#tristan trevelyan

[artilaz]

Gale: Indeed! I'll guard my resolve like a lit flame in a... Well, in a gale! Heh.

Tristan: *chuckles*

Gale: ... You found that funny?

Tristan: It was a good pun. I like puns! I cast my vote for more Gale puns.

Gale: Wait- you mean puns with the word 'gale', or puns delivered by Gale?

Tristan, softly: Yes.

#Tristan talks #Tristan Trevelyan #Gale Dekarios #Oceanweave #Bonus points if this happens before they're together #He will genuinely laugh at all of Gale's puns and corny jokes

[mogwaei]

a quick Tristan Trevelyan for my beloved @johaeryslavellan

One of my favourite Inquisitors from one of my favourite fics! [A World with You]

#trevelyan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dorian pavus #tristan trevelyan #inquisitor trevelyan #mogwaei arts #artists on tumblr #digital art #fantasy #Ily jobro :3

[johaerys-writes]

A World With You | Dorian Pavus/ Trevelyan | E | Ch. 57: Secret Memories

Read on AO3 | Read from the beginning

Whatever was going on in the Royal Wing was very, very wrong.

Tristan could tell the moment the key clicked in the lock and he set foot in the dimly lit hallway. His skin prickled, and a deep unease settled within him. There was an eerie sort of silence that permeated the space, yet the deeper they ventured into the dark halls, he thought he could catch faint whispers, just at the edge of hearing.

“The Veil… is thin here,” Tristan murmured. The Mark buzzed restlessly beneath his glove.

“Oh, goody,” Sera said with a roll of her eyes. “Where the heck is it not?”

“I’d be surprised if it wasn’t, frankly,” Dorian said. “There are so many horrors around here, both in and out of the Fade— and I can’t quite decide who’s better dressed.”

“Somebody, help me!”

The cry that pierced the unnatural and whisper-filled silence made Tristan jump, his blood running cold. They all sprinted towards where the cry came from, the door at the far end of the corridor. Tristan kicked open the door, only to see an elf crouched on the ground in an effort to avoid the assassin that was viciously attacking her.

“Please,” the girl cried, “save me!”

Tristan’s knives were out of their scabbards before the elf had finished her sentence. He slashed at the assassin’s wrist, rendering her grip on her dagger useless; then, he kicked her hard in the stomach, sending her plummeting out of the window.

“Are you alright?” He offered the girl his hand, who took it and gratefully let him haul her upright.

“I… I don’t think I’m hurt,” she panted, shaking all over. “Thank you. She would surely have killed me had you not shown up.”

“What happened to wanting to keep one of the assassins alive for questioning?” Dorian asked, hinging his staff over his back.

“Oh. That.” Tristan bit his lip. In his haste to save the girl, he hadn’t spared any thought to that. Not that it would have made much of a difference; he didn’t doubt this assassin would rather poison herself rather than speak to him, like her predecessor had.

But he did have one of Briala’s agents.

A few moments of questioning the elven girl didn’t yield much fruit. She didn’t know anything about why she was there, or what she had been sent there to do. One of Briala’s coded messages had led her to this place, but for what purpose, she could not say.

“I shouldn’t have trusted Briala,” she said, and by the way her voice trembled as she spat the words, it was plain to see that her leader’s betrayal weighed heavily on her. “I should never have come here.”

“How did you even get in here?” Tristan asked. “This wing is sealed.”

“There are secret passageways beneath the palace… many of them only known to Briala, and some members of the Royal family. Briala’s been watching the Grand Duke all night; no doubt she wanted me to search his sister’s room.”

Tristan and Dorian exchanged a meaningful glance. Perhaps Briala had reason to suspect Florianne as well— if it was truly Briala that had issued the order.

“I should have known this was a setup. The message said nothing of what I was supposed to find here, or that there might be assassins I’d need to look out for. She sent me here to die.” She took a deep, shaky breath, colour returning slowly to her cheeks. “I knew Briala. Before. When she was just Celene’s pet. Now she wants to play revolution— but I remember. Many of us do. She was sleeping with the Empress who burned our alienage.” She glanced timidly up at Tristan, hugging herself tightly. “If… if the Inquisition will protect me, I’ll tell you everything I know about our ‘Ambassador’. Everything.”

“Most Orlesians would think this is Celene’s scandal,” Cassandra murmured, crossing her arms before her chest. “Not Briala’s. I don’t see who a confession like this would benefit.”

Tristan pondered this a moment. He wasn’t convinced of Briala’s guilt just yet, from what the girl had said, but it never hurt to have options.

“Go to the ballroom,” he told her. “Find Commander Cullen. He’ll keep you safe.”

The elf nodded, relief evident on her features, then quietly padded away from them and out of the room. Tristan glanced around him after she was gone, at the room that had belonged to Grand Duchess Florianne since she was a child.

What could Briala be looking for here?

Celene’s former lover had nothing to gain from having one of her agents killed, by a Venatori no less. Unless she was working with them… but no. It didn’t make sense.  Why would they have killed a third of her people if she was one of theirs? That couldn’t be it. There was something else at play. There had to be.

