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the-promise-has-been-made · 11 months

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Like with all Mike Flanagan shows, I have to sit and stew on The Fall of the House of Usher for a bit to let it fully settle, and then I'll probably have to rewatch it to get the full picture.

But what I can say now after the first watch has sat with me for 2 days is that compared to Hill House which dealt with grief, Bly Manor which dealt with love, and Midnight Mass which dealt with faith, House of Usher for me dealt with consequences. Madeline and Roderick were offered the deal that they could basically do whatever the heck they wanted, and all the consequences of their horrible actions would not be suffered by them. Which is essentially what capitalist super-rich experience all the time - and we, the ordinary people, suffer the consequences. It's funny that they thought it worked like that, but I guess they saw their father who suffered no consequences for abuse and for mistreating their mother whom he had ann affair with (if it even was that, and not rape) - but he did suffer consequences, he was strangeled to death by a dead woman. And Griswold, who seemingly suffered no consequences for his fraud and the many crimes of his company, except he did - he was literally cask of Amontillado'ed which is honestly the funniest thing! But for the Ushers, the consequences were suffered not just by the anonymous masses, not just by the thousands upon thousands that suffered and died because of their actions (powerfully depicted by the rain of bodies Verna showed Roderick in their meeting in his tower) and not by Madeline nd Roderick themselves, but very directly, very brutally, by their own children - who all in the span of a few days were driven insane and horrifically killed. They were offered this deal, and while Madeline had no children and made sure afterwards that she never would, Roderick already had two children by that point. He signed that deal not for some hypothetical children he might have, but for Frederick and Tammerlane who were already alive then, and for his 4 as of yet unborn children! They barely hesitated. The Ushers TOOK that choice away from their children, they doomed these children before they were even born. And they doomed even their grandchild before she was born. If that doesn't show the crippling consequences of actions we take today, I don't know what does. Every decision the rich and powerful make today has devastatign consequences for generations to come - not hypothetical, but very real and very dire consequences. But these people don't care about that, because it's not consequences they suffer NOW, so it's not their problem. The Ushers are charicaturized representations of that mindset, their children representations of the generations of people fucked over by their decisions. That's why I am torn between feeling glee at the bizarre demise each of the Usher children met (cause let's face it, they were all assholes and messed up) and at the same time feel immense pity for them (because the fact that they were assholes and messed up was almost not their fault but a product of growing up under the trauma Roderick and Madeleine suffered when they were children, and in a mindset where they genuinely believed being richer than God made them immune to cosequence, and because their fate had been decided for them without their knowledge).

But also, Verna gave EACH of these kids an option. They were all going to die, sure, but they were given the choice to do the right thing. Prospero was offered the chance to end his orgy and his filming of incriminating material but he chose to continue. Camille was offered the chance to turn around and go home and instead die peacefully in her sleep. Napoleon was offered the chance not to lie to his boyfriend and bring a fake 'cat' home, and instead go home, sober up, get his shit together, be honest about his fuck-ups. But he didn't. Victorine was offered the chance to say 'no, this treatment is not ready for human testing' but instead she deceived what she believed to be an innocent, desperate woman into essentially signing away her life. Tammerlane could have stopped her jealousy, her envy, and instead reach out to her husband, actually communicate, actually appreciate him, but she didn't. And Frederick, well, Verna spelled it out for him, didn't she? He had to bring her home, he had to bring out the pliers. He CHOSE to abuse and brutalize and mutilate his wife when she was completely defenseless, helpless, and innocent - yes she had gone to the orgy because she felt unappreciated, unseen, and nothing actually happened, she didn't cheat, her only 'crime' was chosing to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He chose to be a monster to her and to their child. All of them could have stopped, could have chosen to reflect on their actions and be better, do BETTER. Instead, they doubled down on their horrific behaviour, and sealed their own fate. All except Lenore, who until the very end chose to be good, chose to be kind, chose to see the best in people. That's why she was the only one to whom Verna appeared with kindness, giving her the certainty that her life mattered, that her sacrifice would save thousands, that her mother would do incredibly good in her name in the future, and she did not die with horror and suffering, she died peaceful, quick, quiet, like Verna had offered all the others. Verna was not so much a demon as she was the personification of "actions, meet consequences".

TLDR: The Fall of the House of Usher is the hardcore version of 'play stupid games, win stupid prizes' and will for me be part of the 'rich people actually suffer consequences for their shitty actions' cinematic universe.

#The Fall of the House of Usher #The Fall of the House of Usher spoilers #major spoilers #so many spoilers #the 'rich people meet consequences' cinematic universe

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farmergilesofham · 7 months

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Souls games are great because you'll have some guy named like Roderick the Vast and he can turn people inside out with his space dust laser beams

and then the fan favourite character is Glorbus, who's just some guy. his powers are cooking a mean stew and selling one useful item. he has the most poignant and meaningful story arc in the whole game. you get nothing for killing him, except the guilt. he's featured in every inspirational edit of the game. finding him requires skipping 3 bosses and sacrificing a newborn goat in an abandoned tavern. his stew heals wounds. he is the best.

#soulsborne #souls games #elden ring #dark souls #demon's souls #bloodborne #all of em #all em

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freuleinanna · 11 months

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I'm still confused about Verna.. I thought she was a demon?? Because why would Death be going around making a bunch of deals with people? After Verna told Pym she decided to go "topside" I thought she was some kind of crossroads demon since it implies she came from below (hell)

Oh! I feel you, and I struggled with that a lot too. She does seem a lot like a demon. I'm not saying I'm 100% correct in my thinking either, but here's why I personally think she's Death. Kind of a long post, sorry. I hope I make myself clear, but feel free to follow up!

So, Verna. An anagram for Raven, that much is established. Ravens are wonderful - symmetrical even - creatures. Bringers of death in a wide understanding. Bringers of good luck in many cultures. The duality is amazing. To me, that also leans majorly into the theme of death being a concept of duality: an enemy for some, a friend for others. Each greets her differently. I'm not talking about the characters here, but people in general.

There's a proverb I came across a while ago that reads 'Death is a great leveller'. Meaning, everyone's equal before her. You have no leverage or buffer against death, and it doesn't matter if you're poor or blindly, feverishly, grotesquely rich (like our folks here). Everyone pays the last bill. For everyone, there's a day of reckoning. It's a major theme with the show, at least. Verna also says 'Buy now, pay the bill later' - although it can still read very demonic, I agree.

She's obviously ancient, and I was leaning toward the demon theory based on all of her talking. Yet - she also keeps ranting about Egypt and pyramids and Cleopatras and such. What's the one thing with Egyptians everyone knows of? They honored death. Death may have been a bigger part of their lives than life itself. The Usher Twins' obssession with all things Egyptian, antiquities, jewelry, swords and such, plays a nice parallel here too, because they're just collectors. They have no grain of honor for the real thing, for what these things are tied to. Kind of a nice thought, I guess.

Anyway, back to Verna. She says on multiple occasions how intrigued she is with us, 'adorable little things'. She saw the pyramids, the expeditions, and she wanted to see what else we do, she wanted to see what Roderick and Madeline will do (in her own words). It's all an experiment to her. She makes an offer just to see what we, people, do.

Here's where my beef with a demon theory comes in. No demonic creature I could think of, be it an actual demon, a trickster, or something else, is that sincerely intrigued. Something something death loving life something something.

Demons, in my understanding, are most interested in winning the deal. They come up with incredible challenges, they enjoy torture, emotional or physical, they never let anyone win. Verna has never once expressed this. Quite the opposite. She gives everyone a chance to step back. Even when the ink has dried and everything's decided, each Usher sibling is conditioned to make a choice: push forward, or step back. Neither of them steps back. Neither of them takes a long hard look at themselves (except Tamerlane, both literally haha and figuratively, as she's the only one to have realized how lost she was in her way - just at the end, when it didn't really matter anymore, but still). Verna is kind to those she takes (sincere pet names, regrets of having to do it this way, making sure they know it's not personal, etc). She grieves with them, just before. Grieving - 'The Raven' being about an expression of grief and trauma - ravens as synonyms for death... you get the gist. Oh! Except Freddie - cause Freddie struck a cord. Infuriated her. So he doesn't get an expressed choice. And he would've blown it like coke anyway, so meh.

And then Arthur Pym. Oh, Arthur Pym. I honestly couldn't imagine a demon kneeling and thanking someone who's refused them.

About Arthur Pym, by the way. It's the one story I hadn't reread, and I should have, it turns out! haha Anyway, a few notes about his travels:

In the story, Arthur Pym is expressedly afraid of white color (North Pole, yada yada, white being the absense of colors/life, and the absense of life is death).

Verna enumerates the moments she witnessed of his travels. Someone getting left in Sahara. Someone getting shot in the Arctic. Something bad that was done to an Inuit woman. Why would she follow Arthur so closely? She didn't know him, he wasn't her favorite. I think it's because she came to collect those deaths. If she is death, she would've been exactly there, where people died. She would have also seen Arthur not partaking.

