#ria.fic

[riacte]

"It's rotten work," Ren says. His tail swishes nervously. He has the demeanor of a sad scolded puppy even though no one's scolding him.

False looks up from where she's placing down mud blocks in accordance to the roads that Ren lined out. Ren's theatre kid behaviour must be kicking in now, because to call her work rotten is dramatic and almost insulting.

"It's not rotten to me. There's stuff I would call rotten work, but this is no where near it."

False places down another block. Ren obediently shuffles out of the way.

"Rotten work is when I'm at a tourney and no one's listening to my strategy so I'm left all alone, but then they use my strategy and we actually win while everyone ignores me. Rotten work is when someone sabotages me and I'm the one left to sweep away the pieces. Rotten work is when someone attacks me on purpose and I'm the one who has to apologise for being mad and pacify everyone else. This?" False pulls out another mud block, "is building. And building is not rotten work."

Ren cautiously observes what False is doing, then also pulls out his mud blocks. He moves a few steps forward so he's placing blocks, but out of her way. "It's still work," he admits. "A lot of work, in fact."

False is nonplussed. "But that's what builders do, don't they? And I am the Minister of Transport."

Ren laughs, but it's a quiet laugh. He pauses like he's hesitating, then he mumbles,

"I'm a lot of work."

Now it's False's turn to pause. Her hands continue with placing the blocks, because that's what she does. Building. Grinding. Helping friends out. So on and so forth.

"It's peculiar work for sure," False says, her tone light. "Picking up your stuff when you spontaneously explode. Bugging you about MCC. Teaching you basic colour theory. You can't get orange from blue, Ren. It sadly doesn't work that way."

Ren chuckles at the jab. "Worth a shot, eh?"

False coughs. "Yeah, like I said, peculiar work. But it's fine. I like doing peculiar work because I'm a peculiar person and you're a peculiar person. But together we are normal. Very normal indeed."

Ren considers it. "What if I don't want to be normal?"

"Then we won't be normal."

"What if I want to be normal?"

"Then we'll be normal. Or at least pretend to be."

Ren laughs. "That doesn't make any sense."

False smiles wryly. "Come on now, Ren, when have I ever made any sense?"

He shoots her a grin. "But you're like the most sensible person in the Neighbourhood!"

False lets the silence hang between them for comedic effect. "... No."

"No?"

"If I were sensible, I would've left the Neighourhood long ago."

"Hey!"

"Just kidding. That's why I'm not sensible. That's why I like not being sensible. Besides, I'm not the one who organised the ministry or planned the roads. You did. You're the one with the vision. I'm just following it."

Ren looks around the paths and his tail wags in excitement. "But you're contributing to the vision! I saw the bits and pieces you added! It looks great, by the way!"

False nonchalantly continues placing. "Yeah, you see, that's part of the peculiar work. You draw up the canvas and I edit in the details. It's like how we did the raceway last time."

"Yeah, but I haven't grinded as hard this time around. Too busy with my permit, my dude."

False giggles. "Would you call getting the beacon permit drawing a short straw?"

"I mean, I was the second to die in Demise, but you won and everything worked out in the end, so I don't mind." A pause. "Also gives me a chance to kill those dastardly withers as revenge for all the times they defeated me."

"Right, it's a lot of work to kill them, never mind farm them."

Ren sighs deeply. "There's definitely a lot going on. Especially those buttons, man."

False glances up. They're both still doing the roads. She watches Ren shift up a step and place down a mud brick slab.

"Yeah, but it'll be worth it. I'll buy your beacons. Actually, you can go do your buttons. You can kill some withers. I'll take care of this."

She can almost hear his apologies— sorry that she's doing the roads that he was supposed to do, sorry that he didn't reply to her messages, sorry that he's the way he is.

(And maybe he picks it up too— the way she actually means "I'll take care of you". He always seems to instinctively know what she means under her contradictory and confusing words. In the same way she instinctively knows what he means.)

Ren softly chuckles. "It's peculiar work."

"It's peculiar work especially if it's me, and especially if it's you—"

False sets down a mud brick slab right next to the one Ren placed. Just one slight push, and the pattern of the bricks align like they'd been inseparable from the get go. The corner of her lips quirk up.

"— but that's why I do it."

[riacte]

This is a cruel joke, Grian thinks as he squints at Scar’s backside. Scar’s completely oblivious even as Grian feels his pulse thrumming into tune with Scar’s. There’s an ache in him, itching and clawing at his heart, the tell-tale sign of a soulbond. It feels an extra limb, an odd jolt in his heart. Grian’s hungry. Scar’s hungry. Grian’s hurt. Scar’s hurt.

Grian knows. Scar doesn’t.

At first, Grian thinks it’s all a joke. But he watches Scar chase after allays and Jellie pandas and proudly proclaiming them as his soulmates and Grian’s heart sinks. Just a little bit.

Do you not care, Scar? Do you not care that we’re soulmates?

And Grian hates himself even more because it was him who weaved up this world. Him who designed this, crafted this from his visions, and the universe decides to give him and Scar another chance. Like the last two times wasn’t enough. The universe is nudging and pushing its creator into the same direction, time and time again— but for what? It all ends in tragedy anyway, rings of cacti and bloodied fists, so why bother? Why Scar, of all people, again?

So Grian sighs and picks up the dripstone. It’s his duty to look after Scar, it always has been. And Scar has to know. But Scar doesn’t care, doesn’t spare him a second glance, he cooes over his Jellies and then smiles at him, so oblivious yet so excited about his cats.

“Look directly at me,” Grian asks as he puts the dripstone on top of Scar. It falls down and hits Scar, and Grian winces at the sharp pain.

Scar doesn’t look at Grian. He’s gazing at his Jellies in adoration.

(They’re soulmates, and he doesn’t care, doesn’t care doesn’t care—)

“Scar!” Grian barks sharply, and he can’t even bring himself to be mad because that’s how Scar is. He’s falling into the same trap the universe set him up, he’s going to have to protect Scar again, and Scar’s disregarding himself as always, because that’s how they work, and—

Grian has one more dripstone. One final try.

“Ready? Look at me.”

And Scar’s green eyes meets Grian’s; curious, earnest, yet so oblivious.

“I’m looking!”

The dripstone falls. It lands.

Scar cries out.

Grian just sighs.

Matching blood splatters on their armour, a shared pain coursing through them. They’re mirrors of each other. Their eyes are locked. And Grian sees that Scar finally understands.

There’s a long pause.

“Oh,” Scar says softly. “Oh.”

(The universe murmurs to itself in glee, pleased that it’s done its job again.)

[riacte]

“hold the line,” a familiar pfp on your dashboard declares. it’s a mutual. you don’t remember when you’ve followed them, you don’t remember when they’ve followed you, because they’ve always been there. you know their blorbo through osmosis, you know who they’ll campaign for. it’s a constant in mcytblr.

“hold the line,” you echo back, fingers trembling as you press the reddit app and carefully place a pixel. kermitcraft is now back to hermitcraft. good grief. the joke stopped being funny ages ago.

“vote for quackity!” “let’s go quackity let’s go!” you go back to tumblr. it’s 50/50. you watch with dazed eyes as the numbers change— 200, 45, 19, 8. they mean nothing, they mean everything. the thin line between grian and quackity fluctuates. your heart thumps, tense and anxious.

