Post by robbie taylor kingston ® on Jul 5, 2008 14:48:10 GMT -8
» YOUR NAME; aly[/font][/size]
» YOUR AGE; eighteen.
» YOUR OTHER CHARACTERS; admin, cadence, aaron
» HOW DID YOU HEAR ABOUT SBR?; i own. literally.
» FULL NAME; robbie taylor kingston[/font][/size]
» AGE; twenty two
» GENDER; male
» SEXUAL ORIENTATION; straight
» I AM; bass & backup vocals in burning bridges
» CELEBRITY/PB; pete wentz[/font][/size]
» HEIGHT; five foot eleven
» WEIGHT; one hundred and sixty pounds
» HERITAGE; originally from chicago, IL.
» LINK TO ATLEAST 3 DIFFERENT PICTURES; [1] [2] [3][this is in lieu of a physical description]
» PERSONALITY; Robbie is, in all honesty, an asshxle. He has a sweet side somewhere, but it's so far down, that nobody can expect it to come out anytime soon. He's conceited, he's arrogant; and it has nothing to do with being in a popular band. Robbie wasn't one of those guys who got high on his own list because people started thinking he was a divine musician of sorts; it's been this way for years before. He's headstrong and stubborn; he puts out a vibe that would warn anyone not to mess with him. Robbie also has an extreme temper. The strangest things irritate him and piss him off. He never backs down from a fight, whether physical, verbal, or otherwise. He can be extrememly possesive or extrememly indifferent; it all depends on what mood you catch him in. And he does, by the way, have insane mood swings. He could be totally fine one moment and a complete raving lunatic the next. It's probably not healthy.
Robbie parties hard, that's one thing you can count on. He drinks excessive amounts, and he's no stranger to drug use. He's not as in to that as a lot of the guys he hangs out with, but it's definetely not something he refrains from, either. He's a manwhore; he always was. He'll sleep with a different girl every night of the tour if he wants; and he'll get away with it. He's an attention whore, whether he realizes it or not: all he's looking for is some kind of affirmation that he won't get for himself unless he's screwing a girl.
Despite all of this, he has a deeper side. He writes almost obsessively; he's capable of writing some of the most beautiful words you'll ever read; and the most destructive and brutal. He had a large imput on lyrics for his own band, and was never a stranger to catchy hooks and metaphors. If anything, it's his writing that keeps him sane.
The only time you won't see any of this is when he's on stage; and that's not all an act. He is genuinely happy when he's playing his music to a crowd; he's happy to meet fans and sign things and take pictures. He's a typical band guy behind closed doors but in the face of the adoring public, he isn't afraid to show his appreciation; because he is appreciative. After all, all of those people are what have launched his career, one huge laugh in his parent's face, if you ask him.
» LIKES;• writing
• sex.
• music.
• bass.
• rainy days.
• partying.
• sunglasses.
• the dark.
• tight jeans.
• alcohol.
• travel.
• sex, again.
• stars, night sky.
• guyliner.
• bbq'd food.
• the band's tour bus.
» DISLIKES;• people who remind him of himself.
• rejection.
• his trust issues.
• his parents.
• snakes.
• humidity.
• getting up early.
• sunburns.
• constant solitude.
• feeling alone.
• taking naps.
• hangovers.
» OTHER?; none.
» FAMILY ; • mary kingston, mother[/size][/font]
• daniel kingston, father
» PAST; Robbie Taylor Kingston was born to Mary & Daniel Kingston on June 11, 1988. Though it was a warm, sunny evening, the Furiani’s were not exactly thrilled by his arrival. Sure, they’d had nine months to plan, but there was the issue: Robbie had not been a planned baby. For some parents, when they didn’t plan pregnancies, the baby was born, and they fell instantly in love with the tiny fists, the closed eyes, the soft wails at three in the morning. Robbie’s parents were not those kind of people.
Still, his childhood wasn’t exactly awful. He grew up in a suburb of Chicago, Illinois, and he enjoyed bike riding on summer nights and ice skating on winter afternoons, just like any other child in his neighborhood. He was well provided for, even he had to admit: they lived in a quaint and cozy home, he got to go to private school, and he had a skateboard, a sled, a video game console, just like all the other boys his age. Still, that didn’t change the fact that there was one big void: his parents had never grown in to really loving their son. Sure, they tucked him into bed at night, but there was a big difference between reading a bedtime story and telling your son that you loved him, and meaning it on the rare occasions it actually left your lips. Though Robbie did feel privileged, he never felt loved.
