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i. roleplay blog for robert dubois/bloodsport from the suicide squad.

ii. i'm a lesbian. its not relevant to the blog i just need you to know.

iii. dubois is bi.

 ❝         that was ,   without doubt ,   the stupidest thing i ever saw a man lose a fight over .     ❞       you name it, and some  half-baked mercenary  had  died for it. money. women. power. revenge. peace. war. fucking cigarettes. signed nikes. but him? dubois had seen a lot, but he’d never seen much worth fuckin’ dyin’ for.  most guys died because they had shit luck,   and that was that.    bell reeves was a whole other fucking story.   if he had to list everything he’d ever seen a circus reject or fucking batman-clobbered goon throw a punch over in this fucking concrete piss stain place,  he’d be here all day.  

               but still,   some things really stood out. all that over a pink fucking unicorn.

starter call for me since im back from hiatus baby x 

robert dubois & enneagram - test here.

6 - I must be secure and safe to survive. 8 - I must be strong and in control to survive. 1 - I must be orderly/planned to survive. 9 - I must maintain peace/calm to survive. 4 - I must be unique/different to survive. 5 - I must be knowledgeable to survive. 2 - I must be helpful and caring to survive. 3 - I must be impressive and attractive to survive. 7 - I must be fun and entertained to survive.

main type is Type 6 (6w5, 8w9, 1w9). variant stacking is self preserving (values independence and the internal) > sexual (values intimacy with others, one to one) > social (values group dynamics and the external) Your level of health is very low, i.e. very unhealthy (changes from v unhealthy to below average over the film’s course of events.) 

A  TETHER.  DOESN’T  QUELL  THE  RAGE.  BUT  AIDS.  he  breathes,  in,  out.  trying  to  calm  himself  down.  too  much  in  his  mind  to  handle.  can’t  even  begin  to  describe  how  it  feels,  to  die.  to  come  back.  was  he  at  peace?  he  can’t  remember  (  it  was  warm  and  NOW  IT’S  ONLY  COLD  ).  eyes  closed,  the  colonel  takes  his  time  to  try  and  collect  himself,  before  gaze  settles  back  on  dubois.

“  i  don’t  know  how  to  feel.  “  been  a  puppet  of  his  government,  of  waller.  apparently,  she  can  use  whatever  sources  she  has  to  fuck  with  the  cycle  of  life  as  well.  so  alike  himself,  to  not  be  collected.  “you  live,  you  fight,  you  die.  it’s  part  of  what  we  do.“  robert  knows.  they  fought  together.  it  was  part  of  the  battle.  it  was  called  suicide  squad  for  a  reason.  “those  who  die  and  come  back.  .  .they  have  something  missing.“  

what  exactly,  he  can’t  explain.  he  doesn’t  want  that.  and  then,  a  lingering  question.  “was  it  worth  it?  me  dying?”  did  it  change  anything?

RICK’S SHUDDERING BREATH MIGHT BE A CRYING BURDEN TO HIM, BUT TO DUBOIS THEY MEAN THIS  :     FLAG IS NOT DEAD.   and that’s   -   at almost any cost   -   a fucking good thing. he can’t pretend to know what it feels like & he won’t. whatever kind of heaven or hell or fuckin’ corto maltese rubble flavoured nothingness rick experienced, dubois can’t ---- he can’t help with that.    who the fuck could ?       (   cleo probably. )    his fist grips tighter to flag’s shoulder. he’s not talented with his words, but he’s here, if that counts for anything at all. 

“  every time i touch you, there’s a moment where you look like you think it will hurt. ” ( @bloodsprt​ ) 

harley’s  not  exactly  a  group  sharing  type  of  person.  first  of  all  most  knew  her  story  so why  bother  telling  it?  second  of  all  those  that  knew  her  story  liked  to  think  she  brought  it  on  herself,  and  y’know  what?  maybe  she  did.  maybe  she  deserved  all  the  bad  that  had  happened  to  her.  it  didn’t  start  with  the  joker  either.  her  family,  particularly  her  old  man,  had  been  pieces  of   shit  too.  the  psychologist  side  of  harley’s  brain  would  tell  her  that  her  habits  (  especially  her  choices  in  partners )  were  a  classic  case  of  learned  behavior  from  her  not  so  good  parents.  she  never  took  the  time  to  her  psychologist  side  to  be  honest.  there  was  a  reason  she  jumped  into  a  vat  full  of  chemicals,  and  erased  that  part  of  herself  off  the  planet.

her  time  with  joker  had  left  its  scars,  both  emotional  and  physical. it  took  her  a  long   time  to  realize  just  how  bad  off  she  was,  and  now  she  was  truly  finally  free  from  his  grip.  however,  the  habits  and  scars  remain.