“hold the line!”

a ping from your discord, from your comrades in the r/hermitcraft server. not the lime green gme line starting up shit again. with a resigned sigh, you push the gme pixels back to their side.

“hold the line!”

the joehills stans are back. you voted for him in the first hour. you dutifully reblog the propaganda posts anyway. joe has lime green glasses. the gme line is lime green. refresh the stats page. still 50/50. hold the line.

“hold the line!”

oh god, not rogues on r/place. “please,” someone sobs, “we need to maintain peace with our biggest ally brasil.” we cannot afford another crisis. we must remain diplomatic. “HOLD THE LINE!” you blare into your microphone with a resounding @/everyone discord ping. we’ve got to keep our own people in check.

“hold the line!”

scar and techno’s fandoms are rallying. 20k votes, 30k votes, 40k votes. they rise to dizzying heights. another 50/50. there’s a spreadsheet. there’s fanart. there’s fanfic. your dash is in chaos. hold the line.

“hold the line!”

not the reddit void attacking, it creeps over and suffocates your pixels. regroup, rebuild, reapply the blush. it’s day three on r/place and it feels like forever. you’re obsessed. you’re getting too attached.

“hold the line!”

it’s the final minute. grian and quackity are trembling. messages fly by in your discord server as the countdown truly begins. it’s a reverse sweep, an underdog down to the very last second. we are in the metaphorical trenches. honourable allies, honourable enemies.

“hold the line!”

the gme line is our friend now, helping to maintain a sense of structure and stability after the void’s attack. the lime line is decorated with two nether portals. it’s cute. once upon a time, you hated those lime pixels. now, it’s your turn the place them.

“HOLD THE LINE!”

it comes from various people on your dash, text posts melting into one. time is ticking and running out. people are desperate jubilant relieved tense obsessed emotional joyous defeated victorious. we’ve lost track of the days and nights. new accounts flood in. they say the end is coming.

there’s a break.

the canvas expands again.

the fandom regroups.

there’s a break.

new colours are added, a beautiful collision of vibrancy.

(somewhere, someone posts their 8th picture of themselves as their sexyman campaign.)

(somewhere, someone adds a pixel of blush to a beloved mural.)

they say the end is coming. we’re exhausted, energised, exhilarated. so when someone says,

“hold the line—“

you hold onto it. grip onto it with your fingers, knuckles bleeding from countless cactus circles.

you hold the damn line.

[riacte]

You don’t have to love your “soulmate.”

Heck, you can even hate them.

That’s what Cleo and Martyn do. At first, she’s frustrated and upset by how little her so-called soulmate seems to care about her health— their health. Then she sees him with Pearl, the two having emerged from the fiery depths of the Nether, and he’s as nonchalant and as unaffected as always.

And Cleo stops caring.

She punches him and he punches her, and they’re both stubborn, awful, loyal people. Their bruised knuckles are mirrors of each other, they add pain onto layers of pain, fully knowing they’re hurting themselves by hurting the other. But no, Cleo doesn’t care. And ironically, Martyn is on the same page as she is. They’re soulmates, she thinks with a scornful huff, and they share the same views about this stupid connection the universe has oh-so-kindly graced them with. What bullshit.

Because yes, it turns out Cleo and Martyn are similar after all in the sense they don’t like it when the universe decides for them. Cleo chose Scott. She has free will, and her mind is independent from the incessant tug in her heart, thank you very much. Now she chooses to hate Martyn and vice versa.

It’s war. They don’t speak, but it’s war. Cleo stubs her toe in the mines. Martyn runs through prickly bushes. Cleo goes out hunting in the night and Martyn wakes up gasping at the feeling of an arrow through his arm. Cleo’s out with Scott when she abruptly feels flames licking her legs, and it remains there for a suspicious few seconds before she feels the cool relief from water. (Cleo’s not stupid. She knows Martyn has quick reflexes. And she knows he’s petty; she just knows.)

Sometimes neither of them eat. They let the hunger gnaw at them, hollowness in their stomachs, but their hearts ache with pride and stubbornness. It becomes a competition to see who can last longer without breaking. It’s not self harm, because Cleo knows they’re both guarded and all about self preservation. And as much as they bother each other, they don’t laugh when someone eats first. After all, it’s for their own benefit. It’ll be like laughing at themselves.

And it’s not like they ever did something terrible to each other. No, no, no. They just exist and are inconveniently soulbounded. They annoy each other out of spite. It’s their way of rebelling against the fabric of the universe that wraps around them. And as strange as it is, they share the same goals. They’re united in their desire to not be united. They’re twin flames burning independently.

And it’s fine. It’s really fine.

Until Scott dies.

He’s been shaking for a few minutes now, frantically shoving food into his mouth. Cleo’s panicking and messaging Pearl, but she’s not replying. Cleo doesn’t have health potions, she doesn’t know what’s going on, she knows Pearl won’t intentionally harm Scott, but Pearl’s dying, and Scott’s dying, so—

Scott doesn’t even get to say goodbye. Cleo blinks and her chosen partner is gone, leaving behind a hollow suit of armour and half-eaten fish. A flower from his inventory flops lifelessly on the ground.

No.

Scott’s not dead, he can’t be dead—

No.

Scott still has a life left, right? He totally wasn’t on red. He wasn’t on red, despite Cleo seeing him every day. He can’t be dead for real.

NO.

Cleo picks up Scott’s gear, his chest plate over her thumping heart, his trusty sword in her sweaty palm, and she runs.

Hunger throbs inside her, her hearts are low, and she feels wounds on her legs. Martyn must be hurt. Her lungs ache with effort (how does she feel so dead and alive at the same time?) and she doesn’t know whether it’s from him or her. Cleo barges through a thick forest, the branches scratching her face, and she thinks with a vindictive sort of satisfaction that Martyn must be feeling her pain too.

Martyn’s panting and resting on a rock, holding what appears to be the remains of Pearl’s tattered armour. His face is oddly frozen but Cleo knows the grief churning behind his eyes. She doesn’t feel it, but she knows because they’re similar people.

“Pearl died to a mob. I couldn’t save her.”

Cleo flops down on the rock next to Martyn. There’s a sizeable distance between them. Their hearts are half down and neither of them have eaten. They share the familiar aches of hunger and pain and untreated wounds and oh, the grief of losing someone.

Now both of their loyalties are to dead people. Cleo sees the fresh scars on Martyn’s face, the ones she got from running through a forest. He doesn’t do anything about it. She doesn’t do anything about it.

It hurts. They hurt together, yet they’re fiercely determined to not to be.

“Do you want to eat?” Cleo finally asks, because it’s their health that they’re sharing, and while she and Martyn are soulbounded enemies, it doesn’t feel right to do stuff without his consent when he’s next to her.

Martyn shakes his head. Cleo thinks he feels guilty because he and Pearl didn’t part on best terms. There’s a trickle of blood running down his lip. Cleo feels it too.

“Not now,” he says, and Cleo can assume he feels apologetic, because that’s what she would do in his position. Martyn’s suffering, and he wants to have his moment before he’s reminded of his unbreakable ties to Cleo. Their hunger can gnaw at him for a little more, a punishment for how Martyn failed to save Pearl.

They sit next to each other, twin wounds littering their bodies and souls.

