#neria thread;

[savingthrcw]

@cornerhaunt closed starter from Neria to Solas

Leliana had been so unsubtle when pairing her with Solas for the afternoon that Neria just knew something was up with the other fellow elf Sera. Maybe she was anti mage, or a blood mage, or somehow hated elves despite being one, because Leliana was usually better at playing games and yet this one had been made obvious by her haste to keep them apart. "Wow, the whole... Warden Commander! Hero of Ferelden! celebration sure didn't last long, huh? She's clearly trying to keep me under control," she commented, amusedly, once alone with Solas, "If I haven't said it yet, it's very nice to meet you and I'm sorry you are meant to be my babysitter until my room is ready. I promise I'll do my best not to cause some kind of diplomatic incident on my very first day here. You a mage?"

[fereldensheroes]

@solstice-muse-collective asked:

“ I miss  a  lot  of  things ,  but  you  have  to  keep  on  moving ,  don’t you ? ” From Neria for Cullen

"Looking back helps nothing." The answer came quietly, but firmly. Perhaps more firmly than he meant it to. He avoided looking back as best he could, but it was always there. Kinloch. Kirkwall. He remembered Neria, of course. He remembered her from Kinloch, remembered presiding over her Harrowing--- the first and only one he participated in, a waiting blade for if she failed. He remembered when they'd last encountered one another. It was a moment of pain and collapse.

He'd told no one of the things he'd experienced within the collapsing Circle... but she knew. She knew better than most. She knew his reaction, as well. How quick he'd been to condemn all mages within Ferelden's Circle just in the off chance one might be a blood mage. Did she blame him for it? For his response? He'd been a teenager, he'd been so young. But then there'd been Kirkwall...

A gloved hand rose, pinching the bridge of his nose a moment, steeling his mind. "It's... best to look towards the future. To improve and safeguard."

[da2supremacy]

You mentioned DA roleplaying and I have to ask, how is that done? Do you use your characters from games? Make up a less important oc? Self insert?

So back in the day I was on three different invionsfree forums that were more or less ran and populated by the same core of people. A couple people were on one that weren't on another but the main players were all present on each one. Honestly, I might still follow some of them on my main tumblr but it's been so many years and so many url changes that I do not know who any of them are anymore lmao. Shout out it's Dylvon here, ya'll.

Anyway the subject of the RP changed based on the forum. Picking up a canon character or Warden Origin was done with an application. It was generally first come first serve. To play an OC you just made the character and ran with it. The beauty of forums meant that many threads could be going on at once and simply placed in a time line. This could all be meticulously organized so it really ended up feeling like you were one of many moving pieces in a puzzle. You could have NPCs that weren't yet in the story actually playing out what we knew them to be doing at the time of XYZ event in the game. Like on Reckoning while the Warden group was in Redcliff we were playing out Uldred's rebellion in a thread called, so very cleverly, "Breaking Circle". The three forums were as follows.

Reckoning: A re imagining of Origins with every origin surviving and every character from the franchise somehow in Ferelden to stop the blight. It was a mix of OCs and canon characters. I played Neria Surana. There was also a Solona Amell. We split the origin between us. Neria was the one that ratted Jowan out to my boy Irving. Solona was the one that actually liked Jowan. I believe we had Solona go to Ostagar with Wynne while Neria was excused from her business with Jowan bc the timeline shifted it closer to Uldred's nonsense. I was around for the start of this one and while Tabris is and shall always be my main Warden Surana is close to my heart simply bc I enjoyed being *this* Surana. Somnium: An Au. I went to college around the time this one was starting so I actually don't remember it's premise very well. It had something to do with the fade. I was Lyna Mahariel for all of probably four posts.

I forgot what we called the forum for DA2, but it was a standard playthrough of DA2 + some OCs. I played an OC named Elain who was the inspiration for the Inquisitor that was the liveblog at the beginning to this blog . A dalish elf who was taken away from her clan by a group of handsome apostates who she quickly realized would be the death of her. Admittedly, I do not think Elain was my best work in retrospect. Inquisition improved what was a poor character to begin with. A lot of contrived paper thin justifications for why she shared my opinions about various things that by all means she should not have shared. I was also in the middle of my Conservative Deprogramming so the takes were not hot. I was the designated "unpleasant character enjoyer" and therefore the only one that could play Petrice and Marethari straight. I understand Petrice. She is abhorrent but I understand her. Defending Marethari as a fool but maybe not the devil incarnate prepared me for being a Solas enjoyer.

If I were to make one now the premise I'd probably go with is "Inquisition agents doing the war table missions" with the honored Canon character positions being Sutherland and his posse, any named Inquisition agent in a war table briefing and any given member of The Chargers. Special mentions for Rylen, Charter and whoever the hell ran the base you can take in the other Orlesian map.

As for how people RP DA NOW?

Fuck if I know man. This was all happening in 2011. I've been out of the creating things part of the fandom for years. If anyone still RPs in DA give me a call and the low down.

