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sumi-sprite · 5 years

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Omnic Study: Deducing the Original Functions of Well-Known Omnics Based On Their Appearances

Okay people, just, like, bear with me for a hot minute here.

I actively try to stay away from Omnic HCs for numerous reasons; the primary ones being so I can develop my own HCs, and to avoid canonical bias. And it has so far worked! As such, I guess I wanted to put together a bit of an “HC article” about Omnics and their numerous aesthetical appearances, and WHY they were built they way they (possibly) were.

Or, Sumi tries to pull a smort and guess what it was Omnics were initially built to do based on their appearances and other known information.

Please note, this is going off of the assumption that these examples were of Omnics “born” with their current bodies in the examples, and were not later modded or changed as their situations allowed them.

So, let’s begin!

The Uncanny Valley

Uncanny Valley is defined, “In aesthetics, the uncanny valley is a hypothesized relationship between the degree of an object's resemblance to a human being and the emotional response to such an object. ... The uncanny valley hypothesis predicts that an entity appearing almost human will risk eliciting cold, eerie feelings in viewers.”

In short, the more something that isn’t human looks human, the more eerie it is to look at, and the more uncomfortable and even frightened a person may feel looking at it. It is theorized that phobias of mannequins and other human-esque objects and entities stem from the Uncanny Valley. The theory of the Uncanny Valley has a lot to do with the brain’s perception and observation of an object that has a form that, on an instinctive level, the brain is trying to figure out if this object is human, or if it is not human. Neurons start going off as the brain confusedly tries to figure out just what it is looking at, and whether or not it needs to process this entity as “human”, thus a relatable, living creature you could possibly connect with, or “not human”, thus not something you can socialize with and build a relationship with. This confusion of the brain results in the eerie feeling of uncertainty, that “uncanny” feeling.

But! There is a flipside to the Uncanny Valley.

Humans are, naturally (and arguably), social creatures with a need to relate to and empathize with other people (again, arguably, just roll with it people). In the extreme, an object that looks human despite not being human can be extremely unnerving, thus, the extreme of the Uncanny Valley theory. But, if something looks roughly human but has distinguishingly not human features, it turns the uncanny feeling into a sense of curiosity. It’s much easier to react positively to something that is just on the margin of different, but just within the realm of similar, and thus it is easier to interact with.

This is why series such as Transformers have worked out and maintain a loyal following. Because the characters are humanoid, but not human. They are just humanoid enough to relate to, but not so close to looking human that we want nothing to do with them. Humans are naturally attracted to things that look like them, but not so much so that we can’t figure out if it’s another human or not. We like relating to things in this way. This object has two arms, two legs, a head, two eyes, a mouth, etc; but it also has features that scream it is not human. This object has skin, hair, two arms, two legs, two eyes, a mouth, talks, blinks...but it’s not human; and it is making you very uncomfortable.

Stay with me, there is a reason I am explaining all of this!

Okay, so, we now know generally what the Uncanny Valley is without getting too technical, and we have a small example of how and why it is utilized in media. Media creators know we like things like robots and androids and those characters that are humanoid, but not human.

So, onto Omnics and their aesthetical appearances, with image examples to pick apart and theorize what they may have been originally built to do and why!

I repeat - this is all going off the assumption these Omnics have not upgraded themselves or have done too much to change their appearances.

Let’s start off with arguably two of the most popular Omnics - Zenyatta and Mondatta!

The Omnics

Arguably the simplest in design, we know there are a lot more decorative and aesthetically complex Omnics in the Overwatch universe, but we will get to those later. For now, let’s break these boys down.

Zenyatta is a very simple design, made almost frail by his seeming lack of armor. It is not entirely clear if this is just his design overall, or if he ever had more armor to begin with. If at some point he did have more armor, he likely would have looked similar to the Omnics seen in the Alive short, with an example below.

We can see many similarities and even full matches to some plating in the example image and Zenyatta’s image. The breastplates seen in the example image and on Zenyatta are identical, and the areas we can see that seem to be missing armor can easily be filled in with the plates of the Omnic on the left side of the example image. Even the abdominal plate of the Omnic on the left seems like it would fit almost perfectly on Zenyatta’s abdomen where it seems he is missing a similar plate.

(Note that it is somewhat doubtful that Zenyatta would actually look exactly like the Omnics presented in the image if he had full armor, because it seems Omnics in general have regional attributes and trademark appearances based off of what region they may be from. The Omnics above are likely to be European trademark models since they are, in fact, in Europe. But you get the idea.)

Regardless of any armor he may or may not have had, his design is simple. Extremely simple. There does not appear to be any overtly human qualities to him aside from his overall shape and form. He has two legs, two arms, a torso, fingers, a head, and very vague facial features. Two slits in his face downturned at the outer corners serve as a marker for eyes without being actual human eyes, and a differently colored, seemingly locked jaw serves as a marker for a mouth. Curves added to his waist and chest lend more humanlike features and proportions. The only thing about him that may make a human uncomfortable or give him an odd second look is his ability to perpetually hover.

He’s nowhere within the extreme of the Uncanny Valley; he sits right on that very comfortable margin that, when you look at him, he is just familiar enough in shape to be relatable to as one who shares a similar shape, but he is clearly not a human being. His lack of true facial features helps this, and his overall having no skin, hair, eyes, etc also helps the brain determine that he is not human, and thus will not instigate that confusion in the brain.

This makes him of a build that is, very likely, not truly meant to be worth a second glance.

Zenyatta’s build is, as I said, extremely simplistic. This tells me, personally, that he was not built with the purpose of working close with humans. He isn’t decorative enough to warrant attention from one or more people, and he doesn’t possess the features needed to allow humans to identify with him on a level to prompt cooperation. Because he is so simple in design, and his lifestyle suggests he was built to be relatively sturdy, he was likely meant to be a laborer of some sort. He is an Omnic who was built to work “behind the scenes” if you will, with little to no human interactions outside of management.

Aesthetically speaking, he is easily passed over if you were to walk by him while he was working or doing something mundane; moreso if he wasn’t wearing his current attire.

It is, unfortunately, impossible to gauge a more broad idea of what Zenyatta’s original function may have been. Because he is likely missing a massive amount of armor, we lose the idea of how sturdy he is, thus what sort of environments he would be able to work in. His proportions are, like most Omnics, exaggerated, with seeming emphasis placed on his limbs, which may suggest he was meant to be frequently mobile. This is a bit difficult to gauge though considering he hasn’t been seen moving with both feet on the ground.

Many have theorized (myself included recently) that Zenyatta had come from Null Sector, and as such, probably underwent a full downgrade and hardware replacements. If this is the case, we really can’t make any solid guesses to anything unless we see what he looked like pre-downgrade.

(Hmm…)

It is difficult to add much more on what Zenyatta likely was prior to his current self. We lack visuals of him in casual settings, and have mostly audio, screenshots, gifs, and in-game bonus animations to work with, and very little else. Gestures and mannerisms are somewhat lacking, so it’s impossible to gauge a 100% determination of what exactly he could have been in his primary function. His voice lines also mostly determine his current life, rather than many implications of what he used to be or do before the current time. So for now, I can only guage what he was originally built for on his appearance alone.

(Waiting on that lore too, guys…)

Mondatta is in a very similar though distinct boat.

Mondatta is sort of the aesthetic step up from Zenyatta. It has been theorized they are the same make and model, but of a newer and older variety (Mondatta usually depicted as an older model of Zenyatta). But there are also some very distinct oddities to Mondatta that Zenyatta lacks.

Many people have theorized Mondatta was meant to be a focal point of attention as his original function. He is very eye catching and distinct from other Omnics, but then again, just how many Omnics have we seen in the Overwatch franchise? He is also hardly the most aesthetically complex. Like Zenyatta, he is extremely simple in design, with slightly sharper angles and narrower features than Zenyatta, who boasts rounder features and more curves. There are also very subtle yet telling nuances that put him between a simple model and a complex model.

Firstly, his coloring. As far as my research goes, I haven’t seen another Omnic with white armor remotely similar to Mondatta. Most Omnics we have seen are chrome with features in more chrome, copper, black, silver, etc. It is very unlikely he got this armor to replace or upgrade a former armor set. The armor he wears is chipped and stained in some places, suggesting its age and wear. I can also safely assume that Omnic armor of such an obscure color is probably not cheap, and he does not seem like the type to drop so much for frivolous aesthetics. He doesn’t seem to have an obvious reason to adding the white armor to himself at one point in time. Mondatta, while simple in design is obscure for this reason alone.

Another obscurity of Mondatta is his size in comparison to his proportions.

Now, we do not know his or the guards’ heights, but with the average male standing around 6ft (roughly 182cm) tall, we can guess that Mondatta is roughly around 6ft tall, if not taller standing next to his guards, so perhaps 2 or more inches taller than Zenyatta (5ft 8in). We also get to see that his bodily proportions are very close to a tall human’s build. If he is an older model, it is likely that classical proportions went into his design, whereas with Zenyatta, slightly more exaggerated proportions were used. This could also just be a simple result of hardware. Omnics, from what I can see, are very disproportionate because of the ratio of hardware they carry. It’s almost impossible to make an artificial entity with exact human proportions without adding a synthetic skin and padding to fill in narrow or hollow spaces.

Larger Omnics tend to have more exaggerated and wider proportions, yet with Mondatta’s size making him a relatively larger Omnic, he remains in sensible proportion similar to a human, rather than more exaggerated like other larger Omnics. This makes him appear exceptionally tall, though not notably broad. This also makes him sturdy.

He is not thickly built, but there is an implied broadness in his shoulders that, if taken into proportion with the rest of his body (unseen), suggests he is likely bigger and set a bit heavier than Zenyatta, with a larger and slightly more elongated and squared head, which may suggest a stronger and faster processor, or just a lot more hardware to buffer the processors. Though “size doesn’t matter” has become a bit of a running gag for humans, in machines, it usually counts since the hardware size can sometimes imply the power, speed, and efficiency of the software. He likely has a very powerful AI. In a word, he’s smart.

All of this tells me that Mondatta was only slightly like Zenyatta in that he was never meant to work closely with humans. But while Zenyatta was probably never meant to interact with humans at all, Mondatta may be an obscure exception. If he is given the hardware and software to be socially equipped to be dealing with mass crowds and individuals, it could be that he was only meant to work closely with selective humans.

Mondatta’s form is a prime example of “simple yet elegant”, aesthetically subtle and pristine, but not so complex as to be a distraction. His form is one you may expect to see on a well-dressed servant. It could be theorized he is even a custom model some well off individual commissioned to perhaps work as a personal servant. And if in fact he was meant to work closely with one individual in particular, he probably could have been the individual’s assistant - be it for work or in personal assistance, or even health assistance. He would need to be able to, to a degree, argue with and refuse certain orders - ie refusing to finish a project, refusing to take medicine, etc - and try and convince his owner to do something they need to do, but may not want to.

(Confirmed: Mondatta is Ra9)

Both his appearance and his processors imply a sort of interpersonal function, and one that demanded he toe a few lines without actually crossing into areas of insubordination. His function probably demanded he maintain a certain amount of order, and even power, in his former function.

But this also may beg a more functional reason as to why he looks the way he does. Let’s go back to his coloring and his sturdy built again for a moment. As we know, Russia in Overwatch has its own Omnium, and is home to hostile Omnics. Siberia is a common battleground, with Zarya herself being from a Siberian village that got caught in the crossfires. And as we know, a lot of areas in Russia, particularly Siberia, is covered in snow. If at some point Mondatta was built during the Crisis, it would be prudent and even smart to make sure he, as a soldier or otherwise, could blend into his environment during a fight. This could imply he is a Russian made Omnic, and with his simple yet distinct form, could have been anything from a grunt soldier to a higher ranking Omnic officer (if the God AIs even used the militant system).

If his processors are as powerful as they are seemingly implied, this could work well in his favor as a personal servant or a part of the Crisis. As a servant to someone well off, he would probably need to engage with and determine orders and who he can and can’t take those orders from, and thus he would need an AI powerful enough to discriminate, categorize, and even personalize. In a war situation, this would help in strategizing and organizing, even mapping and planning defence and offensive techniques.

Regardless, his aesthetic appearance sits in a margin similar to Zenyatta’s: not too human as to be uncanny, but not so distinctly object-like to not be comfortable interacting with. But he is also touching just this side of a more complex Omnic because of his armor coloring, his overall build, and the implication of powerful processors. He seems, quite simply, like he is built to walk just as well as he talks.

He makes up for his lack of humanoid features with his manner of speech, gestures, and other body language. He gestures frequently during his speech in Alive, and even when he is being escorted off the stage to make his escape, he makes contact with and nods to the crowd as a sign of conscious acknowledgement. This could be a learned behavior, but if it is in fact an ingrained part of his function, it could imply that he is supposed to acknowledge people who are speaking to or regarding him. A sort of “speak only when spoken to” behavior that serving staff would typically be taught. The more he acknowledges, the more he engages, the easier it would be for a human to relax around him and relate to him, and thus make his job easier, and thus increase his efficiency.

But if he did not have these habits and mannerisms ingrained, he had to have the social baseline to learn, and indeed to want to learn them, perhaps even out of necessity. These gestures and little nuances in his everyday body language would be vital in his endeavor to show humans that Omnics are alive and deserve the same treatment as humans. They make him more easy to communicate and cooperate with humans.

(It is somewhat ironic that we can gauge more about Mondatta personality and function-wise from a single short animation, than we can from Zenyatta over years of gameplay)

Now comes a slightly more obscure model that toes the line of Uncanny Valley, and mild anthropomorphism.

Lynx 17 is an example of a VERY obscure Omnic due to one major factor - their adorable headgear.

Lynx is a bit difficult to discern in terms of what their original function was, but with their abilities, we can conclude they were in fact originally intended for computer-based fields; assuming they did not install these functions and software themselves at one point.

Lynx’s possible function is also further obscured by their appearance - or perhaps enhanced by it.

A trademark of Lynx is their ear-like helm extensions. We can safely just assume they function as functional antennae to further enhance their wireless networking and hacking skills. They could also be a means of protection, not unlike an antenna used to project a powerful firewall around their processors. But, looking at the upper left image, we can see they are also used to express emotions.

We also see, in most of the images above, that they have larger optic slits, and in fact, have visible optics. It could be just optical glass inset into their optic slits, but the adding of glass makes a tremendous difference.

Eye contact is something vital to human beings, and it helps for other living things to have eyes they can see and lock with. Gazing into the eyes has been proven to help strengthen relationships of all sorts, and even helps make short term relationships (such as interviews) a much more successful endeavor if you can keep eye contact. This suggest Lynx was, in fact, supposed to work relatively close with humans, probably on a one-on-one basis, or in small groups.

Back to the odd appearance. Lync overall is a sort of subclass example of anthropomorphism, which has been linked vaguely to the Uncanny Valley. Their helm shape, helm antenna, larger optics, and the glass used to make them look like they have more noticeable eyes puts them in a very weird area in terms of human relations. And in fact, this may have only helped them if they were meant to work with humans.

Humans have a much easier time relating to animals than other humans. You ever hear the phrase, “Greet the dog, ignore the owner”? Well, here is your middle ground. People like animals. People like anthropomorphic humanoids. People like anthropomorphic, humanoid robots. And to go further, people who work in more technical and computer-based industries tend to have a much lower tolerance for fellow human beings, and in fact will pick an animal over having a five minute conversation with humans. Animals are just that much more approachable, and they’re easier to get along with, and in fact have been proven to reduce stress in a tense work environment.

This tells me that Lynx likely was built to work in a technical industry, perhaps as tech support or a tech assistant of some sort. But due to the social minefield most humans in this field walk in, it was likely to the benefit of the makers to make Lynx just that more approachable; not by making them look more human, but by making them look less human, and more animal. Again, their antenna features could be entirely utilitary to their function, rather than just an aesthetic; or they could be both. Regardless, the antenna and other, smaller elements have made the idea that Lynx, in function, was supposed to work with humans in an industry where the humans in question would find them more approachable if they looked less human. We can’t go much further due to the rest of their body being covered by a jumpsuit, but from what little we can see, we can conclude Lynx was designed with social preferences in mind.

(On a slightly interesting note, Lynx’s model would make a great companion or minder to humans who have Autism or social defects. Their anthropomorphic design makes them easier to look at, as people with Autism or other social defects do indeed tend to prefer animals over other people and avidly avoid eye contact with other humans. The simple design coupled with the cat-like eyes and “ears” would make it easier for an individual with Autism in question to look them in the eyes more easily, and perhaps enhance and teach the individual in question how to interact with human peers on a much more comfortable level. Lynx’s model would be excellent in teaching subtle body language too because an individual could use their expressive “ears” as a reference, and later pick out the more human-like gestures in Lynx’s model to go along with the more telling droop, prick, and tilt of their “ears”)

Mondatta, Zenyatta, and Lynx 17 are simpler designs, so what about the more complex, thus more Uncanny, Omnics?

Enter, Maximilien…

This Pretentious Asshole™ that I would die for is an example of an Omnic that is much closer to the Uncanny Valley than the previous three Omnics.

Maximilien was first featured in the comic, Masquerade, then later in the campaign, Storm Rising. And looking at him even in the comics, we can all pretty safely conclude that he was meant to work with humans in both one on one, and mass.

Why can we conclude this? Because of his smug face. His head in general actually.

Of this entire list, Max will be only one of two Omnics we will see with a hairlike protrusion on their head. We can’t really say for certain that the “hair” was something he himself added at some point in his life, but it’s doubtful this is the case. We know Maximilien is Akande’s accountant, and that Max has some very high prestige for an Omnic. Storm Rising has shown us that he owns a brewery, and likely various other businesses around the world, and profiles and the comic have shown us that he runs a casino in Monaco. Max knows how to handle money, and this tells me that he is very likely still serving his original function as an accountant.

Accountants are far from the most pleasant people to be around, and working with them can be a chore in and of itself. Handling money is a chore in an of itself. And a lot of people in well-off situations just don’t want to deal with where their money goes and how it is being used, and will likely hire a high end accountant to manage it for them. There is an issue though: accountants tend to be human. Humans tend to make mistakes. They also tend to steal. So, the solution? Make a supercomputer accountant to handle your funds, with zero will or desire to even be greedy or steal from you. Bear in mind, this thought likely came into being before the Crisis and before Omnics started becoming more sentient and self-aware.

This makes Omnic accountants cheaper than their human counterparts, and it makes them a thousand times more efficient since you eliminate human error and bias. It is likely that Omnics like Max have extremely fast and efficient processors; they are living calculators, a sort of sentient supercomputer if you will. They likely have the ability to measure markets, determine stock, bond, and investment pros and cons in less than a few seconds, and can calculate safe and risky investments, as well as determine based on hyper-collected data what you should and should not invest in in the near or distant future. They likely have every up to date accounting manual and guideline in their memory banks, and every accounting and monetary law crammed into massive data banks inside their own processors.

This makes Maximilien and other Omnics like him smart. Frighteningly smart. I would honestly not be shocked if the theory of Max low-key puppeteering Akande to control Talon turned out to be true.

