#i will not speak about heisenberg's factory

[lady-z-writes]

(Jealous Karl x reader. "You're mine" smut)

Swear I thought I posted this, but here you go:

(ETA: ...I'd posted it in 2021, apparently. 🫣)

He'd made the decision to bring you, despite his best efforts to avoid this type of thing.

As soon as Alcina found out about you, she'd been urging him to join her little charade where she pretends to be a good oversized hostess.

She just wanted to get a taste of you, he was sure; lock eyes with you and hope to seduce you, steal you away from him.

Who knew the fucking caterer was going to be yet another threat.

The way he's staring at you makes Heisenberg notice. Sipping his whiskey, he keeps an eye on things as you chat kindly, probably unknowingly.

The smile on your face, the way you look in that outfit tonight - it's too much. He barely let you leave the factory without a mark on you; just in case someone got close enough to see the bite marks on your inner thigh.

You knew you were his. But with some alcohol in you, he wasn't so sure you'd behave yourself. Clearly, you hadn't started this interaction. Of course Heisenberg had been staring since you got up from the table; always an eye on things. He'd rather silently watch you than play socialite at Alcina's ridiculously over-the-top gala.

You'd been good, he just didn't trust the rest of these fuckers.

And the longer he stares, the more heated he's getting.

You'd noticed Heisenberg's staring. It was hard not to. He'd been grinding his teeth when he wasn't taking a sip of that almost-empty whiskey glass.

Speaking of, you knew you were meant to get the bottle from the server.

The caterer is nice enough but if he doesn't watch it, Heisenberg is going to make him into a mechanical plaything.

As you say goodbye, the caterer takes your hand and kisses the back of it. Totally flabbergasted, you shake your head at him.

"You need to stop," you say.

"Stop? We were having such a lovely chat. Perhaps we could have a drink under moonlight."

You glance over your shoulder, but Heisenberg isn't there.

Fuck.

"No, thank you," quickly, you back away toward the serving plater with the whiskey he likes.

It's gone.

Eyes wide, you gaze around the room to see if it's on anyone's table. If you come back without that bottle...-

Suddenly a familiar smell of cigar smoke overwhelms your senses. Glancing to your left, you notice Heisenberg's gaze fixed on you from a few feet away; whiskey bottle in hand.

"Come with me," he demands, shoving the bottle into your arms as he passes.

Before long, you're in a loading bay area, wrapping your arms around yourself from how cold you are suddenly.

"Karl, I-"

"Take your clothes off."

"What?"

He exhales smoke in your face as he shoves you against a crate.

"Now," he hisses.

Shivering, you follow orders, hand him the bottle of whiskey, watch him take a hefty gulp as he stares at your nakedness. As he hands you the bottle back, his eyes linger on the bite marks on your thigh.

You sip the booze in hopes it'll warm you up. Heisenberg takes pity on you - or maybe it's an act of ownership - but he gives you his coat and you're greedy for the warmth.

Not wasting time, he hoists you up, shoves you completely back on the oversized crate. It's freezing and hard but you don't sit up. You set down the booze before you spill it. Heisenberg pulls himself up, crawls over your body with a deep growl that exhales smoke around the cigar in his mouth. When he's eye-to-eye with you, he pops it out of his mouth, ashes it near you, uses his gloved fingers to uncover your right nipple from beneath his jacket. And then the left.

His eyes scan hungrily as he takes another inhale. You can feel him hard against your body and to be honest you're not surprised. It feels good to be this wanted.

He nods down at you and you know what he wants so wordlessly you undo his pants and belt. When his cock springs out, you guide it toward your naked pussy and let him shove himself inside you.

Arching your back, you moan out for him, knowing he wants you to be loud and the pressure of his thick cock is tender without any prep. But he wants it like this. It's a punishment of sorts.

"See you made a friend tonight," he grunts as he puts his cigar out beside your shoulder.

When he's completely in, you feel like you can finally speak. "N-no, that's not it at all. Karl, I-"

There isn't a second of hesitation: he starts pounding into you at such a pace, you can't help but grip his shoulders and whimper.

"You're mine," he growls. "You got that?"

"Yes."

"Say it," he grunts, biting your neck.

"I'm yours."

"Again."

"Karl, I'm yours!"

"Mmm, that's right. You are. You're mine to bite and to fuck. You're mine to make a scene about."

He's putting so much pressure on you, you're consumed by him and it's such an overwhelming feeling you can't help but love it.

"This cunt is mine to fill," he chuckles. "Oh? You're close, aren't you?" a deep laugh. "Bad girls don't get to cum."

You whine and grip him tighter. "No, I'm good. I promise."

"Oh, are you now?" he teases. You nod. "You look good...my jacket falling off your body like some centerfold...tits with my bitemarks on them, little marks from my facial hair...heh, it's like you're my little plaything."

"I'm yours," you whisper out, nodding against his chest as you feel your orgasm nearing. "Please, Karl, please."

He hums as if thinking it over. "One condition, doll."

"Anything."

"You sit in my lap and ride my cock while you cum."

You nod quickly and shift positions, staring in awe at him. This new position gives you so much pleasure. Your mouth is on his shoulder then kissing at his neck, moaning and crying out his name as you ride out your orgasm.

"Good girl," he laughs. "Ah, that's it, kitten...getting me so close."

After you've come down, your heartbeat in your ears, you kiss his neck again, open your eyes, throw your head back a second to stare at the ceiling as he pounds up into you.

It's only when you look straight ahead of you that you notice the door is open.

"Karl," you whisper, tapping him on the arm, trying to pull back.

It's too late. He's got an iron grip on your hips as he's moaning and pumping into you.

All while the caterer stands there in shock next to his crates of pastries.

"Get a good enough show there, bucko?" Heisenberg pants a yell over his shoulder where you're still staring in shock.

No response, just the sound of footsteps retreating.

You smack him on the bicep.

"You knew he was there."

He laughs loudly. "Of course I did!"

"Heisenberg!" you hiss.

"No harm. I didn't even kill him. Besides, look at that entire crate of pastries he left...just for us to sneak back to the factory."

You groan, hiding your face in his chest out of pure embarrassment.

"What? You're a sight when you're cumming. Probably gave that guy plenty to think about..."

"Can we go now?"

"Depends. Learned your lesson about talking to strangers?"

You roll your eyes.

"Yes, sir."

[ilywrites]

KARL HEISENBERG GENERAL HEADCANNONS

A/N - Finally got enough energy to actually finish something! I keep writing then disliking it and starting over again. I’ll eventually be posting more Heisenberg content along with Astarion or Gale. 👀 Enjoy!!

Warnings: None!

———

- He cant sleep with a blanket on, like it literally would make him sweat to no end.

- You both would wake up to a pool of sweat if he did.

- Even if it’s cold outside, he stays warm. He’s like your own personal heater.

- So because of that he usually winds up being your blanket instead of using the actual one.

- Whether he is laying on you or you’re curled up in his arms. He is always whats keeping you warm.

- I also think he would like it whenever you sit in his lap.

- It makes him feel loved, plus he likes holding you.

- Speaking of which, he would totally carry you around the factory if you were too tired to walk.

- It’s time to go to bed? Say you’re too tired to go upstairs and boom he’s already carrying you.

- It’s no problem to him at all, i mean he carries a big ass hammer around he can carry you too.

- If you ever say something about being too heavy he’d reassure you that you aren’t.

- Though i don’t think he’d be amazing at reassuring, or words in general.

- He could show you he loves you through actions any day. But words? Probably not as much.

- He just doesn’t know how to, he barely knows how to love someone more or less tell them how much he does.

- If you really needed it though, he would try his hardest to tell you.

- I also believe he would bring little trinkets to you, maybe something he made or something he found lying around.

- He would brush it off as nothing but always stare and make sure you liked it.

- “If you don’t like it then too bad”

- This man would be the most stubborn person to deal with honestly.

- If you tried to tear him away from work to sleep or rest, he would either leave then go back after 5 minutes.

- Or he would just say no and ignore your persistence.

- All in all he is trying to be the best person he can be for you, he just needs time to do so.

[margaretoakgrove]

Taking care of Heisenberg

If once you decide to open an old huge dictionary and find the word ''workaholic'' within this book, i bet the name of this handsome man certainly will be its definition.

It is just incredible that each day Heisenberg finds so many hours to build his metal army of mechanical undead soldiers and, unfortunately, such a small amount of time for taking care of himself.

The lord tends to put his own self-care and state of health aside, but you, on the very contrary, put them on the first place along with yours.

Actually, it will be fair enough to say, that you enjoy taking care of your loved one, and the undeniable fact that you are able to make his life easier and better turns you into one of the happiest people in the world.

Heisenberg is definitely a man of a good appetite, but in spite of that he prefers a simple food over rare exquisite dishes. Therefore if you just cook a fried meat with boiled potatoes and a simple vegetable salad, be doubtlessly sure that your pretty hands will be covered with little kisses of his endless gratitude.

Oftentimes, the old worn clothes of the lord become dirty and damaged as he usually works with motor oil and different metal scraps with rather sharp edges, but you are always ready to remove any oil stain from his trousers and sew up every hole in his shirt.

One needs to mention that your loved one's work is not only physically hard, but it's also hazardous, and, at times, sharp tools, metal scraps or even his own creation that, all of a sudden, went totally crazy can injure him. After such unpleasant situations you carefully patch his bleeding wounds up, and Karl, seeing a concerned look on your face, every time gives you a reassuring smile and tells that you shouldn't be so worried because of just another scratch. (Well yeah, just another scratch which, in the afterwards, turns into another deep scar.)

As Heisenberg strictly forbids you to wander the lowest levels of the factory completely all alone, warning that it's super dangerous, you cannot go down there and check on him when he burns the midnight oil, creating one more addition to his army.

But when the lord sits in his workshop on the highest and safest floor of the building, designing and improving scatches or writing down important notes, you always bring him a healthy snack and a mug of aromatic strong coffee even in the middle of the night which is not a problem for you at all.

When your loved one, after working hard during all day almost in nonstop regime, tirely flops down on your shared cozy bed, you don't ever mind to provide him with a wonderfully relaxing massage. The caring hands of yours slowly and gently rub his weary neck and shoulders, and Karl doesn't even try to hold slight moans of an absolute pleasure, letting you understand like this how unbelievably good you make him feel.

By the havoc which practically daily happens in his life Heisenberg, rather often, feels very stressed out, and you perfectely know that at these gloomy days of his Karl needs the comfort of your company more than usual. You caringly offer him to drink a nice cup of hot relaxing herbal infusion and take a slow walk on the fresh air somewhere in the woods, trying to speak on positive themes in the process of your little trip, at the same time listening to the calming ambient sounds of the nature.

In winter you are especially worried about the health state of your dearest man, noticing that despite a cold weather he is quite lightly dressed, and his neck is perpetually open to the strong gusts of freezing northern and western winds. Does one need to say how surprised the lord was when you timidly gifted him a simply-looking yet so soft and warm scarf knitted with your own golden hands? No, the man wasn't just pleasantly surprised, he was baffled, even shocked by this gesture because literally nobody in his entire life has ever done such a nice thing for him.

Having the new accessory wrapped around his neck (which fits him well, by the way), Karl attends special occasions by the name of family meetings where he with a smug-ass smile on his face lively brags to the siblings (especially to Lady D) about what a kind, caring and attentive person his precious darling really is, unlike someone's annoyingly buzzing bloodthirsty bugs.

