`✧ ｡ OUROBOROS.* ( ap. )

                ❛    CAN I  –––    ❜    syllable trails in sweet hum ,  a moment to reconsider request  (  he seems rigid ,  jaded ,  aloof ultimately  –––  she can’t imagine the effort of contact being worth the result  ) .  doubt withers  ;  mere glances have never once swayed her determination ,  she’s not letting that streak die .    ❛    can i check out your arrows ?    ❜   –––  don’t stop now ,  hana ,  go for gold !    ❛    the bow’s pretty cool ,  but the arrows look so  .  .  .  next level !  y’know ,  with all their little details  –––  did you make them ?    ❜    / @unequell  ♥︎’d !

AN INQUISITIVE EYE SETTLES  upon her,  curiosity stymied behind a vellum permeated by reserve.  And though he would ( perhaps ) later deny its eminence,  an inkling of something rather near amusement punctuates his countenance.  The answer is a curt one,  gesture bounded to a certain level of fluidity when he moves to unfasten his quiver.

Never Speak To Me Or My Brother Again.  

HAUNTING  ARE  the  nights  he  lies  awake  ,  the  swell  &  fall  of  his  chest  heavy  as  he  staves  off  the  overwhelming  feeling  of  panic  just  beyond  his  snaring  ribs  .  the  darkness  inundates  a  man  with  little  more  to  his  name  than  the  title  he  bears  ,  of  a  clan  from  whence  disillusion  was  established  in  the  mind  of  an  eccentric  youth  ;  beset  with  the  worries  of  having  left  his  brother  with  nothing  to  mourn  ,  too  much  to  dwell  on  ,  genji  can  barely  meet  the  eyes  of  his  kindred   –––   you  let  them  down  ,  young  sparrow  ;  this  is  your  fate  ,  never forget that  .  /  sorrow  is  hidden  beneath  a  mask  that  mocks  what  should  be  ,  imitates  with  blank  ,  luminescent  stare  ,  the  waning  gaze  of  some  former  shimada  .

HE  BLINKS  yond  cool  ,  metal  visage  –––  once  ,  twice ,  batting  away  the  rising  disquiet  ,  the  suffocation  of  his  egregious  existence  when  sympathised  with  ideals  of  the  clan .  such  a  simple  request  ,  inspiring  a  grand  recoil  ,  rich  voice  familiar  enough  ,  even  now  ,  to  send  a  chill  down  the  length  of  his  spine  .

❛        FINALLY  COME  around  ,  have  you  ?        ❜  his  muted  timbre  airs  his  doubt  ,  fingers  twitching  in  anticipation  ,  seconds  away  from  thrumming  a  nervous  beat  into  the  synthetic  mesh  atop  his  thigh  .  exhale  comes  slow  ,  tempered  by  the  breathing  rig  where  his  throat  lie  .  unlike  him  to  be  so  chagrined  ,  normally  ready  to  lay  down  his  life  if  it  meant  pleasing  his  brother  ;  this  uncertainty  came  from  a  man  who  sought  reconciliation  at  the  prospective  cost  of  his  second  life  .

A  MECHANICAL  huff  of  laughter  passes  in  the  tense  air  ,  artificial  digits  clinking  weakly  in  a  moment  against  the  base  of  his  mask  ,  where  metal  meets  flesh  &  the  warm  reminder  of  his  afflictions  ;  a  low  hiss  supersedes  his  cautious  laugh  ,  his  face  plate  falling  neatly  ‘twixt  refined  palms  .  he  smiles  ,  waits  a  beat  before  searching  for  the  warm  gaze  of  a  bygone  life  ,  to  find  the  eyes  of  the  one  levelling  facet  of  the  past  he  was  forced  to  leave  behind  .

❛        NO  ONE  can  resist  this  face  for  too  long  ,  huh  ,  hanzo  ?        ❜

THOUGH  SCARRED  ,  the  creases  where  his  smile  reaches  his  eyes  remain  true  to  the  man  he  has  always  been  ,  reflects  the  youth  that  refused  to  be  lost  in  the  atonement  for  all  his  faults  .  he’s  scared  ,  but  perhaps  this  marked  the  progress  of  their  peace  .

❛        DON'T  STARE  too  long  ,  brother  –––        ❜    the  things  you  learn  whilst   accepting  the  shortcomings  that  came  in  the  form  of  wild  scars  .

