#glory trevelyan

[plisuu]

WIP Wednesday

I’m not crying, you’re crying >:[

Also, no, I did not forget about this drawing for three months idk what you’re talking about

[pandem--onium]

The time has come for me to finally share my canon Inky Nyssa Trevelyan. I love her so much and can't wait to recreate her in all her early 40's glory.

[dragonologist-phd]

Dragon Age Worldstate: All Their Words For Glory

Lyrics references: Marja Aeducan: Yellow Flicker Beat - Lorde Darvis Brosca: Thank God I'm Not You - The Himalayas Thalia Hawke: Nightmare - Halsey Genevieve Amell-Trevelyan: Youth - Daughter

template here

[tarysande]

On Grief. And On Friendship. On Memory. And Love.

When my grandmother died, we didn't have a traditional funeral. We didn't wear black. We didn't sit around, solemn and silent. We told stories. We ate food she would have liked and drank Bailey's with cream. We got to do it together, of course, and we got to cry and hug and mourn and laugh and sing.

I'm sure all of us have heard some version of the phrase "online friendships aren't REAL friendships." I know I have. I've never understood it, either. For me, in all my neurodiverse glory, online friendships are often MORE REAL. Where else can you meet people and immediately jump into all the things you have in common? All the shared loves and hates and hyperfixations? Where else can you just bypass small-talk and, as Anne of Green Gables would say, find bosom friends so quickly? I've met so many online.

I honestly don't remember when I met Sara/@dearophelia. When I look through my tags, I know it's been at least seven years. I'm certain it's been longer because she definitely had username changes. And I am total shit at remembering username changes. More than once, I've told myself I should keep a spreadsheet. I'm pretty sure I've known her almost as long as I've been on tumblr, and that's more than a decade.

When Sara got sick, I finally used that tumblr function that notifies you whenever a blog updates. I wasn't around tumblr as regularly, but I didn't want to miss anything Sara might say. I hoped that one day I'd get the notification that everything was clear, she was in remission.

I didn't. Today, I got what will be the final notification from her blog--@vhenadahls sharing the information that Sara passed away. That there wouldn't be anymore updates. No more reblogs. No more snarky comments in the tags or gushing comments in the tags.

If this were a room and everyone who loved Sara, who enjoyed her fanfic (with or without knowing the woman behind it!), who has listened to her playlists, who played ME3 multiplayer with her, who was in any way touched by her in a way that brought their lives joy, it would be so full. We would all have stories to share. We'd all have memories to relive.

This room would be decorated with labradorite and pink and fat birbs and cats. There would be so much music--Taylor Swift and Halsey and Florence and the Machine and Hozier and so many many others. There would be a million fabulous selfies on the walls of Sara's huge smile and her vulnerability and her bravery. There would be gaming knickknacks and D&D dice and tarot decks and crystals and magic and books on every surface. All her faves would be represented. And it would still only brush the surface of how vibrant she was and how deeply and enthusiastically she loved what she loved.

If this were a room where we could also add all the characters she created, whose stories so many of us loved ... well, it would have to be awfully big. Sara wrote a lot of stories for a lot of fandoms.

And if this were a room where we and her characters were gathered, but we opened the doors for all the characters and stories that Sara helped inspire, helped grow, encouraged and enabled, well, I know a whole lot of my characters and stories would be here, too. I'm sure I decided to create Rose Trevelyan because of some conversation Sara and I had where I was imagining Rose Vakarian-Shepard grown up.

Sara, I'm really sorry I didn't get to finish the Vakarian-Shepard stories before you left. Most writers write for themselves, sure, but often they also write for specific readers. Sara was always one of mine, but I don't think she knew it. I lived for her gushing tag-comments. I loved when she was always so quick to jump in with prompts.

I'm honored that I was someone with whom Sara shared her original fic work. (She also once shared an absolutely horrifying scene with Garrus and Shepard's clones that she cut from Nora's story because it was just TOO AWFUL. In fact, she shared it with me BECAUSE IT WAS SO AWFUL and she knew I'd appreciate it.) In my heart of hearts, I wanted Sara to finish that original story and publish it. I wanted us to be part of each other's group of writer-friends (you know, you always see them thanking each other in their books). Hell, I wanted to have a small press at some point just SO I could publish Sara's stories. I believed in her THAT MUCH.

I love Sara's stories. I love her playlists. I love her blog, with its hodgepodge of interests and loves. I love her imagination and creativity and attention to detail. I love that I can still visit that mind by reading the bounty of work she left behind.

I mean, she made me wholeheartedly buy into a relationship between Shepard's mom and ZAEED.

Sara was one of the constants in my online life over the last decade. Even if we hadn't chatted for a while, I always knew we could pick up again like no time had passed (thanks, ADHD). As I write this, there's a little chat circle on the bottom right of my tumblr screen with her avatar in it and I can't bear the thought of hitting that X button and never seeing it pop up again.

Sara struggled and loved and fought and overcame and breathed and was brave. Not just in the past few years, when she was sick. As long as I knew her. And she didn't let anything stop her. She snarled in the face of it all and wrote stories so beautiful they broke my heart and then pieced it back together again in the same paragraph.

I miss her. I will always miss her. But I'm so happy I got to know her as long as I did. She'll live on in my memories, in my stories, in the characters she helped inspire. She'll live on every time I look at my favorite tarot deck--she was the first person I yelled at when I bought it--and when I see fat birbs and cute-maybe-evil cats. And if that's not REAL friendship, real love, I don't know what is.

[sweetjulieapples]

𝒥𝓊𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒 𝒯𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓁𝓎𝒶𝓃

I recently finished my first playthrough of Dragon Age Inquisition and it's been rotting my brain ever since. I want to share my inquisitor and my head cannon backstory!

Ever since she was a young girl, Juliette dreamed of knights in shining armour. Romantic tales of princesses locked in towers and brave heroes were her favourite requests of Ostwick bards. Her great aunt was known for throwing some of the most extravagant balls in all of the Free Marches and those were, through the eyes of a young girl, a story book come to life! One of Juliette’s earliest memories was sneaking out of bed with her older sisters and hiding underneath tables while noble guests laughed , gossiped and drank. Peering curiously from underneath the tablecloths , she got her first glimpse of the ballroom in all its glory. Dresses made of the finest silks flowed elegantly as beautiful ladies of nobility twirled and swayed to the music - their partners all the while standing tall and proud, holding them close. It was just like the stories her mother would read before bed! Princesses and their knights, forever in love! She dreamed of the day that she would marry a brave knight of her very own. Sadly, these romantic daydreams were abandoned along with seven year old Juliette’s story books. Such is the way of life for the youngest born Trevelyan.

Before her mother had given birth, Juliette’s life was planned to the very last detail. Rather optimistically, her father thought not to consider any deviation of plan for they already had so many perfect children. The story books lied.

For the nobility of Ostwick, ball gowns were armour, ballrooms were battlefields and marriages were political alliances - the ultimate weapon. As the fourth daughter of Bann Trevelyan, her use as a political tool was considered redundant. All important players in the game of nobility were already betrothed to a Trevelyan daughter. So while her older sisters would be fitted for beautiful gowns and attended etiquette classes, Juliette was forced to study prayer. She was to uphold her family’s reputation of exceptional piety and destined to serve the chantry as a cleric. No ballgowns, heroic knights or marriages - political or otherwise.

