Peter Solarz
dirt enthusiast
shark vs the universe
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
styofa doing anything
Three Goblin Art
d e v o n
occasionally subtle
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Janaina Medeiros
Stranger Things
#extradirty
No title available
Origami Around
@theartofmadeline
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
h
Cosimo Galluzzi
AnasAbdin
Xuebing Du
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Hungary
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Taiwan
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Portugal
seen from T1
seen from Hungary
seen from Italy
@floral-flames
I WAS BEING SHACKLED ━━━
and held fast with new roots to the outside, to the dark and alien world. For the first time in my life I tasted death, and death tasted bitter, for death is birth, is fear and dread of some terrible renewal.
📷 (for Kuai Liang)
x || @sasorikigai
"Brokkr's handiwork. He made this set for me." Evelyn replies, to his comment about the armor she was wearing. "I had it made to fight in the first Wonderland war, at least in this life. Dwarves... Skilled with their hands. They also crafted upgrades for my weapons, for a fee."
She was quiet though as she gets back into thinking, listening to Lucanis's words. "I will say, though, I do not think it to be a good idea to bring harm to the cat. He's a part of me, whether I like it or not. He's one of my oldest allies, here. Alongside Cain."
She hums. Where, indeed, would the cat go? "I remember he had a home at one point in the Vale of Tears. A little hole. Perhaps he took the key there.." Then she thought a little bit more.
"We'd have to brave the storm, normally, but, I can clear us a path out. We just need to get out of the palace and find the path." She begins walking down the path they came from, towards the exit. A pair of chess piece guards stood at the exit, looking down at her, before opening the doors.
She steps out into the cold, breathing in a soft shudder. Shadows and frost envelop her hands again, and she made an outward pushing motion, the snow clearing from the walkways. She pulls her hood up from the armor, to cover her ears from the cold.
She gazes up for a moment, seeing the soft glow of the apple tree in the distance, towering above all in Wonderland. She finds herself mesmerized for a moment, before blinking back to reality. "Focus, Evelyn.." She whispers to herself, and begins walking down the paved walkway.
"So, Lucanis. Do you have any questions? We have sort of a long walk ahead of us. Might as well pass the time while we walk.." She asked him, looking back at him. "And, um. Thank you for coming with me. It's been a while since I had company come with me into Wonderland. I deeply appreciate the help."
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Lucanis Dellamorte ࿐ྂ
Lucanis watched the way the armor caught the light — not admiration so much as assessment, a habit etched into bone. Brokkr’s work carried a weight to it, a quiet confidence. It reminded him of blades forged for hands that expected not to return unbloodied.
❝Dwarves don’t waste effort,❞ he said at last, voice low, even as his boots crunched against the frost-bitten stone. ❝If they made it for war, it’ll hold. If they upgraded your weapons… they expected you to survive long enough to use them again.❞
Or die properly, Spite purred somewhere behind his eyes, pleased and sharp. Which is just as respectful.
Lucanis did not react outwardly. He never did.
At the mention of the cat, his gaze slid briefly to the shadows along the walls, as if expecting something to blink back at him. ❝I wasn’t planning on harming it, truly❞ the crow replied, a faint crease appearing between his brows. ❝Allies like that don’t come often. Especially the ones that stay.❞
Cats know where the bones are buried, Spite chimed. And they never tell— unless it amuses them.
The cold greeted them like an old enemy the moment they stepped outside. Lucanis adjusted his gloves, eyes tracking the way Evelyn pushed the storm aside, snow bending to her will. Magic always left a taste in the air — sharp, metallic, familiar.
❝Clearing a path like that…❞ he murmured. ❝You make it look easier than it is.❞
She’s lying to herself, Spite whispered, almost fond. About the cost. They always do.
His gaze followed hers, lingering on the distant glow of the apple tree, something unreadable flickering across his expression before discipline smothered it. When she asked if he had questions, Lucanis exhaled slowly, breath ghosting pale in the air. ❝I do, actually.❞ A pause — not hesitation, but care. ❝Wonderland remembers you, doesn’t it? Not just your footsteps… but your choices.❞
Ask her what it took from her, Spite urged. Ask what it will demand next.
