#Charles Trevelyan

[agentem]

It's that time of year when you are going to see some "Irish" t-shirts in stores and can get your Shamrock Shake at Mickey D's. There will be St. Patrick's Day parades this weekend and next.

And I just want to be a nerdy know-it-all for a second. St Patrick's Day was originally a religious holiday (as most holidays were, holy + day = holiday); it still is in some places, like some actual Irish people from Ireland who believe in God--though the American parade/festival mentality seems to be gaining steam in some parts of Ireland, I am told.

St Patrick's Day as we know it is deeply rooted in the United States. Though it's been celebrated here since 1600 in the territory that became Florida, the tenor of the holiday greatly changed after the Great Famine of Ireland.

You may have been told in school that the famine occurred because a blight wiped out potato crops in Ireland. This is true but doesn't address the crux of the matter.

The blight started in North America and travelled to Ireland and into much of Europe. But we only think of it as an Irish problem because the Irish were too poor to eat other foods.

Some scholars have said it was a "man made crisis" and I agree that is true. Other crops in Ireland were not affected by the blight, in fact, this time was considered one of "plenty", but all that food was used to feed the English. Not the Irish.

Nor were the English quick on providing aid, "There is such a tendency to exaggeration and inaccuracy in Irish reports that delay in acting on them is always desirable," said Prime Minister Sir Robert Peel after initial reports of the catastrophe.

Workhouses designed to assist the poor and starving were closed prematurely. "The only way to prevent the people from becoming habitually dependent on Government is to bring the food depots to a close," said Charles Trevelyan, the man who was literally in charge of famine relief. He also said some gems like, Sure the famine is bad but "the moral evil of the selfish, perverse and turbulent character of the people" was the real problem. Great guy; he became a Baronet.

The soup kitchens, which replaced the workhouses were also closed prematurely, were widely believed to serve portions too small even for children and lacking any nutritional value due to them being watered down to feed more people than anticipated by the brilliant British government.

A million people died in Ireland from famine and disease and nearly 2 million left Ireland for other parts of the world. Including my father's family. (If they survived the "Coffin Ships" leaving their home.)

So when I said above that the tenor of the holiday changed, it was because of increasing Irish Nationalism and anger at Britain. Now, Ireland is a Republic (though it's not unified, yet) and we are proud of those who stayed and fought to make that happen.

We are also proud just to still be alive anywhere. The population of Ireland is 6.9 million now--slowly nearing the 8.5 million it was home to before the famine--but people with Irish ancestry across the world has been measured to be about 80 million people. Take that, Sir Robert Peel.

The English actively tried to kill us. Nevertheless, we persisted. A lot.

I hope you have a Happy St. Paddy's Day (it's Paddy not Patty). Drink some Guinness. Dance some jigs. Definitely eat some potatoes (Boil 'em! Mash 'em! Stick 'em in a stew!) But please remember that when people are starving, you should feed them. Don't be like the English government.

In fact, as I write this there is a crisis in Turkey and Syria. It just so happens that the Sultan of Turkey wanted to donate money to Ireland (10,000 pounds) but since Queen Victoria donated just 2,000, he was told it would be against protocol.

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1845 – The arrival of the potato blight in Ireland is reported in the Dublin Evening Post.

To this day, all over Ireland the landscape bears mute testimony to the events that occurred in the horrific period from 1845–1852. Starvation graveyards offer silent tribute to the millions of Irish men, women, and children buried in unmarked mass graves. Thriving villages were replaced by heaps of moss-covered stones. Although historians have not agreed on the numbers who perished, most…

[marypickfords]

Diana the Huntress (Charles W. Allen; Francis Trevelyan Miller, 1916)

[reasonsforhope]

Non-paywall version here.

"When Arley Gill, head of Grenada’s National Reparations Committee, envisioned his work seeking repair for centuries of enslavement on the Caribbean island, one thing was certain: It was going to be a long slog.

But just two years since its founding, the task force is fielding calls from individuals around the world looking to make amends for ancestors who benefited from enslavement in Grenada. 

“If you had told us this would be happening, we wouldn’t have believed you,” Mr. Gill says, crediting a burgeoning movement of descendants of enslavers getting wise to their family’s history and taking action. 

In Grenada’s case, the momentum began with a public apology made by former BBC journalist Laura Trevelyan and her family in February at a ceremony on the island. They apologized for their forebears’ enslavement of people in Grenada and their enrichment from it, pledging an initial contribution of £100,000 ($130,000) toward education on the island.

“She opened the doors for people to feel comfortable” coming forward, says Mr. Gill.

In April [2023], Ms. Trevelyan and journalist Alex Renton co-founded an organization called Heirs of Slavery. Its eight British members have ancestors who benefited financially from slavery in various ways...

