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SOBER. i wanna be... active on here but the fandoms fuckin dead already

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SOBER. note: i dont rp w people without a rules page.

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SOBER. inbox call.

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SOBER. inbox call.

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remember to drink a fucking shit ton of water every miserable day of ur life

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<3

                     ‘ if my threat to cease coming to visit you was enough of a motivation                       then i’ll gladly come and help you clean up. ‘ fingers dance along the                       of a still ridiculously dusty picture frame. within it sits a weathered                        polaroid of the two of them, much M U C H younger than they are                        now. it’s heartwarming to see such a thing survived the test of time,                        including the shift of families, significant others, children, homes,                        careers, addictions, transitions– they’re still kicking and they’re                        still together now. 

    ❝And who’d of thought it’d work so well?❞ he replies happily, an arm wrapping around Damien’s shoulder and pulling him closer, planting a stubbly, passionate kiss against his cheek. He catches a glimpse the photo out of the corner of his eye, and his grin remains. ❝The good ol’ days, eh? Look at how young we were,❞ hell, his childhood and teenage years may have been S H I T, but he wouldn’t trade them for the WORLD.

    ❝... If anything’s changed since back then, we can at least say we’re both better at sex.❞

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moodboard; robert small

my pinterest

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moodboard; robert small

my pinterest

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"Pineapple on pizza. Into it, or nah?" Here's the real test. - at-least-four-knives

    @at-least-four-knives

    ❝You’re joking, right? You’re joking. Pineapple is the only way to go.❞

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WAIT BIRTHDAY AT THE END OF SEPTEMBER OR?

on mobile but yeah! its on september 30th. 💖

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🥃

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SOBER. my birthday is at the end of the month so if u wanna show me love ill be accepting donations via paypal ;)

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THE NEW GUY

Another exhausting upheaval in the span of three years but this one took a toll on him further than any long drive could have. No, it was a fourteen hour flight, not counting the multiple delays and issues that planes nearly ALWAYS had. He hated flying and the last time he did it he SWORE it would be his last; he swore a lot of things that always worked against him…

Mmm, give it a matter of time and all that would change. He had patience, after all. Japan was already undergoing its own new birth, the fog would soon move over every inch of it and with time it would no longer resemble what it once was. This soothed him even when a baby began crying in one of the seats nearby… Yet, he still had to wonder what fucker brought a baby onto a plane.

His new location, FOR NOW apparently, was in an area called ‘Maple Bay’ in Massachusetts and while it wasn’t like INABA where the biggest entertainment was the only large shopping center it still wasn’t quite a blooming city like Shibuya. He was ready to graduate back to the city already but… Due time, he reminded himself. He decided THIS was his real new start. No more pretending, no more wasting his potential; the world was gonna end with time so he might as well not waste his energy playing the goofy detective and HAVE A LITTLE FUN until everything came to a halt. 

At least, he would when he started working. For now with the few items he brought with him tossed into the front door of the living space of his new apartment he was off with his phone leading him to the nearest bar. He could check out his ‘brand new’ apartment later, he was sure the inside wouldn’t differ too much from the other two he lived in back in Inaba and Shibuya. His things wouldn’t be arriving until tomorrow anyway so he had nothing to do but kill time instead of sleep on the empty floor, it was always a little disturbing doing that without being at least intoxicated enough to pass out.

He’s moved enough times to know that.

Finally arriving at the place (Jim and Kim’s? Pretty okay joke, it got a chuckle out of him) he takes a seat immediately at the bar, taking only the quickest glances at his surroundings. It’s a weekday so he can’t expect it to be too crowded and honestly, after his flight he APPRECIATES IT.

He takes a seat at the bar holding up a hand to show he’s already set to go, “Whatever cheapest beer you have, thanks.” And it drops back to the counter. The best thing about bartenders was they never expected you to make it complicated. He didn’t even like beer much, especially the cheap stuff, but it did its magic just fine and he had to watch his pocket book so… Cheap beer it was.

     Day after day passed by as always, in the bar, out of the bar, disappear for a few days just to end up back at Jim and Kim’s ( yet again ) and pass out the second he enters his house. He never had to say where he went, he never had to explain to anyone that he needed to leave, he was just gone and nobody would question it or wonder. Or if they did, they knew he’d come back. He always came back, after all, what was out there for him anyways? What would be do if he caught a cryptid? He wouldn’t be stupid enough to go out and die somewhere, anyone could assume.

    As usual, night after night as always he found himself in the little bar, tucked in his barstool on the corner, occasionally chatting with Neil ( the barkeeper, swell guy ), but for the most part, keeping to himself in gruff silence as he sipped on his drink. Per usual, whiskey, on the rocks. Typically, he wasn’t the type to discuss much with other patrons. He knew the majority of them and didn’t care about the rest, as it would be most weeknights, the majority of the few patrons were regulars, drunks and deadbeats distracting themselves from whatever was happening in their lives, drinking instead of letting their depression eat away at them.

    At least that’s what Robert assumed everyone else was here for.

    His brow raised when this strange man had walked in. He seemed pretty average, but looked out of place, as if he’d just come into town and was still trying to figure things out. It was rare to see newcomers here, especially in such a hole-of-a-wall of a place.

