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❗+ "Our himbo says he finally managed to outmatch you during the recent sparring. Since I was unfortunate to miss that, I would want to know is this was indeed as he says." ( for modern fire hubs :^) )

Send a “❗” to force the truth out of my muse. || @sonxflight, feat. @biiingchu || accepting

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || The once inscrutable veil of Hanzo Hasashi’s steeled countenance cracks and crumbles, as the onslaught tides of pain emanates through the busted swell of his left temple, where visible ice burn emits intermittent, acute pain in tandem with his spiked breathing. For subjected preconception had been the most monstrous thing that will stab him in the back; Kuai Liang may be a young, rebellious spirit with such mellowness and tenderness, with transparent emotions and sentiments shimmering forth the truthful sapphire eyes, but he also had been the tidal destructive force of mercilessness.

Such facets enchant the pyromancer, and even translates unvoiced feelings into words; for their exquisite and destined love of all aspects which were once so foreign had become to his knowing. Through their love, Hanzo Hasashi has come to understand thrilling desires of heart melded to mind.

Against the banality and apathy of evil, their combined elements of Fire and Ice worked in tandem to burn with intensity everlasting; drenching their shared adversaries in crowns of blood. The sparring itself had been filled with flurrying onslaught of fists, even involving the supernaturalism of their elements to seek familiar comfort of pain, Hanzo will never detach himself of their physical, emotional, and spiritual bond to crudely maim Liang.

Despite the brutal mercilessness and efficiency Hanzo was known for with his combat prowess, the matured, older warrior had long relinquished the hellbent dogma of his anger being more useful, wrath more powerful, and rage more devastating as he defiantly and obstinately believed he would burn the entire world in this caustic hellfire. Being defeated in a loss would not constitute as failure; not should he desperately crawl in order to drag his wounds further through the pulverized dirt beneath him, as dripping sanguine would skulk the once-shadowed world of Scorpion’s, filled with rambunctious bloodthirst.

“Kuai Liang has always been unapologetically honest, nor has been a particularly boasting type. He speaks the truth,” myriads of undefinable, nearly inscrutable expression crosses his solemn countenance; it may be proudness, irritation, disappointment, as his heart seems to expand and swell in a ribcage too small. Hanzo finds himself swearing towards the faulted point of tethered unreality, as his hand rests atop his war-torn heart, metaphorically bleeding and literally throbbing. “Such challenges he presents may push me to continue evaluating and improving myself.” ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ ugly syllables of conjured vindictive crimson (modern au)#✗ bone-deep chill of despair (kuai liang || biiingchu)#✗ epitome of sunlight (ryou sakai || sonxflight)#(aureate ablaze)#(he's trying his goddamn bloody best not to be a sore loser)#sonxflight

rookie + skill + experience ( in relation to modern aurorae ablaze, either general or hitman AU )

Send me a word and I’ll write a drabble, headcanon, or IC post related to it! || @sonxflight || always accepting!

💥 ❄️ || When did it become normal to equate self-worth as a deadly warrior with the number of followers one has? What happened to finding love for oneself from the inside, rather than seeking validation from strangers? Time only moves in one direction, as things always change in its volatility. And the memories and versions comprise of not just one memory, for none of them were right or wrong; they are all pieces, and only when fitted together, edge to edge, could they even begin to tell the whole story. The ongoing perpetuity of the clan wars had rendered all three nearly dusted, dead, and gone, but even in the throes of their shared tribulations and continued trials, as rays of light burn into decomposition of their flesh. For to live, they must metaphorically die and shed existence.

Without the polished resplendent illuminative light in a warrior’s heart and soul, Hanzo Hasashi believes, a heart in darkness is no heart at all; it cannot see, or feel, or touch, or be touched. For a heart in darkness shrinks and shrivels without light. As a seed to a tree, light gives way to seeing the world as it is, not as it should be. With light in hand of the heart, no darkness may ever reign. These were also the words Hanzo Hasashi had taken into his heart and soul - to walk the Earth with purpose, grounded to the earth, and even when he finds himself complaining and in the throes of his torment and agony, would he not ever trade the security of that sure embrace for all the immoral vices that corrupt and further taint his gray morality. He also may be a forlorn figure encumbered in heavily scarred and blemished skin not designed to stretch beyond its limits until inevitable rupture.

