#✗ mutual loneliness filled with togetherness (abigail cain || extraordinarygrrls)

[sasorikigai]

(Abigail) This is a stupid idea, Abby, just go. She thought that to herself, still she shuffled to the Commander's office on her way out of work and to dress rehearsals at the city's theatre, holding a ticket in her hand. She had reservations about inviting her parents to this, and yet here she was. "Knock, knock.. sir." She mumbled with an awkward smile. "Look, um, I just..." She sighed. "I do local theatre, as you... probably know." He caught her jumping about in her lab about getting a lead role. Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ Superstar. "Well, opening night is coming up and I was wondering... Well, we're all given a few free tickets for family and... Friends. And well, my parents are all the way in Massachusetts, and I really shouldn't ask them to come all the way down here for me like that." And with Abigail's introverted life, it was likely Hanzo would be the only one coming for her. "You really don't have to but... It could be something nice, different, I dunno..." She really couldn't tell him how much it meant to her if she'd have one friend come see her, in fear of sounding pathetic.

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

💥 || Blood waves upon waves; Commander Hasashi doesn’t know how or why it has made its permanent residence in the fathomless depth of his heart, filled with tumultuous terrains and crude imperfections. They are all meant to chase anyone who dare to have dug their way deep inside him - to Hanzo Hasashi, his squadron are not merely professional camaraderie who value themselves on excellence and weaved teamwork. Shaking them out of his subconscious is no longer a possibility, because they are his metaphorical extended family, and the current of memory is getting stronger. In his profession, the manifestation of Hell is merely a stone’s throw away from here, the exact place that he sits when the one and true hell remains a tenacious life without Harumi and Satoshi. 

Even when the axis of his world tilts even just a little bit, changing just a millisecond, Hanzo Hasashi finds himself tenaciously clinging to hope; never to be ignored and to be blinked away. Without it, the shifting gravity of his depression will usurp and disintegrate him asunder. This world, filled with gruesome aftermath of his squadron’s infiltration feels like a roiling sea, as he takes in the stark snapshots of now long-dilapidated infrastructure only filled with moribund stretch of motionlessness and stench of death. All those waves, once brilliant with kaleidoscopic hues, have long descended into uproarious and unfathomable darkness. 

When it did, there is nothing else to do, but hold on tightly and hope that he will able to make it to the other side with less casualties as possible. The Commander’s undetachable, extremely focused gaze seems to paradoxically emanate both the blazing sunlight and the bitter chill, as the reality finds itself anchored once again, as the gentle, steady knock gravitates him towards where he was supposed to be. His second home, where he spends majority of his life in deep rumination, pondering of both long-gone past, in order to not repeat it in the near future, lest the perpetual viciousness of human violence becomes such a tenacious force that will crumble Hanzo’s proverbial tour de force. 

“In my life which has been swallowed by sin and absolution, its nonexpectant course of my future will make my promise often prone to be mendacious. For I could never predict what it would like tomorrow,” a somber melancholy weighs on his soul, as he shuffles through the slides of the slaughtered, permeating through his heart and soul like the current, into the mind’s canvas as stacked layers of burden threaten to cave his ribcage inward. They become chimerical voices that bend melody into anguish, aching beauty of life to shattering heartbreak. “What you should do is not make such a hasty assumption that your family wouldn’t be there for you. If they were true family, they would have unquestionable support for your cause. You should ask them to come, instead.” 

Perhaps Hanzo Hasashi will continue to become a prisoner of his own mind, as these particular sentiments, the harsh, hollowing fact that he would never have a family, unattainable as he remains condemning himself to solitary confinement as darkness glares out from the window. These hollow ovals of despair reflecting back at the resilient form of his eroding being; still alive, yet sinking, sinking, and sinking as the heat of his body flares and the redness around his exhausted eyes exacerbate.  💥 ||

[sasorikigai]

