❛ you make me feel and I don’t like it. I want it to stop. now. ❜ cyrus/darren
“You make me feel and I don’t like it. I want it to stop. Now.”
The words were as ridiculous as they were shocking. At least, to Darren. “Wait… what? Cyrus, hold up–!”
It had only been a few weeks since Cyrus returned to the farm, and he was already trying to run off again? He’d barely even been back on his feet for three days! A kind of strange, unmarried panic washed over Darren as he jogged after his friend, managing to snag him by the elbow and swing around in front of him, blocking his march up the hill towards the gate. “Just wait a minute, okay?”
The scowl on Cyrus’ face should seem familiar, but there was something just… not quite right about it. Like he’d painted it over something much truer to himself. “Just - let me go, damn it - back off!” He jerked his arm out of Darren’s grasp, but didn’t try to get past. Not yet, at least. “You asked me why I was going and I told you, so what the fuck is your problem now?”
“My problem?” Something akin to anger welled up inside Darren. He forced it down, but it took every ounce of his willpower to do it. “Cyrus, why wouldn’t I have a problem with that? Feeling isn’t a bad thing!”
“Maybe not for you.” Taking a half-step back, Cyrus’ eyes were shallow pools, barely concealing razor-sharp rocks. “Listen, I’m not… it’s complicated. You know that, so stop pushing it.”
A few years ago, that would have been enough. Even now, standing there, some part of Darren felt inclined to back down, like a pup before a wolf, all hackles and teeth. But it wasn’t a few years ago. He’d grown his own claws. “Saying ‘it’s complicated’ isn’t good enough for me to let you walk back out there on your own again. Seriously? Do you really think I care that little about what happens to you? Maker’s breath, you only just got out of bed a few days ago!” Darren knew his voice was rising, but he didn’t try to lower it. Not this time. “So explain it to me. Explain why it is so bad to feel something for once in your life that isn’t just fucking misery.”
Darren wasn’t sure if it was his tone or the language he used, but it seemed to stun Cyrus for a few moments, his expression going slack. When Cyrus didn’t immediately respond, the cold fear that Cyrus actually was miserable gnawed its way into Darren’s stomach, leaving behind a sick, helpless feeling he hadn’t experienced since he was back at the Inquisition. If he didn’t know better, he would guess a despair demon had torn through the veil and straight into him.
“I…” Cyrus licked his lips - a nervous tick of sorts - and cast his gaze towards the distant fence. Anything to avoid looking at Darren. Some things never changed. “I can’t, okay? I just… I spend time here, and it’s all just so…”
Darren cocked his head slightly. “So… what?”
“Fucking perfect.”
The frankness of the response startled a laugh out of Darren. “What? So you like it too much here so you’re going to run off?” He shook his head. “Cyrus, you know that doesn’t make any sense, right?”
“I know, okay? I get it.” The way Cyrus wrapped his arms around himself was like he was trying to keep someone out. Or hold something in. “I never said it made fucking sense.”
One of the most difficult things about Cyrus was how often he left Darren at a loss for what to do. What to say. Everything. Maker, Darren had done everything to try to make Cyrus happy and comfortable. He’d spent night after night by his side, tending to his fever, making sure he drank enough and tried to eat at each meal. None of that had been done under sufferance - he’d volunteered without an ounce of hesitation. Cyrus was his friend, after all. The fact that Darren loved him was just another part of that bond. One he hadn’t forgotten or lost, even after four years apart. If anything, it felt stronger than ever.
And now that it seemed Cyrus was actually starting to reciprocate that feeling, he was running away.
“Okay.” Releasing a sigh, Darren ran a hand down his face, pausing to scratch his stubbled skin. “How about this: until you can find a way to explain why you’re running back out there with nothing but the clothes on your back, you stick around. Because seriously, if you leave like this I’m going to come after you. You’re not well enough for me to let you go for anything short of a really good reason.” He paused, and a sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “And feeling something? Maybe even being happy for once? That isn’t one of them. You’re just going to have to stick around and get used to that until you find something else.”
At first something almost offended swept across Cyrus’ face; a kind of open-mouthed expression of affrontedness at being denied exit from the farm. Realistically, Darren knew if Cyrus really wanted to leave, he couldn’t - no, wouldn’t - force him to stay. But the problem? Well, Darren was pretty sure Cyrus didn’t really want to go. There was just something in him; something quiet and buried deep; that convinced him to run at the first sign of comfort. Like there was a danger in it. A snake lying in wait beneath anything soft and warm, waiting to sink its fangs into him.
“You can’t make me stay.”
“I know.” The response came easily. The truth always did for Darren. “But I can beg you to. I’ll get on my knees and clasp my hands like a Chantry mother if that’s what it takes.”
