#on the run snippets

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 31 @augusnippets - write what you want.

Escape plans do not always go to plan.

eugh, so many options!!!! Ok, so I picked a prompt of "sole survivor" and this is the first peice for my new "on the run" series which is an alternative timeline to Asset 84 where 84 and 83 escape from the facility. 44 is a character they end up meeting later.

CW: violence, character death, living weapon.

On the run masterlist Complex 27

44 rushed down the hallway, desperately trying to ignore the blaring alarms and flashing lights. She glanced back to ensure 32, 45, and 39 were still behind her. Relief mingled with dread as she saw them, but there was no time to dwell on it. They had to keep moving.

The escape plan had been carefully crafted, with every detail meticulously laid out by 32. The medic had always had a flair for organization, making sure every possible scenario was accounted for. But even the best-laid plans could falter when faced with the full might of the facility—the very people who had trained them, who knew their every move. How had they ever thought they could escape?

44 shook her head, shoving the creeping doubt aside. They could still make it, they just had to keep going.

A sudden explosion tore through the corridor, sending a wave of heat and debris crashing toward them. 39 was the first to react, instincts kicking in as he shouted, “That all they’ve got?” A teasing grin crossed his face, his way of keeping the tension at bay, even now.

"39! Focus," 45 barked, his tone sharp and commanding.

39 turned to smirk at 45, but the expression faded in an instant as a jagged piece of shrapnel ripped through his torso, sending him crashing to the ground.

44 skidded to a halt, her breath catching as she saw 39’s teasing grin wiped away by the cold hand of death. For a split second, she was frozen, her mind struggling to process the loss. They had been so close—how could it all be unraveling so quickly?

“39!” 32 shouted, her voice a mix of fury and desperation. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands moving with the precision born of countless hours in the facility’s training rooms. But even as she worked, 44 could see the truth in 32’s eyes: there was nothing she could do.

“No, no, no…” 32 muttered under her breath, her meticulous nature clashing with the chaos around them. She had always been the one to keep them on track, the one who never let emotion cloud her judgment. But now, her hands trembled as she tried to stop the inevitable.

"We have to move!" 45 shouted, standing protectively behind them, his rifle raised and ready, his eyes scanning for their pursuers.

44 hesitated, torn between the urge to stay and the brutal reality that they were running out of time. Her gaze lingered on 39, who had always been the one to lighten the mood with his teasing, even in the darkest of times. Now, his lifeless body lay as a stark reminder of the cost of their freedom.

“44, we have to go!” 45 snapped, his voice cutting through the haze of shock. There was no room for grief, not now—not when they were so close.

A deafening roar of gunfire reverberated through the corridor. As the chaos intenifird 45 returned fire, but the enemy was overwhelming, their numbers and speed relentless.

44 felt like the ground was slipping away beneath her feet as she watched 32 crumpled to the ground, her lifeblood pooling around her like a dark, spreading stain.. She wanted to scream, to cry out in anguish, but there was no time—only the relentless push of survival. Her heart pounded in her chest, every instinct screaming at her to run, to leave the dead behind and escape while she still could.

But leaving them—it felt like a betrayal. They were a team, bound together by their shared suffering, their shared dreams of freedom. 39’s teasing grin, 32’s meticulous care—these weren’t just comrades; they were pieces of her own fractured soul.

“44!” 45’s voice snapped her back to the present, sharp and commanding. There was no hesitation in his tone, only the cold, hard truth of their situation. “We have to go, now!”

44 leapt to her feet, grabbing 45 by the arm and draggin him behind her, she wasn't losing him too.

They manage to push through the final checkpoint, reaching the last barricade—a metal door with an intricate lock mechanism. The clang of metal against metal echoes as 44 frantically punches in the override code, her hands steady despite the chaos.

45 stands guard, his composure beginning to fray as he fires in rapid bursts toward the advancing soldiers. "We’re running out of time!" he yells, eyes darting between the door and the increasingly swarming enemies. "They’re getting too close!"

44’s fingers tremble as she inputs the final sequence. The door shudders, and with a mechanical hiss, it begins to slide open. Just as the gap widens enough for them to slip through, the soldier’s grenade detonates with a deafening roar.

The shockwave hurls 44 against the wall, and she feels a searing pain in her left arm as a piece of shrapnel embeds itself in her flesh. She grits her teeth, the pain almost blinding. "No time for weakness. Just get through. We have to get out." She tells herself.

A strangled cry escapes her lips, but she fights through the agony, pushing herself to her feet with the help of 45. The hallway, now engulfed in chaos and smoke, seems to pulse with a cruel rhythm. 44 stumbles, clutching her left arm as if to hold the remnants of her shattered limb together. Her vision blurs at the edges, but she steels herself, focusing on the flickering light of the emergency exit sign ahead.