(Abigail/Hanzo) There was one more stop Abby had to make before leaving for Massachusetts, passing Hanzo's office, she softly knocked on the solemn man's door. "I gave the squadron little hot chocolate kits, I thought it would better... endear me to them. I hope so, anyway. But I didn't forget you." For Hanzo, Abigail got something special. For coffee and its intricacies was an interest of both of them, an Italian and a depressed insomniac. Packaged prettily was a bag of very nice, luxury coffee beans. "I noticed you had a percolator. I feel like you'd appreciate these as much as I do." A gentle smile, and a hand on his upper arm. "Happy Holidays, Commander. Do try to give yourself a little break." (Abby)

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

💥 || His frail light threatens to dim, and the deepest slumber may be such a tempting ending to this seemingly endless night. Lately, Hanzo Hasashi has been dreaming; Death at his doorstep, asking him, pleading with him, “Why? Why won’t you ever give up so easily? Why do you still choose to exist?” Even when he has been seeing his skin peeling off, his veins bruising underneath his skin, his bones sticking out in irregular angles, and his luscious thick hair thinning out. The void that visits him has been quiet, lest continually following him, watching him fatigue away in exhaustion and seeing the remains of a person, where his office would be one of the rare rooms alighting the bleak darkness of the desert. And amidst the piled paperwork involving the most recent recruitment and their performance in the simulated raid, Commander Hasashi finds himself asking for memories to be both here and gone. 

He knows better than anyone what has happened to him, and he wishes to be able to put his story together and have a narrative, knowing who he has been so he can know who he will be in the future when the infernal hell of his memories would not anguish and torment him much less so. He wants to never forget everything, lest he continues to live his life, and be someone that is not afraid to wake and afraid to sleep. Holidays such as Christmas could be the thorny crown for the Commander, for uncried tears may swell beneath his eyes filled with vehemence and severity, as his blemished body, heart, and soul would weep such longing, as dry winter’s spell threaten to violate the domesticated heat of the building. He simply remains evermore still, in solemn concentration, lest his trauma bellows the downpour of nostalgia’s great homesick reminiscence. 

All the other families may get together and celebrate each other; but it is always the worst when instead of being celebrated, Hanzo Hasashi has turned himself into something of an effigy. “If you have to make an effort to endear yourself to my squadron, then they must be the one to evaluate their incomplete social construct, because without you in the squadron, Christmas won’t be complete,” after ringing her in and making her settle comfortably in the futon he frequently makes it his makeshift bed, Hanzo looks up from his PC screen with the sense of absoluteness. Relaxing and reflecting is all might need in the time of family gathering, and as another end to a eventful year concludes, but to Hanzo Hasashi, his absolution from his incompetence and incapability won’t ever come; no, not in his time, not in his legacy, and certainly not in his destined fate to serve and protect, lest he erodes and pulverizes himself in the process. 

“What I could do to fulfill both of our wishes would be for me to brew a fresh cup of strong brew for each of us,” the cherished muscle memory carries his graceful form to grind the luxury coffee beans, its dark, aromatic swirl would soon fill the entirety of his office. Percolated coffee is the sound of taste, a sound for the aroma. It is a meditation and a plunge into memories and the soul, which offers Hanzo Hasashi’s meditative mundane intimacy. “I hope my present found its way towards my subject all the same.” Offering a reciprocated, yet fleeting smile back at her direction, he hands her the mug, brimming with halo of rich foam, a pinnacle of rich smoothness. His gift to her is a well-kept classical copy of La Divina Commedia, wrapped in a protective box.  💥 ||

[sasorikigai]

💞 for Abby and Hanzo, soft homies for the win

Send 💞 for me to describe 5 ways my muse says ‘I love you’ to yours. || @extraordinarygrrls || selectively accepting

💞 In his highly-specialized profession, Commander Hasashi is known to be the indomitable fortress of steeled authority figure with his assertiveness and gravitas of seriousness at all times. His unhealed trauma and ongoing depression runs deep, and its winds are lucid strings of memories with the unknowable path it sets, for it could easily be recreated and exponentially exacerbated with one wrong decision made. Having cheated death himself, Hanzo Hasashi often finds himself trudging through the motion of puddles, as if he had been submerged and swimming in a sea, instead of being at the surface level. Despite the enigmatic complexity and inscrutableness he wears in his job, he could be tender and exceptionally attentive towards those he considers close. 

