu

[trippin-over-my-fandoms]

The Prince of Shadows - Chapter Two

( image of Karl belongs to this artist!! )

Let me know if you’d like to be added to a tag list!!

Chapter One - Here

Rating - T

Words - 2,186

Mother Miranda is a true visage, a golden sight, one that can typically only be seen in carefully mastered paintings that are centuries old. Despite being a century herself, she is as young and as beautiful as she was the day that tragedy befell her. Her features are flawless and still with enough wear to speak of her hardships, telling of how much she’s earned her place as their goddess.

She isn’t a very tall woman, yet standing on the wooden stage of the old church, surrounded by melting candles and candelabras that burn brightly despite the morning sun, she seems almost as tall as Lady Dimitrescu herself. Her six great black wings outstretched in their command of respect adding to her size, her golden halo glinting in the sun beams that beat down warm through the gaps in the vaulted ceiling, exaggerating her height even further. Her long black robes, the beautifully detailed stole around her neck draping to the floor, expertly embroidered with the crests of her four lords, the vertical angles all exaggerate and compliment her frame. Each tiny detail of her clothing and shiny jewelry speak to the true wonder that she is. Dark and merciful in ways understood by no man outside of the village. Sacred and worshiped by the people she looked over. Revered and respected by her lords. Blessed and graced by the power of the megamycete- the Black God.

To her right-

Lady Dimitrescu. Her first success in giving her gift, the cadou. Her staggering height of over nine feet tall reflecting her greatness rivaled only by that of Mother Miranda herself. She holds herself gracefully, with less of an iron fist than that of Mother Miranda. More fluid and graceful, yet poised and ready, as if she were a pet snake prepared for a threat, eager to show her fangs- or rather, claws.

The dress that drapes down her oversized frame, tight in places that would test the will of any man, pure white in color all except for the very end of the skirt and edges of her sleeves. Stained with dirt and dried blood, with flecks of fresh red dotting the sleeve, paint a brutal picture of the lady. Elegant in nature yet vicious and unforgiving, her pure white clothing tainted as she herself had once been betrayed before her arrival in the village. Oldest next to Mother Miranda and Lord Heisenberg she’s called the castle her home for decades. Mother to three daughters she guards with every ounce of herself. She’s similar to the goddess in many ways, honoring her own matriarch in her service to her.

Following-

Lady Beneviento. The young girl frozen in her age, as they all were with the cadou, shrouded in black dress and veil. Her presence is the most cold, rigid, always seeming as if she were attending a funeral each day. Her sorrow hangs over her like a rain cloud. Misery and pain that follows her like her own shadow. Loss is ever prevalent with her, the memories of the family she once adored lingering with her, stored in her aching heart.

Upon her lap sits the gift from her father, Angie, whom had once been a simple hand crafted marionette, given new life with a piece of Lady Beneviento’s cadou. Her animated personality is a contrast to her own, somber and passive where Angie is lively and instigative. Though Lady Beneviento only seldom speaks, her voice is soft and sweet like a melody, Angie speaks high and vocals rough. It’s as if Angie were a piece of her that died the day her family did, only magnified. She serves as the vessel to speak for the Lady in most cases. More bold than she would ever be since the great loss.

To Mother Miranda’s left-

Lord Heisenberg. If Lady Dimitrescu was Mother Miranda’s right hand then Lord Heisenberg would be her left. He is of the only who saw her emerge from the grieving mother she began as to the imperial goddess she became. Though he was not her first choice for the cadou he had been soon to follow, having not been immediately eager to risk a horrid transformation on such a trusted friend. Where Lady Dimitrescu had earned Mother Miranda’s respect, Lord Heisenberg had it from the start.

He is perhaps opposite from Mother Miranda. A true king reflecting those of old. Well liked by many and as proud as he is popular. He’s far warmer than the rest and typically the first the villagers might approach should the great lords of the village be seen outside their respective domains. His long gray hair and beard and age lines in his face give the appearance of great wisdom and power. His clothing always reflects royalty, while not as detailed as Mother Miranda’s it's not quite as simple as Lady Dimitrescu’s. His long duster is lined with golden buttons down one side, gold thread in the loops on the other. His boots ink black and always perfectly polished, his silky red vest perfectly tailored, the cuffs of his sleeves adorned with his house’s horse crest. All he is missing is the crown and he’d look like a king of old. Almost as if he were modeling himself after the ancient statues carved around the ceremony site.

