#(thermodynamic equilibrium)

[sasorikigai]

((Can I just say that it's not hard to imagine at some point after the whole thing with the Cyber Lin Kuei factory in 11, Hanzo eventually just finds Kuai's arms around him? Like...that level of loss just hits you eventually, and I have a hard time imagining him not ultimately comforting him. Not just bc Hanzo clearly does care about him, but also because he knows on this raw level that he's in a position to give Kuai something that he himself had so desperately needed back then.))

Random Inbox Shenanigans || anonymous || always accepting!

In relation to this post (x)

Had the other MK kombatants (at least the ones that knew about Hanzo's tragic story) empathized and cared about the state of Hanzo's being, I truly believe the horrendous outcome of MKX could have been prevented. Still, in the end, it was Hanzo's own responsibility to control his emotions and not act to impulsively, disregarding the dreadful and dismal consequences of his actions (killing the Revenants for good, Shinnok roaming about with his nihilistic darkness, risking other Earthrealm warriors dying, etc.), but it was that helpless loss of everything he held dear in his heart and soul that caused him to act irrationally.

Grandmaster Hasashi in MK11 is still coping with grief and loss, and he has grown a lot in terms of his character as he developed more patience, intelligence, and self-sacrifice. Since bereavement being the most intense form of grief and mourning, Hanzo is extremely familiar of the waves of intense and very difficult emotions, ranging from profound sadness, emptiness, and despair to shock, numbness, guilt, or regret. Also, it isn’t obviously limited to emotional responses, either. Grief at the death of a loved one can also trigger physical reactions, including weight and appetite changes, difficulty sleeping, aches and pains, and an impaired immune system leading to illness and other health problems.

He's experienced every one of those symptoms, and even when Hanzo doesn't necessarily sympathize with spoken words, he realizes how devastating and acute the excruciating pain is when he comforts Kuai Liang. The only way to deal with grief and loss is to GRIEVE, and Hanzo knows for a fact that Kuai will have to find a way to come to terms with his loss, and that way is to actively face the pain and many intense and unexpected emotions.

At that moment in time in the Cyber Lin Kuei quarry, they had a mission to complete, and they both could not let anything get in their way of preventing from stopping further cyberization - the kidnapping of the Lin Kuei warriors and possibly of the others, if they were to be left alone - so they didn't let their focus dwindle away, but I too, can imagine that they would have had a deep, intimate conversation; reflecting on their unique context and meaning.

[sasorikigai]

this is real , 𝙞'𝙢 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 . look at me .⠀»⠀❄️

↪     𝑫𝑰𝑹𝑬 𝑺𝑰𝑻𝑼𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺  . || @indulgentia || accepting 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Even the simplest act of breathing in air and breathing out could be gravely jeopardized when Hanzo Hasashi feels his emptiness making him into a void; a vacuum that sucks the life out of his veins. On this specifically cold November afternoon, when the air had grown so frosty even the pyromancer felt an involuntary tremor fibrillating beneath his tanned flesh, he would be carried into a motionless scenery from a place were time doesn’t exist - and how he missed Kuai Liang’s presence with a force. Through the solidarity and solidity of his battle-scarred entirety, would thick clouds of his subconscious obscure his reality, drowning him in the unbearable laments in a language long since uncensored and unfiltered. Harumi and Satoshi would emerge with a mirage of truth on their lips, as torrential surge of sanguine would taint them beneath the ominous eclipse, which would slither across time with such graceful lust and willing to mark the familiar silhouette in the forest. 

Hanzo finds himself deeply rooted in grief, as he remains stagnant in his character. How could he let himself relinquish such resolve and strength to ward off deathly winter without his everburning flames, as death goes off hoarding the vast tenebrous darkness that would continue to punish and smolder him? Even when he had been the most entrusted enforcer of Quan Chi, destroying what’s clinging of his humanity like a desperate little weed with unbending conviction under wicked machinations, he would refuse to erode away and let himself be be devoured. Even as his essence rubbed raw, threatening to erode and desaturate beneath the corroding salt and sand of wasted potential of his character and time as a warrior and a survivor, his subconscious would be solely fueled by the rush that comes with feeling powerless. All he has to do is to submerge beneath the perturbed surface of his hearth embers, dive under swells and feel the undertow; pulling, pushing, pressing down, hit each wave just right or be slapped down, consumed and annihilated to become naught. 