It hurts. They hurt.

-

A little inspired by this. Really intrigued by Cleo-Martyn and their potential dynamic.

I don’t want this to be an enemies to lovers thing or even an enemies to friends thing. They’re soulmates who can’t stand each other because they’re so similar. That’s it.

I know I’m being melodramatic here but like, it’s the Life series. We’re all dramatic about block people lol

[riacte]

All the routes Renchanting could go in Life Series 5:

(Self sabotage along the lines of Ren burning his tower in Last Life, swearing, angst with a happy ending, 2k)

1.

Ren moves on, and Martyn pretends he moved on too, but he really never left. Ren forms a partnership with different people, he declares himself as best friends with someone, but when Martyn strays into his path, Ren can't help but take notice of him. Can't help but trust him once more, can't help but to offer him a deal, can't help himself.

Ren's a seasoned veteran now; he understands that war is inevitable and he has to keep his friends safe in an impenetrable fortress. He's not as naive as he was the first time, when he freely let people into his enchanting emporium. If Martyn offered to be his marketing manager this time round, Ren might not have let him (but deep down, he knows he'll always let him in). Maybe Martyn's the chink in Ren's armour. If that's the case, then so be it.

Martyn's not jealous. He's really not. Of course he's glad Ren's found new partnerships and new allies this time round. Of course he knows you can't repeat the past. He's just relieved that Ren is here this time, and he finds a little guidance in him. Something is better than nothing. Even though he has his allies, Martyn's still a wanderer, but he makes his rounds back to Ren periodically, in search for something that he's too scared to ask.

It's not his place anyway. Ren belongs somewhere. Martyn's not in the equation.

So Martyn patches up the fragments of his soul, tucks away his puns and oneliners, packs up his monologues and vows, carefully puts the memories of Third Life back in that little part of his heart, and continues to roam across the world. Walls, corners, edges. Nothing has changed.

(Still, when an unexpected mob strikes, Martyn grabs Ren in a panic, their hands find each other instinctively, they run and they run, and for a single precious moment, it's them against the world again.)

(And when Ren inevitably dies, Martyn stands and blankly stares at what's left of his not-ally, not-partner, not-king. He wonders if it would've been different if he was Ren's Hand again. Probably not. They're all doomed anyway.)

2.

Ren and Martyn ally, hands shook in a new agreement. It's not Dogwarts, but it's something.

They have new allies and new enemies. They're close, but not too close. They have a learned sense of self preservation. They crack their jokes, tend to their crops, enchant their gear, but it's not serious, right? Treating it seriously only results in more pain later. No one wants that.

Ren understands nothing good comes out of declaring himself as king. He always gets overthrown, his beloved defenders always get killed by the masses, his kingdoms always go up in flames. It's best to keep a distance from everyone. It's for the greater good.

This is a temporary alliance. They are all temporary alliances. It's just for fun. Once the end is near, it's time for them to drift away. Ren can't bear getting people getting hurt for his sake.

"We used to be something, don't you think so?" Martyn once asks Ren.

They're both thinking about Dogwarts. About a life a long, long time ago. A doomed life. A beautiful, wonderful, yet catastrophically painful life.

Is it better to have loved and lost, or better to not have loved at all?

They seem to have came to the conclusion organically. It's out of self-preservation, after all. Don't get too close. The story of the King and his loyal Hand is over. Let the dust settle on their storybook. Let the pages turn yellow. Let it wither. Let it die.

It's awful, isn't it? How they've finally found each other, after trials and tribulations, but they're too scared to try again. Where's that defiance against fate? Where's "give me a shield and I'll follow you to the ends of the world"? Where's "this is us now, this is us"? Where's the passion, the reverence, the reckless devotion? What beat it out of them?

"... We could be something, don't you think so?" is Ren's reply.

But they don't. They don't try anymore. Too tired, too drained, too timid now.

Somehow this feels worse than being separated. Not trying at all.

3.

Ren's not here.

Martyn builds his own walls, builds his own tower, wraps the tattered scarf around him once more, the Hand frozen in time, sits and stays right where he's been left. Third Life never ended for him.

Ren showed him life, didn't he? Where is he now? Where's the life he promised him?

Martyn dimly remembers Ren sitting himself on fire when he was lonely in Last Life. Back then, Martyn had dropped everything to rush to Ren's aid. Ren's the one inflicting damage on himself, the prince locking himself in his burning tower, and Martyn, ever the firefighter, puts out his flames with a bucket of water.

In that life, Martyn leaped to Ren's defence. How could he not? Logically, Martyn should've left Ren. Stopped his damage from damaging Martyn himself. But Martyn's never been logical about Ren, has he?

Is Ren watching him, this time? Is his king out there, somewhere? Does he care? Does he care at all?

... Martyn reaches for the flint and steel.

3.5

(Someone— it does not matter who— knocks it out of his hand. It kicks Martyn out of his stupor. He blinks. His head hurts. What the heck is he doing there, mooning about a lost king? Why the fuck does he even care, when everyone moved on?

This has gone on for too long. If he can't pull himself up from the abyss, he'll have to go cold turkey. There's no other way. It's for his own good, Martyn convinces himself.

In a violent, swift move, Martyn rips off his scarf. He watches it burn.

... He swears he's only crying from the smoke.)

4.

Martyn moves on. Ren thinks he moved on from Dogwarts and everything, but once he's back on the server, everything comes rushing back to him, as easy as running water.

He misses having a faction to protect. He misses being loyal to his people. He deeply misses his friends. He misses having Martyn by his side. He misses Martyn.

But Martyn's back to being a wanderer, cheerfully involving himself in everyone's business yet not staying with anyone, because he's permanently more selfish now, and nothing's going to stop Martyn once he's fallen off that edge. He's a cannonball, a tornado, a wild card. He's everywhere, but he's nowhere.

Martyn is cunning, devious, sharp as ever, still funny as fuck, but there's a wild look in his eyes now. He's untamed. He doesn't give a shit about anything. He lies. He backstabs. He's a nuisance. Thief. Plunderer. Shit-stirrer. And it's all for the heck of it.

Whatever happened to the loyal knight Ren once knew? Was Martyn always this way? Was Ren the only exception? Or has Limited Life broken him?

Ren still tries, with his kind smiles and elaborate gifts and offers of working with him, but Martyn seems to be avoiding him on purpose. What worked in Third Life doesn't work anymore.

Ren knows he should distance himself considering Martyn doesn't give a shit anymore, but a part of him can't help but look back. Maybe he can change Martyn. Show him life again. Maybe, maybe, just maybe.

("We can be allies again," he offers hopefully. Martyn laughs, and it's such a familiar sound that Ren can't help but perk up, but it's a harsh laugh. Twisted. Warped.

"No thank you," Martyn replies. Ren thinks Martyn's holding back calling him "boss" sarcastically. At least there's a line that he's not crossing.)

Ren knows he should let it go. It hurts, but dragging it only hurts more. Martyn doesn't want him, not even a little bit. His friends convince him. So Ren loyally sticks to his own circle of allies. He tries to forget about the permanent chink in his armour.

But when Ren carelessly steps into a trap, he thinks he hears an achingly familiar voice scream, "Ren! No!"