She was an obedient child, for the most part. Though somewhat begrudgingly, she would be polite and respectful. That was until she was to be called away from her favourite place, the horse stables. It was only then that Juliette would protest and rebel. For a while it was as simple as a child’s tantrum until the day her fate changed forever. Over a dozen horses were killed in the stable fire while Juliette was dragged away kicking and screaming. She wasn’t even aware of what had she had done. Her heart still aches when she remembers that day. The image of her mother collapsed on the floor, sobbing inconsolably, still haunts her. She can never forget her father’s emotionless words; “The child is a mage. As far as I am concerned my daughter perished in that stable along with the horses.”

That day Juliette was taken to the Circle of Magi to live amongst other child mages and to have her magic powers refined and monitored. She never saw her parents again. She was only eleven years old.

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, politics, and drama, which continues ever on.

Supplemental material for Unwanted. In this post-script, Trevelyan journeys to the Temple of Sacred Ashes at the worst possible time.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Words: 3,110. Rating: all audiences, bar some swearing.)

Bonus Chapter: The Temple of Sacred Ashes (Part 1)

The Temple of Sacred Ashes lived up to its name in only one aspect: there was plenty of ash.

Trevelyan and Herzt left boot-prints in their wake, as they walked the ruins of the temple. What had once been a grand, mountain-side monument to the glory of the Maker was now little more than a crater of crumbled walls, peppered with towering spikes of red lyrium, clawing their way out of the ground.

It was the latter, of course, they came to see. Well, there wasn’t much else to gawk at—except, perhaps, the glimmering green scar of the Breach, left hanging in the skies above.

“The largest concentrations appear to have formed where organic material is in abundance,” Trevelyan noted to Herzt, as they crept toward a particularly intimidating spike. It had sapped what little life grew around it, nothing but dry, dead grasses left in its wake.

“That is consistent with our previous findings, Arcanist,” added Herzt. “It thrives on the biology of others.”

Trevelyan sighed, and looked out over the crater below. The evidence for this point was laid quite plainly before them, as it was not merely nature that the red lyrium had feasted upon. The corpses of those who’d died to the Breach had been drained to little more than unrecognisable husks.

“Death follows where it goes,” muttered Trevelyan.

She dipped into her satchel, to take a note—but paused. A thumping sound, like the beat of a distant drum, echoed around the mountains.

“Do you hear that?” she asked Herzt.

He nodded. “Strange. I do not recognise it.”

Trevelyan glanced back at their retinue, who had, thus far, been contentedly idling while she researched. Not so now.

At arms, they listened. Somewhere, beyond the crater, cries rang out and weaponry clashed. Unmistakable: the cacophony of battle. It rippled like a wave through the valley, surging ever closer, in concert with the approaching thrum.

A muffled shout reached them. One of the soldiers must have heard, for they repeated it, loud and clear:

“DRAGON!”

All fell to shadow, as the sun was blotted from the sky. Silence perished, ‘neath the dreaded pound of thunderous wings. Trevelyan looked to Herzt.

“Run!”

Darkness shifted; the dragon dove. Trevelyan and Herzt sprinted from the ruins, towards the underpass from which they’d entered. Though no more than a roof that had survived rubbling, it was the best defense they had.

“Come on, come on!” called a soldier from within. Trevelyan and Herzt skidded past the protection of his shield, as a blast of pure energy detonated in the spot they had occupied mere moments ago.

Trevelyan’s eyes widened. “That was—”

That was no primal element. Not flame, not ice, not even lightning—though it burned just as blinding-bright. No, it was unlike any of that.

It was red.

Trevelyan glanced to where the dragon circled, patrolling the skies above. Silhouetted by the dying sun, she glimpsed a rider upon its back.

“Corypheus.”

Though she had not seen the creature before, she knew him by description. And it wasn’t like there were any other red lyrium dragon-riding bastards terrorising the countryside.

But why? Why was he here?

Trevelyan’s eyes caught on the closed-up wound of the Breach, and all became clear.

“Herzt,” she said, looking him in the eye, “you need to run back to camp. Send a bird to Skyhold immediately. Tell them Corypheus is attempting to reopen the Breach.”

Herzt nodded, dutiful as ever, completely placid in the face of death. “Yes, Arcanist.”

A soldier stumbled in, from the direction of the valley: “It’ll be a fight. We’ve got forces incoming.”

“Then go with him,” Trevelyan told a handful of soldiers. “That message must be sent.”

“What about you?” their Captain asked.

Trevelyan readied her staff. “Corypheus cannot be allowed to reopen the Breach.”

“No.” The Captain stared her down. “You’re not to come to any danger—Commander’s orders.”

The dragon roared. Trevelyan gathered energy within her focus.

“He’ll forgive me.”

She blinked through the Fade, abandoning the safety of the underpass, and took off running. The Captain called for her to return, but she did not look back. Her eyes were firmly on the skies above, and the dragon that filled them.

“Here, you bastard!” she shouted, sending a fireball off in its direction. “Follow me!”

Though the spell missed its target, it certainly gained its attention. The dragon rounded on her, and pursued.

Nothing could terrify quite like that. To know there was something coming. To hear it close the distance. To feel its breath striking at one’s back. Nothing could terrify like the feeling of being hunted.

Trevelyan had run like this before. She could do it again. Whenever she felt she had mana capable, she slipped through the Fade, got a little further.

But there was no outrunning the blast.

The moment she heard it in the dragon’s throat, she turned. Leapt. Down a level of the crater, back pressed against the stone. Energy quaked the rock above her head, the very wall she clung to.

But the dragon had missed. That was all that mattered.

Little time to celebrate, however. It swung through the sky, readying for a second bombardment. Trevelyan needed to move.

Her only chance was a quirk of the landscape she had noticed during her exploration of it. The valley was not this crater’s only exit: there was another path, a sheer climb, up through the mountains. Yet it was sheltered enough—by cliffs on both sides—that if Trevelyan could make it to the first ladder, she could make it out.

Her eyes locked onto it. Her body readied to run.

The dragon twisted in the sky, and brought its gaze upon her. A roar preceded its next deadly breath. Jaw, open. Teeth, beared. A blast—

—hit the rock behind her, as Trevelyan burst from the wall and Fade-stepped forward. She hit the ground at a pace, dashing across the crater’s centre. A frustrated roar overwhelmed her ears. There was no time to listen. Breathless, desperate, she ran.

But what lay between her and the other side was a wasteland. No walls; just stone, just lyrium. Nowhere to hide.

And there was a screech at her back.

Trevelyan took what Fade energy she had, and threw it out behind her. A wall of fire rocketed up at her command, and obscured her from the dragon’s view. Though its breath blasted clean through the flames—the shot went wide. She survived, again.

Up the crater, and into the cliffs. What would happen beyond them, she did not know. But this was her only chance of escape. Her hand clapped onto the rung of the first ladder. With a glance behind to see the dragon circle, she began to climb.

Hand over hand, she scaled the ladder as fast as she could. A panting dash, to the next. No opportunity to check her vicinity, she listened for wings instead. Not far—but far enough. There was time. Time she would not waste. Up, quickly.

Yet with haste, comes inaccuracy. And for her, the inevitable occurred. As she came within arm’s reach of the summit, Trevelyan’s foot missed a rung.

Her body dropped, stopped only by the sudden reaction of her hands, clinging on with all her might. She dangled, feet slipping as she tried, desperately, to find her footing once more. The wings. She could no longer hear them.

A foot latched on. She glanced out, to locate her doom—but the dragon was nowhere near her. The dragon did not care for her. No, its attention was quite elsewhere.

The call of a bird shrieked across the mountain peaks, as it soared into the sky. Sent from their camp, seeking home. Seeking Skyhold.

The dragon turned on it.

