#serappreciationweek

[laurawritesandgames]

Sera Appreciation Week - Day 2

Art by the amazing @steftastan​ of Sera & my Adaar for @serappreciationweek Day 2! A slightly NSFW one under the cut!

[cruelangelstheses]

to be loved

fandom: dragon age rating: G characters: sera/female inquisitor words: 1.6k additional tags: canon compliant, self-esteem issues, fluff description: rana lavellan teaches her girlfriend sera how to make dalish hearth cakes. a/n: hello!! :D i wrote this for @serappreciationweek day 2: ships!!

read it on ao3

—

Sera furrows her brow as she reads over the recipe. Looking back up at her girlfriend, she says, “Elfy cookies?”

Rana shrugs. “They’re the only cookies I know how to make,” she says. “Although technically they’re called hearth cakes.”

Sera sticks her tongue out and passes the paper back to Rana. “Whatever. More than I can make.”

“Not for long!” Rana says, setting the recipe down on a crate. “Besides, think of it this way. At least you can admit that you don’t know how to make cookies. That already makes you better than some people.”

Sera pretends to be uninterested in Rana’s “elfy cookies,” but she can’t stop herself from glancing over at the table where the ingredients are already set up. “How’d you get halla butter?”

“Remember that Dalish clan we met in the Exalted Plains?” Rana says as she ties an apron around her waist. “I traded them for it.”

Sera doesn’t quite know what to do, so she just watches as Rana measures the flour. She’s beautiful when she’s so focused, completely ignoring the brown hair that falls into her eyes from its messy, boyish cut. Lifting the sifter above a large bowl, she turns her head toward Sera and says, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Sera blinks a few times in surprise. “But I’m not…”

“Not what?” Rana says as she starts to sift the flour. “Not ‘elfy’ enough? Screw that. I got these ingredients because I want to bake cookies with you. I want us to make our own ‘us cookies.’ Together.”

At that, Sera gives in and allows herself a smile. “Frigging weird, you are,” she laughs, grabbing an apron of her own and joining Rana at the table, where she’s finished sifting the flour and has begun adding hardwood ash and salt. Meanwhile, Sera grabs the recipe and skims over it to find the next step.

“I’ll do the spices,” she says, grabbing a spoon. While she measures and mixes in the spices, Rana prepares the butter. It feels kind of nice, actually, being able to do something helpful and productive, but she’ll reserve judgment for when the cookies—hearth cakes—are actually finished. Maybe they’ll turn out tasting terrible, and it’ll be all her fault. That seems more likely.

“Okay,” Rana says. “Now we have to rub the butter into the mix until it all starts to look like crumbs. I recommend using our fingers; it’s easier.”

Sera smirks. “Mess! That’s fun stuff.”

Rana flashes her a snaggletooth grin, a smile reserved only for those she cares enough about. Sera counts herself lucky to be able to see it. “I knew you’d like that.”

Rana tosses the hunk of halla butter into the bowl, then presses it into the mixture. The yellow-white mush quickly covers her long, tan fingers, and after a moment, Sera sticks her own hands into the bowl and starts pushing the butter into the mix. Their hands constantly bump each other, and they giggle as their hands go from buttery to coated in thin crumbs. Sera savors her girlfriend’s giggle, another rare joy from a woman mired in bitterness and exhaustion.

When they’re nearly done, Sera takes her index finger and draws a swirly design around Rana’s right eye and down her cheek in sticky crumbs. “Now you match,” she says, referring to the black vallaslin that adorns the left side of her face, though it’s much more intricate than Sera’s last-minute crumb drawing. Rana snorts and kisses her on the cheek.

Sera handles the next step, stirring in the sugar and dried cranberries, while Rana beats the egg in a separate bowl to pour into the large one. They take turns mixing everything together until the dough actually starts to look like it’s supposed to.

Rana gets an excited gleam in her bright purple eyes, eyes that have captivated Sera since the moment she first saw them glowing in the darkness. “This is where they actually start to taste like cookies.”

They sprinkle some flour on the table and dump the dough out. Rana presses her palms against the lump and starts to knead with both hands, her movements strong and sure despite her tiny frame. She looks like she doesn’t need much help, so Sera stands and watches, admiring the subtle ripples of muscle in her arms and shoulders. Finally, when the dough is about as thin as it’s supposed to be, Rana grabs a goblet, turns it upside down, and says, “Cookie time,” before planting it firmly into one corner of the dough, cutting a perfect circle.

They fall into a pattern: Rana cuts the cookies, Sera pulls them out of the dough and sets them on a plate for the time being. When they run out of room to make another round shape, Rana rolls the remaining dough into a ball and flattens it out like she did before, until it’s so small that she can’t cut it with the goblet anymore. “What do we do with that, Inky?” Sera asks.