Aaaaaaaand it makes her 'You saw me' line sound better, because he had sure seen death along his travels.

I think the part about a place of out-of-time, out-of-space creatures and hollow Earth was a bit unnecessary, BUT I can try and tie it in this way:

It showed us how Arthur might have coped with what he saw, and he 'saw a lot', even in his 70s it's difficult for him to recall, and it made him think of humanity as a virus, literally;

He might have thought up that ethereal realm simply because he was in an expedition? Exhaustive conditions for both body and spirit? Traumatic experiences? If he saw Death, he might have cloaked it in his mind to cope with it, thus came his stories;

Verna going 'topside' may just mean that she had to go take a look herself, actually be willingly present for the events - to see the brave little humans conquer the earth. 'Topside', as in, 'visible, present, participating'. If Death exists, I doubt it bothers with our boring human realm but lives downunder, among all threads that weave the world.

So that's that on Arthur Pym.

A few other references my mind is too exhausted to tie in nicely:

Death takes Lenore. THE Lenore from 'The Raven' (mostly) and 'Lenore' (secondary). That happened. Also, death talking to a child of life? Regretting having to take her? Not very demonic of dear ol' Verna, in my opinion.

Her mourning veil, her last toasts to the Ushers at the cemetery? Demons don't tend to grieve their players. Demons don't respect and love them enough, and 'what is grief, if not love persevering'?

Death is the last threshold. Before death, we look upon our legacy (major theme with the show), we remember our losses and loves (Annabel Lee!!!!! love the poem, brilliantly done), we get heavy with regrets. We face death as an enemy & fight, like Madeline did. As a friend, like Arthur did. We confess, like Roderick did. All that is too significant to me overall.

And the last thing. It's Edgar Allan Poe. The whole Death tribute is a giant, incredible, thought-through-to-the-bits hommage to his literature where Death, figuratively and literally, takes the throne.

I hope I managed to express myself alright there. Thanks if you read it through, and as I said before, feel free to follow up or elaborate on some ideas. There are oceans to discuss. <3

#tore a few veins typing it out ughhhhh the poetry #asks #long post #the fall of the house of usher #tfothou #tfothou spoilers #tfothou tv #netflix #carla gugino #verna #meta post #the fall of the house of usher spoilers #edgar poe #edgar allan poe

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agaypanic · 5 months

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I saw that you are writing about Roderick Heffley.

Can I make a request about Rodrick Heffley/reader (punk grunge girl)?

The reader has been friends with Rodrick for a year, she has her own band and she often hangs out with Rodrick.The reader writes songs for the band and when I realized that I fell in love with Rodrick, I wrote an entire album in his honor.(but since the reader replaced male pronouns with female pronouns in the songs, Rodrik did not understand about falling in love.)

You can make an awkward but sweet confession at the end.(like Roderick only got it when his friend told him directly about it, or when the reader was leaving town...)

I apologize if this is too specific and detailed. And I also ask you to forgive me if something is unclear, English is not my native language.

My Muse (Rodrick Heffley X Songwriter!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Inspiration for new songs strike you when you realize you’ve fallen in love with your friend Rodrick Heffley. But when you get the guts to play him a song as a way of confessing and he doesn’t understand, you figure it’s a lost cause.

A/N: reader is more of a pop-punk artist, and she wrote the only exception by paramore bc i said so. Idk much about instruments/terminology and also writing a character singing feels so awkward to me so sorry if it’s bad. Reader’s band is named after the one in metal lords (such a good movie ugh)

***

You and Rodrick had been friends for years, bonding over a shared love of music. As the two of you got older, you ventured into this interest by forming your own bands. Rodrick’s band, Löded Diper, was more rock, while yours, SkullFlower, followed more of a pop-punk genre. But that didn’t stop you and Rodrick from jamming and writing together during your free time.

With all the time you spend with Rodrick, you soon realized that your feelings for him grew beyond platonic, as cliche as it sounded. You obviously didn’t want to say anything and risk ruining what you had with him.

But you couldn’t help but have hope that Rodrick returned your feelings. No matter how many crushes he had, how distracted he became with his band’s latest business venture, or how often he got grounded to the point of not being allowed to leave the house for anything besides school, he always found his way to you. Sure, your heart ached a bit to see him so hung up over a girl who wouldn’t give him the time of day. But it was always made better when he’d sneak through your window just to sit with you when he should’ve been at home.

You didn’t want to bottle up your feelings forever, so you decided to write it all down in the form of lyrics. What started as a verse and half of a chorus soon became a complete song. And then one song turned into a handful. When you showed your bandmates, they immediately wanted to get to work on the instrumentals.

After a few long rehearsals and some convincing from the rest of the band, you decided to let Rodrick hear what you had been working on—half for his opinion and half as a love confession to your best friend.

“So…” As you walked to class with Rodrick, you kept having to tell yourself not to feel so anxious. Just think of it as just another band practice, and not you telling your best friend that you’re in love with him. “SkullFlower’s having a little rehearsal tonight. I think we’ve gotten a new song down pretty good. Did you wanna come?”

“Hell yeah!” Rodrick responded, seeming more pumped up than before you had asked. “What time were you thinking?”

“Probably around five. It’ll be at Steph’s place, since she has the best set up.”

The two of you stopped in front of your class, standing a bit to the side of the door to not block anyone’s path.

“I’ll be there,” Rodrick said with a grin, patting your shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “See you then.” Then he turned around and left to go to his own class, leaving you to walk in alone. As you sat down in your seat, the only thing on your mind was how you hoped everything would go right tonight.

***

It was a pretty common occurrence for you and Rodrick to be at each other’s band rehearsals. So, none of your friends were surprised to see him pull up in his somewhat busted van while you tuned instruments and set up equipment. He jogged up the driveway with a grin and two slushies, one for him and one for you. Another common thing between you two was showing up with some kind of sweet treat just for the two of you.

“Hey guys!” Rodrick greeted everyone in Steph’s garage before handing you a large slushie cup filled with your favorite flavors. “Hey, rockstar.”

“Hi, Roddy.” You said, blushing at the little nickname before sipping your drink. You averted your gaze to somewhere else in the room, so you missed the slight pink on Rodrick’s cheeks from the nickname only you were allowed to use.

After a few minutes of mingling, you and the band got ready to play while Rodrick settled in a lawn chair. He sat directly in front of you, so you felt you had no choice but to look at him while fiddling with the microphone stand.

“This one took, like, a day to write,” you warned, taking a final sip of your slushie before setting it on the floor next to you. “It’s a little softer than the stuff we usually play, but I think it’s pretty good. But I wrote it, so I’m a bit biased.”

“Everything you write is good, Y/n.” Rodrick tipped his slushie cup towards you. “Lemme hear it.”

You nodded and turned to Hailey. She started strumming on her guitar as Steph accompanied her on the keyboard. You swayed along to the music with closed eyes, internally counting down to your cue.

Rodrick had probably heard you sing a million times, you’d probably sung more around him than you did alone. But your nerves made it feel like you were performing in front of a sold-out stadium for the first time, instead of in your friend’s practically empty garage.

“I’d never sing of love if it does not exist.” You plucked up the courage to finally look at Rodrick, who was already watching you with a smile so small you almost couldn’t see it. “But darling, you are the only exception.”

You didn’t know if it was the fear of knowing you were confessing your feelings to Rodrick or the bravery from opening your eyes and looking at him in the first place. But for the rest of the song, you and Rodrick maintained eye contact, making it feel like you were the only ones in the room. You wondered if he knew that the words were written just for him.

As Hailey played the final chord of the song, letting it ring out, you gripped the microphone a bit nervously. At first, you thought the hard part was finally over. But then you remembered that Rodrick’s reaction was to follow.

“So… what’d you think?” Everyone eagerly awaited Rodrick’s response. Your friends knew about how deep your feelings went for him. And although they’d sometimes make fun of you for it, they were truly rooting for the two of you.

“That was awesome!” Rodrick said, throwing his arms out wide to emphasize his statement. You grinned, bouncing slightly on the balls of your feet in excitement. “Whoever you wrote that for is lucky, dude.”

And in an instant, all that excitement and hope diminished.

“Oh.” You let out a small sigh before clearing your throat. “Oh, yeah, they are. They are lucky.” You could practically feel the pitiful stares of your bandmates. That, accompanied by Rodrick’s now slightly perplexed expression, made you feel uneasy. “Um, I’ll be right back.”

You were out in a flash, running into the house and to the bathroom to hide. Your band watched you disappear before looking back at Rodrick, whose eyes were stuck on the door you had gone through.

“Wow.” Dylan was the first to speak, looking at Rodrick with a raised brow and crossed arms. “I know you’re kinda dumb, Heffley, but this might be a new low.”

“Excuse me?” Rodrick quickly rose from his seat, looking at Dylan, offended and confused.

“Oh, come on, Rodrick. Don’t play stupid.” Hailey said as she set down her guitar. “Who do you think Y/n wrote that song about?”

Rodrick thought about the question for a moment, wracking his brain for an answer but coming up with nothing. He shrugged, hoping that one of your friends would just tell him outright what was going on.

