#Schooner Bob

[abootstrapperlifeforme]

The World Famous Bootstrappers- icons

Disneyland's pirate band in New Orleans Square

[ltwilliammowett]

A fine breeze for the Schooners, by Bob Grimson (1945-)

[ohtobeleah]

Clover Club // Robert Floyd

Summary: After a near fatal accident, Bob comes face to face with the reality that time really is fleeting. Deciding that taking the leap to love you while he has the change is better than to not have had the chance at all.

Warnings: Robert Floyd x Reader. Mickey Garcia x Stepsister!reader. Depictions of injuries sustained from a serious car accident. ANGST! & a lil bit of fluff.

Word Count: 8.3k

Author Note: I don’t wanna hear shit about this one. This is 100% Whump. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m sick in the head—but this entire concept was inspired by Claire’s accident in McLeods Daughter’s. If you aren’t Australian and haven’t seen it just look it up on YouTube. SAD BOI HOUR. Also: this also serves as a milestone post—thanks for the 2k following.

Bob hated his birthday. He had for three years. Not because he didn't like presents or because he didn't like cake. It wasn't because he did have friends and family who would celebrate with him each and every year that passed. It wasn't because he was a lonely person or someone who didn't mind the day being about him.

It was because it served as a memory of the women he lost. A memory he could never ever forget even if he tried. How could he? Reaching out across his bed to be met with emptiness– Bob opened his eyes with a long drawn out yawn. Looking around the bedroom to be met with just himself. Sitting up, Bob threw his legs over the side of the bed. Noticing the date on the alarm clock that sat on his bedside table.

His Birthday–

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

Three years earlier

“This is just perfect, he’s gonna be thrilled—“ Rooster placed his hands on your shoulders excitedly as he shook you slightly. Standing behind you as he admired the birthday decorations that you’d worked hard to hang up around the entirety of the Hard Deck. Fairy lights and birthday streamers. Helium balloons in all different colours, and the birthday banner that read Happy Birthday Bob. “Bobs gonna love it.”

“You think so?” Rooster thought that you and Bob should have gotten together a long time ago. He thought you were two of the best people he knew and the undeniable chemistry you two both gave off whenever you were left alone to your own devices together just seemed like a perfect match. But that was just his opinion. The matter of fact was you and Robert Floyd weren’t even dating. It was more of a situationship than anything else. A blooming romance that enjoyed taking its sweet sweet time developing. “I just hope it’s not too much.” Planning Bob a surprise party for Bob’s birthday wasn’t something you thought you’d ever do, but it had been fun nonetheless.

“No, this?” Rooster questioned as he jumped over the bar, working quickly to pour himself a glass of beer from the tap. “It’s perfect.” Snatching the schooner from Rooster's hand before he could take a sip, you sent him a warning glare. Having followed him right around the bar before he could get too comfortable.

“Penny doesn’t like it when you flyboys come behind the bar—“ You reminded him, watching as Rooster rolled his eyes and slumped his shoulders in defeat. Trudging along as he went to sit at a barstool. “I need to pick up Mickey from the airport and stop by Bensons to get the cake. Can you finish getting this place all decked out before the birthday boy arrives?” You wouldn’t consider yourself a hard task master. Simply a bartender who had a thing for the big eyed bigger soul weapons systems officer who’d always given you the time of day. But with the way Bradley Bradshaw was looking at you like you’d just asked him to cut off his own arm—perhaps a hard task master was more appropriate. “Rooster—?”

“Two on the house beers and a bowl of fries and you got yourself a deal.” Rooster beamed as he leaned on the bar. His elbows pressed against oak as you looked at him dumbfounded.

“On the house just means out of my paycheck you jerk!” Sighing as you fished your keys from your back pocket. “But fine, whatever—I really don’t have time to argue.” Stepping out from behind the bar you threw Rooster the keys to the bar. It wasn’t yet open for patrons. “Don’t do anything stupid till I get back.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Rooster shouted back as you raced out the door. Looking at your watch you had about an hour and a half to get Mickey and Bobs birthday cake before meeting Rooster and the rest of the TopGun gang back at Hard Deck. You’d planned everything perfectly, even reached out to Bob's family. His hometown friends, everyone who was important to him. “Drive safe!”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“So, are you and Bob a thing yet?” Mickey Garcia had been in your life since you were about five years old. His mother had been dating your father and as the years went on? He became your step brother. Officially. “I mean—if you’re planning the guy a whole ass birthday I think you should at least make a move don’t you think?” Mickey had been visiting your parents in Seattle on his annual leave, coming back just in time to make it for Bob's birthday.

“I’m pretty content just waiting in the shallow end.” You’d been hurt before. Pretty bad as a matter of fact. Driving back towards the Hard Deck with precious cargo in the back seat. Bob's birthday cake—the massive three layer sponge cake with fresh cream and white chocolate caramel. “We have time, I’m just trying not to get too involved, I mean—I think he might be interested. But I also just don’t wanna get my hopes up. And I’ve already told everyone to say it was you.”

“Me! I haven’t even been here!” Mickey laughed to himself in disbelief. “Bob is gonna know straight away that this was all you.” Mickey was probably right, but you weren’t about to put yourself out there like that. Not when you weren’t entirely sure where you stood. Sure, you’d really like to be exclusive? If that’s what you’d even call it. There’s been a handful of dates, a few moments where eye’s lingered and lips almost connected. But maybe Bob just wasn’t in it. Or maybe you were reading too much into it to begin with. “Besides, he’s different. I don’t think Bob would ever hurt you, not like—“

“Mickey—“ Cutting off your brother with a sigh, you shook your head softly as you drove down the road. “You don’t need to bring him up.” Your ex boyfriend had been that bad, that when you finally managed to get away all you took were the clothes on your back. Mickey was the whole reason you ended up in Miramar—when he’d found out that the daggers were staying as a specialist unit, he hooked you up with a job working for Penny. Keeping you close by surrounded by people who’d always protect you. He never expected you’d stay on your own accord. That accord being one Robert Floyd.

“All I’m saying is Bob is good people, he does like you, talks about you all the time to anyone who falls victim to it.” That made your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t really felt this way about someone since high school. It felt childish—but in the best of ways. “Maybe just try to get him to yourself tonight?”

“Can’t, working behind the bar—“ It wasn’t uncommon for you to get side tracked talking to Bob as you cleaned tables and collected discarded glasses. Although you knew Bob wasn’t a drinker, he was one of the only few you’d ever bring a fresh glass to every so often. His order always the same every time. Lemonade with lots of ice, lime wedge on top.

“That has never stopped you before.” Mickey taunted as he looked down at his phone. “It’s beyond me how anyone actually gets a drink whenever you’re working and Bobs in the building.” You couldn’t help but to laugh with Mickey as you felt your cheeks heating at the embarrassment. The smitten kind of embarrassment. “You’re like a moth drawn to a flame—“

“I’ll drop you on the side of the road if yo—“ In an instant, what had been a simple drive back to the Hard Deck as the sun set, turned into a horrific scene of twisted aluminium and bloody bodies.

“WATCH OUT!!” It came out of nowhere, leaving you with little to no time to react more than slamming your foot down on the break. Only to be completely cleaned up by the car coming at you at what felt like the speed of goddamn light. The sound of tires screeching and glass shattering rang through your head as airbags did the best they could to stop your head from smacking violently against whatever part of your car you were thrown against as you rolled and rolled and rolled. Your car ended up at the bottom of the embankment just a five minute drive from the Hard Deck. If you looked close enough with your eyes squinted slightly, you could see it. The lights that had begun to glow a people that looked the size of ants swarmed in.

“Mickey?” You cried as you tried to move. Trapped. “Mickey you there?” There was no response as you listened closely for something, anything to give you a sign of life. Nothing. “Oh, oh god—“ Panic set in quickly as you felt yourself disappearing, the edge of darkness threatening to take you victim as your head spun and eyes rolled. Blood dripped from your mouth. The last thing you consciously remember thinking before coming to a complete stop was the cake sitting in the back seat. The car kept slipping down the embankment, slowly but surely creeping further and further away from the line of sight of oncoming cars. There’s no way it survived. Dizzy and feeling like you were hanging from the roof, you let the taste of iron consume you. Tired, you just needed to close your eyes for abit.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Bob had the slightest inkling that you had been up to something. He just wasn’t entirely sure what that something was. But as he came through the front doors of the Hard Deck and was taken aback by all the decorations, the balloons, the birthday banner that read Happy Birthday Bob. He knew in that moment you were behind this entire get together.

“SURPRISE!!!” Everyone in the entire bar cheered and shouted as Bob looked around at all his friends and family that had all come together to celebrate his birthday. It wasn’t something he did every year. Not one big on birthday celebrations. But as he looked around—his eyes scanning the entirety of the bar, looking amongst a sea of people? How could Bob not love his birthday even for a moment. You’d done this all for him he knew that the second he saw the specific way the streamers were twisted. But where on earth were you?

“Happy Birthday man, how’s it feeling huh? Another year older?” Hangman teased as he handed Bob a birthday hat. Something childish alright but it kept with the theme. Bob Accepted it with a smile and nodded in response as he tried to hide the blush creeping over his cheeks.

“Feels good—yeah, hey have you seen Clov?”

“Is she not behind the bar?” Jake responded with a questioning brow. If you weren’t here where the fuck were you? “Ah well, she can’t be too far away right?”

