#RO: Twig
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Character Intro: Twig
NB, 26, 6'3, Solo route
Twig is the third companion you meet, stuck in a tree and yelling about it. They're all too willing to share anything and everything about how they got in there, no matter how miniscule or embarrassing. Even if you hadn't saved them, you feel like they would've joined your group regardless. Quickly latching onto the group, their habit for quickly befriending others is a bit of a concern, especially when faced with adversaries.
At 6'3, their twiggy frame easily fits their name. Their robes, light abd draping. Tend to add more bulk onto their silhouette than is actually there, making them seem like a larger target than usual. Moderately greasy and tangled, their slightly curly hair ends a bit after their tail starts, making for a bit of a large rat's nest until Cassian finally gets his hands on it. With blue toned skin, pointed ears hidden by hair, sharpened teeth, and a preference for meat, they're easily confused for an elf. In spite of that, they cheerfully deny that accusation with a pat to their horns and a swish of their tail. No one's really sure what they are, but they seem happy enough despite that.
Easygoing and friendly would be an understatement, especially in Twigs case. With a personality that could rival a golden retrievers, they will happily try and befriend the cruelest if strangers. Naivety permeats their actions, ignorance to the harsh world around them, and bluntness backs that. Behind that swath of hair, Zacharie's a bit insistent that they have nothing in that skull of theirs... which might be true. Beyond all that, they're easily bribed with food... making their loyalty to your group a bit of a question. One might wonder if the only reason they truly stay by your side is to have a steady access to food.
#RO: Twig#doc talks#edens passing#twine if#twine wip#if wip#character intro#twig! they're a funky lil creature#edens passing art
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going to make my mc 5'6 so ezlyn can snap them in half <3 can they crush a watermelon with their thighs while were at it? cause if yes, my head next pretty please teehee
more seriously tho, can we have a tier list of most buff to most twig like characters? it's for science
hell yeah they can crush a watermelon with their thighs!! they’re a bear shifter, they have no shortage of strength 👀 they’d be kind of concerned if you asked them to crush you though lol!
twig -> buff (looks):
aren (deceptively lithe) -> krios = faolan (athletic/toned) -> rune (thicc) -> ez (think roman reigns kinda body type - strong muscular, not sculptured muscular).
twig -> buff (strength):
rune -> krios -> aren (i did say deceptive) -> ez -> faolan.
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but he wants to carry the draggo
#|[ IC | weighed down in this city ]|#mentioned: lunarscaled#//#Koko vc (quietly): consider it payback for calling me a kid (has not mentioned only Ro has “kid” permissions) i mean wh-#also he just....thinks its funny#carrying ppl around as the 5'2 twig he is#■ | v. | main | the one thing we will never lose is the ability to change |
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dp x dc Chronos Part 4
Part 1 - Previous - Master List
Danny woke up confused, stiff, aching. He didn’t know where he was, but he got the distinct feeling of déjà vu. Honestly, he was used to waking up dead tired. Heh, dead tired. For the last year or two it had even been his normal.
The bone deep pain however was something he only had every now and then. He had gotten hurt often while trying to protect Amity Park but being seriously injured seemed to be left for special occasions.
Memories came back sluggishly, and he didn’t exactly delight in them. His father breaking his ribs like he was a twig... Relishing in the pain he supposedly didn't feel...
His mother trying to pin him down like a butterfly on a board was an image he’d like to have erased from his mind forever. Her weapon trained him him was almost underwhelming. When did he become used to it?
Unfortunately, he needed those horror driven moments. His parents' reaction to him had never been a sure thing before. Only speculation at best. He’d hoped their love for him would override their hatred of ghosts. It was what kept him under their roof. That hope that they’d still love him.
He’d grown up with borderline mad scientists for parents and he’d always put that notion aside. It was its own box in his head. The Fentons and their questionable science. They’d been mom and dad first. Always, mom and dad first. He’d hoped to be Danny first to them.
He wasn’t. Now he knew though, and he could free himself from that house and their neglect and dangerous excentrics. When things were safe he’d contact his sister, but he didn’t have parents anymore. Not living, human ones.
He did have Clockwork though. Clockwork who had been at the right place at the right ‘time’ to save him one more time. He had Frostbite too, who would fret over Danny’s injuries while in the same room, and rage later, away from Danny’s senses.
There was something overwhelmingly kind about that. Frostbite put Danny first and didn’t make him feel badly about his attachments. He worried more while Danny needed him. His anger could wait for later.
His human parents hadn’t been much, but at least he had ghost guardians.
It took a moment, but alarm slowly settled in when he didn’t know where he was. He couldn’t move well, a blanket tucked in tight around him. It was the slowly quickening BEEP BEEP BEEP that spiked his adrenaline but when his eyes cracked open, he wasn’t met with a white ceiling and a very obvious ghost shield.
The room looked more like a barely used guest ro-.... That déjà vu again.
Danny looked around, the door had been left cracked open, on his other side… Oh… The curtains were open. Even in his human form, his obsession could easily take root. Space. Was the bed closer to the window than it had been before? Did it matter? He had such a good view. Looking out into the vastness of space could hardly be considered comparable to looking up at it from Earth. It was beautiful and distracting…
Danny reached up on reflex alone and grabbed the oxygen mask someone had put on him at some point. With a flicker of power he turned it intangible and pulled it off of his face before dropping it on the floor.
He…ached. It was a literal, bone deep kind of ache and it occurred to him all at once that it was just because he was an idiot. He’d just… transformed. Just like that. Like that was a good idea. Like he wanted to impress Wonder Woman and instead came off as immature doofus with a death wish.
Death wish… Funny…
Danny inhaled slowly, feeling the air fill his lungs that were tender around bruised ribs. Bruised but maybe not broken anymore. Healing left him exhausted but the open curtains and the expanse of space before him would help with that.
“Highness. Danny. You’re awake.” Diana was pushing the door open, looking fairly relieved. He wondered if he’d have even been able to tell if she didn’t have the same stress markers that Jazz had. The small tics and twitches of a woman who was normally so poised and put together. Someone unflappable who in some cases had really seen it all.
There was the squint to her eyes, the way her shoulders lowered when she walked in and saw him awake. The octave of her voice betraying how tightly wound with worry she’d been.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so weird to introduce Diana to Jazz some day. He’d probably regret it instantly. They’d likely get along a little too well.
Wonder Woman came in, dragging the seat closer again and the bed was definitely closer to the window than it had been before.
“You gave us quite the scare. How are you feeling?”
“Like i got hit by the GAV.” Danny muttered, inhaling carefully again. “I’m…sorry. That was stupid. I knew better.”
“I’m quite certain you did, but the concussion you’ve recently sustained probably did not help that.” Diana said, and he was weirdly having a hard time deciphering if she was just politely giving him an out for acting like an idiot or if she really thought a concussion would alter his decision making.
“I have a concussion?” he asked slowly.
“You do. Among a myriad of other injuries all in various states of healing.” She gave him a firm nod. “I apologize for bringing medical personnel in here without your permission but you were losing quite a bit of blood and we had very little knowledge to work with. Chronos did say one of your forms healed faster than the other. I understand that better now.”
Danny winced. “Sorry about that.” He did have a headache but he attributed that to passing out from pain. That and the fact that it was easier in his living form to focus on Diana and not just the space beyond the window. “As long as there’s no experiments or intentions of ripping me apart molecule by molecule, then it’s okay.”
Judging by the way Diana’s expression darkened, that wasn’t the thing to say. “Is that something you’ve had to worry about in the past? Chronos did say you were removed from your home. Is there anything more you can tell me?”
“Eh…” Danny made a face. He wanted to sit up properly in bed but he knew that was going to set off a chain reaction of pain and he wasn’t interested in that yet. “Clockwork really didn’t say anything? Figures.”
“There was one thing he said.” Diana said, after a short pause between them. “He said that you would ask for help if you wanted to.”
Danny snorted. “Brillant, CW, thanks.” He reached up and rubbed his face tiredly, he could still just barely feel the marks on his cheeks from the mask. “Yeah, it’s a worry. It’s a worry for everyone like me. I’m not a person after all. The US Government says so.”
“Excuse me?”
Danny blinked slowly and hopefully hid the way his body tensed. He wasn’t a fool, he knew that tone. Sam had that tone. Val definitely had that tone. It promised hell for someone. “Uh, yeah? The Anti-Ecto Acts? The Ghost Investigation Ward? Did we cross wires somewhere?” Danny paused. “I don’t remember. Did we talk about the fact that i’m dead? You know, Ghost King?”
Diana’s lips tightened unhappily, and she was sitting more rigidly then he remembered during her last visit. “Yes, Chronos called you the Ghost King. I recall you as well mentioning ghost guardians. It was also impossible to miss your lack of pulse when you arrived, and your sudden pulse returning when you switched forms. Is this normal for ghosts?”
