#clara cousland | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

laurelsofhighever · 4 years

Text

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 56 - A Long Day Later

Chapter Rating: Mature Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Action/Adventure, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots In Love

Also read on AO3 First chapter

---

Twenty-sixth day of Firstfall, 9:32 Dragon

Rosslyn stirred from sleep, rising from unconsciousness with the faint impression that something had roused her. Yet all was quiet. The world remained dark behind her closed eyelids, frigid beyond the cocoon of warmth that the blankets wrapped around her body, and it lacked any appeal that might entice her curiosity. It must not be important. She shifted, intending to find the tipping point back into oblivion, and became aware of a heaviness in her limbs, an ache in her muscles that spoke of exertion and made her even less eager to move. A tiny moue of sound escaped her lips as she exhaled, and in response came a wordless mumble against her hair, the tightening of an arm across her waist as the solid presence behind her pressed closer along her back. Remembering, she smiled and fumbled for Alistair’s hand. The murmur against her skin grew into a path of lazy, half-formed kisses along her shoulder as her fingers threaded with his, a leg nudged between and folded around hers as she leaned into the touch.

“G’morning…” he rumbled, the low, sleep-scratched pitch of his voice raising gooseflesh along her spine.

She stretched. “S’not morning yet.”

“Shall I leave you be, then?” he teased, and chuckled as she made a disgruntled noise and followed the retreat of his hands, seeking the lost warmth, until he relented and tangled around her again like a briar. For a long moment they lay together, suspended between waking and sleep, breathing together and content to have their limbs belong to each other.

“How are you feeling?”

She hummed when her slow mind processed that she hadn’t dreamed the question, reached backward to wind her fingers across the back of his neck. “Good. What about you?”

“You wore me out, woman,” he answered, with another laugh and a slow flex of hips that pointedly suggested otherwise.

A slink of heat knotted itself in her belly, anticipation that brought a sly smile to her lips. “It doesn’t feel that way. Maybe –”

Someone knocked on the door.

“Your Ladyship?”

Rosslyn tensed. “It’s Morrence.”

“Don’t answer,” he breathed, running fingertips over her waist.

She shook her head with huffed laugh, calling the command to light the glowstone, and picked herself from their tangle of limbs. As she sat up, she secured the covers under her arms to keep them in place, as if a bared chest would be her biggest problem if her captain chose to break in and found Ferelden’s Crown Prince in her bed. Cold air seeped across her exposed skin, held at bay where his hand still circled her waist. In the harsh light cast by the lyrium enchantment, he stretched against the pillows, all bleary eyes and mussed hair, and her stomach fluttered as she tracked the darker line of fuzz down his chest, trying to remember when he had removed his shirt again.

She had slept with him. He had stayed. The bashfulness that had been entirely absent the night before squirmed in her gut, the heat in her cheeks blooming into a furnace under the tender smile curving his mouth, until the feeling became too much and she had to tear her gaze away.

She cleared her throat. “What is it, captain?”

“You said you were to be woken at dawn, Your Ladyship,” came the reply through the door. “Clara came to me worried when you didn’t answer.”

The covers shifted, the mattress dipped behind her, but she tried to not be distracted.

“That’s alright,” she called out. “What’s the state of the company?”

“Being roused now.” Morrence paused. “Clara tried the door, she said it was locked.”

“Yes, I –”

Light fingers brushed her hair away from her shoulder, then began a slow, appreciative trail down the length of her back.

“Make her go away,” Alistair complained, muffled as he pressed his mouth to the skin just below her ear.

Her eyes slipped closed. “Uhm…”

“Should I stop?”

It took all her concentration to shake her head.

“Your Ladyship?”

“I locked it,” she managed.

“Why?”

“Is it my door or not?” she snapped, and pinched the bridge of her nose. Carrying on a half-shouted conversation through a door struck her as entirely undignified, but the floor would be cold and the rasp of Alistair’s unshaved chin continued to be a distraction along her neck, and all in all, she really didn’t want to move.

“I’ll be ready to ride in an hour,” she said finally. “See to it everyone is ready.”

“Aye, Your Ladyship.”

She listened for the creak of the floorboards as her captain turned away, and when she was sure of safety, twisted to capture her lover’s face so she could kiss him and vent some of the frustration he had been building in her so deliberately. A giggle escaped as an arm snaked around her waist to draw her back under the covers. Alistair, as her lover – it felt unfamiliar still, but she liked the sound if it, liked more the way his mouth slanted over hers, the way he touched her as if amazed by every inch of her.

