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How did he know?

Slowly, the doctor plucked the removable shower head from its cradle, turning towards the junker, yet pointedly not looking at him. Finding an opportunity to distract from his statement for a few more moments, she rinsed down the initial debris from the shower floor, her mind frantically trying to puzzle out what he meant by it.

A threat would have been more pronounced. More direct. There was no reason to think he was using his – surely ill-gotten – knowledge of her unsavory side business to his advantage. Not when he could have used it much earlier in the evening when he was convinced she would turn him in to the authorities. That would have been the logical, pre-planned choice. But the fact remained that Junkrat had this knowledge the whole night, even before he stepped foot into her home.

She watched the off-white tile rinse clean for the moment, running her tongue along her bottom lip as she thought. Perhaps this was some sort of… test? Admit the truth, or deny it entirely. Mercy could have lied easily, dismissing the entire idea as a joke on his part, and carried on with her task. How could such a good person – an angel – be involved in such practices? It wouldn’t have been the first time she hid appalling truths from one of her Overwatch comrades. No one pried too deeply with a little distraction or two. At least for a little while.

Angela, however, felt she could not lie to him. Not after they were getting back on the right track to trusting one another.

“Indeed, you would think it’s a lucrative trade, but it is inherently fickle.” She closed the small distance between them, testing the water temperature once more against her hand. “One day you have hundreds of requests for this and that, more appointments than you can handle, and then nothing. Not one buyer for weeks. I suppose hunting for treasure is the same sort of idea; sometimes you have good hauls, and then maybe a few coins.”

Still partly unsure of how reliant on her Jamison wanted to be, Angela started off by simply rinsing his body of all the larger patches of dirt and grime she could reach with him seated.

“If you ever need anything replaced, I can get you a fair price.” It was weak attempt at humor, and she was fully aware it could backfire, but it was better than going quiet again.

As the dried blood peeled away from his injured shoulder, the deep, dark bruising was clearly seen forming around the shoulder proper and his collar bone. Her gaze followed the splotches of color until they tapered off into the natural color of his skin; though now she found herself unable to look away from the junker.  It was the first time she had really taken the time to look at her guest; free of his usual trapping of heavy belts of ammunition – and that tire – and sitting still no less. He seemed do different being this subdued; unnatural.

Angela knew she had been staring too long, clearing her throat as she resolved to continue her task, “Doing alright, Jamison?”

499 Miles || Part 3

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|| Mun Profile

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. REPOST. DON’T REBLOG.

– BASICS.

NAME: Chaos

PRONOUNS: She / Her

SEXUALITY: Heterosexual

TAKEN OR SINGLE: Single

– THREE FACTS.

I have a brother

Bad 80s movies are my life

Cherry flavored anything is great. Cherries themselves have an inedible texture to me.

– EXPERIENCE.

HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?): 15+

PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED: Lots of things. Tabletop pen/paper, LiveJournal, AIM, Tumblr

BEST EXPERIENCE: Dragging @flxshasarat into fandoms with me.

– MUSE PREFERENCES.

FEMALE OR MALE: Female

FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT: ANGST. But I like Fluff. And much sinning.

PLOTS OR MEMES: memes. PLOT OR GO HOME.

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: On the long side. Short things don’t like... fuel my need for storytelling.

BEST TIME TO WRITE: Evenings and Weekends

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): Maybe? But only in the fact we both share a deep seated bitterness about things.

TAGGED BY: @flxshasarat

TAGGING: ALL YOU ALL.

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Spoiler: They didn’t let them in.

humans just don’t like berserker orcs and crazy 2 meter alchemist/techie hobgoblins

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Devil

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girl on the battlefield

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Mercy Nendoroid at Anime Expo

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.ﾟ☆ Mercy Hairstyles ☆ﾟ.

pick your poison and tell me in your tags

i finally finished some freelancing work so to kill time i practiced drawing hairstyles featuring overwatch’s favourite healer!!

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A moment to enjoy some peace and quiet, probably just a moment though.

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when your favorite characters get reduced to generic or obvious traits or cliches and the whole fandom adopts it as canon

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Mercy Mercy Mercy Mercy Mercy Mercy

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Mercy / jak

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i really love the idea of mercy makin sure rat doesn’t do too many things detrimental to his health

i mean she cant stop him from fuckin himself up with explosions, but she can make sure he doesn’t forget to bundle up when its cold out and if he does go out and catch cold she can provide the chicken noodle soup

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had a go at making a necromancer skin for mercy.. next halloween bliz pls

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flxshasarat:

As he turned slightly to look over his shoulder at the described built-in bench, Junkrat’s admiration for Angela strengthened. She always appeared to have a solution to everything, no matter how random the situation may be. 

Fiddling with the belt buckle, he looked back to meet her gaze briefly, noticing the unusual grin she wore. Puzzled by her flirtatious attitude to the shower prep, the junker waited another beat to respond with a lazy shrug of his own, his tone casual. “I’d rocked up at short notice. You’re not making me sleep in your backyard, so I can’t complain… dunno why you’ve asked me that, put that way. Never heard of a bloke who showers with his clothes on.”