Finally-

Lord Moreau. Perhaps the most humble in appearance next only to Lady Beneviento’s. In fact, while the other lords’ styles were shiny and clean, fit perfectly to them and spoke volumes of their character, Lord Moreau made do with tattered clothing that he could manage to fit his miserable frame. While honored to have received the cadou from Mother Miranda, it twisted his body and caused horrid formations that made looking like the others a chore. Still, he tried his best with a crown, fashioned out of bones of both men and fish alike.

Where Lady Dimitrescu and Lord Heisenberg reflected femininity and masculinity, and Lady Beneviento resembled the duality of personalities- Lord Moreau was the contrast of beauty to grotesqueness. Not only were his siblings beautiful in their own royal ways along with their mother, but his family crest resembled a beautiful mermaid. They couldn’t be further from his own image. Yet Lord Moreau found it hard to despise himself when it meant serving under the hand of Mother Miranda. He is the most eager and obedient next to the villagers to serve her. He lacks any sort of perfect physical appearance and makes up for it in his loyalty. He’d go to great lengths to please Mother Miranda and show that he’s capable of keeping up with the other lords in their experiments to further Mother’s research.

And in the light of the morning sun they stand, holding council in the old church that’s almost as old as the village itself. Once a place of worship for Christianity’s God now serves as the place of judgment of those who acted against the grace of Mother Miranda’s firm hand with the lords acting as jury. The sight of them alone is enough to send knees trembling and hearts weeping for mercy in their defiance. Yet there was very little for men who had no faith in their persevering leadership.

“Who are you to beg for forgiveness?” Says Mother Miranda, gazing down at the accused, a man from the village, suspected of hearsay and acts against the Black God. Her words echo off the large structure, adding grandeur to her voice as she speaks.

“Nicholas, Nicholas Albescu,” the man answers, such is the format for the court, an admittance of identity in the village, declaring one's name in hopes of forgiveness. No waiver to his voice, no bend of his knees. Not like the others who beg upon their feet for reconsideration.

“What do you say of these claims against yourself?” She asks, knowing already how she’ll judge him. Only the lords knew these trials were fallacies. Heretics are perfect vessels for experiments whether they were guilty or not. Mother Miranda has no fondness for anyone in the village, a truth that no one will ever know, not when they revere her and believe in her magnificence.

“Lies,” he spits, standing firm and proud and Lord Heisenberg lets slip a curt chuckle at the man’s defiance. His sense of self worth is hilarious and a quick glance at Lady Dimitrescu tells him that she feels the same, a small grin of amusement playing at her lips. They share the same view of the villagers- a means to an end.

Mother Miranda seems irritated in how she glowers at them, a cynical stare at the pair for their behavior. Yet their outward display of amusement plays into her final decision.

“I’ve made my judgment,” she begins, only for the man to cut her off-

“Does it matter?”

A silence befalls the court. Rarely does one so boldly go against the goddess let alone in her own holy domain.

When she speaks again it’s a quiet hiss just loud enough to be heard. “To you?” She scowls, “it should.”

The man is suddenly unnerved, his rigid posture suddenly turning in on itself as he waivers. It occurs to Lady Dimitrescu that he had perhaps expected to get off for his bravery. Now as he stands before them he realizes his foolishness, that he’s only sealed his doom. It only serves to delight her. If only his blood could be her’s, it would surely make fine wine…

But she knows just as well as the others that Mother Miranda has the say in who’s prey the guilty becomes.

“Lady Beneviento,” Mother Miranda’s booming voice returns as she addresses one of her beloved lords, “see to it that this man understands the weight of his unfaith.”

Lady Beneviento simply nods, her veil completely covering her face so no emotion at her prize is shown, only Angie’s gleeful giggles to give it away.

The poor man. He’ll suffer the weight of his own fears under her hand. Forced to endure horrid sights and cruel imagery that will feel all too real.

Serves him right.

After its dismissal, when everything is said and done, Lord Heisenberg follows Lady Dimitrescu the short distance back to her castle, coming to a stop within the grand entryway.

“Your insistence is getting quite annoying,” she says, looking down on him as she lights a cigarette, “come to see if I’ve changed my mind already?”

“Well? Have you?” Lord Heisenberg asks, uncertainty beginning to creep in. He doesn’t need her for his plan but he’d much rather have her at his side. He trusts her more than anyone else with this.

She’s silent a moment as she ponders, staring at the portrait of her female ancestors whom she named her daughters after. “Not yet,” she states finally.

Lord Heisenberg breathes a quiet sigh of relief, “Good,” he nods, “I was worried I’d have to remind you why we decided on this in the first place.”

“You don’t have to,” Lady Dimitrescu looks back to him after another drag off the cigarette, “Though I should point out how well she seemed today.”

“Yes but she was rushing it. Remember how much she used to milk it? Drag out the sentencing until the defiant were sobbing? She’s lost her passion,” Lord Heisenberg points out, fanning away the smoke that makes it to his face.