Lucanis ignored that too, though his eyes softened just a fraction when she thanked him. ❝You didn’t have to ask twice,❞ he said quietly. ❝No one should walk places like this alone.❞ His gaze met hers briefly before shifting back to the path ahead. ❝And we’ve got time, like you said. Long walks have a way of loosening truths.❞
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Loki Layfeyson ࿐ྂ
The corridors of Asgard were far too quiet for Loki’s liking — all polished stone and golden echoes, as if the realm itself were holding its breath. He walked them slowly, boots barely whispering against the floor, hands folded behind his back in a posture learned long before he understood why it soothed him. Before war. Before exile. Before the universe would learn his name with venom on its tongue.
There was a restlessness beneath his ribs, sharp and familiar, like frost creeping through old cracks. Answers unspoken. Truths half-glimpsed and quickly buried beneath duty and smiles that never quite reached his eyes.
"You shouldn’t linger here" the trickster spoke at last, voice smooth yet edged with something unreadable as emerald gaze lifted to you. "These halls have a way of listening… and remembering far more than one intends"
A pause followed — deliberate. Measuring.
"Still," Loki added softly, stepping closer, the faint curl of a smile appearing like a secret shared with the shadows, "I suspect you didn’t come seeking silence"
cont. x || @sasorikigai
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kuai Liang ࿐ྂ
Kuai Liang does not move at once. He lets Hanzo’s words finish burning through the space between them, lets the heat roll against his skin and test the discipline carved into his bones. The Lin Kuei were not taught to react — they were taught to endure. To wait. And so he stands, a quiet axis in the storm, frost humming low beneath his veins like a restrained breath.
“You mistake constancy for invitation,” Kuai Liang says at last, voice even, unraised — a winter river beneath ice. “I do not fight to be remembered. I fight so I do not become what memory demands of me.”
The grandmaster's gaze lifts fully now, meeting Hanzo’s without flinch or flourish. There is no softness there, but neither is there contempt. Only recognition — sharp, unyielding. The kind that sees every scar and does not look away.
Kuai Liang steps forward once. Just once. The frost does not surge. It follows. A measured response, as precise as the Lin Kuei forms beaten into him through blood and loss and long nights where restraint was the only thing that kept the world from breaking further.
“You speak of emptiness,” Kuai continues, quieter, more dangerous for it. “Of needing opposition to prove you still exist. I know that hunger.” A pause — brief, controlled. “But I will not be your absolution.”
Ice creeps across the stone at his feet, thin as glass, reflecting the firelight back at Hanzo in fractured mirrors. Fire does not frighten him. It never has. He has faced infernos that wore human faces. “If we clash,” Kuai says, his hand finally settling at his side — not drawing, not retreating — “it will not be to help you forget. It will be to remind you.” His eyes narrow, not with anger, but focus. The kind that precedes inevitability.
“That you are still responsible for every strike you choose. That rage does not excuse you. That control is not weakness.” His voice lowers, edged now with something colder than ice. “And that if you fall back into the fire without restraint, I will be the one who stops you. Not because I hate you — but because I refuse to let you burn what little remains of yourself.”
The wind shifts. Frost and flame coil together in the air, neither yielding, neither dominating. Kuai Liang settles into his stance — grounded, disciplined, unshowy. A mountain does not posture before an eruption.
“So if you seek a crucible,” he finishes, calm as snowfall before a blizzard, “then stand, Hanzo Hasashi. Not as a specter chasing ghosts — but as a man who chooses each strike knowing exactly what it costs.”
His eyes never leave Hanzo’s.
“Show me which one you are.”
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“You hate me so much, yet here you are—protecting me.” (Kuai Liang)
ENEMIES TO LOVERS PROMPTS || Accepting || @sasorikigai
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kuai Liang ࿐ྂ
The night breathes cold.
It seeps through stone and bone alike, a familiar companion to Kuai Liang as he stands at the edge of the ruined courtyard—frost creeping outward from his boots in thin, deliberate veins, kissing cracked earth and shattered weaponry left behind by a battle neither of them will speak of first. The Lin Kuei Grandmaster does not turn immediately when Hanzo’s words cut through the quiet. He does not need to.
