#short hair roddy

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

In time, this world will take a dark turn; for now, in Southtown, fighting bandits, Chrom, Frederick, and Lissa gain a new ally.

-----

Plumes of dark smoke rise from the direction of the town. These blasted brigands made it before the Shepherds could intercept them, leaving Chrom scrambling to catch up. He can see the flames crawling up the sides of houses and devouring brown shingled roofs; no matter how fast they move now, there’s already damage done. Hopefully they can intervene before anyone is killed.

Chrom takes the lead and Lissa follows close behind Frederick, clutching her staff as though to use it as a club. The main cobblestone road takes them in toward the center of town, past hastily-abandoned wagons still laden with bounty from the fields. The center square, when it comes into view, shows more clear signs of daily life hastily interrupted: farm stands battered and overturned, crops littering the ground. At this distance, indistinct yells and screams reach Chrom’s ears. He is ready to charge into the fray, careful approach be damned, when a clatter of footsteps precedes a woman who throws herself around the corner of the house to Chrom’s left. She collides with an empty farm stand and then intentionally catches hold of it to bring herself to a stop. Glancing over her shoulder, her eyes catch on Chrom’s and the relief spreading across her face hardens immediately into a determined scowl. 

“More of you damned brigands,” she hisses, straightening up. One hand plunges into her coat as though seeking a weapon, and she holds the other straight out, fingers splayed, straight towards Chrom. “Fine, then—”

A ball of lightning begins to form in her palm, crackling brightly and loudly sparking and snapping the way the flames do. She knows magic, and she probably means to kill them.

“Wait!” Chrom throws his hands up. He’d like to be ready to draw Falchion, but he’d like a ball of lightning to the chest even less, and if he goes for his blade she will probably strike. “We aren’t brigands! We’re Shepherds, here to help!”

“Awfully well-armed for shepherds,” the woman replies curtly, not lowering her hand even slightly. “Though you don’t sound like brigands.”

She shifts her stance and her long dark coat moves with her, revealing a glimpse of a blade sheathed at her hip. This woman is no ordinary resident of a simple farming village, that’s for damn sure. But she still hasn’t attacked him, so Chrom is optimistic about his chances to calm this situation. “So what do brigands sound like?” he asks. 

“Plegian,” she says. Her eyes finally leave Chrom’s face, darting briefly across Frederick and lingering longer on Lissa, who takes up the rear. Surely she doesn’t think that a girl of Lissa’s age would be part of a bandit incursion? “You don’t, but you don’t look like knights - and certainly not like shepherds, either.” 

“We hear that a lot,” Chrom says. 

The lightning disappears from her palm, but her hand remains raised, still ready for the situation to turn south. She looks back behind her, toward the main square, as though expecting others to appear around the corner. When no one does, her gaze turns back on Chrom, cold and appraising. “Whatever you are, if you truly mean to help, your timing is perfect. These brigands think I’m their only opposition. You can easily ambush them while they’re preoccupied.”

“Wait,” Lissa pipes up from behind. “You don’t mean that you’ve been trying to fight a bunch of bandits all on your own! That’s crazy!”

The woman draws her hand back; her other still lingers inside her coat and the tome surely hidden away there. “What else was I to do?” she asks. “Let them run unopposed?”

“Surely the danger of such a venture has not escaped you,” Frederick says. He still looks wary of her - typical Frederick - but not as though he will be the first to strike. 

The woman waves her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, I know,” she says, and she sounds just as dismissive as her gesture was - sounds as though the danger of such a venture has in fact escaped her. “Now, they’re still going to be on guard waiting for me to attack again, but if you sneak up through here” - she indicates a thin alley between two homes that are thankfully not yet ablaze - “and I catch their attention from the main square and draw them toward us, you can strike from the side while they’re distracted.”

Her strategy, while simple, seems solid, and has more thought put into it than Chrom would have (his strategy being to run the bastards down immediately). There is just one key point that he objects to: “So you are going to charge them, alone.”

“I’m not charging them,” she reminds him. “I’m getting their attention and drawing them back, and I’m hardly alone if there’s an ambush waiting on my side.” 

“That’s a lot of faith to put in strangers,” Chrom says. Her life in their hands, and they don’t even know her name. And she might be a stranger, but she’s fighting for the people of Ylisse; that makes her a friend to the Shepherds and the Exalt, and they’re short on friends as of late.

“So it is,” she agrees. Her expression doesn’t waver; her eyes don’t leave Chrom’s even as she says, “And you, girl with the staff - if this goes wrong, you might be my new best friend, not a stranger. Now shall we?”

She seems to have determined Chrom to be the leader of them. He nods and looks to Frederick. He does not appear at all happy, but he does not offer any verbal objection, either. Presumably he will go along with what Chrom goes along with, and Chrom is going to go along with this plan that is only slightly insane because he has no plan at all. “Let’s.”

The woman darts off into the main square, ducking around the broken farm stands as she moves between cover. Chrom wonders why she’s bothering, if she intends to get their attention, and several seconds later, as he advances down the alleyway, he realizes that she probably intends to make her approach appear less suspicious than an outright charge.

He really would have just charged, himself.

The alley between the houses, about two feet wide, is littered with debris. Chrom crouches behind the rainwater barrel that stands at the far mouth of the alley and presses his back to the wall. Further ahead lies the bridge across the river which cuts the town in half, and on the other side, the church. Two brigands, one with a large axe and the other with a sword, cross the bridge, yelling what must be every derogatory term to refer to a woman that exists. Moments later, a small javelin-shaped burst of lightning streaks through the air, slamming directly into the chest of the swordsman. He howls as he tumbles to the ground, still alive despite the force of the impact, and his companion continues on, disappearing out of Chrom’s line of sight. 

Chrom gives himself another few moments, watching the swordsman return to his feet and put his back to Chrom. Then the sound of metal-on-metal rings through the air, and Chrom decides that is enough.

He throws himself forward from the alley, drawing Falchion. Now he can see the stranger, with a sword in her hands to parry the axe that bears down on her. The second brigand limps towards the duel and does not make it; Falchion tears through his back and he falls with a gurgling sound. The axe-wielding brigand, about to bring a second swing down on the stranger, hesitates and turns towards the sound. “What the—”

Falchion arcs through the air, meeting the chipped, rusting axe blade. The brigand’s face, contorted in fury, suddenly goes slack. He looks down; Chrom, however, does not dare take his eyes off the axe - not until it clatters to the ground from now-limp hands of a man with lightning magic still sparking in his chest. 

“I killed two of them earlier, before I had to run and met you,” the woman says, lowering her right hand; in her left, she clutches a tome close to her chest. “I believe there should only be one of them left—”

She drops the tome and lunges forward. Chrom has no time to react and next he knows, she has knocked the two of them to the ground. Crackling flames burst in the air above them, right where Chrom had been standing; even from a few feet away, the spell warms the side of his face and he wonders what it would be like to have taken the full brunt of it. “I thought I killed two of them,” the woman amends, falling back onto the ground away from Chrom and fumbling for her tome again, and then with a wordless yell of anger she throws lightning right back.

Chrom scrambles to his feet. Across the square, he sees another man fall, a tome slipping from his grasp. “My apologies,” the woman says lightly, as though she didn’t just strike a man down with magic, turning her head to glance at Chrom. “I didn’t expect that.”

“That’s all right,” Chrom says. “I much prefer being thrown around a little to burning alive.”

“Glad to hear it,” she says. 

“Anyone need help?” Lissa waves her staff about as she runs up, Frederick still doing his best to stay ahead of her and keep himself between her and any danger. It is, Chrom suspects, a losing battle, but Frederick valiantly fights it anyway, and for that Chrom is grateful. He doesn’t have to keep both eyes on Lissa at all times with Frederick around. “We’re all good?”

“The last man seems to have been the one giving orders,” says the woman, indicating the bandit lingering on the other side of the bridge. “Let’s see if he has any bite behind his bark.”

To the little credit that Chrom would give any Plegian brigands who are ransacking his halidom, the sole remaining man is not a coward who folds once he sees his backup is dead. Unfortunately this also means a second round of fighting, and more chances for someone on Chrom’s side to be hurt. And fortunately, when the stranger catches a thrown axe, it is with the inside of her billowing coat, and not any critical piece of flesh, and Frederick’s lance puts the bandit down before he can do any real damage to anyone.

And then there is no time to waste, as the town is on fire and the four of them cannot put it out by themselves. Lissa scrambles about trying to convince the townspeople that it’s safe to come out and help, and Chrom and Frederick search for any buckets; by the time Chrom returns to where he remembers a rain barrel, he finds that the woman has scaled one of the houses and stands on a roof about fifteen feet away from the crackling flames. 

There’s something admirable in her audacity, that she’s running towards danger for the sake of helping others. That’s the kind of person who would be a good fit for the Shepherds. And Chrom’s no tactician or politician, but he can read the writing on the wall the same as anyone else: Plegia’s building up to something, and Ylisse needs to be prepared to fight back. 

They need all the help they can find, here and everywhere else.

-

It is late afternoon before all of the fires have been put out and the wounded villagers treated. Chrom has not met a person who is not profusely thankful, offering anything they have as repayment. He politely refuses offerings of meager coin pushed on him - “it’s all we have but please, milord, you saved our homes, you saved us–” - to make his way back to the center of town. A man who had earlier introduced himself as one of the village elders greets them there.

“You must at least stay the night, milord,” he implores. “We would happily toast the valor of you and your companions with a feast - where has the last one of you gotten off to, do you know?”

Chrom looks to Frederick on his right and Lissa on his left and back at the older man. “You mean - that woman? She wasn’t with us - you mean she isn’t from here?”

“Goodness, no.” The man shakes his head. “We would surely know if we had any mages in town. I have never seen her before.”

Lissa has already begun to imagine, out loud, what sort of meal they might be having when there, rounding the corner, comes the stranger woman. She stops dead when she sees an already-assembled group of people staring at her, and she flinches when the town elder calls her over. Her eyes do not linger long on him even as he extends his grateful invitation to her; they rove, suspiciously, between all of them. “That’s a generous offer, sir,” she replies, her eyes finally settling on the village elder, “but I’m afraid I must decline. I’ve been away from home long enough and my mother will be getting worried.”

“Likewise, we must be returning to Ylisstol,” Frederick says - exactly what Chrom had expected him to say. They need to report back to Emmeryn. 

Lissa, however, stops in the middle of a sentence. “Wait, what? Frederick, it’s nearly dark! We—”

“We will simply make camp where we find ourselves and hunt for our sustenance - as I believe you said that you would be ‘getting used’ to roughing it?”

Frederick has a point. She did say that, and from her expression, she clearly remembers saying that and can’t accuse him of making it up. “Frederick,” she says wearily, “sometimes I really hate you.”

The woman covers a laugh with her hand. “If you’re also heading north,” she says, “my mother and I live along the road back to Ylisstol. If we leave now, we should be able to make it before nightfall and you can have a roof to sleep under for the night - and I won’t have to worry if I run into another pack of brigands on the road.”

It’s a practical suggestion, but there’s something strange about the way she speaks it - a catch in her voice after she offers them her open door, and then the hasty addition. Like her offer of assistance would be too suspicious if she didn’t also gain something from it. Like people don’t help each other only for the sake of helping each other, like there always has to be a reward, but she was here in this town fighting bandits alone and might easily have disappeared without getting anything in return. And Frederick frowns, like he does find that offer suspicious, because he finds everything suspicious - that is Frederick’s way. And Chrom thinks of Emmeryn, and will do as his heart wills him, and he answers, “I think we all would be grateful for a roof after the day it’s been - my sister especially.”

“Hey!” Lissa aims to stomp down on his foot, but Chrom gets out of the way quicker than she can strike. “You - you shut it!”

The woman lifts her hand again, obviously shielding a smile from the way her cheeks rise to her eyes. “Oh, of course,” she says, lowering her hand and failing to compose her face into a stern expression as she tilts her body just slightly in towards Lissa. “He’s using you as the excuse.”

“Exactly!” Lissa cries, and the stranger’s mischievous smile widens and she doesn’t seem to think to hide this one. “Don’t listen to a word he says about me. He’s called me delicate before - delicate! As if!”

“Let’s not start this again,” Chrom says.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have started it—!”

Frederick clears his throat. “That is generous of you, milady, but as you said - if we leave now.” He glances to the sky, tracking the position of the sun and the length of the shadows. “So we should, then, be off.”