Rana picks up the little dough ball and rips it into two. Handing one half to Sera and popping the other into her mouth, she says, “We eat it.”

Sera laughs a little and shoves her piece into her mouth, chewing cautiously, prepared to hate it. It’s sweet and flavorful, and she likes the way the cranberries mix with the pastry dough.

Rana watches her expectantly. “Well? How is it?”

Sera shrugs and smiles awkwardly. “I...I like it.”

Rana grins again, and again, Sera feels blessed to witness it.

The final step is to actually bake the hearth cakes over a flame. Rana grabs a flat iron griddle and lets it heat up over the fire in the corner of the kitchen. Per her request, Sera tosses a pinch of flour into the griddle, and they watch as it turns golden brown, signalling that it’s ready.

Rana pulls the griddle out and sets it back on the table, while Sera carefully places the hearth cakes around the edge—“If we put them in the middle, it’ll blacken them,” Rana explains. She can’t fit them all in, so they’ll have to do a couple rounds.

They stand next to each other, watching the cookies get larger. Rana still has the crumb design on her face, and Sera leans down and rests her head on Rana’s shoulder. “You’re fun, Inky,” she says as she stares into the fire. “And you’re sweet, underneath all that ‘Grrr, look at me funny and I’ll knife you.’” They both giggle. When Sera first met Rana, she thought she’d never hear a sound like that come out of her mouth. She seemed too distant, too hostile, too bogged down with responsibility and hurt. For her to open up, to let loose, means more than Sera could ever put into words.

When the first batch of cookies is done, Sera helps pull them out of the griddle and onto the plate from earlier, while Rana replaces them with the unbaked half. Sera grabs one and pops the whole thing into her mouth, even though she knows she should wait until they’ve cooled down.

To the surprise of no one, the cookie burns her mouth, and she has to chew with it open to get some relief. “Piss!” she yells, but she’s smiling, too, and Rana shakes her head in mock disapproval.

“So? How are they?” Rana asks, keeping one eye on the griddle. “Besides the ‘burning your tongue’ part.”

Well, besides the “burning her tongue” part, the baked cookie tastes even better than the raw dough, which shouldn’t be too surprising, but it kind of is. It’s like she was still waiting for the cakes to turn bad somehow.

“They...they’re good,” she says. “I thought they’d be terrible. I thought I’d make them terrible. Not elfy enough to make elfy cookies right. Maybe that’s stupid, but ‘til now, it’s all I knew how to feel. ‘Not allowed to be elfy, Sera, elfy is bad,’ but ‘not elfy enough, Sera, try harder.’ So instead of feeling like a human or an elf, I just feel like...a failed elf.” She frowns and sighs. “So it’s good. This is good. Because now cookies make me think of you and how much I like you, instead of frigging Lady Emmald.” She grabs another cookie off the plate and takes a bite out of it, smiling spitefully. “And now I can make cookies better than she ever could. So she can eat it.”

Rana’s gaze is soft and warm, like a comforting light. “I’m glad, ma vhenan.”

Usually Sera doesn’t like hearing Elvish—her inability to speak or understand most of it serves as just another reminder of her supposed brokenness. But when Rana calls her vhenan, it’s different. It has a certain weight to it; it swells with everything Rana feels and can’t express. It’s a word that Rana shouts in desperation when Sera falls on the battlefield, and it’s a word that she whispers against Sera’s chest when they’re alone at night. It feels right for once, to love and be loved by her.

It’s Sera that breaks the trance between them when she smells the burning. “Inky! The cookies!”

Rana jumps and quickly pulls the griddle out from the flame and sets it on the table. The cookies aren’t on fire, but they’re significantly darker than the first batch.

“Ugh,” Sera says, wrinkling her nose. “See, that’s what happens when you get too lovey-dovey.”

They stare at each other for a short moment, and then they both burst into laughter.

[lavelland]

a little sera sketch to cheer me up

[rowan-guerrins]

Day 2– ships

The two of them lay, sweaty and naked and exhausted, atop the soft sheets that adorned Herah Adaar’s bed. Light shone almost blindingly off the bronze Qunari statues at the foot of the bed, the ropes they held glowing in the light. The last few rays of sunlight were just barely peeking out over the frostbacks that surrounded Skyhold, casting the world around the two of them in soft light and deep shadows.

“This bed is stupid,” Sera mumbled.

“I like how it looks, though,” Herah said, the beginnings of a laugh in her voice. “Looks cool. In a stupid way, I suppose, but still. It was definitely the nicest looking bed I was offered.”

