#laraigneedusoir

[binaryboop-blog]

Closed with @laraigneedusoir​. / Continued from ask.

At the other woman’s approach, the Sniper tensed, almost in expectation of some remark or other that necessitated a reply, and yet, the last she imagined would happen was for her fellow agent to tug up the shoulder of her catsuit and refasten it. She just about held her breath, slow as it was to feel the warmth of Sombra’s exhales on the back of her neck and the deft touch of those fingers.

Did she shiver? Was it noticeable? A part of her wants it to be noticed. Feelings are so difficult to put across when one is supposed to lack them entirely, wondering if she can trust her.

“…Thank you.” She murmurs in a voice not above a whisper with a glance over her shoulder towards Sombra.

Sombra pats the cat suit where she’d adjusted it, making sure it’s to her satisfaction. She smiles as Widowmaker betrays the faintest hint of reaction.  ❝ Gettin’ chills, araña? I thought you didn’t feel the cold. ❞ 

Even having worked to program the deadly assassin, Sombra finds her to be a tantalizing mystery. And now, it seems that she’s found a loose thread. She might as well tug.

She circles around Widowmaker to her front and adjusts the collar of the cat suit. ❝ Not used to you being grateful. Somethin gottin’ into you? You seem... moody,  ❞ she says with a knowing smirk.

She gives Widowmaker’s collar a similar pat and her smirk widens into a grin.  ❝ Anyway, de nada. Anything for a friend, right? ❞

[inadspectusmeum-a-blog]

laraigneedusoir replied to your post:dispensedjustice replied to your post:(( my titles...

// ahhh reading that made me laugh

(( my titles are great i swear. i take them very seriously ))

[dejavavoom]

6, 10 & 42

Character Development Questions: Hard Mode //Accepting

6. Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?

Oh ho ho, most definitely. She has a lot of recurring nightmares. One where she’s back in Overwatch in the good ol’ days but she’s a complete ghost–no one can see, hear, or feel her and to her horror she finds none of them have noticed she’s gone, or miss her. And she wants to scream or cry but can’t.

So her not being real, her disappearing, is a major theme. Another is failure–since the assassination of Mondatta she dreams about him a lot. She feels she should have taken that bullet, should have known she could have.

Related to failure, she often dreams that she’s been mistaken this entire time. She was never one of the good guys, she was never a hero, her whole life she’s unwittingly been a villain, she’s made everything worse while trying to do her absolute best. Those are some of the scariest.

In terms of happy dreams, sometimes she dreams about flying, and sometimes she dreams about her mother (who I HC was a RAF pilot who died during the Omnic Crisis). In the former dreams, she feels free and light and easy. She doesn’t have an accelerator and she can soar through the air with a thought. In the latter, her mother is there, and proud of her, and she feels warm and safe and at home.

10. Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?

Less. She really doesn’t like being constricted. She’s not prone to dressing sexy–she doesn’t own any “little back dresses.” It’s less about being revealing, and more about feeling comfortable and free. This fan art is like, an ideal outfit she might wear. She’d feel like she was suffocating in, say, Mei’s jacket and boots or Reinhardt or Pharah’s full body armor.

42. Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?

I like to think that a lot of the Overwatch brass felt like that to her. Growing up without much parental presence was hard on her, and I think part of what made her love Overwatch so much was not just its mission, but the feeling of being part of a family. 

[imthequickyourethedead]

Desperate Times

(closed starter for @laraigneedusoir)

Well, he damn well never thought he’d see this god-forsaken hellhole ever again.  But here he was, standing at the edge of what used to be an Omnica Corporation industrial park in Northern Mexico, wishing he was absolutely nowhere god damn near the place.  More than a few bad memories were made here...  From helping shut down the facility during the Omnic crisis, to later putting a stop to some of his former Deadlock compadres who had temporarily used it as a hideout.  Seemed no matter how far he tried to bury this shithole into a tiny corner of his forgotten memories, it just kept having to rear its ugly face again.

And naturally, when Overwatch got recalled, GUESS who got sent to recover a valuable piece of tech?  Naturally, it was the man who knew it better than most...

Walking from the small, abandoned garage he had parked his motorcycle in, the cowboy took a slow drag of his cigar as he weaved his way through the wreckage.  Broken tanks, destroyed omnics, several downed fighter planes...  All scars that no one’s really ever bothered to heal yet, even after all these decades.  Still, at least it provided him some cover, as he sanguinely sauntered towards the factory.

[lanuitfemme-blog]

laraigneedusoir came into the parlour...

Widowmaker smirked, although she did feel somewhat annoyed by the doppelganger in front of her. “Did they develop Omnic clones?” She mused aloud. “After all, I will not accept a sub-par mimic like you.”

[heavenbright]

♋

meme.

SEND MY MUSE ONE

♋ my muse visiting yours in the psych ward

@laraigneedusoir  ⟩⟨ accepting

Angela peeks in through the fortified glass panel, and into the small padded cell where they hold the prisoner, Widowmaker. 

But it’s Amelie who she sees within, secured in fetters reserved for the most violent of criminals, and the sight of it stirs an ire in her that she tamps down with the focus of purpose. 

Her detainment is enough of an affront. The handcuffs are an added insult. 

She listens to the attending physician rattle off reports of the sniper’s incarceration, her progress (or lack thereof), of various sundry quotidian things that Angela does not care about. The attending is still busy speaking as they unlock the door to allow her in, and she strides forward to kneel before her. 

“Are you all right?” she asks, level with her sight, her brows furrowed in worry. She scans her over quickly, looking for any signs of distress. “Have they mistreated you?” She makes a move to place her hands reassuringly on the woman’s restraints, which she withdraws immediately at the other doctor’s sharp words. 

Her brow darkens at the warning, but she is unshaken in her resolve. “Talk to me.”