#the fall of the house of usher fic

[madwomansapologist]

lost in your fire | camille l'espanaye

Navigation | More Camille L'Espanaye | AO3

synopsis: When you survived the entire selection process to be Camille L'espanaye's new assistant, you certainly didn't expect to find this type of employment contract. You could bet your life that the worst thing that could happen to you would be a Miranda-Andrea type of employement. Good thing you didn't.

warnings: smut. strip tease. oral. fingering. degradation. praise. pussy slap. age gap. dom/sub. s&m. co workers. tw: use of 'needy pretty slut'. sugar mommy? that can tagged as abuse of power? prostituition? female!reader. gif: @azrphales

You never thought that graduating in journalism would be the answer to all your problems. It isn't an easy profession, nor is it respected or pays that much. You didn't expect your life to be perfect once you got your diploma.

But damn.

Horrible bosses, jobs that added nothing to your life, laughable salaries. Little free time, little rest, little leisure. Little of everything, except work and stress. Those were always a lot.

And all because you didn't have money. If you had been born into a wealthy family everything would be so different. So much better. Because you know you have talent and determination, what you lack is chance. Is luck. And anyone alive knows that luck is just another name for money.

So when you went to the job interview to be Camille L'espanaye's assistant, you weren't surprised that you did it well. You for sure were surprised to be chosen over someone with an established surname. Or that had a least already finished college. Someone older, experienced. But what surprised you more were the terms of contract.

You didn't know for sure if Camille L'espanaye had too much courage or just lacked the shame, but she was the one to give you the contract. Not someone from HR, not a group of lawyers that would speak for her, but the woman herself.

She did like it was just another thursday for her. Maybe for Camille it was.

You dropped the contract on her desk. "So you want a whore?"

Before that you were so polite. Even thought Camille barely looked into your face, you kept on that thankful-employer act. You said it would be a honor to work for her. But after reading that, nothing mattered anymore.

"I need an assistant," Camille didn't look up from her notebook. She was writing something, the way her fingers moved showed concern while her voice was uterly disinterest. She didn't look up from it since you entered her office. "Someone that I can trust to gather information, follow my orders, know when to speak up and when to shut up. But I also require certain things from my assistants."

"Do I look like a whore?"

Maybe you were wrong. Maybe it wasn't the lack of money or a renowed surname. Maybe all your rich colleagues got into great jobs while you rot was because... they are better for you. Maybe that's the only thing you are capable of: work on horrible places because others wouldn't be stupid enough to hire you.

Camille chose you because she wants to fuck you. Not because you are talented, competent, competitive. Not because of your writing, your morals, your desire to become something more. Camille saw you as a fuckable body with a pretty face and nothing more.

"It's not my problem to give a shit about your..."

"That was the reason I made till the finish line?" Camille was the one surprised now. Not only you interrupted her, but there was something on your voice. It sounded almost dissapointed. "Because you wanted to fuck me?"

Camille looked at you for the first time.

Her platinum hair moved along when she bent over the table, her face founding a support on her open hands. Camille was something. There was a fire on her eyes, a flame that just couldn't die.

When Camille L'espanaye looked at you, it burned.

She was more than the daughter of someone important. Camille was the very next best thing.

"I read your thesis. The gatekeep theory and it's changes during the last decade," Camille didn't look bored. Not anymore. "And I read your articles. Your blog. But you know what surprised me the most?"

You found difficult to open your mouth. "What?"

"Your empty curriculum," she laughed. You would have feel ofended, but she kept on talking. "You have talent, that's for sure, but no one noticed it yet. I know you're starving for a opportunity. Now all you need to do is chose: will you grab it, or will you spend the rest of your life hating whoever made the right decision?"

You glared at the paper. "That's not safe for me," you didn't realize you're were gaving in until you opened your mouth. That shocked you. To know that just a few words from Camille turned your no into a almost.

Camille noticed that too. "Item IX."

You thought she would say something more, but at the end you had to open the document again. Item IX was about... limits. Safewords, six different spreadsheets to be filled with your answers about anything related to sex, Camille's own boundaries, NDAs that protect the both of you.

You spend a few minutes in silence. Just thinking to yourself, trying to find a answer. Yes or no? You looked at Camille, and it startled you to see that she was glaring at you. She was so blasé, but her burning eyes showed you interest, curiosity.

Hunger.

You grabbed the pen in front of Camille's smartphone and signed where it was needed. You left the contract on her table, grabbed your purse and didn't looked back.

And what a shame. Because if you had, you would've see how Camille L'espanaye observed every step you gave.

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Most of your time is spend with you running from one place to another, gathering information about anything that Camille think is troublesome. Making the right questions, tooking the right photos, knowing when to get out before people get upset.

If Camille senses that something stink, your job is to show her how much of shit is involved on it.

Except by your first day of work. That was unusual. It included getting measured for your uniform and an appointment with her hairdresser. You also run a few blood tests, consulted a gynecologist and signed documents in front of a scary lawyer.

But today was a calm day, and your feet were so grateful for it. It was the first time in two weeks that you could just sit still. Organizing Camille's agenda, confirming her presence on a few events and denying any request for a interview, you took your heels off.

That's the thing about news channels and saturdays: everyone that makes things interesting are too busy enjoying their day off. Normally you are one of those people, but Camille needed you here today.

The phone rang, and she didn't even gave you the time to answer. "My office. Now."

Your heels announced your presence. White dresses, gold earrings and black heels: that was your uniform meanwhile the real one was being made.

Camille was paying attention to her phone, tipping as fast as humanly possible, when you entered her office. Everything was black and white, just like your clothes. "Open it," Camille murmured gesturing towards a golden box on her table.

You got near it, leaving your table beside the box, and opened. Inside it you found the reason why you're working today. Your uniform was there.

Camille clearly can have anything she want, all she needs to do is open her mouth. But there is no way she could speed up a sewing process. Not without getting bad clothes.

You took it from inside the box and notice how it looked just like those school's uniforms that appear on series about rich people. It was soft, warm, and beautiful. There was also a pair of new, black shoes.