Danny appreciated the way she kept her voice calm and curious despite the bits of anger he could taste in the air. She wasn’t trying to make this an interrogation but the need to know details would eat at anyone.
“No. There’s only two others like me. To my knowledge.” he amended. “I’m something else. Half dead and half alive. It’s… yeah, that’s probably why i’m here. I can be in the Infinine Realm no problem, but my living human half needs, you know, a living realm from time to time.”
He plucked at the blanket around him, not sure where this own nervous energy was coming from. “I’m meant to be a balance. Something like that anyway. I can’t go home so Clockwork…was trying to be helpful by finding me a new one.”
“Which you have.” Diana said gently, hesitating for only a moment before laying her hand on top of his. “You still have your home with me. That has not changed. If you are in danger however, you are in the right place.”
“Am i?” Danny asked, trying to make his expression as blank as possible. “You’re the Justice League. You follows laws and…stuff. The law says i don’t feel pain. Says i’m not a sentient being. Says it’s completely legal for me and others from the Infinite Realm to be hunted. That we are free game to be caught, tortured, experimented on and exterminated. Legally, you should be turning me in.”
“Hah?” It wasn’t a happy sound. “I understand a few of your fears, but Justice will come first. You are talking about the genocide of an entire species. An entire realm.”
“They did try to nuke us once…”
Diana’s free hand tightened into a fist. “The Anti-Ecto Acts, yes? We will be looking into them. I’ve little doubt that it is already on the immediate docket. You are obviously an intelligent being. I have witnessed myself the pain you are in. Not only are you a king, and a child, you are my family. I would never turn you in.”
Danny averted his gaze and looked at the wall, hoping it hid the way his bottom lip trembled. His own mother was happily planning to hand him over. She believed her own biased research.
He’d known Diana less than a day. Less than a couple hours? “I…” His voice was clogged.
“You focus on healing.” Diana whispered, squeezing his hand. “Resting. Let me have a turn with this mess.”
He hiccuped, but he didn’t dissolve into tears. That meant he was holding himself together right? “Y..yeah. Sure.”
“Are you in pain now?” She asked. “We weren’t sure of your exact biology for all you appear perfectly human. Only mild pain killers were given to you while you were out. Small doses in case there was an adverse reaction.”
“I dunno.” Danny said quietly. He tried twice to clear his throat. “Maybe. Yeah. I’m so used to it, i don’t know anymore.” He laid there for a moment, too afraid to even move and find out what would tug and pull. “I am, you know, perfectly alive right now so i think i would like a little more pain killers. It was never an option before.”
“I’ll call for a nurse.” Diana said with a nod, hitting a button on the side of his bed that he hadn’t noticed before.
Danny heaved a sigh, overwhelmed with the direction his day had taken. “Probably better that way. Frostbite says i can’t just hide in my ghost form and expect my human form to heal naturally. He says that should be for emergencies.” The problem with that train of thinking was that it was always an emergency. He couldn’t have just bled all over his bedroom in Amity Park. His parents were oblivious unless it would be a headache for him. He wasn’t going to explain to them that he was bleeding because they’d shot at his ghost form two hours prior.
“Frostbite?”
“He’s my doctor. He’s chief of the Yetis.”
There was something…hilarious about Diana just nodding and mentally filing that information away for later. She didn’t raise a brow or question the existence of yeti’s or anything. She just took him at his word. “Then i imagine he knows what he’s talking about. I wasn’t sure since you were brought to us in your white haired form.”
“Probably because i was brought from the Infinite Realm. I’m obviously liminal and that changes a few things but Frostbite still doesn’t like me to depend on that alone. He treats me like i’m normal.”
Diana smiled weakly, but the upturn of her lips did express her amusement. “I’m starting to think i will have a new question to ask every time you open your mouth, Highness.”
“Danny.” He corrected with a small smile of his own.
“Danny.” Diana agreed. “Your usage of the word liminal?”
“Oh, uh. Basically death adjacent?” Danny shrugged. “A lot of people in Amity Park are liminal because of their proximity to the portal my parents made. My sister and three of my friends are very liminal. My parents are liminal too though they’ve never noticed. It’s spread through the town.”
“Portal.” Diana sighed a little.
Ah, yeah. She was probably right. It was a lot of information when it was only passed on in bits. “Yeah…” Danny muttered. “Maybe you should get a notebook. Write this down…”
He paused when a nurse came in after knocking. Her smile was friendly but she was clearly there to do a job and not loiter when Wonder Woman was right there. She did greet them both and told Danny how relieved she was that he’d woken up while setting up his IV that would double as both pain control and hydration.
She didn’t even notice Danny taking the glowing green post-it off her back. He instead just held it in his fist until the nurse finally excused herself.
It’s a good view. Frostbite will come to you.
“Cool.” Danny muttered dryly, suddenly exhausted before deciding to eat that note too.
“Yes?” Diana just raised a brow at the action. It was kind of funny how that was the thing that threw her off. She’d been observing the nurse the entire time with a keen eye and had only moved herself to pull out her cell phone.
“Clockwork often communicates via vague ass post-its. I’m taking that one to mean i need to heal as much as i can by my obsession with space before Frostbite shows up to scold me for stupidly hurting myself like that.” Danny heaved a sigh. Frostbite’s disappointed looks could be weaponized.
“And eating it?” She asked and if Danny wasn’t mistaken, she’d be laughing if she wasn’t so composed.
“Ectoplasm. The reason the post-it glowed. It’s good for the dead. No sense in wasting it.” Danny offered a one sided shrug, and relaxed back against his pillows. He sagged, rubbing his face tired and glancing out the window.
He’d love to get some paper and chart out what stars he could see.
“I guess you have questions? If you really think you can help with the Anti-Ecto Acts and all…”
Diana had her phone on her lap, ready to take notes. “I think the most pressing question i have…” She leaned a little closer. “How did you sustain your injuries? Who hurt you?”
Danny frowned, his entire body almost closing in on himself. He should have expected that, but somehow hadn’t. “My parents…”
~~~~~~~~~~
Tagging started to get difficult but a bunch of people recommended a master list that i'll update. It's linked at the top ^__^
Also i never planned past part 3 so we're in uncharted territory now.
#dp x dc#dp x dc crossover#Danny Phantom#wonder woman#The GIW have no idea they've just made an enemy out of Wonder Woman#Safe space for Danny#space pun
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”ok kremy you know better than i do, that’s probably the reason gideon loves you like he does, all romantically and such” RAAAHHHH THE WAY NIKKIE AND TWIG SO CLEARLY SHIP IT IS FUNNY. i like to think that the ENTIRE party is aware of the feelings they have for each other except for kremy and gideon.
kremy, with gideon: frost, gricko, twig, hootsie, we have something to tell you.
frost: you and gideon are romantically together?
kremy: no, gideon and i are ro- wait, how did you fellas know?
gricko, holding hootsie like a cat: you hold gideon’s hand whenever you’re scared.
kremy: so?! he’s the largest in the group, it’s normal to feel comfort from someone like him!
twig: kremy, you cried about gideon getting married to the other pixies, and you were the one who made the contract
#kremy lecroux#legends of avantris#once upon a witchlight#gideon coal#dnd#coalecroux#kremy x gideon#morning frost#gricko grimgrin#hootsie grimgrin#twigsy#loa twig#loa#avantris#gideon avantris#kremy avantris#twig avantris#frost avantris#gricko avantris
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MY DARKEST DESIRE (joffrey baratheon x dark! reader)
Joffrey Baratheon x yandere! Reader
2 of 3
TW: mentions of death and unhealthy behaviors.
Sorry if there are wording errors, I have translated it to google because English is not my first language.
You growled in frustration in the solitude of your room. It had been nearly two months since your last talk with Loras Tyrell and the chances of a public alliance with them had disappeared. Apparently, a wily Cersei Lannister noticed your interactions thanks to a traitorous prostitute of your father's and commented on your after-meal outings to Tywin Lannister, foolishly believing it to be a point in her favor.
The idiot ended up with an engagement to marry the uninterested Loras, an anxious Margaery and the death of Ros.
You swallowed quickly when you found out how she had died.
His cold words still echo in your head.
"That happens if you despise the Baelish."
As if you hadn't seen firsthand the beautiful, tragic body of your former ally, her frozen tears and expression of eternal horror. Vaguely, you stroked one of her red locks as she was taken away to be buried in a mass grave without any ceremony or anyone to mourn her. No, that's weakness. That happens to the weak ones.
The cunning ones always win.
You walked vaguely to untie the fancy hairstyle you wore today; it was better to concentrate on something else when those useless thoughts started. Noticing the yellow blanket adorning the wall, you thought of another element of the big plan.