Heisenberg is sure as hell that he will never be grateful enough to you for everything you do for him every single day, understanding very well that without your divine presence in his life he would never ever feel so truly loved and cared for.

But the lord does not even imagine that the short sincere ''thank you, Buttercup'' of his makes you melt like a sweet sugar cube in a hot fragrant tea.

And each new day you are willing to keep tirelessly surrounding him with your priceless love and tender care because this so close to your heart man means the world for you and, surely, even more.

[actuallysaiyan]

Kinktober Day 1: Werewolves(No one could save me but you...)

warnings/kinks: werewolves, arranged marriage, unprotected sex, creampies, scratching, slight dub-con, mentions of mates

word count: 2.8k

pairings: Karl Heisenberg x Fem!Lycan!Reader

teaser: “You didn’t ask everyone in this village if they oppose this union,” Karl says loudly from the doorway. Your body trembles as he walks closer to you and Hans.

taglist: @beneathstarryskies @loki-love @witchofcustom @dreadsuitsamus @pyrofanatic @butterflieskeepcominback

a/n: welcome to the first post of Kinktober 2023! I got a little carried away with this one and it's probably the longest one. But I hope you all enjoy!!

You always felt different growing up in this village. It was like you were always meant to be held back. Something always felt wrong about leaving even if you desperately wanted and needed to leave. You knew that one day, you’d be married off to some asshole and have to push out at least five of his bratty kids. The thought alone made you want to run away but you always felt like something was making you stay here.

As the years rolled by, you found yourself more and more intrigued with the way people were so judgemental of the one person in this village that you found absolutely intriguing. Despite hardly ever speaking to the man, you knew you were so curious about him. Often you found yourself thinking about him and joining him in that factory of his. How it might even give you purpose in life to join someone who’s ideals don’t match all the other clones in this place.

Yet you could never drum up the courage to make your way to the factory. It often scared you just to look at it because of how much it meant to you. It intimidated you, and almost mocked you for being such a coward. A new life was only so many steps away and you could actually attain this. Though you never really could do something else and you knew your time was running out. Soon, your twenty-first birthday would be here and your parents had promised to find you a suitor by that point that would be your husband.

As the days go on, you find yourself desperately wanting out of this arranged marriage. The man your parents chose is horrible and you know that if you go on with this wedding, your life will be over. It doesn’t help soothe your nerves that your wedding night is meant to be on the full moon.You can already picture the monstrous sounds of the Lycans outside your window as your marriage will be consummated. It sickens you that you have no say in who you will marry.

Your mother sits you in front of the vanity table, and she begins getting you ready for the wedding ceremony. You know better than to protest what’s happening.

“Such a beautiful young woman you are now,” your mother coos as she brushes some makeup onto your face. “You’ll make a wonderful bride.”

Your stomach is in knots as you begin thinking about all those times you could have snuck out of your home and joined Karl inside his factory. All those nights you could have run off to somewhere new and started a life outside these walls. It’s too late for those fantasies now. You know you’ll have to swallow your pride and marry the man your parents have chosen.

The hours tick by faster than you’d like, and despite the fact that you know you have almost no way of getting out of this, you’re beginning to think of an escape plan. You consider all your options, and your mind goes to the Lycans. Maybe you can figure a way to rile them up so much that they will cancel your wedding. That way you’d have a few more days or at least hours to be able figure something else out.

Once you’re all dressed and ready, your mother escorts you to the carriage waiting for you outside. It’s almost completely dark outside, but there’s a little glimmer of the setting sun on the horizon. You’re ushered into the carriage that will take you further into the village and drop you off at the church. There’s no sight of the Lycans just yet but you know they’ll be present very shortly.

At the church, your husband-to-be is waiting impatiently. He knows he’s getting the better deal than you are when it comes to this marriage. Not only are you a good cook and very beautiful, but you are very adept with your hands and have a brilliant mind. All he can bring to this marriage is a good dowry that has impressed your father. 

There is a slight buzz from the people who are entering the church. You feel your heart sinking as you slowly approach the building. Your father brings you inside, squeezing your arm comfortingly. He knows you don’t necessarily want to marry this man, but he knows it’ll look bad on him if he doesn’t marry you off to someone who is worth your family’s time and wealth.

Once the doors open and you begin walking down the aisle with your father, everyone stops talking. You see the man you’re supposed to marry and your heart sinks even more. He looks way too smug for this to be good for you. You look away, staring out the stained glass windows for some sort of sign. Any sign will do. But the closer you get to the altar, the more you realize there is nothing left for you to do now. You have to accept your fate.

Hans watches carefully as you get closer to him, and he extends out his hands almost as if to snatch you up from your father. You look down at your feet, and you focus your ears on the sounds outside. You’re not sure how you’re going to pull this off, but you know you can do your best to get the attention of the Lycans.

“Finally, you’re here.” Hans says in a snarky voice. “I was beginning to think you’d never show.”

Your father smiles uncomfortably, “We wanted her to look absolutely ravishing for you.”

Hans smirks as he looks you up and down. You shudder at the way he looks at you. It’s like you're some kind of prize to be won.You swallow hard as your father finally hands you off to the man you’re about to marry.

Your eyes watch as your father sits in the front row, then you slowly move to be right in front of Hans. The priest saunters over, a bright smile is on his face. Then he grabs a large, leather bound book from the table. Your heart pounds in your chest when you realize that this is now truly happening.

“We’re gathered here today…” You hear the priest begin but you can’t think straight to keep up with his stupid little sermon.

Your eyes return to the stained glass windows. Outside the moon is now visible and with well-trained ears, you can hear the Lycans howling. You begin to pray and wish for them to hear your pleas. You’ve never prayed so hard in your entire life. Nothing would make you happier than to have them interrupt this wedding.

Hans squeezes your hand in a harsh way, bringing you back down to earth. You hear the priest clear his throat, and he begins reading more of the words from the old book. Then he looks up at the crowd and smiles at everyone. Everyone looks at you and Hans.

“Before I continue, I must ask you all if there’s anyone who opposes this union,”

Those words give you a sliver of hope. Just as he finishes saying them, you hear the loud howl of a Lycan very close by. Everyone looks around the room, their smiling faces make you so uneasy.

“Anyone? Is everyone okay with this union?”

Once more, you feel like there’s a bit of a stall in your marriage, and you wonder if some deity that exists outside this village has heard your pleas. The priest takes a breath before looking down at his book.

“Then let us—”

He’s interrupted by the sound of a loud thump. Followed by another one, and then another one. It’s not long before everyone’s attention has been taken from the priest and is now on the sound of the thumping coming from the door.

With a loud crash, you watch as one of the old wooden doors from the church falls over. You gasp when you see the person responsible for this. Your heart skips a beat as he looks over at you, grinning.

“You didn’t ask everyone in this village if they oppose this union,” Karl says loudly from the doorway. Your body trembles as he walks closer to you and Hans.

The priest rolls his eyes, “Like you really matter in this affair,”

Hans places his hand on your chest and pushes you so that you’re behind him, “Just what is the meaning of this?”

Karl is finally right in front of you and Hans, and he hasn’t wiped that grin off his face. You never truly realized just how intimidating and threatening he was. His large build makes him look even scarier than before, but somehow you know that he is your savior.

“This little sweetheart isn’t meant for you,” Karl explains as he pushes Hans to the side. “She belongs to me.”

There’s a bit of hushed speaking that begins to happen when Karl takes a hold of you. Instead of being rough with you, you feel his gentleness. You’re falling even deeper in love with him if that’s even possible.

The rest of the village remains mostly stunned, not really sure if they should even decide to intervene. Hans looks incredibly angry and your parents are cowering away in their seats.

“You see,” Karl begins, “She never was yours to begin with. She’s always been mine.”

Something about his words hit you so deep inside. You begin to see why you stayed all these years in this village. It was for him. He's been your reason to stay. You know that you always felt different from everyone else, but you never knew you could feel such a connection with someone like this.

Karl begins to pull you away and Hans tries to grab you again. He says that you are his bride but you’re already shaking your head.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Karl spits at Hans. “Nobody but you even cares if I take her or not.”

And with one look at the crowd of people, you know he’s speaking the truth. Nobody says a word. Nobody gets up to separate you from Karl. Hans tries to say something else, but he stops when Karl shoots him a dirty look.

You take Karl’s hand and he leads you out of the church. Nobody is saying anything. Nobody is doing anything. This is finally happening. You laugh to yourself, so happy that you were somehow able to leave everything behind so easily.

Karl doesn’t say much as he begins to lead you back to his factory. The moon is so bright on the walk home. The Lycans are causing a very big ruckus. The sounds they make as they howl at the moon soothes you all of a sudden. There’s some growling here and there, making you wonder if they are fighting one another to get closer to you and Karl. And you smile when you notice them beginning to circle around you and your beloved. Karl watches them carefully and he pulls you in closer. Then his voice booms as he tells the Lycans to not only calm down but to also leave the area. Without another action, the Lycans begin running off in the opposite direction.

You’re nervous but in the best way possible as you finally approach the factory. The grass is overgrown and it’s not very well-lit from the outside. You want to go inside despite everything you’ve ever heard about this place. Karl makes sure to keep holding your hand as he guides you inside.

This place feels like home even if you’ve never even stepped foot inside. You gasp softly as Karl sweeps you off your feet and carries you over the threshold. Your cheeks burn when you realize just how close you are to him now that he is carrying you bridal style.

“I couldn’t let that opportunity go to waste. You deserved to be carried over the threshold like that,” Karl explains as he lowers you to your feet.

The air between you is electrifying and heavy with a sudden need. Your eyes lock in a sensual gaze as his large hand cups your cheek and his thumb caresses your face. 

There’s no time for explanations as Karl kisses you with hunger and passion. His hands are busy unbuttoning your wedding dress. Your teeth clash and your tongues rub together as he begins backing you into the corner. Without another thought, Karl pins you to the wall and he begins to nip and suck on your neck.

“Have you ever wondered why you felt like you could never leave this place?” He asks you between the sensual kisses.

You nod your head and moan as his tongue rubs against yours. You know he’s got the answers you’ve been looking for.

“Let me tell you why…” he says, leaning in closer so he can whisper in your ear.

Karl explains to you that you’re also part Lycan, just like he is. That’s why when you were trying to get the Lycans attention, it actually worked. It also explains why they’ve never bothered you and how the sounds of their howls have soothed you instead of frighten you. And Karl ends his explanation with a heated kiss.

“You’re mine, sweetheart. You belong to me just as I belong to you.”

The skirt of your wedding dress is pushed up as far as it’ll go. Karl growls in frustration as he can’t quite touch you the way he wants with all the tulle and lace in his way. His large claws shred the beautiful wedding garment to bits.

“There, that’s much better.”

You whine as you feel his teeth and lips kissing your neck and collarbone. You feel like you’re floating on a cloud, shuddering and shaking with all this pleasure. You begin to feel something hard rubbing up against you as Karl keeps you pinned against the wall.

“One last thing I should mention, darling.” Karl growls in your ear. “The real reason why you couldn’t leave this place…it’s because I’m your mate and your mine.”

He holds you up against the wall as he begins undressing himself from the waist down. Your little panties are soon pushed aside and as Karl kisses you with animalistic hunger, his large fingers are spreading your folds to dip two of his fingers into your sopping wet cunt.

