. b a s t a r d .

indie rp blog for alistair theirin penned by bash. 18+ and mutuals only.

[theheirin]

whirlwiind‌:

she always wants to kiss him, smelly or not, and that… that was the entire problem. a desperation for intimacy that crossed boundaries she had never been taught - boundaries that seem ingrained in the core of his person. if she had her way, she would always be as close to him as possible: holding his hand, leaning on him for support, curled up against him at night. it’s difficult to sleep between the nightmares and the noises, but if it was him- she would sleep better if she could listen to his heart and his breathing. she functions better when she knows he’s there with her. and there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with any of it, but it made her FORWARD and BLUNT and- 

maybe a little too much to handle for someone like him.

she’s mid-step when his words reach her and she stops in place, her foot hovering inches above the ground. they way they are spoken is quick and inconsequential, but the words themselves are heavy and purposeful. the water’s cold, but there are plenty of ways to keep warm. an invitation without being direct. an offer without truly extending one. her foot lowers to the ground, toes pushing against the dirt as she turns to look at him. 

another woman - a more LUSTFUL woman - would only see rippling muscles pulled taught by the cold, but she sees the blush in his chest and his cheeks and all the way up to the tips of his ears. the way his smile reaches his eyes and the hand that remains extended to mindlessly pet marco. the softness around the edges of his form and lingering in the way he looks at her. 

❝ are you cold? ❞ it’s an innocent enough question, but there’s another meaning layered beneath the obvious. ❛ are you sure? do you want me here? only if you’re ready. no need to rush. ❜ she kicks off her boots and pulls of her gloves, shedding her clothes until she’s in nothing but her undershirt. everything is still more or less covered as she wades into the water, but the option to remove everything is left up to him. it seems a good compromise, but her skin still itches and feels heavy. 

maker, it IS freezing. cold enough that it cuts through the fat on her legs and straight down to the bone. she’s shivering the second the water reaches her thighs, arms shaking and desperate for his warmth. but there’s something slowing her movements as she walks further in the water and it isn’t the cold. 

her heart is beating frantically against her ribs. her breathing stammers as a nervousness that she only feels in his presence settles in her chest. she stops when the water’s come up to her chest, hesitating for a moment, only to be thrown forward when marco rears up out of the water behind her in an attempt to settle his paws on her shoulders. he yelps when his paws slip off her shoulder, dew claws digging harshly at her skin. she nearly goes under, hands lashing out to grab anything she can reach in an attempt to stay upright. not that she can’t swim but- 

she can’t swim with a dog on her back. 

‘FREEZING,’ he says a bit breathlessly, the heat blossoming across his chest and face belying how cold he truly is.  there’s a lump in his throat that wasn’t there previously as he takes her in, just in her undershirt that’s now turned sheer from the water.  he can see her breast-band through it.  it’s clinging to her goosebump-covered flesh, the hairs on her skin standing straight up from the cold.  

has his tongue always felt like sand paper?  

maker, he’s warm enough to turn the little stream nearly to BOILING.  he’s really, really thankful that the water covers up the lower half of him.  not that she probably cares, but...

this is new.  

intimacy.  caring for someone IN THIS WAY.  he’s knocked from his breathless, awed staring when marco rears up onto her back and she goes flying, nearly under the surface of the water, and instinct has him throwing himself forward to catch her.  a purebred mabari weighs half as much as he does, AT LEAST, and elena -- 

the result of both dog and man’s panicked attempts to get to her result in a painful collision of bodies -- her elbow cocks him in the jaw, his knee slams into her calf, but they’ve both managed to avoid going COMPLETELY underwater.  

he GRUNTS as he tries to right himself. 

‘i suppose marco thinks you need to be wetter,’ he says before it even occurs to him the potential for innuendo in his words. and then it HITS him.  ‘FOR THE BATH. i meant for the bath.’

[theheirin]

starter call! mutuals only! i need to get some threads goin over here.  all will be posted tomorrow.

