#i wanted sandy and robert fics. that was all i wanted

[nineinchclaws]

worst day of my life

[dearsnow]

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

- phoenix and her girlfriend set you up with a wso they insist will be right up your alley. (robert “bob” floyd x fem!reader, fluff, reader is meant to be similar to bob, ie quiet, sweet, and nerdy, mentions of being drunk/having sex but nothing explicit)

word count: 2,003

a/n - this fic is parallel HEAVY, so don’t be surprised if you see the same phrase passed around. it’s truly a mindlink esque situation lol. and it’s 100% self-indulgent because the reader’s personality is so similar to mine (i am nothing if not a self caterer)

“Nat, I’m really not sure.” Bob tries to protest. “You know I’m no good with dating and stuff. Who’s to say she’ll even like me?” Natasha pats him on the back, firmly enough for him to know she means it.

“You guys are birds of a feather. Trust me, she’ll like you.”

“Jamie, I just don’t know.” You frown. She’s trying to set you up with her girlfriend’s friend, claiming that you’d be the perfect match, but you know you’re not the most amazing when it comes to meeting new people. You’re slightly awkward at best, socially anxious at worst. “He probably won’t like me. And if we’re really so similar, don’t you think it’ll be stiff and weird because neither of us can say the right, flirty thing?”

“You don’t need to be ‘flirty’ to have a good connection. Not every relationship is going to be like Natasha and I, all fire and flame. Sometimes it’s slow, and slow is good. It’s exactly what you need.” Jamie chides, putting a soothing arm around your shoulder. “Trust me. Birds of a feather, right?”

You shift uncomfortably in the booth you’re sitting in, Jamie’s hand rubbing the side of your arm comfortingly. It’s ten minutes before your supposed double date, and Natasha affirms that it’s about five minutes before he shows up. “Bob’s always early,” she stated, “so we can be even earlier to give you some prep time.”

You’re quiet. Shy, even, and you don’t have the best track record with social events. You’ve never really had a date that understood why you don’t want to get roaringly drunk and have sex in a bathroom and whatnot. The two girls, one in front of you and one by your side, have assured you that Bob will be different. He’s quiet too, but he stands up for himself. He’s strong and capable, with a humble attitude and the slight southern charm that you can bring home to your parents. If he’s really so great, though, what the hell is he doing going out with you?

Bob can see your booth through the door of the diner, and he steels his nerves quietly. He’s got this. He’ll make it a nice dinner, a nice experience, and he will not, under any circumstances, fuck it up. He owes you that much. He knows he’s probably not what you want in a guy. Natasha described you as hardworking, kind, and a good listener. He can’t help but think that you deserve much better than him.

He takes a breath and pushes open the door, the flowers in his other hand a little damp from his sweaty palms.

When he finally rounds the server stand, he can see you. And you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever had the pleasure of setting sights on.

He’s royally fucked, he thinks.

Oh my god, he’s so hot. You smile at him and curse a bit under your breath, careful to not let anyone hear. He’s everything you imagined and more, with sandy colored hair, bright blue eyes, and glasses that look like they’re just a little crooked. If you were bold, you’d reach across the table and fix them as he sat down. You’re not, though, so you just fidget with your hands under the hard wood.

He clears his throat and hands you a small bouquet of daises, sliding into the spot across from you. Nat gives a little self-satisfied smile from next to him. “Hi. I didn’t know what you liked, so I hope that’s okay. I’m- I’m Robert by the way, or Bob, whatever you prefer.”

You think your cheeks will split open from how hard you’re smiling. It’s such a small gesture, but the blush on his cheeks tells you that it’s earnest. “They’re perfect. Thank you, Bob.” You introduce yourself with the next breath, and he shakes your hand like it’s a business meeting. His palms are warm and just a little bit damp, but when his fingers curl around your own like they were meant to fit together, you couldn’t care less. “So,” you begin, somewhat shyly, “you’re Natasha’s WSO?”

When Bob hears your quiet voice, he knows he’s in deep. “Yeah. She’s a great pilot.” His praise earns him an elbow from Natasha, a silent ‘talk about yourself, dipshit’ evident in the action. He smiles nervously. “We do a lot of the weapons bits so the pilots can fly safely. How about you, what do you do?”

“It’s not as important and exciting as your job, that’s for sure.” You laugh before explaining exactly what you do.

“Honestly, that is important and exciting. I’m sure you excel at it, too,” Bob offers, somewhat bashfully. What makes your head spin is that he seems like he means it. He’s sincere, wonderfully so.

As that statement quirks the corners of your mouth up, Bob’s heart explodes. You’re charming and beautifully sweet, with a pretty smile and dashing eyes to boot.

Jamie enters your conversation carefully, like she wants to help but isn’t forcing anything. Natasha pipes in a few times, but overwhelmingly, it’s you and Bob. Neither of you have ever spoken so much in this type of setting before, and it’s great. You bounce ideas and jokes and quips off of each other like you were meant to. You feel like you were meant to, because everything just comes so easily with Robert Floyd. You’re finally talking to someone who understands every bit of you, polishing the hidden parts of yourself until they shine. You never thought you could feel this way with another person.

“Wait, have you read this book called For One More Day?” You ask, finding every opportunity to drag out a subject you enjoy so deeply. “It’s really sad, like a fictional memoir, but I think you’d enjoy it. The whole story is basically an ode to loving your parents while they’re still around.”

“I haven’t, but I’ll be sure to check it out the next time I go go the library.” Bob says, giving a slightly lopsided grin that makes your heart scream. “It seems right up my alley though. I like non fiction books, mostly, but I could go for a change every once and a while.”

Your food is almost forgotten in the midst of the conversation, and his is too. “When you do read fiction, what genres do you go for? I have a million recommendations, so help me narrow them down a bit.”

Bob will never admit this to his friends, but he’s an avid reader. He’s a sucker for a true story or anything about dogs, however, he’d read anything you could ever think to tell him about. He has already made a mental note to check out For One More Day and is currently making more notes as you list off more dog-central books. You, as you’ve told him, go for more of the fancy prose-d, heavy drama-d, and emotion-filled stories. It’s nice to see you like this, talking about something you’re honestly passionate about. The light in your eyes makes you look like a ray of sunshine.

Jamie grins at Natasha from across the table, utterly and unashamedly content that her plot has worked. Natasha rolls her eyes. “Alright, you two,” Nat says, “can we move on to something more exciting? Like planning a second date, maybe. One where Jamie and I can be happy at home while you two nerd out.”

Bob’s face reddens and you give a small, sheepish smile. “I’d like that.” You say.

“Me too.” Bob adds. Natasha can firmly say that she’s never seen him so happy, not even after a successful flight. It’s like he’s finally found the thing that made him tick, like you reached into his chest and wound up the gear box in his heart. “I’m free this Friday, if you’re up for it.”

You tap your fingers on the tabletop, thinking. “This Friday… this Friday is when I’m doing a book reading for the kids at our local library at lunchtime. We could have dinner after that, though.” You want to spend the entire day with him, but if a few hours is all you’re given, you’ll take it. You’d take anything.

Bob’s hands move to touch yours, just barely. His warmth radiates out, perfectly soothing your nerves. “If you want, I can make lunch and help you out at the book reading. I like those kinds of things, but I don’t want to impose.”

“You absolutely should.” You breathe. “You wouldn’t be imposing at all. In fact, I think the kids would really like it if Mr. Naval Aviator read a few books to them. You’d be like a superhero in their eyes.”

You’re a bit astounded by how much Bob’s face flushes. If you thought he was a bit pink before, he’s got a drunk man’s glow now. And you were being completely, one hundred percent honest when you said that the kids would like him. They’d love him. Micah’s father was in the Navy when he was younger, so there’s one connection, and April loves airplanes with a passion. It would be amazing.

“Then I’ll be there. Here’s my number, so you can text me when and where.” Bob slides a little piece of paper over to you, one that he must have written a bit ago, because his pen is securely clipped to his pocket. He likes you so much he wrote down his number while you were (probably) explaining your love for reading, or crafts, or small animals? You’re going to swoon if he keeps this up.

Natasha eyes where your hand is touching Bob’s. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. Now eat your food.” She gestures to your half-touched plates. You and Bob both stutter a little, completely having forgotten what you’re going to have to pay for.

The rest of the evening goes amazingly. You talk about so many subjects that by the end of the day, when the sun is slipping below the horizon, you feel like you’re floating on air— light and unburdened by the way you’ve been able to express yourself. Bob insisted on paying for your meal, and though you protested, a little part of you feels giddy that you’re worth spending money on. Bob walks you to your car, tucking your flowers into the cup holder between your seat and the passenger side.

“I really enjoyed that.” He muses. “I really enjoyed you. I thought Nat and Jamie were kinda full of it when they told me about this whole double date, but I’m glad they weren’t.”

“Me too, oh my gosh. I was totally expecting some stuck-up Navy nerd, but I’m glad it was you. I enjoy you too, Bob, probably way too much.” You’re standing by your door, but you feel like you can’t leave just yet.

He looks at you with something you hope to think is affection in his eyes before glancing down towards your lips. “I’ll let you get going. Text me anytime.”

You hesitate, staring up into his ocean blue eyes. Before you can stop yourself or tell yourself it’s a bad idea, you take the collar of his shirt in your hand and kiss him.

It feels right. His hand coming up to rest on your waist, his body pressed against yours as he stabilizes himself on your car, it’s everything you’ve always dreamed of. His lips work in tandem with your own, like they’re collaborating on some sort of secret mission, and he kisses you like he loves you.

His pupils are blown up and he’s panting just slightly when you pull away. He misses the feeling of your lips on his as soon as it ends, the tingling sensation working its way down his face. “T-Thank you…?” He whispers. You laugh, the sound music to his ears. He can hardly believe that that just happened.

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Definitely.“

You give him a small peck on the cheek and step into your car, so happy you think you could explode. As you pull out, and as he waves at you from the parking lot, you make an effort to remember to thank Jamie and Natasha.

Who would’ve thought that you really would be birds of a feather?

Taglist: @seitmai

[simpforrooster]

exactly what i was texting her.

robert 'bob' floyd x f! reader

summary: your first date with bob.

a/n: my first bob fic just for you anon! i won't lie, it was hard to tap into bob's sweetness. i wanted them to banter sooooo badly xD

phoenix has been begging you to meet her new weapon systems operator.

no. that isn't quite it.

she's been trying to set you up with him.

you don't know anything about the man other than his callsign. which is bob.

bob.

hanging around naval aviators all your life, you figured one day you'd go on a date with one of them. you just assumed he would have a cooler callsign than bob.

maybe something like snake, or the infamous maverick. a girl can dream right?

anyway.

phoenix finally wore you down, and you're waiting outside a small diner for this infamous bob.

"wow, phoenix didn't do you any justice. you're beautiful." you hear to your left. a man in navy issue glasses and sandy hair smiles, slightly awkwardly, at you.

"i'm robert, or bob," he chuckles, reaching out a hand to you.

bob was the most perfect call sign for this man.

sweetness exudes off bob immediately putting you at ease, and you praise phoenix for being so resilient in this pairing.

"phoenix has told me all about you," he tells you, a hand on the small of your back, leading you into the diner. the two of you find a place in the back corner, away from loud customers.

it doesn't escape you that phoenix hadn't told you a thing about bob, except for his name. "i want you to form your own judgment!" she'd said.

bob slide into the booth across from you and fed you another nervous smile. "i'm sorry. i'm normally not this nervous."

"it's okay, i'm pretty nervous too," you tell him, reaching across the table to lay your hand on his arm. his cheeks pinkened, and yours followed, as your hand must have done that on its own. you return your hand to lap quickly.

as the night progresses, you and bob have fallen into a comfortable rapport. the way you've fallen into step with him, and at the speed surprises you. it's not that you've been closed off entirely to dating, it was just something that you hadn't focused on too much.

now, it seems like you can't remember what it was like before you met this quirky, sweet aviator.

at some point in the evening, bob has abandoned the seat across from you, favoring sharing the seat with you. you sit, your back to the wall, fully giving your attention to him.

bob reaches for your hand, confidence having replaced the earlier apprehension. for a few moments, he plays with your hand in his while the two of you continue talking.

"for the happy couple. on the house," your waitress interrupts your story, placing a piece of apple pie and ice cream on your table. "the two of you are just too sweet."

you and bob share a secret smile. you slide a little closer to him in the booth and his hand causally falls around your shoulder. the two of you share the dessert, and soon after, your being kicked out the diner so they can close up.

standing in the cool evening air while bob pays, you pull your phone out to text phoenix.