“Passion for suffering? You should consider she has better things to do brother,” despite how none of the lords were truly related, Lord Heisenberg was the only one she’d consider herself close to in that regard, and the only man she’d ever trust.

“Better things as in devoting all her time to children she no longer has? Wasting precious resources on lost causes? Her grief is consuming her. She doesn’t have the privilege of Lady Beneviento, to sit around and wallow. She has a village to care for. Now I could excuse it back then. But now? I can’t sit by and watch as she lets this place rot and become infested with unbelievers,” Lord Heisenberg rants, pacing in his speech. He’s always been good with words. Expressive even as he delivers them, selling himself and his ideas all in one.

Lady Dimitrescu isn't any more convinced now than she had been when he first trusted her with his concerns. Though she isn’t put off by them either, she understands how important leadership is. She least of all hasn’t been blind to how much of the rule over the village has been placed on her and her fellow lords. Mother Miranda has relied more and more on them to do the work for her, only showing her face for meetings and judgements, hiding herself away in her lab the rest of the time. It wasn’t something they could afford. Not with more and more heretics coming out of the woodwork. Soon they’d have a revolt if they weren’t careful, if they even suspected for a minute their goddess didn’t care for them.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Lady Dimitrescu reiterates, “Now, will you be staying for dinner?”

[niceminipotato]

@blue-falcon-41 I need you to know I’m still thinking about June bitting the lady. One of my favorite scenes lol. Peoples y’all should check out Always Faithful by BlueFalcon like legit legit. I think ima reread again hehehe.

Anyway… back to work 🫠

[martadimitrescu]

https://youtu.be/16TfsN6HbLc?si=ODL6hvJKHGIn_n-5

So, I just watched this. Long story short, I've always headcanoned that Alcina was born in Castle Dimitrescu, always lived there. In game it is said she's not from the village, which I've always disagreed with.

HOWEVER..

What if, she WAS born in the village, in the castle, grew up there, but then left? Lived her adulthood in another Dimitrecu estate as a socialite? I headcanon now that her parents were distant, as most aristocrats are, (and that's why she adored her daughters so much) but maybe when he parents died she still didn't return. Perhaps Mother Miranda was only able to lure Alcina back to her ancestral home with the promise of curing not only her blood disease, but also her daughters tuberculosis? What if Alcina agreed, bringing herself a barely 2 year old Marta all the way from the elite social circles of Bucharest, to the tiny village?

[valleynix]

The Dimitrecus Gay panicking over reader is the best thing

Id imagine Alcina probably having the most self control, but still taken aback. Bela is similar to her mother, but is just silently dying inside. Daniela is Just dead. And Cassandra… well you wrote her panic perfectly in chp 16 so- I love these gays

HEHEHE- honestly this is spot on 😭 i love the idea of these refined and mature noblewomen just gayly losing their minds over this little dumbass LMFAO

[carasilvaart]

Makeup Sessions with the Countess:

Short Story Inc. I love this piece though. It hits me /right/ in the feels. Just a reminder! Commissions are open! https://carasilvaart.carrd.co/#commissionsheet

“Ah, ah… Hold still, pet.” Alcina commands, her golden eyes flickering over the sculpture of Alexandria’s face and pausing only momentarily upon the feline ears that stick from the younger woman’s head. The Feline complies, yet her tail flicks up a storm, the only part of her she has no control over. Her lips gently part, relaxing her face. “I’m trying, Countess.” Alexandria breathes, a slow breath that fills her lungs with air. “Shush and listen.” Alcina chuckles, scolding the Feline with a playful purr. “When applying makeup you must practice, and approach makeup with confidence. Makeup is like painting, Pet. Hesitate and you’ll ruin your canvas.” Alcina instructs as she dips the brush into a pink eyeshadow to accentuate Alexandria’s blue eyes. Lifting the brush, Dimitrecu gently applies the makeup upon the Feline’s heavy upper lid with gentle strokes. “Did your mother never teach you how to apply makeup?” Alcina asks, a passive musing as she works. Alexandria pauses, and small kitten-like fangs nibble at her bottom lip. “No.” She responds, and fell into silence as the girl gather her thoughts. Alcina sets the brush down. Golden hues meet Alexandria’s blue, she had the Countess’ full attention and her nerves flare, a bashful smile curling her lips. “My Mother died when I was seven…” She trails off, her eyes flickering sideways. She didn’t need to finish that sentence. “Mmm, then pay attention pet, consider this your first lesson.” Alcina tuts and plucks the brush back up.