“I’ll give you a hint,” Dylan said. “She only invited one person to this band practice, and she only wanted to play that specific song.”

The look on Rodrick’s face was starting to make your friends wonder if you were better off without him knowing about your feelings. But suddenly, he gasped in realization, looking at each of your friends for confirmation of what he was thinking. When they all nodded, relieved that he was finally starting to understand, he grabbed your slushie from the floor, muttering something about being back in a minute.

In the bathroom, you were trying not to have a total freak out. You wondered how you could play this off. Although Rodrick wasn’t the brightest, he could be observant and stubborn when he wanted to be. He’d probably ask what was wrong, and if you could convince him that everything was fine, he would probably start asking who you wrote that love song about.

After splashing some water on your face to calm yourself down, you opened the door, only to see Rodrick standing on the other side.

“Jesus!” You jumped in surprise.

“Sorry.” Rodrick laughed nervously. “You, um, you forgot your slushie.”

“Oh, thanks.”

You fell into an awkward silence, standing in the threshold of your friend’s bathroom and slurping down your drink so you wouldn’t have to speak. Eventually, both of you were out of slushies.

“Was that song about me?” Rodrick blurted out, tilting his head in curiosity. You blinked, not expecting that to be the question he would ask. It seemed like he already knew it was.

“That depends,” you said, toying with your straw as you looked down at the ground to avoid eye contact. “Would you still like it if it was?”

Your attention was pulled from your shoes by a hand lifting your head, forcing you to look up at Rodrick. He leaned in to kiss you, just for a quick second, as if he was scared of you freaking out. But you were left in a daze as he pulled back.

“I’d like it a lot more if it was.”

Overwhelmed by what had just happened, you flung your arms around Rodrick and kissed him again. He stumbled back a step but caught you by the waist, kissing back eagerly. The world around you seemed to disappear.

“Ahem.” Slowly and reluctantly, you and Rodrick pulled away from each other to see Steph looking at you amused, Hailey and Dylan standing behind her. “Mom made us all a snack, unless you guys are too busy sucking face.”

“Oh, shut up, Steph.” You said with an embarrassed laugh. Your friends headed to the kitchen, but you and Rodrick slowly trailed behind to sneak a few more kisses to each other.

***

Rodrick Heffley Taglist: @tweedledipshit

#agaypanic #rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid x reader #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick

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dark-vader28 · 7 months

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Aoao, your post about Roderick Heffley is so deeply imprinted in my heart. Can I make a request for Rodrik/reader(girl)?

The reader is the younger sister of one of Rodrick's friends from the rock band. (just a year younger than our emo boy😉)How about, Roderick himself doesn't realize that he has fallen in love with a friend's YOUNGER sister, the reader's brother with "What the hell dude!? She's my sister!" and Rodrik's graduation ball, to which he confusedly invites the reader...

Sorry for the English, I hope everything was clear 🙏

pls i love this idea so much im climbing the walls

———

Löded Diper, your brother’s band, was practicing tonight. Normally, you took no interest in it and it had little to no importance to you, but tonight was a different set of circumstances. Your parents were off to dinner and they demanded that you and your brother hang out, no matter where it was that you went. Not to your surprise, your brother was quick to call up the rest of his band and suggest they rehearse. Which meant you were forced to go along.

His car rolled to a stop on the Heffley’s driveway, the garage open with the other band mates standing around the drum set with the name Löded Diper painted on it. You groaned as you exited the car, realizing you were to spend the rest of your night listening to them play.

Your brother greeted the rest of the band, already exchanging jokes and banter. You had been relieved that they hadn’t noticed you and you snuck past them, hoping to find some spot in the corner where you wouldn’t receive any attention.

As you searched for a neat spot to sit (without spiders), the laughter seemed to stop and the room was quiet except for the shuffle of your feet against the floor. You froze before turning around to face the band.

“Who’s that?” the one sitting at the drums asked, pointing at you with his drumstick. You narrowed your eyes slightly, glaring at the boy for his lack of manners.

“Is that your girlfriend?” another asked and a chorus of “ooh”s and laughter filled the air. Your brother was quick to dismiss it, hushing the band.

“Gross, man, she’s my sister!” he shouted over them. Your arms crossed over your chest as they all simmered down. “She has to stay here. She won’t talk or do anything,” then he turned to you, “right?”

“Yes sir,” you mocked sarcastically, flopping yourself down into an old lawn chair you found.

It wasn’t long before the floor was practically vibrating with the volume of their music and the sounds filled your ears. You sat and picked at your nails, imagining what the family inside the home must’ve thought of the blaring music coming from the garage. Surely if it were you, you would’ve been exhausted of hearing your son play all the time.

They played for hours but it hadn’t felt as long as you thought it would’ve felt. You had spaced out most of the time, daydreaming of anything your mind dreamt up which occupied your time. Occasionally, you found yourself unconsciously tapping the armrest to the rhythm of whatever tune they were playing but you would stop anytime you caught yourself doing it.

It was pushing 10 o’clock when two of them started to pack up. Unfortunately, your brother was not one of them. Even after the departure of two band mates, your brother and the drummer played on for a few painfully long songs.

You were on the edge of the seat, elbows resting on your thighs as you anxiously fidgeted with the rings on your fingers. The final song wrapped up and you clapped absentmindedly and your brother gave you a puzzled look, assuming you had been paying no attention.

Your brother started to pack up his guitar and you rose out of your seat, eager to leave. You were already exiting the garage when your brother stopped you.

“Slow down. I’m going to the bathroom first, then we’ll leave,” your brother explained before rushing off to the bathroom. You lightly sighed and turned back to the garage. The drummer was pacing around, avoiding looking even in the vicinity of you, as he spun the drumstick around in his hand.

Your brother seemed to be M.I.A., leaving you and his drummer alone in the garage for an extended period of time. Trying to soothe the awkwardness and silence in the room, you attempted to spark up a conversation.

“I never got your name,” you spoke quietly, turning to face him. His pacing came to a halt and he glanced at you.

“Why do you wanna know my name?” he asked curiously, sounding mildly irritated. You rolled your eyes and sighed lightly.

“I was just trying to make small talk, alright?” you explained, frustrated. It was a simple question, you didn’t understand why he was trying to make a big deal out of it.

After a moment of silence, he finally answered. “It’s Rodrick,” he mumbled. He stole another glance at you. “You?”

“Y/n,” you replied, letting a small smile stretch across your lips. A grin began to form on Rodrick’s face, lighting up from your smile. He faced away from you, trying to cover it up.

The room went still again and you caught Rodrick stealing glances at you as his pacing resumed. You walked to the driveway and sat down, looking up at the stars, waiting to leave. You could hear Rodrick stop, and you turned back to catch him staring at you, brows furrowed. You shifted your gaze back to the stars, admiring the way they lit up the darkness of the sky. Footsteps shuffled closer to you and Rodrick was sat beside you, leaving a wide space between the two of you. Both of his drumsticks tapped against his leg as he looked around anxiously.

“How do you do that drumstick spin?” you asked curiously, turning your attention to him. “I saw you do it when you guys were playing.” He shrugged a little, seemingly acting shy or embarrassed. “Could you teach me?” you asked quietly and a faint smile started to stretch across his lips.

It was a little while before your brother had returned, mouth full of food. You and Rodrick had been talking as he tried to teach you. You both turned around, pausing your movement with the drumsticks, as your brother stumbled out the door.

“Man, you’ve got some great food in there,” he started, muffled and laughing. His face dropped when he noticed you were beside Rodrick, closer than you had started. He pointed between the two of you and started to swallow the rest of the food in his mouth so his next string of words would be clear. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” you replied, standing up. Rodrick quickly scrambled to his feet after you, nearly falling over again. “I just asked Rodrick to teach me something.” You were being vague and you could tell it was setting your brother off.

“Y/n, get in the car. I need to talk to Rodrick,” your brother demanded. You frowned a little.

Handing Rodrick’s drumstick back to him, you walked to the car and tossed yourself in the passenger seat, slamming the door shut. You pouted slightly, crossing your arms over your chest. Despite your initial thought of Rodrick, you had a better time talking to him than most guys your age. Granted, Rodrick was only a year older, but it was different. Maybe it was the added aspect of him being your brother’s bandmate that made it more exciting. But you were unbothered by that fact, you had just wished you had gotten to talk to him more.

Rodrick and your brother talked for a while and when your brother got in the car, he seemed pissed. He stayed silent through the car ride and the tension was practically suffocating you. It’s not like you and Rodrick had done anything.

Your parents were already home by the time you pulled into the driveway. They were sat on the couch, watching some movie together. It was nearly 10:30 but your parents had long since given up on a curfew for the two of you.

You greeted your parents and wished them goodnight before running off to your room. You hoped your brother wouldn’t hold a grudge against you and the whole Rodrick thing would just blow over in the morning. Unfortunately, that wasn’t Rodrick’s intention.

