#vikara

[wokeleftistmob]

literally skara x viney if you even care

[the-bow]

[sacyo57]

[dudechillitsmayo]

Vikara

[pb1138]

The Perfect Moment

A quick warning:  There are depictions of injuries, wounds, bruises. I also make mention to my Inquisitor’s backstory which includes slavery, but it’s not explicit. 

Anyways, a summary for this:  The Inquisitor is back after 2 months away, and Cullen has been considering proposing. Unfortunately for him, Jim fucks it all up. Again. It’s fluff, pure fluff. Fluffier than a bunny’s ass on Easter. 

This piece now has a short little sequel-ette (Cullen’s journal about asking her.) It was sent as an ask to my main tumblr, then I misunderstood what I was writing and ended up writing a piece for this story’s main story (Faded to be Together) that won’t be there for like. A longass time yet. But the actual diary piece won’t be included in the official story at all, I don’t think. So. Here. 

XXX

She’s in the bath. He can hear the gentle sloshing of the water as she adjusts herself, smells the gentility of the fragrances imbued in the soaps throughout the room. He pauses at the foot of the stairs, papers held between atypically gloved hands, and stuffs them back in his pouch. It is rare that they get to spend time alone together without the looming evidence of their positions, just as a man and woman in love. The proposal is always on his mind, a thousand fanciful plans involving romantic dinners, maybe a dance, maybe beside the lake where they’d once shared pieces of themselves, surrounded by her friends or alone, under the stars or upon a hill at dusk. Would it be tonight? He shook his head and smiled to himself. No, not yet.

He was about to address himself, maybe with a clearing of the throat or a soft, “My dear,” but instead thought against it. A gentle surprise, then. She had been away for nearly two months, travelling once again to the Western Approach to investigate rumors of breaches. Two months with nary more than a handful of letters—not that he considered her thoughtless or cruel. Quite the contrary, every letter sent was in fact several pages long, one even as long as 25 pages back to back, every inch filled with her words of love and longing for him, with tales of their adventures. He had hoped they might be allowed to spend more time together before she had been dragged into a meeting with Leliana, but as it was she was only allowed enough time to fling her arms around him and kiss him fervently—in front of his men, which had caused an uproarious chorus of “aww”s and whistling. He couldn’t be mad, though, as he’d kissed her back with just as much passion and fervor, held her so tightly he worried her tiny Elven body might actually snap in half in his arms.

But here they were. Finally alone, and finally at peace. He walked up the stairs to her quarters—their quarters, a change he’d once worried might have caused a stir in the ranks but which only seemed natural to everyone around them. A fire crackled in the fireplace, it’s gentle glow casting across the room, giving it a warmth that had been as absent as she. Her staff stood proudly against the wall behind the desk, her traveling cloak folded neatly over the back of the chair, boots sat lovingly against the wall. He smiled to himself, their battles over his excessive tidiness returning to his mind, this small gesture of cleanliness all the reassurance he needed that he was on her mind.

The tub sat near the flames, steam rising lazily off of it, her curled chestnut hair sitting over the side several inches longer than he remembered, a pointed ear decorated with nearly a dozen rings poking out amongst the spirals, one arm draped over the side of the tub closest to the fire. He set his things down on the couch near the staircase and crossed the room to her, steps muffled by the large rug. What was he going to do once he got there? Would he join her? Pull her from the water and ravish her? Sit beside her and listen to her lilting voice as she told him about her time away? He smiled to himself. Anything would suffice, so long as it was with her.

As he drew nearer the tub, he paused, the smile sliding off his face. When she’d come to see him earlier, she’d been fully dressed, all evidence of those two months hidden from him. He could see them now, however. She sat in the tub, her head against her shoulder, eyes  shut. Her face had been unchanged, that much he knew. Still scarred from her difficult life, vallaslin dancing across her cheeks like tree branches, lips still full. The only new thing had been a scar down a cheekbone, something he’d seen as they were parting ways that day, and that one small injury had been enough to boil his blood. But this?