But, back to the aesthetics and why this works in Max’s favor. Max sits a step above the previous three Omnics, and likely many others, and is closer to the Uncanny Valley due to his very distinct and humanlike facial features. In the gifs above and in the beginning, we can see he not only has distinct and lit optics, but optics with shutters - he has eyelids. In fact, if you look closely at the gifs, you can even see he appears to have optic foci - or a pupils - that shift and flicker depending on where he is looking; from Genji’s sword to where Tracer is standing after she clears her throat to get his attention. Like Mondatta, he gestures and makes subtle movements to express in a way that is animated in a human manner and is either an ingrained part of his function, or a learned habit. And although lacking in solid confirmation in the Storm Rising cutscenes, in the comic and presented in the lower right image on the collage, we see Max has a fully articulated jaw that, in my personal theory, only opens when Max is in a state of more volatile or strong emotions.

Max’s humanlike features make him even more familiar to humans than Zenyatta, Mondatta, or Lynx. He’s easier to trust when it comes to business savvy men and women on a social level because he looks just enough like them to be comfortably familiar. Anyone looking for someone to manage their money would want someone who isn’t as likely to steal or make a blaring mistake with where money is spent, gained, or lost.

Now, we can assume Max is likely bleeding clients dry, but bear this in mind: he’s strategic. If anything I said about his processors is true, and if his final cutscene is implicit of his intelligence, then he would legitimately do his damndest to keep his clients happy and not rob them blind. Because if they decide he’s obsolete in managing their money, they will leave, and he loses reputation, money, and resources. Reputation is the lifeblood to any successful high end accountant’s career, and any slip or red mark on their ledger is an absolute death sentence. Max literally cannot afford to screw over accounting clients if he can help it.

He shows a sense of calm and lack of being intimidated by casually adjusting his tie and pin in the third gif of the first set. This expresses confidence. In the cutthroat world of business, no human would trust an accountant with zero confidence in themselves, otherwise, how can they trust them with their money? This could be a learned attribute to his personality, but confidence tends to stem from an inborn seed (meaning, one is not necessarily born confident, but they may be more predisposed to it as they age). Charisma, confidence, wit, charm, and brains are the key factors of a good accountant after all, and the attributes of an accountant someone with a lot of money can trust.

Maximilien does not seem to be loyal to any one person, as we see this loyalty ambiguity when he sold out Akande to be arrested by Overwatch. But we never find out if Akande found out, or even if Akande cared; if anything, perhaps Akande would find the fact endearing. Max seems to have an ingrained loyalty to whoever and whatever is going to benefit him in the long haul. He is “loyal” in the sense that he will remain loyal to X so long as X provides protection and absolute security without compromising his own life. Faced with Overwatch and no escape, Max no longer had any loyalty to Akande, thus sold him out.

This fluidity in loyalty is an absolute necessity in preserving one’s reputation, and thus one’s credibility and ability to perform their given task. It’s nice to feel like your accountant works for you 100%, but if that were the case, your funds would stagnate because your accountant has no resources and no connections, and thus, no means of actually helping your funds grow and increase. Accountants, and accountants like Max, need “friends in high places” as well as “friends in very low, very desperate, very dark places”. Thus, he needs charisma and social prowess, of which he has in spades (hah, puns).

He is a master negotiator if his getting off the hook with Overwatch is anything to go by, and is just enough of a “backstage” type of worker to very easily slide under the shifting leadership roles in Talon without a hitch. This also includes helping Akande remove Vialli from Talon’s head when Akande escapes prison, despite being the reason Akande was put into prison (though again, we do not know if Akande is savvy to this fact). Maximilien functions absolutely seamlessly in his craft, and that is strategy. His appearance gives nothing away of this, but his mannerisms, gestures, how he speaks, and the topics he discusses lend a serious implication to both his function and the benefits he gains by continuing to work by his function, rather than outside of it.

So far, we have seen three Omnics who likely had vastly to mildly different functions to what they do now. Max and others like him, due to how close they work to humans, and thus the benefits they reap, may in fact be more likely to serve their intended function rather than abandon it, while simpler, “disposable” Omnics are more likely to shift their perspectives.

Another Omnic similar in aesthetic class to Max is Luna.

Now, we know next to nothing about Luna, other than the fact she is present on the Paris map in the Cabaret Luna. Luna is a slightly off-the-wall case because of her appearance, and the fact that her gender is made physically very clear.

Most Omnics appear to present as sexless or male by default, usually based off of their bodies or their voices. In Lynx’s case, neutral pronouns are used by their choice. Luna is, as far as I can tell, the only distinctly female Omnic we have seen or had interactions with - second only to Athena/Iris and Orisa. We haven’t really seen any other female-oriented Omnics though, and with female characters of ANY species often being sexually emphasized so we ALL KNOW they ARE female (we get it, please stop with the armor bikinis), it’s very hard to miss if a character is defined - until stated otherwise - as female.

Luna is defined in a relatively subtle manner as female in numerous ways physically, and even audibly by her feminine singing voice. Women in entertainment are, well...they have expectations based on appearances, sadly. And with Omnics being made and installed with the desired hardware and software, even designed with the desired appearances, this criteria becomes moot.

Luna is clearly meant as an entertainer, though whether or not this is of her own choosing, it is difficult to say. There exists little to no information on her other than what her job is and where she is found. But based on her appearance, we can safely conclude she is meant to catch the eye of humans. Her entire physical appearance is meant to catch the eye, likely and primarily the eye of straight men.

She has a curved build with hide hips, an elaborate hairstyle, as well as lit optics set into a coy downturn at the inner corners. Even her facial plate seems to express a coy smile. She even has the implication of breasts on her chest. The cat ears add a sense of mischief and promiscuity, perhaps even some playfulness, and likely a nod to a sort of feline theme.

Though it may just be an attribute of the game itself, there could be implications that she is not a fully sentient Omnic. When spawned in Luna’s cabernet, she appears to be singing, but the whole room is empty. This may suggest she is not - or not yet - self-aware of anything but her function. Whether or not a room is empty, she keeps singing, day or night, until customers come in to watch and enjoy a drink or two. She is not “free” like Mondatta, Zenyatta, Max, and others may be, and in fact may be a very new and very young Omnic who has not yet had a chance to be someone other than her function. But again, this could mean absolutely nothing, and merely be an attribute of the game itself rather than Luna’s lore.

Looking at her arms, legs, feet, face, and collar, we can see light blue lines of biolights. This emphasises her presence, which heightens the desire to gather the attention of as many people as possible in a collective group. Humans are naturally drawn to light and flashing shapes, and this only further emphasises the intentions of her build. Adding in her flashy clothing, humanlike hair, jewelry, and her musical voice, we can safely assume she was built to entertain and catch an audience’s attention, and she is perhaps still serving this function, and may in fact not be self-aware just yet.

TL;DR - I spent a few hours compiling this pile of TRASH BABBLE because I was bored and couldn’t stop thinking about what could be implied by the appearances of some well-known Omnics in Overwatch and I needed to write it all down.

YES, I KNOW I SKIPPED ORISA AND BASTION. But let me explain why: Both Bastion and Orisa have had their primary functions made glaringly obvious as war and battle Omnics, and are in fact relics leftover from the Crisis, and thus, there isn’t really much to unpack about them. But if you want me to do a sort of study on them too in a more current sense rather than a past function and Uncanny Valley sense, let me know!

And that’s all I got. Can I go to bed now?

~Sumi

#overwatch #headcanon #Omnics #tekhartha zenyatta #tekhartha mondatta #mondatta #zenyatta #overwatch theory #theories and lore #maximilien #overwatch maximilien #luna #overwatch luna #overwatch omnic #Sumi is a Stupid Lil Squiddy #Sumi Rambles #so tired

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movieexpert1978 · 5 years

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Upgrade Pt. 6

Pt 6: Elisa comes homes

Alita Battle Angel and it’s characters are not mine.

Ido is the first to wake up the next morning. Elisa looked so calm and peaceful, with no evidence of the fact that she was nearly bleeding to death the night before. She really was incredible. He caresses her face and tucks a few random strands of hair behind her ears. He stays in bed for a little while longer, just not wanting to do anything but hold her all day. He really does care for her. Unfortunately, she does shift a bit and wake up. Her eyes flutter open and she stares at the ceiling for a moment. She’s processing where she is again. She turns and sees Ido and she smiles at him.

“Hi.”

“Good morning.” He nods, leaning in close to her again. “How are you feeling?” He asks.

“I’m alright.” She nods. He starts to rub her shoulder gently as he presses his forehead against her own.

“I’m so sorry Elisa. Please forgive me.” He whispers in shame. When she doesn’t answer he continues. “I was so wrong to kick you out like that…to call you a monster…all of it. You didn’t deserve any of it. As much as Alita and I want you to stay, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m not going to force you into anything.” He says as sincerely as he can.

“But I thought you wanted me here?” She says confused as she sits up.

“We do…I do, but you’re your own person and you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” He explains.

“But I…I want to stay here…is that ok?”

“Of course it is. You are always welcome here.” He smiles.

“Thank you…for your apology. No one has done that for me in a long time.” She says as her fingers graze over his hand. He takes her hand and kisses her palm. The tender gesture makes her blush a bit. “Did you get the money I left here?” She asks after a moment.

“So that really was you.”

“I didn’t really know what to do with all that money. I knew you could use it more than I could have.” She shrugs.

“Yes, I did get the money and thank you for your help. Thanks to you the clinic is in good shape for a bit.” He says proudly. “Come on.” He says taking her hand. They go downstairs and he starts to make breakfast.

“Elisa!” Alita shouts with joy when she sees her friend and bolts over to her. She nearly tackles Elisa to the floor with the big hug she gives her.

“Ooofff…thanks…hi Alita.” Elisa grunts out.

“I’m so glad you’re back.” She says smiling from ear to ear. “So she’s back now?” Alita says to Ido.

“Yes she is.” He answers. “You need to take her out shopping. She needs some new clothes, not to mention her other things are at the church and so is my hammer.” He adds.

“Oh great lets…”

“But after breakfast.” He interrupts.

“Ok.” She sighs. Ido chuckles every now and then as Alita is practically hugging Elisa the whole time they are eating. She compliments her a lot on her hair as well, trying to help her be more confident in her appearance. The dishes are barely put into the sink when Alita takes her hand and nearly bolts out the door, but Ido catches them and gives them his case before they leave and he’s left to work on the patients for the day as Nurse Gerhad comes in.

Xxxxxxxxx

Chiren looks over Elisa’s files in the empty lab. She’s looked over the notes several times, but there are a few videos she hasn’t watched yet. Some are clips of her training and others are of her physical, but one stands out to her. It’s the final video of Elisa. At this stage, according to the notes and Nova, a few pieces of Elisa’s DNA had been altered to give her more of a beast like quality, as Chiren put it. This new serum was going to mutate more than a few pieces but basically half of her DNA strand would be altered. She watched the screen as they injected her and she barely flinches as the scientists pull away and watch her on the table.

There is no sound, thankfully, but Chiren doesn’t need to be a genius to know that the serum makes Elisa scream in pain. She withers and screams on the table, curling up into a ball as the others watch. The moment is over quickly when she kneels on the table. Her eyes are completely black and her teeth are a mouth full of fangs as she roars at them. They panic and run for the exit but it is too late as she leaps in front of the scientist who injected her. She literally rips his throat out as her hands are shaking…no…shifting. Her fingers are growing longer and sharper…and was that metal? Elisa lets out another scream of pain, bending over and vomiting something before she goes after the other men. She doesn’t want to watch, but she needs to study Elisa, who rips the men to shreds, eating their flesh and drinking their blood, before she vomits it all back up and collapses in a corner of the room. In the notes, after the video was taken, it shows that, yes her DNA did change, but not as much as they thought it would and it just made her completely unstable. Her DNA was unstable permanently. Chiren understood now. She was damaged goods and she had to go.

Just like….no! She wasn’t going to think about that.

“Been looking over those files again?” Vector asks as he comes up to her. Just as she looks up at him, he stills and his eyes change color.

“You’re planning something?” Nova says to her curiously.

“I saw from the videos that her DNA is now permanently unstable. What if I could fix that?” She says.

“My scientists already tried what they could to fix it, but they couldn’t get it re-stabilized.” He says.

“I could try and go at it.” She suggests.

“Give it to Chase.”

“You can’t be serious!?” She gasps.

“If you want to get back to Zalem you can’t be getting hurt down here can you?” He says darkly making her tense up. “Besides, he’s been on the out for a while a now. If he does something to make her go wild again, she’ll kill him and that’s that.” He shrugs. “You can help him, guide him along, but I wouldn’t recommend being there when he starts poking around in her. It will get messy…and I like seeing you work down here. You come up with so many fascinating players.” He smirks. She doesn’t know if she should be flattered or insulted, but she keeps the thought to herself. “I have a few more files I will send to you. Give copies to Chase and when it’s done make sure his copies are destroyed.” He orders. She nods and Vector falls over, holding his head.

“Now what?” He mumbles.

“I need you to get Chase here.”

“But he’s a washout?!” Vector says confused.

“I have an assignment I need to give him.” She says.

“Whatever. I don’t see what the point of this girl is. She’s not in the games and she’s not making me money.” He grumbles as he walks away. He’s not a scientist, but Chiren understands what Elisa could be in terms of epic breakthrough in the study of DNA, but she also knows that if she does this, then it’s one less favor she has to do once she’s on Zalem.

Chase arrived a few hours later.

“You wanted to see me Dr. Chiren?” He asks in an almost annoyed tone. She frowned as she looked up at him. He was wearing a ragged green jacket with black pants and boots on with safety glasses that adjusted to the light. He was an older man, tall, with messy brown hair.

“I have a project for you.” She says giving him a flashdrive.

“For me?” He says much more surprised this time.

“A woman was exiled from Zalem. She’s here in Iron City. Apparently, Nova wants you to take a look at her.” She says.

“Why me?”

“I’m busy with the motorball games and besides it might get you back into a proper lab again.” She says to entice him.

“I’ll look over the files and contact you.” He says before he leaves.

Xxxxxxxxx

Chase looks over the files during the next few hours. Apparently the girl’s DNA was permanently unstable. This could be his chance, his big breakthrough to make the perfect weapon for Nova. Rumor was he was experimenting with nanotechnology now. Chase wished he could get his hands on it. He had his own experiments in his own run down shack of a lab, trying to work with a machine in creative ways. It had been a while since he got his hands on anything organic. Once he was done taking notes he contacted Chiren.

“I take it you know where she is?” He asks.

“She’s with Ido.” She answered.

“Figures, he always looks out for the runts.” Chase smirks.

“She’s a registered hunter warrior. You could try and lure her away from them with a mark or something.” She shrugs.

“What does Nova want with her exactly?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe if you tried to stabilize her DNA that might help for starters.”

“Why would I want to do that? It’s because her DNA is unstable that she’s able to have these abilities.” He argues.

“I don’t know, just figure something out. I’m sure Nova will contact you somehow.” She mutters and hangs up. Chase frowns at her tone. He had an idea all right. Apparently, a little less than half of her DNA had been altered. If he could alter all of it then who knows what could happen?! He could put in different codes of DNA so that she could absorb it and use the right properties to adapt and become stronger. She could turn into metal or anything she wanted to. The possibilities were endless.

“Already getting ahead of yourself I see.” A voice said through the computer. Chase jumped as the screen flickered and a familiar face appeared…or rather eyes as the figure was mostly covered in darkness.

“Nova…” Chase gasped.

“Hello Chase. Dr. Chiren has given you the details on project ten E.” He says and Chase only nods. “Good, you see Elisa is a personal favorite of mine and I need you to take good care of my pet.” He smirks.

“You want me to stabilize her?” Chase asked confused.

“Oh no, stabilization is pointless. I want you to improve her, make her stronger.” Nova grins. “I’ll be sending you some things that will arrive in a day or two. I’m sure you will greatly enjoy them.” He says with a small chuckle.

“Why did you drop her to Iron city when you could do it yourself?”

“I have my reasons Chase and it’s costly to know them, so watch your tongue.” Nova growls making Chase squirm a bit. “When you have the materials I will contact you again.” He finishes before the screen cuts out. He waits for a few moments worried his screen might explode or something, but thankfully nothing happens. He looks around the lab and decides to get it in order, since he’ll be having a ‘guest’ here soon enough.

Xxxxxxxxx

She wakes up in a familiar dark room. Equipment beeping away as it works endlessly. She feels puzzled though…as if she really shouldn’t be here. She slowly gets up and looks around. Something is off…something is wrong. She walks over to a door and is surprised that it opens for her. She walks down a white hallway before she goes into another room and screams. There are body parts everywhere. Some are moving as if they’re alive. Others are covered in blood. Some experiments somewhat resemble humans but others look more machine than man. They moan and reach out to her as if she is their savior.

“Elisa!”

She yelps and turns around.

“Nova…Nova!” She gasps in fear, confusion, and relief.

“You stupid girl. You’re not supposed to be in here.” He snaps as he grabs and takes her out.

“I’m sorry Nova…I ..I…I didn’t mean to.” She pleads as he keeps a firm grip on her wrist. He takes her into another room she recognizes as his main office. Once inside he turns around and slaps her making her yelp.

“You know better than to go looking around.” He snaps. His expression is more frightening thanks to those special goggles he always wears. For a long time she thought they were part of him, until one day he approached her with them off. She didn’t recognized him and it made him laugh.

“Nova I’m sorry. Please…I’ll make it up to you.” She begs. He chuckles darkly as he takes her to a lab table and shoves her on it.

“I know you will.” He rasps, leaning in way too close. He’s scaring her. She knows when he’s angry and right now he’s not. He’s doing something else. “You want to be good for me don’t you?” He says as his hands start to trace over her body.

“Y-yes Nova.” She says.

“Good girl.” He says so darkly that it nearly makes her whimper. His hand traces over her face, running through her hair. “Hmmm…you’ve grown so much.” He says as he looks over her. She doesn’t notice his other hand take something out. “I should never have let you go.” He whispers.

“What did I do? I’ll do better. I promise Nova.” She pleads.

“That’s my girl, my favorite ten E.” He says almost proudly. She looks up at him with hopeful eyes when the door opens. They both look and it’s Ido…but he’s in his hunter warrior gear and is holding his hammer.

“Get away from her!” He shouts.

“Doctor?” Elisa whispers confused. Nova suddenly slams a scalpel into her heart and she screams in pain.

“Did you really think I would bring you back?” He snarls at her. His goggles glow a deep red that makes her shake. She cries out as he twists the blade and she coughs up blood. “You’re nothing to me! You’re nothing but a failure!” He shouts in her face.

“Elisa!”

She screams as someone calls out her name and she wakes up.

“Elisa, it’s alright. It was just a nightmare.” Ido says. She manages to focus and sees that it is indeed Ido and not Nova hoovering over her.

“Doctor…” She whispers touching his arm.

“You don’t have to call me that.” He chuckles as it’s now like an inside joke to them. She smiles weakly before her hand starts to shake. “It’s alright. You’re safe.” Ido says as he takes her into his arms.