A moment of silence envelops her as she struggles to regain her bearings. She glances back down the hallway, now a maelstrom of smoke and debris. The scattered bodies of her teammates and the advancing enemy soldiers paint a grim picture of their desperate situation. The metal door, once a symbol of hope, now feels like a distant, unreachable goal. She forces herself to move, each step a battle against the overwhelming pain.

Can’t let them win. Not after everything. Not after everyone."

If 45 escapes then it will still be a success.

45’s eyes are wide, darting back and forth between the advancing enemy soldiers and the door. His weapon is nearly empty, but he fires off the last few rounds. The soldiers, relentless and methodical, advance in a well-coordinated push, their footsteps like a grim march of doom.

“Go!” 44’s voice is strained, but it carries an urgency that cannot be ignored. She grits her teeth, feeling the intense pain that radiates from her shattered arm. Blood soaks her sleeve and drips to the floor, forming a dark trail in her wake.

45 hesitates, his eyes flicking between the opening door and 44’s pain-stricken face. “You’re not—”

“Now!” 44’s command is sharp, cutting through the clamor of gunfire. But just as the word leaves her mouth 45 stiffens, a strained gasp leaving his throat before he crumples to the ground.

44’s heart races as she watches 45’s body fall. With a final surge of strength, she pushes herself toward the door, the excruciating pain in her arm making every step a battle. She reaches the threshold and looks back one last time, her gaze meeting the emptiness of the corridor where her comrades fell.

The metal door finally gave way with a groan, its heavy frame sliding open to reveal the darkness outside. As 44 stumbled through the gap, the blaring alarms and the chaos of the facility faded behind her. The once overpowering sounds of gunfire and shouts were replaced by an eerie silence, punctuated only by the distant hum of machinery and the whisper of the wind.

The cold night air hit her like a physical blow, a stark contrast to the stifling heat and smoke of the facility’s corridors. She gasped, her breath forming fleeting clouds in the chilly air. The sudden drop in temperature made her injuries feel even more acute, each step against the gravelly ground sending jolts of pain through her wounded arm.

The facility's alarms fade behind her as she limps into the darkness, each step heavier than the last. The thought of the others, of 39’s grin and 32’s meticulous care, is a heavy weight in her chest. And 45… the way he fell right before they reached the end. It’s a haunting image that will stay with her forever.

But she can’t stop. Not now. Not when she’s so close to the boundary, the edge of the facility's perimeter. Her vision blurs, her body numb with the pain of her injuries, but she forces herself forward. Knowing that if she stops, if she gives in to the pain, it will all been for nothing.

[danijaci]

what a lovely occasion! I sure hope nobody gets poisoned ^_^

[stars-obsession-pit]

Amanda Waller scanned through another lengthy report from the leadership of the Ghost Investigation Ward. Worthless. So much posturing, yet not a single important development in their research.

She made a mental note to try to replace whoever wrote the report with someone less prone to bullshit. Not that the odds were great of finding suitable replacements—all her most competent and loyal agents were tied up dealing with more pressing concerns.

For all the dangers ghosts and ectoplasm posed, they were at least rare. Natural portals were uncommon and typically short-lived, and earthbound shades were weak enough to pose little risk. The development of anti-ghost weaponry was vitally important for real national security but could, for now, be left on the back burner without too much direct oversight from her.

Then one single line caught her eye. An offhand mention. Independent ghost hunters Jack and Madeline Fenton claim to have created a functional ghost portal.

It probably wasn’t true—lord knows she’s seen plenty of hoaxes before—but something about it made her pause. It might be finally time to send transfer some of her better agents to the Ward to look into things properly.

[catboythanatos]

bro how is there 7k words in this document already NOTHING HAS HAPPENED

+ i decided to address the "stone having an iq thats one point higher than robotnik's" detail bc i think its very funny

[felassan]

Ghil Dirthalen: 'Interview with John Epler || Dragon Age: The Veilguard {Marketing Spoilers}'

(Before deciding whether to watch this video, please note the spoiler warning in the title and in the video description below. ^^ also the segments of the video I mention below are not to do with DA:TV!)

Video description: "Welcome, welcome! I was honored with being able to go to the Veilguard preview event earlier this month, and I got 20 minutes of John Epler's time to ask him questions on the upcoming game! Epler is currently the Creative Director for Veilguard, but has been with the series for ages now. Near the tail end of the video, I do ask questions about some details of the game that were released in marketing so far, so please keep that in mind!"

