i'm not living ; just surviving.

Love and respect, your son Damian ( independent role-play blog for damian wayne / robin sidebar image x )

[flipsandquips-archive-blog]

"Are you sure I can’t … I mean, not even a pat on the head or something?"

[arealrobin-blog]

"Don't touch my hair." 

[flipsandquips-archive-blog]

"I missed you too, Damian."

[arealrobin-blog]

He remains silent, but shuffles closer to Dick, eyes stoic on the wall in front of him. "...I missed you too, Grayson." 

[redhandedquips-blog]

( she huffs. )

[arealrobin-blog]

That's hesitation. Just a step behind fumbling. 

[arealrobin-blog]

[ shakes ]

[arealrobin-blog]

OH MY FUCKING GOOOOOOODDDDD

DAMIAN WAYNE IS NOT WHITE-WASHED

I AM HALF ARABIC AND I AM HALF AMERICAN

I AM A PALE MOTHERFUCKER

MY FEATURES REFLECT HIS DIVINELY

FUN FACT:

ARABIC

PEOPLE

AREN'T

DARK

[redhandedquips-blog]

   I will not fumble!

[arealrobin-blog]

    I believe that.

[acancerofthesoul-deactivated201]

≫ arealrobin

[acancerofthesoul-deactivated201]

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, Damian", he offered an unamused glance at the boy.

[arealrobin-blog]

"That's alright--the inferior never seem to. Watch the names, Red Robin." 

[felinexfatale-deactivated201807]

Do you really have another choice?

[arealrobin-blog]

Given my status, I certainly do. I've just wanted to meet you for quite some time. 

[arealrobin-blog]

   Oh, I remember I can't lend you any money on the account of I hate you.

[felinexfatale-deactivated201807]

[ His circling about her brought an amused smile to her face, though she hid it for his sake (and hers) with a pursing of the lips. ]

     Wayne Tower. 

[ Probably not. He might be headed to the cave by now. But with Bruce, you never really knew. He couldn’t blame her for that. ]

[arealrobin-blog]

    I don't believe you. 

[robbiesheehanigan-deactivated20]

[felinexfatale-deactivated201807]

[ She allows the silence to seep through for a moment or two. ]

     I might.

[ Of course she knew where he was. ]

[arealrobin-blog]

Hm, so you do. [ he muses, circling the tall woman with brows raised, an attempt to look as genetically similar to bruce as possible. ]

     I don't trust you'll spill your secrets to me, but I assure you that it will be in your best interest if you're to speak his whereabouts. So I'll give you a chance. Where is he? 

[flipsandquips-archive-blog]

"Not even a congratulatory pat on the back?"

[arealrobin-blog]

"If you decide to touch me, I'll meet you with a congratulatory fist in the face." 

[growingintotheuniform-blog]

It doesn’t feel like a compliment. But it is you so…

[arealrobin-blog]

You are welcome. 

[acancerofthesoul-deactivated201]

≫ arealrobin

Whenever he saw that little demon all he could smell was trouble. “Damian…”

[arealrobin-blog]

    How unfortunate a run-in. Damian's lips quirked to the side, his hands landing on his narrow hips in what seemed to be a stance offering a challenge. "How is the existential crisis couple with delusion going?" 

[rosedupres-deactivated20140812]

     For one who would look terribly out of place in her quaint little village, he spoke terrific French! That alone was a somewhat witless and unbecoming reason to let her guard down, but Rose never was the most mistrusting of people—no matter how hard she tried.

     【♘】; ❝ Je suis de douze. Vous-même? ❞

     The bijou, placid curl of her lips is naturally light-hearted, reigniting the benign warmth she had ventured in bedimming antecedent. The soft breeze of autumn swung by, bringing the tall turfs of greens to rustle in disarray, rustling the pale cloth atop a halcyon crown.  It was a terrible time to wear small sleeves, but given the circumstances, the most she could make do with was her mother’s threadbare cloak and much too tiny, elbow-sleeved blouse.

     His mannerisms bore a grown sort of sentry for himself—not that Rose would ever pry, but it was uncommon for anyone around her age, whether it be younger or older, to look so … well, dismal. Nevertheless, the floret progeny stowed away her piqued interest in himself—for courtesy’s sake, of course.

     It was surprisingly zany how a habitual occurrence of her seclusion was plagued (quite gladly received, if she may admit) by something, or rather, someone infrequent to her surroundings.

[arealrobin-blog]

    His tenebrous eyes flickered from their spot on her veil across the expanse of the pasture--something he wasn't familiar with an iota. For a moment, he stood quietly, hesitated on the decision on whether or not he should sit and dirty the cloth of his jeans, and decided--what the hell. He very slowly sank to his haunches, brushing the palm of his hand over grass that was wildly overgrown but remained lush. 

                           "Je suis dix," he answered, brow lowered on his expression. His emotional detachment in which he normally isolated himself seemed to have shifted. He sunk back on his elbows and reflected comfort. Turning his head in order to gaze at the older, he bit his bottom lip.

     He'd picked up small things on his walk. Lack of roads, for one, the coyle French shabby antiques. The muted patchwork benches. Talk of the Franco-Prussian war. 

     Inky eyes closing, he inhaled through his nose and ran his bronzed fingers over the black pants, as stark as a Mondrian painting and more dramatic. "Ah," he breathed, then blinked his aloof, frigid eyes open and met her auric own, sunny and warm, and asked: "Quelle année est-il?"

[ramennotdiets]