“Hey, you guys ok? I thought I heard screaming.” Alita says rushing in.

“Elisa had a nightmare.” Ido says as she crawls up on the bed.

“What happened?” Alita asks her.

“Nova…I was dreaming about Nova.” She whispers tiredly. The other two remain quiet knowing it’s a touchy subject for her. “He was trying to kill me…but…but Ido! You were there too and you were trying to save me.” She says as she looks up at him. Alita smiles, maybe things are turning around. “Thanks for waking me up too.” Elisa says as she gets out of bed.

“You’re welcome.” He nods. “Breakfast is almost ready.” He announces. Alita heads downstairs as he looks over Elisa. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah, I think so. I’m sorry about that. I thought I was doing better.” She says sadly.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Nightmares happen. Adjusting to a new life is a slow, but stead process. You don’t have to rush yourself.” He says kindly. She nods and he leaves so that she can get changed. It isn’t long after breakfast that Alita dashes off to hang out with Hugo and Ido gets to work. Elisa stays around and helps when she can.

“Can you teach me?” Elisa asks Ido during a quiet moment.

“Teach you what?” He asks.

“I don’t know…anything…what it means to be human.” She says.

“You can’t teach someone to be human. That’s just part of life.” He chuckles. “I can teach you other things like history, anatomy, science…” He says trailing off.

“History…what’s that?”

“Stuff that happened long before you and I were born, before the fall or the war.” He explains. There aren’t too many patients today so he decides to take Elisa out.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” He chuckles. When they arrive the building is old and inside is mostly quiet with not many people around. “This is called a library my dear.” He says showing her around in a low voice. “You have to be quiet though because people like to read here.” He explains. They go to a section called History and Ido takes out a few datapads. He checks them out before they head back to the clinic. “Read these, they talk about the past. It’s another way you can learn.” He smiles kindly to her.

“Thank you Ido.” She smiles back. She’s quiet the rest of the day as she reads, trying to learn everything she can. She talks all about it, excitedly at dinner. They all have good fun with it. Over the next few days, when his insomnia hits, Ido reads with Elisa instead of going hunting. It calms him down and he can’t get enough of Elisa’s bright smile. He’s so glad to see that she is finally accepting her emotions and trying to adapt to life in Iron City. When she’s done reading she goes back to the library and returns the datapads. She thinks about getting more when she sees a flyer on the front desk. It shows a new hunter warrior bounty of fifty thousand credits has been listed. That could last the clinic for a little while, so she grabs the flyer and returns home.

“Fifty thousand credits huh?” Ido says as he looks over the sheet.

“That could help the clinic for a bit right?” She says eagerly.

“I take it you want to go hunting tonight.” He says, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Well of course.” She nods.

“Very well, just don’t show Alita. I don’t want her joining in on this. The higher the bounty the more dangerous the mark is.” Ido says as he tucks the paper away.

“Of course.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thankfully, Alita didn’t know about the bounty so Elisa and Ido were able to go off quickly once she went to bed. They start a search in previous spots but so far no luck.

“Do you think we should split up to cover more ground?” Elisa suggests.

“No, that’s a horrible idea.” Ido says firmly. She nods as they look around. Two cans are thrown at them out of nowhere and they both dive out of the way in separate directions as the cans burst into flame.

“Ido! Ido are you alright!?” Elisa calls out, looking for him with her advance eyesight.

“I’m fine.” He waves as he coughs, trying to get out the mouthful of smoke he took in. More cans are thrown and the fire spreads. The glare from the fire hurts Elisa’s eyes as she reverts back to normal.

“Ido! Ido, I can’t see you!” She shouts frantically. She tries to find a way to him, but the flames are blocking her completely. She walks back a few feet and her eyes change color again as she plans on gaining some speed to leap over the fire. Just as she’s about to run someone grabs her and she feels the familiar pinch of a needle in her neck. “Hey!” She snarls turning around, only to promptly pass out.

Xxxxxxxxx

Elisa moans as she wakes up. She hasn’t forgotten the feeling of being drugged. She never liked waking up from it because she always felt like she slept for way too long.

“Ido…Dyson…Dyson…” She mumbles as she remembers the fire and Ido.

“Relax, you precious Doctor Ido is fine.” An unfamiliar voice says sarcastically. She turns in the direction of the voice and she sees an unfamiliar man in a green jacket and work goggles staring at her.

“Who are you?” She says.

“My name is Doctor Jeffery Chase.” He answers.

“And you are my test subject.”

20 notes · View notes

asryakino · 5 years

Text

Bowden’s Cure Ch 2

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The long range comms picked up the larger ship only a few moments before the communication request came in. Nev just happened to be at the controls, calibrating the engines with Tyran when it came through. He send the request right back to the ship. Everyone had gotten at least six cycles of rest, most had been working on various repair, cleaning, or research. And Bowden, refreshed after a full nine had a chat with a few potential targets among the crew. He'd also put more than a few credits in the pool, his chits were on Del having pissed off some Terran high house. Del, to his credit, wasn't positive it wasn't his fault. The situation was still bothering Bowden, however, as something still didn't add up. That was when Mariele approached him. "Captain?" The quiet voice interrupted his throughts, the return comms signal had already gone through, and he was brushing off the signature coat. It took him longer than he would have admitted to realize where the quiet, unassuming voice came from.

Mariele rarely spoke. In fact, he could barely recall a time he'd heard more than a hundred words from her in the entire pont she'd been on the ship. "Mari." He answered shortly, then looked at her. She was frightened. No, she was terrified. His plates knitted together and he bent down to be just a bit closer to eye level. "What happened?" "I think it's my fault." Came the quiet, afraid response. Well, that got all of his neurons. He raised a hand, signaling to Nev with a snap. A wordless signal to get his second in command on deck -now-. "Mariele… what makes you think they're targeting you?" The old captain's brain was firing left, right and centre trying to place where they'd picked the blue-skinned Terranform. Some off spiral supply station? She'd been some stowaway on a cargo ship… "Captain." The short response came from his right side. "Aqua, Mariele seems to think our new friends may be her old friends. Thoughts?" By this point the blue-skinned and crystal eyed former stowaway looked as though she was going to shake herself to pieces on the main deck. Aquatani looked her over, smiled gently and seemed to regard her for several drops. "It may be possible, Captain. But the pool is still in Del's favour." The weak attempt at humour made Bowden stand just a tick stiffer.

"Get everyone on board. Nev, finish those calibrations while we're idle, disengage from the base and send them on their way." Things were lining up in Bowden's mind. He turned, a little sharper than he intended to, toward the terrified form of the ship's assistant medic. "I'll say again, whatever happened, I don't care about specifics. That's a past life. However." He bent his overly large frame, seemingly larger now that he'd put the ugly brown coat back on. "You're shaking worse than a leaf in a devil wind, Mariele. I won't ask but one question. Did you tell Aqua?" His second looked to him, Mariele looked shocked and, somehow, more frightened. Which told him everything he needed. He nodded shortly. "That's all I need. Aqua, I expect a full report -later-." He emphasized, then stood back to his full height. A hand went down on the innership comms console. "All crew, get your asses back on the Bowden. Now."

The false asteroid was floating away not even a cycle later, lost to the orbital cloud field and cloaked among the debris by the time the larger ship came into the ship's visual range. She was scuffed, tired, and old. But she was patiently waiting. So when the short range comms pinged with an open request, Bowden was ready to answer. On the screen a half dozen Terrans were poised at various positions. All slicked hair, multi-coloured private industry uniforms, and uninterested expressions. A sharp contrast to the distinctly inTerran crew consisting of: a purple, four-armed Gaarth captain; a skinny brown six-armed Klaxon navigation; a Terran-shaped android with blue covering and short white hair; and a pair of avian-like crewmembers in black/red and white. Neither crew looked particularly happy, though both captains wore vaguely acceptable neutral expressions.

"Greetings to you Polaris. Have we finished our game of tag?" Captain Hasser smirked. "Bit of engine trouble caused a slowdown, I suspect?" He allowed a smug twitch of his lip. "I have business with you Bowden, concerning a rather dangerous cargo you're carrying." "We're not a cargo ship, and you're being a bit rude, Captain. Seeing as you know me and mine, but didn't introduce yourself and your blind ship." The Terran seemed briefly insulted, or surprised. "Right. I did get a bit ahead of myself. My most sincere apologies, you must understand. Tales of your ship and crew do spread to the far systems from one arm to the next." He gave a short bow at the waist, the bare minimum of Captain-to-Captain respect. "I'm Cassian Hasser, Captain of the Startear. We'll speak more in person, Captain Bowden. I really am quite honoured to meet you face-to-face." He didn't allow a response, cutting the communication even as the smaller ship shook from the impact of tow cables. Bowden made a rude grunt in his throat before hitting the innership comms. "Crew, lock down in bunks. Essential crew to the top deck. We're being boarded."

---------------------

"Welcome aboard. Captain Cassian." Bowden didn't hide his displeasure at the Terran man's actions. But neither was he hostile. It was simply the proud demeanor of a leader who didn't appreciate the invasion of another. Cassian, on the other hand showed and gave off no air of ill will. Only the apparent unearned superiourity of most Terran high races "I've no fight with you, Captain Bowden. Just the opposite. I've grown up hearing the tales of you, your ship, and your crew. It's inspired countless others to take up a helm into the stars." "So you ran us into the dirt for nearly four docyce because of… admiration? Most just send a card. Some send explosives." Bowden gave his mimic of a Terran smile. His mandibles never -quite- getting the shape right, so it came across as nearly threatening. "Not at all." Cassian looked upward at the (In)famous captain. "But you're carrying an Atlemarian." He stated simply with finality.

Bowden stopped briefly. That statement threw him. "Do I look like the kind of man who would put myself, my crew, and every port I've ever been to in that kind of danger? There's no Atlemarians on this ship." If Bowden ever dealt in positives. This was the one thing even he knew. Atlemaria was a plagued world. Quarantined for generations now with the only surviving populations being deformed by plague scars. An interstellar prion disease that had ravaged three star systems before being contained via extreme measures. He'd seen the pain and suffering the Atlemarian disease had caused, the lives it had ripped down. "Terrifying. Isn't it?" Cassian's voice broke through Bowden's moment of thought. The Gaarth's eyes landed on, and narrowed at, the Terran Captain. "Not really. Since there's no such passenger on this ship. I keep extremely precise manifests, you're welcome to look them over." He shot back shortly. His secondary arms, folded under the ugly brown coat began to open. Aqua moved a half step closer to him, discreetly pressing her elbow into his hip. "I'll have a look. But while I inspect the manifest, my crew will search her out." A gloved hand lifted, sending two lines of Terran crew strode across the barrier and began making their way to the crew decks with an uncomfortable familiarity. "It won't take long, I assure you." That smug tone infuriated Bowden more than anything. More than the everlasting case, the stress, and the capture. Just that Terran smugness that he hated -so- much. Bowden's mandibles clicked slightly. He lifted a hand toward Fakeer, who delivered the manifest log in a tense handoff to the man.

"Who, precisely are you with? If you don't mind my asking. If the situation was this important, why go through all…" He motioned glibly with one large purple hand, eyeing the bold man. "I'm a privately interested party. We're researching the disease itself in search of a cure." "There is no cure. They've sought one for six generations and-" "Not yet. There isn't." Cassian interrupted. "But there is hope for one. Specifically in the 'Marian you've been unwittingly trafficking." "And I'm telling you I've never picked anyone up from that arm of th-." Bowden was growing annoyed, his hand balled tightly and resting on the back of his console. A high-pitched, terrified yelp broke through his defense and he turned sharply.

Bowden wasn't the only one to respond in defense of the terrified noise his medical assistant had made. He heard the distinct sound of four barrack doors open, and had to bark out a sharp "Quarters!" before Mariele's 'siblings' came out. The last thing he needed was a pissed off Deloth male trying to rip the arms off a dozen Terrans. He straightened up, as if he'd suddenly had a quasar steel rod implanted in his back. The doors slid shut. One. Two. Three. He turned to Aqua sharply. Who stalked, stiffly and straight, down the barracks. Four. Slowly he turned toward Cassian. Who, even if only briefly, seemed to realize -something- had been averted. Though he maintained the façade of being correct in his actions. Bowden carefully cleared his throat, Mariele was escorted to the ship-to-ship barrier by three Terrans who stood around her. He could see her. Unhurt, but shaking. He turned pointedly toward Hesser. "You seem to have mistaken my Glaxian medical assistant for your missing 'Marian plague victim, Captain. Considering her state of. A-hem, dress when we found her discarded with the rotten cargo, I can assure you, personally, she has no Atlemarian disease scars, or signs of ever having been to any affected planet in the Aquallous Arm." He squared his shoulders, rolling the tightened muscle down and discreetly shifting the tension down his smaller support arms, still folded tightly under the oversized coat. He tried to relax his expression, attempting to play off the mistake as some kind of joke. "Though I can see how, to a high Terran eyes, Glaxian and Atlemarians could look alike. I would suggest you release our medical assistant back into our care, since you're clearly mistaken." There was an edge to his tone. An edge that in the past had turned such smug men of multiple races into jelly-kneed apologists. A tone that promised the dislocation of several important body parts. A tone that did not fuck around.

And it fell flat on the Terran man. Who eyed Bowden, then casually passed the manifest log forward, holding it out as simply as if he had merely borrowed a tissue. "This is why we didn't simply attack you. To give her time to come to her senses. To realize who we were. To inform -you- of the truth, and do the right thing. A shame that the selfish creature has allowed you to live so ignorantly on your own ship, Captain Bowden. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you. But this woman…" Cassian reached blindly toward Mariele, snatching her wrist and pulled her forward, holding her up until her limbs were stretched out and she was balanced on her toes alone. He thrust her forward. "Has lied to you since day. One. Had we attacked, you would have defended her to your own last life. And no one should die for the lies of another. We tracked her after she escaped the quarantine zone on a supply crate. It took nearly a full urt to find out she had hidden away on -your- ship." He frowns sourly. "A ship that is so well known, so well protected, and so infamous that attacking without retaliation would be impossible. Sneaking aboard would be suicide. And simply requesting you turn her over would be fruitless." Bowden's body tensed. Had Aqua not returned and firmly lay a hand on his arm to physically remind him of what was at risk, he would have lunged forward and begun relieving the Terran m an of his digits. "Tell him." Cassian hissed. "Are you an Atlemarian?"

Mariele flinched, tears welled in her crystal clear eyes, her head nodded silently, tension leaving her body as a quiet sob caught in her chest. "My… name… is J'mari L'emuin… n-not Mariele J'nai." The small voice managed to hiccup out the name. Aquatani's hand gripped to Bowden's forearm in silent affirmation. Bowden's shoulders remained tense, even as he inhaled slowly. Cassian lowered the tiny woman until she was flat on her feet, shifting his grip to her shoulder. "Why?" It was all Bowden could manage. A single word that held a dozen questions. Both for the Terran, and his formerly trusted crewmate.

"Why… doesn't she have scars? Why hasn't anyone ever gotten sick, if she's been exposed to infection? Why did she flee the quarantine zone?" Cassian eyed the massive Gaarth with the self-assurance born of having answers. Why did she come to your ship of all the ships she could have escaped to?" Bowden nodded mutely, his face plates knitted so tightly across his expression they very nearly formed a mask. "She's immune." Cassian said shortly, simply. Just as if it were the answer to every question Bowden could ever have. "Fucking impossible." Bowden snapped. "It's true. One of -four- born on the entire planet. Different areas, different families, the exact same immunity. Total protein destruction. Not built immunity. Not an adapted immunity. Neither learned nor medical. Born immune, it can't even incubate in their blood. The rarest blood in the known universe." An emotion passed over Bowden. The expression on Cassian's face was changed. His tone only barely masked the excitement he felt, and just barely, a motion that would never have been noticed by another, he squeezed Mariele's wrist. "And she ran to the Star Farer himself. The one man in the entire universe who would never question her lie, who would allow her to join without an ounce of hesitation. The one ship in all the arms that she felt could protect her secret. Polaris-class, the most well known ship for nine galaxies, feared by another fifteen. Thomas Bowden and her Captain of the same name." Conceit oozed from the man as he explained. The self-same superiourity that made Bowden want to rip his smug little arms from their snug little sockets. Self-assured that he had all the answers and could lourde it over everyone on the main deck. "Over an urt I looked for her. I chose the least violent and safest way to retrieve her. This precious 'Marian child that holds within her the possible cure for the worst disease in the entire universe. Everyone's heard the stories of what you went through facing the disease when your crewmates fell to it. Had you been infected you'd've been locked on the planet with them." Bowden remained still. If he was breathing, even Aqua couldn't be sure. To break him free of the apparent spell, she squeezed his tightly coiled arm.

The squeeze made him inhale sharply. Deep blue eyes focusing suddenly, intently, intensely, on the other captain standing before him, delicate fingers laced around the even more delicate wrist of his medical assistant. He'd heard enough. Tension rolled out of his shoulders and down his back, making his shoulders droop in defeat. His head fell forward and his hands unclenched. Inch by inch, tension and anger rolled away from his posture. When he spoke the Gaarth's voice was as calm as it ever was and nearly emotionless. His eyes focused on his crewmate. He neither raised it in anger, nor lowered it in intimidation. His words were soft, unjudgemental, and seeking only the reassurance of truth. "Is what he said true?" Mariele/J'mari held back the sobs that wanted to wrack her body. She bite back on the tip of her tongue to return his calm that was as deep as any sea. She quivered in the firm hold Hasser had on her shoulder and wrist. The truth was the only thing she had left. It had been laid out succinctly before everyone. There was more, but the fingers digging subtly into her flesh wouldn't allow more to be said.

"Yes."

Aqua squeezed Bowden's arm once again. He still didn't look up. He didn't speak another word for a long time; nor did it seem he expected anyone to break the silence between those on the tired old ship's deck. His shoulders remained limp, and a hand that seemed to move with the weight of a star on it pulled through the fog of his decision and lay atop the comforting and reassuring hand on his arm. "I can't risk the Atlemarian Prion being released on my ship. Immune or not, Atlemarian children cannot be welcomed on this craft. Thank you Captain Cassian for telling me honestly and without malice or desire about the danger to my crew. I wish you luck in your search for a cure." Mariele's expression fell. She'd betrayed the trust of her captain. Of course he wouldn't defend her. Her voice failed. Words she desperately wanted to shout toward Bowden died in her chest as she saw his defeated shoulders. She betrayed her captain… Her body lost its will, legs losing the strength to hold her up. Cassian swept her into his arms. Had he been a bit more noble, and a bit less haughty, it would have been a sweet motion. As he spoke, Cassian gestured with his chin for his crew to leave the ancient Captain's ship. The air had grown so thick Cassian had briefly considered if it could actually storm in such a confined space.

"Thank you, Captain. The sacrifice you make today shall fuel the world of tomorrow." Captain Hasser swept the smaller woman's form through the connection and back toward his own ship. Within just a couple of moments, the connection was pulled away and the languishing ship was free to float in space as it was. While the larger ship slowly began to turn around. Within a few ionfel it had charted a new course and flung itself into space; leaving behind the Thomas Bowden and her somber crew.