The woman straightens up. “Of course,” she says with a sharp nod, and already her teasing feels distant or imagined. She dropped her guard and then snapped it back up, and that just makes Chrom all the more curious as to who she is and what her story is. “That we should.”

“My name is Lissa, by the way,” Lissa says. “And this is Chrom, my brother - you actually shouldn’t listen to anything he says, not just about me - and Frederick.”

Frederick gives a curt nod of acknowledgement. “Pleasure to meet you,” Chrom says.

“Likewise,” the woman replies. “My name is Robin.”

She has short hair, a pale, sandy blonde lighter in shade than either Lissa or Emmeryn’s. Her long, dark coat has maroon detailing along the arms and through the interior and, as she offers when questioned, more than a few pockets sewn within it. Frederick’s first line of inquiry - as suspiciously as he ever asks such things - as they set off down the road is where she learned to fight, and she reaches within her coat and produces a book on battle tactics. “My mother was a mercenary tactician, and a mage,” she says. “She taught me everything she knew, and the other members of her company taught me the basics of the sword.”

“A tactician, huh,” Chrom says. “The Shepherds could really use one of those now.”

“Is that so?” Robin asks. “Is the situation with the brigands getting worse? The news we get from town was always of smaller incursions such as that, but nothing more.”

She’s eager for news from Ylisstol and hangs intently on Chrom’s every word about the progression of the situation with Plegia. If she lives a few hours’ walk from such a small town, it’s no surprise that she’s not up-to-date. 

When Frederick returns to the question of her skills and Robin proves, among other skills, an uncanny knack for knowing where exactly in her tactics book to find certain references or information. It’s almost like a game, as Frederick or Chrom opens discussion of a cavalry or infantry formation and Robin immediately produces pages of diagrams in her book. As battlefield experience goes, she admits to having little - but Chrom’s recruited people to the Shepherds who have none at all, and Robin has already proven that she has quick reflexes and keeps a level head in a fight.

Gods, he’s really considering this. Ylisse is in dire straits. 

“Have you always lived around here?” Chrom asks at a lull in the tactical discussion. Robin has a bit of an accent he can’t place; it isn’t the Plegian accent he’s familiar with, but she doesn’t sound quite Ylissean either. 

The way she looks at him suggests that she knows the question buried beneath that: where are you from? A question of allegiance - though allegiance does not always correlate with one’s place of birth - but Frederick would probably be furious if Chrom didn’t ask before he asks his other question. “I spent my childhood in Ferox,” she says. “Until I was - eight or nine, maybe?”

Her pointed gaze lingers on Chrom for a moment longer, as if asking him if that answer is good enough, until Lissa pipes up, “Isn’t it cold in Ferox?”

“I have seen snow,” says Robin solemnly, “in every month of the year.”

Lissa scrunches up her nose. “That’s horrible!” 

“It would have its charms, in moderation,” Robin replies.

“So, like, just a bit of snow sometimes would be nice,” Lissa says. “Like in the winter. Having a bit of snow in moderation in the winter, like we have here, is nice. That’s what you mean?”

Robin scratches her cheek. “Yeah, that’s - I deserve that, don’t I?”

“It was pretty silly,” Lissa says. “But you’ve sounded pretty smart otherwise, so it’s okay. You know how many silly things my brother says in a day–” 

“None at all,” Chrom cuts in. 

“—but without anything smart to balance it out?” Lissa continues, as though Chrom did not speak.

Frederick, as ever, stoically perseveres, his eyes on the horizon. Long ago he wisely chose that he would not involve himself in petty sibling squabbles. Robin, however, has not yet had cause to make that choice. “You’re awfully mean to your brother,” she says - as if she hadn’t joined Lissa in it back in town. 

Lissa shrugs. “Yeah, but that’s what little sisters are supposed to be.”

Robin raises her eyebrows. “Is that so?” she asks, glancing to Chrom for confirmation, as though he’s going to say yeah, my little sister is doing exactly what she’s supposed to be doing every day of her life by calling me a dummy. 

“Do you have any siblings?” Chrom asks. He thinks that her answer may clear the matter up quickly, or add a confounding new layer to it.

She shakes her head. “Just myself and my mother.”

“Lissa is convinced, that as my baby sister, it’s what she’s supposed to do,” Chrom says. “It does not mean she’s actually supposed to.”

Lissa skips up behind him and tries to kick him in the back of the leg. 

“I still don’t understand,” Robin says. 

“You won’t,” Chrom says. Lissa tries again to kick him. 

“I find it better to simply carry on and not acknowledge any squabbling,” Frederick says. “It will pass momentarily.” 

Robin nods and steps up beside him, leaving Chrom with room to try to ruffle Lissa’s hair while Lissa continues to try to kick him in return. A part of him has concerned himself with the impression that this will make on Robin, but she already seems to have taken easily to Lissa - and most of the Shepherds could be said to be a bit eccentric. If she couldn’t handle Lissa then what would her introduction to the other Shepherds look like?

He might be getting a bit ahead of himself.

Frederick and Robin are discussing weapons training, and if Chrom has heard right, Robin has been running the same drills since she was eight. “After we left the mercenaries, there was no one to teach me,” she says, and yes, that really does sound like it - and that means that Robin was a child traveling around with a bunch of mercenaries. Her mother worked as a mercenary with a child in tow. It’s impressive, Chrom thinks, if unfortunate.

He should just go for it. At a lull in the conversation, he clears his throat and steels himself. “Robin,” he says, and she sharply turns to look at him, eyes wide and then narrowing in suspicion. “I meant what I said earlier about the Shepherds needing a tactician. I know this is a very large thing to ask so suddenly of someone I’ve just met, but you’ve proven yourself willing and able to fight for the people of Ylisse - I’d be honored if you would consider joining us.”

“Join—” Her eyes widen again. “You want me to join your… Shepherds, as a tactician?”

“I do,” Chrom replies. “You are more than free to say no—”

“Milord,” Frederick says. “This is very sudden indeed.”

“I know, Frederick. But I said to you the other day - we have to be on the lookout for others willing to help us, no matter where we might find them. Even if your answer is no, Robin, and I’d understand that, I’d rather ask than wonder.”

Robin is quiet, her jaw moving like she keeps stopping moments before a question surfaces. Finally she says, “There are more than just the three of you, I hope?”

“Wh - yes! There are.” Her answer is a question that is not an outright rejection, so Chrom tells her a little bit about the others within the ranks of the Shepherds. He explains that they go wherever they’re needed, because the pegasus knights have to focus on the border and especially the Exalt, and with the situation with Plegia as it is, there’s more and more need to keep the Exalt protected. Robin is ready with a deluge of questions, but when she has exhausted them, she gives no further answer. That she has not outright said no bodes well - though Chrom tries to temper that hope. She has not said yes, either. 

-

The sun is gone from sight and its light fading in the sky when Robin leads them off the road, into the trees. Frederick lights a torch which he carefully maneuvers beneath the hanging branches, and Robin conjures a ball of lightning that hovers above her head and illuminates little more than the ground directly beneath their feet. Chrom can sense Frederick’s ever-increasing suspicion - it would be easy for them to disappear here.

“Before we arrive,” Robin says, stepping over a tree root which Lissa stumbles on, “I should warn you that my mother is - well, she can be - she’s rather… brusque. If she starts to make you feel like you’ve personally offended her, you haven’t; that’s just how she is, I promise.”

She stops, holding up a tree branch to let the three of them easily duck beneath it. Lissa’s furious grumbling does not cease, but she grumbles something that might be a thanks in Robin’s direction. Robin smiles, just a little.

“Just as long as you’d understand some of the other Shepherds to be rather… odd,” Chrom says. He told her that the Shepherds have come from all manner of backgrounds, with all manner of skills. And while he’s sure that when he described Miriel as a scholar of magic, Robin can probably conjure in her head an image that’s similar to the real Miriel, describing Sully as a dedicated knight doesn’t capture what makes her Sully. And then what can even be said about the likes of Vaike?

Robin lets go of the branch behind him. “I think we have an agreement,” she says, and Chrom though he wants to does not ask if that is an agreement as someone who would be their tactician, because how weird the Shepherds are won’t actually matter to her if she never meets or joins them.

Lives alone in the woods with her mother is still very much not in the kind of recruit Chrom expected to be considering, to be hoping for, but - Ylisse is in dire straights, indeed. Lives alone in the woods with her mother is the start of fairy tales of witches who eat children. 

And just as it seems that they will forever be surrounded by trees, just as Chrom is seriously trying to dig up the memory of any such witch stories, they step forth into a clearing. A fence, half constructed, partially circles a chicken coop, and past it sits a plain, weather-worn house. “Mama!” Robin calls, breaking the spell of the quiet hum of nature. “Mama, I’m back! And I brought company, so don’t be alarmed!” She glances around and stares at the chicken coop for a moment longer, and then yells louder, “Mama!”

The door of the house swings open. “I heard your squawking the first three times, birdie,” rasps a voice from within, and Robin’s magic lightning-light is joined by three small white flames which pop up into the air above the stoop. They illuminate an older woman with a stress-lined face and thin hair the same color as Robin’s where it isn’t starting to gray. “What in hell do you mean, you brought company?”

Robin holds out a hand and gestures to them. “Mama, this is Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick. They’re part of a militia and they helped me fight off brigands from town. I offered them a place to stay on their way back to Ylisstol. Everyone, this is my mother, Morrigan.”

Morrigan has the same cold and appraising glare as her daughter does. Even as she approaches Robin, her wary eyes continue to rove across Chrom, Frederick, and Lissa. She takes her daughter by the chin and turns her head side to side before she roughly lifts one of Robin’s arms away from her side, like she’s inspecting her. “Mama,” Robin sighs. “I’m not hurt.”

“Hmph.” Morrigan drops Robin’s arm and, over her shoulder, meets Chrom’s eyes with that withering gaze again. “Then I suppose I should thank these strangers for bringing my daughter home in one piece.”

“Not at all,” Chrom replies. “She helped us a great deal, as well.”

Morrigan’s attention snaps back to Robin. “Then you haven’t learned a thing from this, have you?”

Robin frowns. “What am I supposed to have learned? That everyone in town was right when they worried about being attacked? That I was right when I said they had no one to protect them? 

“They did have someone to protect them!” Morrigan waves her hand through the air, a broad, sweeping gesture that encompasses Chrom, Frederick, and Lissa all. “But what of you, next time you go running off alone to defend strangers?”

She warned them that her mother was brusque, but Chrom starts to think she did not warn them that they would walk right into the middle of an ongoing argument.

“I’m not going to hide away while the countryside burns around us!” Robin says. Her gloved hands at her sides tense into fists, and she glances back at Chrom. “And I won’t be alone next time. They asked me if I’d come with them and help them fight, and I will.”

Chrom has spent this long waiting for her answer and now he’s been blindsided by it. “Wait,” he says. “You will?”

He’s not sure either of the women heard him. Morrigan stands statue-still, her expression unreadable; Robin stares back. “I know what you’re going to say,” Robin says, “and I—”

“Grab more firewood on your way in, if you please, birdie,” Morrigan says, turning away from her daughter and to the door. “Since I’ll be cooking up extra for our company.”

The door snaps shut behind her.

“Oh dear,” Lissa says.

Robin’s mouth, still open, closes slowly. She stares at the door. “That was,” she says, dragging a hand through her hair, only for it to immediately fall back into place over her forehead, “not what I thought she was going to say.”

“Er, right,” Chrom says. “Listen, Robin, I know I was the one to ask if you’d come with us, but if - I don’t want to be the person responsible for ruining your relationship with your mother—”

“Oh, it’s not you,” Robin says, directing them around the house to a pile of unsplit firewood and an axe, which Frederick immediately grabs and sets to work. Chrom takes the pieces he has chopped down to size, while Robin and Lissa gather the splinters into a kindling pile. “We argued before I left, too. She told me not to be stupid and risk my life, so then I snuck out and left before she got up the next morning.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye?” Lissa asks, her mouth hanging open. Chrom knows she is imagining doing that to Emm - how unthinkable to set off on a mission without their sister knowing. But Emm would never try to stop them, either; they all know what they must do for their people. They all agree on the responsibilities and the cost. Robin and her mother, evidently, don’t.

“We would have started arguing again,” Robin says. She picks up a sliver of bark that cracked off of a log and slowly bends it until it snaps. “I’d say I couldn’t stand by and do nothing; she’d say that it’s foolish to put myself into such danger for the sake of people who wouldn’t do the same in return.”

