#subscorp-week

[sasorikigai]

SubScorp Week, Day 4: Lust (heavily leaned towards Hanzo’s POV)

@subscorp-week, and also @indulgentia, @frozenbreath​, @bastardsunlight​

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ❄️ || Once only half an arch, Scorpion has built his own bridge back to humanity, and discovered that actually, he wanted to do his best to taste as much of agony and suffering as he could. How his unspoken thoughts bleed, pouring from every word spoken in the hollowed cranium; Hanzo Hasashi has attempted so hard to hold them back, but instead, he has found himself letting it all out in the Shirai Ryu Training Grounds. How he yearned to be bound together by blinding sunlight, for collection of miracles have brought him to this particular place and construct of time in blood-streaked sweat, salt, and dust.

He is a story, a home, a ferocious wolf that howls in the night. Perhaps, Kuai Liang is his unintended victim, but Hanzo Hasashi knows; kombat always has been their innate righteous providence, their encouraged duty to keep their body, mind, and soul evermore sharp. The road to their innate destiny with no sweeter a wine than the coursing blood in their veins and the taste of summer air paramount, with the quiet salvation in evening musings. And Kuai Liang too, will not have it any other way; for their shared entanglement is what heightens his senses, consumes the last light, as tenebrous shadows and silhouettes of darkness of their mind and soul does not lead them towards the gateway to sin. They have been corrupted, seared, and blackened beneath the malignant viciousness of decay and rot which nearly depleted and usurped their immaculate humanity, flaws and vices and all. 

Now, in this settled sadness and with all the rage burned through the gentle agony and suffering of aching muscles, they find themselves at home in the way their lips collide, meld together as one. They are, after all, vulnerable mortals who ravenously thirsts for more voracious of lusts, of unquenchable warmth one could bestow upon one another. How their hands interlock, fitting together perfectly in the way their bodies are pressed together so tight. And in the way, Hanzo Hasashi and Kuai Liang hope against all odds that tonight, is the night they will lose themselves without ever making it back to Hanzo’s personal chamber. 

The kiss is, strictly speaking, a passing of of twice; a bead from Hanzo Hasashi’s mouth to Kuai Liang’s, then back, breaking the tepidness of ad nauseum, as they get deliriously lost in the comforting sheets of the nature’s proverbiality, encasing them as gentle grass blades rustle against their bareness. In the tightness of Kuai Liang’s thicker arms, Hanzo Hasashi hears echoing emanation of their breaths and the warmth of his heart. Entrapped beneath his beloved in a place of tenderness, he would find himself with Sub-Zero a place of lost and found. No longer emanating the winter’s wrath, the settling night brings such curiosities, these wonders such treasures as Kuai Liang’s chest becomes flush against Hanzo’s, as he nuzzles and whispers into the groove of his beloved’s neck upon parting, as he maps the coordinates of such exquisite architecture below; bones and sinew and ligament as the foundation for a rolling musculature which he has both scarred and revered. 

The agglomerating heat becomes red on white, as their coalescence becomes an unpublished story, the most sacred yet forbidden practice upon the Shirai Ryu Fire Gardens. More chaos administered upon his already intoxicated dopamine-fueled body as Hanzo relishes in the world of whirling dance that he think he might burst. He’s used to the feeling that crawls up his skin and his adamantine bones, that familiar feel of triumph and indispensable self-satisfaction. Until his synapses in his spinal chord shrieks in rumbling fissures as Kuai Liang’s ravenous passion avalanches upon his. And his fervor-saturated reciprocation will rush in pulsing fits, as his breaths are clenched tightly in his lungs, as he takes in the unfiltered essence of winter deep into his being. The muffle of sounds, as bloodied garments scatter and the flesh and bone of their flesh glide and smack as the subtle fight for dominance entangles their appendages further.

Yet, the sensation becomes more like a conciliation than anything else, as his flesh paints further with the gestures of ownership. He’s embodying the vanished overhanging sun as his darkened, dilated intensity of his gaze still clutches it with all of his might; it swirls and swells and beyond a doubt, his ribs become so brittle that they threaten to expand and crack. There were many things Hanzo Hasashi never expected to encounter in his lifetime; one of them being a nagging feeling, there being a constant hollow longing for the love that he no longer has. It beats in his heart like a disused drum, an obnoxious vibration to kiss those well-defined lips, to feel what paradoxical warmth. And they are surprisingly warm, against Kuai Liang’s much cooler body; 

Was it instinct that his fingers glide along the planes of Llang’s back, leaving impressions, bruises and lashes painted in streaks? Was it instinct that he swirls in the fathomless cascading waterfall of darkened sapphire that becomes a anchor upon what seemed inescapable darkness and Hanzo’s on top of his beloved in the most unexpected and exquisite way? Crafting and molding each other in their touches as they pluck their bodies in exquisite orchestration. It was the feeling that stimulated something deep in his very core, licking thoroughly through their spine like a continuous electric shock as they complete the full circuit. 

It would be a lie and make him a hypocrite to deny the fact that the memory of Harumi Hasashi would reduce to be the taste of impermanence, yet he doesn’t have to be fearful of the life where he would be pessimistic; he had found the light upon the mirrors and they no longer contained images of empty dead souls, haunting him in a threading blur of smokes. No more breathless desperation that triggered lifeless contours of charcoal and dust, pressing close, stampeding over him as he helplessly lied beneath the confines of crumbled walls as he drained of his explosive vigor and willpower. Blood-leached and wavering grasp upon tangible reality. Now painted with vivid and warm radiance of that particular image, replaced by their more than real, beyond ostensible connection and unification, he’s ever more aggravated by not only his own fevered flesh and still-warm crimson caress. 