“Almost seems like you’ve been anticipating this, sweetheart.”

His words go straight to your core, making you drip even more of that arousing nectar. Karl knows he should take more time with you, but he’s been waiting for much too long. A few more strokes of his fingers and he deems you ready to take his cock.

Your eyes widen when you see the size of him. He’s large and thick, and you can see the red angry head of his cock leaking the pearlescent fluid. Karl smirks as he prods your hole with the tip, making you whine.

You cry out as he impales you onto his cock, and you feel something deep inside of you snap. You begin to rock against him, making him grunt at your sudden movements. He had a feeling you’d react this way given your Lycan nature, but he never knew it would feel this good.

Karl ruts against you, keeping you pinned tightly to the wall. You whine and moan, clawing at his back as the pleasure begins to take complete control over you. Though you have never made love before, something about this animalistic way of fucking has you soaking his shaft. It’s like you were made to take his cock.

“That’s it, pretty little mate. Ride my cock.”

You grunt at those words, your walls are squeezing him tighter and tighter as he fucks you so roughly. Neither of you can stop now, almost like you’re caught in a frenzy. It’s too good to stop. Too euphoric to imagine an end to this mating.

The coil in your stomach tightens impossibly tight, signaling your peak. You know you want it to last even longer, but it’s too good to quit chasing your high. Karl is right behind you, ready to stuff you with his potent seed.

A few more thrusts is all it takes for the both of you to be whimpering and growling at the immense pleasure you’re both feeling. You hadn’t realized until this moment that your claws have grown and are digging into his shirt.

His thrusts are more erratic now that you’re both reaching your peak. You see stars dancing in your vision as you’re falling off the edge to such a violent orgasm. With your walls milking Karl, he can no longer hold on. A loud rumbling of a growl comes from him as he fucks shots of his sticky, potent cum deep inside of you.

When he slowly pulls away after catching his breath, Karl leans in to kiss you softly.

“You’ll never have to be scared anymore, my beloved. I’m always going to keep you safe.”

[princess-library-dead-account]

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?

[vizishereig]

18 or 44 for the sleepy prompts w ur ship of choice!! <3 i hope you have a good day!

hi, hello, hi! alright, so I was puzzling how to put these both in one, but then I was like... why not one per prompt? soooo, you get 2! and I'm kind of proud of both!

18. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?" which I chose Serrenedy for

44. "I'll sleep when I'm dead." for Ethan, with the lightest tinge of Wintersberg at the end <3

He’s already half asleep when Leon speaks up, scratching against his scalp with short nails. They were lounging on the couch, his face pressed into Leon’s chest as the blonde watches whatever show is on the TV. Making small sounds of discontent when Leon’s fingers catch on a knot and pull.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” he asks, offhandedly. Luis tenses up a bit, pulled from that hazy half-aware state, where everything feels syrupy and slow.

“Yeah? What about?” Luis asks, mind racing. Nightmares are at the forefront of his mind, memories of fire and the Plagas in his chest, little spindly limbs tapping, tapping, tapping away-

“Nothing huge. Sometimes I catch what I think is my name, but it’s kind of hard to hear what you say. Though… there was one time where you said my name kind of urgently, and when I responded you told me to stop moving,” Leon says with a shrug. He relaxes a bit, brief panic abated.

“Ah, so none of the wooing that I so often do to you in my dreams?” he says with a teasing little smile, meeting brown eyes meeting blue. The little huff that Leon does to mask his laughter is entirely expected.

“No need to woo me anymore, you have me,” Leon responds, after a moment of thought. He’s been getting better at sharing how he feels with Luis, for which he is forever grateful. It does, however, end up leaving him floored in moments like this, affection building up like a bubble and overflowing when it pops.

“And you, me,” Luis says, moving up to press a small kiss to the bottom of Leon’s jaw, laughing a little when Leon pushes forwards a bit to make the kiss a proper one, a tired slide of lips against each other. If either of them had the energy, it’d probably become something more heated, but they’re both content with the easy affection for the moment.

They end up falling asleep on the couch, in the end, Luis draped over Leon, both destined for some sort of ache tomorrow. Luis would complain and Leon would roll his eyes, kissing him to shut him up. Which, he would suspect, is the point. Yet, he never says anything about it, shoving Luis towards the kitchen after so they can make breakfast. Spending the whole time flirting and jabbing at each other, exchanging kisses and touches.

It’s comfortable, simple. An ease in loving the other, like breathing air.

It’s, Luis thinks a little hesitantly, home.

---

He’s exhausted. Tired, ready to drop.

He’s, ever so slightly, regretting not taking Heisenberg’s deal.

Ethan turns a corner in the factory, yelping as a Soldat narrowly misses hitting him. He’s close, so he takes his knife and jabs it into the pulsing red light of its power chamber, stunning it enough for him to dart off. He’s too low on ammo to completely kill it, so he darts over to the elevator for a breather, lifting a hand in greeting to the duke.

Heisenberg’s deal was idiotic, he reminds himself. Using Rose as a weapon? No, no. Not feasible, not his baby girl.

If it were anything else, he’d have said yes, he thinks. Some company in this hellhole would have been nice. But it was Rose. His little girl, who is god knows where with god knows what happening to her.

He steps out of the elevator, taking careful steps through, wary for another Soldat. He’s quick enough to run past them if he spots them first. The intercom crackles overhead, signaling another one of Heisenberg’s monologues about how he should have listened to him. He’s gotten into the habit of tuning them out, only listening in to make a few jokes at the other man’s expense.

“You’re looking kind of tired there, papa. If you had taken my deal, we wouldn’t be doing this whole thing. You can still change your mind, you know,” Heisenberg’s voice booms from the speakers, a little drowned out under the whirring of machinery, but still audible. Ethan scoffs, rolling his eyes. This bastard.

“Fuck you. I’ll sleep when I’m dead, if that’s what it takes to keep Rose safe,” he says, hearing laughter soon after.

“Okay then, papa. Your funeral,” Heiseberg says, voice dropping to a more dangerous register that would send Ethan’s hair on end if he hadn’t already dealt with the fetus baby Donna had sent after him. His ears had rung throughout the entirety of Moreau’s reservoir, only settling down when he was outside the lycan’s den.

So, he grits his teeth and continues on through the factory. He meets with Chris after he’s tossed aside by Heisenberg. He uses the tank to kill the last Lord, shoves the slight tinge of guilt away.

And he gets his heart ripped out, watches it get squished into a pulp.

He still does not rest.

He wakes and he fights. He kills Miranda, calms his baby girl. Gives her to Chris, makes him promise he’ll keep her safe. Takes the detonator, walks to the epicenter of the mold. He musters up a bitter smile as he hits the button.

Quiet. Peace. Darkness. Becoming, being remade. A voice.

“Rest, papa. You earned it.”

Sleep.

[gurlbesimpin]

In the beast's den

(Karl Heisenberg x gn!reader)

Chapter three: don't anger the beast

Did you make the right choice? 

Was this man 'Heisenberg' really trustworthy? What are his plans? 

Why did he want you?

Those questions race through your tired and paranoid mind; still following him to wherever his steps took you.

From glancing around; it was easy to tell that you were still inside the barn-portion of this…place.

Heisenberg leads you to a large metal door; a golden horse-crest decorating it's frame.

"This right here… are my personal quarters. Count y'self lucky for being allowed inside" 

He grumbles, a heavy looking key floating through the air to unlock said door. As the heavy door budges open with a loud squeak; the insides of his personal quarters are revealed.

Despite his rough exterior, the messy environment, the old rusty building-

It looked… nice

There's a fireplace illuminating the large room; kitchen counters and a mini-fridge next to an old stove; a king-size bed with green sheets; a brown leather sofa in front of a small coffee table; many cabinets and shelves filled with boxes, liquor and cans; a large wooden closet and a door, presumably leading to the bathroom.

You take careful steps inside; admiring the surprisingly neat room. Heisenberg followed close behind, hanging his large duster-coat on a rack as the large door shut with a loud thud.

The older man seems to catch on to your awe-filled expression; letting out a loud chuckle he speaks in a relaxed tone: 

"Y'like what you see? Didn't expect this huh? Factory-working pricks like me have standards too buttercup" 

Factory working? 

He hasn't mentioned anything about a factory. The building from the outside looks like a barn with large chimneys in the back-

"Factory?" 

He smirks, taking a seat on the leather couch; kicking back and resting his feet on the coffee table as he opens a bottle of beer with his teeth.

"Factory mhmm. Underground, sweet-cheeks" 

Oh, that makes sense. However now questions start to arise again. Why is it underground? 

What is it for?

Heisenberg pats the sofa, motioning for you to take a seat. Begrudgingly, you take a seat on the couch next to him; also placing your feet on the coffee table. 

You two sit in silence for a few moments, when he hands you the bottle of beer. It was some Romanian brand you aren't familiar with.

"Isn't my favourite, but that's all y'can get in this shit hole village. I'd prefer a Schwarzbacher or Erdinger- but fuck it, right?" 

You had little-to-no clue about any of the brands he mentioned; though they seemed German?

"Are those… German?"

The question was quiet, muffled by the bottle of beer you were sharing with this… stranger.

"Ganz richtig (you're right), buttercup" 

He replies with his signature 'Cheshire cat grin'.

The beer you tried tastes old; not wanting to know how long this bottle stood around for, you hand it back to him with a forced smile. But if course, he was observant, he could tell. 

Expecting a bit of bickering; you were surprised when he pats your shoulder and takes the bottle back. 

"I don't like it either kid"

He finishes the bottle within seconds; tossing it in the trashcan a few feet away with a satisfied groan.

"For not liking it, you drank that pretty quickly…"

He glances at you with a raised eyebrow, and you silently pray that you didn't piss off 'the beast'.

For a few moments, there's deafening silence.

Until he his booming laughter fills the room.

"Ah ah kid, should've seen the look on y'er pretty little face! Absolutely delicious!" 

Your shoulders sink; adrenaline racing as you slowly calm down from that initial fear and worry. The laughing lords stands; walking over to the small wooden desk. The metal folding chair pulling back without him even touching it, allowing him to take a seat.

"h- how did you do that?" 

Curiosity once again got the better of you, you couldn't help but ask how he does something humanly impossible!

Instead of responding instantly; he flicks his wrist, a fork surging through the air and landing in his awaiting palm.

"Controlling magnetic fields is unique, yes?" 

"How- how can you do that? How did you get your… your superpowers?" 

You looked like a kid seeing a real superhero, though this man wouldn't and shouldn't qualify as a hero. Not in society's eyes anyway. 

After asking this question, the room's atmosphere darkened… it seemed thick, suffocating, dreadful.

"That is none of your business, kid. Just- sleep and stop asking so many damn questions. Understood?" 

Shit, now he truly seemed pissed. 

It seems like his past is something he doesn't want to discuss, under any circumstances. 

Left with no other options, you lay down on the couch; using your arms as a makeshift pillow whilst Heisenberg sits at his desk.

A few hours pass, your quiet snores and breathing filling the otherwise quiet room. Heisenberg writes in a small journal at his desk, cigar hanging from his scarred lips when he briefly turns to look at your sleeping form.