Heirs of Slavery says wealth and privilege trickle down through generations, and that there are possibly millions of Britons whose lives were touched by money generated from enslavement. 

The group aims to amplify the voices of those already calling for reparations, like Caribbean governments. And it supports organizations working to tackle the modern-day consequences of slavery, both in the United Kingdom and abroad, from racism to health care inequities. But it’s also setting an example for others, drafting a road map of reparative justice for enslavement – at the individual level...

“Shining a light is always a good idea,” says Mr. Renton, who published a book in 2021 about his family’s ties to slavery, donating the proceeds to a handful of nongovernmental organizations in the Caribbean and England. “You don’t have to feel guilt about it; you can’t change the past,” he says, paraphrasing Sir Geoff Palmer, a Scottish Jamaican scholar. “But we should feel ashamed that up to this point we’ve done nothing about the consequences” of slavery.

Start anywhere

Most Africans trafficked to the Americas and Caribbean during the trans-Atlantic slave trade ended up in the West Indies. The wealth generated there through unpaid, brutal, forced labor funded much of Europe’s Industrial Revolution and bolstered churches, banks, and educational institutions. When slavery was abolished in British territories in 1833, the government took out a loan to compensate enslavers for their lost “property.” The government only finished paying off that debt in 2015. 

The family of David Lascelles, the 8th Earl of Harewood, for example, received more than £26,000 from the British government after abolition in compensation for nearly 1,300 lives, while “the enslaved people were given nothing,” Mr. Lascelles says. He joined Heirs of Slavery upon its founding, eager to collaborate with peers doing work he’s been focused on for decades.

“People like us have, historically, kept quiet about what our ancestors did. We believe the time has come to face up to what happened, to acknowledge the ongoing repercussions of this human tragedy, and support the existing movements to discuss repair and reconciliation,” reads the group’s webpage.

For Ms. Trevelyan, that meant a very public apology – and resigning from journalism to dedicate herself to activism...

For Mr. Lascelles, a second cousin of King Charles, making repairs included in 2014 handing over digitized copies of slavery-related documents discovered in the basement of the Downton Abbey-esque Harewood House to the National Archives in Barbados, where much of his family’s wealth originated during enslavement. 

“What can we do that is actually useful and wanted – not to solve our own conscience?” he says he asks himself...

“Listen and learn”

...The group is planning a conference this fall that will bring together families that benefited from the trans-Atlantic slave trade along with representatives from Caribbean governments and Black Europeans advocating for reparations. In the meantime, members are meeting with local advocacy groups to better understand what they want – and how Heirs of Slavery might assist.

At a recent meeting, “there was one man who said he wanted to hear what we had to say, but said he saw us as a distraction. And I understand that,” says Mr. Renton. “Maximum humility is necessary on our part. We are here to listen and learn, not try to take the lead and be the boss.”

Mr. Renton’s family has made donations to youth development and educational organizations, but he doesn’t see it as compensation. “I see this as work of repair. If I sold everything I own, I couldn’t begin to compensate for the lives my ancestors destroyed,” he says."

-via The Christian Science Monitor, August 1, 2023

Note: I know the source name probably inspires skepticism for a lot of people (fairly), but they're actually considered a very reliable and credible publication in both accuracy and lack of bias.

[werewolfetone]

Losing my mind on the sir charles edward trevelyan wikipedia page at the fact that not one but both of these people wrote caricatures of him into their books. literally get his ass

[theluckywizard]

LUCKYYYY I come begging for a Dorian & Cullen situation this Friday!! From the Charles Dickens prompts: Bring in the bottled lightning, a clean tumbler, and a corkscrew. - Nicholas Nickelby

Hope it inspires you!!

The Commander, the Tevinter and a Bottle of Lightning

My first submission for @dadrunkwriting this fine Friday!

WC: 3,325

Rating: Teen (CW: alcohol use, some sexual subtext)

Relationships: Dorian Pavus & Cullen Rutherford, Rose Trevelyan/Cullen Rutherford

Summary: It starts as a professional favor to Rose, taking the Stick in the Mud out, drawing him away from the work he clings to so desperately. But what she doesn't know is that Dorian has positioned himself to be double wingman extraordinaire and Cullen is about to be utterly boiled in the bag.

“Come,” says Dorian, flicking his fingers in an impatient gesture at Cullen who is still flanked on every side by waiting staff scouts.

“You– you can’t be serious,” says Cullen, looking to his staff to validate his astonishment. It doesn’t take more than a second to realize that the mage is, in fact, serious.

“No, no, quite serious. You’re going to abandon your post this very moment. I insist,” says Dorian, his gray eyes bearing down on the Commander with aggravating persistence. He flicks his fingers again. Cullen gathers up all the reports and directives around him, signs a few in a barely recognizable hand and waves the scouts off, bracing himself against the desk in a sort of defeat. There’s no evading Dorian’s single-minded assault on his schedule.

