angelas feet

“'Cause I know your face // And I know your hands // And I know your breath // And I know your lips // And all I want // All I want is you tonight.”

“lydia” highly suspect
“i want you” marian hill
“angel” theory of a dead man
“bloodstream” transviolet
“iris” the goo goo dolls
all i want” daniella mason
“tonight” seether
“parachute (dan romer spook out)” ingrid michaelson
“ares” winters island
“drumming song” florence + the machine
“love me blind” thick as thieves

[spotify] [playmoss]

Moondance (mercymaker, T, 1.5k)

i wanted 2 write something extremely soft and extremely gay and Here It Is, Here Is The Soft Domestic Gay Content

read on ao3 here

also just put this on loop in the bg for Maximum Effect


Angela Ziegler was tired.

Perhaps that was too tame a word. The good doctor was frequently tired. Angela now was fucking exhausted, and suffering from a mood drop in the worst sort of way as a result. It was hard to stay chipper with a severe block in her research impeding further progress, and harder still when she’d spent the week with a bad case of insomnia and nightmares besides.

But if there was one skill Dr. Ziegler had picked up from her multiple degrees and diplomas, it was how to overcome a bad mood and severe lack of sleep by way of her trusty coffeepot. She was feeling the effects of the caffeine crash now, though, as she stumbled into her flat too late at night, kicking off her shoes with a world-weary “Fuck.

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Honest Mistake - Mercy76

Sooooo I read a comic by a Mercy76 shipper. I assumed the comic would end with Mercy76. Boy, was I wrong! Heartbroken, I turned to WordPad and cranked this baby out. I desperately needed Mercy76. Sorry if it’s rushed or kind of boring. I just… I needed some slice-of-life style Mercy76.


Honest Mistake

Sighing, she laid her head to rest on Fareeha’s shoulder. “You’re not helping,” she whimpered.

“I realized it the moment I uttered it. But,” Fay nuzzled her friend between her cheek and shoulder, “you know I mean it in the most endearing way possible. You are not getting any older. Everyone has someone and here you are, stealing me away from Jesse. Again.”

Angela’s lips curled up like a cat’s smile, “You’re one to complain.” Flicking her finger down Fareeha’s nose. “Weren’t you the one who wanted to date me.” A coy look flickered in her blue orbs. “Could have sworn you wanted to marry me,” she teased.

“Psh,” she playfully pushed Angela from her shoulder. “I would never.” An unmistakable blush crossed her tan cheeks.

“You’re blushing.”

“Am not,” she swatted at the blonde before attempting to tickle her.

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sovietsoldier1120  asked:

Rest, and by resting, I don’t mean reading all the books you possibly can while in bed, Pharmercy.

For the billionth time that day, Angela had to turn away from her workstation as her shoulders wracked with wet, ugly coughs. She didn’t have time to be sick, not when the entire crate of Soldier:76’s newest healing canisters were all malfunctioning and he needed at least 6 working ones by sunrise.

“What is wrong with you?” Angela mumbled to herself as she returned to work, examining the wiring with a frown.

Nothing seemed to be out of order, the circuits were all connected and the healing nanobots were working as intended, but they just wouldn’t deploy. The only way to get them to work now was by smashing the exterior casing, and considering that it was made to withstand even the impact of a direct grenade, it was no easy task.

Angela coughed again, nearly falling out of her chair with the force of it. She could barely sneak in a strangled gasp before she was coughing again, her lungs aching.

“Angela.”

The sudden call of her name was all it took to send her sprawling out of her chair with a startled yelp, “F-Fareeha!”

Said woman looked torn between worry and amusement as she strode over to Angela, hands on her hips and a frown on her lips.

“You’re sick,” she said, her tone making it clear that it was more of a statement than a question.

Brushing it off, Angela struggled to her feet, “It’s not that bad, Fare-”

She was interrupted by another intense bout of coughing, so bad that she had to bend over and lean against her desk for support. Fareeha frowned, definitely unconvinced, as she rubbed gentle circles into her girlfriend’s back.

“You need to rest,” she said, cutting off Angela’s indignant protest, “I will sling you over my shoulder if that is what it takes.”

Angela huffed, regretting it immediately as it triggered more coughing. She had experienced the indignity of being carried like a sack of potatoes by an Amari before, years ago, and it wasn’t one that she would like repeated. Hana and Lena would never let her hear the end of it.