“No!” Trevelyan screamed.

One arm clinging to the ladder, her other drew her staff and thrust it outward. By her will, clouds darkened. Thunder rumbled. Her fear and anger were drawn to her focus, and concentrated into raw power.

Lightning shot down from the sky, aimed at the dragon’s wing.

The beast, jaws wide, was forced to rear back—its momentum halted, its wings furled. Though the lightning streaked past its body, the damage was done. The bird was gone, lost over the range.

Fury shook the sky, as the dragon roared its frustration. Trevelyan was already climbing again. She knew who would be the target of its anger. The next blast was coming. There was no running.

But there was hiding. Upon the mountain plateau, salvation made itself known. An opening, in the peak—dark beyond its entrance, but good enough to evade the wrath of a dragon. With its presence in her periphery, Trevelyan ran.

Each second lasted as if an hour. Each stride felt a marathon. It was as if Trevelyan witnessed the very last moments of her life, in every intricate detail. The whistle of the wind past her ears. The flight of the snow kicked up by her feet. The pain of breaths, slicing at her throat.

She could hear the dragon like a gathering storm.

Her foot hit the threshold of the cavern, and all returned to motion. She threw herself around a corner, pressed her back to the walls—as an almighty burst of raw, red energy ploughed into the entrance.

No speck of stone was spared; the dragon torched it all. Repeatedly. Its roars shook the mountain; its breath caused it to falter. Trevelyan’s entire body tensed, compacting itself against the rock. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that made a difference; she clutched her staff to her chest, begging its protection.

In the darkness of her fear, she heard the shudder of stone. Relentlessly beaten by the dragon’s breath, it cracked and strained. And soon, the sound of the roar was drowned out, by that of avalanching rock.

Trevelyan held her breath, and prayed.

When at last the cavern fell to quiet, a cloud of dust brushed past her face. Her eyes slowly opened, to see the entrance of the cave—mere feet away—no longer extant. Collapsed.

“No!” she cried. She clambered closer, and listened to what lay beyond. Yet, beside the settling rock, she heard nothing. Nothing, except the faint sound of wings, receding from the mountain.

It couldn’t be. Corypheus was returning to the Breach.

Desperate, Trevelyan scrambled back. She aimed her staff at the pile of debris, built its power—and released. A blast of raw, kinetic energy crashed into the rubble. But it did not clear. Instead, it shook. The whole mountain shook. The avalanche began anew.

Trevelyan ran, a wall of falling rock at her heels, a cloud of chasing dust threatening to consume her. Her heart beat as loud as it had for the dragon. A mountain had no concept of mercy either.

But in her haste, the features of the cavern eluded her. A drop appeared before her—a set of stairs she noticed all too late. Trevelyan fell, and fell, and fell.

Her hip smacked into the ground where she landed, and Trevelyan cried out in pain. Though the rockfall had been evaded, it had come at a cost. Wincing, crawling, she found her staff where it had fallen, and by its support, was able to stand.

She hissed from the strain. A hand pressed to her side, and she did her best to heal. All the while, her eyes surveyed.

Though she would rather not have discovered them the way she did, these stairs were important. Stairs were made by mortal hands, not mountains. Someone had been here, once; left paved floors and supporting columns. If only they’d reinforced the exit more.

“There must be another,” Trevelyan muttered to herself.

With a fire in her palm lighting the way, she began her search.

But this place was an inscrutable maze. The dripping of stalagtites was her only company, each droplet that struck the ground driving her further and further to madness. Every second she wasted here was another that Corypheus had to enact his dark will upon the Breach. It cracked and burst in her mind, as if it were already too late. Maker, let it not be too late.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right? I could accompany you.”

Her mind trailed to even deeper anxieties. To the words of Cullen, hours before she had left.

“You need to oversee the return of troops from the Arbor Wilds,” she’d told him, “I’ll be all right. I’ll have Herzt, and the retinue.”

“Be careful, please. The area isn’t safe.”

Oh, the pleading in his eyes as he said those words.

“I promise you, Cullen—I’ll returned unharmed.”

That promise. She would not forsake it. She would find the way out. She would stop Corypheus. If not for her, then for him.

Something echoed in the darkness ahead, and pulled her mind from its recollection. Nothing more than a little scraping sound, that could well have been an errant deepstalker—but Trevelyan could take no chances. She followed.

Down another staircase, round a corner. Into some kind of storage area, stacked at the edges with long-abandoned equipment that was of little interest to Trevelyan. It was the sound she cared for. Not the scraping—a whistling. She could hear a whistling. Constant, but ebbing. Wind through the mountains? It had to be.

But it was silenced by a screech.

Trevelyan conjured a barrier, precisely as a demon of despair—mangled, toothy, and ragged—apparated from the shadows, and blasted her with ice.

Though it pummeled her defenses, they survived the onslaught. And the moment it ceased, she launched a retaliatory fireball in the demon’s direction.

But it leapt away, torn cloak never quite touching the ground. Her fire smattered against the rocks, extinguished. Yet, in the brief flash of its light, Trevelyan realised that it was not merely despair she now faced.

A pair of shades came crawling from the woodwork, their humanoid forms amorphous and hunched: the picture of something attempting personhood, but failing in every aspect.

One lunged.

Trevelyan Fade-stepped back, to give herself room. Their being here spoke of a weakness in the Fade, one she could exploit for power. As they gathered energy, so did she.

Despair shrieked, announcing its next barrage. Trevelyan whirled, focus alight. Flames whipped out—snaking fire sought the demon like a whip, coiling around its limbs, its body, its neck. Trevelyan pulled them taut, and pulled it apart.

Yet the shades took this as opportunity. They shifted through the shadows, little difference between them and darkness, lurking ever closer. Though nothing pierced her skin, hissing claws scraped against Trevelyan’s mind, threating to sink in. The pain worsened with proximity.

Undeterred, Trevelyan span her staff. The momentum carried her blade upward, slicing through the jaw of one shade, and exploding it into remnants. The other yet loomed—but Trevelyan ducked from its path as it struck, and brought her staff around. With the clench of her fist, ice sprang from the ground, and consumed the shade whole. Her staff slashed through, and shattered it to pieces.

Though she prepared for further combat, she felt no further presence. Good. She would not be impeded any longer.

The subtle rush of wind grew louder with each stride. It guided her forth, through the last of the cave—and into the invading glare of the setting sun, pouring through an opening like a portal to another world. Though all she could see beyond it was mountains and snow, Trevelyan ran.

She emerged on high, overlooking the mountain-valley below. But Corypheus was nowhere in sight.

Anxious, she looked to the sky. The Breach. It remained, still little more than a scar, streaking through the heavens. He had not succeeded yet.

Though, whether it was her imagination or truth, Trevelyan could not help but feel it glowed brighter. Cracked, snarled. Unopened, perhaps, but not untouched.

Her eyes darted to the slope of the mountain, to see her way down. There were ladders in place, quite fortunately, from whatever group had once shored up this godforsaken mountainside. They led to the bottom of the valley, to...

A large stone bridge. One she recognised. It had been the checkpoint they’d passed through on their way to the Temple. The few soldiers who’d patrolled it then had now multiplied into their dozens. But—why were they here? Why were they not storming the valley?

Urgency took over once more. Trevelyan slid down the rickety ladders that led the way, and scrambled across the last of the snowbanks that separated her and the soldiers. The bridge gate was opened for her, and the watchmen atop hurried her in.

She had hoped to arrive to the clash of steel ringing out, and the calls of soldiers amongst its throng. But the only steel here was that of swords being sharpened, and the only shouts that of the Captain, to his gathered troops.