You hate me so much, yet here you are—protecting me.
For a moment, the world holds its breath.
Kuai Liang’s jaw tightens, just barely. The words strike not as accusation, but as a truth sharpened by fire—one Hanzo knows how to wield all too well. He exhales slowly, steam blooming from his lips, pale against the dark.
“I do not hate easily,” Kuai says at last, voice low, measured—each syllable placed with the care of a blade returned to its sheath rather than drawn. He turns then, blue eyes catching the faint glow of embers still clinging to Hanzo’s presence. Fire and ice, as always, standing too close for comfort. “If I did, you would not be standing.”
There is no threat in it. Only fact.
Sub-Zero steps closer, the cold following him, restrained but ever-present—control honed through loss, through the ghosts of brothers and clans and blood spilled in the wrong name. The grandmaster's gaze searches Hanzo’s face, not for weakness, but for intent. For the truth beneath the provocation.
“You mistake vigilance for hatred,” Kuai continues, quieter now. “And duty for forgiveness.” A pause—thin as a fracture in ice. “I have sworn to protect Earthrealm. Even you fall under that oath… whether you believe you deserve it or not.”
The wind stirs, carrying ash and frost alike between them. Kuai’s hand does not leave the hilt at his side, not because he expects betrayal—but because history has taught him never to forget what stands before him. Scorpion. Specter. Ally. Enemy. The lines blur too easily where Hanzo Hasashi is concerned.
“You stand at my flank because the battle demanded it,” he says, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Not because our past has been settled. Do not confuse proximity with absolution.”
Yet—despite the sharpness of his words—he does not step away.
Instead, Kuai Liang positions himself half a step ahead of Hanzo, body angled instinctively, shielded by ice and intent alike. A silent declaration that no strike will reach him first. “If you wish to question my presence,” Kuai adds, frost glinting faintly along his knuckles, “then ask yourself why you did not move when I took that position.” The cold deepens, but it does not bite. “Say what you mean, Hanzo Hasashi,” he murmurs, steady as snowfall. “Do not hide it behind fire and accusation. I am listening.”
Legend of Zang Hai | Episode 9
☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ The weather had taken a darker turn, clouds rolling in quicker then one could blink- dark, gloomy and something sinister hidden within. Yingling's hues gazed up, immediately turning a light blue as something was wrong, she could feel it deep within her own soul- spirit. Something, or someone was disturbing the spirits from the beyond, causing the woman to furrow a brow and to act quickly.
They were beyond restless, moving through the veil as if they were being released, pushed from there homes. The whispers pressed at the edge of the spirit healers thoughts, old and cold, threading through the wind like fractured prayers. They were calling out to her, trying to reach out as a warning of something to come, yet YIngling couldn't grasp what it was.
With the storm gathering above and the unseen stirring below, she moved—swift, certain—ready to answer the call before the darkness could fully wake. However, that plan soon came to a halt as other stood in her way, blocking the path. Frustrated Yingling took in a deep breath, stance ready to not so politely move this inconvenience. "You need to move now before I move you myself, you have no reason to be here now go" she hissed, tone laced with venom, aggressive even for her.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Hisoki Sato ࿐ྂ
The air shifted the moment she spoke — not with the snap of thunder, but with something older, heavier, pressing inward. Hisoki - or atleast the husk of HIsoki stood unmoved in her path, a dark silhouette against the churning sky, rain beginning to trace slow lines down the obsidian planes of his armor. The spirits had already begun to coil around him, restless and drawn, their whispers bending toward his presence as though recognizing a familiar wound.
A slow breath left him, deliberate, measured — not angered, not startled. Merely… aware. “Careful,” his voice carried low and even, threading through the rising wind without effort. It was not raised, yet it held, anchored, as if the storm itself had leaned closer to listen. “You feel them because they are being stirred — not displaced.”
The demon took a single step forward, just enough for the weight of him to be felt rather than seen, the ground beneath his boots humming faintly in response. Blackened hues settled on her, unreadable, ancient in their stillness.
“I have every reason to be here,” he continued, tone calm, almost patient, though something sharp glinted beneath it. “What presses at the veil does not answer to healers… nor to warnings whispered too late.”
