manuelamartinez2

[achillean-knight]

Part 1 - Part 2 Here you go, the final part. This is for you, Anon's who requested the continuation of this JKHGDSHGS

[butteronabun]

diluc + EXES EXES EXES PLEASE (HIIII butter on a bun ^_^ i will Enable you because i have a playlist for him dedicated to this shit) + canon/modern au, etc — pick whatever YOU were thinking writing the request post + spin the wheel and pick a genre~ again, this request is an excuse to hear YOUR thoughts (i have some of my own)

extra: pick whether you want it to be she/her or g/n~ i’m fine with both 🫶

sincerely, 🥩 (who missed you and hasn’t caught up with recent posts bc i was busy </3)

wish that i had more of this borrowed time

a diluc ragnvindr x female reader exes au.

overview: diluc’s heart is his greatest foe.

wc: 3.2k

notes: originally this was 5k words but that was so much & i didn’t want to complicate this more so TAKE IT 😙 this is also a bit open-ended so feel free to interpret this however you like!! also, additional notes will be in the end, so better check that out too :)

“You’re going to break that glass, Master Diluc,” remarks Kaeya Alberich himself, who is this close to purchasing popcorn to watch the ‘drama’ that he has been observing for a while now. Weinlesefest truly has its wonders – fresh wine, good company, and a brother who definitely still isn’t over his ex, even if said brother continues to deny it. “You look under the weather. Why not take a breather and enjoy the sights? You have a loyal staff that’s willing to oversee the Angel’s Share stand for a while.”

Diluc’s cold, unwavering glare remains on that face of his. Kaeya’s almost certain that comparing his ice from his cryo vision with Diluc’s expression will have no difference at all. “I am doing fine, Master Kaeya.” He looks down at the glass he has wiped for—Kaeya guesses—the fifth time now, and picks up another one. 

“Really? But it’s becoming a little hot, Master Diluc. I’ve noticed that as the minutes pass by, the temperature of the stand has been concerningly rising as of late. Are you secretly heating up some tasty bar snacks, or is it something else?”

Kaeya suppresses a smirk when the warmth around them subdues momentarily. He has one theory that he’s sure is actually true—a theory where that ‘heat’ is coming from, and it’s definitely not the wind. 

It’s the ninth month of the calendar. Summer’s already over. So it’s safe to say that. . .

“Don’t you have other matters to tend to?” Diluc narrows his eyes at him. Oh, changing the subject now, aren’t we? “Surely, Cavalry Captains still have to scout the area for any potential threats during Weinlesefest, or have the knights really gone incompetent?”

“Oh, you. Everyone deserves to enjoy the festival every once in a while,” Kaeya raises his keg playfully. “And that includes even you.”

Diluc just grumbles at that. Still stubborn as always, but Kaeya remembers the day when the traveler told him a few years ago that Diluc, despite isolating himself during the previous festivals, reveled. (Reveled on his own, was what they clarified.) It’s a comforting thought that even such a busy man as himself can still enjoy these moments.

And Kaeya wishes he’d see it more. 

Diluc willingly taking charge of the Angel Share’s stand instead of Charles? How endearing. Is it really because he’s here for the celebration, or something else? 

(Kaeya—and he’s pretty sure, Diluc is, too—hears nearby footsteps. Familiar voices.)

Or someone else?

Whatever it is, Kaeya is fine with either. 

“Still baffles me that my suggested proposals got rejected— ah, we’re here. Oh, hi, Kaeya!” 

Kaeya sips his beer and smiles at you. “Hey.” And he watches it all unfold again. You smile back at him, before slowly turning to Diluc, who has never taken his eyes off of you ever since your arrival. 

You hide a lock of your hair behind your ear timidly. “Hi, Diluc.”

It’s really fascinating to see his brother still so soft with you. People may not notice this, but Kaeya knows Diluc best. “Good evening. What would you like tonight?”

“Ah – my company here—” you turn to the man beside you, a fellow colleague perhaps, and Kaeya seriously has to control himself from smirking. The area’s heating up again. “—would like to try some of the Fruits of the Festival that we’ve been hearing of. Is it still available?”

Diluc nods. “Yours?”

“I don’t want anything, actually—”

“Please, don’t do that,” The man calls out your name, and steps forward. The warmth’s growing. “If you think that you’re treating me tonight, then I’ll be treating you as well. Bartender, I’ll be ordering Wolfhook Juice for this lovely lady.”

The man winks at you, confident with himself, until Diluc breaks the flair by simply saying, “She’s allergic to that.”

Ah, this is great. Kaeya’s considering if he should bring Rosaria or even Lisa along for the drama. 

“W–wait, really? You’re allergic to Wolfhook?”

“Ah, D–Diluc—” As much as Kaeya relishes in dear Diluc’s jealousy, your expressions are also just as priceless. Speechless that his amazing brother still has one detail about you memorized? Pfft. Such is a man of great talent who has a knack for processing knowledge in such a short time. He’s a businessman, after all. It’s important to know a lot of things. “You still remember that?”

Diluc doesn’t reply to that question. Instead, he goes on preparing the drink with ease and in silence. Kaeya can feel the awkwardness in the air as they watch Diluc swiftly mix the ingredients, and the man accompanying you merely coughs to dissipate the tension.

“So, um,” The man starts, “I’ve heard that Starsnatch Cliff looks beautiful at this time of night. I was wondering if you’d like to stargaze with me?”

You seem sheepish. “Oh, I—”

There’s a loud thud, surprising everyone, except for Kaeya and Diluc themselves. Diluc has placed the glass in front of the man, face emotionless. “It’s late. Dangerous, even. I recommend that you postpone such a journey.” 

Kaeya hides his smile behind his keg. Oh, Diluc. Could you get even more obvious? He wishes to voice out that poor Klee and the other children might get scared because of his ‘grumpy face’ again, but it is late and they’re not here anymore, so it isn’t a valid reason to mention. 

Oh, the area’s hotter now. The man is visibly sweating under the intimidating man’s stare. “A–Ah, I see- t–thank you for that then, good sir—”

“Diluc, don’t scare him,” you scold him lightly, and take the glass. “And we’ll be fine, I have a vision.”

His stupid brother’s about to protest, and Kaeya readies himself for another session of ‘Diluc Facepalming Himself Because He Made A Fool of Himself In Front of his Ex’ when you add on:

“Though, Diluc’s right. It’s dangerous to go out right now since I’ve heard from the outriders that the concentration of hilichurl camps around that area is growing in size again. So we shouldn’t go.” You give the man his drink, and gesture him to an empty table. “And didn’t you tell me you’re tired already? Why not sit down for a while?”

Once you two are seated on a table that’s too far for Diluc’s liking, Kaeya sighs and shakes his head. Diluc glowers at him. “What?”

“Attentive as ever.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Diluc says as he crosses his arms.

“The least thing you could do is be attentive to her well–being, even though you’re not her lover anymore?” The temperature intensifies. Oops. Kaeya stepped on something he shouldn’t. But it’s always so fun to get on Diluc’s nerves. “Admit it, you still haven’t moved on.”

Diluc then retorts, “Is it so bad to care for an old friend?” “So that’s what you call her now?”

“Kaeya,” Diluc warns.

“Diluc~” Kaeya pleasantly sings. Then, his lips part into an ‘o.’ “My, I smell something burning. Are you really cooking something up?”

Kaeya doesn’t bat an eyelash on the slightly scorched bartop.

_

Diluc’s heart is his greatest foe.

He has too much love in his heart, and oftentimes, it causes him great anguish. 

He wanted to rip his heart out the night his father passed on. He wanted to stomp on it after causing Kaeya harm. 

And he wanted to abandon it, just like how you did.

“Let’s end this,” you told him one dinner, with your head dipped down, not wanting to meet his eyes. You trembled as you anticipated his response, but you didn’t get one. Diluc was left aghast. “This isn’t working for the both of us, Diluc.”

Such was the fate of a Ragnvindr who dedicated his time to protecting the city and thwarting the enemies that threatened his nation. Such is the fate of a Ragnvindr who occupied himself with the winery’s business ventures. 

Such was the fate of a Ragnvindr, who, despite having a big heart, had failed his lover. 

He wanted to say—maybe we could try again. I will be better this time. He knew he could solve this, if he could think of strategies to counterattack the abyss, or even keep his competitors on their toes with his new business plans, surely, he could remedy this. 

“I have too much on my plate. You have too much on yours. Let us end this before we affect each other.”

When your tears cascaded down your cheeks, Diluc wanted to wipe them away. But he couldn’t even move. Not even an inch. How could he, when his heart was being shattered to pieces? 