“Perhaps Briala is suspicious of Florianne, and is looking for whatever she can use as leverage against her by searching her room,” Vivienne offered, when Tristan explained his thoughts to the team. “Or—and this is where things get interesting—Briala didn’t send the girl at all. Someone else did, someone who wanted to incriminate Briala and get her out of the picture. Briala’s coded messages aren’t as sophisticated as she’d like to think—a child could put two and two together and decrypt them.”

“Gaspard springs to mind. Or Celene. Or Florianne herself. Or— ugh, this is getting way too complicated. Find me one person in this whole damn palace that isn’t trying to kill or incriminate someone else.” Tristan turned around, striding out of the room. “We won’t find any answers standing here, that’s for sure. Let’s keep looking.”

Read the rest on Ao3!

#dorian pavus #dorian pavus x trevelyan #dorian pavus x inquisitor #pavelyan #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #dorian x trevelyan #dorian x inquisitor #inquisitor trevelyan #tristan trevelyan #a world with you #johaerys writes

[gaychocolatehomicide]

tell me about your messy inky i’m curious 👀 (if you want, idk if you haven’t talked about your ocs out of shyness or if it’s a Decision™️ but if it’s the former. I Am Giving You Permission)

HI OKAY SO sorry about the wait I had a really busy week (or three) at work but I wasn't ignoring you I prommy

So I have a ton of Inquisitors but specifically the one I was thinking of is Tristan Trevelyan, my terrible terrible boy from the Wrong Answers Only playthrough. The general concept for that worldstate is "what if I just make the objectively wrongest choice in every instance" and I will almost certainly never actually play it (can't bring myself to do some of the choices x.x) but it's a delightful thought experiment, particularly in the "what kind of person would you have to be to act like that in this situation" department. Just to give you an idea: the Warden in that run DOESN'T rescue the dog from Ostagar. It's that bad.

So Tristan! A nobleborn artificer rogue (really he should be a Champion if we were allowed to cross-class spec, but of the rogue options artificer makes the most sense. He's a tricksy bastard and besides, tempest is too messy and assassin is a little too denial-of-the-self-y.), Tristan is at the conclave because his mage cousin was going with the delegation from Ostwick and he wanted to travel. He learned most of his rogue skills sneaking out of the family home to go get into trouble in town, and he is primarily concerned with his own personal comfort and advancement. Mostly, at least before the conclave, he's content to wait. His father is a pretty powerful noble and he's the oldest son so as long as he doesn't do anything TOO heinous, he'll inherit and then he can do whatever he wants. He's twenty six and unmarried, though he's been kinda lazily courting one of the daughters of a noble out of Starkhaven. He's starting to think his father is taking too long to die/retire and should maybe hurry up, and maybe he needs some help... But only if there's no way for it to trace back to Tristan, obviously.

Then he gets caught up in the explosion and survives, and suddenly everyone's calling him the Herald of Andraste, and he really doesn't need his father's estate if he's in charge of the greatest military force on the continent, now does he? Basically the Inquisition offers him power beyond his wildest dreams and he 100% leans into that shit. He is the gaslight gatekeep girlboss king, and he makes every choice directly dependent on growing the Inquisition's power and thus, his own. He goes "yes actually I WAS sent by the Maker in your time of greatest need, I'm here to rescue you from everything. All you have to do is exactly what I say~"

The issue with him is that he's way too smart for his own good, so he always pushes just far enough to get what he wants and no farther. He's incredibly deft at keeping himself out of trouble by not being held accountable for the shit he absolutely did. Did the envy demon at Therinfall get him? No, he's just like that, actually the demon was a little freaked out by his ambition and ruthlessness. Also, he's unfairly attractive. Appearance-wise I like to think of him as one of those ethereally beautiful people that can sometimes happen when one parent is Chinese and the other one is from like central Africa? I'm thinking specifically of a guy I knew in college who could literally knock me out by smiling in my direction. Anyways.

He's a hanging judge except for when the person in question could maybe help him, in which case he takes their stuff and/or throws them in prison. He loves the skyhold prison, it's huge. The only people in that whole place he gets along with are Varric (zero morals but very loyal, exactly Tristan's kind of guy), Leliana (further hardened), Cassandra (cop), and Vivienne (pro-establishment free marcher who sees a lot of herself in Tristan). Solas and Sera both hate his guts, Iron Bull doesn't trust him as far as he can see him (not as far as he can throw him because he could probably yeet Tristan quite a ways, and his suspicions turn out to be confirmed uhhhh rip the Chargers), and Blackwall clocks him as the type of guy that Ranier used to be (but turned up to 11) in about 30 seconds flat. Cole really doesn't understand him at all, and after a few botched attempts to get in his head (Tristan reacts REALLY badly to that kind of thing after the demon at Therinfall, and Cole was there for that so really all the sweet baby is doing is giving Tristan flashbacks while he tries to help) he just decides to drift around helping other people. Dorian... Ok he definitely sleeps with Dorian but he also says homophobic slurs. Which is not ideal for anyone. Bull tries to kinda protect Dorian from that nonsense at the beginning but after the Chargers, well... It's not good. Josephine is briefly delighted by having someone else competent at crowd control, then she gets to know him and treats him much like people treat the Du Launcets in DA2. Cullen isn't really in a place to have much of an opinion, Tristan is way too much like a smoother version of the worst commanders Cullen has had in the past for him to do a lot other than paperwork and panic attack.