"i hope you're telling her the date was perfect and you can't wait to see me again," he tells you over your shoulder. when you turn your head, his mouth is right there. he drops his gaze to your mouth, silently asking if it's okay to kiss you. you answer him by closing the gap between the two of you.

his hands fall to your waist, and he spins your body around to pull you into him.

"as a matter of fact, that is exactly what i was texting her."

masterlist.

[avelera]

Sir Robert Gadlen of Shere, Surrey?

So at one point for Giving Sanctuary and writing Hob in fics in general, I was looking for historical towns where he could have lived at various points in his life. Mostly (and to my increasing regret in Come live with me) I just eschew names entirely BUT there was one research rabbit hole I went down that was rather fun and made a good case for where Hob could have lived in 1589-roughly 1629.

In particular, I was looking for towns that were a workable distance from London, that is, close enough that one could reach the city for special occasions in a day or two using pre-modern travel but was far enough outside where one could have a sprawling estate. I wanted a town that was known for having Tudor mansions and, critically, I wanted it to be a town that had a river running through it for Hob's infamous drowning as a witch. Since I'm US not UK, all of this was educated guesses and I'm sure a native would find something laughable about my choice, but I eventually happened upon the town of Shere, in Surrey.

I had several reasons for why Shere in particular seemed a good fit for Hob's late 1500-early 1600s estate location:

The town is 25 mi/40 km outside London. Given the average cart speed was 4 mph/6 kmh especially when taking into account pre-modern roads. With a good horse you could do it in about a day's ride, with slower a more comfortable pace and breaks for water, half a day if you were in a hurry. It seemed the proper distance for a man on the rise in society like Hob would want to be, able to make frequent trips while still being landed with a country estate.

In the Medieval era the area was noted as being "one of the wildest in Surrey: sheep-stealers, smugglers, and poachers found a refuge in these remote hills. Some of the cottages have, still existing, very large cellars (excavated easily in the sandy hill), stated by H.E. Malden to have been "far too large for any honest purpose, and were no doubt made for storing smuggled goods till they could be conveniently taken on to London" (Source) - I was charmed by the idea that Hob would have known the area from his banditry days and that he in turn would be tickled by the idea of coming back to the site of his former ne'er-do-well stomping grounds, now with a purchased knighthood. Also couldn't hurt to know the area like the back of your hand (especially when on the run from witch hunters).

Shere is noted in the Domesday Book of 1086 which makes it old enough for Hob to have lived there then AND to this day it is known for its Tudor manors to this day which make it a popular filming location, with several Tudor estates and manor houses, one of which I like to imagine was Hob's during the days of his knighthood.

Here's a fun detail! "Shere has often been called one of the most beautiful villages in England; certainly few can surpass it in Surrey for a combination of those qualities that go to make up the ideal village… Shere is, therefore, the haunt of painters, many of them residents in and around, and samples of their handiwork may be inspected in the ancient Black Horse Inn." (Source) You can't tell me Hob wouldn't consider the town just because it has a Black Horse Inn, he would be giggle himself sick over that.

The River Tillingbourne runs through the center of the village. Particularly in Giving Sanctuary this was important to me because I imagined Hob being dragged from his estate into the center of town for his trial and drowning, for maximum dramatic effect, so I needed one close by that was deep enough to drown a man and sweep him away.

Now, there's one problem with Shere, which is that no witch trials happened there during James I's reign, which is when Hob would have been drowned...

... EXCEPT ONE:

"Despite James I's interest in witchcraft, just one case was brought before the Surrey Assizes in his reign, the outcome of which is unknown. There were probably others brought before the lesser court of Quarter Sessions, but the records for this period have not survived." (Source)

Perhaps since Surrey had no other witch trials, it was all the more reason for Hob to be "overconfident" that he had nothing to worry about? After all, what were the odds? And an unknown outcome, hmm, sure sounds like an excellent opportunity to fictionalize this as because Hob went back later and destroyed the records.

Anyway, this is the one town that fit all my requirements but in the end, I never ended up using the name (at least, not yet) in any of my fics. But I thought others might enjoy the outcome of my search!

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Idk if I could see Aegon as Trey (we don’t really know anything about Aegon and I get that it’s an AU so you can make him into anything but something about Aegon just screams privileged and rich to me) but family wise that would fit. There could always be the option to make Trey one of the Nights Watch boys and have all of them be Jon’s foster brothers (with like, idk. Thorne as their shitty foster father). I was gonna suggest Sansa as Taylor but like. Taylor if she was Sandy’s daughter but that might veer to far into OC (original character - lmao) territory. Now I can’t stop thinking about this! Dany as Marissa Cooper? Or have the Cooper’s be the Arryns (with Lysa, Jon and Robert Arryn as Julie, Jimmy and Kaitlin Cooper) and let Sansa take Marissa’s place in the story (but like, as their niece? Idk I don’t want the Starks to be separated!) but .. you know. Not have her act like Marissa does. Robb, Arya and Bran as Seth? Margaery as Summer? I haven’t thought about the O.C. in years now I can’t stop obsessing over the potential Jonsa AU.

I've thought about just making the Starks the Starks, maybe minus Robb? Like Arya could be the Seth figure - an outcast that bonds with Jon. But Sansa is also there and has to deal with this new guy in her house and how that impacts her social life. It would also give a good reason for Cat to be super wary, because Ned is bringing this kid into a house with her two daughters

I'll be honest and say I dislike making Dany a romantic rival for Jon in fics because it just feels like it's been done a thousand times before and I really dislike playing into ship wars, you know? But like... Dany as Marissa would work well. I genuinely believe that Marissa was in love with the idea of Ryan (bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks that she could fix), not necessarily Ryan as a person, and I honestly think that book Dany would like the idea of Jon (resurrected Targ) but in reality, he'd bore her to tears (he is too busy counting beets to be The Chosen One)

So it would be an OC au but obviously with some very big changes, mostly to the family dynamic. But it also works with the tricky "he's not actually my brother but my family treats him like he's my brother" thing

[robertphilip]

hi i’m giving you an assignment. you have to go to jellycat dot com and pick AT LEAST one stuffie that each philip would own. obviously pick more if more than one speak to you. but yes at least one for each beloved philip. and bonus points if you tell me How they received the babies.

ON IT BOSS 🫡

starting with Giselle, I need to say I went absolutely insane when I saw Timmy Turtle is by this company becaaaauuuuuse I made a Post about Him!!!!!! (x) SO, she would 1000% have him !!!! She'd also love Huddles Kangaroo, and Willow Squirrel BUT I must say, she would be quite upset they have no chipmunk options ☹️ oh, and she'd love this Bashful Bunny too.

For Robert, I think he'd keep it simple and just have Bartholomew Bear (bedtime version) WHICH reminds me, I wrote a fic (which I've since deleted) of Robert and Giselle going bowling, and she wins a prize in the arcade and said prize is a dark brown bear in a suit that she named Robby :') Maybe I'll rewrite that some day bc I liked the concept, but the way I wrote it was. Mmmmm. Not my favorite.

ANYWHO, Morgan. So, like Sofia, I headcanon Morgan had a scruffy little dog plush that Robert bought before she was born, and Cooper Doodle Dog is probably the closest to what I envisioned in my head, so I will give her that little guy. Floofie Sheepdog reminds me of the plush she has in the movie (which I think is meant to be Max from TLM? idk for sure) so I'll throw him in as well. And I'll give her Fuddlewuddle Lion bc she Loooooooved seeing the lions at the zoo.

For Sofia, she would absolutely Need both Brynlee Bee and Honeyhome Bee, and she would also absolutely adore Penny Praying Mantis, Spindleshanks Spider, Stanley Stick Insect, Sandy Snail, and, of course, Winston Worm !! He might be her fave, actually. Also, truly I think she owns every little guy in the bug section like... trying to limit myself here was Not easy she would want them all!!!!! Stevie Snake and Colin Chameleon are also must haves, and Robert (lovingly) tells her Stevie is the closest thing to a Real Snake she's ever gonna get. Canonically, she has a dragon hand puppet that she sleeps with, so I headcanon she loves dragons too, and I believe Dexter Dragon is pretty close to the color of said puppet, so he's also gonna be tossed in, along with Fuddlewuddle Dragon. and ykw, she'd probably also love Nessie Nessa. OH AND Gomez Gorilla !!!

God okay, I went a bit overboard with Sofia and now I'm bankrupt. Thank god she has rich parents !! BUT this was a very fun mission, thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[littlewalken]

aug 22

The song Sally Simpson from Tommy by The Who hits differently if you're a woman.

It also hits differently when Pete sings it for the movie soundtrack and you find you put the original album version that Roger sings on your music player and not the Pete version.

And anyone who only has one version of Tommy should also hear the other to hear the other guy's take on I'm a Sensation. Pete's version is 'I'm here, dealt with it' where Roger's is more 'I'm on my way, prepare yourself'.

Now explain to Roger Daltrey why your live concert has lip synced vocals in a way that won't make him want to kick your ass. Not looking at someone with a serious health condition Celine Dione, but there are old and new artists alike with no good reason.

Coming from Roger Daltrey it would sound more like "Eew want yur fooking arse kicked er sumpin?"

Wholigans know what I mean. The Who went insane is the unintentionally best review of a set/show ever. It comes from whomever on Cracked reviewed the hurricane Sandy relief concert and had quite possibly never seen The Who preform before.

Went insane could also describe a David Bowie performance but a totally different level of insanity.

I do believe why David Bowie was the perfect Jareth in Labyrinth elsewhere, Robert Plant could have done it if he were a bettor actor, Roger Daltrey could have done it but he's more of a gremlin and I sort of suspect he wasn't tall enough because Jareth really needed a height advantage over Sarah. Or Roger's just too raw sexuality where Bowie could be more subtle about it.

***

On the writing side of things I'm glad the older version of the writing notes was still on this hard drive, and a few other places because there was one variant on a comfort fic idea that got lost among all the others that does deserve to be written out again. It was obviously drafted then scaled back to notes for whatever reason.

The typing of the notes is still a few days away with 1 1/2 long (at least 20 pages) stories to go along with a couple other things. Then there's no less than 3 different fan projects with varying degrees of work that I want to type up too.

I got one of those baby surprise balls too. If the ball has a high pitched rattle it probably has a baby buggy in it. I don't see a want to purposefully buy any more of those, if I do I'll shake it and go for one that doesn't sound like a buggy, but I think I want some more Harry Potter potion balls.

The tube with the cork, which I had the cork in the wrong end, goes in the top of the ball so it looks like a potions container with the minis inside. At least they're finally doing something about the packaging.

[cardboard-guitar]

NEW FIC

Chapter 1 and 2 posted!!!

<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/48539593"><strong>Getting Notions</strong></a> (2161 words) by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cardboard_Guitar"><strong>Cardboard_Guitar</strong></a><br />Chapters: 2/?<br />Fandom: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Original%20Work">Original Work</a><br />Rating: Teen And Up Audiences<br />Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage<br />Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)<br />Characters: Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Robert Plant, Stevie Nicks, Led Zeppelin (Ensemble), Fleetwood Mac Ensemble, Roger Taylor (Queen), Freddie Mercury, Brian May, John Deacon, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison (The Doors)<br />Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, 1970s, Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Interviews, Band Break Up, Character Death, The 27 Club, British Character, rockstar - Freeform, i cant write songs, but please pretend i can, Not Beta Read, irish character, Rockumentary, Documentary, biography of original character, island records<br />Summary: <p>In 1968, 15 year old Eimear O'Rourke decided she wanted to become a rockstar. So, like any sane person, she dropped out of school and hopped on the next boat out of Rosslare. She later became one of the faces of rock and roll, with her band, Weavers of Fate.<br />Now, for the first time in over 20 years, the band has agreed to speak out about the short lived sensation, including never-before-seen diary entries from the days leading up to her untimely death.</p>

Chapter 1: Introduction

Chapter Text

We all grew up on the voice of a generation, Eimear O'Rourke, playing on the radio. She was the It-Girl of the 70's, no doubt about it. Everyone knew the story of how the Weavers of Fate were founded at an open-mic session in a grimy London bar, when then-frontman Tim Lewis walked out after an altercation, and drummer Sandie Stevens asked her to join the lineup right before they hit the stage. And the rest was history. The name of the pub has never been disclosed by the band, and there are at least five who claim to be the "Birthplace of The Weavers".