“An hour isn’t much time,” he pouted, turning his attention along her jaw.

“It’s –” A scrape of teeth over the sensitive spot he knew too well already. She tugged on his hair to make him pause, smirking. “It’s plenty for you to sneak back to –”

“Your Ladyship?”

Her gaze snapped to the door. “Y–yes?”

There was a pause, and she imagined Morrence running her tongue over her teeth. When she did speak, the words held a deliberate air of nonchalance. “His Highness’ valet mentioned he wasn’t in his room this morning,”

“Uh… What do you mean?”

Next to her, Alistair bit his lips together, burying his head against her shoulder to stifle his laughter. She poked him in the ribs. He nipped her collarbone in retaliation.

“He said he found Cuno sleeping on Prince Alistair’s bed, but it didn’t look like His Highness had been there himself.” Morrence paused again, far too casually. “Should I raise an alarm?”

“That won’t –” Rosslyn tried, and realised she should appear at least a little concerned about the supposed disappearance of a member of the royal family. “His Highness has probably gone for a walk to clear his head before we leave. If he doesn’t turn up by the time we’re ready to go, we’ll call a search, but I see no need to worry yet.”

“That’s so callous,” he chided in her ear, grinning. “Anything could’ve happened to me, I could be freezing to death for all you know and you’re all tucked up and warm…”

“She’ll hear you,” she hissed, cheeks flaming, with another light prod to his side.

“She already knows I’m here,” he pointed out, but settled next to her with an apologetic brush of lips along her cheek nonetheless.

“Where is Cuno?” she asked her captain.

“I convinced him to the kennel for breakfast,” Morrence replied.

“That’s good, I’ll collect him before I leave. That will be all.”

“Aye, Your Ladyship.”

This time, she held her breath until the corridor outside fell utterly silent, and let it out in a rush of air as she shielded her eyes with the back of her arm. Already, Alistair was sliding limpet-like into the thin space between her body and the covers, half around her and half on top of her, propped on his elbows as if out of worry for pressing her too closely.

He hummed as her touch feathered blindly over the back of his neck. “I thought she’d never leave.”

“Don’t smirk.”

“What makes you think I’m smirking?” he asked.

“I can hear it in your voice,” she replied, though she pulled her arm away to check, just in case.

“Even if I am, why shouldn’t I?” his smirk widened. “I’m in bed with the woman I love, and who told me only a few short hours ago that she loves me, too. Oh, and she’s very naked,” he added, with a sly glance downward.

“Those are all things that can change if you’re going to be so glib,” she retorted.

He laughed and leaned closer. “I get it, I get it – You talk too much, Alistair, get to the kissing already.”

She rolled her eyes, but pulled him down all the same. “If you’re offering…”

“For you?” he asked as their lips met. “Always.”

She might never tire of his mouth. He moved languidly, unhurried, letting his hands wander, and the sounds she took from him, the little gasps and moans as she explored in turn, fired through her blood and settled deliciously between her legs. Blunt nails skimmed her side so that she arched upwards, clung harder, squirmed against the hot weight of his erection pressed between them. One of those same hands found its way behind her knee and helped guide it over his waist, coaxing her to follow him so they lay, side by side and face to face, somehow more intimate that before.

“I wish we could stay here all day.” He leaned towards the corner of her mouth, and paused. “What is it?”

She dropped her gaze to her hands, watching the shape of her fingers in the glow of the light as they carded through the hair on his chest. A reply lay on her tongue, but the taste of it grew ashen as the ever-insidious shade of the future rose to break the careless peace that had settled over them.

“When we reach Highever, we won’t be called away,” she said at last. “At least not for a few days.”

His nose nudged against hers, drawing her gaze. “You’ll have to give me a tour.”

“I don’t know how much of it will be left,” she admitted, as her mind turned to memories – the view from Harrowhill, the demon in the Fade wearing her father’s image as if it were nothing more than a mask in a mummer’s play. “I don’t know if I’d even recognise it.”

“We can rebuild it,” he replied. “This war won’t last forever.”

“And you’ll be needed in Denerim.”

