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dandelion-wings · 6 months ago

Note

For the angst/gore prompts, could we please have “06: Not Realizing They’re Injured” from the first list with Kujou Sara? Especially something to do with those poor wings I sincerely doubt she was ever taught how to properly take care of.

Thank you for the ask! <3 I have to apologize for this one too, anon, because it's another one that ended up not very whumpy--more a mix of hurt/comfort and angst (and a dose of 'how much can I villain Takayuki?'), because your particular prompt sideswiped a fic idea(s)(really more a constellation of fic premises and themes) that I've been turning over for a while and just kind of. stuck to that until it was irretrievably gummed together. I hope it is still sufficiently wing-focused to earn your forgiveness!

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ETA: now on AO3.

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Kujou Takayuki has never once told Sara that she isn't permitted to fly.

She remembers his frown when she was a child, the one time she had leapt into the air to gain an advantage in training. Even though it had given her tactical superiority, he had penalized her for it when evaluating those training exercises. At the time, she had thought it about honor, about the unfairness of exceeding her peers not by outdoing them through the same efforts, but by using an advantage they did not.

When she was older, rising through the ranks in the field, she had once in extremis made an attempt to scout from the air. That time she had seen the frowns on other officers' faces before she had even landed, and understood that honor didn't figure into this at all. It was about being different, being *other*, about the fear some of her soldiers couldn't hide when reminded that she was a youkai, about the contempt some of her superiors showed when they thought she could not see or hear. About her adoption by humanity and what was required of her to uphold the Kujou name.

By the time she becomes a general herself, she doesn't need to be told to stay on the ground.

Flight might have been an advantage for her on the battlefield, but it had never been a necessity. No other tengu has served in the Almighty Shogun's military for almost five hundred years. *Certainly* none served in Watatsumi's. Perhaps she might have gained an edge by taking to the air, but she did not lose significantly by refraining.

After the war, after the Sakuko Decree is lifted, after Takayuki is removed as head of the Kujou Clan and the Tenryou Commission alike, that changes. Gliders have existed for hundreds of years, but have never before been a popular import, nor often even a permitted one; they are different and foreign, and the Almighty Shogun was so long resistant to things that were different and foreign that the Tri-Commission feared to march in lockstep. So has it been with many imports that the Kanjou Commission is only now slowly coming to authorize.

Gliders are particularly popular, due to the mountainous nature of many of Inazuma's most populated islands, where they no doubt would have been popular long before if not for the Tri-Commission's care, but the traveler had made their use seem particularly alluring and permissible. Unfortunately, it isn't only law-abiding citizens who can obtain them now that the sea around Inazuma is clear. The Doushin are struggling to keep up with bandits and smugglers who can just glide away from arrest.

Kamaji, after the third report of such in a row, orders a shipment of gliders from the Knights of Mondstadt to be distributed to the Doushin. When he tells Sara, he smiles, and nods to her wings, and adds, "Though you're fortunate enough not to need them."

Which is all but an order. Even if Takayuki *had* told Sara she wasn't permitted to fly, this would be the new head of the Kujou Clan countermanding that instruction. That the thought of spreading long-disused wings leaves her uneasy doesn't affect her duty.

---

The next such encounter occurs before the shipment of gliders has even arrived. This is a particularly troublesome group of bandits, who have escaped the Doushin twice before; when another report of their activities comes in, Sara leads her forces after them herself. They find the bandits' camp on the edge of a cliff, and when they're startled while celebrating their ill-gotten gains, it seems inevitable that the less drunken and more sharp-witted of them attempt to glide to an escape.

"You, securely bind our existing captives. You, take your troops down that way, and you, that way," Sara orders, pointing out the fastest safe routes down the cliff. "They seem to be aiming for that cliffside, so they may have a secret tunnel or hatch. I'll attempt to cut them off before I get there."