[yngai]

"Come a little closer. I'll have these claws sunk into your belly before you have the chance to reckon with your terror." She'd take a brief break from the endless circles of rage and lust and bitter torment to spare a condescending croon for the other: your birthday? My, my. Aren't you a little young to court death as you do? And, to her credit, she would remember that date, filed away in the bear-trap of her mind, in infinitum. But, irritatingly, this information has not been shared with her. And so, she plays her part, all things as usual. "A crow cannot escape the Dragon's claws!"

(ada crowley wong i used my cringest canon lines on u please call me back.)

it was an enticing proposition, a warmth of blood shed by the only claws deserving to tear the crow limb from limb, make of their flesh red ribbons dancing in the dust. a monster slicing muscle & sinew from bone that has inscribed the crow into the iconography of this village, a trickster & a thief in equal measure that plays along to the chants of a cult that sits beneath them. no one else could ever end their sophistry with one clean cut. a mask without meaning if not for the lady's torment at their hands, a creature of the night with ample wealth & malice to entice a woman that has spent decades playing the rich for fools. alcina provides her a necessary rush, a break from the monotony of a mission that burns her tongue with a familiar dullness. it's funny how her instincts & habits carry over through each character & how, even knowing there is a little star in the blackened sky waiting for her return, an ache in longing for something she never thought she wanted, she dances with death because the thrill of survival what makes her feel alive.

the crow perches itself up on the windowsill, in full view & yet frustratingly out of reach even for someone as tall as alcina. an ornate bottle weaved in golden thread held by the neck between their fingers, the specialty of house dimitrescu stolen right from under its matriach's nose. its refined taste unappreciated by the coarse lips of a scoundrel that thinks only of its value to a travelling merchant & how it must frustrate the lady so, that a ruffian like them could covet the last of the castle's wine to sell off for far less than its worth. it amuses her that alcina cannot see the smile beneath their beak, cannot hear the faint laughter at her threats. how many must have passed their ears that lay unfulfilled & how fitting would it be for lady dimitrecu to be the sole exception, not for the woman hiding under black leather but for the crow themselves. their hubris must be answered for, their feathers must be plucked off their corpse for daring to trifle with a belief older & more convoluted than they bother to understand.

but their fate isn't sealed yet, the game the crow & the lady play is still going, the chase is on & they must leave the lady wanting for one more night. make the kill a worthy satisfaction for her teeth & so they pick & prod & frustrate, a signature cockiness underlining their tone, “ the occasion to turn me into a birthday cake is a few months away, much as you'd like to serve me on a platter. but i will take my present now, ” the bottle is a prop waved at its owner. “ if you don't mind. ”

[the-dimitrescu-seamstress]

Blood Red gown by Linda Friesen

Gorgeous color on this piece. Perfect for the Countess. I could absolutely see Alcina wearing this for a ball or even having her portrait painted.

Of course, I could also see changing the skirt, make it something a bit less full, but the neckline and sleeves, yes yes yes. Regarding the hair? Does anyone think I could convince the Countess into growing hers out or wearing extensions? Because a long drape of black would be gorgeous.

[ladyorlandodream]

Lady Dimitrescu by NOPEYS

she can strangle me with those legs

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

okay but like i'm browsing through new songs to listen to and i listened to conan gray's new song "yours" and the lyrics hit so hard so i was wondering if you can write a fic based off on that song if you're up for it?? thank u <333

𝐈'𝐦 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 ~ 𝐀𝐥𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐃𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: Everyone makes falling in love seem as though it is the answer to the world's greatest problems, that it can overcome even the greatest of odds. And yet here you are with a love that burns you from the inside out, yet those honeyed eyes drag you further into their trap despite all else.

Pairing: Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader, with a very quick appearance from the daughters.

Warnings: Heavy angst! Unrequited feelings and canon-typical violence and death. Please tread carefully if you could be affected by these topics!

Author's Note: Finally I'm finishing this request. I'm so sorry for the anon who requested it, I swear I started it the day of, but life escaped me. But here it finally is! As someone who is a fan of Conan Gray, this was a pleasure to write. What's your favourite song from his new album? I would love to know~ Other than that, happy reading everyone!

There was an allure to things you knew you could never have. An inexplicable yearning for something that is so far out of reach, and yet your heart calls out for it all the same. It pulls you close and stretches you thin, a whisper of possibility just inches from your fingertips. And what more out of reach was a Countess? A Lord of a village who carried the ethereality and power of a divine being, who with a single step makes known her confidence and strength, yet still had the grace and fluidity of someone who was raised in nobility.