The Weavers, as they became affectionately known as, -not to be confused with the American folk quartet of the same name- quickly rose to one of the greatest rock bands in history. Their unique sound was, and still is something completely original. Gibson released a line of electric guitars fashioned after lead guitarist, Raymond Silver's modified les paul, but they still cannot compare to his hand-crafted pickups, and the unusual tone they created. Despite her youth, Eimear managed to write extraordinarily wise, profound and meaningful lyrics, laden with metaphors and double meanings, so that each song strikes home harder every time you listen to it. The vocals, sung by O'Rouke and Silver make for beautiful harmonies, and magnetic duets paired with memorable and dramatic basslines, and the haunting sound of the pair's guitars.

Their debut album, Notions, was an instant success, as Weavers of Fate had already generated a substantial following before their signing to Island Records in 1969. At just 16 years of age, O'Rouke was thrown into the world of touring, and all that comes with it.

The rumors of a relationship between herself and Silver seemed to follow the band everywhere they went. Press went as far as to sneak backstage as crew members in order to gather insider gossip on the pair. Most believe the stress was the cause of Raymond's alcoholism, which he struggled with throughout his career.

Weavers went on to release 4 more studio albums, and 6 live albums before Eimear O'Rouke's death in 1980. She was 27 years of age. Very little is known about what happened leading up to her demise, some speculate that she was murdered, others stating it was a typical case of drug abuse. In this biography, I hope to shed some light on what really happened, whilst remaining loyal to the memory of a true legend.

[auroracalisto]

not your business

robert "bob" floyd x gn!reader, platonic!jake "hangman" seresin x reader, 1.4k words tw: alludes to a past abusive relationship, abusive ex showing up at work, brief fighting, cussing, gn!reader but doll and hon are both used once a/n: i liked the idea of bob comforting the reader while jake defends them. this was ultimately born. i'm also working on being more descriptive in my fics... i'm struggling y'all

"Stay away from me!"

You heard yourself shouting, but you didn't know if the words had actually left you or not. A lump formed in the back of your throat as you tried to keep yourself from crying.

Kellan stood across from you, face hard. You had evaded him for this long, and now that he had found you, you start yelling at him? He had half a mind to yell right back at you, but he knew it wouldn't work. He was better than that.

It had been nearly two years. Two years in sunny California, far away from the worries that once plagued your daily life. You had found a job at the Hard Deck, and day in and day out, you would have the time of your life knowing that you were safe with your friends. The sandy beaches and wide open skies became your favorite thing, especially when you were with him—your Bobby. You could only wish that that's where you were at this very moment, not standing here in the middle of the bar you worked at, the yellow glow of the lightning shining down on you as you were targeted.

The heat of the night burned your cheeks—or, maybe that was the fear you felt creeping up your spine, threatening everything you had found. It could all end, in a matter of minutes. With Kellan here, he could take you away.

You might not ever see Bob again. Tasha. Jake.

You couldn't let that happen. That couldn't happen.

Panic blossomed in your chest as you stared him down.

How did he even find you? You did your best to become a ghost of his past. You left in the middle of the night; no note, no text, no call. You blocked him on everything you could think of.

It obviously didn't work. Why didn't it work?

"Come on, Y/n, don't be like that," he said, raising his hands in mock defense. He took a step towards you and you immediately took a step back, unknowingly bumping into a table.

You quickly looked back, panic striking you where you stood. Thankfully, there was nothing on the table to knock over. But as you looked back, your eyes glanced over at the pool table the Dagger Squad surrounded. Bob had abandoned his drink on the edge of the table, taking a step closer to you. You quickly averted your eyes, not wanting him to see you so vulnerable.

They knew you were capable of defending yourself. Bob glanced back at his friends, a deep frown on his lips. This fucker was about to meet his end.

You had started out just a civilian living near the base, but you had grown quite close to each of the incredible pilots when they were in for training and missions. Of course, you had failed to mention your past—specifically Kellan. But it wasn't very hard to put two and two together.

Glancing back up at Kellan, you swallowed thickly.

The silence in the Hard Deck was unbecoming—deafening, even. But that's not to say it wasn't packed. In fact, people littered the floor, drinking to their heart's content and mingling with their friends, and now, they were pulled into whatever was going on now.

"You're coming back with me," he said. "I can't believe you just left me like that. I come home one night, and everything you own is just... gone. You up and left me." He reached forward, tightly grabbing onto your wrist.

"That's it," Hangman's voice boomed across the room, fighting back his urge to shout obscenities. With heavy footsteps, he came across the two of you. "Let them go."

Bob was not far behind.

Kellan scoffed, rolling his eyes. "And what are you gonna do, fly boy? Rough me up a little bit? They're mine. Unless," Kellan turned his gaze to you, a wicked smile growing on his face. "Did you leave me for this fucker? You are such a whore."

In an instant, Hangman had drawn back his fist. Only seconds remained before his fist collided with the man's jaw, knocking him to the hardwood floor.

Bob had come up beside of you, wrapping a hand around your arm. You looked up at him with wide eyes, immediately clinging on to the man. He pulled you into his arms, keeping you from the brunt of Hangman's warranted anger. You immediately clung to him, but your eyes remained glued to Kellan. Your head rested on his chest as you took a deep, shaky breath.

He scrambled to his feet, spitting blood at Hangman's shoes.

"You bitch," he seethed. "Fucking the whole squad, are you?"

You could feel Bob tense under you. He went to pull away, fingers itching to show the man a piece of his mind, but you quickly stopped him as you grabbed onto his shirt.

"Please," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

He looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, but stayed with you. Hangman would do enough damage on his own.

"No," Hangman scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the man. "They're just fucking one of us, but I don't really see how that's any of your business, asshole."

"It's my business because they're my bitch," he said, voice laced with what he believed was a threatening growl.

Hangman couldn't help but laugh. This dude was crazy. He couldn't believe they were even having this conversation.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked, grinning widely at the man.

Kellan's eyes narrowed, and he found himself lunging at him. But Kellan had never been very graceful. Hangman stepped to the side, watching as Kellan sputtered to a stop. He pulled his fist back again, prepared to hit him when he heard your voice.

"Hangman, it's not worth it," you quickly said.

Hangman glanced at you, eyes softening. You were a dear friend of his, and even though he wished to beat this douche to a pulp, he'd respect your wishes (but that doesn't mean anyone else would). He looked back at Rooster, and a silent agreement was made. Rooster would take care of it.

Hangman's blood boiled in the confines of his veins. With one glance, he grabbed Kellan by the collar of his shirt and pulled him to the exit.

"If I ever see you around here again, I swear to god I'll kill you," he said, shoving him out the door. Kellan lost his balance, falling down the stairs. The satisfaction was worth it even if Hangman hadn't actually hit him again.

The man straightened out his uniform once more, glancing back at where you stood. Tears streaked your cheeks and your arm was red from where he had grabbed you. With just a few strides, he was by your side.

"You okay, Y/n?"

You gave a small nod, still clinging to Bob.

"Thank you," you said.

Hangman faintly smiled. "I should have stepped in sooner. I couldn't tell what was happenin'," he said. "Why don't... why don't you two head home? You look pretty shaken up, doll."

You frowned deeply, looking up at Bob who seemed to agree.

"I'll drive," Bob said, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I'm... I'm fine. But I think I should tell you what that was about," you said.

"You don't have to," he immediately said. "If that's something you wanna keep to yourself—"

You faintly smiled. "You deserve to know," you said. "You all do. It's... it's time I stop running from my past. Have a fresh start, with all of you."

Bob began to smile, taking ahold of your hand. Hangman went to grab a couple more drinks as Bob pulled you over to the Dagger Squad. Rooster and Coyote were nowhere to be found—Phoenix knew exactly where they had gone, but she said nothing as she pulled you into a tight hug.

"Come on, hon," she said, smiling. "You doin' okay?"

"I'm fine," you said. "Really. I don't know if I've ever been better."

Bob placed a hand on the small of your back. You glanced back at him, unable to keep yourself from smiling.

Just moments before, you wondered if the world you had built up would come crashing down. But you no longer worried about something like that—it was obvious that you had the best people to be around; there was no way your world would crash unless you let it, yourself.

[ddagent]

“Nightmares”

Bernie & Robert | The Final Girls | Family/Angst | FR18 | 1,593 words Robert has a nightmare. Bernie has the night from hell.

I actually cannot remember the last time I wrote original fic. I hope you enjoy it! Shout out to @chozenrogue who always inspires me.

David’s lifeless body lay in front of him. His face, a mirror to Robert’s own, stared with blank eyes. Fingers, pale and rigid, gripped his ever-present bible. Falling to his knees, Robert felt a whisper of a prayer cross his lips before he reached over to close his brother’s eyes. Seven minutes. Seven minutes older and he still couldn’t help him, couldn’t save him. Seven minutes older to a brother who was no longer there. The sting of tears bit into the wound on his cheek and Robert used the bloodied heel of his hand to wipe them away.

“You should have saved him.”

It was Evelyn; as she was back then, as she had been that night. Hair tangled, dress ripped, face smeared with the blood of herself and her boyfriend. No move to comfort him like she had that day. She just stared and said: “You should have saved him.”

Robert turned back to his brother, nodding in absent agreement. His poor, poor brother who even in his last moments had had faith— “Daddy?” No. Not her. Show me all the visions of David you want but not her. “Daddy?”

Behind him, where Evelyn had been, stood their daughter. She was missing a running shoe; her Walkman was broken – her headphones pressed against the dirtied length of her neck. “Daddy, it hurts.”

Bee pressed a hand to her stomach, to the white t-shirt she wore, as blood began to seep through. “Daddy, why did you leave me?”

--

Robert MacAvoy shot up in bed, hands gripping the thin sheets, as Bee’s wails still echoed in his ears. It took him a beat, even two, for his body to accept that he was not back at the camp, not back to that horrific night. He was in Bernie’s home; in the spare room he slept in when he was taking care of his grandchildren. Four of his granddaughters were safe under this roof. He was safe, under this roof.

He then heard the creak downstairs.

Finding the baseball bat resting against the wardrobe, Robert slipped out of bed and eased himself towards the door. This intruder picked the wrong home, the wrong night. Robert himself was built like a house with a six-foot three frame; the beard and long, grey curly hair made him resemble a yeti in all his youngest granddaughter’s pictures and a Wildman to anyone who dared break in. As he passed, he checked that the girls’ rooms were locked. Robert then padded down the back staircase, caught sight of the intruder, and took a swing.

Thankfully his daughter had excellent reflexes. “You expecting Sandy Koufax?”

“Bernie?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His daughter wasn’t supposed to be back tonight. Hence his staying over. “Do you mind putting the bat down? Unless you want to play catch outside but it is three am.”  

Robert stowed the bat by the refrigerator. He watched the shadow of his daughter across the kitchen as she retrieved a glass and the bottle of vodka from the freezer. “I didn’t expect you back.”

“Neither did I.” Bernie leant against the closed refrigerator door. “How are the girls? You have a good evening?”

He wasn’t the lawyer in the family but he knew when someone was trying to evade a question. But Robert gave his daughter some space. She’d tell him when she was ready. “We had a great time. Made spaghetti; girls cleaned up. Afterward, me and Robyn went out to the garage and played a few of my old tracks. That neighbour of yours threatened to call the cops but I talked her down. Then Ash gave me a very interesting lecture on queer characters in horror movies and spent twenty minutes talking about the screenplay she’s writing.”

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“Damn good – and you know I don’t like horror movies. I didn’t spend a lot of time with Toni – kid’s still skittish.”

Bernie drained her glass. “Her parents murdered nine people then held her friends hostage; you’d be skittish around new parental figures, too.”

Robert couldn’t disagree. He’d been in Seattle for a gig when that had all gone down and had only been able to get a handful of details: he had a new granddaughter, his eldest was moving back to Los Angeles, and the kitchen had been remodelled. Again, setting aside that train of thought, Robert continued on with informing Bernie of his evening with her girls.

“I then read The Hobbit to Dani, where she insisted I do all the voices for the trolls. She got off to sleep okay, as did the others.” Staring across a darkened kitchen, moonlight glinting off the crucifix Bernie still wore, Robert got to his feet. There was only so much space he was willing to give. “This is ridiculous; I can’t have a conversation with you in the dark.”

