#cyrn o’neal

[toomuchdickfort]

UM!! Meandering writing my apparent beloved. Also Derrek my beloved.

[It’s been a long time, since it happened again. Derrek was starting to wonder if he’d just… live without it. That… jerking connection to the other forms of himself. At most, maybe a sensation would drift to him, something sharp biting into his skin as he clenches a fist around it, or wind on his face, or sounds, when he’s just falling asleep. But… his dreams have all been his own.

It’s been so long that he’s stopped worrying about it, even. Maybe this is just it. It ruined his life, and it made him better for it, and it just… goes away, now? After years of it haunting his sleep, and crashing into him like glass at random… he finds himself making plans.

And he finds him following through on them.

Derrek goes out for lunch with his friends. He goes with Strom to a concert, and he watches the colors of the music dance before his eyes, mingling with the souls of the crowd before him, through the earplugs that she bought him.

He goes to a pottery class with Aura and Strom, and the clay is… surprisingly nice to work with. He makes a mug, and unintentionally shapes it to fit his hand much more than anyone had realized until Amber borrows it one morning. Aura still laughs at him about it, every so often.

He visits the coast with Amber and Jay, and he feels the ocean on his skin for the first time in… what feels like far, far too long.

He lets himself sit in the bittersweet feeling of it, while the two of them head off for something to eat. Some cafe they’d spotted on the way in that hadn’t sounded too appealing to him, but Amber promised to bring him back something.

So here he sits. Sand under his legs and between his fingers as he leans back, the sun on his cheeks and shoulders, the wind catching the hairs that have fallen from his braid, and the waves rising and falling around him like breathing… it feels like home. Just as much as the home he’s made, with Amber and Strom, and with Aura and Jay… it’s home.

But it feels like home to a person that’s not him anymore. A person that’s not been him for quite some time now. Someone harsher, and crueler, and someone who would stare into the eye of the void in spite of everything just to challenge the universe to blink first.

It didn’t. It never does.

But now, here he is again. The same sky and sea and beach that his ship made port at so very many times over the years, and… as nice as it is, to visit, it feels wrong.

He’s come to terms with the body he’s been placed in, for the most part. That isn’t the problem. It isn’t the face or the blood or the skin that makes him feel like he’s in somebody’s place when he shouldn’t be… it’s him.

Derrek had forgotten how hollow that feeling was.

He takes a deep breath and lays back, dragging his arms back and forth through the sand as he just… breathes. Listens to the waves, and the wind, and the voices of whoever is wandering within earshot for the time.

And then it happens again.

He’s not used to it anymore- he doesn’t even have time to try and brace himself for the feeling of landing in the experiences of somebody else.

He feels bandages around his ribs, and a pulsing, burning ache under his arm, and the warmth of a fire in front of his shins and palms…

But he still feels the sea.

He had forgotten how disorienting it could be, being so torn like this.

The other him is crying- his tears are warm on his cheeks, and there’s an arm across his shoulders, and a leg pressed against his own. There’s a voice he doesn’t recognize, singing a song he doesn’t know, but… it seems to help.

Derrek doesn’t get whatever turmoil this version of him is experiencing, and it feels like he’s staring in on a moment he shouldn’t be, because of it.

But he experiences the moment nonetheless.

He takes a deep breath in sync with the weeping man, and… damn. It’s nice, for things to line back up, even just for a second.

And as the seconds draw out, or maybe minutes, he finds himself picking up the songs tune. Humming it himself. Maybe he’ll look into it, to see if he can find it in this reality.

He can feel the air around him cooling, and distantly wonders if the sun- his sun- is setting.

He wonders if this other version of him enjoys the night just as much as himself.

He’s still digging his hands back and forth in the sand when he comes back to himself, a little at a time.

And he breathes. The ocean’s smell carries in the air, here, and he wonders if he’s going to miss it, when they go back home.]

[toomuchdickfort]

And my actual name and pen name

Apparently Cyrn O’Neal is Very

rb with ur top 3 personality alignments

[toomuchdickfort]

Fuck it Viniri is nonbinary and uses any pronouns you’ll give em

[toomuchdickfort]

I made a post abt this one too but wanted to wait till I could reread it to see if I’m ok w it before I posted it

[Jay finds things. It’s what he does. It’s what he’s always done. So it’s not much of a thing when he adds a new artifact to his list- it’s just part of work. Sometimes artifacts are in strange places, or sometimes his visions aren’t entirely straightforward. But he gives the hints he can.

