#handlcr

[apocalypsxridden]

@handlcr​

        WHISPERS OF ILL INTENT           / steady thrum of heart beneath withered ribcage , housing naught but a black husk caught within barbed wire -- predatory , singular word to encompass all she was , watching ; GAUGING . yet , oh , does pout grace crimson painted cupids bow , as though it were a simple INCONVENIENCE && not a carefully constructed plan beginning to crumble , whilst claws dug in near DESPERATELY . would not relent , jaw snapping shut , clenching tightly / the only sign given , yet minuscule in it’s offering -- would not show more than simple movement . he speaks with a CONFIDENCE she had seen more than enough , had felt ripple through interactions , && nearly … nearly , does she consider leaving well enough alone . allowing him what it is that he wants from her .

( 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙱𝙴 𝙵𝚁𝙴𝙴 / 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽 )

                          But no , she cannot release , cannot remove claws from where they grip ; torn && tattered , she would not give in . click of tongue against ivory canines before they snap together -- never would she allow for alteration , it simply would not do . BAD FOR BUSINESS , as it were / loft of flaxen brow , cant of her head to shift snowy locks as gaze remains unwavering , HOSTILITY in the flex of fingers / all i have ever released has claws marks in it .                                                        He would be no different .              ‘ you think so ? ‘                        three simple words spoken ; dulcet tones honey-coated yet laced with such a venom . paralysing with a single blink -- would hold tight with teeth bared , determination within spine . not a single ounce of genuineness in the brush of the backs of fingers to his cheek -- LINGERING , a threat unspoken ; so easily to change , not a moments WARNING would be given if she were to turn , years of irritations && RAGE locked away beneath the surface ; a powder keg awaiting a lighter .

( 𝙑𝙊𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙇𝙀 . 𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙊𝙏𝙄𝘾 . 𝙑𝙄𝘾𝙄𝙊𝙐𝙎 )

                         All wound within a tight bundle , nerves threaded so finely . step back taken , arms folding over her chest with fingers gripping forearms tightly ; CLAW MARKS , even upon her own skin -- ; do not lose yourself .                                        ‘ because , from where i’m standing , FIVE ,  ‘              sigh pushes between teeth , lips down turned into a frown that says more than words ever could ; P I T Y , she would not relent . for her , all were tools , a means to an end -- was there a caring bone in that body ? subtle movement / viper striking . fingers take chin , teeth BARING in a grin that screams of DANGER , she would not give in .                                             ‘ you don’t have a CHOICE . ‘ 

Stoic expression wavers only slightly with a telling squint. He does not step away, does not let his gaze leave her. To do so would be to show weakness. He cannot afford to, especially not in front of HER. She who’s grasp he’s finally been able to escape. Her lingering clinging is just that - a DESPERATE attempt to regain control over someone who cannot be controlled. He knows better than to think he owes her anything. She ruined any innocence he might have had left after his years of solitute. And for that he would never forgive her. He was never a murderer. A fighter - yes - but never the cold blooded killer she made him out to be.

                  “ Who says I don’t ? YOU ?  “

A scoff accompanies the words. The mocking of the very idea that she might still hold an ounce of power over him. And perhaps she does - he still hasn’t put a bullet between her eyes - the very notion that he might be able to kill her above him. An honor reserved for someone still wishing to free themselves from the commission’s shackles. He attempted , so did Hazel , both unsuccesful in their attempts. That was, the ones the end her life at least. In both cases they did manage to finally free themselves from the senseless killing they had been subjected to.

Well - SEMI SUCCESFULLY at least. Hazel had still not managed to gain the privilege of a peaceful death. And he- she had still managed to make him stain his hands with even more blood.

   “ I already broke my contract . I don’t have to listen to you . I make my own choices now . “

His time in the commission might be behind him now, but he knows his fight is far from over. Despite what she might think, however, it’s his FAMILY he takes up arms for this time. The timeline be damned. He would go to war for them time and time again if he had to. Even if they don’t know it.

[tempportal]

@handlcr​​​ said: “Please let there be a cold front, please let there be a cold front!”

It is clearly very much not a good idea to tell her to cut the bullshit. To tell her to cut to the chase, to tell her stop skirting around it, stop hemming and hawing, we both know why we’re here, so get the fuck on with it, but his entire body is nothing but a bundle of tight, tense muscles pulled taut under the skin, and the rapid pound of his heart in his throat. “You know what would be really great? If we could just stick to the matter at hand.”