The bell rang, signaling the school day’s end. Kids poured out of classrooms, their laughter and shouts filling the hall. You rushed to your locker and fumbled for the lock.

You and your brother had worked things out. He had told you just to stay away from Rodrick and he said he had told Rodrick the same thing. Seems like Rodrick missed that part.

A hand slammed your locker shut, startling you. A tall figure with dark messy hair and some sort of graphic t-shirt tucked only in the front behind a pair of jeans stood there. Rodrick smirked, leaning up against the locker next to yours. You were stunned, a half full backpack in your hands with your jaw hanging slack.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, pushing him away as you started to unlock your locker once more.

“I go to school here,” he retorted. You rolled your eyes and quickly shoved the rest of your things in your bag.

“No shit?” you questioned sarcastically, closing your locker. His brow furrowed. “I meant what are you doing talking to me?” He smiled, looking away from you.

“Well, I decided I don’t care what your brother tells me to do,” he replied simply, a smirk still plastered on his lips. God, you wished you could smack it off.

“So, what, you wanna talk to me now?” you pestered, zipping up your backpack and slinging it on one shoulder.

“Who said I didn’t want to talk to you before?” he blurted out. He froze, shutting his eyes in embarrassment. You could feel a slight blush creep on your face but you dismissed it, shaking your head. You started to walk away but Rodrick followed, still trying to keep your attention.

“Do you need something from my brother or are you really just here to bother me?” you asked as you pushed open the front doors, exiting the school. Rodrick grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side, away from the crowd of students eager to get home.

“This isn’t about your brother. You could come over and I could finish teaching you-” he rambled but you stopped him.

“You must be crazy, Rodrick. If my brother sees me standing here with you right now, I’m as good as dead, and so are you,” you urged, trying to walk away from him but he pulled you back.

“Then come over tonight. Just you. He won’t see then,” Rod suggested. Your jaw seemed to drop a little and you nearly gave in. You shook your head.

“No, no, no, he’ll ask where I was or where i’m going and he won’t stop until he figures it out,” you tried to explain, attempting to flee one last time but he pulled you back.

“Then just lie. If he asks me, I’ll do the same.” You paused, and swallowed a lump in your throat.

“Why are you so determined to talk to me?” you questioned, looking at him puzzled. He looked down, biting the inside of his cheek. He shrugged and his eyes looked everywhere but you.

You hated to admit it but you were disappointed. You were hoping to get an answer out of Rodrick but as the moments passed and there was nothing but shared silence between you two, you left. And that night, you almost considered going over to his house but you thought better of it and stayed home.

The same thing happened the next day. And the day after that. And for a little while after that. He incessantly pestered you day after day. Some days, he only spoke to you briefly, asking if you knew whether or not your brother was coming over for a band rehearsal. Other days, it seemed like he didn’t know your brother existed and he only asked about you. It was getting easier to tell him no, even if you wanted to say yes. He was expecting rejection.

By the second week of asking, he was losing interest and would take no as answer right away instead of asking repeatedly after that. And on Friday, he didn’t ask at all. You saw him walking to his van, headphones in with his head down. You frowned, watching him tentatively, hoping he was fetching something from the car and he would turn back and ask you.

As the weekend came along, you tapped your desk with your pen. There was a pile of crumbled up papers beside you and your notebook was nearly halfway ripped out. You frustratedly drew a bunch of scribbles on the page when no words would come out. You torn the piece of paper out and crumbled it, tossing it with the rest of the papers. You gave up, tossing your pen on your desk and turning to your bed. You flopped down and stared at your ceiling blankly. You hadn’t managed to stop thinking about Rodrick since you had seen him walking away. You shut your eyes, trying to clear your head.

Rodrick was doing the same in his room. He blasted music in his ears, trying to occupy his time. Calling him head over heels was an understatement, but it was a statement he couldn’t wrap his head around. You were annoyed because you couldn’t stop thinking about him for a day. He’d been hung up on you for weeks. At first, he thought nothing of it. He thought you were cool, cooler than your brother, and he just wanted to talk to you again. But the more he saw you and the more he talked you (even though every time you spoke, you were turning him down), he was becoming crazy over you. He’d do anything to impress you, making a fool of himself in the process. He wished you would notice him. Every band rehearsal he had, he prayed that your brother would bring you along again. He was always disappointed. But he would never say he had feelings cause he didn’t believe he had any for you.

It was Saturday night and your guilt was eating you alive. You paced your room for a while, trying to clear your thoughts but nothing worked. You ended up surrendering into temptation. You booked it downstairs and swiped the car keys off the counter. Unfortunately, your brother was downstairs.

“Where are you going?” he asked, stopping you at the door.

“My friend’s house, why?” you replied innocently, hiding your intentions.

“Then why are you in a hurry?” he questioned. You racked your brain for a response and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Girl problems,” you answered, knowing he wouldn’t ask anymore questions after that. He made a face of disgust and walked back to the couch. You let out a light sigh of relief before scurrying out the door.

It wasn’t long before you pulled to a stop in the Heffley’s driveway. You nervously walked up the front steps and hesitated before ringing the doorbell. You thought you had the wrong house when a boy, who looked to be only 12, answered the door.

“Is Rodrick here?” you asked cautiously, anxiously fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. The boy’s jaw dropped and he glanced back inside the house.

“You’re here for Rodrick?” he marveled. “Rodrick?” he asked again in shock. You smiled a little, some of the nervousness easing. He remained stunned as he invited you in.

“Who was it?” a woman’s voice called from the kitchen. You started to realize how much of mistake this was. The boy looked at you again.

“What’s your name?” he asked quietly.

“Y/n,” you mumbled.

“It’s one of Rodrick’s friends, Y/n,” the boy answered. You could hear footsteps coming closer now and you panicked, wishing you could turn back and flee.

“But y/n sounds like a girl’s name,” the woman spoke quietly and she seemed pleasantly surprised when her eyes found you. You didn’t look like most of Rodrick’s friends. Sure, this wasn’t the best you looked but you were more put together than the rest of his friends.

“Oh! Hi!” she exclaimed. Oh god, you thought to yourself, I’m meeting his parents. “I’m Susan, Rodrick’s mom. It’s so good to meet you,” she went on, extending her hand out to you. You felt bad considering your hands were a bit clammy from all the anxiety you felt, but you shook her hand anyway out of politeness. “Greg, will you go get Rodrick?” she asked the boy and he nodded and reluctantly ran up the stairs.

“I-I didn’t mean to interrupt or show up at a bad time or anything,” you stuttered but she smiled and shook her head.

“Nonsense! Would you like to stay for dinner?” she offered. Your eyes widened a little.

“I couldn’t possibly ask that of you,” you quickly replied. Footsteps came running down the stairs and your attention diverted. The boy, alongside Rodrick, came running down the stairs. Your heart seemed to be pounding out of your chest, thumping obnoxiously in your ears. Your eyes frantically looked between the three of them. You could only assume your face was turning red.

“Why have you never told me about her, Rodrick?” Susan asked, a smile still on her face. “She seems lovely.” You forced a polite smile but it faltered when you caught Rodrick’s eye.

“Guess I forgot,” he lied.

“Uh, Rodrick?” you asked, your voice breaking. You cleared your throat. “Can i talk to you?” A small smirk started to form on his lips.

“Yeah, come on, we can talk in my room,” he suggested. You swallowed a lump in your throat and followed him carefully up the stairs. Your eyes were glassy and you could feel your lip start to bleed as you continuously chewed on it.

His room was in the attic which only distanced you further away from your escape route. He flopped down onto his bed, resting his back against the headboard and crossing his legs over one another. He put his hands behind his head, the smirk still on his lips.

“So, you changed your mind, huh?” Rodrick chuckled. You could feel the pink rush to your cheeks, wishing he hadn’t looked as good as he did. But, god, you wished you could slap him and take the smirk away from his face.

“If my brother finds out,” you pause, stepping closer to him. “If you tell him, Rodrick, I will-”

“You’ll what, sweetheart?” Rodrick teased, leaning forward so he was closer to you. He chuckled when your jaw went slack, flustered and speechless.

You managed to regain your confidence and you pushed him away from you so he was leaning against the headboard again.

“I’m leaving. This was a mistake,” you explained, ready to dash for the exit. Rodrick was already on his feet and blocking the staircase within the blink of an eye.

“How is this a mistake?” he asked, keeping you from leaving. You sighed and tried to push him aside but he fought back.

“Rodrick,” you warned but he didn’t budge.

“If this is a mistake, why’d you come here in the first place?” Rodrick asked, searching your eyes for an answer. You paused, looking away. Your shoulders shrugged and you could hear him faintly sigh.

“How come you keep trying to talk to me at school? I met you once at a band rehearsal, it was nothing!” Your voice was starting to raise, unaware of your emotions.

“I know that was nothing! I just don’t know what it is! I don’t know why, okay?” Rodrick shouted back. He was sure his parents would be able to hear if they walked by, but that was one of the last things on his mind.

