sweetrobin productions

🦜🦜: u r like shireen's age hush young padawan

🦜🦜: i feel like it probably something like emo but who knows there are some internet searches u just shouldnt start

->renly: you aren't that much older than me

🦜🦜: okay u r right that's definitely not me. back in my day™️ they just called those scene kids

🦜🦜: god now i feel ancient

->renly: you realize i'm not that much younger than you are. i was alive when scene kids were a thing, too

🦜🦜 [UNSENT]: oh if you could see me at the gay clubs, you'd know there is no such thing as glitter being too much for me

🦜🦜: what in the fresh hells is an eboy?

->renly: it isn't you

🦜🦜: a skirt you say? i'm intrigued. might have to save that for someone special first, no offense

🦜🦜: glitter: too much? y/n? follow up question: is neon still In?

->renly: i thought y/n stood for your/name like in fanfic i was v confused

->renly: glitter isnt too much for me but it might be for you

🦜🦜: so mean :( :( i thought u supported fashion forward choices :( :(

🦜🦜: what KIND of slacks and button downs tho there are so many choices

-> renly: of course i support fashion forward choices. you could pull off a skirt better than you could pull off a backless shirt

🦜🦜: i am only mildly offended u think i couldn't pull off a backless shirt

🦜🦜: there has to be somewhere between slacks and a button down, jeans and a tee, and a backless shirt

-> renly: i don't think so i know so

🦜🦜: it's thursday which means tomorrow is friday which means theon's thing is coming up fast

🦜🦜: i haven't actively gone clubbing since i was an undergrad

🦜🦜: what does one wear to a club??

🦜🦜: help???

-> renly: i'm wearing a pink backless shirt with some jewelry

-> renly: but i don't think you could pull that off.

-> renly: most men just wear jeans and a shirt, on college campuses, but that isn't nice enough for theon's place

🦜🦜: i'm having a terribly important fashion emergency

🦜🦜: do you have a moment or fifteen

🦜🦜: it's truly dire

Loras was perfectly trained in never letting the veneer of perfection crack even for a moment. He had a reputation to uphold, and a niche to inhabit - breaks from that did not come even in the comfort of his favourite cafe in the Vale, tucked at a table in the back room where he couldn’t be disturbed. Or rather, where his rather traumatised company couldn’t be disturbed. He was worried about Robin, and every time he saw Jon Arryn’s name or face smeared across the news, a pang of concern had run through him so strong that he couldn’t think of anything to do but get on the next train to the Eyrie to check on him. 

 “Of course.” Loras answered, picking gingerly at his food, more interested in gauging how best to help Robin. He looked so drastically different from the first time they’d met, Robin looking resplendent in baby blue - he looked small and vulnerable across the table, and very much like someone Loras wished to wrap up in a big blanket and keep safe forever. “I wish I could have invited you over to mine, but I didn’t want you to have to travel to Oldtown, and honestly, I’m such a terrible cook that you’d be even worse off.” He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the edge of the table so that the silky shirt he wore pooled on its surface. “And I’d hate that at a time like this.” He swept his fringe of famed golden curls out of his eyes and fixed his emerald gaze on Robin. “Who’s been taking care of you, Robin?” Loras asked softly, wondering why the Arryns had let their boy sink to a state of such apparent desperation. “And how can I help you? I promise I’m here for whatever you need…”

If Robin had been any more himself than he was at the moment, he would’ve been gushing over Loras’ shirt, touching it, wondering about where he got it, who tailored it, and the likes, but he couldn’t even bring himself to reach across the table to feel the fabric. Part of Robin wanted to beat himself up for not even attempting to put himself together somewhat for a meal with Loras - this man was one of his inspirations, but he couldn’t even bring himself to look put together for him. Maybe when things were better, Robin would find a way to make up for it, but, until then, he could barely think about how down he must appear.

There had been a lot of people to walk out of the Greyjoy family home in cuffs, but there was only one of them that Theon was convinced was responsible. He had been suspicious of the Targaryens from the beginning, and as soon as Viserys was apprehended, Theon had lunged at him. Of course, being the prince, he walked free with the bulk of the charges resting on Jon Arryn’s head. It made no sense to Theon, but the endless task of collecting his father’s books and records to continue the illicit business for fear of the backlash against him and his family if he were to stop kept him from thinking much on it.