[theheirin]

whirlwiind‌:

she smiles at the way he mumbles in his sleep when her fingers brush over his skin. cheese. the idiot loves his cheese. and he is an idiot. a beautiful, amazing, heartrendingly sweet idiot. once everything is finished and they have a more permanent home, she’ll bake him anything he wants with cheese. bread bowls and cheesy soup, flaky pastries with creamed cheese centers, crackers with cheese baked on top til they’ve turned golden brown. she’ll order him brie and fresh berries and goat’s cheese and sharp cheddars and fine wines and- 

her brow pulls together when he pats the ground beside him, like he’s inviting her to lay down next to him. red blossoms through her cheeks and up into her ears, but it isn’t because of his invitation. why would i mind a BEAUTIFUL woman in my tent? her fingers flinch back, curling in on themselves, before spreading across his cheek again and she leans forward, pressing a kiss against his forehead.  

❝ i can’t sleep, ❞ she admits, rather needlessly, whispering against his skin. she shifts her weight and lays down with her back to him, pressing back up against him. a little sigh of content and her eyes slip closed, adjusting until she’s comfortable. she might be able to sleep, like this, but she doubts he’ll let her stay. ❝ i can’t stop thinking about the way isolde spoke to you… ❞

like dirt. like worse than dirt. for a crime in which he was just as much the victim as she had been. and then the fact that he was, in essence, a prince. and yes, he had said that he would never be considered for the throne and that he did not want it, but she was not so stupid as to actually believe that those PEOPLE wouldn’t force him into the role of pawn. a tool to be used when it’s convenient and tossed away. 

it’s so frustrating that the tension escapes from her heart and oozes into her body, shoulders stiff and rigid and teeth grinding together audibly. where will she be then, a girl in half mad with love who had no titles or land or merit to her name? and he allowed it to happen. ❝ and that you lied to me about… ❞ 

a lie of omission, yes, and one that she did not wish to hold against her, but the negative possibilities are making her heart ache in her chest. how much more grief would she be faced with before the maker saw fit to permit her happiness? 

he’s beginning to stir a bit as she settles in next to him, back to his own, but he’s still half-asleep, still groggy enough that he rolls over until he’s curled around her, one arm clutching her close to his body as though she were a pillow.  he buries his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of HER, letting out a gentle sigh.  she’s so warm that it eases some of his anxiety, the tension over terrible orlesian cheese melting away as he simply lays there with her, consciousness beginning to ease him into waking. 

he should really, really move.  

but all of his protestations about doing things RIGHT die on his lips.  because she’s warm, they can’t sleep, and in spite of everything else, having her here nestled tightly against his body is what feels the MOST right.  he chuckles, low and throaty as he simply stays there.

‘isolde has always been and will always be a raging bitch,’ he reassures her. ‘actually, we should introduce her to morrigan.  i’ve got five gold on the bitch of the wilds turning her into a toad on sight.’

he breathes, once in, once out as her next words drop a leaden weight into his stomach.  ‘i didn’t LIE, exactly.  i just...didn’t tell you.  i suppose that makes me a royal bastard on both counts?’ 

it’s spoken with his same good-humor, but the guilt he feels is enough to finally force him awake.  he leans up on one elbow, peering down at her, a frown on his lips. 

‘it’s never really SEEMED important. but i suppose cailan waltzing face-first into an ogre’s fist sort of...er...negates that a bit.’

[theheirin]

( HOVER ) hovering their lips over mine’s.

meme || @whirlwiind || ACCEPTINGCW BLOOD, INJURY

‘alistar. stop fussing. i’m FINE,’ ellie whines, even as he digs around in the small pack on his waist for bandages and clean cloth to tend to her wounds.  they aren’t severe – not as far as he can TELL anyway – but the fact remains that he doesn’t have magic to try and suss out the extent of the damage.  instead, he has to rely on his EYES, and what his EYES are telling him is that he can’t tell if it’s her blood on her face or the blood from the bandits who had ambushed them.  