That got a wry snort from Cyrus, whose gaze finally drifted back to regard Darren properly. “Please, spare me. I had enough of those theatrics to last me a lifetime.”
Chuckling, Darren reached up and ran his fingers though his hair, pushing it back off his face. “Good, then. So can we just…” He nodded back to the farmhouse. “You can unpack your things. Meet me in the kitchen.” He winked at Cyrus. “My cooking’s gotten a lot better, you know.”
It was an easy way out of a difficult conversation, but sometimes that was the best thing to do. Darren knew he wasn’t going to get answers out of Cyrus standing there on the path, pack in hand, breathing hard just from the walk up the hill. He should be sitting down. Recovering properly. Eating well. Darren could at least see to that.
“Yeah?” With one final glance at the distant gate, Cyrus shouldered his pack. For a second, Darren thought he was going to make a break for it - he had that calculating look in his eye. But then the look melted away, and Cyrus shifted his attention towards the farmhouse. “Guess I’d better be the judge of that, huh? My last memory of your cooking was that strew in the Western Approach. You know, the one that–”
—“Tasted like dried bootstraps? Yeah, I know…” Darren made a show of cringing, then laughed warmly, slinging an arm around Cyrus’ shoulders and slowly moving back towards the house. “Time for me to regain my reputation!”
Cyrus’ reply was so quiet Darren almost missed it. “It’ll take more than one meal for that.”
It may have been meant as a jibe… or maybe not. Either way, Darren favoured his friend with a bright grin. “Yeah. I reckon it will.”
14. Overgrown for Lux and Syla, 15. Trembling hands for Thel and Tu, or 16. In dreams for Emma and Tam.
“Right...now, a noun. Plural.”
“Umm...” Sylathi’s eyes darted around Skyhold’s courtyard for inspiration, a slow smirk spreading across her face as her gaze settled on the deep blue of Lux’s scarf.
“And don’t say ‘scarves’. I already told you, just saying whatever’s right in front of you is cheating.”
“It’s not!” she exclaimed, swatting at the air in front of him. “It’s simply...finding inspiration in the world around you. Don’t you do the same with your stories?”
“Well, yeah, but these stories are better if you don’t actually try to make them good. Just take whatever it is that pops into your mind first and go with it.”
“Very well,” she said, with a cheeky grin. “Scarves.”
“UGH. Fine. An adjective, and it better not be ‘blue’.”
Judging by the way Lux’s mouth pursed and his eyes narrowed, she wasn’t being quite as subtle in her search for inspiration as she thought. “Overgrown.”
“Yes!” He scrawled it down, snickering to himself. “Much better, yeah? ‘nother plural noun.”
“Legs.”
“Pfft. Okay, a verb.”
“Smile.”
“And another, but past tense this time.”
“Tripped.”
“Ha!” Making quite a big show of it, Lux looked out over the courtyard, searching for whoever inspired that one, and seemed quite disappointed when she appeared to have come up with that on her own. “All right, let’s see...another noun.”
“Brush.”
“A verb?”
“Pinch.”
“Last one, yeah? So make sure it’s a good one. An adjective.”
The opportunity presented itself, and Sylathi saw no reason not to take it. He did tell her to say the first thing that came to mind, after all. She fixed him with a wry grin, and let him have it.
“Blue.”
Lux only stared at her for a moment, face scrunching comically as he tried to make sense of why she was so proud of that particular answer. It came to him in the form of a loud, wide-eyed gasp and a long, drawn out ‘ohhhhhh!!’. Shaking his head, he filled in the last of the blanks on the page, and held the journal proudly in front of him.
“Right. All finished.” He slowly turned his head to look at her, a mischievous smirk on his face. “Ready to hear your award-winning masterpiece?”
Sylathi straightened her posture, folded her hands in her lap, and gave him a resolute nod.
“They say a pot never eats, but anyone who’s picked the tea of Rivain at morning might disagree. The flowers and books head to the tents at midday, the soft quills and scarves go back to their...pfft, overgrown legs to smile over the ways they got tripped, and the brush pinches blue.”
Both of them struggled to wait until the story was over to erupt into laughter, and it was even more of a struggle for them to stop once they started.
“That was...ridiculous,” Sylathi remarked through intermittent giggles, wiping away the glaze of tears over her eyes before leaning back on her hands. Lux has long since collapsed backwards, and lay on the ground beside her, still rumbling with laughter.
If you're feeling up to it of course, I'd love to read your interpretation of the name Vaharel. I think Vaharel is an Emerald Knight and I named one of my character's birth clan after them. :)
sure, and thankyou :) this sort of thing is prolly my fav kinda question !!
Vaharel: Vaharel was a revered elven hero from the time of the Dales, likely an Emerald Knight, famed for leading the capture of the human city of Montsimmard - not long before the then-Divine’s call for a second Exalted March. A Life-Tree was planted in their honor and remembrance, in an area that came to be known as the Emerald Graves.
