forget all the shooting stars and all the silver moons

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robert wakes up on his thirty-first birthday, and is totally, utterly spoiled by his husband.

Robert didn’t like birthdays. Really, he didn’t - he’d stopped liking birthdays once he’d turned twenty-five, feeing as though he’s started to go over the hill, not much seeing the point of celebrating.

He hadn’t even celebrated his thirtieth, and that was supposed to be a big one. Robert had wanted to celebrate in his own way, with a holiday to Barcelona, Aaron by his side, but that had fallen through.

Maybe he just wasn’t meant to celebrate his birthdays, Robert pondered, burying his face into his pillow. Maybe he should just leave well enough alone, and be grateful he survived another year.

He could just about go for a quiet dinner in the pub, and Victoria buying him a pint, but he didn’t want the fuss. If the Dingles had caught wind of when his birthday was, they’d have no doubt organised a surprise party in the pub.

He’d get it out of Aaron when he got up, make sure there was no Dingle organised chaos to come his way that day. Shifting in bed, Robert opened his eyes and stretched out, blinking at the bright light of their bedroom.

Aaron must already be up, light streaming in from their open bedroom door, invading their otherwise still dark room. Robert ran a hand through his already messy blonde hair, easing himself into a sitting position, just as Aaron reentered the room, tray in hand.

“You’re supposed to still be asleep!” Aaron grumbled good-naturedly, nudging their bedroom door shut with his hip, blocking out the rest of the already busy pub again.

It was the one thing Robert had never gotten quite used to about the Woolpack, the constant busy atmosphere of the pub. He’d always assumed that living in a pub, the day wouldn’t start until 12pm when the pub actually opened - but deliveries started from seven or eight, depending on the day, and it was always a hub of activity.

He’d almost miss the noise, when the Mill was finally finished and they were living in a place of their own. According to Ronnie, it would only be a few more weeks, a month, tops before the place was actually liveable.

“You shouldn’t have left the door open then, should ya? The noise woke me up.” Robert teased, his heart swelling with love for his husband as he watched him set the tray down on their bed, piping hot tea and a freshly made bacon sarnie awaiting him.

Aaron’s cooking skills weren’t exactly top notch, but he liked breakfast food enough to be able to make decent bacon. “Happy birthday, Robert,” he said softly, leaning across to press a minty flavoured kiss to Robert’s lips.

Robert melted into the embrace, still revelling in the fact he got to kiss his husband whenever he wanted to, even now, two weeks after his release from prison. Two weeks wasn’t enough time to even begin to make up for all the time they lost when Aaron was inside, and there would never be enough soft, sleepy, morning kisses to make up for all the first mornings of their marriage they had missed.

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anonymous asked:

I have the worst headache ! Only gaY HEADCANONS CAN MAKE IT GO AWAY!

Oo gosh :0 I got yr headcanons comin right up amigo! Hope u feel better soon!!

(I just found this in my drafts !!! I’m srry I didn’t post it b4 omg but I’ll fix it up rn nd add some more!!!)

- OK heck we will start w a self projection hc rip I’m think that Robbie gets migraines? That would explain the sensitivity to noise and light and him always complaining about his head hurtn :0 the sensory stuff could also be explained by the autism hc which is a rlly rlly good one !! But it did not originate from me :0c

-o 2 self projection headcanons in 1 post???? Robbie’s insomnia is fueled by frequent episodes of sleep paralysis and hypnagogic hallucinations :0 like I feel sport’s crystal goes off in the middle of the night and he runs down to robbo’s lair and poor Robert is just like sitting in his chair completely still w wide eyes and wheezy breathn and sport has no heckin idea what’s going on until Robbie either wakes the frick frack up or falls back asleep?? It’s wild (I found this in my drafts nd it’s from way back b4 I was a diagnose with sleep apnea so this headcanon is basically robert have the sleepytime apneas :0 nd supportacus is there !!! He gud)

-Sportacus is prolly scared of ghosts? Like he says he’s not scared of anything but then he finds like an old scary house or literally anything that’s been abandoned for a while and he’s just ay dios mio there are ghosts here robert we have to go

-robbie love 2 cook!!!! He lov chefin, he makes lots of exciting salads and stirfrys and different vegetarian/sugar free things 4 snortacus!!! Sport lov bein the guinea pig he eat anythin robbie makes him and loves it all and makes sure 2 reward him bf w lots of praise and kissies and hugs, bless !!

-sport loaf 2 sing!! He could b like, sittin on a couch or exercise or exorcise like whtevr he doing he hummin or singin or dancin!! He 1 of thos good friends who sing whatevr they doin!! Like he’s walkin 2 the store nd he just. Sing about walkin 2 the store, doot doot walkin is gud nd robbie loves how cute nd pure !!!! Sport try 2 get him 2 sing and he so shy at first but then when he starts singin he’s suddenly Confidence and he YELL him somg, they sing duets nd stuff !!!