With heavy eyes and a quiet voice, he speaks: 

"Sleep well kid, were having one-hell of a day tomorrow"

[ohlookapan]

“I like you,” Heisenberg’s disembodied voice hummed, droning off into a soft, smooth rumble. “So aimless and unsure of yourself, like a little bird that just left a nest. And yet, you fly to mine of all places. I thought you a canary, maybe a pesky woodpecker--but no. I hate to say it, but I underestimated you, Ethan Winters; for that, I’d like to sincerely apologize. You're a hawk. Just like me. I suppose birds of a feather really do flock together, don't they?”

'Here we go,' Ethan thought to himself. 'Trying to get on my good side… Again. Persistent, like a buzzard.'

With a harsh, grating buzz, the factory doors tugged open–the grinding chugs of machines displaced the easy wisping winds outside.

“I’d like to speak with you about Rose… And Miranda. Oh, come on in–and don’t worry. It’s not a trap…”

Based on AshenGreywolf's fic, Souvenirs! Having a blast with the bird motif and can't stop writing or thinking about these silly geese.

[heisenberg-simp257]

Here is my second request :

#213 “Do you love them?”

#224 "You're cold, take my jacket."

#243 “I’ll keep you warm.”

🖤🙏

Hope you like it!💖 and I would kill for his trench coat

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

Electrical Problems? For Real?

The power has gone out in Heisenberg’s factory. Now how are you supposed to keep warm?

#213 “Do you love them?”

#224 "You're cold, take my jacket."

#243 “I’ll keep you warm.”  

It was already cold here. Up in the north, in some mountain pass, led to some unpredictably cold weather. However, normally, you were inside of a building that had warmth and heat. But for some reason, the once very heated factory that you were in turned ice cold.

“Heisenberg! Where the fuck is the heat?!” You yelled, pissed, as you shivered violently under a thin blanket.

“I don’t think it’s too bad.” The man himself, not at all bothered by your obvious anger, sauntered in. Sure, he lives here, he’s used to cold. But still, you knew he was lying a bit because you noticed he was wearing an extra layer.

“Please just answer my question...” You silently begged as you stuffed your face into the blanket.

“Look, there’s some electrical problems. A blown fuse or something. I’ll get the parts for it as soon as possible. So, calm down.” Heisenberg said nonchalantly, waving a hand a your direction.

You merely huffed, your breath frosting in the air before you.

“I’ll deal with it later,” Heisenberg said in a gruff tone as he reached for his jacket, “but right now I have to get to another one of those fucking meetings with the other bitches.” 

But as he grabbed his beloved trench coat, he took a look over at you. You barely acknowledged him with a hum, shivering under a blanket you managed to scrounge up from somewhere. You were laying on the couch, trying to take in any body heat that you could collect. He sighed a bit, cursing himself for not hating you, before walking over and flopping his jacket over your body.

“What are you doing?” You mumbled slightly as you looked up to see his tan colored coat laying over you.

“You're cold, take my jacket.” He muttered while going back for the door so you couldn’t see his flustered expression. You sat up more, taking the trench coat in closer. It smelled like cigars and a hint of something else you couldn’t place. The idea of holding it so close made you blush.

“Thank...” You turned around to face him.

“...you?”

But he was already gone.

At the meeting...

“Took you long enough.” The hissing voice of Alcina met his ears first thing he walked into the room. Angie’s hysterical laughter followed, making him want to break the doll’s head off.

“I was busy.” Heisenberg just muttered as he plopped into a pew, laying one arm over the back and crossing his legs. Moreau scurried away, seeing that he clearly claimed the spot.

Alcina eyed him and down with a look of confusion.

“Where the hell is your coat?” She asked, pointing at him with her long and fancy cigarette holder. Heisenberg just continued to look past her.

“I’m washing it.” He retorted.

“You don’t wash anything.” She bit back and he sneered before turning his head to the side, bringing his other hand to wipe at his face. The other lords were silent as this went down. She followed his gaze, gears beginning to turn in her head.

Alcina smirked.

“Does a certain somebody have it?” She teased and he tensed, telling her that she was right. Alcina chuckled a bit before placing her head in the palm of her hand. Teasing her “brother” about you was something she enjoyed doing.

“Why would Y/N have your coat?” She pushed.

“Cause it’s fucking cold.” He mumbled out, facing glowing red. Alcina laughed again, but one of the other lords felt the need to speak up, and it was not one that anyone was expecting.

“Do you love them?”

Donna’s soft voice floated into the conversation. It wasn’t teasing. It was an honest question. Even Alcina was silent as all the lords stared at Heisenberg. He shuffled uneasily under their gazes. This was not a topic he was comfortable with, especially since it caused so much confusion within himself. He knows he feels something for you, but it’s a struggle to deal with it.

Luckily, Mother Miranda showed up and started this meeting, saving him from any more prodding.

But Heisenberg didn’t pay any attention to what anyone was saying. He was too busy thinking about his...feelings...It was something he wasn’t used to doing, but you have invaded his mind, and all he wanted to do was leave and make sure you were alright.

Back at the factory...

The added warmth of his jacket did help, but it was still cold. You had that blanket and his trench coat wrapped around you yet you were still shivering. You were hoping that he could fix this soon.

Then you heard a door open. Speak of the devil.

“W-welcome back.” You said when you heard his boots enter the room. 

“Did it get colder?” He asked nonchalantly as he walked into your field of vision. Heisenberg caught sight of you wrapped in his jacket and it made his heart jump at bit. He cursed himself for that.

“W-What gave t-that away? M-My shivering?” You asked him while wrapping your layers around you tighter. 

For a while, he just stood there, thinking. But you didn’t know that he was thinking about you. Sure, Heisenberg was used to the cold, but seeing you so uncomfortable made him feel a pang in his chest. He could fix the electrical problem, get the heat going again, but there was also another way that he could help you.

“I’ll fix it when I get the part, but until then...” He said simply and before you could protest, Heisenberg sat beside you on the couch. 

With one swift movement (no matter how nervous he actually felt), he placed an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You fit perfectly next to his body, your head just resting on his shoulder as he moved his head closer to yours. 

“I’ll keep you warm.” Heisenberg said simply, and you were sure that the blush on your cheeks could warm you up just fine. However, the heat radiating off him did feel nice.

“I...um...thank you.” This was all you could whisper as you allowed the tension to leave your body and relax into him. 

“It’s the least I could do for leaving you in my cold abode.” He tried to joke, but it was really nerves, so he was trying to lighten the mood. Thankfully, you giggled, but that just made it worse. But he played it off with a smile that you couldn’t see. 

Later, you cuddled in closer to him, causing his heart to melt even more.

“I do promise to fix it as soon as possible. Then you won’t have to squished next to me like this.” He joked again after a minute, but you just smiled.

“I wouldn’t mind being like this even after the heat was fixed...” You whispered, but he heard it, and it stunned him into silence. Heisenberg was at a loss for words for the first time in forever. He was messing with feelings he’s never felt and it terrified him, and even though you didn’t seem to loathe him, it made his feelings worse.

Which scared him more.

“I love you...”

But the words couldn’t make it past his lips.

[lovelywingsart]

//AU// Final Revelations

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

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

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

Anyway, enjoy a smol chapter update!

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Winters.

Ethan Winters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emelia nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

"Good..."

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

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

"He's-"

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

"But I saw him, he-"

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

"But he was dead!!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had no choice now.

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

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

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

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

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

"By our son." She admitted quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emelia shook her head, waving her off just slightly.

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

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

He stared at her.

"... what...?"

The small squeak in his voice made her flinch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He seemed to relax as she gave a warm smile.

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

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

Emelia gave a quiet chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ethan nodded.

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

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

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

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

"Alright then. Let's hear it."

[saintsofwarding]

WE SHALL BE MONSTERS

Header by @trout-scout​

Chapter 22: A Dream of Sunlight

"Hey, Donna."

She stood in the candlelight. The candles were different; there were no flowers, no barren branches, no graves, but she stood the same way she always had, still and spectral, the black silk of her veil rustling with the almost imperceptible tilt of her head.

Heisenberg braced the head of his hammer on the ground, watching Donna Beneviento's back and shoulders.

"You're looking..." He gave her a slow once-over. "...not dead. Rose's work, I assume? Or did she get that meathead Redfield at the BSAA to dig your ass from the dirt?"

She said nothing.

Heisenberg lifted his eyebrows. "You listening to me?" he said, snapping his fingers. "Or you off in La-La-Land?"

"She doesn't want to talk to you," Angie hissed.

Heisenberg grimaced. "You always were a creepy little fucker, you know that?"

"She's a part of me, Karl," Donna said, her voice that familiar low, bittersweet rasp Heisenberg knew so well, knew like a bad dream, like the aching pain of a fresh bruise. It had been so long since he'd heard her speak, so many years of believing she was dead, dead with the rest, dead and gone. "You should know that by now."

"Yeah. Still creepy as shit. You're a dollmaker, right? Why not fix her up, give her a cuter face or something?"

"My father made her," Donna said, simply. "The last gift he gave me before he...was gone. I'm not changing her."

She looked round. Heisenberg glimpsed the glint of her single eye beneath her veil. "You understand, I think. Better than you pretend to."

Heisenberg let out a sigh, leaning on the handle of the hammer like it was a cane. "Listen," he said, hooking his finger toward Dimitrescu, Moreau, and Mia on the far side of the cave church. "I'm leaving. Wanted to say take care of the kid or else."

"Or else?" A rare glint of humor lit her voice. It had been years since she'd sounded that way, years since- everything. That had been rare, too. Her happiness. Her contentment. Her peace. Days in the garden, in the kind summer sunlight. Him, and Donna, and Claudia, the three of them fighting their quiet rebellion. His surety that nothing could break them apart.

Nothing but Miranda, of course, inevitably. Nothing but death.

Death, and the grief that came after, and Heisenberg had never been able to look Donna in the eye again, never able to face her after Claudia had died.

Selfish, cowardly. Drowning it under the weight of his work, his vengeance. More machine than man day by day. The more metal he welded to himself, the less of his human flesh would show.

Now his factory was gone. Now, the engines were silent. And now, as ever, he wanted more and more and more. Now, as ever, he yearned for the impossible. Not armies to lay waste to Miranda's years of murder and manipulation. Not bloodshed and vengeance. Not even power- his own, Rose's, whatever. Now, all he wanted was rest. Peace.

For all of them.

Even Alcina deserved that.

"Or else-" Heisenberg began. "Or else I'll bash your fuckin' skull in."

Donna laughed, the sound soft and silvery. "I understand. You care for her."

"Heh. The kid's not too bad."

"You have taken care of her for many years. Is that right?"

"Yeah."

A slight nod. "Good."

"Sure, sure, give me a halo and call me a saint. Donna- uh." He shifted, back and forth. "Sorry," he said. "About- fuck, about all of it. Your sister. What I did to you, to her..."

"That was Miranda, not you. I see that now."

"Can't blame everything on Miranda." He paused. "Well, yeah, I can, but- uh, you know what I mean..."

"I miss her," Donna said. She cradled Angie to her chest, her knuckles sharp through the delicate skin of her hands. "I miss her so much."

She meant Claudia. Of course. He ground his teeth together, half-turning away. He couldn't deal with this shit right now, not with everything, not with Rose the way she was. "Yeah. Me fuckin' too, Donna. Listen, good chat, but-"

"Karl."

He stopped.

A beat-

Then he turned.

She'd faced him. She'd removed her veil. Her fine-boned face was lit softly by the candlelight, her black hair mussed from being beneath her headgear, her single dark eye steady, set on him. He'd forgotten how beautiful she was under the veil.