[inquisimer]

Feeling a bit soft for the Cullenmance. Cullen x Neria Surana Lavellan. Random Ship Dynamics: Consistently cold x A very cuddly person who just happens to be warm

this prompt was SO my brand, thank you Wren🥰🥰

some somft established relationship for @dadrunkwriting tonight

~~~

“Why do you wear this…thing?”

Neria padded around Cullen’s desk, the report she was meant to be reviewing forgotten on a side table. She plucked a stray thread and some fuzz off his mantle and threaded her fingers in the ridiculous fluff of the garment, sliding her arms around his neck and tucking her chin over one shoulder.

His attention hardly wavered. “Hmm?”

With a smooth snap of her wrists, Neria jerked the mantle from his shoulders, stepping back so she came well out of his reach with her prize. Faced with the sudden chill of his office across his shoulders, Cullen’s head finally snapped up. An annoyed grimace twisted his face.

“Why do you wear this monstrosity?” Neria repeated, swinging it around her own shoulders. It dwarfed her comically, like a child playing dress-up with their parents’ clothes. It fell to her thighs and practically doubled her girth with floof alone. Cullen’s frustration melted into soft amusement and he rubbed one hand across his tired, half-shaved expression.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’ve made our headquarters in the upper reaches of the Frostback Mountains.” His chair screeched against the stone as he joined her near the bookshelves.

“You don’t know if I’ve noticed?” Neria leaned back and jerked her chin up to where a beam of late-afternoon sun was sneaking down from his loft. “I’m not the one with a hole in my roof.”

“Well that’s why I need the fur,” Cullen plucked the mantle from her shoulders and returned it to his, tucking his chin deep in the fur so only his eyes peeked over the edge. “It saves Inquisition resources and keeps me warm.”

“And what of visitors to this decrepit office of yours?”

Cullen scoffed, settling back into his chair. “You’re like a furnace, love. If you weren’t so functional I’d be carting you off to the healers to treat your fever.”

“Think of your poor scouts,” Neria insisted, even as she slipped back to his side, sidling alongside the chair he hadn’t quite pulled in and tossing her legs across his lap so she could stretch like a cat up around his neck. Her face found purchase under his chin and she made a contented sound. “They can’t be expected to give proper reports if their teeth are chattering.”

“Believe me, the scouts are the last thing on my mind right now,” Cullen murmured. He tucked his chin slightly to press a kiss to the top of her head, then hooked his ankles around one leg of his desk and pulled them close enough that he could catch the half-read report in one hand. His other hand stroked down Neria’s braid almost absentmindedly, but soothing in a way that made her eyes drift shut and a sub-audible hum vibrate her throat.

Her own report stayed forgotten across the room, as she clung to the comfort of his consistent embrace and Cullen held her like the most precious heating rune that ever existed. Neria sighed.

The spat between noble houses in eastern Orlais would hold for a few hours. Someone would need the Inquisitor before long, but for now, she was content to drift, warm and loved, in this space between waking and sleeping.

[solstice-muse-collective]

🔥 🔥 🔥 // your choice on who (:

I’ll do one for each of our threads, just because I can!

With Lysander, he doesn’t really know Dorian yet, he does find him very physically attractive, particularly his build in general and also the moustache (obviously)

Claudia may grudgingly admit that Aldrik has nice hair. In reality, she definitely finds him attractive and has definitely maybe had the occasional glance at his ass when he’s walking ahead.

For Neria, she definitely finds Alistair’s sense of humour and kindness attractive and for Cullen it would likely be the his commitment to what he believes in (even if they disagree on the matter she can still respect the strength of his conviction)

[eternityendures-archive]

          ---“Dogsbane and cypress.” She says, looking through the other person rather than at them, her eyes appear glazed over, but there is no mistaking the direction of her voice or the clarity of her words. “Motherwort. Do you know?” 

[sulky-valkyrie]

Hi! For DADWC could I request the handholding prompt “not wanting to lose each other in a big crowd” for Alistair and f!Amell or Surana?

I'd intended to go somewhere else with this, but you know how characters do. I hope you like it anyway!

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~~~

"Well."  Alistair took a deep breath as he stared at the ground.  "I can't say what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that."

Neria wished she could say something to fix it.  She reached up to pat his shoulder, realized he was still wearing plate mail, then let her hand fall back to her side. "I'm sorry."

He caught the movement and smiled softly.  "Not your fault my half-sister already hates me."

"She hates the idea of you," Neria retorted.

"This is probably a terrible idea, what with the fact that we're wanted fugitives, but I think I need a drink."  He gave her a hopeful look.  "Join me?"

She snorted.  "Is this a Grey Warden joke?"

He sighed.  "Wow.  That was terrible and I'm disappointed I didn't do it on purpose."  He caught her fingers.  "So was that a yes?"

She nodded and let him guide her across the market.  It was just so big, and with the most people than she'd seen in one place since Ostagar.  Alistair threaded them through all the merchants and stalls with a practiced ease, letting her just gawk at everything.  A dwarf shouting about weapons from Orzammar, some noble shouting at a silk merchant that the blue didn't match the color of her eyes, a suspiciously nondescript man with an Antivan accent who eyed her like a piece of meat; Denerim had everything, good and bad.  It was exhilarating.  It was exhausting.  It was terrifying.