They waited. The ship sat silent and still. Subtly, quietly, the computer system chirped away in calculations. When the ship was well out of sensor range, a flurry of activity stirred in her belly. "They're clear. All scans confirm Star Tear is out of range, left nothing behind." Kitani's voice was the first to cut through the thick silence. Below, the amorphous Engineer called up. "Engines calibrated."

"Ten… nine… eight…" Bowden's rumbling voice counted down from where his head remained bowed in somber contemplation. "Seven… six…" His head raised up, the expression determined, newly refreshed, and… excited. "Six… five… four…" Now as he counted down, he began moving around the flight deck. At the helm, Nev's six limbs dances over consoles, controlling four panels' worth of information effortlessly. While Fakeer and Kitani moved to the barracks deck with a renewed vigor, as if their tail feathers had been lit aflame. "Three… two…" Aqua was counting as well, moving with the speed and efficiency of a madwoman on a mission. The barracks were filled with heavily armed crewmates. Ready to go to war for their beloved crew member. Bowden's eyes told of the rage he had broiled down, concentrated into his gut so tightly he could feel his insides roiling against each other as if they would burst any moment. As the engines whirred into a new life, the ship rumbled with a renewed purpose. Gunner seats sat empty, but enticing. With the new information Bowden had his decision. He would be going to the ends of the universe. But before they could pick up the wayward crewmate, there were a few stops they needed to make. Engines hot, the ship took off through the Orbital field.

"One."

#Tales of The Thomas Bowden #Bowden #sci-fi original

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queenburd · 6 years

Text

Game Night

9k? Nine fucking thousand words? fuck me. i never intended for this to happen. I NEVER intended for this to get so damn long winded. I am SO sorry.

Alright. Look. There’s a LOT of material here I seem like I’m bullshitting. I have had.... so many..... conversations....... about Kass on Discord. ALL of this is drawn from that. and for this, I am sorry, because it seems like I’m making up 95 percent of it. I’m not. I swear.

That said I don’t pretend to call this nightmare work canon. It’s an excuse for me to talk about Queenie a bit and get into the meat of Kass’s current.... problems, as well as the best way to grow past them, but that doesn’t mean shit 8P

En.....joy???????

Game Night

On occasion, it catches him off guard how he hardly questions the current setup of his life.

Kass is 38, now. He's spent the last two decades of his life distinctly aware of almost every detail of every monster he's come face to face to. Once they were dealt with, he'd wipe the slate clean, do the paperwork, file it, and move onto the next one. If he needed to find a solution to a problem, or find a weakness, he'd demand one instead of ask for it. He'd force a square peg into a round hole until it was effective, shaving it down by his own hand, and then he'd move forward.

He supposes that's why he doesn't find a whole lot of intrigue now, living with a person (a scip) he knows next to nothing about. Any curiosity he might have had has since been pulled out of his soul through his thoroughly scarred kneecaps.

(Taking time to ask questions could get you killed, so it was a waste of time.)

Add to that an exhausting sort of apathy towards life and existence in general, and Kass can figure out fairly easily why he's stopped thinking too hard about the situation. It doesn't really matter, he supposes. The thing he lives with has decided to house him, and there are easier ways to try to kill him, so his death is clearly not an end goal for her. She's not harming him--she doesn't even ask him to do much.

There had been an irritable itch, or concern, at the beginning, that this was all some scheme to get him to "become a nicer person" or what-have-you. You know the plot: be nice to a kicked puppy, feed it a couple times, and watch it become a loving companion. She'd be sorely disappointed, Kass knew, and it wouldn't last long, but by that point he'd figure something out and it would be fine. She'd eventually report to Simon, who would clearly be in on the "get Kass to be nice" scheme, that it had failed, and maybe he'd finally be left alone.

The demands he had waited for never came. May had never sat him down and told him to change his tune. Occasionally, Kass would leave his boots out in the middle of the room, or ditch his dishes by the sink, and expect some comment. At most, he'd come into the kitchen later and find her cleaning them as she made dinner, or his shoes would be moved, and she'd mention that she was on a cleaning spree anyway, but "try not to make a habit of it, okay?"

He had pushed his luck, sometimes. When he could find the energy, could muster the attitude, he would be an incredible ass. He would insult her to her face, he would leave his cigarette holder on the coffee table and drink the last of the milk before she could make breakfast.

And May never even seems to even flinch.

There are some days she seems short on patience, and when Kass pushes her on those days she might snap at him, or her sarcastic responses could come off sharper and meaner than she'd intend. Kass would think to himself, finally, we're getting to familiar territory.

And then she'd pull back, apologize, try to explain that she wasn't feeling wonderful, and move along. It unsettles him.

He doesn't really know how to get under her skin. There are some comments that seem to almost get there, comments about how young she looks or her caw of a laugh, but she'd make a joke right back about it, make fun of herself, and then Kass would feel like he'd made no progress. There's no point in mocking a person who laughs at themself right alongside you.

It feels, to him, like all he can muster these days is apathy towards everything, or a frustration that things can't be like they were before. He feels--powerless, he supposes, and tired, and most of the time numb, and when he's not numb he wants to be angry. He wants control of some kind.

And he can't have any control, because Kass knows nothing about the one person who he's around long enough to consider someone he can use.

Maybe it's his fault for never asking. It isn't particularly like May is a secretive person--she tends to wear her heart on her sleeve. Maybe she doesn't have much use of secrets.

They get along fine, he supposes. On occasion, he will be smoking with the kitchen window open, and he'll spot a familiar back lightning strike across the fence, unmoving. Watching. He takes the time to flip it off and gets back to his smoke, but the distance is more than enough to keep his skin from crawling the way it used to. May will make her presence known through the front door a moment later and Kass will look to the kitchen door, and when he looks back to the fence, the bolt is gone.

After she hands him Frank one cold night, the apathy starts to withdraw a little. Not a lot--there's still so much looming awareness of his obsolescence as an ex-agent--but enough for Kass to look at himself in the tiny bathroom's mirror and think, Christ, my hair's a wreck. That's--that's funny, because he hasn't thought something like that for what feels like years. He hasn't looked at himself in the mirror with much more than disinterest or general disdain for his entire existence.

One afternoon, Kass goes out, and buys himself a razor. He comes back to 3, Tesla Drive, locks himself in the upstairs bathroom, and doesn't come out for almost a half hour.

He comes out with his goatee trimmed back into shape, grabs his roommate by the wrist sharply, and says, "You can draw a straight line. Get the back where I can't see."

To her credit, she catches on quick as she can, and while the top of his undercut is still on the long side, Kass looks at his face in the mirror and almost recognizes the person blinking back. Maybe the lines of his face seem deeper. The shadows under his eyes seem a deeper purple than they'd once been, and his cheekbones seem a little sharper.

But he sees them, now. He didn't see them before. He didn't look. Didn't try.

Awareness starts to return. He sings awful songs in the shower. He bickers with Frank over stupid, unimportant shit, and he still drinks and he still wears his trenchcoat, but May will send him stupid cat videos and he'll audibly snicker. He finally finishes Saints Row 4, and the DLCs, and puts down the game. He's got a lot of time on his hands, he finds.

He starts to pay attention. He goes on walks. He ventures out of his bedroom to sit in the living room with his laptop and leaves windows open to let cold fresh air in.

It seems... stupid. It's not exactly a huge shift from what Kass was doing before, nor is it a change in his personality or his actions. Yet it's less of his being on autopilot, and more of him finding small satisfaction in the actions.

Frank tries to comment on it, from time to time. Kass doesn't have much in the way of a response or retort other than a quipped "no idea what you're on about, BB-8."

The point is, Kass finds himself questioning things again, having more than a passing thought about a subject. He's nowhere near where he could be in terms of interest or enthusiasm, but he's thinking like he used to. He's looking out for himself, keeping his best interests in mind, and that means knowing more about the situation he's in, and any factors he should be aware of that might pose a threat to him.

It's a start.

Rain comes down in sheets on the house, winter slipping into spring in an uncouth manner. Kass kicks off his boots he'd wiped on the mat to little avail, pushing them aside with his striped sock as he shudders hard. His head is cold, the shaved sides proving little defense against the storm, and he sheds his coat to hang it on the door's hanging peg to drip-dry.

"When one feels like a duck, one is happy, my arse," he mumbles to no one in particular.

"What did you say? Didn't quite catch it," Frank replies as he is pulled out of the coat pocket, blessedly dry. Kass makes a little sniff of a noise, examining the PDA to be certain no water slipped into the thick plastic's seams.

"Nothing."

He pushes a hand through his hair as he crosses through the living room and into the kitchen, and then pauses and retraces his footsteps, to the couch, where the lump is snoring softly, now, at 4 in the afternoon.

Skeptically, he checks the whiteboard schedule, and yes, May is at this moment supposed to be at her midday shift, which would be ending in the next half hour. Here she is instead, looking worse for wear, her glasses on the arm of the sofa.

Hm.

Kass opts to ignore the little comatose bundle. He putzes around the house, stealing the pack of oreos from the pantry and his laptop from the bedroom, and settles into the recliner in the living room with two cookies already stuffed fully into his mouth. The snoring is not distracting, for how soft it is, so when he pops his seat back and pops open Plague Inc, he zones it out.

So it's not the ceased snoring that has Kass looking up from his game (which, unfortunately, is not going in his favor in any way) but the tiny whine that May makes as she stretches and uncurls herself from the blanket. She arches her back and then relaxes again, squinting at him in a worn, confused way.

"What."

"Y'got crumbs."

Oh. Kass scrubs his face with the end of his sleeve, brushing crumbs out of his beard. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

May struggles to sit up from her little bundle with a grimace. "I felt like shit this morning, so I called out. Could tell I'd be more of a hindrance than a help if I went. Pass me a cookie?"

He tosses an oreo, and it thuds off the back cushion of the couch onto her chest, shedding crumbs. May tilts her head, lips pursed, before she nods. "Didn't mean that literally, but okay. Thanks."

"Any improvement?" Kass asks, disinterested, popping another cookie into his mouth.

"A little. Not much. I just feel exhausted and useless, I guess." May sticks the cookie into her mouth, munching quietly, and then reaches behind her, and slips her glasses on. "I. I also think I might be stuck here."

He snorts, watching her try once, twice, to pull herself up, and fail each time, and then balances his laptop on the arm of the recliner. "Stay put."

Kass stands, and slips into the kitchen. When he returns, May is peeking at him from over the couch with clouded curiosity.

"Wassat."

"That is Irish cream and root beer." He hands her one of the glasses over the couch, sipping his own tall glass and moving back round to close his laptop and drop beside the small girl. He grabs the remote and flicks on the TV.

"Why is alcohol your go-to for bad moods. This is a horrible coping mechanism."

"So, I should drink both glasses myself then?"

May curls defensively around her glass. "No. This is mine."

"That's what I thought."

She nurses the glass while Kass flicks through Netflix near-thoughtlessly, bored. "I should really get up and cook dinner...."

Kass tsks, flicking down. No, no documentaries, no thrillers this evening, thanks. "I'll order a pizza. Stay put, princess. Hey, Frank, what're you in the mood for tonight?"

"Hm! Well, the boys were watching the wonderful new version of, oh, what's his name, Billy Niel?"

"What, with my card? Don't do that."

"Bill Nye, Frank. Fine, Bill Nye Saves The World it is."

"Kass, do not use my card to buy pizza, payday's not till next week."

"Would you shut it, birdy." Kass drops the remote, and squints impatiently at his couchmate. "I have two secret bank accounts I've managed to keep funneled funds from Foundation days,I don't exactly need you to--"

"What."

"Oh, what now."

"I've been giving you my own money for groceries!!!"

"Yes. And it's very handy petty cash for cigarettes, thanks for that."

May stares at him for a long moment, face scrunched up in dramatic disbelief, and then slowly, intensely, raises a middle finger. Kass laughs hard enough to start a coughing fit and raises his phone to make the order.

An hour later, they're digging into a meat-lover's pizza and their third glasses of spiked soda. Kass has opted to bring the whole bottles out, set on the edge of the coffee table besides the open pizza box. He watches May in his peripheral vision, as she picks the loose pieces of bacon off her slice and pops them into her mouth.

She's not drunk--Kass hasn't given her nearly enough alcohol for that. He's never really seen her drunk, but she does get giggly and at ease. It's the ease he's looking for.

It's been a while since he's had an ulterior motive. He's probably a bit rusty, but Kass is, quite frankly, sick of being in the dark about the people he's around, when they have all the facts about him. So when he tops off her glass with an extra kick of the Bailey's, he asks without any change in his tone, "How the hell does a literal figure of royalty end up working retail?"

"Same way an ex-SCP agent ends up living in her house," May shoots back, sticking her tongue out at him immaturely. "Are we asking questions now?"

"Is that illegal?"

"Like you ever do anything legal, buzzboy." She dives into another slice, sucking the crumbs off her fingers and thumb. "I'm just saying," the girl continues, gesturing with the cup a bit, "You've been here like, what.... two months? And I'll admit I was expecting it way earlier."

Kass sits back, unsettled. She's done that thing again--he hates it--where it's almost like she can see right through him, and she never makes a big deal out of it, and it makes the back of his neck itch. How does she do that? Is he that obvious? Has he gotten that bad at this?

"But, I mean, it's fine. You're an adult and I don't mind, ignore my snark. Actually--" He's caught off guard by the finger pointed in his face, "Let's play a game!"

"I don't think I want to play a game with you."

"Hush. Here's the game. Back and forth questions about each other--you ask one, I ask one, you know. Until somebody wants to stop. And--" she says emphatically, "before you get all zip mouthed on me--"

"Zip mouthed?" Frank asks at the same moment that Kass mouths the phrase in utter horror.

"Zipper mouth. Like in cartoons?"

A blank stare.

"Christ--tight lipped, s'at better? Before you get all tight lipped on me, you can pass on a question. I get that lying is second nature for you, but honestly, there's no need to--if you don't want to answer a question, then just say 'pass'. Other person tries a new question."

May chews for a moment, and then smiles with a full mouth. "That's not so bad, right? Sound like something you want to try?"

Kass feels the tension in his spine--it had been mostly relaxed up to the moment he'd been called out for what he'd been doing. It feels like looking into the mouth of a trap--he's not stupid enough to stumble right into it without staring it right in the teeth first.

"I'd rather not. There is an opt out option here, yes? You imply there is an opt out, and I think I have better things to do with my time than let you prod me with--" he wraps his index and middle fingers around the phrase-- "personal questions."

Her smile becomes a full-cheeked pout, before May swallows and says, "I mean, nobody's forcing you into anything here. This isn't a contract or something. I just figured... you probably have a ton of questions but don't know how to ask them." Her shoulder goes up in a half shrug. "You're the kind of person who will try to get information subtly so the other person doesn't know you're giving it, but I'm offering. It's easier like this, isn't it?"

Hell--again?

Kass looks away from her, at the screen, unseeing. The part of him that's been waking up again--the one that is aware he's sitting beside a scip, and knows how dangerous that is--is trying to tell him to run. He's trusted that voice for so many damn years when he didn't trust anything else.

But it's just not as strong as it once was. The apathy, and more importantly, the curiosity and interest, they are stronger than that voice for now, because--

He's not an agent anymore.

"This is an incredibly boring game you've designed--at least make some stakes if you want my interest, bird."

"Oh?" May asks, curiously. "What stakes?"

One last effort to make her back out before him.

"Make it a strip game when someone passes--"

"No? Are we fourteen and dating? Are we two idiot children in a bedroom with the door slightly ajar because of parents? No, christ." May snorts loudly, shaking her head. "Don't be a teenager."

"Then make your game more interesting or I'm going back to an actual game with real stakes." Kass downs his glass, and looks at the empty thing, mouth a thin line.

"Hm. Is there enough alcohol in that bottle for a shots game?"

He lifts the bottle in question, weighing it. "Er--maybe. Shot when a person passes a question?"

"That sounds fair, yeah?"

A voice chirrups before Kass can reply. "This sounds like fun! Can I play?"

"How is that supposed to work, then, Frank?"

"Yeah, um, I would say two people questioning me is a little less fair than one."

Frank pauses as though in thought, and then chimes pleasantly, "Well, I suppose if you ask Kass things and he decides to lie, I can just correct him for you."

Kass blinks, taken aback, and then turns the PDA, mic down. "Stay out of this, Frank."

"Oh, let an old man have some fun!"

May laughs behind her fingers, cheeks round and pink. When she finally regains her composure, she grins at Kass again, knees pulled up to her chest. "So? Are we playing?"

Kass gives her a dead stare for a moment, and then huffs out through his nose.

"Fine. I'll bite."

She settles against the couch arm, apparently pleased, and gestures at Kass vaguely. "Okay then. Ask your first question."

He's put on the spot. He's not one to freeze in headlights--self preservation has always assisted in that, but Kass again finds himself thinking how ridiculous this all is. This--everything about this is bizarre.

"Come on, don't close off on me now, dude."

"Fine, fine, give me a bleeding moment to think, won't you?" Kass snaps, busying himself with refilling his glass. "Right, okay, I suppose I'll ask again. How does the literal ruler of birds end up working in retail? Is it for shits and giggles?"

"Pff," she starts, "like anybody would work retail for giggles. I, mm." The girl shrugs, "I gotta make money somehow. I mean, I don't necessarily need to, I was just staying in bird form and had physical nests for a while, but I was always saving up and working odd jobs. I was saving for.... years, jeez."

She stretches in place, continuing, "I wanted to be, yanno, a person, and having a house is way more comfortable than a nest or having an apartment. So I've been working for a while--I just don't make a big deal about it, yanno?"

Then May hums, settling back. "Hope that was a decent enough answer. Gotta fake being a person somehow. My turn."

Kass waits, avoiding her gaze by staring at the screen, and doesn't really relax when she says, "Okay, here's my question."

"Shoot, pipsqueak."

"How old were you when you joined the Foundation?"

Oh. Diving right in, apparently.

Kass scratches behind his ear. She's got balls, he supposes. It's an innocent enough question.

"About seventeen or eighteen--probably closer to the latter. It was less of me joining and more of them grabbing me by the scruff of the neck while I'd been hostel jumping cross country."

There's a followup question in her face--he answers it unprompted. "I was scip hunting on my own until they turned up. I was good at it too--good at staying alive, at least."

He does not expand further--it goes into a sort of unpleasant territory. Normally, Kass wouldn't mind bringing up further details, watching people squirm, but--

The memory of Pickman's hand raised to strike, and he had been maybe twelve, and--

He didn't particularly want to think about it.

Whatever the case, he's answered the question. The girl across from Kass is waiting expectantly, smiling crookedly with her arms wrapped around her pulled up knee. He took another swig of his glass and then set it on the coffee table, turning his body to face her.

"Alright, tweety bird, explain the things you can do to me. I know you're a shapeshifter, and I know you can do some party tricks, and I'd like a clearer picture of the kind of thing I'm dealing with."

"He comes out and asks!" May says dramatically, throwing a hand in the air. "By jove!"