When someone takes him by the arm and just about drags him from his card game, it throws him off, to say the least. And when she starts interrogating him, she keeps her voice too low for him to really process past the sounds of the room around them, and she starts getting visibly upset that he’s not answering.

When she grabs him by the jaw to make him look back up at her, a part of him wants to laugh at it… but damn, it hurts. And when the next words out of her mouth are “What do you know, little man”, he almost laughs anyway.

But he catches a glint of something, behind the lace of her mask. And as he looks, he finds himself leaning in, just a little, before his vision is overtaken.

He sees a dark pool, in a cave at the base of a cliff, that refuses the sunlight that falls onto it. Distantly, there are lights. Colors in the void.

He sees potential in it.

The woman shakes him hard enough to break his focus, and she opens her mouth to ask him again, but he squirms out of her grip, and very nearly crawls away.

He’s finally found something that’s caught his attention, and he wants to be there to help retrieve it. But first, he needs to record what he’s seen before he forgets it.]

@highladysith @becnw @french-fry-0 @mauchi--mochi @bittersweet-and-verygay @king-bubble @softichill

[toomuchdickfort]

[There aren’t many times when the sword lets someone carry out as much as they want, but… sometimes, it needs a reminder of its strength.

And there’s just something to the resonance it can find, with someone. Feeling the thrum of life in their veins, and the way that magic carries through them.

They reach out a hand, and it has to reach for the power, but it can feel the earth before them respond, splitting open before them. It doesn’t know how deep it goes, but it pushes the chasm far enough to make a statement.

It could have done more, in its prime.

It remembers cleaving through the realm to punch someone to one of the inner planes. It remembers leeching power from its brethren as they fell. It remembers driving a city into the earth with the strength of what could have been a god.

It remembers grieving.

It remembers being banished to its own little plane, and it remember how the place clawed at it, just being there.

It isn’t too much of a problem to make the chasm before it erupt into flames, when it’s wielder calls.

It’s fallen so far, but it’s not powerless yet. It could still raze cities, if it came to it.]

@highladysith @becnw @french-fry-0 @mauchi--mochi @bittersweet-and-verygay @king-bubble @softichill

[toomuchdickfort]

Here's the stuff i wrote last night- heads up for mentions of wounds and scars and cold wind on them

[The night is cold, and the trees hum with life before him. He leans into his cane as he watches distant figures fly about overhead, disturbing the low clouds, and sighs.

He could join them, now, if he wanted to. In theory.

The doctor is a great many things, but she’s also still perfecting her craft. And he’s still recovering from her… work.

He shifts his wings behind them, and fights a cringe as the material of his cloak rubs against one wrong. He’s already hurt himself enough for one day, and he still has a long way to go.

So he takes a breath, and continues on, toward the distant mountains. Homeward bound.

-

The wind is sharp on his wounds, and it bites through his cloak, but at least it has the kindness to be gentle despite the cold.

There was a day when he would’ve preferred it like this… and there will be a day when he prefers it again. But for now, he is all too eager for the trees to break the wind’s path.

It sings through the leaves like a warning song, and he grips his cane an ounce tighter and pulls his cloak closer around him.

He knows these woods- what they home and what they hide.

-

“Hello, old man.”

The very forest seems to shake as the ancient dragon turns to look at him. He had forgotten the scale of things, it seems, in his time away.

“You have changed, since I’ve seen you last. At least three of those eyes are new.”

“…As have you.”

When the thing speaks, the trees rumble with his voice. It carries the sounds of leaves and stones in a way that he’s never been able to explain.

He rolls his shoulders, and shifts his wings, and he can feel several new scars tug in ways he’s still not used to.

“…That I have.”]

@highladysith @becnw @french-fry-0 @mauchi--mochi @bittersweet-and-verygay @king-bubble @softichill

[toomuchdickfort]

[The sun hasn’t quite risen, and Maelstrom is leaning on the kitchen counter, watching twilight draw colors across the horizon from the window above the sink. There’s just enough of a breeze to waft the smell of the morning into the room, and she closes her eyes and just breathes for a moment.

She’ll start brewing some coffee for Aura and Jay soon enough, but for now… the house is quiet.

She can hear the distant waves meeting some shore or another, and she can hear the wind rustling the plants in the garden.

Her back starts to ache by the time the sky is a dusty violet, so she stands up and stretches and goes to the cupboard for coffee and to look for breakfast. She’ll need to get groceries later, and Aura is sick, so she’ll bring Derrek or Jay. The boys have been spending too much time alone and have been down for it.