He had been a victim of unfortunate circumstances, yet no morbidity of conquering multitudes of near-deaths will stop him from teaching his protégé the importance of forged passion, the resolve of personal philosophy against the old tenebrous black of grief. Everyone is little enraged by the Lin Kuei’s defection from humanity, and Hanzo is more than perceptive of the poisonous anger and resentment Kuai Liang may feel; frozen blood keeping him static, while the inevitable surge of flaming rage becomes destructive, but remain dormant without imminent rage.

Not only did the recounted telling of Hanzo’s loss, death, and downward spiral to his descension and depression did cauterize a huge gaping hole in Kuai Liang’s own heart; a pit deep dark with edges bloodstained, perhaps still oozing potent sanguine as he keeps poking at the wound. He still feels as if he could drown; in despair, in longing, and in guilt. The triad of his mind’s contagion would hinder his prowess, along with his over-assurance and confidence that would often backfire and render him incapacitated and incapable. “I never fucking wanted this for my life. I refuse to become an eternal child prodigy. My crystalline ice was meant to float like the mighty, fathomless ocean, not splatter and drain like a fucking faucet rusted and corroded beneath the immensity of my chagrin and humiliation.”

The blue of the deep and deadly waters churn, but Kuai Liang knows; in this volatile, wretched world of his, he could not only function himself with depths of desire, as contusions and ugly protrusions of unhealed scars and scabs scattered through his torso will continue to crack and brittle his being. Ryou Sakai had also been risen from the ashes of his demise and made his empire once again. He felt the change in his soul. Something horrid is bout to happen to Liang. He doesn't know when, but he had that feeling. It'll be a dreadful ending to a beautiful story filled with broken memories. He would hope that his cherished warrior and lover doesn't leave those memories up in the sky with the stars. He didn't want them to give up on Kuai Liang, no matter how grim it seemed for the former young Lin Kuei’s future. Ryou would wish these thoughts to be false so he wouldn't have to say goodbye... In the end, it's futile. For his demise could very well be brought down from the heavens, and despite his genuine concerns and words of caution, the reckless onion in him will do whatever it fucking takes to see his former clan burn in detritus of blood and gravel.

Upon the deep contemplation of Liang’s disquietude in tormented agony, Ryou Sakai deliberates his thoughts and stance. “If your mind is weak, even a minor difficulty is oppressive… but exerting yourself and invigorated, you should be strengthened enough for your being to become so hard to defeat even by great calamities. So, with a firm mind, you should make difficulty for difficulty. For so long as difficulties conquer you, your desire to conquer your wretched, damned world could become laughable.”

“For your need to must conquer everything will destroy you in the end. Nothing should conquer you in that regard, for this pride or yours should be wedded to you. Do you see the utmost fault in this, Liang? However more experienced we both become, we are still prone to our respective trials and tribulations. The path to improvement and greatness is never linear, but with great ups and downs. And know that your existence here is not the state of tabula rasa. It is what you make yourself to be, regardless of your past insights as an individual, a warrior, and a survivor.” 💥 ❄️ ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ bone-deep chill of despair (kuai liang || biiingchu)#✗ epitome of sunlight (ryou sakai || sonxflight)#(aureate ablaze)#(I poorly attempted at Ryou forgive me)#sonxflight

Aureate Ablaze (my Hanzo Hasashi, @sonxflight’s Ryou Sakai, and @biiingchu’s Kuai Liang) in impeccable suits <3

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ bone deep chill of despair (kuai liang || biiingchu)#✗ epitome of sunlight (ryou sakai || sonxflight)#(aureate ablaze)#(this is unreal and unfair)#(now I really want Sanada. Reeves. and Koji in the same movie)#(P L E A S E)#sonxflight

Call Hanzo Hasashi/Scorpion cute and you’re getting the grumpy blushing cat. I make no rules 😂

#breathing iron and rust (outofkombat)#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#(discord shenanigans)#(Ryou/Jack is the first to witness it along with Kuai Liang)#(aureate ablaze)#sonxflight

aubade + nepenthe + querencia + redamancy ( for Hanryou or Aurorae Ablaze, any verse plz )

