#amesyeuxrien
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@amesyeuxrien submitted:
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“How did you get this photo of me?!”
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"I wish I could tell you everything was going to be fine..."
Dying starters;
It finally happened. She had gotten too cocky with an expermient, too confident in her abilities, and a miscalculation had occurred. At last, she was dying.
The blackness shot up her arm, every vein bulging like lightening until it scattered over her neck. Her lips were black, black, black, tainted with regret and altered blood.
She reached for cold flesh, nails digging into the other's arm, "It is fine, my pet-" she chokes out, "It's happening-"
With a final haggard breath, her grip on the other releases, and her eyes fall dull, vacant red and blue droning lifelessly into her companion's eyes.
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@amesyeuxrien
It starts small.
They’re in the heat of battle when the melody starts its cruel song. It starts quiet. It always starts quiet. Almost...Beautiful, like when he first heard it. Piano keys, wafting notes. Something he might enjoy listening to, if in the right mood....
But like a cancer it grows.
Like a wave in a great black ocean it crescendos and swallows him whole. Over the bullets, over the explosion. It screams in his head and all he can do is scream back. He barely registers falling to his knees, barely registers the blood on his fingers as he claws at his ears.
“Get up.”
Like a bullet through the skull it cuts through the noise, leaves him gasping. The bullets have returned, as have the explosions. He’s on the ground, when did he get on the ground?
“Did you hear me? Get. Up.”
He does. Shaking hands and shaking knees, slowly, he stands. Wide golden eyes catch his own. It would almost be comical, the way they then fell into an annoyed expression. Sadly, he was not aware enough to find it funny at the moment.
“You are uninjured?”
He’s silent for what feels like an eternity before he realizes that she had asked the question.
“I am.”
“Then keep fighting. Survive this battle and you survive the day, oui?”
He stares. He doesn’t want to survive this. Does he? Perhaps the melody would stop if he would.
“And if I don’t want to survive?”
The words come out before he can stop them, and her reaction is nearly as involuntary. Those eyes widen once more, before pulling him behind cover, a miracle he hadn’t been shot.
“You must. If you do not survive…. They will force you to.”
He didn’t know what she meant by theat. Who were they? Force him to? He didn’t like that idea.
“Alright…”
She gave a quick and curt nod.
“And stay with me. We’re exposed right here.”
Yes, he…He was going to protect her…
That was his job.
_____________________________________________________________________________
It wasn’t until months later that he was able to repay her.
Doctor O’Deorain had added something to his suit since then. A little something to quiet the music when it got too loud, she had chirped.
He roamed often now. No destination in mind, no thoughts in his head. Just the music and his own footsteps. His eyes would glaze over as he stared at the ground and walked. Slow steps, like sleepwalking. Not daydreaming, that implied that this was something pleasant. No, these were nightmares.
The hallways were cold. They were always cold. It made him rub his arms and shiver. And they echoed like nothing he’d ever heard before. Every step amplified.
Which is why he was so surprised to see her shoes pass him.
He actually jolted as she did so. Even in heels The Widowmaker moved like a spider. Silent. She could have killed him right then and there and he never would have realized he was dead. He shuddered to think of it. There was a reason why she was the best assassin here.
He watched her back. Her shoulders hunched; fists clenched. She was scared.
And once again he couldn’t stop the words before they came out.
“Are...Are you alright?”
She stopped, and he swore that he heard a sob. He walked closer, slow steps.
“Miss…? Are you-“
And the spider pounced.
No.
She was no spider; she was just a woman. And right now, she had thrown herself into his arms. He could barely decipher her apologies and pleas between tears as she broke down. He exhaled in a sharp action, not realizing that he had been holding his breathe since she had grabbed a hold of him. His own arms lowered, slowly coming around to hold her in an awkward hug.
He glanced around. The hallway was empty except for the two of them. He guided her into one of the empty rooms and helped her sit. The moment he joined her, she was there, crying into his shoulder once more. He learned many things, just from listening. He learned about Gerard. He learned about Amélie . He learned she used to be a ballerina. He learned she used to be her own person. His eye twitched as he listened. There was an awful snake of feeling coiling in his gut. The protector in him rearing it’s head in anger.