@vagabondt //

AND SO IT IS,  AT FIRST,  a willful act:  the gaze which bears the precipice of obduracy;  a look that shoulders and shucks its hesitance,  begging to be unerring.  He forces that oh - so - steely stare to linger  ( examine / scrutinize / judge its subject ), scour the dissimilar tides until it is but a familiar face staring back.   The semblance is loathsome;  he has always hated shallow imitation.  ( Imitation, the castigation comes:  a nine - letter word for denial ).  Perhaps enough time has been squandered rescinding threadbare truths and blood - bound litanies,  and perhaps far too many days have slipped away,  spent on guilt - addled disillusionment:  the kind that gnaws the inside of your ribcage,  the kind that devours your heart.   A tightness closes in around his neck,  as though some spectre’s shrouded hand had ensnared it thence;  he swallows,  chokes down the lump that resides uncomfortably within his throat  — stymying speech,  silencing scorn.  

             It’s somewhere in the eyes.  

The sameness,  that is:  the place where past and present converge;  the crux of unspoken,  unmourned,  undaunted sins.  ( What are you afraid of, Shimada?  See a ghost? )   His jaw tenses.  He’s descried it earlier,  of course:  the mien of a man whose portrait still sat crooked next to the butsudan,  ihai wrongly emblazoned with the name of a living thing  ( walking dead; damnable phantasm; antiquated epitaph ------ how can a skeleton learn to breathe? );  the likeness is unsettling,  but perchance it is the difference which harbours the greatest betrayal.   You were alive, and yet said nothing;  was I deserving of so little?         He knows the answer before he can so much as think it. 

Brows knit together in an inimitable expression of disquiet; sleek irises flicker away thereafter,  ensconcing the distant ground as if some such wisdom could be begat through solitude.   A tentative huff insinuates itself.  ` I suppose I was a fool to think you capable of holding a dignified conversation. `    A cant of his head follows in tandem:  vexation to rebuff vulnerability;  the subtle twitch of his lip to eschew discomfort. 

But there is nought save the pressing reminder before him:  it percolates like the wind after rainfall,  a sullen weight sifting through the trees;  misery wells within his chest.  We could have rebuilt father's empire.  (  the whimsicality sits, devoid of its salient modifier:     together  ).    And perchance together was lost too many years ago;  it sits somewhere in the dojo,  tucked away behind an antiquated tapestry or two.     A wince is invoked:  a preface to the secondary attempt to meet the other's gaze once again.

BOLD the ones that apply to your character:

STRENGTHS.

adaptable | adventurous | affectionate | ambitious | artistic | athletic | assertive | beautiful | brave | charming | clever | compassionate | confident | considerate | cooperative | courteous | creative | curious | decisive | dependable | determined | diplomatic | easy-going | enthusiastic | fair | fashionable | forgiving | friendly | fun-loving | funny | generous | gentle | hard-working | heroic  | honest | hopeful | humble | imaginative | incorruptible | intelligent | intuitive | inventive | jocular | leader | lively | loving | loyal | merciful | musical | observant | open-minded | optimistic | organized | outgoing | passionate | patient | playful | polite | popular | practical | resourceful | self-assured | selfless | sensible | sincere | strong | studious | thoughtful | tough | versatile | warm-hearted | well-intentioned | wise | witty

WEAKNESSES.

absent-minded | abusive | addict | aggressive | aimless | alcoholic | anxious | arrogant | audacious | bad liar | big-mouth | bigot | blindly obedient | blunt | callous | childish | chronic heroism | clingy | clumsy | cocky | competitive | corrupt | cowardly | cruel | cynical | delinquent | delusional | dependent | depressed | deranged | disloyal | ditzy | egotistical | envious | erratic | fickle | finicky | flaky | frail | fraudulent | guilt complex | gloomy | gluttonous | gossiper | gruff | gullible | hedonistic | humorless | hypochondriac | hypocritical | idealist | idiotic | ignorant | immature | impatient | incompetent | indecisive | insecure | insensitive | lazy | lewd | liar | lustful | manipulative | masochistic | meddlesome | melodramatic | money-loving | moody | naive | nervous | nosy | ornery | overprotective | overly sensitive | paranoid | passive-aggressive | perfectionist | pessimist | petty | power-hungry | proud | pushover | reckless | reclusive | ( appears ) remorseless | rigorous | sadistic | sarcastic | senile | selfish | self-martyr | shallow | sociopathic | sore loser | spineless | spiteful | spoiled | stubborn | tactless | temperamental | timid | tone-deaf | traitorous | unathletic | ungracious | unlucky | unsophisticated | untrustworthy | vain | withdrawn | workaholic

i wont say ppl’s misreading or misunderstanding of the end of Dragons irks me given that hanzo’s reaction is ( as always ) convoluted, messy, and aggressive; nor wiLL I EVEN remotely try to argue that what i interpret is Concrete Canon, by any means. i just find that how he reacts to Genji makes tons of narrative sense ( from my understanding, that is ).