Joffrey Baratheon, the bastard.
Growing up at court, you were introduced to him on his fifth name day. He was a wee lad who enjoyed beating other children with lower positions to complain about, throwing pieces of cake at his sister while she cried, and killing animals like birds with broken wings and baby rabbits with twigs. You came forward and recited the words your father had taught you. Joffrey gave you a bored look as you spoke and dragged you into his playground with the other children. You knew the rules, but watching him tear out that little red-haired boy's hair was enough for you. You stood up and knocked him down with a kick, he looked at you in surprise because no one laid a hand on him until now. Obviously, that would have given serious reprisals for your father and you, however, you lied saying it was the redhead himself and that Joffrey was confused because he hit his head, you did so well that they believed you. You were relieved until your progenitor told you how the poor boy was whipped and how his family was quietly removed from the court. You felt so bad that you told him, to your surprise, he was proud and even happy, he gave you a talk to better convince people and explained what to do if something similar happened with Joffrey.
You reviewed the events of this morning. From Cersei's hurried journey with her betrothed to Highgarden, Tyrion Lannister's appointment as Hand of the King by the Lannister lion himself, and Jaime Lannister's hasty wedding to Rosemund of Lannisport, you could rarely have a peaceful time when King Joffrey was around. His mother was gone, his father also to Casterly Rock, he was often controlled by his grandfather, and his only release was to torment the maids and his uncle Tyrion who rarely let himself be seen. Margaery told you of her fear that he would do you any harm, you replied that, despite being a maid, you were thorn-proof. Your relationship with her was going quite well: Olenna asked you about Joffrey's activities in her granddaughter's absence after finally convincing her of your loyalty; both women mentioned cautiously about a possible marriage with Willas, more adult and powerful than your former betrothed, but of a boring character according to your father's words, and questioned you about the personality of the second son, Tommen.
Everything seemed to be going well, but it was not. You knew what they were plotting and that annoyed you greatly, an assassination that would shake the house of the lion and strengthen the Tyrell power over the crown. That didn't bother you because it was to your advantage, however, you didn't want to see Joffrey being finished off by the Tyrells.
You wanted to kill King Joffrey with your own hands.
You let out a groan as you found yourself almost naked on your bed. The thought of Joffrey paralyzed on the floor brought another moan and the conviction to masturbate; imagining him with an expression of fear was enough to caress your clitoris; and the thought of his tears of horror and submission was enough to touch you harder.
You closed your eyes. Your hands going to his neck with no one around to stop you, him trying to push you away with his clumsy efforts, watching his neck redden, seeing drops of blood from the pressure exerted, unspoken words dominating his lips and finally his lifeless expression.
A moan of pleasure flooded your lips. But from afar it was not enough for tonight.
After your ninth orgasm, you thought vaguely about how his presence would be wrenched from you and how it would influence Baelish destiny. No, there was nothing you could do but obey and see how he would die for the relatives of your lever. Tiredness dominated your head, tucking you in with your blankets, there was only one coherent thought: Not obeying.
You watched the Iron Throne along with the others as King Joffrey displayed his cruelty. The Tyrells were visiting some chamber of a vassal house, loathsome enough to stray away for a few hours, while you stood near your father with the nobles gathered like shivering chickens in a henhouse, and both shared the same vision, but with different goals. : he sitting comfortably as king of the seven kingdoms and you, taking Joffrey by his cloak causing him wounds by the edge of the swords and dragging him like a dog with the sole purpose of seeing him suffocate by the pressure of his own cloak.
Both thoughts were not compatible and you knew that well.
The screams of pain did not distract you, but Tommen's gaze did, the poor boy was holding back tears from the monstrosities committed by his brother. He's too innocent for Westeros, too whiny to get used to violence when he's lived with Joffrey his whole life, and not at all cunning. Too weak.
Being with the Tyrells would do him good. Even if it's just a piece of the game.
You pursed your lip. You were not a player, that place is for your beloved father, you were just a valuable piece. That was good right? He has been for years and years, for your entire life. Why change? Father can be an excellent king; he just needs the necessary push. But the order of the pushes can change, right?
"I'm done for today." The king's proud voice brought you back to reality.
“My king, please…”
Seeing how the citizens were beaten calmed you down. Everything was running its course.
"Let's go, dear daughter." Your father pushed you away with his classic paternal man role, you smiled following his ruse.
"Stop there! Your king commands you."
They turned around confused.
“Lady Baelish, I have received word that you have cured my brother, Prince Tommen, of yellow fever with your healing knowledge along with the maester.” Joffrey's annoying voice grew closer; you could feel your father's machinations in his head. "Therefore, I invite you to hang out in the king's personal dining room, if I'm feeling generous I could offer you a medicine box for your woman skills."
Feeling the perfect opportunity to make your fantasies come true, the satisfaction of knowing the answer was greater.
"My beloved daughter accepts your offer, your grace."
"Well, it's a unique opportunity, she couldn't turn it down."
The blush on your cheeks only increased as did King Joffrey's shit-eating grin.
“I will show you my gratitude for all the goodwill you have had with me all this time…, your highness.”
The sinister shine of your eyes was not noticed by anyone.
@yandere-stan @yandere-daydreams @megsironthrone @letsasoiaftogether @missglaskin @witchthewriter @a-libra-writes @agent-whiskeys-sweetheart @ladywinterwitch @anxiousnerdwritings
#joffrey baratheon#joffrey#joffrey lannister#joffrey baratheon x reader#wattpad#books#yandere#yandere reader#game of thrones x reader#game of thrones#asoiaf#got#petyr baelish#littlefinger#varys#tommen baratheon#margaery tyrell#lady margaery tyrell#the tyrell#house tyrell#obssesive reader#girl yandere#yandere game of thrones#yandere oneshot#joffrey baratheon is the victim now#subjoffrey baratheon#dom reader#obssesivethoughts
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Narrative Frameworks in Only Friends
Something I have been tracking as part of the ongoing discussions about Only Friends is the use of the narrative framework for each episode.
So, I’m making this list specifically for tracking purposes, to note which framework was used for which episodes, if they repeat, and what they may be paying homage to. The goal is to update it every week. Due to suggestions, I am also tracking the end credit scenes, as well as any specific visual or audio formats used in the episodes.
Frameworks so far:
1. Voiceovers: gives the audience specific insight into a characters thoughts and feelings; also a great way to provide exposition. It’s more of an audio than visual framework, as we don’t always see the character doing the voice-over because it plays over other scenes.
2. “Talking Heads” (is there a better descriptor for this?): The characters talk directly to the camera, interview/documentary style. We get to see exactly how they feel about a given moment because they are reacting to it at that time. Audio and visual. Homage to Love8009 (per P'Jojo).
3. Social Media (ft The Artist Formerly Known as Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook): Not as insightful as the other two frameworks but does give context and a way for interaction, commentary, and exposition on a given plot. Visual. Probable homage to Together With Me, one of the first spicy BLs starring our kings, MaxTul.
(Side Note: I was re-watching some scenes from Never Let me Go and realized P'Jojo uses yellow text on the screen in it too. So maybe he just likes the yellow text or maybe it means something, idk, idk.)
Episode 1
Framework: Voiceover
Title: What’s Your Role in a Bar?
Narrator: Mew
Visual Moment: Yellow title cards listing everyone’s “roles” as well as the month and days of the week in episode one
End Credit Shot: Mew sitting on the floor in front of his fish tank
Episode 2
Framework: Talking Heads
Title: M.F.M. My Favorite Man
Narrator: Everyone
Visual Moment: The talking heads scenes
End Credit Shot: Ray driving
Episode 3
Framework: Social Media (Twitter and Instagram)
Title: What Am I to You?
Narrator: Nick and Boston
Audible Moment: Nick listening to the TopBoston sex audio
End Credit Shot: Nick listening to TopBoston sex audio
Episode 4
Framework: Voiceover
Title: Emergency Contact
Narrator: Ray
Visual Moment: The flashback of RayMew is in 4:3 ratio; meaning it looks like recorded footage versus a memory, yellow text onscreen indicates flashback
End Credit Shot: Ray driving (repeat from episode 2)
Episode 5:
Framework: Voiceover
Title: The Extra Hour
Narrator: Sand
Visual Moment: Intro and Outro are animated; black and white (made me think of the Take on Me MV by A-ha but I’m open to suggestions on what this might be referring to)
End Credit Shot: Sand driving his motorcycle
Episode 6:
Framework: None
Title: Happy Fucking Birthday
Narrator: None
Audible Moment: Ray listens to the TopBoston sex audio; Mew plays the TopBoston sex audio for Top
Visual Moment: Top draws Mew sleeping/gives Mew a book of drawings he did of Mew
End Credit Shot: Top in his bathtub alone looking angsty
Episode 7:
Framework: None
Title: After Effect
Narrator: None
Visual Moment: Mew setting the drawing on fire; Boston’s sex tape; the “super zooms”
End Credit Shot: Mew sitting on the floor in front of his fish tank (repeat from episode 1)
Episode 8:
Framework: None
Title: Save Me
Narrator: None
Visual Moment: Facebook party invite/everyone’s reactions to the invite; Everyone’s costumes at the party
End Credit Shot: Boston looking angsty at the hostel
Episode 9:
Framework: None
Title: The Return
Narrator: None
Visual Moment: Boston's photo of Atom; Top recording SandRay kissing, BOEING (I had to, lmao)
End Credit Shot: Top in his bathtub alone looking angsty (repeat from episode 6)
Discussion: Once again, no framework or narrator this week. I speculated along with @twig-tea that this means we have left the fantasy world (we, along with Mew, have lost our “rose-colored glasses”) and all that’s left is reality and consequences.