HecouldkillthemHecouldkillthemHecouldkillthemHecouldkillthemHecouldkillthem
“I can’t go on anymore like this,” she murmured and oh, her voice sounded so small, so broken, and he felt it.
“Survive this battle and survive the day, yes?” He said. Parroting her own words back to her. She looked at him dumbstruck and then smiled, sadly.
“Oui….Merci…Are……Are you going to report me now, doctor?”
Report her? To whom? Was she in trouble? Would she be?
“No,” He assured, face softening. “No this will stay between us.”
There was a look of relief on her face that shouldn’t have been there at such a statement. What did they do to her?
“Are you alright on your own?”
“Oui. Thank you again.”
“Of course.”
_____________________________________________________________________________
Their little acts of rebellion were bound to get noticed.
The music was loud again. Despite Doctor O’Deorain’s device, it had come back. It always would, he knew.
When he had called her name, her true name she hadn’t responded, only turning around to the call of Widowmaker. They had done something to her, something bad. They had taken Amélie away again, AGAIN.
Reconditioning, O’Deorain had said when he asked. She had to visit her doctors every so often to tighten her leash, so to speak. He had stormed out of her office, set on finding her, when the good doctor had rushed out and grabbed his arm. She cooed that it was inevitable. Good for the goals of Talon. Taken his weakening resolve and manipulated it. He didn’t struggle as she took his hand, saying her sweet words and promising to quiet the music again. He had one more lucid thought as she fiddled with the device at his neck.
It wasn’t her fault and if she ever wanted, Sigma would help Amélie escape.
#amesyeuxrien#I didn't WRITE this with shippy in mind#but you could take it that way#Anyways Sigma and widow are trauma buddies#;;Quiet within the noise (Widowmaker)
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[ help ] for bap
nonverbal memes
[ help ] for your muse to lean on mine for support
she’s hurt bad and it’s beyond the scope of what baptiste can do now to help her when they’re in the heat of the battlefield like this. she needs rest and safety, such securities that lie in literally any other place than in this fog of debris and gunpowder. his back against one of the large hunks of concrete that once made the foundation of one of the tallest towers in lijiang, he knows they can’t stay here long as it continues to chip away steadily from the focused gunfire on the other side.
the weight on his shoulder is unbelievably heavy for someone who doesn’t weigh much, the medic looking her way in concern when she’s slumped against his side. he’s bumped and bruised, but he’s functional. he can still fight, he’s supposed to, being expendable and whatnot, but this isn’t about him: it’s her.
all he can do now is put down the gun, grab her around the waist, and hope he has it in him to get them out of there. “stay with me.” he utters through gritted teeth, hoisting her up partially so as not to give away their position. “i’ll buy you all the fanciest wines you like if you keep your eyes open.” he jokes. it’s grueling in manner, but anything to keep her grounded to him. “yeah?”
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Bleed
Find My Muse...
Bleed - Find my muse injured
To have the mission be done in the stealth of the night rain was a double edged sword, and every soul present knew for a fact that the consequences of being caught were ‘severe.’
Everyone in the room knew Winston meant fatal.
The pressure was on, but the task was simple; enter Talon’s base in the cover of dark through the gutters. Use the sound of the rain for added stealth and Take out the security detail at every corridor, clear the rooms only if necessary, find the stolen agents, and get them out of there.
‘Keep the comms dry; they were only waterproof for so long. The storm will not be letting up for hours. You’re going to be dependent on them to communicate.’
It was all as simple as that. Get in, get out; cause as little damage and/or casualties as possible. They weren’t there to send a message or do any kidnapping of their own- as much controversy as that brought. It was just all one quick and easy rescue mission.
... One that was a little too easy.
...
...
...
As it seemed- there was a rat in their midst.
Talon knew everything from the start.
