Another bad night chokes him worse than the cigarette smoke filling in his lungs, inducing a deep furrow and a coughing fit. More intrusive thoughts that invade his mind are ruthless, relentless, cruel and cold, as they perpetuate as he sits alone at his desk, with throbbing migraine, lest he has to face all these compiled paperworks. All of his demons are mighty and powerful, and in the throes of dark visions that populate the afflicted Commander's subconscious, he attempts to perceive and quell the irregular rhythm of his heart, not to hear the pain in his chest. How he finds himself cradling bloated carcasses of the dead, limbs sprawled and broken and heads unrecognizable as stitched fleshy skin squirm beneath his hands, as they tremble and paralyze. Heat rises from his neck, reaching his ears, cheeks, temple, and forehead. It's not that big of a deal - he tells himself, albeit futilely. It's fine. Hanzo Hasashi's poker face has gotten scarily good, but he doubts it will escape Yang's cognizance as his gaze diverts from the white and black of paper to the blur of her movement.
The emptiness of the dark midnight hours alone had become something rather foreign since Yang had taken the willing dive with Hanzo into being together, it has been effortless to fall into the routine. There were of course times of tension and hard words, all close people had them, but it did not break those of the stronger heart. Ever ready to comfort even after such things. It was uneasy being left in such silent lacking, having gotten so comfortable and used too being completely open and candid with one another. However, as it droned on wards, and the lack of her companion was more and more concerning. It wasn't hard to understand rather swiftly that something was wrong, very wrong, of course prompting the woman to promptly go searching. It was only something that had to truly be deep and heavy for Hanzo to not speak of at first, knowing him as well as she did now. Internalizing while trying to over come all at once, how ironic that they shared this habit at times. Perhaps that was one reason they meld so well, understanding the state of mind upon one another, the intimate cracks of horrid outcomes and torments that claw at the mental strengths and weakness in equal measure.
Movements drawn from memory, of instinct, guide the quiet footfalls of the Second In Command. Everything was silent and empty at this hour with minimal lights at the Special Forces compounds. The closest home many here had now, and knowing the lay out incredibly well. It was no time at all that allowed Yang to find Commander Hasashi in his office, a lit cigarette wafting smoke into the air, while the man himself leans over his papers, trying to focus. But as she moved into the room quickly, that deep gaze that speaks volumes locks onto her form, and suddenly it’s a spark of knowing. The expression may be stoic and unflinching, no one would really question it, for Hanzo was always one to keep the focus forward and not give away a single thing. The dark eyes however are what catch the most attention here in now, the pupils were not quite right, darker than normal circles under the gaze. Deep and tired. Like looking into darkened pools for answers, the swirling depths of which unknown too all but those familiar. The heart ached and longed to take action, pulling a concerned frown onto Talia’s expression as her form drew closer, a moth too a flame really. Witnessing this ever recognizable reflection that shone from that dark eyed gaze, one that had been seen in the hospital rooms, and several times since.
Soft hands, bare and without the usual gloves, gently reach out to carefully take hold of Hanzo’s cheeks, delicate touch ever soft while brushing thumbs across his skin, for he was the most intricate and amazing rose that could possibly have bloomed within her hearts garden. To see such agony and sorrow would without fail wish her to do everything possible to chase away the infernal demons that prowled within the subconscious, even temporarily. Nothing could truly be permanent for the damages were long since done to leave the scars that ran deeper than any ravine torn into the earth. “Focus upon me, ハートファイア . Breathe... Unload your weights to free your self, speak.” The voice spoken was soft as a whisper, a reminder and a vocal caress of affection on her words. Talia was here and would be here to stay, would never shy away or abandon Hanzo in his time of need. Any battle or war zone had never chased the loyal soldier away, nor would this self fought battle ground. The shorter form leaning forwards as to press her forehead against his own. “Do not let your self spiral, remember? Whatever has set it’s fangs deep in you, tell me. I’ll be your beacon of glowing comfort in that encroaching darkness.”