“Dad, wait—"

He plunged the kitchen into bright, bare light. His only daughter sat at the kitchen table, a fresh welt underneath her eye and the right side of her face covered in blood. The leather jacket she had left the house in had a scuff and two tears. Bernie’s grip tightened around her glass. Robert just collapsed into his seat. Even after what had happened to her all those years ago – after everything that had happened since – Robert had never seen his daughter bloodied and bruised. Traumatised, in recovery, yes. But not in the direct aftermath of fighting whatever demons she felt she had to fight.

“It’s not my blood,” she offered, as if that made it any better.

Robert took a moment to formulate his reply; swept his tongue across his top lip. He had to plan his words carefully, so afraid that one wrong remark would send his daughter packing for another couple of decades. “I…thought you were just going to be watching the house.” He swallowed. “You said he wouldn’t come.”

“I was wrong.”

“The girl?”

Twenty-one-year-old college student, harassed by her ex-boyfriend with a horror fetish. She’d contacted Bernie’s law firm about a restraining order. “She’s okay. She’s currently in protective custody; her parents are flying down from Ohio tomorrow.”

“And him?”

“He’s okay.” Bernie reached for the bottle of vodka. “He’s in the hospital, but he’ll live.”

Robert nodded. Then he stood up, grabbed a cloth, and wetted it. Taking the seat beside his daughter, Robert gently eased the cloth over her cheek. Bernie gripped his wrist. “You don’t have to. I’ve got pretty good at cleaning up blood.”

“Let me help. Please.”  

Bernie dropped her shoulders and let Robert clean up his daughter. The blood came off easily enough; it was dry and starting to flake. She had a bruised lip to go with the welt underneath her eye. If they were a normal household, Bernie would have to be liberal with the concealer for the girls tomorrow. But they’d all stepped out of the third acts of their very own horror movies: they know what Bernie did; they know what Bernie had gone through. Robert tried not to fixate on the scars she bore. The knife wounds. The gunshot. The slice across her throat. He instead, focussed on the freckles on her nose he wiped clean, the edges of a smile that mirrored his own.

“I didn’t think I was that loud, coming in. Bad dreams?” Robert hummed, not wanting to fixate on those either. “Uncle David again?”

“Yeah,” he lied, not wanting to discuss the other vision in his dreams. His biggest failure; his eternal regret. “There, all done.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“You’re welcome, Bumblebee.”

Robert left a kiss atop her head, noting the blood and glass clinging to her scalp, before he rinsed out the cloth and tossed it in the trash. As he did so, a yawn overwhelmed him. His daughter clocked it in a second. “You should grab some sleep. I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?”

“Always.” Robert headed for the door. Bernie’s voice called him back. “Andie was at the studio the other day, going over some contracts. Marty mentioned something about an east coast tour? When does that kick off?”

“Must be some other band,” Robert, once again, lied. He shrugged. “I think Last Known Survivor is a little old for touring.”

“You always enjoyed it. That west coast tour back in ‘92—” Last Known Survivor’s very first tour. Their next was ten years later, when Robert had been sure Bernie wasn’t coming back. When he was sure he couldn’t fail her again by being away. His daughter seemed to understand she struck a nerve. Depositing her glass in the sink, Bernie joined him in the doorway. She kissed his cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you, too. Night.”

“Night.”

As he got into bed, Robert stared up at the ceiling. He heard the start of the shower, the slight hiss of pain as his daughter eased herself under the hot water. The slight creaks on the floorboards as Ash and Robyn woke and listened, like him, for the sounds that their mother was okay. Robert waited until the shower turned off, until he heard Bernie crawl into her own bed, before he tried to sleep again. This time, he dreamt of an empty house and six empty beds. When he woke up, he was grateful for the overwhelming noise of three teenagers, a nine-year-old, and two former vigilantes who were running a legal practice after years of challenging the law. Noise was good. Noise meant life.

Robert washed, dressed, and joined his family for pancakes. The nightmares were quickly forgotten.

[ode-to-fury]

Winter Thorns and Iron Crowns Pt. 6

Summary: I was supposed to be studying for finals so of course I wrote this instead. This is self indulgence at its f i n e s t I hope you enjoy!

Pairings: Stannis Baratheon x reader (eventual)

Disclaimer: part of this fic was inspired by this post because I’m soft and it made me have all sorts of feelings. Also by now you may have noticed most of these could be read as oneshots that sort of come together to form a narrative, and also this is just some fun, so I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it.

“Let’s go hawking!” Y/n said suddenly, jumping up from the small couch in Stannis’ rooms.

He groaned, and leant back in his chair.

“Riding, then?” She asked, looking at him pleadingly.

He looked back at her, but made no move to get up from the chair.

“Please, Stannis!” She said, folding her hands together. “I’m bored.”

“Then go and fetch another book from the library,” he said, “I told you no one uses my father’s study any more, and all the books are- “

“But we’ve been inside all day,” she said, “and the weather’s wonderful outside, and I want to go hawking, and you can’t possibly mean to sit and do sums all day- “

“Alright!” He interrupted her pleading. “Alright. Stop yammering.”

She smiled despite his curtness. She was used to it, with him. What other fifteen year old boy would use the word yammering?

Everyone always said she had too much energy. Rhaegar even went as far as to say it was positively unladylike, though he always said it with a smile.

“I came to visit you, not sit and watch you do work.”

He rolled his eyes, but finally, reluctantly, stood up from the desk.

She’d always liked his rooms. They were built more toward the center of the towerlike structure that was Storm’s End, so they had no windows, unlike her rooms in Meagor’s Holdfast, but the walls were a light sandy colour, and they were spacious enough that she hardly noticed the lack of windows. She’d only visited him a few times since coming to King’s Landing, though she wished she could come more. It wasn’t really proper for either of them to visit each other alone.

“Besides,” she grinned sideways at him as they started toward the outer courtyard, “I wasn’t yammering, I was just making my point.”

“Loudly,” came the short reply, “Repeatedly.”

She smiled again.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, though with Stannis it was always a comfortable silence. She’d grown about three inches since the last time she had seen him, but as always, he towered over her. He was just as lanky as the last time she’d seen him too, however, and just as uncomfortable. She tried not to think too much about that last visit, about a year before. The hardness in his deep blue eyes had eased slightly since the funeral, but he still frowned too much. Robert was still nowehere to be found. She hadn’t ever really minded Robert. Sure, he was crass and loud, but he reminded her of Brandon, in a way. He had left, however, after lord Steffon and lady Cassana had died, and Y/n would never forgive him for that.

Renly was in the castle currently, probably being tended to by Maester Cressen or one of his doting nurses. Y/n would be lying if she said she did not dote on the little toddler as well, but he was such a happy child. It was good to hear someone in the keep laughing.

She hoped that he would help Stannis, perhaps make him feel less alone, though she knew he would also be a reminder to him, always. Not for the first time, she secretly wished that lady Cassana had sent her letter to Winterfell before the queen had sent hers.

In the courtyard between the seaward wall and the tower, a mews, smithy and stables all nestled, safely tucked away from the storms that ravaged the coast of Shipbreaker Bay.

She dashed ahead of Stannis when she saw the bird cages, eagerly looking for one who seemed like a good hunting bird.

Her eyes landed on a falcon with white feathers under its wings.

“I don’t like hawking,” Stannis said from behind her, walking up to the cages much more slowly.

“You don’t like anything,” she said sourly, frowning as she turned back to him.

He scowled back just as hard, but she was used to it from him by now.

“Besides,” she continued, not giving him a chance to object further, “That’s a blatant lie. Now saddle your horse.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I should leave her to die,” Stannis said, dejectedly.

Vermithor frisked beneath her. He’d never liked being cooped up for more than a day or two, and he’d been confined to the stables at Storm’s End for three now.

The falcon on her shoulder was sitting serenely as the two of them rode with their escort to the open fields south of the Kingswood.

Stannis had his teeth clenched on his roan gelding, Proudwing perched on his shoulder. She did not need a hood to stay still, and clung to him like a child.

“Don’t say such things,” Y/n scolded gently. “She’s wonderful.”

“She still will not fly properly, or hunt,” he said sourly, yet he still chose her out of all the birds in the cage. “It has been almost six years now.”

She frowned.

“She will,” she said, surprised at the conviction in her own voice. “You’ll see. And even if she does not, you can’t just leave her. It isn’t right.”

He looked over at her, but only grunted.

“It isn’t, Stannis,” she said again, trying to get him to see sense. She couldn’t explain why, but she knew it was important.

“She’s worthless,” he said.

“She is not worthless!” She said, nearly turning in her saddle to face him.

“It’s what everyone says. Robert, my uncle, everyone.”

She frowned again.

“My uncle says I should stop coddling her. Then perhaps she’d learn to fly properly.”

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop the tightness in her chest. Why wouldn’t he just understand?

“I don’t think you are coddling her,” she tried, but Stannis was not listening. He was staring at the reigns in his hands like he wanted to set them on fire.

“My father and my uncle used to tell my mother to stop coddling me as well” he said then, softly. She hastly looked around to make sure that none of the guards were close enough to hear, but most of them left the two of them to their devices, and rode too far away to hear conversations. It was the first time he’d spoken to her of his parents, the first time he had even mentioned them in a year.

“My uncle says it’s why I can’t fight as well as Robert, or ride, or hawk,” as he spoke, the words became angrier, until Proudwing gave a small squawk from his shoulder, and he gave a start like he had forgotten where he was.

Immediately his ears turned bright red, and he avoided Y/n’s eyes.

She hastily cast around for something to say that would comfort him. Normally words came easy with him, but this... this was something else.

“My father used to say I couldn’t ride as well as Lyanna either,” she finally said. “Or dance, or swim, or hawk. At least yours wanted you.”

She smiled sheepishly at him. “Mine sent me half a world away.”

His dark blue eyes lightened slightly. It wasn’t much, but it felt easier to breathe nonetheless.

“You ride like you were born in a saddle,” he said, “It isn’t the same.”

“It isn’t that hard, only you’re too tense.”

He frowned at her again, but this time it was a familiar frown, a special one he kept just for her.

Proudwing squawked on his shoulder again, and he cast a glance at her.

“You’re right,” he said to her, curtly, “I am smarter than Robert, at least.”

Y/n laughed, the tight feeling leaving her chest again.

For a second, Stannis looked over at her like he wanted to say something, but he frowned and looked away quickly enough that she thought she had imagined it.

“I’ll race you to the hawking spot,” she said suddenly, feeling like she had to do something or burst out of her skin. She kicked Vermithor, and the stallion sprang away with a fury. She heard Stannis curse quietly behind her, but to her surprise, hoofbeats started after her. She laughed into the wind, alive, free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, letters are supposed to be legible, I’ve heard.”

“You know, letters are supposed to be private, I’ve heard.”

“It isn’t my fault you write your little love letters where everyone can see. Is that how they taught you to do it in the North?”

Y/n but her tongue. If she did not, she would start yelling, and she’d gotten in trouble enough over Cersei as it was.

“It isn’t a love letter,” she snapped. “I’m writing to my sister. Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?”

Cersei smirked.

“I suppose you have to, don’t you?” She said. “It must be so awfully boring up in the North, any sort of news must be welcome.”

Like Lannisport is so much better, she wanted to snap. She kept herself in check, however. Arthur would have been proud, if he was there. He and Rhaegar had ridden off to Summerhall. Again.

She wondered what they did there. Arthur said that Rhaegar just went there to play his harp and walk amongst the ruins, but she didn’t believe it. That sounded much too boring for Rhaegar Targaryen.

“My father told me the only reason you’re even here is because the queen felt bad for you,” Cersei continued, jerking Y/n out of her thoughts. She’d almost forgotten where she was for a moment.

“Truly?” She asked, finishing her letter. She didn’t deign to reply to Cersei, because she knew the other girl was wrong. The reason Y/n was in King’s Landing was that king Aerys had heard lady Cassana was going to offer her a wardship, and it would not do to have the Starks and Baratheons joined in marriage, oh no. She wondered for perhaps the thousandth time if anyone would ever see her as anything more than a potential wife.

She sighed. Queen Rhaella had mentioned something about her visiting home soon, but she doubted it would happen. Winterfell was simply too far away. Lyanna’s last letter had included a message from Brandon, describing to her in great detail how green the Wolfswood was at the moment, and how wonderful the hunting and hawking was, how easily he was finding quarries. Bastard. She missed him so much it was a physical ache.

She glanced up at Cersei suddenly. She had arrived at King’s Landing whilst Y/n was away at Storm’s End for the funeral. It had been almost a year since then. She wondered if Cersei ever missed Jaime. Surely she must? They were twins as well.