    Once he sees the other’s settled, Neil having served the other his drink, he’d make his move, standing from his seat in favor of walking over, sitting just a booth away from Adachi, drink set upon the worn-in tabletop. If Mary had been here, she’d of already been all over him. Fresh meat always tended to be the EASIEST to snag a drink from. He would proceed to take a moment to scope out his new ( involuntary ) drinking partner, one brow raised. Cheap beer? THAT shit in particular sucked-- Robert would know. 

    ❝New to the area?❞ he finally speaks, voice gruff and raw, and he had to take a moment to decide if it were from his lack of speaking, or how good the alcohol burned going down. ❝If you know what’s good for ya, you shouldn’t drink that shit. Tastes like someone just ground up a bunch of hops and somehow made them taste WORSE. You like whiskey? Neil, two more shots of whiskey, it’s on ME.❞ Neil nods, this wouldn’t of been the first time Robert had done this, even with how little he actually SPOKE to people in the first place.

    ❝Name’s Robert.❞

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THIS FUCK

    Dennis screeches with the ferocity of a little girl sporting a scraped knee. Falling back onto the asphalt with a painful thud, the can of paint follows, rolling underneath the truck. Well, he sure as HELL wasn’t getting that back. 

    ‘ Goddammit NOT THE FACE! WHY THE FACE!’ Dennis shouts, bottom lip quivering as he cradles the underside of his jaw, his nerves fizzling like offset wires. Shit, THIS HURT. ‘ You’re a sick, sick, fuck. SICK! ’ He scrambles to his feet, && while a WISE man would have taken this as the cue to drive off, Reynolds stops short at the trunk of the Rover, flipping the hood up as he rummages through a varied collection of ropes, zip ties, rubber gloves, && camera equipment. Aha! There it was! Dennis pulls the rusty, old, crowbar free from underneath a canvas camera bag, smirking to himself.

    ‘ Two can play at this game, champ!’ He says, tapping his weapon of choice against his palm with a wide grin,

    ❝Oh, we’re doing THIS now?❞ Robert hides his surprise, expression darkening something fierce. This was no longer a game, this random dude made it clear. If he wants to get killed, he sure as FUCK will get killed. He takes a step back, he just needs a PLAN. ❝Alright, whoa, whoa, American psycho. If we’re gonna FIGHT, we need some ground rules buddy, y’hear?❞ of course, Robert knew this dude wouldn’t listen to REASON ( if there was even any reasoning to begin with ), but he just needed... A second.     Whipping open his jacket, he grabs a handle, before whipping out a long, angled blade. 

    How he comfortably fit that in his jacket remains a mystery.

    ❝Listen, Bateman. I’m not here to fuck around.❞

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hughhoncy:

    Oh…this wasn’t looking too pretty for the guy with the nineteen-seventy-two Jeep Commando. Dennis shakes the bottle of permanent spray paint; shit cost him almost twenty bucks, so it should be worth every last cent. Otherwise, the manager of Home Depot better prepare for the never-ending hurricane of his fury, that would REIGN down upon that pathetic establishment && all its employees. 

    ‘ That’s what you get for taking MY spot. Asshole.’ He says with a chuckle, leaning his head back to admire his masterpiece.  I FUCKED YOUR MOM  it reads, across the body of the truck, in girly cursive. 

    OH, THIS FUCKER COULDN’T BE SERIOUS. This stranger was about halfway through his handiwork when he exited the liquor store, booze and cigarettes in hand. He purses his lips for the moment ( he would put on this performance of keeping cool, at least for the moment ), feeling all patience with the world leak out like water between PARTED fingers. Calmly, he puts his fresh box of cigarettes in the pocket of his leather jacket, setting his bottle of jack on the sidewalk ( he will retrieve it later ) before CALMLY walking over, and without giving much time for Dennis much time to even REGISTER that someone was standing near him, slams him directly in the jaw with a tight fist. ❝Yeah? Wanna tell me more about how you fucked my ma’, you little punk?❞

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periodiic:

                      what normally passes for a pallid tone in his flesh is now vibrant                       with color. whether it be the alcohol or not doesn’t matter, he’s                        openly embarrassed and it’s apparent. his mouth remains fixed                       in a grin despite the fact that both faces are now pressed against                       each other. 

                      ‘ and how are you so sure ? ‘ 

                      it’s quite a change from the robert he had spent evenings with.                        he’s treating him with much more of a noticeable grace. the way                        he’s touching him is calculated, delicate, and gentle. the change                        from robert’s commanding and forceful nature is nothing short of                       a pleasant surprise. it’s enough so that damien leans in a second                        time, dusting the other’s before dipping in.      

    ❝I can see right through you, baby. Nothing hides from good ol’ Bob-- Robert,❞ he coughs awkwardly, catching himself. There was no possible way that he was already feeling TIPSY. Where did all his alcohol tolerance go? Oh, that’s right. He’s with Damien. The only other man who could twist him in his own absurd version of submission. ( emotional vulnerability, giddiness. )

    He is happy to return the kiss, arms yet again finding their way around Damien, curling back into his hair, had his mood been worse, he’d of tried to make more of a move, perhaps push Damien deeper into the couch, or put a hand up his shirt. But this didn’t feel like the time or place for the moment being. 

    ❝What WOULD you prefer?❞