As he loses in their subspace and his moans hoarse with desire, Kuai Liang licks a drop of paint which smear onto the curve under Hanzo’s lower lip, then clashes his lips together once again in such force that the collision takes his breaths away instantly after having graced a moment of stalemate. His rough caress paints Hanzo’s rubicund skin in both reverence and destructible obstruction, as if he had been breaking his beloved apart; tenacious and relentless as they conduct the same, synchronized orchestration of their muscles and dimples. How they both blossom in halcyon heat, as they continue to take turns to melt one another in the summer heat. They will fall for the joy, shedding smiles far and wide in-between harbored storms in their eyes, dampened from the monsoon rains of their thermodynamic collision. 

~~

Soon, Hanzo will find himself deepening the penetration, profoundly diving as the kindled fire fully bursts into a wanton incandescence. He could feel the dimple along his back arch slightly as Kuai Liang maneuvers him, to further become joined at the hips without visible separation. Through constantly panting sound exchanged through with as almost sour, bitter sweetness akin to animal musk sweeps through the length of their bodies with each inhale, Hanzo becomes a wild, unhindered animal, interspersed with inaudible press of moans, turning into eerie shrieks within his cranium, threatening to push through the taut neck which arch. 

There’s so much Hanzo could feel as their bodies embody an eclipse, the effulgent fire and pristine winter cold coalescing together to cause a world of difference upon the humanity as to let their presences known, if they hadn’t done it already. On road to its pinnacle, both of them edges, painfully and delectably, taking rushed skips before he is faced with the zenith of all. Their bodies embody more like a kiln, slow to reach its boiling point, then the heat feels like a widening hole swallowing them whole and each minute movement of their rippling embers elevated to become a deafening roar as he locks in petrification. And a whole world of galaxy presents itself upon their shared half-lidded gaze, as their stillness extends and ripples like fathomless ocean. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ❄️ || 

[puttingfingerstokeys]

First Kiss

Day 1 (day 2) (day 3) (day 4) (day 5)

So I've decided to participate in @subscorp-week YAY

Thermodynamic equilibrium obviously--ft smoke and Cyrax too WOO

Broken timeline

The snow fell heavily, straight down from the leaden sky, on the approach to the gates of the Lin Kuei compound. Scorpion’s horse held up well between his thighs, its breath rising like his own in steaming puffs. It was a sturdy little thing, his horse, blue-gray with gentle eyes, native to the area and bred for just this purpose. He held the reigns in one hand, the other resting on one leg, finger drumming with minute impatience. For the last three miles, there had been eyes on him, which he had expected—the Lin Kuei were not known for their warmth in any aspect, save the grandmaster himself, who was quite accommodating—but it still set off his internal alarms, especially because he was alone.

The obsidian-colored, forged iron of the gates were solid, made by ancient means. The knowledge of how to replicate this process was lost to the ages, but Grandmaster Hasashi was aware that his Lin Kuei counterpart had set about unearthing Lin Kuei relics, scrolls, and general history, dedicating an entire unit of his clan to doing this. It was admirable, fighting for a more noble past, especially since the most recent one was so bathed in dishonor and blood—his and the blood of his clan. The though still made his heart ache and his soul blaze with hellfire. He controlled himself, not wanting to scorch the beast who had so faithfully carried him.

Tossing a leg over her neck, he dismounted and patted her shoulder affectionately. She nickered and pushed at him, seeking treats. Digging about on his person and ever-mindful of the eyes still upon him, Grandmaster Hanzo Hasashi of the Shirai-Ryu assassin clan produced a bag and from it, into his palm, he poured a pile of sugar. Offering it to the horse, he stowed the bag and scratched her forehead. It was at this point the gate guards chose to materialize, both cyberized Lin Kuei, one yellow and one gray.

“Grandmaster Hasashi,” they said as one. The grandmaster turned, the little mare’s lead in hand, eyes snapping first to one, then the other.

“Smoke,” he said, inclining his head, “and Cyrax.”

They both seemed pleased—as pleased as a couple of expressionless robotic shells could be—that he remembered them. Then again, how could he not? They were Sub-Zero’s favorites, after all. They were the most loyal to him out of the clan and, while not always Grandmaster Hasashi’s escorts, glad to be so when the opportunity arose. They, like Kuai Liang, believed an alliance between their clans was what would ultimately prove best for Earthrealm. Handing the lead to Cyrax, he spoke again:

“Be sure she is not ill-treated. Good work should be rewarded. She is a good beast.”

Both Lin Kuei nodded, appreciating his care for the creature. The great gates yawned open then and, walking three abreast with the horse following closely behind Cyrax, they entered. Within, the complex was quiet, as usual, the massive, fluffy snowflakes continuing to fall here, where their beauty seemed incongruous alongside the austerity of the Lin Kuei. Cyrax peeled off to one side, toward what Grandmaster Hasashi took to be stables and he was left with Tomas Vrabada, the cyberized ninja sometimes called Smoke.

“Please, allow me,” said Tomas, gesturing that he would walk with the grandmaster through the Lin Kuei complex. Hanzo held up a hand and shook his head.

“I know the way well, Tomas,” he said, “thank you.”

“But…”

“I know the way.”

His tone brooked no argument and then the Shirai-Ryu grandmaster began his journey toward Sub-Zero’s receiving hall. There were still eyes upon him, wary ones, but none were curious, he sensed. He had been here often enough to speak with the Lin Kuei leader over tea of the potential alliance between their clans. He knew Smoke had only been concerned for his safety, but he was Grandmaster of an assassin order; a simple walk would have to be very difficult indeed to break his stride, much less kill him.