-robbie loves huggin!!! But he 2 prouf 2 initiate the hug, u gotta go nd be like robert would u like an Embrace and he go yea I guess but on the inside he’s like !!!!!!!! Oh boy a hugg!!!!!!

someday I’ll post some hejcnbin serious headcanons or somethn but 4 now here r som soft gay things !!!! c:

im so pissed that sportacus’ crystal goes off when the town loses their sports equipment/veg (albeit briefly) and when the kids are sad/in trouble or even for most other minor inconveniences but when robbie’s upset/in trouble it hardly ever goes off. great.

happy (angsty) birthday robert! i have a happier fic in the works but three glasses of wine made for a bit of an angsty drabble set within current canon. i hope you enjoy nonetheless!

thirty one 

robert could count the number of good birthdays he’d had on one hand.

Thirty one.

Robert stood in front of the mirror in their hotel bathroom, pausing in the midst of his morning shave. Aaron had teased that even on holiday, he couldn’t bear to let his scruff grow, but Robert didn’t suit a beard, not the way his husband did, all scruffy dark hair and loving eyes.

Thirty one.

It was his birthday, today. He’d woken up to soft, smiling kisses being pressed against his jawline, his cheek, his nose, Aaron open and loving in the way he only ever was when they were alone, curled around his other, limbs tangled and hearts open.

Aaron had showered him in love, in that gorgeous Aaron-like way of his, honest eyes and soft mumbles about how much he loved Robert, every word making Robert’s heart feel lighter, and somehow heavier at the same time, the reality of what faced them back in Emmerdale weighing heavy on his mind in a way he couldn’t forget, no matter how much he tried to.

Thirty one.

Robert could count on one hand the amount of good birthdays he’d had in his life. He didn’t remember the best ones, he didn’t think - the ones before Andy, before he’d grown up and shown himself as a disappointment, the ones before his mum died, the days when the focus of the Sugden household would be on their eldest son, days when there would be cake, and ice cream, and presents wrapped in cartoon paper.

He remembered the ones where he’d fight with his dad, where he’d make Victoria cry because he didn’t want to look at the drawing she’d done for him, birthdays where he would fight with Andy just because he could.

Birthdays without his mum, sad and quiet and lonely, without her warm heart and open arms and her endless belief that he could do better, be better. 

Birthdays spent alone. 

Birthdays where he’d fight with Chrissie because of something Lawrence did.

His thirtieth, the one birthday he’d hoped would be better, in the midst of something new and beautiful with Aaron, the birthday he’d ended up celebrating with his sister and her husband, eating cake and drinking whiskey alone at the clock struck midnight and signalled the end of a birthday from hell, as Aaron focused on his sister.

It had been silly, to be jealous of a fourteen year old, but Robert had been so jealous of Liv, of the time she’d taken up, bitter over the holiday he’d had to cancel. He’d wanted to spend his birthday with the one person who’d made him feel worth something.

Thirty one.

He’d spent his birthday with Aaron this year. He was spending his birthday with Aaron this year, the sun on their backs and their tropical honeymoon unfolding around him, bright and colourful and somehow always tinged with sadness and regret.

He’d hoped this would be the year he’d look into the mirror and be happy with the man he saw staring back, know that the man looking back was having some well earned celebrations.

That the man looking back would be good.

Thirty one.

Robert made a decision as he felt Aaron’s arms wind around his middle, his sun kissed husband grinning at him as he nattered about some beach Liv wanted to show them that day, about how it was going to look like something out of paradise, and maybe they could take a picnic, Aaron bright and happy and hopeful.

This was going to be the last birthday he’d spent feeling regretful, or sad. Thirty one was a new year, a new age, a new start.

Robert hadn’t always been good, but Aaron, god, Aaron made him want to be so much better - not just because Aaron deserved a better man, because Aaron deserved a good husband - but because Robert deserved to be better version of himself too. 

Thirty one.

“Happy birthday, Mr Dingle,” Aaron said, in that gorgeously soft and loving voice of his.

It wasn’t the happiest birthday he’d ever had, but next year would be different, thirty two would be different. Robert would earn his celebrations next year, earn the trust of the man in his arms and he’d be good, he’d be better. 

Thirty one.

This, this was the start of the best years of his life, and Robert wasn’t going to ruin another birthday for himself, not now, not ever again. He’d remember thirty one for a lot of reasons, for the sea, the sand, the sun kissed man in his arms, and most of all, he’d remember it for the promise he’d made to himself, to be better.

