no dying on my watch!

ind. sel. 18+ only. baptiste (jean-baptiste augustin) of the overwatch series. please read pinned prior to interaction.

[amplifying]

independent, selective, mutuals and 18+ only rp blog. BAPTISTE ( aka jean-baptiste augustin ) of the OVERWATCH universe. as healed by ODDITY ( he/him, 21+, gmt+8 ). * IMPORTANT. view this carrd prior to interaction ! includes verses for: cyberpunk 2077, tes, pkmn.

[apoapsis]

               There’s something visibly enriching within the way the medic’s features blossom and bloom into such variety of expression– perhaps he was simply accustomed to the impassive stoicism of the members within his division, in addition to his own borderline inability to express without merely reflecting and mirroring what is presented to him. SIGMA, by nature, is not one to stare at others– at least, not directly. He’s too anxious, oftentimes. But Baptiste’s mannerisms are so animated and reactive within his peripheral, it takes very little effort to seize his full attention, especially once secluded within the elevator together. 

Lavender eyes gleam within the sterile lighting of the elevator car as he stares down at his companion with owlish intrigue– his ever-static features still quite vacant, yet now possessing an intense, rapt focus when the medic speaks. So many curious quirks of his tone and pitch, inflections of genuine mirth– as if this wasn’t even a check-up, and they were instead mingling as friends. He examines him as if he were observing him under a microscope, absently nodding and tilting his head each and every time Baptiste articulates his own body in a vacant, subconscious attempt to appear as engaged as he truly was. Initially, he had been apprehensive of the entire circumstance– but the more he speaks, the more charmed SIGMA finds himself becoming.

                “-- You don’t…?” 

He doesn’t know what to say– no one had ever really stopped to acknowledge the unfair reality of his situation, and even less so, never had any of them aside from perhaps Sombra ever displayed a shred of sympathy for his inexperience. He’s a tool, but he isn’t a soldier– and TALON seemed to take such little care or interest in even its soldiers… so what, then, of the tool? That which was lesser than the expenditure…? “... I, ah– I do not mean to sound so… helpless! Clearly there is potential– they would never be so careless with me if I were not… capable, jawel?” It was nice to know that this one could see that potential– or, at least, acknowledge that he’s at a steep disadvantage on the field. “... It is nice to know that someone at least agrees with me– er, that this is all… quite… confusing for me…” Another weak, grimace of a smile worms its way across his features as he sheepishly cocks his head to the opposite side several degrees, the astrophysicist lurching on his fawn-like legs as he momentarily sways a fraction from side to side in his delight when the elevator reaches their destination floor. 

                   SIGMA gets a tad ahead of himself when he once more takes to winding through the air, aloft upon his axis, because in his eagerness to show Baptiste to his quarters, a gloved hand gives the medic’s bicep an insistent tug as it ghosts across in his exit of the lift, politely coaxing him along. “-- Come, come! It is just at the end of this hall!” His room in question is… abysmally barren, between the rounded-off corners and edges adding to the minimalist decor of bare bookshelves sporting only a handful of well-worn cosmic photography and outdated astronomy textbooks, a desk cluttered with stacks upon stacks of notations and written data littering not only the surface, but collecting in loose, scattered piles on the floor nearby– and the massive, soft bed towards the center, a mess of tangled down comforters and stray pillows lying atop it. 

“... Hm! What do you think? My very own room!” SIGMA quips enthusiastically upon allowing the door to close behind the other, shoving off of the wall to glide towards the center of the spacious cell-like room. “It’s still missing some liveliness… But I believe it to finally be coming together! I spaced the books out the other day! Now, instead of having so many empty shelves, each book now has its own shelf! It looks far more pleasing this way!”

                    “-- Look, look! This area is my favorite!” Rather than coaxing the other along, he succumbs to his overenthusiasm, placing a hand at the blades of his shoulders and firmly pressing him forward– gentle, yet firm– towards the little window-like port on the opposing side of the room; however, upon closer inspection, it’s an artificial window, hardly more than a holographic display of a programmed scenery depicting a static view of a mountain meadow. 