If it wasn’t for the amount of rain, the man in her arms would be drenched in his own blood. The mixture of her shouting at McCree to help her and the roar of the ship next to them made the missed shots of the agents trailing them almost easy to ignore. Almost. Her tattered wings are treading along the ground with her, almost twinning with the broken staff some few yards away.
“That’s everyone, right?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
The other ship had already left- Genji and Lena A-OK in light of everything. Angela and Jesse were in charge of the last group, and as of right now, they were the only ones with no casualties and a handful of critical agents. Hoisting the injured man into the ship, the pilot took no time to get out of there- the rain was rapidly turning into a thunderstorm and if anyone wanted to get out of there safe, there was no time to lose.
“That was close.” A breathy laugh from Jesse only barely inspires a smirk from the doctor.
“Put pressure on the wound and-”
A whistle of the bullet coincides with the sudden jerk of the ship at perhaps the worst angle imaginable. In the midst of the pilot trying to avoid the shots of a sniper, Angela’s thrown off her feet, sliding across the floor and practically being thrown out of the ship, stopped only because of Jesse’s dive to catch her. A cry of pain as her wrist easily dislocates from the sudden catch, the doctor looks up at the cowboy.
“I-- I’ve got ya, Ange, I’ve-”
Another whistle, and his arm is in shambles.
“NO!”
Twinkles of metals decorate such a hopeless expression, the cowboy’s distraught face being the last thing she sees before the rain takes over, and she hits the water below.
It didn’t take long for Angela to come too, the salty taste of the ocean being the first thing on her mind upon washing up on the beach. She’d been spared by both the storm and the landing, though there was an obvious amount of damage to her body. The pain in her wrist was throbbing, and the burning sensation along her back implying that her wings were practically embedded into her flesh from the impact.
Despite all of that, Angela is alive and able to sit up, only to bump for cheek something small and cylindrical. In her daze the doctor sways as she raises her head, half lidded eyes locking with an all-familiar gaze.
Amelie.
She’s quiet, bloodied lip trembling as her situation settles. The rain’s not stilling, and a soft hum of thunder only adds to the tension. Pressing her forehead to the muzzle of the sniper’s gun, Angela locks eyes with the woman. Lips part, a shaken breath being taken amidst the downpour and allowing enough air to sigh out a quick and simple request.
“Do it.”
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Anonymous:
@chronalized / @amesyeuxrien
chronalized/amesyeuxrien is such a delightful presence on my dash. she’s hilarious, and excellent artist, and is such a skilled performing artist. also irl tracer. i love her so very much and i’m happy to call her my friend.
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“Don’t-Just a moment longer.”
His fingers twitch, hesitant.
“Madame, people will talk-“ he begins, settling to caress her features with his digits.
She gives a sad smile and a shake of her head, strands of hair falling over her eyes which he catches and quickly brushes away with a thumb.
“Let them.”
He sighs, an action entirely useless and stares into her eyes. It’s almost time again. She’s lasted longer this time, giving him a useless bit of hope, that perhaps Amelie would be gone for good- but it was not to be.
A kiss is placed on her forehead as he pulls her close, then under his chin to press her head against his chest. He feels her breathing even out and knows that sleep has retaken her once more.
Curled around her like this, he barely hopes to protect her. From the world. From Talon. From himself. His shield is meager, fragile as glass, and yet the action is done anyway. Perhaps if he kept hoping, kept wishing on stars, kept gambling, that she would stay here like this. Perfect. Pristine. He wanted to remember her in these moments. Her hair slightly disheveled, frizzy, short, but oh so nice to run his fingers through. Her lips, just barely parted.
Her when she was with him.
But there was no such thing as luck.
It made his core ache, a buzzing electrifying and incredibly painful feeling in his chest. He felt like he might die any moment there, his arms still coddled around her form. Another victim claimed by The Widowmaker. Omnics did not ache, this was what was believed, but he knew the truth.
A heart, a core, love could make either ache just as easily as the other.
And he loved her.
He really,
Truly,
Loved her.