‘wynne can heal me when we get back to camp. it’s FINE. I’M fine,’ but her protestations fall on deaf ears.

he fishes a bit of crude bandaging out of his pouch and douses it with water from his canteen, stooping down so that he can inspect the damage.  with a gentleness that one wouldn’t expect him to possess, he tilts her chin upwards and begins dabbing the wet cloth at the cut above her eye and her lip.  he himself is sporting a magnificent black eye, and two of his ribs will need tending to by wynne once they get back to camp. 

it takes almost no time at all for the once-pristine white cloth to turn red with blood as he cleans, tongue between his teeth in concentration, and he has to repeat the process with fresh linen three or four more times before he has mostly rid her face of blood.  thank the maker that though she’s sporting a fair few scratches and a split lip, none of them are TERRIBLY deep nor serious.  he’s careful not to aggravate the TENDER bruises now blossoming on her cheek and forehead.  he brushes his thumb over her uninjured cheek as he finishes, throat dry, at the relief that even though she seems KEEN to rush into the middle of battle, she’s relatively unharmed.  he fishes out another spare bit of linen to press to her lip gently after wetting it again.

it’s easily the worst of the injuries, and it has yet to stop bleeding.  it’s swollen and angry-looking, and he hopes that the cloth is more soothing than an aggravation.  she doesn’t SEEM to be protesting; instead, she’s staring up at him with a tenderness in her eyes that makes his breath stagger, and he swallows, throat dry, dropping the cloth in his distraction.  

even beaten up and bloody from a fight, he still wants to kiss her, even more-so now that he KNOWS she’s safe.  he swallows again, unaware of moving closer, head canted as though to capture her lips with his own before he snaps out of it and steps away, fishing the last bit of clean cloth out of his pack, dousing it with water, and offering it to her as his face turns beet-red.

‘t-thanks,’ she stammers, and he has to turn away to keep from kissing her with the pretty flush that’s creeping up her neck.

he knows how badly a split lip can ache.  

[theheirin]

alistair has a dadbod and nobody can take that away from me 

[whirlwiind-deactivated20211106]

[theheirin]

whirlwiind‌:

@theheirin​ sent:  ( SURPRISE ) being found without an article of clothing  seduction starters. || accepting!!

it’s been four months since she left the circle with duncan and, in the quiet moments when she finds herself alone, she is still in awe of nature’s beauty. the sights and the sounds. the feeling of wind in her hair or her feet in the dirt or the rain on her skin. the chill of cold lake water rushing around you when and the gentle crash of waves on the shoreline. millions and millions of things that she didn’t know she had been missing while living in the circle and now couldn’t imagine living without. 

a storm had just passed and it had left the ground damp and the colors of the wilderness vivid and vibrant. she had agreed with wynne’s insistence that they wait to move on until the roads were dryer, but that didn’t stop her need to move. to wander. to walk the woods while they were saturated both in water and color. she agreed to take marco with her, but otherwise had embarked upon her walk alone. 

she’d been walking for an hour or so, wondering if morrigan had cooked anything for supper or if she would be expected to do so herself, when she marco veers off the path and begins bounding after a sound she can’t quiet make out. some distance rustling or splashing. an animal drinking from water or something similar. she follows after him, curious to see what he’s found, and stops short on the bank of a stream. 

or- well. it’s more…whatever the technical term is for where the stream ends in a body of water that isn’t big enough to be a lake but isn’t small enough to be a pond. before she can stop him, her dog has thrown himself bodily into the water, barking excitedly and she can’t help but appreciate his enthusiasm.  ❝ what’ve you found, boy…? ❞

but before the question has even finished forming on her lips, she sees exactly what has drawn his attention ( though it might be more accurate to say WHO ). 

alistair. except soaking wet and without his shirt or his trousers or- any of his other clothing, if the messy pile of fabric now beneath her feet is any indication. color creeps into her cheeks, her fingers balling in the fabric of her robes, suddenly feeling as though she either wearing entirely too much clothing or seeing something she shouldn’t be. her eyes linger for a bit too long without speaking, something between shock and awe finding her features. 