That inexplicable exhaustion must make its way towards Kuai Liang, whose empathetic gaze seems to pull Hanzo Hasashi’s own skin, the very growing gashes of grief. A bandage he never learned how to properly wear as split seams reveal ugly kintsugi cracks. Despite such deadly concoction of despair and depression, stripping his candor emotions bare and becoming evermore vulnerable isn’t something Hanzo resents in front of his beloved. He has to realize the fact that he has transformed himself into kindness forged from the embers of hatred and vengeful flames of wrath, and infernos of blinding rage, as flames of self-destruction burned resplendent to catalyze a creation which will brighten the world ablaze. 

In his loneliest nights, how Liang shows up like a north star; after the grayest of waves have had their way with him. His beloved comes to him warm, with the simplest touch of his cool hand on his back, lest his inelegant posture of his slouched musculature threatens to collapse like an avalanche. Liang’s gaze become moons of clear night and his breaths like the mitigating wind that would guide him like a compass. 

“Nightmarish visions of hopelessness and despair often forces me to plunge deep into the abysmal darkness without light, like a sudden power failure, all my expectations and hopes... would collapse,” all my expectations with you would collapse and I can only be silent in silence, for it would be the reality that would irreversibly kill my expectations for the unknown future. Perhaps Hanzo Hasashi’s world was meant to be so tragically beautiful, as he trudges through the graveyard of stars, long pulverized and vanished. But they are no longer just two mortal bodies standing face-to-face, two envelops of flesh with nothing folded inside. They have been emptied, with the exposed field of bones surrounding them like a fresh snowfall, except that their human heart, filled with honor, credo, resilience, and tenacity helped them to endure and eventually conquer the insufferable pain. “Whenever I look at you in times of my trials and tribulations, I gravely fear this moment, this time of legends risen and resurrected together in tandem may simply extinguish.”  ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[sasorikigai]

Shoutout to Mortal Kombat Onslaught Chapter 1: Scorpion, because not only Scorpion goes through all the known arc in a speed of light, I love Scorpion and Sub-Zero’s dynamic which seems to combine Scorpion’s Revenge Scorpion with MK11 Sub-Zero, two of my absolute favorite versions, aka the most believable, well-developed, and rational incarnations of them. 

I cannot wait and look very much forward to their further development as most prominent and popular characters of the franchise. 

[sasorikigai]

Perhaps his stubbornness in making the other grandmaster go through this was unjustifiable, but at the same time perhaps it wasn't his fault this desire to bring a little comfort to someone who came to pay him a visit in such a so unwelcoming place out of his own volition. A warm bath, calmly prepared by the Lin Kuei Grandmaster himself, who also seemed to have insisted on providing a little extra care in person.

He waited for his companion to be properly undressed and settled in the hot tub, taking the opportunity to wash his hair. Carefully taking it in hand, he gathered it all and began to slide the rough and somewhat cold digits through the thick strands, from the forehead to the last tips, that came about Master Hasashi's strong shoulders. Moving the hands so very slowly, all that could be done was to savour through the touch every single texture under the guise of diligent cleaning work. Such work was clumsy, sometimes for lack of skill (or more precisely, lack of opportunities like the one unfolding) sometimes on purpose too, to make sure it was done properly. The fingers also brushed the other’s nape and the solid shoulder blades, leisurely caressing the scars along the way in silent admiration and awe. The feeling was a delight, obviously felt in satisfied secretin this candid moment.

Random Inbox Shenanigans || @indulgentia || always accepting!

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Once, in the ill-fated day of his death, gelid cold ripped his heart apart like a piece of paper; Sub-Zero’s hands gripped him so tightly, refusing to let go even when his own fingers ached and Hanzo let Bi-Han do it. His heart crumbled into shards of flakes more when he had to admit they pierced his lungs; with unconsciousness came the inherent desire to be free. Hanzo Hasashi’s ego knew that the price of freedom was his inevitable, seemingly irreversible death, because to be free was to be conscious. As Scorpion, the vindictive wrath full of ire and vengeance had a false sense of freedom, through the illusion of choice strung by Quan Chi’s marionette control. 