As predicted, the walk was without incident, the bright yellow of his gi and the flashing silver and gold of his armor standing in stark contrast, even under the cloudy sky, against the colorless backdrop of dark buildings and virgin snow. He stretched out a hand to catch a flake and watched it disintegrate in his palm as the Lin Kuei’s grandmaster stepped out onto the porch of his receiving hall and called out:

“Grandmaster Hasashi, it is wonderful to see you again. Thank you for answering my missive. Please.” He gestured to the place where they always took their tea. Hanzo noted two Lin Kuei, these still flesh and blood, and very young, setting out the dishes silently. One stood back with a cloak of fine furs over an arm and no expression whatsoever on their face—none save a momentary flash of awe at the Shirai-Ryu warrior’s approach. It is as if they have never seen such color in all their cold, dark existence, Hanzo thought unkindly. He chided himself for this and made for his Lin Kuei counterpart first, clasping arms in a friendly greeting and then affecting a deep bow, which Kuai Liang returned.

“Where is Tomas?” Sub-Zero inquired, his scarred brow rising. Scorpion smiled wryly and gestured.

“I dismissed him,” he said simply. “I have arrived alone, leaving my soldiers at the village in the foothills and I will continue my journey to your doorstep in that same fashion, as a gesture of good faith.”

“Or as a display of your power,” Kuai Liang suggested mischievously, gesturing that Hanzo should sit. The grandmaster did, and suddenly the fur cloak was placed about his shoulders. He stiffened and shot a flinty look at Kuai Liang, who was settling across from them.

“What is this?” Hanzo’s voice was perhaps a little sharper than he had intended, but he held firm. “I do not require this, Grandmaster.”

“It is less about requirement and more about courtesy. Call it… My own gesture of goodwill,” said the Lin Kuei grandmaster, gesturing to the fine workmanship. “I would be honored if you would see fit to keep it.”

Grandmaster Hasashi’s shoulders sagged and he sighed. “Very well.”

Kuai Liang seemed delighted by this and began the arduous, traditional ceremony of grinding tea leaves, mixing them into the steaming water, and pouring them. All this was done in contemplative silence. Kuai Liang, it turned out, was a traditionalist—but using traditions established much further back than even the former Lin Kuei grandmaster’s lifespan, millennia ago, from their Edenian heritage. He did this for many reasons, for honor, for the restoration of his clan, and to display the unity between Shirai-Ryu and Lin Kuei, who shared common ancestry.

“We were cast from Outworld once,” he had told Scorpion years ago, when their meetings had first begun, “and so we must now stand united against that same power.”

There was no question in it. Kuai Liang had stated cold, hard fact, as was the way of the Lin Kuei. Hanzo admired him for this and for many other things. He noted, as the kryomancer finished the ceremony, Hanzo realized he had been studying him the entire time while his mind walked the echoing corridors of the past. Kuai Liang wore an understated, but ornate set of light armor. The gi was blue and black and made no pretense—nor did the armor—of covering much more than needed, which was only some of the man’s broad chest, none of his arms and nothing at all of his neck. Foolish and showy, Scorpion spat internally, at war with himself, as both an assassin and as a man who had long been without the gentle touch of another living being. His heart thumped hard in his chest and he calmed himself, hands placed demurely in his lap.

“Please,” Kuai Liang invited, gesturing to Hanzo’s cup and, only when the Shirai-Ryu warrior had picked it up, grasping his own and lifting it.

“To a unity so strong, Outworld fears the tread of our boots,” rumbled Scorpion.

“May they fear our name, whispered on the wind,” echoed Sub-Zero.

They drank deep of the tea—it was chamomile, Hanzo’s favorite—and watched each other for several long moments. Both men opened their mouths to speak, then both closed their lips and gestured for the other to begin. They had been doing this so long, it seemed as if everything had been touched upon, every detail hammered out. So what was the purpose of this meeting? Scorpion, ever the pragmatist, had wondered that on the entire journey, yet still he had come.

“I would set our alliance in stone, Hanzo,” said Kuai Liang quietly, using the man’s first name, an intimate gesture to be sure. But had he not earned this? Had they not been at least acquainted over thirty years and then some? They had even served Quan-Chi together, pitiful and uncomfortable as that memory was. They had seen facets of each other that no one else in the world ever had or ever would, if they had their way. “It should be more than your oath to be my protector.”

“I failed at that, if you recall, a-Liang.” Hanzo’s address was even more intimate, shortening Sub-Zero’s name in the traditional way of Sub-Zero’s people and adding not a little endearment, though is voice was still harsh. “You were made a machine, and then a revenant and I—”

“And you were powerless to stop it,” said Sub-Zero, standing and gesturing that his Shirai-Ryu counterpart should follow. “We cannot always take the weight of the world onto our shoulders, old friend; we crowd out the real concerns by doing so. Come, walk with me.”

Hanzo stood and, after a moment’s thought, kept the furs around his shoulders. They were soft and warm and, he had to admit, expertly made. Had Kuai Liang done this? While the kryomancer was not looking, he drew it close to his nose and breathed deep a scent he recognized on a primal level, though could not consciously identify. Sub-Zero, for his part, walked quietly beside Hanzo Hasashi, listening to the sound of his muffled footsteps on the stone beneath their feet. The path, Hanzo noted, had clearly been recently swept, perhaps while they were sharing tea, and led around behind the grandmaster’s receiving hall. He had never been back here, only to a few select buildings, the barracks, the training halls, and the mess—of course the stables as well—and so this tree-lined path, marked here and there with old, worn, stone statues was utterly new.