As they reached the Gnawed Noble Tavern, Alistair slowed and turned around.  "You okay?"

"I -" she stopped and waved her free arm at the throng they've just passed through.  "That was a lot."  She bit her lip.  "Of people.  No elves either."

"Right, Circle . . . not many people there comparatively," He muttered to himself as he leaned against the wall.  "We don't have to get that drink, you know."  He let go of her hand slowly.  Regretfully.

She pursed her lips.  “Yes, we do.  Your sister is a gold-digging shrew, and we deserve a chance to just sit down.”  She shifted her weight from foot to foot and winced.

“Tired of walking?” he asked sympathetically.

“When am I not?” she groused as she pulled off a slipper, shook a few stones out, then leaned against him to put it back on..

His arm wrapped around her on instinct.  “I could carry you?”  

She arched an eyebrow as she looked at him.  Maker, he was so damn tall, and it should be intimidating, but with him, it was just . . . comforting.  “You never make these offers in the middle of the Bannorn.  Or trekking through miles of Deep Roads.”

“Morrigan would make fun of me.”

Neria snorted.  “She’ll do that regardless, and then my feet wouldn’t hurt.”

“Maybe make a game of it?” he asked.  “You and Leliana and Zevran could ride Shale, Sten’s and my shoulders?”

“You just want to get your hands on that assassin,” she snickered.

“What? I -” he covered his face to hide the blush that was creeping up his cheeks.  “See, this is why I don’t try to be clever.”

“You don’t have to try, silly.  Now let’s go get that drink.”

[snarky-bee]

For @m-m-m-myysurana I wrote a little ficlet for you as my first gift of the OC kiss event! From Kallian to Neria  💋 It’s a tad bit steamy xoxo

------ Pale light filtered down between trees of the most vivid lush green. The grass was soft beneath her toes and the sound of a burbling stream got louder the further she walked. It wasn’t a familiar forest, nothing was familiar, yet her feet carried her forward as if Kallian knew exactly where she was supposed to be. The sun grew brighter into a spotlight beaming down onto sparkling clear water. The banks of the stream sloped gently into the water as if welcoming her to step in. Remarkably, she could see the smooth river stones and small minnows, the current so gentle and the water so clear. She’d never seen a Ferelden river run with quite so little churned up silt and mud. Movement caught the corner of her eye. A woman was already bathing there. Light skin, and long black wet hair that clung to her back and shoulders with only the tips of her pointed ears poking out from her long locks. She was humming softly to herself, scooping water up in her hands and tilting it back over her face. She kept her eyes closed for a moment, stretching out her arms, seeming to bask in the sunlight. Kallian stopped, staring quietly, debating turning around. She thought she had been alone. How had she not noticed her earlier? Neria - the name came to her. Of course, Neria was here, she was going to meet her. “Aren’t you coming?” Neria spoke with expectation, as if she had been waiting a while. She turned her head towards Kallian, revealing the most striking of blue eyes. “Um,” and her feet tugged her onwards. “Yeah, sorry,” for some reason she apologized. Neria turned back around after giving her a smirk. “Good. About time.”

Heart pounding, Kallian stepped into the water, only just now realizing she was naked as well. Strange that she wasn’t cold. The water was gentle on her skin but not sharp and icy cold like she was so often used to. She waded closer, until the water swelled around her waist as well. “Soap?” Neria whipped her hair around as she turned, spraying Kallian with water as she offered a pale bar of fragrant soap. “Hey!” she scoffed. That teasing smirk returned to play on her features, eyes dancing with impish delight. “Oh did I do that? Terribly sorry,” she turned to face Kallian, hand on her hip. Kallian blushed, unable to stop her eyes from skating from her face down her chest. Her expression turned mischievous and she flung her arm across the water, gathering a big wave to splash the other elf with. In a flash, the sheet of water turned to ice, then shattered and fell back into the river. “Nice try. Did you think you could get me that easily,” she taunted. “Maybe,” Kallian gave her the innocent puppy dog eyes, then reached up with another hand and-Neria caught her wrist, the cold of ice magic still lingering on her fingertips. “Uh oh, now what?” “Fuck,” she huffed, frustrated and playful at the same time even as Neria’s grip tightened when she went to pull away. A thrill ran through Kallian’s body and she bit her lip, eyes lighting up. She swiped at Neria with her other hand and quickly found that one caught as well. Kallian sucked in a breath. The warmth of Neria’s body was so close to hers, and even more than being trapped by her hands, she felt trapped by her piercing gaze. She licked her lower lip. “Like I said,” Neria adjusted her grip and pulled Kallian closer, skin to skin. “Now what?” Her stomach clenched. She could see the droplets of water clinging to Neria’s body, every small mole that patterned across her fair skin, the shape of her lips and her long lashes. Unbidden, she leaned in to capture Neria’s mouth in a wanton kiss. Then she sighed against her lips as she felt Neria release her wrists and run hands up her back and then thread into her hair.  Kallian caressed her cheeks, down her sides, tugging her close. She smelled like sun and fresh water and sweet soap. She leaned into every touch, their bodies fit so perfectly against each other. Her lips parted and she deepened the kiss, letting out a small moan. Neria tasted even better. Kallian clung to her, desire coiling in her belly. After what felt like ages, they pulled apart, chests rising and falling as they both tried to catch their breath. “Wow,” Neria said. “Yeah,” she agreed, giggling. She closed her eyes and kissed her again just because it had felt so good the first time. Then again, and again. *** Kallian opened her eyes, and saw a pair of golden ones staring at her rather than pale blue. Zev! “Mmm, Zev,” she pulled him closer, kissing his full lips. “Mi amor,” he murmured. “Had quite a good dream, did you?” Her eyes went wide, and she blushed. “Maker,” she touched her lips, remembered piercing eyes. “There was this girl…” “Oh?” Zevran’s eyes lit up. “Tell me more.” *** Neria tugged the warm body closer, sighing in comfort. “Good morning,” Zevran’s voice rang softly in her ears. “Mmm, Zev,” she snuggled closer. The memory of an elven girl’s soft skin against hers lingered in her mind. “I had such a good dream.” She opened her eyes fully. “I missed you though.” She kissed him softly, happy to be in her love’s arms. 