Every monster has an innate understanding of agony; a best friend, also a very, very special gift, to be reborn with a perpetual wound in his soul, shared with his naked, unadulterated emotions. In Grandmaster Hasashi’s chest, there still may be a rift; his soul, a void; his mind, chaos and confusion that still disorients him from time to time. And he would open his eyes to see a horror, an excruciating pain like he has never known before, even as his familiar intimacy with unbearable pain bringing back the echoing sound of endless souls; screaming, crying in agonizing torture of hellfire. 

All Hanzo Hasashi ever wanted was to gently fall like stars, swirling sempiternal love in his heart, twirling like galaxies in the night. Kuai Liang had been his as the sands of time continue to whisk through the black of the unknown space that is Earthrealm and its perilous, threatened fate. Even as the susurrus digits of intimate coldness breeze through his being, his beloved’s face continues to reminisce in his mind; his flavor, the taste of Lin Kuei Grandmaster’s soul coercing his behavior. Perhaps this was a little magic he needed in his occupied life as one of the Protectors of Earthrealm, a little cosmic love, maybe a kiss or two, but definitely such a tender, intimate moment. How Hanzo manifests rays of sunshine aglow in his sun-kissed flesh, alive in the brightness that is his beloved. 

Hanzo Hasashi is no longer an impure beast with a tired vengeful core, but a resilient soul of a survivor fighting off the dread of this universe threatening to shatter what he loves in disintegrating atoms. The way his eyes laying upon A-Liang is like a sunset sky; every color he speaks would light up on his chiseled complexion as the glowing smolder of his warmth enshrouds them in a gentle glow. How his life, unlife, then once again becoming the absolute best version of him in his life had been the process of discovering, the everlasting and perpetual process, not the discovery itself, at all. And he would hold onto this newfound love as tight as he can; for Kuai Liang bestows everything that Hanzo Hasashi needs to satiate and quell all of his yearning. 

How his entirety manifests as the most beautiful luminescence, dazzling like the perpetual sun, as his serene, calm, and relaxed visage paints the exquisite image of his beloved in effortless strokes. Longing, how soft a word for such a ravenous feeling, he muses, even in silence, sincerely hoping that his steady, slow breathing and his smoldering, smoky aura would seep into Liang’s senses. How I still hunger in silence, as I continue to find the music of our sensuous serenade, ignite its fire and let its beat move both of us in synchronization.  ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[sasorikigai]

“Don’t look at me, don’t talk to me, don’t touch me. Let’s get this mission over with, then never acknowledge my existence, again, got it?”⠀»⠀( for pre-MKX verse? )

enemies to…. friends? allies??  … sentence starters || @indulgentia || accepting

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || There is this vigorous urge to outlive so much of this excruciating, soul-destroying hurt; for it sways evermore violently like a precariously sailing boat in the midst of a restless thunderstorm of his agony and tribulations. Hanzo Hasashi finds himself hopelessly consumed by its cataclysmic ways, all the tedious goings and knowings, and goings and knowings. When he can only afford less, Grandmaster of Shirai Ryu gets with what little in his resurrected self he may have left. The thoughts of himself standing amidst the blood-ravaged carnage of his old clan overwhelms him, like a damaged boat consumed whole by a hungry hurricane. Except, that almighty and powerful hurricane brutally burns him asunder, with everburning tendrils that would eternally scorch his heart and soul. 

The sprawled, brutalized carnage of his family and clansmen, along with heavily macerated and mutilated body of his - de-spined, pounded beyond recognition beneath the impalement of icy death - as the cascade of maggots and festering decomposition stenches the once-sacred grounds with nothing, but Death’s great black wing scraping the air. Misery still gnaws him to the bone, but he’s beyond the abysmal despair. For deep transparent skies above now reveal the forgiveness of all the unjustly slaughtered, and how they glitter with new galaxies of life resplendent amidst the New Shirai Ryu. Even the darkest night was meant to end and the proverbial sun in his heart had risen, thanks to the cycle of rebirth after what was thought to be an eternal damnation in Nether. 

