NO ONE CAN HIDE.

normal is an illusion. what is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly. one bullet, one death. WIDOWMAKER. wife. assassin. sniper. .

[kolhearted-archived]

TUMBLR HALLOWEEN PSA

OKAY, GUYS, this is just a quick word of warning if you currently have your sound muted or if you’re on mobile. There are HALLOWEEN NOISES for publishing posts, when you send an IM, and when an IM is received. So far, I’ve had a ghost keen, a grown, a scream, and a moan. If unprovoked noises freak you out, mute your computer or stay mobile till MIDNIGHT EST going into the first of November.  Feel free to reblog <3 

[rossdraws]

Widowmaker sketch! Drawing her for this week’s episode before Halloween :>

[credevodivolerparlareconte]

Berenice Marlohe.

[croique-blog]

ps I know this blog is still new but hmu if you wanna be mains ♡ 

[bedpostsongs]

Only a certain kind of woman wears a backless dress with a Beretta 70 strapped to her thigh

[croique-blog]

kiss the edgelord i guess

FILTERED NOISE.     almost too much,  to a creature that prefers the quiet.  yet,  while it can be a possible distraction, it also serves as a means to remain cloaked,  unseen in a world where there is too much to take in for the average citizen.   at least,  for the most part.  without preferred height on their side   (   or,  at least her side  )   she is all too agreeable to play it safe, to blend in    ;    at least,  until they can ditch the long coats  &  reach for their weapons.    with overwatch reactivated,  there was no telling what agents were nearby,  if any.  &   it wouldn’t do to spoil the fun too quick,  would it   ?   

 a practiced smile blossoms across her mouth   (  violet pigmentation masked just enough in the rainy overcast,  tinting everything gloomy,  grey   )  before she turns into him,  effectively hiding both herself  &  him from the zoom of the street’s camera that moved in their direction                        far too interested,  in her opinion.   but whoever was watching would,  no doubt, become disenchanted by whatever they thought they saw,  in lieu of tourists in a spontaneous romance.  even if that was hardly the case .  (   her instincts on performing had to be good,  after all,  for that rescue mission to work    ;   even if it was a failure  ).  

 ❝                    juste semblant.     ❞       a reminder,  but a warning of what was to come, too.     it wouldn’t do for her lover to recoil from her kiss,  after all.  even if it was a hollow thing,  cold   &   dead    (  just as they were,  in many ways  ).   a worthy imitation to anyone who wouldn’t know the difference,  didn’t know the truth   ;   that she was just going through the motions,  chasing a memory with false passion.  

 gone,  but not entirely forgotten.  ❝       this time,      ❞     an cool exhale,  the pads of her fingers bunching into course fabric,  unwavering determination evident,  even in that hushed voice.     ❝     this time we do not leave empty handed.      ❞  

NOT ACCEPTING.

[croique-blog]

*smirks at you in spanish*

  *rolls eyes at you in french*

FIRST THREE IN MY INBOX GET KISSES

[croique-blog]

stuff to meta on later:  amélie and phantom feelings; high-risk behavior; being a death-seeker; behavioral condition, trauma & hypersexuality  (  and how it’s one of the few tangible things in this new identity thats hers  ).

[blackberryshawty]

me: i love someone who can take charge and be aggressive

also me: who the fuck you think you talkin to? the fuck?

[croique-blog]

unknown - red eyesore.

CRIMSON  GRANDEUR    DWELLS IN  DUSK.   ghosts tread in  these  adrumbral  depths ;    hard to reach,  hard to  touch.  abyssal lungs subsumed by  the  diluvial of  stygian  /   bound by  breathless  beats in the   breeze  of  this  night.   street to street,  body to  body,  the line of  sight sees him  accend.

a  foreign  [  rolled  &  gossamer - thin  ]  drawl   uncoils these  oxblood  lips.   zephyrs  are  felt  swirling  ‘round   fingertips   (  he  is  hollow  &  cold,  but  nonetheless  caring  /  careful  ).    heels  dig   small   trenches  without  static  made,  for  he   eschews  noise  with  every  motion.    UNTIL    he  pounces,  strand of  silk discharged   to  snatch   the  weapon out of her  grip.  “  gee,  you’re a tough one  to     find,   ya know  that?  props  to  you,   but it’s  a  shame that  I have  ‘ta  cut  this  SHORT.   s’a  bummer that  you’re also  really  easy on the  eyes.  ”