Trevelyan pushed and parted her way through them, intended for that Captain, but halted. Hidden, within the mass of armour, was one not so soldier-like.

“Herzt!” she cried, rushing up to embrace him. “Are you all right?”

“I am well, Arcanist,” he told her, thank the Maker. “I am relieved to see you are alive. We were able to send the message, as you requested.”

“I saw—but why are you still here? You need to get as far away as possible.”

The Captain interrupted, shouting over: “We can’t go anywhere! He’s got the last of his bloody Red Templars moving in. We need to hold the line.”

Trevelyan marched to face him. “It’s a distraction! While we fight here, Corypheus has unfettered access to the Breach! You need to advance on the Temple!”

“We do that, and we’ll be overwhelmed! We need reinforcements,” the Captain told her, “and we’ll hold until we get them. That’s what the message was for!”

Trevelyan snarled, “We won’t need that message if he reopens the Breach!”

“Arcanist,” said Herzt.

Trevelyan glanced at him, then in the direction he was pointing. Up.

Indeed, they would not need that message. For the Breach began to snap and shriek, crying out as it was bent and broken under the influence of pure malevolence. A beam of green light shot skyward from the Temple, seeking the Breach like an arrow.

“No!” Trevelyan cried. In the split-second she had, she whirled on Herzt, and threw out her arms. A barrier formed. The Breach detonated.

Its blast slammed into Trevelyan’s back. She was catapulted across the bridge, crashing into its wall, body hanging over the parapet.

And there, she lay.

[first-talon]

Caspian's Inquisition Mod List

For his transmasc Trevelyan

Not even gonna lie to you guys, I probably could handle more mods but my computer is a little old. He's trucking along though and I am so proud of him. I'm gonna include all of the mods I have downloaded for my Trevelyan playthrough (with a link) and a brief description of what they do/why I picked it. I'll try to update it because I usually end up adding more as I go.

Any Voice - Mod that allows you to choose any voice during character creation (male or female/British or American). I don't know how well this portion of the mod works because I opted for the optional file: Flipped Pronouns. This causes your character to be referred to by the opposite pronouns of the gender presentation you selected at character creation. (For me, this allows my male Trevelyan to be played on a feminine model). Player's Note: This does not apply to text in game. Missions, notes, and letters will still refer to the default gender for your selection.

Divine Armor for Lady Trevelyan - Mod that allows the Divine Armor (normally bestowed to a Divine Cassandra or Vivienne in the Trespasser DLC) to be acquired early and equipped on a female Trevelyan model.

War Table (No Waiting) - A classic. I'm an impatient little bastard when it comes to those missions.

More Banter - Make those companions talk a little more often! Guaranteed chatter about every fifteen minutes so they're not just silently following you around for hours on end.

Skills Revamped (Warrior) - I think Warrior is (sadly) one of the weakest classes in Inquisition. I chose to revamp the sword&board and the battlemaster lines, but there are files for all of them. The mod creator has also done a revamp for mages and rogues as well.

Party at the Winter Palace - Allows for ALL of your companions to join you at Halamshiral! Bit lengthy on the introductions, but I think it's worth it to interact with everyone and hear all of the dialogue. Optional file that I think is a MUST is one that cuts out the sexual harassment dialogue concerning Cullen.

Actually Alistair - Another must have. They butchered my boy in Inquisition. This doesn't restore him quite to his Origins glory, but it's much better...

Blackwall, Warden of the North - I just couldn't stand his beard. I'm sorry.

Lady Josephine's Outfit Retextures & Lady Josephine Complexion - I picked blush for the outfit and gold for the headband and jewelry under her complexion. It gives her soft brown eyes and a much more fun and romantic outfit detailing!

Dark Knight Cullen - The outfits are fun but I really appreciated the complexion retextures here! I liked it best with the scars and the DA2 beard.

The Wolf - Darker Solas Retexture - Self-explanatory, and it's a gorgeous labor of love.

Refined Varric - He just looked a little too grungy for me. Sorry grungy Varric lovers, the vanilla complexions in this game are too oily.

Refined Vivienne - Fell in love with this mod the second I saw it; I love the makeup and contours it adds to her face, very striking and very VIV!

DA2 Cassandra - Very close to her default Inquisition complexion, I just wanted something a little more familiar.

C.A.R.P. Concept Art Sera Overhaul - New complexions and face textures + hairstyle that causes Sera to more closely resemble her concept art design.

Royal Retextures - Retextured outfits for Celene, Florianne, Gaspard, and Briala at the Winter Ball. (BTW if anyone can send me the link for the Briala mod that overhauls her whole design. Throw it my way)

New Outfits for Human Female - Wanted a mod that overhauls the default Skyhold PJs and found one that didn't make my poor Trevelyan stand around with his tits out or in lacy lingerie. Features some mixed armor between Vivienne and Cassandra and Flemeth's outfit.

LL Inquisition Faction - Mod that recolors all of the Inquisition heraldry into a green/black/gold scheme. Includes optional files for retextured furniture and Halamshiral finery.

Inquisition Branded Finery - I opted NOT to use the finery from the above mod and selected the white/emerald one here. There are other cute color options too!

Anto Hairstyles for DAI - I picked the Elena mesh for Veremund's hair. I will say this was the only mod that I could get to load (AND PLEASE READ THE REQUIRED MODS ON THIS ONE).

DAI Frosty Texture Glitch Fixes - Fixes a bunch of things that I broke :)

Sprint Key - Another must-have. Enables you to sprint at any time by holding down left shift.

Winter/Autumn in Thedas - I have only linked the winter one here as that's the one I'm using, but I LOVE both of these retextures! If you love autumn leaves or crisp snow, check these out. You do not need reshaders to play with these.

Winter Fog ReShade - But if you'd LIKE a reshade to complement the mod above, this is the one the creator recommends! I'm giving it a whirl, too.

Always Night in Skyhold - It's always night in Skyhold! I think it makes cutscenes more dramatic.

**Other recommendations:

Gender-Neutral Pronouns for the Inquisitor - Similar to the first mod I listed, except it removes any mention of "Lord/Lady" and strives to be an entirely neutral mod. (You can find the original tumblr post explaining the mod in more detail here).

Custom Body Models - Adds more variety to the Inquisitor's physical appearance. Only works on the Skyhold PJs and the various meshes you can find thereof.

As I said, I'll be adding more as I go! If you have any recommendations, please send them my way as well :)

[thedastrash]

OC Tag Game!

Ooo thanks for tagging me @kittynomsdeplume & @cleverblackcat!! This took a while to get to but it was very fun!

Favorite OC: Evil question to start. I can't possibly choose unless I set some limits for myself so I'm going to cheat and say my most popular OC. I have the most art of her by no fault of my own. Velaneth Surana is my canon HoF and Warden Commander. Vela is a very open person: never lies, has no body shame, and loves to learn about other people and where they’ve come from. She walks into every hostile situation with her best foot forward trying to make friends and allies.

Newest OC: I’m slowly congealing my ideas about Orlagh Trevelyan because I’ve been imagining what the different cultures of the Freemarches look like - especially on the coast where trade is frequent. She’s from Ostwick of course and trained as a Templar as a youth but spent summers at a monastery with her aunt in Wycome which I imagine a bit like Morocco. I’ve been staring at my Pinterest boards imagining her lonely days growing up and what it means for her to leave her walls behind and be thrust into this new organization with all these people and their differing ideals. I'm particularly interested in exploring her being a templar but having some latent magic that has been tied up in her templar abilities so long she didn't realize it was ever there.