The spirits surged again, frantic, brushing against his presence — and this time, they did not recoil. They circled, tethered, drawn to the curse that marked him as both anchor and fracture. “If you move me,” he said softly now, a warning shaped like courtesy, “you will only worsen what already strains to break free.” A pause — then, quieter still: “Stand aside, Yingling. Or stay… and learn why they are screaming.”
Working on some replies now, then I will get to my inbox :) Feeling a whole lot better than I was, so def have more energy to be here! Hope everyone is having a good weekend so far
EDIT: Oh I am so behind on everything DX
he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, running his fingers through his hair before he grinned slightly at her. ❝ i'm only contemplating it again because i'd be more prepared for it. ❞ he responded simply, his shoulders rising and falling in a small shrug. his tongue darted out to moisten his lesser lip, his greater one alike. ❝ i mean, i am observant but i need to be a little more observant than i've been. ❞ he pointed out. his brows then furrowed at her words, tilting his head like a curious dog would when hearing a squeaky toy. ❝ sleep schedule... what's that? ❞ he mused before the corners of his lips quirked upward in the slightest. the light nudge had him grinning now before his grin had faded slightly as the attention was returned to the task at hand. his lips had parted, as if to speak but he shut his mouth at her words, a cheeky grin now spreading over his lips. ❝ sometimes it's really unfortunate that you guys know me so well.... ❞ he pointed out. ❝ my answer will always end with me hanging upside down from something. mainly because it's fun. ❞ he added on. ❝ so what should have happened was definitely not that. it would have gone easier if i didn't do that thing. but i did that thing. ❞
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Natasha Romanoff ࿐ྂ
Natasha’s gaze lifts from the scattered intel on the table, one brow arched in that perfectly unimpressed way she’s spent years honing. She observes Peter fidget—dragging his hand through his hair, licking his lips, trying to look casual while giving himself away.
A slow exhale leaves her, almost a sigh, almost a laugh.
“Prepared?” she echoes, folding her arms across her chest as she leans her hip against the edge of the table. “You say that like preparation magically cancels out bad decisions. Trust me—if that were true, I’d have a lot fewer scars.” The spies eyes drag over him deliberately, assessing, poking holes in the story he hasn’t even told yet.
“And you?” A small, pointed smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “You’re observant, sure. But being ‘a little more observant’ usually means don’t do the exact same thing twice. You know that, right?” When he mimics confusion over something as basic as sleep, Natasha actually snorts—quiet, but real. “Sleep schedule,” she says, tapping a finger to his chest. “It’s the thing normal people have when they’re not dangling from rafters at three a.m. And before you ask—no, you don’t qualify as normal.”
He grins, nudges her, complains about being too well-known. Natasha tilts her head, feigning sympathy she absolutely doesn’t feel. “That’s what happens when you work with spies, acrobat. We notice things. Like the fact your answer to everything is ‘hang upside down from something and hope physics does the rest.’”
A pause. She levels him with a look—the kind that’s deadpan, sharp, and just soft enough to be dangerous. “And then you’re surprised when it goes wrong.” She straightens, pushing off the table, stepping closer and lowering her voice just slightly.
“So… let me see if I’ve got this right.” A beat. “What should have happened was not you improvising mid‑mission and pulling some Cirque du Dumbass routine—” her lips curve faintly, “—but you did the thing anyway. And now you’re here trying to convince me it wasn’t entirely your fault.”
Natasha pats his cheek once—patronizing, affectionate, annoying all at once. “Lucky for you, I already knew it was your fault.”
A ghost of a smirk.
Evelyn folds her hands behind her back as Lucanis speaks, allowing him to follow closely behind her as she walks, heels clicking on the bare floors. "I do not control what Wonderland gives you. It's your will that shapes it." She looks up at the chandeliers, and they lit up, further lighting up the castle.
"It's far quieter than usual here. Usually, there are people bustling around.. Must be taking shelter from the storm." A storm caused by her despair after losing Solas. "No matter, I know what I'm here for. The storm is the least of my concerns." She hums once again. The Pale Realm was used to storms.