“What, do you like me or something?” Your voice came out harsh and impolite and you wished you had shut up a long time ago. You shut your eyes, and looked down. “I-I’m sorry,” you began to ramble but Rodrick wasn’t listening, too enveloped by his own thoughts.

He couldn’t like you. He could never. He liked Heather Hills. He’s spent forever chasing after her and doing everything to impress her. That’s who he liked. You were just his friend’s annoying little sister. Just because you talked to him first or that you had an interest in his band didn’t mean he liked you. It didn’t mean you liked him either. Just because he spent weeks chasing after you doesn’t mean it was romantically inclined, right.

“Y/n,” Rodrick spoke over your stutters of an apology. You went quiet, eyes glassy. He hesitated, swallowing a lump in his throat. “You wanna go to the dance with me?” Your eyes went wide and your brow furrowed.

“What? What does that have to do with anything?” you questioned, confused and dazed.

“I was going to ask you. I don’t know why,” he added. “There’s a dance in about a month. I was going to ask you after we had hung out but I think you’d like to leave now and I just had to ask-”

“Are you crazy?” you asked, bewildered. He fell silent. He knew it had been the wrong time to ask but he couldn’t hold the words from rolling off tongue his any longer.

“Is that a yes or no?” he asked. You shook your head and pushed him aside.

“No, Rodrick. And don’t ask for a reason. There’s too many of them.”

The dismissing bell rang, marking the end of the day. You hurried to your locker and quickly piled everything inside. Part of you hoped that Rodrick would come running up and slam your locker shut, scaring you the way it always did. You stood foolishly, glancing around for any sight of him. When there was nothing, you closed it and made your way towards the exit.

You trudged to your brother’s car, who you shared a ride with, and heard him arguing with someone else. You tried to hide behind the side of the car and peek your head up to watch and listen to what he was saying. That’s when you noticed the white van parked beside you with Löded Diper painted on it. It was Rodrick.

“You asked her to the dance?! What the hell, dude?! She’s my sister!” your brother shouted. You felt your face flush and your heart stopped.

“Look, man, I’m sorry! She didn’t say yes so what does it matter anyway?” Rodrick fought back. You glanced around nervously before you decided to make your presence known before the argument got any worse.

“What are you guys talking about?” you asked, acting oblivious. They glanced at each other then looked back at you.

“Nothing, get in the car,” your brother said, sliding into the driver’s seat. Rodrick looked annoyed and hurt and he avoided looking at you, hiding the way the tears started to pool in his eyes. He shook his head and got in the front seat of his van. You swung open the car door and flopped yourself down into the seat, wishing you could’ve said something to Rodrick.

Later that night, your brother was passed out asleep on the couch, some television show blasting on the tv. You swiftly snuck your way into his room, searching around for the piece of paper where your brother kept phone numbers. Your brother was terrible when it came to remembering numbers, which became an advantage for you.

You found the slip of paper in his desk drawer and you quickly scanned the list until you found Rodrick’s number. You pulled out your phone and hurriedly dialed it before scurrying out the room in case your brother had woken up.

The phone rung for a while as you paced your room until a tired voice on the other end of the line picked up.

“Hello?” the voice asked, raspy and ridden with sleep. You let out a light sigh of relief, glad he had picked up.

“Hey, Rodrick, can we talk?” you asked, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth.

“Who is this?” he groaned, followed by the rustle of what sounded like bedsheets.

“I’m afraid if I told you, you’d hang up,” you mumbled. Finally waking up, your words seem to catch his attention and he managed to put 2 and 2 together.

“Y/n?” he guessed, knowing the sound of your voice all too well now. Your eyes shifted down and you hesitated before answering with a quiet “yes”.

“Look, Rod, I’m sorry about Saturday. I was a total ass and I was just confused and tired, and I know those are just a bunch of excuses but-” He interrupted.

“It’s fine. You were right.” He sounded run down and miserable.

Silence filled the room and you only felt more guilty as the seconds passed. You racked your brain for something to say, feeling the tears start to pool in your eyes.

“Are you still going to that dance?” you asked, your voice breaking from the tears coming on. Rodrick was quiet for a moment and you thought maybe he hung up or fell asleep again.

“Yeah, why?” he questioned, sitting up in his bed curiously. You shut your eyes in embarrassment before you spoke again.

“If you don’t already have another date, I wanna go. With you.” His end of the line went dead silent. You pulled the phone away from your ear and checked to make sure he hadn’t hung up this time. You shut your eyes tightly, wishing you hadn’t said anything at all. You should’ve never called him, you should’ve never gone over to his house, you shouldn’t have talked to him at the rehearsal-

The line clicked and he was gone, leaving without a response. Your heart sank and a hot tear rolled down your cheek. You quickly wiped it away and threw your phone across the room, not caring if it broke. You could feel more tears coming on and you buried your face in your hands.

You were left sobbing for a while before you heard the doorbell ring, followed by a long string of impatient knocks. You quickly wiped your tears away and checked your reflection on your way out of your room to make sure you didn’t look like a shit-show.

The loud rapping on the door didn’t stop until you reached the door. You swung the door open, prepared to shout at whoever had been knocking at the door annoyingly for so long. You froze when you saw the figure outside the door, your mouth going slightly agape. Before you could even fully process it, lips were pressed against yours and you felt your heart skip a beat. Your head went fuzzy, unable to think straight. You could only feel his lips and the rush of blood going to your face and how you could feel every goosebump rising on your skin. It felt nearly euphoric, making every bad thought slip away as if they’d never happened.

His lips separated from yours and your eyes fluttered open. Your eyes were met with glassy brown doe eyes with a few strands of shaggy deep brown hair falling in front of them. His tall figure stood over you, leaning down close to you. His eyes flicked down to your lips then back to your eyes. He started to move in for another kiss but you pulled back, putting a hand on his chest to push him away. You shook your head.

“Not here. My brother could see,” you whispered. Thankfully your brother hadn’t woken up from his deep sleep on the couch even after the persistent knocking and the doorbell. But you weren’t gonna risk it.

“I don’t care,” Rodrick mumbled and he brought his lips to yours again. You kept him close to you but pushed him away from the door and closed it behind you. Your back pressed against the door and you pulled him closer to you by his collar.

When your lips broke apart again, a smile spread across your face as you pressed your forehead to his. “So, about the dance,” you began slowly. His lips brushed against yours again and his hand cupped your face.

“That later,” he mumbled. “How about you come over tonight?”

———

a/n: okay so i may have gotten a bit carried away with this one, but i hope this matched your request!

#rodrick x y/n #doawk rodrick #rodrick x reader #rodrick fanfic #rodrick heffley x reader #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #rodrick rules #rodrick heffley #devon bostick #fluff #light angst #one shot #oneshot #my fic

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tipofthemountain · 5 months

Text

actress

tags: biker!Simon “Ghost” Riley x actresses!Afab Reader, Fluff, Established relationship, reader is a famous actress. Mentions of sex and sexual acts but no action is taken. Minors should still take extreme caution reading!

word count: 1.5k

summary: Reader is on set of her newest movie and Simon comes to visit!

a/n: First story I’m posting! I’m a little nervous for what everyone will think but I hope you enjoy it!

ps. biker!Simon is my current hyper fixation so bare with me if there’s like a million more biker au stories :}.

edit: adding this in but my requests are open!

༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻ ༺𖤓༻

It was a warm Tuesday inside studio lot B. A beautiful facade of a two story house stands in a field of white daisies. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes when you walked onto the set. It looked so real! An exact replica of the real house you’ll be shooting on in a week.

The role you are playing is that of a farm wife with her three children, except your husband is having an affair with the barns keeper and your sleeping with the maid. Neither of you know you’re both cheating of course but the children do. The entire plot of the movie is the children trying to get the parents to find out about the double affairs. It’s a LGBTQ+ romance set in the early 1950s. It’s filled with steamy sex scenes and overly dramatic fights.

It’s the exact kind of movie you love doing. Sappy period pieces. In fact the movie that put you in the spotlight was almost exactly like this except it was the 1860s and you where a young unmarried queen with a “live in maid”.

Your boyfriend of 5 years Simon, or as his biker group likes to call him “Ghost” for the skull bandanna he likes to wear around his face, dropped you off on set on his newly refurbished 1980s Harley Davidson. You swore sometimes you thought he was more in love with that bike than he was with you.

“Make some money baby.” Simon told you after a steamy kiss early this morning.

Simons always been supportive of your career. The two of you met on the set of a Tv show when he was hired as a last minute extra for for some bike scene you can barely remember. For Simon it was love at first sight, but for you it was ‘I’ll wait and see where this goes’. Spoiler: You fell in love and are engaged, set to be married later this year.

“Where is my Anna Marie?” You hear your director yell out as you sit in your makeup chair getting touches done to your character’s signature red lip.

“Over here Clark! I needed my lips retouched. I think Amy got a little excited!” Clark Russel. You’ve worked with him a few times now and he’s always been a joy and a pleasure to work with, not something you find comes easy in this industry.

“Your needed on set in five. We’ve got to have this last shot of you and Blanche in the kitchen. We’ve got one week of shooting left here in the studio before we all go out on location.” Clark quickly spills out with you barely catching any of it.