Oldest OC: In DA my oldest OC is Topaz Brosca from my original run of origins. The one where my save got deleted right before the Landsmeet lol rip. I've recently revisited her and I'm falling in love with her again. She's a hot trans girl and stabby rogue and she falls in love with the surface world immediately. My oldest OC ever though... might be a self insert hobbit character I made for myself as a child before I knew what fandom or fanfiction was lol! I think her name was Charlie? my memory is BAD but I know that's a name I loved as a kid.

Meanest OC: Szadrine Aeducan is my final origin from DAO to get an OC and I'm slowly growing deeply obsessed. She’s involved in (literal) cutthroat Orzammar politics and ends up skipping the warden bit after the whole betrayal and exile thing. She simply deserts at Ostagar. I think she should end up kicking ass in Orlais because she would be so good at the Game.

Softest OC: Bearnard Cousland is a soft, sweet, bookish baby-gay who would rather bury himself in his research in a library than seek glory or fight battles or do politics. Bearn is the second son so he’s gotten away with avoiding some of that but of course he has to attend his lessons and participate in the tourneys. His scholarly work lends him some political savvy since he’s intimately familiar with Ferelden’s history, but he’s most interested in lost texts and translating ancient works. He never had good gay role models growing up and thinks of himself as homely and forgettable, so he never felt like that was an option for him, but Maker does he ever pine lol!

Most Aloof/Standoffish OC: Gotta be Irene Amell. She's a real bitch with resting murder face. Incredibly unapproachable, intimidating Domme energy. Tends to default dislike people and keep to herself, prefering to slink around and eavesdrop than talk to people for info. She’s very protective and loving toward her close friends and lovers, but it’s hard to get close in the first place.

Dumbest OC: Myrna Hawke is a smart woman, she's an accomplished mage, enjoys reading, quick witted, but she has zero self-awareness and has a very hard time even understanding how she feels, much less how other people feel about her. She’s absolutely clueless and fully blindsided by anyone’s interest & gets tongue tied and stupid when she’s horny. She’s also very impulsive and acts before she thinks things through which leads to getting into a lot of dumb shit.

Smartest OC: There are excellent contenders here: Bearn with his book smarts and Topaz with her street smarts, but I want to say Ithadhea Mahariel because even though they are incredibly dense when it comes to interpersonal relations, their wealth of traditional knowledge from their clan is incredible. They are not really a people person, usually quiet and solitary, but they took to hunting like they were born for it and eagerly learned everything in the realm of woodcraft and survival. They know all their clan's stories by heart and and know resources by seasons in a way that is part of their internal clock. I think this kind of generational knowledge probably outstrips the scope of any of my other OC's knowledge.

OC I’d Be Friends With: Edric Cadash is so laid back and friendly I think he’d be one of the easiest to make friends with. I want to have tea and gossip with him and have that turn into late night drinking and telling stories by the fire. Vela would be an instant friend as well; she wants to befriend everyone and she'd have an easy time with me!

no pressure tagging some of my DA OC enjoying friends: @sinquisition, @highwayphantoms, @lets-get-brave, @sandalinbohemia, @dismalzelenka and anyone else who wants to share! Feel free to @ me so I can see your post! <3

[kittynomsdeplume]

OC Tag Game

Oooh, thanks for the tag @cleverblackcat. I'm not sure what's gonna shake out here, as I don't really plan my OC's out very well. They sort of slowly emerge as their story grows, so all of them are very much works in progress still. A few of them have started to show distinct personalities though. I'm going to focus mostly on Dragon Age OC's, since they are the ones I'm writing pretty exclusively these days.

Tagging: @knuttydraws | @raflesia65 | @inquisitoracorn | @retrowondergirl | @thedastrash | @charlatron | @charmcity-jess | @amarmeme | @inky-does-art | @spooky-daggers

Favorite OC: This is basically akin to asking me who my favourite LI is and I really don't know how to choose! I like them all for different reasons. I think I do have a soft spot of Evelyn Trevelyan though, or a strong desire to keep her safe. Out of all my OC's, she's the only one that was not even remotely prepared to be a hero/leader/figurehead. Yes she was born into a noble family, but she was never going to be the head of it. She was shipped off in disgrace to the Circle at the age of 13 -- completely ruining her parents carefully orchestrated plans to marry her off for their own benefit. All my other OC's have spent a good majority of their lives already having to lead/protect/be responsible for others, but poor Evelyn's just so out of her depth. They're all pretty badass too - they can easily go toe to toe with an archdemon, or the arishok, or any adversary you throw at them. Evelyn would just get squished.

Newest OC: Hmm, I think that's probably Maxwell Trevelyan, who began really as just a generic name drop of an Inquisitor for Under Her Mask. He's grown though and I'm honestly a bit in love with the shithead 😆 Because he's brash and aggravating, but he's staunchly loyal to his friends and Blackwall's revelation broke his heart. I don't know if he will emotionally survive Solas' betrayal, not that I plan to write it, but you never know. I do enjoy writing him being cheeky with Cassandra. He might just continue to pop up in the further adventures of Solona and Cullen, so we'll see.

Oldest OC: Oh haha, hmmm that would be going back many, many years now. I think the first story I wrote that was a genuine foray into fan-fiction, was about Garthik the Meek. He was an orc that lived peacefully in his little hovel, deep in the forests of Yew, in the land of Britannia. He spent his days tending to his garden and frolicking with the forest animals that were his dear friends. Unfortunately however, one day he was set upon by a band of glory seeking adventurers, and his humble little life was tragically cut short 😞

Meanest OC: Oh, Enastarin without a doubt. He was tolerable to his companions when he was merely a spirit of Vanity, unable to help his shallow nature. Something dark emerged in him however when he left the Fade -- a jealous, competitive obsession with Solas. Despite his complete lack of empathy for others, Rin sees the true nature of everyone -- can reflect it with uncanny accuracy, which is why he is the most talented shape-shifter in Elvhenan. So he sees all the faults, doubts and weaknesses that Solas hides from others. He hates that everyone always looked to Solas over him. That Solas was always considered more competent, more powerful and wiser than him, and that Mythal openly favoured Solas above all others. It's a resentment that has festered in him, like a sour wound, for millennia. Naturally, in his immense pride, Solas doesn't take Rin seriously as a threat, and that's a blind spot Rin is more than happy to exploit.

Softest OC: Again, all my OC's have been pretty hardened by their life experience. They're all soft in their own ways, in the right circumstances, with the right people. Like, Solona is pathetically soft for Cullen, but don't ask her about Alistair 😬 Though, even that is complicated.

Sulahnean essentially cannot say no to Dorian. She tries to be firm, but if he gives her puppy eyes, she's done for. Which is not the sort of friendship she ever imagined she could have with a Tevinter nobleman of all things.

I don't know that Hawke is soft so much as brittle inside, though she's very good at putting up a tough exterior and ignoring her own feelings. Evelyn probably wins the soft category again, although Blackwall certainly caused her to harden her heart a little bit, but she's probably still the most forgiving.

Most Aloof/Standoffish OC: Probably Sulahnean Lavellan. Though its actually against her natural character and mostly due to circumstances. She was quite warm and gregarious amongst her Clan, but being surrounded by so many strange and hostile humans in Haven, and under their intense scrutiny, had her feeling very out of place and she drew inside herself as a defence mechanism. Then she was held up as this religious icon, an Andrastrian icon, and she was terrified to even be herself. Because how long was it going to be before she slipped up and acted too Dalish, or too outspoken for mage freedom, and got herself burned at the stake as a heretic? Slowly though, she began to forge bonds with others in the Inquisition, but after everything that happened with Cole and Solas, it damaged her ability to trust people at all. She's trying to work through it, to not close herself off entirely from others, but it's a struggle. Logically, she knows that most people have good intentions, but when the pain of betrayal is still so fresh, it's hard to not react instinctively with fear and doubt.