She really wanted you to look young.

"And... done," Camille closed her eyes, and passed her fingers throught her hair. It must have been a really stressing conversation. "Now put it on."

"Alright," you put everything inside the box ans took it on your arms, going to the bathroom at the end of the corridor. But before you could made to the door, Camille's voice stopped you.

"Do it here."

Camille demanding you to get dresses in front of her should have make you want to vomit. You shouldn't want that, or her, or that fucking job.

But you do. Fuck, you want that.

Camille told you to grab the opportunity. She show you that it wouldn't wait for you. And it was the right choice. Not only your payment is really good, but she is also paying your college debt as a act of encoragment — her words. Working for Camille will open so many doors for you, and those that won't you can open with her money.

And all she's asking is for you to fuck her.

You fucked girls for free, and none of them were directly responsible for you buying a new car. Why not put a price on your body? Camille is willing to pay it.

It helps that she's hot as fuck.

So you put the box on a couch and gave her the show she wanted. You started just taking off your earrings and necklace. Then you opened the ziper of your dress, slow enough to make her sigh. You let it slid of your body, revealing that you wore nothing bellow it.

You twirl the dress on your fingers, then throw it at her. It feel right beside Camille's phone. Once more her facade broke a bit, her smile way closer to a laugh then to a smirk.

As you put on your new clothes, you gave her a little spin. "Come here," was all Camille said.

You licked your lips and walked towards her. Right in front of Camille, you felt her eyes analizing every single detail of you. She gave you smirk.

"Kneel for me," she ordered. You did as she wanted, your heels digging on the skin of your feet. "Now use your mouth. Prove me your worth."

Camille opened her legs, the dress went up her tights and revealed her black thong. You touched her skin, your fingertips just brushing against her knees and thights. You slid them across her covered pussy, a touch so delicate it felt like a ghost.

Looking into Camille's burning eyes, you put her thong aside and revealed herself to you.

From then on, you were nothing but a starving woman.

Camille held on by your hair. She wasn't delicate. She just grabbed you, almost like you would run away. How could you ever do that? Not with her being so sweet. Not with her lips so warm against your lips.

"Fuck," she whispered. Her incoerent words showed that you were doing a good job. "Just like that."

You looked up, and then you saw Camille looking deep into your eyes. It made you go even harder on her, totally focused on making Camille reach heaven.

"What a pretty thing you are," Camille moaned. Her hand, before pulling your hair with no regards, now carressed your cheeks. "You're such a needy pretty slut, aren't you? My fucktoy."

You moaned against her dripping pussy, drunk on her arousal, and felt Camille shaking bellow you. She's so blasé, so colected, but now you saw her breaking bit by bit.

More confident, you grabbed her by the waist and pulled her closer to you. Your tongue brushed against her sensitive clit, your fingers spread her pussy from inside. The sounds she made were the prettiest song you ever heard.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Camille couldn't stop screaming. That all put together bussinesswoman you meet were long gone. She was just a woman in need of a helping hand. "I'm 'bout to, oh god..."

Your felt her melting against you, her legs trembling against your arms. You stopped when her body collapsed against her armchair.

"Get up," she murmured. This time not out of disinterest, but because she was lost on her own pleasure.

Standing, you turned your back to her so you could get your things and leave. But before you could walk away, two hands grabbed you by your waist.

Camille, standing before you, caressed your skin. "Where are you going?" She bit your shoulder, and her teeths dig on your skin. It wasn't delicate, but it was good. "Already running away from me?"

"I thought you were done," you whispered. Her taste was still on your mouth. So sweet it could give you toothaches.

Camille kept on bitting your neck, licking it right after, until she made to your ear. "I'm not done with you," she whispered, and you didn't knew if she was mocking you.

"Sit on my table," she slapped your ass when you moved. "Open your legs." She once slapped you, but this time on your pussy.

The moan that escaped you made Camille force herself against your mouth. She tasted herself on you, but she also felt the taste of your lipstick. Camille licked your lips, trying to get more of you, then went back to explore your mouth.

Her fingers played with your lips, so wet for her, and entered on your tight pussy. So warm, so made for her. Camille curved her fingers, and you held into her. "Just like that," you moaned. "Please, just..."

Camille went harder, so hard you knew that it would hurt the other day, but you didn't care. Camille could hurt you however she wants, as long as she keep on making you feel like that.

"Be a good bitch and cum on my fingers," Camille grabbed you by the chin. That made you open your mouth, and Camille noticed the way your lips covered on her saliva shone. "Show me your tongue."

Camille spat on it, and you gadly took it. You blinked to her.

"Fuck," Camille fingered you as she pinched your clit. You were so close. "You really have a talent for that, don't you? Thinking about making you mine. Chain you to my bed so I can use you whenever I want."

"Do it," you whimpered against her lips.

She spread her fingers inside you. You gasped, your body chocking against her. You couldn't think, you couldn't see, all you did was moan as you came.

Camille continued until you were too sensitive to take it. She licked her lips, now addicted to your taste, and stepped away from you.

She took off her thong and thrown it at you. Camille moved your body, taking her phone right behind you, and sat on her armchair. You breath as you watched her go back to work, but you also smiled when you noticed her trembling feet.

"Cover yourself," Camille started. "Clean my agenda for tomorrow, scheduled a meeting Pym and find someone that make a coffee that doesn't suck like yours."

"But you swallow," you murmured as you put on her thong. It was wet from her arousal and your spit.

"What did you just said?"

"You heard me," you took your tablet and didn't gave her time before you walked away.

Camille L'espanaye observed every step you gave. When you were gone, she throw her phone away and closed her eyes.

"I am so fucked," Camille whispered to herself.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

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[novelconcepts]

So ready to go absolutely feral for all the women of Usher.

Hair!

Vibes!

GAYS!

Look at how hot they all are, I can’t wait to be emotionally devastated beyond repair AGAIN.