“Would look better though if it were Qunari women though, yeah? Like the statues down there.” Sera gestured vaguely towards the direction of the door.

Herah laughed. “Hey,” she said in mock offense, “the only Qunari woman you’ll ever need is right here!”

Sera snickered, and rolled over so she was pressed down on Herah. “Quiet, you. I just mean—” she waved a hand inarticulately. “At least the girl statues have nice tits.”

Herah hummed. “True.” She grasped at the blankets and threw them up and over herself and Sera.

“Should get someone to replace the statues,” Sera said, snuggling into Herah, the side of her head flat against her chest.

“Too expensive, probably.” Herah paused. “We could just cover them with sheets?”

Sera giggled. “Daft.”

They sat in happy silence for a while. The sun sunk lower into the sky, the last few days lighting the sky in hues of gold and orange as a cold blast of air swept through the room.

“Hey, Sera?”

“Hm?”

“Did...” Herah paused, and bit her lower lip. “Did you call this... our bed?”

“Yeah,” Sera said, pushing herself up to look at Herah, a sincere look about her. “I mean, it is, isn’t it? Ours? We’re serious, right, and doesn’t that mean we share shite?”

“Yeah,” Hera said with a grin. Her heart felt like it was about to burst. She pulled Sera into a chaste kiss. “Yeah. Sera? I love you.”

Sera blushed. “There you go, being all sweet.” Still, she pulled Herah into a reprisal of their kiss. “I—”

But she was interrupted rather suddenly by the opening of the door, and the clicking of shoes on stone.

“Sorry to interrupt, Inquisitor, but we’ve just received word from— oh!”

“Uh...” Herah said rather intelligently. Sera, who had been waving at Josephine, buried her head into Herah’s neck to help stifle her laughter.

Josephine, blushing rather profusely, cleared her throat awkwardly, looking anywhere but at the two of them. “I apologize for interrupting an... intimate moment. I’ll, ah, leave these over here.” She set the stack of papers she held in her hands hastily down, pausing only briefly to place an unlit candle atop them to ensure they would not fly out of order due to a mountain breeze. As soon as that was done, she bade the two of them a hasty farewell, practically running out of the room.

Herah sighed, pushing herself up to a sitting position. “Duty calls, it seems.”

“Oh no you don’t, Teetness,” Sera said with a devilish grin, shifting along with Herah until she was straddling her beloved Inquisitor. “I’m not done with you yet, yeah?”

Herah returned Sera’s grin, kissing her on the cheek. “Well. If you insist...”

[dalishious]

Sera Appreciation Week 2019 • Day 3 • AU / Favourite Banter

(Combined themes because)

[dalishious]

Sera Appreciation Week 2019 • Day 1 • Red Jenny

[laurawritesandgames]

For @serappreciationweek, a beautiful sketch by the amazing @juls-art of little old lady Sera and Adaar from my Jenny and the Ox series.

[cruelangelstheses]

red jenny needs a rhythm guitarist!

fandom: dragon age rating: T characters: sera/female inquisitor, sigrun, charade words: 2k additional tags: modern au, punk rock band, first meetings, fluff description: one night while performing with her band, the red jennies, sera spots a beautiful girl in the crowd. a/n: this was supposed to be done for yesterday - @serappreciationweek day 3: headcanons/aus - but i was delayed due to having to evacuate for hurricane dorian lol. anyway this type of au is my fav thing ever and sera said gay punk anarchist rights

read it on ao3

—

The air thrums with anticipation. Backstage, Sera can hear the buzz of the crowd as she finishes applying her eyeliner, fucking it up on purpose because she loves the way it looks. She laughs and sticks her tongue out until it touches her septum piercing. Everything about her calls for chaos: old sneakers with holes in them, ripped skull-patterned shorts, spiked cuffs, tattoos on her arms, a black tank top hand-painted with the anarchy symbol, and a myriad of piercings in both ears—some studs, hoops, a chain, and an industrial piercing. One good thing about being an elf, she’s found, is that she has more space for them.

Behind her, Sigrun whistles the opening of one of their songs. “You about ready?”

Sera spins around in her chair and grins. “Frigging right I am.”

“Well, good,” Charade adds as she makes her way toward them, her bass guitar slung over one shoulder, “because I think they’re getting antsy out there.”

“Dagna said they were almost done,” Sigrun says as she takes a look in the mirror and smudges her eyeliner so that she looks a bit more...dead inside. Her knife earrings, black fingerless gloves, black jeans, and combat boots add to the “don’t fuck with me” look, complete with a black leather jacket that she’ll probably take off halfway through the set so she doesn’t die of heatstroke. Still, her dedication is inspiring.

