Post by caits on Apr 22, 2012 20:21:08 GMT -5
robert shannon creed
STUDENT, TWENTY-ONE, HYPER, LOVING, TEASE, FRANK IERO, HARTFORD
first impressions are important,
If one were to just see Bobby walking down the street, they would probably steer clear of him. Despite the smile that he usually has on his face on any given day, his appearance usually gives people the wrong impression about him. He's shorter than most guys his age- topping off at a whopping 5'4” in total- which doesn't make him look very impressive (unless you're into that sort of thing); his dark hair and eyes scream an Italian heritage from his mother's side, as does his rather loud attitude towards addressing people in public. He's got a pretty face, which keeps his youth, and a lot of times that mixed with his height can often make him look like a high school student. If it weren't for his massive collection of tattoos (most of which are hidden under multiple layers of clothes and are only ever seen by the most private of eyes), he probably would be mistaken for a child half the time. His visible tattoos (the scorpion he wears proudly on his neck and the “Halloween” tattoo across his knuckles) and his foul mouth usually set people straight on that view, though.
let's do some word association,
nicknames necessary. I was born Robert Shannon Creed Jr. - which, yeah means that my dad has the same awful name, but at least he can go by Robert. Since everyone knew him as Robert, I had to be something different so no one got us all mixed up. Ever since birth, my family and friends have called me Bobby; let's face it- Robert Jr. (or R.J., God forbid) just sounds stupid if you aren't some super hot actor who's just made a huge comeback from rehab. I guess I've got a few other nicknames, but I don't really like anything other than Bobby. Bob sounds stupid, Rob and Robby make me sound like a complete douchebag. So yeah, just Bobby, thanks.
girls cooties. ...what?! Okay, so not really. I have a lot of girls that I'm really close with. They're good friends, and I'd never turn my back on them or treat them bad or anything, but... I'm gay. I've always been gay, never really had that awkward phase where I thought I wanted to marry some chick and have babies one day like most guys do. I guess by being gay, you'd think that would make me even more “girly” but I honestly can't even half-way understand women most of the time. They confuse me, and their lady parts are pretty nasty if you really look at them. (My junk isn't going anywhere near lady parts, unless you cut it off from my body first, okay?) I've always wanted to be with a guy, maybe even marry someone someday and adopt or whatever, but that's pretty far off... I'm single right now, I don't really date or sleep around that often. Yeah, I'm a bit of a tease, but hey, I'm worth the chase if you're willing to work for me. But for now, though, me and my girlfriends are going to sit in the corner and talk bad about the guys around campus, because let's face it- that's what us girls do best.
doctors assholes. So, yeah, I've been in and out of doctor's offices my entire life, and I really hate it. It's not really the doctor's fault or nothing, just genetics. Don't tell anyone, but I was diagnosed with type 3 Usher's Syndrome when I was a kid... don't know what that is? I'm not really surprised, it only happens to like, four babies out of 100,000 or some obscenely large number like that. Basically, my eyesight and hearing are slowly degenerating. In middle school, I started developing night blindness, and in high school, my vision finally got bad enough that I had to start wearing contacts. The same with my hearing, though, it didn't start getting bad enough for me to notice until high school. I don't like the idea of a hearing aid or anything (I mean, it's going to get bad enough eventually that I'll go deaf anyway), so I've been working on reading lips and sign language in my spare time. I'm pretty good at both, though I don't show it off any to people. Most people don't even notice that I'm watching their lips instead of their eyes, and if they do, they think it's just because I'm hitting on them or whatever. Let them think whatever, I really don't want them judging me for my issues. It's none of their damn business, anyway, so a lot of people don't know. Get's a little awkward when people are talking to me from behind, but I can usually play that off like I'm just ignoring them or off in my own world. I'm a pretty good actor when it comes to keeping secrets and all.