[ladygata]

Mike Flanagan really said wow the queers love Succession so much I’m gonna give them exactly what they want this year (a horror Succession au).

[lobotomy-jpeg]

I'm always in this twilight

In the shadow of your heart

The timeline of Heart Like A Kite , the Reincarnation AU/fix-it fic @captain-athos wrote and I illustrated, which has become so very dear to our hearts. We'd love it if you took a look at it 💛

[id: A timeline illustration of Izzy and Roach throughout the lifetimes; it spans from 1718 to 2018.

1718: There's two of Roach, comforting himself, hands on his other self's cheeks. One of the Roaches is barefoot. A gull flies between them and the next pair.

1818: Izzy is in a cream cardigan, green shirt and black pants. He's wearing a leather apron and glasses, holding a cane. He has a full beard. Roach, is in a blue striped white cream shirt that's falling off his shoulder. He's in light colored pants and suspenders.

1918: Izzy is in a white tank top and khaki pants tucked into white socks. He;s also in suspenders, holding a cane. His hair is shorter and messier and he has a prosthetic leg. Roach is in a brown tweed suit. His hair is neat and he's wearing glasses and a little red bowtie. He has a prosthetic left arm, ending in three prongs. There's daisies scattered at their feet.

2018: Izzy is in a full beard and fisherman clothes, a blue wool shirt and yellow overalls with matching boots. Roach's hair is long and he is in a white shirt that's barely buttoned, exposing his chest. He's wearing high waisted jeans and dark shoes. He's holding some sort of big carton and he has a tattoo sleeve on his left hand. /end id]

[dontcallmeeds]

Kate Siegel really played a femcel mommy, like that was real

[elizabeth-mitchells]

There's a deal that I made - Madeline/Verna(/Annabelle Lee)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Fall of the House of Usher (TV 2023) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Madeline Usher/Verna, Madeline Usher/Annabelle Lee Characters: Madeline Usher, Verna, Annabelle Lee Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deal with a Devil, Late Night Conversations, Infidelity, Flirting, Kissing, Mild Smut, sort of a threesome

Summary:

“When will I see you again?” Madeline asked her.

Not if. But when would they see each other again. Madeline chose her words purposefully, and she spoke as calmly as possible, even though Verna’s own voice affected her to her core.

“I’ll be there,” Verna promised.

“When?”

It was tough to say, given Verna’s overall personality, if her grin sharpened or softened. Either way, she replied, “When you want me enough.”

[denaliwrites]

Tomorrow I Shall Be Fetterless

Verna x Fem!Usher!Reader

Catch & Release Prompt: "Poison"

Summary: (18+) You always were the smartest of the Usher children. Perhaps, just this once, you were a little too smart, yet not smart enough.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Implied / Referenced Stalking. Depression. Hints of Neglect & Resentment. Oral (F Receiving). Vaginal Fingering. Overstimulation. Vomitting. Unwitting / Unintentional Suicide. Character Death.

You had seen the pattern. The writing on the wall. The dark looming shadow of death swallowing each of you up, one by one. It drove you crazy, how none of the others seemed to get it. Why didn't they get it?

If there was an answer for you somewhere out there, you knew it lay beyond the veil. And you only knew this because, soon, inevitably, your time would be up, and there just simply wasn't enough time left for you to figure out why all your siblings were fucking idiots.

And maybe you were too, to some extent. You knew Death was coming for you, yet you were surprised when it arrived to take you.

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

You'd been struggling lately.

Long before your siblings started dropping like flies, an existential sadness had been gnawing away at your mental reserves. It drained you, exhausted you, made it nearly impossible for you to do... anything.

Your father tried to understand, and for that you supposed you owed him some credit. But trying wasn't the same thing as doing, and eventually he, as well as everyone else in your family, got tired of trying.

He even said as much, in the text he sent you.

And then your brothers and sisters started dying in horrific ways, seemingly by accident but uncoincidentally one after the other. Your father increased your security, knowing nothing about your struggles but for the fact you were a danger to yourself, but otherwise did nothing to try to help you.

You couldn't even call yourself the disappointment (Perry) or the black sheep (Leo) of the family. You were simply forgotten.

No one thought to call you to check up on you. The only person who'd bothered to text you out of any sense of concern was Leo. Camille had texted, too -- but it was only to prep you for the oncoming PR storm.

Now both of them were dead, and no one at all bothered to check in, not even a basic, minimal effort "u ok?" text.

So when there was a knock at your door, and you opened it to see a delivery girl holding a gorgeous (and huge) bouquet of assorted white flowers, you were pleasantly surprised.

The girl -- well, woman, and definitely a mature one -- wanted to chat, but when you gently explained that you weren't in the mood she seemed understanding, and it struck you how this random stranger you'd talked to for all of a minute was able to show you more compassion than your own family.

Speaking of, when you withdrew the card from the bouquet, you expected the Usher name, or the Fortunato logo at least, to be present somewhere. Instead, in beautiful calligraphy, you read From Your Biggest Fan.

You were quick to realize the implications, but too tired and overwhelmed to really care. If you had a stalker, dealing with it would have to wait -- you had infinitely bigger problems at the moment.

It helped a little, though, receiving that one small gesture of kindness, even if it was from someone with an unhealthy obsession with you.

You woke the next morning to the sounds of cooking emanating from your kitchen.

You were so tired that it didn't strike you as odd at first. Forgetting the past week, you thought maybe Leo had come by for a visit and decided to make breakfast while he waited for you to wake up.

When you finally stepped into the room, though, you weren't greeted by Leo, and just the sight of someone else reminded you that Leo -- your only ally in the family -- was dead.

In your kitchen, at your stove, with your spatula and your eggs, stood the delivery woman from the day before.

"I wasn't sure how you take your eggs," she said, tossing her head in your direction to offer you a smile. "I figured scrambled was a safe bet."

You looked at the array of foods laid out over your kitchen island, all surrounding that bouquet, now placed in a vase with water.

"You're my biggest fan?" And though you had asked, you knew that she was. You didn't need her confirmation, but she gave it anyway in the form of a pleased hum.