As if on cue, Dagna, the band’s audio engineer, appears in the doorway of the dressing room. “Everything’s all set up,” she says with a smile. “Whenever you’re ready. Knock ‘em dead.”

Sera jumps to her feet and claps her hands together, grabbing her black-and-yellow guitar from off the floor. “Yes! Okay!”

In the center of the room, the Red Jennies form a tight circle. They’re a three-piece group, a “power trio,” with Sera as the lead singer and guitarist, Charade as the bassist, and Sigrun on the drums. It’d be nice to find a rhythm guitarist so Sera can focus on lead guitar, but they make it work. Charade has her hair tied back into a bun and is dressed in her usual getup: jean shorts, a t-shirt from the thrift store, and a plaid flannel, this one red.

Once they put all their hands in the center, Sera starts their chant. “Never mind the rich tits!”

“Never mind the bullshit!” Sigrun adds with a smirk.

“Never mind the bollocks,” Charade says, laughing.

Then, together, throwing their hands up in the air, they shout, “Here’s the Red Jennies!”

Sera leads them out of the room and up the stairs. The music playing inside the bar stops, and the crowd roars in excitement. They know what that means. It’s a relatively small venue, but it still packs a decent amount of people, and the show tonight is sold out—sold out for them. The Red Jennies are the main act. The idea makes Sera’s head spin.

Sera is the first person to step onstage, and the crowd cheers louder as the band takes their places, Sera and Charade plugging in their guitars and Sigrun sitting down at her drum set. Then Sera grabs onto the microphone with one hand and shouts, “Make some frigging noise, Wycome!”

As the crowd yells, Sigrun taps her drumsticks together four times to count off, and then they jump into their opening song, a politically-charged anthem aptly titled “Eat the Rich!!!” It’s one of their more “screamy” songs, which is why it’s first: perfect to pump up the crowd, as well as remind them why they’re here.

As Sera takes in the crowd, she notices a pair of bright purple eyes shining near the back of the venue. The fact that she can see them glowing all the way from the stage is enough to tell her that they belong to another elf, though she could’ve figured that out by the pointed ears poking out from underneath the girl’s mop of brown hair, as well as the distinctly Dalish tattoo that surrounds her left eye. She’s sitting at the edge of the bar with a drink in hand, watching the show with interest and looking as though she’s never seen the Red Jennies before.

For a short, weird moment, Sera feels...exposed? Judged? An age-old fear grips her, that she’ll be looked down upon—like always—or seen as uncivilized, crazy, a traitor to elves, perhaps all of the above if she’s unlucky enough. But then the girl looks right at her, right at her, and smiles, a snaggletooth grin that transforms her whole face, and those fears wash away, and Sera is herself again.

Alright, pretty elfy girl, she thinks. I’ll give you a show.

The concert is a whirlwind of jumping and sweating, of starting mosh pits and screaming her lungs out to a room full of strangers. It’s wild and cathartic, and no matter how many times she does it, she never gets tired of it—of reaching fans new and old, of hearing people yell her own words back to her, of music so loud she can feel it in her chest. When she’s surrounded by the wailing of her guitar, the heat of the stage lights, Charade’s voice on backup vocals, the rapidfire drums...that’s when she’s home.

Sometimes they hang out after a performance, and sometimes they don’t. Luckily for Sera, they have a day off between this show and the next, and they’re not planning on leaving Wycome until tomorrow, so they have some time to mingle. The girl at the bar only seemed to get more and more into the performance as it went along; Sera will be damned if she doesn’t at least speak to her.

She practically leaves her bandmates in the dust, as she heads back out into the bar barely ten minutes after the end of the show. “Sorry! Have to catch a pretty girl!” she calls over her shoulder. “Updates later!”

It takes a little while to get to the bar, since the crowd still hasn’t really dispersed. Since she’s small, it’s not difficult to weave through people without them really noticing, but she gets caught more than once by a fan. They’re wonderful, though, so she doesn’t really mind. Normally she loves talking to fans, and she still does; it’s just that tonight she has someone specific in mind.

It’s her lucky day. When she finally reaches the bar, she finds that not only has the pretty girl not left yet—the seat next to her is empty. Taking a deep breath, Sera pulls herself up onto the barstool and says, “Hey.”

The girl jumps a little and turns around, her eyes widening. “Oh. Hey!” she says, and Maker, her voice is so nice. “Great show, by the way!”