You had too much on your plate? Why didn’t you say anything? You know he’d always be here for you.

So why?

He wanted to say — then let’s face them together.

But you had other plans.

It was over. 

And he understood.

_

“How fortunate that our dear cutie decided to visit this year’s Weinlesefest,” Lisa says as she touches the petals of the cecilias. She’s here in Diluc’s garden. Lisa, for some reason, has the tendency to make unannounced visits. She smiles up at Diluc who’s observing her from the gazebo. “Don’t you feel the same way too, Diluc? That she’s here again, after almost two and a half years.”

Diluc crosses his arms. “I fail to understand why I’d have to voice out my opinions on the matter.”

“Ah, but didn’t you say something to Kaeya? Supposedly, shouldn’t you be happy that an ‘old friend’ came back?”

Diluc averts his gaze, and Lisa smiles even wider before tending back to the flowers.

“She favors these, don't they? Cecilia flowers.” Lisa sniffs one. This one smells very fresh. It’s as if all the flowers here are greatly taken care of. “Oh, this takes me back. I still recall how you and her first met. You two were so adorable! She used to chase you around, desperate for your attention. And despite your attempts to push her away, she still managed to win you over. Her blushing face was the absolute best when you gifted her a bouquet of cecilias. Really, who knew that you could get so romantic?”

Lisa lifts her head and fixates on the clouds. “She’s your first love, right? And you treasured her so.” She checks to see if Diluc’s still there, and he is. 

He’s still sulking like the baby he is.

“Diluc?”

Lisa can hear him murmur, but it’s not too audible for her ears to pick up. “I beg your pardon?”

“. . .her favorite.”

Lisa tilts her head. “Favorite?” 

“Cecilia flowers.” Diluc says. “They’re not her favorite.”

“Oh, my. So what’s her favorite, then?”

Diluc is reluctant. But he answers anyway. “Small lamp grass flowers.”

Oh, Lisa knows.

She just wanted to hear him say it.

_

No one knows how much Diluc has struggled during the first months of your breakup with him. 

He got moody, at times. Even slept in too much, which was surprising, because he wasn’t the type of person to sleep, not at all, when he had errands to run. He was a business owner by day, and a vigilante by night—he shouldn’t coop himself up inside his quarters all the time just to let his broken heart weep.

So even if those days, those weeks, those months, were nothing but unimaginable suffering – Diluc had to rise. Someone still had to face the darkness for the dawn.

The overseeing of the winery and the scouting of adversaries were great distractions to someone like him.

But he couldn’t deny the fact that whenever he was resting, or even had one moment of leisure, those thoughts canw creeping in. How were you? Where were you? Are you faring well? Do you still yearn for him, as much as he yearns for you?

Are you as ruined as he is?

Diluc didn’t expect that breakups could get this hard. He thought the drunkards in his taverns were over exaggerating it a bit too much because of the alcohol, but now, he could understand.

( He didn’t resort to alcoholism, though. )

He really tried to get over you. He really did. He really tried to forget. 

But how could he, when he cherished you so?

How could he, when his heart continuously ached for you? How could he, when he longed for you desperately after you left Mondstadt.

_

( ”There are plenty of fish in the sea. There are lots of daughters from various nations wanting to be your wife! Why not choose any of them, to fill that hole in your chest?”

The last time a patron told Master Diluc those exact words, he nearly banished them from his tavern. )

_

Moving on was not an option here, it seemed, when everything reminded Diluc of you. 

He saw you everywhere. You liked talking a lot, and he liked listening to you, even before you two were dating. Every experience, every anecdote, every musing, and every vent — he remembered it all. 

Diluc knew what type of coffee you liked. At first, you weren’t such a big fan of them, but you found one that suited your taste. ( “Just one cup is enough, though. Two or more will make me palpitate!” ) Pepperoni became your favorite pizza topping when you ate with Jean when she invited you for lunch out of gratitude. ( “Cheesy spinach is a close second!” ) You liked reading books and seemed to get lost in them a lot; you even excitedly discussed your reviews to him of the novels or pieces of information you’ve read. ( “Like can you believe it?! He had a twin brother all along!” or “Now I understand why you have such a big chair in your office! It’s because it signifies your status! ” )

You were so endearing. Diluc really, really loved every bit of you and made sure to give you the love that you deserved. He tried his best as he could to provide you with the affection that you needed.

Yet it still wasn’t enough.

Because if it did, Diluc would still be here at his dining table, reading his documents and sipping coffee with you. If it did, you’d still offer Diluc one slice of pepperoni or cheesy spinach pizza after your lunch with Jean. If it did, you would still bother him underneath the sheets until late hours into the night regarding the mundane and the interesting.

Move on, they said. They were all growing concerned.

Move on, a rational part of him also said. It was for his own good.

But he had always been stubborn.

_

( 

“Master Diluc’s single?! Again?”

“The most eligible bachelor’s throne is his once more.”

“Back off, even if the Master’s single, he won’t give you no heed. Just give up.”

“Come on, support me a little! I just want to give him a good time. Don’t you think I have a chance?”

“Not one bit, lass. Not one bit.” )

_

Weinlesefest is in full swing—

“Yet here you are, moping.” A green bard sits on the pier beside Diluc, who’s currently throwing rocks onto the surface of the water. “Master Diluc, shouldn’t you be out there and celebrate? Or did you choose to stay here because you haven’t scored a date?”

Diluc narrows his eyes at him curtly, before throwing another stone into the water. 

“A silent treatment for me, I see,” The bard strings his lyre, “But I have no worry, for you’ll answer me eventually.”

Diluc sighs. “She’s occupied as of the moment.”

“Oh~? I see that the tables have turned, then?”

Diluc scoffs. Of course he also knows about what had happened before. “Really. What’s your purpose for being here? And stop with your rhyming. It’s annoying me.”

The bard snickers. Stroke a chord it seems. “It’s the second to the last day of this festive event, and I’ve yet to see you participate. Minus the fact of taking care of the Angel Share’s stall, but you must at least do something that’s not related to work.”

“It’s in my blood to dedicate myself when it comes to work.” Diluc throws another stone. “I have no other choice, Venti.”

“Yet here you are, skipping stones?”

“Here I am, skipping stones.”

The bard sighs sadly. As he kicks his legs back and forth, he says - “Do you remember the Thousand-Wind Wine Razor made with the Traveler?”

“Of course. The barrel they used belongs to my winery.”

There’s another silence. Then Venti speaks again. “The wind is many things, you know. It can bring back the soul, and especially, preserve memories—you know of the fact that dandelion seeds are added last as a way of capturing the wind at the very moment when the barrel is sealed. Meaning, the memory of that ‘moment’ is stored in the wine, for all eternity.”

“And your point is?”

“Let yourself be happy this once.”

_

After the citizens of Mondstadt welcomed the Anemo God, they all felt the gentle breeze kissing their skin as he graciously made himself present into the wind. The children cheered, and the adults raised their cups for a toast. Everyone was having a splendid time.

“To the Anemo Archon!”

You, however, have just finished preparing for your departure back to Sumeru. After packing your belongings and making sure you didn’t leave anything in the inn, you had to go find your companion — who’s still probably busy trying out new drinks. 

You sigh at that, a little amused. You also resign to this fate. The journey to Sumeru will have to wait until later. Plus, you haven’t even properly said your goodbyes to the others, so, there’s that. 

A polite cough echoes behind you. You turn around, and your heart flutters at the sight of a familiar man. Diluc.

“May I request a bit of your time?” He asks, always so gently.

You’re pleased and surprised, of course - because it’s Diluc. Diluc, who’s obviously seeking you, even if he’s made clear that he’s occupied with duties of the winery. 

You want to humor him a little bit, so you snicker. “But what if I don’t want to?” You gesture to your satchel. “I’m preparing for my departure, you see.”

Diluc already knows that, doesn’t he? He doesn’t even react. “If that’s the case, then I respect your decision.”

Oh, that’s a bit disappointing. You kind of want to slap yourself for that. You should’ve just accepted Diluc’s request instead of pulling stuff like this. Why play hard to get, when Diluc’s already—

“But I beg of you,” Diluc adds, and you blink. There’s determination in his eyes, and your heart skips a beat when you notice that there’s also something else. “Before you leave. . . please, spend time with me. All it takes is just a short moment with you, and I’ll be content. I won’t ask for anything more.”

—making initiative, huh.

How can you say no to that?