Y/n doubted it, however. Cersei’s father, lord Tywin Lannister, looked nothing like her. She was beautiful, truly, everyone said so. He was cold and mean and his hair was starting to recede. There was one thing they had in common, however, and that was their eyes. Brilliant emerald eyes under golden hair. And both lord Tywin and his daughter’s eyes were as hard and cold as actual emeralds.

She had disliked lord Tywin since the first day she had seen him, and would have even without her father’s warning to be careful around him. She had never seen him smile, not once. Stannis did not smile often either, but his eyes always gave him away. Lord Tywin was cold stone, through and through.

Cersei was something else entirely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~<~~<~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stannis coughed again. Then sneezed.

“My lord- “ Maester Cressen’s long suffering voice came from across the table. Stannis stubbornly refused to look up at him or stop working.

“Cressen if you tell me once more that I need to rest, I will have you hung from the parapets,” he snapped. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

His statement was rather rudely undercut by a sneeze.

Betrayed by my own damn body, he thought scathingly. Of course he would get sick. Of course the one day he had had to inspect the fleet, a storm would roll in over the bay.

His head had been aching the whole morning, in fact his whole body was aching, and the cloak around his shoulders was as much to hold off his chills as for neatness.

But there were things to do, and despite Cressen’s incessant mothering, he would not go to bed before he had to.

“My lord,” the Maester started again, tentatively, “Lady Stark will arrive on the morrow. Surely you would not meet her in poor health?”

Stannis clenched his jaw.

The queen is allowing me to visit again. I would ask if you would like me to, but we both know you do. I wil arrive in a week’s time.

He hesitated. Y/n would want to be busy the whole time. Hawking, riding, walking. He could not dissapoint her, it would never do for him to be a bad host.

“Perhaps...” he said slowly. “Perhaps it would not be fair of me to deprive her of a host if I am... if I am out of sorts.”

He bristled when Maester Cressen had to hide a smile. The man had never been good at being discreet.

“Yet there is still a lot of work to do- “ he started, and noted with some satisfaction that the smile vanished.

“I will see to it, my lord, if you would but rest.”

Stannis sniffed, but reluctantly stood up and left for his rooms. Sleep for a while, and on the morrow he would be perfectly capable of being a good host.

He savagely pushed down the familiar nervousness that crowded his chest at the thought of her coming as he got ready for bed, his body aching as he lay down. By now he should be used to her presence, it had been years since anyone else had made him nervous.

Vaguely, he heard Renly yelling something in the hallway outside his rooms, but his eyelids were heavy and he fell asleep quickly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vermithor reared dramatically in the courtyard of Storm’s End, making Y/n laugh even as she had to clutch at the saddle to stay seated.

She jumped off of his back and he wickered happily at the stablemaster who came forward to take him. It was raining lightly and had been for the past hour. Y/n was soaked through.

“Lady Stark,” the man said as Vermithor nuzzled him. “We were under the impression you would be arriving tomorrow.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said sweetly to him, “since my presence is such a gift.”

She nodded to Donal Noye as she passed him at the armoury, and he favoured her with a crooked smile and a salute.

She had not been inside for a second before something careened hard into the bottom of her legs.

“You back! You back!” Renly yelled, laughing as he held on to her legs. She laughed too, and reached down to pick him up into a hug. Immediately he clambered up onto her shoulders, holding on to her neck like a monkey, surprisingly spry for a two-year-old. He wore a little parchment crown that she had no doubt Maester Cressen had made for him.

“I haven’t seen you in ages!” He said.

“I was just here a few months past, little Renly,” she said. He held on tighter. Only when he had situated to his taste did she turn to the older man who had accompanied him.

“Lady Stark,” Maester Cressen said, bowing slightly. He smiled his fatherly smile at her that so infuriated Stannis.

“Maester,” she said, smiling. “I would curtsy but I fear little Renly would be dislodged.”

Renly laughed again, the infectious laughter of all children.

“The letter you sent informed us you would only be arriving on the morrow, my lady,” the maester said.

“I know,” she smiled, “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

She looked around, suddenly realising Stannis was absent.

Cressen answered her question before she could ask.

“My lord has come down with a cold,” he said, “and is resting.”

She gaped at him.

“You got him into bed?” She asked, amazed.

“On threat of being a bad host, my lady, yes.”

Gently she reached up and dislodged Renly from his seat on her shoulders, ignoring his cries of protest.

“He must be near death, then,” she said as she set him down on the ground. “Can I see him?”

“Of course, my lady. And I doubt it would be much trouble if I were to task you with keeping him in bed?”

She grinned.

“None at all.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Renly insisted on staying with her, and on threat of being dragged out by his ear, also promised to stay quiet so his brother could sleep.

He fell asleep after a while, and she obligingly carried him to his own rooms before returning to Stannis.

On the way back, she ran into Robert.

“Y/n?” He asked, obviously taken aback.

“Robert,” she nodded to him. She was supposed to curtsy, but she just could not stomach it.

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

Robert had grown since she’d last seen him. He towered over her now, though he’d always been taller, his shoulders had filled out and the beginnings of a scruffy blue-black beard was on his cheeks.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

He cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, grinning, “I do live here.”

She fought to keep a smile from her face, though she knew her dimple was giving her away. Damn him. She wanted to be angry at him, for leaving his brother, but he was so damn friendly.

It drove Stannis mad, she knew. A memory surfaced from years ago, on one of her first visits to Storm’s End, of Robert shoving her a tiny but too roughly, resulting in a fall, a seething Stannis dragging her away by the hand, his knuckles bruised, Robert holding the side of his face and cursing. It had been the first time she’d ever seen Stannis stand up to Robert.

She shook her head.

“I have to go,” she said, rather awkwardly. “Stannis is sick.”

“Yes,” Robert said, “I heard.”

They both nodded at each other again, and she walked past him and into Stannis’ rooms.

He looked different when he was asleep, she realised as she sat down next to his bed. The almost permanent frown since his parents’ death left his face, and he seemed to calm. He looked almost handsome like this.

She frowned at the thought, then pushed it down.

She reached forward and brushed the hair from his forehead, and made sure the blanket was tight around his shoulders before settling back in her chair to read.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stannis woke to a dark room. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he had to supress a surge of irritation at himself when he realised he must have slept most of the day away.

“Good morning, lord Stannis.”

He sat bolt upright at the sound of her voice. Then immediately he blushed and drew the blankets up around his torso.

Y/n sat curled up on a large armchair next to his bed, a book open in her lap. The only light in the room came from the candle she was reading by.

“You were not supposed to be here until tomorrow,” he snapped at her, his headache slowly coming back. He was so flustered at her presence next to his bed he did not even think to be happy. He was shirtless, for the gods’ sake, had she no shame?

It nettled him even more when she merely smiled. The dimple in her left cheek showed deeply.

“It was supposed to be a surprise, and would have been a good one if you’d had the decency to stay healthy,” she said. Then, more softly, “Go back to sleep, Maester Cressen says you need rest.”

“What are you doing sitting next to my bed?” He asked instead. “And do not presume to tell me what to do.”

“I was told to keep you from getting up,” she smiled wider this time, and he suppressed the urge to smile along.

He grumbled, but despite his annoyance at both of them, he really was quite tired.

“Rest, Stannis,” she said again, more insistant this time.

Grudgingly he lay back.

“I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, you know,” he said to her. She lifted her eyes from the pages, and they twinkled slightly in the half light. She was not laughing outright at him, but those eyes told him something different.

“Of course,” she said, and turned back to her book, amusement radiating from her like heat from a fire.

His head ached even worse when he ground his teeth together.

“What are you reading?” He asked in an effort to get her to stop treating him like a child.

Immediately her eyes lit up with excitement, and a fit of coughing took him as he lay back.

“It’s a new account,” she said when he had finished, and he could tell she was barely keeping her enthusiasm in check, “All about Sothoryos and the monsters that live there. Most of it is embellishment and fancy, but the author really did travel there.”

Her eyes travelled up to the wall above his head, and he knew she was seeing the free cities there, and all the wild lands to the east of them.

“The adventurer has to resque his true love from an evil sorcerer, who can control chimeras and wyverns,” she stopped, and looked at him suddenly. “I could read to you, if you’d like?”

He hesitated. He’d never liked the same type of stories she did. The heroes always reminded him too much of Robert, and the princesses were vapid and shallow, without a lick of sense in them.

But her voice soothed him, and despite his embarassment at the thought, and the fact that he would never tell another living soul, he liked having her close, he liked listening to her speak. She always put on different accents and voices for the characters in books when she read aloud.

He nodded stiffly, and the smile he recieved in return made him all but forget his headache.

[flaray25]

Hello! <3

Since you mentioned that your ask box is always open, I wanted to drop a question! Are you currently working on some more squidbob fics? :) Because all your sb AUs are so interesting and I'd love to hear more about them! (Especially the "Squid Plus One" story!)

@cry-baby139

Hey there Ellie thank you for asking!!! And my answer is... Yes! I am clearly working on drafted fics on my wattpad! (I dont use ao3) But i havent got any good ideas on Squidbob shots so im continuing on making drafted fics such as

"An Unforgettable Friendship" which is a Plankton x Krabs fanfiction but i havent really published that yet.

And "The princess of my dreams" A fanfic of Patrick x Mindy that is totally still drafted still. Its a story where Mindy's father king neptune arranged a marriage from some other prince. But mindy doesnt want to marry the guy he never liked. Because her heart belongs to patrick.

"This is us!" Covered au of Spongebob as Robert and Squidward as Edward. (Just a work from job at the building somesort-)

"When will i see you again?" An au where Spongebob died and became ghostbob. Spongebob's death after talking to squilliam and him openingup to spongebob. He didnt noticed the boatmobile speeding. Spongebob pushed him aside from last second and died.

"Wish we never met!" Drafted fic. AU of Spongebob having an ex boyfriend just like Squidward's on the past. (This will include greenie (Greenie is a character made from Pancaketiffy because i would think it is obvious that greenie is from abrassive side episode) and also Spongebob's three Siblings. "Wait did you just say SIBLINGS?" Yes i did. Three siblings. 2 brothers one is younger than him. And the other is older than him. And 1 sister.

And now there is Spongetale. An au of where Spongebob is a knight, Patrick as a poet, and Squidward is a prince. (I have 1 drafted fic there.) But i have alot of typos/incorrect keyboard types there so you can read it whenever you like.

And i was planning definitely on making the 2 aus ive drew.

AU of extra ordinary. Just where Spongebob in his first freshman college. (Patrick and him are room mates. So they both have their friendship together for years.) He met Squidward at art class and tries to talk to him in music class. Mindy(the princess) is the principal's daughter. Sandy and the others well still gonna hide them. Planning up something.

Also the one called ZU Zombie Universe is really special so i have to plot up the concept there first.

And about the squid plus one continuation (non origin.) I will not do it in the fic. It is better for me to do it in comics sooo yesh.

And the future other au well... i'd think of making it too although yes i meed a plot for that to add myself.

(Cool fascinating dolphin ideas lol. But really havent continued them. I really wish i could but i have exams coming up and this is the last quarter. If my vacation starts i will gladly continue doing those drafts and plot up a concept in ZU)

(Im thinking of a second sequel in "We dont have alot in common" wdhalic is where Squilliam appears.)