"Hey, you overgrown tit, this was your idea. Mockery doesn't suit you as well as it does me," Kass remarks sharply, ignoring the tsk from the PDA. "Shut it Frank, a tit's a kind of bird."

"Just because you say it is, does not make it true."

"Nope, nope, Kass is right, there's an entire species of bird called tits," the girl says with a bit of a cackle. "Are you proud of your pun, Kass? Be proud."

Her smile is almost too wide for her face--it's like nothing ever bothers her. Nothing gets under her skin. When she finally talks, it's without restraint or discomfort.

"Most of my abilities are healer and protector based--every queen kind of goes for a theme, I guess." She holds up her fingers, adding one as she goes. "I can heal from.... basically any damage, no matter the severity. I can, um, transfer other people's wounds to myself, which will still heal in record time with light and heat. I can produce shields, I can turn into multiple bird forms, I can see potential energy, mm. Supposedly I have creation magic, but I've never really tried it out."

Kass squints at her. "Why not just call yourself a phoenix?"

"I mean, I suppose I am, but phoenixes are more Greek in origin and the crown is more Egyptian based? Semantics. Plus, I don't like being a phoenix when I can be more unassuming. Oh!" May said suddenly, lighting up. "Also! I'm a major empath."

"....what."

She grins, the smile a little more conniving around the edges than Kass would like, as pieces slide into place far too smoothly.

"Oh, titfuck. You're completely serious."

He's met perhaps a couple empaths before, safer locked up Scips that just had a strong tendency to unnerve people. He hadn't liked it then, either.

"Sorry, dude. You might be unreadable to most everybody else, but I can pick up your tension a mile away."

Kass makes a small, aggravated noise, and pinches his brow hard. A fucking empath, he should have realized far earlier what he was dealing with, but the level of numbness had gotten in the way, and hell, it's painfully obvious in retrospect. He remembers, vaguely--

"Can I ask--what's eating at you?"

"You can deny it as much as you like, but I know what it looks like when someone's considering lying down in the road as a legitimate option."

She had known, this entire time. Maybe the kid isn't a mind reader, and maybe she doesn't always get it right, but Kass is suddenly very clearly aware of his mood, and his frustration, and his numbness that he's felt for months.

May curls up, her knees pressed to her chest. "Hell. I'm sorry man--if it's any consolation, I try really hard to give you space, I try to not intrude other than to.... be nice when you don't seem well."

And is that a consolation? It's not a major one--it feels like she has the upper hand on him.

Well.

Kass decides, very maturely, to scowl, and down his entire refilled spiked drink in a single go. When he finishes, he sets the empty cup back down, and wipes his mouth on his sleeve with all the energy of a pissy rooster, filled with too much energy. "Right. Well, now I know, don't I, Jean Grey."

"Oooh, an empath with the name Phoenix, that's a double whammy, nice." May blinks at him above her knees, smiling in what seems to be a conciliatory manner. "Please don't be too mad?"

"I'm not mad, christ, what am I, your dad?"

"You seem mad," she replies, a touch quieter. "Or at least pretty annoyed. I'm really sorry--I can't exactly control it. It's a passive thing, it's always going."

"I'm fine," Kass says sharply, as though it's not--well, not her he's speaking to, but someone who knows when to quit. "Just ask your damn question, princess, it's your turn."

The girl seems caught off guard, as though she had expected him to have an outburst, or, more likely, end their little stupid charade. When she speaks again, she clears her throat to strengthen it.

"Y--You said you used to go cross country. What are some places you visited, both as an agent and as a teen? Any favorites that stick out?"

His mouth still feels pinched in unpleasant ways, but Kass massages his jaw. "Give me a second to think--Frank, did you have any favorites?"

"Oh, me? Well, I suppose I was just quite happy to be out of my cardboard box, but if I had to choose, I thought some of the upper east coast was lovely! It was, oh, where was it--Vermont, that was it!"

Kass is pulled out of his mood, caught off guard. "Vermont? The Brunswick one? Really?"

"Very relaxing, if I recall. A quick discussion with the natives patched up the whole thing, didn't it?"

"Right, you would look at it like that." He looks up, and May is blinking at the pair of them in curiosity and wonder. "Right. Well--I was kept mostly on this half of the continent after recruitment. Before, though, I had started out in southern California and worked my way northward and eastward, I suppose."

Kass rubs his chin in thought, and continues. "I bused, hitchhiked, and took trains when I could, to Chicago. Made some pit stops--visited San Francisco once."

She lights up then. "It sucks, right!?"

"Oh, absolutely, awful prices for shit food and atmosphere."

"Oh my god, thank you. California's a damn nightmare, it's so hot."

"It's terrible."

She laughs a little. "God, I lived in the Bay Area for most of my life, I hated almost every second of it. What a wasteland."

"That's where the orphanage was, you know. St Andrew's Children's Home was in California. Of course, it was closer to the mountains, where snow actually existed."

"California snow. An oxymoron if I've ever heard one," May shakes her head in disbelief. "Jeez. You're up."

Kass steeples his fingers, eyeing his roommate, the side of his mouth drawn up. He can't tell if it's a scowl or a smile. He still feels on the edge of uncomfortable, displeased with being so easily read. He's uncertain if he can salvage this, bring the odds back in his favor.

Finally, he settles on pursuing his previous route. Kass points his pressed together fingers in her general direction.

"You clearly talk about a time before being the queen, so one has to assume you were just a human before. How did you become the queen, with all these powers?"

May's smile turns into a sort of pursed, uncertain expression. She looks a bit at war with herself, and Kass waits, watching carefully as she sits upright from where she'd been prone.

"Sorry, give me a sec, I'm trying to figure out what I can and can't tell you." When she's finished readjusting herself, she nods once as though coming to a compromise. "Okay, this is a bit of a story."

He sits back and waits.

"When I was in college, I went abroad to different parts of Europe. I had always loved mythology and stories," May explains, gesturing a little bit as she speaks. "At one point, I found this story that seemed.... expansive, but underdeveloped? As though there were missing details, vague notations. And I started looking for these details, and the more I looked, the more it became almost a treasure hunt. I followed it--I'm not one to do things halfway."

May isn't looking at Kass; she's not looking at anything, really. She's fiddling with the necklace absentmindedly.

"I found the crown, and--the story had told me what to expect, but it wasn't like that at all, it was so much more. It's alive, a living thing, and it looked at me, and it said I had to earn it. So I did."

May refocuses on him, and smiles a little sheepishly. "It--well, this part's a bit unpleasant--it basically ripped me apart and remade me into this. It made me into something that could endure pretty much anything in the world. I know that's not very clear, but I can only say so much about the process other than how I got to it."

Kass squints. "You followed a story and found a priceless relic?"

A sheepish nod.

"Christ. You're all living in a fantasy land. You're a Disney protagonist."

She snorts quietly, and her smile is small. "My turn?"

"Yeah, shoot."

She fidgets a bit, looking round the room, and refocuses on him. "Okay, um, disclaimer. Simon's an enormous blabbermouth, even though he means well."

Well, yeah, Kass knows that. He hates it.

"He told me about the whole thing with O'Malley--mentioned it, really. I never prodded it, it wasn't my business, but I was wondering if I co--"

"Pass," he replies darkly, already grabbing the creamer bottle by the neck and drinking it straight.

"Okay. That's fair. Sorry, let me think of something lighter." A few beat pass, before she follows up. "Okay, here's a stupid one for you. Favorite season?"

Kass snorts as he screws the bottle cap back on. "You're right, that is a stupid question."

"I don't see you going to drink."

He harumphs. "...If I've got to choose, then fall. Early fall, before it gets cold enough to freeze your ass right off."

May hums in response. "That is a very pretty time. All the leaves, and just the stillness."

"....Yeah," Kass says. "I suppose."

"S'your question. Take your time, no rush."

Kass thinks for a few long minutes. In the short time they've played this game, he's learned a hell of a lot, and most of it more concerning than calming. It's not everything, though, and some answers have caused more questions. For example:

"Alright. Riddle me this, Pidgey--if you're an empath, and you know the kind of person I am, with multiple somewhat reliable sources, then how in the hell have you maintained your temper. How are you so damn bleeding patient and, christ, altruistic? Don't you get sick of it?"

He's not really looking at her as he asks, more involved in his own gesturing and his own mild self loathing. Between them, he can hear Frank gently chiding his snappish tone. "Kass..."

When Kass finally looks at May, he is caught off guard by the expression on her face. It's comical disbelief.

"Bitch.... I am the angriest person I know!"

"Wh--"

"I am so angry all the time!!! I work in retail! I get mad about fictional characters! Loud noises are upsetting and don't even get me started on screaming children. I got mad about rompers the other day, Kass. Rompers. I hate them so much. Does this look like a patient person with a good temper?"

"Oh my word," Frank says, and Kass can't help himself from laughing, hard, like barking, so caught by surprise at her outburst.

"Angry birds isn't just a game anymore Kass!"

"Oh my god."

May sits up aggressively, pointing a finger in an accusatory manner at him.

"You think you're the worst? I've had roommates leagues worse than you! Leagues! You think you come even close to the medal for grossest, or rudest, or most infuriating? Bitch, my college roommate rented an apartment with me and within four months, made sexual advances on me, never apologized, lost his job, and didn't pay his portion for the last month of rent. He lied about getting me the money for three weeks, and avoided me the fourth. And then!"

She throws her hands into the air, absolutely incensed. "When I moved out and the leasers cleaned the place, they sent me pictures of the mess he left behind. Including, I shit you not, numerous, still dirty and used, sex toys."

".....No. No."

"Yes!" May squawks. "You could try for centuries and never reach the level of disgust I managed to gather for that man child! Do not flatter yourself!"

Kass, equally horrified and amused, flinches away as she kicks childishly in his direction without much energy behind it. "Alright, okay, calm down, chrissake."

She huffs, and then releases all the energy she's gathered from her chest, coming down from her intensity. "Like, yes, I try really hard to be nice, and give people a hand. That just comes naturally to me. But I'm also super impatient and I have my limits to what I'll tolerate. As you can see, however," and May gestures aggressively again, "It's a very skewed, curved limit. You're better than anything I've dealt with before. Take from that what you will."

She is still making a face when she settles, of utter disgust, and then she shakes her head rapidly as though to clear it. "Christ. Sorry. That guy was just. Gross."

"I've gathered that, Tweety. Do yourself a favor and take a breath, why don't you. It's your go."

She does take a breath, and releases it in a raspberry noise through her lips.

"Good lord, young lady," Frank says, seeming a touch harassed. "You worked yourself up something fierce."

"I like to swear, Frank. Don't tell me you're not used to it."

"From him, yes. Not from you."

"Psh. Don't you start judging me, sir."

That had been something to see, certainly. Kass settles back, smirking, hands behind his head.

"I don't like that face you're making," May grumbles.

"It's still your turn.”

"Oh. Right."

She makes a small huffing noise, relaxing. Kass watches her brows furrow in thought as he waits.

"Okay," she starts, "Here's an easy one for you. When's your birthday."

Kass pauses. Scratches his nose. She's waiting for him to respond, and he figures, well.

"You know? I don't actually know."

"Wh--"

"Hey, Frank, do we have a general date on the calendar for me to celebrate being alive on this hellscape one year longer?"

"Actually," Frank says, sounding mildly surprised. "I can't say we do. I... hm, give me a mo, here." There's a beat of a pause as the PDA flicks through itself slowly. "No. No birthday dated here. I know my memory's not the most trustworthy, but I would--I know for a fact I'd have noted it if you'd told me."

"Ah, well, there's your answer. I've never been one for special occasions, in any case." He shrugs, rolling his shoulders.

"You... you're serious?"

"As a heart attack. Don't know it."

"But..." May seems at a loss, and then she straightens, disbelieving. "But you have to have had something on your paperwork. For like, everything--IDs, social security, Foundation file work."

"They're all made up, Magica. The IDs have been fake since my files burned down in the fire." Kass waves a hand. "I've never had an interest in finding the real date. Not much to celebrate, clearly."

"Oh."

May gets quiet. He watches her frown, relaxing back into the cushion with an air of uncertainty.

"It's my turn, yeah?"

"Oh--yeah, go ahead."

Kass sits up, reaching again for the root beer and creamer. "You mentioned college a couple times, before you became queen. Tell me about life before you went abroad."

"Pass me the bottle."

"Hm?"

"I'm skipping the question, pass me the creamer."

"Oh," Kass says, offering the bottle by the neck. May grabs it and tips it back, swallowing a mouthful and wiping her mouth with her sleeve. That's the first question she's skipped tonight.

"I'm not gonna answer any questions about things like family or childhood. I'd like to go on the record and say that. Try again, bud."

He purses his lips as he takes the bottle back. "Fine, then. Just college. What was your major? Did you finish after you got crowned? Christ--how old even were you?"

"That--That's more than one question, dude," May says, smiling crookedly.

"Sue me, I'm just trying to get a grasp on the situation."

"It's fine." She waves it off, accepting the refilled glass Kass offers her.

"I was... shit, I think I was nineteen when I found the crown? I'd been in college two years. I'd been majoring in illustration--yes, I was an art student, stop snickering," she snaps, kicking his hip gently. "God... I think this was five years ago? I can't be sure. I stopped aging. It stopped mattering."

She stares at the contents of the drink, and Kass finds she's not smiling.

"I'd gone abroad because I'd been kicked out of my family's house. I'd been running from a lot of things, and when I found the crown, it gave me an out. I could be... an entirely different person, I could look and be however I wanted to look and be. So. I did."

A deep inhale, and then she downs about half the glass in one go. "Forgive the tragic backstory, I'm not much one for it. I try not to look back too much on that stuff, that life and the person connected to it is pretty much out of the picture."

"Don't miss it?"

She shrugs. "Every so often I'll miss maybe a homemade meal I never got the recipe for, but that's kind of about it. The internet solves that in a heartbeat."

"Good," Kass says, grinning. "I'm not one for sob stories."

"I figured as much," May replies, smiling back. "Good to keep going?"

"I can go a couple more rounds." Kass tips his own glass back. The creamer is a strong kind of alcohol, though the root beer punches through it a bit. He feels pleasantly warm, but not at all drunk.

Then again, his drink of choice is whiskey. Kass knows how to get drunk.

"So, I mentioned earlier that Simon is a blabber mouth?"

"Not another one of these," he says, a touch snappy.

"Hear me out, okay?" May is hesitant, cheek scrunched up. "He told me about Jumanji, and. Um. Pickman. And I'm not asking about that!" she corrects hastily. "I just wanted to ask about--The Foundation in general. What it was like. Was it all like him? The system, the individuals?"

His gaze flicks between her and the mostly empty Bailey's bottle.

She's not asking about him, Kass in particular. She's not asking what happened to him, what Pickman was like and what Pickman would do. If she had, he'd have finished the bottle, and called it a night.

He doesn't really need to play this game anymore. He's gotten what he was looking for.

Kass thinks.

He makes a decision.

He's not an agent anymore.

"Pickman was a good face for the Foundation. He was--" He cuts himself off, starts over. "Look, Pickman was an ass, and I hated his guts, but he was right about dealing with monsters, and, more importantly, dealing with idiots. He knew what he was doing. He knew how to get to a scip's soft points, and people weren't much different."

Kass presses his fingers to his temple.

"The Foundation thrived like that. They weren't all as harsh as him, but they were hardly any different. We were trained to do what we could for civilians, but in the long run, it didn't matter. To the Foundation, civilians are like..... cattle. We'd keep the wolves away, but cattle was too dumb to really be cared about. If a cow died, well, there's plenty more, just clean up the corpse."

A flick of the wrist, a sharp gesture like waving off a bug.

"Most agents tried to view each other with some level of respect. We got spoon fed "you're smarter and better than the rest, and you're going to survive" in the beginning, and we ate that shit up. We were told we'd be taken care of, that we deserved it."

May is quiet. Frank is quiet. Kass keeps going.

"We figured out the scheme fairly quick. I found out quicker than most. I didn't try to make friends--we were all going to die because of something like you, anyway. We'd be handling things fine, and then a Keter would show and in four seconds, a team would be gone, and it didn't matter. It's not as if those higher up on the chain were risking their necks beside us, we meant little more than D-Class did, but we got to smell fresh air and do something."

It's bizarre, looking from the outside in. He's spent two decades an agent, and he used to be proud--he used to be like Dib. He used to wonder, to be curious, but none of that mattered when you just wanted to get to tomorrow, to the next bullet, to the next drink, to the next file.

"...it was something, though," he finishes. "The first few scips, the first couple keters, you were terrified, you had the piss scared out of you, and you came out of it high on adrenaline and terror, as well as the thrill of knowing you were alive. That--" he chews on the inside his cheek a moment. "That died out pretty quickly."

It's all poison, isn't it? He'd been told he was smarter, better, and maybe he saw through the lie that he'd be taken care of fairly fast, but the praise? He'd fallen for it, hook, line, sinker. And then he'd gotten his kneecaps yanked out from under him by a couple of kids, and suddenly Kass had stopped being all those things. Maybe he never had been all those things, maybe he was just as daft as the rest of the godawful human race.

This has been the loop in his head for months now. It always comes back to this. He can't make it stop--he's never even put it into words before this moment.

Kass is not--well, he feels a full range of emotions, much to his own chagrin, but he's always been skilled at burying them in alcohol, drugs, and work.

He feels like he's been numb for so damn long, and he was frustrated about being numb, but this is why. This is what his body did to cope, it locked down to keep from the breakdown. He doesn't want to break down.

"Kass--"

May's fingers touch Kass's upper arm, and he flinches away instinctively. She pulls her hand back, just as fast. "Sorry. I'm sorry. You were closing up. Do you want to stop?"

Stop? And be stuck thinking these thoughts, dealing with the aftermath of putting them out in the open? Stop and deal with the way his body wants to shut down, despite everything he's done to try to be better? Stop?

He shakes his head. "No, I'm not done. It's my turn."

"Trilby--"

"Shut it. You--" Kass turns sharply, a finger in May's face. "You dumb little bird. What are you trying to achieve here anyway?"

"Wh--"

"Are you singing the same tune as Ninja Gaiden? You want me to become a "nicer person"? You want me to be thoughtful and considerate? What's the point of your stupid game, princess?"

He wants to be nasty. He can be nasty. He wants to sneer in her face, and show her how pointless this all is.

He wants answers. He wants to know why nothing has worked.

God, more than anything, Kass wants the truth.

May blinks up at him, thick brows furrowed, Her eyes are gold and unreadable.

"Pass."

He tilts his head. "Sorry, have I gone deaf?"

"Pass."

"Why's that, then?" he sneers. "Because I'm right?"

"This is why!" May retorts. "No matter what answer I give you, no matter how truthful I am, you're not going to believe me. You'll come to your own conclusions. You'll think I'm lying! You're a skeptic. Why try?"

"Give me something, birdy! I don't care what it is, I just want some semblance of an answer--are you too daft to manage that much?"

Her mouth is a hard line. "You see? You don't want the truth. You think you know my thoughts better than I do."

Kass scowls. He drops back into the couch, and picks up his laptop. He's done. He's done with this.

"...This has really been bothering you, hasn't it?"

