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[ WHERE TO FIND TOTO. ]

real talk folks, I’m a grown-up with the impulse control of a badly raised toddler so ofc all my “2020 will be the year when I won’t rp anymore”-bullshit lasted for about          five months? tops? anywho, whenever I’m not on Clint, I’m on one of my other two currently active-ish blogs. figures, I’m slow on all three of them. I’m stupid on all three of them. I don’t keep up with IMs on either of them. there’s discord for permanently keeping in touch, naturally, but by all means feel free to follow me across blogs if you like. we got          

Clint Barton aka Hawkeye [ marvel ] perpetual mess that is way too opinionated for the kind of bad luck he has. spends most of his time somehow injured somewhere. special skill: standing up and blacking out immediately. 10-second career as Captain America still went better than the years Bucky spent doing it. peak dumbass. cute dog though. mcu and 616 based. no major triggers other than idiocy.

George “Digger” Harkness aka Captain Boomerang [ dc ] the Aussie™ whatever that means. nobody likes him and he’s strangely okay with it. the kid that will set your desk on fire and then tell the teacher that you burned his thrift shop coat. gold tooth. not as smelly as he looks. has a bomb implanted in his neck and isn’t happy about it. dceu based with minor comic influences. a shitton of major triggers. it’s Boomer. he’s a villain. he’s offensive. deal with it.

Sébastien le Livre aka Booker [ the old guard ] suicidal frenchman with substance abuse problems. also a bit of a liar and a traitor. what can I say, nobody’s perfect. depressed as per diagnosis of his “family” but refuses to do shit about it. still for some unfathomable reason the most competent immortal person of the bunch. at least he knows how modern technology works. not really a warrior, don’t listen to his boss. currently exiled. shit happens. major triggers include alcoholism, depression, and suicide. also gore. the man dies a lot.

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The person I reblogged this from is awesome as fuck.

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The person I reblogged this from is awesome as fuck.

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The person I reblogged this from is awesome as fuck.

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The Old Guard canon: unproblematic, unmatched with representation, relatable, human characters with realistic struggles, dramatic but not over the top

The fandom: turns everything into a problematic cesspit of hell because ???

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The person I reblogged this from is awesome as fuck.

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This blog is accepting development anons!

Bug my character about their past! Ask them about the things you wonder about! Give them scenarios to get their brain going! Today is all about bringing out the growth hiding within my character.

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guys is2g if I read one more post about how Booker allegedly WANTED Joe and Nicky to be imprisoned and tortured or at least didn’t care if they were because he was secretly either jealous or, even worse, homophobic, I’m gonna throw something. and it’ll be heavy.

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Matthias Schoenaerts in Our Souls at Night (2017).

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so we got a family function today which means I’m having a glass of white wine at 10am. I’m sure the muse can relate.

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prfxxor· » professor

‘name’s charles xavier.  i’m of a group of individuals with… special talents. i’ve been watching you for a while – it’s not easy, don’t worry. your security is exceptional.  i had an unfair advantage.  you and your team seemed to be doing well for yourselves, that’s why i stayed away. i didn’t want to intrude, but…’ he paused, staring at the other’s shoes for a moment before looking back up at the frenchman.   ‘—you look like you can use some company now.’

SPECIAL TALENTS. WAY TO SOUND OMINOUS. he briefly thinks of Copley 2.0, but then again           nobody in the CIA has any talents whatsoever. Booker snorts. “you know, whenever someone says that it’s never meant as a compliment.” company his ass. there’s a perfectly good drink in front of him. “unfair advantage in what way?”