“Dismissed,” he says. They file out, bouncing uneasy looks behind them between their Commander and the impertinent Tevinter with his provocative, impractical shoulder-bearing armor.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise, Commander,” he says. “I know you’ve forgotten what fun is, but surely a military man knows a thing or two about surprise.” Cullen feels about as captive as when Rose comes and commandeers him, blithely whisking him away without much consideration for all the pressing tasks that weigh upon him. But the urgency of these tasks is often invented, trumped up to occupy his mind, to fill the space where nightmares and guilt might otherwise fester.

Dorian leads him across the bridge back into the keep, through the rotunda past Solas’ unsanctioned murals, into the main hall and across the way until they’re back in the balmy clutches of the late spring afternoon in the courtyard. Dorian has seemingly claimed two chairs in the garden flanked on all sides by shrubbery and herbs, a chess set ready on the little table between them.

“Chess? I didn’t know you played chess,” says Cullen, surprising himself with a sudden smile. But then they’d come easier since Rose’s exasperating arguing had eased into playful teasing in Haven, prodding him until his smiles sneaked away from his control, giving him permission to feel something other than guilt, terror, and a dogged desire to atone.

“What do you take me for? Every proper Tevinter can play a lively round of chess,” he says. “I was surprised to learn you liked it.”

“From who?”

“Who do you think?”

“Ah. She put you up to this, did she?” he asks, his amber eyes flicking up to Dorian’s who simply shakes his head.

“Would it be so bad if she did?” he replies, raising his eyebrow at the commander. Dorian flags down a nearby courtyard staff member bringing drinks around to others taking respite in the garden. “A bottle of Lightning if you will. Two tumblers. Oh, and we’ll be needing a corkscrew.”

“Lightning,” Cullen says skeptically.

“It’s a Tevinter specialty. Infused. Delicious. They found a crate of it washed up on the Storm Coast. I thought I’d do the honor of introducing you to it,” he says with a winning smile. Cullen doesn’t normally imbibe, preferring to maintain control of his senses lest he lose his grip on the writhing mass of darkness that looms underneath it all. He’d dabbled in Kirkwall, bitterly remembering how Samson of all people would take him down to the Hanged Man, order him too many pints that he didn’t actually want and then he’d drink them out of a sense of obligation. He remembered the way his mind swam, anxiously, pleasantly, wildly, the way the denizens of the establishment, those who never seemed to leave, fell all over him, the regretful way he’d submitted to it on occasion. No, drink made him nervous. He feared what it might unlock inside him.

“You look hesitant,” says Dorian. “If it makes you feel better, I promise that I’ll deliver you back to your tower in one piece. I can think of at least one person who would have my head on a platter if she thought I’d abused you.”

The sentiment glows inside Cullen, his smile breaking out at the corners of his mouth again. Rose had clearly sicced Dorian upon him for some reason. And if she had arranged this, then perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to partake. He’d hate to disappoint her. The bottle arrives, a ridiculous looking thing that matches the presumption of Dorian’s wardrobe. Dorian pours a finger into each tumbler after deftly uncorking it. The liquid is vaguely violet. Dorian swirls it in delight.

“Hear that? It crackles slightly when you swirl it.”

“Maker’s breath. Literal bottled lightning?”

“Well I said it was infused, didn’t I?!” says Dorian. “It won’t hurt you. Well, maybe a little, but all the best drinks do, you know.” But Cullen wasn’t one to back away from a challenge either and he lifts the tumbler, swirling the glass as Dorian had done to hear the snap and hum of the electricity infused inside it.

“I don’t understand why anyone would bother,” says Cullen, sniffing it carefully.

“For the sensation, you Fereldan pud,” says Dorian, though Cullen can feel the affection in the prod. Dorian takes a sip and wiggles his shoulders with obvious pleasure. He gestures at Cullen with his head, encouraging him to follow suit.

Cullen sips, recoiling instantly from the little shocks that cross his lips and tongue.

“Surprising, isn’t it?”

“It’s unpleasant,” says Cullen, frowning at the drink.

“Every drink is an acquired taste.”

“One shouldn’t have to acquire a taste for something. It either tastes good or it doesn’t.”

“Complexity takes time to appreciate,” insists Dorian. “You must own that at the very least.” Cullen grumbles and takes another sip. Well, at least there’s chess, and he’s all too keen to humble this presumptuous brat of a Tevinter. He moves out a pawn and Dorian quickly counters, smiling behind his glass.

“I find it shocking that she’s so enamored with you,” says Dorian, openly discussing the Inquisitor’s private feelings. Cullen feels both anxious and thrilled about it, desperate for more details even though it feels like a proper violation. Then again, even Cole had presupposed Rose’s feelings in his strange and garbled messages, insisting he follow his fox, Rose, and that she was somehow fond.