“Oh, Rosslyn – that wouldn’t matter if… if you needed me in Highever.” When she still refused to look at him, he sighed and wriggled closer, his hand splayed warm against her back. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Her breath faltered. Even in the artificial light, conviction shone in his eyes, bright enough that she lost herself wondering how he found it so easy to burn away her doubts, how loneliness lost its grip in his arms.

“I…”

“Yeeeeeeees?”

Her grin spread like certainty across her face. “If – well. If you’re going to stay, you’ll have to have a room.”

“Really?” he asked, with a sly quirk of his brow. “I think I already know which one I want.”

“You haven’t even seen any of them yet,” she reminded him with a playful tug on his fingers.

“But surely yours is the nicest?”

She gasped. “Rogue! And where, pray tell, am I supposed to sleep if you take my bed?”

She saw the pounce an instant before his arms twined around her waist. Laughing, she let herself be pulled onto his chest, until she straddled him, braced on her arms bare inches from his face with their hearts beating erratic rhythms against each other. Her hair got caught between them, but he helped her tidy it away, twisting it over her shoulders so her skin wouldn’t chill where the covers had fallen to the small of her back.

“You’ll sleep right next to me, my love,” he purred, as his hands trailed a lazy path to the base of her spine. “Every day, if I have my way. Especially with a view this good.”

“You like this position, do you?” she asked.

“Mmmhm.”

“Good,” she answered, leaning down to hide her blush in a kiss. “Because so do I.”

The sun still had yet to peek over horizon when Rosslyn gathered in the stableyard with Leliana and the troop of soldiers hand-picked for the assault on Highever, her breath fogging in the freezing air and the horrid taste of the tea lingering on her tongue. She had added enough honey to turn it from bitter to sickly, but she wouldn’t call it an improvement.

Only a lone blackbird called. Most of the camp had yet to stir, and wouldn’t move for a few days yet, but whatever stillness they might have enjoyed for the time being was ruined by Lasan, who had realised he was being left behind and decided to make his dissatisfaction known by kicking his stall door to splinters. His bugling did little to agitate the horses they were taking, who dozed under their rugs while the riders stamped their feet and blew warm air into their gloved hands to try and fend off the cold. Satina’s bright disk still hung in the sky, its pinkish glow a rival to the dawn. If they didn’t get going soon, they would waste what few hours of daylight they could use.

At the end of the line, Leliana straightened. “Here he is.”

Rosslyn turned to follow her gaze to the door of the keep, where Alistair tripped down the stairs still trying to fit his helmet over the padded cap that would help keep him warm as well as distribute the helmet’s weight evenly over his head. He was in splintmail, as she was. It would make for an uncomfortable ride, but the Westmoreland breed used by the relay messengers were too lithe to carry riders in heavy armour, and their plan relied on avoiding recognition.

“It’s good of you to join us at last, Your Highness,” she said in clipped tones as he puffed to a halt beside her.

He blushed deeply enough as he took his horse’s reins from her that it made a beacon of them even in the low light. Fortunately, she was able to hide the colour growing in her own cheeks behind her scarf as she turned and led the way towards the gate. The guards who hauled open the doors for them saluted as they walked through, but nobody else marked their passing.

“We have a lot of ground to cover, and not much time to do it,” she told them as she checked her horse next to the mounting block that had been left for them. “We’ll walk to warm the horses up but if we’re to make the checkpoints the rest of the day will be spent at canter. I understand this won’t be easy for all of you, but speed is key, and the king is counting on us. There’ll be plenty of time to nurse your backsides once we’re out at sea.”

There were nods and a few low chuckles as she gathered the reins and vaulted up, then guided her horse aside to fix the girth strap and adjust her stirrups. The volunteers she had taken from the infantry had all been schooled in horsemanship during the camp at Aeylesbide, and had been given the quietest mounts, but still she watched with a critical eye as each of them clambered into their saddles with only the barest shade of grace and turned their mounts to the road.

They left the blankets over the horses’ quarters as they started off, following the dim line of the road west so that the rising sun cast long shadows in front of them, and set a blaze on the surrounding hills where it struck through the trees to bare clearings of winter bracken. A small herd of deer led by a grey doe paused on the path ahead of them, curious, before vanishing once more ghostlike into the brush, and once, a fennec barked, but aside from the growing chorus of birds in the hedgerows, the steady clop of hooves encompassed the only sound in the world. Despite the brisk pace she set, Rosslyn let herself enjoy the peace, the fleeting break from duty, watching as colourful gangs of finches darted among the bare, berry-laden branches of a nearby rowan.