“  my  ex  was   a  real  piece  of   work, ” harley  answers,  her  voice  surprisingly  soft,   “  ya  never  really  could  trust  what  he  was  gonna  do  at  any  given  moment.  ”

   A      REAL      PIECE      OF      WORK     .         that was certainly one way to refer to joker. he had heard the joker’s screaming cackles only a few times in his life, but each time had made him uneasy. filled him with an urge to shut down, turn off the light in his eyes and return to being what ever it is his father made him.    ( A BAD, BAD MAN. )     he could not imagine being partnered to such a creature.  he didn’t want to try, scowling at the thought as if he could scare it away. 

“ there’s no shortage of bad men in the world. ”  he says hollowly, because he knows it includes him. he also isn’t sure what’s comforting to say right now. he could say he understands, murmur how his rage against bad men has long ago burned itself out in the furnace of fiery fantasies, imaginings of bombs and infernos killing every fucker has now faded, flickered. at the end of a fire lies only coal dust. that’s what coats him now. petulant dissociation. he could tell her all of this, and be vulnerable. do, as tyler calls it, the emotional labour.  but he’s tongueless, suddenly.  mouth sucked into a tight line, he extends his arm up, hovering it over harley’s shoulders with a gruffness and grace that only he has mastered. instead of pulling her into a one armed hug for comfort, he’s been purposefully slow, purposefully touchless. if she settles, the hug will be sealed  -  but he’s careful to give her a choice.                           “   and all those bastards’ll die some day, yeah ?  ” 

“Hold on a MINUTE, I think I have a COUPLE of BUCKS on me – KEEP the change and listen to me. You just WHORE yourself out to the HIGHEST bidder - so pick up those nickels and FALL in line. Get your ALIEN COSPLAY BULLSHIT MASK on – and follow MY lead.”

          “ Yeah, better for business than to get fucked by life for pleasure,  eh toilet head ? ”     

EXSPELDOTS

He’s thoughtful and he listens when instructed to. This whole time he has respected Dubois and he honestly cannot pinpoint as to why. Perhaps Waller has enact from separating the prize chickens among the feeble hens? In that case Dubois was the cockerel and Abner the ugly duckling who had just waddled into the pie factory with intention to be served on a platter. ❛Yeah. I know. ❜He nods for little more reason than to exaggerate that point. Suicide. ❛ That was kind of the idea …at first…❜ Though he had been transparent about that enough already. 

Abner’s own smile threatening to mould the typical puppy-dog frown. ❛You’re not so bad, you know? ❜He tests and then inwardly kicks himself. He has known from overexposure to mercenaries like Dubois that this kind of character does not take well to any man letting up on expressing what they felt or thought. Naturally he backtracks to save his skin. ❛ - Don’t punch me or shove my face in the mud for saying that though. I just - thank you. For saying what you said before it…I’m not used to bloodthirsty marksmen who don’t beat me up whenever the warden’s aren’t around. ❜ Not that he would be able to defend himself if he wanted. He had to bear that neckbrace to dampen his powers when held in custody.

Then glow. A sigh. Finger’s trace a newly sprouting yellow, illuminous dot on his jawline. ❛It’s happening to my face again isn’t it? ❜Wait to ruin the moment. Talk about a burden. Most people way more cooler burdens than his own. 

          S U I C I D E   .    THAT   WAS   KIND   OF   THE   IDEA   AT   FIRST  .      Dubois thinks on all the men he’s seen go mad in war and blood. He’s always kept his head, because he’s kept his distance. He’s seen so many men gurgle to death, choked on blood or the ghost of it. However glum Abner may be, there is a sadness that lives in him, colourful neon calligraphy strewn across him like a sign detailing the ghost of trauma that lives in his head.  Dubois has always tried to stay weary or full of rage. Both things are self-enforced, and they keep him away from the madness, from the gore and the ghosts. From the paralytic poison that is emotion.    The last time he felt emotion, he ended up with a sixteen year old who - despite his best efforts - he could not shake away. He purses his lips. HE’LL SAY NONE OF THIS OF COURSE :     IT’S NOT HIS WAY.     It’s not how he was raised. He supposes he ought to say something, but he equally he supposes there is nothing to say.  What Abner says next surprises him. He blinks. Some version of him thinks :     BLOODTHIRSTY? I SUPPOSE I AM.  I’M BLOOD DRENCHED, IF NOTHING ELSE.       He regrets Abner’s statement, as if it was him who had been the men in prison to bully him, to shout abuse at him.  He regrets it because he knows once everything goes back to normal  --- back to PRISON ---- that the state of affairs will return. Cleo will cling to Nanaue and Abner, Peacemaker will drift back to his strict fitness regime and play lapdog for Waller and all the justice a would-be kid-killer can wreak on the world, and he’ll go back to scraping gum. Alone. He regrets that.