Or maybe she’ll bring the both of them. They could use some more time around each other, anyway.

The stove clicks to life, and the smell of it with the ground coffee makes her smile. And she sees the water start to boil a little before she hears it, hopping back down from the countertop to tend to things.

By the time she’s moving the pot from the fire, Amber is making his way down the stairs, a little more scaled than he went to bed, and he presses a kiss to her temple when he’s within reach, leaning into her arm.

It will still be some time before anybody else is up, and she relishes these moments. She loves their housemates, but there’s something nice about this regular time alone with Amber. It calls back to when they first got the house, for a brace of vanishing they found along the way in one of their earlier trials.

She remembers how Amber had piled all of his things into the living room, for a while, just so he would be able to remember where all of it was. And she remembers how her legs burned when she first moved into a room upstairs.

And she remembers sitting on those same stairs with him, stitching him up after a hard day.

She’s had moments like that with all of them, now. There’s faint bloodstains in the carpet, not quite washed out, and scratches in the walls from roughhousing, and marks by the front door with all their heights. It’s doubtful that any of them are growing any more, but… it was just a little thing to make it feel like home.

She feels Amber sigh at her side, and he reaches up to trace a gouge in the countertop with a smile. She doesn’t entirely remember how it happened, at this point, but she knows that she blames Amber for it, jokingly, every so often.

He gives her shoulder a little squeeze before pouring himself some coffee and making his way back down the hall. She’s not sure who he heard waking up, if anyone at all, but she’s perfectly happy to sit with the sounds of the morning for a while longer.]

@highladysith @becnw @french-fry-0 @mauchi--mochi @bittersweet-and-verygay @king-bubble @softichill

[toomuchdickfort]

[Jay wakes from a dreamless sleep with a familiar pit in his stomach.

Or… dreamless isn’t entirely fitting. He dreamt of Nothing. Something vast and empty and void. And he dreamt of feeling lost. Or maybe hopeless. Or maybe, in this context, the two lived hand in hand.

What he would give for a little context to some of his dreams.

He sighs and pushes himself upright, to put his face in his hands, and… he feels so alone, in this dark room. And the air feels so empty around him. And he can feel too much texture in the sheets under his hands as he climbs out of bed.

He lingers in the hallway, when he makes it there. There’s five other people here, and he has no clue who to go to for help with this. And some part of him wants to just curl up in a corner somewhere until someone else wakes up, but… once he does that, he’ll be stuck there until dawn. It wouldn’t be the first time.

So he defaults to the room closest to him. Amber’s weird friend with the grey skin and the hair that glows.

When he knocks, he hears a hum. And then, after a moment, another, a little louder. So he steps in.

Derrek is sat on the floor, leaning back against the foot of the bed. There are dark bags under his eyes, and his cheeks are darker than usual.

He pulls a blanket from his pile of bedding and pats at the floor beside him.

Jay is much happier to accept the invitation than he would have expected to be.

…They don’t talk, and it’s nice. They just… share the space. At some point, he almost thinks Derrek has fallen asleep, but the man is staring straight ahead as his eyes dance through colors, and when Jay gives his hand a light squeeze, he sucks in a breath and squeezes back, a bit harder than he really needed to.

Jay doesn’t really get what’s going on, but it feels understanding, somehow.

And at some point, he must fall back asleep, because he finds himself waking up some time later, sunlight filtering through the blinds, with Derrek still at his side, and Amber sat on the floor in front of him. And the two of them are talking about food. And when Amber sees him awake, the man beams. And he squeezes Derrek’s hand, and he squeezes back.]

@highladysith @becnw @mauchi--mochi @french-fry-0 @bittersweet-and-verygay @king-bubble @softichill

[toomuchdickfort]

[Sometimes, when Valentina is asleep, Myre stays aware, just to notice the differences. They’re more aware of feelings, when she’s asleep. They never carry her to do anything, of course- she exhausts herself enough already, without them disrupting her rest.

No, they just… feel.

They can feel her pulse, all the way down to her fingertips and back. They can feel the cool air they breathe, down to the back of her throat. The cloth of the pillowcase against her ear. The ache in one wrist that comes in with the cool weather.

The night also makes it easier to listen to the sounds of the building. They can hear the air conditioner click on, and they can hear it distantly buzz as it works. They can hear water running to a neighbor through the walls. They can hear Vale’s laptop fan quietly humming from across the room, and they can hear the sounds of the ice maker in the freezer.