there r tons of posts poking fun at how hanzo like. 180′s from grieving to Literally Trying To Kill Genji Again at the end of the cinematic, and im not trying to come down hard on that or anything but i dont think it’s as clear-cut as just that. for starters, hanzo spent 90% of the cinematic not knowing who genji was; he doesn’t attack initially on the grounds of “this is my brother”, he instigates the confrontation because he presumes that it’s yet another assassin sent by the shimada to kill him, of which there have been ( apparently ) many. i think it’s p important that we keep in mind the fact that he didn’t attack genji knowing  that it was genji; WHICH WAS HIS OWN FAULT, i suppose, but nonetheless. ( an moreover, he’s under the impression that this assassin is deliberately trying to rile him up and taunt him; he condemns how he honours his brother, what he “tells” himself in order to narrowly justify killing genji, and he even namedrops his dead brother. like what kind of disrespectful asshole Is This ).

once genji reveals himself, hanzo spends the next few minutes in what seems to be very somber introspection and consideration. ( it’s also maybe worth noting that hanzo’s hesitant to even look at his brother when his visor comes off; and when he does finally meet his gaze, he’s quick to flick his eyes away. a lot of people judge hanzo for his following question, ‘what have you become’ given that the answer seems blatant; however, i feel like that’s sort of because we already know what’s happened. more or less, i’ve always seen that incredulity has hanzo trying to grapple with what he might have done to genji; he’d assumed for ten years that his brother was dead, and was trying to start coping with that truth, but unintentionally turning your brother into a cyborg, possibly instigating his continued suffering --- or whatever the situation may be --- is an entirely different circumstance, one which hanzo, obviously, does not even remotely know how to handle nor Begin to handle ).

another moderately important annotation is that genji is shown to have complete autonomy and control of the situation, whereas hanzo spends the entirety of their confrontation fumbling; struggling; uncertain. he assumes that he has the upper hand, but he’s quickly proven wrong. it’s not exactly “Canon” but it always seems to me that hanzo just gets Fucking Pissed when he’s caught off guard or starts feeling lost in any given situation or conversation. which is...pretty much what happens here. the fact that this Assassin is speaking in circles around him, winning the fight against him, and taunting him only serve to get him angrier and angrier ( which genji probly anticipates; he seems 2 know hanzo better than absolutely everyone, which may or may not be saying much, given how No One Really Knows Hanzo Shimada ). like tl;dr hanzo conceals his discomfort or his shortcomings with anger.

the moment of peace between genji and hanzo is almost immediately curbed the second that genji says his line abt liek “i have accepted what i am an forgiven you; now you must forgive yourself”. like that’s where the 180º happens and hanzo’s back to being Pissed Off again. i know that it seems completley unprovoked, and i won’t try to absolve hanzo of all his flaws n fuck ups cus... he fucks a lot of things up, but i think we’ve sorta got to throw the dude a bone here like. the situation is biased against him, in a lot of ways; he had no preparation for this moment, whereas genji, we can assume, had at least some. he’s blindsighted by the fact that his brother, who he presumed was dead, killed by himself, no less, is back from the “dead”, and he’s almost Certainly caused him far more suffering than he ever really anticipated. not only that, but he has to process all of this in only a few minutes before genji’s trying to leave again. 

but i think that the real kicker is that genji is insinuating he somehow knows hanzo better than he knows himself. “now you must forgive yourself” entails that he knows hanzo blames himself, which is something hanzo keeps entirely secretive and close to his heart; hanzo has depression, he’s suicidal, he is more than willing to let this Anonymous Yet Incredibly Skilled Assassin take his life, probably as a measure of attempted atonement, even though hanzo’s convinced he cannot atone for what he’s done ( and its pretty fitting that he’s associated with an ouroboros, given his cyclical nature of ‘forgiveness - damnation - forgiveness - damnation’ and so on; he’s guilty or he’s faultless, he’s beyond redemption or he still has hope; in essence, hanzo probably embodies all of this at once ). 

