#eniivrer

    angela ziegler knew better than to think the reclamation of an old overwatch facility somewhere along the border of germany and france would be a simple task. the buildings held scars from both the omnic crisis and the fall of overwatch, but the fact that they were still standing gave testament to their value. the bullet in angela’s side gave testament to the rumours, that german military forces were not the only ones interested in taking back the technology held within. 

    she grit her teeth, bloodied hand clutching at a rail that led up a short set of stairs to a platform. uniformity in architecture was serving her well, and she fell her way into a ratty old office that she’d never been in, but looked exactly like hundreds she had seen before. there was little she could do to ensure the sniper that had caught her in her search for her team scattered by gunfire from all sides didn’t see where she went, but perhaps the medic was low enough on the priority scale that she could get away with it. 

    (no such luck.)

    despite the way her heart was drumming in her ears and the pain of fighting the nanobots from closing her flesh around the bullet stuck inside her, she could hear footsteps drawing nearer. heels, actually. the kind that would sound more appropriate on the cobbles outside a club on a friday night. angela could do nothing but wait, leaning against an old desk and the heels of her own boots digging into the floor, as though the ridges left behind in the linoleum could represent her stubborn desire to survive this. the only thing that could weaken her stance, bitter (more so at her superiors than her shooter) and determined as it was, was -- as it turned out -- a familiar face. one that might send her heart into her mouth. 

    oh. 

    “so the rumours were true, then.” angela ziegler said, as widowmaker and her unmistakable facial features came into view. 

     ❝ wow, i'm gonna die here. ❞

     sombra rubbed her arms up and down, shivering as she walked towards the couch where amélie sat. granted, she was wearing a bralette, shorts, and a towel hanging around her neck, but can’t a girl visit her friend in the lounge? specifically, amélie’s lounge, because no one ever wanted to go there and enter a state of cryostasis. sombra hopped onto the couch with a small bounce. she looked at amélie and clicked her tongue.

     ❝ so did the conditioning take away your ability to feel pain as well, or have you just not noticed you’re bleeding? ❞ 

WHO WANTS KISSIES / accepting / @eniivrer

6. gentle peck

    Angela had told Amélie more than once not to wait up. 

    The days at work were drawing longer as though Summer’s return could trick the body into thinking nothing was done until the moon started to rise. Angela found herself thankful that Widowmaker’s mysterious disappearance had long since been reported on, and no trace had been found. Her apartment, for how unlikely it was, had become a veritable safehouse. It wasn’t a worry to leave Amélie home alone, so much as it seemed a waste. She could understand why the other woman, tired of loneliness and still relearning affection refused to sleep without company. 

    (Nevertheless, as a medical professional, Angela could do nothing but suggest the best.) 

    Tonight, her suggestion seemed to take hold, however accidentally. Amélie was curled on the couch, long hair sprawled behind her and a blanket pulled up to her nose. A breeze from an open window was bringing a chill indoors, and it seemed recovery had come so far as to introduce real temp-- no, Angela. Go to her. The Doctor put her analysis aside long enough to hang up her coat and approach the couch as quietly as she could. Her motions were careful, gentle as she sat beside the other woman, fingertips drawing through the loose locks that had settled by Amélie’s face. 

    “Dors bien, mon ange,” she whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her lover’s temple. She might even have left it at that, had lithe arms not risen, and wrapped around her neck. Cool lips tilted upwards, to seek her own, and Angela smiled into the kiss. 

    “You fell asleep,” she teased, softly. 

    Amélie still hadn’t opened her eyes, but Angela saw her brows tilt into a frown. It was nothing short of cute, and the murmuring against her lips was all the cuter. 

PVRIS SENTENCE STARTERS / accepting  @eniivrer

    “i most certainly did not!” 

    in her defense, there’s a stack of papers to her left, disorganised and awry. in front of her is a screen with no less than eleven tasks open. her keyboard is askew, granola bar wrappers littering the empty spaces of her desk like escaped glitter covers every inch of every garment it touches. to her right is an empty coffee cup, war-beaten and stained by more than a few rodeos on this night and more. 

    oh, and she’s also just been jolted awake by a soft voice in her ear accusing her of things she quite literally has not done (though taking amélie’s heart from her chest and pumping it as fast as it should medically be going is perhaps the only thing she HASN’T tried). perhaps it was not a statement to be taken quite so clinically, and this idea only chips its way into angela’s brain when she looks up and sees amélie holding her face, amusement twinkling behind her eyes despite the stiffness of amélie’s lips. 

    “ah, did i –” angela blinks, hand absently rising to touch the spot at the back of her head that feels like it might have knocked something. she keens, hand falling and body rising from her chair in the same motion. arms reach out, seeking forgiveness and finding it looped around amélie’s waist. the former talon agent only laughs, but it’s a muted sound, like she’s trying not to part her lips too far, and the guilt rises in angela’s chest. 

    not before he had some answers, though. 

    he was sat under the light by the crack in the window, where the mid afternoon sunlight still bathed one strip of the dingy cabin in light. it was just enough to see one page of his book, and shifting it side to side to keep reading as the pages turned was keeping him alert enough to note that she still hadn’t woken up yet. widowmaker was sat in a wooden chair, one that probably only just took her weight (and he should know, she was heavier than she looked) and wouldn’t take his. wrists handcuffed behind her back and head lolling forward, there’d be quite the ACHE in her neck when she did wake. 

    shifting his legs, uncrossing and recrossing them across the arm of the moth-eaten couch he lay on, jesse tapped his cigar at his side. ash fell to the floor, disturbing and mingling with the dust. (hardly the five star accommodation she was used to, he was sure.)

        "hey WIDOWMAKER,”

        ...no, it’s a sex toy, flying through the sky, directly at widowmaker’s face.                    

      @eniivrer sc.

@eniivrer​

A smirk tugged at the corners of Satya’s lips, arms folded over her chest as she leaned against the side. Fingers gently strummed over her forearm, clearly pleased with the gratitude offered from the hitman in her current company.

“You are most welcome, Amélie.” The lawyer cooed, an air of smugness to her usual neutral tone. 

If any other had woken her at a forsaken time of morning to rescue their prized sniper from the clutches of the justice system which... was flawed and easily manipulated at best. At worst? It was a game for the woman, to pull apart the law at the seams and put it back together in her favour.

For a price.

Though Satya would not say she was... strictly upon the mob’s payroll but, sometimes, the law failed those who needed it the most and well--

The Mafia was very accommodating for cleaning up all that escaped. Anyone who should’ve been put away, anyone who failed to be caught--

They were family.An estranged one at that but Satya learned to rely on them, to support them as they, in turn, grew to support her. For a price, of course.It was efficient and the pay was damn good too.