Ah, what the hell?! by Sliestwheel on DeviantArt
FanartProgression StoriesCharacters Suggested by: FanofyourWorksCharacters: Sombra (Olivia Colomar, Age: 30), Moira (Moira O'Deorain, Age: 48)Game: OverwatchNote: Due to Novelai being shit at times, Moira's appearance will change a couple times. Especially the eye cybernetics since Novelai cannot get left and right correct for some stupid reason, also Heterochromia is incredibly difficult.Note 2: Tried translating the title into Spanish but Deviantart wouldn't let me use the spanish characters.Part 3Story:The sun blazed through the curtains like it had a personal vendetta against anyone trying to sleep in. Sombra groaned and flopped her arm over her face.“Too bright... too early... too rude.”Another groan—her stomach twisted in knots, not painfully, but... weirdly.“Ugh, not you again,” she muttered to her gut. “Didn’t I feed you enough last night?”She finally dragged herself to the bathroom, brushing her hair back with a sleepy sigh. But then—she caught sight of herself in the mirror.Pause.She blinked.She stepped closer.And then—“¿¡Pero qué demonios!?” she yelped, yanking up her loose tank top. There it was. A small, unmistakable bump pushing gently outward where there used to be sleek muscle and smooth skin.“No. No no no no. Maybe... maybe it’s just bloating? I’ve had, like... a lot of empanadas lately. Right?”She turned to the side, poked the bump. It jiggled slightly.“…Okay, taco bloat doesn’t last tres semanas. And it definitely doesn’t feel like a water balloon stuffed into your abs.”Her eyes narrowed. Her cybernetic fingers tapped the sink rhythmically.Then her gaze darted to the drawer.There, buried behind two hair straighteners, five unused eyeliner pens, and an unopened tube of anti-grav shampoo, was a little white box with a mocking pink label.She grabbed it. “I knew Moira was going to do something weird. Just in case, you said, ‘try it in the name of science’, you said…”A few minutes later, Sombra stood barefoot on the cold tile floor, arms crossed, watching the test on the counter like it was a live grenade. The seconds dragged.Beep.She snatched it up.Two lines.“…No puede ser,” she whispered.She checked the box again.Two lines = sí, estás embarazada.She stared at her reflection. “I’m gonna kill her.”Then a pause. A long, stunned silence. And finally—“…Okay. Maybe after I eat something. Like... three breakfast burritos. And a mango.”She poked her bump again, sighed, and rolled her eyes. “You better be cute, chiquito. ’Cause this is so not part of my infiltration protocol.”