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What do you call a Shambali who went to King's Row for a Protest? MonDeada :^)
「 ༀ - and what does one call a shambali looking for justice? Widowbreaker. 」
#zen: don't worry I forgive you#but you started with the bad puns#we are in harmony: ic#amesyeuxrien
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kisses his cheek 😚
She gets a smooch back, mask pushed up far enough that he can manage.
#amelie always gets smooches#THIS IS LITERALLY MONTHS LATE SORRY#amesyeuxrien#what are you looking at? [asks]
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💀 💀 💀
{ If I must die, I would prefer it to be at your hand. | tentatively accepting }
Crossing a line was an inevitability.
Moira accepted this some time ago- there was no reward without risk. The risk, in this case, tangling her already sullied name with the likes of Talon. From the start she walked a tightrope; already frayed and worn, practically begging to snap under the weight of each step. Moira was light on her feet, but as always, there was someone waiting beneath her with a pair of scissors, waiting for the ideal moment to-
Snip.
Behind her, Widowmaker cuts the zip ties from Moira’s bloodied wrists. She’s not sure what this is- perhaps an act of compassion, although Moira finds it difficult to fully believe that, given her current state. They’d been at it for some time, with little success. The Spider couldn’t have possibly known better- as Moira had told Akande time and time again, she wasn’t made for recon. Nor torture, nor retrieving information, nor dealing with interpersonal matters. Only for the kill. But he never was a good listener, and Moira herself had never really made the effort to make the Widow aware of her penchant for secrecy.
In fact, she may have given her the wrong impression entirely. A foolish mistake on Moira’s part.
Now, frustration is knotted in the Widow’s brow. Perhaps she had wished for an easy mission- for the Doctor to divulge all of her secrets and allow the assassin a swift, merciful kill. Something that would be less painful for both of them. Unfortunately, Moira seldom took the easy road.
“I have nothing else to say,” Moira mumbles, her head bobbing forward. At once the Spider crouches before her, grabbing her face with both hands. There is a desperation that glints in her eyes– she doesn’t want to be here. Cruel to have to murder someone you love. To do it again- that’s torment.
“There must be something,” she says, an edge of pleading in her voice. What drives it is hard to tell- passion, or duty? They both knew which it was supposed to be, but the brain was a strange and fickle beast. No amount of conditioning and surgery and medicine could change that. Especially when Moira had made certain to not do her best work on Amélie. “He will not kill you if-”
“He will not kill me regardless.” Moira coughs, blood dribbling down her chin. The fog is making it difficult to think clearly. “You will.”
Silence falls between the two women. They both know that this is a fact. No matter the outcome of this conversation, it will end with Widowmaker taking her Doctor’s life. It is what she has been instructed to do, and it is what she will do. But there is unsteadiness in her grasp and depth in her eyes that shows resistance. A good sign. Not ideal, considering the circumstances- Moira would very much prefer to stay alive. There is still so much work left to do. But she helped program the woman before her, and she knows better than anyone that she will see the mission through to the end. As per usual, Moira’s luck runs short- there is no scenario where she leaves this room alive. She would laugh if she thought her body would allow it. But she is exhausted and struggling to maintain consciousness as it is.
“Amélie,” she continues, voice hoarse. The Widow’s eyes widen, pained, but attentive. “There is a box for you. Gare du Nord- you will need to trust your intuition to find it.”
“Intuition. I can’t-”
“You can and you will. Do you trust me?”
A long silence once more. Widowmaker releases Moira’s face, drawing a blade from the table beside them. She stares at it, observing her own misshapen reflection in the metal. “What is in it? The box?”
“Something to help you remember.”
Widowmaker turns the blade over in her palm, caked with dried blood. Her eyes are glazed over now, lost in thought. “…I trust you.”
Leaning forward, Moira draws a shaky breath and rests her head against Amélie’s shoulder. Amélie– she would have liked to see her perform, just once. But there would always be regrets. Unfinished work. Unspoken words. Such was the folly of human nature, she supposes.
“Then finish your mission.”