❝ i-i’m sorry. i didn’t expect- i mean, i was just following marco. i thought you were still at camp with the others. and didn’t you say you never bathed? r-raised by dogs and all that? i- ❞ she laughs weakly at her poor attempt at a joke and turns around, more in an effort to give him privacy than out of the strange sense of embarrassment that has settled into her bones. 

❝ sorry. i’ll leave. ❞ but part of her wants to stay. this was the stuff of poorly written romance novels, wasn’t it? two lovers bathing together in the woods. still, she feels the need to respect his privacy and the pace at which he is comfortable moving in regards to his modesty. it’s HIS body and she shouldn’t ogle him before he’s ready. not naked, at least. ❝ make sure marco gets back to camp, yeah? ❞

he’s never really CARED about the toll the road takes on his personal hygiene, except perhaps when he walks away from a skirmish covered in blood.  he’s meticulous with his armor but less so with his hair and his socks and well...everything else, but even he can’t deny the fact that it’s been too long since ANY of them have been able to enjoy a proper bath.  

not that bathing in a STREAM could be considered a proper bath by any stretch of the imagination, but the fact of the matter is that there is dirt in places he can’t recall ever being NEAR dirt, his stubble is rapidly approaching a full beard due to a lack of shaving, and, as MORRIGAN not-so-subtly pointed out, he reeks.  they all do, to be frank, but he’s not about to have THAT argument with her.  

he quite likes all of his bits and pieces where they are currently positioned, after all.  he fishes the soap he’s been carrying in his pack out, along with his dirty linens, his last clean set of clothes, and a piece of cloth that functions as a rough sort of towel, and makes his way to the stream.  the earth smells like rain, and the air is so thick he can nearly slice it with his sword from the humidity, but it’s nice and cool despite all of that.  the water’s going to be absolutely FRIGID, but given their surroundings, he’ll take what he can get.  he’s no poncy orlesian nobleman, after all, and while he might be rather naive in the ways of woman-wooing, he’s pretty sure that elena would prefer him NOT to smell like wet dog and sweat.

he smiles softly as he thinks about her while stripping down to nothing, tossing his filthy clothes onto the bank.  he tests the water with one toe first and shivers.  of course it’s bloody freezing, but he’s not likely to see another hot bath for WEEKS, unless morrigan decides to get a wild hair to boil him in the stew. 

actually, that might not be so bad.  at least it would be warmer than THIS.  slowly, painfully, he eases himself into the water.  it really only hits him about mid-waist, and it’s cold enough it makes him shiver slightly as he cups his hands and splashes his face and hair with water.  once he’s thoroughly soaked, he starts to methodically scrub at his skin, feeling lighter and freer as his skin goes from dirt-covered back to its normal, golden-brown.  the pine scent of his soap and the cold water clear his head, and for the first time in a long time, he’s able to relax and let down his guard.

that is, until a giant, slobbering, barking BEAST bounds through the water and nearly knocks him flat on his backside, all while assaulting his face with kisses.  his aforementioned lover appears next, and he freezes.

a blush starts to creep up his chest and neck, across his face and to the very tips of his ears.  he’s as red as a tomato, and he reaches up to run a wet hand through his drying hair, smiling sheepishly at her turned back.

‘yes, well,’ he clears his throat awkwardly, coughing into his other hand.  ‘i...er...ahem....that is to say...i doubt you want to kiss some smelly fereldan dog.  ah, no offence,’ he corrects, scratching marco’s ears in apology.  ‘i meant...it’s just...’

and then the words spill out before they can stop them in a tumble. ‘the water’s cold but there are plenty of ways to keep warm.’

[skellsmemes]

Seduction Starters

A mix of actions that focus on the seduction/pinning. Inspiration taken from an array of different memes to put them all together in this one. Feel free to mix prompts to make more specific ones or if reverse them.

send in one of these for my muse’s (RECEIVER) reaction to your muse (SENDER) …

( DOOR ) opening the door for mine to pass.