"So, a bit of history about this place. This is the Pale Realm. This is how it used to look before.." She trails off. "Before Solas helped me to thaw it. He helped me stop a coup in progress. The land is scarred. I came to Thedas to escape it, and he helped me become stronger so I could return and put an end to it."
She comes to a door at the end of the hallway, pushing it open, and the light fixtures lit up here as well. An armory. She swore that she would be done fighting after that coup.. Now it seemed unavoidable. She approaches a suit of armor. Thick, but lightweight, easy to move around in. She placed her hand on it, and it vanished, her outfit glowing as it transfers.
She adjusts it after it was finished, before picking a sword off of a display. It glowed light blue in the dim light. "The Vorpal Blade is swift, and keen, and always ready for service. It goes snicker-snack.. Leaves them dead." She sheathes the sword at her hip. She pulls her hair up into a bun, made it easier to fight with, less easier to be pulled on.
She approaches a cabinet next, pulling various small vials from them, placing them in a pouch at her hip. "Thanks, Roswyn, for leaving your book so I knew how to make these.." She mutters.
'Evelyn!' A voice whispers, and she doesn't acknowledge it. Instead, she approaches a different display. A crooked staff, with a hook. In the hook, sat a giant red eye. If one looked closely. A dragon eye.
"Good thinking, Evelyn." A smooth male voice spoke, from above. "Every advantage you can get, right? Or are you taking it as a memento?" Evelyn casts her gaze up, into the rafters. A very large cat sat up there, emaciated, with a wide, unsettling grin. Evelyn takes the staff, placed onto her back. "Aww, not talking? That's a pity."
"I have better things to worry about than your cryptic ramblings, cat. Why don't you go bother the Huldra brothers? Return to whatever hovel is home to you, I'll call, if I need you." Evelyn spoke, crossing her arms and looking back up at the cat.
"It's not a question of if, but when. You know, I'm always with you." The cat speaks, grin sharpening as he follows her towards the door. He climbs down from his perch, yellow eyes locked on the girl.
"You know, going to that woman is only going to get you hurt, in the end. You and her are not compatible. She is everything you despise. Once someone you knew and loved, now someone you hate. This isn't a smart course of action. She will not help you get him back."
Evelyn ignores him, walking back towards the tower entrance. He blocks her way, but she reaches past him anyway, pulling a key from her pocket. He snatches it in his teeth and vanishes.
"Hey! Blasted cat!" Evelyn huffs. "One thing after another.." She looks to Lucanis. "This was supposed to be a quick visit, and now that cat has just extended it. So get comfortable. I need Cora, and that grinning menace stole my key. There's no telling where he's gone." She was clearly irritated, trying to think where he could've gone.. "Wonderland is so vast." She swore under her breath.
"I guess I owe an explanation. My plan was to get Cora into my back pocket in case I needed her strength in the fight to come. This, along with the items from the armory, are what was going to help seal that. And the staff is a dragon's eye staff. Solas helped me get the eye but i had to forge the staff myself." She explains, hoping Lucanis understands.
"Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are expecting people native to Thedas. They're used to things the way they are with normal people. But they aren't expecting me. I also, coincidentally, have access to volumes Solas used to teach me with. He taught me a lot about Thedas, and stuff from all over. My magic is not native to Thedas. Nor is my fighting style. Nor my experience in previous wars. I am descended directly from a God, and angels. I should know how to fight them."
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Lucanis Dellamorte ࿐ྂ
Lucanis watches her walk ahead, his stride quiet in contrast to her heels striking stone. He takes in every flicker of light, every shift of shadow, every object that seems a little too aware. Wonderland is not a place he’d admit discomfort in, but his gaze never settles for long — always tracking, always measuring.
“Mm,” he hums when she mentions will shaping the space, “then Wonderland’s understanding of my ‘will’ is more creative than I anticipated.”
Creative, Spite echoes in his mind with a low, amused growl. Or deranged. I like this place already.
Lucanis doesn’t dignify that with a reaction. He listens in silence as Evelyn moves through history—her storms, her scarred homeland, Solas’s guiding hand. Her voice carries weight, memory, the kind of pain people tend to forget assassins recognize with a single glance.