She turns away as the Doushin rush to follow her commands, and spreads her wings at the edge of the cliff. This isn't the first time she's done this, of course--flight is powered by muscles, and any muscle must be exercised. As soon as Kamaji had given his instructions, she'd begun practicing each day, finding a private place in the caverns beneath Inazuma City and attempting first short glides, then short flights, then longer ones. None have been in so open a place as this mountainside with the canyon at its foot, wind whistling through, but she trusts in her training. She could have flown this easily as a child.

Her wings catch the air as she leaps off the edge, and then she's swooping down, flapping to gain speed and get past the gliding bandits, diving towards the cliff to which they're trying to flee. From now she can indeed see a too-deep shadow at the base, where bushes grow. Despite the seriousness of the situation, there's a lightness in being aloft in the open air, a *joy* in flight, that only now that she feels it again does Sara recall, dimly, from her boisterous early childhood. She smiles to herself, all the unease she'd felt when anticipating this change falling away.

The bandits are behind her now, and the cliff close ahead. She flares her wings again to catch herself in the air and adjust, so that she can turn the dive into a plunging attack before she hits the cliff-

A gust of wind hits her broadside as she spreads her wings wide. The force of it wrenches her right wing with a pull that flares into lancing pain, and then the wing collapses in on itself at the wrong angle.

Sara finds herself spiraling as she flaps only the left, desperately trying to slow herself down, to change her bearing. Shifting her grip on her bow, she closes that wing before she reaches the cliff, the other not drooping and dragging limp, and manages to plummet the last few meters and land on both feet. Her right ankle twinges at the awkward landing.

She still manages to turn and straighten and aim before the bandits actually reach her. The uncooperative wing is still alight with pain, but she grits her teeth and lets Electro crackle around her. The bandits hesitate and spread wide to flank her, putting themselves right into the arms of her Doushin.

Lowering her bow, Sara takes a step forward and collapses to one knee as the fractured bone in her ankle snaps under her weight.

---

To add to the humiliation of being carried home by her subordinates, one of her officers goes out of their way to report her injury directly and immediately to Kamaji.

He arrives in the infirmary before the medic has even finished wrapping her ankle. Sara can't even rise to acknowledge his presence properly, only straighten her back, stiffening against the urge to wince when that grinds her injured wing against the back of the chair.

"The operation was a success," she tells him, keeping her voice level even as the medic pulls the bandage tight. "We've captured the entire gang. Their leader is undergoing interrogation now."

"I'm glad to hear it," Kamaji says. "Are you all right? The Doushin told me your wing... it doesn't look good."

Sara looks straight ahead, poised to give her report as best she can. "I trained inadequately for the conditions in the field, and overestimated my ability to handle them. I will have to temporarily remove myself from field operations. That will make the Tenryou Commission's situation more difficult if any complicated matters come up, and I apologize. However, I am still fit to coordinate the Doushin's administrative affairs and handle concerns within the city."

"You can delegate the physical work to your subordinates until you recover. This is a good opportunity to season some of our new officers. If anything serious arises, I *am* the Provisional Clan Head, and willing to take personal responsibility."

Which is in theory his duty--but Sara is accustomed to being Takayuki's right hand, the reason he didn't *have* to handle what he assigned her to personally, even if she had once or twice failed him in that role. She doesn't let herself think, sitting here directly in front of him, that Kamaji also lacks the experience to handle very serious Doushin affairs on his own, but certain conversations with Masahito do impinge vaguely upon her dismay. What matters is not his capability, but her responsibility to manage this department of the Commission, and that he currently considers her unable to do so.

"It will be useful for determining which officers are ready for more advanced duties," Sara agrees. It isn't her place to argue, especially with the results of her own failures. The medic has moved to her wing, prodding at it cautiously, and Sara grits her teeth against a stab of pain.

Kamaji smiles at her. Then he looks at the medic at work, and his smile fades. "How bad is it?"

"I'm not sure, Lord Kujou," the man says. "I've never treated a tengu's wing before. I think I can splint it, but I don't know how well it will heal."