Dumbest (Affectionate) OC: Ok, well probably Marian Hawke. Not that she's truly stupid obviously, but she tends to act without thinking. And sure, she thrives in the havoc that ensues, and in some ways being so erratic puts her enemies on the backfoot, giving her the advantage then in being decisive, adaptable and quick-witted. So maybe she's actually a chaotic genius in the end! To the outside observer though, it just looks like sheer pandemonium, and without a doubt, she's shaved about ten years off the life of all her friends from the stress of being in her orbit. Though at least they've all learned to expect the unexpected and the more insane the plan seems, the more likely it is to actually turn out ok. Realistically though, Hawke just doesn't quit. Ever. Overcoming all obstacles through sheer stubbornness.

Smartest OC: Probably Sileahilan. Overall, she's very well rounded, possessing not just book smarts, but good social and emotional intelligence. She knows herself very well too, and has the good sense to know when she's wrong, or needs help. She also has a seemingly rare quality among other ancient elves, in that she learns from her mistakes 😂

OC I’d Be Friends With: Probably not Hawke and Max. I think they would exhaust me in a matter of minutes. And definitely not Enastarin, for very obvious reasons. But I think I could chill just fine with most of the others.

[enderevynne]

DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION ➤ OC GIFS: Evynne Trevelyan

↳ Sit in Judgement

This is not my canon, Evynne does not kill unless she absolutely has to. It lets bad people off too easy for her. In my canon she denies him his wish of glory in death and throws him in jail to rot and be forgotten. 

But. I had to see her (literally) slay in her judgement outfit. 

[leviiackrman]

Ophelia Dandythorn, dungeons and dragons || Shen, avatar: the last airbender

Ziri, the legend of korra || Yona Vashoth, dragon age: inquisition

Yavanna Trevelyan, dragon age: inquisition || Asami Enatsu, my hero academia

@shellibisshe shared with me this awesome picrew for those with darker skin and I ADORE it!! So naturally I had to make my dark skinned girlies in all their gorgeous glory - thank you sm for sharing this with me shell!

Tagging: @chuckhansen @queennymeria @simonxriley @arklay @marivenah @confidentandgood @kingsroad @indorilnerevarine @liurnia @dihardys @multiverse-of-themind @denerims @thomrainer @florbelles @risingsh0t @blackreaches @shadowglens @jackiesarch @trvelyans @stormveils @starsandskies @alexandbear @duffmckagans + @sstewyhosseini

[msclaritea]

Jay-Z Joins Stars LaKeith Stanfield, David Oyelowo & More at ‘The Book of Clarence’ Premiere | Anna Diop, Babs Olusanmokun, Caleb McLaughlin, David Oyelowo, Eric Kofi-Abrefa, James McAvoy, Jay Z, Lakeith Stanfield, Micheal Ward, Movies, Nicholas Pinnock, Omar Sy, Teyana Taylor

Tons of celebrities are coming together to celebrate the premiere of The Book of Clarence!

The event took place on Friday (January 5) at the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures in Los Angeles.

Jay-Z, who served as a producer for the project, was one of the biggest stars to arrive!

Among the film's cast members in attendance were: LaKeith Stanfield, David Oyelowo, Omar Sy, James McAvoy, Teyana Taylor, Caleb McLaughlin, Anna Diop, Babs Olusanmokun, Micheal Ward, Nicholas Pinnock, and Eric Kofi-Abrefa.

The Book of Clarence is directed by Jeymes Samuel.

Here's the official synopsis: The Book of Clarence is a bold new take on the timeless Hollywood era Biblical epic. Streetwise but struggling, Clarence (Stanfield) is trying to find a better life for himself and his family, make himself worthy to the woman he loves, and prove that he’s not a nobody. Captivated by the power and glory of the rising Messiah and His apostles, he risks everything to carve his own path to a divine life, a journey through which he finds redemption and faith, power and knowledge."

I keep forgetting that Jay Z produced that pile of shit, The Book of Clarence. So, it's official then. Jay Z is nothing more than another backstabbing bro ON THE DOWN LOW (likely every person in the film are) a member of the Cult of Scientology, which crosses over into Freemasons. Besides the fact that evidence is increasing that Beyonce is not a free agent under Jay Z and is in fact a prisoner, he's been openly involved with Satanic practices, the NFL for some reason, only trusted Jay Z to do business with, and there's also the fact that he got black folks to jump up and down, to his tune dedicated to the Cray Brothers. Yeah, they were British thugs, who regularly abused young boys. David Oyelowo turns up everywhere suspicious, is attached at the HIP to Oprah, a known abuse enabler, and has a direct tie to Sophie Hunter. The truly disgusting part of all of this was their misuse and mistreatment of A lister' Benedict Cumberbatch in their films and I have little doubts, on the set. He was specifically instructed to use the Happy Days character, Fonzie, as a humorous template. The CIA MKULTRA program embedded many pieces of pop culture into the system. I found out recently that Fonzie is one of those pieces. Now, we know why Henry Winkler's cheesy old self keeps being embedded into current pop culture.

"..In 'Dandy in the Underworld', Sebastian wrote: “A lifetime of neglect had left me seething with a lust for revenge.” It was our grandfather who introduced my brother to the Glaswegian ex-gangster Jimmy Boyle. Alec had arranged for some of Boyle's sculptures to be exhibited in Hull. With his staunch liberal values about reform, he was impressed by Boyle, a celebrity after his book A Sense of Freedom was turned into a BBC film. Boyle was first imprisoned for murder in 1967, and was released in 1982. In his heyday, he was an enforcer and debt collector for the Glasgow mafia, known as “Scotland's most violent man.” Despite this, his sentence was reduced, and it seems reasonable to suppose my grandfather's support had something to do with it. In 1983, Boyle and his wife Sarah Trevelyan teamed up with my brother and his partner and started the Gateway Exchange, a reform center for drug addicts, sex offenders, and ex-convicts in which my brother professed to be “well-camouflaged.” In his memoir, he writes how Boyle “allowed [him] to express forbidden impulses, secret wishes and fantasies” (S. Horsley, 2007, p. 119).1 My brother's fascination for criminality was something he shared with Alec and that included writing letters to the Kray twins and the notorious Moors murderer, Myra Hindley. A 1999 Guardian article about Jimmy Boyle mentions how, in 1967 (just before he was arrested), Boyle “was on the run in London and under the protection of the Krays”. According to my brother, Boyle worked with the Krays during the Sixties and possibly earlier. Jimmy Savile was connected to the Krays, and Savile was from Yorkshire, where my brother and I grew up and where Peter Sutcliffe, the Yorkshire Ripper (whom Savile also knew), allegedly stalked his victims during my teen years. (During that period, Savile was questioned by police about the murders and briefly considered to be a suspect.) As described in Seen and Not Seen, Savile's early days as a dance-club manager meant rubbing shoulders with gangsters, maybe even as a teenager. He and the Krays worked and played together in the Sixties, and were likely involved with the sex trafficking of children to members of the British elite, including via care homes where children were allegedly tortured, even killed (see Chapter 14). Myra Hindley and Ian Brady frequented the same dance halls where Savile DJ-ed, in Manchester in the 1960s, and Savile talked about being friends with Ian Brady. Brady (who grew up in Glasgow before moving to Manchester), bragged about his associations with the Glasgow mafia and the Kray twins. Glasgow was also where the Paedophile Information Exchange (PIE) was founded, in 1975. It was affiliated with the National Council for Civil Liberties, a cause my family would almost certainly have actively supported. PIE's aim was to lower the age of consent to four, or to abolish it altogether. It wasn't until I was writing Seen and Not Seen that I began to try to put all of these pieces together. It was like a first flyover of the scorched earth of my childhood. Since then I have touched down and begun to explore it more directly. The present work is like the first draft of a charred map.