✧°⋆ 𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞 || @sonxflight, mention of @frozenbreath || accepting

aubade — a love song sung at dawn

nepenthe — something that can make you forget grief or suffering

querencia — a place from which one’s strength is drawn, where one feels at home; the place where you are your most authentic self

redamancy — the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full

💥 || Hanzo Hasashi finds himself always wondering why his life is such a slow progress, why it comes to a fucking standstill so often. His soul is crying, and his tears are blood. As construct of time slips away from him, he wonders with paranoia if it is his mind, instead, that changes and melts into something so different and so entirely new. Late fall brings something unrecognizable, someone, who was always present, yet he hardly took the time to know at all. Harumi Hasashi’s death was the one that bombarded him with the ongoing onslaught of pain, as his hands would ache like they are longing; they need blood, but his arteries had been empty, vacuumed out. Perhaps his heart has been sleeping; for it won’t listen. as the void of his vessels would have long shattered, yet his tenacious, resilient heart would hold onto her, while his recovered heart will continue to feel too heavy like a sponge that has absorbed all the tears in the world as it would sink into an inevitable oblivion.

He was wringing out his sponge of a heart - as he fills oceans with his tears and would often remain bed-bound for days. Emotional osmosis of his beloveds, will become the quelling elixir of sublimity, as it will gently float him in the river rich and regal, a flood of fond endorphins bringing a calm that would know no equal. Even in the moments of a great maelstrom of hurricane emotions, just as powerful as its whipping storm, as loud as its roar, and still as its center, Hanzo Hasashi will somehow find his calm amidst the epicenter of the storm and memorize this particular tickling of the clock, blinded by his own sanction as his eyes feel the stain.

He’d literally and metaphorically bleed out, for restlessness has bitten his spirit long ago, as he slips into this still chill of cold paroxysmal breaths escaping his intended grave, wanting the hunger, the quivering of his bones exacerbate as wilted cherry blossom tinged with ferrous crimson will ripple into suffocating torrent. Ryou Sakai and Kuai Liang’s unbidden love and devotion sustains Hanzo Hasashi forever through an infinite chemical; for his heart beats stronger through every crimson pull out of the world of plunging depression and self-effacement. His favorite high would require more and more just to get by the next time. Maybe he will bleed out a piece of his heart to store his addiction; with unshed tears in his eyes, as he begs for release out of his mind from sinking, plunging nadir of relapses. How he even sought this detox of love, as he would intentionally withdraw and isolate himself, but reality had been it’s worse to fall back into such regression against the progression of his heart’s intents, as he would force himself to re-saturate himself in the plunging depth of his undying love and limerence.

But every time, as he rewinds and relapses, only to find his addiction summon him back, stronger than ever. His lovers were his weakness and he wants more of them, of himself, of us. More of time, of love, of trust - for he belongs to them; connected not only by blood, but by heartstrings, copious breaths, and heart-wrenching breakdowns. For Hanzo Hasashi’s heart will sing a song; incomplete, until other hearts in the proximity whispers back. A touch of lovers, poets’ touch upon such ravaged, asundered body and soul as the omen of death settled heavy and deep into the Commander’s being ablazes like a crimson ocean of fire; in his body, in his mind, raging so deep, so so deep, a depth unknown to anyone else, but his beloved.

Despite all the agony and torment, Hanzo Hasashi encompasses a heart of gold; unbreakable and bold, resistant to the summer, yet the helical radiance catching him every single time in deep eyes, a terrifying glare. The raw carnality that beats the translucent gold chamber of secrets and love and war only known to both in unfurled raw candor honesty. Some things unfold unexpectedly, beautifully, leaving a perpetual tender smile on his face. And he knows that it’s grace to wake up and experience them. He also knows that his heart had once died to the reality, but now unfolding as his eyes become the very witness of what the lips never dared to speak of before.

Knowing that there is a type of freedom in chaos; a knowing that it surely can’t get anything worse, lest the sprawled fragments of his being solder with roaring flames of his conviction. Why does he learn so much from pain and very little from happiness? Hanzo would never forget to count his blessings. He would no longer let his scars fill his soul with onyx darkness. He has so much sunshine dwelling within his being, to be discharged, emanated, and shared. He would embrace it and let it slip down to his bones.