💞 Despite this not happening very often, the intimacy of touching someone’s flesh; like how close could he be to someone’s heart will most definitely speak of Hanzo Hasashi’s authentic, genuine love. He will wear all his emotions on it, despite it being fleeting and temporary, but his exquisite warmth will linger. While Hanzo isn’t all too big on PDA (what I like to call a public ‘confession’ of his love, regardless of platonic or romantic), his tender, mellow, and yet firm weight of his hands and cheeks may be interpreted as a declaration of his fondness towards the other. 

💞 Sharing food with people he knows not only helps him to form stronger bonds, but also a new, transformative bonds as well. Food is one of Hanzo’s invitations to get to know other people better, and the people he has gathered together are all important to him, so he want them to know one another as well. He would often stick to his traditional roots and make lots of authentic Japanese foods, but he is also a connoisseur when it comes to other cuisines and cooking is one of his hobbies he partakes that is domestic (others are mostly done in outdoors), so he will most likely invite Abigail to either share what he packed, or even take her out to one of his frequented restaurants. 

💞 While science itself as a subject isn’t his strongest forte, as his profession deals with more hands-on and action-oriented tactical and strategic approach to apprehend, maim, or even kill assailants, he would begin to have more gravitation and fascination towards Abigail’s specialized field, which is forensic science. Common interests in a relationship are not the only thing that will strengthen Hanzo’s love. By having different opinions and hobbies, he can learn to appreciate her differences, learn how to find things in common with her, strengthen his ability to compromise, and become a more open-minded person.

💞 Instead of all Hanzo’s self-imposed limitations, reasons, and excuses echoing in his mind, with all the disparaging events remembered, low expectations voiced as his mind and soul occasionally withering and his heart sinking, the corners of him will become still-imprinted with Abigail and his memories. This will happen more gradually and slowly, as this has to do with Hanzo’s deep-seeded despair and depression still rampantly ravaging through him at times, but instead of isolation and solitariness which could further exacerbate the negative feelings and sentiments, it would instead transform him towards healing and self-discovery and perhaps more. 

[sasorikigai]

(Abby) "The thing I adore about you, Commander." Abigail began, taking a moment to arrange her words. "Other than your taste in coffee and nice leather jacket, is the fact that you still... Care, about everyone around you, even when you've gone through all this loss and grief, which would turn anyone into a complete misanthropic cynic. You're still kind, in your way, to me and the team, to everyone... It takes a lot to be kind when you're hurting, to not lash out even if you'll feel better. And you've gone through something terrible, and you face a lot of the worst of people here, but you're just... Good. Like it's who you are, all along. You're just good." Abigail paused and rubbed her neck. "That sounds pretty corny though, huh."

What’s the one thing your muse adores about mine? || @extraordinarygrrls || always accepting!

💥 || Hanzo Hasashi had been nothing, but dissolved despair; thick, hungry, boundless despair. He is also smoke; rising, formless, ashy, as soot of his blackened heart and lungs would meet the inky spill of his silent tears, blotched, dripping, staining the proverbial ember to be pulverized. His world, for immeasurable amount of time, had been filled with tenebrous, thick darkness. No longer drowning himself beneath the bloodcurdling anger nor such onslaught of guilt making him believe that there is nothing more he deserves, even in the vicious cycle of anguish, losing, and letting go of people and things in his life, passing by more like a blur than a solid, established reality, the Special Forces Commander hadn’t let these four walls enslave him as its pawn, in its own chess game of befalls. 

