#lelogedelaveuve

[silver-haired-76-blog]

✿

Send ✿ for a randomly generated kiss 

20) Underwater kiss

Tonight the air was warm.

Morrison remembered staying at this hotel only once before. It had a history of catering to the particularly wanted. Ana told him about it a couple weeks prior. He wouldn’t tell her why he asked--why he was so interested in a penthouse poolside room in the middle of a city’s downtown district.

He spun the remittence of alcohol in his glass, legs half submerged in warm pool water. The stars were out--hanging over city lights. He didn’t have a night like this often. Not often at all. 

His eyes darted down to the form under the water. During the night the pool would brighten with florescent light. He watched her, her light indigo skin float slowly along the bottom tiles.

Setting the glass aside as she arose he spoke up lightly, “You wouldn’t make a bad mermaid if you wanted to quit the sniper business.” The joke was still at a level of casual he wasn’t used to--at this point he didn’t know if he would ever be used to it. 

He thought for a moment how easily she could kill from this balcony.

Widow pushed her hair back and tilted her head to him, “And what am I supposed to do with a career like that? Look pretty and get caught in nets?”

He chuckled a little and pushed up, slipping into the water and onto one of the steps as she waded closer, “You could be the kind that pulls sailers to their deaths with their voice. Seems like it would suit you.”

Her gold eyes stared at him, the smallest smirk on her, “I wonder why you think that.”

The old soldier stared back, his mouth twitched up and took her hand, “I got some instinct left in me.” He slipped off the bench, diving under the artificial waves with his arm extending around her.

The night sounds muddled into soft, muted specks under the water’s surface. His eyes stung slightly with chlorine before pushing his lips against hers, his fingers tangled in her floating hair.

Air bubbles popped in the warm air above them.

[simple-geometry-blog]

▲

Send me a ▲ for an unpopular opinion

| | > Trefoils are the best girl scout cookies get those thin mints out of my sight I can’t believe people sometimes I mean people just say say thin mints are the best because everyone says that but I knoW THE TRUTH -- 

[lazrvs-a]

♥

send a symbol for a kiss | not accepting ( ♥ A kiss that says ‘I love you’ )

     Alone with her again; a small break in the frustration of living a life like his. She represented a certain calm, a peace. Both of the voices in the shared mind loved it. Both of them loved her. It was such an odd arrangement they found themselves in. Whole for once. Neither one overpowering the other, a full being. When missions were given that Widowmaker was to be his partner on, both men relaxed. It was weird to think of it that way, but laying beside her as the night wears on and the target not due out for another half hour brings these thoughts forward.

    ❛ Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me. ❜ He almost used the word us, which would have been a bit of a disaster. Reaper has yet to divulge any of it, as he’s been the main man in control. He still is.❛ You really mean everything to me. …words don’t say it well enough. ❜

     He’s causing a distraction, he knows. But it doesn’t matter. HQ won’t need a check in for a while; they’d both turned off their comm units. It was safe, as far as he was concerned, to do what he wanted. He’s already laid his mask aside, a sign of comfort and trust for her. She would be allowed to see him without it when they were alone together, and no one else would have that privilege.

     He removed his gloves and reached out, cupping her face with his hand. Her skin was soft, he had no doubts his hand was rough. Scarred and calloused from all the years of fighting prior to death; he hardly spared a thought to how cold he was. Neither of them cared about the cold. He slowly leaned toward her, noticing her leaning as well, both of their lips slightly parted and ready for the moment they met. 

     When his lips touched hers, his eyes slowly closed and it sent sparks through his system. His touch was gentle on her face, his lips only a soft pressure, a loving gesture. For a man so deep in ruthless murder and blood, to turn around and show an ability to be soft was a statement. One he knew to make. He always stood tall and cold, ready to slaughter at a moments notice. Never would he cave and show a soft side to anyone less he lose respect. 

     When he pulls away, he lingers close, his thumb gently caressing her cheek. God help him, he’s in love. It’s a feeling he’s not too familiar with, but it’s one he’s hoping he was able to pass down through his actions rather than his words. There weren’t enough words in any diction that would properly pinpoint just how she made him feel.

[reyes-is-dead]

Death’s Web

@lelogedelaveuve​

[sms: Reaper status: sent]: I will be there in 15.

[sms: Reaper status: sent]: While I am on my way, do you wish me to grab you something from the Med-Bay or you’re all patched up?

[sms: WM status: sent]: Just a C-1 field kit, sealed [sms: WM status: sent]: The door will open for your comm signature.  Just walk in

The sniper will find the Wraith with his back pressed into the far corner of his quarters, sitting on his bunk with knees up and gauntlets draped over them, a shadow among shadows, fully kitted out in his usual attire and waiting for her patiently.