"For a long time, I..." she began. "I think I was dead. Before...before Winters, I mean. I think I was dead but my body did not know it yet. A ghost trapped within a doll. And my true death, when Winters gave it to me, was a kind of relief. Locked in the Black God's dreams, I finally found rest. I felt nothing there. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Heisenberg said, softly.

"And now...maybe. There is...life again. Or the beginnings of life. And I cannot help but be glad. And I am...I think..."

A faint smile touched her lips. "...Happy."

"Heh. It's a good look for you." He tilted his head, looking at her over the rim of his glasses. "Always knew you were tougher than most gave you credit for."

Donna nodded, her momentary smile fading.

"Claudia would be...proud of you," she said, halting, a little uncertain. "Of who you are. What you've done. And happy, too. That you remember her. That you're here now."

"That we both are, Donna," Heisenberg told his sister, as gently as he could bear.

And this time, Donna Beneviento's true smile- unseen for so long, missed and craved for so long- trembled on her face. Soft as the candlelight, rare and sweet as a mountain flower opening in the sun.

***

He hated goodbyes. So when he left to join Moreau and Dimitrescu, he didn't give one to Rose or Donna. He looked back at them both, standing together in the candlelit church, and gave them a nod.

"Don't fuck this up," he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Good luck to you, too," Rose called. He grinned at her, taking her in.

If this was-

Nah. Don't think that way. Only make you mushy. He turned, and away he strode, and didn't look back at them again.

"We good?" Mia asked him quietly as he grabbed her arm at the doorway leading from the church.

"Yeah. Ready to go and slice you open in the fish-man's hovel. Your lucky day, sweetheart."

She let out a shaky laugh. "Believe it or not," she said, "I've had worse."

"Wait," Rose called, from behind them. "...Mom."

Mia stopped with a slight wince. She caught Heisenberg's eye, then looked back, Heisenberg keeping his grip on her arm. Rose looked pale, but she faced Mia down, not looking away.

"Good luck to both of you," she said. "I...I mean that."

Mia gave her a small smile, a nod.

Then they moved on, and the church doors shuddered shut behind them, and Rose was gone at last.

Moreau waited down the passageway, at the shoreline of a flooded subterranean chamber, black water lapping inches from his slimy, pallid toes. Dimitrescu looked faintly nauseated, one hand propped on her prodigious hip, but Heisenberg pushed past her and toward their brother.

"What's good, freak?" he said.

"I..." Moreau pointed. "I have to go through...there."

"There? The fuckin' lake?"

"No! The passageway." One eye faced him, looking at him with a kind of baleful reproach. "The tunnels, Karl," he added, as if speaking to a particularly slow child.

"What tunnels? You finally cracked?"

"The underwater tunnels! There are hundreds and hundreds of them. You didn't know?"

"I- uh. No, guess not."

Dimitrescu let out a derisive snort. "That's the first time I've heard you admit your inadequacies, Heisenberg. Miraculous. Perhaps you've finally grown a sense of decorum after all."

"The day you grow a humble bone in your oversized body is gonna be the one for miracles," Heisenberg snorted. "Come on, then, Moreau, show us what you got."

Moreau dithered. "It's...um..."

Heisenberg leaned closer, tightening his grip on his hammer. His pulse threaded through his palm; the memory of helicopter blades churning the air filled his head. "What is it? Get a fuckin' move on. We don't have time to dick around."

"I...I'm h-h-having a hard time-"

"-Mutating?" Heisenberg let out a bark of laughter. "Don't we all fuckin' know that, fishstick."

"Oh, please," Dimitrescu muttered, rolling her eyes. "What a nightmare."

"Shut up, bloodbag," Heisenberg snapped. "Unless you got something useful to say, keep those fangs hidden-"

"Useful! As if you could know anything about usefulness!"

"Stop," Moreau moaned, clutching his head as he swung back and forth and back and forth in anxiety. Mia was staring at Heisenberg with a kind of appalled look. "Please...stop...I don't...I don't want to fight anymore..."

"Hey," Mia whispered. Heisenberg cut off his next retort as she knelt by Moreau's side, her hand on his shoulder. She began to stroke his arm, slow and soothing, her sweater sleeve pulled up over her hand to protect it from his acidic discharge. "Hey...Moreau, it's gonna be all right. You need to calm down. Okay? Listen to my voice."

"I-I-I-I'm gonna disappoint everyone, like always, I want Moppet, she can help me, where's Moppet!"

"She's, uh, not here right now. But I'm here. Breathe for me. Can you breathe? It looks like..." She glanced up at his hunchback, pulsating so wildly it looked like basketballs in a waterbed. "It seems like your Cadou is connected to you in such a way that any emotional strain puts extreme stress on it, threatens to overload its mycelial connections to you. That's probably why you have such a hard time with it."

Heisenberg settled back, eyebrows lifted. Even Dimitrescu had dispensed with her permanent resting bitch face to watch what Mia was doing.

"You...you know what's wrong?" Moreau stammered. The pulsating began to slow.

Mia nodded. "I know, it's got to hurt. Just keep doing what you're doing. You can control this, Mr. Moreau."

"Can I?" Moreau whispered wetly.

"You can."

"I can," Moreau echoed, his voice thick with wonderment. "I can!"

Mia stepped back as Moreau tottered forward, as he lifted his arms, as he tipped off the lip of the subterranean lake and hit the black water with a great plash.

He sank in a plume of bubbles.

"Shit," Heisenberg said, peering down after him. "Either you just worked some kind of miracle, or we lost him forever."

"Yes, well, the arguing was going great, so." Mia glanced up at Heisenberg. "...When I worked for the Connections, part of my job was, um..."

He tipped down his glasses. "Yeah?"

She drew a short breath. "I would imprint on the BOWs. Part of that involved establishing an emotional connection I could exploit to control them, if they began to rebel against their genetic programming. It didn't work with Eveline in the end, but I guess old training dies slow."

"Guess it does-"

The lake vibrated.

Heisenberg looked up, cutting off his next words. So did Mia. Even Dimitrescu stood straighter, the glistening razor tips of her claws sliding from her fingertips. Another vibration hummed from the lake, so strong he felt it in his boot soles through the rock at his feet. The black water slopped at the lake shore. Waves broke out across its surface, choppy as the sea in storm.

Something huge was heaving down there, something pale, something rising.

The water glassed into a vast swell; Mia stumbled back, but Heisenberg stayed where he was, watching it grow and grow-

The swell burst, and a roar filled the cavern, echoing off its distant ceiling. A wave of icy water drenched Heisenberg to the skin; he lifted his dripping hair from his eyes as great jaws snapped at the air, gnashing, tooth-lined, sweeping back and back into a body covered with a pelt of rolling, tumorous eyes.

"-And thank fuck for that!" Heisenberg said, with a laugh at the shocked look on Mia's face.

Heisenberg had only seen Moreau's mutant form a few times- he didn't make it a habit to go down to his reservoir except the time or two Miranda had forced him to go fix the sluice gate's operating mechanism, and, once, during a period of almost unendurable boredom, when he'd gone to borrow some of Moreau's movies. Now, as it reared before him, a mutant lungfish from hell, he couldn't help but stifle a dickish grin.

"Moreau, Moreau," he said, with appreciation. "You sexy beast. I know it's hardly the time and place, but I gotta say, you never looked better."

"Play nice," Mia whispered, giving him a little slap on the arm.

"Come on!" The jaws split wide; within, nestled like the stamen inside a particularly fucked-up flower, was a pallid, twisted humanoid torso with Moreau's familiar snaggleteeth. It flapped its hands in an excited gesture. "There's room for everyone! Get in! Get in!"

"You can't be serious," Dimitrescu said.

"Alcina, you bathe in blood," Heisenberg said.

"Blood," she told him, "is delicious."

"Whatever," Heisenberg said. "Sick of this stupid conversation anyway."

His hammer was off his shoulders in a heartbeat. Before she could protest, react, stop him, he'd smacked it full-force into her lower back; she stumbled forward with a scream, straight into Moreau's jaws.

"Better hustle," he told Mia, holding out his arm. She grabbed his hand, and as they hurried after Dimitrescu, Moreau's jaws closed over them in a snap, trapping them in warm, wet, stinking darkness.

During the long, lightless, airless journey, she never once let go.

***

Moreau spat them onto the reservoir shore in a truly astoundingly-vile spray of filthy water, saliva, acid, and bile.

Heisenberg sailed through the air and crashed to the shore, soaked trench coat slapping against his body. Seconds later his hammer thudded to the damp ground, inches from his head. He rolled over, blinking away the worst of Moreau's slime. Mia was sprawled a few feet away, looking like a Barbie who'd been dunked in a septic tank by some psychopathic toddler.

"You alive, Winters?" Heisenberg said.

"I...I think so-" She climbed to her hands and knees, then grimaced as she shook a dead fish from her hair. "Ugh- this is gonna take like twenty showers to scrub off, isn't it-"

Enraged shouts filled the air; he looked up to see Dimitrescu stalking toward him, her long black hair now matted with Moreau-vomit.

"You-" she cried, voice shaking so hard she could scarcely get whole words out. "You- vile, you- traitorous, wretched-"

"Alci, Alci, can't we just be friends?"

Her hand snapped out; her claws slid free. "I would rather die again."

Fuck this. Fuck her. They could pull this without the world's biggest bitch interfering. "That can be arranged-"

"Stop it!"

The wail cut between them, a howl of such unprecedented force Alcina actually did stop, and Heisenberg too, the both of them turning in shock to the sight of Moreau, quivering, crawling from the water in his humanoid form once more, clad only in a pair of ragged trousers. Mia crouched by his side, helping haul him onto the icy shore.

"Stop it," he said again. "You...ruin everything, both of you! You made Mother mad. You made us all so uncomfortable. You need to stop now. And if you don't..."

His voice dropped, deep as a well and nearly as sinister. "I'm...I'm gonna transform, and when I eat you this time...I'm not gonna spit you out."

Heisenberg began to laugh. Dimitrescu gave him a flat look, but he didn't stop, bracing his hands on his knees, doubled over as the laughs turned to ugly hacking coughs, spewing excess water over the shore.

"Fuck," he managed, between coughs. "Heh...little Sal's grown himself some roe."

"We need to go." Moreau shambled toward him, pushing him aside with a sassy little shoulder-clock. "Hurry, hurry."

Heisenberg watched him and Mia go, then glanced up at Alcina, removed his hat, and shook his head like a soaked lycan, making sure to get as much slime-water on her as possible.

They hiked up the snowy hillside. Below stretched the reservoir, its great sluice-gate standing like a triumphal arch through the blizzard. Spotlights speared the snow, illuminating dizzying flurries of white; Heisenberg sent out his awareness as the helicopter roared past, lights grazing the snow, the powerful beam barely missing their group, but the machine was too far off; his power brushed it, and then it was gone.

"Hunting us down," Heisenberg muttered. He glanced at Dimitrescu. "Makes for a change, don't it?"

"It's right up here." Moreau pointed as he scrambled up a narrow path cut into the hillside. "Right-"

His words crumpled into a gasp as one bare foot crunched down on crystal. Heisenberg joined him, silent as he surveyed the hillside before them. Mist rolled away, exposing not a clean expanse of snow and rock, but a killing field.