He’d fallen asleep on the couch, paperwork strewn about on the glass tabletop and his shirt tossed over the back of a nearby chair. Awake long enough only to get a shower and get half dressed, Theon tensed when he heard the knock at his door. He hadn’t been expecting company, and quickly buttoned his pants before rushing into the main room to gather up papers and books, bundle it all together, and shove it in the wall safe hidden behind the Reinhardt painting in his bedroom. 

Theon leaned towards the security monitor near the door, brow furrowing as he didn’t immediately recognize who stood there. It could be anyone really, and he checked to make sure his gun was resting within easy reach by the door before twisting the lock and pulling it partially open.

“Robin?” He blinked in surprise at the sight of him, and it was clear from his outward appearance that he wasn’t doing well. Considering the predicament his father was in, it wasn’t shocking. The door opened wide and Theon reached for him, one hand on his shoulder guiding him inside. “Hey sweetheart…you alright?”

In perhaps any other situation, Robin might’ve appreciated the sight of a shirtless Theon. Now, though, he was too tired to think about much of anything, too worn down, too emotionally drained. He just needed safety, a refuge, somewhere where he could sit down and not have to think about everything that was going on in the outside world. Once again, he felt bad about imposing himself onto Theon, but he couldn’t think of anything else he could do.

Nodding at the sound of his name, he allowed Theon to lead him inside his apartment. It was undoubtedly beautiful, but Robin had no time nor energy to look around and admire it. He was just doing his best to avoid another panic attack at this point. “Sorry if I’m bothering you, I just... needed someplace to go, and... and this felt private enough, and comfortable enough, and... safe enough, I guess...” He wasn’t really sure how else to explain his instinct to go to Theon’s apartment. All he knew that it was more and more difficult with each passing moment to stay in the public’s eye. 

“Now isn’t the time for jokes, Baratheon.” There was more acid on Robin’s tongue than he would usually allow for, especially considering the fact that Renly hadn’t even opened his mouth. Robin was just running on very little sleep and much more caffeine than he usually was. He felt like he could’ve killed someone in that moment, if he was given the chance. That was never something that he’d admit out loud, though, nor was it something he was really able to do, considering how much he was trembling and not even noticing it.

Things weren’t looking too good. Theon had been right, that fateful night weeks ago; when the gossip rags decided that they had bad things to say about you, it felt awful, because you cared too much. Robin had to drive himself away from the publications that were supposed to speak of his praise in that wonderful blue suit he’d worn, because his name was now associated with possible murder. He didn’t think that his father was the killer - he couldn’t believe that his father had the ability to pull things like that off, let alone understand what the note said - but some people certainly did believe it, which made things all the more difficult. 

Robin didn’t know how Loras did it - he looked so beautiful, even in a time like this. It felt like it had been ages since Robin last looked in a mirror. Admittedly, he couldn’t even recall the last time he showered. It could’ve been yesterday, maybe the day before, maybe the week before. He couldn’t begin to say. Sitting across from him felt odd, though. Like he was the moon trying to outshine the sun. A beggar across from a prince. “Thanks for the breakfast.” Doing his best not to mumble, Robin felt himself shifting in his seat, trying to build up an appetite to eat the food in front of him. “It looks really good...”

It felt as if his spirit had been crushed. While he was never as close with his father as he was with his mother, this felt like their family had been torn apart, and, despite the fact that the Vale was backing them, nothing felt right. He was supposed to show his face with his mother at the protest, but Robin didn’t know if he had the strength to do so. All he wanted to do was to lock himself in his room and cry. His father wasn’t a murderer. Why had Uncle Ned been let out, but his father was still there? Robin had absolutely no authority to speak on who he thought killed Balon Greyjoy, but, in his mind, it was absolutely not his father.

Sitting at a coffee shop in the furthest corner from the door, Robin cupped a hot chocolate close to his chest, head bowed. He couldn’t handle being approached by strangers anymore, and he was still trying to figure out which was better - feeling suffocated at home or being touched by people who knew nothing about him in the first place, offering condolences as if Jon was dead. It was enough to make him dizzy; all that Robin really wanted at a time like this was a friend.

