#veuvebrisee

[zundkerze]

❝ Did you just breathe in my direction? ❞ ( me @ ur talon verse: 👀 )

The sudden remark seemed to startle the young assassin, a shiver running down her spine as she was scolded, hands immediately folding together in front of her, assuming the same pose she took on whenever Dr. O’Deorain addressed her.

Large blue eyes watched the other from underneath the mask, silence lingering between the two, thick and heavy before the Spark finally remembered she was, assumably, expected to respond to the accusations. Or… was it one of these rhetorical questions again? She had not been listening to the other properly, she had not been paying attention, for just a moment…

‘That’s what you get for running around with your head in the clouds, Spark,’ a voice inside her head scolded. She was right. She knew she was right. She didn’t mean to…

“I… I’m sorry.“ she offered promptly, glancing at the other expectantly, hopefully almost, awaiting some kind of vindication, of reassurance…

“I didn’t mean to. I know I shouldn’t, I know you… you are busy…” They weren’t out here for pleasure, after all. This was no fun excursion, no trip taken for their own pleasure, oh no - they had a task to complete, an order to carry out.

A target to eliminate.

The other agent, Widowmaker she believed was her name - an excellent sniper, from what Spark had been able to gather. She would be securing the perimeter, watching Spark’s back, making sure no one of value to their superiors would manage to make an escape if the little assassin should fail to carry out the order given to her. And most of all - keep anyone who might pose a threat at a distance.

A guardian angel, of sorts. The young operative was grateful to know the other at her side.

“I… you… you’re good at this. From what I’ve heard. I didn’t want to interrupt, I was simply… curious.“ Why yes, curiosity proved itself as one of the vices managing to get her in trouble, time and time again. Still, it had not led to the demise of this cat, quite yet. Still had a couple of lives to live left…

@veuvebrisee​ ☆ Break The Ice [you get a starter! and you get a starter! and you-]

[martyrbot-a]

veuvebrisee  —  ‘ i’m almost me again. ’

AND it is curious;  there should be no discernable change and yet there is, something shifting behind those eyes, like the slow drag and click of tectonic plates moving continents. 

mondatta unlearns and unlearns the terror of looking into her face.

he had not seen.  had sensed no human presence in the night sky, heard only the explosion and then nothing nothing nothing.  had learned only later the name and face of amélie lacroix.  

even later, learned the tragedy.

like this, he feels with pride only a mild unease  —  and it is overshadowed by the surprise of hearing her voice tint with emotion.

taking her hands, he draws another artificial breath, guiding her to mimic him.  he cannot see her light anymore  ( and that is a grief in itself, that he never could )  but knows somehow that this is different.  this is new.

‘ almost? ‘

there is a smile somewhere in his voice.

‘ a little ways to go, then. ‘

[zwaartgat]

what were / are sigma’s study habits ? what does he need / do to focus on his work or his he just naturally able to zone out any distractions ?

make me write headcanons and metas i dare you | accepting!

I FULLY WROTE AND ACCIDENTALLY DELETED AN ANSWER TO THIS THE OTHER DAY SO I’M REWRITING IT TODAY RIP

Siebren’s study habits as a young man were the bane of his social life. Sure, he had friends, and he went out with them, but it was always with a pen in one hand and time spent scribbling notes on napkins or scrap paper. He never really stopped studying - formal book and online research he took breaks from, sure - but there was never a second that he wasn’t thinking of a solution to something, a new way to look at the universe. 

To catch a young Siebren on a day where he had a clear enough mind to focus on anything but his work was a rarity. As he got older, it became easier for him to separate work and free time and family ( his daughter being born made his life more complicated but he wouldn’t have changed that ) and his studying habits shifted from ‘constantly curious’ to ‘constantly curious but with a filter’. 

…Then after his divorce he threw himself into his work much more, became more focused on studying and learning after coming to the conclusion that he was better at that than relationships and being social. His daughter came first, though - she always did. The one thing that could break him from his intense hyperfocusing was a question of ‘Papa?’, and he would drop what he was doing no matter what.

If not obvious by now, he doesn’t need much to focus. A problem, a possible ( or impossible, give him a challenge! ) solution, and a pen, and the only way you’re getting him away from scribbling on anything he can find is to forcibly grab his hands or pull him away. Unless you’re his daughter, of course. 

Distractions to him were few and far between; these days it’s much more common for him to lose his focus because of the melodies in his head or the constant feeling of fear looming over his shoulder. There’s always that nagging feeling there in the back of his mind, telling him that something’s not right, that maybe he should take a break from his research and figure out just where he is –

but then he realises he can defy gravity and that problem seems to go away for a bit and he gets lost in endless problem solving just as he always has.

[griiming]

“ oh , so i’m the bad guy? ” ( from widow )

     FISTS tighten with the sound of STRETCHED leather. His jaw FLEXES and teeth GRIND. Bad guy. H U H. Now THAT was something he didn’t think to HEAR.

     He turns. The hollows of his mask somehow holding a BURNING gaze. “ Don’t put words into my mouth. ” His words were spoken through GRITTED TEETH. “ You’re not the only one who loves her. Who wants to PROTECT HER. Has KILLED for her. You’re being SELFISH.”

[griiming]

“ i thought you were dead. ” ( from amélie )

     Something in him wanted to LAUGH. May it be the chemicals warping his mind- or the mere thought of being ALIVE… but this was Amélie- the very WOMAN he was sealed to with a PROMISE. A promise to a friend that he would see her SAFE and taken care of. A promise.. he still lives up to, to this day. 

     Laughter never lived to see past his lips. Instead, a sigh that risen shoulders. DEEP enough to visibly swell his chest and deflate in passing moments. 

     “ I am. ” His tone was gruff. Worn down. Old. Surely has seen BETTER DAYS. “ My cells. This body. It’s in a looping state of decay and healing. To summarize, i’m a walking corpse. ”