Lycans. Dozens of them. Each and every one of them: dead. By now, they were little more than crumbling heaps of crystal, ribs gaping open to the sky, the remnants of great fanged skulls pocked with crater-like bullet holes.

Heisenberg bent to pluck a tooth from the snow, a single curved cuspid the length of a dagger. He bounced it in his palm. A varcolac tooth. There had to be three or four skeletons big enough to be varcolac out here. Ouroboros had mowed them down, had used their fancy anti-mutant rounds on them. Had blasted them into nothingness, ancient beasts bristling with boyars' spears. Consigned them to the dirt.

Ouroboros must have cleared this hillside in their initial sweep of the place, and the lycans, being lycans, had neither the brains nor a hive leader to command them to fall back. So they'd died, every last one of them.

He flicked the tooth to the snow. Stupid things.

"Humanity," Dimitrescu murmured, her voice dripping with scorn, and something else. Sorrow, Heisenberg thought. Strange. Every time she'd been forced to interact with lycans before, she'd dismissed them as brutish beasts beneath her notice. "A plague. All-consuming. What else do they do but destroy, to assure themselves they are not monstrous, to conquer their own fears of the dark."

Mia lowered her head, her gaze hard.

"They aren't all daughter-killers, Dimitrescu," Heisenberg said. "Don't you remember being human?"

She curled her lip. "I remember my weakness, my mortal frailty. I remember my own blood poisoning me, even as I clung so desperately to life and all its...infinite pleasures. Miranda's gift was salvation. And despite..."

She paused, then gave an elegant little toss of her head. "Mm. No matter. The mortals are beneath me. Prey. Nothing more."

"Miranda would have killed you, Alci, you and your daughters. That was her plan, y'know. Bump us all off to awaken the megamycete. She didn't want any failed experiments hanging on her apron strings to deal with once she got little Eva back. It was gonna be just her and her kid. No room in that picture-perfect life for you."

"Miranda gave me everything," Dimitrescu snapped.

"Oh, c'mon, you can't believe that. I saw the inside of your twisted little mind, remember. Miranda would have taken everything, too. Was your castle worth that?"

Her eyes were bright, gold flaring to fire, but she said nothing. She didn't hit him, either, which Heisenberg took as a victory.

He stepped over the next lycan corpse as Moreau shambled on. Before he got too far, Dimitrescu's voice, softer than he'd ever heard it save when she'd addressed her daughters, stopped him in his tracks.

"'We shall be monsters, cut off from the world,'" she said. He turned to look back at her in the dancing snow. "'But on that account we shall be more attached to one another.'"

Heisenberg nodded. "'Oh, my creator,'" he muttered, bitter as old blood. "'Make me happy.'"

Alcina's eyes found his.

"It was worth it, Heisenberg," she told him. "To me."

"Hm." He shifted his stance, propping his hammer on the opposite shoulder. "Is it still?"

She gave a sniff. "I'm merely surprised you can read."

He grinned. "The movie was better," he said, just to see the exquisite look of disgust on her face.

Moreau headed up a hillside, covered in a dense forest of pine and scrub. Below stretched the dry part of the lake, the reservoir drained of its water, exposing the decomposed remnants of an old flank of the village, a fishing town long-since drowned to make Miranda's power station. The old windmills, once used for wind power, stood still and slumping into ruin, sails reduced to bare scaffolding.

The place had been a shithole before, but now it was just sad, no longer given even the barest efforts of maintenance. Heisenberg couldn't really blame Moreau for moving into the castle; given his old digs, almost anything was an improvement.

"It's here! It's here!" Moreau raked aside a wall of overgrown briars and tree branches to reveal a small clearing atop the hill.

A collection of shacks stood in the clearing. Moreau's 'clinic'. Heisenberg hadn't bothered coming here more than was necessary. The experiments Moreau conducted here were pathetic. He could make lycans, sure, and the varcolac had been inspired, but watching ghouls pop like rotten fruit more often than not just wasn't his style. Waste of a perfectly good corpse.

Still, the whole operation had worked great for Miranda. There was never any shortage of dead bodies in her town, and cutting losses had been worth it, given the amount of shock troops Moreau's clinic churned out for her. Glory to Mother Miranda, and all that shit. Almost romantic; why give a dame a rose when you could give her an army of putrefying wolf-men instead?

Now, though, he couldn't help but feel a certain poetic bemusement. To think. This shitty hovel, this sad little workshop, was about to save their collective asses. Who knew.

"I hope it's still here," Moreau was mumbling. He didn't head for the shacks themselves, but began nosing about in the snow. "Ohhh...I hope the lycans didn't dig it up..."

"You lose a penny or something?" Heisenberg called.

"No, no...oh!" Moreau straightened, an inspired look in his eyes. "Karl, would you...would you please...look? With your special powers?"

"Yeah, Karl," Mia said, a hand over her mouth like that might stifle her snort of laughter. "Look with your special powers."

"I'm gonna break your neck after all," Heisenberg muttered. "Fine, fishstick."

He let out his breath and reached out with his abilities. A ripple thrummed across the snow, a faint blue haze appearing around his body. Almost instantly, he found it: a rectangular shape bound in strips of metal. With a flick of his finger, it burst from the snow, showering clods of dark earth. The large wooden seaman's chest dropped to the snow with a rattle of rusted hinges.

Moreau pawed around in his clothes for an equally rusted key.

"My medicines!" He pulled open the chest. Inside glinted glass bottles, cakes of dried herbs bound in paper and twine, medical supplies of a distinctly more-modern bent, even a mummified Cadou in a stoppered jar. "Good. We can do it with this."

"Yes, we can." Heisenberg examined a bottle of chemicals. "You bury all this by yourself, fishstick?"

"Yes." Moreau's eyes darted back and forth, as if Heisenberg was about to make some kind of crack at his expense.

Tempting, but Heisenberg really needed all this stuff. "Nice going." He looked at Mia, standing in the snow.

"Now," he said, "it's time for Operation Kill That Bitch, attempt two."

***

Inside the dank, decaying, freezing confines of Moreau's Clinic, the only light came from the faint filter of moonlight through the gaps in the roof, and the high beam of Heisenberg's flashlight. He kept it floating around the level of his shoulder, aimed down on Mia as she lay back on the table.

They'd cleaned it as best they could, had lain down an old tarp Moreau had produced from somewhere, but even so, Mia shivered where she lay, stripped down once more to her underclothes, her skin exposed to the cold.

An IV tube bled chemicals into her arm; once again Heisenberg, his coat slung over a nearby chair, his sleeves rolled to his biceps, watched her closely as the painkillers hit her bloodstream, as she began that slow, gradual slump into numbness.

Moreau limped around the shack, muttering, arranging the tarp, while Dimitrescu sat in a corner, her eyes glowing like a cat's in the semidarkness. Heisenberg was silent, Mia silent, though she watched him all the while.

He caught her eye. "Here we go again, Winters."

"Better luck this time?"

"Heh. Don't jinx it." He leaned on the table, over her. "You got any dark depths of the soul to reveal this time? Any revelations? Or shall we get to it?"

"Just one thing, Heisenberg."

"Yeah? Make sure it's not too mushy. The smell of this place is making me sick enough already."

"There wasn't ever any necrotoxin," she told him. "That stuff I injected you with? Just a sedative."

"No shit."

"I..." She frowned. "Wait. Did you...did you know?"

"After the first couple days and I didn't feel any worse? Yeah, Mia, doesn't take a fuckin' genius to figure out you slipped me the sugar pills."

"Damn," Mia said. "Waste of good sedative, then."

Heisenberg burst into laughter. "Mia, Mia," he said. "You crack me up. But I gotta say, you had me there for a minute, y'know?"

She gave him a dry smile. "I know."

"Hey, you can make it up to me. If you survive this-"

"Not helping, Heisenberg."

"-I was, uh, pretty intrigued by those reports of you from Dulvey...chainsaw, was it? Not bad, not bad. Wanna show me sometime?"

"In your dreams."

He winked. "Already there, sweetheart. You ready?"

Her fingers twitched, brushing his hand on the table. He felt the heat of her skin, even through his gloves.

"I'm ready, Karl," she told him. "Do it."

So he did.

She opened up like a purse. Moreau's scalpels were decent enough once he'd honed them sharp with his power, and as he began his examination he slipped once more into his old routine- examine, assess, maintain, repair. Mia's blood soon coated his gloves and scarred forearms, matting his arm hair to a gory tangle, the smell of mold and blood filling the shack like a warm, metallic exhale. Just like old times.

Dimitrescu's pupils narrowed to pinpoints. Heisenberg could tell how starved she was: the hollows in her cheeks, the faint cracks appearing on her skin, exposed now that she wasn't slathering herself in a thick layer of lead-based makeup, gave her away.

Still, she held herself back, and simply watched, her stare somewhere between hunger and yearning.

"You look good on the inside," Heisenberg said, with a chuckle. "Nice healthy muscle tone. Heh heh."

Mia didn't answer. She'd gone paper-white, her bruised eyelids squeezed shut, her lips fluttering. Even with the suppressants, her healing factor made this difficult; veins and tendons kept worming around his hands, trying to reconnect and pull her open chest cavity back together.

"Have you found it?" Moreau pressed his hands to the tabletop, leaning over to peer into the mess.

"No. Shut up and back off."

"Hurry," Mia whispered.

"Huh?"

"Something's...I think...something's wrong..."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I...I hear her..." Her lips fluttered; her hands curled on the table, spackled with blood and mutagen; it pooled around her, dripping in rivulets to the filthy floor. "She's...she's..."

"Fight it, Mia. Hold it the fuck together."

Her eyes snapped open, bright with tears. "She's happy," Mia whispered. "This is exactly what she wanted."

Heisenberg's hands met something foreign. Not an organ, not bone or cartilage. He spun the scalpel into his hand and sliced in; the thing came free with a slick crackle, trailing long, whipping tendrils that grasped and thrashed at his hand and wrist.

A Cadou. But a sickly one; its pinkish surface was spotted with dark blots, its bulbous head dented and deflated.

No, not sickly, exactly. Half-grown.

She reached inside, Mia had said. Pulled out her heart.

This was a chunk of Miranda's Cadou. Like he'd once given a chunk of his own to Teodora, had inflicted the Black God's gift on her to save her life. The thing squealed and writhed in his hand as Mia lay beneath him, gasping for breath, her wound already beginning to heal up.

If it's not Miranda here-

Understanding came like a lash of lightning through him, so strong his own Cadou gave an unsettled twist. No. No.

"You were the experiment," he heard himself rasp. "It was never you harboring Miranda's consciousness at all."

Compatibility, Miranda had told Mia, but Mia was the mother, wasn't she, the mother of the body, the vessel, the genetics unassailable.

He'd gotten it wrong.

The ceremony was not over yet.

Even now, even now, Miranda had the upper hand, the final word. Even now she had lashed out and got him in the heart.

"It was never you," Heisenberg said again. "It was always her. Always Rose."

With a hum of his power, a crackle of blue-white sparks, the misshapen Cadou burst in a shower of gore. The scalpel streaked away and impaled itself in a wall.

Another slash of his power, hard enough to shake the entire building. The shack door burst open and he strode out into the snow, surrounded by a whirring storm of metal objects, nails yanked  from the shack, medical detritus, all of it pulled along in his wake.

The cold lashed at him. He didn't feel it. He went to the hillside, looking out toward the mountain, the great waterfall thundering down from some hidden source at its peak.