[source]

Segment:

Ghil: "Kind of in the background doing a lot of heavy lifting in the fandom is a Tumblr user called Felassan." John Epler: "Yes." Ghil: "And they're actually a very good friend of mine. And I know that they would just be overjoyed if I asked to your face, is there any chance that we can get a Last Court just out, back out into the wild?" John Epler: "Last Court - the problem, I would say I don't actually have a great answer to that one, largely because that's not, that's not fully ours, that's owned by another company, so."

also

🥺🥺...

Also also,

DA Theme Park Ride also mentioned!! a glorious day. (cailan voice)

(you can find out about the Dragon Age Theme Park Ride Odyssey here, i promise it's better than gettin high)

[solalunar-eclipse]

Sonadow Snippets #1

(I really want to get back into writing these two—and I have a lot of ideas for them—but I don’t know where to start, exactly. So, I’m trying something new, and writing mostly-unedited shorts. Hope you enjoy!)

Lakes were alright, Sonic thought.

Of course, most bodies of water were ‘alright’, so long as he personally wasn’t near them. It was when he and anything larger than a puddle met that problems started to occur, mostly in the vein of him avoiding contact with the water at all costs. (He’d make an exception for swimming pools if he had a life jacket on, and even then only during competitions.)

But right now, he was surprisingly comfortable, all things considered.

Sonic was curled up on his side, propping his head up with a hand as the rest of him sank into the sand ringing the edge of the lake. There was a slight chill in the air, giving the forest a fresh scent that he could never seem to get enough of. And out on the lake, a black and red figure skated gracefully, kicking up glittering arcs in his wake.

When he’d first heard that Shadow liked to skate on water, he’d dismissed it as one of those things that was fun for a half-alien, not so much for himself. Over time, though, he grew curious, especially after Shadow claimed that it was better than skating over land in some ways. After that, he’d asked to see it for himself, and now…he kind of saw what Shadow meant.

Of course, that didn’t mean he was going to try to run on top of the water anytime soon. Nooo, thank you, Sonic the Hedgehog was just fine as he was. But there was a special kind of art to the way that his rival-turned-friend interacted with the surface of the lake, churning up the normally still water and turning it into part of his routine.

Because this was a routine, in a way. Shadow wasn’t just skating in circles—he was doing spins and flips, occasionally letting his momentum carry him on one leg, and doing all of it backwards as much as forwards. It was downright impressive.

Sonic watched intently, noticing how Shadow’s quills whipped in his self-made wind and gave his silhouette an almost beautiful sense of motion. No, scratch that, it was beautiful. Seeing him move with such grace was…magical, honestly. Definitely a privilege. Sonic couldn’t draw very well beyond little scribbly stick figures, it was Knuckles who had a great sense of things like landscapes and anatomy (though his people were a little rougher than his wildlife).

He wasn’t sure if Knuckles would see this the way he saw it, though.

So instead, Sonic tried to commit this moment to memory, refusing to lie down properly and look away even as his arm and neck began to ache. He watched intently until Shadow finished, finally skidding to a stop on the sand a ways away—far enough that the particles he kicked up wouldn’t get into Sonic’s eyes, which he appreciated.

The other hedgehog approached, brushing his windswept quills back into place. Sonic wished he’d have let them stay that way a little longer, it was kind of nice to see Shadow a little less than impeccable for a moment. At the same time, though, that tidiness was a part of who Shadow was, and he wouldn’t have changed that for the world.

“Thoughts?” Shadow asked, seeming genuinely curious, and perhaps…even a little apprehensive?

Sonic sat up properly, beaming up at him. “That was so cool. Mind if I come again sometime?”

To Sonic’s delight, Shadow gave him the smallest of smiles back. “I believe that can be arranged.”

[b0nelessdoodles]

i keep thinking im gonna like actually finish these but that ain't happening so have some gay people

[nevermoorsource]

Jessica Townsend shared a new Silverborn snippet!!! 👑🐉☂️

To view all the snippets so far, go here.

[enjoythesilentworld]

sunday snippet 🃏

funnily enough the (first) climax (hah) scene has me stumped even though i've had it written in my head for literally almost a year! but more Wolves coming soon. ill finish this fuckin fic even if it kills me

They stared each other down. How many times had they gone around in this same circle? How many more times would they? The building was quiet, and they were quiet, and nothing moved except for Simon’s shirt as it rose and fell under his steady, controlled breaths.

Simon put his hands out wide, opening up like a bear trap. “Say it.”

“Say what?” Wilhelm sighed, feeling the tiredness even heavier than before.

“Say you don’t want out,” Simon shrugged, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Then, he stepped closer, tilting his head up and lowering his voice, “Say you don’t want… this. More.”

“Simon.”