“You speak of it plainly,” Lucanis comments, eyes following the chandeliers warming to life. “Pain that old rarely allows plain words. Either you are used to hurting… or you are used to hiding it.”
He doesn’t press. He has no need. When she opens the door to the armory, Lucanis’s brows rise a fraction at the sudden glow of the Vorpal Blade. The suit of armor reshaping itself onto her earns a slight tilt of his head — impressed, but understated.
“Useful craftsmanship,” he remarks quietly. “Clean lines. Efficient weight. Someone here knew how to outfit a warrior.”
Someone who liked killing, Spite offers approvingly. We would get along.
Lucanis ignores him again.
He steps lightly as Evelyn gathers supplies, taking in the vials, the staff, the eerie eye set in its hook. When the emaciated cat appears, Lucanis’s hand moves instinctively to a knife — not brandished, but ready. His expression never changes, though the tension in his stance sharpens briefly.
He watches the exchange silently, gaze flicking between Evelyn and the grinning creature. Her irritation, the cat’s goading, the strange intimacy in its taunts — all of it catalogued with the detached interest of someone who has lived in more cult halls and cursed crypts than polite company.
When the cat steals the key and vanishes, Lucanis exhales a quiet, measured breath. “Well,” he says, “I cannot say I expected our pursuit to hinge on a skeletal cat with poor manners.” Lucanis rolls his eyes internally, then turns to Evelyn fully as she lays out her plan — Cora, the armory, the dragon-eye staff, her divine bloodline, her knowledge of gods and wars.
The crow listens without interrupting, head slightly inclined, his gaze unwavering. When she finishes, he speaks with the calm certainty of someone who’s walked into worse odds and come out bloodied but breathing.
“You owe me no apology,” Lucanis says quietly. “Chaos rarely troubles me. It is… familiar.” He steps closer, eyes drifting to the endless corridors of Wonderland, then back to her. “If you need Cora, we will find her. If you need strength, you will have mine. And if these gods expect prey—” A faint, dangerous smile touches his lips. “—they would do well to adjust their expectations.”
Yes, Spite hisses, thrilled. Let us remind a few gods what fear tastes like.
Lucanis lifts a brow, eyes narrowing slightly. A pause.
“And should your… companion return,” Lucanis adds, meaning the cat, “I will handle him.”
Oh, yes. Please. Spite practically vibrates. I want to see what color he bleeds.
Lucanis remains composed, eyes steady on Evelyn. “Where does a creature like that tend to run when it wants to be found?”
“Admit it—you’d rather fight me than be alone with your thoughts.” (Kuai Liang)
ENEMIES TO LOVERS PROMPTS || Accepting || @sasorikigai
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kuai Liang ࿐ྂ
Hanzo’s voice slices through the stillness of the training yard, cold and sharp as the night air. “Admit it,” he says, gaze fixed like a drawn blade, “you’d rather fight me than face your own thoughts.”
Kuai Liang’s jaw tightens, the muscles in his shoulders coiling like a spring. Frost gathers along the edges of his gauntlets, not as threat—at least, not yet—but as instinct, a reflection of the discipline he’s honed over decades. His eyes flick to Hanzo, narrow and calculating. “You presume much,” he replies evenly, voice low and steady. “I do not fight to avoid myself, Hanzo. I fight because I choose the opponent before me. You are… a convenient one.”
Hanzo tilts his head, lips curving in a faint, teasing smirk. “Convenient? That’s the best you can muster?” His tone carries both challenge and disbelief, as if daring Kuai to rise to it.
A thin line of frost traces Kuai’s lips as he exhales, controlled and deliberate. He steps closer, narrowing the distance between them just slightly, each footfall precise, each movement a statement. “Do not mistake fear for weakness, Hanzo. My thoughts are not so easily bested. You… are another matter.”
The wind picks up, rustling the banners that hang from the walls, but the tension between them is thicker than the night air. Hanzo shifts, readying himself with the subtle, lethal grace Kuai has come to recognize, and something in Kuai tightens reflexively. The years of Lin Kuei training sharpen every instinct.