“What do you mean by that?” Chrom asks. “That - doesn’t seem right, to assume that of people without knowing them.”

“Yeah!” Lissa agrees. “Everyone in town was really grateful! They would’ve fed us!”

She turns a glare on Frederick, presumably for not letting them stay and indulge in that feast. Frederick, however, is not looking at her - and anyway, he would tell her anyway that she still has a roof to sleep under and someone else assisting with the meal, so she cannot complain. They could, he would say, be sleeping in the woods.

“Back when we were still with the mercenaries,” Robin says, “my mother saved every bit of gold she could. After years and years she had enough that every little town we passed through she’d ask around if there was enough room for a mother and her daughter to settle. But all the same people who gladly paid for her to risk her life and drive off a few ruffians balked at the thought of actually letting her - us - into their communities.” 

She stares at the pieces of bark in her hands and drops them into one of the coat pockets where she has been gathering kindling. “It’s easy to be grateful to a stranger who sets off down the road at the end of the day; harder to welcome one into your peaceful village where you’ve known everyone since the day they were born. So we keep to ourselves out here, and she travels into town every week or two to trade, and we’ve always managed like that.”

“Until now,” Frederick says, “when we find you in a town under attack, rather than keeping safely to yourself.”

He does not try to conceal the air of mistrust which hangs around his words. 

“Mama came home last week telling how bandit attacks are more and more frequent,” Robin replies, “and that people in the village are afraid that they’ll be hit soon. The forest out here will burn the same as a town if we hide away waiting for war to reach us. Or, I could go to meet it and perhaps make a better defense - I understand your suspicions, but all I can tell you is the truth. I heard they were afraid and I wanted to do something.”

“And the truth is, Frederick, that she helped us,” Chrom reminds him. 

“And the truth is that the task of wariness has always fallen to me,” says Frederick. “Someone must be.”

“You and my mother are quite alike in that regard,” Robin says. 

Frederick nods curtly. When the four of them return soon to Morrigan with the requested wood, they find that she has not started food preparations yet; she has waited to ask for their help. And that means that Frederick has an excuse to hover by Lissa’s shoulder. Make sure she doesn’t hurt herself (of course she’s not going to hurt herself; she knows how to cook). Make sure everything that goes into the meal is something that should be there (Frederick would hover to keep careful watch of ingredients anyway, but he is polite enough that he would rather have the excuse).

(Chrom wonders if the reason that Morrigan waited was to give them the excuse.)

The house is not furnished for guests, and when it is time to take their meal, Chrom finds himself seated on the floor with Frederick and Robin. A stool in the corner goes unused; Robin had insisted that she did not invite guests in so that they could all sit on the floor, Frederick had insisted that Lissa and Chrom seat themselves before him, and Chrom had insisted that he couldn’t further impose on Robin by kicking her away from her own table. 

“You’re all so stubborn,” Lissa says from where she sits above him at the table with Morrigan, and even though Chrom isn’t looking at her, he knows she is rolling her eyes. 

“If they all wish to be so foolishly sacrificing, then that is their prerogative,” Morrigan says. She almost sounds as if she is making a joke. 

Robin shed her long coat when everyone came inside, but she still wears her gloves. “Yes Mama, it certainly is,” she says, and as she lifts her bowl to drink the broth her eyes flicker towards Chrom in a way that he can only think means something like watch this or well this had to come back up sooner or later. 

Morrigan sighs deeply. “So,” she says, her attention turning without even a glance towards Robin, “this militia of yours.”

She asks many of the same questions that Robin did, but every single one of them feels particularly pointed in a way that Robin’s didn’t. And that makes Chrom feel like every answer he gives is the wrong one, especially the times when Morrigan will glance at Robin and something will pass between them. But whether they agree or disagree with each other, Chrom can’t begin to guess.

Only once everyone finished cleaning their dishes does Morrigan finally address her daughter again. “You know what I’m going to say, birdie.”

“Yes, Mama,” Robin says. 

“And you’re going to tell me none of it changes your mind, is that so?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Then that’s it, is it not? If nothing I’ve already told you will stop you, then I’ve nothing new to say that will change your mind now. You well made your point running off like that.”

It is dark outside, and in the quiet inside, even past the windows, Chrom can hear the chirping and chittering of the insects in the woods. He almost wishes to grab Lissa and Frederick and drag them out into the night; this feels like a conversation that no one else should be privy to. Robin stands rooted in place, still holding a towel for drying dishes, staring at her mother who has crossed the room and opened a door on the far wall.

“You could at least give me your blessing,” Robin says quietly. “If I’m going no matter what, I could at least not feel like I’m abandoning you.”

“My blessing to throw yourself onto the front line of a fight?” Morrigan asks, her hand still on the doorknob, and Chrom glimpses what appears to be a bedroom past that. “I want you safe. I can’t tell you I’m okay with this.”

“We’ll burn the same out here as the towns do,” says Robin. “I would rather face the bastards with the torches - die on my feet if I would die either way.”

“There’s plenty terrible fates besides death. You know if you’re captured by those bastards, you’ll be lucky if all they do is kill you.”

Lissa shudders. As royalty of Ylisse, she would be spared from death by her use as a hostage, instead, but Chrom knows that he would rather die than be used against Emmeryn in such a way, and he suspects that Lissa feels the same. Anyone else - especially a woman - captured would face one of several other dire fates.

“I know, Mama.” Robin cracks the knuckles on her right hand. That statement, at least, seems to weigh on her; her words lack the same degree of confidence as her prior answers.

“You do know,” Morrigan agrees. “You’re a smart girl despite yourself.” She sighs. “You’ve my permission to take my damn coat with you, though I can’t fathom what you like so much about it.”

Robin straightens her shoulders. “It has good pockets for tomes and other books,” she says brightly. 

“You know how to sew,” Morrigan says. “You’ve plenty of coats of your own to add book pockets to.”

“But this one already has book pockets,” Robin says. “And I know it’s sturdy enough to take whatever I put it through.”

Morrigan shakes her head. “That damned coat will outlive us both if you’re not careful.”

“I’m careful, Mama.”

“Hm.” With that, Morrigan disappears into the bedroom, leaving Robin staring at the door that closes behind her. 

The only sounds that follow come from beyond the windows and walls of the house. Robin sets the dishrag down and starts massaging her hand again.

“You know,” Lissa says faintly, “you really don’t have to come with us.”

Robin shakes her head. “I told you this would happen no matter what,” she says. “We argued before I left; we’d still be arguing if I came back alone. She’s just trying to protect me but I can’t just - hide here. Meeting you was - it’s safer for me to go with you than to go off alone again. And I probably would.” She reaches towards a chair but as she lowers herself, she ends up on the floor instead, her back resting against the leg of the table. “I feel like I have to go. But I can’t be angry at her. She just worries. She never wanted me to have to fight the way she did.”

“I would hope that most parents should feel the same,” Chrom says, and he thinks of the mess that his father left Emmeryn and hates him again for it.

Robin’s mouth twists into a grimace. Is it over her mother’s protectiveness, or is it a thought about another parent? What brought Morrigan into the mercenary life - what brought the two of them out of Ferox to Ylisse, alone, instead?

When Robin next speaks, she has more questions about Ylisse’s military situation, and they discuss that such situation until she retires to bed in the same room as her mother, leaving Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick to the open floor of the living area. “Better than the woods, right?” Robin asks Lissa with a wink.

“Yeah, Frederick,” Lissa says after Robin has gone. “You wouldn’t have trusted her and had us sleep in the woods.”

-

Chrom wakes in the morning just before dawn. Lissa is still asleep and the bedroom door is closed; Frederick is nowhere in sight, but from outside comes the sound of axe hitting wood. Chrom eases open the front door - its latch already lifted - and around the side of the house finds Frederick splitting more large logs from the firewood pile.

“I woke when Robin left,” Frederick explains. “She said that she intended to go hunting and chop more firewood for her mother before she left with us. I am simply providing my assistance, as thanks for allowing us to stay the night.”

“That’s kind of you, helping out even though you’re sure she’s going to turn around and stab us in the back,” Chrom says. 

Frederick frowns at him. “I am not sure of any such thing, milord. I am cautious, as is prudent, but I always hope that my suspicions should be proven wrong.”

“Frederick?”

“Yes, milord?”

“I was teasing.”

Frederick continues to frown, as though the very concept of a joke eludes him. 

Almost all of the wood has been cut down to size by the time Robin returns with a wild turkey slung over her shoulder. She grimaces at them as she approaches. “What are you doing?” she asks, as though the answer is not obvious as Frederick brings the axe down on a long branch. As though the idea of someone helping her is still so inconceivable. “I said I would handle those–”

“I was already awake and with idle hands,” Frederick replies. “This way we will sooner be able to leave for Ylisstol - and consider this our thanks for providing a place to stay the night, as well.”

This thoroughly practical explanation seems to appease her, and without further protest, she simply says, “Thank you.”

On returning inside, they find both Morrigan and Lissa awake - though Lissa is yawning a great deal - preparing breakfast. “I wondered if you had run off with my daughter and left me this one as a replacement,” Morrigan says gruffly. 

“He’d regret it if he did!” Lissa huffs, staring pointedly at Chrom, though Morrigan’s you could refer to all three of them. 

Morrigan’s attention turns to the turkey that Robin hands her. “Birdie, why were you out hunting?”

“I wanted to make it easier on you when I left,” Robin says. “So you won’t immediately have to go yourself.”

“I’m not infirm, you know,” Morrigan says. “Really now, worrying after me when you’re about to go marching off to battle.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you–”

Chrom really, truly wishes that they wouldn’t start arguing again, but he suspects if he tries to intervene, they’ll both turn on him instead. Lissa’s shoulders slowly hunch up towards her ears, like a turtle retreating into its shell.

“Hell’s bells, girl, I know you better than to think that.” Morrigan sighs and shakes her head. Her tone has less bite than it did yesterday. “Even when you left without a damned note, I didn’t think you were abandoning me. You know what your problem is, birdie?” She smacks Robin’s shoulder with the back of her hand. “You keep looking back over your shoulder while you’re trying to march forward and you’ll get nowhere for it.”

“You’d really prefer I just go?” Robin asks, sounding confused and, even more than that, indignant. “Just leave without any thought to what I’ve left behind?”

“Well, I’d know that you have some confidence in the choice you’re making,” Morrigan says, “if you’re willing to burn your bridges behind you.”

“I’m plenty certain of my path, Mama,” Robin says. “Even without starting any fires.”

Morrigan huffs and turns away. “Then I suppose that will have to be enough.”

Chrom wonders what ashes Morrigan has left behind in her time.

-

Within an hour, they have eaten and prepared to leave. Robin has to be assured several times that Ylisstol has several libraries and large bookstores before she is willing to remove some of the books from her pack and trade them out for extra clothes. Morrigan watches silently, grumbling some answers only when Robin asks her which tomes she would rather keep here. Despite his time with Ricken and Miriel, Chrom doesn’t recognize any of the tomes; he can only guess, based on the magic she cast yesterday, that the two tomes Robin selects, each emblazoned with a yellow rune on its cover, are probably Thunder magic.

He pulls Lissa and Frederick outside soon after, to give Robin and Morrigan a private moment to say goodbye. It gives Frederick one last opportunity for questions as well: “Milord, you are certain?”

“I am,” Chrom says. “She went out of her way to help, at great risk to herself. My heart tells me we can trust her.”

“Your heart, yes; and what of your head?” Frederick asks. 

“My head is telling me that this situation with Plegia will not be so easily solved,” Chrom says. “We can use the assistance of anyone willing to offer it.”

“I like her,” Lissa says. “I think she’ll be a great addition to the Shepherds! You worry too much, Frederick.”

“I find that I worry quite the proper amount,” Frederick replies, “given the circumstances.”

The door creaks open, and the object of one of those worries steps out onto the stoop. Morrigan clasps one of Robin’s hands between both of her own. “I know, Mama,” Robin says, exasperated, like she’s said it again several times already. “I know. But I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Hmph. I’ll just have to believe you, won’t I?” Morrigan pats Robin’s hand twice before releasing her, slowly, her bluster failing to mask her reluctance. “Goodbye, birdie. Don’t be a fool.”

“It’s not goodbye,” Robin says. “Ylisstol isn’t far. You know where to find us - and I’ll be home again, once everything’s calmed down.”

Morrigan shakes her head. “I don’t need you to home to stay. I just need you safe, wherever you are.” She turns her dark, piercing gaze over to Chrom, Lissa, and Frederick. “And I hope for all your sakes that I won’t hear that these skirmishes have turned to war.”

