#jxmmybuffet

[cryptidknife-blog]

jxmmybuffet replied to your post “when will my robert muse return from the war”

asshole josephs you say.............

logs back into this blog for the first time in ages just to eyezoom @ you

[coolleatherjacket]

@jxmmybuffet | closed starter

[text, 5:23 pm] that time of the fucking moon again [text, 5:23 pm] what’s the plan

Last few hours before the change and he was working through cigarette after cigarette because his nerves were absolutely fucking frayed, the way they always got this close to moonrise. It was a strange feeling, one of duality - of feeling at once more in control, stronger, faster, better, but also entirely restless and trapped in his own body because he wasn’t better yet. 

Not that Robert enjoyed the change, exactly. Not that he liked what he’d turned into a few years ago when he got stupid and got bit, but that scar had healed and he’d been forced to accept the permanence it represented. His life was already a mess and turning into an animal on a regular basis wasn’t actually the worst he’d ever done, which said a lot about who he’d used to be but maybe also something about how the wolf had gotten more bearable. 

Joseph, of all people. Jesus. 

That he not only knew, that he’d been able to figure it out after only a few moths, but also that he knew enough to calm Robert’s mind when it went feral and blank after the shift and had some kind of affinity for safeguards and seemed impervious to the wolf’s teeth ...

Robert didn’t know who Joseph was. What he was, to be able to do what he did. But Joseph didn’t ask about Robert’s past and Robert extended the same courtesy, and instead lingered in the strange sense of safety Joseph could provide for him and the routine-of-sorts they’d wound up in. 

Joseph usually kept tabs. Which was why Robert was asking, glancing between his phone and the water as he overlooked the bay. 

[intoawhiskeybxttle]

@jxmmybuffet liked for a starter

Robert was staggering out of the forest at night, clothes in disarray and it was almost dawn. The sun just peaking over the horizon and making the cold morning air a hazy gray blue. He stumbled down the street, huffing and straightening out his jacket with each step towards home. Bruised and blood dripped from his nose down his chin. The iron tang told him so as he licked his lips a moment. 

He turned the corner, almost home. Felt like he was going to pass out right there on the sidewalk. Full moons were always hard on him. 

[cryptxdkxng-archive-blog]

The last thing he had expected was to get stuck on the phone with Manuela when he was supposed to be washing his truck. Sitting on the bed of it, one knee pulled up to his chest as his other leg dangled from the back of it, he looked relaxed enough sitting in the sun with his worn jeans and a wife beater on instead of his usual red shirt and jacket. Santana’s Supernatural wafted out into the open space of the cul de sac from his speakers and Betsy was curled up next to him, content to just lie there all day.

“Sí. Si lo se. Es un trasero testarudo. Eso es de familia.”

The reply couldn’t be heard, but it got a good laugh out of him. Scratching at his jaw with his free hand, he smiled as he looked around the rather relaxed area. Only for all sense of happiness to fade from his face as he spotted Joseph. Immediately, looking away, he gave some terse replies to Manuela, which set her on edge immediately. Rather than brush it off as nothing to a woman who was used to dealing with the men of his family, he just promised to call her back later.

With that done, he picked up Betsy and set her down on the ground so he could close off his truck and turn it off. Didn’t even get further than the front door before that little traitor sprinted off to greet Joseph. Swearing under his breath, he steeled himself for the interaction and walked over to Joseph.

“Sorry about her. She’s still young and dumb enough to like everyone.”

@jxmmybuffet liked for a tragic old man

[workingonthevices]

"I know you lied to me."

;start something

Unconcern was best served fishing through one’s pockets for a Malboro and a Zippo. Robert threw in an eye-roll to be sure. It was almost elegant. He struck the lighter a couple of times. “You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. The eighth commandment.” The cigarette caught.

He took a long drag—clearly, he had yet to break the smoking habit—then blew smoke into Joseph’s face. Yet to break the asshole habit too. “Oh, sorry. Do you call it the ninth? Refresh my memory. And while you’re—” He cut the breath short. No, stay out of sixth commandment for now.

“While you’re at it, maybe you can actually find something to incentivize my telling you any sort of truth. Catholics like myself like a lead by example type—and I’m only following your lead, Father Joseph.”