To be the sort of man who could look in the mirror and be proud of who was looking back. 


hello it is i bringing the Gay and plaguing your tags

@sleepingoutcast suggested teachers AU with Robbie as a drama teacher… and here is a drawing of it. you know robbo would be the teacher that comes in wearing a dramatic classy suit everyday, and here he is, determined to rid the school of the beefy new PE teacher who is distracting the kids from being in his carefully planned, scripted, costumed and directed plays.

if anyone has a sfw sportarobbie idea/request… i’d like to hear it :)

graffiti thoughts

so, there’s a lot of shit going around about banksy right now.

i’m just going to say here that i’m not a graffiti artist. i very much enjoy graffiti but i don’t make graffiti art and these are simply my personal thoughts as an outside perspective.

first of all, i don’t think that tagging and what banksy does are even in the same league. tagging is a specific statement. it takes space, it is a nonviolent way to fight the legality and oppression of the government. it breaks the law in an artistic way where nobody gets hurt. it’s used to claim territory, to immortalize, and to fight against the powers at be. in most cases, its freestyled. it takes hours. the graffiti community is tight knit and exercises a good amount of respect for one another. graffiti is seen by most as a blemish, strange words or names written fantastically on walls that don’t belong to the artist, without permission, and are often covered up by street cleaners because they depreciate business/real estate value.

i do not find banksy as a graffiti artist because he doesn’t do these things. he’s not a radical and he’s not some kind of political revolutionary. he’s not claiming space for the oppressed, he’s just trying to make a buck on a scene he probably thought was cool.

EDIT: this doesn’t mean banksy isnt a street artist. i was simply addressing the misconception that his work is “graffiti”. street artists, like banksy, usually use stencils and make statements about social policies, war, racism, etc. street art is usually more widely accepted as art. however i meant to make it more clear that i disagree with people who specifically think he is a graffiti artist and rereading this post i see i didn’t really have the intended effect due to poor wording.

this would be fine with me, if it wasn’t for the inexcusable tragedy that was the years leading up to King Robbo’s death.

this piece was painted by King Robbo in 1985. It was located under the London Transport Police Headquarters in Camden, London. this place was only accessible by water. when most of Robbo’s other works had been covered up, this one remained. for a while it was the oldest piece in London.

by 2009, the piece had gone the way most tags go, everything is transient and every space is fair game for more people to make their marks. this is the nature of graffiti, and to it King Robbo took no offense.

that year, Banksy painted this. It is a wall painter, removing the piece from the walls. he took the oldest piece of graffiti in london, which was no longer even just King Robbo’s, but an impromptu collaboration between many london graffiti artists, and he disrespected it. if it wasn’t enough that they were getting jailed while banksy was making millions for the same work, he disrespected them. he spit on them. he decided his statement was worth more than the oldest piece of graffiti in london and on top of that, THIS IS A STENCIL. he couldn’t even free-hand it! he decided his LITERAL cookie-cutter street art was more important that Robbo’s only surviving legacy.

EDIT: tumblr user sixtypizzas explained to me that this was supposed to be a wall painter putting up King Robbo’s piece, which is somehow more insulting to me. this is just my opinion and you’re welcome to draw your own conclusions but depicting somebody paste up King Robbo’s most famous work seems to cheapen it.

insulted, King Robbo replied. he was quoted saying  “I was at a place called the Dragon Bar on Old Street. I was introduced to a couple of guys who were like ‘whoa it’s nice to meet you!’. When I was introduced to Banksy, I went 'Oh yeah I’ve heard of you mate, how you doing?’ and he went 'well I’ve never heard of you’…he dismissed me as a nobody, as nothing. So with that I slapped him and went 'oh what you ain’t heard of me? you won’t forget me now will you?’ and with that he picked up his glasses and ran off.” obviously this was an insulting display to King Robbo, who had managed what most graffiti artists can never pull off, he had a timeless piece. he gained some fame, some notoriety. this piece, of all the pieces in london, banksy covered up with a stencil. EVEN SO, Robbo left banksy’s work, whereas banksy deliberately covered his up.

banksy replied. as you can see, very thought provoking. quite profound.

King Robbo corrected the piece.

at this point, an unknown third part covers the wall.

it wasn’t over, as this had become very personal for King Robbo. He painted this work. At this point, many other graffiti artists had already started tagging the streets with “TEAM ROBBO”.  many of banksy’s works were being tagged over, like he did to King Robbo’s, in an effort to send a message. Mainstream media called these “defacement” and “vandalism” of banksy Originals, where the travesty against King Robbo went mostly unnoticed outside london and the graffiti community.

as you can see, Team Robbo exploded, giving many of banksy’s pieces the same respect he gave King Robbo’s long-standing artwork. 

after being blacked out again, banksy painted this piece. the meaning is lost on me, if you know what it means, let me know. it’s strange and confusing.

EDIT: tumblr user inthebellyofaelephant explained the meaning of the piece as thus:  “The meaning about what bansky did with the weird living room mural is he is calling king robbo a fish out of water thus why a fish is jumping out of the bowl. Kinda saying that they are not I’m the same league in a very banksy style.”

this had gone on into 2011, when King Robbo fell into a coma. It was only 5 days before his exhibition, “Team Robbo - The Sellout Tour”. he unfortunately never got to attend his exhibition, and never again woke up. he died in july 2014.

banksy, supposedly making a memorial, made sure he got the last word:

RIP King Robbo.