He was a happy kid, nonetheless. He was raised to be a respectful, smart boy. He treated everyone the same, was not racist or sexist, shared his toys, didn’t cheat on tests, didn’t lie a whole lot. That was all fine and dandy until the day after he graduated from the eighth grade.
His whole class of forty went to the park as a kind of celebration. He happened across the class bully, a boy named Larry, picking on another classmate, Elisabeth. She had always been the quiet, nerdy one – and Larry’s favorite target. Something inside Robbie snapped that day, hearing the other boy taunting her about the way she looked. He had watched as Elisabeth seemed to fold farther and farther into herself, and his heart went out to her: he knew what that felt like – to feel unloved. So he stood up for her. He was nice about it, at first, told Larry to get lost. But the argument escalated. Eventually, the other guy got so mean that Robbie punched him, square across the nose. It was a punch that Robbie didn’t even know he could pack; he was shocked as blood spurted from the other boy’s nose, which he had broken, as he stumbled backwards, hit a bench on his way to the ground, and cracked a rib.
Nobody believed him, and nobody believed Elisabeth. Atleast, nobody that had influence on what was going to happen to Robbie for the next two years of his life. His parents were absolutely furious, convinced they had raised some monster who was getting in vicious fistfights at the park. The truth was, Robbie was a mild kid; he’d never hit anyone before, and it had been the first truly selfless thing he had done, something he had truly believed in at the time, and still did to this day. And so, the decision was made, despite Robbie’s pleas: his parents sent him off to boot camp.
His parents were seriously delusional in thinking Robbie was some horribly violent kid that needed this kind of punishment and straightening out. He was shoved into a place with kids that were seriously tormented; no doubt, some of the most messed up young minds in America. For weeks on end, he indured an initiation of sorts; being beat up by all the other kids because he thought he knew better than to fight back. But there came a time when you had to stand up for yourself, you had to defend yourself. He had spent months and months begging his parents to let him come home, but even all the pleas and tears he shed could not convince his parents, could not even begin to cover the truth: his parents were happy with him gone. They did not want him to come back; they barely wanted him at all. So he did what he had to do to survive.
Two years. Two whole years they left him there. Once he made his choice, it wasn’t long before he made his place, earned his respect among the other kids. But in order to survive among monsters, he had to become one himself. He did what he had to do. He did not make friends; he did not pretend to make friends. Instead, he built himself up to untouchable; he learned how to put up a front, to cast the vibe he wanted others to get. It took unbelievable amounts of confidence Robbie never had to take being called a piece of sh!t day in and day out, face the reality that he was unwanted by the only two people in the world he’d let himself get attached to. And when he finally got out of that hell hole, the new Robbie came with him.
Now, his parents had something to fear. They had succeeded in creating a monster: a boy that was so incredibly insecure in his own skin that he had to be someone else. He had to be violent; he had to turn to alcohol; he had to turn to using girls, getting his satisfaction and sense of self worth and validation in a new form, the only one he knew: sex. He acted like a hard ass, he cast an arrogant eye at everyone he encountered. But it worked for him. He did not make real friends; he did not get attached. He partied a lot, slept with more girls than he could ever remember or hope to keep track of. People wanted a part of what he had made himself, without the attachment. And that was fine; he wasn’t looking to sew his heartstrings to anyone else’s, either.
Maybe that was why the band came to him so easily. He was the definition of a band guy; he was good looking, coul hold his liquor, could get about any girl he wanted into bed with him, without effort. He had taken to playing the guitar when he was very young, and as soon as he was out of bootcamp, he bought his first bass. He taught himself how to play it, and apparantly had a natural talent. He met a few guys that shared his passion and even in their first "jam session", there was an extreme amount of chemistry, an ear catching sound. Lots of lyric writing and promotional shows later, they were signed to Spellbound Records, living the dream.
