❛ — * ACTING THE MAGGOT ! ❜

—ROBIN DONAHUE. (noun.) a guitarist prodigy, well-known critic, abstinent virgin, & self destructive irish rawny. usually damaged & wrapped more times than a bad christmas present— fandomless, independent + selective musician oc. PLEASE READ RULES BEFORE INTERACTION ! LOW ACTIVITY

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00. CHARLOTTE DONAHUE. b. december 1961 // younger sister to robin.

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me: I’m highly selective with who I ship my muse with also me:

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uH like this for a random ass starter i’ll do after i finish commission work !

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iiiii am tempted to write charlotte on here finally

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this is like robin teaching this class sdkjhgskdfh

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WINEBLEEDS.

      illusion plays to his advantage.  five foot five is still taller than five foot two.  tall prey, even weaker, helps the smaller one pretending to be a predator  (or a fox among the wolves).  but audio outweigh the visuals, for her. entertaining, his nerves, in a split second  ;  he describes cardio while asking about it.  though, she formulates plans on how to shut him up when words attract the predators (don’t waste your breath : that’s how to survive life).  for now, there’s only an eye roll.

            ‘  i will.  ’      she follows him to the treadmills, allowing him that choice. she slides between his treadmill & the empty one.  an elbow rests on its arm to claim it.      ‘  here.  ’      she leans on the tips of her toes, stretching her arm across the screen.  her pointer finger.      ‘  press manual.   then set for ten minutes & three miles per hour.  ’      she glances up at him as she retreats her arm.      ‘  walking speed.  ’

      the act as instructor cuts when her feet reach the ground.  her forearm on the other treadmill trails off as she turns against him.  she steps until she hops onto the base.  the same steps faces her at the screen. feet spread between the still belt, & on the balls of her feet in preparation to return for its movement.  but first, her finger presses more buttons than manual.  head angles to him, as though strike a different conversation  (like her name).  instead, she insures,       ‘  i’ll stay at your pace.  ’      nothing personal.

      completely  intrigued,  robin  lets  her  take  control  of  the  situation  without  even  putting  up  a  fight.  he  makes  no  effort  to  prove  himself  ( a  statement  of  masculinity  seems  to  be  the  last  thing  on  his  mind )  and  instead  seems  more  than  happy  to  be  the  trainee.  it  doesn’t  bar  him  from  looking  rather  clueless,  lips  drawn  tight  and  dark  eyes  wide.  he’s  a  peculiar  looking  guy  -  he’s  got  a  few  good  looks,  but  no  idea  how  to  use  them.  the  expressions  that  commandeer  his  features  are  a  little  less  than  harmonious.

      ❛❛  —i  was  almost  positive  y’  were  s’posed  t’  run  on  t’ese  things,  ❜❜    he  murmurs  to  himself,  disclosed  to  the  fact  he  is  still  technically  a  beginner  to  all  of  this.  while  the  band  of  black  below  his  feet  starts  to  move,  robin  walks  along  it  with  ease,  hands  reaching  out  to  rest  on  the  grips  without  really  knowing  why  he’s  doing  so.

      after  a  second,  he  examines  the  board  of  buttons  and  lights,  leaning  forward  slightly  ( he’s  forgotten  his  glasses  again )  and  attempts  to  decipher  what  it  all  means.  it’s  a  bit  of  a  hopeless  effort,  so  the  subject  moves  on  with  the  consistency  of  porridge.  ❛❛  uhh...  so,  are  y’  actually  loike  an  instructor  here,  or  someone  who’s  just  taken  pity  on  a  poor  dublin  soul,  eh ?  ❜❜

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goin to nurse my horrid headache and see if i can even muster the energy to do smth productive on here or @brayborn bc i have so many threads i am loving atm but im just. incapacitated w this fuckin migraine BS

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WINEBLEEDS.

      his breakdown shifts the gear.  his impression drives her into a different road.  she speeds as his pride slows to a halt. shoulder roll back, making her taller than she appears to be.  a warning that she snatches his plea to her advantage.  after all, she would thrive on the cocky ones wondering how she picks this guy to stay by her side.  but, also, his comment of his sister’s output parallels her own suggestions towards her brother  (and sisters are always right).  he may or may not be lucky she’s off work today.