ANYWAY, back to what i was saying: the fact that genji can leave for ten years, and come back into his life and therein assume that he somehow knows his brother is something of a slight. if anything, hanzo’s biggest pet peeve is when people think they understand him, or anything that he’s done; *brother voice* his motives are Complex, and in a lot of ways, hanzo confuses Himself. his means of coping are destructive and obscure; he acts to tear himself down, and yet his pride is his greatest vice. In a lot of ways, I think hanzo’s anger at the end of the cinematic is there to sort of say “you don’t know a thing about me”, how can you sit here and think you KNOW that i want to be forgiven. but it’s also more than that.

genji freely endows his forgiveness, something which hanzo thinks he’s entirely undeserving of. and what’s more maddening to hanzo is that, from genji’s point of view, he’s done nothing to warrant it; they haven’t sorted out their differences over the past years, they haven’t talked things through: hanzo was languishing in guilt and left in the dark --- which, i’m not trying to sound like im placing blame on genji for ( at all ), it’s just the matter at hand, really. it was genji doing the self-reflection and the growth; it was genji who was moving on; and it was genji learning how to heal: not hanzo. remember, hanzo’s the ouroboros: eating its own tail, unable to break its cycle: unchanging, stagnant even though it appears to be moving. like... hanzo Knows he’s not deserving of this sort of redemption, but more than that, he hasn’t even earned it; he probably thinks Genji’s being a fool for so swiftly presuming he’s done something to warrant even an act of kindness, when they’ve only just reunited. 

like it’s sort of a slap in the face? hanzo’s not given the chance to cope with any of this ( tho its not like he would be able to, as we’ve well seen; but its the chance that counts ); he’s sort of just. handed this whole situation on a platter, but it’s already come to its conclusion, if that makes sense; genji’s already come to terms with everything, and now that the ball is in hanzo’s court, he sort of drops it. immediately. the fact of the matter is, Hanzo does not have the same context we, as viewers, do. he doesn’t know what happened over those ten years; he doesn’t even know who zenyatta is ( yet ), nor...what the fuck even brought genji back. 

but its already Over and Dealt With, but he had no hand in helping with it. and he’s got some major whiplash, honestly, coupled with a lot of catching up to do, which genji seems somewhat uninterested in doing, given that he’s already up and leaving right after dropping that major bomb. 

next, we already know what genji thinks of hanzo’s methods of honouring he and his death, and i feel like hanzo’s anger stems from that, too; he doesn’t know what to do. how do you repent and honour someone who’s so easily ( almost Casually ) given you the “redemption” and forgiveness you’ve striven for, for ten years. so hes left with his trite incense and feather, uncertain, yet again, on how to handle the situation; a part of me feels like he’s questioning what the hell it is genji wants, if not that --- but the answer seems to be that he wants Nothing. which hanzo can’t grapple with. ( for him, there’s always a reason behind things, and always a catch; you can’t redeem yourself without a trade - off, and genji has, seemingly, handed it to him without asking anything in return; therefore, something’s amiss ). 

      he catches her unaware,  BURIED in her silence,  lazy in her movements  &  in her loneliness.  the shock should not come so violently;  many came  &  went as they pleased,  as they sought her assistance for miracles she could not provide.  it is a HOT flash of relief when there is no desperation,  no pleas to meet her.  then ANGER snapping at its heels.

       it is not so hard to recognize genji’s brother.  they have the same sort of arrogance,  the same look.  she bites her tongue,  COOL as ice  (  no warmth here, not for this brother  )   ❝   hallo.  kann ich dir helfen?   ❞      //      @unequell ,   starter

HESITATION MARS HIS GAIT  for but simple seconds,  melting steadfast into something semblant of suspicion.  A look of subtle spite curves his lip; a vexed sniff prefacing the quiet 'hmph' that is sure to swiftly follow.    Perhaps it is by pride's preclusion whereby he withholds his trust ( none within their antiquated ranks had earned it thus, though she the least );  and all the same, he cannot wash the disappointment from his hands --- whether in himself for anticipating the medbay's vacancy,  or in her for lingering so late.

                         He takes no action to mask his distaste. 

       ` I had no intention to intrude. `  A sentiment barren of apology.    Sleek eyes scan the vicinity with forced nonchalance, whilst a maculated flourish of fingers slip behind the lapel of his gi ( a feeble attempt to cloister the abraded flesh, of course ).     Even so much as bearing the wound in the first place was shameful --- admitting to it, especially to one whose very presence eroded any inklings of patience he theretofore harboured, was far beyond mere compromising.  

