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MDNI [18+] | Overwatch | [OC] Nima McNally | Roleplay Blog | Carrd | est. 31 July 2026
The Bright Sessions

#extradirty
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Today's Document

No title available
YOU ARE THE REASON
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

@theartofmadeline
The Bowery Presents
todays bird
occasionally subtle
Cookie Run:Kingdom Official!
NASA

shark vs the universe

izzy's playlists!
Color Me Curious
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Monterey Bay Aquarium

PR's Tumblrdome

bliss lane

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@mcnally-reporting-in
Got a lead?
MDNI [18+] | Overwatch | [OC] Nima McNally | Roleplay Blog | Carrd | est. 31 July 2026
"You're sitting in my spot."
- @widowbyalex
The reporter blinked a couple of times, following the speaker's form up until meeting their face. Her lips parted gently in awe before she stood almost clumsily. "Apologies, miss.." Nima's eyes took one last mental photo before she turned her attention back to her laptop. Was this another intimidation tactic by Talon to shake her off their trail?
First meeting sentence starters -
“Wait — are you the person I’m supposed to meet?”
Nima grinned, nodding bashfully. "Yes, I believe so. Lena Oxton, right? I am Nima McNally, indie journalist. Will you be okay with me recording this conversation?"
A Deal in the Heat of Battle I
Closed starter for @shouga-nai _
From the shadows, a lone figure monitored the operation closely. Multiple holographic screens were up around him, tracking footage of the major parts of Fremont. Countless Null Sector warbots were deployed, fanning out into the street and buildings. Their commands were clear:
Initiate liberation. If the humans interfere, execute.
His voice was broadcasted throughout the Strip, a declaration of liberation, reaching out to his brethren and shedding light on his cause and philosophy.
At some point, however, Ramattra detected another broadcast, tracing the signal to that very street. Pulling up the live footage from one of his search drones, he caught a glimpse of a human ducking into an alleyway. Ordinarily he would pay no mind, just another straggler caught in the chaos. But what little he had picked up from her broadcast was enough to pull his attention...
Thus there he stood before her. While the hood of his cowl was up, concealing a good part of his faceplate, his large build and forbidding presence clearly stood out. The Omnic let a few seconds of silent observation pass before finally speaking.
"It would seem there truly is a fine line between bravery and stupidity." All the same with confidence and arrogance, as humanity had demonstrated time and time again. "You dawdle around a zone of high risk, all for the sake of a firsthand report."
Despite his tone and baleful hum of the Void Accelerator, he stayed his hand, leaving both the human and that crude little device of hers untouched. For the moment. Still, his gaze bore into her, awaiting an answer.
"...To what end?"
Nima stared up at the omnic breathlessly. Was she surprised he hadn't taken her life? Partially, but that was a psych-dissection for another time. The reporter adjusted herself, standing whilst dusting powered rubble from her clothing. "There are countless sources that report on these events," she began as she recalled her drone. The panel on her wrist dismissed itself. "There are an even larger number that use them to fearmonger. These results in higher rates of violence against Omnics, and further motivate the crisis as a whole. It rolls over into war profiteers, and the poverty for the populations that are pulled down by it all."
Nima leaned to her left, glancing behind the ravager. Satisfied by her findings, she continued to brave the harrowing eye contact. "I've risked my life a number of times for these moments, to the end that the masses can be informed properly. So their opinions aren't skewed by some wealthy arms dealer who wants to make more money. I do not want the masses to fear omnics they see, nor do I wish for them to spread continuous hatred. It was humanity's responsibility to respect a new race the minute we created it. I'll keep fighting for that."
drunken confessions
"it makes me mad how pretty/handsome you are"
"i don't have to be drunk to know how much i love you."
"i wish i was the only person you looked at like that."
"goddamnit, i told myself i wouldn't cry."
"we should just, like, run away together." "and go where, exactly?" "anywhere."
"you know me better than so many people."
"i don't deserve you." "yes you do." "no. no, no, no, i don't. you're, like, so out of my league it's insane."
"i think you're my soulmate."
"i knew i shouldn't have said that. i'm sorry."
"kiss me." "you're drunk." "pfft. it's just a kiss."
"your hands are so warm. feels nice."
"i don't wanna go home." "why not?" "'cus you're not there."
"you're my favourite person in the whole wide world."
"you're not gonna leave me, are you?"