“The Exalt would say the same,” Chrom replies. And he - of course he doesn’t want war, either, but there well might come a time that these incursions turn to one, no matter what Ylisse - and Emmeryn - want. Emmeryn can hope, but Chrom has to prepare.

“Hmph.” Morrigan does not sound convinced, but she has not sounded particularly convinced by anything, especially not where the intentions of other people are involved. “But those fools in charge of Plegia hardly seem to agree, now do they?”

They call him the Mad King for a reason.

Robin steps back from Morrigan, slowly, and then another, until she stands with Chrom, Frederick, and Lissa. “I’m sorry I didn’t finish building the fence, Mama,” Robin says.

“Bah.” Morrigan waves a dismissive hand at her. The facade has sprung back up over the concern she showed mere moments ago. “If you apologize for everything you didn’t finish, you’ll be here all day. Get going, you fool girl. Stop looking back.”

“Yes, yes,” Robin says with a smile and a small laugh. “We’re going.”

“Thank you,” Frederick says, bowing to Morrigan, “for your hospitality. It is greatly appreciated.”

“Yeah, Chrom probably would’ve hunted us a bear to eat or something!” Lissa says. “Thanks for not feeding us bear!”

At that, Morrigan laughs, but it still sounds strained. Why wouldn’t it - she put these strangers up in her home and in return they stole her daughter from her. Chrom elbows Lissa, and to Morrigan, he says, “Thank you,” hoping she’ll understand that it is, really, about much more than the prospective bear meat.

He hunts normal animals, usually. Why does Lissa only remember when he brings down a bear?

“Bear’s not so bad,” Robin says, taking the lead out of the clearing to guide them back to the main road. The forest swallows them in an instant, the greenery pressing in on all sides. Robin weaves her way along a faint trail that Chrom can only see because he knows she’s following it; she stops and holds the branches of a bush back for Lissa to pass by.

“What?” Lissa says. “You’re crazy! No offense. I can’t believe we’ve let a lunatic join the Shepherds. We already have a lunatic leading us!”

“Very funny,” Chrom says, easing his way past Robin and waiting for her to resume her guidance.

But she stands there, eyes blank, and Chrom follows her gaze through the trees and the overgrown brush to catch a glimpse of the house out in the clearing, its front door already shut.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

She tears her eyes away and smiles at him. It looks strained at the edges, but the bright spark of confidence is back in her voice as she answers, “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

[fbfh]

makey makeover - rodrick x hyperfeminine reader

wc: 1.5k

pairing: rodrick x gn hyperfeminine!reader

warnings: rodrick isn't used to being taken care of but only briefly mentioned at the end, rodrick does not know what hyaluronic acid is

summary: rodrick can never say no to you, but if it means having you straddle his lap while you use all your skincare products on him and listen to music together, he wouldn't want to say no anyway.

song recs: makey makeover - crazy ex girlfriend cast, jesus of suburbia - green day, perfect day - hoku

a/n: I started writing a kids book yesterday?? like I finished the first chapter and outline in one sitting???? it wasn't at all planned but when the muse strikes yk. Anyway I don't think it will take me as long to write so if you wanna read a chapter book about magic and girlhood and unicorns and other mythical creatures with bella sara vibes that's probs gonna be ready reasonably soon lol

tags: @yesv01 @magcon7280 @dustyinkpages @the-snake-pit @kiara7777 @inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 @followingthefanfiction @2220825 @Maggzsworld @xiaos_crustytoenails @ionlymadethisaccountbcihadto @strawberryjen124 @Isaentremundos @hxnbah

Rodrick likes to think he's a pretty tough guy. Between being born and raised on the rebellious messages of pop punk music, and the nonconforming ideologies of emo and other alt subcultures, Rodrick knows in his bones that he'll never let the man break his spirit. He'll never bow down to someone just because they want him to do something. He's had countless opportunities to stand by these beliefs at school and at home, and he has never - not once - come close to doing anything for someone simply because they want him to. Rodrick has been confident in his ability to never give into other people’s orders, no matter how much they demand of him. 

Until now.

“Pretty please, Roddy…?” You pout your glossy lips at him, blinking up at him and batting your doll like eyelashes, and that’s all it takes to make him fold.

“...I guess, if you really-” He’s cut off by an excited squeal from you, and he’s glad that you’re too distracted to notice him blush. Rodrick has never felt his willpower give in so fast, but as he watches you rush around your room and smile, delighted that he’d agreed, he realizes that he’d do pretty much anything you tell him too. Ben and Chris would call him a pussywhipped simp, but… no, that’s pretty much it. He chuckles a little at the thought, watching the pile of stuff grow. He recognizes nail polish and tweezers, but that’s about it.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” You say, rambling happily as you settle down on your bed across from him. “I’ve been wanting to do self care stuff but I’ve done so many everything showers and self care nights there’s nothing left for me to do on myself. But you…”

You take his face in your manicured hands, moving him around to inspect more closely.

“You are in serious need of a facial.”

Rodrick doesn’t really process what you’re saying, he just loves when you touch his face like that. 

“...Uh, yeah totally.” He mutters absentmindedly, distracted by your sweet smell. After a moment, he processes what you said, and chuckles, leaning back into your silky pink pillows. “Babe, you can do anything to me, anywhere, anytime.” 

You giggle, feeling your face flush a little as you get all your stuff organized. Rodrick runs his hands up and down your waist, fidgeting with your soft fluffy pajama shorts and big loded diper shirt you wear all the time. He sees the little burn marks and worn out hems and realizes it’s the one you stole from him. He smiles softly, loving the way you look in it even more now. His attention is pulled back to you when you push something over his face, brushing his hair back. You adjust the fluffy cat ears on the headband, making sure you have access to his whole face. Rodrick giggles a little, knowing he must look a little out of place wearing a pierce the veil shirt and fluffy kitty cat headband. 

“I don’t think my forehead has been this exposed since like, 4th grade…” he chuckles.

“That’s good, you’ll have less sun damage that way.” You smile, putting some micellar water on a cotton pad. It’s a little cold to the touch, but after a moment, the feeling of you gently wiping over his face and neck ends up being way more relaxing than he had expected it to. You throw it away, and he hears it land in your trash can with a crinkle. 

“I’m gonna mist your face now, okay?” You say, and he nods. You spray rose water on his face, and Rodrick can’t get over how considerate you are to give him a heads up like that. Rodrick smiles a little as he adjusts to the subtle floral smelling facial spray he’s used to smelling on you. He basks in the quietness of your room, opening his eyes as he watches you sitting on his stomach and looking for the next product. You hesitate for a moment. You feel like something’s missing, but you can’t put your finger on it.

“Oh,” you say, reaching for your phone as you remember. You open up Spotify, and put your favorite playlist on shuffle - the one you and Roddy share. It’s full of both your favorite songs, mostly boiling down to early 2000’s pop punk and trashy pop. It’s chaotic but really does suit you both perfectly.  Rodrick smiles suddenly as he instantly recognizes the opening notes of Jesus of Suburbia begin to play. You take out your favorite serum, jasmine and blackberry hydrating jelly, and place a few drops around his face. 

“What’s that one?” Rodrick asks, picking up another bottle. 

“Hyaluronic acid.”

Rodrick looks at the little dropper bottle.

“Does it, like, melt the flesh right off your bones?” 

“No…?” You chuckle, massaging his cheekbones and jawline with your fingertips.

“Then why is it called hydroponic acid?” He asks rhetorically, “Acid is supposed to melt shit.”

You laugh again, and he makes a mental note to sample your laughter for a song at some point in the future. He doesn’t know which one yet, but he knows it will be his best one yet. 

You rub some cooling aloe vera gel into his skin, then take out your rose quartz gua sha stone. You tap your fingertips against his chest, and he looks at you with an amused smile.

“What does that do?”

He watches you work, eyes locked on you. He can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed and peaceful. 

“I’m prepping your lymphatic drainage system.” 

That clarified absolutely nothing for Rodrick, but he trusts you implicitly. You’re so good at so many things, but Christ, you could write a book on all that girly beauty stuff. It’s way more hardcore than people think it is. You know about all these acids and drainage systems and the pink rock thing, and even though he’s impressed, he’s not at all surprised by how good you are at all this stuff.

You begin gently gliding your gua sha over Roddy’s skin, working from his forehead down to his neck and jawline. He stops talking as you work, and it’s like you melt all of the stress out of his body through his face. He could fall asleep with you touching him so gently like this. After a while you rub some more cream into his face, then place something under his eyes that feels like thinly sliced jello.

“What the fuck?” He asks, bringing another laugh out of you. He watches you take two more of the weird jelly things and put them under your own eyes.

“They’re under eye masks.” You answer with a chuckle. “They hydrate your skin, depuff, and get rid of dark circles.”

“Huh…” he hums in response, playing with the patches as they sit on his face. 

Once you’ve used half your arsenal of skincare products on him, you peel off his sheet mask and let him sit up. You hand him a mirror, and as he sits up and stretches a little, kind of wishing you had more to do, he feels like he just woke up from the best sleep of his life. 

“So? What do you think?” You ask excitedly. He can’t help but crack a smile at how cute you are. Rodrick takes the mirror you offer him. When he sees his reflection, he almost doesn’t recognize himself. 

“Oh my god…” he says with a soft smile. He’s glowing. He doesn’t think he’s ever looked this soft and moisturized and… cared for before. He doesn’t even have any crusty eyeliner from yesterday smudged around his eyes. He can never get it off all the way, but one wave of your magic wand, and it’s gone. He laughs again, touching his cheek. He looks up at you in surprise.

“My face is so smooth…” “I know!” You exclaim in delight. “So, do you like facials after all?”

You have a feeling you already know the answer, but Rodrick looks up at you anyway.

“Yeah,” he states, pulling you in for a kiss, his lips soft and exfoliated, topped with your favorite strawberry lip balm. You think Rodrick is right, it does taste better in a kiss. After he pulls away, it takes him a minute for his brain to stop short circuiting. 

“So… uh, are we doing this again next weekend?” 

You laugh at his hopeful tone of voice, how he raises his eyebrows a little. 

“Yeah.” You nod, taking him in for another kiss. You take his hands in yours, looking at the stick and poke tattoo he got of the heart you drew on his hand in chemistry class, his little calluses from drumming. “Next week I can do something about your cuticles.”

[caligulawritesfanfiction]

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 date night

pairing ; rodrick heffley x f!reader

summary ; after date night, rodrick surprised you with a clean van— you know exactly what that means.

warnings ; SMUT,no plot, p in v, unprotected s*x, p*rn with little plot, creampie, choking, van s*x,

a/n ; unedited for now, a little short

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

“you like that, don’t you, princess? yeah, ya do…”

he grunts in your ear, hips slamming into your soaking cunt. he has you pressed face down in the back of his van. your moans echo off the metal walls one after another. you wanted to reply to his comment, but all that came out was a choked whine.

you have no worry of anyone hearing you two, being parked all the way in the back of an empty store parking lot.

he yanks you up by your hair, pulling you against his naked chest. he doesn’t relent on his hard, rough thrusts. the van is hot, and the air is damp with sex. you try to meet his movements half way, moving your ass against him in fervor.

“yeah, yeah, that’s it, babe.” your pussy clenches at his praise. he’s unashamed in his noises, groaning and moaning loudly in your ear. his hand snakes up to wrap around your throat. he grips it firmly, but knowing your limit. your eyes roll back, his cock hitting all the right places inside of you.

“pretty girl, gripping me so fucking tightly. no matter how many times i fuck you, always gripping me like this.”

“rodrick- oh!”

he fucks into you with pure lust. his hands letting go of her neck and down through the valley of her breasts to rub her clit, swollen from earlier foreplay. you sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling. he whispers in your ear, coaxing you through the overwhelming pleasure.

“you’re doing so good, my y/n, so so good for me.” he pinches your clit, swirling his middle and ring finger against it. roderick kisses your shoulder, up your neck, and against the shell of your ear.

pushing you back down on the floor of the vehicle, he flips you over in one single motion. he continues his merciless attack on your pussy while lifting your legs up and over his shoulders. the new found angle sends shivers up your spine. your whole body quivers. you pant and whine, his eyelined eyes locked on your face. it’s a beautiful sight—his cock rocking in and out of you, his lips parted and red from your kisses, his hooded eyes looking right into yours, his sweat shined chest.

he hits a particular spot within you, making you gasp, “roddy, right there, right fucking there-“

“here? right here, sweet girl?”

you nod frantically, “yes! yes!”