So I feel like @the-chantry-sucks-ass's boy Aeryn would meet Tristan one time and be like "ah yes this is a Prophet of God" and Tristan would clock that in an instant, and especially since Aeryn's best skill seems to be killing the shit out of whatever happens to be in front of him. Tristan would take one look at an incredibly dedicated, very capable, very stabby man and go "perfect, mine now." (And from what I understand Aeryn would be pretty into that...)

Images of the terrible boy are forthcoming, I need to make him in the CC and get some screenshots. For posterity.

#Tristan Trevelyan #dragon age #dai #my ocs #my terrible horrible no good very bad son #look chantry-sucks-ass my fellow nerd I saw Aeryn and IMMEDIATELY thought of Tristan and since Tristan's whole thing is “wouldnt that #be fucked up“ my first thought was ofc ”wouldn't it be fucked up if they were in the same world“ because oh boy... #anyways I saw your tags 😍 love u too bestie #also satanic-fruitcake you are also bestie status for giving me an excuse to ramble about this shitty boy #shitty men are my favorite and this one takes the cake in terms of sheer terribleness and I NEVER get to talk about him

[trisaran-adventures]

Pairing: Tristan/Aran, Tristan/Fey, Aran/Cole

Rating: E

Summary:

Youth is a tangle.

For Aran and Tristan, this is the beginning of their first year at Ostwick University, the first time they’ve both been truly on their own, and the struggle of trying to understand themselves and each other. A decade of fast friendship, first loves, heartbreaks and separations have led them to this place: the precipice of adulthood and an uncertain world ahead.

Aaaand we’re back with a new chapter of Never Let Me Go, a Dragon Age-inspired Modern AU with lots of original elements and characters, written collaboratively by @oftachancer and @johaerys-writes​! Kink, polyamory and character exploration, paired with tons of feels. So. Many. Feels. We hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 24: Reeds in a Storm (Ao3 link)

Aran groaned, lapping the sour dust from Loranil’s upturned arse in the moonlight. Hours, they’d been fucking and fingering and fondling on the forest floor- at least it felt like hours. The mushrooms and herbs muddled time, made Aran feel electric and the taste of skin something akin to ambrosia. The feel of it beneath his lips. He spread Nil’s cheeks and lapped at him, drawing deep groans from the man before him.

Loranil’s tiger mask was askew, his long sunset hair braided back from his face to trail down his spine, the glitter and color on his face and shoulders streaked with sweat and other fluids as he bobbed on another man’s cock, sharing it with the woman he was furiously fucking, while Aran feasted on his arse.

He tasted like sweat and fresh baked bread and mushroom dust. Open and soft and practically begging to be fucked. Everything about Nil begged to be fucked. The bend of his spine. The shiver of his lips. The arc of his elbows.

The trees bent away to allow the moonshine through. The grove was filled with starlit bodies in motion, rambling music wafting over them from speakers set about the trees. Protected torches and sizzling rods of incense cast flickering lights and shimmering smoke.

Aran caught his breath as a firm cock brushed his cheek. A wolf mask above him. A line of musky powder on the darkened head of his dick. Aran lapped at the powder, feeling it soak into his tongue along with the taste of sweat and musk and weeping precome. Gods, he was aching. He sat up, taking the stranger’s cock into his palm and his mouth, rubbing himself at Nil’s prepared entrance.

“Fuck me-“

He wasn’t sure who said it and it didn’t really matter. It was a gathering of the willing and the wanton. Birch-shadowed and moss-mattressed, writhing with abandon in the fairy circle of the grove and the gentle slopes around it. Aran moaned, allowing his head to be dragged forward onto the wolf’s cock as he pumped into Loranil beat by beat, the drums circling them all, the rhythms driving every body in the moon’s light into a slow motion frenzy.

The woman beneath Loranil was wearing a feathered mask, like an owl, her flaxen hair poured out across the blanket on the ground like spilled corn silk. Powerful; undulating like waves, moaning like the earth herself. She rose up in his arms, her hands flexing at Aran’s hips, and they held each other’s gaze as Loranil rocked between them. Filling her, filled by him.

Aran kissed her lips: wine and root, cock and come, salt, brine, slick- She moaned, drawing them both in to the movement of her hips. Drowning them. The wolf had fallen on a woman in a panther mask, rutting splendidly a few feet away. The mongoose poured himself into Loranil’s mouth, come dripping over his lip, and Aran and the owl lapped it from his chin and lip and tongue as they fucked him. As the mongoose knelt beside them, hands sliding over their skin like wind. Like branches in a breeze.

Weren’t they all? Reeds in a storm, whipping each other into frenzies and fading into soft relief. The moans of wind and wonder becoming the music around them as they in turn unraveled and became sound and earth, moss and leaves, touching the sky and each other as they became what life could be...

He woke pillowed on a set of broad, hairy shoulders with a very soft, very warm woman curled against his back. The scent of the bonfire still wafted around the grove. Aran eased up, padding naked but for his boots through the woods, following the sound of wheels on gravel and distant music. Loranil was perched atop the van, headphones on, guitar in his lap, scribbling into a notebook. Aran tied a sarong around his waist and drank juice from a carton, laying out in the back of Loranil’s van. His knees were scuffed. His jaw was sore. His arse-

“How’s the head?”