“Uh. Thanks,” Sera replies, already feeling her face heating up. The girl is even prettier in person, all tan skin and kissable lips and eyes like starlight. Sera doesn’t normally go for elves—too afraid they’ll think she isn’t elfy enough, and besides, a lot of them are too skinny and bony for her taste anyway—but this girl’s arms are more toned than most elves’, and her face is rounder and fuller. “I’m Sera. If you didn’t know.”

The girl giggles a little, rubbing the back of her neck. “I didn’t, actually,” she says sheepishly. “I’d never even heard of you guys until a few days ago. My brother bought two tickets and gave one to me. Don’t know where he is now, though.” She shrugs and takes a sip of her drink. “I’m Rana. Rana Lavellan.”

Her name sounds like music. Sera nods. “Saw you when I was up there, yeah?” she says, gesturing to the stage. “Your eyes are really...wow.”

Rana smirks a little. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

For a moment, they both just kind of stare at each other. Then Sera clears her throat and says, “You ever listened to any punk before us?” She smiles mischievously. “Or did we take your punk virginity?” She says the last bit in a more dramatic voice.

Rana laughs. “Unfortunately, no, you did not,” she says, “though that would’ve been something. My brother invited me because he knew I liked your kind of music.” She deepens her voice in order to impersonate him. “‘Rana! You have to check out this band! They’re a bunch of punk rock lesbians singing about eating the rich! All your favorite things!’”

They both laugh at that. Then Rana adds, “Sometimes I think I’d like to be in a band. But I don’t usually get along well with other people. I have to really click with them, or see something in them that makes me want to talk to them.”

Suddenly, Sera feels immensely honored to be having such a fantastic conversation with her. “Oh!” she says. “What instrument do you play?”

“Guitar.”

Sera swears that the stars align right then and there. “Wait,” she says, trying not to get too far ahead of herself just yet. “Can you play rhythm?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Rana replies immediately, and then it starts to dawn on her. “Oh, yeah, I noticed you’re the only guitarist—”

“Want to join the Red Jennies?” Sera blurts. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest.

Rana blinks a few times, somewhat taken aback. “I...didn’t realize you guys were looking for a new member.”

“Well, we’re not, like, putting up ads on Craigslist,” Sera says, speaking quickly, “but we think it’d be nice to have a rhythm person if we could find one, ‘cause then I can do more cool shite on lead.”

Rana seems to think it over for a few moments, and then she nods. “If the other members will have me,” she says, “I’d be honored.”

“They will!” Sera says, finally allowing herself to get excited. “Really. Sigrun looks scary, but she’s lots of fun. And Charade’s a sweetie. Kind of have to work to get on her bad side. It’ll be good! Promise!”

Something twinkles in Rana’s eyes, something like amusement or endearment or pleasant surprise. Her face breaks into that beautiful snaggletooth grin again, and she says, “Then I would love to join the Red Jennies.”

Sera has to cover her mouth to stop from yelling with joy. Holding an index finger up, she pulls out her phone and sends a text into her group chat with Sigrun and Charade: I GOT US A RHYTHM GUITARIST!!!! SHES CUTE AND COOL AND LIKES PUNK AND HATES THE RICH AND I THINK SHES GAY???? DSJFDKFLKSJKD

Charade replies with some shocked and happy emojis. Sigrun says, pics or it didnt happen

Sera tries not to laugh. “They want a picture!”

Rana raises an eyebrow, but there’s a good-natured smile on her face. “Alright.”

Sera opens up the front-facing camera and holds her phone up so that both of their faces are in the shot. Sera does her standard pose—putting a peace sign up to her mouth and sticking her tongue out—while Rana just stares into the camera with a serious face, like she’s posing for a fashion magazine or something. Sera wonders if it’s possible to die of gayness.

When she sends the selfie into the chat, Charade says, Ahhh Sera that’s amazing!! Can’t wait to meet her!!

Sigrun writes, oh she’s definitely gay

Sera grins and turns to Rana, who is watching her expectantly, as if she’s expecting Charade and Sigrun to hate her. “You’re in, Buckles!”

Rana cocks her head. “Buckles?”

Sera nods. “Right. Buckles. That’s you. Said you’re not too good with people, yeah? Like a boot buckle. Serious. But take the boots off, and there’s the softness.”

Rana stares at her in awe for a moment. “You came up with that just now?”

Sera shrugs. “Well. Maybe a few minutes ago.” Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she adds, “I can change it if you think it’s stupid.”

Rana shakes her head and smiles warmly. “I don’t think it’s stupid. I like it. I think it’s kind of brilliant.”

Sera tries not to blush and glances down at her phone, where she sees another message from Sigrun. This one reads, Go get her, tiger.

Sera grins. “Well then, Buckles,” she says, “welcome to the Jennies.”