shark vs the universe
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we're not kids anymore.
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hello vonnie
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@vowspurned
i will be moving alistair over to my multi-muse blog: @turpisdeus - this is for my peace of mind and to bring down the long list of sideblogs i am accumulating when i could just be using this multi-muse properly. drafts i still owe here will be transferred over to this new blog and you will be tagged from there for visibility. if you have any questions, let me know! but please feel free to unfollow here.
TURPISDEUS —* TAINTED GOD — ❝ well, you were laid INVERSE, living on a promised word, well, I am the r o s e you relinquished again. ❞ — INDEPENDENT & MUTUALS ONLY multi-muse roleplay featuring alistair theirin from the dragon age series.
MAKE THIS MAN A FATHER!
Okay, now that I'm done shouting, Alistair Theirin is a father. That man was born to be a father, he is a father in canon depending on choices made. He acts like he'd be terrible at it, but he's the dad that's holding the baby with one arm, holding them by the head and doing other shit. That baby is passed out draping his arm like a sleeping sloth. That man is the one.
Kieran becomes the most important thing in his life even with limited contact in one of my verses, do not test me.
Alistair Theirin is a father.
He will survive if his partner doesn't want kids, he'll just be sad about it, but he'll get over it. But otherwise? If its feasible (I know the taint and blah blah blah but trust me we can get around that) he's in.
Your so annoying. . Unfortunately in a kinda sexy way. ...
Oh it's over for you idiot now I'm in your head
Marina Moschen in Deus Salve o Rei ↳ Chapitre 104.
— And if you had not been recruited? What would have happened, instead? — I would have turned into a drooling lunatic, slaughtered the grand cleric and run through the streets of Denerim in my small clothes, I guess. — Your self-awareness does you credit. — I thought you’d like that.
Where he is restless movement, she is stillness; hands neatly placed upon her lap, closed fists that nevertheless do not strain. Stiff, not casual. Her gaze accompanies Alistair, nonetheless, observant of the hand that messes his hair, the steps that bring him closer. Morrigan crosses her arms, a flimsy barrier naturally held up. It doesn't protect her from the quiet, sharp ache at his vulnerable look and more vulnerable words.
Truth be told, she had not known to expect resistance on that specific point. Her expectation had been that Alistair would want as little to do with the child as possible; it would be her child also, after all. Hindsight makes it seem an obvious mistake. With how he struggled with his parentage — the impact bastardy had on his life — how could he wish to inflict the same on another?
The child is a means to an end, yet he worries about his role regarding them. Foolish; exceedingly good-hearted, as well. Morrigan supposes both are equally part of why she had oft found him so vexing. " Your father chose to indulge in dalliances and to ignore the consequences of it later. 'Twas immature and quite cowardly at that, and altogether not the same as this. "
" There is a purpose to what is to be done, " A pause, lingering, and she wets her lips — a moment to find what to say next. There is naught of simple in this; naught of easy in navigating a course she is only half certain of. The aching sympathy felt aids not. If Morrigan asks him to be as Maric, is it not in the same breath she commits to Flemeth's path?
The parallels are easy to draw. A man who abandons his child and life moves on, a witch to raise said child alone. She has no wish to dwell on what it means, to keep to the path charted for her while longing desperately for freedom.
She will not linger on what it means to take even one step closer to what Flemeth is and meant for her to be.
" And it would never make you the same as he. 'Tis by my request that you would keep your distance — a request I will not withdraw. " Steely, unmovable; Morrigan will not be persuaded otherwise. " I believe it best for all that no further commitment be expected of you. We shall go on our way and, much like myself, the child will grow not knowing of their father nor feeling his absence. The shadow Maric cast over your own life needs not be cast by you in turn. "
He doesn't expect the truth to sound like comfort from her lips. His gaze shifts slowly to look beside him at the woman, as she tells him what they'd be doing is not what Maric had done to him. What his father had done was in fact, cowardice. And what he'd be doing—is saving the lives of more than just himself but of a dear friend. And giving Morrigan what she needs.
Or at least, what she seems to believe she does.
He doesn't deign to understand much of anything, really. She herself has remarked on his willingness to follow even if it was to their certain deaths had their friend not be as forthcoming and good-hearted. Yet, the implications of this coupling have far more complicated futures than they both have been willing to say out loud. But Alistair is beginning to think that regardless, what she speaks will have to be enough. And he does not have the luxury of time to make a thought out decision.
It is tonight—or the Maker may take him come tomorrow.
When she drives home the point of his lack of involvement, one that she will not deviate, he can't help the twinge of loss that he feels all the same. He is young, the thought of marriage and family not a concern for him—or a real possibility given his station in this life. Grey Wardens don't often have the luxury of finding love, and starting families was impossible.
She is offering him what could be his only chance of being a father—and telling him he can't have it. It's a fact that he must bear, a loss he must accept. For he can see no other way, that does not end with him or their friend dead.
And he is not ready.
The ache remains but he slowly looks up at the ceiling, swallowing the thick lump in his throat as his eyes grow glassy. Acceptance seems to weave into his features, aging him a bit as he sits with it. And then—
" I will do this. " He finally accepts as amber eyes, wet with tears he will not shed, he does not need to give her ammunition against his sentimentality, even if for some reason, he thinks this one time she may yet have mercy in her heart.
His chest caves in with the shallow inhale of air, eyes taking in the view of her before he can speak again. Up close he can see the gold of her eyes, the beauty marks just to the side of her mouth and upon the height of her cheek—and the deep curve of the cupid's bow of her lips. He is not blind, even in her cruel mockery and his bitter defensive strategy, he can see how beautiful she is. But that has never been what mattered to him, he'd always wanted to share himself with someone he loved, someone who would understand why he'd waited until now. It doesn't matter.