“No, yeah no I guess you’re probably right.” Bob tried to shake the almost gut wrenching feeling he had. Checking his phone to see if you’d messaged him, if he’d missed a call. The last text you sent being the one you sent him on his lunch break—reminding him to arrive on time. Sending you a quick message asking where you were before joining in on the festivities the best he could.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

It was the smell of gasoline and burning rubber that broke Mickey Garcia out of his unconscious state. His first instinct was to unclip his seatbelt which had him hurtling towards the roof of the car that had somehow become the floor. With a groan, he crawled out of the broken passenger side window—army crawling his way along the dirt and grass that shattered glass had covered without a rhyme or reason.

Laying on his back, Mickey closed his eyes as dry blood covered his face. A deep gash still dripped fresh blood down the left side of his cheek. He could feel it dripping.

“Fuck—“ His torso hurt from where the seatbelt had locked up against him. Probably the only thing besides the airbags that saved his life. “What the hell—?” It shouldn’t have come as an afterthought but it did. “Oh fuck, hey—Clover!” Scrambling to his feet, stumbling as he held his hand to his torso, Mickey crouched down near your window. “Clover can you hear me?” It wasn’t your name, Clover. More so of a designated call sign the resident Aviators you surround yourself with had given you. You’d brought the cocktail with you when you started at the Hard Deck. Asked Penny if you could redo the cocktail menu. A Clover Club had quickly become the special. The mix of raspberry, gin and egg whites winning over the crew who seemed to take you under their wing. “Clover, hey—!” It looked like the scene from Carrie, the one where blood was just dumped over her entire being. Your seatbelt doing God’s work holding you into your chair upside down. Unconscious.

“Help!” Mickey could smell the gasoline leaking from somewhere close to him, so close and so strong it burnt the hair in his nose. “Help me–!” A voice so panicked sent shivers down Mickey's spine as he turned to see the other car. The one who had hit you, the one that had come out of absolute nowhere at a million miles and hour. “Please–” Checking your pulse carefully and as gently as he could, Mickey left you for much longer than he liked as he raced across to the other car, the man trying to claw his way out of the driver's side window. glass cut and dug into his skin as he fell to the ground. Bloodied, broken and bruised.

“You alright?”

“Does it fucking look like i’m alright! You guys hit me!?” Mickey couldn't believe what he was hearing, he did his best to assess the man as he kneeled beside him. “What the hell even happened.” Without question, Mickey knew the man was drunk. He could smell it just as prominently as he could smell the leaking gasoline.

“Okay, we need to get some help out here.” Looking around Mickey could see the Dard Deck just off in the distance. He could run it if he really needed to. Where was his phone? Patting himself down he realised it must have gone flying in the wreck somewhere. “Do you have a phone sir?”

“I did, somewhere, I was arguing with my wife.” Fucking perfect. A double whammy if there ever was one. Drunk and using his mobile. With a throbbing head and a weak constitution for blood, Mickey stood to his feet, making his way back to you. Just in time too, you were coming back to him. Squeezing your hand to gain your attention, Mickey crawled slightly into the car. Assessing if he should hit your seatbelt buckle or not.

“Mickey?” It came out so soft. Barley even audible as you came to. “What–what's going on?” Trying his best to keep you as calm as possible, Mickey sent you a soft smile. Looking up at you as you looked down at him. Blood dripping everywhere.

“Just had a bit of an accident–” Mickey squeezed your hand as he shimmied further into the car along broken glass. “But I feel like we should try and get you out of here, I'm not a big fan of the smell coming from the engine Clov.”

“Oh god, Bob–” It actually pained him to hear you say it. “It’s his birthday, the cake.”

“They’ll be other cakes Clover, but not another you alright?” Trying to keep his voice as calm as he could, Mickey's heart sunk into his chest. Your legs had been jammed up under the steering wheel column. Jagged edges of plastic from your dash stuck into your thighs, ripping them apart like no tomorrow. So deep he wore he saw bone. “How are you feeling?”

“Been better.” Coughing slightly, blood bubbled up forcing you to cough a little more aggressively. “Im so sorry Mic–”

“Not your fault at all.” Mickey was trying his best to keep himself together as he tried to look for his phone, to no avail. “But I do have to go get help so I can get you outta here.” It was almost as if you’d just woken up and realised what was actually going on. Because the minute you felt Mickey slightly pull his hand away from out of your grasp, you panicked. Tears fell with the gravity of being trapped upside down.

“No no no, don't leave me.” Begging as you cried, trying to unbuckle your seatbelt. It had become jammed from the impact. “Mickey don't you leave me here to die, please–please don't leave me.”

“Clov I can’t not get help.” Mickey tried his best to convince you, but you weren't having a bar of it. Clawing at your seatbelt trying to set yourself free as your steering wheel column dug deeper and deeper into your thighs. “Clover stop!” Mickey tried his best to still you, your hair caked with blood as he held you still. He assumed that there was so much adrenaline pumping through your veins that you couldn’t feel the damage being done to your legs. Either that or shock. “You’re stuck, please don’t make it worse by moving—“

“Get me out Mick—“ It was the worst kind of plea for help because Mickey Garcia was in over his head. He didn’t know what to do. On one hand he could find a way, but the damage he could do in the process might outweigh the cost of setting you free. On the other hand? He leaves you here to get help, what if you weren’t to make it? How could he ever live with himself? “I’m serious, get me out!” Screaming at the top of your lungs as you tried with all your might to free yourself.

“Hey shh, shh—listen?” Mickey looked around the roof of the car which had become the floor, your phone lit up across the other side. With his emotions running wild as he tried to reach it Mickey groaned. It was Rooster trying to get a hold of you. “Shit, I can’t get to it.” Just as Mickey was reaching for your phone it stopped ringing out—a loud overpowering explosion consuming you both entirely. Sending the car rolling over a little more down the embankment. Mickey had smacked his head as the car rolled, rendering him unconscious as you laid pressed against the steering wheel still trapped.

“Mickey?” It hurt to breathe. “Mickey!?” It hurt to speak. “MICKEY!” You didn’t know what had happened—what had caused the car to shift again. To roll over. Whatever blood had rushed to your head while you had been upside down was now pumping back through the rest of your body.

And fuck did it hurt.

Rooster stood on the front porch of the Hard Deck biting his cuticle as he listened to your voicemail for the third time. Where the hell were you? You should have been back by now? By a while.

“Dude? Where’s Clover? I thought she was the one who set this whole thing up?” Jake questioned as he came to stand with Rooster, picking up on the decorated pilot's worry.

“Should’ve been back by now.” As Rooster clicked on your contact once again—Jake jumped slightly beside him at the explosive fireball that shot up in the near distance. Just down the road.

“Holy shit what the hell was that?”

“Whatever it was, it can’t be good—“ Watching as the fire ball dissipated and thick black smoke followed in its tracks, Jake and Bradley were both too scared to admit to one another that they both had the same gut wrenching feeling. What if it had something to do with you? “We should check it out—“

“Yeah no doubt.” Before the two men could get very far down the front steps of the Hard Deck, Bob was coming after them.

“Oh my god, what happened over there?”

“We’re gonna go check it out man.” Rooster explained. “Stay here, enjoy the festivities! It’s your birthday.” Bob didn’t want to admit it, but without you there to taunt and tease? He wasn’t having all that good of a time. “Sure it’s nothing.”

“Well if you’re sure it’s nothing we’ll be quick and be back before anyone even notices, right?” Bob stood his ground. Hesitant to drop the subject because what Rooster didn’t know, what Jake didn’t know, what Bob didn’t know—was that they were all thinking the same thing. But no one wanted to say it out of pure fear. “So what are we doing still standing here?”

“He’s right, let’s just check it out and get back before everyone throws a tantrum—“ Jake had become a little less jerky and a whole lot more tolerable since the success of the uranium mission. But he still had his moments.

The road was pretty much a straight shot to where the explosion had been. The three aviators all jogged somewhat seriously towards the fire. The smell of gasoline and what could only be described as a mix of burning rubber, aluminium and human flesh completely consuming them the closer they got.

“Oh shit–” Jake saw it first. The familiar silver of your Toyota Corolla caught his attention as it sat crumbled up in the embankment next to what he could only imagine had been another car. Completely engulfed by flames. “Fuck–” Pausing in his tracks as he gripped Bob by the forearms. Pulling him back as his eyes widened. Realising it was your car. His heart immediately racing in his chest. “Don't do it to yourself man, go back to the Hard De–” Ripping his arm out of Jake's grip, Bob raced down the embankment, sliding down on his arse to avoid the steep incline and force of gravity. “Call an ambulance man–” Jake's voice was soft as he gestured to Rooster who stood completely gobsmacked by the sight before him. There was no fucking way anyone would walk away from this?

“Clover!!” Bob shouted as he stood to his feet. “Clov? Are you there?” In retrospect, yes it was a stupid question to ask. But Bob didn't know what else to ask. “Clov!” When he finally laid his eyes on you Bob held back his imident automatic response to throw up the entire content of his stomach. “Oh my god–” With a hand over his mouth to sooth the urge, Bob tried his best to open the door. Pulling at the handle to absolutely no avail.