[roguelioness]

Eidolon

She hunts.

Neria does not know the Fade as well as the prey she seeks, yet she strides through its mists, sure-footed like the mountain goats. Her eyes dart around, searching, seeking even the faintest of threads that will lead her to him.

Cole steps out of a particularly dense patch of fog, his hat slung low on his forehead, one hand stretched out towards her. “This way,” he says in that low, soft way of his.

She takes his hand, and lets him guide her. The mist is cold, and though she’s dreaming, it slaps and stings at her skin in warning, and she knows she intrudes on his dreams. Her heart hammers wildly, her body held as taut as a fist, and she keeps waiting for him to step out of the shadows, to confront her, to wordlessly stare at her for several heartbeats before sending her back - or worse, before whispering those two words she hates.

Wake up.

The echo of his voice, of those words, swirl around her. She clenches her jaw, grits her teeth against the instinct that tells her to turn around and flee.

She will not. She will not!

The mist suddenly gives way, depositing her at the mouth of a dark cave. She looks around for Cole, but finds the lad nowhere to be seen. “Go,” he whispers in her ear. “I will keep watch.”

Keep watch? she wonders, even as she stumbles towards the opening. For what? She presses a palm to the walls, using it as a guide to make her way cautiously through the uneven floor, the faint hiss of her leather boots in this dreamscape far too loud for her liking.

Neria doesn’t know how long she walks for, but her patience is rewarded when she sees rays of golden light spilling onto the floor. Around her, the walls have been painted gold - a gold so bright she has to squint against the opulence of it all. But that is not what takes her breath away, or has her shuddering unconsciously with fear. It is the red splashed against it, a red so deep it reminds her of tainted crystal, a color that is clearly not meant to be present - and yet, it is. It has been used to draw images of demons and darkspawn and the wall in front of her has a large fresco of an entire city, all in red and outlined in pitch black - and at the heart of it all, looming down at her with six irregular eyes and a blood-filled snarl is-

A single ray of light floods the room, illuminating a lone figure standing, his hand pressed to the wall.

She inhales sharply.

The Dread Wolf turns.

He wears no fur, dressed instead in beautifully supple leather, inlaid with hammered metal and in a style unfamiliar to her. A high collar stops short of skimming his jaw. His face is familiar and strange and beloved, and Neria presses a fist to her mouth to keep herself from crying.

His face is set, but his eyes look so tired, and so sad.

For several moments, they stare at each other. She’s certain he can hear the rapid beats of her heart - it practically echoes in the closed space. Dust motes, illuminated by torchlight, drift through the space between them.

His stillness has her moving. She takes a step towards him, 

“You should not be here,” his voice is carefully blank.

She tries to smile, but it is a poor imitation of one. “Where should I be, ma lath?”

His face crumples for a split second at the endearment before the mask falls into place once more. “This is no longer your story, vhenan. Do not follow me. It is far too dangerous.”

Neria takes another step towards him, but before she can take a third, a barrier springs up between them. She does not flinch at it; she knows he will not hurt her. She presses the tips of her fingers to the magic there. It feels so much like the Anchor she closes her eyes and exhales, before looking up at Solas again. “No,” she says simply.

His eyes flash. “Do not be so foolish!” he hisses. She can see the panic in his eyes. “This is no longer your fight!”

“That may be so,” she agrees, raising her left arm. Her prosthetic is there, sturdy silverite with its veins of bright lyrium blue. She presses the palm of it to the barrier, willing the magic to dispel. To her pleasure, it does, and she takes the step that was previously denied to her. “But you know me better than to believe I would be content to remain hidden away, Solas.” She lets her eyes roam across the murals, gathering what information she can. A figure on the left, in red, looks like Knight Commander Meredith. The one on the right resembles Corypheus. 

The corners of his lips turn upwards the slightest bit in a rueful sort of grimaced smile. “I do.”

Her attention is drawn to the larger figures in black. She thinks they look like demons, but she’s never seen anything like it before. The sight of them sends a swathe of ice running down her spine, raising gooseflesh in its wake. They look forbidding, ominous, malevolent in ways even Corypheus was not.

And they are merely drawings. What would happen if they were real?

Solas follows her gaze. Neria doesn’t see the way his eyes widen in alarm, or the way his brows knit together in worry. She’s trying to identify the city in the mural when he’s suddenly in front of her, blocking her view. “No,” he says more firmly, more urgently. “This is not your fight, Neria. This is not your concern. Please, vhenan, stay away.” Then, before she can even think to argue, his hand is pressed to her cheek, thumb so softly, so gently stroking her skin. “I must insist you wake up.”

