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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.

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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.

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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.

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Your so annoying. . Unfortunately in a kinda sexy way. ...

Oh it's over for you idiot now I'm in your head

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Marina Moschen in Deus Salve o Rei ↳ Chapitre 104.

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— 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.

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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.

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. "

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Thanks again @p243568 for commissioning me. A very cathartic piece for me personally. I hope the wait was worth it. 😭⚔️

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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

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Alistair picking a rose up in Lothering for the warden... Loghain carrying a rose plant all the way from denerim for his wife.

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someone give alistair a griffon, he deserves it.

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Unpopular Character Meme -  A character you’re meant to hate but love instead

↪ Loghain Mac Tir

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@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?  "

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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.

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[ 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. "

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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.

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Dragon age is more alive than ever and i want to share my wisdom in this matters