Let his soul pour sunshine, always. And his own exquisite music could never be put into words and that which cannot remain silent. Hungry and ravenous for love, as the catastrophic love that refuse to dissipate into the dawning air as the rose petals of his plump lips begin their swelling sail upon the lean definition of Ryou Sakai’s familiar topographical map, as the balmy trail of his gossamer digits trace the dips and peaks of Kuai Liang’s musculature. The tide would rise and fall - as once again, the twilight darkens in his mind as the lids slip tenderly shut. Soon, the steeds of the shared breaths will bring effulgent light, revealing his bare broke soul; to be reconstructed, reforged, and healed through the deluge of wanton embraces, trails of wet kisses, as he would lose himself in the intoxicating trance, and the wracking paroxysm that would follow soon thereafter as affections fluctuate and swell like rivers between the three, and drip like faucets as the spillage of beacon of light will saturate him in spent spread of smile, as he drowns in fathomless earth of Ryou’s and celestial empyrean sky of Kuai’s eyes. 💥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ ugly syllables of conjured vindictive crimson (modern au)#✗ fifty shades of kombat (nsfw)#(aureate ablaze)#(relationships; samurai jack)#(relationships; kuai liang)#(have dis word vomit)#(I hope what I insinuated comes across lmaooooo I hate my brain sometimes)#sonxflight #frozenbreath

‘ TRUTH ‘ + Why didn't you tell Ryou about what you're planning to do when it came to Bi-Han? Out of protection? Or out of the fear both of your lovers would surely stop your hand from slicing his throat?

SEND ‘ TRUTH ‘ + A QUESTION AND MY MUSE HAS TO ANSWER. NO LYING ALLOWED. || anonymous, mention of @sonxflight and @frozenbreath || accepting

💥 || Hanzo Hasashi is certain that he is going mad again; he feels as if he cannot go through another one of those terrible times. And he should not recover this time. He begins to hear voices, and he cannot concentrate. In the broken, crumbled reflection of his being, what looks back at him is disgust and wrongness, the stark contrast of what is and what should be, or maybe any number of indescribable things, the strange complexities that makes him incomplete and yet human. Nothing looks back at him, even no tangled web of experience as the silent griever of his bones would melt each somber breath.

Sometimes, he is fervently red and such burdened pressure gets curled around his ribcage; a junction of death and art dancing to tiny beats of time. His conversations repeat somewhere between absorbing interest and the heart of a romantic. A cornucopia that lives deep within his lungs on a full eloquent rhythmical blackness where he catch words between his breaths and he bites his lips in feverish affliction and agony. He is heavy with gravity of his guilt, as his religious suffering embeds sempiternally upon the blood-streaked, red glassy reflection of his eyes.

“I have tasted death not once, not even twice, but three times, and it has left a mark on my tongue,” of course, he was referring to the times shortly after Harumi and Satoshi’s death, as his depression remained the strongest drug that would barely sustain the eidolon of his nonexistent, floating life as the ruination of his guilt and wrath whirled surging cruelty as Hanzo Hasashi punished himself physically and mentally through blood-streaked lips, bruised and broken ribs, and mangled contusions of his eyes and cheeks. When the riverbed of his happiness began to dry, skin scratching onto stone, bleeding heavy, as his numb blood became a poor imitation of sweet water of his vitae flowing through him, he would feel the buzz of his skull as he would find the flow and parch his skin of conscious attentiveness as all knowledge of his own attempt at his life would give his sentence, that all novelty is but oblivion.

“I had to detach myself in mind and spirit, so they would never know. I knew I was going to carry on no matter what the cost, because that’s the kind of a person that I am. Ever since I have tasted death, and began to live in dead houses, I have never felt the breath and blood and bones of a structure, and however I feel inexpressibly grateful and undeserving of their love, it was despair crawling inside of me, instigating my long-harvested and fueled vitriol vengeance and ire that won me over. I lived in my damned loneliness, because my being felt like the marrow has been sucked out, and I felt hollow and brittle,” Hanzo slowly limps from his standing position, and sinks back to the tenebrous shadows; to all his sudden, sullen, and dark moods.

Knowing that he still sees death’s spectrum, its compulsion, its weakness, its appetite - he fears no oblivion nor the scar of abyss floating within the weakened cadence of his pulse - only plunges him deeper into the fathomless ocean of lament and guilt. “If I was going to not stand against the outlasting pain and guilt I have felt from not being able to protect Harumi and Satoshi, it was the weight of my misery’s pull that I strike Bi-Han down with the same excruciating suffering that they died in absolute vain. I should have been the one who died. It was me who Lin Kuei fucking wanted, but I suppose they have succeeded in that they rattled me with undying chains of lamentations; lamentations and defeat.” 💥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ ugly syllables of conjured vindictive crimson (modern au)#✗ an innocuous unknown (anonymous messages)#(aureate ablaze)#(relationships; samurai jack)#(relationships; kuai liang)#sonxflight #frozenbreath #anonymous