“If there’s any truth to it, I’d find it shocking as well,” says Cullen, moving a cleric next. He watches Dorian make his first mistake, and a swell of actual glee rises inside of him. He sips the lightning which snaps at his lips and tongue petulantly. Dorian shakes his head at him with a pleasant smile under his polished mustache.

“Maker, the two of you have needed a bedroom since I first saw you arguing in Haven,” says Dorian, drinking deeply.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Cullen. “Our arguments are purely professional.”

“They may have been professional but if I’d cut the tension between you, you would have each flown halfway across Thedas,” muses Dorian, excessively pleased with his own witticisms. Cullen takes Dorian’s knight, celebrating with a peppery little sip. The man looks rankled by his misfortune, scratching his forehead, settling forward to lean on his knees with his elbows.

“Nonsense,” says Cullen, taking another drink, which Dorian answers with a knowing little shake of his head.

The chess match progresses in this manner, Cullen victoriously capitalizing on Dorian’s slapdashery, little sips on the lightning brew sliding down his throat with increasing ease. And soon he’s feeling buoyant in his chair, strangely smiley.

“That’s a good look on you, Commander, I’ll be honest,” says Dorian, the compliment so casual that Cullen forgets to reject it on its face. “She’d love to see it!”

“Who?”

“Rose, you cretin,” says Dorian, grinning in amazement. Cullen smiles again, shaking his head.

“I hardly think I’d be so lucky,” he says. “She humors me. About the same amount as everyone.”

“And yet you’re the one she takes down to the lake each morning,” says Dorian, sipping again. 

“Maker’s breath, how does everyone know about that?”

“Does the speed of the gossip really surprise you?” asks Dorian. “The Commander of the Inquisition’s forces and the illustrious leader herself?” Cullen grunts, staring at the crackling sap in his glass with a slight scowl. The appropriateness of it– the appearance of it– had always concerned him, but their time alone together rapidly eroded that concern as hope had spilled in in its stead. 

“I don’t deserve her,” he says openly and nearly bites back the words after they slip out, but they’re out and it feels strangely liberating. He looks at the board after the Tevinter’s latest move. “Dorian you’re fumbling your way to a crushing loss, you know that, right?”

“Don’t deserve– Kaffas. If work is your bride, misery is your mistress,” spits Dorian, ignoring the match. “Don’t you want to be happy?” 

“I suppose. I’ve just– forgotten how to do it.”

“You just– let it flow?” says Dorian. “Not that I’m the best example.” Cullen stares at the board, shaking his head, running a hand through his hair.

“The match, Dorian. Your tactics are a mess… look at this– what are you even doing?” Cullen says too loudly, gesturing broadly at the board. “You’ve hung your rook and I’ve pinned your knight! I’ll have you in three at this rate!”

“Ahhh, but it’s not about the chess, is it? It’s about the camaraderie!”

“You’re thinking of Wicked Grace. I play to win.”

“Then by all means, win!” snaps Dorian, snatching up Cullen’s glass to put another splash. Cullen is a little disappointed that he isn’t putting up more of a fight after all his bluster, but he can hardly turn down an opportunity for victory no matter how effortlessly earned. At this point the man’s all but given up.

Dorian reaches an arm across to gesture at Cullen’s armor.

“Don’t you own anything comfortable?” he says, his words languid.

“It’s perfectly adequate,” he says, noticing the way his own words have softened under the influence of the spirit, like his tongue is slower, a little bit lazy. “I like this just fine.”

“Not that I’m complaining, it’s quite the look. But wouldn’t you like to shake it up a bit?”

“I– I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“You didn’t pick this getup, did you!?” cries Dorian triumphantly, touching upon something that forces a deeper flush into Cullen’s already flushed cheeks.

“It was– a combined effort between Josephine and Leliana. They thought I looked too young to be their general. This look was meant to remedy that,” he admits with shocking ease. He clutches his hand over his mouth like maybe he shouldn’t have. Dorian is all amusement.

“Did they ask you to grow a beard as well? That would have done the trick nicely.”

“They may have,” replies Cullen, unnerved by Dorian’s perceptiveness. He takes a tetchy swig, swallowing back the liquor, the tiny shocks traveling all the way down to his stomach.

“Well if you want to impress You-Know-Who, you should consider widening your selection of apparel. How do you expect her to find her way inside all that armor? It looks worse than a Dwarven puzzle box.”

“Andraste–”

“Preserve me, yes, yes. I know.”

“How can you speak of her so?” Cullen asks, agitated by the man’s brazenness. Not that he expects Rose to be a perfect bastion of chastity, but she hardly deserves such insolence. They’d all learned about her Dalish lover while she was still unconscious in the Chantry cells of Haven, Leliana not one to leave a stone unturned.