“It isn’t really there…! The outside does not look that way!” SIGMA chimes with a small bark of laughter– as if he genuinely thought Baptiste believed it was– as he leans forward to gaze into the backlit display fondly. His ANOMALY'S influence practically oozes with elation as the low, cloying frequencies oversaturate everything in his radius in a distinct bliss that the other could certainly detect. “-- Oh, but I do love it all the same…! I get a new display every week, how lucky is that? Just for me!”

                     The astrophysicist can’t help but beam when he glances back towards Baptiste delightedly. Admittedly, he may have forgotten what the other was down here to do; this is the first time he’s gotten to “show off” his own space to someone other than Sombra. 

“-- Do you… like it?”

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“Ah! Your very own room!”

It looked like a cell. It really did.

It was a skeleton of a room, barebones, probably as per procedure. But Sigma was happy about it, so Baptiste mustered happiness over prickled concern; he grinned wide, opened his arms wider, stepping inside like he were to step foot within a palace.

He made motion towards one of the books, curious, but found himself unceremoniously shoved towards a small, bright television. It took him a second to realise that it wasn’t a television; rather, a window made to masquerade as beautiful lands which definitely did not lay beyond his room.

“Would you look at that!”

Baptiste almost wanted to ask if Sigma had actually been anywhere like that, if seeing that sparked either nostalgia or a sense of unprecedented want, something which distracted him from the present—the cold, sterile present … But, upon seeing the joy positively ripple across the astrophysicist’s face, Baptiste knew to keep his question tucked away for another time.

Then Sigma asked if he liked it.

A slithering memory coiled around his legs and snaked further up. Reminding him of when he first had his own room, all to himself. He was a young adult, in between missions, and the notion of not having to share his space with another was a foreign concept. How thrilled he was, how he had nigh no idea how to make it his, as he didn’t want to taint the newfound space bestowed.

Baptiste tried to channel that memory into genuine glee for the man.

“Oh, it’s great! Even I don’t have my own room, y’know—Mister Lucky over here!” Baptiste teasingly bumped his elbow into Sigma’s flank, smiling warmly up at him; that warmth refracted in every facet of his face, none strained. It imbued him fully, his eyes a window to a glimpse of cosy summertime.

“… This might sound a bit silly—and I’m woefully out of practise—but I could try to make you something? To add a bit of colour to the room! I used to, uh, crochet things. Toys and blankets, mostly, things people could hug or hold…” Baptiste dearly hoped it didn’t sound too childish, as he did oft do such for the children of the orphanage, especially those anxious or too thin, needing that extra bit of company or heat to keep them comfortable. “So!” He struck a finger skyward. “Tell me your favourite colours!”

[amplifying]

im in Melbourne rn for a vacation BUT ......

consider this a plotting call? ill be sporadic w mssgs but im still interested in getting the ball (re)rolling ❤️ im also interested in knowing that if we had a thread going, that ur fine with me replying to it now !!!

[apoapsis]

He’s never actually had someone try to cheer him up besides Sombra– but even her humor tended to carry a degree of cynicism with it. People rarely ever went out of their way to tell him when he does good, either. Curiosity now overturns his apprehensiveness; he’s still shy, but there’s less recoil, even as the medic dares to lean in– as if telling him a secret. 

… He’s far more taken aback that he would speak in contempt of them.

“-- O-oh?” He rarely hears the other agents speak so… candidly of one another– granted, the special operatives division were fairly laissez-faire in regards to what they say to or about one another; he can recall plenty of times he’s heard some of Sombra’s more scathing recounts of missions with Reaper and the Widowmaker. But never from the other divisions or units. Actually, SIGMA is still under the notion that anything he says could be held in contempt of his contract; how could he not, when threatened time and time again with its [ HIS ] termination when performing below expectation. Perhaps it was the nature of medics and doctors to regard their coworkers with a degree of skepticism… He would have to make notation of this finding later…! “... Yes– yes…! I suppose you have a point! I, ah… I think they have it a little easy; I highly doubt the Enforcer division goes through very… complex regimens– at least, not as difficult as the special operatives division…!” Absentmindedly, the astrophysicist lifts a hand, his index finger tracing a lethargic circle in the air while his attention remains on his unlikely, new companion. The bulky pile of armor rises from its spot on the floor in favor of being placed onto one of the inspection tables by an unseen force– for someone else to deal with. 