He refuses to become useless; he is well-educated and trained, brilliantly promising, even as he achieved the rank of Commander in no time. He would no longer let himself be adrift in the sea (of him), as in no longer its former embodiment. His idea of responsibility not only extends to the people - his people - involved in safeguarding Earthrealm from any threats, mostly from interrealm politics and criminal syndicates threatening the people’s safety and sustenance, but of entirety of Earthrealm who make up the piece of a whole. No longer a withered flower dominated by the nadir of depression and despair, he wanted so badly to bloom, make himself deeply enthralled by his vehement passion, to stand out among the field, instead of being doomed and hiding behind the shield of assertiveness and steeled imperviousness.

In the caliginous light of the moon, Hanzo Hasashi still reminisces of his hollowing loss; flowers of death and agony blooming and growing everyday, carrying bittersweet tragedies, withering and fading away. Flowers of death and misery coloring his once-blue sky gray, wiping out all the beauty. Lest, such proverbial, undying hope stirs him red like a burning fire, parallel to his human desire to do good. For his love has its own color; green like the earth, evoking others the scent of petrichor, as it reminds him of love’s worth. “It’s not Death’s fault to be the ravenously hungry bear in autumn; I could never allow myself to be entrapped in melancholy and depression more than necessary, for I have finally made peace with knowing things won’t always be hopeless.” And I have made peace with knowing that despair isn’t always here to fucking destroy and annihilate; where there is pain, one day there may be joy. For time is a saint, not a loathsome thief, as bitterness and hardened unapproachableness only moved in to soften my grief. 

Above the rim of his mug, beneath the multitudes of emotions reflecting about radiant memories, Commander Hasashi’s radiance encourages the learned resilience and indomitable hope, as his solemn façade mellifluously melts into a chortle. “I will admit this, it takes a lot of considerable effort to not be an unapologetic asshole when such physical and mental exhaustion and trauma clings to my bones and soul. For I frequently find myself fighting with my own desires and aspirations, some more doable and achievable than others, trying to get the energy to do more than simply fucking exist and endure,” the world which he resides in could be heartless and cruel; for his past had been filled with chaos, erosion of his sense of self, heartbreak, and disappointment. With vehement resolve, his gaze hones from the screen of his PC, towards the subject in question. “One life on this Earth is all we get; whether it is enough or not enough, and the obvious conclusion would seem to be that at the very lease I am a fucking fool if I do not live it as fully and bravely and beautifully as I can.”  💥 ||

[sasorikigai]

Commander Hasashi, Hanzo, is a man who first and foremost is extremely good at his job, almost too good. A formidable fighter and a respected leader. When I first saw him, I was super intimidated by him, no lie. Maybe it's because I thought he wouldn't like me, and that I'd need to try really hard to get him to at the very least tolerate me... I mean, he's clearly someone who's been put through more agony than anyone should have to deal with... I know depression when I see it, and he's a severe case. But even through it all he does his job, and keeps it all inside. Maybe that's not healthy, maybe I'm a little jealous that he can do something I can't, keep his pain inside... That being said, I have no idea why he's decided to humour me, befriend someone who's so not like any other member of his squad, who's so not like him. I worry about him, that's something I can't hide, not just about the fact he always puts himself in very real danger, but because he always seems to be... Alone, it's that loneliness I know very well, even when he's around people he's still on his own. That, I can say from experience, hurts, especially when someone is struggling with their mental health. I'm not a professional by any means, not a professional psychologist or a professional friend. But, I dunno, I just feel like if I can do something to make someone's life a little brighter, why not do it?l

What I'm trying to say is, which I could definitely say in much shorter words. I have utmost respect for Hanzo as a Commander. But more than that, I'm... So happy, that he has accepted my weird self for who I am, and accepted me as a friend.

- Abby.

what does your muse think of mine? || @extraordinarygrrls || accepting 

💥 || People all have their weaknesses; some that they like to admit, but others, they simply keep to themselves. Everyone is a Warrior in their own ways, for they may not show it as it is hidden, for battle scars - physical or psychological - show the deepest story. For they show how one kept going through the highs and the lows of life. A warrior persistently and continually fights inside Hanzo Hasashi’s kintsugi heart; when great souls of his life died, his soothing, electric vibration of magnanimous embers dwelling within nearly extinguished. His senses, never fully restored, and Hanzo Hasashi, never to be the same. And his wounded heart and fucked-up brain whisper to him. They existed. They used to exist, and now, they don’t. Because of you. The universe owes you nothing, for it has already given you everything, after all. It was here long before you, and it will go on long after you. The only way it will remember you, an inconsequential, infinitesimal human being, is if you do something worthy of remembrance. 