4 + 13 + 17 ( for modern Hanzo, aurorae ablaze affiliated aka after Bi-Han's death )

comfort starters || @sonxflight, mention of @frozenbreath's Kuai Liang || accepting

4. for one muse to hold the other while they cry

13. for one muse to fall asleep on the other after breaking down

17. for one muse to stay the night with the other to keep them from hurting themselves

💥 || Stuck, caged, and imprisoned. Hanzo Hasashi does not see a path before him that leads to an exit. To greener fields, to sunshine and rose fields and fresh air. Only to more hurt, heartache, loneliness, and abandonment. Alone; for loneliness is an emotion he could feel even when he is surrounded by togetherness. What is so special about his proverbial, undying love is the fact that it always constitutes a clouded judgment for vulnerability and immense pain. It is meant to pour whenever it rains, for he has long relinquished to fight against it. He would simply let the tears lay in their perfect spot tonight, as churning maelstrom of his rage - against himself, against the world, perhaps against Kuai Liang - renders everything down to a final obstacle against which is raged and charred into destruction. One quick slice through his vehement, yet already kintsugi ribcage had opened him apart, and he could still feel the metaphorical knife plunged deep within, an unending sea as its ceaseless, deep, dark, all-consuming color exacerbates the shipwrecks of his past.

For his perpetual grief is an ocean, and guilt his undertow that pulls him beneath the waves and drowns him. Looming and silent, ever-tied in the misery and despair, as he would simply disappear into the darkness, coldly quiet invading the untouchable, stalking sorrow beneath his inebriation. Every bone-seeped echo of Kuai Liang’s gunshot just above his knee has given him a visible limp; albeit his physical therapy, in combination with his strenuous training as the Commander of the law once again made him regal and imposing in his physicality. However he is an empty echo and outline of once great and impassioned, for he exists in his world more like an eidolon, distorted in his nonexistence, as dark passion of his vengeance and unhinged rage had him faded and flickering, revitalized in darkness.

The onslaught of carnage overlaps, as Harumi and Satoshi’s gruesome carnage reflects Bi-Han’s near decapitation. The gurgled, choked silence, then accumulated reap of tribulations burdening his heart and soul as he will over and over again, watch the rain of bullet pierce his beloved’s bosom, saturating her whole. Satoshi’s mangled brain, tissue, and blood soaking his trembling hands. How his hands become unbearably beautiful in their scarred callousness, in dichotic beauty of his comforting warmth, as sheer force of destruction wrought with the taut grip over his katana, a Hasashi heirloom, along with impressive collection of his firearm. How they hold onto things, and they simultaneously let things go.

Could he ever run away from his emotions and sentiments, however unsavory and self-flaggelating? He feels his heart pumping so hard that it might explode and his lungs burn, wither, and shrivel. The pain he chooses to feel makes him feel alive. But now, everywhere his eyes fall upon this neverending horizon, do visions of suffering envelop not only through Kuai Liang, but Ryou Sakai as well. He so desperately wants to rip and tear his body until enough space has been made to fit all the misery inside. Perhaps after the ephemerality of sinking void of blackness, would his body become an oasis; within this desert of pain and sadness. Even Ryou’s all-encompassing embrace crushes his soul and tears his heart in utter ruination, and heated magma of his waterfall tears continue to soak the junction of his beloved’s neck and collar.

“You just made me turn into you,” Kuai Liang’s bitter poison continues to metastasize into every inch of his being, and the unuttered, bone-and-flesh-tearing internal scream fades, until Hanzo Hasashi hears nothing, but the noise he has made. The silence is like a thousand claws that grabs him and never lets go until he is only an empty case of himself. A loaded bullet becomes stretch of time in his sinking, fatigued unconscious, as he fleets from the illusion. The wilted rose petals under him so vulnerable, as the empty casings become the unwitting flames scattered into naut. If he could ever have the courage and utter foolishness to let the embered coal rings become stretch of his demise, as his being would flare and merge in supernova as he would succumb into an eternal sleep instead. The only sensation he feels is the looped clutch of Kuai Liang’s familiar arms, along with his swollen, reddened cheeks cradled by the physician himself. 💥 ||