It’s almost like the show started as a BL (using/subverting the standard tropes, etc) until the midpoint and then veered into a queer drama. Having said that, post episode 9, I think we're firmly back in BL territory. This was the OF "beach" episode. Fences are starting to be mended. There's still honesty and consequences though, so the frameworks aren't back yet.
Spoiler Alert (avoid this next paragraph if you don’t want any spoilers)
P'Jojo posted on The Artist Formerly Known as Twitter some pictures that imply the talking heads framework is coming back, with at least Sand and Ray. Does that mean the characters are trying to escape reality again? That they will be back to lying to themselves?
If anyone can think of anything else to add, please let me know! If you would like to be tagged in this post or any other meta, let me know and I’ll add you.
Tagging the Ephemerality Squad: @lurkingshan, @waitmyturtles, @wen-kexing-apologist, @chickenstrangers, @ranchthoughts, @twig-tea, @clara-maybe-ontheroad, @distant-screaming, @thatgirl4815, @elizabethsebestianhedgehog
Tagging @sandrayy by request
Apologies to anyone I forgot!
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Hey i saw you had writing requests open! and ik you’ve just written about ren but if at any point later you’d like to write more about him or the red king,, i’d absolutely love to read it!!
"I'm telling you man, I don't like this," Doc says, as if Ren hadn't heard him the first thirty times he'd said it. "That guy probably almost killed you last time. Or dragged you to hels or something. That's not the sort of thing you invite to dinner you know."
"It's not dinner Doc, it's braai," Ren replies firmly as he lights the campfire, "and it's the solution to all our hels-based interdimensional tough-guy problems, baby!"
Ren claps the ash off his hands and watches to make sure the campfire doesn't sputter out. He is an expert at setting these up though, so it doesn't. The fire roars strong, accompanied by the bone-snap of dry twigs and timber lighting.
"Braais were made to bring people together. As soon as The Red King sees this gesture of good faith, I'm sure he'll settle down long enough for us to chat this out. And even if he doesn't--" Ren gestures to Doc and Wels. The pair of them watch him with nervous concern. "--I have all the muscle I'll need right here. Oneexpert in hels-shenaniganry forged in the fires of fighting valiantly against his inner demons, and one big scary creeper hybrid with a channeling trident and full netherite in his inventory."
Doc and Wels exchange a glance.
"You're killing me here guys."
“Actually, I think that's The Red King’s job,” Wels pointed out humorlessly.
"Not that I don't have faith in my ability to protect you," Doc said, running a hand through his hair nervously, "but your Roterkönig could fight my prosthetic. You know this thing can halt pistons, right?"
"He just caught you off-guard, Doc."
"I'm sorry, what is your hels' name?" Welsknight blinked, bewildered. "Rote… what?"
"Roterkönig is The Red King in German," Ren shrugged. "Doc's just being superstitious about it."
"He said, and I quote: Wels spoke his likeness and he answered the call." Doc crossed his arms and scowled. "I'm not chancing that guy just leaping out of the nearest reflection. Besides, I'm not calling him King all the time. King of what? Bad horror movies?"
"But isn't Ro-- Rotor-- isn't it just the exact same thing but different?" Wels stammered, confused.
"It is a proper noun," Doc said insistently. "It's like giving him a nickname, but it's one he definitely doesn't know, because Ren doesn't speak German, so I doubt he speaks German."
Ren sighed and pinched the space between his eyes. Wels looked just as confused as he had before, but he nodded and pretended it made sense anyway.
“None of that is going to be a problem, my dudes,” Ren insisted, crossing back to the campfire to make sure it was still burning well. He piled on a couple more logs. “The Re--” Doc cleared his throat loudly, interrupting him, “-- Roterkönig is going to be so impressed by this braai he’ll call whatever his beef is off. Believe in the braai guys. Now I’m going to get barbecuing. Doc, set up the mirror over there. Wels, you stand there and look welcoming but mildly intimidating.”
Welsknight blinked; the look of tired confusion he was sporting was slowly becoming a permanent fixture on his face. He settled on pulling out his sword and stamping the tip of it into the ground, using it as a convenient lean. He looked like he needed it anyway. Ren hadn’t realized when he’d called Wels over to help that he hadn’t been sleeping. Granted, he’d told Ren his hels kept him awake sometimes, but the man’s eyes were more bags than anything, and Ren thought he seemed to process things slowly. Hazy. That might be a good word for it. Wels looked hazy in that way people did when they were on day two or three without shut-eye.
He should… probably ask him to go home. The evening was turning to sunset, and surely Welsknight would be falling asleep where he stood soon. But Ren was also kind of scared of he and Doc trying to deal with The Red King alone, given how badly they’d managed it the first time. He wasn’t quite scared enough to get the rest of the server involved yet, but having a knight like Wels on the team seemed like a step in the right direction.
Ren shook his head and flipped one of the steaks he’d been cooking over the campfire. If he thought about this, he’d start worrying even more than he already was, and if he started worrying about it more, he might convince himself this was a bad idea and call it off. That would make him a coward, which would make The Red King right, so he elected to just… stop thinking about it. For now.
With a clatter, Doc set up the mirror across from the campfire and pulled the sheet off that’d been covering it. It was one of those tall standing ones that tilted on stilted legs that Ren always thought looked oddly bird-ish, perching on the ground. Currently it reflected nothing but the sky colors of the sunset and the distant treeline of the birch forest hemming in the plains they’d randomly picked for themselves. It seemed a bit too dangerous to plan this rendezvous around a bunch of builds where anyone could stroll up and interrupt - or get hurt. Ultimately though if someone had to fly for help, they were only a few hundred blocks away from civilization.
“So, question for the curious,” Welsknight hummed, leaning a little heavier on his sword. His cape caught in the breeze and fluttered like elytra wings around his shoulders, “why are we doing this? I get the olive branch. But what do you hope to gain by talking to uh…” Wels shot Doc a sideways glance. “Rotarkuning?”
“Close enough.”
“Well, honestly I figured we could just talk.” Ren said, dishing some of the finished barbecue out onto a plate. He offered some to Wels who held up a hand, quietly refusing. He passed it off to Doc instead. “I mean, it’s gotta be worth finding some common ground, right?”
Wels gave him a skeptical look.
“Haven’t you ever tried talking to Helsknight?”
“Many times.” Wels answered, his voice a sigh. “Without an audience. I like to think I can handle him on my own.”
“Oh. Well, did you make any progress?”
Wels raised an eyebrow at him, and the bags under his eyes darkened with the downward tilt of his head.
“... right.”
“I can see myself in him,” Wels allowed, noticing Ren’s discomfort. “It’s… you know, the dichotomy of a black and white knight. Sometimes I can’t really tell which of us is which. Don’t-- look at me like that. I know it’s not completely rational. I do try to empathize with him, or give some compassion. Sounds like whatever hels is like, it’s rough. It’s just… when he’s standing in front of me, and I’m faced with the things he’s doing and how he makes me feel…”
Wels scowled, “It’s hard to be the better person when you’re that angry.”
“Sounds like you need a good break,” Doc hummed, setting up a few chairs around the campfire.
“Probably.” Wels shrugged. “At any rate, we do a lot more killing each other than talking these days. I think the weariness is mutual.”
The three of them settled into a quiet vigil, filled with intermittent small talk, but too nervous for anything past that. Night descended, stepping down the stairs of color that marked the sunset until the moon was high in the sky and the sun was an afterthought of gray-blue clinging to the farthest edge of the horizon. A neat perimeter of torchlight kept the monsters at a distance, though occasionally Doc would get bored and take pot-shots at zombies with his trident. Wels traced the horizon line with his eyes, dwelling once or twice on a shadow that might look like a knight if you squint hard enough, but never moving his sword from where he’d planted it. Ren tended the fire, eventually pulling a chair over so he could rest his feet a little. The mirror reflected only the world in front of it, and Ren, when he glanced himself inside, was only ever himself. He yawned, leaned his head on his hand, and watched.