      ‘  fine.  ’      she answers with a twist of a smile.  she forgoes eye contact to scan the gym, figuring the equipment she knows best.  despite appearance, she avoids many of the machines sought by more muscles than hers.  but she observes the instructors   (especially the one with the fuller butts)  enough to imitate their advice.

            ‘  first off,  ’      eyes shot back to him, smoothing out emotions for her work voice.  still keeping arms crossed, her finger rests on her forearm as it points towards the treadmills.  a personal favorite of hers, like many of various sizes huddle as a default machine.      ‘  done any cardio?  ’

      by  the  evolution  of  her  position,  he’s  almost  certain  he’s  face  to  face  with  some  sort  of  wildcat.    she’s  got  that  build  that  only  hunters  have,  the  stance  that’s  always  ready  to  pounce.    if  he’s  lucky,  she’ll  refuse  him  and  he  can  skedaddle  out  of  this  place  and  make  up  an  excuse  for  charlotte  (  he  hates  lying  to  her,  but  at  this  stage,  he’d  rather  be  dead  than  be  found  in  the  gym.  )

       but  to  his  surprise,  the  blonde  agrees  and  he’s  caught  by  consternation ,  a  sort  of  ajar  expression  on  his  face  as  she  gestures  to  the  treadmills.

           ❛❛  —  cardio...  y’  sey  that  like  i’ll  know  what  it  means,  ❜❜  he  answers  daftly,  dark  brow  knitting  with  helpless  doubt.    ❛❛  i’ve  not  run  on  one  of  those  t’ings  before,  if  that’s  what  you’re  tryin’  to  ask.  shouldn’t  be  too  hard,  eh  ?  just  run  like  a  doggie  on  his  midday  walk...  ❜❜    he’s  practically  talking  to  himself  -  pep  talk,  as  it  were.

     finally,  he  stands  up,  displaying  his  full  height  of  barely  5′5  as  he  sizes  up  the  treadmill  nearest  to  him,  eyeing  the  buttons  like  it’s  the  world’s  most  complex  technology.     ❛❛  —  are  yi  gonna  run  alongsoide  wit’  me  or  watch  me  humiliate  myself  ?  eider  way,  i  don’t  really  care.  me  name’s  robin  by  te  way,  might  be  of  use  when  you’re  tellin’  me  i  suck  massive  cock  at  t’is  gym  thing.  ❜❜

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uH like this for a random ass starter i’ll do after i finish commission work !

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DIVINA.

while  waiting  for  a  response,  divina  finally  takes  the  time  to  really  look  at  what  he’s  sent  her.  the  photo  of  the  dog  weirded  her  out.  it  seems  more  like  a  photo  to  share  with  his  equally  strange  bandmate.  then  again,  robin  takes  pleasure  in  sending  her  odd  things  to  either  evoke  disgust  or  annoyance.  it  usually  works.  she  scoffs  audibly  about  his  complaints  over  her  hair.  he  does  know  he  can  stay  elsewhere,  right ?

         sent  to  :  donahue  //  why  do  you  have  to  annoy  me ?  why  can’t  you  pick  on  rory  instead ?

       it’s  worth  annoying  her  now  but  over  actual  audio,  isn’t  it ?    without  hesitation,  he  reads  the  message  she  sends,  hardly  computing  it,  then  hits  the  call  button,  holding  his  cracked  phone  screen  up  to  his  ear.    it  takes  a  minute  for  her  to  answer,  but  the  moment  he  hears  the  hint  of  feedback,  he  starts  to  talk  erratically.  