“Won't work–” With your head resting against the steering wheel, you mumbled softly with your eyes closed. Conserving whatever energy you had left. Whatever light. “Bob–”

“Hey pretty girl.” Bob’s bottom lip quivered as he pulled himself through the broken window. Being careful enough to avoid the shards that threatened to slice his torso. “What happened, hey? Do you remember?” All he got as a response was a soft moan, anguish evident. “Can you open your eyes for me?” Bob was careful as he moved your blood stained hair from your face. Dried and stuck in the cuts and gashes that covered your cheeks, your forehead. Watching as your eyelids fluttered open and blood dripped from your slightly open mouth. “There she is, hi Clov.”

“Hi–” It was all you could muster up the strength to say. Small almost inaudible responses. “Mickey?” Bob wasn't thinking straight, he hadnt even thought that Mickey would be with you. He hadn't noticed Mickey sprawled in the back after being thrown around when the car rolled again.It was supposed to be a surprise. Pulling himself out of the window to turn back to Jake who had managed to find a way in, retrieving Mickey from the back before placing him on the ground.

“He’s got a good pulse, I don't know shit else Bob, they aren't in a good position–can you get Clover out?” Statement, question, statement, question. That's all Bob heard. He couldn't think straight. Couldn't see, couldn't hear. This was the woman of his dreams he was dealing with. He’d been too afraid to make a solid move on. “Bob!”

“Sorry, Sorry–ill uh, i'll try.” Shaking himself out of his own head Bob turned back to where you sat trapped in the driver's seat. Assessing the situation. “Clov, I'm gonna try to unclip your seatbelt, yeah?” You’d gone back to just responding with groans, eyes closed. “Open your eyes for me.” Bob reminded you as he reached in and around to unclip the belt that had come loose in the last roll. Shifting you slightly forwards when it unsnapped. Your eyes open just barley.

“I got you–got you a cake.” Okay. Maybe Bob could work with this. Keeping you occupied with absent minded conversation while he stayed with you till the ambulance arrived.

“You did? What flavour was it?” Bob's heart dropped out of his arse when he saw the damage that had been done to your legs. Specifically your thighs, completely cut into and torn off the goddamn bone from your sternwheel column. Completing trapping you regardless if he was able to get the door off its hinges. “Clover, what flavour was the cake?” He wasn't giving up, but Bob quickly realised the best thing he could do would be to just say with you, keep you talking.

“White Chocolate Caramel.” There was not a part of you that wasn't covered in blood. Bob knew the human body held a lot, but he’d never seen it leaking from so many places before.

“Well, I'm sure it would have been perfect.” searching for your hand, Bob gripped it as tight as he could. “I'm here okay, I'm not going anywhere, helps coming Clov.” This had to be the sickest joke the universe had ever pulled on Robert Floyd. He had a plan, you see. Bob was pretty sure that tonight would be the night he finally worked up enough courage to ask you if you wanted to date. Start off slow, go with the flow. Enjoy each other's company more exclusively. He wasn't sure if he’d ever get the chance to now.

“Guys, I'm pretty sure there's a dead guy burning over near the other car–” Rooster shouted as he raced down the embankment. “Ambulance is like five minutes away.” Bob didn't reply, he was too caught up with you. His eyes weren’t leaving yours as you just sat there, resting against your steering wheel. Face squished.

“Bob?” It was a sob. Clear as day. Bob noticed the tears welling in your eyes as they fell down your cheek. Mixing with the dried blood that caked your skin.

“Yeah Clov, I'm here.” Squeezing your hand as you gave him nothing back. Your fingers just twitching ever so slightly.

“I really like you, like a lot.” You didn't feel good at all, something was very wrong and you didn't want Bob to go about his life wondering if you did or didn't like him. Despite your insecurities? Bob had been a good friend. Always. You just needed him to know that there was more than friendship on your part. Just in case. “Just need you to know–” Coughing up blood as you really struggled to keep your eyes open and tried on Bob. “Just in case–”

“You aren't dying on me.” Bob was stern when you leaned further into the car. His face just inches away from yours. “You don't get to die on me, God if you die on me Clov i'll be–”

“Angry?” Of course he’d be angry, you ruined his birthday.

“Completely and utterly heartbroken.” Bob finished his sentence before you could let your mind run wild with the thought of Bob being angry at you. “I couldn't never be angry at you.” It was the Silence that fell as your face changed. Stilling as muscles relaxed and your breathing shallow even more than what it already was. “Clover? Hey– Clov you stay with me alright?” Bob panicked as he pushed your hair back out of your face. Your hand fell limp in his as you smiled softly at him just one more time. Your vision blurred and became dark and dazed. Sirens alerted Bob to the fact that emergency services were just getting to you now. They began racing down the embankment with gear they needed.

“What I would give to know what it would be like to be loved by you.” It was the last thing you said before darkness came for you, going completely limp as a steady stream of blood poured from your mouth. Eyes still open as your entire body weight collapsed onto the steering wheel. Bob couldn't believe it. No–he wouldnt let you just fucking die on him.

“Clover!!! Hey, no no no no don't you do this to me! Don't you do this, c’mon, you're alright.” Complete denial had set in as he tapped your cheek trying to get you to wake up. “No baby don't do this, please don't leave me–”

“Sir, step aside!” The paramedics on sight were quick to push Bob to the side. The feeling of his hand slipping out of yours Bob swore he’d never forget. “She's not breathing! Let's get her out of here quickly!” Bob stumbled back as he felt his heart racing, tears streamed down his face until his back crashed against Rooster. Finally breaking as he fell to his knees. Listening to the paramedics as they worked on you. “Where's the defib?” “I can't get a pulse!” “Pass me the saw now!!!”

“Bob?” It was Mickey's voice that pulled Bob out of his own head. Watching as paramedics placed him on a stretch with his neck in a brace just for good measure. “She loves you, you know.” Your blood was all over his hands, his shirt, his jeans. Bob couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think of anything else but how he’d never get a chance to love you as fiercely as you deserved to be loved.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

As you cleared the empty glasses from the top of the tables, you caught the sight of Bob in your peripheral. Sitting off to the side while the rest of the aviators he’d accompanied to the Hard Deck played a game of pool. Respectfully—it wasn’t Bob's thing. The pool table and booze weren’t what he came to the Hard Deck for. It was and always would be to see you.

“You want another drink Lieutenant?” Still working to clear the table before turning to face Bob with a smirk. “I can make you a mean mocktail.”

“You know I hate asking—“ Bob looked down at the empty glass of lemonade that he held in his lap.

“It’s not asking if I’m offering.” Taking the glass from Bob's hand, you stayed comfortably between his legs as his hand moved to glide against the side of your thigh, fingers playing with the hem of your waitressing apron. “One Clover Club mocktail coming right up.” It all seemed to give you a case of Déjà vu. You’d done this before.

Too many times to count.

“What about the cake?” Bob questioned as his eyes lingered down towards your thigh. Confused, you tilted his chin up with your fingers.

“What cake?” Huh, this was new. This wasn’t what you were expecting Bob to say.

“My birthday cake—“ Reaching out to cup your cheek, Bob left a bloody handprint against your cheek. “You ruined it.”

“What are you talking about?” Storm clouds were quick to take over the sunny sky that had been blistering outside the Hard Deck. Glass shattered around you as three branches smashed into the bar. “Bob! What’s going on!?” Falling to the ground on top of you—Bob protected you from the wild weather and broken glass. Bob used his body as a shield.

“Quickly, follow me!” Rising to his feet Bob took off running. Trying your best to follow him, you stumbled back to the ground. Your legs were numb. You thighs were cut up and bleeding, so badly you could see bone. Flesh torn apart. “Clover! Over here!!”

“I can’t walk!” Panicking you felt your chest tightening as the storm outside got worse. Where had everyone else gone? “Bob! Help me!” The entire Hard Deck looked as if it had been caught in the eye of a hurricane.

“I’m over here!!” His figure has gone, vanished into thin air. “I’m here Clover!” Where the fuck was he? Why did he leave you?

“How do I get to you! I can’t walk, I can’t see you!?”

“Just wake up.” Bob's voice had softened, like he was whispering right in your ear. “Please come back to me—“ Scrunching your eyes tight as you balled yourself into a foetal position a steady beeping came through the thunder. The beeping drawing you back to reality because when you opened your eyes again you were no longer at the Hard Deck. You were in what you could only assume was a hospital bed.

Cold. That’s how you would describe hospitals in one word. They were always so cold. The steady beeping of your heart rate monitor was the only sound you could concentrate on as you slowly but surely looked around. Your arm was casted. Had you broken it? Trying to shift yourself up the bed slightly you noticed how unbelievably heavy your legs were—or lack thereof. Wait—why couldn’t you feel your legs?

“I uh, I just stepped out for a coffee. Didn't expect to see you awake for a while.” Bob’s voice was soft as he stopped himself at the threshold of your room. Holding a large coffee in his hand and a fresh bunch of flowers he’d gotten to replace the practically dead ones that were in the vase across the room. Timidity, he entered. Not sure how to act even though he’d been by your side since you were moved into a room by yourself. “Not saying that you being awake is a bad thing, I just um–the doctors told me not to get my hopes up.” You didn’t say anything in response as you watched Bob fixed the flowers he'd brought you into the vase, discarding the old ones before he came to sit beside you. He looked tired. Scruff has settled in nicely across his chin and cheeks.