She was thinner. That was to be expected, as nutritious food is difficult to find that far west. He’d anticipated it, had been prepared for it, and he’d felt it in their embrace. But the scars, the bruises. She’d had some from before—from her time in the Denerim alienage climbing the tree and getting into alleyway scraps, more than a handful from her brief time held as a slave by a Hightown nobleman, some from her time in the Kirkwall Gallows (one which he ruefully remembered turning a blind eye to as Knight Captain,) some from her time with Marethari’s clan then finally with Clan Lavellan. She’d told him stories of most of her more dramatic scars one night, as they lay together in bed, his chin resting on her bare stomach, his arms around her waist. She’d gathered a few more within her time as Inquisitor, as is obviously expected, but now posted along her skin like canon-wounds on a battle field stood shockingly dark bruises, some on the verge of healing. There were several stitched cuts along her leg, a barely-healed gash along her arm, frighteningly dark bruises along her ribs.

Tears prickled in his eyes as he took in the sight of her, this woman who had so easily captured his heart. Part of him panged with guilt as he recalled how tightly he’d held her earlier, though she had given no protestation.

He must have released a heavy breath because her ear twitched, and she bolted upright, covering herself, the Fade around them tensing with unbidden magic. She relaxed as quickly as she reacted, her expression softening as she realized who it was. She smiled brightly in such a way that caused his heart to ache, and she put her hand on the side of the tub. “Cullen.” His name comes from her lips like it has a thousand times before—welcoming, breezy, filled with warmth and familiarity. There must be something in his expression, because worry fills hers, and she rises from the tub with ease, an arm lazily across her chest in an attempt at needless modesty. She is reaching for a towel sat upon a chair near the fire, but before she can grab it, his arms are around her. One hand is pressing her head into his shoulder, his face buried in her hair, not caring that his tunic is getting wet. She squeaks with surprise but is quick to relax into his surprisingly gentle embrace. A soft laugh is evident in her voice. “I missed you, too,” she whispers.

He wanted to hold her tight, to crush her into him, but the fear of hurting her was too much. Instead, he pulled back, a hand going to gingerly cup her cheek, urging her to look up at him. He looked into her eyes, the same eyes he’d stared into for hours on hand, so gently warm and sweet like honey. They looked back at him with such emotion, such love. He looked down at her naked body, and another pang of guilt flashed across him. He bit the inside of his lip before looking back into her face. “You are injured.”

Realization hit her after a moment, and she rolled her eyes, a breathtaking grin stretching across her face. She waved her hand, stepping out of his arms to grab her towel and wrap it around her body. “It’s nothing. It looks much worse than it really is.”

Cullen frowned, watching her as she crossed the room to her dresser and begin rooting around for clothes. He couldn’t help but notice the small splotch of blood upon his shirt where her stitches had touched him. “How can you…” He sighed, shaking his head. He crossed over to her and dug in his own drawer before producing a tunic for her, one of her favorites owing to its large size. She watched him struggle for words as she slipped into it, sliding a pair of smallclothes up her legs after a moment. Finally, he sighed and took her hands in his, dragging her to the bed where he sat down. She stood before him a moment, eyes catching the light, setting them strangely aglow as she observed him. Cullen is a learned man, educated in many things, but verbosity is not his strong suit, a fact she was acutely aware of. She had learned quite early on to be patient with him, to allow him time to formulate his thoughts. Finally, after a long moment, he just hung his head, pressing his lips to the backs of her hands. “It worries me when you are so far away from me. You must promise me to endeavor to be more careful. I don’t know what I would do if…”

She shushed him, her hands moving to cup his cheeks, his own hands gently cupping her wrists. “Cullen, you mustn’t think like that.” She moved so she was straddling his hips, her weight and warmth surprising given her small stature. “I’m not going anywhere.” Another brilliant smile flashed in front of his eyes as she brushed a curl from his face. “You’d be positively lost without me.”

He snorted, arms moving to slip gently around her waist. “Who said anything about me? I’m only thinking of the good of Thedas.”

She laughed then, a surprisingly deep-bellied laugh given the weakness of his joke, but the sound was music to his ears even still. It filled the large room and washed across his body as comfortingly as the sound of the waves against the docks at Lake Calenhad. As the laughter settled in her, she ran a hand through his hair, her head tilted as she appreciated him, the smile softened on her features. After a long moment, she leaned down into him, her forehead pressed against his, eyes drifting shut as they shared their breath, their warmth. Painfully slowly, their lips finally found each other, the kiss sensual and unhurried despite the two months of anticipation.