You weren't sure how to handle this situation.

Calling the cops could be dangerous, set the woman off and get you killed. But then, not calling them could get you killed, too. Contacting your family was almost certainly out of the question -- if Leo were still alive, you'd maybe have a chance. But with him gone... your only real hope was Tammy, and she... the kindest way to put it was "didn't care for you."

The woman was watching you, still smiling, when you looked up from your phone. The look she gave you was kind, sympathetic. Loving, almost, if not for the fact that she was a crazed stalker.

"It's okay," she said soothingly. "Please. Eat."

You had to admit, the food looked incredible. You didn't even remember having this much stuff in your house. Had she brought things to make for you?

She continued to watch you as you poured yourself coffee, handed you the creamer when you reached for it but couldn't quite get your hands on it, piled your plate high with pancakes and bacon and hashbrowns and eggs and seemingly a million other things.

She continued to watch you as you ate and drank it all up.

It was the most satisfying meal you'd ever had, and as an Usher that was saying something. Your life had been full of rich and lavish meals.

As your stomach filled and your eating slowed and eventually came to a stop, your eyes drifted to the bouquet in front of you. "Why white?" you asked, dropping your chin to rest on your hand.

"Isn't it lovely?" she returned your question with her own.

"Yes," you answered simply, admiring the flowers.

"You're quite lonely, aren't you?" she asked, gently.

"Yes," you answered again, this time with a sigh. "My family, they..."

"Don't understand?"

"No." You sighed again.

"I do."

The woman rounded the island, coming to stand before you. Her hands were on you near instantly -- nothing too risqué, one was on your shoulder and one was on your neck -- but it was the most you'd been touched in at least a year, maybe even more. You melted into it, releasing another sigh as those hands squeezed you comfortingly.

This stranger -- this woman who'd brought you beautiful flowers and then broken into your home and made you the most luxurious meal you'd ever had...

Just with one electric touch, you wanted her. No. Needed her. You felt it -- knew it -- all the way down into your soul.

You were suddenly standing, and you weren't sure if you had moved on your own or if she had moved you, but ultimately it didn't matter. Her lips were on yours, fevered and desperate. Her hands were winding in your hair, guiding you nearer. Everything she did to you was so tender, so caring and loving. Even just her kiss was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before.

She pulled you into the bedroom, pushed you onto your bed, and rid you of your clothes. It had to have taken time -- at least a minute, surely, but it felt like only a moment passed.

And then she was kneeling at the side of the bed, delicately lifting your legs and guiding them to rest over her shoulders. "Be a good girl for me, will you?" she teased, her breath dancing over your slit and sending a spark of pleasure into your gut.

You weren't sure if she could see you nod, but you did it anyway.

"Good girls speak up," she admonished gently, and you realized that she'd pulled away.

"Y-yes," you whimpered, desperate for her.

You heard her chuckle from between your legs and felt an immediate sense of relief.

"What do you want, little lamb?" she asked, and her breath on your cunt made you squirm in need.

"Y-you," you answered, honestly. "I d-don't care how."

Another chuckle, this one strikingly darker than the last, emanated from between your legs and seemed to echo around the room. A mere moment later and you felt a hot, wet tongue tease at your folds. You cried out, hips rolling in a desperate bid for more. Forcefully, a hand came to rest over your belly, pressing you down into the bed with surprising strength. Just as you gasped from the shock of it, her tongue dipped into your cunt.

"Oh, God," you keened, hips twitching under her hand. "Please..."

"Little lamb, are you already close?" Her voice was teasing, and chased by a sweet kiss to your clit.

"N-no," you whined. You could feel her lips pulling up in a smirk. "... Maybe," you confessed, worried she'd stop.

"Good girl," she praised you, and it took all your willpower not to drop over the edge right then and there. "You're being so good for me. Would you like to cum?"

"Yes... please..."

"Such a good girl."

She buried her face in your pussy, then, tongue playing at your entrance and lapping across your clit in random intervals that had you writhing desperately for release. Each tiny tidbit of attention pushed you closer, and at some point she gave up on keeping you still, as her hands had moved from pinning your hips to the bed to wrapping amorously around your thighs. While her tongue did wonders with your pussy, her hands massaged gentle patterns into the thin and tender flesh of your inner thighs.

"Cum for me, little lamb," she whispered, but somehow you heard her.

Her hands trailed from your thighs and up your belly until they found your own. She twined her fingers with your own, giving them a squeeze in a silent offer of support as your orgasm built and built.

You took the offer, your hands all but clinging as your climax tore through you. Your back arched dramatically as a scream pealed from your throat. Your legs quaked and tensed around her head, and for a brief moment you were worried you might crush her skull with your thighs before the thought was chased away by her lips and tongue sucking at your clit.

"F-fuck... fuck!" you cried, sobbed even, unbelievable pleasure coursing through you in waves.

It took what felt like ages for you to come down.

She didn't pull away until your last weak twitches came to a stuttering halt. The only thing moving your body after a few minutes was the heavy panting breaths heaving your chest heavenward.

The woman crawled up on the bed with you, her body hovering over yours. With the light spilling over her back and casting the rest of her in shadow, she looked almost demonic... but you didn't mind.

The slight glint to her eyes, however, sent a terrified thrill right through you -- and straight down into your core.

She seemed to recognize the spark of arousal in your eyes, as her expression shifted from one of relaxed ardor to one of wicked understanding.

"Already up for round two?" she asked before planting a biting kiss to your cheek.

Your hips involuntarily bucked as a moan escaped your hoarse throat. "Y-yes," you responded through it.

"What an eager little lamb," she teased, the hand not supporting her body grazing over your skin lightly. It ran over your breast, sending another shock of pleasure down into the growing well in your core. Over your belly, causing the tender flesh there to ripple. Over your pubic bone. And, finally, her hand found its way to your already soaked cunt. Fingers teased your folds, gliding smoothly along the slit before they were plunged inside.