She was nothing like you, a mere mortal snatched away from their home as payment for the right to survive in the village, not live, survive. What a hefty price to pay in return for such a feeble thing, yet surviving was the first step to living, was it not? So your parents paid the price happily, clinging to the selfishness of protecting their own lives in return for their child’s. One child for a generation of protection from the horrors of their home, not accounting for famine and sickness that could kill them off otherwise; it was a small price indeed.

It hurt you to know your parents had given you up so easily, but it hurt you even more to know that this had always been your fate. The cost of being the eldest child in the Village of Shadows. Perhaps had you not been so sheltered would you have accepted your fate far earlier than the moment you were shoved into a carriage and off to the castle. Perhaps had you been a bit braver would you have crept away as their backs were turned the evening they told you that you were to be sent away, braving the monsters that roamed in the dark of night. But what was life if not without regrets? So on the eve of your 21st birthday you were hauled off with nothing more than the clothes on your back and a bitter taste lingering in your mouth.

You had heard the rumours of the Castle. It was impossible not to. The horrors and torment followed by trails of deep crimson blood, the cruelty of its Mistress and her daughters not unknown. The mere thought had you shivering in your seat that day. How many young women had you known that all one day disappeared one by one, never to be seen again? And here you were, next in line.

It was a beautiful castle, that you could admit as you first walked through the front doors. Ornate furnishings and richly coloured wood, it was something straight out of a fairytale. Well, if you could ignore the disconcerting stains splattered around the expensive carpets and the screams ringing deep in the depths of the household.

That admiration was short-lived however because not even a second later you had your first encounter with the Dimitrescu daughters. Manifesting out of nowhere your eyes widened in shock momentarily, but you knew better than to let it show. No fear, that was how you’ll survive. So you steeled your expression as they all examined the fresh batch of maids arriving at the castle, cackling as they probed and poked at each of them.

One of the daughters came up to you, the brunette one, and snickered before her sickle was pressed up to your neck. Your eyes widened for a moment before you could stop yourself and she snickered.

“Not so brave now, hm~?” she said with a smirk, eyes sparking with mischief. “Don’t think I know what your play is, little one.” She presses the sickle in more firmly and you can do nothing but hold your breath in fear that one would be your last.

Then, a firm voice rings out in the hall and it's like time stops.

“Enough, Cassandra,” the voice says, and the brunette pulls away. You gasp out a breath as you clutch your chest, eyes darting around like a cornered feral cat.

Then you hear the soft clack of heels on the tiled floor, and all at once nothing but white fills your vision. Large fingers grasp your chin and force your eyes up to meet ochre eyes, sugary gaze that was nothing more than a front for the darkness within.

But you were a fool, not blinking twice and taking her as she was because all at once she was your salvation. A beauty amongst beasts, yet she was the most terrifying one of them all. But you were a fool and didn’t see that at all, only a goddess who deemed you worthy enough of her presence.

Alcina Dimitrescu, Lady of the House and Lord to the Village you had all but left behind. You had caught her attention and life would never be the same.

It was never slow with Alcina Dimitrescu, even from the start she snatched you away in a flurry of saccharine words and well-timed affections because frankly, you were easy to play with. A child who acted as though they were okay, yet craved love and affection all the same deep down. Alcina Dimitrescu knew this, and you fell straight into her syrupy trap.

She took what she wanted without blinking twice, and you could only hope that you could feel the same satisfaction.

Blood, sex, anything she asked you would give, because that was what she expected. Anything less and you would be cast out, and as much as you loathe to admit it, you never wanted that. Because you found some sick satisfaction in pleasing her, you cared for her. Some fucked up form of love had manifested in you, but could you help it? When she acted just so, claiming you her favoured maid as you ignored the fact she brought in other maidens to her chambers all the same. Subtle affections that served enough for pets, not humans. But you ignored that, because even for a short while you held her attention and that was enough.

You gave and you gave as she greedily took it all, but still it was never enough. Because she would never be yours.

Oh, how your heart yearns for what it cannot have, what a cruel fate it was.

Your chest heaved as you greedily took in air, Alcina falling into place next to you on the bed.

“Sweet thing, you have pleased me much today,” she says as she pulls her robe back on and motions for you to do the same, so you did, always wanting to please her. Getting up from the bed you knelt to pick up the clothes haphazardly tossed on the floor and redress. It was always like this, sickly sweet words spoken as you fell back down from your high, and what a high that was. Then you were kicked out like an unloved puppy in the rain. If you had been smarter you would have realized she toyed with you as the chemicals in your brain made your head a blur. With each word she dragged you deeper into her trap, ensnaring you in inescapable vines.

If only, right? And yet you never did. No, you only smiled softly at her, heart beating wildly in your chest as false hope crept its way in. What could kill hope after all? Nothing in this world, or the universe for that matter. And so, as foolishly as a lone lamb in the dark words did you speak your next words.