This could be the perfect moment, he thought to himself. The ring was sitting in his drawer in the desk, hidden in the bottom between some old training reports. What words would he choose? “Marry me” seemed too rushed, too impetuous. Could he give a speech? Would she allow him the time to get the speech out? Would she even say yes? His inclination was to think that yes, she would. She’d given him no reason to doubt that her feelings for him were genuine, but perhaps…? No. That’s stupid. The woman in his arms is many things, but cruel is not one of them. She would never toy with anyone in such a manner, no matter what they may have done to her in the past.

A pang of guilt shot across him again as he thought back to those days. Part of him still couldn’t believe he’d been too hopped up on lyrium to truly notice her, to remember her again all these years later. True, she’d not had vallaslin in those days, and her hair had been kept different and dyed to black. But her laugh. It was a sound he was sure could pull him from the brink of death.

Bitterly he realized that nobody laughed in those days. Not in the Gallows. Not like that.

“Cullen?” His name was a whisper on her lips, the warmth of her hand pressed into his cheek again.

“Mm?” He blinked, suddenly back in the moment, back in their quarters, in their bed. Her expression was one of concern as she brushed her thumb across his skin, but he smiled gently at her, shaking his head. “I was just wandering.”

She scoffed, leaning back on his knees, arms folding across her chest. “Oh, I see how it is. Well in that case, I’ll—” she made a move to get off him, but shrieked as he suddenly lifted her up and tossed her back onto the bed. “Cease! Fiend! I require assistance!” she called lightheartedly, laughter rolling off of her as she playfully tried to scramble away from him.

He was laughing, too. He’d almost forgotten the feeling, the way his gut hardened and ached with the exertion. When she was gone, laughter like this was rare for him, though their friends did their best. The Iron Bull in particular was quite good at almost getting him to lose himself like this (no, not like this, per se, but like the weight of the world was no longer an issue,) though nothing compared to the way she eased him out of his shell.

Their laughter died down after Cullen crawled over her, the two of them panting softly, smiling gently at one another. She was a vision, her curls splayed about her head in a sort of halo, the darkness of it complimenting the tanness of her skin in such a way that she almost looked as though a wooden carving, flawless and beautiful, the scars upon her face no more than the passage of time. Her glowing  eyes looked up at him through thick lashes, a hand moving to slip beneath his tunic and caress the hair on his chest, her touch like electricity upon his skin.

No. This is the perfect moment. He smiled down at her then leaned down to catch her in a kiss, this one much deeper than the one before. It was an attempt to wordlessly convey the absolutely ineffable depth of his love for her, even though he knew such a feat could never be possible. Part of him hopes she understood that. The hand in his shirt grew more insistent, moving to urge him to push the shirt off, their breath quickening. Perhaps the moment can wait. He barely leaned up to pull the tunic off, the only time their lips parted was to allow the offending material to be ripped from his head where it was cast aside.

And a yelp from across the room drew their attention.

The heaviness of the fade was back, the electricity in the room at her command as the two of them turned to the intruder.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Cullen was filled with rage so strong he was surprised he didn’t burst into flame himself. “Jim. Get. Out.”

The squire stood there, gaping, stammering to find words, Cullen’s tunic in his hands, eyes flickering from the Inquisitor to Cullen to the ceiling to the floor.

Cullen threw himself off of the bed and rounded on Jim so fast the poor man barely had time to register the impending danger. He yelped again, throwing Cullen’s tunic to the floor as he turned tail and threw himself down the stairs, shouting apologies over his shoulder. Cullen slammed and barred the door behind him, fists clenched against the wood, breath ragged as he struggled to calm himself back down.

And then he heard her laughter, coming in bursting, erratic shrieks and gasps. Incredulously, Cullen poked his head up over the bannister as he made his way back into the room. “I fail to see what is so…”

She was practically rolling, doubled over, clutching her stomach as she fought to breathe. Tears were rolling down her cheeks with the force of her laughter, and upon seeing his shocked expression she shrieked again and laughed even harder, cheeks darkening with the effort.