He couldn’t be seen in the Vale. He couldn’t be seen in the North. He definitely couldn’t be seen in public in King’s Landing. He knew that people cared about his father, he knew that no one actually believed that he murdered Theon’s father - or, well... some people certainly did, but the majority, for what Robin had heard, did not. With all of that being said, it was difficult to show his face in public. Robin had a very distinct appearance, and it was hard to keep his head down at a time like this. He had to escape his mother - he couldn’t take her weeping and holding him any longer. It felt as if he was being suffocated by the walls of their home.

That’s how he ended up at Theon’s apartment, a hood over his curls, distinct fashion style traded for a plain gray sweatshirt and sweatpants, his head bowed as he rocked on his heels waiting for the answer at the door. He sincerely hoped that Theon didn’t believe what they were accusing his father of, because he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. Robin felt like a child again, sick, weak, scared, praying that Theon wouldn’t make him leave. If he did, Robin didn’t even know where he’d go. Biting at his lip, he could only hope for the best now.

Theon couldn’t really place a time where he’d genuinely cared about the way the media perceived him. His actions often spoke for themselves, and the people he hung around had a favorable enough opinion of him, so that was really all that mattered. The ones that gave him grief were easily clipped away, and after that, he couldn’t concern himself with what they said. “You get used to it.” He mused. “Otherwise every run of the mill rumor would get under your skin and drive you mad. People are going to talk either way, might as well live with that fact.” He said with a dismissive shrug.

He always wondered where he might be today if he’d gone the education route instead of reaching out to his father. Hindsight perhaps, as it wasn’t really the route for him to take now. “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.” Theon offered. “I don’t have tight ties with the entertainment department, but I get some celebs in the club sometimes. And then there’s Loras, if you’ve managed to meet him tonight. He’s not half bad to chat with if he’s not in a prissy mood.”

The conversation was doing well for his troubled mind, allowing him to calm that anxious tapping of his fingers. “My mom wanted me to go to college so bad. She went on and on about how good the schools up north were, and she was right, they were better than the ones packed full of Ironborn.” He scoffed. “But I guess it worked out regardless, my job is to party most nights and a lot of people wish for that.” 

Eyeing the way Robin’s hand seemed to shift, Theon reached out and gently rested his palm atop it, offering a reassuring smile as he did. “Relax.” He urged softly. “I can assure you it’s pretty safe in here. Security is all over this wing of the house.” It was hard to put into words (or impossible without revealing too much) that this wasn’t the first time he had seen a body–shaken as he was it was Balon lifeless on the floor–and that he was more disturbed by what this meant for him and his family rather than the actual loss of his father. Even if most thought he might be the one in need of confiding, it actually helped him quite a bit to be the one doing the comforting. 

“Well, I guess I’m still new to all of this...” Robin cut himself off before bringing up his past illness again; no reputable source, and not even disreputable ones, would publish gossip about sick children. Now that Robin was perfectly normal in the eyes of the public, he was an acceptable person to talk about, and he hadn’t quite gotten used to all of the ego stroking. Not to say that he didn’t appreciate it when his mother lathered praise upon him - he did - but it was so much nicer, in Robin’s mind, when it was strangers. “I just like hearing people say nice things about me. And I haven’t got much experience with people saying bad things about me. So... you see why I care about them.”

Robin finally laughed when Theon brought up Loras and his so-called prissy moods. When Robin met Loras earlier in the night, he hadn’t seemed prissy at all - in fact, it was just the opposite. Loras seemed more than excited to welcome Robin into the industry, even if only for the fact that Robin was a fresh face with new ideas. “Loras was really kind to me a couple of hours ago. He gave me his number and told me to text him if I ever needed help. Thank you, Theon, too - really. I’m a little nervous, but I think I’m in good hands when it comes to the transition.”

Looking over at him as he spoke about his mom, Robin’s brow furrowed lightly. Nodding along to show that he was listening, Robin tilted his head slightly, finding himself in thought for a moment as Theon paused. “How old are you, exactly...?” It felt like an odd question to Sweetrobin, and he quickly amended it; “I mean - I don’t really care. I’m just thinking about whether or not we would’ve crossed paths had you chosen to go to school in the North.” Maybe they would have, considering that Theon had already mentioned his closeness with the Starks, but who knows? That was a different past, a past of a reality that was not theirs. “I’m glad it worked out, though...!” he nodded, eyes moving over to Theon’s once again.