Her eyes fly open. The bedroll offers little protection against the hardness of the ground. She can feel stones and twigs poking into her back. Her brain feels so sluggish, yet it rapidly swirls with the images she’s seen, a hurricane of red and black and gold with Solas in the eye. She breathes in and out, letting her breath even out to a calmer pace, before she gets up and swings her feet onto the dirt.

Solas is wrong. It might not be her fight, but he will always be her concern.

[dalishious]

Hey, what armor is Amaris wearing in the second image of this post /post/618319203710173184/casual-pre-skyhold-post-skyhold-trespasser ? I’ve seen other people draw or post a similar outfit, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what it is and I wanna get good reference screenshots so I can draw my OWN Lavellan rockin’ those threads.

[Link] < this mod, specifically the High keeper’s Tunic; Neria’s outfit

Regarding reference... I don’t know if this is helpful or not, but here is Neria’s concept art featuring this armour:

(Am I miffed we didn’t get this superb character design? Yes, yes I am)

[savingthrcw]

@altuspavus

Saying that Neria was in a good mood couldn't capture the way her heart felt so full now that she had been reunited with Leliana. In person, for an undetermined amount of time. It could almost distract her from not having gotten a hold of Alistair yet. She wasn't a fan of being introduced as 'the Hero of Ferelden' to the few people from the Inquisitor's team who were close to the balcony were they were standing, though 'one of my dearest and oldest friends' was nice. And she hadn't seen Cullen face to face yet - now that was gonna be fun. "I'd have you as our guest of honor tonight, but-" "Nah, not before I talk to your new boss myself." "My new-!" Leliana didn't continue her surprised retort and smiled at Neria's smirk, recognizing that she was being messed with. She had changed, Leliana, had gotten darker, quieter, but this was still a thing for them. "I have to make sure we've got our stories straight so I can help with... whatever... that is," she gestured at the inquisitor who was on the floor below, talking to the people there to rally them up and keep them hopeful, "I'm only here as moral support and to stab demons. Also, possibly, never as a guest of honor of anything, thanks?" Still, as the speech quickly got derailed by the curious crowd and touched the Herald of Andraste subject that she had heard about but wanted nothing to do with, Neria wondered if she was joining a cult. She did chuckle eventually, and her voice had a note of hilarity in it: "I am... so uncomfortable right now," she grinned at Leliana, "I regret so many things." "I know you don't even believe in the Maker, but if anyone asks-" "All hail to the Herald, yes, no problem. Still." She gave herself a push away from the railing, "I am going to need all of the alcohol." Leliana quickly turned to the one introduced as Dorian Pavus, whispering something that Neria guessed to be about accompanying her. To keep her out of trouble, probably. Because company had worked so well as a deterrent, ten years ago. "All the alcohol," she repeated to Dorian.

[higheverheir-archive]

temporary hiatus

Lissa is going on a temporary hiatus, probably til about the end of the week. I will most likely be active on Neria, and of course asks are and threads are welcome on the multimuse, too. But my Elissa muse has petered out right now. Hopefully by the end of the week, Liss will be back and willing to work with me!

Much love to all of you <3

[hamingo]

Qs ending in 5 for... two of your choice

Gonna answer for Jaydin and Neria cause I’ve been really feeling them lately

5. On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

Jaydin- A few coppers, several unidentifiable leaves, a small dagger, dried blood, maybe a spider.

Neria- Loose buttons, some basic herbalist supplies, a needle and thread, seashells.

15. Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?

Jaydin- No. He grew up in a situation where personal items were few and far between, and even after leaving the circle, he always has something bigger to worry about, be it the blight, finding Morrigan, or trying to keep Kieran safe

Neria- through childhood and her time as a tranquil, no. After her detranquilization though, she comes to love the finer things in life and is always collecting things she finds pretty. Maybe it’s remnants from a time where she couldn’t discern for herself what she wanted. Now, she wants it all.

25. How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?

Jaydin- Growing up, he was always quick to distrust templars or any mages he thought were “too good” (with Amalia being the only exception cause he knew she’d never snitch on him). Even as an adult now, he is quick to distrust anyone he doesn’t know personally and his favour can be difficult to gain if you’re not already in good standing with someone he does trust.

Neria- She wants to see the good in everyone, even though she knows that’s sometimes unrealistic. She will trust unless given a reason not to.

35. How does your character behave around people they like?

Jaydin- He is chatty if he likes you, which is a vast difference from his usual silence around people he’s indifferent to. He’ll tell fun stories of childhood shenanigans. Maybe he hopes that hearing about how he was just a dumb kid like everyone else will make people see him as a good person, and not just the scars running down his arms. When he likes someone, he is really desperate for them to like him back.

Neria- She will make things for you. She will create little baubles inspired by you and watch intently to see your reaction when you receive it. She spent so long without any desire for creativity or friendship, that now she shows friendship through creation. Her love language is definitely gifting.