There had been many mornings like this when she was growing up, camping and following loggers’ trails through Highever’s ancient countryside – and many more that had dawned wet and cold and miserable, and weren’t half so fond to remember. Her father had insisted. Adamant that a ruler should be intimately familiar with their domain, should know how to work with the land and not against it, he had taken both his children into the wilds and made a play of hide and seek through the trees, teaching them about game and mushrooms and the best place to find shelter. And she would never forget the black night in deep Harvestmere when she was ten years old, when he had poked the embers of their campfire and woven a story about his upbringing as an exile in his own country, caught between the desire to keep his people safe and the knowledge that every day he fought for their freedom they only suffered more. He had wanted them prepared to face the same tough choices.

She shook the memory and called a halt to prepare the horses for the run. If their blankets were left as they were, the animals might overheat, or spook when the material flapped in the wind, so each saddle had a strap attached to the cantle that allowed the rug to be folded up and stored like a bedroll, and it was far easier to use if the horse was standing still. Alistair was having trouble twisting around far enough to secure his in place, so she nudged her own mount over to him and casually batted his hand away.

“Thanks,” he said as she fastened the buckle for him. His hand brushed her shoulder to steady her as she straightened again.

She glanced to the others still securing their horses. “It’s a beautiful morning, don’t you think?”

“Almost worth getting out of bed,” he agreed, smirking, and even though his voice was low enough not to carry, she had to look away. Her horse’s tail swished.

“How are you coping so far?”

He shrugged. “My feet are frozen, but that’s all. I’m sure I’ll have some fascinating bruises later, though. The pace you set, If I can walk after I get off, it’ll be a miracle.”

She shot him a chiding look. “You know you could’ve stayed behind if you –”

Someone snickered behind her. She caught the words ‘hard ride’ and nothing more, but the audience of guilty looks when she whirled to face the perpetrator told her everything she needed to know about the rest of the sentence.

“Do you have something to say, soldier?” she demanded.

The man avoided her gaze. “No, Your Ladyship. It wasn’t –”

“In that case, I’d suggest you keep your mouth closed in case one of the horses decides to shit in it,” she snapped. “If I didn’t need every body I can get for this mission, I’d send you back to Deerswall in disgrace to gossip with the rest of the washerfolk. As it is, you’re taking middle watch every night until this is over. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Your Ladyship,” he answered, still with his gaze on his horse’s withers.

She waited a moment longer to make sure her point had properly struck, determined not to be embarrassed even though she could hardly be surprised at the flavour of the comment. Soldiers, after all, were worse than servants for rumours. Alistair tried to catch her eye as she ordered them back onto the road, but every moment was precious; discipline had to be maintained. She couldn’t regret the night they spent together, the sighs and touches that still ran hot in her blood so many hours later, but her authority required a distance already drawn in by the necessities of their mission, and she couldn’t afford for it to slip further.

They travelled quickly. At the waystation they reached just after midday, they paused only long enough to relieve themselves and change to fresh horses, without even a break for food. Instead, they took hard rations straight from the saddlebags as their new mounts warmed up and ran for the rest of the afternoon until the quick winter fall of night made it too dangerous to go any faster than a walk.

Rothsbridge came into sight a few hours after sunset, its lights sparking like jewels nestled in black velvet. As the bottleneck for trade coming from the Waking Sea into the central Bannorn, it had grown wealthy in the decades of peace since Maric became king, and had outgrown its defensive walls years before, spilling wealthy streets of well-appointed villas into the surrounding countryside like apples from an overturned sack. The mayor still liked to keep up appearances, however, and so the gatehouse had stayed, complete with a burly porter who saw the party coming and halted them with a raised lantern.

“Who goes there?” he called, muffled through a thick, knitted scarf.

“Soldiers, in service to His Majesty King Cailan,” Maddow replied at the front. He kicked his horse forward and offered him a writ bearing the royal seal. “You are to let us pass and complete our business here.”

The man squinted at the parchment, frowning as his mouth laboriously formed the outline of each word, then looked up to pass a leery eye over the rest of them. Wary of being recognised, Rosslyn and Alistair hung at the back, but their layers of splintmail and fur hid them well, and they garnered no comment from the gatekeeper.