You smile at him—a little bit too tenderly. “Alright then, Diluc.” You lift a hand, gesturing for him to take it. “Lead the way.”

supposedly this was seriously longer, it had more plot ( i indulged on this way too much when i was writing this but had to omit a lot of stuff because i was getting overboard + wanted to more focus on how diluc interacts with his ex / what he feels about his ex / what he felt without his ex asfghjfk also, here's one screenshot before i deleted this part; i wasn't rlly kidding that it had more substance and it was originally angsty:

anw. shoutout to my bestie who brainstormed with me abt ex diluc hcs it was so fun. lemme share to y'all what we talked abt: 1) we thought that diluc is the type of person who’d date to marry, 2) his heart is so so freaking loyal he'd still pine for his first love, and 3) he falls hard and is stupidly sentimental plus. if he did have an ex, the breakup will def bother / ruin / devastate him, especially when he loved that person sm :(

[weskie]

Revenge and Recovery (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

reader is injured, hurt/comfort, shared shower, established relationship | Fic Directory

He isn’t there when you wake.  The doctors don’t know what to tell you other than that he brought in the best of the best to ensure your recovery went as smoothly as possible.

Three days go by until you’re discharged with just aches and pains and a couple bandages over your healing gunshot wound.  Your assailants hadn’t wanted to kill you, clearly.  If they did, they’d have aimed better.  You were simply a message.

You’d half expected to find Wesker in his office, but something in your gut told you he was nowhere near home.  Probably worlds away, if you had to guess.

The first few days are the worst.  Waking up in fits of pain, sweating, breathing labored as you struggle to sit up to take more pain medication.  Silly you, letting the aches catch back up to you.  It’s difficult to do much of anything, but you persevere.  You take it day by day.

By the end of the week, you can lift your arms above your head without the stretch feeling as if you were ripping in two.  You have more energy to do the things you enjoy, so you spend your time inside Albert’s study, reclined on his couch as you scribble away in your sketchbook.  You feel most comfortable here since everything happened.  It’s like you’re surrounded by him, by the man you know would protect you with everything he has even if he isn’t necessarily there to do it.  You can only imagine the guilt he’s felt since you were attacked.  Not that it was his fault for being absent.  He’d been called away over a client attempting to back out of a deal and was attempting to rebuild the bridge to his dreams.  You couldn’t and wouldn’t blame him.

The scratch of your pencil becomes like white noise as you fall into your drawing.  The more you think of Al, the more your work begins to shape itself into him.  The slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the shimmer of his cat-like eyes.  You’re not the world’s most talented artist, but you’d dare to say you captured his likeness quite well by the time you’re nearly done.

“You’ve got my nose all wrong,” comes a voice from behind you, startling you to jump halfway out of your skin.  Your mostly healed injuries protest such sharp movements, but the recognition of that voice dulls every ache.  When you turn around, you don’t care at all how badly your body complains.  You throw yourself at him entirely.

“Al!” You gasp, tears welling in your eyes.  You squeeze him tightly, as if letting go would allow for him to fade away like smoke through your fingers.  His arms around you bring you back to earth.  They make you feel safer than ever.

It’s only as you relax that you notice something is off.  He smells… smokey.  There’s a hint of something else, and your eyes go wide when you finally pull away to look at him.

Soot stains mark his face, but not nearly as much as the dried, crusted blood does.  It’s all over him, practically from head to toe.  It stains his hair, coats his hands and forearms, the thickest areas of it crackle and chip along the folds of his clothes.

“You need never worry about them again, my dear.”  He murmurs, removing a stained glove to lift your chin between his bare thumb and forefinger.  “They’ve been put down like the feral creatures they are.”

You simply stare at him in wonder.

This isn’t the first time you’ve seen him stained in the blood of his victims, but it’s the first time it’s ever been for you.  You can only imagine what must have happened.  Perhaps he flew into a blind rage after getting you to safety and tracked down your assailants.  Or, worse, maybe he was entirely calm about it.

You imagine the latter would result in significantly more pain for the men who shot you.

The hands that hold you now likely ripped each of your attackers in two, pierced their flesh, tore the hearts from their bodies, but they hold you as though you’re no more than a delicate flower whose petals would fall away with a mere gust of wind.

He says nothing, but he does bury his face into the crook of your neck and breathe you in.  After some time, you manage to tug him in the direction of the bathroom.  All you wanted was to snuggle him and feel safe while you drift off to sleep, but you wouldn’t dare let him end his day stained in the remains of those who’d wronged you.

The water no longer stings as it runs over your mostly healed wound.  A few stitches that hadn’t quite dissolved yet stick out in sporadic patterns, but it isn’t too terribly unsightly. Not that you think your sweet Albert would mind, knowing all that he’s seen in his line of work.  The cascade dribbles off his body and swirls pink at your feet, slithering down the drain.

He’s reluctant to let you wash him at first, but you swat his hands away from the shampoo bottle before he can even graze it.  This, of course, earns you a smirk and a chuckle.

“Really now?” 

Ever the gentleman, he leans down just enough for you to run your fingers through his hair without straining your injury.  The occasional patch of dried blood colors the suds the same shade as the rest had run.  You decide he needs another pass.  You can’t be too thorough, after all.

In return, he does all the same for you.  While he glides a washcloth over your body, his other hand ghosts the edges of your wound.  Wesker swallows, parts his lips as if to speak, but stumbles over his words.

“They… I made sure–” He pauses, jaw flexing.  “They suffered.” 

You know it’s killing him.  You knew it all along, but seeing it… Seeing it breaks your heart.  

“So did you…” You murmur, thumb stroking the edge of his jaw.  Wesker averts his eyes, hiding whatever reaction your words stir up, be it tears or simply the glow of his eyes dimming with sorrow.  “I’m sorry, sweetheart…”  If you’d only been stronger, faster, smarter, anything, the hurt on his face wouldn't be there.

There is precious little in this world he cares for.  Before you met him, Wesker seemed the type of man to disregard anyone and anything if it meant furthering his goals.  By some odd miracle, you became the exemption.  As you found yourself growing closer to him, a fondness the likes of which you’d never seen him express to anything appeared seemingly out of thin air.  One minute you were just another subordinate that he was, admittedly, strangely kind to, and the next you were the apple of his eye.

It doesn’t make the woe in his gaze any less painful.  Knowing what you mean to him makes it worse, actually.  That your life means that much, that your very existence is worth unmaking another’s…

“M’sorry I let you down…”

No sooner than the words leave your mouth is there a finger curled under your chin to redirect your gaze to his. “Impossible,” he rasps.  He leans down to press your foreheads together, brushing the tip of his nose against yours before releasing a shuddering breath.  “And you never will…”

For now, you two will bask in each other’s presence.  You’ll curl up together and revel in the momentary calm before your next inevitable storm. Such is the price you pay for the heart you call home.

[betweendyingstars]

Marylily with baby Harry

[peachixd]

~ 𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑹𝑶𝑰𝑫 18 𝑮𝑰𝑭𝑺𝑬𝑻 ~

𝘙𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘺: @tsundere-queen

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[pddngchi-artblog]

Quick drawing I did for Ande (tiny.sunshin.melon on IG!) with his sona and Ais from TOUCHSTARVED! You could never go wrong with “Love Like You” o7

Added commentary in the tags

[love-death-and-desert]

Idk if you’re still taking requests (if not no worries) can I get a Joe Hills from Nashville TN

<3

[hakusins]

hakudean mini event! third rq: whit the faithful and eri (pc) by moosen! (@/shylittlemoosen and @/just-dol-headshots)

[mono-socke]

part 2 to the trans fips story, this time ft. zeke and rhun

Zeke starrte perplex auf deren Fund, welchen dey gerade gemacht hat, im Bad des jüngsten der Brüder. Warum hatte er…?

Nachdem Klaus dey über mehrere Tagen hinweg so gut wie stündlich genervt hatte, dey sollte doch bitte mal nach Fips schauen, da dieser ihm seit einiger Zeit nicht mehr auf jegliche Art geantwortet hat, hatte Zeke schlussendlich nachgegeben.

Zwar hatte dey absolut keinerlei Interesse, was denn schon wieder für ein Streit zwischen deren Brüdern abging, da es dey auch nicht wirklich etwas anging, und hatte erst versucht Klaus zu überzeugen doch selber vorbeizuschauen, jedoch war dieser, laut eigener Aussage, zu sehr im Weihnachtsstress um sich Zeit dafür zu nehmen, und Rhun war ebenfalls zu beschäftigt, weshalb Zeke nun dazu verdonnert wurde.

Fauler Sack. So besorgt war er dann wieder auch nicht, was?