“It's that bad huh.” You cut right to the chase. Not wanting to beat around the bush too long with it. Bob just took a sip of his coffee as he tried to hold back tears. He’d gotten pretty good at it over the last week or two. He’d just swallow a bunch of times and clench his jaw to stop himself from breaking down over a girl who wasn't even his to break down over. “Bob?”

“I should go get your parents.” As Bob tried to leave, you reached out for his wrist, keeping him from moving away. He hated the little oxygen tube that fed up into your nose. He wanted to rip it right from your face. But he knew better than to do that. It just hurt to know you’d been through so much. That he couldn't do more to help. “Clov–”

“You won't sugar coat it, please?” You knew if your parents had a chance to explain what was wrong with you, they would give you all the odds and tell you to fight and keep strong. But Bob? He was a statistics guy. A realist. He knew exactly how bad things were. You could see it in his eyes. “I wanna hear it from you.” Running his hand down his face as he placed his coffee on the table beside you. Bob reached for your papers. Sitting back down in the chair beside you as his free hand squeezed yours. The pad of his thumb rubbing softly against the skin of your palm.

“Um–so–” Bob didn't really know where to start. Clearing his throat as he looked back to the woman he loved so dearly. “So you had an accident, a pretty serious one.” Explaining what had happened the best he could with the information he had. “I think a good place to start is that Mickey is already discharged, he’s good, a couple of broken ribs and bruises here and there but otherwise he walked away pretty unscathed.” That in and of itself had been a miracle. It was good to hear though. “A little bit of a concussion but that was to be expected.”

“Why can't I feel my legs?” You really just wanted to get to the worst part of all of it. Bob was reluctant to explain but he knew you would appreciate him just cutting the cord. “Rip the bandaid off Flyboy–” It was something you called him just to tase him. Flyboy. Even as you laid practically on your deathbed, you still had a massive thing for Robert Floyd.

“You broke your back in two places Clov, doctors said you had a pretty high risk of losing function possibly from the waist down.” Bob's entire demeanour changed as he lost the smirk that crept across his face at the pet name you called him. Settling for something more serious as he held your hand and explained what was going on. “They tried to operate, you know, clear the bone fragments that had shattered and tidy everything up. Relieve the pressure on your spinal cord.” Bob paused a he look a deep breath in. he’d had more time to come to terms with this but he still hadnt fully processed it. “The surgery offered slightly better odds on the paralysis front but you were in critical condition–the surgery came with real risk.”

“The risk being, I'll never walk again?” It cut through Bob's heart like a hot knife into butter.

“The doctors seem to think there's a slight chance, but if we’re looking at it from an odds perspective here Clover it's like one in one hundred.” But he told you the truth like you asked him to. Didn't sugar coat the situation at all. He told you openly what you were facing. “There's options like rehabilitation, but the chances of ever walking without aid again are pretty slim to none.” the silence lingered as you processed what Bob had just told you. Frowning, you simply tried to change the subject.

“Did you ever get another birthday cake?” Bob looked at you like you were on some sort of medication he wasn't aware of. “I think if anything you need a cake.” Pushing the hospital blanket off your legs you tried to sit up. But couldn’t on your own accord. “Bob, help me up would you?”

“Y/n” Bob hardly ever used your name. Noone really did these days. It always always callsigns and nicknames. So when Bob said your name it struck a nerve that someone was severely wrong. “I'm not gonna do that alright, just–let me get the doctors for you and ill–”

“I'm fine, see–?” Pushing yourself up with your good arm. A jolt of pain flashed up your spine. Gritting your teeth you tried to act cool. “See, now help me off this goddamn bed.” Trying your best to throw your dead legs over the side of the bed, Bob had to reach out and physically stop you. Forcing you to stop what you were doing. “I'm fine! I'm totally fine!”

“Clover your paralysed, please–don't make it worse just, please, i'll go get the doctors.”

“I dont need some fucking doctor! I need to get out of this fucking bed!” A nurse walking past had heard the commotion coming from your room, stopping in the doorway to see Bob struggling to keep you still in your bed. Paging for someone to come check on you before the situation spiralled out of control. “Bob if you aren’t going to help me get the fuck out!” Not knowing what to do, Bob ignored your pleas for him to leave, how could he do that when you were so clearly not alright. “Get out!! GET OUT!”

“I'm not gonna leave you here alone Clov” Bob tried to hold you still as he saw the doctors coming in. “It's just a lot right now–”

“Fuck. Off. Floyd.” At this point you didn't really know what you were saying as Bob stepped back and let the doctors who knew what they were doing take over. “Get out of here!” It was hard not to take things as personally as he did. Bob knew it was just the process of grief taking effect. It hits everyone differently. You didn't mean what you were saying, but the fact you had just been told you probably would ever walk again had your emotions everywhere. You needed someone to blame, someone to hate. Bob had just been the closet victim.

Watching as the doctors and nurses sedated you for your own benefit, Bob let his emotions escape as tears streamed down his cheeks. Standing over near the flowers he’d brought you. Settling you back into the bed, one of the nurses turned to Bob, offering him a few tissues.

“You shouldn't leave, she clearly needs someone–it’s most likely just the cocktail of drugs we’re pumping her with.”

“Oh I wasn't going to.” Bob was quick to clarify. “Just hard seeing her like this.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Bob had waited until your parents had arrived before he left your side. Since you’d asked him to leave he hadn’t been back. Well, as far as you were aware anyway. He’d slip in to check on you while you were sleeping, but he was too afraid to overstep a line you’d drawn in the invisible sand of your relationship. As days turned into a week, you’d begun to worry irreversible damage had been done to your relationship.

But something Bob couldn’t let go of was the fact he’d watched you die. He’d watched your light fade into nothingness. He’d watched the girl he’d pinned over for months with your intoxicating laugh and bright smile fade to nothing. He’d been given a chance to love you—he wasn’t letting that go.

He saw you out of bed, sitting by the window in the wheelchair the hospital had provided. Knocking gently, you didn’t turn around. For a split second—Bob was going to turn on his heels and dip. But he stood his ground. Clearing his throat as he entered your room.

“You know, I never did get to eat that birthday cake.” Bob started as he came to stand beside you. Noticing the glazed over look in your eyes as you looked longingly out the window. “So I thought, why not share one with my best girl.” A little bit of Bob's southern hospitality jumped out when he sat the small two person cake on your lap. Holding up two silver spoons as he ducked to kiss the top of your head. Chuckling softly, you shook yourself out of your daze. Watching as Bob sat down beside you.

“I'm sorry I snapped at you last week.” It was a heartfelt apology you knew Bob deserved.  

“It’s not an issue, really.” Bob was quick on the draw as he shook his head. You didn't need to apologise for grieving.

“Why’d you stay away for so long then?” Silence fell for a moment before Bob decided to just be truthful, be honest.

“I just wanted to give you time, some space.” It was the truth. “I still came by and sat with you while you slept. Checked in with the nurses, your parents, Mickey.” Opening the plastic lid on the cake before he dug his spoon in as he spoke candidly. “You’ve kinda got me in a spiral here Clov and I dunno what to do.” It was Bob's first admission. Taking a spoonful of cake into his mouth as he sat back in his chair. Mimicking his actions you did the same, taking a spoonful of cake onto your spoon. “I'm pretty sure I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, but that could also be the whole I saw you die thing still making it hard to sleep.”

“What did you just say?” Coughing on the cake you just swallowed in a lump.

“The whole I saw you die thing making it hard to sleep?” Bob repeated as he frowned his brows. “I mean yeah, i just can't get the image out of my head, and then there's the blood–”

“No Bob, I wasn't talking about that–'' It wasn't that you didn't care about what Bob was going through, seeing someone die in front of you would be hard on anyone's mental stability. “What do you mean you wanna spend the rest of your life with me?” It felt so natural to say that Bob hadnt even realised how much that could weigh on a person. “Robert Floyd, you know I'm in a wheelchair right? For possibly the rest of my life– you can't do that.”

“Why not?” He was being so casual about it that for a moment you thought you were going crazy. “What law says that?”

“There's no law it just seems–” You paused as you hung your head low. Almost shamefully. “Unfair.” That really hit Bob. “I feel like you'd be more of a carer then a partner and I don't want you being stuck with a girlfriend who can't walk. Do you know how many things I'd be cheating you out of?” It really did sound like you were trying to talk Bob out of whatever decision he’d made about you. “Not to mention the process of–”

“You don't get to think of yourself as any less deserving because of this.” Bob was quick to interrupt as he brought you a little closer to him by your wheelchair. “You are the best person i know–”

“Bob please–”

“You're so funny, you light up any room you walk into.” Bob smirked as he saw your eyes get a little bigger, a smirk trying its best to take over the muscles in your face. “Do you know how many Clover Clubs i've drunk just so i had a chance to talk to you?”

“What do you mean?” You could not believe what you were hearing as you tried to hide your smile, biting your bottom lip softly as Bob softly rocked your wheels back and forth as he admitted his feelings, his little smooth criminal moves.

“I hate eggs, God the idea of drinking raw egg whites makes me want to vomit, but goddammit the way you would always ask, so nicely, so sincerely, how could I say no!” It was the laugh you let out that had Bob beaming. He hadnt heard you laugh in so long. “Even if it was non-alcoholic id still rather drink anything else than raw egg whites.”

