Product Placement
art blog(derogatory)
@theartofmadeline
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Mike Driver
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Three Goblin Art
if i look back, i am lost
macklin celebrini has autism
noise dept.
#extradirty
ellievsbear
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Cosmic Funnies
Keni
izzy's playlists!
todays bird
Today's Document
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@slippedstream-blog
THE LAST WATCH: An Overwatch Roleplaying forum. ——— link.
Looking for somewhere to RP Overwatch? Like forum RP in general? Want to get in touch with other players? Want to RP your Overwatch OCs with reckless abandon? Bored? Whatever your reasons, TLWRP is now open to new members!
We have both a place for Overwatch OCs and available canon characters for anyone interested, as well as upcoming forum-wide plots. Come get started w/ us!
“Winston is on a mission, so while he’s gone I’m gonna cut the sleeves off of all of my shirts.”
day one: bloodbath (x) (x) (x) (x) — pharah is ruthless, holy shit. / thank god, tracer day one: (x) (x) (x) — how’s that working out for you, bastion? / quit sparing each other, you scrubs, that’s not how you win the game / beyonce, zenyatta, pharah and junkrat sounds like a terrifying team and i wouldn’t want to fight them
be ready for this hunger games because there’s a billion and one really silly custom events in it. i mean, really silly.
maybe you can make some crack rp out of it.
sonicamplified said: I HOPE JAR JAR DIES FIRST. venombled said: i hope jar jar wins
two types of people in this world,
ran into the problem of overwatch only having 21 out of the 24 required characters, but i filled the extra slots. anyone up for some shenanigans?
can we take a moment to talk about genji, tho. his brother straight up killed him and he still made the decision to forgive him for it. there’s gotta be a lot of love there to do something like that.
[10:11:43 AM] that gay: i'm so mad Hanzo doesn't Naruto run
genji: i forgave u brother me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
genji is one of my mains, so I was already really excited about this short, but holy SHIT i cried,
Amelie decides to open a confectionary shop. Widowbaker.
McCree gets into photography. High Zoom.
Widowmaker: ( if McCree is caught with his pants down does that mean it is High Moon? Widowmaker: ( I'm going to delete myself Widowmaker: ( if McCree was a cow he'd be High Moo Mercy: [ mcree wants to see some lions. high zoo ] Mercy: [ mcree sings a song. high tune ] Widowmaker: ( McCree wants to be on the top floor? High room
@peurdesaraignees i’m going to delete you first
— peurdesaraignees.
There is no objective. There is no necessary need to be up here beyond wanting to know the lay of the land better than prior intel given. They know these lanes as much as a native. They know far more than they’ll ever let on and, yet, they know very little all at once. The lack of apprehension at her arrival does Tracer little good. She does not flinch. She does nothing more than instigate conversation. Such a fly to dart so quickly into a web she hardly sees.
Has she little idea of the den she sits in without hesitation? They have fought before; many times, in fact. Widowmaker would have thought the woman would know when to leave them be to find a better perch. Then again, la femme hasn’t turned to look beyond her short sight. If she had the capability for it, they might have felt pity at the perceived naivety.
“Bonjor, l'ennui.”
The words seep through glossed lips without further thought. As members of the same team they must work together, for now. There would be ample opportunity to learn her patterns for them to use against her later on. Bitterness is not a feeling they have but something rankles in distaste at the knowledge the gauntlet had been so easily snatched from their grasp.
“London is a bore.”
“Right, of course you would be able to find weekly brawls boring.” She scoffs, almost offended. Off in the distance, the great clock tower rings. A musical, computerized sound has long since replaced the old bell, and she closes her eyes and counts the chimes all the way from one to nine before going on.
( time. if there’s anything she’s learned, it’s to stop and appreciate it while you have it. )
“And you still haven’t come up with a more creative nickname yet, have you, Amélie? You should know that I can understand what you call me.” She still hasn’t moved, instead sitting back with her arms behind her head and her heels kicked up as if on an invisible footrest. She understands enough french, even if she doesn’t speak it. “You had some creativity once, didn’t’cha? But I suppose that was back when you had a sense of humor too. 'S too bad.”
Her tone is somewhat light, but not close enough to her usual upbeat demeanor to hide her discomfort. Too dry, too discontent, and even her jokes come off more upset than happy.
“Seems almost like you only smile when we win fights.”
→ @peurdesaraignees
The lights of this section of King’s Row have, for a long while, been both comforting and disquieting. She’s waiting on a job. She isn’t apprehensive about the work. That’s easy. A bit of shooting, a bit of dashing, hanging out with some old friends, but in the end it’s nothing difficult. It’s something else.
Her feet hang off the edge of the building. The roof behind her is quiet, but she doesn’t need fancy tech or special training to know that quiet doesn’t always mean empty. Her battle companions know where she is, and when she hears footsteps on the rooftop, she doesn’t bother turning around to see who it is.
“— ‘Ello,” She holds one hand up in the air. It’s a greeting, but not a happy one. Her tone is more dry than anything else, very much contrary to her usual demeanor. “Nicer here when you’re not fighting, isn’t it? Always loved London.”
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“Deauuuuuth cooomes...!” She spins her pistols in her hands and makes firing motions while dancing around in a circle. “Die, die, die—!” She adds, singsong. Each time she ‘shoots’ she makes the shotgun noise with her mouth. Maybe she shakes her ass a few times, throws in a few dance moves. For good measure.