( STARE ) longingly staring at mine from across the room.

( WATCH ) watching mine while drinking their beverage.

( TOUCH ) “accidentally” briefly touching mine. (example: brief hand touch, knee under the table)

( HOLD ) holding mine’s hand.

( HAND ) kissing mine’s hand.

( GIFT ) giving mine a gift. (example: flowers, jewellery)

( FLOWER ) putting a flower in mine’s hair.

( LETTER ) sending mine a love letter.

( LOCK ) offering my muse a lock of their hair.

( LEAN ) leaning against mine’s side.

( FIX ) fixing or straightening my mine’s clothes.

( DANCE ) leaning in closer while they are slow dancing with mine.

( COMPLIMENT ) complimenting mine.

( STAR ) staring at mine instead of the stares while stargazing.

( PLAY ) playing with mine’s hair.

( BRUSH ) brushing mine’s hair.

( LIP ) biting or licking their lower lip.

( SING ) singing to mine.

( GRAZE ) grazing mine’s shoulders with their fingers.

( BECKON ) beckoning to follow them.

( SLIDE ) sliding down their hand down mine’s back.

( CHIN ) grabbing mine’s chin.

( SILENCE ) silencing mine’s by pressing their finger on mine’s lips.

( PUSH ) pushing against the wall. (example: rough or soft pushing against wall)

( SIT ) sitting on their lap.

( HIP ) pulling mine by the hips.

( FACE ) stroking mine’s face.

( HOVER ) hovering their lips over mine’s.

( NECK ) kissing mine’s neck.

( GRIP ) holding mine by the back of the neck.

( SURPRISE ) being found without an article of clothing (example: being found shirtless)

( SECRET ) arriving where they both agreed to meet in secret in the dead of night.

[theheirin]

whirlwiind‌:

@theheirin​ ♡’d for a starter! 

she isn’t certain she will ever be used to how LOUD the ❛ quiet ❜ nights are in the wilderness. when night came in the tower, the silence was palpable. so quiet that she could hear her heart beating and the murmurs of the dreaming apprentices as she lay awake unable to find sleep. in the wild though, the sounds of nature abound. rustling leaves and chirping crickets. the scurrying of animals moving in the brush and the crackling of the fireplace, kept alive by one of her companions until the wee hours of the morning.

half of the time, the noise kept her from sleeping. she lay in her tent, tossing and turning and struggling to find rest, knowing that the dawn would come and she would be forced to trudge onward, weary and lagging. she would count the minutes. the seconds. every beat of her heart causing the dread in her stomach to grow and grow until it spiraled out of control. 

but tonight, something else is eating at her - the rumors of what she would find when they made it to kinloch. mages turned demons and the circle in ashes. but, more than the horrifying news of her home, she finds herself kept awake by what she had seen in redcliffe. not the demons or the shambling dead or the weeping women or the barely alive men, but the way alistair had been treated. 

it didn’t seem to faze him, but watching nobles whose names she could barely remember treat the person she was slowly coming to care for more than anyone in all of thedas like the dung on their shoes had hurt her in a way she couldn’t explain. so, after more than three hours had passed since she announced she was retiring for the night, she rises to her feet and sneaks across the camp without putting her boots on, setting down cross legged next to his bedroll. 

❝ alistair, are you awake? ❞ her finger traces along the angle of his jaw, her voice dropped to a whisper so as not to wake the others sleeping the night away. there is a small part of her that considers rolling onto the ground beside him and pressing against him, but that is the foolish notion of an infatuated maiden. ❝ i’d like to talk with you, if you don’t mind…. ❞

he’s used to the sounds of sleeping outdoors.  the crickets, the wind rustling the leaves...they’re the comforting noise that endures when everything else is falling to pieces around him.  they soothe his tired soul and make him feel -- though he has never really HAD one -- that he’s HOME.