“roddy’s got you, don’t you worry…” he hits that spot— over and over and over. your walls clench against him, your breath hitching at his every thrust. the sweet pressure that’s been building inside you comes undone. you reach for something, anything, to grab onto to brace yourself. with your back arching, your eyes screwing shut and the fluttering of your pussy around him; he knows you’ve reached your climax.

“that’s it, oh fuck, so t- tight.” he mumbles through his own strained grunts, coming close himself. the clenching of your body coming undone does it for him. his hips stuttering one last time before spilling his load deep into you. your pussy milks him dry, sucking out every drop of cum it can. he pulls out, watching it leak onto the dark floor of the van. biting his lip at the sight.

he scoops it up and shoves two fingers back into your sore cunt. your body jerks at the overstimulation of him slowly fucking his spend back into you. he pulls his long, calloused fingers out covered in cum, a mix of his and your own.

“open”

you obediently open your mouth. he pushes them past your lips, and you suck the salty liquid off. he watches intently, his signature toothy smirk contorting onto his face. once he’s satisfied, he takes his fingers away and gives you a sweet, sloppy kiss.

“you were perfect,” you whisper as he plops down beside you.

“you’re the perfect one.”

[rodrickrulezz]

Five more minutes .ೃ࿐

hi!! this is my first post!! :33 enjoy!!

PAIRING: soft! rodrick heffley x fem!reader

wc: 405

┈⁺‧⋆·:☠︎♱˚₊⭒˖⁺‧⋆·:☠︎♱˚₊⭒˖⁺‧⋆·:☠︎♱˚₊⭒˖⁺‧⋆·:☠︎♱˚₊┈

A warm light pours into the room, shining through the open blinds, illuminating the plethora of band posters plastered over any available space of the wall. It was still. The rest of the Heffley family (and Rowley) still asleep enjoying their Saturday.

You, especially, nestled into your emo boyfriend. Your head pressed into the crook of his neck, the musk of his lingering cologne filling your nostrils.

Suddenly, your slumber was disturbed by your boyfriend cautiously slipping out of the skull duvet that enveloped both of you.

"Roddy?" Your voice raspy with sleep, called out to Rodrick.

As soon as your small voice reaches him, he whips his head back as if he didn't expect you to be awake.

"Oh hi baby, what are you doing up, hm? "

"What are you doing up? " You say back, you sit up rubbing the daze out of your eyes.

"I picked up a shift at work," he tucks a piece of stray hair behind your ear, "no one else wanted it."

A frown tugs the corners of your lips down, which makes his lips curl in the opposite way, into a smirk. "I won't be long, I promise." After slipping of his pyjama pants, he tugs his dark washed jeans up, he putting his studded belt on with a clink.

"You weren't going to wake me up." The frown still apparent on your lips.

He pulls his shirt over his head. After a beat of silence, he finally answers, "...no."

Rodrick sees your frown deepen. He can't help but smile at the sight of you: sleepy, pouty with bed hair.

" I didn't want to disturb you."

"But you could've at least said goodbye."

You watch him step closer, leaning down until his face his close to yours.

"Bye, sweet girl." He murmurs as he plants a soft kiss to your forehead, "happy?--"

You pull him towards you, a muffled grunt leaves him as his face makes contact with his pillows.

"Five more minutes.." You mumble as you melt back into the position you were both in minutes before.

Rodrick grumbles but stays, settling into his twin sized bed.

His fingers mindlessly strokes your hair, his eyes drift along the walls of his room debating something.

You trace the faded letters of his Avenged Sevenfold shirt sleepily, your eyes getting heavier by the second.

Rodrick leans down to your head, planting a short kiss to your temple and says, “Alright..five more minutes”

┈⋆·:☠︎♱˚₊⭒˖⁺‧⋆·:☠︎♱˚₊⭒˖⁺‧⋆·:☠︎♱˚₊⭒˖⁺‧⋆·:☠︎♱˚₊┈

hope you enjoyed this!! I'm open to kind constructive criticism and tell me what you liked so I can improve :33

[sadiesm]

i wrote some adam/roddy smut last night but it feels too short to post on ao3, so here is a tumblr exclusive:

body on body, until i'm all gone

He wants it. Adam’s lifting his body up into the pressure of every kiss Roddy plants on his neck. It makes his work sloppier, mouth opening wider as Adam tries to press their bodies ever closer together, like he wants Roddy’s teeth to break past his skin and sink into him.

The idea hits on some primal instinct, and Roddy suddenly needs to mark what’s his. He keeps enough of a grip on his mature mind to hold back, only ghosting his teeth across Adam’s neck. When he does nip, it’s soft enough not to leave a mark, hyper-aware that their bodies are always on display for the world to see.

But when it’s just the two of them, it’s easier to shut those prying eyes out. Adam tilts his head back, exposing more of the soft flesh. His fingers claw into Roddy’s hair, pulling his nose down to the surface of the skin. “Please,” he murmurs.

“You know I can’t.” Roddy’s voice betrays him, too husky to pretend like he could tear himself away if he wanted to. The opposite is true: if he buries himself into Adam, he worries he might never let go.

But Adam knows his fears too well. He curls a leg over Roddy’s thigh, pressing the bones of their hips together, so close they could meld together.

“I don’t care,” he says, his whine sharpened into a whisper. His breath prickles against Roddy’s ear. He shudders. “Do it. Show them I’m yours.”

A groan escapes from deep in Roddy’s gut as he finally bites down. Adam keens like a prey animal, his yelp smoothing out into a moan as Roddy releases, immediately looking for his work: two sets of teeth marks imprinted onto Adam’s skin, blooming pink in twin patterns across the freckled white.

Adam nudges Roddy further up his neck. He indulges both of their instincts as he marks Adam, sucking purple hickeys to compliment the red bite marks until there’s not a spot on him untouched. There’s no way they can hide it all. People are going to know that Adam was fucking someone, and, soon enough, the gossipers will start throwing around Roddy’s name.

But that’s what Adam wanted: to not have to hide their love anymore. After their high has faded and Roddy’s applying generous amounts of cream to his neck, he tells him just as much: “Let them talk. None of them get any, anyways, they’re in no position to judge.”

His confidence will disappear after he sleeps, fading as the marks deepen into violets and cherry reds. But for now, Roddy runs his hands across the bruises over and over again, feeling the same want that pushed him over the edge in smaller, softer thrums. At least here, Adam belongs to him. Someday, he always will.

[thosewickedlovelies]

Crossroads: the first meeting | Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: The first of your and Joel’s promised three meetings

Tags: honestly still none. demon!Joel. not an age gap fic. GN!Reader except for Joel referring to them once as ‘the lady’ for the purposes of being a Southern gentleman

Words: 1,723

Note: So this is a short chapter, but I think a necessary first one. I am basically happy with it however i've been staring at it for too long and my uterus is telling me it sucks but we're not waiting another week to post it so \*here we are*/

The next chapter will have much more ~intrigue~ (and im actually almost done with it already), so buckle in kiddos/fellow sluts 😎😅😘

Crossroads | Masterlist

“So what kind of powers do you have, exactly?” 

Joel slanted a glance at you, one eyebrow lifting sardonically. “Straight down to business, I see.”

You shrugged without apology, though your heart was trotting like a nervous horse. “If I want to make the best deal for myself, I should have as much information as possible, shouldn’t I?”

“A question like that don’t come without a price.” Joel stopped, right there on the sidewalk. “What’ll you give me for an answer?” His golden eyes gleamed, as pale as the sunshine falling all around.

You glanced up and down the street, shifting in place. In spite of your wishes, Joel had insisted that for your first meeting you show him around town. Every step you took through the place that had raised you prompted probing questions from him and terse answers from you. And now you were here, smack dab in the middle of Market Street with a representative of the devil himself, garnering all manner of curious looks. 

Joel’s unearthly aura didn’t come with an off switch, it seemed.

An idea seized you. “How about lunch?” You gestured to the building behind him. “Ruby’s does really good food. All the interesting people in town hang out there.”

Joel appeared taken aback by your offer. But he dutifully turned to the restaurant in question, scanning the signs proclaiming seasonal specials and a new cocktail menu.

“What’s a…gastropub?” He pronounces the word with suspicion, his brow wrinkling.

“Um- I’m not really sure, honestly. A place with nice food and nice drinks? They recommended me the whiskey I brought you.”

(Was he really going to give up such information for a lunch?) 

“Well…all right.”

“Great!” Joel’s answer barely finished twanging before you were dragging him inside. He looked even more startled by your hand on his arm.

“Table for two, please. Hi, Ruby.”

Contrary to what her name suggested, Ruby was not a redhead. Her hair was dyed an icy, platinum blond that hung halfway down her back in thick strands that belied her age. Her lipstick was her true namesake- she always wore a shade of rich, shimmering red. Occasionally it smudged into the wrinkles around her mouth, but when she grinned, radiating delight and her ever-present zest for life, nobody dared call her old. 

“Well, if it ain’t our little Kitten! How are ya, honey?” For all her diminutive stature, Ruby hugged with a force that squeezed the air out of you. 

Kitten? Joel kept his delight to himself.

“And who’s this handsome piece?” Ruby looked Joel up and down, her face full of mischief.

“This is my friend, uh…” You glanced at him.

“Joel.” He offered his hand, and when Ruby took it, he brought hers to his lips. 

“Well, ain’t he a charmer!” Ruby cooed. But her glance was suddenly sharp, and deep within Joel’s mind, a memory flickered. 

She snagged a passing server. “Roddy, honey, give Kitten and her friend Table 20 for me.” 

Table 20 turned out to be a booth on the far side of the room, distant enough from any other guests that they had a bit of privacy. Young Roddy offered to to take their drinks order with a fumbling nervousness. 

You ordered something sweet-sounding. Joel eyed the bar with contemplation. “Tell Ruby I’ll have any whiskey she thinks’ll suit,” he instructed.

And then you were alone. 

Your tongue dried up in your mouth. Joel seemed to fill the booth across from you, lounging with the same provocative carelessness he’d had when you first met. Why was it so different seeing him here, in a restaurant filled with people, than it was at a table he’d magicked up in the middle of nowhere?

It was still the eyes. Glinting like chips of amber, like twin signs proclaiming him not of this world; they were utterly at odds with his working-man aesthetic and the plastic-coated menu in his hands.

“So,” you prompted. “Your powers.”

“Uh-uh. I ain’t had my lunch yet.” Joel primly turned a page of the menu and studied it with rapt absorption.

Jaw clenching, you glared at your own menu. Irritating fucking demon.

The corner of his mouth twitched. 

–

Lunch was fucking delicious. The food always was here, but today the flavors seemed to sing, as if your anxiousness to keep Joel happy had infected the cooks. 

Joel set down his napkin with a deep breath. “Well, I can’t argue that you didn’t hold up your end of the deal. That's some of the best food I’ve had in years.”

“So…you’ll answer my question now?”

“What was it again?” Joel, resting his head back against the cushioned seat, cracked one eye lazily.

After a lunch of tentative but normal, if surface-level, conversation, you thought you had a clearer idea of the shape of him. You gave him an unamused look. “Your powers. How do they work? What can you do with them?”

“That’s two questions,” Joel pointed out. His eyes glimmered the same color as the whiskey in his glass. He swirled the remaining liquid, holding your gaze.

“But they’re related. Interconnected.”

Joel tipped his gaze skyward- though surely a demon couldn’t be praying to the heavens for patience. 

He downed his last mouthful of whiskey. “You mind if I get another?”

“Two whiskies, two questions,”​ you challenged, mimicking Joel’s brazen insolence.

“Walked right into that one,” Joel muttered. He caught Roddy’s eye and waggled the empty glass at him.

When Roddy deposited a fresh glass, Joel said, “And another one for the lady.”

“Oh, um-” You didn’t remember the name of your drink, but it had been delicious as its vivid red color suggested. “-yes, please, thank you.”

You sat in silence until your drink arrived. You wrapped your lips around the straw and took a deliberate suck. Your eyebrows raised. Well?

Joel looked away, clearing his throat. “How they work and what I can do with them are essentially the same question. My powers are based in…desires.”

“Desires,” you repeated. Heat prickled under your collar. 

“Yes. I don’t grant wishes for free. I make bargains, but the end result is the same- I get people what they want. That’s what my powers do. They make it easier for people to…articulate their desires. And then ask for them.” Joel sat back, regarding you with wary yellow eyes. 

