Alenseress - Alen

"I like the new hair"

"I fail to see how any of this is amusing to you"

They said jump gay people and I said how high

Dushan lore (2/?)

He sides with mages, meeting Dorian. Around the same time Viv appears and they slowly grow closer. Him and Dorian drunk kiss like a few days into knowing each other but, at that point, it's left at that. Dorian moves on having some thing with Cullen and Dushan spends time running from Haven into battles and helping the war refugees. That and mage support/affiliations put him on a cold shoulder with Cassandra

Haven falls, Cullen rejects Dorian and a lot of forming friendships and relationships in the party fall out in general. It hits Dushan hard, the loneliness of it all, once again. He saves a lot of people in Haven and generally gains a kind-hearted reputation in the entire Inquisition by this point. He slowly starts to creep into the party's hearts too, easing the tension and gluing people together

Over time, once the eldest sibling, he pulls in Cole and Sera like a magnet. Silly rogue family that they become. He also forms a deep bond with Mother Giselle despite their rocky relationship. He turns the Skyhold garden into a chapel for her, attends her services and comes to speak with her a lot

With Solas, it's weird. The fade kiss from his romance happens and they're always on the edge of something starting between them, but somehow it doesn't feel romantic. It's complicated. With Viv becoming more and more important in Dushan's life and with others giving more input on him they begin to kinda grow more distant then in Haven

Dorian romance resumes somewhat late in the plot and they're uncontrollable. Absolutely insane dumpster fire of a fling that grows into purest devoted codependency. They start off edgy in Skyhold, after the grief dies down, because Dorian can't work out what Dushan wants from him exactly and Dushan mirrors the energy. They fight, drunk kiss more, play pretend relationship for diplomacy and Dushan declares Dorian his lover to mother Giselle way before they actually get together. Dorian isn't any less bonkers, after Dushan goes into fade and following conversation he ties them together with a spell that would alert Dorian if anything truly bad happens while he's away and would set off a singular huge blast to protect the inquisitor as the last resort. It might or might not involve Dorian's blood. Dushan doesn't know, he had his eyes closed and they agreed to never speak about it. But, after that, Dorian shares the mark Dushan was given in his family cult, giving it new meaning

Empathy (1/2)

//tw gore

The man is already dead when Lance lightly pushes Gwaine against the empty window opening with deliberation of a disappointed mother hen. To sit down, it is, but Gwaine's arse slides right in and he catches himself first with a startled shriek and then a wounded cry. Lance curses, curses some more while pulling him into an upright position and pressing harder on the bleeding wound.

And there it is.

"Jesus Christ."

The man lays right below what once was a windowsill and looks, medically speaking, fresh. Not rigid, but not yet bloated, which is surprising in the dry heat of the late afternoon.

Merlin prefers to silently recite rather than think about, well, the thing.

"Jesus Christ," Elyan echoes with a choked jump in his voice that might be a suppressed gag.

Rigor mortis, livor mortis, algor mortis. Algor mortis, rigor— Jesus, the teeth. Mortis. Jesus fucking Christ. No, rigor—

Merlin knows a curse when he sees one. Doesn't know what kind, but parts of a wholly developed foreign skeleton growing all over the man's body like some Last of Us type of fungus is more than likely not any of the something-something mortis stages. If the cold shock on Lance's face is anything to go by. If the goddamn mutilated, grotesquely absurd corpse is anything to go by.

Leon moves first, dropping off his load a few feet away from the ruin and helping Gwaine to plop himself onto the backpack instead. The recent unspoken rule of action first, questions second sets in motion and the team nervously moves aside, back into the slowly reddening sunlight, in a matter of seconds. Merlin follows, stripping Gwaine off his gear and parrying some poorly executed sex jokes that he forces out through gritted teeth."

Keep running your mouth and I'll send you to walk this," Merlin can't see what exactly Lance's freshly gloved hands do behind Gwaine's back but Gwaine squeaks and punches his own thigh in frustration, "off. All the way to the base."

There isn't actually any malice behind his words, only tired concern. He moves gently while sticking Gwaine with needles from his kit and slowly washing out the torn wound, sun settling lower and lower behind them. At some point Gwaine sits up straighter, pulling away from Merlin's supportive hold, and carries on a light conversation between the five of them. Four, to be more exact, because Merlin quietly drops off his rifle by Elyan's side and nods towards the ruin. The man gives him a heavy look, but no more, really.