That is why he presses on, pulls the triggers, and like roses in his hands, let justified death blossom against the bloated putrescent stench of witnessing Harumi and Satoshi’s mangled corpses. Grief once was such a herculean, burdensome heavy thing that weighs on his shoulders, crushing him down, down, down into earth’s core, but Hanzo Hasashi as of now finds grief to bee light; something that follows him like a ghost of what once was. The fleeting memories, the snippets of halcyon, beatific recollections of the past hanging off of him like a spiders web trying to pull him back in. It’s what slips through the cracks when he cannot find enough to immerse himself in. It is an illusion of past comforts and the shocking reality that he is forever altered and changed. 

His grief is hollow; it is the skeleton of something he used to know. Perhaps it is also weightless. It is the thought that bubbles up that he will have to move onward and forward without someone who he loved. It is retraining himself - as he would as the Tactical Squadron Commander, to upkeep his physique as he would of his heart and soul now, to restrengthen from being crumbled naught - how not to feel alone with one less person in his life, but this significant person that sculpted his heart and bettered his soul to the fullest. 

The bulwark of his being may not have given any leeway for someone special to slip into the fissures of his heart, for his depression is something that consumes and devours like the tenebrous darkness of the night. Hanzo may not always notice it approaching, but when he does, he cannot help, but be struck by how sometimes impervious and unconquerable it gets. For his grief isn’t unbearably dense, but as it exists only in the stillness and numbness, it waits quiet in the corner for the right time to sink its gnarly claws into him. Perhaps Abigail slipped into his mind somehow like his grief would; unknowingly at first, but affecting every aspect of his personality to alter his heartwaves; it doesn’t necessarily roar, drawing back only to rise up along the shore and crash again, but all he knows is that they are wreckage of a person, in more than one ways, magnificently damaged by the tides of cruel life, nearly bashed to pieces by an unforgiving cliffside that would prevent them from climbing towards its top and over. 

Hanzo does find it rather curious what echoes would Abigail ring. His own happiness may be too brief to be clutched like stream of sand between his fingers and yet, such cruel traumatic history of his may everlasting, but he knows. Everybody wants to be remembered, one way or another, and appreciated and taken care without an absence of a mark in their squadron. 💥 ||

[sasorikigai]

“ i feel safe with you. “ This city sucks, it's loud, abrasive, and people can be so... overwhelming, Abby feels like she wants to hide, but Hanzo makes her feel like the world is more welcoming, warmer, because there's a light that they share. - Moar abby and hanzo softness coz he deserves it.

expressing love without saying i love you || @extraordinarygrrls || accepting

💥 || Beauty culminates when tough decisions are made. With Harumi and Satoshi’s death, Hanzo Hasashi had lost his proverbial light to the unfathomable and unconquerable darkness. In the shade of action and inaction caused by throes of his despair and depression, lied the defeat of an incapacitated man; for consequences bestowed had been a living hell. He struggled, and still struggles with dualistic acceptance and denial to live free, to dream. 

The world had been a woman, but without the ever-gentle touch, for his world is often doomed, both in his professional and personal trials and tribulations. Perhaps he too, had cowered without ever allowing himself to see the full scope of the world’s possibilities; for Commander Hasashi’s heart had been numbed and became cold. Coal-hard knot in the mountain buried deep in the boarded-up mine which could detonate at any given time. So he would let death in, learn to prospect the between-dreams of the dying, the one dream that tells him when to throw up, the other, when he is in pain.  