❛❛  —  hi  dee,  yi  wanted  me  to  call  ya,  so  here  i  am  callin’  ya,  how’s  work,  how’s  stickin’  needles  in  people ?  have  any  real  nasty  cases  of  cysts  or  anytin’ ?  tell  me  all  abou’  it,  i’m  all  ears.  ❜❜

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DIVINA.

her  phone  has  not  stopped  buzzing  since  she’s  opened  robin’s  text.  she  has  a  feeling  that  it’s  just  a  barrage  of  ridiculousness  as  usual  so  she  doesn’t  bother  actually  answering  them.  however,  she  is  kind  enough  to  read  the  messages,  though  read  is  a  bit  of  an  over  exaggeration.  she  skims  the  block  of  texts,  hardly  registering  what  the  photo  is.  after  an  hour  or  so  of  half - reading  and  not  replying,  divina  finally  says  something  back.

         sent  to:  donahue  //  if  you  wanted  to  send  this  many,  you  can  just  call  me.

@ossifiied  //  love  ur  bitch  ass  “gf”,  robbo

        SOMETIMES  he  wishes  she  would  turn  off  her  ‘read’  receipts  but  he  knows  she  delights  in  the  sensation  of  leaving  anyone  and  everyone  to  realise  she’s  actively  ignoring  them.    so  he  keeps  sending  her  things  –  to  annoy  her.    first  it  was  a  picture  of  a  dog  who  looked  like  an  actual  man  ( eyebrows  and  everything,  it  was  disturbing  and  worth  sending  to  at  least  five  people  in  his  contact  list  including  his  aunt )  and  then  it  was  a  series  of  texts  about  her  hair  clogging  the  shower  drain.

* SENT TO: dee //     calling u doesn’t evoke the same emotion as sending u at least 20 texts. i have to annoy u 

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WINEBLEEDS.

      it’s brave for him to invade her space. a newcomer, figuring a slight latecomer of the new years traffic. january weeds them out as she stamps egos under the ground. despite the muscles through the body, the heart (and dick) is weak.   and she takes that to advantage among the muscle men within their atmosphere.   even women stumble to her tease to rejection. it’s all a game for lessons to learn.   why else would she wear a shirt displaying it   :  she is the legend to fear as new year resolutions die.

      yet, this scrawny guy response in a way a brow raises with an acute head tilt. besides deciphering his accent, he complies with ease  (maybe a hint of disinterest).  a confidence here that the last person to speak to her lost upon her solid no.  perhaps that person glances or is too busy strengthening pride through bench presses.  but her focus is on this stranger, preparing an endurance test for him to run.

            ‘  depends,  ’      she answers as arms cross between the arrows,      ‘  for what?  ’

        ❛❛  —well,  ehm...  genuine  conversation,  for  one,  ❜❜  he  mutters  quickly  ( that  answer  is  easy;  there’s  no  one  to  talk  to  here,  though  searching  for  a  socrative  debate  probably  isn’t  the  purpose  of  a  gym. )  dark  eyes  ascend  from  staring  at  the  20  lb  weights  sitting  nearby  on  the  floor  mocking  him.  there’s  sort  of  a  desperation  in  his  gaze,  treating  the  situation  as  he  does  with  anyone  who  doesn’t  recognise  him  from  the  news  -  like  an  everyday  passerby.  ❛❛  i  feel  like  i’m  surrounded  by  human  beefs...  is  this  how  it  is  normally  ?  ❜❜  he  dares  not  stand  up  –  his  shortness  will  only  contribute  to  the  paired  shame  of  his  twig  arms.

        suddenly  his  face  screws  up  and  scrunches,  his  hands  twitching.  ❛❛  look,  i’m  only  here  ‘cos  my  sister  told  me  it’d  be  good  for  new  year’s  resolutions,  whatever  t’at  means.  i  dunno  what  any  of  t’is  shite  is  for,  ❜❜  he  confesses,  gesturing  to  the  equipment  –  it’s  practically  alien  technology.  by  this  point  he’s  certain  people  are  spectating,  though  it’s  unclear  whether  it’s  because  of  his  defeated  outburst  or  that  he’s  talking  to  a  renowned  gym  legend  of  femme  fatale.  