45. What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

Jaydin- He doesn’t want to think about it. His relationship with religion has always been kind of rocky, but now he is terrified that if the Chantry tells the truth, what will happen to him? They say the faithful rest at the Makers side in the Golden City. Most likely, he assumes, he will be left to the devices of the demons that he let into his life.

Neria- She has no idea what she believes, and honestly she doesn’t care. She spent so long as a tranquil servant of the chantry, she doesn’t care what they have to say. She doesn’t care what will happen in death, because right now she is too busy enjoying life and all of the joy that comes with it. She’ll worry about death when it happens, but she’s alive right now and by god, she’s going to act like it.

[inquisimer]

Hi Mer! Since it's Friday (hi), I have a prompt for you! For the pairing of your choice, "Very physically affectionate x Didn’t realize how touch starved they were until they met their partner" (from random ship dynamics prompts)?

hello friend!! thank you so much for the prompt🥰💜 this friday I bring some touch-starved Neria to the plate, because...yeah. She's touch-starved lmao.

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

She flinched away from touch.

He didn’t realize it at first. A million other things demanded his attention in the aftermath of the Breach—the Inquisition hadn’t really been prepared to launch a full-scale military presence and he had a great deal of catching up to do. And then there were all the mages, roaming unchecked through Haven with the raw Fade right there. And then there was the magister and his maybe-false-archdemon and then he thought Neria dead and—

It was a lot. For once, Cullen gave himself a pass on missing this detail.

She didn’t report properly on the dark future until they’d reached Skyhold and she named the Inquisitor. Her armor, polished, her hair, neatly braided, her report, impeccable; but the Tevinter mage at her side wasn’t in on the facade.

He tugged at her hair and clasped her shoulder and snaked his arm around her waist and never seemed to notice that she tensed and shied from every contact. Cullen gritted his teeth as long as he could; was it proper for him to notice? Would she be offended by his interjection?

The last straw snapped when Dorian caught Neria in the circle of his arms under the pretense of reaching for the red marker they’d placed over Tevinter. She tensed like a cat about to pounce and Cullen could see the clench of her jaw, could almost taste the blood from her teeth digging into her tongue. An untraceable outrage swelled in his chest and overpowered any good sense or deference he had for decorum.

“Step back, serrah,” he snapped. His thighs pressed against the edge of the table where he stepped forward and he reached, though he couldn’t reach, to shoo the mage away from Neria like a very insistent gnat. Dorian’s monologue sputtered out like a snuffed candle, leaving threads of tension in the silence. He could feel the Ambassador’s aghast reprieve and Leliana’s knowing gaze and he simply folded his hands over the pommel of his sword and glared at Dorian.

The Tevinter seemed to finally clue in to the effect he was having on the Inquisitor and released her, neatly sidestepping her clenched grip on the table to set himself near the Tevinter marker. His eyes skated between the Commander and Neria, who was pointedly not looking at anyone. He opened his mouth once, twice, then seemed to think better of it and resumed his report, albeit somewhat more subdued than before.

There was no objection from the Inquisitor, but no correction either, and they simply didn’t acknowledge the interaction. Council meeting and reports and orders went on as normal.

But he couldn’t help himself—once he’d caught a detail he couldn’t let it go. And if he wasn’t prone to watching Neria before (he was), he certainly did now.

When she sparred, she never did so bare-handed. Gloved and protected by her staff, when felled she rolled away from her opponent as soon as feasibly possible. Sera liked to grab her wrist and pull her about the keep—onto roofs and through once-locked doors. Suddenly, he couldn’t unsee how the rogue’s touch turned the Inquisitor to stone, how her breathing turned shallow and her steps fell like wood until freed from Sera’s grip. Just like he couldn’t unsee her reluctance to submit to Madame de Fer’s tailors, or each hesitation before surrendering her hand to visiting nobility.

It could be any number of things, he reasoned. Many mages in the Circles hesitated at physical touch—either because they’d been raised so clinically by the elder mages and Templars, or because they’d experienced the cruel bite of Templar discipline. And she’d been on the run for years. Even in Kirkwall she was still running in place. Who knew if anyone during that period had taken the time to ease her back to the comfort of human touch?

Well, he knew. No one, based on how she shied from the Chargers’ congratulatory hoisting on their shoulders when she bested Bull in hand-to-hand.

It made him nervous, even when their fragile peace cracked and a tentative relationship forged from the heat of anger and pining and desperate hoping. He let her set the pace, even when it killed him to hold back from intertwining their fingers or tangling his hands in her loosed hair. She’d lean on his desk so only their lips touched in a kiss or swathe herself in a blanket, so his embrace was muffled by the fabric.

When his heart caught on a spike of rejection or hurt, he remembered how he’d been at Greenfell, fresh from Uldred’s onslaught. The sisters and Templars there treated him like a feral cat, lured out with hand pies and water skins until he re-associated other people with positive rewards rather than violence. And even then he skittered from sudden noises and unexpected gestures.