She wasn’t getting anywhere with her poking and prodding, anyway, and she had a few dozen nanobiological textbooks and research papers in a drawer by her bed. Maybe one of them would provide her the answers she needed…

“Alright,” she conceded, “I’ll rest.”

“Rest,” Fareeha repeated, and the look in her eyes told Angela that she had read her mind. “And by resting, I don’t mean reading all the books you possibly can while in bed.”

She pouted, “Fine.”

archiveofourown.org
Impact Factor - Chapter 18 - Irasst - Overwatch (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

(Excerpt:)

Then, on one particular morning, Fareeha shifted Angela’s ponytail forward to the top of her head so that it stuck straight up in the air. She stifled a giggle as Angela held up a mirror to see what Fareeha had done to her.

Fareeha leapt to her feet, grabbed Angela’s staff that was still stored behind the bed, and tapped each of Angela’s shoulders with it.

“I dub thee, Sir Angela “Pineapple” Ziegler”, proclaimed Fareeha.

Angela tried to hold a stern face, but a smile cracked through her attempt.

“Get back here, I need my revenge”, said Angela, reaching in Fareeha’s direction.

Fareeha stuck her tongue out at Angela in response.

A laugh bubbled inside Angela’s chest. She grabbed Fareeha around the waist, and used her body weight to throw Fareeha onto the bed. After all the recent bouts of wrestling with an annoying Jesse, Angela had developed a basic understanding of how to pin Fareeha under her. For her part, Fareeha didn’t put up much of a fight, or rather, she was laughing too hard to do so.

Angela rolled Fareeha onto her stomach, and sat on her back, bracing some weight on the legs that straddled Fareeha so she wouldn’t crush her. In contrast to the firm grip she held Fareeha with, Angela gently took the loose strands of Fareeha’s hair and tied them up on top of her head.

“O great Sultan Fareeha Amari, ruler of the Kingdom of Pineapples, mother of coalesced berries everywhere. Tell me of the enemies which I, Sir Angela “Pineapple” Ziegler, Your Majesty’s Right Hand, should strike down for the honour of the Pineapple Nation.”

While waiting for Fareeha’s laughter to subside, Angela reached to the nearby end table and stole Fareeha’s phone, snapping as many pictures as she could before Fareeha squirmed away from Angela, wrested the phone back, and retaliated with an equal amount of photos of Angela’s ridiculous hair-do.

strickenveteran  asked:

"Scoot." A grumble, half taken by sleep as the space was hardly enough for the two. Her preparation for the day keeping him from the bathroom (A boon for it being connected to her room & her room only). Pacience not a strong suit, open palm collides with tail end of shirt serving dress. "Excuse me." Gruff tone as wrist recoils from the spank before door shut, locked & would house the wolf for a time.

Weight rocking to the balls of feet, Angela gave the mirror a half lidded look as she ran a mascara wand along eyelashes. Makeup no small passion (evidence abundant over the countertop) the good doctor made up her face even before getting coffee. One last pass before she turned bright blue eyes to harsh white light to check for blending mishap or stray pigment.

The grumble was easily ignored (was that a wrinkle?), as was the order that followed. The small swift smack however? Angela took a loud intake of air and… and thank god short moan that followed was drowned in the sound of door closing and sleep gritted ‘excuse me’.

Lips pressed only half as tight as her cheeks, the good doctor stomped to her closet to finish getting ready. She was suddenly, inexplicitly in the mood to make waffles.

insanely-smart.tumblr.com
insanely-smart.tumblr.com/post/136654627923/precursorpress-tom-hiddleston-writes-about
precursorpress: “Tom Hiddleston writes about Olivia Colman and her role in The Night Manager. From the February 2016 issue of Harper’s Bazaar UK (Cate Blanchett is on the cover). Clicking on the...

I took a shot at transcribing the text. Pls forgive any boo-boos. 

@insanely-smart @precursorpress@hiddleshoneybunny

There’s something in John le Carre’s writing and the world he creates that is intrinsically British.  He’s  a great analyst of our national psyche, as much as a master storyteller of espionage thrillers.  His 1993 novel The Night Manager has long been among the favourites of Hugh Laurie, who had been trying to get involved in an adaptation for years/  In the autumn of 2014, Hugh and I signed up to join the six-part television series for the BBC and AMC. Hugh would play the arms dealer Richard Onslow Roper, described by Le Carre’ as ‘the worst man in the world’, with myself as Jonathan Pine, a former British soldier, the night manager of the title, who is sent to infiltrate Roper’s crew.  The producer Stephen Garrett suggested the Oscar-winning Danish director Susanne Bier to direct.  Sometimes the best interpreters of the British experience are not British, and we all thought Susanne would find both the human and universal truths within the drama.

