elidoo

I have asked @latefortevinter to make update posts for Interloper on my behalf going forward. You see, Tumblr has actually muted my blog so none of my posts show up in the tags anymore 😔

But I will be posting updates on my fandom Twitter account, Pillowfort, and if you have AO3 you can subscribe to the fic which will give you email alerts every time I update!

It has been a real pleasure to partake in a community as passionate and engaged as the Dragon Age fandom. Purging almost all of the 9000+ posts on my blog felt like losing something irreplaceable. Thank you for all the memories, friends ❤

That is not to say I’m done with fandoms - I’m rather active on other social media sites, updating Interloper and working on an amazing project that I can’t wait to share with you in a few months.

You can find me on...

Fandom twitter: @elidoo

AO3: elidoo

MAGNET (Complete)

Dorian x Trevelyan. E-rated.

Just as Dorian resigned himself to the fact that the Inquisitor didn’t much like him, things changed.

Tumblr ficlets (Trespasser spoilers)

Haze

Both Hands

Tryst

A Letter from a Chambermaid

INTERLOPER (Ongoing)

Dorian x Trevelyan. E-rated.

Sequel to Magnet. Just as Dorian settled into domestic bliss with the Comte of Kirkwall, a slight blunder saw him thrust into a world where nothing made sense.

Tumblr ficlet

Interloper 2.0

DRUNKEN COMPASS (One-Shot. Complete)

Dorian x Trevelyan. T-rated.

Hot Mess Modern AU prompt: ‘you thought i was someone else and started making out with me at a club and you’re really hot so i just went with it and now we’re heading back to your place and idk how to break it to you’

FRISSON (Ongoing. Deferred)

Reyes Vidal x Ryder. M-rated.

It was the tickling warmth of breath against his nape that first roused Dorian from his sleep.

He blinked to adjust his eyes to the dimly-lit room, taking stock of his surroundings: there was a muscled, human arm draped over him, and its owner’s solid chest hot against his back as it rose and fell with each long exhale.

Dorian didn’t remember inviting anyone into his bed, certainly not after the rather vigorous night he’d already spent with he-who-must-never-be-named.

The pillow under his cheek was soft and satiny, unlike the coarse one he usually slept on. The bed was much larger – and much more comfortable – than his, with heavy brocade draperies tied back to the bedposts.

Just whose bed did he stumble into?

He shifted, prising himself free from the heavy arm. His accidental bedmate made a slight noise and rolled over onto his back.

“Is it morning already?” the man mumbled.

Dorian squinted at the stranger: wonderfully handsome, with fair hair and tawny skin, and freckles sprinkled generously across his nose. Possibly late twenties to early thirties, his full lips and long lashes lending a boyish touch to his otherwise masculine features.

And they were both nude. Marvellous.

He propped himself up on his elbow, keeping a respectable distance from the beautifully muscular, and very naked man.

“Please, do not take offense, I am usually quite good with faces, but…who are you?”

Dark eyes opened slowly, peering up at him. “Hmm?”

“I must’ve wandered into the wrong room by mistake. Sorry about that. I don’t make it a habit to wake up snuggling with handsome strangers.”

The man’s brows wrinkled in charming confusion, then his perplexity was replaced with a slow, impish smile. “Isn’t it a little early for role playing?”

“Role play? I assure you, I’m not – ”

Dorian cast his gaze around the room once more, taking in the Free Marches’ tapestries, the distinctively Orlesian carved woodwork, and a balcony overlooking what looked to be a dawning Kirkwall.

Trespasser Spoiler

They’d given him something to dull the pain – a thick concoction that had him choking and spluttering as it ran down his throat.

Within seconds, the fog began seeping into his brain, built dams in his veins.

He blinked and lay down in the bed, flexing his left hand.

This mess of red and black, bleeding flesh fused with charred skin, once carried the weight of the world.

The mortal cradle to Fen’Harel’s anchor would soon be removed, irrevocably damaged by the orb’s magic.

The bright, metallic sound of the healers sharpening the amputation knife and bone saw echoed off the polished walls of the infirmary. The smell of hot poultices filled the sharp tasting air.

“Inquisitor,” the Orlesian surgeon said as she strapped a tourniquet above his elbow, “We are ready when you are.”

He nodded. “Will you please fetch the Tevinter Ambassador? I’d like a word with Magister Pavus before we begin.”

A word before he left. A word before the beginning of the end. A word…

It felt like an age had passed before he opened his eyes to see the shape of Dorian’s face hovering above his.

“Amatus.” Grey eyes shone with guilt and concern. “You wanted to see me?”

He smiled at the endearment and let the wave of affection wash over him.

“Yes,” he said, pulling Dorian down gently with his good hand and folding him against his chest. “I wanted to give you a proper hug before you go back to Tevinter.”

He slid one hand up to cup the back of Dorian’s neck, and the other around his waist. Solid. Familiar. Still within his reach.

The ice rattled noisily in the wooden pail with each passing tremble.

The water was cold, so cold it stung the webbing between his fingers. But it did little to numb the blinding pain shooting up through his arm and down the left side of his body.

The anchor crackled and burned a garish green even submerged in the ice water. His flesh felt as if it were being pulled off his bones from the inside with every pulse.

He clenched his fist, gnashing his teeth and tried not to scream.

No, this was no time to show weakness. Not with the Exalted Council circling him like hungry vultures. Not with the Qunari threat so close to their doorstep.

His body shook as the mark flared once more, and he slammed his eyes shut.

Despite his best efforts, a familiar face came to the forefront of his mind.

It’s good to see you, my friend.

He took a long, shuddering breath and clenched his jaw. Once, he would have found solace in that smile. In those stormy grey eyes. In the honeyed voice that called him amatus.

But that was a long time ago. Now, he would bear his burdens alone.

He reached for another elfroot potion and drank it in one swallow. Exhaling, his head fell back. He could almost feel his pupils dilating.

Finally, the haze brought relief to the mind and body, and he withdrew his hand from the bucket. Cold water dripped all over him but he’d barely felt it.

He threw the empty bottle carelessly in the corner where it joined the others in a small pile. 

Standing unsteadily, he began putting on his armour. There were more eluvians to go through, more qunari to kill.

No doubt his companions would notice the lingering smell of elfroot, the slight glaze in his eyes.