“I have begun researching the original form of these statues,” said Kuai Liang. A few, here and there, were possessed of an interior glow that was not a candle, but not electricity either. “The magic in them is Edenian, and quite old… some of them seem simply to have faded.” His voice was sad and Hanzo felt his heart squeeze a little at this sound of it. “Some were cruelly broken and if I knew the ones who had done it, I would have their heads.”

The truce with Kotal Kahn’s court and Outworld as a whole was so precarious, that asking for the assistance of an Edenian survivor such as Jade was almost completely out of the question. They had to focus, both men knew, on their own alliance first. Once they were united and strong, they could move to other connections, make other allies, strong ones. Special Forces leapt immediately to mind, and of course the Shaolin of the Temple of Light. Both men were uneasy with Lord Raiden, but they had to admit that he, being the god of thunder, would be a powerful ally indeed—and a truly terrifying foe. That being said, Scorpion, at least, longed to meet that particular deity in kombat. Perhaps one day.

They were coming upon a break in the tree-lined path which led to an open area and another set of gates. These were somewhat less imposing, though still of a dark material—if Hanzo had to guess, it was ebony. From behind it, great clouds of steam rose and lights played off the steam, low and gentle, clearly from braziers or torches of some kind. He halted and looked to his companion. “What is this?”

With a flourish, Kuai Liang stepped before his companion and gestured to the ebony gates, which swung open at the hands of two more silent students of the Lin Kuei, these just as young as those who had seated and served them. Beyond was a vista Hanzo had not expected so deep in the mountains and he found himself blinking and gape-mouthed—his sense of propriety halted this rather quickly, but Sub-Zero had already seen it—at what lay within. Kuai Liang offered his arm. Normally, Scorpion would bristle at such a gesture—it was too familiar by half—but his stupor overcame his better judgment and he took it, feeling he no longer needed the fur cloak as soon as they passed the threshold.

“The Lin Kuei’s best-kept secret,” said Sub-Zero proudly, “and one of my restoration projects. It is hardly finished, but we have already begun landscaping.”

All around them was a plethora of greenery, strange plants that were not of Earthrealm origin—tropical flowers and wide-leaved trees and bushes. The place was warm, too, like a sauna and, at the far end of what had clearly once been merely a stony grotto, lay the spring itself, steaming and smelling of rich, restorative minerals.

“Your complex is… powered by thermal vents?” It was an easy leap from natural hotsprings to such technology and Hanzo was pleased when Kuai Liang nodded. “Amazing. This is… What you have done here is beyond any dream your predecessors could have had.” Hanzo turned to face Kuai Liang. “It is astounding,” he added. “You are astounding.”

Sub-Zero’s grip switched to grasp the hand that had been wrapped about his arm and they stood quietly for several moments, eyes locked, breath strangely quick—surely it was the heat—and hearts pounding. Hanzo wondered if Kuai Liang could hear his thundering pulse. He did not realize the converse was true.

“Hanzo,” said the Lin Kuei grandmaster, voice low and somehow filled with reverence.

“Liang?” The response came swiftly, but tripping out between Scorpion’s lips, flushed cheeks and half-dazed expression making him look years younger.

“Will you forgive me?” The question was odd, seemingly without source and Hanzo grunted his bafflement. “I have been remiss,” Kuai Liang clarified, “in keeping this secret from you for so long… this and… other things.”

Still baffled, Hanzo shook his head. “No—that is… I cannot forgive that which has not harmed me.” All the while, their eyes stayed locked, Hanzo’s hand in one of Kuai Liang’s, the torches and braziers burning brightly all around them, the perfume of Edenian flowers and potent minerals creating a heady aroma of deep, warm sensuality. Kuai Liang leaned forward, gently, slowly but with no secret as to what he wanted. Their lips were inches apart and he paused.

“May I kiss you?”

Hot breath mingling with strange cold, Hanzo nodded, voicing no response save to press his mouth forward and meet the Lin Kuei grandmaster somewhere in the middle, one hand wrapping about behind Sub-Zero’s shoulders, crushing their bodies together. The kiss was long, fiery, heated, desiring more, so much more from the other man. It did not want to break. They fit together like pieces of an ancient puzzle and suddenly both were wondering why their clans ever fought in the first place. They parted long enough to regard each other—both fearing he had overstepped—only to plunge back in, redoubling their efforts and this time plying their strength against and with the other.

Their world shrank to the two of them and for several blissful minutes, nothing existed but they.

[sasorikigai]

SubScorp Week, Day 3: AU - Hanzo Hasashi is the SF Commander (Tactical Retrieval Squadron) and Kuai Liang is a Special Crime Investigator who had been abducted by the Black Dragon.

@subscorp-week, and also @indulgentia, @frozenbreath​, @bastardsunlight​

💥📝 || Through an imperceptible, yet perceivable sound, the characteristically silent whoosh of the bullet takes its aimed projectile right through Commander Hasashi’s head. The distinct scent of gunpowder oozes through the barrel as his form crumbles away, though his heart continues to roam, to rattle the earth whole, only to feel his newfound home erode into nothing more than an abysmal black hole. His own voluptuous lips mirror that of the hushed huff emitted by the gunsmoke, as he inhales. It seems to settle beneath his lungs as his breaths suspend over the cavity of his squeezed tissue. 

A familiar figure scurries to hold Hanzo’s sprawled and open palm, with his own government-issued glock dropped somewhere, neglected. Through an obscurity of cacophonous commotion, raining bullets to retrieve Special Crimes Investigator Kuai Liang, the Commander’s honed gaze fixates to bring down the subject of his focus, the damned Black Dragon Kano making the beeline for one of his fellow commanding officers, and as the mumbled hushed sound of grunts break out of his ajar lips, his arms extends as it goes the farthest, well-defined muscles rigorously stretching as his teeth sets, as a scalding heat of his copious blood becomes magmatic against his temple, flowing down the swell of his cheeks and defined cheekbones. 