[flutter2deceive]

Inspired by @everybodyknows-everybodydies recent ER dream posts, I figured I'd share some of my ER dreams from the past year. I text myself whatever i remember after waking up from interesting dreams so that's the grammatically incorrect format they're in lol

buffy out on the streets moving vans with her strength, timothy olyphant is a vampire and he and his vamp buddies need romano to inject blood back into his circulatory system so he can go out in daylight again, they're taunting him like "come on didn't buffy train with you for a week to be a surgeon before giving up?", idk

The coolest stop motion video ever of this ER drawing turned into a storyline, mark leaves i guess jennifer and is running down the hallway to someone and i'm curious to see if it will be susan or elizabeth, it's elizabeth but then the pov switches to susan and she continues running down the hall to the trauma coming in and she high-fives abby and it's like the main point of contact for all the friendly characters when they do something cool is to high-five, watching this whole thing run thru and have the absolute biggest look of gleeful wonder on my face, i say some very nice words and hope they make it to whoever the author/vid marker are

In a steam engine room like that titanic ep of newsradio, there were also demons, so hell??, then there was a thing about carter being gay and in love with his best friend but then he called me lisa (which is my name) but i took that to mean that it was actually dave and it was a whole thing about maura tierney's fake ex-boyfriends?, and carter was out in my parents' front yard confessing his love but he accidentally stepped in the path of a chainsaw and the top of his toe got chopped off so then he was in a wheelchair

Kerry and elizabeth talking about sandy and mark and how they dread talking to henry and ella about them without breaking down, but it's also like they're still there, and then it's kerry and mark having the same convo but it's mark talking about his dad, they're in the hospital bathroom, a scene where sandy is temping in a library at the hospital and arizona robbins also working there and the implication is that they used to date, arizona comes up to sandy's table and notices that she seems to be doing wedding planning meanwhile kerry is sitting by herself at another table, arizona is judgy about what appears to be sandy chasing a girl who's in the closet and ashamed, sandy explains that kerry doesn't know and it's a surprise which is why she has the flashmob people standing 2 deep around kerry's table so she doesn't see the minister bringing the shrubbery in (this never happens in the dream but also what?? lol), then kerry has a successful hip replacement surgery that luka performed and mark is telling everyone about it, susan and abby were just starting to feel out a relationship and were making out in the bathroom

The er hospital but housed in an amalgam of my workplace and childhood church, i guess i'm like an orderly?, corday is pregnant and examining a patient and she's like ready-to-pop pregnant but she's still insistent that she's good to work until she's 8cm dilated and she's only 6 right now, we're all like dude go up to ob now, she's doing like yoga stretches on the floor to alleviate pain but still insists she's fine, meanwhile her patient is like ???, her water breaks and romano is gonna take her up to surgery, there's a space issue at the elevators and only he can fit, me and the other orderly say we'll take her up on the gurney in the other bank of elevators, we go flying down the hall and yelling for people to move cuz mrs corday's-- "sorry, dr. corday's"-- water broke, we get stopped by a security guard who won't let us through and then stopped again cuz there's construction in the warehouse, somehow romano manages to get lizzie but me and the other orderly are locked out, go to a bar downstairs to wait and nick kroll is there and he alerts everyone at the bar to the fact that he found several fan art/fic hits for "nick kroll/luka kovac" on the company's subreddit, he seems oddly intrigued, how weird of a pairing

In the future, there are no doctors because they're all burnt out from covid so healthcare in the future is just holograms of scenes from er but they're not the medical scenes they're the relationship drama stuff, alex kingston is named ceo of brain things due to her time on both er and doctor who, an interviewer asks what her favorite katy perry song is and romano answers for her, then maura tierney kicks everyone's ass at a banquet

The specifics elude me but somehow abby made it so that neela's memories of gallant's death are erased, and he's not exactly alive but also not dead, maybe she went back in time and changed something or had magic?, but neela is now texting with michael who is actually abby with his phone pretending to be him, abby is feeling really guilty for playing around with life and death and neela's feelings when she didn't have a gameplan, she ends up telling weaver she did something extremely morally questionable, now the two of them have to think thru how to handle the situation, neela is concerned now cuz michael texted that he'd talk with her at 23:00 but he hasn't called yet, then there's this really annoying intern that's pissing all the docs off, weaver starts to say something and ppl think she's gonna tell this woman off but she's like "this is an intern that's working here? She should be the hospital's lawyer", and then abby and susan smirk at each other and put on a tie? Idk but i think it's a different reality than the gallant-still-alive one

On a road trip or something and get back to abby's apartment, i may be susan but also possibly just me, we get the luggage from the car and while abby is trying to find her keys to unlock the door, we hear a noise from down the alley, the blonde woman that luka had been flirting with is near the luggage and is drunk or high, we wrestle with our conscience on whether to help her, she ends up asking to crash on the couch, abby and i get her inside and on the couch, we then end up sharing the bed and giggling

Caring for romano while he was in the hospital, mei lin from top chef is a med student and robert keeps insulting her, i think i might be corday, order a butterfinger and bottle of water from the hospital convenience store, go back to robert's room, he's muttering about the salad they brought him, i ask if he wants me to tell the nurse that he wants them to leave the salad for when he wakes from his nap, he squints up at me and smiles, says that his coping mechanism for stress is egg salad, idk

Living an ep of ER, i am susan, walking to my car alongside elizabeth, we're kinda tensely discussing when the kids will be at each of our houses for the holidays, i say let's just fuck it and join our celebrations, it's like a thing as if mark actually used to be married to susan and had a kid, don't know if it was supposed to be little suzie or rachel, elizabeth smiles unexpectedly and my heart kicks up, get in our cars and drive off, i am fumbling with a cigarette and the lighter from the car, drop them both as i'm driving down the hill out of the hospital parking lot, but now i am abby and have the season 9 hair, keep talking about this guy coworker i'm secretly seeing but it's actually susan and i'm trying to throw people off the scent, and there's something also about trixie and katya in this part of the dream but i don't remember specifically what, maybe guest star patients?

[ddproductionsw77]

Watching You Watch Her

Fandom: IT (Muschietti Films)

Pairing(s): Pining but not established Reddie (Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak), Richie Tozier x Sandy Montgomery (OC), Stenbrough (Stanley Uris x Bill Denbrough) and Benverly (Ben Hanscom x Beverly Marsh), Mike Hanlon x Mila Roberts (OC)

Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon, Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Sandy Montgomery (OC), Mila Roberts (OC)

Rating: T

Description: Eddie struggles with the fact that Richie has a girlfriend, one that is actually pretty much perfect.

Author’s Note: I realized that I have literally no fics in the Losers Of ’89 collection with pining Richie or Eddie being the main focus. It’s unacceptable so I decided to change that. Hope you guys like it.

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Why did she have to be so fucking great?

Eddie contemplated this question as he watched Sandy Montgomery from across the room,  cuddled up against the side of his best friend. Richie’s arm was sling over her shoulders and with her free hand, she had reached up to intertwine her fingers with his. He was absentmindedly tracing from her knuckles to the blood red fingernails that matched her shade of lipstick and the ribbon in her hair oh-so-fucking perfectly while he talked enthusiastically with Mike beside him.

Mike was a traitor, Eddie thought as he narrowed his eyes on them and took a sip from his red solo cup, grimacing slightly at the concoction Beverly had made him. Mike had promised him that if he came to the stupid fucking party with the rest of them that he and his current girlfriend, Mila, would stay by his side. Mike was across the room and Mila was doing shots with Beverly in the kitchen. And Eddie was standing against the wall all alone, per usual.

They were probably talking about their fucking stupid band. Richie played guitar decently and Mike could drum. They’d just started playing together at the start of the school year a couple months back and now it was all they fucking discussed.

Sighing, Eddie rolled his eyes and felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned his head to find Stanley sliding into place beside him. He quirked an eyebrow and had to practically yell to the other to be heard over the music, “I thought you weren’t coming?”

“It’s Jack Colins’ party. I’m not leaving Bill alone with all these drunk baseball players.” Stan sighed, looking out at the room.

Eddie shrugged. Jack Colins was the captain of Derry High’s baseball team, which Bill had played main pitcher for since Sophomore year. He, Mike, Ben and Bev were the only reason the Losers had even been invited as the athletes of the group. Mike was the varsity star quarterback and Ben and Bev both ran track and field.

His eye line fell back upon Richie and Sandy and he felt annoyance flare to life in his chest. Before he could stop himself, he said, “Sandy wasn’t even invited.”

Stanley eyed him from the corner of his eye before sighing, “She’s Richie’s girlfriend. Loser by association, right? Those are the rules so she gets the same invites the rest of us do. Mila, too.”

Eddie set his jaw before taking another long gulp from his drink, “I know that. But we came up with those rules in middle school, when we were desperate for friends. It’s different now.”

“Different because?” Stanley asked, turning to give Eddie a hard look.

Eddie glanced away and shrugged, taking another drink, “Just because, okay? You’re dating another Loser, it’s not like it affects you anyway.”

“Are you jealous?” Stanley asked, bluntly.

Eddie nearly choked on his drink, sputtering and stammering, “What?! Why—Why would I be— I’m not jealous!”

Stan shrugged, looking between his friend and the other Losers across the room, “It would make sense, Eddie.”

Would it? Eddie thought, following Stan’s gaze to Richie, who was still wrapped around beautiful, funny, perfect Sandy. Would it make sense?

“You’re the only Loser who isn’t dating right now.” Stan continued, having not noticed the way that Eddie had tensed up.

Eddie felt himself deflate slightly and slipped his eyes closed, leaning back against the wall and nodding slowly. Clearing his throat, he glanced at Stan before nodding and looking at his feet, “Right… yeah, because I’m not dating anyone…”

“Speak of the devils,” Stan muttered and Eddie looked up to see Mike, Richie and Sandy heading toward them. He bit back a groan and kept his expression neutral as they approached.

“Hey, Stan The Man, came to keep an eye on your boy toy?” Richie asked with that twinkle in his eye he always got when mildly intoxicated. Eddie wondered if Sandy noticed it too before shaking the runaway thought from his mind. He couldn’t think like that, it was wrong and, more importantly, it was pointless.

Stanley said nothing, just gave Richie a look before pushing off the wall and muttering, “I’m going to go find Bill.”

Mike slipped into the spot Stan had been in a nudged Eddie, “Where’s Mila? I thought she was going to hang with you?”

“She went with Bev to do some shots in the kitchen,” Eddie shrugged, looking down into his cup.

“Damn! That sounds fun!” Sandy’s melodic voice exclaimed, drawing Eddie’s attention back up without his consent. He watched as she looked up at Richie and gently tapped his cheek, “You’re lucky I like you and am willing to stay sober enough to drive your drunk ass home.”

“I know and I cherish you, San,” Richie muttered, burying his face in the think, curly hair a top her head.

Eddie glanced away and met Mike’s eyes, “I can take you to find Mila.”

“Nah,” Richie cut in, looking over at them with his chin resting on Sandy’s hair, “I got it. I need a refill anyway. Eds? Need anything to drink?”

Mike moved to stand with Richie, who was finally detaching himself from his girlfriend, as Eddie shrugged and shook his head, instinctually snapping, “Don’t call me Eds. And no, I’m fine.”

“Cool,” Richie nodded and quickly leaned down to kiss Sandy, “Play nice, I’ll be back.”

“Later, Loser,” Sandy laughed, shoving him away. He laughed, shortly squeezing her hand before letting her go and following after Mike.

Why did they have to be so good together?

Eddie sighed, inspecting his cup closely to avoid looking at Sandy and thus being pulled into a conversation with her. She wasn’t bad to talk to or anything… she was actually really nice and funny, which just made it all the more fucking worse.

He shouldn’t feel this way… he had no reason on Earth to feel this way…

His luck ran out within a minute as Sandy looked around the room, her eyes falling on him as her redrum lips curled into a smile, “Eddie? Can I ask you something?”

No, he wanted to say. Fuck off, he wanted to add. But he didn’t.

Instead, he just shrugged and muttered too quiet for her to hear over the music, “Free fucking country.”

Sandy ran her gaze over his face before crossing her arms over her chest and saying loudly, “So, you really don’t like me, huh?”

His stomach dropped and he stood there for a long moment, opening and closing him mouth as he stared at her like a fucking deer in headlights.

He… he should say she was wrong, right? Wasn’t that what a good friend would do? What a best friend should do? Because he was still Richie’s best friend, right? Besides, he really had no rhyme or reason for not liking her. At least not one that made sense and didn’t make him out to be a total dick.

Finally, he managed to shake his head, “No! I— I don’t not like you, Sandy. I— I don’t even really know you.”

“And you don’t really try to,” She cocked her head to the side, “Actually, most of the time it feels like you’re avoiding me, trying to duck out of talking to me and I just wanted to know, you know, why?”

“Why?” Eddie echoed, still floored. Sandy was watching him with observant but unbothered eyes. If she really felt like he didn’t like her, it was clear that she didn’t care all that much about his opinion. He blinked and looked away before glancing back at her, “I don’t—“

“Is it because you don’t think I’m right for Richie?” She asked, tucking some of her flowing hair behind her ear, which was pierced in three places. Jesus, if he brought home a girl like her to his mother… It could possibly be worse than the way he was sure she’d react to finding out he was gay.

“No!” Eddie shook his head instantly, “That’s not it!”

“So you admit it, then? You admit you don’t like me?” Sandy quipped, a flash of something like triumph in her lush green eyes, those lips forming a confident smirk.

Eddie’s mouth slammed shut again and he shuffled uncomfortably, shaking his head and looking anywhere but at her. It felt like she was picking him apart, taking his walls away brick by brick and worming her way behind his exterior to the things he didn’t want anyone, especially her, to see. Again, he didn’t know what to say and he figured anything he managed to come up with, Sandy wouldn’t listen to anyway.