His head ached, too, Aran squinted over the top of the orange juice carton, though none of it was bad, per se. Only… used. Well used. Thoroughly. It was a good feeling, though he wouldn’t have said no to a toothbrush. Loranil offered him a half-smoked blunt instead; he looked like a peacock on fire. Lean and lithe, thick dark violet hair caught up into a braid like a twisting mohawk, streaks of orange, blue, yellow, and red poured through his mane, his mask resting above his brows. His eyes - one speckled red, one deep blue - gleamed as he climbed down to straddle Aran’s lap. “I feel like I ate a dead raccoon while it’s kin fucked me.”

Loranil laughed, lilting and light. “Deep mushrooms are an acquired taste.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Did you take the willowbark last night?”

“Aye.”

“Good, that’ll sort you out. I promised Cole I’d return you in good order.” He smiled slyly, sitting back. “Am I? Returning you in good order?”

Aran slid his hands up Loranil’s sides. Fennec fur, Cole always said. And he was right. Fuck, he was right. Aran felt stretched and raw and used- and soft and warm as fur on the inside. “Aye. Well enough,” he murmured.

“Good.” Loranil nudged him back, setting the carton to the side. “I’ll check for good measure, shall I, oinun ?”

“Hm,” Aran sighed beneath him, grinning as the elf lifted his sarong and stroked him, heedless of the couples and groups milling about the campsite. “I didn’t- with a woman- did I?”

“I don’t think so.” Loranil kissed his collarbone, the scrape of his unshaven chin juxtaposed with the softness of his lips. “Would it be terrible if you had?”

Would it? he wondered, stretching beneath the Dale’s roaming hands. He’d been in several situations where he’d watched Loranil rolling around with women in various states of undress. Anders, as well.

“If you enjoy it-“ And, Maker’s breath, did he enjoy Loranil’s lips and his tongue and the dexterity of his fingers stroking him in the morning sun- His deep red robe sliding off of his shoulders, revealing the intricacies of his vallaslin down his chest and arms- The flint of the morning sun on his piercings, his pale skin, his nipples hard with morning chill and want- “Does it matter who it’s with? What they’re shaped like? We’re all the same on the inside.”

“Not- Not exactly the same-“ Aran breathed. “Ah, Nil-“

“Did you have an awakening, though?”

“Transcendental,” Aran thrust into his grip, groaning as Loranil lapped at his nipple. “Really, really bloody brilliant.”

“As did I,” the elf sighed. “So many thoughts, so many songs drifting from the trees and the night-“

“Brilliant,” Aran repeated, sighing as Loranil shifted forward and began circling his hips down- down- tight- fuck-

“Ah, oinun , you are,” the man moaned, posting Aran deeper with every roll of his hips. “You are, you are.” His head fell back as his fingers traced up Aran’s chest, his neck, stroking his ears as he rode him.

Shivers beneath his skin. Relaxing and winding him up at once. Beads of sweat glistening down Loranil’s chest. Aran was vaguely aware of the people who’d paused to watch them, but it didn’t matter. Not like they hadn’t seen them like this only hours before. Not like he hadn’t seen them. All one, he thought, losing himself to the rhythm of Loranil’s heart and hips. All of them were one, part of the same whole, part of- “Nil-“

“Aran-“ He squeezed Aran’s earlobes, sinking all the way down onto him. “We’re going to stay here a while longer before we return to the city. Alright?”

“Fuck, yes,” Aran laughed, thrusting up into him to draw a rough shudder from the man.

“Down and to the left,” Loranil murmured, shifting his hips to match his instructions, then sighed log and loud and low. “There. Just- Ah, just there.”

Read the rest on AO3!

#modern au #college au #dragon age fanfiction #cole dragon age #tristan trevelyan #aran trevelyan #feyren tabris #original fiction #johaerys writes #oftachancer writes

[shannaraisles]

The Trevelyan Siblings

Gisela

Date of Birth: 1st August, 9:05 Dragon

Position/Title: Knight-Commander

Face Claim: Katie McGrath

Florian

Date of Birth: 17th Cloudreach, 9:09 Dragon

Position/Title: Heir to the Bann of Ostwick; Baronet of Ansburg

Face Claim: Torrance Coombs

Alise

Date of Birth: 30th Harvestmere, 9:12 Dragon

Position/Title: Royal Companion (Mistress)

Face Claim: Anna Popplewell

Tristan

Date of Birth: 21st Kingsway, 9:16 Dragon

Position/Title: Lord/Herald/Inquisitor

Face Claim: Bradley James

Kathryn

Date of Birth: 21st Kingsway, 9:16 Dragon

Position/Title: Lady/Herald

Face Claim: Yael Grobglas

#oc - gisela trevelyan #oc - florian trevelyan #oc - alise trevelyan #oc - tristan trevelyan #oc - kathryn trevelyan

[rhetoricalrogue]

Snippet Sunday

Tagged by @roguelioness, thank you! I don’t know where this is going, but Tristan and Marian from my Next Gen Heroes have been rattling around in my head all weekend.

“You’re all right, breathe.” Carefully, Tristan reached out and took hold of the bloody dagger Marian held in a loose grip. “Look at me, not at them.”

“I…I did that.”