Ren jerked. His eyes felt heavy and he yawned again. Okay, maybe sitting down by the fire was a bad idea. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to fall asleep, and probably the worst thing he could think of was falling asleep right beside an open fire. That was a great way to lose some eyebrow hair. Ren shook his head, stood and stretched.
“Alright,” Ren grunted, arching his back until it popped, “maybe it’s about time we call this a night. The Red King’s not showing up.”
Ren looked to Wels still leaning on his sword. In the dim light, with only the campfire and the ring of torches to see by, his silhouette took on a red-orange hue, and his armor reflected the light like flickering embers. He didn’t move. Ren blinked, confused, and padded over to him.
“Hey Wels? Jeez I knew you were tired dude, but--” Ren stopped abruptly. Wels’ silhouette confused his tired mind, and at first, he couldn’t quite place what he was looking at. The oddness of it came to him first when he realized Welsknight’s cape was also reflective, despite it being made of cloth, a decidedly non-reflective material. Then the pale of his skin set strangely in his vision, and how close it looked to the pale shades of his armor and then…
Welsknight wasn’t here. Or he was, but he was no longer Wels. It seemed to Ren like he was made of glass, or maybe ice, tinted red. His cape didn’t pull with the breeze, because it too was a thing frozen solid, and his chest didn’t move, because he was no longer a person who breathed. He was a sculpture, reflecting the light of the fire, wafting a small cloud of condensation around his feet, head bowed in sleep.
Ren turned to Doc for some help, only to see his friend curled up in one of the chairs, his four creeper legs crossed together in an attempt to get comfortable, his head propped on his crossed arms against the back of the chair, asleep. He should be snoring loudly, the red lights of his prosthetic and his redstone eye blinking slowly in what passed for their power-saving rest mode. Except neither of these things could happen, because he too was made of whatever red-tinted ice that Wels was. A perfect replica of Doc, curled up in sleep, so carefully crafted that every detail was the same as his living counterpart. Ren became aware of his breathing, quickening with his growing panic. He looked between his two friends, and the silence left in their wake was so full and heavy it rang in his ears like warning bells.
Ren was alone.
Movement bloomed in the corner of his eye and Ren snapped his head towards the mirror. He caught sight of his eyes just as frost crawled up the glass to conceal them. The frost spidered its way across the surface, closing it up behind a wall of foggy red-gray.
“It be a cowardly thing invitin’ someone to dinner armed to the teeth.”
Ren yelped and spun to face the fire-- and tripped over his own feet. He fell ungracefully into the grass, and found himself looking up at The Red King. He towered over the fire, now mostly dying embers and the occasional flickering spark. He was just as Ren remembered him, gray and snarling and strong, the mantle of fur over his shoulders tapering into a ragged red cape that faded at the ends to black and brown, like drying blood. He tilted his head backwards haughtily, the only indication Ren got that he was looking down on him, what with the crown still clamped like reaching claws over his eyes.
“W-well,” Ren gulped when he finally realized The Red King was waiting on him to speak, “you did try to kill me last time. I feel like the extra prep is… fair.”
“Kill ye? Nay lad. Scare ye,” The Red King flashed him a wicked grin. “If I wanted to kill ye, laddie, I would have.”
The Red King stalked around the fire, and Ren realized he was coming towards him, and there was a single panic-stricken moment where Ren just laid there in the grass unable to move. He thought maybe this is what deer felt like, frozen in headlights, or a bird caught in a snake's stare. He thought maybe The Red King intended to kill him this time, which shouldn’t be scary because he could respawn, but seemed it, suddenly. He thought he should move. He should do something. He should move.
Ren scrambled to his feet, hands outstretched placatingly, “Right! Right --ha-- that makes uhm… perfect sense. You know just-- I don’t know what it’s like where you come from. Hels? I guess? But normally you don’t throttle someone through a mirror when you first meet. Most people find that kind of rude my d-- my… dude?”
Calling The Red King “my dude” was on an absurd side of bizarre Ren hadn’t expected it to be. He should probably think about that later, when The Red King wasn’t advancing on him slow persistent step after slow persistent step, like he was trying to back Ren into a corner. Except they were on an open plain, so that shouldn’t be possible. The feeling persisted in much the same way The Red King did.
“But hey! It’s good that you’re here! Because this is for you,” Ren opened his mouth and started talking, because he thought he was good at that, and that’s really what this was about. Talking. Figuring things out. Coming to an accord. Talking. Not getting scared. Not dying. Talking. Ren backed away from The Red King in an arc, trying to work his way back to the fire again. The Red King let him. “S-so this is a braai, and it’s a tradition where I come from! Uhm… you don’t normally just do it with two people but you’ve frozen my other guests so-- or I assume that was you. Red Winter, ice sculptures, frost, that-that makes sense. That’s very on brand. It’s a very cool touch-- just makes for a quiet-- anyway--”
Ren got the campfire between himself and The Red King, and felt a little bit more secure with the extra defense between the two of them. The Red King stopped his advance, watching Ren predatorily, the furred mantle on his shoulders reminiscent of a wolf’s hackles, bristled. Ren swallowed hard.
“So a braai, I thought you might like because-- well I know I like them, and we’re kind of the same person, right?”
The Red King's brow furrowed, and his nose scrunched in something like a sneer, and Ren thought maybe that passed as The Red King squinting his eyes at him. Or maybe snarling, but just with the parts of his face that didn't involve teeth? It was an intense expression anyway.
“R… right. Well, I know people are important to you. Your people. Your army,” Ren continued stubbornly, and the more he talked the more his nervousness abated a bit. He felt a little bit more in control. Maybe. Maybe he could actually do this. Whatever this was. “And see, a braai is made to bring people together. You visit with friends and family and it’s a time of camaraderie and fellowship. It’s actually-- it’s a tradition we really got into back home, after war tore a lot of things up. And I thought you know, it must be hard, being a creature made for war and war only. So, I’ve made this, and thought maybe, you know, we aren’t friends, and it’s clear you don’t like me. But I’m willing to show a little bit of goodwill here. We don’t-- we don’t have to be like Wels and Hels, battling it out all the time.”
Ren’s ears pricked forward hopefully, and he let the tip of his tail flick upwards welcomingly. He picked up a plate in his hands, and searched around for the best cut out of what he’d barbecued, and he let out a bracing breath. “So, how about it? Let’s talk. You can even pretend this is like, some kind of tactical meeting thing, if you’d like.”
Ren offered the plate forward for The Red King to take, and he tried to look as welcoming and innocent as was physically possible while he did. The Red King’s part in Third Life - Ren couldn’t remember it very well. This made sense in hindsight, knowing that The Red King was maybe his own person by then? Ren was just spectating someone else’s misfortune by that point… probably. He wasn’t entirely sure that’s how it worked, but that made sense to him currently. So, he couldn’t remember much, but he could remember everything leading up to it, and how it ended. He knew there was betrayal, and lost alliances, and the feeling of safety among friends cut short, and he wanted with everything in himself right now to not be any of those things. If he could just convince the King that he was being genuine, then maybe they could actually be productive here.
The Red King watched him, and it was uncomfortable, knowing he was being watched but not being able to see the person's eyes. He stalked forward, and Ren had to force himself not to shrink away, to convince himself that trust went both ways; if he didn't trust The Red King to take a plate, how did he expect to trust him to talk? The Red King towered, monumental in every sense of the word, even though he only had an inch or two on Ren. It was how he carried himself, it was the mantle on his shoulders and the curling points of his crown like horns or dragon's teeth. He was a fairytale run amok, and Ren thought the monstrous kings in fairy tales sculpted of flesh and iron and winter were much more noble when he imagined him, and much less of something that resembled a force of nature, cold and unstoppable.
The Red King took the plate from his hand, and his claws made it look fragile and toy-like. He was a ferocious, man-eating giant entertaining a child's tea party, and he knew it. "Alright Rendog, ye begged your parlay. For now, I'll accept. I be neither deaf nor cruel."
Ren let out the breath he was holding. He allowed himself a brief amount of relief, and half an uneasy smile. "Oh! Well thank you uhh…"
Was "your majesty?" a proper term for a king? He thought he'd heard from Welsknight once that terms like "majesty" and "highness" were technically derogatory, as far as royalty were involved. Also, it felt awkward talking to himself like that anyway. And The Red King was half of himself. At least, that's what Wels said.
The Red King grinned at him, another lithe and wicked smile. Wolfish. "Cat got ye tongue, lad?"
"I just-- I guess I didn't think I'd get this far. I thought you'd just try and kill me, my dude."