Friendly sparring or wrestling was quite normal between Commander Hanzo and his SiC Yang, as it was in this moment. Each skillfully trying to keep the other down, yet constantly breaking free. Well trained and intimately aware of each others capability. Ever playful however did Talia get an idea. Awaited another grab. Only for her arms to snake around Hanzo's torso in a tight hug motion, and shove, pushing their shared weight over to land atop him. Grinning. (( SiC Yang with Commander Hanzo ))
Hug my Muse and I’ll write their reaction! || @yetremains || accepting
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || There is a certain beauty in unknown; in the magnificence in the uncontrollable as the wildfire of his heart will throb, incessantly work its way to be melted and coalesced around Yang’s own. Despite the sheer familiarity of Yang’s movements and assets when it comes to their well-versed martial arts prowess, Hanzo Hasashi is only human when it comes to his countering movements; in frenzied delirium as the world settles and spins all over again, with sharpened intuition and graceful fluidness of his movements anchoring, pivoting, corkscrewing, counter-measuring in order to deflect her attacks, and keeping himself from losing his grip with reality.
Even as the surmounting thwacks and collusions, as bruises color them both, with dripping perspiration and settling exhaustion bring down the sheer intensity of vigor of the beginning. But Hanzo Hasashi is enliven, colored with rubicund flush of color, with concentrated eyes focusing on every aspect of her limbs as his mind continues to whirl, attempting to pinpoint the next set of movements.
Both of them never floated at the baseline of their emotions. No love is a devastating loss; and Hanzo Hasashi thinks, however it may leave him in the throes of despair and depression, it is better to experience it all. Everything good, bad, and terrifyingly ugly in this world. Otherwise, he will just walk around numb, and what kind of life is that? The radiant light of the afternoon abruptly shifts, and as the serpentine grasp of his lock anchors them both, the impact of the initial collision leaves him dazed, fazed as the scintillating stars manifest upon the splitting kaleidoscopic sun, reflected and embedded in his eyes.
That was certainly unexpected. His intense, concentrated eyes filled with pooled fervor and ensorcellment pulsates seem to tell her so, as the twirling, whirling flames gently burning beneath his skin edges on, further conjoining them, as the tender tug of both his arms bring Yang closer to his proximity. In the throes of his urgent passion and yearning, how he surges, as malleable contour of his profile obscures beneath the tenebrous shadows as he claims her with newfound vigor and ravenous hunger. Hanzo Hasashi is prepared for consumption; taken apart by his skin, whether it is with love and patience, or with violence to the point there is a breakage. How he consumes Yang’s lips graciously and brutally - for his opportune moment will never be in vain. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||
"Mmm. Capsaicinnamon." (( Nickname for Commander Hanzo. )) | | "Why not Firecracker." (( For mk2021 Scorpion. ))
Give my muse a nickname. They will tell yours whether they’ll let you call them that or not. || @yetremains || accepting
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || It is a particularly sleepy morning, with Commander Hasashi’s eyes still clouded in thick lassitude and haze. How he wraps himself around Yang like ivy, his hands making slow circles idly on her back. If he could paint a perfect picture of contentment, it would be this, as he would have watched her sleep the night before, as he too, let his limbs tangled between the sheets, with his cropped hair growing gold where it once lay in dull strands atop his pillow glistened as the resplendent warmth and light saturated true colors within him. All he remembers is the remnants of the previous night, with an earbud still in his ear. As the steady cadence of his heartbeat merged along with Yang’s, he had slowly and steadily plunged into the realm of unperturbed slumber, as etched burden and responsibilities left his head and shoulders as the steeled tautness melted, along with the hardened furrow imprinted on his forehead.
He would see more than glimpses of the real world unfurl at his touch, as he would watch the shadows dance across the walls of his personal chamber, watch the moonlight spill from the window folds. How it would cast a balmy warm glow upon their resting figures and he would watch over as it haloes Yang’s very being. How Hanzo walks through the prisms, unfolding trances as Yang’s words bring a reflected illuminated rays that caress his dark earthly eyes. “If I could bring you a multiplied complexity of sensations, just as the pepper and spice could, then I would consider highly of myself for living such a fruitful and magnificent life,” for the scars on his body show that he has lived; scars on his heart show that he has loved, and scars on his soul show that he will continue to appreciate the things that are given in his life, without complaints.