The world explodes in red and yellow. Fire. Dynamite. It's just like his first death, the one that turned him yellow the first time, the death that eventually led to his beheading, the one that started it all.

Now it ends. Now it all ends.

Ren's bleeding. He's on the ground. He thinks he hears Martyn's voice. That's nice. It's nice even if it's a hallucination. As his consciousness fades, he hears Martyn's voice,

"... If only you were there last time. If only I care about you as much as I did then. But the universe never lets it align, does it? You got over me when I didn't. Now I'm over you when you're not. I’m too early, you’re too late.”

Ren smiles. Oh, he sees through Martyn's facade. He sees it now. His lips part weakly.

"... Liar."

(Martyn's untamed. He doesn't give a shit about anything. He lies. He backstabs. He's a nuisance. Thief. Plunderer. Shit-stirrer. Liar. Liar.)

In response, Ren feels a squeeze on his hand. Comforting. Regretful. Apologizing.

"I don't deserve you. Don't forgive me, Ren."

I always do, Ren thinks. But by that time, he's already gone.

5.

There is a simple rule to the Life series— everyone is doomed from the beginning. No matter who wins.

Ren is doomed. A kind, gentle man can't survive till the end. That's why Ren had to kill himself and let the Red King take over. Is that why Martyn won the season without Ren? Is that how Martyn won, without Ren holding him back, without Ren to guide him?

You either die a hero, or live long enough to be the villain.

Yet, none of it is pointless. The seasons are filled with joy, laughter, genuine connections are formed, and while it can be tragic, it can also be soul-shatteringly beautiful.

It's worth it. It's always worth it.

Once, Ren showed Martyn life. Because all Martyn knew back then was how to survive, not how to live.

But now, Martyn doesn't just want to survive. He wants to thrive. What good is surviving if everyone dies at the end, including his king? What good it is anyway, when Martyn ends up falling and falling again? What good is conquering the world when every tiny bit of it reminds him of Ren?

So when the new season dawns, Martyn decides to throw all of it away. His angst, his inhibitions, his self-pity. Sure, everything goes up in flames anyway, and this fragile world is temporary, but is that any way to live? To live without living, to live without trying at all?

They're all at spawn. Everyone's enthusiastically greeting each other and Martyn does the same, but he's frantically searching for someone, eyes wide. He's waited months and months for this. He can't take it anymore.

And then—

(A familiar chuckle, a flash of brown hair, eyes turning to meet his—)

Martyn remembers the precious vow they made in a parallel universe, under the moonlit sky, blood splattered on the altar, those bygone years and bygone lives, and he runs—

"REN!" Martyn screams like he's never screamed before.

Martyn's hands reach out. He doesn't care if Ren has moved on, doesn't care if Ren doesn't want him anymore. He only cares that Ren is here. Alive. In front of him.

And so he embraces Ren tightly, so very tightly.

"Martyn!" Ren sounds surprised by the intensity. "Dude! I missed you!"

And with those simple words, the shattered pieces of his world start falling into place again. Martyn laughs, a pure, genuine laugh from his heart. Everything's alright now. They can begin again.

"Welcome back, my liege."

[riacte]

Fuck it, posting the False-Martyn Secret Life body swap AU the distressed clowns cooked up in the copium lounge when it dropped.

Basically we wanted False in Life series soooooo bad and we wanted Renchanting soooooo bad and was like. Hey we can just make up our own stuff right. Hey what if body swap AU. So she could go to play Life series and Martyn could find Ren on Hermitcraft. Hey what if we just did that yeah.

-

False is falling.

Well, she's falling, but she's doing it in a nonchalant way, and she's actually very confused about the whole thing, but she's trying not to show it.

"Do you know why you're here?" the Watchers seethe, their many voices echoing in the void.

False is unaffected by the Watchers. "Um, no? A bit of explaining would be appreciated, thank you."

"The Watchers are hungry," the Watchers continue. "Ravenous. Distressed. Depressed. Straight up delusional. We crave more blood. Drama. Stories."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, but what does that have to do with me?"

"The Watchers want you. " A pause. "We've always had. Since like, 2021."

False blinks. "Oh. I'm… flattered?"

"Copium can only sustain us for so long," the Watchers continue grandly. "We're good at creating crumbs out of thin air, but we're at our limit now. We hold on until we can't anymore. So, please. We need you here."

False shrugs. She's still falling. "Sure. Why not? This seems fun. I'll join you in a heartbeat."

"… You seem unaffected by us. We're gods. We control the universe. We control you. We have interesting fanon portrayals. AND WE'RE MEANT TO BE SCARY!!"

"Dude, I'm literally falling into the void," False points out. "Voices aren't really scary compared to that."

"… You're an interesting one, False Symmetry."

"Charmed," False replies drily. "Anyways, where do I begin?"

The Watchers explain the rules to her and how she'll be sharing the body of another player. "Martyn. Hmm. Well, I guess that might as well happen," says False, who is on Tumblr and has probably Seen Things.

“By the way, he's somehow down to half of his hearts already."

False gasps, highly offended because she'll be starting out with a disadvantage. "Martyn's done WHAT NOW-"

-

A confused Martyn wakes up inside the Hermitcraft server. Fortunately for him, the gears in his mind turn quickly. He picks up the communicator next to him and instantly understands the situation.

Ren: Falsie!! When are we gonna meet at the race? :D False: would 11 in the morning be ok? Ren: Yes!! See you there!! RD <3 <3 <3 :)

Martyn gasps dramatically. Is this what it feels like to have Ren answer your DMs?

[riacte]

I'll Bring Him Down

(CW: blood, death, Biblical references)

Ren is almost too kind for this world. Maybe Martyn will call him a saint because how eagerly he offers his enchanting services to everyone, but Ren is too flawed to be a saint. There are holes in his selfhood, his goodness haphazardly spilling out, he trusts too easily, reveals secrets he's supposed to keep, and he's made so many mistakes that Martyn wonders why he's still working for Ren.

It's the long game, right? He'll get Ren to trust him. Be his right hand man, even. And then a swift stab in the back.

Ren's hopes and dreams will come tumbling down at the very moment, and Martyn will relish in it. Martyn will be the very proof that kindness and forgiveness doesn't always work, and that serves Ren right! Ren can't live in his fantasy world forever. His goodness and naivety is almost an annoyance. And it is in Martyn's secret and twisted thoughts that he plans to ruin Ren for life. It's his biggest guilty pleasure, to build Ren up, coax and cajole Ren, kiss him tenderly on the ear, and then stab him in the heart. It's the ultimate betrayal.

He'll bring him down. Ren sits up there on his throne with his pretense of purity and kindness. No man is without sin. Martyn sees that gentle smile directed to him and it makes him want to wrench out his own heart. When he goes to hell, he's dragging his king, his fool with him.

But what Martyn neglects is his own vulnerability. Ren trusts and loves too easily, and backstabbing him is like low hanging fruit. Is that what Martyn really wants? An easy prey?

When his king calls to him, he's ready. He's a Hand, he's an axe ready to be swung and used. Ren keeps on forgiving him even when he shouldn't, his kisses an apology for his own weakness and a promise at the same time. Ren kisses Martyn's hand, his cheek, his ears, and finally his lips—

Martyn tastes copper and tears. He pushes himself forward, hungrily and desperately sinking into the kiss, clinging to the last of his body warmth even as Ren gurgles and blood spills from his mouth.