“You should have told me!” Between genuine chuckles that evoked tears of joy, your smile had come back. Bob was certain at that moment he was going to marry you one day. “I would've just made you something else, or better yet brought you over something you actually wanted.”

“Now where's the fun in that?” Bob beamed as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. Holding you against him for a moment before pulling away to rest his forehead against yours. “Honestly, if you want to, we’ll take it slow and just see how things go? But this?” Bob gestures to the wheelchair you sat on. “Does not change how I feel about you. If anything it's made me realise just how fleeting time really is and all I wanna do with the time I've got left on this god forsaken earth is love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“You're gonna end up resenting me.” It was hard to trust that someone could love you with how broken you really were. “For all the things i'll never be able to do.”

“I could never resent you.” Bob was as honest as he could be. “Never could I ever resent you for just being you Clov.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Present day

Bob hated his birthday, a little part of him died that day. He would never take life for granted again. He cherished small moments with the people around him more than most people would ever know. Not only would he take mental pictures of life's greatest pleasures, he’d taken up photography in order to make sure he could always look back on the memories he’d made with the ones he loved. If Robert Floyd was around? You’d best be sure there was a camera not far behind.

Yawning as he made his way down the hall, Bob kicked away balloons that had littered the floor of the hallway. He knew you weren't far away.

“Babe, what is all this?” Rounding the corner of the living and kitchen area, Bob froze in his tracks as he locked eyes on you. “What the hell!” Completely stunned.

“Happy Birthday Baby!” You beamed as bright as the biggest star as you stood just slightly away from the kitchen counter. Standing still on legs that had not held your full weight on their own in three whole years. Your cane close by, Bob could see it sticking out from behind the island bench. But that didn't matter. Because as you took three very wobbly steps towards him unassisted? Bob couldn't have asked for anything else besides your happiness. “Been working towards this since you told me I was still worth your love.”

“You will never stop amazing me, pretty girl.” Bob was quick to catch you in his arms as you lost your balance, crashing into him. His lips on your in an instant as he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. You were his one in one hundred chance. The love of his life. “I love you so much.”  

Robert Floyd hated his birthday. His birthday brought around memories of the women he lost. Forever trapped in that smashed up car. But he’d never for a moment forget how to love the women who he had the chance to love as fiercely and as passionately as he did. He knew a part of you died that day, but he was just thankful to be able to spend his days with the best parts of you that were left.

“I love you so much more, Flyboy.”

[willtheweaver]

URL song game

Thanks for the tag @agirlandherquill @theink-stainedfolk

Rules: go to your playlist and find a song for each letter of your url. Then tag some friends to do the same!

Here it goes then:

W- Walk the line(Johnny Cash)

I- In my Life (The Beatles)

L- Leave Her Johnny (Trad.)

L- Loch Tay Boat Song ( Trad. melody, lyrics by Harold Boulton)

T- The Leaving of Liverpool (Trad. )

H- Help! (The Beatles)

E- East 12th Street (Green Day)

W- Wiscasset Schooners (Lois Lyman)

E- Empty Chairs at Empty Tables (Les Misérables ,10th anniversary concert soundtrack)

A- All I ask of you (Phantom of the Opera, 25th anniversary concert soundtrack)

V- Veracruz ( Warren Zevon)

E- Erastina (Bob Wright)

R- Rio Grand (trad.)

Wow. If I had a nickel for every musical that had a song I included in this list, I’d have two nickels, etc etc.

Tagging @indecentpause @cowboybrunch @tabswrites @xenascribbles @splashinkling

@eccaiia @poethill @rivenantiqnerd @elizaellwrites @moltenwrites @drchenquill and open tag

[keithbangkok]

Hello Keith - just thought I say hello. It gonna sound funny but my late Dad’s photo of the Schooner Olivia Brown (out of Gloucester Mass) was printed next to your story of An Appreciation of the Brooklyn Bridge in “Sea History” summer 1983. My story about the boat is towards the back. Since then other related stories have come full circle. It’s amazing ... your watercolor is absolutely wonderful. Bob McGlinchey

Hi Bob- Thanks for your kind comment about my watercolor.

I had forgotten about the article in Sea History- such a long time ago!

I must find my copy and check out your story about your Dad's schooner....

[bones-for-sure]

MALKOLAI FIC!!

Malkolai fic!! just a short, cute, sweet moment of the two aboard the volkvolny, hidden and tucked away from the world. my sweet, silly little guys!

this is just something short to get my writing muscles for this fandom back up and running, i've been hyperfixating on other ones recently and neglecting my babies here😔.

content: fluff, malkolai, volkvolny, no dialogue, just a cute moment of the two cuddling, they're both sleeping, heavy on the descriptions [this was basically just me sitting down and going crazy with a picture in my head for five minutes, and the result was this heap of sugar] word count: 510

hope you guys enjoy!

Aboard the Volkvolny - malkolai fluff

Sunlight streamed in through the small porthole in the captain's quarters, a soft beam falling across the teal and cream bed sheets, casting the mahogany into a rich umber. The gentle glow painted gold, the occupants of the bed.

One with a head of feathery, curling spun gold, shimmering ever brighter under the light as though storing the glittering brilliance and glowing with the blessings of the stars.

The other, tanned skin, bronzed and glowing as warm as the hair of the first, with light freckles splashed across cheekbones, as though marks left from gentle affections and kissed by the sun, glowed with a warm strength from within.

The ship they lay in was a stunning, sleek schooner, with at least three masts and a fantail stern.

Sunlight made the golden gildings of the ship shine like it was enchanted, and rich wood, painted teal and rendered permanent by materialki craftsmen, proudly framed a gleaming deck of burnt umber. Above, the light cream sails flared, filling with natural winds, the day so pleasant for sailing that a squaller’s aid was deemed unnecessary.

The Volkvolny was a thing of beauty, that much was certain.

She rocked gently, bobbing in the calm waves as the first crew hands to rise hauled up her anchor. Outside on the deck, hushed noises of movement could be heard as early risers amongst the crew began to go through the motions of their daily routines.

The pair slumbered on, neither accustomed to lazy mornings, neither prone to good sleep, yet sleep they did, and never better than in each other's arms.

The calm sounds of the crew milling about on deck served as a soft lullaby of familiarity, drifting to the captain’s quarters as they cycled through mundane tasks, bumbling about, functioning off muscle memory as their sleep-addled minds sluggishly struggled to wakefulness.

The tranquil morning was tinged with nostalgia and mirth as the sun playfully caressed all it could reach, greeting them gently.

Nearby, a flock of gulls soared past, some dipping gracefully into the foam of the otherwise unbroken blue, and emerging with a bounty of fish before rejoining their group with a few strong beats of their wings. The sun glinted off their gleaming white back, making the droplets of water clinging to their grey-dabbled back glitter like jewels. Above, the blue sky stretched on, limitless, fluffy white clouds scattered across like cotton pulled sparse like paint lightly applied with a dry brush.

It was like a scene captured by strokes of an artist’s loving, tender brush, immortalised in a painting to be cherished for distant ages.

Yet the two figures most adored by the sun slumbered on into the late morning, oblivious to the world within each other’s tender embrace. The pair slept on, stealing a moment of peace as they slept well into the noon, undisturbed by their crew in a rare show of soft indulgence. When they woke they would be subject to merciless teasing aplenty, but for now they lay content in the safe solace of their love’s arms.

word count: 510

****

I hope you guys enjoyed!!

I might turn this into a series, i was thinking something like a collection of malkolai's stolen moments of private affection, or maybe one of those 5 + 1 things? let me know if that would be something you guys would be interested in ig🤷

[yahoo201027]

Day in Fandom History: December 13...

When the Belchers got an unexpected invitation to cater for the Glencrest Yacht Club for their holiday boat parade, Bob suspects that something isn't right over who invited him as the Belcher kids have their eyes on the present-loaded Santa Schooner. The ninth Holiday-themed episode of Bob’s Burgers, "Yachty or Nice", premiered on this day, 3 Years Ago.

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #8:

Judy Collins' Fifth Album

Judy Collins had it rough.

Like just about everyone else in history, her songwriting could never compare with that of Joni Mitchell, Sandy Denny or Leonard Cohen; rather she introduced the world to those artists by covering Clouds, Who Knows Where the Time Goes and Susanne. Nearly 60 years later we're more than content to listen to Joni, Sandy and Leonard's own versions and forget all about poor Judy.

And her version of Amazing Grace is nice, sure, but comparing her take to Aretha Franklin's is as silly as comparing my writing to that of my famous brother.

And no matter how many times she posed in the nude with odd, defiant joy Collins could never compete in the looks department with Linda Ronstadt. Who could? All Linda had to do was put on a Porky Pig tank top.

Collins couldn't even win the boyfriend war. Joan Baez claimed Bob Dylan long before his ship came in, so Collins had to shack up with none other than our forever nemesis Stephen Stills, her sweet blue eyes serving as the muse for one of his only good songs before he wandered off to forever suck.

So it's no wonder that the Dollar Bin is chock full of Judy Collins.

(Please note that I bought my copy for a mere 91 cents. And that was in the last year. After noting this, please join me in praise of the God of the Dollar Bin, from whom all blessings flow.)

Anyway, don't be fooled when you see Judy's Fifth Album lodged between Captain & Tennille's corpulent dogs and CS&N's schooner of certain destruction. Snap Fifth Album up; it's awesome.