Cullen stood there a moment longer before he, too, began laughing. He walked over to the edge of the bed and plopped down so their heads were at the same level. They laid like that for a long time, just waiting until the other settled down. At some point, they joined hands, and she pulled his into her chest, eyes drifting shut as she smiled. It didn’t take her long until she had fallen asleep, her breath becoming gentle and even. Cullen lay with her for a while, basking in her presence, a soft smile upon his face. After an hour or so had passed, he slipped out of her hold and crossed over to the desk. As quietly as he could, he dipped his hand into his drawer and pulled the ring out. Turning it about in his hands, he took in the delicate pearl that sat neatly upon the silver band, the softness of the jewel reminiscent of the warmth of her eyes. He looked over to her sleeping form, now stretched out, an arm to her side as though searching for him. He smiled to himself and leaned back in the chair, tucking the ring back into the desk.

There will be no perfect moment. Every moment with her is already as amazing as it could be. I’ll know when it’s time.

[pb1138]

Thank You for Teaching Me How to Love

So, it’s almost 3am. I still have to pack a week’s worth of shit to go home tomorrow. I have to study vital information for my job and read a contract for a new job. I have to clean my room. I have to finish some work. And I have to get to bed by at least 1 because I have work at 9.

SO HEY LET’S WRITE SOME FANFICTIONS THAT LITERALLY NOBODY ASKED FOR!!! :D

Summary: Data experiences grief (data x oc)

Warnings: Death

That feeling when your own writing makes you bawl your eyes out. Holy shit. I need a life.

The Enterprise bridge crew and some visiting friends, including Chief O’Brian and Keiko, were gathered around the urn pod, listening to Captain Picard talk about her accomplishments: top 5% of her class in Starfleet, an ingenious engineer, a multi-world-renowned vocalist, the list went on and on. A few feet away, one of her songs was playing on an old gramophone. She had frequently praised the ancient machine for the “depth” it gave certain kinds of music. This particular song she had sung in an imitation of a famous French singer of the 1940s, a song called “La Vie en Rose.” More than a few people were crying, Deanna had had to excuse herself before the service had even begun because the wealth of grief and sorrow surrounding her had begun to affect her deeper than she realized.

Picard finished his speech as the song came to an end, wiping his eyes as he said, “Vikara Nellenryll will be more than missed. Her absence will affect us all in a more profound way than some of us have ever experienced.” With this, he walked over to Data who hadn’t moved a single inch since they had arrived at the forest. He put his hand on the android’s arm and squeezed it firmly, drawing his attention. “Data, my old friend, we are all here for you in this hour of need.”

Data nodded slightly, giving a weak smile that lasted .13 seconds. Picard turned back to the urn and was the first to reach down, dropping a small handful of wildflower seeds onto the soil around it. Everyone else followed suit, said their goodbyes, and walked away, not a single dry eye among them. Geordi waited until it was just him and Data left before he turned to his friend. “Data, are you alright?”

Data turned his head toward Geordi, his face void of all emotion. He went to open his mouth but no words came. He tried again and managed to let out a quiet, “I have… I have no words for what I’m feeling. All I can say with certainty is that…no. I am not alright.” And it was true. Data wished with all his might that he hadn’t damaged his emotion chip. He wanted nothing more than to turn this feeling off and to never let it come back on. But for now, he was unable to deactivate it. He could not avoid this feeling, this hopelessness, this despair.

Geordi nodded, swallowing down a lump of tears and he hugged the android tightly for a few moments. He pulled back and patted his arm. “I’ll leave you alone to…say your goodbyes.” He bent down and put his handful of seeds around the pod. As he left, he put his hand on Data’s shoulder for a second again, and then continued on his way.

Data stood rigid still until Geordi’s footsteps were approximately 74.43 feet away and then all strength he had failed him. He sank to his knees in the dirt, dropping the seeds he had been clutching in his hand. He let out a choked sob, sinking back onto his ankles. Artificial tears streamed down his face as his entire body shook with grief. The raging ball of searing heat in his stomach rising up to his throat and radiating down to his palms.