"you should let me paint you. i'd do such a good job at it."
"if you keep looking at me like that i'm gonna fall even more in love." "even more?"
"i don't care if i forget this in the morning. i'm just happy to be with you right now."
"i should've told you how i felt before. woulda saved a lot of time and heartache."
"your smile is so beautiful it almost makes me nauseous." "you don't know what you're saying." "in a good way."
"i can't believe i just said that. it was supposed to be a secret."
"i wasn't lying when i said i didn't want anything serious. i just didn't realize i only want it with you."
"are you sure you don't want anything serious?" "i'm sure." "you're breakin' my heart."
"that guy/girl you're seeing? he/she doesn't deserve you."
"you're my favorite person, you know that?" "i know."
"i'm so scared i'm gonna fuck this up."
"sometimes i feel like you're the only one who gets me."
"i know i love you more than you love me. but that's okay. i still get to be with you. and i love you."
"i wrote a song about you." "did you now?" "yep. and it's super poetic."
"your hands are so much bigger/smaller than mine."
"i'm so glad i exist at the same time as you."
"you ever think the universe wanted us to meet and fall in love?" "i know it did."
"babe, look, that car is your favourite color. how cool."
// via ask
Nima took a deep, sharp breath when she saw down the barrel of some poor soul's sidearm, freshly reowned now with a much more violent handler. Still, Nima's camera kept rolling even while she muttered her pleas in her mother's mother tongue—Arabic. Her breathing came controlled, though fear presented itself proudly. With a free hand, the woman presented a token; brandished was the seal of Null Sector, in front of the badge on her armor that marked her as press. The token, odd as it was, a gift from an old interview years ago that launched a pro-omnic movement with McNally as the spearhead.
"I am no fighter." Nima spoke shakily, "I'm just a reporter."
The hand raises as it prepares to fire at the next disgusting slab of meat that crosses its path, the gun precisely aimed. But the finger that is mere microns away from sealing this young woman's fate is halted, precisely kept on the trigger. There is a moment where it thinks it should just blow her head open too... But, there it is again.
A loose thread in the back of its head.
Reporters are not targets, says a voice that is not its own, So make sure you steer clear.
"You will provide identification." Comes the demand, "Personal and professional. Do not keep me waiting, human."
The disdain for the other is palpable. The threat is very clearly implied, what with that finger still on the trigger that does not so much as twitch or tremble; neither ending nor saving a life. Precise. The trigger finger of someone with more hours firing weapons than anyone or anything should ever have.
Nima took another deep breath, blinking rapidly to reorient herself. The camera was lowered, and fear was swallowed. "Nima McNally, Investigative Journalist. I-Independant." The token was slipped up her sleeve. "I've been following the recent battles, and subsequently...you."
Please take as long as you need to reply
Please come talk to me about headcanons, ships and plots
Please introduce me to all your characters
Please never be afraid to start new things with me (even if we already have 1000)
Please leave endless amounts of memes and all kinds of random stuff in my inbox
Please IM me about things that happen in your life
Please feel free to be yourself
Please HAVE FUN
📞
- @mcnally-reporting-in
There were many things that the hacker was good at. It was obvious in the way that she carried herself. It was obvious that those things she good at that she honed herself in, viciously. The amount of favors that she was able to leverage made her sure of that. On thing that she was less skilled in was her hand to hand combat. She had gotten used to the injuries, her pain tolerance heightened from not only combat but the implants within her own head. Those same implants that were currently on the ground next to her, only connected by some wire. There was so much blood. That's one of the few things that the hacker could understand around her. That and the searing pain that radiated across her entire head and down her spine. Spots of white littered her vision. She wasn't used to pain like this. It clouded her judgment and she couldn't think. It was with whimpering that she had managed to get her hand on her comm unit. She couldn't see straight enough to see who she was dialing. Usually her tech would do this for her but it wasn't an option. It seemed like it was on reflex that she had managed to start calling the last person that she had contacted on her list.
Fingers slaved over a keyboard, making revisions and edits to an article regarding one of Null Sector's recent attacks. To say Nima was exhausted was an understatement. A darkness had been forming steadily around her eyes, and her speech was beginning to slow down, and occasionally slur. Nima blinked at the lone of text she had just written,