She’d already made up her mind that she knew everything. That she was totally right…

She was right, though, wasn’t she?

“Come on, that’s gotta be it, Eds. You think I’m wrong for Rich—“

“Do not fucking call me that,” Anger flared, hot and fierce in his chest, roaring up his throat and burning it. He spun his head back to look at her, glaring and continuing on hotly, “That’s not fucking it, Sandy, okay? You’re fucking perfect for Richie, you’re goddamn everything he’s ever wanted! It’s great, really, is it! I just don’t like you because I don’t fucking like you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Sandy watched him as he practically yelled at her before falling silent. She sighed, shrugging, “I mean, I don’t think that’s something anyone wants to hear but okay. There’s hundreds of personalities out there, some are bound to clash.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Eddie rolled his eyes, spotting Richie head back their way with Mike and Mila trailing behind him, “I’m leaving now, Sandy.”

He ended up having to walk home, as Mike had been his ride.

_____________________________________________________________________

Two weeks after the party, Eddie had finally started to wind down from the whole thing. He’d spent almost all his time since waiting for Richie to confront him about being a dick to his girlfriend but he never did. Sandy must have not told him… shocking, really, with how wrapped around each other those two were.

Maybe it should have endeared him somewhat to her, having some secret that she’d kept, but it didn’t. He still felt like screaming every time she sat with them at lunch, on Richie’s other side, and wanted to throw up when he caught sight of his best friend leaning over to whisper some sweet nothing into her ear. It was getting to the point where he was avoiding ever hanging out with the Losers anymore because she was just always fucking there. There on Bill’s couch, snuggled into Richie’s side while they watched movies, there in the library, passing notes to Beverly about Bev’s clothing sketches, there all the time.

He couldn’t get away from Sandy and Richie and their nauseating obsession with each other.

However, he had agreed to pattering along with Mike to a rehearsal for his and Richie’s band in their bassist’s, Danny’s, garage.

Danny was fine… maybe even cute when Eddie gave him a little more attention but he wasn’t all that interesting or entertaining. Good enough at bass, though, Eddie guessed as he sat on the couch in the corner of the garage, reading his assigned book while the guys practiced.

“We could try You Shook Me All Night Long?” Danny suggested, playing with some cords on his bass nonsensically.

Richie shot him a look, “Can you fucking sing Brian Johnson, Danny? Cuz, I sure as hell can’t. I can barely manage some of Jagger’s range so no, we’re not going to try You Shook Me All Night Long. Ideas, Micycle?”

“I don’t care, Rich,” Mike sighed, glancing over at Eddie, who was still hunched over his book, “Something from Queen? We’re decent with Under Pressure or Another Bites The Dust.”

“See, Danny?” Richie snarked, pointing to Mike, “That’s what a good idea sounds like, you should try it on for size sometime.”

Mike laughed as Danny flipped Rich the bird before starting the iconic bass line for Under Pressure. Hearing this, Eddie glanced up, his eyes immediately finding Richie. He watched as the spastic asshole looked back at Mike, nodding in unison before they both joined Danny and started singing at the same time.

Eddie loved Queen… And he loved watching Richie play. Watching Mike and Richie play, that is.

Eyes trailing to follow Richie’s spidery digits as they found the cords on muscle memory alone, he suddenly felt like all the air had gone from his lungs, like Henry Bowers had just clocked him cold in the gut. Biting his lip, he forced his head back down and stared at the words on the page before him but not reading a single word.

All he could think about was that look of earnest concentration on Richie’s face that he only got when he was still getting comfortable playing a song…

He let out a breath of air and felt his face burn. Fucking humiliating.

Humiliating and pointless.

They played through the song and followed it by striking up the rhythm of Everybody Wants To Rule The World and then playing into Bastards of Young. After that song, Richie called for a break, eyeing the clock. He sighed, “Alright, San just got off work so she’ll be here in a bit, that cool, Danny?”

Danny shrugged, “I don’t care. Just don’t, like, fuck in my house.”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and forced the image of Sandy and Richie intimately wrapped up together from his mind as he heard Richie chuckle, “I swear to save all the fucking for her place later, Danny Fanny.”

Jumping up from his seat on the couch so that his book went tumbling to the floor, Eddie hastily snatched it up and ran a hand down his face, “I—Uh—I just remembered I gotta go so I’m just going to—“

“Seriously?” Richie asked, eyebrows drawing together. “You have to leave?”

“I— Yeah, my mom’s got, like, a thing so I’ll just walk back home before she freaks the fuck out,” Eddie shrugged, being uncharacteristically rough as he shoved his book into his backpack and kept his eyes on the ground.

Richie sighed, watching him, “Why are you so fucking busy all the time, now? You skip movie nights, you flake out of study sessions at Bev’s and Bill’s… It sucks, we barely hang out anymore, Eds.”

Eddie let out a humorless laugh and shot Richie a look, “Yeah, because that’s my fault.”

“Guys…” Mike broke in, raising his eyebrows.

At the same time, Richie rubbed the back of his neck and shot back, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Eddie huffed, turning back to face Richie fully, “You’re the one who’s been too busy shoving your tongue down some random girl’s throat to make plans, not me.”

“Some random girl?” Richie snapped, sounding genuinely angry for the first time in the conversation, “Sandy’s not some random girl. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie shook his head, “So, I’ll just wait the month or however long this one’s gonna last and then just hang out with you after.”

“Eddie!” Mike scolded, shaking his head.

Danny was watching the two like they were a tennis match.

Richie turned his head away, laughing to himself in a humorless fashion before nodding and looking back at Eddie, “You know what? Fuck you, Eds. At least I’ve been in more relationships than just one four-day long fling from a year ago. What are you, twelve?”

Eddie glared, jaw set as he slung his bag over his shoulders, “Fuck you, too, asshole. As there’s even anyone in Derry worth wasting my time on.”

With that, he shoved his way out of the garage and out of the house, heart still hammering in his chest and his blood boiling. Why was everyone always so fucking obsessed with how many people you’d dated anyways? And it wasn’t like he had a ton of options, being gay in Derry, anyway and Richie fucking knew that!

Crossing his arms over his chest, he made it to the end of the driveway before Mike caught him.

“Eddie!” He heard his friend calling to him, “Eddie, come on, wait!”

Throwing his head back dramatically, he spun on his heel to face him, “What do you want, Mike?”

Mike stopped before him, opening and closing his mouth and glancing away before sighing and rubbing his hands together, “You… you can’t really be mad.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?! He said—“

Mike cut him off before his voice could rise up too high, “He said what he did because you started it! And you… really don’t have a right to start stuff about him and Sandy.”

“A right?” Eddie demanded, “What does that even—“

“You could have done something about it, Eddie,” Mike broke in again forcefully before sighing again and continuing softer and more somber, “You— you had every chance to make a move and you didn’t.”

Eddie stood there in Danny Costello’s driveway and felt like sinking right through the crust of the Earth so that he could burn up in the fucking core. That would be better than this, then having this conversation, because this couldn’t be happening. No one— No one could know that he—

He swallowed and stared at Mike, barely whispering, “I— I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mike let out a long breath and nodded, keeping Eddie’s gaze, “Well, I think you do… And you can’t be mad at him for not waiting around for you to do something about it.”

“I’m not mad,” Eddie answered without thinking, “And I’m not— I didn’t expect— I don’t— Mike, I — I gotta go. My mom— I gotta go.”

He nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get away.

_______________________________________________________________________

It was movie night again and Eddie had forced himself to go.

He was being ridiculous, he had realized that on his walk home from the band rehearsal two days before. He was the one with the problem. He was being unreasonable, he was being crazy. And in the long run, it wouldn’t matter one way or another what Sandy thought of him but it would matter if Richie was mad.

His own idiocy wasn’t worth fighting, really fighting, with Richie. They didn’t fight, well, at least not the kind of fighting where they ended up honestly mad at each other. They snapped, they bickered, they argued but they didn’t ever mean any of it. It was just the way they were and Eddie wasn’t willing to risk that just because he was being a fucking psycho.

He’d gone to Richie’s locker first thing the next day and apologized. He even taken it a step further, promising he would make time to get to movie night that week… Which was how he’d wound up in his current situation.

It wasn’t actually bad yet, he thought, laughing as he watched Beverly, Mike, and Bill playing flip cup, without alcohol as Bill’s mother was upstairs, around the coffee table before him.

Richie, and by extension Sandy, hadn’t gotten there yet, his eyes unwittingly flickering to the other end of the couch, where the two usually snuggled. His chest constricted and he almost reached for the inhaler he didn’t carry anymore before grasping the pillow he had been hugging tighter.

Stupid.

“D—Dammit, Bev, how are you suh—so good?” Bill asked, leaning back on his hands as Beverly won yet another round against him and Mike.

The red head winked at him, adding, “I’m even better at beer pong.”

“We know,” Mike rolled his eyes, reaching up to flick one of the empty solo cups at her. Beverly easily caught it in air and set it on the edge of the table, flipping it in one try before giving Mike a cocky smile.

“Where’s Mila?” She asked as she gathered up the other cups and handed them up to Ben, who took them out to the kitchen for her.

Mike rolled his eyes, “She had to work and she refused to switch shifts with her friend because I guess she’s mad at me for something, I don’t know. She said she wants a night where she doesn’t have to see my face.”

Beverly laughed, leaning into Ben’s side as he took his spot beside her once again. From the chair over to the side, Stanley glanced over at them from his homework, “Well, you must have done something. Mila is the first sane girl you’ve dated.”

“I think she’s bugged that I cancelled plans to meet her parents this weekend,” Mike shrugged, “I didn’t want to but my grandpa said he needs me all weekend to help with this seasons harvest.”

“Still,” Bill said, shaking his head, “C—Can’t cancel on the SO’s p—parents, Mike.”

Mike was about to respond when the front door flew open, causing half of them to jump. Eddie, so thoroughly desensitized to Richie’s dramatic entrances, merely glanced over his shoulder and felt his heart jump into his throat. Richie was grinning, actually grinning, not the smirk-smile thing he did most of the time, and he was alone.

He felt his palms grow sweaty as he turned around fully to greet the trashmouth, “You’re late, asshole.”

Richie raised his eyebrows at him, still smiling wide and real, “Am I? Whoops.”

Behind Eddie, on the floor Beverly shot him a playful glare, “Yeah, Trashmouth, and it’s your turn to pick the movie, too, so we couldn’t even start anything without you.”

“Right,” Richie laughed a little and shook his head to himself.

Eddie’s eyebrows drew together and he glanced over his shoulder at Stanley, who also looked perplexed. Something was off. Usually about now, Richie would make some joke about how his pick for the week was some porn knock-off of a famous movie or something like that. He’d have already climbed over the back of the couch and pinched Eddie’s cheeks, saying hi and commenting about how cute he looked.

Instead, he was still just standing there, smiling to the point Eddie was starting to wonder if he was high on something.

Stanley spoke before he could, asking, “What are you giggling about, Trashmouth?”

Richie reached up, rubbing the back of his neck, and laughed again before declaring dramatically, “My dearest friends, I have come to the conclusion that I am completely obsessed, utterly in love, totally devoted!”

Before he could stop it, Eddie felt his expression go slack, his lips parting slightly as his breath caught in his throat.

Richie didn’t seem to noticed that or anything else, throwing his arms skyward as he rambled on, “I am in love with Sandra Penelope Montgomery and I must declare my love to the Heavens!”

“Please,” Eddie heard Beverly’s voice from somewhere distant, even though he was sure she was within reaching distance behind him, “Don’t do that, Tozier. But congratulations, I like Sandy. She’s good for you.”

“Yeah, that’s awesome, Rich,” Ben, again sounding miles away, added.

Eddie blinked, feeling the air in his throat and lungs like a fire that was licking him up from within. He couldn’t look at Richie, at his big, wide smile anymore, his eyes darting to his hands instead as he heard all the others cracking jokes or talking about how fucking great Sandy was and how happy they were for Richie. He wanted to join them, wanted to be happy for Richie too, but instead all he felt was that burning and a sense that he was on the verge of an asthma attack.

Breaking into a coughing fit, grasping his throat, he muttered something about needing water and bolted for the kitchen. He barely stumbled through the door but managed, going to the sink and turning the cold water on to full blast.

Each breath of air felt like pins and needles in his lungs and he felt his eyes prickle with tears as he reached out to grasp the counter so hard his knuckles turned white. His vision was becoming tunneled and it hit him a like a Mac truck that he was having a panic attack. A full blown, real deal panic attack.