“I love you, my lady,” you say softly, so soft that no one but her would hear because they had no right to. Hesitantly you meet her gaze and saw that they were widened in surprise before they returned back to her usual gaze like nothing had changed.

For a moment you thought your affections were returned as her lips crept up into a smile before it became too much. It was no soft smile, no, it was too wide to be anything but ominous, eyes gleaming wickedly.

“Awww, foolish thing,” she said with a cruel laugh. “As if someone as pathetic as you could be anything more than a pet I indulge in from time to time. You’re nothing. Replaceable. In fact, why don’t I show you how replaceable you are?”

Your eyes widened in fear as monstrous claws extended from her fingertips, dark as obsidian and wickedly sharp. Everything in your body told you to run, to scream, anything. But instead it was stuck frozen to your spot, as though the world had paused nothing but you.

Step by step she grew closer, dark grin only growing in size as her golden eyes you adored so much glinted devilishly.

“Oh~ Your fear is delightful, little one. Like a lamb eyeing the sharp blade at the slaughter.”

A dance with the devil, that’s what this was. The song was the rapid beat of your heart, the intermingled fear and love running through your veins. And what was a song without an end?

Fear was quickly replaced with sorrow as your eyes filled with tears, how cruel the string of your fate was, leading you to your demise by the one you loved most. You felt the moon looking down on you with pity, with the power to sway even the greatest of oceans she could not change this.

Perhaps in another life would this place be filled with warmth and tenderness, where the look in Alcina’s eyes was one of eternal love, where her heart beats only for you, where she could be yours. But all you knew was that it was not this one.

At least you would die by her hand, see her beautiful face, honeyed eyes, and crimson lips one last time before you succumbed to the void. A little bit of heaven before hell.

Grasping your chin roughly, she forces you to be surrounded by nothing but her. “What a lovely wine we’ll make out of you, darling,” she drawls sarcastically. “Ever so useful even at the very end.”

With a final step her hand swings down, but not before you could whisper your final words out to the universe, to her; “I love you.”

A/N: Hi, this was wild for me to write because I usually don't write angst lol. Although I am quite happy with how it turned out, so I hope you enjoyed reading! As always, I hope you have a wonderful day/night wherever you are my lovelies~

[words-etched-in-her-skin]

Ropes anon!

Here to wish you a happy pride month and safe travels to everyone! That being celebrated, how do you think the re8 ladies would celebrate pride?

I’ve never been to a pride parade myself or actively celebrated my bi pride but I planned to change that this year by getting a bi pride hat. I swing both ways like a bat in a T ball game

I also want to celebrate your blog and all the gay brain rot you feed us. your blog has helped me branch out and interact with the re8 and queer community more than any online community I’ve been in. I wanna say thank you Theo.

Happy Pride Month

💜💙💚💛🧡❤️

First of all - A very Happy Pride to you, dear! And kudos for choosing an amazing way to celebrate your bi pride, I love that 🤣 I've been to quite a few Prides in my day, and have thoroughly enjoyed them all! (My favorite being P-town Pride, as Cyndi Lauper was in the parade and sang True Colors live 🥰) I'm gonna do these as who they would be within your group of friends going to Pride 👀

Alcina: The stoic, super hot elder gay. The one that causes gay panic wherever she goes and keeps everyone in check.

Bela: The slightly more reserved gay.. possibly her first Pride. Doesn't truly realize just how hot she is and ends up spending the night getting to know the girl who's been checking her out all day.

Cass: The friend that acts like they could care less if she's there or not. Hot girl shit all day. Hooks up with at least three girls before the afternoon.

Dani: The friend that gets super messy drunk, makes out with everyone she can get her hands on and has to be carried to the car at the end of the day.

Donna: The super shy gay who hangs in the back and barely speaks to anyone. Goes into gay panic anytime someone tries to talk to her and hides behind Alcina for most of the day.

Sal: LOVES going to Pride. She's gone every year, dresses to the nines and even makes treats to share with people. She gets more numbers than anyone in the group, and goes home with one of the hottest girls/enbys there.

Miranda: Does not attend, and does not answer her phone when you need a ride home.

I hope you enjoyed these, dear! 💙💜💗

[trippin-over-my-fandoms]

The Interview

A/N: a little something because I have this resident evil x grand theft auto v au and I really wanna share some of it I guess so enjoy. And yes… my alt fc for heisenberg is bradely cooper… get over it <3

Rated M for mentions of drugs, prostitution, and other classic GTAV themes.

It’s just a stupid interview. How hard can it be?