“Come on,” Simon whispered, almost tauntingly. 

[little-mouse-adventures]

Currently thinking about Artemis's will in the code at the bottom of TLG and how it really kinda shows how strained his relationship with his dad still is. Everyone else gets something they're interested in or that Arty thinks they'd like (sound system for Juliet, frozen chicken for Mulch, ethical investments for his mother, etc) and yet for his father he leaves only bearer bonds, despite Artemis I trying to move away from a money-focused enterprise and lifestyle as of TEC. Not to mention it's Butler who would know how to disengage all the booby traps protecting said bearer bonds, further highlighting the difference in trust & familiarity Artemis has with everyone but his father.

[angelcakezz]

Gingerbrave sitting on a brooding DCs lap

DC on his balcony reviewing the choices he’s made in his life but there’s also a little guy who’s napping on him

[underestimated-shadow]

Pop off, King!!!

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippet Thursday:

Giving Sig gray hairs for fun and profit (sorry, Sig, it's for a good cause)

Going with the winner of the poll here: "Damas Commits to the Bit too hard and Sig is Going To Slap Him"

Premise: Sig went on all of two missions with the Demolition Duo and decided "dibs, my rookies now, no take-backs".

"No leads on Mar yet."

Sig slouched in the corner booth, eyeing the empty bar as he spoke quietly into his talk-box. "Been trying to work out why Jak was able to talk to that Oracle in the slums. Only thing I know for sure is that it's teaching him to control all the dark eco Praxis forced into his bloodstream."

"His bloodstream?!"*

Damas sounded appalled.

"Eco outside of the core organ is some of the worst pain a hu'men can experience shy of a gut-shot! When did that happen?"

Sig clenched his teeth hard.

"Over the last two years. Snatched the kid off the street and put him through that for two years trying to make a super-soldier while Jak fought him every step of the way."

"I wish I could say that didn't sound like a logical progression of his depravity," Damas hissed on the other end of the line. "That your recruit managed to walk away from that -- let alone resist for two years -- is impressive."

There was a thoughtful note in the king's voice. He was considering something. Now was as good a time as any to try to catch him in an agreeable mood. Sig braced himself.

"...I have a request. I know you don't want to get involved in the civil war beyond runnin' guns, but-"

"Spit it out, Sig."

Sig rubbed the skin under his prosthetic eye and groaned.

"I'm...scared for Jak, man. Every time I see him, he's weaker. Kid’s about to drop over the edge of exhaustion and he keeps trudging on because he says "they" told him to. And I'm pretty sure he's talkin' about the Underground. Now, I know it's off agenda, but- I wanna follow him back. Find out whose trying to work him to death and straighten em out."

He could barely see the shrug on the monitor as Damas answered.

"Why're you asking me? He's your kid."

Something warm fluttered in Sig’s stomach and he grinned despite himself. "Yeah. I...guess he kinda is at this point, isn't he?"

The line was quiet for a few seconds. Time enough for sounds to begin emanating from the street. Then,

"When you find Mar-"

When. Not if. As if his success wasn't even in question.

"When you bring him home, bring Jak, too. I want to meet this kid in person."

"You think I'd let him and Daxter stay here?" Sig scoffed.

Just then, the door swung open, bringing with it the ottsel's familiar voice.

"I'm tellin' you, sweetheart, it's all about the pine-pears. Slice em, grill em, put em on the steak. I guarantee even Hoverboy will love it."

Tess walked in with the boys -- Sig didn't blame them for walking together. This wasn't the nicest neighborhood even without the KG -- and she giggled.

"Daxxie, I've never even had pine-pear. How am I supposed to convince Krew to put something on the menu if we can't get any?"

Jak looked worse than before. The circles beneath his eyes were deep and purple, and he looked dehydrated. Daxter perked up from his shoulders to glance in Sig’s direction.

Crap. He loved the boys, but they weren't cleared to know about Spargus yet.

"Hey, shift's gonna be starting soon, hon. Imma have to call you back."

"I beg your pardon?!" Damas sputtered.

After a beat, in which he must've heard the other voices, he sounded calmer. "Ah. You have company. Carry on."

"Yeah yeah yeah. No, I'll remember. Don't worry about it," Sig said quickly, and a little louder than necessary. "Milk, eggs, paper towels. You need me to grab anything else when I clock out?"

Jak stopped next to his table and cocked his head with a soft frown.

"Who you talkin' to?" he asked.

With a sardonic lilt, Damas’s voice grated in his ear.

"Oh, is that my "stepson"? Yeesh, he sounds rough. Tell him to take a nap."

"Tell him yourself!"

"Sure. Watch your ears."