Eigentlich hätte Zeke auch nie zugestimmt, da dey normalerweise Besseres zu tun hatte, aber nach einer unnötig langen Diskussion gab dey schließlich nach. Warum auch die Zeit mit Klaus’ Dickköpfigkeit verschwenden? Es brachte doch eh nichts.

Genervt machte Zeke sich also spät in der Nacht auf den Weg zu dem jüngsten der Brüder. Wonach sollte dey überhaupt schauen? Ob Fips noch lebt? Bock darauf, ihn auszuquetschen, warum er sich nicht meldet, hatte Zeke jetzt nicht unbedingt. War schließlich auch nicht deren Angelegenheit. Dey selbst hatte sich in all den Jahren vielleicht ein oder zwei Mal bei Fips gemeldet, ihr Kontakt miteinander war schon immer etwas brüchig.

Dass Klaus sich regelmäßig bei ihm meldete, war für Zeke keine wirklich große Überraschung. Immerhin bekam dey selbst öfters Nachrichten von den Älteren. Und, ganz ehrlich, wenn Fips einfach aus Genervtheit nicht mehr antwortete, hätte Zeke ihn auch gut verstehen können.

Als dey bei Fips ankamen, lag dieser schon im Bett am Schlafen. Wenig verwunderlich, da es schon extrem spät in der Nacht war. Zeke beobachtete ihn eine kurze Zeit lang beim Schlafen, fragte sich erneut wonach dey überhaupt suchte, bevor dey mit den Schultern zuckte und den Raum verließ.

Jep. Lebt noch. Job erledigt.

Da Zeke ohnehin den langen Weg schon für sinnlos fand, dachte dey sich, dey könnte sich zumindest noch etwas zu essen mitnehmen. Jetzt, wo Zeke schon hier war. Damit es sich zumindest etwas lohnen würde.

Zu deren Enttäuschung, jedoch nicht Überraschung, war der Großteil, den dey fand einfach nur Karotten. Karotten und Instant Ramen. Was auch sonst? Wenig begeistert von den ganzen Möhren, begann Zeke die Regale nach etwas brauchbarem zu durchsuchen, passte dabei jedoch nicht ganz auf wo dey hingriff und ließ versehentlich ein paar Eier auf den Küchenboden fallen. Scheiße.

Das war jetzt nicht so geplant.

Fips hatte einiges an Chaos in seinem Haus, zumindest in letzter Zeit, da er noch nie unbedingt Meister der Ordnung war, und Zeke bezweifelte, es würde groß auffallen, wenn dey einfach wieder gegangen wären, jedoch wollte dey mal kein komplett rücksichtsloser Idiot sein. Zudem war es ja deren eigener Müll, und wenigsten den könnte Zeke schon wegräumen. Ausnahmsweise.

Also sah dey sich um, diesmal auf der Suche nach Tüchern zum aufwischen, doch etwas wie eine Küchenrolle fand dey nicht. Leicht genervt ging Zeke ins Bad, um dort die Suche nach Papiertüchern fortzusetzen. Doch erneut, Fehlanzeige.

Hatte der Typ denn ernsthaft nichts da? Kann doch nicht sein.

Auf die Idee, einfach Toilettenpapier zu nutzen, kam Zeke in dem Moment nicht, weshalb dey begann, jegliche Schubladen im Bad zu öffnen. Wirklich viel war in ihnen nicht, und der meiste Krimskrams weckte auch kein großes Interesse in deren. An einem anderen Tag hätte Zeke vielleicht aus Neugier sich alles genauer angeschaut, um möglicherweise etwas zum drüber lustig machen zu finden. Aber momentan war Zeke nur danach, einfach wieder zu verschwinden.

Eine Sache weckte jedoch schlussendlich doch deren Aufmerksamkeit. In einer der untersten Schubladen war nämlich im Grunde genommen nichts, außer einer Sache. Verbände. Und zwar einige.

Was? Wofür zum Teufel würde Fips denn Verbände brauchen? Geschweige denn, gleich so viele?

Wenn er sich irgendwie verletzt, konnte er sich doch wieder heilen? Komisch.

Sollte dey aber erstmal nicht weiter kümmern. War, immernoch, nicht deren Angelegenheit, weshalb Zeke extrem froh war, endlich Taschentücher zu finden, die Eier vom Boden zu wischen und abzuhauen.

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Im Nachhinein schienen die ganzen Verbände Zeke doch etwas mehr zu verunsichern, als dey gerne zugegeben hätte. Denn gerade mal am nächsten Tag fing dey erneut an, den Sinn dieser zu hinterfragen.

Waren sie nur aus Prinzip da? Als Vorsichtsmaßnahme? Falls doch mal etwas passieren sollte?

Aber warum dann gleich so viele, als würde Fips sie regelrecht lagern. Als würde er sie regelmäßig brauchen und benutzen. Aber wofür?

Hatte er Verletzungen? Woher denn? Dey bezweifelte, dass es etwas in Fips’ Leben gab, von dem dieser lang anhaltende Verletzungen davontrug. Noch mal, wenn er verletzt war, konnte er sich doch selbst heilen.

Natürlich machte Zeke sich keine Sorgen oder so. Warum sollte dey auch? Vorallem nicht um Fips. Als ob. Und selbst wenn, was natürlich niemals der Fall sein wird, würde Zeke es nicht laut aussprechen.

Dass dey in der darauffolgenden Woche ab und zu nachts vorbeikam, war selbstverständlich ebenfalls rein zufällig. Nur um sicherzugehen, dass Fips gescheit schläft, und um deren Job zu erledigen. Reine Routine. Nicht um nach offensichtlichen, potenziellen Verletzungen oder Wunden zu schauen, die Fips möglicherweise haben könnte.

Welche er übrigens nicht hatte. Und das, obwohl der Verband trotzdem von Besuch zu Besuch weniger zu werden schien.

Was Zeke natürlich auch nur rein zufällig aufgefallen ist. Und nicht, weil dey jedes mal absichtlich nachsah. Das wäre ja absurd. Warum sollte es dey auch interessieren? Sorgen machte sich Zeke sicher nicht. Mm. Absolut nicht.

Das dey wenige Tage später Rhun einen Besuch abstatteten hatte ebenfalls nichts damit zu tun. Zeke wollte einfach nur mal wieder mit xier plaudern, wie es denn so bei Rhun läuft und wie es xier geht und so. Dass Fips dabei als Thema aufkam war zwar wirklich nicht geplant gewesen, doch lehnte Zeke es auch nicht ab.

Neben den üblichen kleinen Sticheleien und Witzen, erwähnte dey ganz nebenbei etwas über die Verbände die dey gefunden hatte, was von Rhun jedoch nicht ganz so lässig abgewunken wurde.

“Bandagen? Für welchen Zweck denn?”

Zeke zuckte nur mit den Schultern.

“Seh ich aus, als hätte ich ‘ne Ahnung? Was weiß ich denn, was der Hase wieder anstellt.”

Rhun rollte mit den Augen und schwieg für einen Moment, doch an xiers Gesichtsausdruck konnte Zeke erkennen, dass xier gerade ungefähr hundert mögliche Antworten durchging.

“Hat er irgendwelche Verletzungen?” fragte Minty plötzlich, und erst dann realisierten die beiden Brüder, dass sie scheinbar schon länger bei ihnen stand und mitgehört hat. Rhun starrte sie kurz grimmig an, als wollte xier ihr mitteilen, dass sie sich nicht einmischen sollte, schüttelte danach aber leicht den Kopf.

Minty ließ sich nicht von dem Blick abschrecken, sondern blieb weiter standhaft neben den beiden Wächtern stehen und überlegte wohl ebenfalls.

“Ist er trans?”

Zeke und Rhun tauschten beide sofort einen raschen, verwirrten Blick aus.

Ja, war er. Aber Minty konnte nichts davon wissen. Woher denn? Es war eins der Themen, die so gut wie nie thematisiert wurden, geschweige denn, vor anderen Leuten. Und die paar Male, die Fips sie getroffen hat, war es unwahrscheinlich, dass sie es von ihm weiß. Fips hatte es noch nie jemandem von sich aus erzählt, außer seinen Brüdern. Damals, im Kloster noch.

Und vorallem, warum spricht sie das ausgerechnet jetzt an? Weiß sie etwas darüber? Hatte sie eine Vermutung?

“Warum fragst du?” hakte Rhun nach und blickte sie an mit reiner Kuriosität und Neugier, allerdings auch mit leichtem Zögern. Misstrauen schon fast.