Except the interview is with the IAA in the heart of Los Santos and Karl has a long history of drugs, assault, soliciting, and various misdemeanors behind him. Behind him, hell, no one had ever said he had quit. Except Miranda is damned well determined to turn him into some sort of man, even if he’s let her down time and time again. She’s the only reason he’s here in the first place.

Things would be so much easier if it were her giving the interview.

Karl doesn’t even know what kind of job it is he’s applying for. All he knows is that Miranda told him he was going with no other choice and to “dress nice.” Ironic considering he hasn’t lived at her home in almost twenty years and still she treats him like a child. And still he lets her.

He blames it purely on needing money for his next fix. He can’t keep getting on his knees every time he’s short on cash.

It’s been over thirty minutes since his originally scheduled time and still he sits in the lobby of the glamorous building, one he feels incredibly out of place in. It’s far too nice, too shiny, too upscale for a man of his low quality. He lives out in Sandy Shores in a trailer for fucks sake, he’s lucky he even had a decent looking suit. And after all the trouble he’s gone through they have the audacity to leave him waiting for over half an hour. That’s the problem with the upper class, they have some for themselves and themselves only, everyone else be damned as long as they get what they want. It’s the perfect environment for Miranda, no wonder she’s thrived so well in it, so high up he’s not even allowed to know what she truly does. Science and research, that’s all he knows.

Unlike Alcina. Now there’s a rich bitch who’s not afraid to let you know her standing. She’s long been a member in and out of the spotlight even before Karl had been adopted. Now he can’t escape her face, despite not having talked to her in nearly ten years, plastered all over billboards from downtown to Paleto Bay. If he’s truly unlucky the radio will have one of her songs on. Good thing he’s always hated jazz.

Not that his other siblings are any better.

Salvatore spends his days ever trying to achieve higher and higher education, seemingly chasing after the status Miranda has in scientific and medical research. All while his nights are spent wasting away being overworked at the hospital in Pillbox Hill. The only reason Karl has seen him more often than the others is because he’s been nice enough to help him out in the times Karl didn’t have insurance, especially the time he’d almost overdosed with the wrong crowd. Otherwise, they’ve never cared for each other. Sal has always viewed himself as smarter than Karl and Karl has always found him idiotic for playing so deeply into the rat race that Los Santos thrives on.

Donna wasn’t different either. While not the first to leave their childhood home she wasn’t the last. Karl had been the last. He had stayed as long as he could get away with until Miranda threw him out for his behavior. Donna always resented how he had treated their adoptive mother, claimed she had given them everything and dug Karl out of his grave time and time again yet still he treated her as if she were the devil. Whatever help his siblings received from her he sure missed out on, it felt like Miranda had given up on him a long time ago and only helped him when it made her look good. And even Donna got tired of him eventually. She packed up and found herself a nice house, even started a crafting business right on the busiest road in all of downtown Los Santos.

They were all doing well for themselves.

And Karl?

Even after adoption there had been no escape from the issues the system had caused him. Hooked on drugs and lost in alcohol he’d found when neglected, running with the same “friends” from high school who showed him how to smoke cigarettes other people threw away. He’s the only one who ever saw the truth behind Miranda’s shiny promises that she could save them. All she ever did was adopt a bunch of kids with different ethnic backgrounds to seem diverse and merciful. Alcina was Romanian, Salvatore was Spanish, Donna was French, and Karl was just some kid abandoned without a last name and only a DNA test to tell him his parents hadn’t even been legal. He wasn’t special and he never would be. He never tried to get out of what he’d been pulled into because there was no point. Most employers saw his history of DUIs and sex work and wouldn’t touch him.

The fact that Miranda even landed him this interview was a miracle in itself.

And while the trailer he lives in is a piece of shit he does enjoy having a roof over his head. If he somehow pulls this off then at least some of his income will go towards rent. He’d blow it all on weed eventually anyway but he doesn’t want to be crashing on his dealer’s couch. No matter how nice of a guy Louis can be.

It seems like eternity but he’s finally called back to some pompous asshole’s office. Sitting on the opposite side of a desk from someone reminds him of all the years in high school he’d managed to get called to the office.

“So, let’s start off with your name,” says the overly self confident woman perched behind the shiny oak desk. She stares down at paperwork through glasses that probably cost more than his last water bill and her hair is pulled tightly into a ponytail Karl imagines is causing a headache resulting in her foul and bored expression.

He already doesn’t want to be here, he should have left ages ago, should have just told Miranda ‘no thanks’.

“It’s Karl,” he says, “A K not a C.” Clarification, right off the bat, years of fighting with elementary and high school teachers who refused to spell it correctly.