He could feel his soul hollow and blood cold, as the pulsing throes of life-draining shot has rendered him unrecognizable, lest his concave, shattered helmet prevents him from both rapid exsanguination and immediate loss of conscious. Tenaciously holding himself up with the trigger secured between his long, capable fingers, a series of aimed shot fire with such force, and Kano drops dead with a severe gunshot wound on his left shoulder, then a fatal shot against the trunk of his head, the high velocity of a bullet exiting in an upward diagonal near his inner right eye. But there’s no moment to celebrate or exhale an eased breath; shuttering, as Hanzo Hasashi shatters, the piece of him scatter as his sinking head refuses to make the approaching silhouette to be buried beneath the silent ocean of obfuscated fog. 

A scurrying form of Kuai Liang emerges from the thick smoke and diminishing commotion. There is no longer a distinction between love and darkness, as his conscious’ edge too, threatens to crumble and shatter beyond repair. He is covered in grime and remnants of concrete from head to toe, but despite the telltale chafe around his wrists and ankles and neck, Kuai Liang doesn’t bleed, nearly as much as Commander Hasashi, who begins to splutter and cough as his trembling hand visibly struggles to lift his visor. “Sorry I hesitated. I wanted to break the cycle of my life beating me down, and yet - I didn’t know how to...,” 

Beneath the rubbled gravel restricting his field of vision, Hanzo Hasashi’s head tips to Kuai’s right side, with a growl akin to the wounded animal ravenously bearing teeth towards the equally wounded prey that still could kill them both. “My glock... on your right. Two Black Dragon approaching from your four o’clock.” The reality begins to close in with a choking grasp as the damned ephemeral world begins to drape over, as the dribbling denseness of his blood manifests itself like red army ants crawling, silent until the sickle moon sweeps over his black uniform, as he becomes the wilting rose as the last defiant, valiant struggle clasps around Kuai’s right hand. 

Kuai’s adamant grasp of the glock points towards the assailants, and before they could lift their glinting silver blade and plunge it deep into his heart, a series of gunshots roar and echo, reverberate through the extended limb as the furrowed intensity and tautness melts, beginning with his slouching shoulder and heaved breath. They too, take their journey towards the sinking descension, with diminishing pounding of their chest constituting that in fact, their wretched lives on Earth have come to an irreversible end. “It brings calmness and assurance, knowing that I have had a good teacher, Hanzo,” his veered head makes sure that there is no more approaching enemies, before Kuai regards the SF squadron of his safety, refusing to be parted, lest heavy exhaustion causes his lean muscles to slouch and sag. 

Surrounded by constant hubbub of numerous people, but painfully alone, both of them tiptoeing and flirting with the edge of Death, looking over a cliff, and wondering if the ground would look as pretty as this view. Both were sinking a gaze into dying wildflowers, as Kuai Liang sinks his nose into dying wildflowers. They are beautiful and broken, and perhaps, he will lay here, watch the sky along with Hanzo, as they stare at the same comfort of an absent shooting star. How he craves to take in the heated feverous heat of Hanzo, emanating not only from the steady trickle that pool over the cracked helmet, but of his hand. Kuai Liang once thought it was sweat and tears streaming down his face; but it is his blood, as his bad eye fills with helical red, saturating him whole, as his complex emotions of acceptance, rage, humiliation, defiance; become the fertile grounds where their larger-than-life stories are bred and cultivated in their coalesced lifefluid. 

How Hanzo clings onto his soul with a strength born out of the etched darkness, violence, and desperation; as he is the offspring of undeserved violence, living through the polyphony of desolateness and bloodlust. “I love you, Liang, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.” My love is neverending, simply timeless, but your love will only take on the fleeting seasons of my life, with barely countable memories to be called truly happy. “Liang,” how the approaching Death grabs his neck, threaten to rip him in half, tearing all his dreams apart. A nightmare begins, the one he cannot get up from, as it devours him, slowly, until the sun tints the sky then leaving him broken for another day. 

“Hanzo,” the warmth of Kuai Liang’s voice settles upon the Commander, as Kuai’s trembling hand reaches for any flesh he could find upon the kevlar-armored, bruised being of the broader and taller form. “Please rest. You do not have to come to my rescue and protect me all the time. Let me be in your charge for once. The more you climb, the more it would hurt to fall back down, where nothing works. Bring yourself relief you have long denied for far too long.” 

The flaying thread may hang suspended in the air, seeping strength and vigor and his utmost concentration along with it. Even as the ripen pain, the triad of physical, emotional, and psychological all mounts to make Hanzo Hasashi sequenced to seek for his eternal absolution in plunging himself in the vicious spectacle of violent onslaught, as his sharpened gaze cracks open a crevice in his heart, as immeasurable as the oceans as herculean burden further paints his already pained countenance. 

“In peace, or raptured in fire - I will seek justice. Nothing will keep me from bringing the fucking world down, Kuai Liang,” the last reserve of his strength curls upon his beloved’s fingers, before the intrinsic wildfire of his intense being relinquishes beneath the coaxing unconscious, as the cacophonous atmosphere dies down to tend to the injured. “Get yourself treated for once.” For even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise. Just as I will continue to rise amidst the searing pain and darkness of my depression. 💥📝 || 

[sasorikigai]

SubScorp Week, Day 1: First Kiss (in Hanzo Hasashi’s POV), Kuai’s is here (❄️)

@subscorp-week, and also @indulgentia, @frozenbreath​, @bastardsunlight​

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Love hasn’t died - it is merely asleep, waiting to wake at the right time. 