“I suppose,” Kuai continues, voice low, steady, laced with the barest hint of challenge, “that if I were to admit it, I’d say… you push me further than any other. And that alone makes facing you worth the effort.”
“I do not enjoy being bested,” Kuai adds, frost glinting like steel in his eyes, “but I respect skill. And you… have enough to command my attention. Consider yourself warned.”
The moment stretches, both men poised between challenge and restrained hostility, a tension built on years of rivalry and grudging acknowledgment. Kuai’s breath rises in a small cloud, steady as ice, while Hanzo’s presence radiates heat and fire. And somewhere in that unspoken struggle, both understand—neither is willing to yield, yet neither would walk away untested.
Slowly working on replies I owe, caught a real nasty cold that just seems like it's never going to leave! Been resting lots, and drinking tea :)
𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬
(where fury and desire share the same pulse)
Conflict & Confrontation
“You really think I’d ever trust you again after what you did?”
“Careful. You’re standing awfully close for someone who swore they hated me.”
“Every time I see your face, I remember exactly why I can’t stand you.”
“You’ve got some nerve showing up here after everything.”
“I hate how you always make me feel like the villain.”
“We’re supposed to be working together, not killing each other.”
“Say what you want, but you wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t still care.”
“You think I don’t see through you? I know exactly what game you’re playing.”
Tension & Proximity
“If you keep glaring at me like that, people will start to think we’re flirting.”
“You’re bleeding. Sit down. I didn’t say I cared, I said you’re bleeding.”
“Stop moving. The enemy will hear you—and I’m not carrying you out of here again.”
“Why do you always have to stand this close when we argue?”
“You hate me so much, yet here you are—protecting me.”
“If you want me gone, say it. Otherwise, stop looking at me like that.”
“Admit it—you’d rather fight me than be alone with your thoughts.”
“You don’t get to call me that name. Not anymore.”
Allies by Necessity
“The irony of fighting side by side with you isn’t lost on me.”
“We need to focus on surviving this, not each other.”
“You saved my life—why?”
“We both know this alliance will fall apart the second we win.”
“If I die out here, don’t you dare pretend to mourn me.”
“You’re the last person I wanted watching my back, but… I guess I’m glad you did.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.” — “You didn’t have to.”
Cracks in the Armor
“For someone who hates me, you sure can’t stop looking at me.”
“I told myself I wouldn’t care if you got hurt, but I lied.”
“I should hate you. I want to hate you.”
“Don’t touch me—because if you do, I won’t stop you.”
“You think this changes anything? It doesn’t. I still can’t stand you.”
“You kissed me just to shut me up, didn’t you?”
“I can’t decide if I want to kill you or kiss you.”
“You always said I’d be the death of you. Maybe you were right.”
Emotional Wounds & Betrayal
“You took everything from me—and I still can’t let you go.”
“You betrayed me. You don’t get to act like the victim.”
“Why did you save me? Guilt? Pity?”
“You said you’d never lie to me. Was that just another lie?”
“All that hatred—does it make it easier to forget what we used to be?”
“You left me to die. Do you know what that does to a person?”
“You were the one person I was supposed to destroy. Instead, you ruined me.”
Quiet Moments Between Chaos
“Don’t look at me like that. I can’t fight you when you look at me like that.”
“I don’t remember when I stopped hating you.”
“You’re the last person I expected to see here.”
“I hate that I trust you more than anyone else.”
“We could pretend—just for tonight—that none of this ever happened.”
“Every time I think I’ve forgotten you, you find a way to remind me.”
“I don’t know what scares me more—that I want you, or that you might want me too.”
“If we survive this, what then? Do we go back to being enemies… or something else?”
Evelyn observes Lucanis as he spoke, just listening to his words, letting them sink in. Solas did keep secrets. Topics he often avoided. Things he refused to speak about in the 8 years they'd known each other, even into their relationship. Lucanis wasn't wrong about that. The elf had been careful with his words around her. She refused to admit Lucanis was right. Merely squared her shoulders, subtly taking a breath.
“I did. He helped me with.. things. Things I didn't know how to navigate on my own. I.. felt I owed him, so I followed him.” She was quiet, as she spoke. And he was right about that too. She trusted him and now he's gone. Careful, Evelyn.. Don't spiral again. She spent enough time locked away. She chews the inside of her cheek.