SIGMA does start a little when the other gives him an abrupt bark of laughter, coupled with the clap of his hands– but it doesn’t upset. Another taut, anxious smile contorts his features, cloudy lavender eyes wrinkling with tired delight, as he mirrors the other’s clap; albeit much more politely and silently. “... Of course, of course!” Despite the exhaustion, his newfound elation restores his exuberance in full. Ah, he just has a soft spot for pleasantries, of course. The door slips open, but the astrophysicist pauses within the threshold, head ducked a few degrees to avoid proper contact with the very top to hold it for the other. “I, ah… I do not recall catching your name!” Smooth as ever! 

“I apologize in advance! I do not usually have guests!” SIGMA chimes excitedly as he leads the medic out into the corridor and off towards one of the facility’s many elevators. “My room is a tad… underwhelming. And cold! Very cold! You are free to use my blanket if you get cold!” Even with the insulative jumpsuit, the cold, stagnant air of the facility’s underground was bitter even for him. Hopefully he could make this quick for the other– he’d hate for him to be uncomfortable on his behalf. After all, SIGMA hated being uncomfortable on his own behalf. “I reside within the lower recesses primarily because it is somewhat more protected from gravitational interference and other static frequencies… It can be a little annoying to get from my quarters to the communal areas, but… it is nice to have my own quiet space! I suppose I simply wish I had more things to furnish it with, you know…? My most exciting possession is just a holopad– although it is very nice compared to the kinds I remember prior to incarceration! This one does not even require a stylus– isn’t that fascinating!? I love it!”

SIGMA pauses upon entering the elevator, leaning over the panel as he holds down the basement button and manually keys in his corresponding floor number. “The facility is… remarkably deep! My floor does not even have its own button listed!” It made a degree of sense, but at times, he wondered if it was an intentional effort to hide him from the general populace of TALON. As the elevator begins to descend, SIGMA allows the flux of gravity that typically kept him suspended to dispel, standing on his own two feet for a change– although, he leans quite heavily against the side of the elevator car, braced against the handrails to avoid the chance of his knees buckling once the car reaches the floor. He hates Earth’s gravity. “You know, you are one of the most polite agents I have met thus far! I, ah… I appreciate the encouragement– I do not receive it very often…! Sometimes, it feels as though I only hear when I am operating poorly– why is this? How exactly does one improve without direction…? Am I doing something wrong, do you think…? Ah, so much to reflect upon!”

“-- It would seem as though TALON is not as interested in helpfulness as it is in results...! Hm! Disappointing!”

[amplifying]

He was always one for making friends—or, at the very least, acquaintances. Even if it wasn’t in his nature to nurture, to protect with maw and claws, he figured it was better to have many friends than few in this line of work. Never knew when someone would cock their weapon just a tad too sidelong, barrel betwixt eyes.

“My name?” Baptiste’s mouth formed a petite ‘o’ shape before another grin ruptured across his features. His eyes were creased, lids forming happy moon-like crescents over warm, inviting brown. “Oh, how rude of me! The name’s Baptiste! Pleasure to meet you—formally, that is.”

The duo trotted through several doors—each one whirred, such soft, mechanical sounds, ones that were easy to forget when you lived and breathed within these very facilities. Talon was always so sterile and gelid; at the mention of chills, Baptiste featured contorted into an exaggerated grimace, shortly followed by a chuckle. “Oh boy, the cold! Where I’m from, it didn’t really get … cold. Or well, cold in respect to other countries' perception of what’s cold and what’s not cold. I may need that blanket!”

Again, did he let Sigma rant and ramble. It was endearing, in a way. Most of his comrades didn’t let words tumble in the same fashion; indeed, many let hardly any words leave their tongues at all. The higher up in ranks you went, the sterner the populace became. Weathered by experience, hardened by failures, sharpened by success.