How he would defiantly struggle against a fist fight of wills and wits that holds tongues hostage, along with the series of hypothetical arguments that play in his mind throughout the day. Death’s warm breath at the mouth of his body’s holler would render him scattered and defeated, but now, with their unexpected, and perhaps unlikely friendship, it was as if the world had thrown him life preservers, Abigail certainly being one of them, as if she had been his beacon for reciprocal help; for they were both damaged people with survivors’ heart. For him, now hope isn’t the thing that is ephemeral in its inception, but something that deeply roots in his soul and sings an exquisite tune without the words that never stops at all. 

“We may be imperfect and flawed, and we may continue to struggle in the thick quagmire of life, but our proverbial light would never die, as long as we stick to what we believe in,” while he still has to embrace his inevitable mediocracy and reject the pursuit of perfection which would be an impossibility, he would become excellent enough to offer safety and protection for those that need and deserve them. Lest he fights through this pain in his chest, losing the perpetual war in his head resonating in tandem with his ubiquitous life as he will be bulldozed and torn asunder. 

Thoughts may continue to splash around, thick and opaque as blood, with words pooling behind his eardrums as soft pressure rings against his temple, but his rare contentment in the proximity of someone other than his beloved Harumi or camaraderie of his squadron brings him a solemn peace and tranquility. “If I could offer you such sentiment, against the scattering pieces encasing this world of infinity. No longer, the strings of our souls will unravel until we are but empty shells. We could only rebuild ourselves whole, through the protection and comfort of one another’s presence.”  💥 ||

[sasorikigai]

"Commander, Hanzo!" Abigail sounded like a whole cocktail of emotions ready to shatter open. Joy, relief, anxiety, hesitation, coming down from fearing that her Commander, her only friend, wouldn't come back. But here he was, alive and mostly, aside from some small cuts and bruises, well. Well enough that young Ms. Cain didn't feel unsure about throwing her arms around him and hugging him tight to the bewilderment of the rest of the squad. "I'm so, so happy you're back, I was terrified after I heard that... And then... Oh, whatever, I just... I'm just, I didn't want to lose you, I guess." She felt like she should probably let go of him, but her arms, her soul, refused.

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

💥 || Once Commander Hasashi felt insanity, he knew that he might inflict such chaos upon the minds of those, whomever he sees fit, but the real trick had been the research - who and how and why and when? And if they lost their place of power, who would rise? What happens then? And in his pondering, he could see mostly that his monumental position would continuously draw obligation and dedication, and more misused power meant more responsibility supposedly. Great power is too easily abused, and through the syndicate’s ruthless brutality that had not only taken Harumi and Satoshi from his protective grasp, but nearly him and a couple of other squadron members, he did learn that to enslave is to be enslaved, and to oppress is to be oppressed. So it is better to take his time in deciding what acts the best. 

When a dark silhouette shifted in the back of a dark, dark room where hostages remain bound and captured, Hanzo Hasashi was there; twisting and gorging himself on half-obscured flesh as he awaited evermore patiently for the opportune time of their forced entry. If he could simply lift this veil of conformity and strip himself of his monster façade, then he would allow his vicious eyes to fall upon the assailant's unconscious form and tenderize and crack him open with his fist, lest his fingers break in the process. Lest he becomes beacons of pain, and risk the hostages’ safety, it’d be better to isolate and atomize the baddie, while the rest of his squadron worked to secure the premises and neutralize any potential threats. Maybe there was an unquenchable fire raging inside of him that wonders what it will be like if there was only a baddie and him, one-on-one, fighting for dominion as to who was the bigger Alpha Dog here. 

What couldn’t be said out aloud was spoken in his physical language, or better, in his physical exertion. His hunger will devour, as a drop of crimson sparking ripples in the momentum of exchanged blows, setting off madness and mayhem as mantras of hope became a reality. The exquisite highs are too painful, but Hanzo wanted all the pain, through contusions and cuts, he would realize the unrealized and fight strenuously in order to annul another zealous criminal from the earth. He may be rendered a mess of thorns and streaked blood and knuckle impressions, with his lean, chiseled physicality rendered a garden of half-wild, half-tangled longing, the rose garden full of trampled crimson petals with upturned soil scattering suffocating dust. 