It is done, Martyn thinks faintly.

There's a bright red smear on his lips. Ren's blood taints him, corrupts him, but why would such a good man corrupt him? Martyn's rotten to the core from the start.

Martyn feels so hollow, like he's the one who's been betrayed. The thin veil in his temple has been violently torn into pieces. He falls onto his knees, the aftertaste of Ren lingering in his bloodied mouth. He'd wanted to take Ren and ruin him, but why is Martyn the one who's irreparably ruined?

In the end, it's Ren who brings Martyn down, down, down.

[riacte]

Martyn did not expect to be boxed in when he comes back.

At first, he’s confused by the darkness and the smoke stinging his nostrils. His heart thumps, pumping adrenaline into his veins because he’s used to danger and he’s used to reacting quickly— but logically, Martyn knows he’s safe. Well, as safe as one can be on the Hermitcraft server.

He’s being… burnt alive? Sacrificed? Or is someone being sacrificed to him? He dimly hears the sounds of footsteps over the ever-present crackling of fire.

And then a crack in the stone walls.

Martyn stares outside. Flames, alluring and beautiful in their danger, dance and flicker. And through the fire (was it you mid the fire and the ember?), Martyn sees him.

Ren, smiling back at him, firelight dancing in his gentle eyes, shadows flickering across his face—

And Martyn can’t help but be reminded of their past lives. Dogwarts up in flames. Ren’s self imposed exile in his burning tower, crying as he hurt himself, and Martyn can almost hear his feeble voice crying out, “Stop it, Ren! Stop hurting yourself!”.

But this time, Ren isn’t a defeated king going up in smoke, isn’t a prince burning in his self destructive torture. He’s just Ren, Ren on the Hermitcraft server. He’s close. He’s tangible. He’s not worlds apart. He’s just— here. Able to be touched. Able to be loved.

And so Martyn stares at Ren, drinking it all in, delirious with heat from the fire and from his heart, and adrenaline’s pumped into his veins for a different reason—

The fire melts away the winter, the ice that grew jagged and sharp between them. It melts away their inhibitions and fears.

The flames grow. The smoke clouds their eyes. And under Ren’s soft gaze, Martyn burns.

[riacte]

give me half of your heart (and i'll give you all of mine)

In Secret Life, Martyn finds Ren waiting for him when he comes back from hell. (Can read as platonic/romantic/whatever)

-

Martyn panted when he finally saw sunlight come down from above. He'd spent most of his time in the caves, he'd lost an ungodly amount of hearts, and he was finally returning to the warm and brightly lit overworld. Well, at least that was done with. Martyn took one step after the other. The square of light in front of him became bigger and bigger.

Sweat clung onto Martyn's skin (the Nether was a horrible experience as usual, and Martyn knew he'd brought it on himself), his hands shook from exhaustion, and he felt dirty all over. Soot stained his face and hands, his muscles ached, his vision was spinning, and then-

"Martyn?"

A painfully familiar voice. Every cell in Martyn's body came alive. Suddenly, all the broken fragments of his soul sewed themselves together. And Martyn saw it- a hazy silhouette in the sunlight, as whimsical as a dream, a warm welcome to the weary Orpheus as he stumbled out of the underworld.

"REN!" Martyn screamed, and he dashed out of the caves with wild abandon. He instantly collapsed into Ren's arms and held back his sobs of relief. "My liege! You're back!"

Ren laughed, and it was such a wonderful laugh that it brought Martyn back to life again. "Yes! I'm here, Martyn! I missed you so much, dude!"

Martyn looked up to longingly stare at Ren. The sunlight lit Ren up beautifully and it was like he was glowing, but Ren's smile was brighter than the sun itself. Martyn's heart bloomed like a flower that was finally exposed to sunlight after a year of pure darkness.

"Oh my goodness, dude, so much has happened since you left! I-I don't even know where to begin-" Martyn's hearts popped up in the corner of his eye, and he gulped. "I've had a horrible start and I keep on losing hearts. I've literally been to hell and back."

Now that Martyn could relax for a bit, he could feel his adrenaline slipping past him like water through his fingers. He continued to embrace Ren tightly, so very tightly. "How did you even get here?" Martyn questioned. "Did Grian pull some strings?"

Ren chuckled, but it sounded slightly awkward. "Erm, let's just say I have my methods. But don't worry about me, worry about you first, me hand. How are your hearts?"

Martyn exhaled. "I've been heartbroken, my lord." Martyn's voice took on that humble, almost whiny tone he used when he was roleplaying with Ren, except Martyn was using that tone semi-unironically. He could always afford to be vulnerable around Ren.

"My soul's been shattered. I've been unguided since you left. I don't even know what to do anymore. I'm meant to be a survivor, but I'm not even doing a good job at that." Martyn chuckled weakly. He didn't even know why he was doing so badly. He'd been a loose cannon in Limited Life, and now, it felt like all of his strings had been cut, including his own strings of self-preservation. Martyn was basically going around begging for hearts and attention like he was a poor Victorian child stuck outside in the rain. It had taken cajoling to convince Bdubs to give him a heart, and Martyn had been lucky that Bdubs was nice. Martyn, the independent, selfish, survivalist Martyn, knew it would only get worse from now on.

"Oh dear." Ren soothingly patted Martyn's back. "But never fear, me loyal hand! Your king is always happy to provide. If a heart is what you seek, a heart is what I'll give!"

Martyn took a shuddering breath. "But milord, I don't have anything to give back to you," he said anxiously. "I gave my heart to Timmy at the start. A-and I don't know if I have anything of worth with me."

Ren stared solemnly into Martyn's eyes. "Martyn, you devoted lifetimes to me. That's more than enough. That's actually more than I deserve. This is just my small way of repaying you, so please take it."

A red heart fluttered out from Ren's chest. Martyn was drawn to it, fascinated, and he watched as the heart slipped into his own chest. Warmth instantly burst from his heart, and Martyn watched as his health went up. And for a split second, everything was right in the world again. Martyn couldn't help but smile.

"Thank you so much, Ren," Martyn breathed out. How could Ren give him a heart so selflessly in a world of eventual cruelty and war? Ren hadn't even wanted anything from him.

But just as Martyn was instinctively drawn to Ren, Ren was also instinctively drawn to Martyn. They wanted to protect and serve each other. Of course Ren, that old dog, would be kind to Martyn without asking anything else in return. Ren, his generous, noble, compassionate king. Ren, the center of his narrative, the direction of his moral compass, the vow etched into his heart. His one and only, his lifeline, his everything.

Martyn turned to look at Ren, and he was as shiny as ever, the sunlight like a angelic halo around him, so bright that it was blinding, Martyn squinted and stretched out his hand-

"-Martyn! Martyn!"

Hard ground. A pressure on his arm. Martyn's consciousness dizzily returned to him, and he realised he was sprawled on the ground, the weight of his body crushing his hand. Dammit. Had he fainted? How did he get into that position?

"Don't die, Martyn! I already gave you a heart! You can't die in the first session, geez!"

Martyn blearily blinked. His lips parted. "... Ren?"

"No, this is Bdubs," came that voice, and Martyn suddenly felt ashamed. How could he ever mistake Bdubs' recognisable voice? And why was he thinking about Ren? Ren wasn't in this season. Again. That was an indisputable fact.

