#cyrn o’neal

[toomuchdickfort]

And my actual name and pen name

Apparently Cyrn O’Neal is Very

rb with ur top 3 personality alignments

[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 been a few nights since he’s dreamed.

And it’s been nearly a week since he’s felt anything beyond himself.

And it’s late enough that even the inn seems to have settled down for a while.

And he’s been staring at the dark expanse above him where the ceiling is for hours.

There’s a few sources of life above him, presumably birds or something on the roof, and they’ve hardly moved since he noticed them.

It feels like he’s waiting.

He would be happy if he never felt another universe again… he should… and yet?

It’s the same kind of deep, uncomfortable anticipation as loading explosives onto a boat with the best friends he’d had since he was deposited in another universe against his will.

He hates the comparison, and he can’t help but keep making it.

And he almost expects a knock at his door.

He knows it won’t come. Not here. He hardly knows anyone here. Not in any meaningful amount, at least. Not enough for someone to seek him out at ass-o’clock in the morning.

Not entirely on accident… unfortunately or otherwise.

When he closes his eyes, he lets his limited magic drift off him, and he can see it around him like fog as his senses stop blurring together for the first time in months.

He can hear someone pacing, distantly.

Even, steady steps that he can imagine feeling through the floorboards.

He could probably see them pacing, some rooms over, if he bothered to look.

He finds sleep somewhere around fifty steps later.

And his dream is dark, and warm, and the only thing he remembers of it is the sound of an endless heartbeat, slow and disembodied and ever-present, and the gentle shake of the ground under his feet.

And he wakes feeling oddly comforted.]

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

[toomuchdickfort]

[Derrek knows what he looks like. It’s an unpleasant habit, how he checks the damage before he takes his glasses off, after getting too absorbed in a book until his eyes won’t be ignored. The things are handy, but… the magic burns in his temples and at the backs of his eyes.

He knows how the whites of his eyes are colored with irritation, nearly matching his irises in color in a few places. He knows how his face is streaked with dark lines from tears he won’t fully get rid of without a wash. He knows the pale lines under his eyes that cover the bags that normally sit there, that only ever seem to appear with the glasses.

But he’s still surprised when, as he’s putting his glasses back into their fancy little box, he hears Amber stop at the door.

And he’s surprised by the softness in his voice when the man steps closer and whispers “Oh, love.”

And he knows it’s probably not that big of a deal, but he lets himself be pulled into a hug anyways. And he waits until Amber leans back to wipe at his cheeks to try to explain that it’s fine, and he just lost track of time, and it will blow over in a few hours most likely.

And there’s a kiss pressed to his forehead, like when the dragon has more things to say but isn’t going to say them, and Amber is hugging him again. And he doesn’t see much any reason not to hug him back… why would he? The man is, in his own words, magnificent. Or… word, Derrek supposes.]

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

[toomuchdickfort]

On one hand, violent and angry villain moments. Roaring flames and broken glass and shouting and disheveled hair that he’s going to need to fix before he leaves. On the other hand, casual acts of violence. Murder without a second thought, or just letting someone suffer because it’s too much trouble to get them out.

[toomuchdickfort]

[At first, when he sleeps, it’s dreamless. Empty rest.

When he does find himself drifting, he finds himself back in a body he’s almost forgotten in recent months. His hair is short and shaggy enough that he has to shake it out of his eyes, and he’s sat on a kitchen counter while something cooks. He doesn’t recognize the person standing in front of the stove or the one rummaging through the fridge, but he can feel how much this version of him loves them.

They’re talking about a couple they met earlier that day, and Derrek feels himself laugh when the idea of them as a couple is brought up.

The woman finishes shuffling things around and turns to stand behind the man at the stove, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. She whispers something, and he laughs, and in that moment, he would be willing to exist here forever, never finishing the meal, with these people.

Derrek comes back to himself leaning against someone’s chest. The first thing he registers is the shaking arms holding up. The second is that everything aches and it feels like he’s been torn apart and lazily tossed back together.

Then he sees that the ground around them is alight for quite some time. It’s all a very pretty shade of pink, that feels the same overwhelming pink as the pain in the back of his skull and winding across his ribs and gut.

The person holding him is talking too fast for him to make sense of, and it takes him a little too long to catch up, somewhat.

“That’s… ‘s a lot of blood, ain’t it? Even for me…”

It’s a hollow feeling when he realizes that he might be dying.

The person holding him sobs and he’s a little surprised at the noise he makes when they squeeze him close for a second.

They’ve stopped talking, and he reaches up to them as well as he can, right now, and he tries to comfort them. He’s not entirely sure what he’s saying, but… he knows he’s still talking. He can feel the sound of his voice, even if he’s not paying a ton of attention to what words it’s landing in.

And then there’s a knock at the door and he’s startled awake. Whole, and on the same floor he went to sleep on. He thinks.

Whoever it is knocks again, and he groans as he stands. He expects pain, and it’s almost worse that he doesn’t find it. An uncomfortable dissonance that he never seems to get rid of until he wakes up all the way.

He opens the door, and Amber mumbles an apology. He’s been having trouble sleeping, and having company seems to help. So Derrek nods and lets himself be led to the bed, and tries not to make a face when the dragon pulls him to his chest. It’s not an unusual gesture, but it’s… a little too close, right now, to a reality that feels a little too close to him.

Finding sleep is more of a struggle than it should be, after that.]

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

[toomuchdickfort]

Ok so I’m not 100% sure how well this worked but I like the beginning and the end so

[Three dead things enter an inn. Not all at once, mind you, but they enter nonetheless.

