#dog biscuits

Renthedog

Location: Ren’s bedroom, Core District, Central New Star Station

💙  🧡  💚

Ren is by no means an illager. He wasn’t raised near them, he’s never lingered in the Cherry Peninsula, and he makes absolutely no claims of being familiar with the culture. All his learning comes from hefty books and what friends like Cub, Hypno, and BigB have told him about life where they grew up. Mmmaybe a dash of Welsknight and Tango on the side, through the sheer nature of where the blaze spawner stands. Plus Impulse and Skizz’s adventures, of course. Doc’s long-distance friends. Joel and Lizzie’s wild tales. A dashing pinch of Martyn from long summers he spent in the otter spawn hub. There was a time in Last Life when he, BigB, and Lizzie cooked food and washed their skins, which gave them space to talk. BigB answered honest questions, and Ren learned a side of Illager life he never had before.

Ren is Ren. He knows what he knows; he rolls up his sleeves and fact-checks what he doesn’t. You can’t be too careful out there. Either way, he does his very best.

“Doc and I can make some food,” he says to BigB, laying one of his stumps against the man’s glowing elbow. BigB’s fully flared, absolutely: cyan from head to toe. Y’know, some people ask Ren why he wears the shades indoors. Flared friends frolicking fearlessly for friendship frequently fits the reason why. Let’s not get funny about the details, all right?

Look at him, though… BigB stands like an enderman in the middle of his room, his hands stuffed inside his sleeves. He’s a bit stooped in the shoulders, blinking like he might summon phantoms overhead at any moment, but he paints a regal portrait standing there.

Ren scratches his brain like he’s going at it with a back paw. He can’t quite recall the last time he saw BigB in his illusioner robes. He does reveal them on occasion- There’s a hunting sport a good lot of the Illager folks are into, and Ren’s cheered in the stadium for all his friends when they’re out running the field. The fabric’s blue and speckled beneath the all-consuming glow, rippling like a river down his body to the ankles. He’s still wearing leather boots.

Now, there’s a good-lookin’ man. Ren won’t force BigB to show his hands. Be a bit inappropriate, don’t you think? Illagers do all their magic with their hands, so to hold one is to rob them of the ease of self-defense! Most affronting! BigB swivels his head, gazing at him with fuzzy vision. He says nothing. Ren tries again, gently, and brings his other stump up to brush BigB’s cheek. “Busy day, right? Let’s get you out of those robes. You wash up and we’ll cook a meal you won’t forget.”

“I am hungry,” BigB agrees in the soft tones of Illagealt. Oh, baby- They sound like butter on his lips. “That’s very sweet.”

Ren hopes he’s translating all that right. BigB’s body language supports the chill way he’s speaking, though Ren’s grasp on the words is rockier than he’d like admitting. He knows a lot of words that relate to blocks and actions. He knows ‘hungry.’ Sweet? It’s blurry, but he feels like he learned that once upon a time. Ender’s always come a little easier to him; it’s what dragons speak, you know. Had some motivation to figure that one out early on.

“Would you appreciate any help with your dresser-age?”

BigB nods, grunting in the affirmative, so Ren moves his hands to the front of the robes. BigB does the buttons and Ren pulls them up and over his head like a towel off a wet crafting table. He turns away to fold them, and BigB bends to remove his boots on his own. His movements are slow - awkward, undeniably - but he gets them unlatched without assistance. B slides off first one boot, than the other. These, he hands to Ren.

No problem. Ren accepts, resolving to set them by the front door. For now, he vanishes them into his inventory. Illagers freshly back from a patrol seek connection with their tribemates, right? BigB’s giving him the boots on purpose. A sort of, You’re part of the crew gesture that Ren won’t violate by tossing the shoes aside right in front of him.

BigB’s fingers scratch his sweater vest. Taking the invitation, Ren helps him out of that too. It’s not a simple thing to do when you’ve got stumps for hands! Nonetheless, off comes the shimmery cyan shirt, and then the glowing trousers. Easy breezy. “You’ve been here before,” he says, watching BigB cross his hands uncomfortably in front of his chest. Without the sleeves, he’s got nowhere else to put them. Sweet-lookin’ bod, though. Not that he ever forgot. BigB doesn’t spend much time building in Minecraft, but regular jogging sessions and whatever else he does in Roblox (among other worlds) has certainly carved his abs. Nice. “Should I walk you to the tub?” Tub’s new. Toilet’s still in the same place it’s always been.

“Yes. Help. Ren, please- I’m so close, so close-”

Oh no. “To starting a raid?” he asks gently, and BigB grunts. His fingers itch his arms; his chest. Ren eyes the Bad Omen mark on his right-hand shoulder. “Okay. Uh. You’re doing quite well, for a first-timer! Can I bring in Doc to help?”

BigB exhales. His shoulders loosen up a bit, and maybe (Maybe) he’s finally learning to let go. “Yes. Protect the city.”

“Got it.” He turns to walk away, and BigB’s footsteps tail him down the hall. A soft, chirring whine trickles through the air. Ren twitches his ears. He glances at BigB just once, to which the man pulls back his head. If he weren’t already cyan, he’d probably be flushing.

“I need supervision.”

“No problem. If you want to hug me at any time, you’re more than welcome to.”

BigB hums in approval. “To stop my hands. Clever.”