but tonight, he hasn’t been able to sleep either.  for an hour, he spent it tossing and turning in his bedroll, staring up at the ceiling of his tent, unsure of WHY he can’t sleep.  well.  mostly unsure.  the type of unsure that comes from ACTUALLY knowing why but refusing to admit it to himself.  because the truth is, he’s worried.  worried about redcliffe, and eamon, the closest things he’s had to a home and a family in...

well, EVER.  

he should loathe the man.  but he’s too TIRED at this point to care anymore about being the pebble in the man’s shoe in regards to his marriage.  isolde is a raging bitch -- always has been -- and the way she’d treated him when elena had taken them there ON HIS REQUEST TO HELP EAMON.  well.  suffice to say that elena’s thinly veiled annoyance at isolde’s behavior was immensely satisfying.

he finally drifts off into sleep, though it’s not exactly RESTFUL.  full of stinky orlesian cheese and walking dead.  her touch makes him mumble in his sleep, something about cheese and something else indiscernible, before he finally wakes, blinking tiredly up at her.  

‘oh, yes, sorry -- i was just resting my eyelids,’ he yawns, patting the bedroll next to him, too exhausted to be aware of just what he’s DOING.  ‘why would i mind a BEAUTIFUL woman in my tent in the middle of the night,’ he mutters, eyelids fluttering a bit as he clutches at his pillow.

[theheirin]

                                           some are loyal soldiers while these other thorns are rosy. 

                                   and if you never know who you can trust, then trust me you’ll be lonely.

                             i said hey look, ma, I MADE IT.

                                       independent alistair theirin penned by bash.

[0ynes]

Jonathan Groff, Kristen Bell - Get This Right (From “Frozen 2”/Outtake/A… How dare they take out the cutest love song in Disney’s history???

[makerguideme]

please bear with me as my schedule is shit lately. i’m going to try to do everything here and on alistair next friday as it’s the next time i’m off work.

[afamineinyourheart]

Short girls domming guys way taller than them is so fantastic.

[theheirin]

                                           some are loyal soldiers while these other thorns are rosy. 

                                   and if you never know who you can trust, then trust me you’ll be lonely.

                             i said hey look, ma, I MADE IT.

                                       independent alistair theirin penned by bash.

[acducan-deactivated20190805]

— are you sick of the fact that dwarves are completely under represented in the darp? are you a fan of dwarves who want to step on you while asking you tell them they’re the prettiest princess? what about women who do NOT know how to handle intricate, nonpolitical social situations with any grace whatsoever? if the answer to any of those questions was YES you might consider following BRAVIA AEDUCAN! 

[whirlwindamell-deactivated20190]

@theheirin sent “[ good ]” from x || ACCEPTING. 

they had been walking since sunrise, slowly trudging along the road from redcliffe towards orzammar and kinloch when the view of the lake opened up and her heart caught in her chest. a soft sound of awe escaped her and she’d veered hard off the edge of the well worn road, stumbling down the slope leading towards the lake’s edge. she barely managed to catch herself before falling into the water, toes and staff digging hard into the ground beneath her, but she can’t say she would’ve CARED if she had. 

she was much to in awe with the sight of nothing but WATER for miles and miles and miles. a sight that, for the first time, isn’t framed by windows. there’s grass under her feet. she can feel the wind in her hair. somewhere off behind her there’s crickets chirping. she could go ANYWHERE that she wants. anywhere that she can see. all she has to do is want it enough. all she has to do is put her mind to it. 

it’s that thought that causes her to throw down her staff, fingers working down the fastenings of her robes. somewhere behind her she hears the sound of alistair’s armor as he tries to follow her down the bank, but she can’t hear what he calls out to her. the bulk of her robes slip to the ground in a pile around her feet and she kicks her boots off. 

faintly, she hears, ❛ elena, what are you DOING? ❜ and it sounds concerned but the words don’t register before she throws herself into the water. 

there is a crash. a crash and a swooshing noise as water rushes all around her. several kicks of her feet bring her back to the surface, her hair matted against her face and laughter ringing through the air. alistair had been pacing the bank, a blur of motion beyond where her eyes allowed her to see clearly. 