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& w a l k e r • l a n d o n ,
it's been a while since i've seen the way the candles light your face,
and it's been a while, but i can still remember just the way you taste
[/size][/font][/center]and it's been a while, but i can still remember just the way you taste
[/quote][/size][/font][/blockquote]Walker actually loved all those things she seemed to stress over a bit, and he made a point of it to stick around for it when he could. Usually he had to be leaving for the studio around the time that everyone else was getting up, but if one of the twins was giving her a particularly hard time, or Lizzie was refusing to eat her cheerios because her favorite cartoon was on, Walker would call in a few minutes late and just deal with it. He knew he was lucky that he had such a flexible work thing, and he knew that if it was for anything but his huge family, he never would have gotten away with it. He was perfectly aware with the fact that he got away with so much family stuff because it looked good. He was one rock star who wasn't completely washed up. He did not have random children by odd women, he did not have candid pictures taken of him dancing on tables at bars downtown, he didn't have a DUI and he had not spent overnight in a jail cell. Instead, pictures that the papparazzi was able to snap were usually of him walking down the beach with Lizzie on his shoulders, or picking up an extra gallon of milk at the supermarket on his way home from the studio. For once, a positive image was casting light on a band and the studio wasn't going to do anything to jeopardize that. They liked having a band signed that had guys in it who seemed to have good heads on their shoulders, and were still able to put on a kickass show.
Walker knew that at the end of the day, Adam loved what she did just as much as he did. Sometimes it was surely harder for her to see, because she was the one who had to change diapers infinite times during the day, deal with fussy toddlers and sassy little girls, make sure that Trevor wasn't living off soda and chips. She was the one who saw to it that baths happened on time and messes got cleaned up before someone made them a bigger mess. He wondered, but had yet to really ask, what she had wanted, before he made his dream their dream. Walker knew that he'd had no direction in life whatsoever before he knew her; he had no idea what he wanted, and in fact, he never would have been now what he was if it wasnt for her. The last thing he'd wanted was a music career, to be a father. And now, he could not even imagine it any other way. He shuddered to think where he would be if she had not been there, so steady and encouraging, supporting. But what had she wanted, before she knew him? She had been perfect: the studious bookworm who surely had big things coming to her. But then life happened, Walker barged in, and she had become a stay at home mother, hardly having time to give another career a shot. Sometimes he wondered if that was what she had ever really wanted, but he was always too afraid to ask. It would have broken his heart to know that maybe her heart still laid somewhere else.
He did know that more often or not, this life of stay at home mother and wife got to her. She stressed out, even when he insisted that she shouldn't worry so much. Maybe it was easier for him, because he had about six or seven hours removed from the chaos every day. He knew that little things arose that had to be dealt with, tackled, but he always found himself assuring her that it would work out. Their kids were not going to grow up to be horrible people. They were not going to fail miserably at parenthood. Their kids were going to be respectful, attentive, good kids. She just had to give them some time and step back to realize that this was going to pay off. One day, when Walker and Adam were old and gray, they were going to have atleast three kids who realized they owed it back to their parents for all their hard work to stop by on Sundays for lunch, to call every Wednesday and tell them how life was going. They were going to be gradparents one day, maybe even great grandparents because they were still so young, and nothing was going to take that away from them now. Walker saw all the beauty of this family life style and he was constantly making sure that she saw it, too, or atleast that she knew somebody had that vision that wasn't easily shattered.
He really couldn't help from staring, and he didn't exactly scold himself for it, because he knew that for whatever reason, she was a little insecure about her looks these days. He couldn't imagine why; every day he woke, he still saw the same Adam he had all those years ago when he was eighteen and she finally gave into him, as horrible as it was to think. But even then there had been something a lot deeper to what had been going down, something he had never experienced before and had never experienced since with anyone but her. There was something so breathtaking about her that he really had never appreciated in female form before, something intriguing that just kept him wondering, even if he'd had every inch of her body more times than he could count. That mysterious veil was just never removed completely and it kept him doing things liket his, staring blankly at her with the steam from the shower fogging her features slightly.
As she spoke, a wide grin broke onto his face. He couldn't help it; she was so damn cute! Come on, how adorable was it to walk in on your wife stepping out of the shower, and she starts quoting Pirates of the Carribean at you? Alright, so maybe that wasn't every guy's fantasy but something about it caused Walker's heart to swell with pride and love for the little woman he called his wife. He didn't answer at first, just watched her every breathtaking move as she reached for his perfectly folded pajamas. He had extended hsi hand to take them but before e knew it, she had stepped closer, and the cloth material of her towel brushed the denim of the leg of his jeans. Something told her that he didn't want them anymore? She knew him too well. "Something tells me that you won't object if you have to fold these clothes from a heap on the floor in the morning, too," he murmered back, his voice so low that it did not even bounce off the tile walls. He smiled softly at her, his fingers reaching up and brushing softly over her bare shoulder, down her slender arm, her skin soft, warm, inviting. Some things, he realized contently, never changed.