"What happened?" Martyn asked as Bdubs helped him up.

"I have no idea. I found you collapsed on the entrance to the caves and immediately came running. I was so scared some creeper was gonna blow you up."

Martyn smiled at Bdubs. "Damn, thanks. You're a real one, Bdubs."

"Yeah, yeah, of course I am, I'm the best," Bdubs drawled with zero sense of shame. "Anyways, how are your hearts? I already gave you one, so I hope that has been useful to you."

Martyn laughed awkwardly. "Umm, what do you mean? It's been going great so far! Other people have been giving me hearts-"

Martyn blinked. Wait. People had been giving him hearts, right? Who had given him hearts? Why did Martyn suddenly feel uneasy?

Martyn looked at the line of his hearts. It was just as he remember it, which meant it didn't look good. But then the hearts trembled, and-

Half a heart.

Half a heart popped out of nowhere.

Martyn glanced at it with surprise and mild suspicion. Half an heart... how odd. Maybe his hearts hadn't finished loading. But he couldn't recall losing half a heart of damage. And surely no player could magically give half a heart to him, because the rules stated it was a single heart or nothing.

(Unless that person wasn't a player.)

(Unless that person was merely half of a player- a ghost, a phantom, a figment of someone's imagination, a hallucination, half real and half unreal, called back through space and time to guide his loyal knight.)

Half a heart- it was a weak imitation of the game rules, the desperate effort of someone trying to join the world but knowing they can't. It wasn't whole, it wasn't complete, it was just half, and yet-

Martyn's heart thumped like he'd felt a warm, reassuring hand on it.

Half of a heart. Half of a promise.

Once upon a time, Martyn had given all of his heart to his beloved king. Now, he received half of it back. So it was only natural that he would receive the other half of it some time later.

It was a promise. Not forged in the chilly moonlight, but showered by the warm sunshine this time.

Wait for me, my hand. I'll be back. I promise.

[riacte]

“You ignore me!” False complains like a petulant child. Ren is nervously shifting around, his eyes darting between her and the innocent bystander Joe. “You went past me and you ignored me!”

Ren gasps, upset because she’s upset. “No! I was trying to be sneaky!”

“—And then I came over and you’re talking with Joe! You ignore me,” False bursts out crossly.

Ren takes a step closer. False takes a step back.

-

Vignettes about all the times and universes in which Ren ignores False.

-

This genfic is exactly 10k words because I painstakingly edited it lol. Featuring a couple of king + guard scenarios, a hermit guild fantasy AU, a dash of Space Opera AU, memory loss, superpowers, and too many MCC related scenarios to count :D

[riacte]

"I hope I'll win that All Stars Poll," Luck-Be-With-Ye-Hand solemnly declares as it scrolls through its sad gay fanfiction on tumblr dot com. "I mean, four thousand notes is a significant achievement."

"What?" Sexy-Maidtyn cocks an eyebrow. "You think your desperately homosexual 50 word drabble is sexier than me? In my stockings? I was on live television, dude. You're just some post on a hellsite."

"Erm, exsqueeze me guys, can we stop fighting?" A rather sooty Fine-Lips climbs out from its favourite spot, the burning box.

"Oh shut up, we all know you're boosted by the recency bias," Blush-Pixel grumbles from its corner where it is painstakingly painting a mural of Ren. "I was from 2022. I'll be glad to get some votes."

3L-Never-Ended stares longingly at the mural of Ren, too sad to even campaign for itself.

"Love how we're kind of in the background," the other two moments from Martyn's blog mumble in unison (In-Love-With-Ren and Minecraft-Boyfriend). They've been overshadowed by their famous sibling, that one known as the "fuckass drabble".

"You guys all have weird names," Beautiful-Eyes declares snootily as it sashays into the room. "Look at me: I'm the youngest and I'm gorgeous. Also, I'm one of Ren's champions. There's not that many of them."

"I would know!" Unguided-Hand dramatically sobs into the red scarf it has around its waist. "I'm just a poor unguided hand without my liege! I won Limited Life but he wasn't even there! So instead of talking to him, I just made a lore stream about him!"

"We're just a collection of 'things men will do before actually messaging him'," Beautiful-Eyes wisely points out. "Wait, guys, what's that burning smell?"

All eyes turn to Fine-Lips, who scowls. "What? My arson is controlled within The Box, thank you very much." (Not to be confused with The Box from Double Life)

Sexy-Maidtyn suddenly feels a shudder down its spine. "Guys... I think I might remember... a forgotten moment... a vengeful moment..."

A sudden crash. Fire and sparks. The door gets kicked down. Everybody screams.

"THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF ME, BITCHES?!" Burning-Tower hollers as it enters the poll with a steel chair.

(Far far away, Altar-Scene sips on its tea, content in knowing it will always be the supreme unhinged moment.)

[riacte]

“Don’t look at me!” Ren wailed. “I’m completely unlovable! I’m— I’m a hideous beast!” False stared at the gigantic, clearly distressed wolf in front of her. Bloodstained claws. Sharp teeth. Bristled fur. And of course, the saddest, most pathetic eyes she’d ever seen. “Aww, don’t call yourself hideous,” False said nonchalantly. “It’s not very nice to yourself.” “But I’m a wicked and bloodthirsty monster now,” Ren peeped out.  False, who apparently feared nothing, stretched out a hand to pat Ren’s head. Even though he could easily snap her neck in half. In response to her, Ren’s tail started wagging happily.  “There, there. And no, you’re not a monster. You’re just Ren.”

silly writing i had lying around in docs :) it's about werewolf ren transforming and being very :( but false is there to comfort him lol

[riacte]

“I heard you wanted Big B.”

There’s no accusatory edge in Scar’s voice. He’s just stating a fact as it is. The “instead of me” remains unsaid.

Grian sighs. He studiously trains his eyes on the wheat he’s planting. “Scar, I love you and you’re one of my best friends, but Big B is too. And we’ve— we’ve done lots of stuff together. Especially in Third Life and Hermitcraft. But Big B and I… we don’t have a lot of chances to hang out here. It’s nothing against you. Really.”

“I know!” Scar exclaims, genuine. “I’m not bothered. And I love Big B; he’s a beautiful, beautiful man who loves his cookies. And I guess the universe just adores watching us two together.”

Grian snorts. He’s the one who created this universe and the two that came before, and he thinks the universe may hold a grudge against him. Somehow, he and Scar keep on gravitating towards each other, locked in each other’s orbit, dancing away only to inevitably return. They live, and they die.

(They love, and they die.)

“At least you chose me the first time.” Scar sounds as cheerful as always. He affectionately rubs the head of one of his Jellie pandas, and Grian feels a stab of— a stab of something that’s not jealousy, because Grian knows Scar will always love his cat above everything and everyone and it’s a fact. (And as a cat lover, Grian understands him all too well.)

Grian’s hands shake just a little bit when he breaks off a bit of bamboo and tosses it to the Jellie panda. “That’s right. I could’ve left you once the debt of my first life was over. But I didn’t.”

I couldn’t.

“And we could’ve betrayed each other,” Scar says. “I think- I think Martyn really valued you until the bitter end. Your diamond sword alliance or something.”

“And you could’ve stabbed me in the back. We could’ve broken apart.”