So let's drop the needle!

Collins' spent her first four albums stuck in the Hootenanny Spin Cycle, producing an album every 6 months full of churning, seasick guitar work and strident, declarative singing. Baez's sound at the time is similar; like stage actors 25 years earlier who couldn't adjust to film's close ups, early 60's folk singers, Dylan excepted, all belt to the back row when in the studio. It's as if they are unsure how exactly this new fangeled thing called "amplification" works.

But with Fifth Album, recorded in 1965, Collins achieves comfort and ease before the microphone, setting the stage for every studio singer who's come since; she sings to us rather than at us, and every moment is wonderful.

Let's start with Thirsty Boots. I always wondered why Dylan covered the song, pretty terribly, for Self Portrait. Now I know. Bob wanted to sound like Judy.

Equally great is her take on Mr. Tambourine Man. There's a lot to say about the track; here it is if you'd like to listen while I ramble.

Dylan's original hit the street in March 65; the Byrds altered the world's axis with their cover a month later. Collins' version didn't come out until the next Fall but it's unclear when she actually recorded the song.

Without any proof, I'd argue that she laid her take down that same Spring. After all, she doesn't sing the song as if it's a Dylan or Byrds cover. Instead, it sounds like she heard Bob sing the song in her apartment one night, demanded the lyrics, then went into the studio and owned it on her own terms the next day.

Sure, Roger McGuinn, who'd served as a mediocre player and arranger for Collins on her previous studio record, invented that iconic 12 electric string sound. Sure, Dylan knew his way around a six string. But Collins straight up shreds on the guitar; no one else is playing for her here. Had she been born 20 or 30 years later and not been shackled by 60's and 70's sexism, it's easy to imagine Judy showing Kim Deal, Kristin Hersh, PJ Harvey and all the boygeniuses who followed how to rock.

There's a lot more to this record. Collins' does her trademark thing yet again, introducing the world to Gordon Lightfoot via her cover of Early Morning Rain. Yes, I know, Ian and Sylvia put out their version a month earlier. But who wants to listen to them when we could listen to Judy?

A year or so later she'd take her talent agent shtick to a whole other level by famously talking Leonard Cohen out of his reticence to even get on stage. Collins knew talent when she heard it, long before others. That's why she relegated Stills to bass in her band in the late 60's and never covered one of his crummy songs.

Let's end with perhaps the most obscure track on the record, The Coming of the Roads. I keep a list in my wallet of previously unknown-to-me artists to seek out whenever I'm deep in the Dollar Bin. Because of Collins' cover of this song, Billy Edd Wheeler is currently underlined on that list.

Dear friends, I hope you are all well. Thank you for reading. I hope your next hunt through the Dollar Bin turns up something half as beautiful as this track.

[jassrain]

"Captain Crimvaren, ma'am," the cabin boy, Jim, huffed out. The youth was in a panic and scared, it read from his heavy breathing to wide darting eyes, and his pallid complexion.

"Take a breath Jimmy," Rain said as she stood up, her smoky voice soothing in tone. "What has you in such a state?" She asked, tightening the belt of her breaches after tucking in her tunic.

"Ma'am, the sky is strange….you have to see this, maam." The youth calmed enough to speak clearly.

"Then I'll have a look" she walked past the boy tousling his shaggy hair. She set up her boots next to the door and remained barefoot. After a brief glance at the ornate long coat she pulled the tricornered hat on to shade her eyes as she went out on deck.

On the deck there was dead silence, no one calling for sail work or rigging adjustments. Also missing was the sound of the sails snapping in the wind. There was the creek and groan of the rigging as the schooner bobbed.

"Are we in the doldrums Mr Hawk?" Rain asked, approaching the helm, snapping her fingers in front of the man's face when he didn't answer.

She finally turned to look at what had the crew so stunned to not answer their captain. The sea was still like glass and reflected the deep purple sky and maroon horizon of the sunset. There were however three moons in that sky, one full and two crescent. The crescent moons framing the full, giving the appearance of an eye.

"Jim" Rain said, pressing a key into the youth's hand, "give Skillet a sip of rum then help him distribute it to the others."

"Captain" the boy nodded, then from the stairs to the main deck "where are we, Captain?"

"Well off the map young Jim, well off the map." Dismissing Jim from her thoughts, Rain went to the rail and scanned the aft horizon.

[bumfool]

hello this is my total list of band names which i started keeping track of in uhh

silly brain thing

puddle of dust

new phobia

dog smell

hello monkey

monkey defense league

gnome child

sex men

look at this cool bug

a little blood

water hog

chilado moledo

wak

moon monkey

shakara

ashkelon

me you storm drain

when the water isn’t clear

dog child

spider tree

ratboy

kingfisher

the hole thing

hadio red

yucky yuck yuck

macramé

we came flying from heavenly worlds

long bob

penis patrol

bucket brigade

stick on fire

tumor tits

earth defense group

bad dream brigade

cat haus

frick sniffer

silly boy

nothing castle

the pareidolics

the miceketeers

bonobo brigade

weird arpeggi fish

billy pilgrim

item nine

el harvey

feline groovy

honey mustard

better than water

gulliver’s girdle

moon bloom

actual flower

the most gigantic

lying mouth

wall of ice

worm buffet

bluku oktan

ricecake

bull sperm

western pleasures

twiggy barlow

letters to abigail

the hat men

punji pit

cockroach prom

cadaver synod

chromatophore

musa velutina

father gunstore

hobo house

woodlouse

slan shack

phantom hand

wisconsin wolfman

aswang

the globster

hunger stone

grazguul thrakka

shudder head

judas hole

repo men

human bean

the julia chord

cosmic sausage

beyond sausage

ilumina

survivor worm

volcanson

god sent the palatine back

ghostly schooner

night clear, sea calm

drive until doomsday

bouteille

mary and the celestes

suicide tuesdays

ballzords

along the coast road

apportioned for foxes

another long walk

nice pen. it’s not a pen anymore

calaguala

pseudodeath

the LD50s

ataraxis

the earth dies screaming

the inseminoids

soft option

donna perola

the gumptions

primordial fungus

protofungus

thick cut bacon band

shaman fraud

fradulent shamans

the chlorindas

the fresnos

saqqara

as chiapas

mop water

the big machine

hexalog

pseudocide

government job

yarn chickn

stiff breeze

we should talk

subproject 3

no. 56 dipper / number 56 dipper

compass moon

no such luck

slop taco

sloppo

cindy the skull

purgatory creek

pig irons

cudbrain

milkweed monster

tulpa florida

denim crown

anna i miss you

the flakes

sugar urine disease

the true story of your death

broken stairway

divine disorder

the crimson hexagon

the senseless perditions

axaxaxas mlö

the plaster cramp

ireneo funes

bliss st.

we’re probably okay

under contract

clodhoppers

black oats

disgusting decrepit rat

saint fungus

hog chariot

enuma elish

akasha

dog in water

pain free prozac experience

no wild dog or fear

old goat skull

great land, house of shades

beneath earth

billenia

gordon through the door

monoxide blue

tiger mask

texas mack

vast poodle

ob dixilis

very velvet

myriagon

fallen glass

chronic wasting disease

seabirds

dozens of ships

moribund understanding

branching of road

safer smoking

pearl sugar

citrus psyllids

napalm stars

carnivorous deep-sea sponge

asterion

rat regrets

electromeat

dumpster cat

willowbush

moon monkey

frogspawn

laïs

asrar nama

zahir (shadow of the rose)

lulu breaks your heart

fungal disease

qaholom

panthalassa

hagstone

stonetops

waxman hides honey sticks on the fridgetop

trash and food

nightswimming

the inca doves

seeds from dead tomatoes

seeds from dead fruit

dreaming bad dreams

lönnrot

camel caboose

sixteen thousand

holding toads

droopy moon

moth brother

cecropia

perpetualcombustion

souvenir society

cages for mutants

mixednuts

pakistani tekken

the film rips

the parallax view

robot subplot

red super bomb

tracing stains

pearlesaint

saint pearl

something sinister

bone bag

[stellar-smth]

Ch3 of 'Beyond Emerald Shallows' is out

[...]

Erwin is on his knees, turned sideways towards Levi and Levi can’t help but keep his eyes locked on the man’s form. The heel of the schooner affects Erwin as much as everyone else on board and Erwin has to cling to the bucket with one hand to prevent it from sliding away, possibly falling over even. It looks circumstantial – Erwin’s clumsiness is surely not of any help as well. 

A faint smirk settles on Levi’s lips at the sight as his eyes wander further up, inspecting the blonde's profile from up close – his straight nose, high cheekbones and sharp jawline, flowing from his ear down to his chin. And he is clean-shaven. Indeed, the stubble that had turned into a three-day beard has disappeared from his cheeks only to leave behind smooth, tanned skin. 

It shouldn’t surprise Levi that Erwin’s efforts to keep his appearance neat include his facial hair as well – but still, Levi is a little bit stunned by it and his chest tightens at the sight. Either Erwin found someone among the crew he trusted enough to give him a hand and guide the sharp razor blade along his neck or he managed to do it himself – on a moving, swaying ship which would be impressive. The former reminds Levi of the way Isabel gushed about Erwin and he can just hope that she wasn’t the one shaving him, although he doubts it. Isabel can be a little clumsy herself and Levi can already picture her accidentally slipping with the razor blade along Erwin’s exposed throat. 