That November, I met Susanne in London for the first time. In Le Carre’s novel, Leonard Burr is an intelligence operative working on the fringes of MI6 who recruits Jonathan Pine. Burr is a kind of barrel-chested Yorkshireman - very funny, practical, unspeakably decent, a moral crusader, a man you’d want to have a pint with. But the first thing Susanne said to me was: 'I think Burr should be a woman.’

'That changes things,’ I thought (rather obviously). 'I think it should be Olivia Colman,’ she said. 'The only thing is, Olivia is pregnant.’ It was an incredible idea. Still more incredible that Olivia was not only willing, but keen to do this during her second trimester. It was going to be a gruelling shoot, spanning four locations - Switzerland, London, Morocco and Majorca - cramming six hours of story into 75 days. But all she wanted to do was be on her feet. Thus Angela Burr was born, and the part was rewritten to incorporate Olivia’s pregnancy, which I believe adds to the story because it makes her courage even more extraordinary.  Burr continues her work and pursuit of Roper with a total selflessness and an unwavering strength, without any regard for her safety, security or health.

When people say someone is a good person, it sometimes suggests they might be a pushover. Olivia is a good person and is absolutely no pushover.  She is instinctively warm, but in her work she has shown how powerful she can be - take a film like Tyrannosaur, in which she has such depth and breadth. She’s no-nonsense, and has very little vanity.  There are some great scenes in The Night Manager where she gets ambushed by the higher-ups, the Whitehall mandarins of the intelligence services. She’s surrounded by men in pinstripe suits, and you can sense a nasty, latent misogyny.  At first, her appearance makes her seem vulnerable, in a traditionally male-dominated world - but she stands up to them, uncowed by their bullish threats. She’s not to be railroaded. There’s something really wonderful about the way she plays that.

A confrontation between Roper and Burr - Hugh Laurie and Olivia Colman - towards the end is thrilling.  In that moment they are so opposite: on the one hand, here’s a sophisticated man in a cream linen suit, who seems to have the world at his feet, who never breaks a sweat; and on the other, there’s Angela Burr, heavily pregnant, who has him cornered.  Contrast this slippery Machiavellian character, opaque in all his dealings, with Burr - direct, clear, clean. She has appeared to be the underdog for so long, but appearances can be deceiving.

John le Carre’ himself (or David Cornwell, as he’s otherwise known) offered his own opinion on Olivia during a script meeting in March last year.  We all sat around a small table in a drafty anteroom behind a council hall in Holborn, and listened to him talk about the intricate and specific nature of agent-running: delicate, sensitive, often strangely parental - the intelligence officer co-coordinating from home must have a deep understanding of the physical and psychological stress of the agent. He loved the idea that Burr, as a woman, was somehow looking after Pine, watching over him.  'I think the transformation of Leonard Burr to into Angela Burr - as embodied by Olivia Colman - is a stroke of genius,’ he said. This from the man who was once in the Circus (his name for MI6) himself; this from the man who knew the game inside out. 'It’s the best asset that this production has.’

- Tom Hiddleston for Harper’s Bazaar UK

Stranger, could you walk me home?

Pairing: Mercy76 and 76 x His Jacket

Rating: T

Warnings: Mugging and depression? Are these warnings?

Notes: My first and probably only contribute to the Mercy76 fandom and Overwatch as a whole. I really don’t write things, but it was sitting in my head for a while. Don’t like, don’t read… I am very scared to even post this. RIP Me.

Nights like this were scarce in Angela’s life. Work kept her mind occupied, kept it from caving in on itself. Many who had the honor of working closely with her would never believe a strong woman like the infamous Doctor Ziegler had dark days. Random occurrences where giving up sounded like a candy-coated temptation dripping like velvety chocolate. The guilt can consume every part of her being, depression sinking it’s claws deep into her sanity. It starts with a whispering thought, then spreads to sporadic “what ifs” and “maybes”. 