You were so wet that you easily took her first two fingers and could've taken a third if she'd so chosen to grace you with it. She must've figured, and you agreed, that the two were enough.

The pads pressed at your G-spot exploratorily. When you wailed in ecstasy and gave a sharp buck of your hips, the woman chuckled and drove her fingers back into that spot, harder. And as she did so, her thumb circled your clit.

It was a merciless tirade of stimulation. Already sensitive from the previous orgasm, it didn't take nearly as much to send you back over the edge -- but she didn't relent upon your second release.

"You're being such a good girl," she murmured into your lips as her fingers hammered your G-spot, over and over again. "Such a good girl. You've got one more for me, don't you?"

You were sobbing, aching from the overstimulation and her battering your cunt to heavenly oblivion.

"Y-yes," you wailed anyway.

She drove her fingers home once again, and your slick-drenched walls clenched weakly around her until you were in the throes of another orgasm.

You barely heard her praise as she pulled her hand out of your cunt.

Your arms were around her, desperately clinging, body shaking with sobs and residual twitches from the orgasmic flood she'd unleashed on you.

Gently, she shushed you, her arms soft and firm around you. It took a lot of coaxing, but eventually she managed to untangle you from her body and lay you to rest on your bed.

"Sleep now, little lamb."

And you did.

You woke to sharp pains roiling in your gut, and a pounding heart.

The woman seemed to know something was wrong. She didn't seem concerned, but she was at your side all the same, stroking your hair.

"It's all right," she was saying, but you could only just hear her over the sound of your heart beating with worrying, dizzying power in your chest. It was almost enough to drive you mad, if not for the stomach pains warring for your attention.

"It's all right," she repeated.

You were going to be sick.

You managed to sit up before the feeling overwhelmed you. The woman pulled you to her chest, and didn't seem at all bothered when you released a torrent of half-digested breakfast foods all over her back.

"That's it," she cooed, stroking your back comfortingly.

You were not comforted.

"Wh-what--" You couldn't even finish your thought as another wave of intense nausea swamped your senses, driving you to heave yet more of the contents of your stomach over her shoulder.

"Don't worry," she said with a sigh. "It'll be over soon."

You weren't sure which part of this she meant. It certainly didn't feel like the vomiting would be over soon -- if anything, it felt like maybe that would go on forever. It was nonstop, even after you were sure there was nothing left for you to expel.

And your heart -- it continued to hammer away, showing no signs of settling. In fact, you were pretty sure that it was getting worse.

"I-I need--" You whimpered, pulling out of her embrace. Wobbly legs struggled to support you, but you somehow managed to stand and, using the walls for support, you made your way to the kitchen where you'd left your phone.

You heard the woman's padding footsteps behind you, following dutifully -- or, maybe more accurately, curiously.

You just made it to the island when your legs gave out, and she was right there to catch you, to keep you standing.

"It's okay," she said again.

"Wh-what did you d-do?" you barely managed before a wave of nausea sent you into a fit of dry heaves. She held you through it, keeping you afloat both physically and mentally.

"Only what you wanted. What you needed."

It was then, as your eyes glanced up, that you saw the bare stems laying on the counter, the handful of delicate white flowers littered around them -- the suspicious gaps in the bouquet where the flowers should've been.

"Amazing, isn't it?" she asked. You couldn't answer. Your heart -- you swore it was only seconds away from breaking out of your ribcage -- or bursting. "That such a pretty little flower could be so devastatingly lethal."

You whimpered, hands grasping at her arms as the realization of your impending death struck you.

"It's okay," she repeated again, stroking your hair lovingly. "Isn't this what you wanted?" There was no judgement in her voice, no cruelty and no pity. All along, she really had understood. "You've always craved freedom -- from your family, from the torment of your own existence." Your legs finally lost all use, and even she couldn't keep you standing anymore. You were lowered gently to the floor, held so tenderly in her arms. "Today you wear these chains, but tomorrow? You shall be fetterless."

"Tomorrow I shall be fetterless," you repeated, relief flooding your voice as the edges of unconsciousness closed in on your vision. The last thing you saw was her, and the last thing you heard was the stilling of your heart.

[stenclastiel]

Madeline/Verna should be the new Wenclair

[the-kestrels-feather]

Auggie and Roderick talking about the voyage Pym was on, the fond laughter?? 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

[jaxie101]

i think it's leo who said that perry went from "rags to riches" and we know his mom was a blackjack dealer. he probably did not have a lot of money before he came to the ushers and went a bit off the rails suddenly having access to so much.

it was yes sorry! i’ve been thinking the same, he probably grew up rough and without much money, bc i doubt roderick was much help :/ going from having nothing to having everything must’ve done a lot of damage..

[madwomansapologist]

higher than heaven | tamerlane usher

Navigation | More Tamerlane Usher | AO3

synopsis: Goldbug launch was a tremendous sucess. Of course Tamerlane knew it would be one, but it still was nice to see it being well received by the press. And the best part was that, when she got out of the stage and out of that sucessfull entrepreneur mode, Tamerlane had you waiting with open arms.

warnings: fluff. married life. fix fic. entrepreneur meets entrepreneur and fall in love. tammy will get her well deserved rest time!!!! female!reader.

The launch was expensive, but it was worth every penny. More than just self-care, Goldbug is luxury. Rarity. It is for few, and that is why it is desired by everyone. It was expensive, it will pay for itself and more.

And when everyone present felt special, felt deserving of the great wonders that only generational money and political influence could achieve, Tamerlane knew that Goldbug was a sucess. She knew that her name would never be forgotten. That her family would never be able to forget how even during a judicial hell she was the reason the name Usher was associated with something desirable.

And Tammy knew you were waiting for her.

Tamerlane presented Goldbug, she sold it, but you were the one making sure the press would say the right thing. While journalists were drinking champagne, you repeated the names of the suppliers. While influencers were distracted by the beauty of the event, you somehow convinced them to take photos in the right place and at the right time. And if the futile personalities who were invited suggested that luxury was something they were used to, you reminded them of what Goldbug really was: the perfect way to make someone green with envy.