The Dalish use harellan to mean “traitor to one’s kin”, and harel itself variously means “dread”, “lie”, “to trick” or “to deceive”. Added to era as in Era’harel it means “demon-mage”, as in the entities which are similar to Arcane Horrors. Not the nicest slew of meanings and connotations. However, per the Rebel God Codex entry, harellan does not appear in any elven text that can be dated as being from before the Towers Age (3:00 onwards) - and in order to be an adult fighter around 2:10 Glory, Vaharel must have been born during the Divine Age. Although at this point in time Fen’Harel was indeed known among the elves as Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, I like the possible inference that Vaharel was named during a time when harel and associated words were not ascribed such completely negative meanings. As we can read, the ancient root-word is related to harillen (“opposition”) and hellathen (“noble struggle”). The connotations here are more along the lines of rebellion - particularly ones with good causes - and even a call for justice - albeit a violent one - given how it seems to have percolated down through the years to modern City Elves and their concept of mien’harel. I like to think Vaharel’s parents named them with these latter sorts of meanings in mind.
It’s a stretch but I take va as a short form of var (“our” - Varharel flows off the tongue poorly or more clumsily in comparison), meaning that to me Vaharel means “our revolutionary”; one who will bring justice and challenge the system. Vaharel’s parents must have had high hopes for their child. Arguably they lived up to these hopes, being remembered as a storied hero, and - for a time, at least - enacting elven justice/vengeance upon humanity for their ancestral crimes against the People, via the conquering of Montsimmard.
27. What makes you excited about their relationship? for our ships! Emralan, Thelio, and Runaren :)
Um, I’m excited about Emralan because they’re EVERYTHING, and you are well aware of that :P
Seriously though, Emma’s relationship with Tamralan is an opportunity for her to be soft with someone who isn’t Lux, but not pressured into being so soft it becomes out of character for her. And since it’s not pushing her boundaries in ways that are going to make her withdraw, she’s embracing it, being soft with him in a way that she’s comfortable with and is still her, loving and being loved in a way that isn’t scary. Tam is so patient and good, and being with him lets her see that being her and being in love are not mutually exclusive, and she doesn’t have to be someone she’s not to feel things she feels. I love thinking about them together because of that tender kindness, and I can’t help but smile when I do.
I feel like we made Thelio to kind of offset all the fluff from Emralan and satisfy our goblin brains, haha. It IS sweet, though, the way they both come to accept that things they’d thought about themselves and others’ perception of them aren’t really as infallibly spot on as they thought. Túlio learns that people can find him intrinsically interesting, without pretending of any kind, and that he can fuck up royally and still be worth loving. Plus, they just have fun together and I really love that, as simplistic as it sounds? They laugh, they joke, they goof off and fool around and give each other something to genuinely enjoy about life and I am just over here like... “good for them.”
Runaren is kind of like Emralan in that it’s a lot of understanding and patience, but it’s also interesting to think about because there aren’t grand gestures and flowery dialogue with them; it’s practically all body language so it’s a challenge to think of how they’ll get their feelings across without much talking, just looks and touches. It’s all they need though, and it makes them happy. :)
you think i did this on purpose? For Ralon :) I miss the boy
It was a nice evening, Ralon supposed. The light fading at the edge of the treeline. Warm. A slight breeze that tickled his legs and sent a shiver across his skin.
He should really go pantsless more often.
“You are such an asshole.” Cyrus huddled over a pair of torn pants, needle in hand, jaw clenched. Whether he was frowning in concentration or sheer rage, Ralon couldn’t quite say.
“You think I did this on purpose?” Reclining, Ralon tapped his bare feet together absently, drinking in the quiet campsite. It was weird, being sent out on a mission with just Cyrus. Then again, you didn’t really need a full squad to check in on a couple of farmhouses. The nearby rift had been closed that morning, but that didn’t mean a stray demon or two hadn’t slipped by earlier. “You’re the one who made me gather firewood,” Ralon continued helpfully. “I told you, the Inquisition uniform doesn’t account for my... assets.”
“Kill me...” Cyrus muttered as he thumbed the needle through the fabric. “Have you tried not lifting things like a fucking idiot? That might help.”
“And strain my back instead? No thanks. I’d rather tear my pants any day. I mean, have you ever felt how good the breeze is around your---”
--- “Don’t.” Cyrus' gaze sliced through the air between them. “I swear to the Maker, I’ll let you walk back with your ass hanging out if you say one more word about... that.”
There was no use trying to fight the grin that spread across Ralon’s face. He liked getting Cyrus all fired up. Mostly because it was interesting to see how much harder it was getting. Back in the day, Cyrus would have probably swung at him for being a smartass. Now, even though he was pissed off... he was still mending Ralon’s pants, the needle dipping and swooping its way through the dark cotton. So, rather than push him any further, Ralon changed tact.