“Why wouldn’t I? Maker knows the two of you need all the help you can get. And I wouldn’t say it if there weren’t a kernel of truth to it. It’s meant kindly.”

They play onward, the intoxication finding its way deep into the pit of his mind and he’s surprised to learn that the bottomless well of pain and darkness inside of him is stoppered under it, buried by sensation and the flow of mirth that Dorian had described earlier. He’s buoyed by the prospect– the illicitly gained knowledge of Rose’s feelings, an unbridled lightness fluttering in his chest that he hadn’t felt in more than a decade. Longer even.

“She must be mad,” Cullen slurs after he routs Dorian at last, but he says it with a smile.

“Maybe a little. You are a bit of a stick in the mud. ”

“I am not. I’m– I’m reasoned.” 

“And you’ll reason yourself right out of happiness,” says Dorian. And the truth of it swims through Cullen’s mind. He avoided happiness as assuredly as he’d avoided every invitation to the tavern by colleagues, even innocuous invitations by Rose herself. He ducked and dodged it like it could actually hurt, but really it was just a stubborn insistence on clinging to the dark prison he’d made his home. It was miserably comfortable. And change terrified him. 

“She’d regret it,” he considers after another ill-advised sip. The bottom of the glass looms but Dorian hasn’t poured more.

“That’s for her to decide, don’t you think?”

As if summoned by the looseness of his thoughts and words, the Inquisitor strides up to the pair of them with an easy bounce in her step. Cullen jumps to his feet, panicked, realizing belatedly that he needs to steady himself on the arm of the chair.

“Inquisitor!”

“Are you two playing nice?” she asks as Cullen slides back into the safety of his chair.

“I’m always nice,” says Dorian with a grin. Rose picks up the bottle, glancing over at Cullen with his favorite little smirk. 

“Is this what you were on about, Dorian? Bottled lightning?” she asks. She notes Dorian’s empty glass and then reaches for Cullen’s on the table, holding it up to her nose.

“What do you think of it, Cullen?” she asks, her eyes dwelling on him as she awaits a response.

“Surprisingly easy to drink,” he grumbles, blushing brightly. She lifts his glass to her lips, sipping his drink, sharing a glass, which feels breathtakingly intimate, another little wall between them crumbling away. 

“For Maker’s sake,” she says with a cough, presumably being shocked and pinched by the ridiculous libation all the way down. “I’ve had strong stuff, but nothing that actually zapped me.”

“You saw what it was called,” says Dorian with a grin. “Join us.”

“I’m not sure I dare encourage you two,” she says, taking another sip from Cullen’s glass. 

“I– um. I should go. Those… reports you had me leave behind need attending to,” Cullen says, rising to his feet, swaying gently, drawing a snort of amusement from Rose, whose pitying look sears his soul. When he wobbles, she slides to his side to scoop an arm around him, his astonishment plain on his face as he gazes down at her. If it weren’t for the intensity of his mortification he might find the wherewithal to feel giddy. Her hand curves around above his hip where the breastplate ends and he begins to hear it– no feel it– the song drawing him in like a comfort. It lulls his senses further, fills him with wanting, stripping away trepidation and doubt. It intensifies the closer she draws to him. The song is her.

“Dorian, shall we escort our esteemed general back to work?” she says lightly. “Perhaps you might interest the people in the main hall in a bit of fascinating magic? And then maybe swing by Ellendra’s for a bottle of her finest?”

“I think I follow,” says Dorian, tapping his forehead with a finger. He slips off ahead. Cullen can’t decide if he’s euphoric or dying a little inside. Perhaps some odd combination of both. Dispossessed of his senses, he moves along with her, leaning a bit more heavily against her than he ought to. When she doesn’t recoil from him or laugh at him, his embarrassment blinks out and he submits to the resonance between them.

“I hope you’re not upset,” she says.

“Why would I be?” he asks, a cheery quiescence about his words, the spirit and her company washing him in a hazy rapture. Inside the main hall, Dorian has drawn nearly everyone away from the courtyard entry with performative antics closer to the throne. Only Varric and Hawke remain unmoved by the entertainment, sitting placidly by the fire tending their own drinks, their eyes falling upon the pair in amusement. Rose discreetly puts a finger to her lips to them as they drift heavily by.

“Damn, Curly,” utters Varric quietly, a smile breaking at the corner of his mouth. Hawke shakes his head, grinning behind his glass at the pair of them. They cross through the rotunda and then the bridge. Distracted, Cullen reaches down to pick up her braid and holds it up to his lips.

“Are you sure you wish to do that, Commander?” she teases him. “I won’t let you do anything you might regret when your senses return.”

“Very much so,” he smiles, lolling to the left. She counters his stumble and drags him up the steps to his door.