Her model, her muse, the face of her empire under construction. Your hair, your necklace, your dress. Your perfume, your eyeline, your hells. Your brain. You. You, as whole. You were part of this. You were a reason for Goldbug to be desirable. You were perfect, just as always.

But Tammy guess she isn't impartial when it comes to you. You could have someone's blood on your face, a weapon on your hands, and she would still think of you in the same perfect. Perfect. And hers.

It was impossible to talk during the launch, even when drinks were being served for you two it was still work, but your eyes meet and she saw how proud they were of her. Smiles were hidden behind glasses. Your hand bumped into Tamerlane's elbow while you were talking to a deputy's wife. You were the one to start her standing ovation.

When the event ended, Madeline approached with a discreet smile on her face. "The articles have already started to come out." Apparently the reporters were faster than Tammy had imagined. "You did a good for the family. And so did she."

Frederick can suck that, Tamerlane thought while walking towards her car. Not only the best daughter, she also has the best wife. Those cakes can suck it too.

The security guard opened the car door, and a calm smile dominated Tamerlane's face as soon as she saw you reading something on your phone. "They're all fawning over you," you whispered as Tammy sat right next to you.

Tamerlane rested her head on the bench and didn't answer you. She just looked at you. The makeup on yoyr eyes was smudged. You rubbed them. The lipstick in the center of your lips was faded, the red getting lost with each sip from the various glasses that passed through your hand. Your bun was falling, and your hairpins were showing.

Perfect.

The car accelerated, and Tamerlane took a deep breath. She let the air inside her lungs change, peace dominate her body. Instead of putting on her belt, Tamerlane laid her head on your lap.

"You were amazing on the stage. I could never," you whispered. Even if the driver had better things to do than pay attention to your conversation, you still prefer to make it as intimate as you can. Your fingers caressed her hair, nails lightly scratching her scalp. "Green really is your color."

Tamerlane chuckle. "I don't think there is something you can't do, my other half." Tammy closed her eyes, your fingers giving her goosebumps. She squeezed your knee, tugging at the thin fabric of your dress. "Green?"

"Yes, my other half" Tammy could almost hear your smile as you mirrored her. "Green."

Tammy didn't even notice she fell asleep. She just felt the car stop, the engine going silent. She still felt your fingers sliding against her scalp. "Wake up, sleepyhead." You didn't stop caressing her. "Bed is more comfortable."

That made her get out of the car.

Maybe it was childish and irresponsible, but you didn't shower before bed. Tammy threw her heels away, you stood in front of one of the bedroom's mirror struggling to get rid of the hairpins. She walked over to you, and wrapped her arms around your waist. "In need of help, pretty lady?"

"Call me a damnsel in distress," you held her hands. Tamerlane smelled like strawberry. Not like something made to smell like strawberry, but just like the fruit. It was so great you could sleep against her.

You had to let go for Tammy to help you, and you missed her even with her behind you. "After all that," you started. "When Goldbug is stable and the trials end..."

Tammy put the hairpins on the dressing table. "That's okay. I don't wanna talk about it, but I know it's happening. Just go on."

It was your time to help her. You unzip the green dress, and handed Tammy her nightgown. "When it's done, we could go on a vacation. Just the two of us."

She pulled the sheets off the bed and lay down. You turned off the lights and changed into your pajamas in the dark. "Where?" Tammy turned on the lamp. "Where we didn't went yet?"

You lay down, pulled the blanket over yourself, and turned to face her. Tammy snuggled closer to you, her cold feet touching yours. "Greece."

"Greece it is", Tammy kissed your lips lightly. "You reread Percy Jackson, didn't you?"

You laughed against her lips. "You know me so well."

"Of course I do," you felt her smile growing. None of you could move away. None of you wanted that. "Do you think for even a second that I could think about anything that isn't you?"

"Oh, shit." You rubbed your nose against hers. "Tamerlane, do you have a crush on me?"

"Fuck you," was the last thing she told you before sleeping on your arms.

It was a amazing night. Perfect, Tamerlane would say.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[head-full-of-things]

Really House of Usher tumblr I'm disappointed in you, where are all the fics for Usher family shenanigans? Camille and Leo BROTP???

[unicyclehippo]

as someone who is also in fever recovery, i send a wish that you feel better and the word: acumen

thank you, feverish friend, i love you i hope you are feeling well <3 this is for you

//

high on the hill where the crows do not fly stands a house and a family that cannot die.

//

'uh - mister pock o'pea?'

there was a man at the door. barely. a young man, an intern in an ill-fitting suit and his first tie, talking to chetney even though he had made it perfectly clear he wasn't to be disturbed or interrupted in his goddamn wallowing. jesus fucking christ. a decade of work gone down the drain.

'what.'

'you got a call. from her.'

chetney didn't lift his head from his stack of files. they smelled of dense paper and ink and stale coffee. it was a scent that had always reassured him; it was the scent of industry, of hard work, of forms and files in triplicate and a paper trail being chased down but now it was just... nothing.

'what the fuck are you talking about?' he sighed. 'listen, if this is about the case, you can tell whoever it is - world news, i bet, they've been up our ass for weeks - tell them that it's over, alright? it's over. we're done.'

'no, sir - it's not a reporter. it's her. briarwood.'

chetney's head snapped up. 'delilah?'

'laudna.'

'laudna,' he repeated, turning the name over in his mouth. he hadn't had many dealings with the woman but those he had, chetney had walked away with a sour taste on his tongue. defeat, always, but also a horrid sinking gut feeling--for himself, for the world, and a little bit for her, too--that she was her parent's daughter through and through. for as bright as she was, there was nothing new in her--she was a creature of her father's design, dressed in her mother's striking fashion and features (and disdain). but this? this was new. 'what did she want?'

'to talk. said she wanted to tell you everything--confess, she said.'

'what?'

'i know. gave us a weird address too.'

'did she say what she wanted in return?'