Beneath the stark and visceral onslaught of flashing nightmarish visions, Hanzo’s resolute, unyielding gaze remains fixated to the Lin Kuei; despite being still spiraling into this great, unstable mess of imagined blood and foam in the exact moment of his death, his vehement emotions surface through his piercing chestnut eyes. With somber, imperceptible stretch of his bitter smile, revealing his internal brokenness, he ignores the decay and spoilation, all the bloated corpses fermenting in the Japan’s humid summer hands, imitating the sagging spines of wilting flowers of the past, while the blooming elite Shirai Ryu Generals stand erect in the present, staring towards the sky, even in their rest. How his eternal embers contort and convulse in the black; inferno of night, its heat smothering him. How he seizes the image of this Sub-Zero in his retina, as his severe glare narrows, growing chatoyant with the wildfire surfacing beneath it. 

“Your demand is patently absurd; in order to retrieve the Kamidogu, we must work in tandem as if we are of one,” hence, if this younger Sub-Zero loves a paradox, he can really say, and say with strict truth if he will allow for the ambiguity of their indefinable relationship, whether it be temporal partnership or even a complete cessation of hostilities due to their part in Earthrealm’s Defense. “The knowledge of ‘eternal truths’ may never draw in our lifetime and beyond, but should you care for both of our clans’ sustenance and legacy, I expect you to dismiss our ill-fated rivalry.”  ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[sasorikigai]

It's Tanabata Matsuri! So despite being late for the festivals, all he could manage to do was to bring the other a basket of poorly made mooncakes for them to eat together during celebrations... and despite the unshakable features, this cryomancer knows it's not on par of what his beloved deserved. He tried ☆

Random Inbox Shenanigans || @indulgentia || always accepting!

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Hanzo Hasashi still does not understand the misinterpretation of the shrewd reality’s misguided information; inevitable lovers once pitted against a deathly, vicious rivalry, without cliffhanger, or soliloquy of what was never meant to be, with no mention of their respective torrent, or the lover’s resurrection. In essentiality, they too, have been the universe of exploding stars, separated by the immeasurable milky way, as they have mourned and still mourn all things broken, literal and metaphorical trauma wretched from their beings, as their resurrected lives work their magic of glue, driving the nails, mending the fathomless holes. They saved what they can, gather fallen pieces of the past, and saw intellect and equality Hanzo Hasashi never possessed as a wrathful wraith of Netherrealm. For there was divisiveness in conformity; inability to express himself with righteous morality, which created stagnation and further damnation, which caused further resentment, thus became a liability to his one-dimensional character. 

No longer a symbolic dark figure looms over him, as though it continuously stares as if Grandmaster Hasashi is its prey, despite his heart’s beat quickens with every passing second. His head on a constant swivel to investigate whether it is real or a figment of his imagination from his tragic, traumatic past. The consuming darkness which could easily infest his dreams and scoop every moment of contented happiness and tranquility from his being no longer govern him nor render him naught in emptiness. 

All the undeserved toil and turmoil they faced, with new surfacing griefs, which coming hours unfold, as the sad remembrance of the old overlaps with the bitter void of harrowing winter frigidness of his deep contemplation. It’s more haunting than the spilled viscera soaking upon the once-sacred grounds of Shirai Ryu, where blood and guts spill in such violent intensity once the gelid chill of despair had melted the torn downpour of stacked corpses. Despite having dreamed of his stained-red hands with an inextinguishable fire burning in his palm, his brain singed with the lick of an inferno as Hanzo Hasashi still buries all of his guilt and shame, as such measure of vehement emotions become a tenet of his; tearing at his entirety, even when unfounded. His re-erected world with such unraveled love under glistening, scintillating stars lift his spirits heavenward, as their different eyes glimpse the features of their immense love. 

His longing is also no longer a thinly-veiled, a diaphanous desire on his silent tongue and brooding expression. The rhapsody of pain had been swallowed, as he still tastes of his sins in ferrous rust and crushed bones. Because of Kuai Liang, Hanzo Hasashi has found something with any degree of everlasting permanence; a love that does not ache of abandonment, and building upon the perilous unknown which will threaten to drown them in the ache of flooding separation, and repeated submersion of anguish. Hanzo has long known the comfort that could only be found in the cryomancer’s company. Having reluctantly parted himself from the reassurance of one another’s heartfelt embrace, the pyromancer lets this particular moment surround, engulf, and consume him. His dark, poignant gaze lingers upon what could be considered a mediocre presentation, and yet, the fevered crackle of his embers warm his heart, with unrelenting compassion and gratitude. 