He couldn't see House Beneviento at this distance, but Rose and Donna had to be nearly there by now.

And when they were-

And when Rose looked too deep-

All he could do, for all his power, was watch her die.

[fridgemagnethusband]

Die Schöne und das Biest

Chapter Ten: The Weight of Trust

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

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

Three weeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does.

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

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

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

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

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

“Paramount.”

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

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

“I trust you will, my dear.”

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

“Y/N?”

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

“Yes, Duke?”

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

“Please be careful.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sprained, maybe.

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

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

Must be the Aconitum variety the herbalist wrote about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lady Beneviento clears her throat.

“Is something the matter?”

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

She looks over her shoulder at it briefly.

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

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

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

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

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

“A package?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was she like?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You give a single nod, taking your leave.

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

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

Her search for information despite predictable consequences was her undoing.

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

Hope it’s not too expensive.

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

A swallow, an exhale.

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

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

“You’ve been busy, doll.”

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

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Happy Halloween || Day Thirty - one || Karl Heisenberg

A/n: Happy Halloween!! Woot! I have something a little special for my readers for today. The theme is free use, so please enjoy. Also, I will be posting the masterlist for my Kinktober prompts November the 1st, so feel free to revisit them if you like. I want to thank you all for sticking with me for this. Let’s go!

Warning(s): Poltergeist! Heisenberg, on camera, gender-natural reader, minor dirty talk, choking.

You lean forward and begin recording your next episode, turning your eyes wildly around the room as you rest your back against the chair. You feel eyes on you; the hairs on the back of your neck rise as you conclude that the ghost in your room is there. He's always there.

As your tired face pops onto the screen, you take an uneasy breath. The names of your followers begin to flood the chat and their sympathetic comments make you feel a bit at ease.

"I made a grave mistake--" You pause a moment to laugh. "Or rather it seemed like a mistake at the time."

A few commenters wish you a happy Halloween and for a moment you want to reply, but the theme of the episode is lost to the weight on your shoulders as if someone is reminding you to stay focused.

"A month ago, if you remember I explored that old, abandoned factory in Romania, and I found that crystalized heart, the one with the metal infused to it," you mention.

So what? A commenter asks.

"I think I... No. I know I brought back something with me. A spirit; an angry one," you utter.

The weight on your shoulders tightens and you groan. Such a grumpy bitch.

Ooh, ghost stories. I love this episode already. Another commenter replies.

You turn up your eyes in annoyance. It's no joke. There is a spirit attached to the heart. You shiver as you remember the man in your room; the man with the moonlit hair. He's gorgeous but too pissed for some reason to pass on. His unfinished business is an enigma to you.

"He... Took over my life. Twenty-eight days after I brought the heart home, he began to terrorize me. And to quell his violent tendencies I made a deal with him," you mention.

Reaching into your desk drawer, you take out a piece of paper that you had typed out, showing it to the camera. Your name is signed in ink and beside it is the worst handwritten name you have ever seen; the name Heisenberg.

"It sounds depraved, wrong even," you utter, attempting to hold back a grin. "But we agreed to form a free-use relationship."

Free use? A commenter asks.

It means the ghost can initiate sex whenever it wants, wherever and they have to allow it, another explains. It sounds kind of sexy.

They have no idea.

You set the sheet of paper down, planning to explain more about the man who frequents your home before getting into the theme of the episode, but an unseen force yanks you onto your feet. You gasp in shock as cold hands unzip your pants and slide them down your knees.

What is going on? A commenter asks.

You groan in annoyance.

"Right now?! I'm setting the mood--"

A grip around your neck cuts your sentence short, choking you just enough to make your eyes roll back in bliss. Heisenberg pulls you back and you feel a sturdy frame behind you. Your lower body is naked and on display for your followers, but they came here to see this; big tips quickly roll in.

You are after all a chat model.

Heisenberg spreads your legs and sinks his fingers into your hole, making you groan in response as he roughly finger fucks you. The sudden chill brings goosebumps to your skin, an action that doesn't go unnoticed by your followers.

That is some damn good acting. One types out.

More, please. Let that ghost dick wreck you. Lol. Another jokes.

If only they knew.

You whine as Heisenberg removes his fingers, wanting to be filled. The hand around your throat makes it hard to speak but you sputter a lewd noise to indicate how badly you want it. And to your relief, he gives you just what you want.

His thick cock penetrates you, and you moan in reply.

Ride that dick. A commenter orders.

You grin and arch your back as Heisenberg quickly fucks you. It must seem ridiculous to your followers but they don't get to experience what you are going through; the raw power; the thick cock spreading you with every thrust. It's divine.

A deep laugh echoes in your ear and you shiver. He knows how desperate you are. The hand around your throat tightens and you gasp for air.

Is there someone there? I swear there is someone behind you. A commenter writes.

The words become a blur as your eyes fill with tears. The pressure in your stomach is becoming too much. You tighten around the man inside you as a sudden orgasm tears through your body.

Whether it is true or not that Heisenberg can wreck you means nothing to you. Something is going on with your body; something unseen, and you love it. The sensation is ethereal.

Releasing his hold, you stand on shaky legs as you try to ease your breathing. The comments are rolling in; some are in disbelief and some think that perhaps your house is haunted. But one thing is certain, the tips are pouring in.

"Happy H-halloween, my ghosts, and goblins. Stay horny," you utter with a thankful grin, reaching forward to turn off the camera.

Once the screen is black, you turn and toss a glare at no one in particular.

"That was uncalled for. I had other plans for tonight."

A deep laugh brings shivers to your body.

"What are you bitching about? You made a shit ton of tips tonight because of me. And to think you wanted to use a ghost-shaped toy instead."

He has a point. You sit down on your chair with a sigh. From across the room, a figure forms from the shadows, leaning against the wall. Heisenberg grins.

"This agreement is gonna kill you, you know?"

"I know," you utter. "But the sex is so fucking good."

Running his fingers through his hair, Heisenberg fades back into the darkness. The pleased grin on his face remains in your head even after the clock strikes 12, marking the 1st day of November.

You had indeed made a grave mistake, bringing Heisenberg's heart back with you. But given the opportunity, you'd do it again and again, for eternity.

[margaretoakgrove]

Volunteer soldier

Warning: the imagine contains mentions of blood, death and physical violence.

That was a late night hour, and Heisenberg still kept working underground of his factory.

This situation wasn't something special. Quite the contrary. Being fully immersed in the process of his work, the Lord rather often tended to lose track of time, completely forgetting about rest and sleep.

But that night in the factory he was not the only one who did not close his eyes. You didn't sleep either. No, insomnia was not the cause of that, just from time to time there were days when you prefered going to bed far more later than you usually did. In the kitchen you put the kettle on the stove to boil water for tea and made some sandwiches with butter and fruit jam in order for Heisenberg and you could have a little snack.

When the water in the kettle finally boiled you turned off the gas and headed towards the elevator to go down to the factory lowest floor and call the Lord to the table.

The way to the workshop where the engineer worked the most you knew as well as the back of your hand because you had repeatedly brought there for him a mug of his favorite strong coffee and something to eat, therefore once you found yourself on the lowest level, which greeted you with its eternal semi-darkness and the continuous loud sounds of various industrial machines, you unmistakably went to its direction.

Quickly having reached a familiar door, you slightly knocked a couple of times and, without waiting for a response, poked your head into the room.

"Karl? Are you still in here?"

The man, whom the question was addressed to, was standing in the center of the working space next to the chair on which in an inactive state was sitting one of his numerous undead creations, namely a mechanical soldier.

"Yes, Buttercup. I'm still in here." Heisenberg turned towards your voice.

"It's pretty late. Were you working? Did i distract you?"

"Not at all. Actually, i've finished working around a half an hour ago. Just talking to Boian*, that's all."

What? Did you not mishear? Was the Lord talking to someone? Did he have a guest in the factory or maybe he was chatting with some person on the telephone? One needs to say that these words of your beloved rather surprised you because as far as you knew that aside of the forced communication with the members of his so called family he had never interacted with anyone of the local villagers for the reason of their ardent devotion to Mother Miranda.

"Talking to whom?"

Noticing the confusion on your face, Heisenberg smiled a bit.

"To Boian. I mean this creation of mine over here." With his hand he pointed to the side of that same aforementioned soldier. "His name was Boian before he became another addition of my army."

"Did you know this man?" Slowly you came into the workshop and quietly sat on a stool.

"Yes, i did. Not personally, of course. I knew him the same way i know everyone in this shithole. From a distance, so to speak."

Having taken another stool, the Lord sat across from you. From his leather hip bag he pulled out a cuban cigar and, having flicked with a lighter, started leisurely smoking.

"During his lifetime Boian was married. He and his wife lived in a small wooden cabin and grew in their small humble garden vegetables and berries. As far as i know they never had kids, however it didn't interfere with their marital happiness. It looked like they truly loved one another because they literally were an inseparable couple. Each time when i came to the village about my business, i saw them together. I noticed them together attending masses in the chapel, roaming around the village arm in arm and working in their garden. All in all, Boian and his wife were the most ordinary people and led the most ordinary life. And just like any brainwashed sheep in Miranda's flock they firmly believed that this goddamn bitch was capable of protecting them from any sort of danger and desease. Yeah, sure. But unfortunately, this blind belief of theirs eventually played a cruel joke on them."

"What happened?" The story of the soldier's fate genuinely caught your interest.

"After some time when i again appeared in the village for the first time i didn't see Boian's wife beside him. That was quite unusual because, as i already said, they were always together, literally inseparable. And all the subsequent times when i met him, he was alone without his devoted spouse. It made me assume that she either got sick to the point she wasn't even able to get out of bed or simply died. And, as i found out later, my assumptions turned out to be true."

Before continuing to tell his story Heisenberg paused a little bit, taking several deep puffs of his cigar.

"One night i made my way to the Forbidden Woods, specifically to the Stronghold. Shit...Still catch myself thinking that it was not a mere coincidence. As if that night i had to be there. Anyway...The closer i came to the building, the clearer i heard the aggressive roaring of lycans and male screams of pain. Once i was inside my eyes fell on a cornered by a large pack of lycans man. He was sitting on the ground with his back against the wall and trying to defend himself from them with a flaming torch, swining it in front of himself. Without a second thought i crushed with my hammer the skull of a lycan just at that moment when it was going to strike its prey with a mace. All the rest immediately ran in different directions. Damn cowards. I decided to come closer to the man and to my surprise recognized Boian in him. As it turned out, he was injured. Someone of the lycans managed to stab a pickaxe in his chest. The poor fellow was sitting in a pool of his own blood and slowly dying. I couldn't help him. Still i was too curious to know what or, maybe, who brought him to one of the most dangerous areas of the village and got even more closer to him..."

"Well, well, well. Who do we have here? Oh, it seems to me that i know you. You are Boian, aren't you? Yes, that's right. It's you. I recognized you." Like a huge mountain the hammer wielding Lord was towering over the victim of the lycans' deadly attack. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought that every local from old to young remembered that one needs to steer clear of this, to say the least, unkind place. Or did your memory betray you, hm?"

"Lies...It's...It's all lies..." The bleeding man by the name Boian, heavily breathing, was hardly pronouncing the words. "Miranda...She...She's not our protector...For her...we...we are nothing but disposable lab rats for her sick experiments...She...She's fooled us all..."