'no, sir. just that chetney pock o'pea come see her at this address, as soon as possible, and she'd confess.'

chetney smiled wryly. 'does that sound like a trap to you?' he asked, even as he stood and grabbed his coat. at the intern's dumbfounded look, his smile widened. 'call me curious,' he shrugged. 'i've spent half my life chasing this family. ten years i've on this case alone--so if the heir to the throne wants to talk to me...i want to hear what she has to say. oh - but if you don't hear from me by, say, six tomorrow morning...'

'we'll send someone after you.'

'i was going to say look for my body off the coastline because that's plenty of time for the grim ripper to do whatever she wants with me.'

'uh.'

'lighten up, kid. it's a fucking joke.' chetney swung his office door closed, locked it. 'mostly.'

//

the taxi dropped him at the end of the street, refusing to take him any further.

chetney pock o'pea trudged up the hill through a cold mist until he came to a small house--even by today's cramped standards. the pavement leading up to it was cracked. tough weeds had shoved up through the concrete and died. trees had grown in the garden just long enough for their bark to twist into unsettling grimaces and the branches to hang, leafless and menacing. the house itself was old and horrid. it sagged like an ancient pumpkin, insides all rotted away to soft fluff. the stairs did not creak beneath his feet as he climbed onto the porch; instead, they squished, black water seeping out and dripping down into the dead grass.

chetney knocked. there was no answer. he tested the knob - unlocked - and pushed the door open, coughing into the dust that billowed up the instant he did so. it tasted like a billion health code violations.

'hello?'

for a long moment, silence.

chetney stood at the door, tensed, waiting to be attacked. he had his doubts that the woman was even here--why would the heiress step foot into this place, rundown as it was? but he couldn't deny the evidence in front of his eyes. clear as anything - a set of footprints leading deeper into the house, marked distinct against the dust that blanketed every surface.

'hello?' he called again.

the house wasn't large. four rooms, five at a stretch. he could see from his place in the hallway a sitting room directly ahead of him--a low fire crackled but it lent no heat to the chilled space--and there was a kitchen to his left. the door to his right was closed.

a figure moved in the sitting room, standing out of a low chair. it moved away from the firelight, disappearing out of sight. chetney inched backward to the front door - and then laudna briarwood stepped into view, framed by the doorway. her face in deepest shadow as the firelight flickered.

'mister pock o'pea,' she said, and with a tilt of her head the light found her and her welcoming smile and there was nothing unsettling about her at all but chetney still felt every alarm in his system go off. 'i wasn't sure you'd come.'

'yes, you were.'

her smile grew. 'i hoped you would. you've proved yourself remarkably dogged, chasing down my family's dirty laundry, turning over every stone in our path.'

'yeah, well, no point in it anymore. my case is dead. oh relax - i didn't mean it like that, don't look at me like that. just meant the judge's basically come down on your side already, what with the deaths and all. even before all that. was he in your pocket all along?'

'i'm sure i don't know.'

'right. like it wasn't the first thing the grim ripper did when you found out who'd be presiding.'

laudna shook her head. 'perhaps she did. it certainly sounds like her, is certainly within her capabilities. but i truly cannot say for sure - and that isn't why i asked you here.'

'right. you're confessing,' chetney said, and wandered forward into the house. 'boy, i sure would love that. one of you lot on record for something. a dream come fucking true.'

'what a way with words you have, mister pock o'pea.'

'agent.'

'agent,' she amended, and smiled like he was foolish to be concerned with such things. 'well. a dream come true, then. come in, take a seat. can i pour you a drink?'

'no. thanks.'

she led him into the sitting room and gestured for him to take a seat on the couch. he sat. the fabric was cold, a chill beyond the weather. a chill like no one had sat there in a decade. and the house was so small. maybe it was the dust, but he felt like the light of the fire didn't reach as far as it ought to, didn't burn as bright. the air felt heavy, the way it always did before a storm. chetney rubbed his nose. watched as laudna briarwood crossed to a drink cart and plucked a bottle of wine out of the mix. it was old. looked fancy enough. he was sure it was worth millions.

'i'm sure you think i've lured you here with nefarious intentions,' she said, perfectly conversational. 'i don't know how reassuring this might be but please, let me assure you that my motives regarding you are far from nefarious. i am truly glad you came, agent.'

'yeah, well, when the daughter of the most powerful man in the world invites you to a secret location, promising you everything you ever wanted...'

'you turn up with a tape recorder and hope for the best?' his hand twitched for his pocket. 'do relax, agent, i'm not upset. i have the highest regard for you and that would only have been diminished if you hadn't brought something. i enjoy your dedication to the classics, as well. a phone simply isn't the same as a tape recorder. ah - and you can keep it running, if you like. if you need my permission. i'm not sure what you can do with the recording afterwards but i won't stop you.' she poured as much of the wine into her glass as would fit. then, she set the bottle down and, eyeing him thoughtfully, poured a second drink. scotch. a generous three fingers into a crystal glass. she brought it over to him, holding it out between spindly fingers until he took it. 'i'm not, by the way.'

'not what?'

chetney searched for a place to set his glass. no way he was going to drink it - she'd probably poisoned it.

'his daughter.'

chetney froze. in all his years following the family, learning their every secret, was it possible he had missed one as big as that?

'please, don't strain. it's not worth it. i'm going to explain - i'll tell you everything, in fact, everything that happened. every shady deal, every blood-soaked contract, every death on our conscience.'

laudna took her seat opposite him, on a red cushioned armchair. it was deep and soft and obviously hers, for she was wonderfully comfortable in it, resting her glass on the arm of it and tucking her feet up onto the seat beneath her. she regarded him for a moment.

chetney looked right back.

her hair was down. he'd never seen her with her hair down, without the severe bun that she and delilah both favoured. without it, she didn't look all that much like her.

laudna swirled the drink in her hand. the liquid in it was dark, a red so deep it was almost purple.

'lets start this properly, shall we?'