ONE SHOT,    ONE KILL.       that’s all it would take,  a single exhale  &  finger twitch for the mission to be complete                       

  ❝                     merde.       ❞       a curse under her breath,  the familiar weight of her sniper gone   ;   but only for the moment.    the voice that rings out is wholly unfamiliar, but dripping with the same accent that is saturated in the city   (    &   the arrogance that is embedded within this entire country   ).   oh,  there have been whispered    ;    photographs in the newspaper,  idolizing children.   and yet she is rather disenchanted,  for the most part,  primarily due to numb frustration that cools down her spine   (   leeching away the warmth that had begun to pool,  the excitement of the kill   ).    femme fatale extraordinaire,  the sultry cock of her hip precise   &   purposeful,  with fingers ghosting over a hidden venom-mine.     ❝       you americans are so                    rude.       ❞  

[croique-blog]

       my touch is lethal. i am their weapon.   //     selective.  multi-everything.  written by vera.  autoplay.

[asombregirl]

i’m all about heartless girls, the kind who define themselves by how much they can live through. girls who walk around holey, girls who scare everyone with our emptiness, girls who are fragile but almost immortal, self destructive and never destroyed. girls with mean eyes and soft lips and more magic than they know how to handle. girls who are sometimes cruel, ruthless, parasitic but always hungry. girls who wonder if they see beauty in this breaking because it’s really there or just because seeing anything else would hurt too much. girls who can’t grow up now, won’t - don’t call us woman, we will never be yours to hold or will hold anything for you, we just can’t be that kind of nurturing anymore. girls who hardened their heart and still came out bloody, girls who love their softness with vicious hands, girls who aren’t afraid to bleed. girls who are somewhere between cockroach and phoenix. girls who weather every storm, girls who take, take, take and take back what you tore out, girls who know nothing but how to survive.

[queenlymusings]

six feet’s never gonna be enough to bury ME

[pataphysicist]

I must be the most beautiful goddamn vulture nature’s ever made. I cycle over grimy roads and dive for the glorygore of savagery. It’s so fucking delicious: the gaping bellies crying vital flesh, the stillness that comes after nanosecond violence. There’s a physics law that says something like energy cannot be created or destroyed, and I know this so well, so well, so delightfully fucking well. I sip bloody life from stale roadkill bodies that don’t need it anymore and I gnash my teeth on your decaying remains. You’re a fucking corpse and I’m so greedy for what you offer now that you didn’t in life. Fuck, death is so honest and I gobble it up in another’s afterlife. I’m like a god, taking and taking and taking. Cruelty is my profit, and if this savage energy cannot be destroyed, let it live in me. No, not live – I eat death and thrive.

[nbga]

You don’t understand and I can’t explain

[croique-blog]

❝ you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore. ❞

YOU’RE A LIAR.    built on a foundation of half-truths  &  twisted ideals, she is the cultivation of precise planning  &  trauma disguised as something greater                         something worthwhile.   it is her foundation of being,  of purpose    ;    that other life meant nothing,   was nothing.   a figment, a mere caricature of someone she did not recognize  &  did not want to know beyond the uses those memories served.  

IT DOESN’T MATTER ANYMORE,  she says.   you’re hollow.    &  perhaps that is true, in a sense   ;   that she is wiling to concede   (   even if she will continue to do as she is asked   ;   continue to hunt  &  kill all the same,  if not for glory for identity     ).   but,  weak              ?     she is not weak.    she survived,  she’s here when so many others have fallen,  &   she is skilled    ;    &   THAT MEANS SOMETHING.        it has to.    

                         ❝      yet here you are                                     wasting time telling me this.   if it really did not matter,  why even bother  ?     YOU HESITATED ONCE  ,     &   you are doing it again now.          ❞

ACCEPTING.