“Naja, viele Transmänner benutzen Verbände, um sie sich um die Brust zu wickeln. Damit diese flach wirkt. Ist aber extrem gefährlich,” erklärte Minty, ignorierte Rhuns Augen die sie immer noch durchbohrten und entweder tat sie nur so als bemerkte sie die Reaktionen der anderen nicht, oder sie bekam die ernsthafte Verwirrung wirklich nicht mit.

“Was weißt du darüber?” fragte Rhun erneut, diesmal schon etwas drängender. Als hätte das Wort ‘gefährlich’ etwas in xier ausgelöst, eine ganz neue Stufe der Neugier, allerdings war auch kaum merklich Sorge in xiers Blick. Zumindest soweit Zeke es beurteilen konnte.

Minty wirkte ein wenig perplex, woher denn dieses plötzliche Interesse von der Zahnfee kam, gab ihre Antwort jedoch relativ schnell. “Äh, also, wenn die Verbände zu eng sind, können sie einem das Atem erschweren oder sogar blockieren. Und die Haut an sich wird anfälliger für blaue Flecken oder Infektionen im schlimmsten Fall. Außerdem kann es sein, dass-”

Zu diesem Zeitpunkt hörte Zeke ihr schon nicht mehr zu. Dieses rücksichtslose Verhalten klang extrem nach Fips. Einfach zu handeln, ohne sich groß Gedanken über die Konsequenzen zu machen. Typisch.

Und obwohl Zeke gerne so getan hätte, als wäre es dey egal und einfach das Thema zu wechseln, konnte dey nicht leugnen, dass irgendein merkwürdiges Gefühl in deren aufkam. Warum würde Fips so etwas machen? Dass er häufiger unüberlegte und spontane Entscheidungen traf, die im Nachhinein extrem rücksichtslos waren, war nichts Neues.

Aber das war nicht unüberlegt. Wenn man den regelrechten Vorrat an Verbänden bedenkt, könnte man meinen, dass Fips das geplant haben muss, dass er das voll und ganz absichtlich tat.

Aber wieso? Warum würde er denn freiwillig seinen Körper so beschädigen? Und das auch noch wissentlich?

Zeke schüttelte den Kopf. Sollte Gedanken wollte dey gar nicht haben. Sollte Fips doch machen, was er will. Wird schon sehen, was er davon hat. Rhun schien ebenfalls in Gedanken versunken zu sein, da xier mehrfach von Minty gerufen werden musste, um auf sie zu reagieren.

“Zahnfee? Alles okay bei dir?”

Xier starrte sie für wenige Augenblicke wieder intensiv an, bevor Minty aufgefordert wurde, sich wieder um ihre Aufgaben zu kümmern, wobei sie natürlich schnell gehorchte und verschwand. Sobald sie wieder allein standen, beziehungsweise saßen in Zekes Fall, murmelte Rhun, “Ich muss mit ihm sprechen.”

Obwohl Zeke sich relativ sicher war, dass xier mehr mit sich selbst geredet hat, antwortete dey trotzdem. “Ach was. Um den Hasen musste dir doch keine Sorgen machen. Wer sagt denn, dass das was deine Helferin gesagt hat, überhaupt eintrifft?”

“Ob es der Fall ist oder nicht, die Möglichkeit besteht dennoch. Und wenn da wirklich etwas dran ist, bedeutet das nichts Gutes.”

Zeke rollte nur mit den Augen und ließ sich etwas weiter im Sessel zurücklehnen, was von deren Bruder mit einem weiteren, grimmigen Blick kommentiert wurde.

“Selbst wenn, der kann sich doch selbst heilen. Wo ist das Problem?”

“Das Problem, mein lieber Bruder, ist warum Fips das überhaupt macht. Es muss ja einen Grund geben. Nicht mal er ist so rücksichtslos.”

Den Witz der Zeke auf der Zunge lag, dass er vielleicht heimlich Masochist geworden ist, brachte dey lieber nicht. Einen Streit mit Rhun wollte dey jetzt nicht unbedingt erreichen.

“Ugh… Okayyyy. Was hast du vor?”

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Als Fips aufwachte mitten in der Nacht, war es um ihn herum noch dunkel, bis auf das leichte Mondlicht, das durch eins der Fenster schien. Warum genau war er aufgewacht? Ausgeschlafen war er sicher nicht, da er sich vor gerade mal zwei oder drei Stunden hingelegt hatte. Es war auch nicht so, als hätte er einen Alptraum gehabt, der ihn vom Schlafen abhielt.

Es fühlte sich an, als hätte ihn etwas, oder jemand, absichtlich aus dem Schlaf gerissen.

Zwar wollte Fips einfach nur sich umdrehen und weiterschlafen, doch als er leise Geräusche, die wie Schritte klangen, knapp neben ihm hörte, öffnete er vorsichtig die Augen. Es war gerade so hell, dass seine Augen sich so gut wie direkt an die Helligkeit gewöhnten.

Das Erste was er sah, war das Gesicht eines seiner Brüder.

Zeke?!

“Was zum Fick?!”

Fips rutschte schnell weg von deren, und wäre Zeke nicht von sich aus direkt weg gesprungen, hätte Fips dey wahrscheinlich aus Reflex geschlagen.

“Dir auch guten Morgen,” meinte Zeke gelassen, wartete nicht einmal auf die Reaktion des Anderen bevor dey die Türklinke unterdrückte um die Tür zu öffnen.

“Was zum Teufel machst du hier?!” schrie Fips ihn fast an, immer noch verdattert und verwirrt. Seine Frage wurde gekonnt ignoriert, als Zeke sich schon bereit machte zu gehen. “Bin nur der Weck-Service. Viel Spaß euch,” antwortete dey, wobei der letzte Satz wohl an jemanden gerichtet war, der sich noch außerhalb von Fips' Sichtfeld befand.

Bevor er etwas erwidern konnte, war Zeke bereits verschwunden, und um die ganze Situation noch komischer zu machen, tauchte Rhun an deren Stelle auf.

“Und was machst du jetzt hier? Wollt ihr mich verarschen?” Langsam wurde Fips genervt. War das alles ein Traum? Schlief er noch? Was wollten die beiden denn jetzt von ihm? Dass Klaus ab und zu mal vorbeikam, ohne jeglichen Grund oder Ankündigung, war er schon gewohnt. Aber die zwei? Die meldeten sich doch sonst nie bei ihm.

“Auch schön dich wieder zu sehen,” sagte Rhun in kompletter Gelassenheit, und stellte sich neben das Bett, um den Anderen besser betrachten zu können.

Fips rollte nur mit den Augen. “Wenn das irgend ‘ne blöde Verarsche sein soll, hab ich da jetzt echt keinen Bock drauf.”

“Keine Verarsche. Keine Tricks. Ich wollte mit dir reden,” stellte Rhun fest, und bevor Fips widersprechen konnte holte xier etwas hinter xiers Rücken hervor. Verbände.

Wo zum Teufel hatte xier die her?? War xier seine Sachen durchgegangen? Was wollte xier damit? Oh fuck. Hatte Rhun etwas mitbekommen? Bitte nicht. Xier konnte doch eh nicht wissen, wofür er sie brauchte. Dann wiederum, was sollte er xier denn sagen? Wenn Rhun den Vorrat gesehen hat, wird xier ihm definitiv Fragen stellen. Oh Gott, nein.

Auch wenn Fips nichts sagte, um sein Erstaunen und seine Überraschung so gut es geht zu verbergen, konnte Rhun trotzdem die Bedeutung seiner geweiteten Augen deuten. Etwas so gut für seinen Geschmack. Rhun gab ihm einige Momente, um selbst ein Gespräch anzufangen oder eine Erklärung abzuliefern, an welchen Fips jedoch offensichtlich kein Interesse hatte.

“Wofür brauchst du die Bandagen?” fragte xier ruhig.

Fips gab seinem Brüder die erste Antwort die ihm einfiel, die auch einigermaßen logisch klang. “Wofür braucht man denn Bandagen? Schon mal was von Schnitten oder Prellungen gehört?”

“Ausgerechnet du brauchst doch dafür keine Verbände. Und wir wissen beide, dass du lieber Wunden durch Magie heilst, statt sie natürlich verheilen zu lassen.”

Shit. Hatte xier recht.

“Ja und? Ne Notation kann nie schaden,” versuchte Fips abzuwinken. Leider ohne großen Erfolg.

“Ich bezweifle, dass ein halbes Dutzend an Verbandsrollen als ‘Notration’ zählt.” Rhun hob leicht eine Augenbraue, wechselte aber schnell zurück zu einem neutralen Gesichtsausdruck. Fips beruhigen tat dies allerdings nicht.