'yeah.' chetney dug the recorder from his pocket and set it onto the side table, microphone directed toward her. it would pick him up clear enough just by virtue of closeness and he didn't want it to drop one word of her confession. 'agent chetney pock o'pea, here with laudna briarwood, who has consented to being recorded. would you state that again for the record?'

laudna smiled. she leaned forward ever so slightly and, in a crisp voice, announced, 'i am laudna briarwood and i have consented to agent pock o'pea recording our conversation.'

'the date is october thirty-first, twenty twenty-three. the time is -' chetney twisted his wrist. '- eleven twenty-three p.m. okay, miss briarwood. take it away.'

'thank you, agent. i suggest you get comfortable - this may be a rather long story. like i said, it is my confession. our confession, if you like. i'm sure i shall reveal enough that you may find my whole family guilty of everything that you accused us of, and yet more besides that. we are rather lacking in people to prosecute now, however. what with all the deaths and all, as you so succinctly put it.' laudna raised her glass and drank. savoured. a drop of red clung to her bottom lip. she pressed her thumb to it and swept it away. 'forgive me for delaying. if i'm being honest, i'm not entirely sure where to begin.'

chetney inched forward, elbows propped on his knees. the taste of the hunt was back in his mouth. 'why not the beginning? that day in the courthouse.'

she laughed. 'that was far from the beginning, agent pock o'pea. but,' she inclined her head, 'as good a place to start as any. very well. it all began that morning, when the briarwood family gathered to attend the first day of our trial. the case you brought against us. the case you brought against Whitestone.'

//

high on the hill where the crows do not fly stands a house and a family that cannot die. they traded much for power, glory, and gold but the price comes due for what must never be sold.

[lavenderknivess]

what if i just casually posted my new fic haha jk…unless??

[jwillbiteyourfingersoff]

The Fall of a Star

Warnings: Gore, character death, decapitation, talk of puke

Media: The Fall of the House of Usher (2023)

Characters: Rodrick Usher, Mavis Usher(OC)

AN: Yeah so uh, I made an OC for TFotHoU and I thought "What better way to put them out in the world than to write their death scene?" so here that is :]

A loud snap echos through the theater and a hiss comes over the mic, cutting through the generic instrumental like a knife. The audience goes silent with shock, before a few begin to clap at the excellent special effects and the rest follow suit. Everyone knew Mavis was taking her performances in a new direction but no one had expected such a dramatic shift. The clapping fades as people settle back into their seats, waiting for the big reveal.

But it doesn't come.

Personnel rush on stage, and before anyone can react a girl in the front row screams. People jump to their feet, screaming and crying out as they bang on the doors, finally pushing them open to the hallway outside. Its a stampede, true chaos. Someone slips on vomit and gets trampled, tripping others and leading them to a similar fate. The room's air is permeated with the hot, rich smell of iron as the last leave the grizzly scene.

When paramedics arrive they find Rodrick Usher, one of the richest most powerful men in the world, crumpled to the ground in front of the decapitated head of his youngest. "The staff, they said the harness was fail-proof! They promised..." he chokes out, trailing off and falling silent once more. Blood drips from her nose, and her pupils are blown wide as she stares blankly up into his eyes. Her eyebrows are knit together in fear, and her mouth is open in a silent scream, never to be heard by the living again.

AN: Yeah so this is a drabble, and I have way more in terms of idea for this character and theres way more context to her death, but this is what I want to write for now since I feel its a strong intro. Thanks for reading and feel free to like or just generally interact if you wanna see more abt this character :] hope you enjoyed

(also I only beta read briefly so sorry if its rough)

[anysin]

Fic: Aftertaste of Destiny

For @forest-of-stories, here is a Roderick/Madeline for The Fall of The House Of Usher the tv show with "staring at ´mouth" theme! Hope you enjoy. SFW but darkish.

Aftertaste of Destiny

In a haze, they go to Madeline's apartment.

"That was-" Madeline's voice fades into silence, and she licks her lips. "Wanna drink?" she asks after a while, and Roderick nods, and as she paces over to the cabinet to fetch them gin, Roderick makes his way to the couch. But instead of sitting down, he stops to stare at it.

This is where he should be sleeping, this night, all the other nights he spends away from home. He should be rolling around on it, thinking of Annabel Lee, about winning her back, winning his children back. But no matter how deep he looks into himself, how much he wants there to be a desire for all of this, it just doesn't exist.

"Take a seat," Madeline says from behind him. "I will."

She has two glasses of gin; she offers one to Roderick before sitting down, leaning over to take her shoes off. Roderick takes his time before sitting down next to her, following the elegant slope of her back with his eyes, the way her outfit clings to her skin. He looks away, taking a sip from his glass. His brain is trying very hard to shut itself down, not think about Annabel, nor the bar.

It's easy to redirect the storm of his thoughts away, and focus on Madeline only.

"What a night." Madeline leans against the couch, sighing as she takes her glass to her lips. Roderick watches her drink, her eyes closing as she takes a long sip, her throat jerking as she swallows. Even now, after everything that happened, everything about her is controlled. There is certain comfort in that, and Roderick feels more secure inside his own skin as he puts his arm around Madeline's shoulders, inching closer to her on the sofa.

"Indeed." Forming words seems to be a little difficult, but Roderick focuses, and says: "We have done it all to cover our backs. It should be easy sailing now, but we have to be careful."

Madeline nods, waving the glass and the gin within it around a bit before taking a second sip. Roderick stares at her mouth, at her soft lips resting around the edge of the glass, at her tongue that's peeking out a bit.

"And then we will rule the world," she says after she's done, putting her glass away. She turns towards Roderick, staring at him as she rests her hand on his thigh. "You and me, Roderick. It just makes sense, doesn't it?"

Despite the busy confusion of the night, despite all the alcohol, the look in her eyes is sharp, and her smile likewise is a cutting curve. She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

"It does," he agrees, staring at that razor-like smile on the softest little mouth as he leans in.

The fears of the future will return, and so will the doubts and the ponderings about whether this night was even real or not. But as long as there is Madeline, his lighthouse, there will be no regrets at all.