"And I may yet."
Ren swallowed. "Well-- anyway, my dude, I guess I just wanted to find some common ground with you."
"Common ground."
"Yeah! A truce!" Ren crossed his hands neatly on the back of his chair. He still didn't trust The Red King enough to stand beside him, without something to defend himself with or hide behind. "Or well, kind of a truce, anyway. I mean, I'm sure there's something you want from me, right? Otherwise, you wouldn't be interested in me at all. You'd be off chasing down your enemies, or maybe becoming King of hels or something."
He ignored The Red King's chuckle, more growl than anything else, and continued doggedly on. "But this also doesn’t have to be transactional. I don’t want much in return - besides maybe the safety of looking in the mirror again.”
Ren laughed uncomfortably. The King did not.
“When we met the first time, you had a lot to say about my being a coward and leaving my friends behind. I’m not, and I didn’t,” Ren said, trying to sound firm, but the stillness from The Red King was getting uncomfortable. He could tell he was listening, but his face was utterly passive. He still held the plate Ren had handed him, but he didn’t move to eat, only held it in a facsimile of politeness. “I did what I thought was right at the time, and I still am. Surely that’s something you can sympathize with.”
The Red King dipped his head slightly, thoughtfully maybe? His ears, always back and bristled, twitched.
“Aye, I can sympathize with the idea of duty. With doing what must be done.” The Red King set the plate down beside the campfire. He crossed his arms behind his back. “I suppose ye ken that’s what ye be doing now, aye? Settle yer differences with the King ‘afore he can strike ye in a way that harms. Truly harms.”
The Red King started to pace, long slow steps that sent his shadow arching towards the mirror. It made Ren think of a pacing tiger, or a hungry wolf. He was containing himself, refusing to cross an invisible line. “But I see ye, Rendog. I see ye hiding.”
“I’m not-- I’m right here.” Ren felt himself bristle just a bit, indignance overtaking his nervousness. “I’m not hiding from anyone.”
“Are ye? Ye call me here talking proudly of bravery, of coming to an accord, of common ground. But ye call me here, to a world I have no place in. Ye bid me eat at a table while yer allies stand with weapon in hand. Ye bargain for yer peace of mind--”
“You tried to kill me!” Ren snapped. “This isn’t cowardice, this is being prepared in case you do it again!”
“What be ye scared of, Rendog?” The Red King laughed. “I cannae kill ye in a way that matters! Yours is a world of respawn! Of endless second chances! And yet look at ye - cowering behind a chair like I’m the feral wolf that bit ye.”
Ren’s ears flattened against his head. He let go of the back of the chair, suddenly aware he’d been clutching it with a white-knuckled grip.
“Ye search for common ground? We be nothing alike.” The Red King turned away from him and paced towards the mirror. Long slow steps, heavy, like an executioner. His arms uncrossed themselves from behind his back. “Ye be a bully. When ye fought, it was only with an army at yer back. When Scar came to rob ye, ye yapped at him like a dog, too cowed to bite. Ye made me to scare yer foes, to show them winter, a world dimmed by the loss of life. And the monster ye made brought great rejoicing only when its terror was gone. Winter has ended, they cried. Now blooms the spring. A spring watered by the blood of yer army. Fertilized by the bodies of yer bad decisions. The road to hell paved by preparation and good intentions.”
Ren swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to think, to say. He didn’t think he was a bully, but now The Red King was making him think about what it must be like, dragged from whatever your home was, expecting violence. The Red King was making him remember Third Life, and how scared he was, and how loud he got in a room full of people trying to take advantage of him. Of how Martyn became his muscle so quickly. And Skizz when he was red. And how he’d pursued Etho, because Etho was a good ally in a fight. And he was starting to think he did look like a bully, didn’t he? Because he was scared. Because maybe, truly, he was a coward after all. Because--
“I suppose we share one common thread,” The Red King spoke, and when Ren looked up at him, there was an axe in his hands. His heart leaped into his throat and he stumbled a step back away from the chair. The Red King’s axe was a deceptively simple looking thing, large enough for his clawed hands but altogether unremarkable. It was diamond, and it glittered with handmade enchantments and no other adornment but the spatter of blood on the handle. “We both desire nothing more than the safety of our friends.”
He held his axe out threateningly, the blade hovering dangerously over Doc’s neck. The Red King snarled, “Next time ye call me to parlay, do so without a dagger behind yer back, lad.”
Ren laughed, because he was scared and he didn’t know how else to cope with it. The King hesitated. “You-- you just said this is a world of second chances. If you kill him, it won’t matter.”
The words left his mouth and they felt cruel, but they were true. Ren knew they were true. Doc would lament the loss of levels, but Ren would recover his stuff before the despawn. Doc would wake up in a bed somewhere, bummed he’d missed the action, and probably angry the plan had gone awry, but safe.
“Is that what ye ken, lad?” The Red King asked him, and his voice was so confident, so insidious, Ren found himself worried. It writhed in his stomach like bile, the feeling he might be wrong. “I was forged in a world where life was a temporary inconvenience.”
“B-but-- you’re not there. You’re on Hermitcraft.”
“What laws do ye ken rule me, lad? The laws of a world I feel no love for, or the laws of a world I was made for?” The Red King laughed. “Cower little dog, and yap all you like. We’ll see if yer friend is soothed by yer words when his name is fragile as the gold it’s dyed in.”
The Red King raised his axe, and Ren vaulted over the chair with a speed he didn’t even know he was capable of. He was blinded by the single, whole-hearted desire to stop that axe from falling. He tackled The Red King, his shoulder barreled into his chest and he felt the startled huff! as the air was forced from the King’s lungs. The two of them tumbled to the ground, knocking over the mirror. It didn’t shatter, landing with a soft thump in the grass. Ren felt The Red King’s boot come under his stomach, and he was kicked off, and he rolled to a stop at Welsknight’s frozen feet. Ren stood breathlessly, shook himself off and bristled. The Red King rose slower, taking care to catch his breath. His axe lay in the grass nearby him, but Doc was unharmed, and that was all that mattered for the moment.
“Alright, alright. You wanna go?” Ren snarled, his tail lashing once, angry. He paced a step away from Wels, giving himself some space. “I didn’t want to do this, my dude, but if you wanna go, we can go.”
There was an ember inside Ren’s chest he didn’t often use, for a shift he didn’t often need. Fighting The Red King, though, he thought he’d need it. So, Ren shifted. It was a soft change; one he had long grown used to. He grew a little taller, his hands turned themselves into sharpened claws much like his counterpart. His hair lengthened and grew and thickened, trailing down his back and shoulders, his arms. His bones rearranged themselves into something more fitting a werewolf. Ren cracked his neck, and shook out his fur, and snarled with a maw full of teeth.
“You try that again, and I’ll make you regret it,” Ren threatened. “We’ll see if your laws mean you have only one life to tango with.”
The Red King tilted his head at Ren, like he was looking up at him. He smirked, amused. “Two common threads.”
The Red King straightened - or rather, he was already standing straight, but his shoulders broadened, and his body lengthened, and with the snaps and pops of rearranging bones he shifted as well. The great grey mantle on his shoulders shivered and grew, covering his body in silver-black fur. His muzzle lengthened, and his crown warped to shape a wolf-ish head. Again, he towered over Ren, a massive werewolf, bloodied muzzle and paws dripping like he was fresh off a kill. And still he grinned. “One life or not, I fear no death laddie. But I know ye do.”
The Red King lunged. The two of them fell into the grass, snarling and snapping, and Ren could feel himself overpowered already. The Red King was too big, too strong, too much, and Ren had been scared he’d lose even against him human. Ren found himself trying to scramble out from under the massive beast of his other half, a snarling monster that simply closed its jaws on his arm when he tried to push him away. Ren clawed and kicked and writhed, and found himself pinned. The Red King’s jaws closed around his throat.
Ren came gasping awake like he was fresh off a respawn, the phantoms of teeth pressing into his neck. He scrambled up so quickly he fell over his chair, and both he and his seat fell to the ground with a thud and a clatter. Doc’s loud snoring halted abruptly, and he shot to his feet as well.
“Hey! Hey! Woah what the hell? What’s going on?!”
“Is he here?” Wels asked, his sword in his hand. He and Doc both converged on Ren, who lay in the grass gasping, trying to catch his breath. “I don’t see him-- Ren, what’s wrong? Ren?”
“He-- he--he-- He was-- he--” Ren gasped and stammered, a hand to his neck trying to reassure himself he was unharmed. He looked around wildly, but there was no Red King in sight, nor the monstrous werewolf he’d turned into. There were only his friends staring down at him in concern. A laugh, loud and hysterical, bubbled itself up through Ren’s chest and he fell back into the grass. He laughed, because he didn’t know what else to do, how else to process. He laughed because his heart was racing, and he still couldn’t catch his breath, and this was absolutely ridiculous. He laughed because he was terrified, and it had all been a dream.