classes boring. I mean, I've always wanted to major in art, so it's not that I have a problem with the classes themselves or anything, I just have a problem with sitting through long lectures. I'm antsy and hyper all the time, so why in the world would I want to sit in a class all damn day? Or even for an hour? I usually sit in the back where no one notices me doodling all over my paper or shifting around in my seat because I can't sit still. I don't have A.D.D. or A.D.H.D. or whatever they're calling it this month; I've been hyper since the day I was born okay? If I believed in God, I'd say he gave me all this energy to make up for being so short. Anyway, the point is that I love being in school and majoring in what I love, I just find the whole concept of sitting in class all day extremely distracting...
animals love. There is nothing better than an animal's love, okay? You can just ask my cat Sophina (she's my princess, shut your face) and my dogs Bruno and Sabi. I have a bad habit of taking in strays and finding them new homes, but I can't help it! I've always loved animals with my entire soul, ever since I was a kid bringing home lizards and frogs in my pocket. I adopted Bruno from a pound, when they were going to put him down just because he was a big black Rottweiler and they were scared of him; Bruno wouldn't hurt a fly, he's precious. He's getting old in the years, so he's getting lazy and just likes to lay around and watch the people around him do things. If my little apartment was getting robbed, I'd have to rely on Sabi- she's the purebred Pit Bull I saved up my paychecks for a year and a half to get. She's still super sweet and loving, but at least she'd bark if there was someone new. She thinks she's a lap dog, which was cute when she was a puppy, but not so much now that she's older and bigger. She just squishes me when she gets to lay on top of me- good thing half the time Sophina won't let her. She's the moody one, who'd probably scratch my eyes out if I wasn't the one who fed her all the time. Most people who come over to my apartment steer clear of her, just because she has a habit of being a little bitch and biting people. I love them all, though, and I would have more if I thought that my apartment could hold anymore.
home lame. I love my parents, don't get me wrong, but ever since I left the house and they let my grandparents move in, trips back to Georgia have kinda sucked. (They make me sleep on the couch, I hate it.) Yeah, I'm from Georgia, you can keep your little Georgia peach comments to yourself, I've heard them all. I might have a little bit of an accent, but I ain't no Southern belle, alright? Most of the time, as long as I'm not upset (or really turned on), I can hide it so no one makes fun of me for it. I mean, I love accents, but I think most people think Southern accents are just lame sounding. Why couldn't I have been born British or Australian? Man, those accents make me melt, fuck...
a few lists to make this complete,
things tossed on bobby's desk at home bills picked up from his mailbox maybe a week ago, a pamphlet about microchip locators for animals with scrawl notes about prices written in the free spaces, a stack of invitations to his class's art gallery that he keeps forgetting to mail out, a letter from his mom with a coffee ring in the corner, a stack of movies he rented from Blockbuster three months ago that he is not planning on returning.
bobby's shopping list tuna for Sophina, apples, ramen noodles, milk, bread, dog food, please remember the tuna, Dorrito's Cooler Ranch chips, pepper jack cheese, coffee grounds, animal crackers, gift card for Mom's birthday, tuna
last google searches on bobby's computer how to remove dog slobber from couch, lullaby lyrics, university of hartford school closings, english lit papers for sale, stumbleupon, 100 worst ways to die,
They always warned you not to text and drive. It was a law in Missouri, actually, that you weren't supposed to be on your phone at all- no calls, no checking e-mails, no texting, no... whatever else you did with your phone in your car. It was in the little handbook too, if you actually read those things before getting your permit (not that anyone ever did or anything)... most of the time, the little accidents were just fender benders. Someone ran a red light because they were too busy on the phone to notice it turn; someone bumped into another car from behind because they had their head down trying to read a work e-mail when the other person put on the break. Silly, simple stuff like that. Usually another car was involved too, which made it okay because everyone had text and driven before and most people, even in road rage, could accept the fact that it was an embarrassing little accident and move on with their lives. Normal people walked away from their texting mishaps with a little ticket and a little shame to add to their conscience.
Normal people. Apparently Zander Ashdown was anything but normal.