Blanche is played by your costar Amy Heart. A talented actress 3 young years older than you. You’ve done several movies with her by now. You consider her one to your best friends and even plan to ask her to be a bridesmaid.

“James, Finn and Blanche are all on set. We just need you.” Clark makes direct eye contact with you as your makeup artist finishes the last touches on your makeup. He always insisted on calling people by their character names and you never questioned it.

James is played by Arther Godwin. The man that’s supposed to be your characters husband. You’ve never met him before this project but a quick IMDB search led you down a rabbit hole of bad low budget horror movies that you and Simon later binged watched. Finn is played by Roderick Grant, a fresh face. This would be his breakout role after a stream of hit indie movies.

“All done.” Your makeup artist releases you and you stand up from your seat grabbing the jacket that goes with your costume. You throw the jacket on around your shoulders and loop your arm in Clarks.

“Let’s get this show on the road!” You say in an over dramatic southern accent to which your director roles his eyes at.

༺𖤓༻

After 3 more hours of grueling take after take of Clark just having to get the tear sliding down your cheek just right, to which you where ready to rip his head off. Your just about to pass out on your trailer couch in nothing but a robe and very thin 1950s appropriate lingerie, when you hear 3 gentle knocks on your door. You get up with a puff of air leaving your lips putting your hands in your hair.

“Who is it!” You yell not really wanting to get up to answer the door.

“Open the door and find out!” You hear that oh so familiar thick Manchester voice behind the thinness of your trailers door.

In no time you’re rushing to the door and pulling your bulky fiancé in to your trailer and lacing your red lips with his. Simon closes the door through your sloppily sweet kisses. He smells of expensive leather and gas but you still drink all of him in.

“You miss me tha’ much?” Simons thick accent lets out through a smirk.

“Always.” You smile up at the tall man resting your chin on his chest.

“How was today? Make anyone else cry today?” Simon jokes but you take serious offense.

“That was one time and I didn’t even mean to yell at the poor guy.” You slap his shoulder as you both take a seat next in the oh so comfy couch in your trailer.

“I was only joking love.” Simon laughs and places a gentle kiss to your temple. He has one hand around your shoulder and the other rubbing up and down your thigh softly. You with one of your hands on his much bigger thigh and the other holding the hand that’s around your shoulder.

“Long day. Completely closed set. Only Clark and the main cast where set to shoot today.” Closed sets are usually indicators that you where filming your sex scenes today. You had one with your on screen husband and one with Amy. You almost never liked doing sex scene with men. It was never because Simon didn’t want you to or that you ever hated your male costar. You had this respect for Simon and you felt like the sex scenes could get too real sometimes. Personally, you never wanted for Simon to watch a scene of you sharing a bed(or even sometimes a kitchen counter) with another man. But every time you would ask Simon he would always just say some form of ‘This is all make believe. It isn’t real. I know you love me and some fake sex scene isn’t going to change that.” You still sometimes denied it though.

“When are you off?” Simon ask softly moving his hand further up your thigh.

You knew the game he was playing, he always did this when visiting. He always got you worked up and sweating before you had to go back and shoot a scene.

“30 minutes my love. We have to finalize a few things for today, but nice try honey.” You push Simons hand down slightly and look up towards him. Of course he has the cheekiest smirk on his face.

“I miss you at home.” Simon says kissing down your neck this time and creeping his hand back up your thigh.

“Simon.” You whisper scold him as he makes his way onto your shoulder planting sweet kisses.

“I miss the way you smell…” He grabs your hips and lays your back flat against the couch hovering over you as he plants kisses down over your collar bone. You inhale sharply when he moves his hand under the thin bra provided by the costume department.

“I miss the way you feel…” He moved his other hand to finish untying to robe from around your waist. He slowing starts kissing his way down your stomach stopping at the hem of the very 1950s lingerie.

“And I certainly miss the way you taste.” Simon has a giant smile planted on his face when he plants open mouth kisses down your thigh.

And just when he’s about to touch your center 3 harsh knocks are placed on your door.

“Miss, Mr. Russel said he needs you.” The voice calls out not even waiting for you to respond.

Simon lets out a laugh and you sit up and push him lightly.

“That’s not funny!” You whisper yell at him only to make him laugh even more. You stand up and tie your robe back around your waist and walk to the trailer door.

“It’s a little funny.” Simon says watching you with a panicked look on your face.

“I’ll be back in 20 minutes. I love you.” You place a gentle kiss on Simons lips and him returning the kiss.

“I love you too.” He says back placing one final kiss to your forehead.

Before you leave however you whisper into his ear “I think you owe the costume designer.” and bite the end of his ear playfully.

Simon watches you with his his cheek drawn inside his mouth as you grab the door handle of your trailer and leave him alone with his nothing but his thoughts for the next 20 minutes.

༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻ ༺𖤓༻

final thoughts: i definitely got carried away while writing. I tend to do that. I get caught up on details that most likely don’t even matter all that much. I feel like somethings definitely could have been left out and more things added in but in the end it’s just a story and if you don’t like the first few sentences, just skip the story and move on.

@gauloiseblue for you friend <3

#simon riley x reader #fluff #slight smut #afab actress reader #biker!simon #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod simon riley #if you see this thank you <3 #and also if there are mistakes i’m sorry but i’m only human #and also i’m just a girl

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gabessquishytum · 8 months

Note

Dress-wearing Hob is out running errands. He's something akin to a Red Riding Hood figure for his little town, except you know an adult - he helps little old ladies; sometimes watches the village babies and kiddos; he bakes the best baked goods in the town (people fight over his bread); he takes care of stray animals.

Hob loves his little patch of the world.

Recently, there has been rumors of a wounded wolf (creature) in the forest. It's seems to be eating wayward livestock and the men of the town are looking to chase it off or kill it, especially the Burgesses.

Hob hates to see an animal, especially an injured one, killed, so he goes out in one of his heavy work dresses to see if he can find the animal first. It doesn't take him long before he finds the massive wolf, injured and snappish, and looking like he's not eaten anything in weeks.

Hob isn't sure how he's going to get the enormous animal back to his house and he can't leave him where he is with the hunting part about. So he starts talking to the wolf -- telling him about the hunting party, about how he wants to get him away from here and danger, how he's not sure how he can carry "Mr. Big Bad Wolf" all by himself, how it would be so much more convenient if Mr. GrowllyPants helped out.

As Hob is walking around to see if he can find strong enough wood to create a stretcher or something to help move the wolf, he hears.......

BIG BAD DREAMY WOLF: I would thank you, but my name is not GrowllyPants.

Hob stopping and turning to stare at the pretty (panting) injured man where the injured wolf used to be.....

LITTLE-BIG MODERATELY-SIZED RED RIDING HOOD OR HOB: Well it will certainly be easier to take you home now.

Moderately-sized Red Riding Hob and Mr Growllypants are my new favourite couple, actually.

Of course Dream is also naked (the perils of being a shifter) and Hob gallantly offers his red cloak to cover his modesty - Dream accepts and stares at Hob in his pretty gingham dress, and quietly falls in love.

And now he's a normal size, Hob can carry him back to his cottage. He gets Dream settled in the (single) bed and begins tending to his wounds: Dream was caught in a trap, managed to escape, but ended up badly hurt. In his human form his leg is pretty mangled, and Hob immediately sets about making poultices and potions for healing. He HATES those awful traps, and he's not going to let Dream die or lose his leg.

Unfortunately the Burgesses put 2 and 2 together when they hear about the injured man at Hob’s cottage (who has been there since the wolf creature mysteriously stopped being sighted). The hunters show up at Hob’s door, only to be greeted by Hob wearing his prettiest dress and holding a VERY large axe. After Roderick nearly gets his hand chopped off, the hunters wisely leave.

Inside Dream is wrapped up snug in Hob’s red cloak, wondering how he can possibly make it so that he never has to leave this wonderful place where he's protected and cared for. At least his wound will take a long time to heal.

And little does he know, Hob has a soft spot for pretty, grumpy men. He may be concocting a plan to run the Burgesses out of town forever... so Dream can stay in safety, and they can live happily ever after!

#the sandman #dreamling

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gorgeys · 10 months

Text

MEET ME AT MIDNIGHT ★ camille l'espanaye

camille l’espanaye x femCEO!reader

again, you find yourself seated across from camille on a quiet night, and this time your flirting has real consequences

warnings: nothing really, it’s all sfw just some sexual suggestions

word count: 2440

note: this takes place before the court case and everything starts

also the ending is kinda rushed bc i just wanted to finish it sorry

the two regally dressed doormen opened each side of the gigantic glass doors, allowing your entry into the restaurant. famously known as the most elegant restaurant in all of new york city, it was unusually empty on this saturday night. all of the tables were barren except one against the far glass wall.

it was a table for two, already prepped with the proper silverware and two full glasses of wine. the table’s occupant didn’t spare you a glance as you took your time sauntering over to her. you knew she must be able to hear the loud clicking of your heels against the marble floor, especially among the off-putting silence, but her eyes were fixed on the sights of the city behind the glass wall. located on the top floor of a skyscraper, the entire skyline was visible through the glass walls of the restaurant. it was an especially astounding sight in the dark hours of the night when the city glowed brighter than the stars in the sky.

only when you placed a perfectly manicured hand over the cream tablecloth did she turn her head to look at you.