“Alright, that’s it,” Doc snapped. “I’m calling this off. Ren’s so scared of this guy he’s having nightmares, and it’s not like he showed up anyway.”
Doc stormed off to start picking up torches and packing up their chairs.
Wels crouched beside Ren, “You alright?”
“It was -- ahah! -- it was just a stupid nightmare.”
“Yeah… I’m sure it was.”
“Is that why you can’t sleep?!” Ren asked him, gasping, finally managing to wrangle some control over himself. "Do you do that every night? My dude that was-- that--"
Ren looked past Wels to where Doc was standing. Doc had stopped picking up items. He stood stiffly in front of the mirror, his hand covering his mouth - which Ren only saw because he could see the reflection. The glass of the mirror was slashed by four long claw marks made of red-tinted frost. A sign. A warning. A farewell.
"Oh… shit." Ren breathed.
"Yeah…" Wels rubbed the back of his neck.
Ren felt sick. When people described the phrase “sick with fear”, they’d never come close, in his book. Suddenly it felt as if all of his guts had turned into snakes, but not the writhing just-got-picked-up-by-the-tail-and-not-having-it kind. It was the slow churning of scales upon scales upon scales in his stomach, like something alive was waking up and coiling over itself. It was knowing if he moved too much, if he breathed too much, it would realize it was trapped inside him and it would decide to bite, and when it bit it’d take his lungs and his heart on its way up his throat. It was dread like ice, like The Red King’s breath on his neck when he’d lunged for him. It was fear like Scar showing up at his door the day after Third Life, and Ren not knowing for a moment who he was or where he was, only that this was supposed to be an enemy in another life, in another place, and he was caught weaponless and bare and unawares and completely at something’s mercy.
This was realizing The Red King had killed him in his sleep, and not knowing what would happen when he checked his name in his communicator.
“Ren?” Wels asked him. “Ren, you're pale. What’s up, man?”
Ren was pale. He wasn’t grey. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t dead. Logically he hadn’t respawned. He’d awoken in a chair by a campfire that was all dying embers in front of a mirror that was slashed with ice in the company of friends who were breathing and watching him and concerned. He should check his communicator. He should have the others check it for him. He should tell them what The Red King threatened. Tell them about the axe, and the snarling mouth, and the fight in the grass. He should check his communicator and see what color his name is. It could be a bluff. It could be a lie. It could be that Ren woke up before he’d died, and so faced no consequences.
But Ren was figuring out slowly, encounter by encounter with The Red King, that he truly was a coward.
Ren buried his face in his hands and he told himself he would check when he pulled himself together. When he stopped shaking. When he started breathing regular. When the phantoms of teeth stopped aching in a jagged necklace around his throat.
He would check it later.
And his name would be green.
And The Red King would have lied.
He didn’t know what he would do if it wasn’t.
#the barking writer#rendog#the red king#welsknight#docm77#hey hey hey what if The Red King still abides by 3rd Life Rules even if the rest of the world doesn't? Would that be fucked up or what?#well now this is finally out of my head#answering asks#anonymous#The Red King Hels
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I love that we have Crimson eyes and complimented it with golden brown skin and a golden honey blonde coils. It made me even happier when we could choose what we wear cause I picked like bright colors and I could totally see her in one of those flowing cottagecore fae puff sleeve dress like yellow with colorful flowers including repunzel style braid or a violet dress with red berries and green twigs with like berries and twigs and leaves styling her braid once again. I also really love Helios appearance because then he’s the moon and I can be his sun lol anyways sorry for the gushing I do have a question, what is the aesthetic you have for both kingdoms? I really would love to know how you see the landscape and fashion. Also if this is spoiler feel free to ignore but I saw in that says mc eyes are different from previous generations, is that just in appearance or something else? Anyways love your story, I understand if your not feeling up to answering it so feel free to ignore I’m just wanted to gush and had a question along the way
The whole MC and Helios thing is really cute 🥺🥺 I love her already! She sounds adorable.
You can check out my Pinterest boards for the imagery for the kingdoms and clothing of the ROs, it is linked in the intro post.
MC's eyes are a brighter red than the ones seen in previous generations, that's all! Nothing special. 👼
Thank you for your kind words, I appreciate it. 💗
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I just thought of something; Twig gives MC a flower 'cause it reminds them of MC. Then MC presses the flower so they can keep it for as long as possible and shows Twig that they still have it long after it should've wilted.
Okay okay okay- 1. That is adorable and I LOVE the idea of that, but 2. I feel like Twig would ABSOLUTELY chomp first, think later. And immediately regret it. Like, they immediately assume it's a type of candy and just Inhale That Shit Like Kirby then give MC the saddest wettest look ever cause they just realized they ate MCs flower....
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:(((((((((((((((??????? You dont wanna slam killer against a wall and beat that thing into a pulp?? I honestly thought its was just kinda,, universal
I do but in a /neg /platonic way
He's just a twig I stepped in earlier
Insignificant
Also I'm a milf hunter at heart, he just doesn't fall under that category (ro me)
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Can we have Ros reaction to when MC hide inside a giant teddy bear to surprise them on their Bday? They light up the room to see a prepared smoll party with a giant teddy lying against the wall, and they MC will stand up to jumpscare them : )
While this is adorable as a fictional ask, everytime I see this type of stuff in real life, I get so worried! It's so easy for wholesome pranks like this to worsen, just a punch or misplaced timing...
Either way, the ask is innocent, so here you go friend! Thanks for the ask!
Despite being full of anxiety and looking like a twig stick, Pachypoda is hard to scare. They might be a bit surprised, with a joyous smile upon recognition, or even know immediately that MC is there before the jumpscare, but they would never actually get startled by it. The party is very well appreciated, although it would be difficult to convince Pachypoda that it was for them, they will somehow find a way to exclude themselves from their own party, alienating themselves if they don't get the necessary attention.
On the other hand, Astro/a is a scaredy cat. They'd scream, maybe react violently or lose all bodily functions and throw themselves on the floor or onto someone. It's funny cause they look so tough, but they do have a weak little heart. They'd laugh about it after, and start scheming for revenge. In the meantime, they party hard, and spoil the MC a bunch for throwing such a nice party.
I know it's not the answer some of you would want but Secret LI1 would not enjoy this. Not the party and not the jumspcare. They detest surprises, so it would be better to plan this out with them, because then you'd know that they'd prefer their birthday to be a more private event, with just you two, and no teddy bears.
Of all people, Secret LI2 would love it the most. They'd scream and giddily laugh at the shock of it, and play along with any sort of ideas MC has planned. Then, they'd act like the gracious host they are, and be the soul of the party, making sure everyone is having a good time.
#ask#morninglilyofthenile#hmif reactions#hmif pachypoda#hmif astro/a#hmif secret li1#hmif secret li2
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MER hap fri! How about ❛ i am trying to do the job that you were meant to do. ❜ for Alistair x Warden?
dredging this ages old prompt out for tonight's @dadrunkwriting, thank you ro mwah mwah
Some angst from Sari's first timeline :3
~~~
They made camp just a breath outside of Redcliffe, when the tension between Sari and Alistair threatened to snap. Tents came together amidst stony silence and soon the familiar smell of smoke and reheated stew enveloped them.
Sari heard her companions’ stilted attempts at banter as if through a fog. She took up a perch on the stump of a fallen tree and stared into the murky darkness of the forest. A yearning, deep and rooted in her heart, resurfaced.
Go. Run.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and looked down at her hands as she exhaled. They looked ordinary—pale, a bit scarred, perhaps a bit shaky. Certainly no one would expect the blood that coated them in her mind.
A twig snapped behind her and she stiffened, fingers folding into a tight fist. There was a very distinctive weight in the step and she knew each of her companions’ gaits well enough by now.
“We have nothing to discuss, Alistair,” she said. “You made your thoughts on my choices very clear.”
Alistair cleared his throat. “I know. But Leliana won’t leave me be until I talk to you. So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stand here until I’ve satisfied her urge to mediate.”
“It’s not.”
“Hm?”
“It’s not all the same to me.” Sari glowered at a weathered root protruding from the ground. “I want to wallow in solitude.”
“Wallow?” Bitterness wrapped around Alistair’s words like thorns around a rose. “I thought you’d be celebrating the victory at Redcliffe. A demon defeated! A child saved!”
“Fuck off Alistair. You’ve been over here long enough for Zevran to distract Lana, and I’m really not in the mood to be your punching bag.”
“Yeah, well I don’t think Lady Isolde was in the mood to be your blood sacrifice either but here we are.”