       ❛❛  —so,  if  the  ‘man’  will  get  me  out  of  droppin’  dumbbells  on  meself,  t’en  by  all  means...  i’d  love  t’  chat.  ❜❜

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01.  THE   STORY  OF  ROBIN   DONAHUE  -  2019  REBOOT.

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           * VERSE 05. // MODERN DAY. aka ❛❛ ROBINDONAFOOL ❜❜

       at first i had him a little softer for a modern verse, then i remember memes exist nowadays, trashy men exist, social media, brexit, trump... the list of modern day peculiarities goes on. what sort of effect would these have on robin? for one, he would maintain his oddities and treat social media like an outlet for confusion and eccentric humour (think almost c/asey f/rey). he wouldn’t hesitate to speak his mind about politics and the fucked up state of the american nation and the dystopian novel we’re living out. 

     his combative behaviour and desire to upset would remain in the modern day but it would probably put him in the path of classic black & white judgement that we know so well in the tumblr world. while some would praise him for speaking out about basic human rights, others would condemn him for the possible assumption that he “romanticises” his self harm by discussing it publicly on the rare occasion, or the fact he’s critical... of everyone. is he problematic for causing disruptions during broadcasts just for a laugh? in summation, he’s confusing, unpredictable, and forever changing his opinions. for one to think that they can figure him out is a bold claim.

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WINEBLEEDS.

      the shirt is a joke.  a gift from a friend close enough to know liz’s casanova escapades   (and her confidence, though a stranger feels that a mile away).  that’s why it drapes her upper half during this workout session   ;  on slower days, she forgoes athletic attire for any shirt.  she selected it for the jade color that pairs the yoga pants, not the words.

      yet, when departing from the treadmill, she feels eyes over her. quizzical looks exchange across another until she remembers the words etching her shirt.   the reason of the joke   :  two arrows, one detailing north for the man, & the other pointing south for the legend.  a smile almost exposes genuine surprise, but she’s smarter than raw emotions.   lips tips into a sly grin, instead, formulating the perfect introduction.      ‘  the legend’s off limits.  ’

OPEN  (inspo)

       WHY’S HE AT THIS GYM AGAIN ?  he’s  thin  as  a  twig,  there  really  isn’t  any  need  for  displaying  how  shit  he  is  at  lifting  weights  with  twelve  billion  jacked  beasts  of  men  playing  his  uninvited  audience.    as  he  sits  there  feeling  maybe  a  tiny  bit  humiliated  in  his  barely  worn  t-shirt  and  sweatpants  ( avoiding  the  eyes  of  the  few  passing  onlookers )  he  mulls  over  his  reasons  for  being  there  in  the  first  place.    there’s  only  one,  really.    charlotte  had  recommended  it,  so  whatever  a  12-year-old  girl  says  is  obviously  to  be  taken  100%  seriously.    it  was  charlotte,  how  could  he  say  no ?

        what  else  was  there  to  do  for  these  guys  here  than  show  off  and  sweat  buckets  and  maybe  smell  a  little  only  to  drown  themselves  with  cologne  in  the  locker  room ?  pick  up  girls,  he  supposes.   or  other  guys.    isn’t  really  his  poison,  but  people-watching  is  a  hobby  of  his  alongside  crying  in  the  shower.  robin’s  unassuming  dark  gaze  scans  the  place  until  a  young  woman  passes  him  with  a  t-shirt  he  can’t  help  but  stare  at  for  a  few  seconds.    it  seems  the  staring  doesn’t  go  unnoticed.  damn.  

        ❛❛  —fair  enough,  ❜❜  the  irish  rawny  answers  musically,  ❛❛  so’s  mine.  but  i’ve  got  t’  ask,  is  te  ‘man’  off  limits  as  well ?  ❜❜

[ritwells]

my OC robin donahue! had him for a little over a year now and he’s still going strong… love him to pieces ;____;