When he was finally satisfied, he handed back the document and shuffled away to unlock the gate. “Sorry to keep ye, lads. Canna be too careful these days.” he coughed. “If yer looking fer a place, Crow’s Head’ll have stabling room, and a good hot meal fer ye an’ all.”

“Thank you, serrah,” Maddow replied as he replaced the writ in the message satchel. “We’ll take your recommendation.”

“It’s on’t left after Silver Street – big sign,” the gatekeeper supplied. He waved them through with his lantern and quickly fell behind them, lost behind the first of Rothsbridge’s tightly-packed rows of terraces.

The Crow’s Head inn lurched into view a few moments later, under a sign of a painted black bird’s head on a pale blue field. It presented a narrow front to the main street, stone foundations with timbered walls on the upper floors, warm light glowing through the swirled windowpanes, and carved rosettes of painted flowers on the lintel of the front door. A sign for stabling pointed down the alleyway next to it.

Rosslyn dismounted. “Hobbs, see to it the horses bedded down while His Highness and I ask about rooms.”

“Aye, Your Ladyship.”

“Meet us in the taproom when you’re finished.”

She handed off her reins and stepped out of the road, and with Alistair following at her heels, pushed open the door into the inn’s welcoming interior. Paintings of river boats dotted the walls between lengths of signal flags hung like bunting, lending a festive air to the array of mismatched chairs and scrubbed, beerstained tables. A stuffed raven eyes them from its perch above the bar and several patrons glanced at them as they passed, but either their weapons discouraged attention or strangers were common, and they went unchallenged.

“Is this about what happened earlier?” Alistair asked as they picked their way between tables.

“We should have been more discreet,” she said, and stopped. Her hand reached for his arm. “Don’t think for an instant that I regret it – any of it – but until this is over, maybe a little distance would be best.”

He sucked in his cheeks, disappointment clear, but nodded, robbed of a response as the innkeeper put away the glasses he had been cleaning and rapped broad knuckles on the bar.

“What’ll it be, sers?”

“We’re a party of fifteen, with horses,” Rosslyn answered. “The keeper at the north gate recommended this place. We need dinner and rooms for tonight – we don’t mind sharing.”

The innkeeper scratched at his beard in a pondering sort of way. “I got two dorms, twelve beds each, int’ attic. Not got anyone in ‘em. Men and women to be separate, mind.”

“That’ll be fine.”

“Breakfast int’ morning?”

She shook her head. “We’ll be leaving early.”

With a grunt, he retreated around a stand of ale casks to call for someone to go and air out the dorm rooms, before disappearing into a back room that smelled of herbs and savoury roasting meat. While they waited for him to come back, Alistair leaned his elbows on the bar and heaved a long, put-upon sigh.

“This distance thing means not even kissing, doesn’t it?”

She sighed too, and bumped her elbow lightly against his side. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“I’m not. I’ll waste away, I tell you, and then when I die of not being kissed you’ll miss me very much.”

“Maaaaybe. Why don’t you save them all up and give them to me when we reach –” She bit her tongue to hold in the slip. “– when we get where we’re going?”

“There’ll be a lot of them,” he warned.

“I can manage that.”

“And if you don’t mind,” he added, leaning closer until his face hovered barely an inch away from hers, “they won’t all be on your mouth.”

He was grinning, tempting her to ignore her own words and sway just that little bit forward to stop all the space between them, but it was a game two could play, even if her only lessons in allurement had come from trying not to watch Oriana flirt with Fergus. She licked her lips, drew the bottom one between her teeth, watching him all the time until with an easy breath out, she leaned away.

“Don’t lose count,” she advised, and folded her hands primly on the edge of the bar.

“Did – you –”

“That’ll be ten silvers,” the innkeeper interrupted, wiping his hands on a cloth as he came whistling back from the kitchen. “Of and find a seat, I’ll bring food out when all’s settled. Beds’ll be ready in a mo’.”

“Thank you, serrah.”

With a nod, the man ambled off to see to one of regulars, leaving the two of them alone once more. As soon as nobody was looking, Alistair so leaned close his lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“Just so you know, that’s five already. I’m going to be merciless.”

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age:origins #da:o #alistair theirin #rosslyn cousland #alistair x cousland #cousland #the falcon and the rose

37 notes · View notes

mahalzevran · 5 years

Note

Thank you for the lovely ask! It was so much fun to write. But now I'm dying to know: how did you incorporate your Filipino culture into Rhian (or any of your OCs)? I know you've said here and there, but I would love to hear more about any and all of your Bioware OCs!