“And we’re both still alive because of it.” Dagger safely stowed away, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and gently wiped at her bloody hands. All he needed was to get rid of the most visible evidence, everything else could wait until they were away from the dark alleyway and somewhere safe, preferably the suite of rooms he called his in his family estate.

She looked up at him with wide, panicked eyes as he ran the handkerchief over her cheek. For all her graceful finesse when it came to sparring and practice drills, she had been all brute force and angry slashing. “They were targeting you. They would have killed you. I…” her eyes were drawn to the body at their feet, throat swallowing as any remaining color faded from her cheeks. “I couldn’t. I didn’t…you…”

Tristan drew her into an embrace, resting his cheek on the side of her head. “Thank you,” he told her, slowly rocking back and forth in an attempt to calm her. “I want to take more time, but the guard are bound to show up on patrol soon. Do you think you can help me hide the body so we can make an exit?”

She nodded. “I’ll keep watch while you carry?”

He knelt, suppressing a grunt as he hauled the body over his shoulder. His would-be assassin wasn’t light. “Luckily, we don’t have far to go. There’s a canal nearby, probably where they meant to dump my own body once the deed-”

“Don’t.” Marian clutched at his arm, hand shaking. “Don’t joke about this, Tri…”

He silenced her with a finger to her lip. “No names here,” he quietly reminded her. “You never know what ears are listening.” They both tensed as a city patrol neared, both guards cheerfully chatting amongst themselves, oblivious to the murder that had taken place not even thirty feet from where they stood. They waited until the guard resumed their walk in the opposite direction before heading towards the canal Tristan had mentioned.

“I know a few shortcuts, some hidden walkways that’ll lead us back to safety,” he said as they disposed of the body several moments later. It was a good thing they were both wearing black, the assassin had bled all over his coat. “We’ll be back before anyone realized that we were gone.”

Marian nodded, blank eyes glued to the canal and the ripples in the water where the body had gone under. “Best idea I’ve heard all night,” she mumbled, her hand rubbing down her arm and staying at her elbow where her coat sleeve was sliced open. She fell into step beside him, gait wooden and stilted as they both blended into the shadows.

Tristan fought the urge to reach for her hand to offer comfort, not knowing if she would accept it here in the open. Only a little while more, he thought, watching as her lip trembled before she closed her expression off, any emotion on her face swiftly compartmented and put away for later. Once we get home, we can talk.

#pairing: the thief and the assassin #tristan howe #marian trevelyan #so Marian may have been raised by an assassin and a spy but she’s never actually killed anyone before #Rolfe taught his kids how to fight to defend themselves not to follow in his footsteps #and Tristan was taught pretty much the same by his parents #except he’s had to kill people before #he doesn’t like it but it was necessary

[nazali]

transferring more oc inspo to this blog ignore this 🎆

#mine #asks #oc: red mahariel #oc: river tabris #oc: bean brosca #oc: logan cousland #oc: ashes hawke #oc: amulet hawke #oc: ryan hawke #oc: tristan hawke #oc: rowan hawke #oc: juniper trevelyan #oc: briar lavellan #oc: gem adaar #oc: clear cadash #oc: penowyn lavellan #oc: dirthara #oc: blake trevelyan #oc: eli #oc: flynn reed #oc: nina atkinson #oc: caz fisher #oc: karina campbell #oc: lucy barker #oc: addy watts

[ex-textura]

Hey I hope you still want people rambling about their Tavs because you've opened Pandora's box with that one and now I'm back!

My actual canon Tav is named Tristan, like me. He actually had the name first. I first made him as an OC, and then fell in love with him so much that I decided I'll use the name for myself as well.

Anyway! His full name is Tristan Trevelyan, because someone in his life thought it'd be funny to troll him like that. No, there's just some interesting naming conventions going on in the Trevelyan bloodline. His father, for example, is (or was) named Trevor Trevelyan. He's not in Tristan's life anymore though, and they've never had a great relationship to begin with, but I haven't decided what exactly happened to him. I might have to revamp a bunch of Tristan's story anyway.

So far, Tristan is a literal prince, but he gave up his right to the throne because he wanted to travel the world instead of being chained down by the heavy duties of a future king. Whether or not he'll remain a prince, I'm not sure of, because I don't know how well that'd fit into the entire BG3 lore, but it's his canon origin so for now I'm rolling with it, and even if I demote him, he'll still have a noble background.

He's also transmasc like me, but unlike me, he's known it his entire life, and his mother, Shanna, has always supported him, to a point where she supplied (and still does to this day) him with ~a tincture that allowed his body to develop in a masculine way~, so pretty much fantasy HRT. When he's wearing pants, he passes perfectly, but since that tincture is medicine, and not magic, it didn't change the bits he was born with. Tristan is also outrageously gay though, and although his past hasn't been free of any and all kinds of struggles, he's come to see it as a blessing in disguise, because it gives him at least a hypothetical chance to have biological children with a man, should he ever find one he'll want that with.

Spoiler alert: He will.

Tristan is a sweet, wholesome kind of guy. He's kind, optimistic, and will give absolutely everyone at least one chance. He's helpful, and supportive of those he even remotely cares about, and makes an effort to uplift the people around him. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and he's a terrible liar on top of it.