Sometimes, in moments like this, Myre wonders what it must be like, to be alive all the time. They know they won’t entirely find out, and it’s not a disappointing thought, but… they wonder. What it would feel like, to worry about feeding themself. To feel sleepy on their own.

They wonder if they’d still be able to feel their pulse.

…They’re going to have to ask their host about it, in the morning. Maybe she’ll show them how to cook something new.]

@highladysith @becnw @french-fry-0 @mauchi--mochi @bittersweet-and-verygay @king-bubble @softichill

[toomuchdickfort]

[It’s finally getting late. Derrek loves a lot of things about staying with his friends, but… it’s much warmer here, most of the time, than he would like. And it’s bright. He didn’t realize that was what the headaches were from until Strom complained about it, and then it clicked.

He’s sat on the steps of the porch, right now. He’s sure there’s a gorgeous sunset, somewhere, but he’s just watching wisps of magic drift through the air. They’re hard enough to see, but he can find them, if he looks hard enough.

His arm and his ribs still burn from their last attempt at the local Trial.

Amber is avoiding him, for the time being.

He’s avoiding him too.

He doesn’t even remember all of it, but… there had been an onslaught. And he had thrown a fit at the doorkeeper. And.

He remembers saying something along the lines of ‘If you want blood so badly, then you can have it’, before putting a knife through his arm, a little below the elbow. And he dragged the thing down until it met bone. And he only just put the knife down before the pain hit him. And he remembers hitting the ground.

And he remembers the sound of heavy stone scraping against stone.

And he remembers putting a palm into the puddle of blood, and he remembers saying something.

And he doesn’t remember why he did any of it.

It had gotten the door open, but… Derrek is better than that. If he can do nothing else, he can bleed efficiently. But even now, it hurts enough that he has to focus to keep from drifting out of awareness.

He moves to put his face in his hands, but his wound paints everything in pink and for a moment he thinks he’s going to throw up.

So he takes a breath.

And he closes his eyes.

And he lays back on the porch, and focuses on feeling. The gentle breeze shifting his shirt, and the slightly too warm boards of the porch, and the pulse in his chest. The blood in his heart, and where it travels through his arteries. He feels where it’s soaked into his bandages, and where it sits uncomfortably at his ribs, starting to make what’s going to be a gorgeous bruise.

He feels his hair on the back of his neck, and the cool air reaching the back of his throat as he breathes, and the grain of the wood under his shoulders.

He feels the pulse of someone inside, their heart racing a little too much for him to place who it is, and he feels them walking out of his reach.

He feels the pull of his own magic.

He feels sleep.

When he wakes, it’s cold enough that he could almost cry. He hadn’t realized that he’d missed the cold. He’d not leave for it, but… gods about, it’s nice to have back.

The house is silent when he staggers through to his room by the stairs, and he sits on the foot of his bed and leans back onto his better arm.

He reeks of blood and regret.

He needs to get out of these clothes.

The sound of the closet door almost feels too loud, but he knows it’s just the silence of the night.

He’s missed this, too.

The shirt he lands on is a flannel that Strom insisted on giving him, before he convinced her that he would be fine out after dusk. It’s soft, and just fuzzy enough that he can feel loose hairs off the strings if he runs his hand just over the surface. Strom said it’s green and blue, to suit him.

Getting his tank top off is a struggle, but putting on a new shirt feels like coming home, in a way. He knows his hair’s still stained with blood, and tangled, but… he can’t deal with that right now. What he can deal with is putting on a new skin, of sorts.

It feels like beginning again, somehow. He doesn’t normally get this sensation when he changes, but… sometimes, after dealing in the trials, he needs to shed some things.

He’s taking his dirty clothes to the bathroom to wash out what blood he can, when someone very nearly runs into him coming down the stairs.

He’s not even had time to look at their magic to figure out who it is before they’re wrapping him in a hug. He makes a noise as his arm shifts wrong, and Amber is apologizing and stepping back before he even realizes that he made the noise at all.

Derrek wants to say that he’s fine, but… he’s not. He’s going to take some time to come back from this. And he doesn’t even know why he-

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?”

Derrek looks up. He didn’t notice when he started looking down at the clothes under his arm, but, he looks up. And he nods.

“Yeah. Of course.”

Amber puts a hand on his head and kisses his forehead.

“Thank you, love.”

If Derrek hadn’t given himself a task already, he could sit there forever.