She was being promised people who would be with her to help her, if she joined the veilguard. She hums again. “You really want to know? I don't think you're prepared. It's nothing like here.” She knew that her home realm, The Pale Realm, had frozen over again in the days following Solas's disappearance. As her heart froze over.
She doesn't want to think about it. but it's better than letting Cora take over again. She could feel her, over the last few days, itching to be let out. Not often speaking, but making her presence known. A blazing heat. Rage. She places the loaf down, back onto the shelf, folding her hands in front of her again.
“Not nearly as unknowable? There's a lot you don't know. Parts of me only Solas knows. You don't know what I've done. You will, one day, though, if you mean what you say.” She takes a soft breath. If he meant what he said…
“If you truly wish to join me in Wonderland, then you shall. Just stick by me and do not wander off.” She exits the pantry, walking out of the dining room area. She would not jeopardize what was here. She could just return through the Eluvian that brought her here. Though last she heard it was destroyed… "And do not be surprised if you take on an outfit or a version of yourself you feel more comfortable in. Wonderland likes to get into your head."
She steps outside, looking up at the giant wolf statue for a moment, gaze softening just a touch, before she focuses her magic, shadows pooling at her hands, raising them before her, before ripping open the portal, like a tear in reality. It was cold, and dark. She knew exactly where this was going.
She hesitates a moment, before stepping through. Her outfit changes on arrival, taking on a thicker version of her current outfit. She'd stepped right into a dark castle. It was cold, the wind howling outside. She uses her magic, every torch on the wall lighting up, revealing white and gold accented architecture. "Home sweet home..” Something felt.. off.. In this place. “The air is charged, here, step carefully. And do not listen to anything you hear.”
⇢ ˗ˏˋ Lucanis Dellamorte ࿐ྂ
Lucanis steps through the portal a heartbeat after her, the cold swallowing him whole. Wonderland — or whatever she calls this place — bites like it has teeth. It feels alive in a way that makes even. Spite go silent for half a moment, listening.
Then the demon purrs.
Oh… this one has claws. I like it already.
Lucanis ignores the thrill in its voice, his gaze sweeping the frost-laden hall as Evelyn’s magic sparks every torch awake. Gold flashes in the firelight, white stone gleaming beneath layers of chill, the long corridor stretching out like a throat waiting to swallow the unwary.
Lucanis takes a few steps closer to her, not touching, but near enough that if the realm lunges, it won’t reach her first.
“You speak like you’re leading me into a storm you think I can’t weather,” he says quietly, eyes following the drifting shadows like hunters in the corner of his vision. “But I promise you —there is nothing here colder than what I’ve stood in before.”
A whisper of amusement ghosts across his face as he takes in her new attire, then glances down at himself to check what Wonderland might have done to him. The outfit remains the same—for now. “Seems your home is still figuring out what to dress me in,” he murmurs. “I’d appreciate if it avoids feathers.”
Spite snickers at that.
Feathers. Yes. Give him wings. Let him molt despair.
Lucanis exhales sharply through his nose, half annoyance, half resignation. When she warns him not to listen to anything he hears, he tilts his head slightly, considering. The air hums here—he can feel it, as if the walls inhale with them. “Voices don’t frighten me,” he says. “I’ve lived with one in my skull long enough.”
Spite stretches luxuriously at the acknowledgment.
Tell her I am very polite company.
He does not.
Instead, Lucanis looks at Evelyn fully, his expression gentler than anything he’s offered the realm around them.
“You said I’d see the parts of you only Solas knew.” He nods once. “Then show me. I’m still here.” A pause. Just long enough for sincerity to settle like dust. “And I will stay close. I don’t intend to lose you to this place. Or let it take anything from you that you aren’t willing to give.”
The castle groans as if listening. The torches flare. The cold deepens. Lucanis steps forward with the calm of someone who has walked into death before and learned its patterns. “Lead the way, Evelyn,” the crow says softly. “I’ll follow.”
𝕴. 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊. 𝕳𝖊𝖗. 𝕾𝖔. 𝕸𝖚𝖈𝖍.