❝ COME IN. ❞ she demands, patting the water and giggling as droplets splashed up into her face. her body doesn’t even register that it’s cold, if it is, a sort of excitement and adrenaline coursing through her veins that she’s never felt before. heavy pieces of armor fall to the ground, stripped off one by one as she creeps towards the water’s edge, toes digging into mud.  ❝ hurry up, alistair! ❞

❝ give me a moment! it’s not easy to take all of this- ❞ he cuts off when her hand reaches for his ankle,  ❝ don’t you dare. ❞ 

another little giggle. a sound of delight. she’s looking him directly in the face as he sheds the past piece of metal. leliana seems to have caught onto the scheme and is standing behind him, grinning. elena’s toes sink into the mud from the weight of him and she lurches back in time with leliana’s hands colliding with his back, sending him flying into the water. 

the crash he makes is louder than the one she had. she’s circling around him, waiting for him surface, and when he does she smiles and closes the distance between them. a stream of lake water comes from his mouth and it takes a second or two for him to get a breath, but when he does she presses her lips to his cheek. ❝ feels good, right? ❞

sometime along the lines of you’re lucky you’re cute is his response, a hand reaching up to push hair out of his face before clumsily trying to move tangled, wet curls out of her’s. it’s tedious work, but after a few moments she can see more than just black and blurs and she hooks a leg around his waist. 

❝ am i cute? ❞

❝ cute, but bad. ❞

a feigned gasp of shock, she leans forward to whisper, ❝ you were singing a different tune last night. calling me a GOOD GIRL. don’t you remember? i’m such a good girl? ❞ 

the tips of his ears go red and she grins, another clever remark forming on her lips when his hand comes out of the water and shoves her back down into the depths. she pops back up for air laughing and for a moment it’s like they really are just two YOUNG lovers. no world to save. no nightmares to plague their sleep. just her and HIM, full of possibilities. all of nature at their fingertips. and there is no where she would rather be. 

[theheirin]

.

[theheirin]

Tentative starter call? Capping it at 7, mutual only.

[theheirin]

whirlwindamell‌:

there is something SOFT about alistair, despite everything outwardly screaming otherwise. it’s something warm and somehow it feels FAMILIAR, despite being something she’s certain she’s never FELT before. the kind of safety and ease that people were HARD WIRED to seek out. the feeling, warm and sort of LIGHT, fills her every time he smiles and with every jest that passes his lips - to the point where she marvels at him ( FREQUENTLY ), struck by the urge to tell him SOMETHING. 

but she isn’t certain WHAT. 

she rocks to her feet as he puts on his show, balancing atop the log to look at him. from this vantage she’s CLOSER to his height, but still DREADFULLY small. it really does put into perspective how TALL he actually is. or maybe how short SHE is. ❝ my evil master plan has succeeded! morrigan will be shocked to learn how easily you fell for my charms. ❞ she giggles and, she doesn’t know what possesses her, but she lurches forward on the last playful RIBBIT to press her lips to his cheek. 

he freezes, turning BRIGHT red from the neck-up at the feeling of her lips on his cheek.  his expression is one of complete and utter bamboozlement and it takes him a moment to SHAKE out of it.  there’s a SWOOPING feeling in his stomach, and he cannot help but feel the slightest sliver of anticipation -- after all, swooping is bad -- and he’s never had experience with THIS kind of swooping before.  all he knows is that it makes him feel as though he’s about to start choking on air.  and not in an unpleasant way. 

‘right,’ he manages, throat somewhat tight.  ‘well, it worked. i’m clearly no longer a frog.  still a human.  so.  i thank you, my lady, for not letting me spend the rest of my days as a toad.  i’m sure morrigan would have had ENTIRELY too much fun with me.  and by ‘too much fun’, she probably would have used me as an ingredient in something diabolical -- some kind of witchy soup, or something.’

he’s rambling, but he can’t stop.