“V-Vikara…My Vik. I can’t—I don’t—How can I?” Even without the necessity of breathing, Data could not help the shuddering intake of air into his chest cavity. He tried to speak again but all that his vocal processor could produce was a strangled cry and he dug his nails into the dirt.

He stayed like that for a few hours until he managed to get his crying under control. His voice was weak and hollow when he managed to finally speak again. “I knew this day would come, but how could I have known it would come…so soon?” He wiped his eyes, staring desolately at the pod. “I hope you find this to be an appropriate means of…” he swallowed the word ‘disposal’ and left the sentence unfinished, unable to vocalize the idea of departing with her body, the body he had spent so many nights lying beside, watching, studying, worshipping. “I know how fond you a…were” he swallowed hard, looking up into the sky to blink away a fresh wave of tears, “of the forests. And this planet has no species even remotely resembling arachnids, which I know you hate…d. Why do I keep doing that? I know that you are…gone… but I can’t, as they say, ‘wrap my head around’ the idea of you being…” He couldn’t say it. He just could not bring the word “dead” to his lips. The pain coursed through his body again and he lost control. For another hour, he could do nothing but sob.

As he settled down, he contemplated the way other species handled death. Klingons released battle cries when one of their own died. Multiple species throw parties to celebrate the lives of their loved ones. Some species preserve their loved ones, some even go so far as to live with the corpses for a while. In some ancient cultures, lovers would throw themselves on the funeral pyres of their lost lovers. Data couldn’t help the bitterness in the back of his mind that cynically wished she hadn’t been terrified of fire so there could be a pyre to throw himself upon.

Instead, he moved so that he was sitting, staring at the picture of her that had been engraved upon the simple headstone they had prepared. It was a picture that Deanna had taken at a party. It had been one hell of a party, too. Someone had gotten their hands on Guinan’s stash of real alcohol, not synthehol, and several of the attendees had taken it a bit too far, Vikara included. In this particular picture, her freckled cheeks were flushed with drink, her curly brown hair was wild owing to the fact that she had broken her hair tie, her gingerbread eyes were lined in flawless eyeliner, her nose ring sparkled from the flash, her painted rosy lips were stretched over a wide smile. Mid-laughter, he thought. She was leaning over him, one arm draped across his shoulders, her other wrapped around his own. He was looking up at her with a bewildered expression. She had caught him by surprise, having just left a raucous discussion with a coworker. He smiled as he remembered that night. That had been the first night she had told him she loved him, but he never mentioned this to her in case it had just been the alcohol. It had taken her another three weeks to say it again, sober this tiem. He had made an authentic Italian dinner for her, spaghetti and an entire loaf of garlic bread. (Garlic is…was Vikara’s favorite food, as she very frequently said.) She had taken his hand after she finished eating and she smiled at him over the candles, blushing. “Data, there’s, I mean, I have something to… Well, Data I love you,” she stuttered out. He had risen from his seat and walked around the table to her. He took her in his arms and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I love you, too, Vikara,” he had breathed.

The picture on the headstone changed to a picture of their wedding day. He let out a soft chuckle, a sad smile coming to his lips. She had worn a green dress, off-the-shoulders with floor-length cut sleeves. She said it was an almost exact replica of the green dress worn by a Marilyn Monroe in the later-mid 20th century, “except I made the underside mulberry instead of red,” she had said. She had been breathtaking. Her bouquet was a mixture of Betazed and Thorian wildflowers. Her hair had been braided in one long, thick wave with those same flowers weaved into it. She wore only eyeliner, and very subtly so, but somehow she was glowing. He had worn his usual formal Starfleet clothing, but she had said he “never looked more handsome.” Picard had officiated the wedding, which was held outdoors on Risa 7, on a hill overlooking the ocean at sunset. The way the fiery sunset danced in her eyes and along her skin, she looked absolutely incorporeal. The picture on the tombstone was of their kiss. He had bent her into a low dip, and the way the sun shone behind them, it was though the sky itself had been celebrating their union.