Something angelic and frayed sits at a table near a wall. The twisted, damned remains of a titan lay across a seat as a sword. And a corpse closes his eyes as the bell on the door sounds his arrival.

He’s rotting.

Synaelia is almost surprised at how little he smells, given the state he seems to be in, but… she’s sure there are stranger things in this world.

He’s still standing in the doorway when she looks up for a second time. Her palms itch as she wonders what he’s doing, but… she’d rather lean to the side of kindness. If she’s got the time to choose. So she stands, and reaches to hold the door open the rest of the way for him, and he flinches.

She tries not to pay attention to the state he’s in.

It’s difficult to ignore how his flesh hangs off his bones in places.

He’s still standing there when somebody else reaches the door, and… they give her a look. And she sighs. Puts a hand on his shoulder to guide him anywhere else, and it takes him a second to react.

They’ve reached her table by the time he shoves her hand off of him, and she’s taking a breath to ask if he needs help when he speaks up.

“I’ll fucking bite you if you do that again.”

She blinks. The words don’t have much bite to them, but… it’s not a threat she’s gotten often.

“…Great plan. Sure I’m gonna taste like a whole lot more than bad. Sit down, why don’t you.”

She finds herself a little surprised when he does just that, even if he’s grumbling curses as he does so.

“You look like shit.”

The sword pipes up from its own chair, just about as helpful as it ever is when it comes to talking to people, and she rolls her eyes.

The man huffs and looks up, but… doesn’t seem as surprised as Syn had first been to find what’s talking.

“My apologies if I don’t… leap at every opportunity to eat someone just for the sake of vanity. Decay doesn’t exactly feel great for me, either.”

He’s glaring at the sword, and Syn opens her mouth, but he’s not done.

“And I’m sorry, but I’ve not really outgrown my hesitation to just fucking… eat my fellow man. I’m sure I will, if I last that long, but I’m also kind of not sure I was meant to last very long, like this? Which… kind of fucked up, if you ask me. But I’m stuck here, now, so I’ve got to carry my shit and get over it.”

He sucks in a breath, and it sounds painful, how it rattles in his chest.

“And it might be easier if I could do more than just beat someone to death, but like… the fuck am I gonna use? The bow I can’t draw, or the sword I can’t pick up? Like, shit’s fancy as hell and enchanted and shit, but it doesn’t do me any fucking good, does it? …Not like I took the sword with me, anyways, even if it’s more mine than hers. Like, a blade can only get personal with your ribs so many times before you’ve got a claim to it, right? But I wanted her to have something of his, and the damned thing was so fucking important to her anyway, and it didn’t seem worth the trouble, and…”

As he goes on, Synaelia feels more and more like she shouldn’t be listening to this. Like she’s eavesdropping. And she’s sure the sword is having the time of its life, as he gets louder. He’s not quite shouting, but he is near enough to it to draw eyes.

The next time he has to stop to heave in a breath, the sword speaks again.

“…So you’re a zombie, right? Why not just… go all out? Like yeah, guilt or whatever, but… they’re gonna die anyways.”

Synaelia can feel the hum of the voice as she picks it up, and she gives it about the harshest look she can, given that it’s… a sword.

“Shut up.”

It’s not terribly likely to, of course, but she still tries. And she gives the rotten man an apologetic look.

For a moment, she lingers there, halfway standing, as she tries to find some words that might help. But… she’s not sure of how much help she could be, even if she stayed.

If she waited a little longer, she’d find something familiar, in the way he buries his face in his arms, or maybe he’d recognize something in the way the color in her eyes dances between shades.

Outside an inn, a truck rumbles to life. There are holes in the passenger seat from a stone blade carelessly tossed against the leather, and the engine hums like the infernal plane.]

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

[toomuchdickfort]

Veyda, holding hands with her 10 year old clone who only barely resembles her: don’t ever talk to me or my sister again

[toomuchdickfort]

Veyda 100% would listen to lemon demon

[toomuchdickfort]

I’m back on my comparing ocs bullshit

Echo and Veyda: She’s fucked up, but she’s just some guy

Echo and Aether: aro and agender

Aether and Rij: fuck it *takes a kitchen knife to their hair for the hell of it and Bc it makes their friend cringe*

Felicity and Derrek and Veyda: walking existential crisis and just trying not to think abt it

Will and Azure: no brain cells, only love for his partner and also muscles :)

[toomuchdickfort]

Veyda has 4 hands to hold and they’re all dedicated to her sister and best friend. Nobody else gets to hold her hand

[toomuchdickfort]

Love how fucking scattered the lore of elysur is. I couldn’t even give you a vague idea of what the ficking government system is in the area I mainly write, or the name of the continent, but I could tell you how the planes are laid and what Geryon’s bedroom looks like and the stories of the cracks in Synaelia’s favorite mug and

[toomuchdickfort]

Veyda is a woman, but only barely. Like, she explored her gender and went ‘yeah that’s good enough’ and then continued about her day. Also she’s ace, and has a problem of grinding her teeth until she gets real bad headaches and hasn’t realized that’s what that’s from. Also also she doesn’t go to the doctor anymore because someone pointed out that she has three hearts and went ‘no thank you I don’t need to know what’s going on in my body actually’ and can only get away with it because due to broken reality body things, she recovers from most wounds in a fairly short amount of time, and just doesn’t seem to get sick. She doesn’t know why and doesn’t want to know why. Her body is frightening enough with what she does know of it :)

On a lighter note her favorite color is tied between red and cotton candy pink (although in clothes she adores a good warm brown or olive), and her favorite gift she’s ever gotten was a very very soft throw blanket that she sleeps with every night