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anonymous asked:

ooooo so how does genji make it up to mercy for taking care of him?? fun night out? fun night IN?? shopping spree??? endless cuddles?? tell us *u*

Okay, okay, I’ll tell ya doll. <3

  • It’s totally a day out having fun to start with. Genji has sworn up and down to making up for being sick but Angela just laughs and waves it off. She really doesn’t see it as a big deal, but man Genji is not having that.
  • He takes her out shopping, and Angela is super hesitate at first because it makes her a little uncomfortable to have someone spending so much money on her but Genji insists that he wants to do it and its simply his gift to her. She eventually caves in to his too pretty brown eyes and they hit the fanciest stores they can find.
  • For fun, Angela picks a little black number off the shelves, but hides it from Genji’s view, promising him he’ll see it later tonight.
  • After all the shopping is done with, Angela slips into her little black dress. She almost makes Genji stop breathing she looks so stunning in it. She blushes at his awestruck expression and they kiss a little before hitting the town.
  • Fancy dinner for his fancy girl. They dine and Angela is feeling the love and Genji is just glad she’s feeling spoiled because that was his only mission today. 
  • They finish the night out by returning to Genji’s house. The moment they enter his house, he’s sweeping her off her feet. Angela giggles as he dances around with her in his arms and the kisses just don’t stop and between each breath he’s saying how magnificent she is in every way. 
  • He just packs her around all night, saying he can’t let his beautiful angel touch the ground. This earth doesn’t deserve her presence.
  • She’s thanking him again and again and honestly she’s never felt this spoiled ever before.
  • Genji’s grinning and kissing her again because his girlfriend is getting everything she deserves and he feels so lucky to be the one giving her all of it. 
Potion (Pharah/Mercy - Overwatch)

“Remember what I said about over exerting yourself?”

Fareeha groaned and squirming in the infirmary bed. Angela couldn’t discern if it was due to genuine pain or that she was, in fact, right. Every venture out onto the battlefield, Angela did her best to assist her teammates, for without her, they would inevitably fall. Figuratively, anyways. For Fareeha, however, the outcome turned out more literal than necessary.

Angela stayed behind, favoring lab studies and results over the mission; the debriefing claimed an excess of roles, thus she wasn’t required to go. Though when word traveled to her of Pharah’s Raptora suit malfunctioning and the eventual crash, Angela vacated her post in an instant.

The bruises would fade, but the scars would be added to the collection. Knowing Fareeha, she’d wear them like a decorated soldier donned badges. Angela shook her head over the thought.

“You’ve said a lot of things,” Fareeha muttered. “I’ve lost track.”

Finally, a smile emerged on Angela’s face. “Well, this time, you should be thankful you could walk away alive.”

Well, sort of walk. There was a sprain in her ankle, perhaps even a fracture—Angela had yet to read the files—but it surpassed dying.

“At least no one was hurt,” Fareeha rambled on.

Angela blinked and cocked her head. “I beg to differ. You landed in here, did you not?”

And when Fareeha tilted her chin up to eye Angela, there was a softness she had yet to see within the militant facade constantly worn by her teammate. “Only me. Not dozens or hundreds. Just me.” She closed her eyes. “I’d rather it be me.”

Those words were small daggers poking at Angela’s heart. She instinctively reached out to Fareeha and clutched onto her upper arm.

“I’d rather it had been no one,” Angela whispered. I should have been out there. I could have prevented this. Then a thought occurred to her. I wish it hadn’t been you—

“Shocker. Well, sorry to disappoint you, Mercy.” Fareeha struggled to lift her other hand to pat the top of Angela’s. “So… what are the chances of upping my pain meds?”

Oh. Right. Angela retracted her arm and stood up. “Is it getting worse?”

Fareeha shrugged. “Getting there. I’d rather deal with it now than be screaming in an hour or so. D.Va was saying you could hook me up with some sweet health potions.”

“…Health potions?”

Sweet health potions. That’s a direct quote. She’d be upset if you didn’t add that descriptor.”

At that, Angela chuckled. “Not sure I’d call it sweet, unless having sweet dreams as a side effect falls under that.”

“So long as they’re not nightmares.”

“I doubt it.” Angela pivoted her feet towards the door. “Give me a moment.”

Within five minutes, she returned to Fareeha’s side with the medication needed to relieve her of pain. Angela injected the contents into the IV and gauged Fareeha’s face for a reaction to the medication. Each breath lengthened while Fareeha closed her eyes.