And before he had time to brace himself, Sig had his ears ringing as Damas raised his voice and loudly called,

"Hey kid! Be good for your old man today. Take a nap when he tells you to this time."

"What the-?" Jak squinted at the talk-box.

Sig flushed scarlet from the tip of his ears to his neck when he heard the usually stoic king burst into uncontrolled cackling.

"I'm gonna round up the kids, and then I'm gonna smack you when I get home" he whispered harshly into the line.

"You wouldn't!" Damas snickered, just before ending the call, "Think of the children!"

"I am going to get him for this," Sig muttered as Jak’s face twisted in confusion.

"Who the heck is that?"

"A menace, that's who," Sig growled. "Ignore him."

Unfortunately, Jak did not.

The more time he and Daxter spent with Sig, recovering from missions under the guise of "Wastelander training", the more comfortable he became with Sig having more or less unceremoniously adopted them. And the more comfortable with Sig he got, the more accustomed he became to encrypted calls from Spargus. The ones Sig wouldn't tell him about yet.

Damas’s terrible habit of taking a Situation and running with it came back to bite them both when a message came while Sig was running perimeter check. And Jak answered the comm.

"You...are not supposed to be on this line."

To his credit, Damas kept reasonably calm.

"Where's your dad, rookie?"

"Sig's clearing the building," Jak answered with a shrug.

"I'd go grab him, but apparently broken toes disqualify you from pest control."

"Eco would fix that quickly enough."

"That's what I said!" Jak gestured vaguely towards the door. "It's not even the worst injury I've gotten in a base!"

Daxter paused on his way past Jak to the kitchen.

"That's true," he called over, "I think catching the live scatter rounds with your bare hands still holds the title on that one, pal."

"Eh." Jak made an entirely too casual shrug.

"Now, don't tell me you were juggling ammunition," Damas said, with a bit of mild reproof under the dry tone.

"The kid tried to channel em," Jak defended himself, "Slight burns or crabby toddler with super strength? Definitely could have been worse. Sig freaked out over that one, too."

Damas’s face went blank very abruptly.

"What toddler."

The door opened, and Jak glanced over.

"Oh, hey Sig. Your "it's complicated" is on the comm."

Sig made a very amusing impression of a fish out of water. He rushed across the room and snatched the talk-box.

"You don't have clearance for my comm, cherry! You know that!"

"What?" Jak asked indignantly, even as Sig propelled him out of the room.

"It's just that stepdad guy! What's the big deal?"

Sig glared at the box. "You did this."

Damas barely noticed. "He can stay, I need to clear something up with him."

If looks could kill, Damas would have been shaking hands with his ancestors at that moment.

"Out. Go run your weapons drills." Sig waved the boys away.

"Well so much for being consistent with him," Damas needled.

Another discreetly murderous glance was aimed at the camera lens.

"Are you serious right now."

"Jak may have information about Mar's location, Sig. I'm dead serious."

Sig snapped back to look at Jak so quickly that Jak was afraid he was going to get whiplash.

Jak blinked.

"Uh...we're not talking about the dead city founder guy, are we? Because I don't know where he is, but the old lady is making me look, so I can probably get you intel later."

*"Toddler,"* Damas corrected tightly, "Green hair, wearing an amulet of Mar. Powerful but uncontrolled channeling potential. Would be about four now."

Jak relaxed. "Oh, him! Yeah, I dropped him off with Vin at the power station because the Shadow was letting him play in the street again."

The combined stares of his semi-legal guardian and the man on the tiny screen left him fidgeting uncomfortably.

"....what?"

[butteronabun]

11/14

a diluc ragnvindr x female reader college au.

overview: he’s worried. they’re all worried.

wc: 2.6k

disclaimer: arguments & confrontations, mentions of losing sleep & skipping meals, anxiety, hurt/comfort, hints of plot if you squint but they’re just fillers anyway

( if that is not to your liking, feel free to skip! it’s angsty! )

You stare blankly at the screen in front of you. Hands fidgeting, eyes drying, you put yourself at a standstill — even just for a bit.

Though a rational part of you screams to keep on moving, to keep on going—because there’s a fucking deadline that you have to chase—the tight grip on the rope has loosened.

Aggressive yet motivational speeches linger. From “stop fucking around” to “suck it up” and to “no pain, no gain,” you don’t have the drive to resume your duties anymore. Even if you have backlogs to wrap up, even if you to–do lists to fulfill, even if you have obligations to commit, you just can’t.

You close your slightly parted lips - you, yourself, know that you’re in danger. Not by the means of losing sleep, or even skipping meals, no. But the way that you’re going to get up at early hours of dawn because you have a seven o’clock class and you have a paper to pass. (Your body is screaming for help.)