“That’s why…”

“Why what?”

Your face went hot; you hadn’t meant to voice your thoughts aloud. “You have this...aura, don’t you? It makes everyone around you want to…do what they want. What they really want, I mean.”

“Yes,” Joel said simply.

“Can you turn it off?”

“No.”

“Can you make people do things?”

“No.” His voice was hard. “That’s a human excuse. ‘The devil made me do it.’” Joel sneered the words, but his anger wasn’t at you. You waited, silent, while it ebbed.

“I can…turn it up, I guess. I don’t usually. Feels like cheatin’. But that’s where the ‘tempting’ comes from.”

“Could you show me?”

He met your eyes again. You found yourself caught in their depths, like a fly in honey, unable to read whatever thoughts were behind them. His mouth twisted slightly. “Not here.”

Something to remember for next time, then. You sipped your drink, savoring its berry flavor.

“What would you call yourself? Are you…a demon?”

It was a fair question, you hoped. Joel’s face puckered, but he answered. “I suppose.”

“Have you always been a demon?”

“Jesus,” Joel muttered. “You ever heard of small talk? You already got my powers out of me today, and that was more than I shoulda said. Three dates, three questions.”

“Three dates?” You looked up, your eyes slightly wide.

“Three- business meetings.” With conscious effort he made his voice stern, but it was too late. He’d said date, and now your mouth was pressing itself flat to prevent a smile from slipping out. Joel looked away, his jaw ticking.

A thought occurred to you. “Do you go on dates? I mean, do you…have a life?” You winced at your clumsy phrasing.

Joel only grunted. “Technically. It ain’t as nice as a human life, but I am alive. I have…colleagues.” His mouth wrinkled as if he didn’t quite believe his own words, and he took a large swallow of whiskey. 

“H-how many of you are there?” You weren’t sure you wanted to know; you didn’t really expect him to answer. 

“‘Representatives’, like me? Not as many as you’d think. Other demons? Too many.”

Joel watched you, his eyes yellow as changing leaves in fall. Here one minute, gone the next. You stared back silently.

A crash from the direction of the bar broke the moment. You flinched reflexively, glancing over.

Joel chuckled. You raised a questioning eyebrow. 

“New bartender really wanted to impress somebody,” Joel explained. “I’m guessin’ he tried a new trick that didn’t work.”

Behind the bar, a man holding the top half of a cocktail shaker was looking forlornly at the other half, which was on the floor, splattered with its contents. A figure seated on a barstool opposite him had their head turned and a hand over their mouth, as if to hide a smile. 

You looked back at Joel with a new wariness. “You can sense what people desire?”

Joel lifted his glass, a smirk creasing his face. “That sounds like another question.”

“I don’t think so. It’s clearly related to your powers,” you argued.

Joel hummed. “Sort of. It takes concentration. Most of the time I just let it all wash over me. Like how in a room full of people, you have to focus to hear one particular conversation.”

You shook your head. The more your drink disappeared, the less sense things made, but for once there was no correlation between the two. You licked the last of its sweetness from your lips, wondering if the bright red syrup had colored your mouth. 

To judge by Joel’s fleeting glance, it had.

You finally spoke. “Do you want dessert? Everything here is good, obviously, or there's an ice cream place nearby...”

Joel tapped the side of his glass. “I’m more of a liquid dessert kinda guy.”

A smile threatened at the corners of your mouth. The number of times you’ve heard your own dad say that…

Joel noticed. “What?”

---

Thanks for reading! 💖

Masterlist

[mocha1662]

Try Again

(Rodrick x black! Girly girl Reader)

(Cw :together without labels,friends with benefits,a bit of cussing,over the phone,fluff,no use of Y/n,and first person)

I was chilling in my room thinking about what I wanted to do with Rodrick, I really liked him but I didn’t know if I was ready for a relationship. Him and I had been friends for years and just recently we started something, it was like he was mine but not officially,and well… I like it that way.

Anyways,I was getting ready for school, I made sure to dress up extra nice and use the perfume Rodrick liked, I puckered my lips while putting gloss over them, I fixed my braids into two high ponytails ,putting pastel bows in, I was wearing an outfit that consisted with white button down shirt with a brown blazer over,with a pink and brown plaid skirt with ruffle socks and cute white heel shoes(you’ll be able to see the outfit in the moodboard).

At school,I walked through school proud and happy I got a few compliments and of course judgements looks but the only thing that I was looking forward to was,Rodrick and well lunch(tehehehehe •ᴗ• ), at lunch I made my way to my usual table an sat down then I saw Rodrick,he was alone today,he usually was with his friends from his band. I waved him over, he gave me a small smile coming over, “Hey,Roddy.”, “Hey,um I like the fit.”, Rodrick seemed a bit nervous, he was wearing his usual outfit, he wore a black t-shirt with a random band on it with a pair of washed denim jean shorts and his hair was messier than usual. “Thanks,I like yours too.”, We kinda just sat in silence for a bit before I decided to speak.

“Rodrick,I’m sorry for being so distant these past few weeks.”, “it’s okay you don’t need to apologize-“, “I’m not finished, I wanted to ask if we could start over. You know take things slow,I don’t know if I could do a relationship right now.” Rodrick smiled at me,his dark brown eyes softened at the agreement. “Yeah I’d really like that.”, I smiled scooting a bit closer to him. “Cool,well we can talk about boundaries another time.” Rodrick nodded,he slyly wrapped his arm around me, I looked at him with a smile, “You know you smell real nice, I love how you did your hair today.” Rodrick carefully wrapped his finger around one of curls at the end of my braids careful not to pull them, “Thanks,man.” Rodrick grumbled a bit, he hated being called “man” or “dude”, I giggled at his reaction.

(Moodboards!)

[cozzzynook]

Part 2 of Humanformer Minimegarod spice

Breathy sighs and soft moans were all that could escape from Rodimus's mouth as he laid on front with his arms tied behind his back with soft silky ribbons. All he could do was try and fail to look over his shoulder as the sound of someone's belt being undone and falling to floor filled the mostly silent bed room.

"Please, I'm dying over here." Rodimus whined as he wiggled again hoping to roll onto his back so he could better look at his partners. "Are you going to join me and fuck me or just watch me squirm?"

"Patience dear" Another voice answered as a warm hand brushed along Rodimus's back coming to a stop just were his wrists currently sat. "We don't want to rush this now, you've been begging for us to tie you up and do what he wished" Finally the owner of the voice showed himself as Minimus gave a sly smirk as one hand went to cup the red head's cheek only to place a playful kiss on Rodimus's lips.

Rodimus just allowed himself to melt into the kiss softly giggling as Minimus mustache tickled his lips. Just then another set of hands fell upon Roddy's body, these hands were slightly rough but gentle in their touches as they mapped out the red head's body only coming to a stop when they landed on his ass and giving a strong squeeze drawing a sharp gasp from Rodimus.

"Megs!"

"Not guilty" The rugged greying man chuckled as he gave a soothing pat on the cheek he squeezed. He then gave a nod to Minimus and they quickly swapped places around the bed, once in place Megatron then leaned down stealing his own kiss from Rodimus before pulling away. "Do you remember the safe word?"

Rodimus let out a breathy sigh as he nodded "Its Lavender" His eyes then closed again when another kiss landed on his lips.

"Good boy"

One firm hand then began to carefully guide Rodimus body to the side of the bed allowing him to roll until he felt Minimus's hand stop him leaving him lying sideways like a sardine in a can. His heart gave flutter while lust pooled in his stomach, oh they were doing that position tonight. Rodimus gave a light moan when he felt Minimus press flush against his back the shorter man's harding dick firmly pressing along his ass, while warm hands wrapped around his hips. He barely had time to focus on that when saw Megatron carefully crawl into the bed only to be greeted by his dick that was already hard. Oh he was in trouble tonight.

"Open up for us, sweet flame" Megatron purred as he brushed one hand along the red head's cheek helping Rodimus to open his jaw wide while his other hand grasped his dick guiding it towards Roddy's lips.

Rodimus then greedily sucked down Megatron's hard member just happily moaning as his gulped and swallowed simply enjoying the weight in his throat. Meanwhile Minimus had began slowly thrusting being careful not to jolt Rodimus with his movement taking it slow and steady.

"Mmm that's it Rodimus, nice and slow~" Megatron groan as he reached forward petting the ginger mess of hair. He would quicken his own thrusts a little chasing the sweet wet heat of Rodimus throat getting a long but firm suck in return drawing another groan from Megatron. "How are you holding up Minimus?"

Minimus let out a soft moan as he thrusted his hips a little sharper before raising his head to speak. "Good, Ah~ very good. I'm going to-" He shorter man then buried his face into Rodimus's back quietly panting as his thrusts became more rapid and quick clearly close to coming.

Rodimus then let out short breathy gasps as he sucked a little too firm drawing a low moan from the sliver haired man, as a result Megatron leaned forwards using one hand to pull Rodimus closer to his crotch before thrusting a little rougher down the man's throat. Just then Rodimus tightly shut his eyes as he felt the burning knot in his stomach grow tighter and tighter until he finally bottomed out, letting out a soft long groan Rodimus came creating a small sticky mess on his stomach and the bed sheets. He barely had time to re open his eyes when he felt a hot rush of fluid pour down his throat, Roddy just absently minded just sucked and swallowed before Megatron finally pulled away with a love drunk smile.

After a couple of seconds passed and Minimus let out a croaked shout burying his face into Rodimus shoulder again until his own orgasm finally ended. Letting out quick sharp breaths Minimus pulled away his dick making a lewd pop as he sat back on his knees with a dazed smile. "That was wonderful" He shook his head already reaching for the ribbons around Rodimus's writs, quickly untying them. "Are you alright dear?"

"Yeah, I'm good" Rodimus croaked out his answer his throat slightly hoarse as he finally sat up rubbing his now free wrists. "That was amazing, we got to do something like that again"

Megatron just softly chuckled already handing Rodimus a glass of water before sitting down the bed again pulling the other two men into his arms and placing soft kisses on their cheeks. "I wouldn't mind something like that again. I have a couple of ideas brewing, what about you Mims?"

Minimus just snuggled closer lost in thought for a moment until finally answering. " I do have some...toys we could use. That's if you both agree?"

Rodimus's eyes light up at the mention of toys and quickly starts smiling wide. "Oh hell yeah! I'm down for that, what about you Megs?" He then turned to look at the grey haired man who's face was turning a darker shade of red.

"Mm...Why not" Megatron bashfully smiled.

"Yes!"

Red head rodimus is superior

[yiiiikesmish]

welcome back slow horses fandom. it's the season finale 😭😭😭 i don't even know what i'm going to do with my life after these 52 minutes (it's so short!!?? why will smith why??)

anyways for the last time this season spoilers below for s4 ep6. have fun reading my thoughts. hopefully there will be a lot of thirsting about river bc i love him.

SHOOT TO KILL ON RIVER??? EXCUSE ME??? tell him diana river is a baby he wouldn't kill anyone without good reason (or by accident but whatever)

thank god patrice didn't think to check for phone. and that river hasn't lost said phone.

damn that's a fancy ass restaurant. i'm scared.

HELLO DAD HELP I SCREAMED I WAS NOT PREPARED. I KNEW IT BUT AGALLAJDHLAGHSLEINZJWK

once again if you skip the title credits i don't trust you. it's a masterpiece.

on the credits bit i hope next season they put written by emmy winner will smith. they need to highlight that. my man won an emmy for his brilliant writing. they should be shouting it from the rooftops

this bitch didn't send my baby birthday cards after his 9th birthday but she had the audacity to tell louisa to remind my son i exist. bitch.

i want you locked up i'm so proud.

he might believe he's unappreciated but let's all remember lamb would absolutely secretly freak out if river disappeared for reals

i feel like i'm at a ted talk. that's my sassy baby right there i love him so much. he's so pretty i can't

ok i have agree with frank. maybe it's my hate grandpa david but he def keeps river around like a pet

this conversation is grand. look at river standing up for himself and being sassy and smart. i'm so proud.

i love toddy and his mistletoe chair.

istg marcus if you're about to go gambling i will murder you. walk into that bookie and see what happens i dare you.

go louisa. girlboss

that baldspot on the back of lambs head actually stresses me tf out. babe your hair is so greasy and ik greasy is you thing but you'll be bald at this rate

moira WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT YOU STUPID STUPID WOMAN.

two train tickets to europe? start over? build a relationship? what are we in a romcom? hello???

fuck you, and stay away from my grandfather. i'm so proud of you my lovely baby boy

gotta give it to frank that murder plan is hot. slicing the femoral artery is hot. fave way for hypothetical murder.

babe you're not subtle WHY WOULD YOU WARN HIM THE DOGS ARE THERE

no SHUT UP MOIRA YOURE NOT HELPFUL

oh thank god roddy didn't get shot

well outside the restaurant is a disaster

oh did he get shot. and he's gonna be a baby about it lmao

please i can't stop laughing he's so dumb STOP STRUGGLING YOU STUPID FUCK YOU WONT BE ABLE TO GET THAT GRENADE OUT IF YOURE ACTING LIKE THIS. thank god for louisa

oh my fucking god moira stop fucking moving you're not helping

i love louisa and river's friendship. it's actually so important to me.