Baptiste’s stare was keen; he took note of the pad and what Sigma had put into it to prompt the elevator to plummet and not simply stay put in petulant defiance.

Interesting.

“Really? That’s a little … sad, in a way! That others aren’t treating you as politely. I know some of the agents have tongues like knives, but still.” A beat. “I … don’t think you’re doing anything wrong. The field’s always different to facilities’ ‘practice range’ or ‘demonstrations.’ It's always hard to accommodate for all the environmental differences; agents' personalities and energy levels, agents' actions or lack thereof, the movement of the target, weather changes, et cetera et cetera. To me, it seems like they’re throwing you into the deep end, like, real deep. Most people would struggle and flounder. It’s—natural, I’d say. Some are so quick to forget where they came from, how they’d claw their way up the ranks and hone their skills—hence why they’re being dicks to you. They’ve forgotten their beginnings. Sorry about them, by the way.”

His apology was sincere, even if he knew it didn’t mirror his fellow agents’ feelings. They sooner spit at his feet that muster a simple ‘sorry, that was ill of me’ or any likeminded sentiment. Baptiste smiled again—and he didn’t dare let any pity show on his face. That was the last thing Sigma needed.

[amplifying]

#AMPLIFYING. no dying on my watch !

independent, selective, mutuals and 18+ only rp blog. BAPTISTE ( aka jean-baptiste augustin ) of the OVERWATCH universe. as healed by ODDITY ( he/him, 21+, gmt+8 ). please look to pinned post for relevant information. includes alternate verses for: cyberpunk 2077, tes, pkmn.

[amplifying]

[nirnrootic]

#NIRNROOTIC. by azura, by azura, by azura!

independent, selective, mutuals and 18+ only rp blog. features a variety of original characters stationed within THE ELDER SCROLLS universe. as adored by ODDITY ( he/him, 21+, gmt+8 ). please look to pinned post for relevant information.

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question to all my tes mutuals and otherwise tes-aligned folk...... should i just make a tes multimuse LMFAO

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baptiste in his tes verse <3 he's a remnant / eyes that watch agent! he decided to let LOOSE (beware thalmor)

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so i've been talking a lot abt tes w a handful of ppl recently and i suddenly was reminded of my BOY..... solos...... god i miss him. my old af grandpa elf. he's like 400 or 500-something years old he's been thru sum shit ok

[amplifying]

slap that ❤️ if you'd like me to come plot w you regarding one of baptiste's ALTERNATE VERSES (cyberpunk 2077, tes: v (skyrim), pkmn)

[apoapsis]

He doesn’t know what to make of this one in particular, how he attempts to engage him when everyone else had already designated today's failure to SIGMA. Stranger yet, his extrasensory perception could not perceive the frustration or annoyance he had anticipated to detect. Most perplexingly, it seemed to SIGMA that on all accounts, the medic in question was being entirely genuine. 

Wary lavender eyes dart from top to bottom, before hesitantly resuming his stripping of armor from his body as he takes in Baptiste’s words silently for a couple beats. Really, he’s a touch… shy. It’s a little difficult to take his words at face value after such a poor performance.  The notion that the medic would not, however, potentially inform TALON of any injuries prompts an admittedly curious sidelong glance towards the shorter male. The astrophysicist, while still forebodingly tall in stature, is much less imposing once the thick, carbon alloy armor has been removed to leave him in his snug, faded-black jumpsuit. All things considered, he’s reluctant to even admit to desiring care; TALON made such a fuss about him being a potential liability, scolding him when he expressed any manner of displeasure of pain. It’s difficult to receive repeated thrashings only to be told he was expected to be tougher than that. They treat him with very little overall concern– SIGMA has long-since worn much of TALON’S collective patience down since the very moment he’d arrived, it seemed. How cruel it was of them, to claim that closed mouths would not be fed, only to reprimand him for opening his. 

“... I am SIGMA, yes…” he affirms cautiously, his head inquisitively cocking to the side several degrees.