Supporting his weight on the wall with his arm, the junker followed the doctor’s instructions to the letter, and then some. Sounds echoed in the tiled room as he hopped into the shower cubicle, pleased to see (too late, after he’d already crossed it) that the floor was level, with no threshold to trip over. Pieces of gravel and dirt skittered across the floor, shaken loose from his boot; the different shower head attachments were positioned out of the way, making it easier for him to transfer to the bench Angela had pointed out. 

The wall felt cold under his hand when he’d pressed against it, standing upright on his single leg. The shelf with its neat arrangement of items had transformed into a blur, the junker growing detached from his surroundings. Fumbling with the fastening on his belt, facing away from Angela, his fingers were moving slow, his metal fingers against the wall tapping in meandering thoughts. The joke was real then – it had taken this long for it to truly hit home, despite their agreement that this was a two-man operation, this shower business. It felt embarrassing to him, not to ask for help – living as a physically disabled man, that cliché was tiresome – he just wanted to present a better impression on his new companion. 

Easing himself to turn in a small circle to face the stall’s opening, Rat had weighed the advantages, the pros and cons of distributing the tasks they had to share to make everything go smoothly. If it were left up to him, Rat would certainly have stayed in the lounge to sleep on the original armchair – skipping the wasted meal in the kitchen, getting sick, and using more energy in here. 

Taking a seat on the bench with a heavy thud, his boot heel squeaking across the tile (leaving a nice streak of dirt and grass blades with it), Rat resolved to keep everything professional. His gaze didn’t linger on anything in the room that looked private, like discarded laundry or other personal items. It was enough that Rat was embarrassed; didn’t need to make the tension more uncomfortable by asking about anything she had mistakenly left out for a guest to see.

Sitting in Angela’s fancy bathroom, a working shower – a luxury with hot, clean water not controlled by a timer. Junkrat’s thoughts stopped wandering when he’d realised that he’d had spent too long in silence, fiddling with the socket of his prosthetic arm. The cotton straps were dark and streaked with sweat, a strong sour smell of B.O rising from the arm as he ran his fingers over it. He’d have to clean it, tomorrow, supposing he hadn’t carked it over night from any unforeseen side-effects of the staff. Sighing, Rat left his prosthetic alone, looking up to watch Angela, forcing a smile.

“You’ve been sucked into this, so whenever you’re ready, I’m game.”

Dropping his hand from exploring the edge of the prosthetic where it overlapped the socket and straps, Rat leaned back stiffly against the wall with a hand on either side on the bench to prop himself, ready to lift his butt off the seat for a second to make it easier for Angela to tug his pants and boxers down all the way together as one without his full weight.

“Outside? Like some unruly pet? Perish the thought!” She snickered softly, “The shed is too small and too full of gardening tools. You’d never fit.”

As her guest made himself comfortable on the shower bench, Angela braced a hand against the outside portion of the shower wall, slipping off her socks before tossing them vaguely in the direction of the laundry basket. Once she stepped into the shower proper, she carefully avoided the dirt and debris that coated a section of the tile from the doorway to Junkrat’s boot. No doubt she would spend a good part of the next morning scrubbing down the floor and giving the glass doors a good cleaning as well. Not that the fixture wasn’t due for thorough cleaning, but the added factors of blood and other bodily fluids mixed with grime wouldn’t be kind if left to sit even after a good rinse.

She knelt down on one knee in front of Junkrat, picking bit of caked dirt out of his bootlace as she untied it, “At least this is giving me something to do this evening; better than fluffing around the house alone.”

The boot – and accompanying sock – were removed in short order and she reached back to set them just off to the side of the shower door. Angela settled herself to sitting on the tile now, her legs folded crosswise in front, and began working on carefully unwinding the cloth that was tightly wrapped around his ankle. It wasn’t a tedious task to the seasoned physician, having grown quite practiced with dressing and undressing limbs. It was an infinitely easier process when the patient wasn’t rolling around in discomfort or bleeding heavily, but it still took a bit of time to work on.

Once she unwrapped the full length of the bandage, she glanced up at Junkrat, gently massaging the newly exposed skin of his calf with her fingers, “Be careful about making this too tight. You’ve got these little lines all over; poor circulation. You’ll lose the other leg, and then where would we be?”

Getting up back to standing, she tossed the rather dirty wrapping out by the socks and boot, before turning her attention back to Jamison. Pausing a moment, cleared her throat loudly before stepping up close to him, reaching down to get a hold of his pants and the band of his underwear. She kept her head upright, not wanting to draw any more attention to the fact that the action of helping him to remove his clothing was peculiar to say the least.  It was a surprisingly smooth operation, seeing as Junkrat was already anticipating her help and gave assistance where he could.

Angela threw the pants into the same dirty clothing pile she had already started, “I’ve been meaning to say what a shame it is that your first impression of my country has been so poor. Being injured and suffering my company for however long it may be… normally, Switzerland is quite the vacation spot.”

She turned her back toward him, tilting the various faucets down and away from the bench, and turned the water on low pressure so as not to get his synthetic arm wet until he removed it. Her hand reached under the water flow, and she pulled it back immediately with an unhappy noise.

“It takes a while for the water to warm up. Could have the most expensive setup on earth, and the water is still damned freezing. The price of isolation, I suppose.”

499 Miles || Part 3

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