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moltolavoro· » joe

a smile lights joe’s face, a reflection of a perceived job well done. it isn’t difficult to occasionally take it upon himself to tease booker - even if just for the sake of pulling him out of his own thoughts. though he isn’t cruel - he laughs quietly, and takes back the pad. ❛ poor batuffolo, let me fix it. ❜ 

not quite so easy as he makes it sound, but joe has had many years of practice, and when he tears the page out to hand it to booker, it looks far more like a picture than a cartoon. still, yusuf is grinning as he leans back, pen idle for the moment. ❛ do you think we’re at an standstill here? ❜ there is supposed to be a shipment passing through here, but according the last intelligence they received it should have passed hours ago.

joe won’t call it until they get word from andy, but it doesn’t hurt to speculate. 

“BATUFFOLO YOURSELF.” NO HEAT IN THOSE WORDS; AND BOOKER QUIETLY SMIRKS, leaning back in his seat again. shitton of centuries and it’s still endearing how these two have grown into the habit of chattering away in the other’s mother tongue. focussed back on his work does the sound of paper ripping stir him up a couple minutes later, and he gladly accepts whatever Joe has to offer. small gifts that keep on giving; and when one’s immortal        like it or not         reasons to smile are always appreciated. he looks good. and he pockets the piece of paper with a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips, before digging for a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his jacket.

“looks like it.” Booker glimpses out the window to find the roads still empty. not a soul moving out there. he lights a cigarette. “might be a delay for whatever reason. or they’ve run into different trouble than us.” it’s no big deal, really. some money slipping through their hands, some good deed undone for once; nothing to lose sleep over should they come back home empty-handed. it’d be wasted time, mainly, but what else do they have to waste but time? and lives, technically.

“wanna give her a call?” just for an update. at the end of the day, it’s Andy’s decision anyways.

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prfxxor· » professor.

‘perhaps it’s not alternatives that we ought to seek.  —the only way is forward now. …or so said a smart, grieving man.’

NOW THAT GIVES HIM A PAUSE                “I’m sorry, who are you?”

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portraitstolen· » red

“ nah  ,  she’s GOOD. ”  red waves off  ,  eyes following a glass flywing across the room and shattering against a wall in a billion little pieces  —  a lot like their chances to stick around after andy’s talk.  she’s never been much of a beach person  ,  but she surely was getting used to it  ( and the drinks  ,  the drugs  ,  the boys and the girls )  but things don’t last forever  ,  don’t they.  PITY  ,  it could have been the perfect location for an anticipated retirement plan.  cigarette twirls between her fingers  ,  then is brought to her lips once again to her lips.  “ mi piaceva stare qui. ”  she eventually lets out  ,  and just right on cue the corner of eye catches a glimpse of the don’s henchman hitting his face against the counter.  with a final sigh  ,  cigarette falls on the floor and is stepped on by her boot.  hand quickly draws for the GUN hidden behind her jacket.  “ you know what book  ,  let’s go say hi. ”

SHE CERTAINLY LOOKS GOOD. THE KINDA GOOD THAT WOULD LEAVE THIS PLACE IN SMITHEREENS. pity that. one had to enjoy the little clichés in life whenever they popped up; and this bar is cliché as cliché can be. including rum bottles crashing into the rattan decor. Booker has half a mind to expect Antonio Banderas to walk through those swing doors any second now. speaking of rum         there’s a sip from his glass, that feeling of an ice cold burn down his throat, and he thinks to himself that this would be a place to grow old at. hah. first guy goes flying into the nearest wall and Red moves, leaving Booker to sigh quietly into his glass. “sì, anch’io.” damn shame it is. he empties his glass, stubs the cigarette out in a heavy, crystal ashtray, and slams the damn thing into the closest guy’s face no second later.

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it’s five am I’m awake but at what cost

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sb: having raised kids himself, B*ooker is excellent with children and the one in the guard to soothe a crying baby within a couple of minutes. he’ll rock a child and sing old french lullabies and seems genuinely happy whenever he’s around children despite his circumstances. he also was an excellent father to his boys. me: awwwww yes, that’s the content we deserve.

that same sb: until holding a child becomes too much and he breaks down crying hysterically hugging an empty space to his chest, unable to form coherent words. me: wait what no.

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2 weeks of vacation are officially beginning now. wohooo!