Beneath the hubbub of the squadron returning back to their base, Hanzo’s darkened eyes, with the rubicund exertion of the earlier struggle clearly permeated in his fatigued posture, he finds himself simply seeking the comforting silence of withdrawing back to his office. The most unexpected sensation is Abigail’s winding arms encompassing his torso, while her scrutinizing doe eyes swept his entirety for any grave injuries, which were none. Besides professional camaraderie, Hanzo Hasashi had never encountered the deja-vu feeling of his throbbing heart thudding his ribcage. Pleasant surprise etches in the corner of his eyes, as his mirthful gaze descends to meet her own. 

“I may fight the losing battle against the unsettling sensation of encountering vicious violence and death, but it will take so much more to break me asunder,” Hanzo’s long arid world had lighted up with the reality of color, shining bright in his chest as the forensic scientist’s genuine, unbridled concern permeates and seeps into his skin. His hands may be roped with scars and callouses, but they are warm and as genuine as Abigail’s well-placed worry. Overwhelming the lingering metallic tang of his blood and fevered heat emanating from his skin, is his proverbial passion and fire, giving off a certain kind of indescribable strength. Hanzo wishes she could feel it, and that it would just be enough evidence that he will keep his promise. “You won’t ever lose me; not so easily and not certainly by a low-grade criminal.” 💥 ||

[sasorikigai]

“  the world feels too big for me to be noticed,  yet too small to hide.  ” - Abigail

DEEPER CONVERSATION PROMPTS || @extraordinarygrrls || accepting

💥 || If others could see the way the past haunts Hanzo Hasashi and how every contained sigh is just another attempt at surviving and every time a sharp object catching his attention, his heart would settle into a much more tranquil cadence. How many times he’d swallowed his pain in one bite and attempt to smile back and others could only catch a glimpse of laughter leaving his face. If one could climb inside his chest and see how dark and cold it was, despite the proverbial warmth and fire of his spirit and soul inextinguishable. 

Coldness against his skin was all he could feel; wounded, as he would defiantly trudge through the transient moments of his depression nadir with his maddened passion, to align himself to find himself doing the right things and in the right moment. Relief, anger and sadness would coalesce Commander Hasashi’s being, to sit with the self in more than reflection, but without the illusions of mirrors that may render his resolve and passion askew and corrupted.

The world will ignite and pierce the silence, producing light and heat for anyone else still dormant in the frozen darkness of night. If he has to, Hanzo Hasashi will find happiness under a dying tree, even when he coughs up his lungs between black exhales amidst the catastrophic failure of a mission gone astray, sailing scarred, trembling fingertips through the forgotten tributaries of names carved into the memorial there. This visceral, poignant sentiments that brew excruciating pain and endurance to keep going fuels his literal and metaphorical fire, lest he remains punctured with grief, carefully scored by a calm symphony of his gravitas and assertiveness. The mirrors of the fire of his mind, burning as if it could go on burning himself, burning down, feeding on everything until there is nothing left in life that has not fed this fire. 

“As long as we become the light of a single star that shines bright that pulls each wilting, dying flower from the soil to root itself deeper once again, the effortless toil of surviving in the inscrutable, indifferent world will become easier. Lest our construed time may fleet no matter how clever or sagacious we may become, no matter how many times we try to outsmart the nature that brought us into being and continue to fail, and no matter how perished love somehow feels more like a poison than an exquisite bliss...,” even through every pain and its ironic sweetness, swallowed smile and potent bitterness of living and surviving, Hanzo Hasashi never remains tainted with fear and indecisions. A comforting hannd rests atop Abigail’s shoulder, as the characteristic baritone of his voice, filled with defiant conviction and authenticity rattles his chest and stirs his soul. 

“The world could become such a dark thing shifting, twisting, and even gorging us of peace and happiness, but the moment of finding the perfect equilibrium will come.”  💥 ||