A paper that is yet to be revised, for it is filled with comments from group mates who have no self-awareness. Messages ranging from is this already enough, to does the paragraph make any sense? Can you check? Thanks!

Said paper is but a lowly Google doc tab beside other twenty–somethings that contain case studies and design pegs for the first and third chapter of your thesis.

There’s a gentle knock on your door. It snaps you out of your reverie, and you swallow. You need water, and so you reach out to your messy bedside table to retrieve the flask. Close to the flask is nothing but your angry clock that reminds you it’s almost close to midnight.

You pull the flask’s lid, and make yourself drink. It’s not cold anymore.

You need to refill this.

There’s another knock. Oh. You haven’t answered. It must've been your roommate. “What now, Noelle?” You take another swig of your flask before gulping it all down. You really need to refill it. “I already told you, I can’t join for today’s game night because I still have some requirements to complete. Tell Amber and the others that I’ll make it up to them next time.”

You turn to your screen again. To your unfinished project—to your work in progress.

You’ve rejected her offers countless times - but can she really blame you, when it’s the peak of midterms season? Everyone’s suffering as it is, and despite your desire to mingle with the others through board games ( such as monopoly or game of the generals ) in the lobby or partake in the nerf gun wars in the second floor’s hall, you just can’t indulge yourself today.

(Though you’re not even sure if you’ll be able to push through until 12 with this task. But she doesn’t need to know that, right?)

“It’s me,” A familiar voice says, and you freeze in your sitting position on your bed. You immediately glance at the door, imagining the shape of a grumpy, beefy, and attractive man with red hair tied up, clad in his stupid, dark, and hot turtleneck. “Noelle’s not here as of the moment. May I come in?”

Diluc wants to come in, your mind supplies, before it hits you all at once. Oh.

Diluc. Wants. To. Come. In.

Diluc.

And suddenly, memories come flashing. The way you’ve ignored the notifications flooding your phone for weeks now. The way you’ve shut the people out who approach you when they manage to find you in the cafeteria. The way you’ve ceased your tendency to come visit their dorm every night, just to yap about a cheesy romcom movie you’ve binged last Saturday (and rate them in your letterboxd).

Oh fuck.

Fuck!

“No,” you answer hastily, and just like that, you push your laptop away. You rush around your room to fix some things that have scattered on your desk and on the ground.

You pick up some of the uniforms and statement shirts your friend Yanfei has given you, and throw them on the laundry basket near your door. You push aside some of the sticky notes, yellow papers, sketches of storyboards on your study table to make room for your other workload. You kick some of the printed documents and files you’ve accumulated this week that are covered with red marks from strict professors under the bed, and even though you’ve made yourself clear that no, Diluc can’t go in, the doorknob fucking twists anyway, and every fiber of your being launches into a fight or flight mode.

”Diluc, you can’t—“

The golden light pours in when the door slowly opens. You cover your eyes with your arm, hissing at the brightness. Gods. As your sight adjusts, Diluc’s figure looms over you.

Damn it, you forgot to lock the door. You make a mental reminder to yourself that Noelle’s not everyone.

Diluc calls out your name, and your heart stirs. It stirs because it has been so long since you’ve heard from him, it’s been so long since you’ve heard his gentle voice call your name. By lowering your arm, you hesitantly meet his gaze—his oh–so tender gaze ( that is still unbelievably surprising to witness, when he’s always unimpressed ). Your stomach churns, and you feel all other things that bring you to the edge, all because of one scapegoat: him.

He scans you up and down, and you can’t help but feel conscious. You can’t help but feel vulnerable. You nervously blurt out a what? before he comments with a frown that is deepening by the second. “You look as if someone has put you through the wringer.”

Ah.

The first that comes to your mind is — “you think?” and the second is, “obviously.” Irritation floods your veins, but you suppress yourself from lashing out. Diluc’s an innocent person and he doesn’t deserve to be the receiving end of your growing bad mood.

But he’s not wrong. Out of all the efforts you’ve done just to at least make him believe that you’re keeping it all together, you’ve forgotten to fix yourself.

But then again. It’s Diluc. Nothing ever passes him.

“Thanks,” you send him a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. You return the scrutiny back to him. As usual, Diluc’s prim and proper. And it’s unfair. You’re aware that he also has his own big and heavy thing to tackle. A feasibility study, right? But compared to other business students, Diluc doesn’t look bothered at all. He doesn’t look very much affected by the stress.

But then again, it’s Diluc. He’s stupidly amazing. It’s also crazy stupid how he even wants to be a college student in the first place when he already has enough or ample knowledge to run a business, considering he’s taken the role of being Dawn Winery’s CEO. Considering he’s also eligible for being Forbes 30 under 30.