“That should do it,” Angela said with a smile. “It’s a muscle relaxant, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you fall asleep.”

“Yeah,” Fareeha replied. “Think it’s working. Real good, too.” Her words dragged out and softened. “Thanks, Mercy. This means… a lot to me.”

Her heart swelled and her lips quirked to life. “Please, it’s Angela.”

Not that she would have called her by Fareeha—the stubborn woman insisted on her callsign even off the battlefield—but Angela wasn’t her and they were more than comrades, right? At least Angela viewed her as so. More than a battlesuit protecting her in the heat of combat. Just as she was beyond a walking—or flying, depending on the situation—medkit.

But Fareeha murmured something through closed lips. Angela leaned in, hoping to hear more, but all she found were deep, peaceful breaths.

Asleep so soon. Angela smiled. You need it, anyways.

Though instead of pulling back, Angela dipped in further, pushed a lock of black hair out of Fareeha’s face, and kissed her temple.

Süsse Träume,” she whispered into her before leaving the room.

[also on AO3] [also on FFN]

ohnooitsmo  asked:

Bc you wanted headcanons-- Angela can't sleep without some sort of background noise in the room. Normally a fan would do the trick. Or better yet, listening to the inner workings of her cyborg boyfriends body as she lays her head on his chest.

This was going to be pure fluff but then it turned into this. Enjoy~

Whir


Angela couldn’t sleep without noise. Not loud, rambunctious noise like something you’d find from leaving the television on overnight or falling asleep to a hardcore action movie, but soft noise: whirring machinery, a squeaky fan, wind whistling through the blinds.

Most often she found herself lulled to sleep in her office. How often did her teammates and coworkers berate her for falling asleep there? Several times a day. “Angela you need to leave that damn room,” Gabriel would order. “Get some fresh air, go outside.”

“Angela,” Jack would sigh, “Maybe you should get away from your office for a bit. You could join me down in the shooting range for an hour or two; you said you wanted to practice your aim.”

“Angela, come to dinner with us!” Lena would laugh, tugging on her sleeves as the doctor prepared some food to take back to her office. “You’re always working, you need a break!”

“Angela this.”

“Angela that.”

They called it her Cave, the Mercy Cave, and always referred to it either in jest or with an air of disdain. How often did they find out she’d slept in there for the third night in a row, leaving her computer on so it’s soft buzzing could loll her to sleep? At least once a week. One time Jesse actually told Gabriel about it (‘tattling’ was what she’d called it at the time) and the self-appointed strike commander carried her out and locked her in her assigned bedroom. She hadn’t slept that night, not out of defiance, but the silence bore into her temples, making it impossible for her to fall asleep.

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kellbellsparkles  asked:

Hi <3 I just read your prompt about Hanzo's dragons looking after Mccree in the talon cell and I loved it so much, I was wondering if u were gonna write a sequel where mccree is rescued.

Well… (previous: X, X

WHAT EVERYONE KNOWS

Angela remembered the first time she met a Shimada dragon. 

It was after saving Genji. She could still remember how it happened after all these years, how she thought him dead on first sight until the man had gasped out a breathe. She could still remember the blood that had stained her arms up to the elbows, how she was so terrified of having another man she couldn’t save, how brown eyes had stared at her helplessly as her team struggled to keep him together. She could still remember how she grabbed his hand to provide some support, something to root the dying man to the living.

That was how she met the dragon: squeezing a hand. It’d come to life, a flash of green snaking out of the pool of blood. A mighty thing, brought to its knees. She still remembered how it climbed on her shoulders and whispered one of the few words she knew in Japanese.

Thank you. 

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kiyuukins  asked:

Rocket Angel role reversal prompt: Pharah patches up and takes care of Mercy after a pretty brutal fight where the enemy was particularly focused on keeping the healer out of the battle.

Angsty prompt? Mercy taking a shot and protecting a teammate, pharah scrambles to save her life and at the end pharah just breaks down saying she didnt want to lose mercy.


“Just… just stay still.”

Angela’s bloody lip pulls in between her teeth as Fareeha carefully starts to clean the bullet scrape on her arm. Her mechanical fingers move with practiced care, tenderly wiping away blood and dirt before she grasps a bandage from the nearby table and pulls it out of its package.

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