“It is a tragic paradox that the very qualities that lead to a man's extraordinary capacity for success are also those most likely to destroy him.” —Sebastian Horsley, private correspondence with the author

Harriet Harman has described Margaret Hodge as her best friend in Parliament. Hodge's late husband, Henry Hodge, was also an Islington Labour councilor, and a former chairman of the National Council for Civil Liberties. In 1985, Margaret Hodge “announced that Islington Council would positively discriminate in favour of gay staff. It exempted self-declared gay men from background checks, and paedophiles pretending to be decent gay men cynically exploited this.” Rightonmeanwhile had founded a training course for residential workers. Pedophilia, he declared in one essay, was “no more bizarre than a penchant for redheads” (ibid.). The article quotes a “whistleblower” called Dr. Davies: “I think there could be more than one home with Savile connections. Children from Islington's home at 114 Grosvenor Avenue were taken to Jersey by Rabet, and Savile visited Jersey's Haut de la Garenne home. Survivors of abuse there have described being taken to an Islington children's home” (ibid.). Haut de la Garenne was visited by the Kray twins and Lord Boothby. The crimes that allegedly occurred there were considerably more severe than “mere” pedophilia, involving as they did the violent rape, torture, and murder of children. In February 2015, the independent journalism site Exaro alleged that Righton was involved in the sadistic murder of a boy at Lord Henniker's estate (Wood, 2015; unfortunately, Exaro no longer exists and the site has been taken down). Although much of this seems almost unthinkable when written down in black and white, all of these crimes appear to be sourced in roughly—or exactly—the same social circles and value set as those of my own family.

How many of the individuals (men and women, but mostly men) who can be identified as “players” at varying levels within the grand game of social engineering either betray a tendency for child molestation or have been victims of it—or both? If we can believe the accounts at all, it's a truly alarming number. Can we hypothesize from this that “situational” child molestation (taken to sometimes unimaginable extremes) is the unconscious (and in some cases conscious) drive behind the many, myriad master plans of the elite? Perhaps not, but it's at least consistent with what we know about human individuals, which is that the sex drive is one of the strongest motivating factors there is for human beings. It's also consistent with the way the sexual element of criminal and conspiratorial networks, such as the Krays or Jimmy Savile, while well-concealed, eventually turns out to be the most remarkable thing about them. My suspicion is that there's a narrowing of sexual (and therefore all other) interests as an individual ascends the social hierarchy and has his or her sexual neuroses inflamed and indulged, into a fine diamond point of pathology. To know what a man or woman is made of, look into his or her sexual drives; it is the drives that are the most carefully hidden that run the deepest. This is my own particular bias, and the evidence I have cited for it is that sexual deviancy and social status seem to be inextricably intertwined in our present society, and to increase in tandem..."

Speaking of Down Low, I AM DONE watching Oprah Winfrey lackey, David Oyelowo, a British, Gay man, linked w/every shady fucker in Hollywood of getting cast to play historical black figures. @ParamountMovies is shit for pulling this with Bass Reeves. This is because of Redstone.

[modestemper]

ABOUT

NAME. Nicolette Mathilde Amalthea Trevelyan NICKNAMES. Nicole, Nicola, Colette, Lettie TITLE. Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste GENDER. Cis female ORIENTATION. Bisexual Biromantic DATE OF BIRTH. 7 Kingsway, 9:14 Dragon (27 as of the explosion at the conclave) PLACE OF BIRTH. Trevelyan Estate, behind the inner wall of Ostwick in the Free Marches. RESIDENCE. Skyhold, The Frostback Mountains.

HAIR. Deep red, wavy and grown to her hips. Generally worn loose when she isn't adventuring, typically braided back with ribbons to keep it out of her face. When travelling, she plaits it back into a long braid down her back. EYES. Emerald green. HEIGHT. 5'5 BUILD. Softly curved with no real muscle definition beyond her arms, back, and core. She is an archer with little martial combat experience and was, first and foremost, a noblewoman raised in a life of luxury and safety. SCARS. A cut above her brow and another on her upper arm from the explosion at the conclave, a burn across her back sustained from venatori magic at the attack on Haven. The mark on her hand leaves a jagged scar across her palm, after the events of Trespasser her arm is amputated below the elbow. MARKINGS. Freckles across her cheeks. FC. Alicia von Rittberg

MOTHER. Helaine Lysé Celeste Trevelyan nee. desRosiers FATHER. Andreas Emrys Cadoc Trevelyan SIBLINGS. Aneurin Willeme Alain Trevelyan (Eldest brother), Maxwell Anthoine Idris Trevelyan (Older brother), Kordelia Angelique Martine Trevelyan (Older sister), Éveline Vanora Irvetta Trevelyan (Older sister), Odette Eluned Aerona Trevelyan (Older sister) SPOUSE. none (verse dependent/tba) CHILDREN. verse dependent PETS. Griffith (Horse), Henri (Cat)

FAITH. Andrastian FEARS. Failure, humiliation, inadequacy, death, spiders, dragons, giants, darkspawn, pain, her family. ASPIRATIONS. To earn her parents pride, to save Thedas, to defeat Corypheus, to establish peace HOBBIES. dancing, reading, hunting, needlepoint & sewing, board games & card games VIRTUES. Graceful, kind, thoughtful, compassionate, modest, good-natured, gentle, intelligent, even-tempered, charming FLAWS. Reserved, fearful, anxious, fanciful, melancholic, hesitant, reticent, mild-mannered, impressionable.

codex. tw for emotional abuse, religious themes, overall shitty family dynamic

The youngest of six children of the ambitious head of the Trevelyan family in Ostwick. She was never set to inherit much of anything, and it was largely expected she would either join the Templars or take the cloth, as her older siblings had done.

Her father is not a particularly kind man, there are moments where it seems he loves his children (always fondly calling her Colette, taking an interest in the progression of her studies, etc.) his ambition always came first. Ambition for his own glory, for the good of the family. His children were more pawns for his own schemes than anything else.

Her mother wasn't much better, coming from Orlesian nobility with ties to the Chantry, she expected nothing short of perfection from her children. While she had high expectations that all of her children fell just short of, she was especially critical of her youngest child. Mild mannered, shy Nicolette keeping to the fringes of society, not seeming to fit in anywhere with her family's plans.

When she doesn't seem to fit the cloistered life of either the Templars or the Chantry Sisters, it is decided she will be put to use through an advantageous marriage.

She is betrothed three times throughout her life, all without her input and only ever meeting one of her prospective husbands. First to a member of the noble Nevarran Forsythia family, then when her father found a more advantageous match in a wealthy family from Starkhaven, then most recently breaking off that engagement to betroth her to a family with connections to an Antivan Merchant Prince.

Ever dutiful, Nicolette never complained about her fate, though she had little interest in marrying a complete stranger, she knew her protests would be futile and would only result in her parents' wrath.