Levi wants to revel in this image a little longer but the sight of Erwin’s Adam’s apple bobbing distracts him – he has to swallow hard himself, a tingling spreading through his chest. Fuck, does Erwin have to be so finicky about his appearance, does he have to look so crisp and clean?

Levi is just about to force his eyes away when Erwin suddenly looks to his side, meeting Levi’s gaze and causing his heart to skip a beat. Levi wonders if Erwin was able to sense the stare, maybe even felt a little uncomfortable under it. But the expression on Erwin’s face rather points to the contrary – he looks relaxed and his blue eyes are shimmering as Levi hurries to turn away. 

Shit. He feels foolish. 

He shouldn’t feel caught off guard by this guy – after all, Levi is the Captain and  Erwin is just a barely tolerated guest on boardThe Lady Kuchel. Levi should be able to drill his eyes into whoever he wants, anytime he wants. 

With this new conviction in mind, he returns his gaze with more confidence and finds that Erwin has returned to the task at hand – but he seems hesitant, not as committed as before. A frown spreads over Erwin’s forehead and his full lips are pressed into a thin line as if something is going on in his head. 

Levi contemplates and exhales a low, reluctant growl from the bottom of his throat before he speaks. “What is it, Smith, spit it out,” he snarls and tries to put as much poison in his tone as possible. 

[...]

>>> Link to the fic on AO3 <<<

[fishrpg]

2024-05-06: Isle Zone 04 (Humid, Subtropical)

Two islands, one of which is an active volcano, occupy this area.

The Shroud (Small Island, Inhabited, DUN)

An active shield volcano whose slopes are covered in forest are the main features of this small island, followed by soggy "marshland" made of pulverized volcanic rock. The name "The Shroud" comes from the omnipresent haze from the volcano that blankets the island, as well as from the island's more sinister secret: it's used as a makeshift prison and an unusual but not-uncommon place to maroon sailors. A ship in general disrepair (the Emilie) is currently moored at the island.

The Shroud (Enchanted Prison) Large Dungeon, 28 areas

Deep in the heart of the prison is a portal to the elemental plane of fire, and it was recently opened by a purveyor of addictive substances who found himself on the island. He makes Firesight, which is a gritty paste with addictive properties that is eaten to give a person temporary darkvision as well as causing "hallucinations" of fire elementals. The hallucinations are actually real fire elementals who exist between this world and the plane of fire and are trapped in the volcano.

If the portal is closed, the crew of Emilie that is currently moored at the island will reward the party with money if they are able to find the person they are looking for.

Emilie (Medium Schooner, Merchant Vessel)

Moored at the island and in general disrepair is the Emilie, a schooner that is decorated in many colorful, but threadbare banners depicting a griffin. The ship is captained by Khalid the Angler, a merchant who earned his moniker because of his habit of always fishing for deals. At this time, though, he's drunk, desperate, and aggressive; he's currently attempting to rescue an incarcerated friend from the island, but didn't think the plan through. Khalid is not fond of laws or authority, especially if they prevent him from conducting business.

Gull Island (Medium Island, Uninhabited, HAZ)

Surrounded by a maze of rocky shoals, the island cliffs enclose a pocket of beach. The northern forest on the island contains a great deal of highly-toxic flora, which gives way to an upland savanna in the center of the island. The forest and coastline at the southern tip of the island shows signs of a recent campsite that has been partially-reclaimed by the tides. Wooden cargo brought ashore is now bobbing gently in the water. The cargo and campsite belong to the Emilie, and it was offloaded there in case the ship had to take on more passengers than expected.

[ohtobeleah]

Hi Leah, just wanted to tell you that I completely missed the newest installment of the Kas/Jake series and I am screaming because of how realistic and in-character Jake is 😭

I do have something I wanted to ask for your thoughts on. Have you ever heard of an Angel Shot? (look it up if you haven't, it's a way of asking for help from bartenders)

My question is it really a question or a thought idk anymore is that how do you think would the TGM boys would react to hearing their teammate/someone they're close with ask for it?

I love all of your work but 🥺 Chaos and Rooster have a special place in my heart

Ahhh thank-you so much! You’re so kind!

I went to a adults putt putt golf course that did angel shots when we went to Brisbane in November. They had the flyers on the backs of the doors in the women’s bathroom.

To answer your question. This is how I think they’d react. And to save time we’re gonna go with the same scenario for all the guys. (I’m just gonna do Hangman, Rooster and Bob because those are my three home bois.)

Let’s say you’ve gone on a blind date. A tinder match perhaps 🤔 You’d decided that having your date at the Hard Deck was probably your best bet at making sure this guy wasn’t going to get a chance to cut you up into a million pieces—you know, just incase he turned out to be a serial killer.

But he’s giving you bad vibes, really creepy vibes and there’s warning signals blaring and red flags waving right in front of your face. So after you finish dinner, you’re planning your escape.

“Look, this has been really fun and all but I think I’m gonna get out here.” You’re smiling the fakest fake smile you can muster up from across the table. “I’m just gonna fix up my tan real quick.”

“How about, we get outta here instead?” Your dates meeting you as you stand, towering over you and suddenly you don’t feel safe at all. It’s fight or flight. Looking around—everyone’s occupied, so you’ve got one choice. Keep calm and play it smart. “You wanna get a cab back to my place?” His hand is running from its place on your hip to your ass. A wicked smirk spears across his face and in the blink of an eye you know this is genuinely getting to a point where things could go horribly wrong if you don’t act fact.

“Sure, but I gotta fix my tab up first, and while I’m at it how about we get a few shots to finish up?” You beam, playing into his game. Heading over towards the bar, you see an empty chair beside Rooster. He’s sipping a draft from a schooner talking to Penny while it’s a little quiet. A lull in the rush of regulars who need there alcoholic fix.

“Hey Judge, how’s the date going?” Roosters swivelling on his chair to face you a little more. Taking a sip of his beer as he reads your expression as something less than great.

“Great Bradshaw, it’s been great.” It’s the hand on your shoulder that has Rooster frowning, your date was standing right behind you. “Just wanna fix up my tab before I head out if you’ve got a sec Pen.” You smiled quickly before it faded back into your less than ideal expression.

“Judge—“ Bradley coos. You’d got your call sign because of the Bachelors degree in pre-law you had before you decided to enlist in the Navy.

“Can I get a couple of angel shots to before I close out?” That immediately had Rooster on his feet pushing your date away from you. Penny was ushering for you to get behind the bar with her. You did—with haste.

“Out, now.” Roosters hissing as he causes a scene—the rest of the squad are at his beck and call when they see him squaring up the dick who tried it on with you.

“What’s wrong man? Take it easy!?” Your date is shoving back.

“You try anything with her ever again and I swear you’ll be dead before you hit the ground you got it?”

***~***~***~***~***~

Heading over towards the bar, you see an empty chair beside Hangman. He’s sipping a draft from a schooner talking to Penny while it’s a little quiet. A lull in the rush of regulars who need there alcoholic fix.

“You still here Judge?” He’s taunting with a thousand watt smile. “Thought you would’ve left a few hours ago at the promise of a roll in the hay.”

“Bite me Seresin—“ Its the way to comes out that has Jake eyeing you off with curious eyes. Your tone was off, your eyes told him something was wrong. “Just wanna fix up my tab before I head out if you’ve got a sec Pen.” You smiled quickly before it faded back into your less than ideal expression.

“Hey—“ Jakes shaking off the teasing for a few moments to break through to a more serious conversation. “You good Judge?” His eyes are trailing up and down your face looking for any sign of injury while a hand sneaks up onto your shoulder, gripping your a little harsh.

“Can I get a couple of angel shots to before I close out?” That immediately had Hangman on his feet pushing your date away from you. Penny was ushering for you to get behind the bar with her. You did—with haste.

“The fucks your problem man!?” Your dates hissing as Jake shoves hit towards the door.

“You messing with my girl huh?” Jakes seeing red, he’s ready to rock and roll, any excuse and he’ll swing. “You ever fuck with her again I’ll make sure you end up breathing through a fucking tube.”

***~***~***~***~***~

Heading over towards the bar, you see an empty chair beside Bob. He’s sipping a lemonade from a glass talking to Penny while it’s a little quiet. A lull in the rush of regulars who need there alcoholic fix.

“Hey Judge, you heading out?” Bob’s asking as you slip in beside him. “How was your date?”

“Peachy Bob, just peachy.” You pressed your lips together and the second your date touched your shoulder you froze up in a way Bob had never seen before. “Just wanna fix up my tab before I head out if you’ve got a sec Pen.” You smiled quickly before it faded back into your less than ideal expression.

“Hey you okay Judge? You seem a little off?” Bob’s pressing while he eyes your date off. Bobs off the clock and out of uniform.

“Can I get a couple of angel shots to before I close out?” That immediately had Bob on his feet pushing your date away from you. Penny was ushering for you to get behind the bar with her. You did—with haste.

“Oh you are not gonna try it on with me—“ You date growls as Bobs shoving him towards the door. Usually good with his words, Bob can’t muster up a proper sentence at the mere thought of this guy messing with you.

So he doesn’t answer—he simply throws the first punch he’s ever swung. It connects with a fierce crack and your date is on the ground.