Sari’s facade cracked like a lake under thaw and she whipped around, braids careening about her ears. She dropped down from the stump and stalked across the bit of distance Alistair had left between them.
“You had your chance,” she hissed. “You’re the senior warden, remember? If you wanted these alliances to be Chantry-approved, all you had to do was take the lead at Lothering.”
“But you didn’t.” She jabbed her finger into his chest with each word. “And now I am trying my best to do the job you were meant to do.”
“If you don’t like the way I work, go find some mage to send you back in time,” she bit out. “Otherwise use your preaching lectures on someone who cares to listen.”
“Sari—“ His hands ghosted over her arms, as though to grip her by the elbows and pull her close, but she swatted them away. The hurt in his eyes matched the hurt in her heart, but they were separated by an ocean of misunderstanding and miscommunication and right now she wasn’t sure there was a bridge wide enough to cross it.
“Just go, Alistair.” Her hands relaxed, fists unfurling as she gave him her back and returned to her stump. “Leave me alone.”
His hesitation salted the air, and a very small part of her underneath the layers of anger and hurt and betrayal wished that he would push back. But that was so far out of character, it was more of a foolish hope than a wish.
And the cracking twigs as he retreated back to the fire proved it.
#dragon age#dragon age origins#dadwc#oc: sari mahariel#warden mahariel#alistair theirin#mahariel x alistair#warden x alistair#my writing#dragon age fanfic#ws: the old life haunts the new
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🤒 for humphrey??
Here’s your ficlet, anon! Since the subtitles in 4x02 show two different spellings for Robin's name, I decided to use both depending on whether Robin refers to himself or Humphrey refers to him.
Warnings: mentions of illnesses and child death
Next up:
🛁 Platonic bathing - Ian/Gabriel
⚡ Scared of thunderstorms - Robin
🎶 Dancing - Robin, Humphrey’s body, Mary & alive Kitty
🥶 Cold - Fanny
✊🏽 Protecting - Thomas & Francis
💪🏽 Bridal carry - Pat & the Captain
🐾 Pet-names - Humphrey’s head and Annie
Ask Game is here. Filled prompts are here, here & here on AO3.
I’ll accept 2 more prompts for this ask game until I move on to a different one. Please take a look at my pinned post for information about which characters/pairings I will/won’t write for.
————
Leaving
🤒 Needing to be looked after
Rogh didn’t like it when the children of the living got sick.
Most of the time, he didn’t take much notice of the people in the house but when he walked past the young one and noticed a familiar, foreboding red flush on his cheeks, worry settled in his gut. Children were so very fragile. They could burn as fiercely as dry twigs only to grow as still and cold as a lake on a sunny winter day in the blink of an eye. He had seen many children die in his time – too many to count. Some of them had been his own, and the memory of holding their too light bodies in his arms still haunted him to this day.
The people who had built the house he now called his home had known loss like that as well, and so had the villagers who had lived on the land before them. It was a burden every generation carried, and the current owners of the house were already acquainted with it as well. They had lost their first child, a son, so tiny and frail, just a few hours after his birth. Their second son had not survived the cold of his first winter and now their third one was showing signs of the same illness.
Rogh might not be able to feel the heat radiating from the child’s skin but he could see it burning in his cheeks and dulling his eyes. The boy’s parents kept him bundled up, hoping he would sweat out the sickness, but Rogh knew it was nothing more than a helpless attempt to do something. One could not sway that which could not be mastered. Every sickness had a mind of its own. If it wanted to win, it would. Always. He knew that only too well.
And yet he took to watching over the boy’s sleep at night. It was what he had done for his own children, a long time ago. Sometimes, Rogh thought he could see them in the boy’s fever-glazed eyes, their faces crystal clear in his memories for once. Time had taken so much from him and his old heart wanted to weep with both sorrow and joy as he remembered Wah and Unk and little Heg. Their stars had shone so brightly, once.
Perhaps it was his desperate need to connect with them somehow that made Rogh start talking to the boy when he woke up one night though he did not know much of his language.
“Me Rogh,” he said, pointing at his chest. When the boy blinked at him, he repeated more insistently. “Rogh.”
“Ro,” the boy whispered in awe. The sound, though soft, rose his mother from her sleep. Relieved to see him awake, she held a cup to his lips, urging him to drink. The boy’s eyes flitted over to Rogh, and Rogh gave him an encouraging nod. “Drink. Is good.”
It became something of a routine for them over the next few nights. The boy would wake up, would call Rogh’s name and go right back to sleep after drinking as much as he could stomach. He did not seem to be getting worse but Rogh only allowed himself to feel hopeful when colour began to return to the boy’s face and he managed to stay awake for longer periods.
“Ro,” the boy said one night. He pointed a trembling finger at Rogh before looking expectantly at his mother. “Ro.”
The lady of the house glanced at the foot of the bed where Rogh was sitting.
“There’s nothing there, Humphrey,” she said with a painful smile. “It’s just the fever making you see things, love.”
Humphrey, Rogh thought bemused and tried out the word in his head. People chose such odd names for their children these days. Children, however, had not changed much in the many years since Rogh had been alive, and Humphrey was no exception. With a stubbornness that made Rogh smile, Humphrey kept pointing at him and repeating his name with mounting frustration. “Ro. Ro. Ro!”
His mother sighed wearily and reached out to smooth back the damp hair from his forehead. “Shh. Rest, my dear.”
Two days later, Humphrey’s fever broke. Rogh smiled along with everyone else when the boy was finally declared healthy enough to leave his bed. He gave Humphrey a little wave before he faded through the wall and did not stop when Humphrey called after him. It was better this way. Humphrey wouldn’t be able to see him for much longer and Rogh – Rogh did not want him to miss him when that moment came.
He looked in on Humphrey from time to time over the years – every time an illness struck him down and confined him to his bed. He would talk to him and stay by his side until the worst had passed just as he’d done during that cold week in autumn when the boy had been barely a year old. Humphrey did not remember any of that, did not remember Rogh, but that was all right. Rogh could fill the empty spaces in his memories.
Not now, though, Rogh thought when Humphrey started screaming.
Being dead was a lot to take in.
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Hi! How do you think Malthael would react if he find out that he have a son? Of course Malthael has NEVER touched a woman, the birth of this kid is a complete mystery!
There’s some info on his son for helping you to imagine his reaction: He’s 13~14, he have black messy hair and purple eyes (like his wings), he mainly wears black and….Except for his fashion this is really hard to believe that he’s Malthael’s son💀; He’s bold and sassy (especially with Imperius cuz he hate Imperius’s arrogance and he call him a racist) BUT he’s a genius,however a little erratic and crazy one(because of his dark past…EVEN IF DAMNIT DAWG, HES TOO YOUNG FOR A SUCH LIL’ TWISTED MIND) and he’s like « Bruh, this frightening twig is my father? :O »
Have a AMAZING day ! ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ
Honestly this sounds a little like my Mal's twin sons XD But with canon Malthael, I think he might be extremely suspicious and his reaction would depend on the time and place this theoretical kid is introduced to him in.
Cuz if you've got RoS Malthael, I think he'd be too far gone to care about a kid honestly. Pre-fall Malthael may be a little more curious, but still wary - he has the whole of Heaven to think about the safety of, naturally, even if this might be his son!
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remember to repost, not reblog!
bold all that apply to your muse , nature edition...
a brutally cold chill, the shadows of dusk settling in, a roaring river, snow crunching under boots, a gentle breeze whispering, the thundering of rocks falling, the feeling of unease before a storm, the warmth of the summer sun, drenched roads reflecting moving lights, the crash of ocean waves, the solitude of a forest clearing, the feeling of grass on bare feet, a blizzard so dense one may get lost, a clear & starry sky, the joy of splashing in puddles, fog rolling in unexpectedly, the crack of distant thunder, a distant howl that makes hair stand on end, the blistering heat of a desert, unending prairies of waving grass, listening for the sound of crickets beginning to sing, sand getting between the toes, a gentle dusting of snow, climbed trees and scuffed knees, a bog lurking in a shadowed wood, a downpour that traps you inside, skipping pebbles on a still surface, looking for shapes in the shifting clouds, a sandstorm stinging skin, the cracking twigs from an unseen animal, lightning so bright it lights up the sky, a rainbow peeking out from behind rain clouds, rolling hills that are perfect for rolling down, tiny plants stubbornly growing in pavement cracks
TAGGED BY: No one, I stole it!
TAGGING: @prodijedi @spokewar @mayxthexforce (for Ros Lai) & anyone else who wants to can say you stole it from me!
#Headcanons: Bail#Let the Games Begin (Dash Games)#(Italics sometimes apply or in certain moods)#(Bail is very warm and forest vibes or cool night sky vibes tbh)#(I love him your Honor)
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