She is a very good shot, a keen huntress who prefers the embrace of nature over the farce of court life or the restrictive life of a chantry sister or templar.

Officially her family remains neutral in the mage-templar conflict, claiming to be on the side of the Chantry rather. But privately they supported the plight of the Templars, supplying the Templar deserters with gold and swords.

She is sent with her uncle, former Knight-Commander of the Ostwick circle, her cousins (children of two different uncles) one a templar another a Chantry cleric, and her paternal Aunt, a revered mother. She is sent mostly to prove her worth as a representative of the main branch of the family. There she reunites with her sister Eveline, a mage of the Ostwick tower, who had claimed neutral in the conflict.

All of these family members, including her sister, are killed in the explosion at the Conclave. Considering how deeply rooted her family's connection was to the Chantry and Templar order specifically, she knew many others who perished in the blast.

She is very much puppeted by her parents at first, acting to do what she thought they would approve of. Fighting to earn their approval even then.

After Haven she begins to grow her own backbone and break free of her parents' influence. Choosing what she wants and what she believes in.

[maddies-writings]

All Living Trevelyan Siblings

This is going to be a visual guide for me and for any of my readers for my Solavelyan fic So Far Away.

For those who haven't read it, it is an AU where Solas ended up being unable to go through with his "tear down the Veil" plan and instead reconquers the Dales for the elves. To prevent an Exalted March from being called, Solas proposes a political marriage with the former Inquisitor, Evelyn Trevelyan. She is my dual-wielding rogue, Solas was her best friend during the Inquisition and there are a lot of things left unspoken between these two. Now they are getting married and there are a lot of cultural differences and refusal to speak to each other.

Here's a link to my fic "So Far Away."

Sometimes you just can't picture a character until you make them in a video game. Anyway, these are screenshots for when I finished them in the DAI character creator, I did not want to make whole saves for them so... yeah! A picture and a little bit of info about them. I'll do a separate post for the various elven characters as well. Please keep in mind I never play as a male Inquisitor so I think the men are really bad, especially the hair but I just needed something! I did not include Evelyn's two dead siblings, Alice and Henry. Maybe I'll make them later and add them in.

This is Cedric Trevelyan, he is the oldest Trevelyan child at 46 years old and is married with children. As the firstborn Cedric bears all the weight and expectations of his father and mother. At his age, one would expect him to have taken over as Bann for House Trevelyan but the official title has remained with his father. He is skilled with a sword and shield and is well prepared for his future responsibilities as Bann, but his father has made it clear that so long as he is of able mind, he will keep the title and remain head of the family. Due to stress his hair and beard have grayed prematurely and many people wonder how he will handle taking over the family when his father finally dies and isn't there to tell him exactly what to do.

Nathaniel Trevelyan is a forty-five-year-old mage who is uncertain about what he's supposed to do once the circles fell and were not re-established. His father never removed him from the progression of heirs. He was originally a teacher and though he'd like to teach again he is now studying how to run the Trevelyan lands should anything happen to his brother. He also sees how he would function as an arcane advisor to his brother, much like Morrigan does for the Empress of Orlais.

Lysander Trevelyan is forty years old third born son. Lysander struggles to stand out amongst his siblings. Since he is not a mage or a member of the Chantry he feels as though he must overachieve in every aspect, especially since his older brother was not removed from the succession of heirs despite being a mage. He does not get along with his wife as his desire to have a son for his father seems unreachable, given her string of miscarriages once their two daughters were born.

Penelope Steelworth nee Trevelyan is the first daughter born to the Trevelyan family. Penelope is a shrewd, no-nonsense woman. She is a skilled player of the game who has cowed her weak-willed husband since their marriage. Her husband is the third son of a higher-ranking family who is already timid and insecure. Though not outwardly cruel to her husband it is abundantly clear who is in charge of the family. She has since ingratiated herself with her father-in-law, becoming a trusted advisor, and beating out his son and heir. She has two sons and a daughter.

Henry Trevelyan is a thirty-six-year-old former Templar. He wanted to join the templars for the honor and glory of protecting Thedas from magical threats though after so much time having that kind of power and fear-mongering he truly believed mages were evil. He returned home with his sister Rosalie despite vehement protests. His father has cut him off from Lyrium and he has since been kept under guard and constant supervision until he is healed. Since his brother Nathaniel has returned home because of the rebellion, his older brother is in charge of healing him, no matter the verbal abuse thrown his way.

Rosalie Trevelyan is a thirty-six-year-old ex Templar. She is quite kind and generous. Besides being a staunch protector of mages and the common folk she also had a habit of sewing stuffed animals for the children that came to her circle. She wanted to be a guardian and big sister, as she had numerous little siblings who could've been mages and she wanted to be able to protect them in their towers. She has had an easier time getting off Lyrium and walks the halls of the Trevelyan manor with ease. She is the only Trevelyan child to have inherited her grandmother's red hair.

Sophia Trevelyan is a thirty-one-year-old Chantry sister. She was not present at the Conclave and had in fact been visiting her family when it exploded. She wants to return to the service but Bann Trevelyan has refused, believing that the Chantry will destroy his family if he lets them.

Harlow Trevelyan is a twenty-nine-year-old Tranquil mage. She was a hy, soft-spoken, and timid woman who was always considered the gentlest of all the Trevelyan children. Her twin brother Henry joined the Templars to try and stay beside his soft twin sister. They ended up being sent to different circles. Harlow, despite her nervous personality, passed her Harrowing with flying colors. A cruel Templar made her Tranquil anyway some years later. She was found in Redcliffe by Evelyn and then sent back home to Ostwick, where she remains under the care of her family.

Evelyn Trevelyan is the twenty-seven-year-old Herald of Andraste and former Inquisitor. She was twenty-three when she went to the Conclave with her sister Alice, a Revered Mother from Ostwick. Her sister ended up dying in the explosion and Evelyn ended up with Anchor fixed to her left hand. Read my fic for more info on her and her adventures. I'm sure I'll write her a bio all her own at a later date.

[partystoragechest]

My main hope for Unwanted was getting back into the habit of writing, so the end of the fic was always going to pose a challenge, because what do I do now?

Anyway here's a WIP I'm working on:

...

The Temple of Sacred Ashes lived up to its name in only one aspect: there was plenty of ash.

Trevelyan and Herzt left boot-prints in their wake, as they walked the ruins of the temple. What had once been a grand, mountain-side monument to the glory of the Maker was now little more than a crater of crumbled walls, peppered with towering spikes of red lyrium, clawing their way out of the ground.

It was the latter, of course, they came to see. Well, there wasn’t much else to gawk at—except, perhaps, the glimmering green scar of the Breach, left hanging in the skies above.

“The largest concentrations appear to have formed where organic material is in abundance,” Trevelyan noted to Herzt, as they crept toward a particularly intimidating spike. It had sapped what little life grew around it, nothing but dry, dead grasses left in its wake.

“That is consistent with our previous findings, Arcanist,” added Herzt. “It thrives on the biology of others.”

Trevelyan sighed, and looked out over the crater below. The evidence for this point was laid quite plainly before them, as it was not merely nature that the red lyrium had feasted upon. The corpses of those who’d died to the Breach had been drained to little more than unrecognisable husks.

“Death follows where it goes,” muttered Trevelyan.

She dipped into her satchel, to take a note—but paused. A thumping sound, like the beat of a distant drum, echoed around the mountains.

“Do you hear that?” she asked Herzt.

He nodded. “Strange. I do not recognise it.”

[dragonmickie]

thinkin abt my dragon age ocs again :sob: heres doodles of the human ones