But he pulls himself away, and gives Amber’s arm a gentle squeeze wherever his hand hits. And he lifts the bundle under his arm.

“Gonna try and salvage what I can of these… wanna come with?”]

@highladysith @becnw @french-fry-0 @mauchi--mochi @bittersweet-and-verygay @king-bubble @softichill

[toomuchdickfort]

[Ava Belpheobe never lived a very adventurous life. Not when you factored in people going on quests and traveling planes and universes and hunting for something over the continents… no, she took her tutoring and the job at her father’s shop and found adventure in that enough. More than enough, some days.

When miss Rei-Kenn came in to get a dagger enchanted, it gave her a restlessness she’d not felt in years. And something about the way the woman carried herself, or the familiar way she smiled, or…

…something made Ava wonder if, maybe, she could have turned out like that. All tanned skin and scars and calloused hands and knowing winks and the air of someone who’s got stories to share.

When she left, Ava couldn’t help but feel a little… less, somehow. Not like she was any less than before, but… like she’d given up on something.

Fortunately, the feeling didn’t linger.

Miss Belpheobe finds enough adventure in her own life, after all. In diving into books lent to her for a new spell, or following a cat halfway out of town just to see where it goes, or sitting on her neighbor’s counter as he goes on about some customer or another. She’s happy.

She doesn’t know what compels her, then, when miss Rei-Kenn returns, to take her by the hand. To ask her to bring Ava with her, on… just one adventure. Just one would be more than enough for her, she knows it.

But she never gets to ask.

For an instant, as their hands meet, she feels… so much. Everything. Anything. The hum of the universe is like an orchestra, in chorus with itself a dozen times over. It’s overwhelming, and it’s beautiful, and…

…and she’s something else, after it.]

@highladysith @becnw @french-fry-0 @mauchi--mochi @bittersweet-and-verygay @king-bubble @softichill

[toomuchdickfort]

[The night is late, and the wind outside howls, and Jay is curled up on the living room floor, hidden from any windows by couches and curtains. It feels more secure, here- what feels like the best place to watch the goings-on of the house, and able to reach any of the various weapons that have been stowed in the underside of the sofa over the years.

He can feel his pulse in the arm under his head and where his jaw meets his throat, and he finds himself counting his breaths, although he’s not sure what for.

The pendant of his pact hangs awkwardly, like this, resting on the inside of his shirt nearly at his arm, and the warmth of it is some level of comfort.

He knows that the Shadowed One is out of reach, but… there’s something comforting, in knowing that he’s being looked after, despite it.

And he remembers when he couldn’t reach that connection.

And he remembers being hunted.

He forces his eyes shut, but he can still imagine the feeling of unsteady rocks in his hands, and the shake in his arms as he climbed, and the sounds of shouting overhead, and the heart-stopping instant when whatever his foot rested on gave way and he had to thank every force in the universe that he didn’t cry out.

He curls into himself a little more and holds the cord around his neck, tugging lightly to remind himself that it’s still there.

The rug beneath him is soft and his blanket is warm, and soon enough, he’s waking to the smell of coffee and the sound of Strom gently humming.

When he opens his eyes, he can see her in one of the mismatched armchairs, two mugs in hand and eyes closed, like this moment will last forever.

And he doesn’t get up, just yet, although she may or may not know that he’s awake… because if she can breathe easy, it makes it a little easier for him to do the same.]

@highladysith @becnw @french-fry-0 @mauchi--mochi @bittersweet-and-verygay @king-bubble @softichill

[toomuchdickfort]

A short thing that goes nowhere from the car ride home

[The rain is thick, and the drops fall heavy on the patio outside. Sean is tracing runes into the palm of his left hand, staring at the street, where the lights across the way reflect in the water on the pavement.

The rain sounds like static, and the air is humid, even inside.

He’s sweating.

For an instant, he can remember the feeling of clawing at chains, at the bottom of a lake that wouldn’t let him drown.

He pushes himself up, and he’s not sure whether or not it’s the motion that makes him nauseous.]

@highladysith @becnw @french-fry-0 @mauchi--mochi @bittersweet-and-verygay @king-bubble @softichill

[toomuchdickfort]

[Lux is lost in the haze of the emotions around them and the thump of the speaker, as they tend to land most nights, when someone approaches.

And gods, she’s pretty.

They miss what she says entirely the first time, and she laughs, and they might do just about anything to get to see her laugh again.

She repeats herself, inviting them to dance, and offers a hand out. And who would they be to tell her no?