“You don’t get to get away with being scum in here.” Bobs hissing before the rest of the group are pulling him away. “Get outta here before I break your nose!”

[willtheweaver]

Time for a behind the scenes reveal: the playlist of a writer.

This is a mix of physical media, and whatever I can find on YouTube. Make of it what you will.

• The Maid on the Shore- Trad.

• Northwest Passage- Stan Rogers

• Peer Gynt Suite 1- Edvard Greig

• Wiscasset Schooners- Lois Lyman

• The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald- Gordon Lightfoot

• Don’t Forget Your Old Shipmate- Trad.

• She Moved Through The Fair- Trad.

• Pavane for a Dead Princess- Maurice Ravel

• Cobh of Sorrow- Bob Wright

• The Leaving of Liverpool- Trad.

• Lowlands- Trad.

• Fisherman’s Wharf- Stan Rogers

• Redemption Song- Bob Marley

• Witch of the Westmoreland- Archie Fisher

•The Parting Glass- Trad.

[andronetalks]

Ship that sank over 140 years ago found in nearly pristine condition with crew’s possessions still present

New York Post By Alyssa Guzman September 2, 2023 8:46pm Updated A ship that sunk in Lake Michigan 142 years ago was found nearly fully intact by Wisconsin historians. The schooner Trinidad was discovered 270-feet deep in Lake Michigan off the coast of Algoma, Wis., by historians Brendon Baillod and Bob Jaeck. “The wreck is among the best-preserved shipwrecks in Wisconsin waters with her…

[gotatext]

JUDE & NAOMI — DAY THIRTY-THREE.

location :   bedroom.

time :     late afternoon / early evening.

description :   jude lets naomi play dress up. she’s everything, he’s just ken.

featuring :    naomi  /   @heatwayve​

𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.

“do you reckon hawaiian or paisley?” jude asks, eyes finding naomi’s in the mirror. he’s holding two shirts up in front of himself chopping and changing like a paper dress-up doll.  “hawaiian shirt guy is like, guy who works in recruitment and is here to party. paisley’s like, chill dude who works in the arts and drinks merlot. i dunno what vibe i'm feeling tonight.” 

naomi santos

“ew,” naomi sits up from where she’s been laid out on the bed. she’s not much of a napper, but she didn’t get a ton of sleep last night, needed to lay down a bit. but now people are filing into the bedroom, starting to get ready for the evening, and it seems like now she’s awake to help school the fashionably challenged. “are those your only two options? hawaiian print and paisley?” he hasn’t sold either of them very well, to be honest. “let me see,” she gets up, wandering over to his wardrobe and hip-checking him out of the way a little and thumbing through the options he’s got hanging up for shirts. christ, it’s grim. “maybe you should just keep it simple tonight. do you have anything that’s like…one color?”

𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.

jude’s eyes dart down at the two options in front of him, suddenly sheepish, hoping to god the colour hasn’t risen in his cheeks. “yeah?” he answers, sounding unsure. honestly, jude had nabbed most of the shirts with fun patterns on their first day, but most of them suited angel more. “i just think patterns are fun. sorry that you hate fun.”  jude makes a dramatic display of being knocked out of the path of her hip thrust, stumbling back from the wardrobe to give her space, the two shirts held limply in his hands like a sports day rosette for ‘taking part’. lips pursed, he scans across the hangers of the shirts, trying to ascertain if any of them lack a print. it’s slim pickings. “i’ve got like, a red corduroy shirt. that could work. it’s just a bit… y’know. i mean aren’t plain colours a bit dry?” naomi might know more about fashion, but jude has his own sense of style. 

naomi santos

"i don't hate fun! just this shit is loud, what is this?" she asks, holding up one of the shirts, "saturday night fever? no." she gives him a look, an exaggerated roll of her eyes as jude stumbles back like he's performing for a football foul. "maybe if you have a nice, like, artistic pattern or something? just not the fucking paisley," naomi implores him. she's not trying to cramp his style completely, just trying to keep him from strutting out there like bob pinciotti. though judging by the volume in the room last night, jenny doesn't seem to really mind either way – though maybe she's gone blind. "it's too hot out for corduroy." she resists the urge to punctuate that with, duh. amazes her how helpless boys can be sometimes.

𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.

honestly, most of jude’s clothes are louder than on the outside, hoarded as part of his eBay haul on the first day of casa, and probably to compensate for his lack of a personality. adidas jackets and a pair of knock off levi’s don’t really cut it in the villa where everyone else is in vivienne westwood and bloody gucci. “don’t shit on saturday night fever. john travolta’s like… he’s like… an icon or some shit.” though his best role’s probably hairspray. the amount of times jude had to sit through that film as a teenager to placate his sister siobhan… insane. “also! bee gees… they’re from manc.” lifting his hand, he jabs his thumb towards himself. although technically they’re from cholton-cum-hardy where you’d pay eight quid for a schooner of ale when you could get a pint for two pound seventy down the road at spoons. posh fucks. “fine then. if my taste is so shit, you chose my outfit.” honestly, it’s not a bad idea. this could even be fun, movie montage style — he'll come out of the wardrobe in flippers and a snorkel to the sound of a canned laugh track. “bet you’d love to play dress up with me.” because she’s controlling, or whatever the current locker room narrative about naomi is. he doesn’t know much about what happened with her and josh last night, only that he probably got his ass handed to him. “how was the hideaway?” jude asks, slotting the two shirts back into the wardrobe, turning to lean his shoulder against the mirror and face her. “what’s it actually like in there? is it gaudy as fuck?”

naomi santos

she wrinkles her nose, "stop, danny zuko rights maybe, but john travolta is totally gross." she can say that because she's met him. or maybe that's especially why she shouldn't say it. whatever. "that's your style icon? the bee gees?" she asks with a laugh, eyebrows arching, "god, you need more help than i originally thought." even though he's the one who'd actually asked. all she knows about the bee gees is that it's disco, and abba is more fun anyway. naomi tries to contain the excitement that shines in her eyes when jude says that she can dress him up, because this is precisely the kind of thing that's fun for her, lizzie mcguire fashion show montage with ru paul playing in the background. and yeah, she is a bit controlling. "seriously?" alright, she smiles at him before turning around rifle through his things in the closet. he's got the worst of it, all the odds and ends of an already picked-through eBay stash, the leftovers no one wants. it's a good thing that naomi likes a challenge. she tosses him one of the shirts, "try this," she says, rifling through to dig up some kind of jean jacket, which might not even be jude's, "– oh, and this. and maybe..." she tosses him another shirt with a pattern she finds mildly acceptable. it all depends on what he's got for shoes. "oh, yeah," naomi replies, flipping her hair back over her shoulder as she turns around, deciding to stop when she notices the pile of options she's already chucked at him. "it's like. the bratz doll coke lounge. barbie's dream sex dungeon," she snorts. "you jealous?"

𝗷𝘂𝗱𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘀𝗲𝘆.

jude’s “wow” is more from astonishment at her reaction than any of the options she’s tossing him (and there’s a lot of options). if he’d known giving her free reign over his styling choices was all it took to squeeze a smile out of her, he’d have done this sooner. admittedly, it stings a little that she thinks his choice in clothes is whack. jude had always considered himself to be pretty stylish, but maybe it is time to trade in the adidas tracksuits for something more chic — which is what he’d been trying to accomplish with the patterned shirts, but it’s clearly backfired. on the outside, he’s more of a t-shirt and jeans on a night out kinda guy, simple and non-flashy, with a coloured overshirt if he’s feeling fun. “sex dungeon. woah,” jude repeats, eyes wide like one of those cat clocks whose pupils move on each tick. “jealous? of josh? no.” he answers quickly, catching another one of the shirts she tosses him and adding it to the pile of shit laid over his arm. it feels like shopping for siobhan’s prom dress all over again. “of you guys getting a night in the hideaway? yeah kinda. feel like jenny and i would proper thrive in there.” noting that his pile of shit is probably enough to be getting on with, he dumps them on the bed and pulls his current shirt up over his head. “y’want me to like, change in the hallway and walk in so you get the full effect of the fit, or just… do it in front of you?” he’s not uncomfortable with her watching him change—it would feel weird asking her to turn her back when he’s seen her in a bikini like, every day—but it dulls the effect somewhat if she’s just watching him fiddle with the buttons. “or i could try and change inside the wardrobe. pop out like one of those figures in a cuckoo clock, the sound of music style.” he reckons naomi’s probably into all that singing and dancing shit like his sister is. 

naomi santos

she snorts at that, "i meant of josh because he won a night in hideaway,"  though insinuating jude wants her is more of a funny bit than anything now, 'cause she adds, "the lad doth protest too much, huh?" quirks an eyebrow as she anticipates his firm denial. probably just as speedy as the last one. if he hesitates three times, he might invoke jenny like beetlejuice. "you would, though. you guys really get on, huh?" it's a fond question, though maybe a callback to everyone's early disbelief in them. naomi's never felt quite like that, jude's interest in jenny has always been clear to her. she just didn't enjoy how the romi thing transpired. "jude," she cracks up at the way he seems to overthink it, mirth shining in her eyes as her nose crinkles. "you're insane. i can just turn around," she says, half-pivoting on her heel before she stops, "though if you want to try the whole superman thing in the wardrobe, it might look pretty fun..." great fodder for unseen bits, really. "captain von trapp was my first crush, actually." as he should be.