“But we didn’t.”

“But we didn’t,” Grian softly echoes. “We chose each other and stuck to it.”

And then Grian looks at Scar, and Scar looks at him, and despite the humid and warm weather they’re having, for a split second it’s like they’re transported back to the arid desert, their desert, the hot and dangerous nights, their doomed llama, their bloodied ring of cacti. Grian’s the first to break the stare.

“Well, that’s in the past. We don’t have a choice now, Scar.”

… It comes out as more callous than he intended. But either Scar didn’t pick it up, or he doesn’t care.

Scar grins at Grian, and Grian almost sees a glimpse of that grey skin and bright red eyes. “For the record, I do like being ‘stuck’ with you, Grian.”

Scar’s iron armour glints in the strong sun, and Grian feels like he has to look away before he gets blinded. “Likewise.”

They work on their individual tasks, hearts thumping in tandem. It’s easy to settle into their old rhythm. Scar’s humming and Grian’s grown so used to it that he can tune it out, and that unsettles him. Sure, Scar is his constant, but is he getting too used to Scar? Grian doesn’t want Scar to annoy him, his antics to seem normal, for him to get used to Scar’s characteristic unpredictability. He wants his friendship with Scar to remain fresh. Grian likes surprises, and that’s why he likes Scar. But now, it’s almost predictable that they’re together again.

The universe chose this for us.

Then Grian remembers his initial bellow of despair when he finds out. He’s shocked into silence, scarcely believing the truth until Joel whacks Scar with a sword and Grian yelps in pain. Grian’s mind is in a whirl, yet when Scar comes back from his wild soulmate chase (not knowing his soulmate is right there), Grian still offers him food, his tone almost shy. It’s unnecessary, because Grian can just eat and heal for the two of them, but he likes doing things for Scar.

(And Scar, of course, willingly takes it, but not without a comment of how everyone’s been so kind to him today, because Grian is just another “everyone”—)

And Grian can’t help but trail after Scar. He yells when mobs are too close, yanks Scar away when he’s about to fall, and generally go through his usual routine of being Scar’s bodyguard. It’s like clockwork. His body knows what to do, especially now when their souls are linked. Scar’s still oblivious and Grian genuinely thinks it’s a long, long joke, but it’s not. It’s really not.

Joel and Etho make jokes about ditching Scar and Grian laughs along. “Do I just let him go?” “He still doesn’t know about me— know about us!” Grian even lets Scar wander for a little while, but ultimately the compass in Grian’s heart points to Scar. Grian can stray, but in the end, he returns.

(He chooses to return.)

And Scar, with his easygoing smile and ridiculous charm (that Grian knows too well), can choose anyone he wishes. Scar’s a magnet for death, but people can’t help but look after him. It’s instinct. And Grian’s probably not been a good soulmate considering he’s passively hiding the fact that they’re soulbound. And maybe Scar’s tired of him as well.

But then Grian remembers the way Scott and Cleo chose and fiercely defended each other. They ditched their soulmates for each other, calling them their “chosen”, leaving Pearl and Martyn in the dust. In a universe where it allows, no, forces them to love, people can still resist and rebel. Everyone still has a choice, even if it’s easier to go along with what the universe wants. Soulmates can run away from each other. Soulmates can hurt each other. Soulmates don’t have to care for each other.

Grian’s eyes scan over their base. It’s not the desert and it’s not their mountain. That time has long gone past. Their home is lush and green and full of pets and life. They both still have three lives and there’s no debt bridging between them. They live in near perfect conditions. For once, the universe is generous. Grian doesn’t need to take Scar’s life in order for them to be bound.

“You know what, Scar?”

“Yeah?”

“I was wrong.”

Grian stares at Scar, and he thinks Scar can sense his solemnity.

“I think, in this life—“

Grian places a hand over his own chest and feels Scar’s steady heartbeat, a comforting reminder that they’re linked.

“—we still chose each other.”

[riacte]

@treebarkweek 2023 Day 3: Saplings / Puppies!

(Probably biologically inaccurate and many creative liberties taken, but a really fun exercise nonetheless!)

One day, years and years after the Fall:

A young, spirited dogwood sapling emerges from the damp spring soil. It cautiously inspects its feeble, thin stalk and bright green leaves. "Well, not bad," it says. "At least winter's over, and spring's arrived."

The sapling doesn't know much, but it instinctively knows spring is the time for rebirth and growth. And so it likes the spring. But not much happens next— the ground is defrosting and it's quiet, but that's it. The sapling is alone, and it starts getting bored.

And then a persistent voice, small and desperate and coming from beneath the sapling:

"Helloooo? Is anybody freakin' there?! I'm so lonely down here!"

The sapling sways, pleasantly surprised. "Oh! Who are you?"

"I'm a rose seedling!" the voice says. "Erm, are you that tall, thin stick next to me? I can't see you!"

The sapling's tiny leaves rustle. "How rude!" it exclaims. "I'm a dogwood sapling, not a stick!"

"Whoops. Sorry." The seedling chuckles awkwardly. "Didn't mean to upset my only neighbour."

"Nah, it's okay. I'm in need of some company, actually."

There's a pause, then the seedling cries out, "Oh high and mighty sapling, at thou great height, do you see any others that may become our friends?" It ends with a hopeful tone.

The sapling feels pretty pleased at being called tall, but unfortunately it can't see anything from its height. "There's a grey stone wall next to me, but it seems to go on forever."

"Oh, really?" The seedling sounds sad. "That's all there is?"

"I guess it's just you and me in this world," the sapling says.

"Just you and me," the seedling echoes dramatically, and the sapling is amused.

"Just you and me, together forever."

"Forever!" The seedling sounds content.

The days pass. Sunshine peeks out from the clouds and covers them with a layer of warmth. Raindrops roll off their leaves and into the ground. It's still very quiet, but the sapling and the seedling talk whenever they can. They're both growing in the spring season, but the sapling grows faster, and is always taller than the seedling.

"I don't like this," the rose seedling declares one day. "I'm anxious! I'm respirating from places I shouldn't be respirating from! You're gonna become so tall that you won't be able to talk with me! You'll leave me, dude!"

"I mean, it's not like I want to!" the dogwood sapling responds. "I'm a tree. You're a bush. That's the way we are, dude."

"I don't like it," the seedling continues stubbornly. "I want to become a tree too. I wanna grow tall and grow old with you, my brother from another sapling."

The sapling holds back a sharp "that's not how it works at all" and indulges the seedling.

"By the way, if you're really a rose, why don't I see a single speck of red from up here?"

"Exsqueeze me?!" the seedling demands. "Art thou questioning my noble character? I'm just an innocent seedling! I haven't grown into a bush yet, let alone grow flowers, geez!"

"Well, one day, I'm gonna become a dogwood, you're gonna become a rosebush, and that's just how nature works," the sapling says briskly.

"And since you're a dogwood, are you gonna grow so tall that you'll be far far away from me?" The seedling sounds sad.

As silly as the rose seedling may be sometimes, the sapling has to admit it likes having it around. "I mean, I don't want to go far away. But it's my nature as a sapling. I have to go up, as high up as I can, get all that good sunshine, and survive. That's what we plants are meant to do. Survive."