There's a sort of vulnerability in her voice, and concern. Fuck--she's doing it again.

"Stop that," Kass mutters. "Stop reading me. I don't like being kept in the dark, that's a given."

He can hear her sigh, can feel the cushions shifting as May slides from the end of the couch to the middle, beside him. She sets her glass besides his on the coffee table.

"Kass, I don't really--" May starts, then stops uncertainly. "You think I want you to change, you expect that I'll demand these things of you. I don't--god, Kass, you're--"

She begins to laugh.

"You're such an ass, all the time. You're sarcastic, and you're vindictive, and you're mean, and you're sharp. That makes me so happy!"

Kass looks up from his laptop to her, brows and mouth pinched. May continues, unhindered, her smile overpowering in her voice.

"You make me laugh so hard. You think I'm... naive or altruistic or pure or whatever, but I've got an awful sense of humor and your dark humor is so often right up my alley it brightens my day. And yes, you're a prick! I wish sometimes you knew when to shut your damn mouth!"

On cue, he opens it, and May holds up a finger to silence him, still grinning. "But I'm an enormous drama queen, so I have no room to talk!"

Kass pauses, then nods, closing his mouth. May breaks into a new set of giggles.

"I don't want those things to go away. That's you, and I wouldn't have invited you into my home if I didn't like the person I saw."

Kass closes his laptop.

"I just want.... I'm an empath, Kass, I know you've been through a lot lately even without knowing the details. I know you're always so on edge, and being in that house didn't help. Call me crazy, but I just wanted you to have a place that you could possibly grow to feel safe in. Hell, maybe even happy."

"You're right," Kass says flatly. "You're absolutely insane."

"Yeah," she agrees. "A little bit. I'm kind of an optimist, I guess--but I've felt trapped too. I've felt like I couldn't breathe, and that things would never get better. I've felt that general distrust and cynicism." May shrugs. "I got tired of it."

"Good for you, Emu."

"Tch," the girl snickers, and when Kass meets May's eyes, he sees her honesty. She's a shit liar, really she is. She hasn't succesfully lied to him yet.

"Can I ask my question now?"

"I didn't realize we were still playing," he replies, flicking off the Bill Nye show to opt for something else. Oh, new season of British Baking Show. He turns it on.

"We don't have to..."

"Oh, don't sound so eager to leave." He drops the remote into her lap, and finishes his glass off. "Fine. Yes. Go ahead."

May is sitting shoulder to shoulder with him. She doesn't ask her question immediately, instead fidgeting with Frank, who she has put on her lap as she had moved closer.

"Do you think--and, I, I know I sound like Simon when I say this, but do you think we can consider each other friends?"

He's distinctly aware of how she's a little tense, maybe even anxious. Maybe sheepish too, and she should be--this is stupid.

"Because--I want to be friends with you, Kass. I like being friend-ly with you, but I don't want to push any boundaries you aren't comfortable with because I got the wrong message."

This is what catches him off guard--it's May asking, not because she wants him to feel less lonely, or what have you, but because she doesn't want him to feel forced. It's... considerate. A strange kind of considerate.

"If you don't want to be friends, that's fine, Kass. I understand. I'm not going to try to drag you into, god, I don't know, I live a way less eventful life than the boys do." May hands him his PDA, and in the corner of his eye, Kass can see her mouth, a small line of uncertainty.

"You seem to have some idea in your fluffy little head that just because I’m here you’ve got a free licence to drag me into whatever irritating bollocks you and Cantaloupe Head are up to this week. Looks like you need a reminder that not everyone is down with your particular brand of Enid-Blyton-on-acid hijinks."

“In-no-possible-universe, are-we, or-are-ever-going-to-be, friends. Look in the mirror a few times, maybe it’ll sink in.”

Simon hadn't worn the little message Kass had written for very long--his friend had had plenty of experience getting grafitti off skin, and they had snapped to it right sharp. But the message seemed to have sunk in, to some level. Yes, Simon had been exceptionally apologetic lately, after the board game had deigned to spit Kass back out give or take (mostly take) a few decades.

Yet, there is still some level of space, however minute. Some wall the boy can not cross, because he, Kass, refuses to let someone else so certain about Kass's actions and abilities be proven right. It's spite, mostly. The harder the boy had pushed, the further into himself Kass had retreated, like an angry snapping turtle.

May doesn't push. Maybe she should, lord knows it would be easier for him to say "no" flatly and move forward from this.

She doesn't enter his personal space often, and she pulls back at the first sign of irritation. She--christ, the stupid bird is supportive and kind and all the things right in the world, no matter what argument she would make otherwise. And this, this thing wants to be friends with him. Him!

Kass doesn't remember the last time he had a genuine friend besides Frank. He has a feeling he'd be rather terrible at it.

"I'm not exactly.....proficient at the skill of being friends with people, you know. It has a tendency to go hand in hand with being nice."

"Yeah, I don't imagine it's your strongest area of expertise," she replies, looking at him from the corner of her eyes.

She wants this? She knows exactly the kind of person he is, all the awful things he's done to her friends, and she likes being near him?

Kass shakes his head in disbelief, and then, as though resigned, says simply, "Hell, if you want to consider me your friend, if that doesn't absolutely destroy your reputation in society, then I can't necessarily stop you."

He can feel her entire body relax, relieved. May is smiling crookedly, eyes crinkled up with real happiness. What a little weirdo, he thinks, and it's almost fondly.

The moment is ruined by a crackly old voice.

"This is very mature of you Trilby. I'm quite proud."

"Shut your trap, Frank."

The girl can't hide the small giggle that slips out behind her fingers that have covered her mouth. "I-If it makes you feel better," she says, in a little, still bubbly voice, "I'm not about to call you Trilby."

"I would actually, physically, get cigarette ash in your hair if you did," Kass grumbles, relaxing against the couch beside May.

"You monster."

"You chose this path literal seconds ago."

She huffs a little laugh that shakes her chest once, and then reaches out, retrieves her glass, and offers it to him. He accepts, downing its contents.

It's hard to tell if tonight is a success. On some level, Kass feels emotionally spent, and ready to sleep deeply. There's a part of him that has stored away the stories May has told him, to look into later. There's the awareness that she's not as infallible and patient as he had believed, and the sharper knowledge that Kass has let more of his skin show tonight than he would have really liked.

May is warm beside him. There's still pizza left over, for tomorrow, and a little Bailey's and some root beer left. He feels fairly worn out, however. He's ready for quiet.

"D'you," May asks quietly, "have any more questions for me?"

He hums, and then, halfheartedly, mutters.

"Favorite...... Marvel movie?"

He feels her laugh. It feels nice.

"Thor Ragnarok. Duh."

#birdy blogging #May Writes #Kass #Queenie #may loves teslaverse #im absolutely INCENSED by this thing #i didnt mean for it to get this long!!!!! at all!!!!#IM SO SORRY MOBILE USERS!!!!#I WEEP FOR YOU!!!!!#I REALLY DO

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brieflygorgeouss · 7 years

Text

this place is a shelter

Future has never meant much to Andrew.

The awareness of it comes and goes, mostly. A useless concept. Future is an overused phrase on TV and on the radio, a battered word, a worn out set of sounds. As if plans were important, and arrangements, and deals, as if they were worth the all-around hunt in the first place. And even if Andrew did get swept up in it too, briefly, it was a mistake he is now aware of. A future is not meant for people like him, not exactly. It is for everyone else.

Anyone else.

He learns to put deals and arrangements in its place, instead. As a way of protection for others more than for himself, a safety seal, a guarantee of a promise, everything a future is not. Andrew learns how to use his knifes effectively, if need be, and how to make people back away with a single glance, how to make them not want to come near at all. It is a seamless transition, he likes to think — from a boy with too high hopes to a person with no desires at all.

And then, Neil Josten happens.

He is like a thunderstorm — Andrew notices the first, second, third drop of rain on his skin, and then it turns into a downpour. A flood. Neil makes him feel too many things at once, things he thought he’d buried in a dark and ancient place never to touch again, and yet, there they are, and there he is. Neil is a terminal illness that settles in and festers, he is a heart failure that happens again and again, he is every disastrous thing that exists all at once.

He is none of those things, too.

Waking up to him is easier than most things in Andrew’s life have ever been. Falling asleep as well. Neil’s presence makes the sharpest of Andrew’s edges soften a bit, makes the tension seep away, and the lack of control is both unnerving and unexpected. Andrew watches him like he watches anyone else, and sees — catalogs the way Neil stretches in the mornings before he gets up, the way his eyes shine after a game, how the world seems to just ease in when he’s around.

Andrew was never looking for an answer.

It came to him anyway.

———

Neil assembles his body around Andrew’s under the covers, an inch of space between them, molds himself accordingly. Close enough to feel the heat. Far enough not to set any violent reactions into motion, because they both know they still happen sometimes. It’s like an art project — precarious lines, careful arches, wary changes. A construction. That’s what they are, here in the dark.

Andrew can’t see much, but he tries to, anyway. The wall against his back is cold, solid; Neil, in front of him, is warm and relaxed. His hair creates a stark contrast against the pillow; ink black in the nearly nonexistent light where it should be auburn. His left hand rests between them, outstretched like an invitation. Andrew looks at it until he can almost make out all the scars he knows by heart.

I want to live with you, Neil told him on the roof, earlier, with a twist to his mouth and sunlight on his skin. After. What do you say?

They haven’t really talked about it before.

Andrew would be lying if he said he ever thought of it. That’s what years of suppressing the unnecessary reactions did to him, he guesses — at one point, some of the reflexes just stopped altogether. Weakened enough for him to brush them off as nothing. Future is a stupid place to let his mind wander into, so Andrew doesn’t let it happen. Not when everything he is comes down to tamped down knee-jerk reactions, pieces of the few poorly sewn-together personality traits that somehow no one managed to take away from him. He’s aware of this.

But Andrew would be lying if he said he never thought about it as well.

The thing about Neil is this — when he’s around, Andrew doesn’t need to imagine what could be, in some distant place in a hypothetical time. The images are already there, uninvited but persistent anyway. Andrew can make out the shape of it all even if he doesn’t want to, and it’s daunting. The familiarity he never asked for slides over his skin and creeps into his bones, makes them a little less heavy than what Andrew’s used to. It’s an addictive sensation. Destructive and violent like a car crash.

It’s there when Neil’s making coffee in the mornings and when he steals Andrew’s cigarettes after practice and when looking at Andrew is the last thing he does before he falls asleep and the first after he wakes up, when he watches like he’s afraid that Andrew will vanish between one breath and the next.

Andrew can understand that.

He looks at Neil until his eyelids start to feel heavy, listens to his breathing until the sound turns into a low buzz in the back of his mind. Wonders why a boy who never had anything as much as resembling home now suddenly wants to build one. Why the hell he wants to drag Andrew into it.

———

Neil takes his own unanswered question, folds it carefully in half and puts away in what seems like the most private corner of his mind, because he doesn’t mention it again for a while. Days that turn into weeks that turn into months.

Andrew wants to take it from him and smooth it back out, but doesn’t. He has an answer now, he thinks, through the hazy unsettlement of uncertainty. Faint disturbance on the outskirts of his mind. But it can wait.

When it comes again, it is a low hum muttered into Andrew’s neck, searing hot touch pressed into his skin, Neil’s fingers splayed against Andrew’s ribs, warmth seeping in through the clothing layers. The question’s not as bold as it was before, Andrew thinks as he tightens his fingers in Neil’s hair and swallows down a feeling dangerously similar to relief, unforeseen and unusual. The syllables of it are cramped together this time, like Neil is hesitating. He bites his lip like he didn’t mean for the words to slip at all. His face is like a puzzle with one piece missing.

”Well,” Andrew says, and the answer feels raw on his tongue. ”Someone has to make sure you don’t run again.”

There is a beat of silence, and then Neil huffs out a breath, of surprise and something else. A smile spills over his features, twists them into something lighter. Andrew wants to tell him to stop. Wants to bottle the moment up and hide it away.

”It’s a yes, then,” Neil says, low.

”It is not a no,” Andrew tells him. It feels tender and vulnerable like a bruise.

The absence of objection is not consent. Neil knows this. He moves away an inch Andrew immediately wants to claim back, looks at him for a long second until Andrew spits out a yes, idiot. It tastes like affinity.

Neil presses the shape of his smile into the skin of Andrew’s neck, then, wide and private, and Andrew lets him. He moves his hands down Neil’s neck, past his shoulders, to his chest. The heartbeat he feels under his palms is almost as rapid as his own.

”I think we’re going to be horrible at this,” the boy who’s never had a home tells him, sweet-eyed where he used to be hollow. The words sound idiotically happy, like he’s already excited about the failure they are yet to cause.

”You are horrible at everything you do anyway,” Andrew reminds him, then kisses away whatever stupid response Neil might think of.

———

Words like home or trust or safety are meaningless to him. Andrew takes his knifes everywhere he goes for a reason, leaves the past behind but doesn’t forget the lessons it taught him. Reluctant survival is engraved into his skin. Home was never a real concept. Future was never an idea meant for him.

And yet, one day Andrew opens his eyes and there it is.

He is twenty-four years old. It is more than he ever expected to be, once, in some twisted, ugly way that used to be the default and now seems grey and stained. He is twenty-four, with his own in-and-out apartment, another key in his pocket, lease he needs to pay. He sleeps with his back to the wall and smokes cigarettes on the windowsill in the living room. Makes space for someone else to fit in beside, in his bed and his closet and his mind. Gives him the second key.

”Another one to add to your unhealthy collection,” he says as Neil carefully curls his fingers around the piece of metal as if it was anything more than exactly that. The light of the street lamp coming in through the window makes the lines of his face look sharp and prominent like battle scars. Maybe that’s what they are. Andrew tells him, lips curling around a cigarette, ”You’re getting fucking spoilt.”

”And whose fault is that?” is the response. Neil sounds like he always does — too real and like he knows something Andrew doesn’t. It’s infuriating. Andrew thinks about the memory of digging his fingers into the skin of Neil’s shoulders until he shuddered. Pushes the thought away.

”Yours,” he says and blows the cigarette smoke out, then turns to Neil. His eyes catch on Neil’s sharp smile and stay there.

The tilt of Neil’s mouth is like a scratch on a glass surface, growing sharper in a way that means it’s special. Andrew knows it’s a rare, brief occurrence. He’s seen, sealed and preserved every single one.

He wants to wipe the smile off Neil’s face. Pin it in place so it stays a little longer this time.

Neil doesn’t say ”That’s a lie”. He doesn’t say ”Half of the keys I have used to be yours”.

They both know.

———

Neil is terribly real. With his patchwork body, hurt etched into his hands and his chest and his face; with his frayed promises and hard-won truths and Exy obsession. Andrew is not used to the infectious feeling of existence Neil carries with himself everywhere he goes, handles it like it weighs nothing. It makes Andrew’s chest feel smaller than it really is. Fills it with something Andrew has yet to properly name.

It is a promise that was made once, Andrew guesses. Something about yes and no and staying. Andrew remembers it word for word. An answer of sorts. Maybe a future, at last.

It’s enough.

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russian-writer · 6 years

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WHAT ARE YOUR MUSE’S AESTHETICS?

BOLD ANY WHICH APPLY TO YOUR MUSE. ITALICIZE WHAT THEY LIKE (For the basics) OR CAN BE TAKEN TWO WAYS (For the quotes) REMEMBER TO REPOST & NOT REBLOG. FEEL FREE TO ADD TO THE LIST.

TAGGING : Anyone who wants to! TAGGED BY : Taken from meself

BASIC :

fire. ice. water. air. earth. claws. fangs. wings. gold. diamonds. grass. leaves. trees. roses. metal. iron. rust. rain. snow. lace. silk. cotton. sun. moon. stars. blood. dirt. mud. silver. steel. sugar. salt. lavender. pomegranate. foxglove. glass. wood. paper. wool. fur. smoke. ash. ocean. bruises. scars. wind. spices. light. dark. paint. charcoal. wine. hard liquor. sweat. dust. bare feet. canine. feline. coffee. tea. candles. sword. dagger. staff. arrow. hammer. shield. gun. spikes. sand. rocks. roots. feathers. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. herbs. waves. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. clay. stone. brick. lions. wolves. foxes. ravens. crows. mountains. chains. quicksand. poppy fields.