“You’re basically soup,” she says, depositing him on the edge of his desk. Her braid slides through his fingers as she steps away to pour him a glass of water.

“I feel like soup,” he says with an absent smile. Rose stands in front of him and hands him the glass.

“It’s surprisingly charming,” she says, reigning in her amusement. Without the slightest inhibition in place, Cullen reaches up and traces a finger down her cheek. She closes her hand around his and lowers it gently enough that he knows it’s not a rebuff.  “Dorian is going to show up with another bottle for you. And you’re going to follow my orders and drink it up.”

“Another bottle!?” cries Cullen, the liquor having stolen away any semblance of volume control. Rose presses a finger to his lips to shush him.

“I’m right here,” she says quietly. Cullen wonders if that counts as a kiss.

“Another bottle?” he tries again in a whisper. 

“It’s not what you think,” she says. “And then you’re going to go to sleep and I’ll see you first thing in the morning.” His hands impulsively sneak around her waist just as the Tevinter swings through the side entrance holding out a small corked draught. She disentangles herself gently while Dorian covers his knowing smile. “When you’re not absolutely badgered off Dorian’s booze.”

“Ellendra’s miracle cure, as requested,” he says, handing the bottle to Rose. “Shall I leave you two?”

“I’ll be getting back to work,” Rose says.

“Well that’s hardly fun,” says Dorian.

“He’ll be more fun when he can stand up straight without an assist,” she says, glancing at him. “How much did you pour him?” Cullen’s blush finds its way out from under all the wooziness and he snatches up the corked little bottle with shocking fervor. If he’s going to see her first thing he’d best be set to rights. 

“Nothing fatal, I promise,” insists Dorian. “Three fingers. Maybe four all told.”

“Maker, Dorian. Another splash he might have been sleeping in the bushes in the bailey below,” she laughs, and then looks pityingly at Cullen again, wrapping him up in that gorgeous song of hers.

“I am right here,” mutters Cullen, annoyed to be talked around.

“Are you though?” asks Dorian, quirking his brow. Rose smiles at Cullen and reaches over to straighten his mantle in a way that undoes whatever is left of him after all that bottled lightning.

“See you tomorrow,” she says, taking her leave and Cullen is left with the brat.

“Well that worked out better than I thought it would,” Dorian says, leaning on the desk beside Cullen.

“You plotted this? The pair of you?” 

“No, no, it was mostly me. She needs nearly as much help as you,” says Dorian, brazen as ever. 

“Maker’s–”

“–breath. I know. Quite. But I couldn’t be happier. And neither could you. Now be a chum and don’t cock it up.”

[positivelybeastly]

~10 Fandoms/ ~10 Characters/ ~10 Tags

Tagged by: @kylo-wrecked

Tagging: anyone who wants to do it, no pressure. Beware below the cut, there's a ton of names and not a ton of exposition because that's 100 characters in total and I can't talk about how much I love them all individually or I would be here for the rest of my week. :P

Marvel Comics

Beast (so unexpected!).

Emma Frost.

Spider-Man.

The Wasp.

Daredevil.

Bishop.

The Thing.

Mr. Sinister.

She-Hulk.

Sabretooth.

Star Trek

Worf.

Christopher Pike.

Christine Chapel.

Charles 'Trip' Tucker.

Carol Marcus (TWOK).

Hugh Culber.

T'Ana.

T'Pol.

Nyota Uhura.

Nog.

James Bond

Tracy Bond.

Natalya Simonova.

Felix Leiter (Jeffrey Wright).

Valentin Zukovsky.

Melina Havelock.

Franz Sanchez.

Alec Trevelyan.

M (Judi Dench).

Elektra King.

Vesper Lynd.

Resident Evil

Jill Valentine.

Carlos Oliveira (remake).

Moira Burton.

Leon S. Kennedy (original and remake).

Marvin Branagh (remake).

Claire Redfield.

Sherry Birkin.

Sheva Alomar.

Albert Wesker.

Alex Wesker.

Persona

Makoto Nijima.

Ryuji Sakamoto.

Yukiko Amagi.

Toranosuke Yoshida.

Margaret.

Nanako Dojima.

Akihiko Sanada.

Haru Okumura.

Kanji Tatsumi.

Sojiro Sakura.

Supermassive Games

Sam (Until Dawn).

Jacob (The Quarry).

Dylan (The Quarry).

Mike (Until Dawn).

Salim (House of Ashes).

Fliss (Man of Medan).

Josh (Until Dawn).

Ryan (The Quarry).

Chris (Until Dawn).

Jason (House of Ashes).

Star Wars

Leia Organa.

Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Zeb Orrelios.

Chopper.

Padme Amidala.

Lando Calrissian.

Count Dooku.

Qui-Gon Jinn.

Finn.

Poe Dameron.

Doctor Who

Donna Noble.

Ninth Doctor.