“Warum juckt dich das überhaupt? Kümmer dich doch um deinen eigenen Kram,” kam von ihm zurück und er verschränkte die Arme, seinen Kopf lehnte er an die Wand hinter sich.

“Fips, ich frage dich das nicht, um dich zu ärgern. Ich möchte nur sichergehen, dass du keinen Mist anstellst. Sag mir bitte, warum du diese Bandagen brauchst.”

“Geht dich ‘n Scheißdreck an.”

Rhun starrte ihn nur böse an, was als Reaktion mehr als reichte.

Für eine Weile weigerte Fips sich zu antworten und saß nur stillschweigend da. Warum zum Teufel mussten seine Brüder ihn um diese Uhrzeit schon auf die Nerven gehen. Basierend auf Rhuns erwartungsvollen Blick, wusste xier doch eh schon, was xier hören wollte. Warum sollte Fips es dann noch aussprechen? Als wollte xier ihn foltern…

“Aus… privaten Gründen,” murmelte er irgendwann, und seine Augen wandte sich ab von Rhun, nicht mehr fähig xiers Blicks standzuhalten. Und erneut ein Zeichen, wie schwach er doch eigentlich war. Hatte er denn vor überhaupt irgendwas keine Angst?!

“Haben diese ‘privaten Gründe’ rein zufällig etwas mit dem Abflachen deiner Brust zu tun?” fragte xier nach und Fips hätte xier gerne geschlagen. Warum fragte Rhun ihn überhaupt?

“Wenn du's eh schon weißt, frag doch nicht nach.”

“Ich möchte deine Bestätigung hören, um keine unnötigen Vermutungen aufzustellen.”

Mit zusammen gebissenen Zähnen und eng gekreuzten Armen gab Fips eventuell nach. Wenn auch extrem widerwillig und nicht im gewünschten Wortlaut.

“Und wenn's so wäre? Warum interessiert's dich?”

Rhuns Blick wurde sofort sanfter, und hätte Fips hingeschaut, hätte er möglicherweise sogar Anzeichen von Sorge erkannt.

“Warum sollte es mich nicht interessieren? Du bist immer noch mein Bruder und ich möchte nicht, dass du dich selbst diesen Schmerzen unterziehst,” fing xier an zu erklären.

“Mir geht's gut, keine Sorge,” wies Fips xier schroff zurück und warf endlich mal die Decke von seinem Körper, da es langsam warm wurde. Ob wegen der Temperatur oder aus in ihm brennender Scham, konnte er nicht definieren.

Rhun setzte sich langsam ans Ende seines Bettes, um Fips genügend Platz zu lassen und ihm trotzdem vorsichtig näher zu kommen. “Hat dir schon mal jemand gesagt, dass du kein guter Lügner bist?”

Normalerweise hätte der leicht amüsierte Ton seines Bruders Fips ebenfalls zum Schmunzeln gebracht, aber in dem Moment war ihm einfach nicht danach. Er wollte über dieses Thema nicht reden. Weder mit Rhun, noch mit irgendwem anders. Und der Fakt, dass Rhun auch noch so interessiert tat, machte es nicht besser. Die hatten sich doch noch nie für ihn groß interessiert, warum jetzt auf einmal?

“Musst nicht einen auf möchtegern besorgt machen, mir geht's wirklich okay.”

Doch Rhun blieb standhaft, und je länger xier ihn so intensiv ansah, desto mehr kam Fips das Gefühl, dass Rhuns Sorge möglicherweise doch echt sein könnte.

“Geht es dir wirklich gut? Wenn alles in Ordnung wäre, würdest du nicht willentlich leiden,” stellte Rhun fest, und setzte xiers Erklärung fort, nachdem Fips’ Gesichtsausdruck leicht verwirrt wurde. “Deinen Rippen und Lungen geht es sicherlich nicht gut, mit wie viel Druck du auf sie ausübst.”

“Mir passiert schon nichts, ich trag schon keine heftigen Schäden davon.”

“Dass du dich selber heilen kannst, weiß ich. Was ich nicht weiß ist, warum du dass überhaupt machst.”

Fips rollte erneut mit den Augen, der Drang, sich diesem Gespräch zu entziehen, hatte ihn nicht verlassen, war aber nicht mehr ganz so präsent. Seine Priorität war gerade, Rhun abzuwimmeln, um seine Ruhe zu bekommen.

“Was glaubst du, warum ich als Mann meine Brüste verdecken will?" fragte er nach, eine Spur Ironie in seiner Stimme, als wäre die Beantwortung dieser Frage so oder so unnötig und offensichtlich.

“Deswegen musst du dich allerdings nicht rund um die Uhr mit diesen schädlichen Methoden quälen. Zu lange die Verbände zu tragen ist extrem schädlich, außerdem gibt es ohnehin bessere Optionen.”

Fips traute seiner Stimme nicht, nicht zu brechen, weshalb er erneut nur schwieg. Aus welchem Grund auch immer, schien der Gedanke an seinen Körper allein, ihm schon zuschaffen zu machen. War ja klar, dass Rhun da keinerlei Mitgefühl oder Empathie hat.

Verhätschelt oder bemitleidet zu werden, wollte Fips erst recht nicht, aber diese komplette Emotionslosigkeit und Ignoranz fühlte sich einfach nur nach Abweisung an. Als wäre es xier scheißegal. Dass xier mehr auf Logik als auf Gefühle fokussiert war, war ihm ja bekannt. Schließlich war das schon immer so. Und dennoch wirkte es in diesem Moment besonders kalt.

Entweder das, oder Fips selbst war zu emotional. Konnte natürlich auch gut möglich sein. Ein weiterer Aspekt, den Fips an sich nicht leiden konnte, war, dass er seine Gefühle oft nicht so unter Kontrolle hatte, wie er es gerne hätte. Aber auch dafür schien er zu schwach zu sein. Konnte er denn irgendwas?

Und obwohl er jegliche Andeutungen von Tränen direkt weg geblinzelt hat, in dem Moment, in dem seine Augen anfingen zu brennen, schien Rhun doch irgendwie etwas bemerkt zu haben. Xiers Stimme wurde sanfter als zuvor, fast vorsichtig.

“Fips, wenn dir das so zu schaffen macht, hättest du uns Bescheid sagen sollen.”

“Wieso? Damit ihr euch drüber lustig machen könnt? Ne danke,” blaffte er xier angespannt an.

“Das hätten wir nicht getan. Nicht bei so einem ernsten Thema.”

Natürlich wusste Rhun auch, dass dieses Gerede eher Wunschdenken als der Realität entsprach, da Zeke sich herzlich wenig kümmerte, wann Witze und Kommentare angebracht sind und wann nicht. Allerdings wusste Rhun auch, dass es zumindest von xiers Seite aus, ein ehrliches Geständnis war.

Nach ein paar weiteren Minuten, die in drückender Stille vergingen, forderte Rhun xiers jüngsten Bruder auf, “Komm. Nimm bitte die Verbände ab.”

“Wieso sollte ich?” kam von Fips zurück.

“Deine Rippen haben eine Pause verdient. Und wenn du sie nicht abnimmst, nehm ich sie dir eigenhändig ab.”

Allein, dass Rhun ihm diese ‘Drohung’ machte, zeigte, dass xier es ernst meinte. Und xier würde nicht davor zurückscheuen, die eben genannten Worten in die Tat umzusetzen, so viel war sicher.

Fips seufzte, gab sich aber geschlagen. Überraschend schnell, für seine Verhältnisse. Auf einen Streit hatte er keine Lust. Dafür war er dann doch noch zu müde.

“...Guck weg,” murmelte er nur, achtete genau darauf, dass Rhun auch ja wegsah, bevor er sich die Verbände langsam abnahm. Und Rhun hatte Recht, sein Brustkorb fühlte sich tatsächlich direkt besser an. Kam wohl davon, diesen unzählige Jahre am Stück durchgehend viel zu eng zusammen zu schnüren.

Rhun war mindestens genauso perplex wie Fips selbst, über die Geschwindigkeit seines Einverständnisses, war aber respektvoll und schaute mit nach unten gerichtetem Blick auf xiers eigene Schuhe, bis keinerlei Bewegung mehr von Fips bemerkbar war.

Und tatsächlich hatte er den Verband abgenommen. Der lag nämlich nun vor ihm auf der Decke und wurde mit Verachtung von ihm angestarrt. Wenn Blicke töten könnten, wäre der jetzt definitiv tot, obwohl es nur ein Gegenstand war. Fips Blick hätte alles und jeden umgebracht, so sicher war Rhun sich.