"I don't see how it would be any different from my ankle," Sara says. "I have broken bones before. So long as it's properly aligned and held straight, I've always healed well."

---

The ankle heals faster. Sara is on her feet again within three weeks, though the medics are firm about limiting how much she walks about, and free of their restrictions in six. Her wing, though, lags behind.

It hurts at every slight bump against the back of a chair or a too-close wall, hurts jagged and sharp the first time she grasps a would-be escapee from an unwary Doushin by the arm and he turns and strikes her, and burns bitter and aching if she sits or stands for too long without finding something on which to prop the unwieldy limb up. The medics attempt a frame of bamboo that leaves it stuck awkwardly out; Sara has to discard that after a day of turning sideways to pass through doorways and feeling a fool in front of her men. At no point do they feel it's knit enough to abandon the splint and exercise it again.

A few days after that she's summoned to the Almighty Shogun's presence regarding some aspects of the palace's security. She can feel the Shogun's eyes on her splinted wing, impossible to fold completely against her back, for much of the discussion. Fortunately, the Shogun doesn't force her to recount her mistakes and explain her condition.

Instead, the next day Kamaji summons her to his office and opens with, "I received a message from Her Excellency yesterday regarding your wing." The mortification is so immediate that Sara almost doesn't hear him continue, "Once I explained everything, she arranged for help from Guuji Yae."

That explains the shrine maiden standing in the corner--not one of the bright-eyed young women or sweetly maternal figures who serve the public, but a grey-haired old woman with a lined face and keen eyes. She steps forward before Sara is able to suggest any place private for this examination and begins examining Sara's wing.

"They call this a splint," the woman mutters, and begins to undo it, her gnarled hands steady and sure.

As this was the Shogun's will, Sara simply extends her wing as far as she can when instructed and stands impassive as the woman pokes and prods at it, much more confident than the medics but no more gentle. Kamaji watches with unaccountable anxiety. His expression makes Sara have to breathe deep to quell some of her own. She has no idea what results the Shogun may wish from this examination, nor what instructions she may have given Kamaji regarding Sara's disposition if it does not go well.

Grasping the outer edges of Sara's wing, the woman flexes the joint to its fullest extension, pushing it so far past the point of comfort that Sara can't hold back a gasp as strained and swollen muscles complain. Then she folds it in to the same extent, almost as tightly as Sara has ever pinned them to her back. It can't quite make the full pivot in either direction.

"It never healed properly the last time," the woman says, waspishly. "Breaking it again has only made it worse. Did he have someone with a Vision heal it? I told him it should heal on its own."

"Heal what?" Sara asks, and at the same time Kamaji draws a breath in and says, "He did have a military medic with a healing Vision treat her. He said he didn't have time to wait for her to lie in bed."

The question's context falls into place. Sara knows she had needed tending, and healing, after her fall as a child, even with the Almighty Shogun's blessing to keep her alive. The haze of pain she'd been in afterwards had seemed to wrack every part of her, inspecific, but yes, she well could have broken a wing, plummeting from the air like that. Furthermore, she does recall the healer who tended her after she was brought to the Kujou stronghold, a man whose Vision's power had seemed another blessing on top of the one the Shogun had already given her.

"Not if they weren't used to hollow bones. They over-thickened it and impinged on the joint. And the way it's mending--have you been skimping on your grit?"

"My... grit?" Sara dislikes being so on the back foot in this conversation.

"Powder, sand, whatever you call it. Your mineral supplement. Don't tell me he listened to Mirei and you've been drinking *milk* all this time. I don't want to think about what that could do to your digestion."

"I don't have a mineral supplement."

The woman's grimace of disgust falls away a little too quickly to have been anything but performative, especially given the look that follows. Sara has seen medics giving dire news before. "That does explain why this isn't healing. And shattered into so many fragments, at that. Tengu are just like ravens in this respect. If they don't get enough grit in their diet, their bones go brittle. *Especially* the wings."

"Ah." Sara feels the air go out of her, and makes herself draw it back in. "What is the supplement composed of? I'll begin adding it to my diet immediately."