Bill Potts.

Third Doctor.

Seventh Doctor.

Ace.

Ianto Jones.

Martha Jones.

Pete Tyler.

Adelaide Brooke.

Kaiju Movies (it counts!)

Gamera (90s trilogy).

Shin Godzilla.

Tamura (Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla).

Anguirus.

Mothra (KOTM).

Iris (Gamera 90s trilogy).

Legion (Gamera 90s trilogy).

Tsutomu Osako (Gamera 90s trilogy).

Hedorah.

King Ghidorah.

DC

Poison Ivy.

Tawky Tawny.

Jim Gordon.

Catman.

Bane.

Alfred Pennyworth.

Bloodsport (James Gunn).

Black Mask (Emancipation of Harley Quinn).

Silk Spectre II.

Lobo.

I have types, as you can probably tell, and it's probably just as obvious which fandoms I'm super into and which ones I enjoy more casually.

[ridewithgokul]

KODAIKANAL TRIP

EXPLORE & INSPIRE

The earliest references to Kodaikanal and the Palani hills are found in Tamil Sangam literature.[3] Tamil composition Kuṟuntokai, the second book of the anthology Ettuthokai, mentions the mountainous geographic region (thinai) of Kurinji. The region is associated with Hindu god Murugan and is described as a forest with lakes, waterfalls and trees like teak, bamboo and sandalwood.[4] The name of the region, Kurinji, derives from the name of the famous flower Kurinji found only in the hills and the occupants of the region were tribal people whose prime occupations were hunting, honey harvesting and millet cultivation.[5][6] The hills were populated by the Palaiyar tribal people.[7]Coakers Walk in 1900

In 1821, a British Lieutenant, B. S. Ward, climbed up from his headquarters in the Kunnavan village to Kodaikanal to survey the area and reported of beautiful hills with a healthy climate with about 4,000 people living in well-structured villages.[8] In 1834, J.C Wroughten, then revenue collector of Madura and C. R. Cotton, a member of the Madras Presidency's board of revenue, climbed up the hills from Devadanapatti.[9] In 1836, botanist Robert Wight visited Kodaikanal and recorded his observations in the 1837 Madras Journal of Literature and Science.[10] In 1852, Major J. M. Partridge of the Bombay Army built a house and was the person to settle there.[9] In 1853, only six to seven houses were there when then Governor of Madras Presidency Charles Trevelyan visited in 1860.[11] In 1862, American missionary David Coit Scudder arrived.[9] In 1863, acting on a suggestion of Vere Levinge, then collector of Madurai, an artificial lake was formed.[11]

In 1867, Major J. M. Partridge imported Australian eucalyptus and wattle trees and in 1872, Lt. Coaker cut a path along the steep south east facing ridge which overlooks the plains below and prepared a descriptive map the region.[12][13] In the later half of the 19th century, it became a regular summer retreat for American missionaries and other European diplomats as a refuge from the high temperatures and tropical diseases of the plains.[14][15] In 1901, the first observations commenced at the Kodaikanal Observatory.[16] In 1909, the area had developed into a small town with 151 houses and a functioning post office, churches, clubs, schools and shops.[14] In 1914, the ghat road was completed.[11] It continued to served as a summer retreat during the British Raj and became a popular hill station later.

[scarytheory]

Formula 1 drivers as James Bond characters (based on vibes)

James Bond: George Russell

He's the most British guy who ever British. Does he has an edge? Is he dangerous? No. Not really. But bond!book is a respectable boring man! George would be a perfect kinda boring, kinda bland Bond. And he already has abs, so that's plus! (congratulations to your first pole!)

(this pic is actually from collab with King's Men which is close enough)

Bond girl: Charles Leclerc. He's just very pretty. He's being punish lately for a character development I guess. He's gonna probably die at the end of the movie.

Bond girl but make it villain: Carlos Sainz. He's hot. He's Spanish. He ignore orders from Ferrari his boss. He's also going to die because it's Ferrari James Bond film after all.

Villain: I KNOW YOU ARE ALL SAYING MAX but I think that Max is actually very nice a kinda dork which are not qualities I wanna see in a villain. A challenge you: Fernando Alonso. He's older, experienced, he's a badass in kinda macho way? He was also already involved in espionage controversy (Spygate) so it just seems fitting?

Henchman: Lance Stroll. I like Lance but yeah, he has a big "my father will hear about it" energy.

Q: Damn, this one is tricky. Hardest, really. I wanna say Max because he has cats (and Sassy and Jimmy are the great names for Q's cats) but maybe his energy is a little bit different. So I'm saying Sebastian Vettel because he's probably the nerdiest of them all. He cares about many important things but he also is genuinely funny. And he's driving for Aston Martin! (happy retirement, Seb!)