Bevor Fips auf dumme Ideen kommen konnte, nahm xier die Bandagen schnell an sich und stopfte sie in eine von xiers Taschen.

“Besser?”

“Mh.”

Körperlich war es eine Art Erleichterung, klar. Allein seine Atemwege waren freier und er konnte sich auch um einiges leichter bewegen. Aber gleichzeitig spürte Fips jetzt auch wieder dieses ätzende Gewicht an seiner Brust, das er seit Jahrhunderten verabscheut.

Rhun meinte es nur gut, und das wusste er auch. Aber das hieß nicht, dass er sich nicht unwohl fühlte. In seinen Augen wirkte seine Brust so viel bemerkbarer und Fips hätte sich am liebsten unter der Decke versteckt, um nicht von irgendwem gesehen zu werden.

“Falls es dich glücklich macht, in meinen Augen wirst du immer mein Bruder sein. Egal wie du aussiehst,” versuchte Rhun ihn aufzumuntern. Und dieses Mal schien es zu wirken, denn irgendwie schafften es diese Worte, ein Lächeln auf Fips’ Lippen zu bringen. Mehr als das Wort ‘Danke’ stumm zu formen, brachte sein Mund allerdings nicht heraus.

“Trotzdem bitte ich dich, mehr Rücksicht auf deinen Körper zu nehmen. Diese Verbände sind sowieso schädlich, den ganzen Tag damit herumzulaufen ist keine gute Idee. Wenn du reden willst, kannst du immer zu mir kommen. Wenn ich aber nochmal mitbekomme, dass du diese Dinger nicht rechtzeitig abnimmst, sorg ich persönlich dafür, dass du's bereust. Oder ich hetze Klaus auf dich.”

Kurzzeitig war Fips davon überzeugt gewesen, wenn Rhun und Zeke schon da sind, wäre Klaus auch keine Überraschung mehr. Allerdings war er nicht da, was Fips daraufhin deutete, dass ihm überhaupt nicht Bescheid gesagt wurde. Wahrscheinlich wollte Rhun in Ruhe mit ihm sprechen, und Klaus war jetzt nicht unbedingt die Ruhe in Person.

“Ich pass schon auf,” antwortete Fips, und obwohl seine Stimmlage nach wie vor leicht genervt klang, verriet seine Körpersprache, dass er nicht mehr ernsthaft genervt war. Nur, dass er dieses Gespräch ungern weiterführen wollte, was Rhun jedoch einigermaßen verstehen konnte.

----

Als Zeke deren irgendwann zu ihnen ins Schlafzimmer gesellt und prompt auf Fips’ Bett fallen gelassen hatte, legte dey einen Arm um Fips’ Schultern um ihn zu deren zu ziehen und ihm grob die Haare zu verwuscheln. Zwar waren deren Handlungen nicht gerade sanft, aber ausnahmsweise auch mal nicht von Hass oder Sticheleien getrieben.

“Na, kleiner Bruder?”

Fips versuchte relativ schnell sich aus Zekes Griff zu befreien, welcher ihn aber nicht losließ und einfach näher zog.

“Was für ‘kleiner’? Ich bin größer als du,” gab er dey als Antwort.

“Ja und? Ich bin älter.”

Zeke war schon immer stolz gewesen, diese paar Minuten älter zu sein als Fips. Somit war dey nämlich nicht ganz der Jüngste. Der kleinste von allen fünf war dey trotzdem.

“Ne Nervensäge, das bist du.”

“Tja. Immerhin bin ich der Einzige von uns, der eine Frau hat.”

“Wie viel du der gezahlt hast, das die bei dir bleibt, ist mir immer noch rätselhaft…”

Als er das halb beleidigte Gesicht seines Bruders sah, konnte Fips nicht anders, als zu grinsen.

“Hey!”

[jovialturtleface]

How exciting.

[brocktonbay]

can we get stills of the rose and blake bimbofication please i need to stare at them indefinitely

you got it, boss 🫡

[shopwitchvamp]

btw I haven't even gotten around to teasing them yet but I've got more designs on minis for the first time, ready to go up with the next two restocks this month 👀

[good-beanswrites]

Hear me out:

Kotoko adopted Es, and Fuuta went ballistic.

Rip Fuuta... he can never catch a break... Asdfsdf thank you for this, it was a blast thinking of all the ridiculous ways this could have played out! (One possibility I toyed with was Fuuta's competitive instincts take over, he fights her for Es, only to realize too late "*I* don't want to be responsible for a whole child WAIT") It's a similar format to the last one, with a knock-at-the-door reveal, but I still think it works 😂

“Don’t fuck with me, Es.”

“I would never.”

Lying brat. Fuuta knew they would every chance that they got. It was the reason he was so relieved that Es decided to find somewhere else to live after Milgram’s end. Fuuta had nothing left to fear from his former warden, but the others’ suggestions that Es become his new roommate still made him shudder. Three interrogations in a closed space with the rude kid were enough for him, thank you very much.

However, it wasn’t all a relief. He couldn’t help feeling concerned about who they’d gone to live with. Given how cryptic they were being, Fuuta would have been convinced they walked into the woods to find a furry family of Jackalopes or something to raise them –except, they showed up for this walk with clean clothing and internet access. 

“I don’t believe you. You’re fucking with me right now. Why can’t you just tell me who it is?” 

“It isn’t any of your concern. Hey, I thought you swore to stay out of others’ business. You turned over a new leaf and all that?”

“Tch. I meant other people’s business. You’re different.” 

If Es had vanished off the grid like some of the other prisoners, Fuuta wouldn’t have cared. But they were here, near enough to arrange some lame meetup, which meant they were going to remain in his life for a while longer. And that meant, as the model citizen that Fuuta was, he felt responsible for ensuring they didn’t get themselves kidnapped by some creep. 

He asked, “how much do you know about them, anyway? I mean, what kind of person can house a random weird kid on incredibly short notice? That’s definitely suspicious.”

Fuuta pulled the mask up on his face as they turned down a more crowded street. He knew people were going to gawk at his eye anyways, but it still helped him feel like he was blending in. With his thoughts on the injury for a moment, he was glad that bitch Kotoko was one of the prisoners who had gone off the grid. Good riddance.

“I promise, she’s fine. Not weird with children at all. In fact, she’s really good with them, which is why she could help me on such short notice.” They muttered, “but it’s not like I’m that young…”

“That’s still not normal. Is she some old housewife or something?”

“Ah, are you trying to do the interrogation this time? Actually, I’d say she’s around your age.”

“It’s just you two living alone? I’m still worried about Milgram coming looking for us again – can a girl like that really protect you?”

“Is everyone supposed to live with a big, strong man, like you?”

“Wha–!” Fuuta’s cheeks burned red. “That’s not what I –!”

“I’m only teasing. It’s cute that you care about me.”

That only agitated him more. “It’s not cute! I’m being realistic! One of us has to think about your safety while you’re just distracted by some pretty girl.”

“What makes you think she’s pretty?”

“Well, why else would you be so careless in deciding to live with her?”

All of the sudden, he saw it in Es’ eyes: that spark of mischief that Fuuta had come to loathe. He could never tell what they were plotting, but it was never a good sign.

Es held up their hands in mock surrender. They put on a ridiculous, overdramatic voice. “Ah, you caught me, Fuuta! I’m hiding her identity because she’s the most beautiful, capable woman in all of Japan, and I want to keep her all to myself!” 

He groaned, but they weren’t deterred. “She’s got everything, I couldn’t risk you falling for her! She’s quite capable of defending me. She’s very strong, with protective instincts much like your own. She understands our situation like no one else could. She’s got intense eyes, and you wouldn’t believe her singing voice. She enjoys deep conversations, she’s a dog person, she –”

“ – now you’re being the creep! Just shut up, I get it already...”

When they finally had the decency to pull it together, they reassured him. “It’s all true, though. So there’s no need to worry about me. I’m in good hands.”

Good hands, his ass. In only a brief conversation, the caretaker had gone from sounding a little suspicious to sounding way too good to be true… meaning she was extremely suspicious.

“Maybe someday I’ll introduce you, if you’re lucky...”

He turned his eyes away. “At least let me run some background checks on her first.” 

(He would just stalk her on social media, but that still counted.)

“You’re just going to stalk her on social media. That doesn’t count.”

“Eh? I have legit methods!” He hid deeper under his mask.

Even after the topic was dropped, after he and Es parted ways on an awkward goodbye, Fuuta was left thinking about this mystery woman. It took a bit of digging (and maybe a tiny bit of social media stalking) but at last he found where Es lived with this stranger. Contrary to what they may believe, he had turned over a new leaf. There would be no more hiding behind screens or letting others do the confrontation for him. Now that he was a changed person, he’d do the healthy and normal thing with this information: he’d march on down there himself and confront her like a man. 