When they tell her that they don’t know what they’re doing, she leans in like she’s sharing a secret, despite having to raise her voice over the speakers, and says that she doesn’t either.

She says that they can not know together.

And they dance.

And Lux is sure they look a little silly, but it’s okay.

And at some point, she leans over to them.

And she asks if she can kiss them.

And they don’t know how to answer but to nod.

And her hands are warm on their cheeks.

And they can taste sugar on her lips.

And they can feel her smile before she pulls back, and they’re not entirely caught up with themselves enough to process what she says.

And she hugs them.

And she waves.

And she leaves.

And they wave back, and they’re not sure if she sees.

And she almost skips in her walk, and the colored lights catch in her hair and make her look like a painting before they loose sight of her.

And they just stand there for a while after that.

And when they do make their way back to their seat, they’re a little too flustered to pay attention to their surroundings again.

They can still taste her on their lips.]

@highladysith @becnw @french-fry-0 @mauchi--mochi @bittersweet-and-verygay @king-bubble @softichill

[toomuchdickfort]

[It’s late, and Lauv is staring out the window from her mattress. The sky is a deep violet, and everything is painted in blue and grey, and… she feels a new presence in their part of town.

And she sits up as she recognizes the feeling.

She can’t help but grin as she stumbles into a pair of shoes and nearly falls out the door in her rush to greet him.

It’s been nearly a year, and damn, she’s missed Shay.

And when they see him, it takes an extra instant to recognize him. His silhouette has changed, and his cane changes his tracks in the snow, and when he looks up, it’s with dark eyes that she’s not seen before.

But he’s home. And he smiles. And it takes effort to fight the urge to crush him in a hug… but he’s walking strange. She needs to know that he’s not been hurt, first.

He shakes his head as she opens her mouth for a question, and she nods. Conversation can wait for now- he’s likely had a very long walk.

It wouldn’t have been so long if he’d taken someone with him, but… he wanted to do this on his own.

Once they make it in the door, he’s digging around in his cloak- it’s a new cloak, and it sits on him differently than she’d seen him before- and he pulls out a small box. It’s about as long as his hand, and there are swirling vines carved into the wood. And he hands it to her, and it hums against the pads of her fingers. And the hinges creak as she opens it, and she parts the paper inside to see what looks to be a glass bauble, with colored smoke swirling in the center. And when she takes it into her hands, it hums and warms and the smoke takes shape- something resembling a mountain, with a dragon waving through the clouds above, and trees swaying at its base. And after a moment, it shifts, to a ship rocking on the ocean’s surface. Another moment, and it’s a spire, with smoke billowing from a window.

She puts everything aside to give his hand a gentle squeeze, and he closes his eyes and leans forward until his cheek meets her arm.

She’s careful about hugging him, and very nearly recoils when she feels something under his cloak move, fairly significantly. She moves enough for him to notice, though, because he steps back to shrug out of his outermost layers, and he flexes a set of wings that he certainly didn’t have when he left. The feathers are the color of the midnight sky, and they shine like a frozen lake, and standing there, he looks oddly ethereal, even with the bags that have set in under his eyes.

From this close, she can see the faint scars at the corners of his eyes, and the shake in the hand where he holds his cane, and the thin band of white that lines each of his pupils.

She can ask him about everything later. After he’s rested enough to have his words back. So for now, she kisses the top of his head, and makes a mental note of how one of his new horns taps her cheek- she’ll need to avoid those, now, when she does this. And she offers him a hand as he pushes himself back up from where he had been leaning on the bookshelf.]

@highladysith @becnw @french-fry-0 @mauchi--mochi @bittersweet-and-verygay @king-bubble @softichill

[toomuchdickfort]

[Shay has to share his weight between his cane and a tree as he sits. For what has to be the fourth time in the last half hour. He’s tired of the ache down to his bones that kicks up every time he moves, and only grows as he walks.

He’s come so far, and he’s got so much farther to go.

But the mountains are in view.

He reaches up to comb his fingers through his hair, to get it out of his face, but his hand stops at one of his new horns. And he just… feels at it, for a moment. He hasn’t had a chance to get a good look at himself, since this… transformation he’s been given. Another reason to be eager to make it home.

He moves to push himself to his feet, but something about it pulls at his new muscles wrong and he falls back to the snow, curling into himself.

Unfortunately, impatience won’t give his body it’s strength back any faster.]

@highladysith @becnw @french-fry-0 @mauchi--mochi @bittersweet-and-verygay @king-bubble @softichill