It had to be done.
" All I ask of you is to not treat this like a joke, because what I'm about to do is something I've— " He looks away, nearly embarrassed as he needs to get the hold of himself. His head shakes, his hands rub together nervously between parted knees as he slowly finds the courage to look back at her. What looks upon her now isn't the oafish grey warden she's come to enjoy prodding and dragging through the mud when it is convenient. But a young man who had convictions that he now must sacrifice. " I've never lain with a woman before. And I don't take this lightly—I am giving a part of myself to you that I care for. Please do not mock it. "
Please.
Thanks again @p243568 for commissioning me. A very cathartic piece for me personally. I hope the wait was worth it. 😭⚔️
Morrigan: So you met this sibling of yours? Alistair: Half-sister, but yes. Morrigan: And she turned out to be an insufferable hag? Alistair: You’d have liked her. You two have a lot in common. Morrigan: And you let her berate you? Without punishment? Alistair: It’s moments like this when I truly appreciate the difference between you and me. Morrigan: (Scoffs) ‘Tis moments like this when I truly wonder at the difference between you and a toadstool.
(Alternate) Morrigan: And you made a promise to help her? Alistair: Err… yes? Morrigan: Why would you do such a thing? This woman is a parasite who will appreciate nothing you do for her, you know this! Alistair: It’s moments like this when I truly appreciate the difference between you and me. Morrigan: (Scoffs) ‘Tis moments like this when I truly wonder at the difference between you and a toadstool.
(Alternate) Morrigan: And you gave the woman money? Alistair: Err… yes? Morrigan: Why would you do such a thing? This woman is a parasite who will appreciate nothing you do for her, you know this! Alistair: It’s moments like this when I truly appreciate the difference between you and me.
listen… in spite of how they speak to each other the fact Morrigan is like ‘why did you do that she doesn’t deserve it’ makes it very clear to me that deny as much as she want (and she would deny it) she cares about Alistair, otherwise she wouldn’t care if his sister took advantage of him tbh
Alistair picking a rose up in Lothering for the warden... Loghain carrying a rose plant all the way from denerim for his wife.
someone give alistair a griffon, he deserves it.
Unpopular Character Meme - A character you’re meant to hate but love instead
↪ Loghain Mac Tir
@wardencutter asked: " alistair, be a dear and fetch me some tea? "
The warden pauses, mid bite of his rations when Cutter's voice permeates the air with his request. His brow ticks upward, looking sidelong at the fire where the beat up iron kettle meant for this was sitting nearby. Perfectly within his reach.
Is he serious?
Alistair's eyes softly narrow as he swallows what he's chewing before pointing at the kettle with his pinky finger.
" You mean the tea that's two feet from you? "
a kiss on the temple. (vowspurned)
kiss the witch. // @vowspurned
She would have laughed at anyone who described such a moment, once. Unkind, disdainful laughter, the type that needn't be accompanied by any demeaning words. 'Twas that absurd. 'Twas also the truth of reality right this instant.
Alistair had known her body, before, conceived with her a child she loved more than life. And yet, as he presses his lips to her temple, warm and soft, Morrigan feels for the first time the deep vulnerability only intimacy allows for.
The warmth the gesture elicits is foreign and, in its own way, frightening. 'Tis not the raging flame of desire, easy to spark and easier to recognize. Something closer to being bathed in radiant sun, steady, comforting, tender.
Something she is fearful of wanting.
He is a good man. Gentler than she knows how to handle without risking to break. Not weak, no — yet Morrigan had known, even as she provoked and wounded all those years ago, that there was a softness in his heart hers had long been hardened to. But she is softer, now. 'Tis mayhaps all it would take to meet him on even ground.
She leans closer, rather than step back, face hidden in the curve of his neck. One of her fingers traces the fabric of his tunic to occupy itself with something. How odd, to find comfort in the nearness to someone she once despised.
But that is not right. She had never despised him, not truly.
Morrigan says nothing — her presence says enough. 'Tis unlike this will be long-lived. Let her enjoy what she has while she has it.
[ AWAKE ]: the sender, unable to sleep, gets up to go for a walk, and finds that the receiver is also unable to sleep. - @muutos
Amber hues look long into the flames of the hearth, his hand hovering over it for a moment before he moves away, satisfied it would burn for a while, now. There's a half full goblet of wine dangling from his other hand as he moves closer to the table at the center of the room.
He hasn't slept, tunic half tucked into the top of his trousers, longer hair pulled back to the back of his head to stay out of tired eyes. The wine was supposed to help.
Calculating eyes flit over the map, staring at the markers in weary interest before he hears the sound of foot falls entering the room. Lighter hair hangs in his face as the towering presence approaches, and a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Loghain was an imposing presence to most who witnessed him entering a room. But when his eyes land on the older man, it's comfort that bleeds into his bones.
" Seems sleep has abandoned us both, Father. " Alistair greets quietly as he draws the wine to his lips to take a sip, his large frame looming over the strategies strew across the table in what an untrained eye would find cacophonous and unruly. But for them, only a puzzle needing its remaining pieces. Admittedly though, he's grown tired of looking at it. Maybe he just needs some air.
" And in truth, I can't look at this shit anymore. "
going to be typing up a verse where alistair theirin is actually alistair mac tir, a captain in the ferelden army under the tutelage of his father, loghain mac tir.
yes, its crazy. yes, it goes hard. no, you're not ready.
@muutos and i are going to be wrecking your dashes, coming soon.
Dragon age is more alive than ever and i want to share my wisdom in this matters