The stars finally decided to put Hanzo Hasashi’s undying, visceral poignancy of love to sleep. Would he ever realize, all the great love which has become a great affliction? The stars, and the dead beloved from her unnamed grave? How the tormented Grandmaster would look upon the scattered remains become the most terrifying beautiful power in the universe. For love is a lot of things; love is tragedy, self-destruction, it is also reckless and impulsive, heartbreaking, blinding, and wild. Love is also devotion, faith, and trust. Hanzo Hasashi’s love is valiant and brave, for Harumi Hasashi used to be his comfort and home, bringing shreds of truth in a sea of lies. His love is a lot of things, but it is not nondescript and simplistic, and certainly never quiet. 

Vices were there, hidden under his pillow on a red journal he keeps, each page were his memories of her. For her existence could be his dualistic comfort and torturous heart-wrenching guilt and remorse, and Hanzo often would descend down into the throat of tartarus, as chasmic abysmal hole would befall him for so long, before his primordial victory will finally free him from its tenacious grasp. 

The most thing Hanzo associates of Kuai Liang is a steel-forged rose. Roses are alluring, both gentle, delicate yet vicious, something of an unparalleled beauty. Whenever he thinks of the Lin Kuei Grandmaster, there is always that great, intoxicated surge of the heavy scent of red roses blowing into his face as soon as they left the village, inducing a sensuous vertigo; a blast of rich, faintly corrupt sweetness strong enough almost, to befall and ensorcel him. Once the depth of his sorrow has conquered him, but the confidante in Sub-Zero has brought Scorpion’s deepest conscious to be caressed, as energy meets energy; a cosmic explosion as they would pose in a position of love, trust, and devotion. 

While it is not as scandalous as passionate lust, but regardless, their worlds will be combined in conjoinment. As he reminisces the last meeting with the Lin Kuei Grandmaster, Hanzo lets that hidden oracle floating right above the bridge between the night and day, the eccentric comet he would invariably wait for as he also recalls the tribulations of enduring the dying sun kissing his humanity goodbye as the hellfire tucked once-treasured earthly stars underneath his grief, remorse and self-flagellation. No longer, his heart grew brutal from feeding on fantasies; for Kuai Liang instilled clarity in Hanzo Hasashi’s mind and heart, making them align. The war had long been settled, and there was only peace and thriving love in once withered and crumbled heart. 

Kuai Liang was the answers, the peace, the epiphany, and he was all that Hanzo Hasashi dreamed for, and all that he could never get ahold of since his resurrection. Of all the pressures of life, he would taste the finest - as the familiar peak of the Arctika’s most grueling mountains mellow and the ever-erect Lin Kuei Temple finds his second home, with the sweeping moonlight illuminating the darkest corners of all the imperfections of his kintsugi heart, Hanzo Hasashi’s firefly flames rise above, high above, into the night stars. 

The years to come - this is a promise he will make with the trifecta of his body, heart, and soul - which will grant the Grandmasters ample time to drown in the empire of thought, where they week for the shining proofs they think one another must have. But nothing Hanzo Hasashi will ever understand will be sweeter, or more binding than this deepest affinity between reflected lucid sapphire gaze of Kuai Liang and the world beyond. Both abounding pleasure and insufferable pain wraps around Shirai Ryu Grandmaster’s heart, as he approaches, wearing his eternal enigma, the continuous contradiction of his steeled expression, as his brisk walk also brings about a bracing greeting, as chilled crimson lips whisper the brutal honesty of his heart and soul. 

“It is either I go willingly, or be dragged. Loving you was not a choice I made... but I will never deny the fact that I love you with all my heart and soul. For I have been led towards the difficult path of self-discovery which had also led me to the truth, and most importantly, you.” 

Coaxing lips glide effortlessly past the neat thatch of Sub-Zero’s beard, as they firmly plant upon Kuai Liang’s much cooler lips. The once chaste exemplification of Hanzo Hasashi’s affection and devotion have long melted to the litany of hitched breaths and saturated rubicund hues. And how Hanzo crumbles beneath the weight of longing, as once stronghold bulwark of his limbs entwine, as their vigorous hearts beat as one and clarity of their shared world hazes, as the Grandmaster shines like the sunrise bursting over horizons, with furious intense light stretched through the malleable mellow ow his gently coaxed closed eyes and dragging gossamer stroke of his sensual warmth, emanating through Kuai Liang, and beyond the gelid whip of Arctika’s merciless winter.  ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[sasorikigai]

SubScorp Week, Day 1: First Kiss (in Kuai Liang’s POV), Hanzo’s is here (🔥)

@subscorp-week, and also @indulgentia, @frozenbreath​, @bastardsunlight​

❄️ || Here Sub-Zero makes a stand to praise the impossible love, even though the ungraspable concept will always break and shatter his frozen heart. 

For it seems unfair to him that something as basic as human connection and love had been encumbered beneath the vehemence of former Lin Kuei’s twisted philosophies. He still defiantly rejects and internalizes its purpose, which believed personal attachments made the Lin Kuei weak in the face of the clan’s objectives and caring and having compassion translate as incompetent, as they were meant to operate more as machines with no regard for human life and humanity itself. In spite of his utter disapproval, Kuai Liang had succumbed beneath the proverbial darkness, and even when he was revived, he felt like dying; as LK-520, his entire humanness wiped out by the face of machinery, but still holding the bleeding flame of humanity as his human heart continued to burn. 

it reinvigorates him when he’s drenched in the halcyon, immaculate sapphire, the blinding light that will set the course of his world straight. It sews the ripped edges, it makes him wholesome. Even when Kuai Liang continues to be enamored with his hurt, with his pain and suffering and victimhood, despite him intricately interwoven beneath the infinite pathway of his twisted and tangled veins. How he would love to be tossed into an abyss, inciting poignant destruction. 