[visorshot-a]

“i can’t breathe, i can’t –”

{ hurt meme | not accepting | @lelogedelaveuve​ }

          He should have paid better attention. This was his fault. He got overconfident, sloppy. He wasn’t protecting her well enough. It wasn’t that she needed his protection - she could handle herself just fine - but he wanted to keep her safe. And this was why.

          Tucked away in a small building, safe from the fighting, Jack lowered her to the ground with all the gentleness in the world. He’d carried her bridal-style, using his enhanced speed to remove both of them from the battle. He removed his mask, throwing it to the side as he dropped to his knees and leaned over her.

          “Widow- Amelie...!” He was quick to amend what he addressed her as. She may have taken on a moniker, same as he had, but Amelie was still in there somewhere. He nearly spoke again when her lips parted, choked words leaving elegant lips. She couldn’t breathe. “I... I know, don’t speak, just... try to breathe.”

          He was no medic. He was no Angela. He didn’t have a clue what to do at a time like this. Dropping his jacket, he peeled his shirt off and, bunching it up, pressed it to her wound. “Hold on. I’ll... I’ll...”

          You’ll what? He didn’t know. He didn’t know. Overwhelmed with fear and helplessness, Jack felt his eyes burn with the formation of tears. After everything they’d been through together since he’d joined Talon, he’d become very fond of the woman. He’d come to love her. Now... he was going to lose her.

          Doubling over her, he slid a large hand beneath her head to prop it up. She was dead weight against his palm. Her eyes, normally clear and calculating were glazed over. It was as if he was watching the life leave her. “Please, Amelie, please... Stay awake. Don’t go.”

          Those eyes fixed on him and he fought back tears. Shaking and horribly weak, her hand raised to his face, slender fingers pressed against his cheek almost gingerly. She clearly had no strength to speak, but her touch told him everything. He placed his hand over hers, relinquishing his tight grip on the cloth over her wound. He shut his eyes tight. He didn’t have to see to know she was fading. He knew she was gone when he felt the trace amounts of strength leave her arm, his own hand now the only thing keeping hers raised.

          It took some time for him to open his eyes. He couldn’t bear to see what was left of the woman he loved. More of a shell than she’d ever been. But when he saw the soft lines of her face, the peace in her eyes, what he might have imagined as a smile on her lips... She wasn’t a weapon. She wasn’t a monster. Amelie was free.

[hardlightd]

so like, i didn’t mean to make this shippy but then it ended up that way soooooo and like whoops x10. also like kinda hate how symm looks but oh well.

widowmaker in d2 & symmetra in b6 for @lelogedelaveuve               //             casually accepting.

[reyes-is-dead]

✉

Send me a ‘✉’ for five times my muse didn’t text yours, and one time they did.

[sms: WM status: saved]: Are you blue, through and through?[sms: WM status: saved]: The latest operation, what the actual fuck do they expect us to do with that garbage intel?[sms: WM status: saved]: Thanks for the save back at the museum, Spider-Queen[sms: WM status: saved]: Yes, Tracer was always that fucking annoying[sms: WM status: saved]: My door’s always open to you pre- and post- mission.  Maybe we can burn off a bit of that tension together, yeah?

[sms: WM status: sent]: I’m back at HQ.  Let me know when you have some free time after your tour in Medical.  I’ve got a proposition for you

[silver-haired-76-blog]

❤ *insert eyebrow wiggle*

Morrison contemplated for a moment on lighting the cigarette. He didn’t often smoke or even drink. He didn’t have the time for that. Today, today was tiring. He needed it. The visor had taken a toll on his energy–the way he looked at everything. The nicotine dwelled the pain in his head.

He sits on the balcony, the smoke wavering out of sight, his jacket hanging over the chair he pulled over to sit in the night air.

As he carefully breathed the smoke away, his muscles tense just so when he hears a soft impact on the space above him, “...Your tracking skills are getting better with me. Must be getting predictable.”

“You could have tried a little harder.” Widow’s slender form taps onto the balcony from the rooftop, carefully setting herself on its railing, “Is there a hideout I don’t know about at this point?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t try and answer it any other way. Everyone needed a backup plan.

“Then you clearly didn’t mind being found.” She observes, moving to him, her eyes watching the smoke drift from the cigarette, “You seem tense.”

The old soldier watches her, pushing himself up, “Rough day.” His arms lean on the balcony’s railing, looking out at the lights. “...How many did you kill today?”

“Two.” She answers, as if the question was a casual part of their meetings.

“Mm. I win, four.” He never usually talked about kills as if it were a competition, but the sarcasm was prevalent enough. 

The sniper leans over, kissing him very carefully, deliberately, “It sounds like you need to rest.”

The soldier leans back when the kiss finishes, tossing the finished cigarette and crushing it with his heel, he leads her back into the room, plucking his jacket from the chair, “I’m sure you need it too.”