“and for a second i thought he might actually show up,” you said, still standing over her. you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “i should’ve known better.”

one of the waiters seemingly appeared out of nowhere to pull your chair out for you. you gave him a smile and your thanks before you took your seat and he disappeared into oblivion.

“roderick always has to send one of the minions to do his bidding,” you said, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in your chair.

“please, my father has much better things to do than deal with your antics,” camille said, reaching for her wine glass. her gaze was as sturdy as you remembered.

“and you don’t?”

“apparently not,” she said before taking a sip. “but you should thank me actually because he could’ve sent froderick instead.”

“you’re right, what a bore” you said. you suddenly leaned forward and rested your elbows on the tabletop. you pushed yourself so close to her that your chin hovered just above the candle in the center of the table. your face was illuminated so desirably by the light that camille wouldn’t have dreamt of taking her eyes off of you. “thank you, camille,” you said, almost in a whisper. the silkiness of your voice and the slight pout of your lips tempted and teased her. she knew exactly what you were doing yet you were still undeniably persuasive.

it wasn’t until you abruptly returned to your original position that she was pulled out of your trance.

“you're welcome,” she said plainly, adjusting herself in her seat.

the server brought over two identical hors d'oeuvres before scurrying back to the kitchen.

“but i’d like to think you enjoy my antics. you must like me a little if you keep agreeing to this,” you said with a knowing smile.

“i’m only here because the rest of my siblings are too incompetent to do…well, anything really,” she said, disinterestedly poking at the food with her fork.

“don’t lie to me. no one—not even your father—tells you what to do. you’re here because you want to be. and because you like me, don’t you?”

camille looked up from her food only to glare at you through hooded eyes. she hated your smug little smile and the way it made her feel.

“aww, come on, say it. say you like me. make me feel good,” you said, placing your hands over your chest.

as much as she would deny it, a little part of her brain wondered how good she could make you feel. especially when you looked as good as you did, all dolled up for her in that red dress. her eyes followed your hands which laid just above the hem. it was only then that she realized you had worn the same dress for your vanity fair cover last month. oh to be a fly on the wall during that shoot.

“i didn’t think a woman like you would need so much validation,” camille said, finally taking a bite. “but look at you being a pathetic little praise pony.”

maybe you were going crazy but you could’ve sworn you saw a smile itching at her lips. and that made you smile.

“i only want praise from you.”

she looked back up at you and you pursed your lips in an exaggerated pout. if only she knew how serious you were.

“well, you won’t be getting any. not tonight, at least,” she said.

your eyebrows jumped at that last part, intrigued by her suggestion.

“are you implying-”

“i’m not implying anything,” she quickly interrupted, predicting your every move. “are you?”

“depends.” you reached for your wine glass and took a long, thoughtful sip as you basked in the moment of silence you had created. you ignored camille’s expectant stare for you to finish your thought and let her sit with the possibilities of what you meant.

“i mean, you take me out on these expensive dinner dates, rent out restaurants for me, and expect me not to feel special? you do this for all of your girls?”

she scoffed at you. your attitude would be irritating if you were any other person.

“you flatter yourself too much,” she said, leaning forward. “if i wanted you, i would already have you,” she said with a self-assured nod and a tight, smug smile. typically that assertive tone left no room for argument, no matter how true or untrue her statement was. but that was never the case with you.

“oh, don’t lie to me, camille,” you said, leaning in to match her posture. “i know you’re like your father: intimidated by powerful women.”

camille’s eyebrows shot up, surprised by your sheer audacity, but her eyes and smile still held an element of amusement. not often was she curious—because in most situations she already knew too much—but the cunning look in your eyes pushed her toward that unfamiliar feeling.

“what else do you think you know about me?” she said, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand as if she had all day.

“oh, just the regular things. i know that you’re lucky number five,” you said, holding up and wiggling five fingers. “i know that you and frederick are the only ones who are staying in the family business. i know…that you’re bright and very good at what you do.”

she was barely listening, lost in your face and your hypnotizing eyes that never strayed from hers. your words were blending together in her head, turning her brain to mush as she silently admired you in your natural state.

it was your power that had intoxicated her. not necessarily your business status or bank account, but the way you carried yourself. the two of you were alike in that way.

“and that’s why it’s strange that he’s next in line for CEO while you’re slaving away in the basement being daddy’s sock puppet.”

that statement sobered her up quick. you knew you struck a nerve when her brows pulled down and her eyes narrowed. she wasn’t hard to offend.

“god, i can’t believe saffron hasn’t crashed and burned because clearly you don’t know a damn thing about business,” she spat, teeth showing and venom oozing from her lips. “fortunato wouldn’t be a thing if it wasn’t for me cleaning up everyone’s load of dogshit. you don’t even know how much dumb fuckery i have to deal with; my father—my entire family owes me.”

“relax, camille,” you said in your smooth tone, unphased by her aggression, your lips daring to quirk into a smile. “that’s exactly what i’m saying; they don’t give you enough credit for what you do.”

suddenly camille was a bit lost as she was unable to figure out what your angle was. you now sounded so genuine that it was off putting. she had been so used to your play-fighting and exaggerated lust that she almost didn’t know how to take a real compliment from you. almost.

“thank you,” she said, pushing her back over her shoulder and averting her eyes toward the window. she was slightly embarrassed by her unwarranted, short-lived blow-up but made her best attempt to play if off.

“i mean, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand that your brother’s a flamboyant idiot. i mean, i think i actually lose brain cells when he opens his mouth,” you said, smiling to yourself. “but, even if you’re playing for the other team, i can admit that you’re impressive. you’ve made yourself indispensable to fortunato. you’re twice the man he’ll ever be.”

camille tried to restrain herself but a smile spilled onto her lips. it ranked among the top compliments she had ever received. half because she knew it was true and the other half simply because it was coming from you.

your heart jumped, her rare show of warmth encouraging you to continue.

“i mean, just think about all that you could do if only you were given the means. anywhere you are is already a force to be reckoned with, but with you at the top of the ladder, fortunato would be impenetrable.”

“cut the crap,” camille said, remnants of a smile still playing on her lips. “what are you actually trying to say?”

she analyzed every twitch of your expression for a hint.

“what? i can’t just admire you?” you asked, tilting your head to the size and studying her as if she was a prized work of art.

she was a work of art.

she licked her lips, enjoying your adoring gaze.

“save it for the bedroom, y/n,” she said so casually, clasping her hands on the table. your stomach churned at the thought, your mind drifting. “i’m the one who called you here but you talk like there’s something on your mind.”

“just you. always you, actually,” you said. your smile was smaller and more thoughtful this time.

you had assumed that, with the court case looming, camille had come to broker a deal with you. as the CEO of a competing pharma company that was in good standing with the public, fortunato could greatly improve their image and reliability by partnering with your company, saffron. it was an obvious move, one you had predicted months before. you had just been waiting for the ushers to finally approach you. and in that time, you had developed a risky counterattack.

she was silent, her eyebrows raised and her lips pressed together, attempting to coax a response out of you. you breathed deeply and then you gave her what she wanted.

“maybe your father doesn’t appreciate you, but i would appreciate you so much.”

your emphasis was telling. you would never directly say what you meant but camille always understood. though there was a hint of something else lacing your strong voice this time. something not entirely sensual.

“appreciate? now what could you possibly mean by that?” she asked, wondering if your promise was simply flirtatious or if there was a deeper meaning behind it.

you chuckled and then you sighed, chastising her lack of deduction with the shake of your head. your fingers danced across the tablecloth like a spider crawling toward camille.

“you really can’t take a hint, can you?”

she rolled her eyes at your rebuke. meanwhile you leaned toward her, bracing yourself with your elbows on the table.

“you need to leave your father. and then i’ll make you mine,” you said. she was about to laugh but then she noticed your gaze. it was uncharacteristically straight and serious. that’s what made her realize that you weren’t joking.

“i mean that, if you leave fortunato, there will be a spot waiting for you at saffron. and i can guarantee you that it’s a much higher one than you currently hold. how does president sound? maybe even COO if you can charm the board.”

she immediately scoffed at you.

“you’re out of your goddamn mind, you know that?” she said, appalled by your request. still, it was a better reaction than you were expecting. “i…wh-what about the will, huh? i’d just betray my entire family and get cut off?”

“well, first of all, we both know you couldn’t give a single fuck about your ‘family’. it’s not like they raised you. and as for the will, it won’t matter in the end. you’ll be making more than all of your siblings combined working under me.” you subtly flashed her the diamonds on your fingers as proof. “ten or twenty million more won’t even make a dent in your back account. you’ll be the richest woman in the world. and do you know why?”

you stuck your chin up at her and smiled fully. she watched anxiously as the long expanse of your neck revealed itself to her and your eyelashes fluttered majestically.