QUOTES :

“ YOU RISE, I FALL, I STAND, YOU CRAWL, YOU TWIST, I TURN. ” / the softest palms that never want to touch you until after a bottle of wine. / “ just braid your hair if you won’t brush it, at least, you useless girl. ” / pulling on your skirt with one hand as you shuffle away. / “ YOU’LL GET IT DONE BEFORE THE DAY IS UP. ” / GUILT THAT ISN’T YOURS TO HAVE. / it’s a crooked game, but it’s the only one in town. / “ how could you do this to me? ” / THE SHARP STING OF GUILT. / YOU FEEL SOMETHING EVEN THOUGH YOU’RE PAID TO DO THE OPPOSITE / THE FAMILY YOU NEVER HAD. / falling backwards through time. / DROWNING, BUT YOU DON’T SAVE YOURSELF. / “ you’re getting better. ” / “ they smile like a snake. ” / you’re the stars and the sky. / THERE’S A PART OF YOU THAT COULDN’T STAY AWAY EVEN IF YOU WERE FORCED TO. / they are your wings, there’s no doubt there. / “ lets take off somewhere. lets fly. ” / YOU EDGE A BIT TOO CLOSE TO THE SUN. / another ghost to take your place after every stumble. / deep roots in the ground slashed open in the sun. / rock candy melting in water. / waves rise and leave the foam behind. / THE PRECIPICE YOU CALL HOME HAS A TIP YOU’LL REACH EVENTUALLY. / happiness is the best front a man can make. / “ i’ve never seen someone as beautiful as you before. ” / YOU DISAGREE; THEY’RE MORE BEAUTIFUL. / discomfort at the tiniest of touches. / the sky opens up when you see them. / rain comes down. / your sanity hanging by a thread. / “ OH GOD, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? ” / roommates weren’t supposed to be the smartest ones of all. / your mother had the most beautiful gardens, but you can’t grow anything worth a damn. / THE SIMILARITIES BETWEEN DEEP SPACE AND DEEP WATER. / they’ve got a devil on their shoulder and an angel in their mind. / YOU TRIED TO HELP, BUT IT ONLY GOT WORSE. / NOW THEY’RE DEAD, IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT. / adam & eve in the garden. / a temptress in crisp button-downs. / “ you’ve gone off the deep end, haven’t you? ” / THEY LIE SO PERFECTLY YOU ALMOST FORGET YOURSELF. / the spark that lit the kindling on your funeral pyre. / sugar and spice and a taste for the dark side. / you smell like the mountains in the winter. / crisp red apples piled up on the table. / your shoes are sharp, but your wit is even sharper. /what a pretty one, they say. / directionless laughter. / “ love, I think I’m dying. ” / A SOFT, HOLLOW SPOT SITS IN YOUR CHEST. / there’s a place you’ll never leave no matter who tries to stop you. / the seat of power fits like a glove. / heavy is the head that wears the crown. / there will always be someone ready to break your neck and relieve you of the weight. / you share a space, but not a mind. / they think of you as weak. you are, maybe. / “ what are you going to do with all of these pills? ” / an empty bird’s nest. / broken pencil tips. / there’s an empty paper in front of you that you’ll never fill. / “ we want you to succeed. i hope you can grasp that. ” / “ they weren’t there when it happened. ” / quick to anger. / corruption. / there’s a red string tying you together. / the scent of whiskey on the horizon. /“ you’re the best friend i’ve ever had. ” / “ jump. I dare you. ” / 99 red balloons drifting through a hazy sky. / you try to lift your head up, but it’s so much effort. / always walking on sunshine. / marble under the sun. / “ I was hoping that you’d understand. ” / there’s a million reasons to come down from the clouds, but you can’t be bothered. / loon is the word of the day. / hair twisted up with glitter butterfly clips like a haphazard mobile. / you drift, but you know where you’re going. / no one has any dirt on you because you’re infinitely spotless. / the empty side of your bed they crawled into when they were nine. / court hearings. / “ I MISS YOU. ” / siblings are a funny thing. / they point out every family-shaped hole in every picture on the mantelpiece. / a lone wolf separated from its pack. / “ they say your name is death. ” / all-consuming passion. / THINK ABOUT THE THINGS YOU DID. / feed off the daylight. / no signs of life. / “ what are you waiting for? ” / pure wilderness. / if you’re hungry enough, anyone can stop caring about something long enough to eat it. / spine like a ladder, and his weary feet can’t find purchase. / THE BURN WAS SO SLOW, NO ONE EVER SAW IT COMING. / LEARN THROUGH TEACHING. / “ have you ever thought about why trees bleed? ” / sleeping nude as a means to declare you want to stay. / “ go down with me, fall with me. ” / black on black on black on black on bl — / the long game. / restless hands. /YOU WILL DO ANYTHING TO KEEP THEM / a cemetery by the moon, unblessed. / even when you walked one would think you waltzed. / “ mad men know nothing, but you should have seen me ” / “ my blood ran cold. ” / power corrupts. / wood grain and nail tracks. / no scales are strong enough to judge you. / “ your eyes make me want to do terrible things. “ / gaping as the river swallows her whole / rose brambles claiming your home / power is power / i am the night. / lust and loss call used feet that rhythmically hit the pavement. / dark hair and a glance thrown over a shoulder / THEY CALL YOU ANGEL AND DEVIL IN THE SAME BREATH / YOU HAVE CEASED TO BE YOURSELF; ONLY WHAT THEY WANT YOU TO BE REMAINS / flowers bloom until they rot and fall apart / brother; what’s my name? / whatcha gonna do when the chips are down? / wouldn’t you have done the same? / you can have your principles as long as you’ve a belly full / lover’s desire / what remains? / when you were mine the world seemed to burn / apocryphal vows delivered upon hands and knees / BEWARE THE MUSIC OF THE DEAD, FOR IT SHALL LEAD YOU LIKEWISE UNTO DEATH.

#mun speaks #[About Mikael]

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shorthaircutsmodels · 4 years

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Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts - 20+ - https://shorthaircutsmodels.com/coco-rocha-short-hairstyles-and-haircuts/ - Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, a kind of creative vision Coco inspires in fiery brunette bands. The cut is a modern look at the much-loved 70s rock look. "We knew that layering and overall shape would improve Coco's bone structure facial framing bursts would open her beautiful eyes to a naturally and sharper alternative to the lob of a popular trend over the past year Oh my god girl this short bob is dried to soften the top while turning the ends slightly for a gorgeous finish. Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, The two squares of the face from the explosion and the overall appearance of the brightness are completely worn out. Regular decorations are needed to maintain this hairstyle. Coco Rocha's sleek and timeless blunt bob looks flawless here. This cut is ideal for showing strong facial features, especially in the eyes and mouth. Grown blasts provide her face with a beautiful frame, while the rest of her hair retains a smooth sculptural shape that crosses her chin. Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, The blunt ends give her locks a healthy look and keep her hair looking thick. The wet look adds to the Eighties feel and you'll love or hate the overall effect, but with features like this you can wear any style well. Her hair is coloured in a pale auburn shade and perfectly smooth and silky Coco Rocha wears a good retro side sweep. This vintage-inspired style relies on a deep side sweep to bring hair to fall in reverse shoulder waves but the parting here doesn't go round Coco's face enough and the style extends her face and draws attention to a. Coco Rocha's Short Haircuts Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, combative box jaw with a soft feminine fifties hairstyle. I remember working with Agyness Deyn at the time when she was the only one with short hair as a model. We all remember him being so jealous because we were pulling our hair backstage for two hours and he was getting a new haircut on almost every show. It drove me crazy because this girl just gets free cuts and doesn't have to build another blow dryer. I just remember it as a particular haircut I loved. Coco Rocha's Hairstyles Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, Short-haired girls are taking over. First Beyonce's dramatic pixie crop was the talk on Twitter last week and now social media savvy supermodel Coco Rocha has been parted at the top and swept back for a formal look and feel while following this chic 'hand-tapered head and back suit. This is a great hairstyle for those with medium hair who want an easy style to manage style with regular trimmings every 4 to 6 weeks. she has the experience of cutting her hair and on Twitter. Coco Rocha's Haircuts Coco Rocha's Short Hairstyles and Haircuts, Take a look at this quirky hairstyle from Coco Rocha. She made a statement with her hair at the Blood Cancer gala honoring Evan Sohn and the Sohn Conference Foundation in New York. She appears to be growing her hair out after cutting it into a fairy. This is a cool cut that you have as a very short bob between styles. This very brave bob cuts off his cheekbones and returns straight to the nape line. Clear lines and smooth finish give this short hairstyle a very edgy and futuristic look. The hair is ironed straight stick. So much so that her hairstyle looks almost like a wig. Coco Rocha's Short Hair A flat iron was painstakingly passed through each section of the hair so that the hair was completely flattened. When you use a flat iron on wires, remember to always use a heat-protective serum on your hair. And that jawline. Why didn't he have short hair? Rocha couldn't stop smiling while her hair was cut for this Tilda inspired look. He also decided on the mid-cut that he wanted shorter than originally intended. Coco Rocha's Hair Can we officially declare a short-haired revolution? What a good way to start your day than through the web you need to click on talking points curated by us. Do you have a story you'd like to nominate? We'll post our best stories every morning so we can tweet at @BeautyHigh #BHbuzz 1. Coco Rocha posted another new short haircut to Instagram along with the video. Do you like his fairy haircut. 2. No makeup look this video breakdown has everything you need to know. Phew is here to stay a glamourous look that will be so easy for hard Coco fans to copy and look amazing. Coco Rocha Interview - Supermodel Coco Rocha Pixie Haircut For this flapper-inspired hairstyle, style your hair with a deep side piece and then place it on the rollers to create Old Hollywood-style waves. Brush it out with a paddle brush to create a soft swung look and then spray it in place. For makeup, you can start by creating a smoky eye using grey and black eyeshadow, followed by a sleek black liquid lining line on the upper lash line and loads of mascara on the upper and lower lash lines. Best Coco Rocha images Keep the rest of the face straight and flawless, but add resistance to the thick red lip. Go for a real cherry red, as Coco does here. Or choose a red black tone for an extra vampire look. 3. Gold eyeliner. if you're not using it, you're missing it. Coco Rocha is one of the hottest models right now. I tried to do that six months ago, but in my line of work, you have to ask a lot of people for permission. Coco Rocha two ways to style a short bob! I had to make sure the customers weren't upset, or I had to make sure the look of next season wasn't going to be too different from this cut, or I shouldn't have been dropped for what I did. So six months later I finally had the opportunity to do it. Did anyone hesitate to see you move? I think he was my agent from day one. He saw my hair up to my hips and suddenly told him I really wanted to cut it. Coco Rocha Sports a New Crop Hairstyle It was really hard for him. It's almost like an older brother saying he's grown up. You're getting a real lady haircut. But once you do that you're like you'll never make a big deal again. How important it was for you to choose a short style that would be versatile. It is especially important to make sure all customers are happy. You don't want to be stuck in a corner and people now think you're just taking a look. Coco Rocha Hairstyles, Hair Cuts and Colors So I think if everyone does it all round looking for that kind of short style of short cut on the sides and giving yourself a bit of length on top. You can make it give yourself a piece of slippery oil back or curl up like a man. They curled my hair in my first photo shoot with cuts and it looked like a 2020 - 2021 style. You can make a rocker pompadour in front of you can make it look feminine and you can even make it look like you have a slick ponytail. I've seen my hair grow like crazy during and after pregnancy, and while I'm really happy with its length it's all hanging loose. I spoke to my executives at. Coco Rocha New Haircut on Instagram IMG about changing my ready look for the new show season and we all agreed it was a great inspiration for her to be Joan Jett this time around. The woman has always had the amazing hair game and she still does but we wanted to go for Joan, especially circa 1978. Back then, graduates had this amazing rock and roll shag haircut with multiple layers, and it wasn't as heavy on the product as it was in the early 80s. Another excellent reference that IMG President Ivan Bart revealed, I'll be honest, was Suzi Quatro. Coco Rocha live tweets her haircut Whom I was never familiar with. Apparently he was in Happy Days in the late 70s and then had a music career in the 80s.Ivan took out this old Rolling Stone cover with him and this became another inspo picture for Anh. Coco Rocha displays a perfectly flattened auburn brown bob to soften the top while the ends are kicked too lightly for a gorgeous finish. This cut is ideal for showing off high cheekbones and bold facial features. Bob has lighter layers with tips and will fit most face shapes as well. Coco Rocha short haircut Regular decorations are needed to maintain this hairstyle. The brunette do was cut from the back and sides to achieve a firm finish to the edge that perfectly framed her cheekbones. The blasts are blunt cut to frame the top of the face, complementing this look with Edge and precision. It corrects regularly every 4 to 6 weeks to maintain this shape, and a small amount of product is required for brightness and grip. Quiet, everyone. It's funny enough in time that I realise my hair will suddenly feel like there's no product in it anymore and I just have to start over and do it again. Coco Rocha's Pixie Haircut If my hair feels dirty at the beginning of the day, it's weird since I feel dirty at the end of the day. But now I have to make it dirtier. Fashion Week is just around the corner. What do you do to prepare for this hectic time. I'm still waiting for my vacation to start on Monday. I haven't had a vacation since last June. We're going to Greece. I'll be back the day the shows start. So I'm still excited to celebrate my holiday. Coco Rocha Short Straight Hairstyle Everyone's already back and saying how great their break has been but I haven't even left yet. Is there a particular show you're looking forward to this season? It's like a high school modeling session backstage. I'm so excited to see all my girls again to watch the shows because I'm too old now or to be in a few shows with the girls. I'm also excited to see designers I haven't seen in a very long time. Do you have a model or designer BFF that you're particularly looking forward to seeing. Coco Rocha Bangs Haircut I'm excited to see Behati Prinsloo. We're best friends. I miss hanging out with him because we used to be backstage at every show. I'm also excited to see Jean Paul Gaultier and Zac Posen. What's the next logical step when you have a pixie cut as famous as Coco Rocha? Go shorter. At least that was on Coco's mind and stylist anh Co Tran yesterday when the stylist took a lap in the chair. As for make-up she went for a crazy smoky eye consisting of copper brown and black shades that Coco applied all the way to her brown bone. Coco Rocha Haircut on Instagram The normally brunette model works a cropped platinum blonde do with embroidered tops. The hairstyle was done by Balmain Hair creative director Nabil Harlow's hands. Frankie Boyd worked on makeup with Victoria Pavon making it for the shoot. To prepare, she looked at pictures of famous pixie cuts from past and present, and settled on a cut similar to Tilda Swinton's longer version of an increasingly popular look. I love that she can wear it in more ways than she told hairdresser Anh Co Tran from Beverly Hills for a Rocha cut. I still have to maintain that versatility for my job. Coco Rocha haircut I want to play with him and shape him in different ways. Beyoncé's big chops weren't enough to set the social media world on fire, now Coco Rocha has boosted Ms. Carter by live-tweeting the entire process of her once pixie cut for Allure. With my work, my hair is constantly dyed and fried and no longer growing, so I decided it was time to get rid of it, Bright said. Tilda Swinton served as the model's muse and hairdresser Anh Co was the one who wielded scissors except her husband James Conran who made the first snip after lopping off three long ponytails when Tran decided to go even shorter on the side resulting in a rebellious Red swoosh on top of Rocha. Coco Rocha red hair There is a lot of movement to do this and it works both comfortably and in formal attire. It also makes her slim hair type look cut and thick thanks to backcombing throughout. Coco looks gorgeous on her skin and white blonde locks which trend to receding eye colour. Having blue eyes and a cool skin tone, she looks best in shades of beige and platinum blonde as well as her natural brunette colour. This particular colour accents her cool skin and has a hint of silver white on it which makes her eyes pop.

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mcnusdext-blog · 7 years

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Muse Aesthetic

Remember to repost and not reblog. Feel free to add to the list.

Bold the aesthetic for your muse Italicize what can be taken two ways.

the softest palms that never want to touch you until after a bottle of wine. / “ just braid your hair if you won’t brush it, at least, you useless girl. ” / pulling on your skirt with one hand as you shuffle away. / “ you’ll get it done before the day is up. ” / guilt that isn’t yours to have. / it’s a crooked game, but it’s the only one in town. / chains. / “ how could you do this to me? ” / the sharp sting of guilt. / you feel something even though you’re paid to do the opposite. / the family you never had. / falling backwards through time. / quicksand. / drowning, but you don’t save yourself. / “ you’re getting better. ” / “ they smile like a snake. ” / you’re the stars and the sky. / there’s a part of you that couldn’t stay away even if you were forced to. / they are your wings, there’s no doubt there. / “ let’s take off somewhere. let’s fly. ” / you edge a bit too close to the sun. / another ghost to take your place after every stumble. / deep roots in the ground slashed open in the sun. / rock candy melting in water. / waves rise and leave the foam behind. / the precipice you call home has a tip you’ll reach eventually. / happiness is the best front a man can take. / “ i’ve never seen someone as beautiful as you before. ” / you disagree; they’re more beautiful. / discomfort at the tiniest of touches. / the sky opens up when you see them. / rain comes down. / poppy fields. / your sanity hanging by a thread. / “ oh god, what have you done? ” / roommates weren’t supposed to be the smartest ones of all. / they’ve got a devil on their shoulder and an angel in their mind. / you try to help, but it only got worse. / now they’re dead, it’s all your fault. /

adam & eve in the garden. / a temptress in crisp button-downs. / they lie so perfectly you almost forget yourself. / the spark that lit the kindling on your funeral pyre. / sugar and spice and a taste for the dark side. / yves saint laurent black opium on your pillow, a scented cloud drifting behind you like a cape. / crisp green apples piled up on the table. / your shoes are sharp, but your wit is even sharper. / what a pretty one, they say. / you laugh without humor. / a soft, hollow spot sits in your chest. / there’s a place you’ll never leave no matter who tries to stop you. / the seat of power fits like a glove. / heavy is the head that wears the crown. / you share a space, but not a mind. / they think you are weak; you are, maybe. / an empty bird’s nest. / broken pencil tips. / there’s an empty paper in front of you that you’ll never fill. / “ we want you to succeed. i hope you can grasp that. ” / “ they weren’t there when it happened. ” / corruption. / there’s a red string tying you together. / the scent of whiskey on the horizon. / “ you’re the best friend i’ve ever had. ” / pink tipped fingers lock in secrecy. / 99 red balloons drifting through a hazy sky. / you try to lift your head up, but it’s so much effort. / always walking on sunshine. / there’s a million reasons to come down from the clouds, but you can’t be bothered. / hair twisted up with glitter butterfly clips like a haphazard mobile. / you drift, but you know where you’re going. / no one has any dirt on you because you’re infinitely spotless. / the empty side of your bed they crawled into when they were nine. / court hearings. / “ I miss you. ” / siblings are a funny thing. / they point out every family-shaped hole in every picture on the mantelpiece. / blackbird screaming. / wake in nightmares / are you an illusion? / I don’t feel real.

Tagged by: @puerdelumine tagged my entire family. pls save us. Tagging: you gotta

#█ ▌▐ I ᴅᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴇʟʟs ᴍᴇ (ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ.)#█ ▌▐ sʜɪɴɪɴɢ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ sɪʟᴠᴇʀ ʟɪɴɪɴɢ (ᴀᴇsᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ.)#|| I'm suffering bc half of these are related to keicho/his father...#👍👍 bury me 👍👍 ||

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geeky-galpal · 8 years

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Happy Birthday, Regina Mills

Regina’s birthday was February 1st, and I had this fic in my head: Regina and Maleficent having sex on her office desk to celebrate.

Sadly, life got a little in the way, and it took me longer to get to it than originally expected. Luckily, it’s still February for a few more days at least. Soo... consider this a belated birthday present?

4K words and 2.5K of those words are pure desk sex. Before and after the smut, be weary of some angst.

If I’ve still kept you interested, read at AO3 here or below the cut!

TW: brief mentions anxiety and panic atacks, at the beginning and end of the fic.

(as always, my gratitude to @oparu who is the greatest beta and quite possibly the greatest human walking this planet, more broadly)

February 1st.

Regina swipes the date on her phone’s home screen and rolls her eyes. She had gone out of her way, for once, finally, to mark her birthday as special. She had cleared her schedule. She even relented after some insistent prodding and allowed Henry the day off from school. They were going to continue their decade-plus tradition of funny face pancakes and this year, in honor of it being their first collective birthday spent with Maleficent in the house, add to it by spending the entire day together teaching Mal the finer points of the Skywalker Saga.

She was supposed to not had to take off her pajamas or comb her hair. It was supposed to be the three of them. Perhaps, a phone call to the Charmings in the afternoon, a FaceTime with her sister and niece. Quiet. Peace for 24 hours. That was all she wanted. AND STILL THE UNIVERSE SAW FIT TO DENY HER.

Fitting.

It’s fitting that just as Maleficent woke her up before the sun rose and the first bird chirp, determined to start their day together naked and wrapped in each other, warm beneath her down comforter-- just then the main line pipes would freeze and break open in the mines. It’s fitting that as she was climbing her way to the most delicious of orgasms, clenched around Mal’s fingers and mouth on her breasts-- that’s when her phone buzzed with Emma’s voice on the other end.

“Happy Birthday, Regina. I, ugh, I freaking hate this. I do. But, well,…. ”

For everything she has done and the pain she has inflicted time and again in her life, it’s fitting that she wouldn’t be granted this moment of peace.

She earned this karma the hard way. It was her price to pay.

She rolls her neck from side to side. On top of everything else, she really shouldn’t be spending the day lost in the depths of self-loathing. But, that is her way, wasn’t it? One thing piles on another and she takes it all. It’s barely noon and her back is one giant knot. Everything hurts.

She slides her chair away from the desk and tries the deep breathing exercises she has been practicing with Dr. Hopper. Posture straight, feet planted, air in through the nose, in to her diaphragm, hold for 5 seconds and push it back out through her mouth. 1…. Breath in, 2…. Hold it, Hold it, 3…. Out through pursed lips, like a balloon letting out air, 4.... Again.