He made it all the way to the front door with his chin high. He knocked with confidence. 

Then he began to shift nervously. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the woman’s description out of his head. Sure, he was here to check on Es, but if someone happened to check him out at the same time, it was only right to be prepared… He straightened his shirt collar. He ran his fingers through his hair. He wondered if he should have covered up his eye to look more presentable.

The door swung open. 

The surprise on Kotoko’s face was nowhere near the amount on Fuuta’s.

“Oh, for fucks sake –!”

From somewhere behind her, Es’ laughter rang out.

[magistralucis]

"I'm right here." - Trazyn/Orikan (requested by @beril66)

(Drabble for a prompt fill challenge, prompts available here.)

--------------

They debate the pros and cons for a while, but in the end Orikan gets his wish, as he must've always known he would. Trazyn feels some kind of way about it. It's odd - as he gathers the necessary tools and heads to Orikan's quarters, he feels not a single smidgen of hatred, only the weight of dread mixed with weary concern. This is not how he would've characterized his sentiments towards the Diviner before any of this happened. He feels out of himself, frustratingly passive, inadequate.

"Orikan."

But if the Overlord of Solemnace is not adequate for this task, no one else will be. He desires breath, deletes the notion from his engrams, and enters.

Orikan is lying silently on the ground. Sannet is watching over him. Outwardly the astromancer is closer to restored - his primary servomechanisms have regained their function and the necrodermis 93% regenerated, the scratches buffed out and his carapace polished a rich turquoise - but Trazyn doesn't need to scan him to know that little about Orikan's mental state has changed. He sends an interstitial greeting, receives but a tiny blip in return. Trazyn dismisses his Arch-Cryptek with a nod, then with some effort, kneels down beside Orikan.

"Don't suppose you want it done to the tiles." He says out loud, more to himself than the astromancer, then dares the slightest touch with a fingertip upon the other's blackened spine. Orikan tenses, a shiver passing through his circuits. "I'll be gilding below those (gesturing at the three orbucula along his spine), then your clavicle-collar, and your headpiece. Has Sannet updated you on my process?"

A small nod. Trazyn heaves a sigh-analogue. Three whole decans have passed since that fateful battle, and just as long their cohabitation in Solemnace - but Orikan is still so afraid, and refuses all attempts to clarify the problem. Hardly an encouraging atmosphere where hands-on work is necessary. Still, for Orikan, he will do his best.

"... Good. If you've no other qualms, dear colleague, I will begin."

-----

They don't talk. Not about each other, not even loosely to fill the time. Trazyn's working at the same speed as his living self once did, which is rather slow for necron engrams, and in the absence of Orikan's jabs and insults he finds himself dwelling on the strangeness of the other's request. No one among their kind has needed to hand-gild anything since biotransference. Few individuals remember the art at all, and besides, they have decorator-scarabs for the purpose. Trazyn certainly isn't painting on his own raiments whenever he's damaged or switches bodies, and he loved gilding with his hands, it was his finest skill among the scribal arts.

But even when Trazyn lived the practice was considered old-fashioned. It's not an art he imagined Orikan, with his dislike of the past, would be caught dead asking for. Their world has shifted about them and maybe it's everything Trazyn has ever wanted, except he knows they're not the things Orikan would've usually wanted, and the thought of the other's discomfort bothers him more than he'd admit.

(Then again they never thought all that seriously about being caught dead, full stop.)

The hand holding the brush trembles. He is thinking illogically again.

(Trazyn only foolishly thought they had.)

Enough of this. Trazyn forcibly focuses his oculars elsewhere and redirects extra core-flux to his fine-motor actuators. It's easier because he's not facing Orikan. The spaces between the orbs and his spine are narrow, and while Trazyn can zoom in visually for the little details, he has no choice but to physically lean in close to actually let his brush pass over those areas. He tries to be discreet about it, but ultimately he must hold Orikan against him as he works, or else lie beside him for a clearer view.

He's seldom been this up close and personal with Orikan without dying. Nor with anyone else, not in this context: the living Trazyn's handiwork belonged to books and scrolls foremost, stone second, with the occasional jewelry-burnishing for interest. And even if he were only working on those (and not Orikan's body), remembering how it was done before is not the same as putting the work to practice, especially since Trazyn's current technique is different to how it was done before. There's a brush and there is gold, and therein ends the similarity. Trazyn's pigments are no longer bound with gum, but with fluid living metal, which adheres directly upon Orikan's body once painted. There is no need for varnish, nor the bite of regal acid, nor heat produced from anywhere other than their cores. Trazyn's own nanoscarabs are following along, tidying up the edges and weaving the gold layers into necrodermis at a subatomic level. His artisan's pride suggests a filigree finish, though his rational side suspects Orikan won't care for it.

Nevertheless he ought to bring it up at some point. It's a pretty touch, a dignified thing. Trazyn finishes gilding the lowest orbuculum down Orikan's spine, sits up with the faintest creak of his knee-cabling, moves away.

The astromancer's hand darts out of nowhere to grab his wrist.

Trazyn bristles. Literally bristles, the epidermic layer of his necrodermis rippling visibly as his subconscious prepares for an attack. It dies down as soon as he regards Orikan, and the immensity of the panic radiating from him; no need to run a diagnostic scry, nor even ask what's wrong, since the Diviner is incandescent with alarm-patterns from every functional node. Without a word Orikan drags himself to kneeling, crawls forwards - then collapses right against Trazyn's ribcage, clinging on for dear life, or whatever passes for its illusion nowadays.

"Orikan!" Trazyn's voice crackles, then fuzzes out of his vocal emitters entirely. It comes back dampened, soft, despite his best efforts. "What are you... oh... oh, damn it all."

There's no answer. But the point is loud and clear: Orikan needs his company, he won't be left alone. This was never about mere gilding - something happened to Orikan during the brief moments of his godhood, and Trazyn's presence is the only thing that's been grounding him ever since, for he's the one other proof Orikan has that the interdimensional horrors could be overcome. "I was only going to move to the other side, you know I wasn't going away." Trazyn says quietly as he puts down the brush, sitting up as straight as his back will allow. He supports the other's frail body in his arms and drapes one half of his cloak over him. "I'm right here, Orikan. It's all right."

They're pressed turquoise against turquoise, core-flux burning hot. Trazyn would not have believed, once upon a time, that such a happenstance could've occurred in any other context than his unfailing triumph over Orikan: he'd have been all too happy to see the Diviner crushed, made centrepiece or vassal or a slave, the gold and turquoise proof of his ownership more than anything else. Those fantasies feel distant now, like they're a different lifetime and a dozen different Trazyns away. In the present day Trazyn the Infinite is merely staring down at their hands, two charred and two unblemished, his oculars dim and sad as he clasps their fingers in comfort.

Fleetingly the archaeovist recalls this was how the Nihilakh nobility welcomed additions to the dynasty. The newcomer, usually a child or a foreign spouse, would be granted a ceremonial robing of the dynastic colours followed by gifts of gold and turquoise goods. Seal-rings for a new groom, hairpins for a bride, amulets and jeweled rattles and gold-embroidered toys for the newborn babes. Trazyn has never had cause to perform this ceremony himself and remembers nothing else about it, and he certainly doesn't think Orikan had anything like this in mind - but as far as welcoming Orikan to his household goes, he supposes this is the most benign way they could've gone about it.

"My dear Orikan." He soothes, watching the glimmer of Orikan's discharge nodes slowing to a quiet blink, and rests a warm palm atop the other's cranium. "I will not leave you. Take as long as you like."

-------------------

(Notes: This is a piece exploring a headcanon that Orikan wears Nihilakh colours because Trazyn gifted it to him post-TIATD, presumably during a recuperating period on or near Solemnace. Orikan got battered to hell and back during that battle, it's doubtful Trazyn would've let him go in that state; since I also enjoyed writing about necrontyr!Trazyn's scribal duties in Unravel recently, I've brought back the chrysography/hand-gilding angle for this piece. 🥰 It struck me as a low-key but very intimate image.)

[lostandbackagain]

dustfinger spends 90% of his life seeing how close to getting his ass beat he can get without actually getting hurt and guessing wrong almost every time

[lostfanboyarts]

If you're still doing the poly trio requests would you do the DOA trio (Sigma, Nikolai, and Fyodor) for D3 or L1?

Everytime I draw them I get a little more emotionally attached to Sigfyolai... <3