GO COE SLAY EMO BOY

is it bad i kind of hope patrice like... wins? he needs a win i hope he gets something

ow??? that was uncalled for frankly elevator stairs HURTS those poor civilians

RUN BABYGIRL RUN DEFEAT YOUR FATHER

NOOOOOO THEY KILLED PATRICE that's so sad omg HE DESERVED A HAPPY ENDING

oh wait he didn't die. yay!!!

genuinely why are two slow horses faster runners than a team of dogs. don't dogs like.. run for a living??? oh it was artistic decision got it

SLAY SHIRLEY SHOOT THE MEAN MAN

omg SHUT UP MOIRA

YES LAMB YES SHIRLEY SLAY what a bunch of icons (not u moira i don't like you)

OH SHIT HE KILLED MARCUS. oh no poor shirley

smart boy river i'm so proud. i dont know how to say this without it being incredibly weird but like i feel like a proud mother hen but also would fuck him so fucking fast

immediate ick don't call my baby son

don't fucking son me gagged i'm so attracted to you river cartwright

wait patrice is alive??? (i'm sad bc marcus is dead but like yay!! patrice is alive!! he's a baby!! look at him he wants to die that's a sign of sadness inside!!)

marcus and shirley were platonic soulmates you can't change my mind.

GO COE GO (actually love him for that. shirley would've spiraled if she shot him even if it was for marcus. coe knows what's up) (but also sad bc patrice lowkey slayed and kinda sad he's dead)

my son river GET MY MANS NAME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH LITERALLY SHUT UP YOU FUCK

kinda obsessed with franks accent ngl it's fun

wait what failsafe. i'm now very scared

OH FUCK THATS THE FAILSAFE?? HEAD OF SERVICE??? damn that's some failsafe.

lamb cares a shit tonne about his horses you can fucking fight me over that.

ok moira i don't like you but you slayed that convo starter with whelan. whelan i'm so disappointed in you i really thought i'd like you and boom your actually a dick with zero thoughts (i really thought you were secretly smart dammit)

oooh i like that jacket rivers wearing.

damn they finally forced david into assisted living. that sucks :/ but like also maybe river will be able to stop being so worried all the time. oh my poor baby river this is so hard on him too.

river loves his grandad so much i feel so bad for him.

i love river and lambs relationship. they hate each other but also respect each other and would definitely protect one another even if they complain the entire time and i love that for them.

NO THE SEASON IS OVER. WHAT HAPPENS TO FRANK THOUGH. WILL THEY LET THE LETTERS BE PUBLISHED OR COMPLY WITH FRANK. I NEED ANSWER oh next season preview slay

preview thoughts:

RODDY HAS A MANBUN?

WAS THAT RIVER AND LOUISA KISSING NOOOOO WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FRIENDSHIP BESTIES at least louisa looks mildly terrified (istg river get your feelings straight)

omg river and coe are gonna be besties??? (how did this man get beaten up in the face and pink liquid all over himself while coe looks flawless and clean in that emo majestic type way of his??)

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO LIFE IS AWFUL SLOW HORSES IS OVER AND WHO KNOWS WHEN SEASON 5 COMES OUT

[263adder]

Found the best website for Slow Horses fans, look at this glossary for the SH's themselves (baby Coe's is the best, followed by Louisa):

Baker, Sid – A young, attractive agent who is sent to the slow horses for murky reasons. Injured in the line of duty and spirited to parts unknown. (SH)

Cartwright, River – Young, white, fair hair, grey eyes and a mole on his upper lip. Wannabe super spy/espionage royalty/screwup. In the first book his bungled call on a potential terror incident landed him on the slow horses where he’s been trapped ever since. (SH)

Coe, JK – Banker turned member of MI5, he’s a babe in the woods compared to cynicism and wiliness that his colleagues show. Sent to the slow horses by Dame Ingrid to hide one of her messy mistakes. Coe learns the hard way that “Kill the messenger” is not just a turn of phrase when you work for MI5. Full name, Jason Kevin. After a trauma he finds the one thing that works best to take the edge off is … murder? (TL)

Dander, Shirley – Short and built like a barrel. A new slow horse who gets a high from doing her job, also from cocaine. Partners up with fellow slow horse Marcus Longfellow. Former member of Comms department. Sent to Slough House after punching a colleague. (DL)

Guy, Louisa – Louisa was sent to the slow horses after she lost a suspect she was supposed to be tailing and a bunch of illegal guns ended up on the streets of London. She’s surprised when her relationship with Min Harper gives her a purpose and strength she forgot she had. Probably the most competent of the slow horses. (SH)

Harper, Min – Min ended up on the slow horses after leaving a top secret disk on the train. Sees an assignment from the untrustworthy “Spider” Webb as his way back into the big leagues. Two spy screw ups who form an unlikely connection. (SH)

Ho, Roddy “Clint” – Computer genius and social incompetent. Hacking skills – 99%, People skills – 1% Only thing keeping his people skills from rating a 0% is the existence of someone with even less. See “Jackson Lamb” Sent to the slow horses not because he did anything wrong but because no one can stand to be around him. (SH)

Lamb, Jackson – The famous, or infamous depending on who you ask, Cold War spy. A Cold Warrior whose closest brush with being PC was turning on a computer. Never found a nap not worth taking, belch not worth belching or fart not worth letting loose. The improbable creator and head of Slough House. Worked as a mirror-man in Berlin during the Cold War. (SH)

Longridge, Marcus – Bald with goatee, Black, carrying a few extra pounds. Special operator and potential plant in Slough House by the politically wily Diana Taverner. (DL)

Loy, Struan – A slow horse, single and with few prospects until Diana Taverner dangles a lifeline. (SH)

Moody, Jed – A former “Dog”, Herron’s name for MI5’s internal affairs/clean up squad, now put out to pasture with the Slow Horses. (R)

Standish, Catherine – Formerly the right hand of the head of the service, formerly a drunk, currently sober and the administrative force keeping Lamb’s Slough House running. Personally recruited to the slow horses by Lamb, perhaps as penance. (SH)

Tregorian, Moira – Office administrator bewildered she’s been sent to live with the slow horses. (SS)

White, Kay – A slow horse dropped a lifeline by Diana Taverner. (SH)

Wicinski, Alec “Lec”– MI5 analyst who learns the hard way that no good deed goes unpunished. Sent to the slow horses after learning too much about a German spy. Won’t be working as a model anytime soon. (TD)

[forrests-dash]

Hello. Roddy, Long time no see. Postcard you asked for. Like it? It’s the cliff. Wouldn’t be my first choice. But you think it’s funny. Ring me. Forrest. 

-

Roddy, New card. This one’s nicer. It’s autumn here, looks exactly like this. You don’t have to come. I’ll go to you. You’d get mauled. Everyone loves you. I won’t be able to stop them. Forrest.

-

Roddy. It was nice. We don’t have that many cards. They’re not collectables, town’s small. You have a lot more there, and better. But here’s one more. Town center. Really want I send all of them? Forrest. 

-

Roddy, they get weirder after a few. This one’s a local bigfoot. Definitely not a costume. Ring me about the tour, wanna hear about it. Still good to meet next month? Forrest

-

Hi, Roddy. Shot of the river. Yes, the river. Rumors that it’s haunted. Guess why. See you soon. x Forrest

-

Roddy, pretty fucked up sending that back to me. Drawing sucks. Doesn’t even look like a ghost. You think I can keep that? Burned it. Next one like it goes to a tabloid. This time you get a stupid duck. FN

-

Roddy, new stock of cards came in. Clerk said there’s an uptick in sales. None of them really good. Added in photo I took of the station. Also not good. Miss you too. x FN 

-

RODDY. STOP DRAWING ON THEM AND SENDING THEM BACK. WASN’T FUNNY. What if someone sees?! Yes I’ll pass by next week. FN 

-

Hello Roddy. Card’s of the local wildlife. Added more pics of places and folks I know. Guessing you can visit, lowkey. Guy w dog is Ricky. Peggy is short one, with Karen. Yard after snow & some rooms. xo FN

-

Roddy. Sure, you get one. Hair got longer, might cut it after Winter. Card of the local church. DO NOT DRAW & SEND BACK. Not on me either. Don’t care how “funny.” Forrest. 

-

Roddy. Thanks. Yeah you look good. Always do. Ok, I’ll keep it. for now. Call x FN

[tacosrobot]

Meet the gang! Or don't, I guess.

Actual character bios under the cut!

RUSTY JACOBS

Full Name: Russell Jacobs

Nickname: Rusty

Birthday/Age: 24 – 5th of April

Place of birth: Somewhere in Colorado

Place of Residence: Somewhere out in the middle of nowhere

Education Level: Highschool graduate but barely

Occupation: Vampire Hunter (self-appointed)

Pets: n/a

Appearance: 

Height: 5’9

Eye colour: Green 

Glasses/Contacts: N/A 

Prominent features: Freckles, lots of freckles.

Distinguishing Marks/Scars: There’s a thin scar running down the back of his right shoulder to his elbow. He has a few tattoos, too. They’re mostly around his shoulders and on his arms, he has no tattoos on his back but has tattoos on his chest and waist. They vary in nature but he holds the record in his friend group as ‘Guy With the Most Spider Tattoos’, he has three.

Hairstyle/Colour: He has ginger hair, cut by himself, of course, is choppy and layered. It reaches just below shoulder length and was once styled into a very fashionable mullet.

Style of clothing: He’ll wear anything he can get his hands on. He doesn’t care about conforming to any sort of gender norms and thinks fashion is a great way to express himself. He always has paint-covered yellow boots on.

Other: He has two nose piercings, a septum piercing and a bridge piercing. He almost got a tongue piercing but he chickened out and got another tattoo instead.

Personality:

Optimist or pessimist: Optimist

Introverted or extroverted: Extroverted

Conflict Avoider or Seeker: Conflict seeker

Personality description: Upon first meeting Rusty, people usually sum him up in one word: ‘irritating’. Once you get to know him a little better, however, you soon learn that it’s not entirely true. Rusty can be annoying, don’t get me wrong, but he can also be considerate and caring when he needs to be. He may give off the vibe that the whole world revolves around him yet outside of trying to be the centre of attention, he’s a gentle guy with a somewhat gentle soul.

Traits and interests:

Strongest trait: Individualistic

Weakest trait: Arrogant

Habits: He cracks his knuckles, or just his fingers in general. Sometimes this extends to his neck too.

Hobbies: 

Photography

Scrapbooking

Painting

Favourites:

Favourite colour: Pink

Favourite music: Electro-pop or anything with synths

Favourite Food: Greasy foods of any sort.

Favourite Literature: Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice, but literally anything to do with Vampires. He thinks that it’ll give him some sort of advantage over the vampires.

Goal: To get back to Colorado.

Motivation: Seeing his younger sister again.

Relationships:

Parent(s): Hank Jacobs, May Jacobs (deceased)

Sibling(s): Mildred ‘Millie’ Jacobs (younger sister)

Best friend: Janey Brinkley

Other friend(s): Emeric Moore (belongs to @viaterra) Donovan V. (belongs to @ross-stories)

Partner: N/A (his last girlfriend died)

Enemies: WILMER KRAUS. WILMER KRAUS IF YOU’RE OUT THERE.

RODDY FAREBROTHER

Full Name: Toddman Farebrother

Nickname: Todd, Roddy (he calls himself that)

Birthday/Age: 19 – 12th of November

Place of birth: Wothead.

Place of Residence: Wothead.

Education Level: Got expelled in year nine

Occupation: Stay-at-home nuisance.