His best non-romantic friend out of the group will be Wyll, because those two have a lot in common even already at first glance. They're both valiant swordsmen with noble backgrounds, questionable fathers, a penchant for helping others, and a huge romantic streak, and I could've absolutely seen them falling in love, if it wasn't for the fateful moment in which Tristan pulled a certain man out of a certain portal, falling head over heels for him the second their eyes met for the first time.

There's much more to tell about my boy, but I think this is enough for one ask. Hope you've had fun reading!

It's Tristan!!! I've been dying to know more about him 😭

I love a good sweet boy, and a bad liar to boot. He sounds so wonderful. He and Gale are going to be so disgustingly(affectionate) romantic together, I can't wait to hear more about their love story

Tell me more! Are they going to have a big family?? One happily spoiled child? Is their wedding gonna be so huge???

(I still ALWAYS want people rambling about their tavs in my ask box they're all so beautiful and fun and lovely and I want to know them all!)

#bg3 #tav infodump asks #ask #other people's ocs

[catebeesart]

Trevelyan Family tree that I drew when I was bored some months ago

[ID: A traditional drawing of a family tree, in the style of a medieval or early renaissance genealogy. The page is painted orange and the tree is drawn in black ink, with white, red and yellow accents. A simple, linear frame encompasses the drawing.

The Trevelyan emblem, with a rampant white horse topped by a crown, sits top center, with the Vael and DeMontfort emblems on either side. A smaller made-up emblem for the Bayart family is placed next the DeMontfort one. At the bottom of the tree, among its roots, stand two people: on the left, an allegory of a Trevelyan ancestor; on the right, Andraste with a sword and a Chantry symbol. The family Motto is written on a scroll: "Modest in temper, bold in deed"

These names are written in the tree, connected by branches and surrounded by leaves and red fruits: On the central branch: Branwen Trevelyan, dead* 9:20D and Lucille Trevelyan (sisters) Below, Branwen's sons: Tristan Trevelyan, K.T.** and Urien Trevelyan, K.T., dead 9:39D On the left, Tristan's wife Beatrice Vael-Trevelyan Below, Tristan and Beatrice's children: Aidan Trevelyan, K.T., Winifred Trevelyan, and Liam Trevelyan On the left, Aidan's family: Enide Drader-Trevelyan, Philippa Trevelyan and Johanna Trevelyan On the right, Liam's family: Lynette Kenric-Trevelyan, dead 9:32D and Lucas Trevelyan Below Winifred, her son Aderyn Trevelyan On a separated branch on the right, more members of the family: Osher Lotharnn Trevelyan-Bayart, Philliam(!) Bernard Alonicious Trevelyan and Albrecht Trevelyan

*the chantry sun is used to mark the year of death **K.T= Knight Templar. /End ID]

#admittedly I didn't have to write everybody's surname like that #Please tell me if there's problems with the id #anywho yes Winifred is half Vael #oc: winifred trevelyan #described #bees art

[captainsquality]

Alyssa and Tristan Trevelyan are on opposite extremes of the Height Spectrum and have a few words they would like to say, iron bull,

(alyssa is 4' 11" and tristan is 6' 6")

#dragon age inquisition #tobes draws #trevelyan oc #inquisitor oc #herald oc

[artilaz]

Gale: You don't happen to be a cleric, by any chance, do you?

Tristan: *shakes head*

Gale: A doctor? Surgeon?

Tristan: I'm sorry.

Gale: Uncannily adroit with a knitting needle?

Tristan: I have a sword!

Gale:

Tristan:

Gale, internally: Oh Gods he's stupid I need him

#Tristan talks #Gale Dekarios #Tristan Trevelyan #He isn't even actually stupid #He just isn't ashamed to admit when he knows jack shit about something #and also has the personality of a golden retriever #So he isn't actually dumb #But he definitely has his himbo moments

[slothssassin-art]

Tristan Trevelyan as a gift from @tessa1972 to @johaerys-writes ❤️ I had a lot of fun drawing him!

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #male trevelyan #inquisitor Trevelyan #dragon age 3 #sloth art #art 2023

[johaerys-writes]

A World With You | E | Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

Ch. 59: A Cruel Mistress

Read on AO3 | Read from the beginning

Tristan dashed through the dark and empty passageways. The air was stale and smelled dank and musty, and the stone walls were slightly damp with humidity. He was half-blind, searching for his way in the darkness. Though his memory of the layout of the palace's secret network of underground passages was fairly good, it was impossible to fully orient himself when he could not see. The only source of light was the Anchor in his palm, and that was too faint to be of much help. 

He stopped short at an intersection, trying to make out any sign of Maliphant. 

“Where did you go, damn you,” he murmured, squinting in the dark. He lifted his left hand and focused all of his will on the Anchor, hoping it would make a difference.

And it did. The Anchor sputtered and pulsed, until a small halo of green light formed around his palm. It pulsed rhythmically, in sync with his heartbeat. Tristan stared at it in amazement for a moment. It was the first time that he remembered the Mark doing what he’d wanted it to. 

A faint shuffling, which could well have been his imagination, dragged his attention to the present. Right. Maliphant. He needed to find Maliphant. 

He stepped forward, his hand up lighting the way. In the hazy light that the Anchor spread before him, he could make out some dark stains on the floor and the wall before him. He touched it with his fingers; it was slick and warm, and bore the faint, coppery smell of fresh blood. 