I have a lot hcs about this that I always forget on the spot so I’m sure I’ll forget something lol. So, like you most of my OCs before were white because u know how that internalized racism is. I think Rhian might actually be the first brown OC I’ve ever had tbh (which is uhhh kinda sucky since I only started playing DA like 2 years ago).

I’m putting this under a read more lol.

For Rhian, she wasn’t really filipino at first. Just ambiguously brown until I realized I can just make her filipino. Her parents were Seheron elves (not directly from Seheron just ethnically Seheron if that makes sense) who ended up working as servants in Castle Cousland. While she was growing up, her parents would try to speak and teach her Seheron as much as they could. Sometimes if her mom or dad had some free time and enough money, they’d go to the market and get ingredients (or stuff close enough) for making Seheron food and cook for her. She kinda lost most of the Seheron they taught to her because she got separated from them at a young age and grew up in the Circle. I highly doubt that they teach apprentices how to speak seheron. After Awakening, she travels all over Thedas to learn more about the dalish and elf history as well as seheron culture in order to get more in touch with her roots. I kind of modeled that after me trying to make up for all the years I internalized that hate haha. I almost forgot. In Rhian’s Queen!AU, she wears a maria clara gown at her wedding to Alistair. On causal days, she wears a baro’t saya and for more formal events she opts for a filpiniana. She also eventually gets her first tattoo from a seheron tattoo’er. Haven’t decided what it says yet though.

For Alden and Kaia, one big thing I included was that every satinalia, their family puts up a parol. Instead of the image at the center being something religous, it’s the Amell crest. (I didn’t think having Andraste on it would make a lot of sense because Satinalia isn’t about her). Funny thing though, I hc that Leandra tried to make Seheron food for them (bc the Amells are seheron obvs), but she can’t cook and also I doubt that Lothering has the necessary ingredients so Kaia, Alden, Bethany, and Carver all grew up thinking they hated Seheron food. They found out that it was just their mom’s bad cooking when Fenris made them Seheron food that was actually cooked properly. Another thing I hc is that when Leandra ran away with Malcolm, she stole the family tabo. That added to the animosity her family already felt towards her. And when Alden gets married to Fenris, they both wear barongs.

In Lu’s case, the Lavellan Clan is Seheron Dalish. They mostly used to stay in Seheron but had to leave because the fight between the Qunari and Tevinter made it too dangerous. A lot of the food I hc them to have is inspired by Filipino cuisine. For example, one of their desserts is bibingka. They also try to make use of all the parts of animal they hunt so a snack they’d have is isaw and many other filipino street foods. One of Lu’s favorites is turon and lumpia. I have a hc where she brings lumpia and banana ketchup (it might sound gross but trust me its not) with her to one of the war table meetings. Cullen tries one and thinks that the banana ketchup is too spicy lol. Lu is trilingual and can speak common, Elvhen, and Seheron. She also has a Seheron accent when she speaks common or elvhen. Another thing they do is that in addition to calling the keeper “Keeper”, they also call them “Lacan”. Lu also has her name tattoo’d in baybayin.

Bolin is half Antivan and half Seheron. His mom taught him some seheron but he’s not really fluent though he knows some words and can pretty much follow conversations. His parents also fight over what food they’re gonna have for dinner: antivan or seheron. They usually have a competition over who has better food. Bolin doesn’t mind because it means he gets to eat more.

I’m just going to talk about Neneng because I barely played ME:A to develop Bahaghari enough.

Everything about Neneng is Filipino because Mass Effect takes place in our universe. She was born and raised in the Philippines. Her nickname is very filipino. She has a long name that has nothing to do with her nickname. The first time Neneng met Kaidan’s mom, she did the “mano po”. When Neneng was growing up, she sold sampaguita garlands on the street. The whole of the Philippines stans her because she’s a successful filipino. She’s the whole package.

And in general, everyone’s names are filipino inspired (except Kaia and Bolin but all you filipinos out there know that filipino parents would def use these names for their kids).

#rhian surana #kaia hawke #alden hawke #luwalhati lavellan #bolin cadash #neneng shepard #antivan-surana #ask #im sure i'll think of something later that i forgot to mention lol #thank u for asking!#long post

10 notes · View notes