“because you’ll have me. all to yourself.”

camille’s chin lowered, looking up at you through her own eyelashes as if to question the validity of your statement. you nodded reassuringly.

“what are you waiting for? i mean, fortunato is only on the decline. it’s time to do something good for once and jump ship,” you said.

you paused, noticing the hesitation behind her blue eyes. it seemed that she was actually considering your proposal. so you decided to lay the seduction on heavy.

“there’s nothing left for you at fortunato. but everything you could have is sitting right here,” you said, confidently motioning toward yourself. “i mean, come on, baby, look at this face and tell me you don’t want it, this body,” you said, smoothing out your dress.

the wrinkle in her brow and the slight gap between her lips was telling. that distant yet focused look in her eye told you that daydreams were whisking her off to far away places. she was imagining what her alternate life would be like, what it would feel like, what you would feel like. she was clearly conflicted.

“well, i’ll give you some time to think about,” you said, abruptly standing up from your chair. she didn’t protest as you picked up your half full wine glass. “in the meantime, don’t be a stranger,” you said, leaving her with a final smug smile.

you intentionally swayed your hips as you retreated from the restaurant, taking your wine to-go, reminding her that she would be stupid not to take you up on your offer.

“until we meet again.”

#camille l'espanaye x reader #camille usher #camille l'espanaye #the fall of the house of usher #tfothou #tfothou x reader #house of usher #house of usher x reader #fall of the house of usher #the fall of the house of usher x reader #fall of the house of usher x reader #mike flanagan #flanaverse #kate siegel

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seiya-starsniper · 1 year

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I don't know if you're still doing the flower language prompts, but I wanted to send about twelve and narrowed it down to two lol.

So for Dreamling: Sunflower, dwarf ("How many ways do I have to confess for you to believe me?") and/or Tarragon ("Here's all the reasons why you shouldn't like me")

🤘 five-and-dimes

@five-and-dimes my beloved, so happy to hear from you!!! <3 I did my best to combine these two because they’re SUCH GOOD PROMPTS and they also fit the @monsterfucktoberbingo theme so well. Hope you enjoy!!!

Square: Cryptid

Flower Prompt Game!

----------

When Roderick Burgess unveils his circus’s latest spectacle, Hob is one of the only spectators who doesn’t gasp or recoil in abject horror at what he reveals.

“Behold! I have captured the omen of Death himself!” Roderick declares loudly. “Many have decried his existence, but here he stands before you!” he gestures to the chained being. “Look upon his horrid form. Does he not strike fear even in the bravest of men?”

Well, he certainly struck something in Hob, but he wasn’t sure that the feeling was fear.

The creature on display was absolutely stunning, if Hob were honest, but he can understand why his appearance would seem a horror at first. The thing certainly wore the basic shape of a man, with pale white skin that seemed to glow under the harsh din of the spotlight, and messy black hair that fell down to his shoulders. But where his feet would be, there were instead large, golden talons with long obsidian nails that dug deep into the dirt below them as the creature struggled to keep his balance.

And his hands. They were barely hands at all, with only four fingers on each, and white nails so long they were practically claws. The skin too, from finger to elbow was ashen black as if burnt, but when Hob looked closer, he could see the skin there shimmered like the rest of him in the light.

The most significant part of the creature, though, was his wings. They were what Hob expected an angel’s wings to appear like, large and spanning the length of his body. Except, instead of white, these wings were pitch black, with the very tips of them colored a deep red, as if dipped in blood during war. Hob so badly wanted to see the full wingspan of the creature, certain that it would outdo even an albatross, but, understandably, Burgess had completely bound the creature’s wings in both rope and chains in a measure to keep him from escaping.

Burgess cracks his whip near the creature’s feet and he snarls at the crowd, who jeer and yell in response. Burgess cracks the whip twice more but the creature has gone silent, glaring defiantly now at all its unwanted audience.

When its eyes land on the area Hob is seated in, he swears it is his eyes the creature locks his gaze onto. And oh, even from as high up as he is, Hob can feel the ice forming in those cold blue eyes. It pierces through him like a hot knife through butter, and Hob finds himself willingly drawn in, wanting to move closer, wanting to reach out and touch this magnificent being—

The lights cut out shortly after, ending the show for the night. Hob goes to bed that night and dreams of the creature on the stage, dreams of talons and feathers, and drowning in an ice cold lake the color of the being’s eyes.

When he wakes in the morning, Hob is resolute. A creature as magnificent as that does not belong in chains. He sets fire to Burgess’s circus arena later that night, and he and the creature (Dream, he called himself) steal away into the night.

—-

“Why are you helping me?” Dream asks him one afternoon after they’ve been on the run for three days.

“Would you rather I left you to rot in Burgess’s circus?” Hob shoots back as he’s skinning the stag Dream hunted and caught them for dinner.

“You had a life in that village, did you not?” Dream says, refusing to let go of the subject and stomping his talons into the forest floor. “Why throw it away for something like me?”

Hob shrugs. “I’m a widower with a dead son,” he replies. “Not much of a life by anyone’s definition. Besides,” he adds, “You looked like you needed saving.”

“So it’s pity then?” Dream snarls, unfurling his wings to their full length. They brush against the nearby trees and the sheer strength of their muscles snap a few branches clean off. Hob realizes he had been right about Dream’s wingspan. It was wider than that of an albatross, and they were absolutely gorgeous.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” Hob says before he can stop himself.

Dream stumbles back and retracts his wings, clearly caught off guard by the revelation.

“You don’t mean that,” Dream says, looking anywhere but at Hob. He’s got a furiously red blush that starts at his cheeks and seems to crawl all the way down to his chest. It makes him look even lovelier.

Hob smiles despite himself. “Maybe that’s why I saved you,” he chuckles. “Maybe I just wanted you all to myself.”

“Then you are an even bigger idiot than I thought,” Dream replies, before he stomps off.

—-----------

On a particularly cold night, Hob wakes to find himself covered by one of Dream’s wings.

“This means nothing,” Dream mutters, even as he presses his chest to Hob’s back.

Hob can’t help but grin like a fool. He reaches out to run a finger along the bend of the wing that’s currently serving as his blanket, and delights when he feels Dream shudder behind him.

“Your secret’s safe with me, you big softie,” Hob chuckles before he falls back asleep, feeling more content than he has in years.

—------------

They’ve been on the run for almost a year before Burgess and his men manage to catch up to them. They’re cornered at the bottom of a valley, and Hob knows if they can make it to the river and cross it, they’ll be all right. Burgess’s men are all on horses that wouldn’t dare cross the rushing waters.

They’re almost to the clearing when Dream stops suddenly and says, “Leave me.”

“What?! No, I’m not leaving you!” Hob exclaims. “Come on, we’re almost at the river—”

“Burgess’s horses will cross the river,” Dream replies. “He’s desperate to get me back, alive or dead. And you are tired.”

“I’m fine,” Hob insists.

“You’re not!” Dream argues. “You’re practically limping and you—you have done more than enough for me. If I leave you now and fly north, they’ll stop following you and come after me instead.”

“Sorry sweetheart, you’re stuck with me,” Hob replies, pulling out his sword and getting ready to fight as he hears Burgess’s men grow closer. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Don’t be an idiot!” Dream yells. “Roderick Burgess had been hunting me long before we met, and he will continue to do so until one of us is dead. You cannot possibly want to be on the run forever.”

“And if I do?” Hob asks. “Dream—how many ways do I have to tell you I want this—want you—before you’ll believe me?”

Dream hisses, and before Hob can say anything else, he finds himself lifted high into the air as Dream takes off with the both of them, rushing at full speed towards the river. His long white claws dig into Hob’s skin and Hob holds on for dear life as he buries his face into Dream’s neck to avoid the whiplash of the wind.

When they finally land, Hob can no longer hear the neighing of the horses, or the yell of Burgess’s men. Dream practically drops him to the ground, and Hob realizes the other had used the last of his strength to get them to safety. Before he can collapse, Hob catches him, and after a quick look around, manages to find a small cave that they can use for shelter for the night.

“That was bloody brilliant, love,” Hob sighs happily once they’re inside and lying side to side. “Think I just fell in love with you all over again.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Dream mumbles. “Love me, at all. I have caused you nothing but harm, and you will always be on the run so long as you stay with me. I cannot give you any of the comforts of a human life, not money, status, or a family.”

“I know,” Hob replies gently, taking Dream's dark hands in his. “I’m not asking you to. I told you before, all I want is you. You can give me all the reasons you want about why I shouldn’t, but I’ll still choosing you.”

“Idiot,” Dream says, but his tone is fond. He then wraps a wing around Hob and scoots closer, so their bodies are flush against each other. “Though I suppose you are my idiot.”

Hob smiles and presses his lips to Dream’s. “As long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

#dreamling #dream x hob #hob x morpheus #monsterfucktoberbingo #the sandman fanfic #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling

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