White walls burn in the bloody red light of the sunset. The roof is partially caved in and the ruin doesn't really look inhabited by a squatter, so Merlin wonders if the dead man came here to die. The maggot infestation on his mutations is too large and visible to be postmortem, the body looks malnourished to the point of starvation — Merlin notes with a dull ache in his head as he inspects the broken jaw and the necrosis around it. For a brief second, a dangerous thought of trying to trace the magical seal on the curse, to find out where the man came from, but a loud boom of laughter outside makes him jump up anxiously and back up a few steps, bumping into a pile of collapsed bricks. He picks a piece up, staring between the stone and the body in front of him for a few seconds, considering how much time they have before Arthur's voice comes through the comms again. He stares, and nearly misses the movement in dead man's eyes and some bump rolls down his to the side of his nose. Merlin's breath hitches and a panicked spell almost escapes his mouth when another small bump falls out and he comes to a sickening realization that the unnatural white of the dead eyes isn't of the eyes at all.

The corpse cries and if Merlin cries real tears with it as he mechanically piles up rocks on top of it with his bare hands, he doesn't feel it.

[yeah, you're beautiful, don't have to try

darling, you look divine]

[eyes don't lie]

Just saw and I'm absolutely sobbing and begging you to look at this, this is such a gorgeous study with a little bit of personal touch I'm so in love

Fell in LOVE with @alenseress style and how they do Dorian, so I did a study! I might do a few more! I highly recommend giving them a follow

Haunted estate au — RE8

The agenda got me

we all know and love smitten-yet-ridden-with-guilt-and-insecurities-Thorin, so here - I wrote some!

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Gandalf was right; Thorin is not cutting a very fine figure as King Under the Mountain. He knows that much, his bruise-dark undereyes and unkempt hair hardly adding to his already lacklustre appearance (much still needs done, and rest is for those more deserving than he). He had, however, not shorn his beard since the Battle, and while poorly maintained, the little length since gained might mask his less appealing facets. Maybe.

Thorin had never been a vain dwarf. His faults were many, he could see that much now (…not a ssssingle… the memories still makes his skin crawl), but vanity had rarely tormented him, despite having long been aware he would never hold any great dwarven beauty. Kili's pitiful beard was a family heirloom, of sorts; the line of Durin had seen many an unpolished gem. However…

Curls of spun gold, framing steely eyes. A mouth cut from stone…

Now, this was rather late in life to wish he had been born with some beauty to tempt with. His hammer bears down on the white-hot metal once more. If the thoughts could not be forced from his mind, his hands would force them into his craft. The blade is taking shape. Thorin was confident in his smithing; bending metal to his will had always come easier than attempting to do the same with the councils of Erebor. He would not falter now. And yet, as the garden trowel glows under his attention and the flames of his forge, he worries. It is not a courting gift, he swears it. Bilbo has simply found a patch of weeds in one of the less collapsed atriums of the outer wings, and how he had shone when he told the company of the things he would grow there.

Thorin is glad for it. Carving a garden from the rockface would have been much harder to explain away as a token of their friendship. But oh, to have Bilbo take root here like this. Plant your trees, watch them grow… Would Thorin get to see that acorn again? Would it make his heart claw its way out of his chest to lay itself bare for a hobbit that would never spare a longing glance for the likes of him? No… Thorin shakes his head with a rueful smile as he douses the finished tool in cold water, steam hissing. If Bilbo Baggins were ever to have his head turned by a dwarf, it would surely be someone much more handsome than this haggard King. The Shire has no kings, and Thorin was glad for it - it would be infinitely worse could he entertain the idea that Bilbo might come to admire the lustre of his crown, even if never that of his smile.

Thorin carves his maker's mark into the wooden handle, wincing at his own shameful indulgence, and yet unable to truly regret it. Thorin would provide his gem with the tools to plant his garden, and if Bilbo would stay a single day longer than planned to tend to it… Well, the whole of the mountain should be merrier for it. Yes, he decides, a set of gardening tools could not hurt. The sketches of a hundred courting bead designs covering his desk could yet be contained if he permits his heart this less perilous outlet.