He was having a panic attack and he wasn’t sure wether he was going to pass out, vomit down his front or just fall over dead right there. All he was sure of was that something awful was happening, something so awful he couldn’t even think it without wanting to cry.

Leaning down, he forced his eyes closed, taking in one breath at a time. He started off shaky and lightheaded by slowly, slowly managed to achieve some semblance of steady oxygen flow before he felt a hand fall onto his back. He jumped, standing up straight and whirling around to find Mike leaning against the counter beside him.

Eddie met the other boy’s eyes and quickly darted his gaze away, shame and embarrassment welling in his. He looked up at the ceiling, letting out a long, shaken breath before barely whispering, for only Mike to hear, “He’s in love with her.”

“I know...” Mike mumbled, shifting beside his friend, unsure of how exactly to help. He settled on reaching out to rub Eddie shoulder, “I’m— Eddie, I really am sorry.”

Eddie shook his head, being his hands up to run them down his face, whipping away any tears that he slipped through his defenses, “It doesn’t matter.”

He wasn’t completely sure who he was trying to convince, himself or Mike. Either way it was true. It didn’t matter, how he felt about Richie, how Richie felt about Sandy, none of it. It never had. Because so what if Mike had been right? So what if he did have feelings for Richie? Not a single part of it changed what was happening now. Richie was in love with Sandy and Eddie...

He squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head at himself before turning his head to Mike, “I’m fine Mike, I just need some water. You’re going to miss the start of the movie. Just, go.”

Mike watched him carefully for another minute before nodding slowly and slipping out of the kitchen. Eddie stood there alone for another minute, feeling that overwhelming sense of dread wash over him again but this time keeping himself together despite it. He bit his lip hard and bounced on the spot, taking more deep breathes before turning around and getting himself a glass of water.

He wasn’t dead, he reminded himself.

He could live with Richie being in love with Sandy. He could move past that, right? Surely.

Eddie’s brain flickered back to that sight of Richie, smiling bigger than he thought he’d ever seen, coming into the house just moments ago. Richie, looking happier than Eddie could remember him being in a long time. That couldn’t be a bad thing, could it?

Richie being happy?

He could survive this, live with the burning in his chest. As long as Richie was happy, he could do that easily.

Gulping his water, Eddie schooled his expression into a casual smile and went back to the living room to watch whatever dumb ass movie Richie had picked with his friends.

As long as Richie was happy, Eddie would find a way to be fine with it.

[sugdenlovesdingle]

The universe should include pat other children as well sandy and Tommy and his niece Louise pat had 4 children and Robert was one of 6.

Sounds good! But weren’t they all a lot older than Robert? All I know about Pat’s side of the family comes from the emmerdale wiki and posts i’ve seen here... which is not a lot.

I really want to write a meet the parents fic for flufftober with Rob introducing Aaron to his mums... and for my own sanity i’m trying to keep those fics under 1000 words each so I can’t really get too far into it... but i might go back to it later!

[absentlyabbie]

a family and (mis)fortune fic

on ao3

moments growing up in the life of tommy merlyn, part-time wayne foster child. (two)

—————

January 1993

It had been years since Bruce had seen Rebecca.

The last time he’d seen her face to face had been her wedding reception, and even after years of marriage to Malcolm Merlyn and the birth of their son, Bruce’s first instinct was to think of her as Rebecca Carlisle. She had been more than a decade older than Bruce, but he had only fond memories of her, one of the few old family friends who remained in contact with him after his parents’ deaths. His father, she had told him once, had been the reason she decided to go into medicine.

And now Bruce was in her home, a stone in a sea of black mourners’ suits, searching the tastefully appointed great room’s decor for echoes of the woman whom he had called a friend.

Aside from the photos placed here and there of the small Merlyn family, Bruce found the room empty of her presence, dressed in the coolly impersonal style of a well-paid interior designer, catering to the tastes of someone far less warm and vivid than Rebecca Merlyn.

Someone Bruce would have been unable to pick out of a lineup approached to gladhand him, his name already far too familiar on their lips. Sensing an imminent overture about stocks and mergers, Bruce smiled politely and made slick, quick excuses, slipping away through the crowd of Starling’s richest and most fashionably sad. He picked up a glass of scotch from the tray of a passing waiter, more for something to be seen doing than any desire to drink.

He carried the crystal tumbler like a shield, navigating the gossiping, murmuring crowd less with the aim of getting anywhere particular than being a more difficult moving target. Since pulling into the graveled drive in front of the ostentatiously modern Merlyn Manor, he had begun to wonder if flying out to Starling had been a mistake. There was little here in the way of honoring or grieving Rebecca, most of the attendees seeming to see the occasion as an excuse to socialize with members of their preferred class and goggle over the spectacle of tragedy amidst wealth.

Bruce’s distracted, evasive path took him through an open door and he found himself in a sitting room only a little smaller than the great room. It was less densely populated, mostly by the constraints of the room’s dimensions. By the windows, a circle of black-clad men gathered, all with their own glasses of expensively terrible alcohol in hand.

As Bruce drifted closer, hoping to take camouflage among the flock, he discovered Malcolm Merlyn holding court before them all.

Bruce’s mood soured even further almost instantly, though he tried to stifle it with a healthy dose of shame. The man had just lost his wife, but it was still too much effort to muster a charitable thought about Malcolm, even with Alfred’s chiding voice in the back of his head. On the one occasion they had met, at his and Rebecca’s wedding, Malcolm had made Bruce’s skin crawl in a way unmatched even by some of the nastiest criminals Bruce tangled with at night. There was just something contemptuous and cold blooded about Malcolm Merlyn that not even the most charming smile could disguise.

Bruce would never understand what Rebecca had seen in him.

Now, Malcolm leaned against a wall table like a king slouched on his throne, commanding the attention of his peers with eyes bloodshot and burning hot as coals, the skin of his lips twitching towards a sneer as he expounded on some point or other. Bruce hovered at the edge of the group, eyes narrowing as Malcolm’s words caught his attention.

“—the real problem. Nothing will change, no part of this city can be lifted for the better, until that shithole district is raised from the level of its lowest gutters. Those people live like animals, and they treat each other like animals. They die like animals.” Malcolm’s hand tightened around his whiskey til the crystal squeaked, his voice thickening, darkening as he went on, “They let my wife die like an animal. Like she was no better than the trash they come from.”

The hair on the back of Bruce’s neck raised at the rage running like a riptide under Malcolm’s words, and at the murmurs of agreement rippling through the men around him.

The sandy-haired man standing at Malcolm’s elbow, Robert Queen if Bruce recalled correctly, hummed thoughtfully, eyes on the amber liquid swirling in his own glass. “The city has neglected the Glades for nearly a generation, and I hate to see that this is the results of that neglect. We all throw money at the problem through our foundations and our companies’ charitable arms, but there’s been so little improvement. Even Rebecca’s clinic—”

Malcolm cut him off with a grim laugh. “Her clinic. She dedicated her goddamn life to helping these fucking people, gave up a top rate medical career to treat addicts and whores and help them pump out the next generation of gang bangers and criminals,” he snarled, “for practically nothing. And that’s how they thanked her in the end. With nothing. Like she was nothing.”

More rumblings of concurrence rippled through the men around Bruce, making him take a cool and assessing glance at each face, reach to recall each name.

“As far as I’m concerned, every one of them is as responsible for Rebecca’s murder as the thug who pulled the trigger,” Malcolm went on, all but growling. “Some ills run in the blood, and criminality and apathy is in the breeding, the culture of every part of the Glades. They don’t want to be helped, or bettered. They don’t want to be saved.”

He paused to toss back a slug of whiskey, in the motion catching sight of Bruce out of the corner of his eye. He turned the crowd’s attention with his, gesturing widely in Bruce’s direction with his drink. “You’d know, wouldn’t you, Wayne? Gotham is practically overrun in every corner with this trash, and I’d run out of fingers on both hands before I could stop naming ineffective and corrupt mayors, every one of them promising social change, every one of them steering their city deeper into the shit. Gotham doesn’t want to be saved, either.”

Bruce carefully unwound the tension in his shoulders and put on the affable, friendly mask he’d cultivated for his daytime persona, if a shade more somber. Around the bitterness on his tongue, he answered, “I don’t know that I’d agree to that. I’ve never seen that there’s a one-size-fits-all cure-all to such a complex problem, and I have to admit. It’s always struck me as reductive the way we view that stratum of society from on high and diagnose their problems without ever lowering ourselves to hear about the nuances and possible solutions from the actual people living those lives.” 

Malcolm’s expression got colder and sharper with every word, but Bruce was being as restrained as he could be; after all, the fist in his pocket had not yet introduced itself to Malcolm’s face. Refusing to break from Malcolm’s scalding stare, Bruce went on, “I think Gotham wants to be listened to about what they actually need and who they are, rather than ‘saved’ from themselves. I’d imagine your Glades aren’t any different.”

The sneer that had been twitching at Malcolm’s lips since Bruce arrived finally pulled across his mouth, baring his teeth even as he scoffed. “You make it so painfully obvious how young you are, kid. Shouldn’t have bothered to speak to you like a grown man who knows anything about the world. You better divest yourself of that naive optimism before the world rips it out of your hide, mark my words.”

A scattering of uncomfortable chuckles followed as Malcolm tossed back the rest of his drink, and the fist in Bruce’s pocket tightened so hard he felt his bones creak. Malcolm knew damn well who he was, and there wasn’t anyone who knew who he was who didn’t also know how much younger he’d been when life had killed any naivete he might have possessed.

Before Bruce could swallow his loathing and anger to formulate a response—or better, an excuse to leave—something bumped by his leg and a young child squeezed through the crowd to catch at Malcolm’s sleeve.

“Dad—”

“Not now, Tommy,” Malcolm dismissed irritably, pulling his arm away from the dark-haired little boy. “Go play with Oliver.”

The boy—Tommy—stuck his chin out stubbornly despite the flush of embarrassment in his cheeks and the tears that so obviously spiked his lashes. He reached for his father’s arm again. “But Dad—”

 Malcolm slammed his glass down on the table, making more than just Tommy flinch. “I said not now, Tommy. Do not make me repeat myself again.”

Bruce’s nostrils flared, his throat closing with fury at Malcolm’s display of temper towards his son. Bruce had seen Tommy at the funeral, small and miserable with tear-streaked cheeks as he stood alone in the cold wind through the eulogy and burial. It had pained Bruce to see him so abandoned, with not even a kind butler to hold his hand as his mother was lowered into the ground. It was too easy to see his own heartbroken face overlaid on Tommy’s, or Dick Grayson’s, the boy Bruce had felt for so keenly he’d taken him into his home only months ago.

Bruce took an ill-considered step forward, but at the same moment Robert Queen stepped aside to let a lovely blonde woman, his wife Moira, enter the circle and reach a hand towards Tommy.

“Tommy, dear, Oliver is looking for you. Come with me.” Moira waited until Tommy reluctantly took his hand, and she turned a sympathetic look to Malcolm.

Malcolm visibly swallowed his anger, showing a little of the grief he had buried underneath it. He reached out and squeezed Moira’s arm. “Thank you, Moira. Tommy forgets sometimes that he is not to interrupt when adults are talking.”

Tommy shrank under the warning glance his father cut at him, eyes lowering to the floor before Moira tugged him through the crowd and away.

Bruce’s gaze trailed after them as they exited the room, his disgust for Malcolm roiling nauseatingly with concern for Tommy. Now that he had seen more of the man Rebecca had married, he worried deeply for how the child she left behind would fare alone with his father.

His concern had apparently not gone unnoticed.

“Just wait, Wayne.” Malcolm recaptured his attention with his acerbic tone. “I heard you took in a foster kid recently. You’ll learn about that,” he gestured after Tommy with a roll of his wrist, “too.”

With those dismissive, mocking words, Bruce’s disdain for Malcolm crystallized, his anger going icy. When Malcolm got no answer from him, he returned to sharing his revelations about the poor with his wealthy friends, and Bruce waited only moments longer before he made a careful and quiet escape.

—————

@memcjo @klaus-hargreeves-katz @its-a-pygmy-puffle @keabbs @princesssarcastia @obscure-sentimentalist @icannotbelieveiamhere @p0cketw0tch @andyouweremine @storiesofimagination @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline @cronusamporaofficial @batsonthebrain @adeusminhacolombina @relevanttosomeone