“What brings you here?” You turn your back to him, not wanting to meet his eyes any longer. You make yourself busy by sorting through some of the printed pages that have caused your heart so much dread these past few days. The simple touching of it makes you want to pull away, yet you refrain yourself. Not now. Not when Diluc is just right there. “Sorry to be a killjoy, but if you’re inviting me for a sponty road trip, I’ll have to decline.”

( You ignore once more the assortment of polaroid shots hanging from your cork board below your study desk. There’s one film in particular that shows a picture of you and Diluc together inside his Aston Martin that one night during freshman year. This was when you told him about that shawarma place that served burrito-sized shawarmas. You were smiling brightly while holding your half–bitten order, and if one would squint, they would be able to notice the minuscule grin that Diluc was displaying. )

“You haven’t returned my calls,” Diluc points out, and you’re not surprised. Always straight to the point. Not cryptic, like Venti, and definitely not disingenuous, like Kaeya. “And you haven’t replied to some of my messages. It's been hard to catch you recently.”

You remember Venti and Childe repeating the same words. And as your usual response, you assume he’s going to say more, so you let him. You grab your flask, shaking it a bit even though you know you’ve emptied it. “It’s midterms season, Diluc. I’m sure you understand and can relate to my constant absence. Unfortunately, I can’t control it.” Though a part of you desperately wishes you can.

Then, as you slowly spin to the direction of the exit, you wonder how you’ll ever cross the distance without Diluc intruding your goal. You really need to drink more water because your lips are chapped, and your throat feels rough.

Eh, here goes nothing. You try to avoid his observant gaze. “Um. If that’s everything, feel free to leave now because I still have some paperwork to write.” And be miserable again, you say in your mind. You begin to saunter towards the doorway, passing him ultimately. A mission success? “I’ll see you, maybe in the next few—“

“Are you alright?”

That stops you.

Diluc moves, and you can feel him staring at your form, even if you have your back turned to him. The stirring in your heart increases a greater amount as the silence envelops both of you when you don’t eventually respond.

The clock plastered on the wall ticks. And ticks. And ticks.

Students, maybe juniors, outside your dorm room that you share with Noelle, bicker and guffaw. Troublemakers on the other side bump their fists on the wooden walls.

Diluc waits for you in anticipation.

And you ponder—you attempt to form the words that will at least drop this conversation. That will not further cause any more questions.

( But nothing ever comes out. )

“This isn’t like you.” Diluc then says, after your prolonged silence. You fear for the worst. Diluc knows you. Diluc knows you too much, and perhaps the younger you, the happier you—from back then on those stupid polaroid shots that carried on the memories of the previous two school years—would’ve been delighted by this fact, but the you in the present is apprehensive.

She wants to cower. She wants to hide. ( She wants to stay away from Diluc because she knows that deep inside, with Diluc’s arrival finally during the lowest points of your life, will be the immediate climax. It will be the immediate breakthrough. )

“Compared to previous ‘midterm seasons’, you haven’t acted like this before. Not until now.” He spurs on.

“T–Things. . .have changed.” You mentally beat yourself up for stammering, though you can’t deny that Diluc’s correct for the second time. “I can’t just hang around in your dorm room with Venti and eat instant ramen anymore. I know that you two are occupied with your own respective majors.”

“And you know that we don’t mind your visits. What even brought this on?” Diluc questions, and you clench your fists. “I’ve heard from Noelle that you’ve been skipping your breakfast. She also told me how you would go home immediately and pass out on your bed for the rest of the day.”

You feel like a deer caught in the headlights. Gosh, you underestimate Noelle and Diluc’s closeness. She’s like a sister to him, so of course she’ll be sharing what she has seen with him.

But you just can’t let him put you on the spot like this. You had your reasons. “Again, I was tired because of midterms, Diluc. Completely unavoidable and reasonable for college students like us—“ Yet he’s not having any of it, when he interrupts you.

“And from your friends. Navia and Nilou.”

Your eyes grow wide. No.

“They’ve informed me that you—“

You turn to him by the shoulder in disapproval, “Diluc—“

“—had an altercation with them, and they’re all—“

“Diluc, that’s enough,” You chide, glowering at him with an intensity. Because you don’t understand—how? “What does this - how did you even know that?Why did they even tell you that? That doesn’t concern you.”

Diluc glares back at you tenfold. “It does concern me when it involves you.”