M: if I didn't choose drivers as my concept it would be Toto (can you imagine him saying NO, NO NO, JAMES, THAT WAS SO NOT RIGHT). But Lewis Hamilton would be also a great M. He saw it all, did it all. And now he's in charge and he's good at it.

Tanner: Valtteri Bottas (Alfa Romeo version). He supports his girlfriend, wears bucket hats and shows his ass everywhere. He's a sweatheart.

Moneypenny: Lando. Cute but deadly.

Felix: Daniel Ricciardo and nobody else.

and because Max Verstappen NEEDS to be in this my imaginary world, I'm gonna say he could be Alec Trevelyan (but fanon version). He's blond-ish, he has a temper, he's amazing in what he does, he's really clever. We stan Max/Alec in this house.

also I found this and now I can't stop laughing:

(Pierre would be probably some minion)

[ausetkmt]

NPR: British aristocrats push King Charles for reparations

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1807 – Birth of Sir Charles Edward Trevelyan, 1st Baronet, KCB, a British civil servant and Governor of Madras.

Trevelyan is referred to in the modern Irish folk song The Fields of Athenry about ‘An Gorta Mór’. For his actions, he is commonly considered one of the most detested figures in Irish history, along with the likes of Cromwell. Image | Charles Trevelyan accompanied by a poem written by Joe Canning SaveSave SaveSave

[marypickfords]

Diana the Huntress (Charles W. Allen; Francis Trevelyan Miller, 1916)

[dickytwister]

— what form of love does your ship embody?

i was tagged by @shellibisshe to take this uquiz, thank u AA tagging @nuclearstorms @the-universe-in-our-mind @hopecountyisforlovers @aceghosts @perseus-veil and anyone who wants to do it!!

rafael trevelyan x dorian pavus (dragon age: inquisition) love as light [ love as a luminous force—warm, radiant, and golden ] when mary oliver wrote "light of the world hold me” and when charles bukowski said “I look at her and light goes all through me” and when david viscott said “to love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides”and when e. e. cummings said “lovers alone wear sunlight”

maxwell keegan x jacob seed (far cry 5) love as violence [ love as bloodshed, crimson as a knife slipped between your ribs ] when ocean vuong said "to arrive at love, then, is to arrive through obliteration" and when franz kafka said "you are the knife i turn inside myself; that is love" and when ada limon said "how do you love? like a fist. like a knife" and when richard siken said "sorry about the blood in your mouth. i wish it was mine"

finley "v" vaughn x bella (cyberpunk 2077) love as tenderness [ love as gentleness after a lifetime of cruelty ] when ocean vuong said "sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you've been ruined" and when pablo neruda said "like a jar you housed the infinite tenderness and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar" and when anais mitchell wrote "all i've ever known is how to hold my own, and now i wanna hold you, too”

carter quill x joaquin torres (mcu) love as devotion [ devotion: love, loyalty, or enthusiasm for a person, activity, or cause ] when ruth said to naomi "where you go, i will go, and where you stay, i will stay. your people will be my people, and your God my God" and when hozier sang "i'll be the dreadful need from the devotee that drove [orpheus] underground" and when deathcab for cutie sang "if there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, i will follow you into the dark"

[werewolfetone]

Spelling sir charles trevelyan's name by typing a T and then random e's and y's and v's until google docs gently takes me by the hand and asks me to stop

[serenpedac]

The lovely @ava-du-mortain tagged me to do this quiz about love for my OCs. Thank you, this was fun!

Tagging anyone who wants to do this and: @cleverblackcat, @wayhavenots, @agentnatesewell, @nerdierholler, @griffin-wood, @thecourierbabe, @evilbunnyking , @winterwolfwitch

Yael Greene -- love as light

[ love as a luminous force—warm, radiant, and golden ] when mary oliver wrote "light of the world hold me” and when charles bukowski said “I look at her and light goes all through me” and when david viscott said “to love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides”and when e. e. cummings said “lovers alone wear sunlight”

Gabi Sousa -- love as devotion

[ devotion: love, loyalty, or enthusiasm for a person, activity, or cause ] when ruth said to naomi "where you go, i will go, and where you stay, i will stay. your people will be my people, and your God my God" and when hozier sang "i'll be the dreadful need from the devotee that drove [orpheus] underground" and when deathcab for cutie sang "if there's no one beside you when your soul embarks, i will follow you into the dark"

Rhiann Trevelyan -- love as a choice

[ love is beautiful because it's built deliberately ] when casey mcquinston wrote "that's the choice. i love him, with all that, because of all that, on purpose. i love him on purpose" and when jenny slate tweeted "i just want someone to grab my little face and scream on purpose, on purpose i am going to care about you" and when jodi picoult wrote "after fifteen years, love isn't just a feeling. it's a choice" and when the good place said "if soulmates do exist, they're not found they're made"