“Karl…?” She draws out, looking at him expectantly. She had the paperwork right in front of her, couldn’t she read his name?

“Heisenberg, Karl Heisenberg,” the last name he made up when he was nine. Whatever parents he had that abandoned him in this stupid city hadn’t been legal and fled without a trace. A DNA test he did for third grade science was the only reason he knew he was German. Heisenberg had sounded German enough to him back then. The courts accepted it well enough. He never changed it, not even when he was later adopted.

None of them had changed their last names for that matter.

“Right, Mr. Heisenberg,” she frowns as she flits through the papers tucking them neatly into a folder then placing it neatly on her desk before folding her hands atop it, “I understand your request for interview for this position came from a very high up source but even with that your outcome isn’t bright.”

Great.

“You have virtually no qualifications and frankly your record with the police department is enough to deter the organization to avoid you simply because of your image,” there was no possible way she could sound any more pretentious.

Karl rolls his eyes, giving a half hearted chuckle as she continues to try and tell him why he wouldn’t be a good fit before even properly conducting the interview, “Can’t say I didn’t try right?” He says rather loudly as he stands up from his seat across from her.

“You don’t even have a proper high school diploma and-“

“I get it, you don’t want me here. It’s fine, whatever. I could already tell I was wasting my time anyways.” Karl is already headed for the door but stops before he exits, “Just be sure to tell her I at least showed up.” He adds bitterly, not even having to say her name to know it’ll make its way back to her how much of a failure and an embarrassment he is. If she wasn’t watching him through the camera’s as it all happened.

Karl doesn’t care. He’s done trying to fix a life that’s determined to be shit. No matter what he does it always seems to kick him in the gut and leave him in the dirt. He wasn’t even surprised to find out he had been rejected before even being considered.

He’s rather dramatic about how he exits the building, loosening his tie and dropping the put together facade he’d arrived with.

It seems like a cruel joke when he gets down to the parking garage, finding his beat up lemon easily among the fancy sports cars and electric hybrids, only for his car to not want to start. Of course he’d be trapped here.

But Karl is nothing if not stubborn to a fault and just about ruins his only suit getting out to solve the problem with the engine. Machines are the only thing he’s ever been gifted in. Sometimes instead of sucking cock when he needs narcotics he’ll repair a transmission or two, or be a regular adult and pick up extra shifts at the dinky garage within walking distance of his trailer.

Karl finds the problem easily, a quick fix luckily, his only luck today, and sure enough the engine turns over as it should. Of course it would, he knows what he’s doing.

Now…

He needs a fix.

[uniquevocashark]

"Alcina," You said, "You're driving yourself to tears over nothing."

She sat next to you on the couch, her legs crossed and leaning on her palm.

You dabbed away at her cheeks, and she glared half heartedly at you. "It isnt nothing," she grumbled, fresh tears filling her eyes, "I'm becoming obsolete."

"I'm sorry, I spoke poorly," you said, "You aren't becoming obsolete."

Her lip quivered, "She thinks I'm useless."

You reached out and gently rubbed her shoulder. "She does not, don't torture yourself with those thoughts."

"Yet it is an irrefutable fact that its true."

"It isnt, my moonlight."

"Why else would she choose that idiot Heisenberg instead of—"

Alcina covered her eyes, taking in a deeper breath than she usually would. You rubbed her shoulder and back slowly, and you timed it to match up with every inhale and exhale.

You kissed the back of her neck when she had calmed a little more. "I'm here for as long as you need me."

She nodded slowly and then with more vigour. You kissed her cheek and held her close to your chest when she leaned into you.

[doodleferp]

It’s criminal that I haven’t made fanart for Lady Dimitrescu yet

[carters-coffee]

Hey lovelies! I decided to have a short Alcina Dimitrescu/Reader imagine replace the weekly headcanons this Friday, I've put it in my queue BUT if you want "early access" lol its already up on ao3 :)

Thanks to @vadeofspades for beta reading it!

[the-dimitrescu-seamstress]

(Mun here. Remember the drunk post where Magda complained about the amount of walking she did with clothing? Um, yeaaaaaaaaaah.....)

(The dressing room.... which I’m assuming is storage, is not connected to her chambers. Magda needs to go out the dressing room, down the main hall stairs, through the dining room and courtyard, up the stairs, and into Alcina’s chambers. As for Magda’s workshop? My headcanon says it’s connected to the Opera Hall at the top of the map.

Is the castle in my mind this exact layout? Close but not quite.... library need to be bigger, and things are missing. But, it gives a good idea of how much a workout Magda gets while carrying massive garments and keeping them pristine.)

[ladyorlandodream]

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious by FoxWriter2