There were eight other pictures that cycled through on the tombstone: her Starfleet graduation picture, a baby picture with her two older siblings, a picture of her performing at a Bajoran music hall, a picture of her with the bridge crew, another of the same setting but with everyone making funny expressions (she had pulled her cheeks apart and gone cross eyed, he was in the middle of asking Picard what expressions were considered “funny,”) a picture of her lounging on a tropical beach in the holodeck, a picture of her with her parents—a human father and a female Trill who had married her father when she was 6 months old, and a picture of her sitting on the floor of their quarters, surrounded by the innards of a broken replicator she had been fighting with. He had taken the beach picture and the picture with the replicator himself. He had hundreds of pictures of her, most of them candid, that he had collected in their six years together. The smile faded from his lips as he realized that was basically all he had left of her, of his wife, of the woman who taught him love.

He sat with her urn a while longer before he lowered it into the ground. He sprinkled growth activator over the seeds and her urn and stood back. Betazed and Thorian wildflowers rose from the ground, surrounding the sprouting weeping willow to which her urn contained the seed and would nourish for the next six months.

He leaned down and picked one of the flowers, a Thorian rose, and tucked it into the lapel of his coat to press later. The Thorian rose had been her favorite flower. He would put it on his desk alongside the picture of her draped across him at the party.

He plugged a chip into the side of the tombstone and music began to play, a mixture of violin pieces which he performed, some vocal pieces she performed, and some pieces they performed together for the Enterprise crew on occasion. The tombstone was solar-powered, so as long as this planet orbited a sun, her voice would grace this forest.

He stood at the edge of her burial plot and tears rose to his eyes once again.

“Vikara, my love, it is time for me to leave now.” He wiped his eyes and clenched his fists once or twice in an attempt to make the pain go away. “I… I will cherish you in my heart, always. I will never forget you, because as you know I cannot forget. But I will miss you with every fiber of my being.” He turned to leave but stopped. He turned his upper body to look down at the budding tree. “Thank you. Thank you for teaching me how to love.” And then he was gone.

ed t��r9

[athena1138]

Ooh, Inquisitor asks! 22, 25, 38, and 39 for all of your girls please? :D

Oh dear ok lesdoit. 

22- Fav weapons

Alena and Vikara are mages. Alena is a fire/force mage, so her favorite is the Heart of Rage staff. It helps that she thinks it’s pretty, and since it’s a more natural-looking staff, it reminds her of her clan. Vikara is an ice/knight-enchanter mage, so her favorite is the King Fisher’s staff because it’s aerodynamic enough that when she adds a blade to the end of it, it feels super good. 

Asena is a 2H warrior. She has a penchant for mauls, but anything will do so long as it’s sturdy. Her all-time favorite weapon, though? The Avvar War Maul. It’s got 2 bear’s heads on it ffs. How cool is that? She doesn’t use it, though. It hangs above her bed until she moves in with Josephine and they hang it over the fireplace instead because Josephine is scared it might fall and hit them while they’re... um... Y’know. 

Gemma, Kalam, and Madeira are all rogues. Gemma is an archer, and her favorite bow is one she made herself from dragon bone that has a super good Spirit rune embedded in it. (She asks Blackwall to carve a pretty design into the handle for her :3 ) Kalam and Madeira are both dagger-rogues. Kalam doesn’t get super attached to any specific one, and she’ll usually let Cole have the stronger ones she finds, so she just takes whatever is second-strongest. Madeira’s favorites are the Walking Death one, and one that The Iron Bull gave her for her birthday that has a deep red hilt that matches her tattoos. :3 

25-  what is their favourite place within playable regions?

Alena loves the desert areas, and she loves being in high places. She absolutely hates being cold, so the hotter it is, the better. (I headcanon that mages in Thedas can draw power on similar elements, so fire mages in deserts, ice mages in tundras, electricty mages during thunder storms, that’s when they’re all at their best.) If she can be somewhere hot, perfect. If she can be somewhere high, just as good. She likes to sit on the very edge of the Ritual Tower in the Western Approach since it sits on a cliff, so it feels like she’s on the edge of the world, BUT. Her ALL TIME favorite place to go? The Frostback Basin. She likes to sit over the big cavern that makes Dorian say, “Be careful, I don’t want to have to tell Cullen you fell to your death” or however he phrases it. 