Pets: a hamster named Cricket

Appearance: 

Height: 5’6

Eye colour: Brown 

Glasses/Contacts: N/A 

Prominent features: A significant number of freckles, primarily on his face. He also has a tooth gap; he’s missing his second tooth on the left.

Distinguishing Marks/Scars: N/A

Hairstyle/Colour: Roddy takes good care of his hair, despite how it may look. It’s short, layered and very messy. At some point, he decided to dye it redder than it was originally then settled on some weird shade of pink.

Style of clothing: Anything he can put a worn-down brown leather jacket over. This can vary from shirts to vests and even (albeit very rarely) jumpers. Trousers are often a second thought. He’ll put on whatever’s clean.

Other: He went through a phase of wearing fingerless gloves, no one knows why he did this. It didn’t even look that cool.

Personality:

Optimist or pessimist: Pessimist

Introverted or extroverted: Ambivert

Conflict Avoider or Seeker: Conflict seeker

Personality description: Roddy has a problem with any kind of authority. Friends, family, the police; he doesn’t care because he knows he’s in the right every time. There are exceptions to this rule, he respects his sister and like one other person, plus his hamster, but that’s it.

Traits and interests:

Strongest trait: Independent

Weakest trait: Abrasive

Habits: He has no idea what he’s supposed to do with his hands so he often picks things up to play with. Also scratches his left cheek regularly.

Hobbies: 

Sports, including but not limited to football, cricket and tennis

Cycling

Nature walks

Favourites:

Favourite colour: Red

Favourite music: Whatever the Clash and The Ramones have going on?

Favourite Food: Sausage sandwich with brown sauce and a sprinkle of salt

Favourite Literature: He doesn’t tend to read much, but The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle has a very special place in his heart.

Goal: Play football professionally.

Motivation: Making money.

Relationships:

Parent(s): Phillip Farebrother (deceased), Catherine Farebrother (absent)

Sibling(s): Patricia Farebrother (older sister)

Best friend: ‘Harry’ Hamilton

Other friend(s): That’s literally it. You could be his friend if you wanted but I don’t recommend it.

Partner: N/A

Enemies: Kenneth.

THE CROW

Full Name: Hayden Hayes

Alias: The Crow

Birthday/Age: 24 – 7th of March

Place of birth: London

Place of Residence: Still London, it’s a small world, ok?

Education Level: University Graduate. He got a degree in some sort of science. He doesn’t remember

Occupation: Museum security guard

Pets: n/a

Appearance: 

Height: 5’6

Eye colour: Blue 

Glasses/Contacts: N/A 

Prominent features: His hair is pretty prominent

Distinguishing Marks/Scars: Nothing overly distinguishing about any of him if you look past the fact he’s a vigilante crime fighter.

Hairstyle/Colour: It’s short, black and really messy. It fans out at the sides and cannot be tamed, so don’t bother trying.

Style of clothing: Ignoring his big crow-inspired get-up, Hayden primarily wears whatever’s on sale. He tends to lean towards black clothes, though and has had the same coat for almost five years.

Other: He always, always, always carries a tie with him? For some reason? He calls it his ‘emergency tie’.

Personality:

Optimist or pessimist: Optimist

Introverted or extroverted: Introverted

Conflict Avoider or Seeker: Conflict seeker

Personality description: To be honest, Hayden is kind of mixed up. He doesn't know if he wants to be the goofy comic relief hero or if he wants to be the stoic brooding type. He's street smart but not smart smart. He knows what he wants but he doesn't know how to get it sort of thing. He’s still figuring it out.

Traits and interests:

Strongest trait: Humorous

Weakest trait: Muddle-headed

Habits: Will cut you off while you’re talking. He’s not doing it on purpose he just a little bad at conversations.

Hobbies: 

Reading, he’s a big fan of non-fiction but will sometimes read fiction, too.

Calligraphy

Watching documentaries

Favourites:

Favourite colour: Yellow

Favourite music: Early 2000s dance music

Favourite Food: Crème Brulee

Favourite Literature: To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Goal: Stop the stupid idiot guys running this weird underground network of illegal stuff.

Motivation: Keeping his family safe.

Relationships:

Parent(s): Keith Ashbee (step-father), Polly Hayes

Sibling(s): Dylan Hayes (younger brother)

Best friend: ???

Other friend(s): He goes out with his co-workers a lot; I suppose they count.

Partner: N/A

Enemies: Those freaky little guys in suits who are doing weird illegal stuff under London.

[fbfh]

I just read your rodrick heffley x reader hcs/drabbles and I NEED MORE OF YOUR SHORT!READER X RODRICK.

roddy has graduated from exclusively calling you shorty and shawty to calling you his backpack. he figured out you can carry stuff in your bra or non skin tight jeans or whatever and now insists on having you carry his stuff in exchange for piggy backs. it made you giggle like an idiot for a while, but then you started to grow really fond of it. no more barely being able to hear each other in crowds, no more getting fucking scoliosis from trying to kiss each other. now you're right there, chin on his shoulder talking and kissing him all day long. his big buff tatted (don't tell susan) drummer's arms can carry you like it's nothing, no matter how insecure you get about it. even if you get insecure he will literally start pick you up and flipping you like a swing dancer at a wedding so much that it makes your husband unable to recognize a pig in a nixon mask. (0:57)

you and roddy generally have such an april and andy vibe that if you do pull a sweater swap 1:27 his stretched out old loded diper shirt practically comes down to your knees and and your shirt barely coveres his nipples (which are also pierced. seriously don't tell susan.) he thinks you always look so pretty because he always sees you from that high up angle that makes you look all cute and adorable. he loves just pulling you into his lap and burying his face in your hair that's always so soft and smells like your shampoo and conditioner and on occasion that grape hair dye smell. roddy will always be the first to call out those "omg I'm so tiny and short and little!!!!" pick me girls. he takes so much pleasure in being like hmmm.... nah. they try to flirt with him, they put their hands against his and he sees through that shit in a second. he pushes the heel of their hand so it's actually level with his and chuckles.

"my shawty's fingers barely come up to here..." he laughs. I stand firm in my statement that he will place his hand on a pick me girl's head and line it up with him and be like "nah, my baby's way shorter and is actually short, I think you're just average height lol"

briefly circling back to the whole backpack thing roddy especially loves it when you wear those big chunky shoes that make you average height because you look cute, you like feeling tall, and he gets to carry you around when your feet get tired. honestly I think roddy just has a thing for super short girls. if he can't see the crown of your head when you're standing next to him he doesn't want it.

[spirostomum]

some recent oc stuff. fantasy of a future captain’s wife / modern au soul roommates / roddy quits the navy

find me on artfight! I’m alveolates.

Picture 1: A woman in a blue mid-19th century dress is embraced around the waist by a man in a black overcoat and cape. He is looking up at her with a reverent expression; she is playing with his hair.

Picture 2: A man with a blonde ponytail in Boston Red Sox hat and jersey shares a beer with a dark haired man in a tank top and shorts. The dark haired man has a tattoo of John Carpenter’s The Thing

Picture 3: A chibi cartoon captain with a mischievous expression in naval uniform sits in front of an empty captain’s log. In the second panel, he removes his clothes, gives a thumbs up, and says “I quit.”

[syensy-art]

(Gives characters outfits) (Gives characters outfits) (G

[ID: Digital sketches of Roddy and Jezzo from Hypnospace Outlaw. The former has long blond hair and facial hair and wears a black split dress with a yellow belt, black platform shoes, a red jacket resembling a cape, and a red and black tophat. The latter has frizzy ginger hair and wears a blue headband, blue and green glasses, blue and green earrings, a necklace, a crop sweater with short arms, several wristbands and two belts, a short checkerboard rave skirt, fishnet stockings, and black boots with silver zippers. /end ID]

[minorisato]

did i piss you off? serves you right!

transformers / rodimags / wc: 726 / warnings: NA / notes: gyaru au! when roddy and maggy first meet, takes place before the other stories~

The first thing that Magnus notices is her hair. The second thing he notices is everything else.

She’s a walking infraction, really– hair, accessories, even the uniform. Bleached, overdone, made showy. Her shoes are chunky boots, definitely not school-approved. Her nails are so long, they should be classified as weapons. He can see her bra, despite not trying to. Her skirt is rolled up far too much, and while he couldn’t see anything, others definitely could. And really, any make-up at all is on thin ice, but a fake tan? Don’t you think that’s a bit much? He’s explaining all of this to her, jotting down each infraction dutifully on a detention slip, when–

“Ohhhh,” she lets out, “you’re the neurotic guy Meg mentioned.”

Magnus freezes, pen to paper, eyes blown wide. Neurotic guy? What?

Before he can regain himself and actually form a coherent response, she’s already trounced off without the slip, a bounce in her step.

He was right– her skirt is far too short.

~~~~

She’s in his first period class.

Roll call– Magnus, here. Rodimus, here. Rodimus, can you stop playing on your phone? I’ll take it if you don’t. Rodimus, stop tapping your boots, they’re distracting. Rodimus, don’t turn that into a paper airplane. Rodimus, I said stop playing on your phone.

She’s a nightmare. It’s day one.

~~~~

After class, she actually approaches him, which he’s shocked about. She’s chewing gum, one hand holding her bag, thrown over her shoulder. In the other hand, her phone, with a horrible (definitely uncomfortable to hold) phone case (comprised entirely of warm colours.)

“Rodimus,” he greets her, bowing his head slightly. “You left before I could give you your slip.”

She grimaces. “Ah, yeah, see, that’s true, I did do that, but that’s also not what I wanted to talk to you about?” It’s not a question, but her inflection makes it sound like one. “I was actually wondering if I could get a piccy of the notes?” She holds up her phone. “After you stopped glaring at me, you were writing, like, a lot? So I assume you have them?”

Again, Magnus freezes, eyes wide, staring at her. Is she being serious.

He grabs the slip he’d written earlier, silently handing it to her. She scoffs, reluctantly taking it from him, and then shoving it into her bra. “Does this mean I can’t get a pic of the notes?” She asks, pouting slightly.

Magnus digs his teeth into his bottom lip. It’d be wrong to deny her this– all students deserve a fair shot, a chance to succeed. Even Rodimus, as much as she’s annoying him. Still silently, he extends his notebook to her, and she smiles as she angles her phone, a little click noise being heard.

“Thanks, Maggy!” He bites his bottom lip harder. What. What. What. “I knew I could count on you.”

“My name is not Maggy,” he strains, gripping his notebook so hard it bends. He has a headache.

“Would you rather me call you neurotic guy?” Rodimus asks, smirking.

Magnus can taste blood. His eye twitches. “I’ll see you in detention,” he hisses, hurriedly grabbing his things and escaping to his next class.

~~~~

Second period is blessedly peaceful in comparison. He takes his notes diligently, comfortable knowing that a gal will not be asking him for a picture of them. His lip has stopped bleeding, and his headache has begun to leave him.

It’s during lunch that he feels it coming back.

“Maggy!” A voice calls, followed by the clacking of heels against tile.

He turns just in time to catch a glimpse of Rodimus, running directly at him. She has a group behind her, all varying degrees of walking dress-code violations themselves, but he hardly pays any mind to that. It’s entirely impulse that he, too, starts running, in the opposite direction. He can hear howling laughter as he does so.

He ends up eating in the office.

~~~~

Detention is just him and Rodimus. Normally, there’d be at least a few more people, but Magnus was so preoccupied with Rodimus, he suspects he simply didn’t notice other rulebreakers. He smacks himself for his lack of diligence– and for running earlier, he shouldn’t have done that.

Rodimus is sitting there with her arms folded. She’s supposed to be writing a paper on what she did wrong, but she hasn’t touched the sheet Magnus gave her. She’d immediately attempted to get on her phone, but was dissuaded when Magnus explained she’d be stuck there longer if she did. “Do you seriously expect this to accomplish anything?” She spits, pouting.

Magnus sighs, setting down his own paper. “It’s supposed to give you a moment to reflect. Give you time to think about how this will affect your future. Some students also take it as an opportunity to work on homework,” he explains. “Can you at least do that, Rodimus? I know you have homework, we’re in the same class.”

She groans, scribbles something on the paper, and smacks her pencil back onto the desk. Thirty minutes later, on the dot, she rises and slams the paper on Magnus’ desk, before strutting out.

All it says is I didn’t reflect on shit.

He bites his lip again, tearing at the skin. The paper crinkles where he holds it. Hate is a strong word. He knows it’s a strong word. It’s rude, it’s dramatic, and a strong word.

Magnus hates Rodimus.