Widowmaker shifts slightly beneath her, the room quiet for all but the creaking of a floorboard. In her gaunt, miscolored hand, she turns the blade once more, gripping the handle until her knuckles turn white. Nothing but a weapon– she plunges the blade into Moira three times, quick succession. It’s cathartic, in a way, and agonizing all the same; Moira’s hands reach up to grab Widow’s arms, and they hold on for a moment, nails pressed into muted flesh- but the woman was already hanging on by a thread. Hands slip off, dangling by her side. Widowmaker remains still for a long time, unmoving, ears trained to the rhythmic pattering of blood dripping against the wood floor.
“Gare du Nord,” she repeats, voice barely more than a whisper. Delicately, she touches Moira’s arm with the tips of her fingers, withdrawing the blade from her body. “Jusqu'à la prochaine fois.”
#amesyeuxrien#death ment#blood ment#cut for length + death#accidentally makes a whole au and then writes a small novel WHOOPS#me: makes a lot happen but gives no actual exposition#aka: MY BRAND!#anyway hope this doesnt suck bc im just throwing science at the wall and seeing what sticks lmao Ok BYE#idle hands are the devil's workshop | drabbles
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@amesyeuxrien
Thanks I hate it
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☀ Does the mun have other muses beside you? What is your opinion on them?
Moira talks about Elliott
“There’s one. Scott McCall. He is so blandly moral, always trying to do good without putting anybody or anything in harm’s way. Quite dull, if you ask me. I wonder what kind of things he could accomplish if only he’d bend his scruples just a bit.”
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pûśšé
“I love it when ya’ talk French to me.”
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"Doctor..? Do you hear it too?"
hearithearithearithearithearithearithearithearithearithearithearit
Hear it ?
Why,
yes…yes of course he heard it.
He heard it as he stared at the board of equations in front of him. When had those gotten there?
Right, right, YES ! He had written them.
His lip twitched.
He couldn’t read them.
His fingers pinched as he buzzed the universe’s melody, just barely a whisper on his lips.
“yes………..”
He clasped a single hand of hers in both of his own and stared off. She could see it too couldn’t she ? Endless possibilities, endless time and space.
There were times where he’d thrash and scream. Throw things and sob into his arms. When it was too much.
But he couldn’t remember those times now.
How could he ever scream at something so….
“beautiful…..isn’t it?”
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💋 small cheek kiss for bap
Send a ❤️ for my muse to kiss yours. Send a 💋 for my muses reaction to your muse kissing them.
it’s another day of getting chewed out, another day of taking the blame for the carelessness of some of his soldiers, another day of ‘learning his lesson’ as prescribed by the higher up that results in him with a swollen, still bleeding lip. it’s just another day in talon as nothing more than an expendable foot soldier, no matter his skill set.
there’s evident embarrassment in her seeing him like this, sulking as he sits on the edge of the base’s roof, feet dangling high in the air. one might have thought he’d have the mindset of jumping - but, he can’t. not when there’s so much wrong to right. he still has a task in this world.
baptiste’s eyes overlook the dark treetops of the woods surrounding this outpost, the silence he’d dwelled in broken by the occasional hoot of owls and the steady click of her heels as she approaches. from the corner of his eyes as she perches beside him, he can see that her skin is absolutely luminous beneath the glow of the full moon beaming down on them.
his eyes lid gently in response to the soft, chilled lips that press to his sore face, a bruise more than likely forming there soon. despite the sting of pain it brings his skin, there’s still an element of soothing - an almost comfort, if he will.
“it’s late. you shouldn’t be out here.” the medic mutters, a gentle reprimand despite knowing his status is lower than hers, yet he still continues to defy the odds as his large hand comes to a rest on her knee, giving a soft squeeze. “go back inside and get some sleep.”
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rad you're like my favorite artist/author tbh, your art inspired me to work on my own drawings and i can't thank you enough for keeping my favorite ship afloat :')
:OOOOOOOOOOO alksjdflskdjfslkdfjsldkf i love me some wt that’s for super sure,
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