And Hanzo Hasashi smiles; one of those rarest beaming ones that will challenge even the solar radiance of the dawning splendor, as the dust dances between beams as settled warmth on his cheeks never leave. “If I can embrace this life and call it utterly mine until I breathe last - my alighted body and spirit will be able to rest and know that I have done good in this world.” And he kisses her, as parted lips tenderly merge atop hers as he playfully steals her breaths as the contouring stroke brushes against the nape of her neck, drawing her in. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Flames lap at Scorpion’s face, sweltering dance whirling around the air as the ever-erect pillar of his form stands like a foundation, burning, claiming his existence, even in the suffocating smoke that clouds their view. Despite his mastery of hellfire over centuries, the ancient wraith is indefatigable and fireless when it comes to perfecting his pyrokinetics. Still, Scorpion’s nights are filled with nightmarish throes, filled with incessant blizzards that crackle even his own flesh, as Harumi and Satoshi’s slaughter continues to replay over and over in vicious cycle, in different degree of horrific brutality.
His effulgent conflagration boundlessly stretches out in front of him, nearly engulfing Yang, but the phantom flame never sears through the fire-threaded beneficiary of his Arcana. Instead, the seemingly daunting and destructive hellfire swirls and forms as the kaleidoscopic expanse of tapestry changes its colors, taking over the autumnal hues against the settling twilight. The lapping trail of his flames sprout from his entirety, the budding roots entwined in the gaps between his fingers, the heatwave oceans echoing inside his ribcage as his Arcana enlivens, burning incandescently hot, as Scorpion desires to push the threshold of how hot he can burn. For it will take much more from the once Greatest Warrior of Earthrealm to withstand the onslaught of Outworld armies. The silent click of his kunai extends with enough force and celerity to crack open a large rock. Inside his heart, there beats smatter of budding hope, as the gentle exhaustion settles into his musculature, as he continues to shed sweat and tear, as if he had become human once again. Lest they do not spill in the moment of his heaved breaths, a moment of unequivocal bliss as Scorpion comes down from the exquisite high.
“I refuse to become their transience, for they eventually drown with the necessity to become naught. It doesn’t allow for a boundless burning,” for Scorpion harbors the throbbing ache to be perpetually burn. The once dark brown of his human eyes diminish beneath the obfuscated cloud of his white, as his intent intensity shifts from his strenuous training, towards Yang. “But it does feel remarkable to finally train like the old times. How I yearn to challenge the scintillating starlight that encompasses the whole world. I wish I could burn bright and ablaze like that. Lighting the world whole to give Earthrealmers hope.” ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||
Lean & caress (Cmmr. Hasashi to SiC Yang, in lieu of the recent aesthetic thing I tagged you)
𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 & 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❛
lean . lean on my muse’s shoulder . ❛
caress . gently caress my muse’s face .
Soldiers always, warriors at the core, but so very human. This was the simplest way to describe Commander Hanzo, SiC Yang, and the rest of the special forces that they lead. Humans standing strong upon a singular planet, a spec of dust compared too any other world, suspended impossible within a sunbeam despite all the stacked odds against it, and every life upon it. A small ever changing stage upon Earth in a cosmic arena, every flickering distant light taking so long too reach it, as it continues to turn every day. No distant dramatic heroics waiting out there in the deep eternity of everything, only those standing on this surface who offer their lives and strengths as a bulwark against anything else, protectors of earthrealm from outside invaders, and even themselves against the cruelty of humanity, or the demons they summon and linger in the darkest corners of the world. Evolving, turning, changing. So loud and active even to echo into the deep throes of space.
Blissful quiet was ever a welcome occurrence within this life, no matter what sorts of madness or turmoil might be roiling in future days. Those long war zones left behind in another place. It was the here and now moment that truly mattered as they two lay side by side in contentment while the universe proceeded to turn and sway, stars twinkling in skies high above that spanned horizon to horizon, become the gentle sheet over this little world. The only sound being two shared quiet breathing, alongside the soft music within ear buds Hanzo has offered. It was arguably a perfect moment, oh to wish it be saved for an eternity. How the heart ached to over flow with blinding affection to convey beyond what the limitations of this life bring, to truly entangle ones spirit with another. The warm weight shifting closer prompted Talia's attention away from the sheer comforted contentment of her daze, now watching Hanzo's closer visage with a soft hazel eyed gaze. Settling upon her shoulder like this while the roughened warm palm met upon her cheek. Poetics flew away from potential words that could be spoke in the perfect moment such as this. What could be said?