"Follpwung thw atttscl on lAs Vehad"
...it was time for a break.
With a frustrated sigh, Nima rose from her chair and slid her hands under her glasses to massage her eyes. Fleeting fantaties of snuggling up in bed were quickly dissolved, however, as the sound of her burner phone began to ring. Why was Sombra calling? Was it new information? Nima had yet to be paid for the last article, she couldn't exactly afford it...unless bartering was—no, that was too important to be left in the hands of someome like her.
Nima answered, a less than savory soundsacape on the other side of the line. "S-Sombra?" She asked, "Are you safe? Are you alright?"
she's been comfortably asleep on their couch until they rudely woke her with the front door closing. "what, like you ain't happy to see me~"
Nima's eye twitched. "There are people in this world who can have a friendly break-in and laugh it off, but there are also..." she sighed, "Which manuscript did you take? Those are my meal tickets ya'know..."
reblog if you’re open to banter!
sometimes you just wanna have fun on the dash, and that’s okay!
A Deal in the Heat of Battle I
Closed starter for @shouga-nai _
Alas, I am late, but my sentiment still stands. Cole Cassidy has been an important flagstone of Overwatch (though certainly controversial in his time). On behalf of the Crisis survivors; Thank you and Happy birthday! Your sacrifices have saved countless lives, omnic and human alike!_
Anyone have any music recommendations? I'm in a rut rn and can't seem to find anything that scratches that itch..._
is anyone like pro-recovery but also like omg let’s get worse together or is that js me ヽ(;▽;)ノ
No, no, you're onto something. I think it's a normal part of recovery.
All eyes on Vishakr. Don't stop watching._
first meeting sentence starters.
send one to have our muses meet for the first time.
“Sorry, were you just talking to me?”
“I think you dropped this.”
“You look lost. Need some help?”
“I don’t usually talk to strangers, but…”
“You’re sitting in my spot.”
“Whoa! Careful!”
“We’ve never met, right? You seem familiar.”
“Is that seat taken?”
“Sorry, I think I just spilled something on you.”
“You’re blocking the doorway.”
“Were you just staring at me?”
“Excuse me, do you know the time?”
“Wait — are you the person I’m supposed to meet?”
“I’ve been sent to find you.”
“Please don’t be alarmed, but I think we have the same bag.”
“Do you work here?”
“I’m fairly certain that’s mine.”
“You’ve got something on your face.”
“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
“Do you know the way to ___?”
“You’re hurt. Do you need help?”
“That’s a fine ___ (cloak/hat/book/etc.). Where did you get it?”
“This might sound strange, but can I hide behind you for a moment?”
“You look like you could use a friend.”
“I think your dog just stole my lunch.”
“Hey, you dropped your coin purse.”
“I think we’re stuck in here together.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear, but…”
“Are you the new neighbor?”
“First time in town?”
“I’m not sure if this belongs to you, but…”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’ve been hearing a lot about you.”
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“I think you’re in the wrong place.”
“You seem… out of place.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you following me?”
“That was a close call.”
“Not to alarm you, but someone’s watching you.”
“Mind if I walk with you?”
“You look like you’re in trouble.”
“Was that your doing back there?”
“You don’t look like you’re from around here.”
“That was impressive. How’d you manage it?”
“I’m guessing you’re not here by accident.”
“Do I want to know what just happened?”
“You might want to keep your voice down.”
“Is it always this strange around here?”
“I have a feeling we’re about to become acquainted whether we like it or not.”
“Looks like we’re in this together now.”
// Via rb/ask!
[ Pathetic. ]
It moves like the wind possessed. One minute the soldier has his sidearm ready to fire, ready to blow out one of its four visual sensors... The next he's disarmed and dead. Already dead. Swift, like the wind possessed, it has him dead and falling to the ground. The crack of a bullet from the stolen sidearm promises that one more will fall to the ground and a third & fourth promising more bloodshed, more death.
[ Utterly pathetic. ]
Nima took a deep, sharp breath when she saw down the barrel of some poor soul's sidearm, freshly reowned now with a much more violent handler. Still, Nima's camera kept rolling even while she muttered her pleas in her mother's mother tongue—Arabic. Her breathing came controlled, though fear presented itself proudly. With a free hand, the woman presented a token; brandished was the seal of Null Sector, in front of the badge on her armor that marked her as press. The token, odd as it was, a gift from an old interview years ago that launched a pro-omnic movement with McNally as the spearhead.
"I am no fighter." Nima spoke shakily, "I'm just a reporter."