What piques his interest in particular is the line tagged on at the end, no doubt placed there with purpose, but when SIGMA’S apprehensive gaze falls upon Baptiste once more, he’s visibly taken aback by the broad smile he’s greeted with. He titters sheepishly, gloved hands worrying together as he blusters momentarily– the anxiety prompts a smile of his own to mirror, or, as best as he was able, as the gesture comes across as more grimace-like than a smile. Strained; but primarily because it was not commonly expressed when alone… Which, unfortunately, accounted for a lot of his time spent here.

  “-- You, a-ah… You do not need to thank me…” SIGMA murmurs gently, brushing a knuckle against the dusting of white stubble along his gaunt cheek. “.... It’s… It is very difficult a majority of the time, true– b-but I enjoy lending my assistance to the cumulative efforts of our team! I try very hard to do good with my shield…. Even if it, ah… may not always seem like it… Though... I believe my experimental barrier may still require some… additional adjustments! I am still quite new to all of this…!”  Actually, he finds that he quite enjoys when others smile at him, as uncomfortable as direct eye contact tends to make him. It felt almost warm– a sort of soothing, not unlike salve on a wound– especially after he’d given such disappointing results.

Comforting, even.

Suddenly, 'checking in' on him doesn't sound so unsettling.

“... I-- I-I suppose I could allow you to take a look…” SIGMA offers with a degree of shy hesitance– but the awkward grimace-smile remains on his features. “-- Would you… mind, too terribly much, if, ah…. We did so in the privacy–.... Well, semi-privacy…– of my personal quarters…?”

“... I would rather not have anyone bother us. I’ve, ah… had enough scrutiny for one day… I'd prefer a little peace and quiet for now, after the day we have had, and it's a tad difficult to even hear myself think, here at the surface levels of the facility right now.”

[amplifying]

Oh, he was smiling!

… Or, perhaps a more apt descriptor: he was trying to smile. The way the expression plucked at his lips was gauche, lopsided and far closer to a grimace than a grin. That being said, Baptiste knew it was far from insincere, rather needled fraught.

To be fair to him, he was starkly different from the usual posse that Talon would’ve kept in its company. He was anxious, daresay sensitive. Powerful, yes—there no doubt in Baptiste’s mind that Sigma’s prowess was unrivalled in the right situations—but while many of Talon’s operatives found their hearts pinched cold and hard, Sigma’s was warm and supple. For a heart so sweet, it was difficult not to let it wither in the heat of venomous critique.

Baptiste’s grin softened—the look much like a gracing feather, arched but gentle—as the larger man stuttered, rambled. Again, he let Sigma speak, let him say his part; he’d rather not make Sigma feel like he was forcing his presence onto him if he’d rather be alone. Eyes, a beautiful, earthen brown, flecks of amber slices visible when the light hit them at the right angle, were creased with appreciation muddled delight when Sigma agreed.

“Oh, of course! Don’t blame you for wanting a bit of peace after all … that.” He leaned closer towards Sigma then, looking positively mischievous—genuine, but playful nevertheless. “Don’t beat yourself over it; trust me, everyone who were real quick to spit criticism? Trust me, they’ve done so much worse.” His eye flashed in a wink as he leaned back. “I mean, you helped! A lot! Geoff, for example? The big, buff redhead who was the first to point the finger? Absolutely botched his second mission. Meant to be stealthy, right? He tripped backwards on an indent in the floor, screamed, and ran almost half a magazine into the ceiling, killing one of our sniper operatives. Destroyed the entire integrity of that mission, lemme tell you!”

He laughed, big and loud, as he clapped his hands together. “Anyways! Enough with me being petty over them being stupid and unreasonable. Lead the way, yeah?” A flourishing gesture, letting Sigma take the lead to—wherever his personal quarters were. Baptiste figured it was probably somewhere he shouldn’t be, in Talon’s eyes.

But, hey. He was an invited guest. Surely that’d be reason enough to let him in.