The anchoring of Hanzo Hasashi was never in question, taken place within her harbor and ever gleaming lighthouse, a powerful stalwart constant to guide the man home should she ever need to. And on the flip side, it was the burning adventure within Hanzo himself to bring Talia out in every way, not just honorable or loyal. But fully open and free with her spirit. Embers never too far away and flickering up when so close. It was with a gently hand did she reach up to place atop his own, head turning to nuzzle into the touch while lips placed a feather soft kiss upon the skin, whispering against it. "You've become everything and more, the emblazoned part of my heart that shall never fade." Ever so silently spoken, never daring to break the quiet around this instant in time. A purity in how powerful love can be to be so deep, carving canyons within ones self from the rushing emotion forming rivers within. Everything to connect one with another. This was an essence the woman would forever let herself sail down...
But ah, the minutes ticked by. And the man was dozing off now. She could not help but smile to brightly at seeing the peaceful expression growing upon his face, in this intimacy between them two. One arm softly wrapping around him to hold close against her strong form, a protection from any outside influence, the world may exist outside of them still, but nothing will take this away, this brief eternity. "I love you."
When people stop using dark/“problematic” themes and concepts for purely smut and shipping and start portraying them as they should, y’know as bad and uncomfortable things, the internet will know peace
the dancing scene in Love Streams makes me go fucking insane because at this point in the movie we dont know the nature of robert and sarah’s relationship so all we see are the actors portraying them and here is a woman standing in a half-lit doorway and here is a drunk man listening to music in a dark room. and here are two people dancing like lovers in their living room......
Synopsis: Steve Rogers receives an assignment to infiltrate the Rumlow family and get them off the streets. Lines between professional and personal life get blurred when he meets the mysterious wife of the infamous Brock Rumlow.
Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC (Holly Rumlow), Brock Rumlow x OFC (Alexandria Thompson-Rumlow) & eventual Steve Rogers x OFC (Alexandria Thompson-Rumlow)
Warnings: Excessive alcohol consumption & that’s it 😊
Read Part 1 here 👈😊
Part 2: Who's observing whom?
The waiter arrived shortly with a tray of drinks. He quickly scurried away as soon as Holly waved him away. The group toasted to a night out and downed the flaming shots.
"To us, getting to know each other better." Holly held Steve's hand, stopping him before he could down the shot and clincked her glass with his, winking before finally downing the shot.
The drinks didn't stop coming and the group didn't stop drinking. Steve lost the feeling of time above all else, his world spun lightly and the bass seemed to vibrate in his chest cavity. Holly grabbed his hand and pulled him down the stairs to the dancefloor.
It was much easier to move with Holly and with so much alcohol in his system. He was surprised she was able to hold down all the drinks. They were joined by Janis and Tracy, leaving Duke and Alex on the gallery.
She watched the group dance, her eyes zeroing on Holly's newest pick. Sometimes she wondered if Holly was keeping an eye on her or the other way around.
"So, any thoughts on the latest episode of Holly's boy toys?" Duke asked as he joined her on the railing, his eyes focused on the dancing foursome.
"I'm not sure." Alex replied.
"You know Brock wants this one to stick around. He's done entertaining the one's that run after it gets tough."
"Yes, Duke. I'm very well aware as to what my husband wants." She said bitterly.
"I just wanted to insinuate that maybe you should take him home and not Holly." Duke put his hands up in defense.
She looked at the gallery, briefly checking if Alex was still there. She knew Duke was with her, but Holly needed to keep an eye out for her. It broke her heart, having to constantly watch her ex-best friend...her cousin was not a trusting man.
Holly quickly focused back on the man in front of her and stepped closer to him, encircling her arms around his neck, pressing her body onto his. The two other women quickly disappeared.
Steve put his hands on her hips and together they swayed to the rhythm. The light buzz in his head and the heat spreading through his body made him forgo his inhibitions and he leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss.