The proverbial Fire and Ice was predestined that they should meet; no, more than encounter one another, but clash with the absolute onslaught, cosmic proportion of synergetic violence, for they were once comets joined at the tail, orbiting bodies embodying the synchronicity as time and time again, in any construct of time, would they eloquently and gracefully paint lethal carvings of lacerations and livid bruises, as he would rise upwards the echelon of the reformed Lin Kuei, the second-best cryomancer finally taking over the mantle of Sub-Zero with his exemplary skills becoming the anvil against the eroded strength of Earthrealm’s defense, as Kuai Liang’s unyielding resolve and will grew to epic proportions. 

Kneeled in front of the severe solemnity of the ancient sculpture speaks the lachesism of his life - the desire to be struck by disaster, which would put a kink in the smooth arc of his life, and forge it into something hardened and flexible and sharp, not just a stiff prefabricated beam that barely covers the gap between one end of his life and the other - which would penetrate the cloaked veil of his sapphire eyes, hastening the dispersion of fear and doubt. Once the familiar footing of Hanzo Hasashi echo steadily through the unperturbed snowbed, Kuai Liang rises solemnly, absorbing the strong steadiness of the Grandmaster’s breathing, along with the slowing lumber that closes the distance. For being a ninja, Grandmaster Hasashi did have heavier footsteps, which Kuai Liang found amusing, almost endearing so. 

The spark of his passionate rebellion still lives, even in his vulnerable state of flooding emotions echoing through the rimed frost coating his form in stacked layers. Unable to resist the overtures of the world, embattled by the desire by which he threw himself upon his resilient defenses. Such renewed energy would penetrate the cloaked walls of the shadowed hallways, thickening with smoke-stacked mantras of his frustration and brooding contemplation as countless dead are grieved and mourned with lasting limerence. 

Hanzo’s telltale eloquence reminded him of the disciplined fealty from a samurai to his Lord; and Kuai Liang knew very well that love served the same. It is what night does to day and what day does to night; both annihilating each other, and yet, both remain intact. They too, functioned to serve the same way. As he will quell Hanzo’s stubborn rage, the pyromancer’s flames will melt his frozen heart and incite passion of his raw sentiments and emotions. How Hanzo’s deep gravel propagates in the relative silence, as the swirling crystals adhere to their forms, in their stillness, as the most beautiful melody about love reverberating inside him. 

The initial kiss glides effortlessly between the lines of Kuai’s lips, between his flesh and his unspoken words, as Hanzo probes through edge of his ache, and also believing every word he sips straight from his own lips, as accrued torment mitigates almost instantly, as if the panacea of his frosted entombment had been Hanzo Hasashi’s hearth fire, emanating straight from his balmy skin as the merged heartbeats unto Kuai’s defenses. How rushing blood stokes desire, now far gone into a land where memories fade, Slowly, Sub-Zero’s emotions crumble to dust, as his own poem passes from life unto gently coaxed death where nothing else exists and matters. Yes, passion possesses moving pen of his lucid waterfall - for this was real, in the most tenderest grace. 

“While our souls and bodies can scar, but the will continues to effulgently burn bright beyond our mortal existence, for our hearts remain through the credo of our clans,” while it is against his will, Kuai Liang has to part, and take in the heated warmth of Hanzo’s entirety, as he touches even the deepest part of him with his firm embrace. “As the breaking of a wave cannot explain the whole sea, for I, cannot fathom to quite explain the nature of our shared reciprocation, and I appreciate your brevity and clarity of your advancement.” ❄️ || 

[sasorikigai]

SubScorp Week, Day 2: Scars 

@subscorp-week, and also @indulgentia, @frozenbreath​, @bastardsunlight​

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || The proverbial night harbors Hanzo’s suppressed cries, but he cannot deny the sweet kisses that drip from Kuai Liang’s comforting lips, the sweetest honey against the molasses quagmire as the carcass of his long-dead being rots, decomposes, and further disintegrates with Death’s irreversible grasp. That would have been a desirable outcome, lest it could never be his absolution to all the wrecks that he has compiled. In the throes of precarious unconscious slumber, he finds himself standing on the edge of the shore, smelling the crisp sea air, as the torrential tides turn and begins to lap with ominous moribund spell. He would embrace the chill in the air, the precious scent of the sea, and the comfort of the nature’s song. 

Such pain is not beyond the threshold of Hanzo Hasashi’s human limits; for he has existed and continued to exist since the times of his ancestors, within the blood within him overriding the sempiternal pain and despair. The entity of his mind, the devil in Scorpion’s demonic whispers continue to echo in rings of impulse, metals, and skinless warmth... And then the hysterical madness would hit, as the blinding glint of his katana would turn inward towards his thoracic cavity. Soon, the bursting rivulets of crimson trail would ribbon out in a continuous trail, the shock of stark red against the parched dry ground become scalding hot and thick like an oil spill, retaining the feverous heat of his own hellfire. 

Like a feral dog sinking its teeth into his heart, Hanzo Hasashi would watch the sun dip down in murmurs as its waves continue to split and break before his dilated umber; shocked and numbed beneath such vicious paroxysm. The inertia of his state being strikingly familiar as such conversance with chaos as he reminisces the warmth of Harumi’s embrace, the tenderness of her kiss, the euphony of her face and gentle hubbub of the Old Shirai Ryu, which had been thicker than the erupting copious blood. The feeling of home was a luxury Hanzo could no longer afford, because it had been an undulating mirage all along. 