Tristan lunged forth, following the left side of the fork, without wasting even a moment. He followed the blood stains to a small staircase—steep and easily missed—and climbed up. As he forged on, he could see more and more stains, and well as the shape of boot steps. Whatever wounds Maliphant had earned himself during his fight with Florianne, they must have been serious. 

The relatively fresher air of the corridor beyond the secret door was a welcome change. Tristan stepped out from behind a painting and glanced around him, trying to make out where he was. He couldn’t be very far from the ballroom; if his senses were correct, then he must be on the eastern side of the second floor, where the bureaucratic and domestic offices lay. The moonlight slanted, silvery and soft, through the tall windows overlooking the hills beyond Hallamshiral. A few statues and busts graced the length of the hallway, but other than that it was completely empty. A bloody handprint on Emperor Florian’s impressive bust stood out, right in the center of his smooth marble face. 

Tristan took off, following the signs like a bloodhound. 

He didn’t have to run very far. As soon as he turned the corner, he saw a dark figure, huddled in a corner. Maliphant was sitting on the floor, his legs sprawled out before him as he leaned against the wall. He breathed heavily, his hand pressed to his side. 

“Inquisitor,” Maliphant said. “Finally, we meet again.”

Tristan narrowed his eyes at him. His hold on his dagger tightened as he stepped cautiously towards him, watching for the barest movement. Maliphant was fast and cunning; Tristan wouldn’t put it beneath him to simply pretend he was injured, so that Tristan would let his guard down. But that was not going to happen. Tristan knew how bloody dangerous the man was, especially when pressed. 

“I’d hoped this moment would never come, Maliphant,” Tristan said. “In fact, I’d warned you against it.” 

Maliphant chuckled softly. “That you did.” His breathing was laboured, and his hand that was pressed against his side was crimson, the fabric around it dark. The man looked up at Tristan, and through the slits of his golden mask, his dark brown eyes were darker still and more haggard than Tristan remembered them. 

Slowly, Maliphant took off his mask with his free hand and set it down beside him. His jaw was hard and cheeks sunken, and deep lines carved his forehead and the corners of his eyes. He looked… so much older than the last time they had seen each other. Old and tired, as if it had been years. 

“Wasn’t expecting you to be here, to be frank,” Maliphant said, with his customary teasing smile. “Enjoying the ball, I take it?”

“Very. Wouldn’t say the same about you, though.” 

“What could possibly make you say that?” Maliphant gave him a fiendish grin, which wobbled only slightly from a sudden stab of pain. “And here I thought we were both having a blast. Celene and Florianne outdid themselves.” 

Tristan gripped his dagger tighter, giving the man a hard look. “I don’t have time for pleasantries, Maliphant,” Tristan told him harshly. “Why are you here?” 

Read the rest on AO3!

#dragon age #dorian pavus #pavelyan #dorian x trevelyan #dorian x inquisitor #dorian pavus/inquisitor #dorian pavus/trevelyan #inquisitor trevelyan #tristan trevelyan #a world with you #johaerys writes

[bitchesofostwick]

something to talk about

today’s OC kiss is for my love @jewishzevran and their jasper cadell! ellinor and i give you both a big smooch!

***

“Don’t look so happy to see me,” Jasper says sarcastically as he joins Ellinor on the balcony overlooking the ballroom. He holds a flute of champagne out to her, but she sighs and shakes her head.

“Am I so obvious?”

“Always.”

She’d sock him on the arm if she thought it would do any good. Or if she really had the heart to. But even the sight of her best friend doesn’t bring a smile to her face like it normally would. Instead, it only makes her more blue.

It’s her first public appearance since Tristan broke off their engagement. Though she’s seen Jasper since—he’s gotten quite good at climbing the trellis of the Trevelyan’s manor into her bedroom—she’s seen no one else other than her family. She’d been surprised at the invitation to begin with, but it’s more than likely her mother pulled a few strings to get her out in front of potential suitors again as soon as she could. Not for my sake, she thinks bitterly, only for the family name.

“Don’t you know I’m a stain on the family tree?” she jokes. She doesn’t have to point out to him that no one has come her way for a dance or a flirty conversation. A year ago nobility would have clawed at the chance to be seen with the Lady Ellinor Trevelyan; now, hardly anyone bats an eye at her. And when they do, it’s with hushed tones whispered into heavily bejeweled hands, side glances, scoffs.

Jasper chuckles. “So I’ve heard. It’s a shame. I sorely miss scaring off unwanted attention to you with my vulgarity and masculine aggression.”

“‘Masculine aggression,’” she snorts. “Is that what it was?”

“You didn’t seem to question it if it was. I caused a scene on your behalf on more than one occasion, and I remember you being quite grateful for it.”

She sighs wistfully. “I was.”

“In fact, I remember you expressing your unending gratitude by wrapping your lips around my—”

“Well, those days are over,” she interrupts him. “If this is my mother’s idea of bouncing back my reputation after being jilted by Tristan—”

“—may his cock wither—”

“The phrase is supposed to be ‘crops.’”

“I said what I said.”

“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, it’s clearly backfired. The high society of Ostwick is about as happy to see me as I am them.”

Jasper shrugs. “It’s a boring party anyway. Where’s the intrigue? The scandal?”