Fuck.

This isn’t working. This is the start of another long, dark, bad afternoon. She just knows it. It’s not full blown yet, but she knows her symptoms. The weight between her shoulder blades is crushing, the tightness in her stomach and chest that twists on itself. At the realization of what’s to come, her heart starts to speed a little, skipping beats out of rhythm. It’s a train coming right towards her and she can’t seem to find her way off the tracks.

She should call someone. She should, at the very least, not be alone. Dr. Hooper has been working with her on this. She’s deserving of love, others will be willing to support her, that’s what he would say right now. And it’s her birthday after all.

Mal pops into the front of her mind. Mal cozy at home with Henry on the couch. They decided not to watch the movies without her, but Henry had somehow successfully persuaded his way out of school for the day regardless. They are probably indulging in some truly bad cable television right now. Or maybe a game of chess, Maleficent has been teaching him the finer points of the game recently. He hadn’t beaten either of the yet-- but with each game he was getting sharper, closer…

She grips the phone in her hand. OK, it’s ok. You can ask for help from your family. This isn’t weakness. This isn’t defeat.

She flits the phone between her fingers, shaking her legs and tapping her heels against the floor. She worries her lip a little and works up the strength to tap the call button.

“BBBZZZZZ…. Mayor Mills, you have a lunch appointment”, her receptionist interrupts her thoughts on the intercom.

She leans over and taps the button: “I can assure you, that as I was NOT supposed to be in work at all today, I have no such thing”

Then, she hears Henry’s laugh.

Her heart leaps at the sound. She doesn’t know exactly what’s happening, but if Henry is about to barrel in here, she needed to take these last seconds and at least wipe the tears that were threatening the creases of her eyes.

She stood up and smoothed dress, just in time for the door to open. Henry, jovial and bundled up from the cold, his nose and cheeks flushed despite the stripped scarf he has wrapped tight. Not more than two steps behind him comes strolling Maleficent, her grey trench coat buttoned to the top, leather gloves clutching… is that a picnic basket? Of all things?

“What in the world??? How? HOW?” Her voice cracks a little, as she fights back against the rollercoaster of emotion battling inside of her.

“Hey Mom! Did we surprise you? We got you good, huh?” He turns to Mal and then back to her, smiling wide his eyes dancing, “I Told You She Wouldn’t Expect it!”

She plasters a smile on her face to match her son’s and Henry comes into her arms, tucking his head down on to her shoulder. Her eyes meet Maleficent’s. Crap. Mal isn’t buying this rouse for a second. Regina immediately can tell, she knows.

Still, by the time Henry pulls away and faces them both again, their silent moment interrupted, Mal has already steeled her face back to neutral. And for that Regina is supremely grateful.

She sets the picnic basket down on the table as if nothing has happened, removes her gloves, and claps her hands together. “Young Mister Mills here started planning this little escapade almost immediately after you left this morning. We had hoped that by lunch you would have gotten the worst of the emergency under control…”

“I called Granny’s and had her put away three orders of roasted butternut squash soup, two bacon grilled cheeses, and a salad before she set the diner up for the lunch rush. And then I went over to Grandma’s and borrowed the basket and picnic blanket! After that, things pretty much took care of themselves. OH! Doc’s Dime Store had the plastic spoons and forks and stuff. We also got these…” Henry pulls out the most juvenile birthday hats that Regina has ever seen.

There seems to be three of them stacked on top of each other, turquoise with red pom-poms on the top and gold fringe along the sides. Each with different cartoon animals printed on the front. A lion, an elephant, and a monkey, from what she can see. Henry is nearly bouncing up and down like a jackrabbit as he unpacks the basket. He’s taller than her now but in this moment she can see him- and he is still 5 years old. Pure kinetic energy.

Mal takes two of hats out of Henry’s hands and stretches the elastic of one of them around her head, leaving the tip a bit askew atop of her blonde hair, slicked back into a bun. She looks positively ridiculous, particularly because she is taking herself so seriously.

“It was explained to me that these head pieces are traditional for marking birthdays in this realm”

“Yes, they are…. For small children”, Regina cuts her eyes at Henry. To his credit, the boy holds out a full two beats before laughing. She can’t help it, she laughs along with him. For the first time since this morning, she can feel tension begin to genuinely leave her body. The joke slowly dawns on Maleficent, and she joins in.

“Ah, I see. Well, nevertheless,” Maleficent dramatically bows before her, the other cone hat outstretched as an offering in her hand. “Your Majesty.”

Regina curtsies before accepting her cone-shaped “crown”, fixing it to her head. She bends down to grab Maleficent’s face in her hands, pulling her up for a chaste kiss. Well… mostly chaste. She hears Henry clearing his throat before they break apart.

Her not-so-little boy is smoothing out their blanket on the floor and organizing their lunch containers. She sees him reaching into the basket with a mischievous smile, pulling out a box of chocolate frosted donuts. Their special treat. One of them, it seems, comes with a singular birthday candle.

“So mom, are you going to take off your heels and join us on the floor? Or are you too busy for Operation: Yogi Bear?”

“Yogi Bear?”

Henry smiles broadly, “Yeah, remember, from the cartoon? Because he eats all the picnic baskets.”

Regina once again feels tears pricking at her eyes, and she can only hope that they are seen to Henry as tears of joy. They came to her aid, a fierce dragon and brave Prince. Her own little band of heroes. They didn’t even know they were saving her, but they came anyway.

And in that brief moment, Regina is sure she has never felt more cherished or loved.

An hour later, they had finished their picnic. Laughter and the comfort of soup brought the welcome respite that Regina needed; she had even convinced Mal into a joking foot rub as they all exchanged donut bites And those few extra hugs from Henry before he left to answer the call of his yet un-played video games at home really hit the spot. For just a little while, it was the three of them in their own bubble, away from the world.

But now, their little bubble has popped. Maleficent is cleaning up their mess and Regina finds herself once again fighting that aching feeling in her stomach. She reels at the thought of the rest of her paperwork, threatening to drown her, and endless stream of phone calls that await her. Her anxiety rising.

Regina can feel Maleficent looking at her, tilting her head as she decides how to best approach.

“Do you want to talk about it yet?”

Regina demurs, tucking loose strands of her hair behind her left ear. She goes to her desk and busies herself stacking and restacking her papers, hoping that Mal will drop it. She couldn’t ask for more from her, she… just couldn’t. Not after everything Maleficent had already done.

Mal sets aside the rest of the takeout containers and rises to join her, bending over the desk just enough so that her long elegant fingers still Regina’s wrists, holding firm.

“Do you want to NOT talk about it?”

Oh.

That.

Well, yes. That is something she could use right now. A way to release her anxieties, a body to work her frustrations out against. That is what Maleficent is offering. She doesn’t have to talk, she can just be. Maleficent will do this for her.

Her pulse is already starting to thud for an entirely different reason at just the thought. She licks her lips and whispers, “Lock the door”.

“Oh, and. before you do, tell my receptionist to take the half day.” Regina’s stomach goes hot as she waits for Mal to return.

She has no idea what she said to Brooke, but when she re-enters the room, Maleficent is positively wolfish. The mood between them already changed, the air thick with anticipation. Mal bares her teeth more than she smiles in Regina’s direction.

“Now, that’s taken care of. There’s no one around”, she locks the door with a flick of her wrists and glides back across to where Regina is perched against her desk.

“If you only knew …” she uses her full lips to pull at the skin of Regina’s neck, “how many times I’ve wanted to have you right here, on this desk”. Mal’s lips go from probing kisses to prolonged sucks, dancing against her pulse. Regina hums as she continues, “You have no idea…. How many times I have wanted to just bend you over…”, Mal reaches behind her then, grabbing her ass, “…and have my way with you.”

Regina whimpers at the thought, pressing and releasing her thighs together for friction as she feels her wetness build. Damn, she didn’t think she would be this wet this quickly.

“So you’ve fantasized about this, before? Whose birthday present is this supposed to be, anyway?”

“You’d rather I leave and let you work?”, Mal teases while her hands travel up and down the curve of Regina’s ass, caressing the hem of her dress.

Regina pushes her away mockingly, “Don’t. You. DARE.” She laughs as she lets Mal lift her properly onto the desk. She ruches her dress up and wraps her legs around her waist, pulling them closer together until they are flesh against each other and Maleficent is groaning against her neck.

They stay there together, making out like teenagers as opposed to old lovers, tasting each other’s skin and swallowing each other’s sounds, limbs intertwined. Soon, Regina’s hands are traveling underneath Mal’s blouse, growing firmer with each pass, making their way to her front, where she begins to knead her gently over her bra.

Maleficent pulls back, smirking as she begins to unbutton her shirt. Regina leans back to watch, breath ragged, hands firm behind her on the desk.

Then she reaches forward, entranced, trailing one finger against Mal’s soft skin, as it is exposed, button-by-button.

Mal exhales a breath that Regina hadn’t realized she was holding and the quiet sound of it only spurs Regina on. Her mouth moves to replace the feather-lite caresses of her finger, forging a new path of kisses from one swell of breast to another. Her teeth catch the bra strap on Mal’s shoulder, pulling it further and further down, before letting it snap back against her. Regina’s lips never stopping their work, massaging the smart new red mark she caused from pulling the elastic.

Mal moans at the sensation and reaches down, placing a warm palm against her cheek and Regina moves to kiss it, taking in the comfort it offers.

“Thank you, for this. You are so beautiful,” Regina whispers into her skin. She reaches behind to unhook the clasp of Mal’s bra, sliding the garment off and blindly throwing it to the side. Running her hands against the warmth of Mal’s back, she focuses her efforts on the taught nipples in front of her, sucking and pulling at them with her tongue until she can hear panting above her and feel Mal’s nails digging at her shoulders. The sharp sensation causing Regina’s hips to roll instinctively.

Maleficent must have caught the change in movement, because she adjusts an arm down between them, allowing her hand to rub over Regina’s crotch. Regina releases Mal’s breast from her mouth moans, deep and throaty. Mal’s presses harder and rubs again. Slow, firm passes. Up and down, gathering the wetness in her panties. Regina’s hips begin rocking into the touch, widening her knees as much as her dress will allow, granting Mal better access. Her eyes drop to watch the movement as Mal continues to rub, and Fffuck that feels good. It feel so good, so good, it’s the exact pressure she needs. Her breath hitches.

“Tsk, my little queen, you are so wet, aren’t you?” Regina doesn’t feel a need to respond; she knows Mal already has her answer. Maleficent bends down and licks the shell of her ear, “Tell me, Regina. What do you want?”

Mal’s fingers zero in on her clit, toying and playing with it through the fabric of her underwear. Her thighs are trembling. “How can I make you come, right here, on your desk? Tell me.”

She could come like this. Just like this, if given a few minutes longer. And, if Mal insists on talking like that, well, she might never remember how to string together words into a sentence ever again. Her tongue peeks out to wet her lips as she tries to catch her breath.

But, even that moment of relief was short lived as Maleficent moves to nip at her neck and--- FUCK. Slip a finger beneath her panties, ghosting around her entrance as she continues to leave a wet trail of kisses over her shoulder and…

This isn’t fair. Mal isn’t playing by the rules.

“I…. I... I want your mouth,” Regina finally puffs out. And with a sudden burst of strength she didn’t know she had left, she found herself disentangling from Mal, just for a moment, so that she can stand, even if on very shaky legs.

She catches Maleficent’s eyes, watching her bite her lip as she reaches to unzip her dress. They get rid of the clothing together, dropping it onto the rug beneath them. Mal’s fingers hook into the sides of her panties, dragging them down her legs until she able to kick them off. Then her bra.

She’s pushed back on to the top of the desk, a little roughly actually, but she rushes to assure Mal that it is ok. Nothing’s wrong. She wants it just like this.

Her nipples are hard, and Mal presses them with her thumbs and forefingers-- squeezing lightly, giving gentle, twisting tugs that have Regina inhaling deeply and squirming.

For a minute, they just allow themselves to kiss, enjoying having connection with one another. Hot and heady, tongues sliding, breath quickening, teeth clashing before they break into smiles against each other’s lips. Intimate. Mal gives her one last deep kiss, before making her way down.

She closes her eyes as Mal starts planting kisses around her navel, dropping slow tortuous kisses all over her lower stomach. Then from hip bone to hip bone, pressing her tongue in against soft skin that makes Regina moan, “God. Keep. GOING”. Sweet presses of lip and warm, wet swirls of her tongue across the tops of Regina’s thighs before finally, mercifully, heading towards her clit.

Regina lifts her upper body up a bit, using her arms as back support for her shaking abs. The strain is worth it; the sight of Maleficent between her thighs always makes it worth it. She watches as Mal slowly kisses closer and closer to where Regina is so needy for her. SO CLOSE, she just needs her tongue a quarter inch down and left.

And she knows that Mal knows this. Mal knows her body better than anyone, in any realm. She’s doing this on purpose- to torture her.

As if on cue, Mal chuckles against her before sliding her tongue just where Regina was silently begging for it, running wetly along her throbbing clit before she narrows her tongue into a flicking sensation as she licks. Regina exhales, jerking her lips towards her.

Another slow lick across where she is so sensitive, so ready, and another sharp flick. Regina whines before she can stop herself, laying back and mussing her fingers into Mal’s hair.

“You’re that close already?? Really?”

Regina pinches the bridge of her nose, her eyes screwed shut. “What do you think? After everything you’ve put me through??”

Mal pulls her head away slightly, enough to look up at Regina with feigned innocence. Her already deep-set green eyes gone purposefully doe-like and blinking.

Regina bites back laughter, but otherwise doesn’t dignify the fake incredulous with a response. She dances her nails back along Mal’s scalp and tips her mouth back down on her. Mal’s palms once again settle at the hinge of her thighs, before sliding down to spread her even more, giving Mal more direct access to her clit. Regina lifts her hips forward a little. Mal flattens her tongue, lapping steadily at the sensitive knot now fully exposed to her. Regina absorbs every fire-bolt of pleasure as it radiates out from where her tongue touches, spreading down her thighs, up her belly, to her fingertips and toes.

Mal moans softly against her, the vibration of it makes Regina’s thighs clench. God, she loves this woman. She loves everything about her- especially now. There has never been a moment when she was between her legs that Maleficent hasn’t made Regina feel like the most desirable woman in the world. Not one. It’s as true today as it was all those years ago.

Mal looks at her then, as if she can read her mind. Hell, after the many years they have spent together- perhaps she can.

“You are truly incredible,” she moves her hands to slowly glide over Regina’s belly, one arm gently wrapping around Regina’s waist to pull her closer to the desk’s edge while the other slips between her thighs. She’s stroking her, palming the wetness of her lips between her fingers as she lightly toys with her clit. Nothing too intense- for the moment- but enough for Regina’s eyelids to flutter and pleasure to skate through.

Then from the corner of her eyes, Regina sees that the wolfish grin has returned.

Maleficent grips her thighs and pushes them higher, bending Regina nearly in two, the stretch of it just this edge of unpleasant. Her tongue slides lower, circling her opening and then entering her. The strong, fluttering pleasure of it is less precise than the attention to her clit, but it never fails to set her off all the same. Her stomach clenches, her shoulders grind against the wood of her desk, her fists clenching and unclenching without anything to hold on to. Her neck is going flush and -----oh fuck, oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck----

That’s it. Mal is fucking her with her tongue in earnest now, Regina reflexively pumping her hips to match her thrusts. And then Mal’s thumb finds Regina’s clit again, rubbing it roughly and a bit raw and God, this is good. Hmmmhmm. So good. Mal’s pressing harder with her thumb now, tighter circles, and Regina feels it- she’s going to come, she’s FUCK she’s right on the edge--

Then Mal replaces her tongue with two of her fingers, pressed inside just where she knows Regina needs it. Regina vaguely hears past her own thudding heartbeat to Mal’s comment about how wet she is before pulling out and adding a third. All she can do is nod. Because she is, she is so wet. And she feels amazing. And so ready for what’s about to come. And she and Mal have had a lot of adventurous sex in their lifetimes, but this moment- spread naked on the edge of her desk in the middle of the afternoon, practically dripping onto her own carpet as Mal fucks her three fingers deep- this is definitely shooting right to the top of their metaphorical “Greatest Hits” list.

Regina’s breasts rise and fall as she struggles to catch her breath. Mal’s tongue is back on her clit, licking in time with the rhythm she is setting with her fingers. And then Mal wraps her lips around Regina’s clit and sucks as deeply as she can. Her fingers firm as they thrust in-and-out. Just like that Regina’s orgasm takes her.

EVERYTHING is on fire and yet she is trembling. Her hips buck, stuttering out of rhythm and her head snaps back with a loud moan against her desk. Fireworks, exploding off of every nerve ending. Her mouth falls into a slacked O as Mal continues to pump her through the jolts of pleasure that are consuming her, extending her sensations out just a bit. Then, finally, Mal lowers her legs and moves her mouth to kiss the tender skin of Regina’s abdomen, her fingers slowing- but not leaving her- as Regina comes back down from her high.

Pleasure burns through her. She lifts her forearm to cover her eyes and can’t decide if she wants to laugh or cry. She’s stuck somewhere between the two. She feels utterly spent. Her throat scratchy and her back already beginning to ache from the unrelenting stiff, wooden desk surface.

Mal raises herself from between her legs and together they both collapse, Mal’s long frame weighing on Regina’s torso. She’s safe with Mal, like this. Her twisting anxiety exhausted, defeated. Replaced with heavy, relaxed limbs and deep meditative breaths. For a few long minutes, all they do is listen to the slowing of each other’s pulse. Hands rubbing soothingly up each other’s sides.

She can feel Mal smirk against her skin, “Well... that was quite the lunch”

Regina rolls her eyes at the innuendo.

Mal sits up, tracing her fingers along Regina’s stomach. Regina smiles, curling in to the touch, “So my love, do you want to talk about what happened today?”

Regina sighs. “It’s just... “ she can already feel her eyes tearing up, “I feel silly saying this, but I felt so alone. It’s not just the work, or having to come in on my birthday, those are objectively small things.”

“It’s that you finally allowed yourself to be celebrated in a way that felt honest to you, for just a moment. And--“ she waves her hands in the air. “All of this happening felt like affirmation that you didn’t deserve it.”

Regina lays her head in Mal’s lap, allowing Mal to play with the edges of her hair, “You understand.”

“Mmhmmm. I doubt there are few who understand that particular pain better than I do. We are similar in many ways; you and I. We’ve been broken. And as such, we built walls, fed isolation. We have made others to feel the pain we feel. We... enabled each other through a lot of that, I regret... And now... now, we are trying to learn to heal those wounds.” She pauses, “It’s a long way back from these mistakes. I know that I haven’t figured it all out yet, and you haven’t either.”

Regina silently nods, in agreement.

“But, little one?

“Hmm?”

“This, I know is important: This long journey you are on. You are not on it alone.”

#dragon queen #regina mills #maleficent #happy birthday queen #ggp writes things

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