“Ma’esha?” Neria’s eyes peered out at him from the depths of her hood. Winter’s chill seeped through even Skyhold’s magic now and Neria’s low cold-tolerance had her bundling a clock over her nightshirt. Wisps of hair fell over her cheekbones and there was such a fondness in her gaze, even heavy as it was with sleep. Endearment surged in Cullen’s throat and he couldn’t shape it into words as much as he wanted to; admire and pride and need and love came out like a gasp and a chuckle as he tightened his arms over the blanket she wore like a shield.

“Sleep, darling.” He pressed the words against the fabric over her crown and reveled, for she relaxed into his embrace even as she surrendered the last of her control to the Fade.

[smutnug]

Find the word meme

My first post! From @wardsarefunctioning : hand, music, box, sleep

Hand, from The Storm, The Calm

“I don't want you to think I say this to cause you pain, or because I want you tell me something in return," she said. "It's just that we might not come back, and I needed you to know...it troubled me, the way you saw me. You had this idea that I was perfect, and I disappointed you again and again, but you looked past it. And I think...I think that you needed to think me better than everyone because you have this idea that people are unworthy somehow, less, somehow, than the two of us. You wanted to believe that this…” she opened her hand and the anchor crackled faintly, glowing green, “...changed me into someone special, different. More than just one of the Dalish.”

Music, from What Stays and What Fades Away

The dancing hadn’t begun yet, but background music swirled down from the mezzanine where the orchestra was seated. The light of the many chandeliers caught on myriad jewels, worn at throats or sewn into bodices or skirts, or adorning masks both ostentatious and fantastical. There was a moment of uncertainty where Juliet paused, unsure of how to proceed, then at once she found herself surrounded.

“Lady Trevelyan, may I fetch you a drink?”

“Lady Trevelyan! Are you a relation of Bann Trevelyan?”

“What a marvellous dress, Lady Trevelyan - is your dressmaker local?”

“May I have the first dance, Lady Trevelyan?”

“Oh, I...yes, please.” To the drink or the dance or both, she wasn’t sure.

Box, from Revelations 

She rifled in the desk now. A chess board was produced, and a small box full of stone pieces.

“You know Cullen likes to play chess," Blackwall said.  "Or Dorian.”

Her eyes were focused on setting up the pieces but her voice held a small bite. “I thought you liked games.”

Games all around him; this one, he couldn’t win. So he drained his wine, made his opening move. His side was black.

Sleep, from Conscripted (chapter yet to be published) 

Neria prodded at the packs with her elbow. "Afraid you won't be able to resist me?" she teased. 

"Those are for my safety," said Alistair. "You sleep like a rabbit caught in a snare - I'm afraid I'll lose an eye if you're not contained."

He was surprised to hear her laugh. "They thought I might be falling prey to possession last year. I had a Templar assigned to watch me every night for a month, just to make sure I didn't turn into an abomination." She plucked at a loose thread on her blanket, her smile twisting at some dredged-up memory. 

"Cullen?" he guessed, and the smile vanished. Neria turned her back to him and pulled the blankets up to her chin with a sharp yank. 

"I told you," she said coldly. "I don't want to hear his name."

[whirlwindamell-a]

[lustful]

The first time it happens it feels like a needle stuck in her robe. 

She’s sitting at a table in one of the common areas, quill twirling in her fingers as she stares down at her notes. It’s been more and more difficult to concentrate lately. One by one, her peers are having their romantic or sexual awakening and it’s impossible to avoid the longing glances and childish declarations of affection. She had been wondering all day rather or not she’d ever feel whatever it is that they felt when he slips into the room, bright eyed and smiling. 

There’s something different about him - something that she notices right away. He’s walking differently and his smile is all lopsided and his hair is a mess and his robes are fastened up wrong. He brushes his fingertips over her back, just under her neck, as he slips by and for some reason it causes goosebumps to form all along her forearms and thighs. She watches him from the corner of her eye as he slips into the chair next to her, resting his head in his arms inches away from her book. 

It’s instinct now, like petting a cat. Elena reaches a hand out the fix his hair, her quill moving to jot something down. “What’s got you so happy?” 

It wasn’t a question that needed to be answered. It had been asked more to fill the silence than out of genuine curiosity. But he turns his head towards her and smiles this sort of smile she’s never seen on his face before and says, “Karl just taught me that the chantry isn’t always such a boring place.” 

She knows what it means. That smile is the same one she’d seen on the face of older friends as they gossiped about their newly ignited sex lives. It was only a matter of time before she saw it on his face, but for some reason the sight of it on his face made her stomach turn. What was the POINT? If relationships weren’t allowed and falling in love meant that person would be ripped away what was the point? But she knows Karl is a steadying influence on him and she’s thankful that it’s been weeks since he’s humored the idea of escape. 

So she smiles and tells him, “I’m happy that you’re happy, love.” 

The second time sneaks in like a thief in the night. 

She’s half asleep in bed when it happens. She hears footsteps and the sound of rustling blankets. Whispered voices and a girl giggling somewhere in the dormitory. She turns carefully, squinting in the low light, and she sees them. He slips out of the room with an older girl, both of them already pawing at each other and laughing. They return half an hour later or so with that same look as before - hair a mess and robes disheveled - and climb back into their respective beds. She doesn’t know why, but her chest feels tight and she has difficulty sleeping the rest of the night. 