“She’s right here,” Ellinor says dully.

“If that’s so, you need to do a better job of causing drama. The most exciting thing to happen so far tonight is Messere Carrington getting a wine stain on his trousers. And he does that at every ball.”

She laughs at him. “So what do you suggest I do, Jas?”

“Really get them talking.” Without further ado, he pulls a small letter opener from his jacket, clinking it loudly against the side of the champagne flute.

Dear Maker…

“Everyone! Everyone, I’ve an important announcement to make.”

Quickly, the din in the hall begins to hush, and even the harpist stops playing.

Jasper looks at her and raises an eyebrow.

He’s giving me an out.

Instead she starts to laugh. Just quietly, just once, but the grin on her face is answer enough for him, and she nods. He winks at her. And carelessly, he throws the champagne aside, leans into her, and absolutely commits.

He kisses her passionately on the mouth, pulling her close by the waist, tugging at her hair, slipping his tongue between her lips, even going as far as to dip her near to the floor before pulling her back up again. The crowd around them gasp, whisper, grumble their distaste. And when he finally lets her go, she laughs.

After a moment, the harpist begins to play again, more quickly this time, and the chatter—albeit much more scandalized now—begins to resume, and the guests do their best to pretend whatever happened most certainly did not happen.

“You—” she giggles, poking Jasper in the chest. “Are going to be in so much trouble for that!”

Jasper laughs. “I told you. It was a boring party.”

#oc kiss week 2023 #jasper cadell #ellinor #my writing #lemon #(just a tiny bit)

[trisaran-adventures]

Pairing: Tristan/Aran, Tristan/Podrick, Aran/Cole

Rating: E

Summary: 

Youth is a tangle. 

For Aran and Tristan, this is the beginning of their first year at Ostwick University, the first time they’ve both been truly on their own, and the struggle of trying to understand themselves and each other. A decade of fast friendship, first loves, heartbreaks, and separations have led them to this place: the precipice of adulthood and an uncertain world ahead.

The new chapter of Never Let Me Go, a Dragon Age inspired Modern AU with lots of original elements and characters, written collaboratively by @oftachancer and @johaeryslavellan is up! :)

Chapter 23: Hollow

[Aran, Firstfall 15:39]

Aran stared at the blinking cursor on the screen, idly rubbing the bridge of his nose. He’d been nursing his beer for the better part of an hour, slowly chipping away at his thesis on runic etymological constructs as they applied to the development of spoken language. Ogham versus Orzammar. Trade languages.

He’d thought a change of location would help him focus. His room at the Alliance dorms was so full of distractions. Sera spinning out ideas for her next podcast. His stacks of borrowed books that he really needed to read and return at some point. The console beckoning him with the newest DLC for Middle Ages: A Time of Conquest. He could have gone to the library, but he knew he’d get dragged into work, even if it was just troubleshooting for the new work-study kids who’d been hired on at the beginning of the term.

No. He needed simple. He needed relative isolation. He needed a drink. Not to drink it, necessarily, just to have it. Like a talisman. He touched the side of the glass, watching the amber liquid ripple. 

Anyway, he liked the Clinic, especially on weekdays in the afternoons when there were only regulars and chess players and muted music on the jukebox. And if he was in the mood, every once in a while, a rough-hewn blond man with magic hands who could make his muscles melt. Not at the moment, though. At the moment, he just wanted to finish the bloody thesis. Nearly there. It was coming together. Slowly but surely. 

He hacked away at it for another hour and finally finished his first pint, ordering a second just to keep his place at the table. He stretched his arms, his back, and settled into the booth, idly tracing the ink rings on his palm. Not even a pang now. He could walk his pinky over each ridge and remember. Snow angels in open fields and diving into waves and sneaking liquor into the maze and- and it was ridiculous: this self-imposed exile. So many years of good couldn’t be wiped away for one event. One event that, in hindsight, shouldn’t have been remotely surprising. He just needed to sack up and seek Tristan out. It wouldn’t be that hard. There were less than ten fencing clubs in the city. Go find him, bring him a coffee, talk it out, and they could get back… get back to how things were supposed to be. Friends. Friends as old and indestructible as ancient trees. Yes, Tristan was with Pod. What else was new? And since he hadn’t had word from Tilly that he’d cracked into pieces again… Well, that was good. That was proof they’d worked something out. Something that was good for both of them or he was sure Tilly would have mentioned. Tristan probably didn’t even think about that week in Wycome anymore. Ages past. Just find him, clear the air, and move on. Make it clear to Pod that he wasn’t going to make any false moves. Easy as lamb pie. 

Later. After the thesis was finished. Before the new DLC. Just in case it didn’t work out and he needed to beat a bandit in the head with a two-handed sword. 

Another hour. A plate of chips and curry sauce. He was still chipping away on the right way to phrase his thesis’ conclusion when he heard the voice. Arched and low. Precise like needlework. Aran didn’t need to look, but he did- just to be sure. 

Tristan. 

Oh, Maker, Tristan- Hair pulled back from his high, glorious cheekbones. That milk-white neck he’d once licked and kissed with abandon. 

Read the rest on AO3!

#dragon age #modern au #college au #dragon age fanfiction #tristan trevelyan #aran trevelyan #podrick kaylen #feyren tabris #johaerys writes #oftachancer writes