@unequell . )

     Dark blue, wavering–like the white ripples atop a water-black fountain, like the sky when the stars take a night off, like the feeling you get when the haze of day cooks you under the skin–his soul was a lovely shade of carefully arranged flowers. Like sugared flowers. Clouds twinkled & glowed & the moon slept, tar looking lovely tonight as she softly observed. Whose souls danced so lovingly around her cloak? Whose souls sought her guidance to beyond? Azure jellyfish danced around her figure & disappeared every time she took a look at one–

     –“You know, that could’ve killed me.”

     It hit with a tang on Soul’s red blade. She picked it up & spun it to rest like a pencil in her grip. How pretty. Horse’s hair glistened as he finished his single-note solo–it played like a harp, it rang like the sound in your ears in the morning. Spin & reset. Peridot-soft eyes blinked softly at him–badum-pump, adrenaline racing. But even if he did fire off another one, she wouldn’t let it kill her. Adrenaline rushing–it was a danger zone, landmine, toxic past–toxic face. Chill. White ripples rang louder. Jellyfish bounced in & out of her cloak, between her legs, between her arms, next to her gloved fingertips that scraped shingles off the awning she sat on. Whimsically. Clay pebbles danced off the roof and fell to the ground. Twintails twirled in the breeze, bangs curled in the wind. She took a breath and chided, “You don’t wanna waste those. A quiver of them and I can pay rent for two months.”

     She tossed Soul over her shoulders again, stretching her neck before staring back–heart racing, ba-dump thump. “You’ve got a gross stain on your kimono. Above your butt.”

THOUGH DRACONIC BLOOD IS  said to flow through the proud veins of the clan,  he holds not their brazen form  ( chooses not to, he would correct, in this particular game of cat-and-mouse ); rather,  it is with an obfuscated and tentative gait whereby he lingers —— shrouded by nightfall, perhaps, he is most ordained;  most lethal  ( the viper is strongest when its strikes are unwont to be countered ). By all rights,  the clan would have named him a fool — and maybe they would be right to presume so:  perched like a sparrowhawk, awaiting its boon in blood and bone;  bow drawn,  fingers curled,  back arched as though carved of stone. They’d sent an assassin ( of course they did ), this one more voracious than the last, better than the last;  but he would not hide. He would await them willingly, accept their wroth and quash it withal:  a Shimada did not recoil in fear;  they embraced destiny head-on. That was how it had always been.

It is with a watchful, almost amused, eye with which he follows the trail from a distance; he’s learned how to draw them out,  bait the clan and thereafter quell their every attempt at besting him. His gaze does not leave the sea of bodies once he’s plucked out the sniper  ( they carried a certain braggadocio about them; the unfaltering constant — something in their step ).

And yet it’s the footfall sets him off.    An hour of meticulous silence and calculated precision slips from his grasp the moment his fixation leaves the ( presumed ) gunman in question.  Scarce time for pondering,  he colours himself naive for thinking that the clan would forgo sending more than one hitman ( there’s always a second shooter, you idiot );  the arrow leaves its noose almost as quickly as he pivots — forewarning scarce if anything; it strikes its mark despite the enclave’s darkness.  Even so, he cannot smother the incredulity from creeping up onto his countenance when she speaks;  traces of confusion percolate behind tired oculi  ( why a child? why a blade? ).  For a moment,  he almost allows himself to be duped into relaxing:  a frown settles instead,  gritted teeth shrouded by a sneering lip.  She speaks nonsense, though he does not pull back the bowstring a second time.  It’s a wonder she doesn’t make the first move, cleave him while she monologues; perhaps this is all a part of the clan’s New Order ( or perhaps their New Order is to bore him to death in lieu of spilling any blood: how tediously fitting ).

But her admonishment is unexpected,  as if she merely wandered in without thinking he’d retaliate. Maybe she wasn’t sent by the clan, after all ( he loathes that he can hardly discern the difference now );  nonetheless, a hare that values its life should not encroach upon the wolves’ den: he’ll not apologise for firing first — or firing at all.    Thus the bow is lowered somedeal, a hesitant and skeptical notion of provisional peace;  he narrows his eyes.

       ` Had I wished you dead, it would be so;  I have wasted nothing. `  Never the hunted; ever the hunter.  Fixation flickers to her scythe; then back to her visage:  he wonders if it’s earnest on her face, or arrogance. Neither alleviate the suspicion in his voice.     ` ------ If you think to kill me, you have gravely underestimated your quarry. `