He wakes her the next morning, grinning as his fingers thread through her hair and he murmurs her name. He tells her good morning, the same way he always does, but as she turns to face him his expression shifts from happiness to concern.

“Why are you crying, Ellie?” 

Sure enough, when she reaches a hand up to touch her face, there’s tears there. She blinks in confusion, dragging a sleeve across her face to wipe off the rest of the tears. Her eyes drift over to where the girl from last night is gossiping with a friend and her chest feels even tighter than the night before. 

“I don’t know…” Is all that she can offer in the way of explanation because she doesn’t. There’s nothing for her to be upset about. There’s never been anything for her to be really upset about. He spends the rest of the day fussing over her and when she slips back into bed, she realizes the reason behind the tightness in her chest– 

For whatever reason she just always assumed it would be her sneaking out of the dormitories with him. 

The fourth time it happens it feels familiar as a summer storm. 

They’re all in the library, books laid out on a table, when Anders and Karl disappear behind the bookshelves and Elena feels that familiar tightness in her chest. Her stomach sours and her hands clench into tight little fists and she lays her head down on the table. A girl that she’s grown up with - Annette, is her name - comes up behind her and asks her what’s wrong and again Elena doesn’t have an answer because nothing should be wrong. 

“Anders and Karl are off gallivanting again?” Annette asks, settling down into one of the nearby chairs, “You always get that look on your face when they vanish like that.” 

“I suppose…” Even just talking about it makes Elena uneasy. She turns her head in her arms to look up at Annette, smiling just a little bit as the other girl brushes some curls away from her face and smudges away the tears forming in the corner of her eye. “I should be happy for him. Have you seen the way he smiles when he’s with Karl? He’s happy. But for some reason when I actually see them together I-” 

“He smiles like that when he’s around you, too.” Annette sighs, leaning back in the chair. When did she get so wise? Just last week she’d had trouble with the material and now she was speaking with all the knowledge and wisdom of the First Enchanter. “I don’t know how he can do this to you over and over.” Elena blinks, furrowing her eyebrows up at the girl as if asking what she means. The look or the subject matter or something causes Annette to laugh, “You don’t even realize it, do you?” 

“Realize what?” Elena doesn’t mean to grumble or sound ungrateful for the company, but she does. 

Annette sets about picking up the books, giving Elena the impression the other girl doesn’t believe Karl and Anders are coming back any time soon. After a moment, she turns and looks down at Elena, sighing. “You like him. Really like him. You look at him like…” Annette brushes some dust off one of the tomes, “Like he hung the stars in the sky. Almost like you love him.”

Love? Is that the tight feeling in her chest and the reason tears are bubbling in the corners of her eyes? Love? A hand rests over her chest and she can feel her heart beating so erratically it hurts. The speed only picks up when he swings around the corner of the bookshelf, laughing and flashing her one of those smiles that could melt the coldest ice. 

Love. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

By the sixteenth time the feeling has become routine. 

“Guess what, Ellie.” 

He rests his elbows on her shoulder, hanging over her like an annoying child while she tries to complete her work for the day. He’s twisting one of her curls around his finger and while she’s been grateful for his company the last couple of hours, something about his tone tells her she’s about to resent it just a little bit. “What, love?” 

“I found out why Kilian is always looking at us. Well, I also found out he’s always looking at me. It turns out…” The tone in his voice is grating - the tone he only ever uses when he’s talking about that. 

She pushes up to her feet with enough force to send him stumbling backwards, snapping her book closed, “I need to review this for Senior Enchanter Wynne. We can gossip about Kilian later.” 

She shouldn’t have been rude. She knows the tone of her voice must’ve stung and it wasn’t his fault she still hadn’t told him. But he’s happy. Really, truly happy. And it’s been a year or so since the last time he’d even talked about trying to escape. Her hand curls around her quill so tightly it snaps and while she feels guilty for breaking it, she’s grateful for the excuse to leave. She murmurs and apology, flashes a smile, gathers up her things and takes off down a hallway. 

But the last time it happens feels like a knife in the back. 

Neria. It had to be Neria of all people. The jealous feeling settling in her gut is so familiar now it feels like an old friend, but she’d never felt her heart ache like this before. How many times would she be forced to endure this? How many times would she fumble through feeling sick all day before she finally told him? She needs to tell him. She can’t keep waiting around for him to notice her. 

You don’t notice a permanent fixture in your life. 

The confrontation leads to the one thing she’s always wanted - his hands drifting over her skin and their bodies pressed so close she can feel his heartbeat and their lips locked together in a kiss so heated she wonders if it’s the kind that would make other people jealous. They nearly get there and something screams to her that this is something different than the gossip and the jests. Love. It’s love. She does love him. She always has. It’s interrupted by bad news. Of course it is. 

Later that night she finally tells him, but it’s too late. 

In the blink of an eye he’s gone.

But at least she never feels jealous again.