“In this particularly symbolic occasion such as this, your humble humility does not suit you in the slightest. For how sweetly your genuine and shining intent radiates and beams like the encompassing summer of verdant colors of the Shirai Ryu even amidst the spell of familiar despair and agony. As mythic as the origin of Tanabata Matsuri suggests, we live concurrently with all this potential energy we share, along with the indulgent bliss of our love indefinable.” 

Defiant, resolute intensity of his chestnut eyes suggest that such thoughtful act will be appreciated, as the stronghold of his chiseled arms unwind to offer Kuai Liang his seat. They are amidst the yukata-clad women hanging tanzaku, amidst the swaying paper strips is the Grandmaster’s own. 

I was a koto unstrung,  An instrument all uncaressed,  Whose songs of love remained unsung. 

This symphony inside my chest is now An infinitely dotted star-track  Towards forever and beyond. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[sasorikigai]

Dono, do you consider yourself more of a Ninja or a Samurai? Just curious ~♡

Random Inbox Shenanigans || anonymous, methinks it's @indulgentia || always accepting!

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || The road towards being the best Shirai Ryu warrior had been an endless road to fatigue, stress, contemplation, and betterment. Hanzo Hasashi still recalls heavy storm of tears of his youth, threatening to deluge over the caress of daily perspiration, as he desperately attempted to cross the broken bridges of regret he carried everyday. How the young apprentice’s heart wandered, with the trifecta of his body, mind, and soul hungry, his heart astray, despite vehement passion and abundant intensity he wielded, which still replenished his entirety. He could be severely damaged, distorted, and deranged in all forms and still force himself to move onward and forward, as if he was on the path to conquer the eternal war to make the Shirai Ryu the greatest and most respected clan of Earthrealm. 

Perhaps Grandmaster Hasashi has succeeded in making himself formidable and valuable, amidst the plethora of flaws and imperfections which make him painfully human. For there is something big living in his chest; as it aches with hunger, longing, inspiration, as he continues to feed them with defiant and resilient strength and intensity of his everburning fire. So long as he is trying, and completely aware that his destiny and success are the things only he can declare. 

Hanzo Hasashi has lived with the well-known implication of the ‘way’ of the sword, which is a complete philosophy as well as a military technique which centers on the sword. In its simplest, the Way of the Sword is an intense focus on learning how to use the samurai sword in the most effective way. In a more complex meaning, this Way is a complete devotion to a view of life based on the sword, its mystical qualities, and techniques of its use. To the Shirai Ryu Grandmaster, swordsmanship, combined with his essentric and unique use of the chained kunai became an art, with grace and discipline adding a focus on practice and perfecting movement. It is the unknown predictability which distinguishes the other warriors and instills unadulterated fear for those unprepared for his arsenal of skillsets. 

“I am whatever Earthrealm requires me to be,” for Hanzo Hasashi is stronger because he had to be, he is smarter because of his mistakes, he is content because he has overcome the sadness he has forever known and he is wiser because he has learned from his life, filled with strife and tribulations. Hanzo may ponder in thought, diving into the fathomless sea of emotions. Everlasting, neverending, much like the questions left unanswered by his old immature past life without somber quietness yet beautiful imperfections, as Hanzo poured his heart into the intricacy of kombat involved more than simply drawing the first blood and emerging victorious.

Kuai Liang should know this, for engrossing in vicious kombat entitles more than one-dimensional destruction and rebirth, but of pleasure and desire, which remain plentiful in his life. Almost simplistic are the demands of the life as the Shirai Ryu Grandmaster; grow, achieve, desire, learn, adapt. Anything beyond such a mentality hardly finds a suitable foundation to stand upon as a dedicated and formidable warrior of Earthrealm.