"Well," the rose seedling says skeptically. "How about, y'know, making sure our leaves are shiny and our flowers are pretty? And attracting bees and making new friends?"

The sapling considers this. "That's nice, but in order to do that, we've got to survive. That's harder than it seems. You'll see."

The rain and the wind come in one dark night, and both the sapling and the seedling shed leaves. Thankfully, their stems are still strong and intact.

The days pass. They get their energy from the sun, their water from the ground. The sapling sprouts more and more leaves and stretches itself towards the sky.

"I wanna get my flowers," the rose seedling whines. "I wanna look pretty instead of having these ugly thorns and leaves."

"Hmm. You're always pretty to me," the sapling says to comfort its friend.

"Well, thank you," the seedling says eventually. "That's nice. I-I like that you think I'm pretty."

The sun sets, the sun rises. The dogwood sapling and the rose seedling spend their time chatting and enjoying the sunshine. The sapling is pretty glad that despite being close to the seedling, they aren't competing for nutrients with their roots. It'll be a pretty bad thing if their roots intertwine, it supposes.

"Have you ever wondered where we came from?" the rose seedling asks. "I've been thinking about that a lot lately. Y'know, the secrets of the universe."

"We obviously come from seeds," the sapling says, but now it's curious too. "Tell you what, one day I'll be taller than the stone wall, and I'll see what's outside of it. We'll make our theories when that day comes, okay?"

"Promise?" the rose seedling asks, a little pathetically.

The sapling's leaves sways in the wind. "Promise," it says in reassurance.

They both lose track of time. The sapling gets greedy and wants to get taller and taller. It marks its growth by every stone brick it reaches past. Nutrients are less abundant now, and it becomes a bit of struggle.

"You can have some of mine," the rosebush (not a seedling now) offers. "You need it to grow strong and tall, and I don't think I'll be growing flowers anyway."

Once upon a time, the young dogwood might've stolen from the rosebush, but that was back when it was a wee sapling. The rosebush is the dogwood's loyal (and only) companion. They're good friends. Good friends don't steal from each other.

"Take it," the rosebush insists. "I wanna know what's beyond that grey wall. I'm a useless bush anyway."

"You're not useless," the dogwood says, but finds itself unable to refuse the rosebush's offer. The dogwood thinks it won't ever be able to refuse the rosebush— the dainty, silly, but still wholly sincere rosebush.

So the rosebush shrivels up, and the dogwood flourishes. The dogwood doesn't like seeing its beloved friend suffer. The dogwood drops down its leaves as fertilizer for both of them.

"Stop shedding your leaves," the rosebush says, concerned.

"Then stop giving me your nutrients," the dogwood retorts.

Day by day, the dogwood and the rosebush grow apart. Despite that, they still manage to talk, although their voices grow smaller and smaller from the distance. The dogwood passes brick by brick, and it would've felt more pleased with itself if it could bring the rosebush with it.

One day, the rosebush screams excitedly, "I got a rosebud! I'll finally be pretty!"

"Congrats, dude," the dogwood says from above. It's sincere. "I think I can see it. A small, pink little thing. I'm proud of you."

"And I'm proud of you too. You have to be close to the end of the wall now."

"Yeah." The dogwood's not there yet, but it can see where the grey vanishes and becomes the blue sky. "Remember the pact we made when I was a sapling and you were a seedling? I'll tell you what I see beyond the wall when I reach it. It'll be any day now, I'm sure."

"And we'll magically figure out where we come from. But, y'know, I'm worried."

"About what?"

"That when you're taller than the wall, you'll be too far away to speak to me. Will that be worth it?"

That completely stops the dogwood in its tracks. Its leaves stop moving. "Err. Y-you're making me reconsider my entire life, dude."

"Umm, ignore me then. Don't respirate about it, dude. Keep on growing."

The rosebush gains more rosebuds. The dogwood is getting closer and closer to where the wall ends, its own white buds brimming on its branches. It's exciting, but also weirdly melancholic. The dogwood's life mission is about to be achieved. What will they see beyond the wall? What wondrous sights will they be greeted with?

"I think today's the day," the dogwood announces solemnly. It's a fully grown tree now, handsome and strong, and one of its branches is about to peek over the wall.

"Today's a good day for me too," the rosebush declares. "I think I'm going in full bloom mode, dude! I'm a happy rosebush!"

"Yeah, I think my flowers are ready too," the dogwood says, but it's mostly preoccupied with taking care of its branches. It can't afford to look pretty. The dogwood's branch is about to cross the previously insurmountable stone wall.

"I'm gonna do it," the dogwood promises. "I'll muster up my energy, and I'm doing it."

"Let's go! Ohh, I'm so freaking happy for you, dude. I'll hold your branch in support if I can. We're gonna find out what else is in the world!"

The dogwood's leaves tremble, and then it pushes its branch across the wall—

And nothing.

Nothing at all.

Well, it's not completely nothing. It's just— patches of untamed grass. Some wildflowers. Rocks. And the beautiful blue sky above them. Nothing they haven't guessed already.

The dogwood stares. And stares. When it finally turns back, it stills in complete shock.

Because from above, the dogwood finally sees where it and the rosebush came from.

Two skeletons, half buried by the soil, one plant emerging from each skeleton. The hands of the skeletons are intertwined. Hand in unlovable hand, still together in death. Down there, the rosebush is gazing up at the dogwood, its petals as red as the blood that was once spilled upon the soil that it grew from. The dogwood begins to bloom, soft white petals unfurling, as pure as the colour of snow.

In the dogwood's furious race to grow taller, it neglected to look down and see the whole picture. It didn't realise they were born from the remnants of two humans.

The dogwood wanted to see beyond the wall. The dogwood and the rosebush thought the wall was their ultimate obstacle. But no, they're wrong.

Because the stone wall protects them. What the dogwood wanted to see was within the walls all this time. And what the dogwood actually wants is within the walls.

Because within these walls is the dogwood's home.

And the dogwood's home is where the rosebush is.

-

Well, that was a fun if not wholly scientifically inaccurate writing exercise. Forgive my grammar mistakes because it's late at night haha.

Dogwood sapling Martyn and rose seedling Ren are so precious. I've grown attached now. This is some fantasy plant reincarnation AU I guess.

Thanks for reading! Anyways the dogwood and the rosebush live together happily ever after in the ruins of Dogwarts <3 <3

[riacte]

Okay I feel unhinged enough to finally post what is probably one of the most audaciously awkward things I've written. But it's supposed to be awkward. It's comical though.

Symmetry and Ren go on their first fake date. It’s awkward. Stress and Cleo spy on them.

-

Ren chuckled. “It is cathartic to talk about things with a stranger.”

Whoops, I’m not a stranger, Symmetry drily thought to herself. Sorry, Ren.

“A-and you’re really nice about it too,” Ren said, a bit more hesitant. “You’re not judgemental. Or mean.”

At the words “judgemental” and “mean”, both Stress and Cleo burst into uncontrollable laughter. Symmetry felt like laughing herself. Ohhh, Ren would never say that about her civilian self. If only he knew. (But he definitely wasn’t supposed to know.)

[riacte]

Quick Treebark oneshot collab with @apollothetransboy :DDD Thank you Mars <3

The Mint Maids have a Christmas party. Or: in which False and Joel lock Ren and Martyn in a closet (literally).