“Where did you learn to sew?”
Cyrus’ hand paused briefly, then continued working away at the tear. Ralon knew that kind of pause well. It determined the difference between the truth and a lie. “A... family friend taught me. I had a habit of tearing holes in my clothes.”
Despite Ralon remaining quiet, Cyrus offered no further detail. Ralon supposed it made sense. “You probably got in a few fights, huh?”
Cyrus snorted softly. “Yeah. Something like that. Figured it’d be better if I solved my own problems...” He raised the pants slightly. “This included.”
The wind picked up, sending the leg of the pants across where Cyrus was working. As the Orlesian cursed, Ralon hopped up and leaned over, picking it up and holding it out of the way. “Come on, it’s the least I can do,” he said after receiving a suspicious look from Cyrus. “Maybe I can learn a thing or two if I watch you do it.”
The idea of not having to mend Ralon’s pants again seemed promising, so Cyrus just shrugged and allowed Ralon to stand beside him. For a few seconds.
“Could you at least sit down or something?”
“Why?”
Slowly, Cyrus turned his head. Fixing Ralon with a flat look, his eyes flicked down, then up again. It took a few seconds for Ralon to work out what the problem was. When he did, he burst out laughing.
“My bad! Probably not the best view from down there, huh?”
“Hanin? But he’s so serious.” for a character of your choice and Syla! Because I remember a certain shipping ask where we both agreed they would have a very Pocahontas and Kocoum dynamic :P only if you're up for it, of course!
“Hanin? But he’s so serious.” Lyrene made a face and leaned against the stable wall, regarding Sylathi with a vaguely amused expression. “Listen, I get it. He’s got that tall, silent type appeal... but he’s about as fun as a bag of wet flour. You can do better.”
Sylathi, who seemed about ready for the ground to swallow her whole, sighed softly. The brush in her hand swept down the mane of one of a snow-white mare. “I know all of that. I do. It’s just... I don’t know. He seems dependable.” A faint laugh drifted humourlessly from her lips. “That seems to be in short supply, lately.”
“Well, that’s fair. I’ll give you that. But that’s not really...” Lyrene groped for the words for a while. “I mean, come on - you need someone who’ll put a little excitement in your life, Syla! Sure, he’ll be around when you need him, but if being present is all you want in a relationship you could just, y’know... date a rock or something.”
The absurdity of it startled a laugh out of Sylathi, the sound bringing a smile to Lyrene’s lips. “A rock! Ly, I appreciate the sentiment, but Hanin’s not that bad. He’s just a bit...”
“Silent? Obsessive? Married to the job?” With a playful smirk, Lyrene hopped up on one of the nearby crates, legs swinging over the side. “You’ll always be competing with Atisha, you know. And the Dawn Squad.” She grinned. “You’d have to adopt us, you know. Pretty sure it’s in a contract somewhere.”
Sylathi snorted, then cooed gently as the mare shook her head at the sudden sound. “Ir abelas... it’s all right...” She glanced back at Lyrene. “And okay. You win. I get it. Maybe he’s not ready for... whatever it is I want.” Groaning quietly, she rested her head against the mare’s. “Creators... I don’t even know what I want.”
“Hey, that’s okay. Don’t go fretting about it!” Hopping down, Lyrene moved over to drape an arm around Sylathi’s shoulders. “Plenty of folks out there who’d be tripping over themselves to take you out somewhere fancy while you figure things out.”
A light blush tinged Syla’s cheeks. “I don’t need fancy...”
“Okay, well... somewhere scenic and exciting. Like the Fallow Mire.”
Lyrene just managed to dodge the swat coming her way, grinning as Sylathi shook her head and set the brush back on the nearby shelf. “I am not falling for that again. Next time you invite me along on a mission I am going to do some research before agreeing.”
☁️ What’s something your OC wishes they could forget? Why is this? Or, what is something that your OC has forgotten? (or do both!) For Ralon!
Ralon doesn’t have all that many regrets, but he does wish he could forget what he did the night his older brother disappeared. He and Damiros never really got along well (their relationship was more antagonistic), but every now and then Ralon thinks back to that evening when Damiros didn’t come home. At the time, he was like ‘good’, because it meant he wouldn’t have to deal with Damiros’ shitty ‘friends’ causing trouble anymore. Now, Ralon regrets not going out looking for him, or even asking around as soon as he noticed Damiros wasn’t where he was meant to be. His parents were devastated, and the implications of Damiros just vanishing began to weigh on Ralon too.
Damiros wasn’t the reason Ralon left home. But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been keeping an eye out for anyone who looked even remotely like him.