( At another time you would’ve asked what he meant by that. )

“It’s a sensitive topic, you know that,” You seethe at him. “If you’re here to push my buttons, you know better not to do it today. Not when—“

“Not when a lot of people have been deeply affected in the process?” He interferes again, and takes a step forward. “If I have to force you from confessing what you truly feel instead of bottling it up, then this is the option that I’ll have to resort to. Your stubborn nature isn’t helping with the matter.”

You feel something crack. Wow. “I don’t have to explain everything to you.”

”You’re not alright.”

“I am alright!”

“You’re not.” Another crack.

“I am!”

Diluc calls out your name in a warning.

And the dam breaks. You just can’t take it anymore. “For archon’s sake, Diluc, I am! I fucking am!” You scream. “Can you, please, PLEASE fucking believe in me before I cannot to myself anymore? Please?”

You and Diluc have gotten into fights before. Petty squabbles or stupid quarrels, actually, but never this heated. You have triggered his pet peeves when he has forgotten to fulfill his small promises, and he gives you the silent treatment whenever you have annoyed him far too much. All in all, they’re just normal disagreements between you two.

But this? This is different. For all the three years you’ve spent with each other, not once did it reach to this degree, until now.

You and Diluc are aware that both of you are equally obstinate—both with prideful personalities and never the one to back down from an argument because of the stances they want to stand for.

But of course, there’s only one denominator that not only triumphs all, but the two of you share.

The reason why you both are fighting as of the moment is because it’s all coming from the heart.

( The rage from Diluc’s expression immediately disappears when he catches sight of your tears cascading down your cheeks. He registers the words that have spilled from your lips, and the organ in his chest shatters one by one as you bawl.

He knows you’re hurting, and you’ve done a great job of hiding it. He doesn’t like the fact that it took him this long to realize, yet he doesn’t dwell on it and moves forward. He focuses on the present. On what matters. You hurting— he knows that with you keeping it a secret will only damage you further. )

You cover your face with your hands as you break down. You’re ashamed. Embarrassed. But most of all: in pain. “I know that I haven’t been on my best behavior lately, but I’m trying, okay? I’m fucking trying, damn it!” You breathe out heavily. “You don’t have to— you don’t have to mention my shortcomings, or what I’ve missed, because I’m aware. I’m fucking aware, but I promise you, Diluc, after all this, I swear, I’ll—“

Diluc calls your name again. You peek from your fingers, because his voice has softened, and your heart quivers, and Diluc is much much closer.

Your eyes glaze when Diluc opens his arms. An open invitation—his protection. Your broken, broken soul aches for it, and every fiber of your being wants nothing more but to be encased by his arms. “Come.”

And you bury yourself on Diluc’s chest, crying your heart out. You wail as Diluc wraps you in a warm and gentle embrace, finally giving you the comfort that you need, after the hell you’ve been through. He strokes your back comfortingly, and more tears fall from your eyes.

The stress, frustrations, and anxieties that you’ve accumulated this past few weeks have taken a great toll on you. It has ruined and devastated you to the point that you can’t even track your academic standing and relationships. And in result, this has affected you physically, emotionally, and mentally.

“Diluc,” You whine, and he releases a soft hum. You lift your head up to him, with your cheeks flushed and eyes red. He looks back at you. “I - I don’t know what to do— I. . . I have been so lost, and I feel like giving up, because—“

He caresses your cheekbone, and wipes a stray tear with his thumb. “You don’t have to tell me.” ( He doesn’t want to stress you out any longer. )

“But — but I want to. You’re,” You weep, “the only one who listens.”

Diluc cups both of your cheeks. “Then, share your burdens with me. Confide with me. One at a time.”

You nod quietly. Diluc mutters for you to go on and kisses your forehead, whispering sweet and comforting words and guilty apologies.

( this is so personal omg but yeah so this was written last year, around Nov 14 - i was at my lowest frfr. anw this is like, the same au with this one but it’s also like an au??? yes it’s an au of an au LOLOL )

[pagegirlintraining]

Sunday snippet

From a new wip I’ve been teasing a little bit.

It was predictable, almost boringly so, especially to someone who’d lived through it as many times as eighteen-year-old Wilhelm Dahlgren had. To Wilhelm - or Wille, as his friends liked to call him - summer meant his dad spending even more time at the garage while his mom fought her growing loneliness by being a member of just about every organizational committee one could be a part of in Luleå. It meant taking extra shifts at the movie theater, bike rides to the beach with Felice and Henry - and, if her parents hadn’t dragged her off across the globe for once, Maddie - and listening to Madonna as they waited for the heat to subside. It wasn’t bad, per se, but it was just that - predictable. Something he’d known all his life, and would in all likeliness know for the rest of it. Or at least that’s what he was convinced of until the summer that Simon came to town.

[alackofghosts]

vierapril day 15 - alternate universe