“The only manifestation I absolutely abhor and despise would be becoming unclear and unseen once again as the Netherrealm’s wraith; distant beyond past the painted resplendence of the reality, without bristles and struggles of inspiration that comes with being a mortal warrior. Scorpion’s motives were selfish and contagious like virus, multiplying and destroying the Earth and bringing embittered ire and vengeance.”  ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[sasorikigai]

❛❛ I didn’t say “I love you” to hear it back. I said it to make sure you knew. ❜❜ ⠀»⠀Liang Liang

Random Inbox Shenanigans || @indulgentia || always accepting!

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || The desiccated soul used to rage with such unfeeling feel with the dry vehemence of the unreal; the winds of his inextinguishable inferno shifting direction, as the tenebrous darkness of the Nether surrounded him, heavy and stifling. Scorpion dared not to distract his empty full moon gaze from the mirror before him, the reflection of a face once resembling Hanzo Hasashi’s long-slaughtered, decayed, pale, betraying the quintessential wholesomeness before him. 

Any trace of familiarity long gone, and the wraith never dared to lift the veil where the subjective meets the objective, the terrifying truth lying beneath it all. For all-engulfing and devouring rage and vengeance caused its torrential cacophony to breach the proverbial quietness of the revered ninja, as eeriness and uneasiness crawled over every tormented inch of his skin; deafening and misleading, intruding and invading his every pore. 

The trance brought upon by the onslaught of hellfire was tempting and addictive; the more he looked, the less he could truly perceive and understand, as the face continued its revolting and evil distortion. For it was to tell him his fate, that he should no longer wish for the years to come. They were already robbed away from his vehement, desperate grasp. 

Now, big, chestnut brown, round eyes stare back, embedded with yellow stones of a grim, severe smile deceiving him as Grandmaster Hasashi finds once again descending back into the familiar shadows. The winds have shifted again, this time accompanied by something entirely else. It used to bring such an adverse hatred and apprehension, but now it beckons him to join in such thermodynamic embrace. How Kuai Liang’s delightful display - reminds Hanzo Hasashi of pristine snowdrops with white heads, saturated with the sinking sun’s radiant glory - echoes Hanzo’s own bursting heartbeat surging with warmth and passion. With sounds and vibrant colors intimately and only known to him, as they saturate one another with a perfectly harmonious union. 

The sun never merely shines, but it burns through the strong, taut fibers of his muscles. They are revered, feared, and worshipped to no end, with raw carnality and sensuality. Perhaps this is why Hanzo crawled back to, and from Death itself, knowing this makes him feel the universe to its furthest, deepest, to the immeasurable extent to see how sempiternal love could be shaped and sustained. 

“Gloom used to fashion a home out of bloodstained shoji walls, as I entombed myself in a dark prison of dust as a familiar expression of Sub-Zero loomed. Shortly after that, it was nothing, but disarray forming a helpless void as I screamed internally, shackled and bound in a cell of Quan Chi’s malicious and wicked design.” 

Knowing it was once a cage that held a vengeful, bloodthirsty beast enraged and unrestrained, locked down tight, never to be freed in fear for his human guilt and despair - Hanzo suppresses the fury and insanity brought upon by the haunting recollections of his past. He knows, he is no longer the raw, unfinished self, for the one he is becoming along with his beloved will only solidify this tenderly unfolding moment. Both in weakness and strength, Hanzo will always have a reason to think about Kuai Liang, even without the conversations of their entangled, coalesced bodies. 

“We have experienced the bounds of heightened hopes and dim lows, acknowledged fears and inevitable despair which stemmed from our clans’ long rivalry. While I still struggle with the unresolved anguish etched into my bones, I find myself deeply secured in the crevasses of your mosaic. I will make sure I will continue to fuel that deepest childlike wonder and kindness deeply held within your eyes to extend beyond our sublime love,” Hanzo hopes his genuine smile could blow tranquil peace into his beloved’s veins, as his lingering touch becomes the empyrean comfort as the swell of his lips capture that of the cryomancer’s own. 

His lips are meant to arrest both their unshed tears and imperfections, and send them to a joyful place, where they only exist as their unbidden selves. “As your waves of sincerity will continue to cloak me, I will continue to pave my righteous path along with you in reciprocation.”  ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||