Vikara is happy just about anywhere. She’s been Dalish her whole life, so she’s used to moving around. Skyhold feels very much like home, though. It isn’t until after Trespasser that she realizes it’s because it feels like Solas. 

Asena likes Val Royeux, surprisingly. She gets funny stares, but it’s fancy like Josephine. She likes to shop for presents for her tiny human girlfriend whenever she can spare the time, and when Josephine is there with her, she likes to swing her arm over her shoulders and look smugly at everyone who passes by like she’s saying, “Yeah that’s right. This is my girl.” 

Gemma weirdly likes the Deep Roads? She was born in Orzammar and lived there til she was 19 and got fed up with it all, so the Deep Roads remind her of home a bit? And let her work out her angst against it? 

Kalam doesn’t like to sit still. She has to be moving like all the time. The longest she’s ever stayed in one place was for like a week at Skyhold and that was because she fell off the walkway between Cullen’s office and the castle because she was showing off for Sera. Her favorite place is wherever Sera is. Sera is her favorite place. 

Madeira likes the Emprise because dragons. And because TIB likes dragons. And dragons. Did she mention dragons? There’s three there, y’know. 

38-  are there any insults they find to be especially offensive? (i.e. “knife ear”/”rabbit” for elves, “oxmen” for qunari, ect.)

Alena doesn’t take much to heart. After everything she’s been through, it’s hardly worth getting upset over a few racist remarks, isn’t it? She’s alive, she’s in love, she’s powerful, it shouldn’t be a big deal. Though, the things people say at Halamshiral really get under her skin. She isn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t that noble assholes would be saying that shit to her face. So, that, paired with their creepy advances on Cullen? Nah, nah, she had to put a stop to it, partly to help Cullen get out from under the pervs and partly so she could be all smug like, “Yeah, that’s right bitches, this rabbit nabbed Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition’s Forces and Former Knight-Captain/Commander of Kirkwall.” 

Vikara gets mad over pretty much all the elven slurs. Like scary mad. Like, you can physically feel how mad she is because the temperature drops quite a bit. She won’t say anything, though, not if it’s just her. If they come after Sera or Solas though? Oh hell no. Hellllllllllllllllllll no. She’s hurting someone. Hands down. 

Asena doesn’t care. She cares that Josephine cares, but that’s it, and even then she just tells Josephine that it doesn’t bother her and tries to persuade her to drop it. (There is something ridiculously attractive about how Josephine will cut the racists down to size, though, with just a few sharp words.) 

Gemma hates being called short. Like, she knows she’s hot as hell, and Blackwall certainly thinks she’s hot as hell, but she gets so annoyed when people point out her height. 

Kalam tries to make a fun spin on the ones like Oxwoman, but it’s just to hide that they do bother her a lot. It helps when Sera catches on and they start playing off one another to roll through their discomfort. 

Madeira isn’t bothered. She’s got more important things to worry about, and TIB thinks the sun shines out her ass so why should she care about what some layabout thinks of her? 

39-  if varric gave them a nickname, what would it be?

I’ve answered this before for at least some of my girls but I can’t find the post e_e oeurv. Time to think of new ones I guess 

Alena would be something like Snowball because of her hair. Later, like way later, like a month before Corypheus, she would tell him he can call her Lenny, which up until that point was a name expressly reserved for Anders. It’s her way of telling him she loves him as much as if he were her own brother. 

Vikara would be Pinky because of her vallaslin. 

Asena might be Shiny because her horns are polished and tipped at the end and she likes Josephine who is a shiny thing. 

Gemma is Ghost because she sneaks about the battlefield. She made it all the way through the giant’s grove in the Emerald Graves without alerting a single giant or mammoth once. 

Kalam is Lilly, because it pairs nicely with Buttercup and that’s what he calls Sera. (I guess. Idk. Kalam is my weakest Inquisitor tbh. She’s just a taller, buffer, more coherent Sera.) 

Madeira would be Princess because she’s a royal pain in his ass powerful and commanding. 

@_@ was that it? Was that the end of it? I... I need to lie down. Omg. (THank you, sweetie!~)