Karl did not expect to hear such an answer. He was just amazed. Did someone of Miranda's obedient puppets finally somehow discover all the truth about what a hellspawn she really was and about all those brutal atrocities she actually had been doing with people in these mountains in secrecy from the outside world for many decades straight? Incredible! Realizing that he was no longer the only one whose mind wasn't enslaved by the Black God's devious prophet for the first time in a while Heisenberg felt genuine joy combined with slight disappointment due to the fact that exactly that same enlightened one right now was dying in front of him, choking on his own thick blood.

"Too bad you understood that too late."

"M-Maria...My wife...My precious beloved wife...She became seriously ill...No one and nothing could help her...Miranda...Miranda was our last hope...I...I begged her to help Maria to become...to become well again...Miranda promised to cure her and...and took her away...That...That was the last moment...the last moment when i saw my wife alive...After...After that day...she...she didn't come back home anymore, and...and i began to suspect that...that Miranda...Miranda did something terrible to her..."

A bloody cough escaped Boian's deeply pierced chest.

"Tonight i...i found...i found Miranda's hidden laboratory...I found...i found a lot of medical reports...I...I read a report about you, Lord...Lord Heisenberg...and reports about the other Lords...Also...Also i found many notes and photographs...All those horrible things Miranda does to people... She...She's just a monster in the flesh...Then...Then i found a report about my wife...She was experimented on, and...and...eventually...she...she died of those...inhuman experiments...Suddenly...Miranda emerged out of nowhere, but...i was not afraid...I swore to her that...that i would tell all the villagers the truth about...about all of her evil deeds, but...but i must say that...she possesses superhuman strength...She took me here and unleashed these...these demons for them...for them to get rid of me...I...I was trying to fight them back, but...but there were so many of them..."

The flaming torch, that the fatally injured one had been holding for all this time, now fell out of his weak hand.

"Maria...My darling...If...If i only could...If i only could take revenge on Miranda for your death...If i only could make her suffer the same way...the same way she made suffer you, but...as...as it seems...it...it, unfortunately, will never happen...Forgive me, Maria...I'm...I'm so sorry..."

The tears of utter despair slowly flowed down the cheeks of Boian, mixing with the crimson blood on his lips and chin.

"Looks like you and me crave the same thing, don't we?" The Lord crouched down before the dying one, who had reluctantly accepted his cruel fate.

"What...What do you mean..?"

"See, the fact that Miranda uses living souls as test subjects for the sake of achieving her own goal under the guise of this fucking religious cult is nothing new to me. About all of this i found out long before you. And for all that vicious shit she's done to me i will never forgive her. In secret from everyone i plan on killing that insane bitch. But i am not an idiot. I realize that alone i unlikely will be able to do that because, as you've rightly mentioned earlier, she is extremely strong and powerful. For this reason i gather an army of special soldiers that will help me to destroy her. And since a common desire unites us perhaps you would like to join me so we could wipe Miranda off the face of the earth together?"

Boian bitterly chuckled and coughed up with blood again.

"B-Believe me i...i would...i would do that with great pleasure, but...don't you see that i am almost dead..?"

"That much is obvious, but in this case your death will not be a hindrance for us. All that's required of you to join my army is to give me your corpse. No more and no less. Of the rest i will take care myself."

"What..? What are you...talking about..? How..? How my corpse will...will be able to...to help you defeat Miranda..? I don't understand...What kind...what kind of army do you gather..?"

With a smirk on his scarred face the Lord held out his hand to the baffled villager, making it clear that he's awaiting for nothing other than his agreement. Meanwhile, Boian's vision became blurry, and the voice of his interlocutor he heard somewhere in the distance. His death was too close, there was no time left to ask questions and seek for common sense, the man understood that, and therefore he fully trusted his intuition which quietly yet persistentely whispered him that to take the Lord's offer would be the most correct decision he had ever made in his entire life.

"Anything...I'll do anything to...put an end to...to Miranda's madness...I'll do...anything...for making her...pay...for Maria's...death...Take...Take my dead body...Do with it...whatever...must be done...From now on...it...is...at...your service...and...and so is...my...whole...essence..."

From the last forces half-dead Boian hardly lifted his bloodied hand and held it out to Heisenberg as a gesture of their partnership, and...and it lifelessly fell right into the Lord's palm, after which the villager remained motionless and silent. It was clear that his life line was cut short, and with his free hand Karl closed the dead man's eyes. Then the Lord stood up, adjusted his sunglasses and old leather hat, and easily threw over his shoulder the still warm body which several moments ago had been a living human being.

"Let's go to my factory, Boian! There i will put you in order and give you everything what you will need in the battle against our shared enemy!"

For a minute there was silence in the workshop.

"You've never told me about this before. When did it happen?"

"It happened before i met you. A long time ago." Heisenberg put out the smoked cigar on a metal table. "You know...Of course, this is just his damn revived corpse filled with artificial blood and scrap from top to bottom. I don't know, maybe it'll sound stupid but, to be honest, sometimes i like talking to it like to a living person."

"It doesn't sound stupid at all. Actually, i personally believe that Boian is here. I believe he is always invisibly present near his body, and i believe he can see everything you do and can hear every single word you say. Great thirst for vengeance keeps him here. Boian is patiently awaiting for that sweet moment when Miranda is once and for all annihilated after which he will finally be able to forever rest in peace together with his beloved wife Maria."

The Lord slightly smiled at your words as in his opinion they were a bit romanticized, but still he couldn't deny that in actual fact some part of himself believed that Boian's restless spirit wandered in the walls of the factory no less than you did.

"Perhaps you're right, Buttercup. Perhaps you're right..."

"The kettle is getting cold. Let's go to the kitchen. I guess we should eat a little bit before going to sleep. How do you think?"

"I think it's a good idea. Completely approve."

Having stood up from the stool, you headed for the door but immediately turned around, hearing Heisenberg calling you out.

"And Buttercup, one moment here!"

"Yes, what is it?"

He approached you and tightly yet carefully cupped your face within his rough big hands, forcing you look him in the eye.

"I want you to firmly remember that i'll never let to happen to you what Miranda did to Boian's wife. I'll do anything-do you hear me?-i'll do literally anything to protect you from her wicked tenacious hands, even if it costs me my life. Did you understand me?"

The Lord drastically changed in his behavior. The gaze of his hazel eyes expressed absolute seriousness, and the tone of his husky voice was stern. The unwavering determination of your beloved to sacrifice himself without hesitation in the name of your safety had left you speechless, and therefore all you could do in the response to his question was to quickly nod your head.

"Say out loud that you understood everything what i just said."

"I understood, Karl. I really understood everything what you just said."

"That's good." The tension in the man's body eased, and he lightly kissed your forhead. "Go to the kitchen now. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay." You pronounced quietly, almost in a whisper and, deeply immersing yourself into your thoughts, came out of the room.

"Don't worry, Boian!" The metal army leader's strong hand was laid on the shoulder of his subordinate. "I'll give you a wonderful chance to convert your wish into reality. You will take revenge on Miranda for what she did to you and to your wife. Very soon this psycho bitch will pay the full price for all that hell she, showing no mercy, put not only the two of us through. This will be a spectacular show! Have no doubts about it!"

Standing in the doorway, Heisenberg one more time glanced up at the mechanical soldier. Then he turned the lights off and left the workshop.

*Boian is a romanian male name which means "warrior" or "soldier".

[averysexyleon]

in which, I was very excited to write this

Karl watched with interest as another unreadable look overtook Winters.  If he said that M word again, Karl was going to drown him.  It was not uncommon for Ethan to interrupt a good moment with an expression of fear or concern, and Heisenberg braced himself for another moment.  The now-empty glass was placed on a nearby windowsill, and Ethan sighed when his gaze found Heisenberg again.  

“Karl--” 

“I swear to god, Ethan--” 

“--I’m in love with you.” 

Now that was unexpected.  Heisenberg blinked, stunned, and he faltered when he tried to speak.  Ethan shook his head, pursing his lips, resting his arms on Karl’s thighs.  “No, I mean. I am, but. I love you.  I really do.” 

Karl considered this.  He had never heard the words before, not from anyone.  Definitely not in that order or any similar order, and it was not what he expected from the man who’d mostly killed him last winter.  Certainly didn’t expect to hear anything after six months.  Certainly didn’t expect it anytime.  He had no idea what his face was doing, he realized, and stared intensely at Ethan’s, hoping to return to verbal sometime soon.  To get control of his mind.  The whiskey wasn’t helping.  

To his surprise, the blond’s furrowed brows lifted, and he laughed.  This caught Karl completely off guard and he blinked several times.  Had the confession been a joke? The engineer’s facial expression darkened as he suspected Miranda , but now Ethan clapped a hand over his own mouth in a very Ethan-specific way, allowing Heisenberg to exhale.  He didn’t understand the response, but it was at least truly Ethan responding.  

Winters shook his head. 

“I--I’m sorry, I can’t believe….I said that?”  He rolled his eyes, nodding his head.  “I said that.  I--wow, I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

Karl put his hands on Ethan’s shoulders, bringing him closer.  For once he was at a taller height than the other and he stared down at him with what could be considered an almost frightened look.  This was ten times worse than the anxiety Karl had felt about asking Ethan to work with him in the factory.  Worse than the fear he had while awakening Ethan.  Worse than anything so far.  Could it even get worse than this?   

One palm moved up to the other’s neck, grasping it firmly and stroking his thumb over Ethan’s cheek.  Nevermind, he was thankful for the whiskey--his stomach felt as though it were thirty feet below him, but it was happily bobbing in a sea of alcohol.  And he was thankful for his native language, because Karl would never be able to properly form these words in English.  Still, it was mumbled in a single breath, almost stuttered, and he couldn’t look at Ethan, his golden eyes aimed at the bubbles between the pair of them.  

“Ich liebe dich auch.”  

[yawnderu]

More fun facts with Ozzie about Heisenberg but this time it is a sad headcanon that is based around the canon

The reason why Heisenberg has a Transatlantic accent compared to a Romanian or German accent is because he had no interaction with any of the villagers when he was younger

We can presume that Mother Miranda took him when he was about three to eight years old and he already had limited interactions with villagers as he was the son of one of the Lords and he was kept in the factory a lot. This would mean that he never had the chance to hear how the villagers spoke to be able to pick up on their accent or dialect

But guess what he could have interacted with? The old movies and radios that the village still had. From what we see with Moreau the movies are still in black and white but have sound so we can guess most are from 1927 to 1939 as that was when sound was introduced but colour was not the true standard yet. And in this period of time most of the movie stars spoke in a Transatlantic accent

So Heisenberg having a Transatlantic accent is not inaccurate but instead just shows how horrid Mother Miranda's treatment of him was as the only form of human contact he received was through movies and it is how he got his accent and knowledge to speak English as it was the only people he ever heard speak

AHHHH I both love and hate how that makes a lot of sense!! Poor dude has been through a lot and was pretty much destined to suffer, I don't think anything could have 'saved' him from that destiny, which makes him a bit more tragic even if he's a massive bastard. He's just a product of his environment.

That HC hit deep because as someone who grew up with English as a second language, I used to have an American accent growing up as I learnt English by watching shows and YouTube, but my accent is now a mix of European accents since I spent a lot of time there and most of the media I consume comes from Europe. I absolutely adore playing "guess where I'm from based on my accent" with the people in my COD lobbies. BELDBEKEJ