#tornhellfire

+ @tornhellfire​ asked:  pin  (from Elsa for Gwen, equal parts kissy tension and "there's literal hellspawn and you're gonna get yourself killed." xD)

  “Blimey!” the pilot nearly felt her soul jump out of her body from the sheer suddenness of the other woman’s voice, who was daft enough to break into the apartment of an Overwatch agent?

   Backing up and into the kitchen area once more, Lena was less than thrilled to see just who was the cheeky bastard that was trying to invoke some form of Squatter’s Law, “You!” a gloved digit points at the Hispanic woman... or more accurately, the Talon Agent, “How the bloody ‘ell did yah find me? ‘is flat’s supposed te’ be off the grid!” She could always dial for help... the police? No, they wouldn’t respond in time... damn bobbies!

   With three rapid blinks, Tracer would zip into her bedroom and back to where she started once more with trademarked Pulse Pistols aimed at the intruder,

   “Just wot is it you want, eh?” It was always something with Talon, probably wanted her dead; then again, they had been trying to pull that caper off for far too long and had always failed.

Tracer was a lot. Literally so much. Sombra snorted under her breath, not even bothering to turn around as she picked out what she wanted. Salt, garlic, little bit of black pepper... "You're seriously asking me how I found you?" She glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow arched. "Tracer. My job is literally finding shit that's supposed to be hidden."

Off she went zipping around but Sombra had this possibly irritating faith that Tracer wasn't gonna shoot her about it - especially if she had her back turned and not even a weapon in any of her hands. Instead, she just moved on to the fridge and opened it up to pull out a carton of eggs and picked out a couple of em before putting the carton back.

"Right now, I'm thinking I want...scrambled eggs?" She paused, a hand on her chin - she was aware of the fact there were pistols pointed at her but there were more important things on her mind. Her stomach growled again. "French omelette! Wait no, that's too much effort. Fried eggs, over easy." She turned on a pan at a medium heat and drizzled a little bit of oil into it.

That little pipsqueak is annoying.

Part of it is purely professional. Sombra was a creature of the dark, she was a person that hid and ran and plotted. Like an imp if an imp had the power of a demi-god; though that was a trait that was incredibly common nowadays. All of them, demi-gods in their own way.

Regardless, Tracer was faster. Tracer was stronger. Hell, she had better aim. She could shoot to kill. She had power, something the hacker lacked. It all grated against Sombra, though she knew she had her own virtues; she was smarter, she was quieter, she was sneakier, and when it came to subterfuge and the destruction of enemy plans, there was no one better.

Still though, it was irritating to have to accomodate her plans just because of one person's presence.

So she would come up to lie and wheedle, to prod and poke and to irritate. It was what Sombra did best, after all. If Tracer was faster, Sombra was far more annoying. She'd read her DMs (sickeningly sweet whenever they were addressed to Emily), she'd seen her kitchen (a depressing place and she did not even want to know what the fuck baked beans were because she was sure it was terrible), and she'd judged her appearance, her clothing, all of her faults.

It had all gone down so smoothly for like the first 4 minutes.

In retrospect, it was a little too smoothly; today's mission, yet another gambit at trying to get another chess piece onto her board, had been to isolate and blackmail the currently Lord Speaker of the House of Lords. A fucking ridiculous title for a fucking ridiculous system of government, but, well, when you're an anarchocommunist, most governing bodies seem pretty ridiculous.

The titles, though. Yeesh.

She'd slipped into the house - something more of a compound now in these times of strife - and she'd been making her way onto the grounds, fully cloaked, three guns on her and a knife, a circuit attached to her hand. Fully prepared, or at least she'd thought, until the alarm tripped; a wire, low to the ground, attached to a bell.

So low tech, so stupid, she hadn't even thought of it.

The hacker translocated well outside of the location, a distance so great that it made her stomach lurch. After making sure she didn't throw up everywhere, she'd hailed a cab to drop her off in the vicinity of her warehouse - only to see that it was surrounded by cop cars. The cabbie was looking at her with a suspicious eye and she offered him an easy smile, the AI integrated into her central nervous system bringing up a 3d map of London in her mind's eye. She just needed...somewhere. Anywhere. Fuck.

"Keep going down this street for another...three blocks?" Sombra made sure to seem a little lost; her accent easily placed her as a foreigner, hopefully he'd be less suspicious if he just thought her incredibly confused by the winding nature of London streets.

"First time in the UK?"

"Yeah. Hopefully the last, thought I wanted to see snow but I'm freezing." She laughed, her expression friendly and open. It set him at ease and they continued conversing back and forth as he took her in the direction of what she was 96.37% sure was Tracer's little flat (give and take 2%, according to her AI).

At the end of the ride, the hacker slid him his money in physical pounds. It wasn't often she actually paid for something, finding the concept a little ridiculous when she could access bank accounts and make transfers without ever touching her own money - but he seemed nice and he told her about all the best Indian places on this side of town, so it was easy.

Sombra stepped out onto the snow with a crunch of her boots and pulled her far too thin coat over herself tightly as she looked up at the building. After the cabbie was gone and she was fairly certain no one could see, she reached out with her hand and purple hardlight extended from the nails of her circuit into the keypad, brunt forcing her way through different passwords until it opened for her. She slipped inside and into an elevator, hacking into it as well so that it would send her straight up - not that she thought anyone would be up at this ungodly hour.

She repeated her motions, easy as she breathed, though the last set of locks - those leading into that zippy little pipsqueak's apartment (and she was aware they were the same height, but whatever, she was zippy and little and a pipsqueak). Silent as the grave, she slipped into cloaking and moved into the kitchen, ruffling around for something to eat whilst her stomach growled.

“So you’re the new sherif, huh?” Karma spoke from a empty alcohol bottle covered desk, looking like she had just woken up from a nap. The deputy sat up in her chair slightly, looking at the other who entered the room. “A shame. Sheriff’s don’t last too long around here. You must have pissed someone off.”

Durandal Academy was one of the most prestigious Academies, if not the first one. It was her father Kassadin who encouraged her to enroll in there. He knew his daughter had talent to spare, and wanted her to follow his steps.

So far, the girl had some trouble adapting, at first. However, in quite a short time, she managed to enter in the Battle club, and even found a student union against bullying. And, that turned out to be a success, to say the least, since so many unheard voices now had the chance to speak up and give more awareness regarding many topics. However, sometimes, a small hand was needed.

And, that’s why Kai’Sa was currently looking for Lux, one of the main points of reference at the Academy. Once she reached her destination, the student knocked a few times, hoping to get the other girl’s attention.

@tornhellfire asked: Weiss decided to be cute and wholesome and try to change the oil of Yang's beloved motorcycle, now she's covered in grease and oil and is probably the victim of her girlfriend's puns.

Unprompted // Always accepting!

With everything that was going on, Yang didn't always have as much time to spend on Bumblebee as she wanted.  She made sure to do what was necessary for upkeep, but sometimes, that was pretty much all she could do.  

And now, the bike was due for an oil change, something that was important to take care of before riding it again.  Considering she wanted to see about doing something nice for Weiss, maybe taking her out stargazing or something, getting her bike in tip-top shape was a pretty high priority.

But when she got to the garage, she discovered that she wasn't the only one who'd thought about changing Bumblebee's oil.  Weiss had apparently snuck down here to try to take care of that little bit of maintenance, and now she was covered in grease and oil.

Yang couldn't help the little laugh at the sight: the normally impeccable Weiss, still amazingly fashionable, as always, now with motor oil as an accessory.