Holly welcomed the distraction from her thoughts. Her mouth opened and she sneaked her tongue in his, tasting the sweet flavour of the peach vodka.
"Will you take me home?" she asked as they separated.
"I think that's your cue to intervene." Duke pointed to the couple making out on the dancefloor.
Alex disliked keeping tabs on Holly. But she was Brock's favourite cousin and he...they wanted her taken care of, be in a stable relationship. Like her and Brock used to be. Like he still believes they are.
Alex made her way to the dancefloor, following the couple that was on their way to the coat room. When Holly turned to the bathroom Alex grabbed Steve's arm and dragged him out. Duke was designated to tell Holly what happened and deal with the tantrum that is sure to follow.
"I'm sorry for dragging you out. I don't think you should go home with Holly. She had too much to drink and she wouldn't be making sound choices." Alex explained as they stood enveloped in the crisp early morning air.
"I wasn't going to use her, if that's what you're implying." Steve replied, feeling uncomfortable.
"I don't know you enough to imply anything. I'm just stating what I know about Holly." she fixed her hair, feeling awkward having such a conversation.
"I just wanted to make sure she got home safe."
"You can call her tomorrow. Here's her number." Alex gave him a small piece of paper with a number written on it.
"How am I sure that that's her real number?" He asked.
"You're just going to have to trust me."
He smirked at her response.
"If I do trust you, then I guess I can say, see you soon." he winked and walked away.
Tagging: @schlean (I hope that’s still okay, let me know if you want to be removed 😊)
“I’ve seen the way you look at me” (( for a hanzo of your choice~ ))
Send “I’ve seen the way you look at me” to get my muse’s response! || @yetremains || selectively accepting!
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || How could he ever say Hanzo Hasashi loves one person when there are ten thousand people in the world that he would love more if he ever met them? But he will never meet them. Granted, Commander Hasashi’s love is never the result of a chance encounter - for deeply rooted are his emotions, enchanted by the fathomless sea of his vast depth and expanse. as he is wild and beautiful, unfettered and unhinged in the narrowed stallion one-track mind of a lover, despite having to encompass the wide scope of the commanding leader. How darkened constellation forms in the fathomless depth of his gaze; an assemblage only Hanzo Hasashi can possess towards Yang in any way, for he had experienced throes of death and cruel suffering, cradled in her arms and blazing with burning pain that would continue to erode him, leaving him blisters, scars, scabs, and puss.
Perhaps Hanzo is as thirsty as water desiring itself - even when his body remains drenched in blood and moonlight, with multitudes of crimson kisses adorning the expanse of his blemished, scarred form, the once impervious stone - solid and inevitable - nature of his being would mellow with a birdsong inside him. No longer, there is an anger so devastating, so deep that it would steal the air from his lungs and replace it with stones, sinking him to the bottom of the ocean in his mind. An anger that replaces the blood flowing through his veins, flooding him with an overwhelming anguish he can feel inside his chest every time he breathes. Even her presence in the vicinity of the Commander steals his unshed tears and sorrow, drains the salty water from his well-weathered well heart.
All he aspires to do is to bring the squadron a bright new hopeful spring amidst the repeated tragedies of loss and annihilation. How Hanzo yearns to hear the world sing of poetic dreams of tranquility, without devouring fiends of darkness, as it will become a little serpent slithering slowly out of his peripheral, as he continues to struggle beneath the beautiful splendor of the night sky, as his shattered heart and scattered thoughts perpetuate through the depths of his brooding gaze. “And I of you -,” he deflects, as the incessant murmurs of his heart and soul embrace beneath the fog, become the serene sea gently lapping, breaking the scorching ferrous heat of his injury as he continues on to keep watch.
All he could hear are the settled silence, and amidst it, are rhythmic cadence of the slumbering squad. With his glassy sharp attention fixated on his Second-in-Command, his heart lodges in his throat. “I will always find you no matter what. And what is the taste of freedom, if it’s directly not kissed on the lips, but carried through someone else’s? What is freedom if death isn’t burning glares at you from the sidelines? What is freedom if you don’t know the price of captivity? I would rather be decked in open glory of candor nakedness, than attempting to hide all my intentions and fervor.” ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||