Because not only had Zander's texting accident not involved another car, but he couldn't walk away from his wreck because of his ankle. The heir came to two unhappy realizations when his car ended up in the ditch: number one, the text he'd been trying to send was not that important (it literally only read “lol” he hadn't bothered with a period because honestly) and probably could have waited til after he got back to the hotel to send it; number two, it really really sucked that 9-1-1 didn't have a text line. The frustrated twenty-six year old had to explain almost three times to the little girl on the other end of the line that he'd wrecked his car into a ditch, and no, he didn't know where he was, and yeah, he was fine but he was stuck because of his leg, and could she please just send somebody already or something, jesus. It was embarrassing enough that his grandfather's car was probably totaled and he was completely fine other than a fucking bruised ankle without having to deal with stupid fucking emergency response making a big deal out of it.
He groaned out loud when he heard the sirens on their way, sure that he was more willing to die in a fiery blaze then actually sit through another fucking ambulance ride to the hospital; it wasn't as well known to the press (or anyone really besides his doctors) about his conditions and the fact that he'd been in and out of hospitals his entire life because of it, and he rather liked to keep it that way. Pesky EMTs trying to ask a million questions was going to get really old really fast. He closed his eyes and laid his head back, waiting for the inevitable rookie rescue kid to come nose around and make sure he was okay; the knock on the window made him sigh, but he didn't bother to open his eyes- he was willing the headache from talking with the dispatcher earlier to go away- until the other opened his door.
“Yeah, yeah. I know who you are, I fucking called you.” Zander muttered, opening his eyes and turning his head to give the other his normal sarcastic grin. The guy wasn't as young as Z expected him to be- hell, this guy looked about his age, so he wasn't some rookie. The grin fell a little bit as he studied the face of the EMT, narrowing his eyes a little at the familiarity. Did he know this guy from somewhere? The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, not really caring how rude or random they were. “...have I slept with you?”
Normal people. Apparently Zander Ashdown was anything but normal.
Because not only had Zander's texting accident not involved another car, but he couldn't walk away from his wreck because of his ankle. The heir came to two unhappy realizations when his car ended up in the ditch: number one, the text he'd been trying to send was not that important (it literally only read “lol” he hadn't bothered with a period because honestly) and probably could have waited til after he got back to the hotel to send it; number two, it really really sucked that 9-1-1 didn't have a text line. The frustrated twenty-six year old had to explain almost three times to the little girl on the other end of the line that he'd wrecked his car into a ditch, and no, he didn't know where he was, and yeah, he was fine but he was stuck because of his leg, and could she please just send somebody already or something, jesus. It was embarrassing enough that his grandfather's car was probably totaled and he was completely fine other than a fucking bruised ankle without having to deal with stupid fucking emergency response making a big deal out of it.
He groaned out loud when he heard the sirens on their way, sure that he was more willing to die in a fiery blaze then actually sit through another fucking ambulance ride to the hospital; it wasn't as well known to the press (or anyone really besides his doctors) about his conditions and the fact that he'd been in and out of hospitals his entire life because of it, and he rather liked to keep it that way. Pesky EMTs trying to ask a million questions was going to get really old really fast. He closed his eyes and laid his head back, waiting for the inevitable rookie rescue kid to come nose around and make sure he was okay; the knock on the window made him sigh, but he didn't bother to open his eyes- he was willing the headache from talking with the dispatcher earlier to go away- until the other opened his door.
“Yeah, yeah. I know who you are, I fucking called you.” Zander muttered, opening his eyes and turning his head to give the other his normal sarcastic grin. The guy wasn't as young as Z expected him to be- hell, this guy looked about his age, so he wasn't some rookie. The grin fell a little bit as he studied the face of the EMT, narrowing his eyes a little at the familiarity. Did he know this guy from somewhere? The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, not really caring how rude or random they were. “...have I slept with you?”
Hi, so I'm Caits. I'm twenty-two years old and a chick and I'm from Alabama (US), which means I'm in the central timezone. I work a full-time job as an accounting assistant, but I get online on my app at all times during the day because they literally pay me to be on Twitter and such, so be expecting a good bit of me hopefully. Um, I'm engaged to be married next year and... um, that's my life? Yay.
