#naiatabris

[bohemiantea-scorpiocoffee]

naiatabris replied to your post: Took a really good screenshot of my new Trevelyan,...

I love her design! Does her scar have a story behind it?

Yes! It’s part of why I went into so much makeup this time on an oc when I’m usually pretty minimal with it.

Val *hated* being in the Circle. She loved her studies and her mentor, but even with them she was constantly butting heads in asking questions and trying to learn things her own way. She wanted to be able to explore and experiment a lot more than what was allowed, so you can imagine the Templars were set on her to watch her more than the others. The fact she comes from nobility meant next to nothing because it was widely known that she was on the outs with her family, too.

(The rest under a cut for trigger warning purposes.)

One Templar took that directive too much to heart and became obsessed, particularly with her eyes. He assaulted her with a knife and fortunately was interrupted. As she began physically healing, she began coping with the trauma through defiance and pride in her appearance, reclaiming her face with the tattoo and makeup. It’s her way of telling everyone that only she owns herself, no one else can or will.

Valerie had gone to the Conclave to add her story to the arguments to be presented to the Divine, which is why she was even there to begin with when she has developed a personal loathing for the Chantry.

[laurelsofhighever]

#9 for the Dragon Age Day prompts!

Happy Dragon Age Day! I don’t even know what this is, just a bit of introspective maybe? But it was fun to write!

Prompt #9 Armour

----

The tourney in Denerim isn’t as grand as the ones inTantervale or Orlais, lacking the celebrity of the career knights errant whopopulate the fields of those high-stake competitions, but Ferelden has enoughwarriors of its own that the mounted joust still draws a heaving crowd.

Sat in a raised box with the rest of the nobility, Rosslyn Couslandrolls her eyes at her brother’s antics as he shows off the paces of his greatgolden charger. She herself is only three months shy of the competition age, andsour about it not only because she can’t show her skill, but Oriana sits nextto her, trying to draw out her opinions of the competitors.

“Why does it matter beyond their skill?” she asks, when thecrooning becomes unbearable. “And shouldn’t Fergus hold your eye?”

“My dear sister, I am not looking to partake,” Orianareplies, pleasantly enough despite the bite of offence in her tone, “but thereis no harm in looking for the appreciation of form. Did the Maker not make usall? It would be a shame not to admire such handiwork.” She smiles. “Which isyour favourite?”

“I don’t know any of them.” She’s more interested in thehorses. She’d judge the riders for their training, if nothing else.

“Surely you must find at least one of them pleasing?” Orianaasks, with the coy little smile Rosslyn has come to despise, the one that’sdecided she must have a secret she’s just unwilling to share. “Look, there isBann Auldubard, and Teagan of Rainesfere – and Vaughan Kendalls is around yourage, is he not? That must be new armour he’s wearing.”

Mention of Vaughan only just stops her short of grinding herteeth. From what she’s heard, it would be worth sneaking in to the melee justto wipe the self-aggrandising smirk from his face.

Unfortunately, her aloofness attracts attention as thetourney progresses. Her favour becomes a prize for them all to win like theother trophies as the day wears on, but she sees behind the facades worn in theshining armour, the vapid self-importance and the pandering. Like the warriorshe was brought up to be, she takes great pleasure in deflating not a few ofthem by pointing out flaws in their technique, finds each one hypocritical thatcalls her proud as they stalk away. It’s a petty vengeance, one that amuses theking even as Oriana and her mother despair, but it’s her only way to soothe thechafe of the court, the silliness of a rose without thorns where the only meaningfulthing is the fluttering of pennants and eyelashes.

It's only later, a year and a half, a world and a life awayin the muddy fields of Ostagar, that her mind wanders back to all those shiningknights on the parade field. They would have made a garish contrast to thequiet desperation surrounding her now. Thesesoldiers are caked in blood and ichor, exhausted, without squires or audienceto congratulate them even in their losses. Darkness has fallen, withoutceremony. She stands before a raging bonfire, darkspawn taint crawling throughher veins while an ill-fitting cuirass digs into her neck, listening to thepart assigned her in the coming battle with dull understanding.

The man standing beside her is little better suited than sheis, in dented red steel with its blue enamel coating mostly scratched off, the too-smallplates linked by worn leather cords and the gaps between them padded by mailand gambeson. The same one who took her into the Wilds, who flinched forward asif to intervene in Jory’s murder. He’s frustrated, angry about not being allowedto join the battle, and for a moment a spark of recognition flickers brightlyenough to pull her from the void of her thoughts to hear him mock hisdispleasure.

“If the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance theremigold,” he grouses, “I’m drawing the line.”

“I’d like to see that.” The words are hollow, acerbic, harsh,and because she truly didn’t mean to speak she can’t tell if she means seeinghim stand up to the king, or in a dress, or dancing.

But he turns to her, his voice softening though maybe not onpurpose. “For you, maybe.” The quirk of a smile. “But it would have to be apretty dress.”

And then it’s like her armour doesn’t matter at all.