[paradoxcd]

@handlcr​​ said: she’s not unconscious. she’s dead.

words strike a red mark, un-stitch a wound; he’s not sure how long she’s been standing there. he supposes it doesn’t matter much to him, anymore. it all doesn’t fucking matter. and still—he has become acclimatized to her intervention; it is always here, in red heels, stepping into his worst moments--must have them neatly logged in her calendar by now. or maybe she just liked to watch him spin his wheels, run himself into labyrinthine walls at every corner. unlike the day she had appeared among decay in his crosshairs, though ( wary line to humanity, hope, something-- ) he doesn’t imagine it’s a deal she’s here to extend. his own fault, really--could never quite fit into the boxes the commission required of him. 

and wreckage in the street is different, but it’s the same picture. ( despite everything, to wind up here, again, tastes like ash. ) crushed under it--time, like some immovable thing dragging its weight ever forward. and everything else--variables that orbit, polarizing around him--the thing cursed to be a fixed point in the fallout.  

knelt by his sister’s side, hands hover and hesitate-- ( and he has never really known what to do with his hands ).   all of them—they lay almost exactly where his memory had left them. buried in rubble, peaceful in open graves. he has been here before, and still he nudges each one, listens for pulse, repeats their names quiet, terrified, like a child. ( wake up. i’m sorry. please ). white knuckled fingers curl to fists, nails pressing angry half-moons into his palms, willing fragmented void pieces—time and space—to bend, just once, please god just once can it go right—chokes on a sob as cold blue energy fizzles out at his fingertips--circuit blown and overworked, not for the first time. worthless; trapped in the moment he has to change. after all this time, you’re still not good enough.

she must find some satisfaction here--for all the things personal to her and not that he has burned in his path. a tornado of swirling hateful cloud--everything beyond repair, no bridge as viciously burned as this one--not that he finds her deserving of his apologies. he doesn’t care to compose this time, hands shaking where they move rocks and debris, a slow, concentrated process. most appalling, maybe, is that she knows this about him;  how often it is just this-- desperation and weakness, no height he wouldn’t throw himself from to catch the sliver of a chance to save just a dear handful of lives. how many he has killed--never once acknowledging where he buries the guilt-- to stand here in the same ashes he had started in. isn’t this pathetic, isn’t this novel?

he doesn’t bother to compose, this time—to even cast a look back at her ( pride and hope and meaning in his hands, singed feathers and snapped ribs ). shoulders sink and voice returns quiet, missing something in its cold shine; 

“what do you want?” 

[gatekeepcr]

@handlcr​  sent  “ that’s…a lot of blood. “

she  wipes  her  sleeve  across her  cheek  and  mouth  ,  wiping  away  the  blood  splatter  on  an  already –  ruined  shirt. so  shocked  by  what  had  happened  and  the  woman’s sudden  presence  that  she’d  almost forgotten  how  she  must  look  ,  hair  loose  ,  shirt  torn  ,  blood  smeared  across her  face  and  neck.    ❛      things  got  a  little messy.      ❜    she  huffs  ,  head  tilting.    she’d hate  to  have  to  kill  another  person just  to  cover  up  this  crime.      ❛     is  there  something you  need  ?    obviously  I’m  not  prepared  for  company.     ❜

[thenightmareofyourdrems]

@handlcr​ said:   𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓶 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯

        ˜”*°•.     A scorn  prevailed  among his  moods  ---  powerful,  unbeatable, uncontrollable.  A  scorn that  couldn’t  conceal the  hostility  evaporating from  his  eyes, though,  a   mockery that  couldn’t  outpower the  conquer  of  belligerence, of  fury.   He was  seething  with suppressed  fury  --- something  so  strong that  was  breaking through  the  scattered pieces  of  his mask.  Tearing  it apart,  shattering  its  most  fragile of  parts.   ❝ Might  be the  conversation  inspiring me. ❞   More  sarcasm: his  only  defense, his  only  weapon. His  only  anchor to  keep  him in  control  --- or make  it  look like  he  was in  control.    ❝ Either  way, I  don’t  see how  this  discussion benefits  me.  Why  are  we  even  here  ?  ❞  

[nofive]

@handlcr​ asked: “  no guts,  no glory.  ”

[ x - accepting ]

His face wasn’t blank, but it wasn’t showing too much emotion. It was better like that, especially when he was talking to the Handler. The most he would allow himself is being unimpressed, but that came through on the tone of his voice alone. He didn’t need her exploiting weaknesses he showed, so his goal was not to show any. Though he figured she would find something, probably something in whatever he answered. He had no way to confirm this, but he would be lying if he said that the Handler wasn’t smart, or observant.

“You’d know all about that wouldn’t you?” he said almost accusing her, and her methods. But it flirted that line of accusatory and a simple observation. It was something Five considered himself to have mastered. “Too bad, I don’t want glory.”

[pcppins]

   “ nonsense !! ” mary poppins does not deal in nonsense. she encourages creativity and teaches her charges to see even the impossible. but nonsense ?? perish the thought. “ it’s just a matter of making sure you see what’s really there –– not what you think is there. ”

@handlcr​ sent: 📚 || the forgotten garden

[conjuredead]

@handlcr​ said;

someone’s had a little too much to drink.

  “mmmmmhh ---” it takes him a good, solid second to realize that someone is talking. and talking to him, specifically. the last hour or so is mostly a blur and klaus doesn’t really know where he is, nor what he’s been doing, but the empty bottle in his grasp lets him know enough. if he were coherent enough to realize it, that is. he’s not.

  still, he grins, head lolling to the side as he tries to will his limbs to cooperate, trying to sit up. it doesn’t work quite as intended, so klaus eventually gives up, dropping back down with a sigh. “naaah, ‘m ... ‘m good.” it’s not the first time he’s ended up in some back alley, not knowing why and it certainly isn’t going to be the last one.