Both of his hands are upon his unbeating heart, as he folds on himself, then sprawls limply to the saturated Earth below. Yet, he hears the sound of the palpitating clock tick on and on, the sound of the severed life connecting and weaving the song of his heart. Skin like parchment paper; see-through and fragile, like thin glass one blow away from being shattered into dust. Hanzo feels exposed and vulnerable, his heart visible to the whole world. His memories burn deep like the ruptured blood vessels, blue like the veins on his lifeless arms as the tabula rasa of his existence resets to naught. As it was meant to be decades ago at the hands of Quan Chi, taking ahold of Bi-Han’s resemblance. 

Kuai Liang abruptly awakes; with Hanzo’s slumbering head still adhered against his pectorals, with searing heat sizzling through Sub-Zero’s coated verglas as its spread threatens to shatter his already disturbed repose. How his heart grows fever, there are waves that crash upon an empty shore and its quiet in this universe. The waves of Hanzo Hasashi’s storm-self refuses to settle and stant still, as metaphorical blood rapidly erupts through his open veins and viscera and tiny tremors greet his hands as he futilely attempts to sting worlds together. The once sunset radiance is clearly at its unrest and Sub-Zero is quick to act upon it, as the pensive of his mind struggles to find stable equilibrium between oblivion and attentiveness. 

How Sub-Zero’s steady breaths become pitchers for Scorpion’s unshed tears; even when their coalescence becomes waterlogged, heavy with unfathomable oceans of their traumas and tribulations which Kuai Liang keeps stacked in the reserve of his frozen heart and aching cranium. This persistent suffering, dukkha - the dissatisfaction or the nagging sense that something is off, or sometimes even an existential angst itself - and Hanzo Hasashi attaches himself to certain outcomes, desires, and being disappointed when they don’t come to fruition. It’a also about the niggling little irritations, the small pains, aversion to inconvenience and craving for pleas that still imprison his ribs. 

When Hanzo still thinks of the regrets, of what could have been, his entrapped heart lunges forward and reaches out through his throat, straining to break free and scream its sorrows to the world. Which the Grandmaster does against Kuai Liang’s chest, as the manifested pain plasters over Kuai Liang’s side, long fingers clawing and ravaging through, enough to cause severe discomfort. 

“I know that you are hurt, so do not veer your head away, there is nothing to hide.” For the pain is plastered in all beings alive, and they are all just sad humans - hurting inside. All Sub-Zero can believe and say is that they should have faith in something more concrete than the Gods, and believe that someday, everything will be alright. And no matter what, believing in one another that Kuai Liang will always be found next to Hanzo Hasashi and vice versa. 

“Once, the vigorous and impassioned red of my life tainted to black, the color of nothing and the color of everything -” Even in the throes of his suffering, Hanzo sees colors none other than the color of his hopelessness and dread, which are long conquered and triumphed over by Kuai Liang’s lucid sapphire depth. As Kuai Liang’s gossamer frosted digits linger upon the visible blemish over his chiseled abdomen, Hanzo remembers himself having nearly plunged beneath the precipice of fire and brimstone all over again, in the catalyst of his disappointment and guilt, as bloodcurdling imageries become a wretched moribund song echoing through Kuai Liang’s personal chamber, amidst the crystals and rushing waterfall in which the permafrost and searing embers produce in halfway. 

“I sought to be atoned of my sins to seek the boundless consequence of death. At that time... that seemed to be the only end I could meet.” There was no need to hide, for they have been bearing their bodies and souls, forever revealed without conceit and deception. “I admit, things have changed for the better. Much better, lest I remain scarred, bloody, and different, but I will continue to search memory of warmth and goodness of my soul.” How Hanzo Hasashi’s visceral depth and his eyes seem to read the fathomless understanding of Kuai Liang’s soul, as nothing becomes hidden beneath the reflection of Scorpion’s being through the immaculate crystal of Sub-Zero’s frost. 

“Lest you remain bruised, my fire, you will never be destroyed. You will be unbowed by the demon’s vicious rage, for your magnanimity fueling the depth of your hearth fire is much more potent, filled with wisdom, truth, and love.” With a diaphanous glow that undo and expose the heated fervor of Hanzo’s emotions, Kuai Liang ascends to capture Hanzo’s lips, as their bodies become alight with reciprocal warmth emanating from their human hearts. Hanzo seizes the back of Kuai’s neck, as an anchoring knee secures between the cryomancer’s legs, as he delights himself in the duality of firm dominance and tender sensuality, as they further leave imprints that will drown even the engulfing downpour of melancholia, which would soon plunge him in the throes of reticent depression. The weight of their unbidden love and understanding, the depth of it, is which mesmerizes him, along with the churning sensation of Kuai Liang’s lips, which draws a guttural moan. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || 

[sasorikigai]

SubScorp Week 2021 Prompts and Writing Compilation; 

SubScorp - Hug 

SubScorp - Fresh into their Relationship

SubScorp - Keeping Hanzo in Reality 

SubScorp - Hanzo Staring at Kuai’s Tits

SubScorp - Serendipity 

SubScorp - Clinomania 

Kuai Liang - Serendipity 

SubScorp - Feelings towards one another

Hanzo Hasashi - GET OVER HERE (MK11)

Kuai Liang - Hanzo’s Favorite Traits

SubScorp - Secret Codes

SubScorp Questions - PART 1, PART 2

Day 1: First Kiss - Hanzo Hasashi’s POV & Kuai Liang’s POV 

Day 2: Scars - Hanzo Hasashi’s Hara-Kiri in MKX 

Day 3: AU (Hanzo as SF Commander and Kuai as Special Crime Investigator) - Abducted & Rescued 

Day 4: Lust - Penetrative Sex @ Shirai Ryu Training Grounds