[kagetsukai]

naiatabris replied to your post: Ya know, I’m not keen on romance novels being...

I love romance novels but I nope out of SO MANY audiobooks because of stuff like this. Other pet peeves include a man telling a woman she doesn’t really want a “nice guy” and a man deliberately antagonizing his LI because “she’s so cute when she’s mad.” Hearing those words said aloud makes the vein in my eyelid jump, lol. (Also, if you’re in the market for a quarantine read, Alyssa Cole and Alisha Rai are my absolute favorites right now.)

Ya know, I’ve been side-eyeing the Alyssa Cole books for a while now, but I wasn’t sure if that was going to be my thing. I’ll give it a try! Same with Alisha Rai - between the covers and the synopsis I had been CONVINCED her books were... not great. I will poke them and see how things go. Thank you for recommendation!

[fandom-age]

text overlaid atop the dragon age logo that reads "@naiatabris is such a fantastic writer! No matter what AU she delves into, her characters are always very real and her plot is always so good!! Every time she updates, it makes my day."

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

You’re an amazingly talented writer! Pass this along to 10 writers you admire to spread around the love! (💛💛💛)

thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <3

[slothquisitor]

naiatabris replied to your post “reaping-cain replied to your post “One of my students who hasn’t been...”

One time, during an exam, the clock on the wall in my classroom literally started speeding up. It ticked really loudly and then the hands went bonkers. I had to get on a chair, pull it off the wall, and take out the batteries so my students could finish their exam!

The clock speeds up and the students begin writing furiously......I can see that. Hilarious, but probably stressful. 

[lostspace114]

WIP meme!

@naiatabris tagged me! Post the last sentence you wrote on a WIP, then tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

“Those templars sure got their heads up their arses,” Sera commented, to which Varric and I snickered.

Waaaayyyy too many words to tag people.  Please add your own, I’d love to read them!

[laurelsofhighever]

♔ : Finding the other wearing their clothes!

I’m not dead! There were so many options for this, but I went with classic fluff.

--

Alistair stands in the doorway, frowning at the figure inhis bed. There shouldn’t be anyone in his bed, let alone the person currentlyoccupying it, all tucked up with the soft-weave blankets pulled to her chin andher hair splayed like a fan across the pillow behind her. She’s supposed to bethree days away on the road, a hard ride to the Central Bannorn he consideredtaking more than once since word came of darkspawn and bandits both hauntingthe countryside, but Rosslyn’s here, a dim shape in the lamplight, and only herdeep, even breathing stops him springing across the room and gathering her intohis arms.

Instead, he tiptoes to her side and lays the lamp on theside table. A frown creases her forehead at the intrusion of the light, sheshifts under the covers when his weight dips the edge of the mattress, and whenhe leans in to brush his hand along her arm, a small, contented smile gracesher lips. He returns it, even though she can’t see it with her eyes stillclosed.

“And how did you get in here, my betrothed?” he asks, quietas he leans down to place a kiss against her cheek.

She stretches under the covers, cracks open an eyelid. “The guardlet me in.”

“I’ll have to have a chat with Giles about that, then,” hehuffs. “He can’t be letting anyone into my chambers who asks.”

“I’m not just anyone.” Even still half-asleep, she managesto be smug about her influence with him.

“I suppose not. Your hair’s wet.” Outside it’s a clearsummer night, and barely a cloud has been sighted in the sky for two weeks.

She hums as he tucks a lock behind her ear. “I had a bath inthe scullery.”

“In the scullery?” He leans down again, kisses her shoulderthis time. “You could have had one up here, you know. I would have helped.”

“I bet.” She grins, and yawns. “But you were busyentertaining Orlesians.”

“And you were busy rifling through my drawers, it seems,” heretorts, with a tug on the material of the shirt she’s wearing. “This is mine.”

“It smelled like you.”

For a moment, he can only absorb the vulnerability lyingbeneath the simple words. Her hand has found his on the lip of the bed, hergrip on it tight, and though her eyes are still bleary with fatigue, theearnest way she searches her face is not lost on him. Tomorrow will be soonenough to ask about her trials in the bannorn, clearing out the last of Loghain’ssupporters and the remnants of the horde scattered by the archdemon’s death,but for now, he sinks into the feeling of having her safe. The hole in hischest that grew while she was away is already mending, filling itself like apond in the first storm after a drought, and it’s almost ridiculous how fastthe tension leaves him when she reaches for him. The kiss is sweet, chaste, andbreaks off far too quickly.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he murmurs against her mouth.

“Come to bed, love.”

Another brief kiss to acquiesce, and he leaves her to undress,unable to resist glancing over his shoulder to make sure she’s still there, nota dream, waiting for him. By the time he slides under the covers behind her,she’s dozing again, but still present enough to offer a sigh as he mouldshimself around her, careful to tuck her hair out of the way so it doesn’t catchon his mouth. She draws his arm more fully across her body as they settle, andhis eyes slip closed as he buries his head against her shoulder.

“I’ll want the shirt back in the morning,” he mumbles, andfades into sleep before he can hear the reply.