[amplifying]

slap that ❤️ if you'd like me to come plot w you regarding one of baptiste's ALTERNATE VERSES (cyberpunk 2077, tes: v (skyrim), pkmn)

[amplifying]

me, visibly shaking: how do i do .psds me, after some trial and error and looking at tutorials:

me w the confidence of a baby who just learnt to run: >:)

[amplifying]

in other news. torbjörn pussy indulgence.

[amplifying]

#AMPLIFYING. no dying on my watch !

independent, selective, mutuals and 18+ only rp blog. BAPTISTE ( aka jean-baptiste augustin ) of the OVERWATCH universe. as healed by ODDITY ( he/him, 21+, gmt+8 ). please look to pinned post for relevant information. includes alternate verses for: cyberpunk 2077, tes, pkmn.

[amplifying]

pokémon.

dr. fuji. the scientist funded by giovanni to clone an enhanced variant of mew, a beast said to harbour the genetic code of every pokémon within its dna. as giovanni funded this project, it was natural that, while he accommodated dr. fuji's requests for most of his staff to be of his own choosing, that he left some of team rocket's own scientists to keep close eye on the task at hand. it was thinly veiled knowledge that dr. fuji's real desires was not to clone mew, but rather, bring back his daughter from the dead—they had to ensure that he was actually doing what giovanni wanted, not simply absconding with the money in tow.

yves augustin was one of the rocket member's tasked with such surveillance.

during the explosion of new island, killing all of the scientists held within, much of the late dr. fuji's research on cloning and genetic mutation was lost to the wind ... two of the surveilling rocket members managed to survive. not by some miracle, after the mutated mewtwo sought to bring the fortress to its foundations, but by sheer luck of not being on new island at the time of its destruction.

yves was one of those individuals.

while giovanni cared little about the blood, sweat, and tears that went into the progress, rather the end project, he tasked yves with salvaging what information he could from the fortress' remains. yves abided; he plucked free snippets, some thin and some chunky, but there were gaps. gaps that, with some proper dedication, could be bridged. yves was again tasked with ensuring the research was patched up, in case the resulting project fell deceased, similarly to the initial cloned kanto starters: bulbasaur, squirtle, and charmander. they needed to be able to replicate it.

yves' initial dedication to the mission was haphazard at best. he'd recently become a single parent of one jean-baptiste augustin, so, while he was struggling to juggle the newfound commitments of being a single parent and giovanni's demands ... he became split by both. able to commit wholly to neither.

years passed. baptiste had become a congratulated, high-ranking member of team rocket. yves was proud. baptiste was a vicious man and even more vicious fighter. he was often tasked with jobs that others couldn't handle nor be trusted with. yves, while initially jittery at the notion of his son being handed such dangerous missions, had since calmed. he would not have a repeat situation with his wife, he thought; he can handle himself.

until one mission: baptiste didn't return on cue. he were to eventually return to headquarters, but in a bag. yves was beyond distraught. grief interrupted whatever research he were to head.

a few months after, yves plunged himself deep into dr. fuji's work. while he'd bridged most gaps, there were still some bits and bobs missing that he'd been to piece. he were to forfeit healthy sleep, healthy food, healthy water to bring his son (as well as his pokémon team) back from the dead.

history does like to repeat itself, doesn't it?

three years later—baptiste, while cloned, awoke. as did his pokémon partners. they were to come back unusual, his team, with blotches of discoloured skin or fur. but they were back. he was back. yves had succeeded where dr. fuji had failed.

yves was thrilled. exhausted, yes, but thrilled. so thrilled, in fact, that he dismissed whatever oddities that baptiste were to exude. it was only two weeks in that he began to slowly come to the realisation that baptiste wasn't how he was in his previous life. he'd come back, yes, he'd survived the initial throes of relife, yes ... but he came back wrong.

where the first baptiste was vicious, mean, this baptiste was softer. he were to treat his pokémon team members with love and affection, as he would other individuals. he were to humourous where the first baptiste was cutthroat and serious.

different. weird. wrong.

yves and baptiste grew more distant by the month. yves cast the man into the bowels of team rocket, hoping it would toughen him up. make him more like the original.

he just wanted his son back.