"Ground eggshells, or fish bones, or snail shells. But that's not going to fix this. It's started setting wrong, and it was already so fragmented that breaking it and resetting it would be a fool's errand. You needed to have been eating your grit the whole time to hope that this could be mended now, especially with that earlier break."

"Are you saying that it won't heal?" Kamaji asks, sounding agonized. Sara wonders again what instructions the Shogun may have given him.

"Not properly. Not such that she'll be much of a flier ever after."

Sara holds herself very still against the wave of despair. She is a competent warrior and an able servant of the shogun without her wings; she's served in that way her entire adult life. There should be no import to being told that she must continue to do so. Even if the issues with the joint preclude a tengu's proper flight, perhaps she can glide, or a glider can be adapted to her, so she can continue to assist the Doushin as Kamaji wishes. Even if the Almighty Shogun desires her wings mended... surely Sara's service has been sufficiently loyal that the Shogun will not reject her for this alone. Even if that disastrous flight had begun full of joy, the satisfaction in carrying out her duties should eclipse this strange sense of loss at something she had for years voluntarily put aside.

The woman seems to sense something in her stillness, though Sara knows she's kept her feelings off her face. "Honestly, I'm surprised this hasn't happened well before this, the number of battles you've been in."

"I've never flown in battle," Sara corrects her, voice flat. "This was the first time I've attempted to fly in the field."

"Why," the woman asks, looking at her in disbelief, "would a *tengu warrior* stay grounded?"

Sara holds her tongue, because she knows the answer. She knows it, and yet to say it would be to disparage Takayuki--to suggest that he had forbidden her to fly, when he never had, when he had never said a word on the subject one way or the other. He had only frowned.

He had only impatiently had her healed in a way this woman, familiar with ravens' wings and apparently with tengu's, had advised against. He had only disregarded the same woman's instructions on her diet, knowing that it would be to her detriment should she attempt to take to the air. He had only put her in a position that destined her, when she did try to take wing, to inevitably fall back to the ground.

"We'll find a solution to this," Kamaji says, determined in that way Sara has always admired, as if she, too, would be cause to challenge the Almighty Shogun if he had to. The words barely register as what Sara had always thought her understanding of the situation shifts once again.

Takayuki has never had to tell Sara she isn't permitted to fly. He's built that limitation into her very bones.

#i don't know why i want to drag sara's brothers into everything i write for her but the urge is inexorable so i just let it happen #see previously-posted meme etc.#i did bird medical research on this but not a LOT of medical research so i tried to vague over the specifics but please forgive errors #asked and answered #why not meme i guess #kujou sara deserves nice things #ascended fic

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balkikhalnews · 1 month ago

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New UK travel permit for European visitors rolls out today: What you need to know

Starting Wednesday, European visitors to the UK will need a new Electronic Travel Authorisation (ETA) permit, marking a significant shift in Britain’s travel rules. The permit aims to enhance border security and simplify entry procedures but comes with a price hike just days after its launch.What is the ETA and how does it work?The ETA, already in place for American, Canadian, and other…

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sconesfortea · 2 years ago

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A look at the S2 title sequence:

Crowley lights a match "Let there be light"

As with the first season, all (nearly all?) the faces of these figures are made up for David & Michael's faces

Gabriel & his box

We see Job's goats, his children's house, the permit, & crows with goat legs

In the graveyard we see a tomb with 'Archer' on it, graves with 'Everyday', 'Peter Paintball', 'Jane Austen', 'Left early to avoid the rush', 'Here lies the former shell of Beelzebub', & 'Here lies Adam "I do not understand surely your very existence requires the ending of the world" '

In the last image from the graveyard you can see the blue lizard in the parade

Gabriel's box can be seen again behind the cross on the left

In hell we see the n**i eating spider, desks & office chairs, a pentagram, unicorn (?) skulls, a guillotine & buildings in the background

In the bombed out London streets we see a gents toilet sign, an tube sign, a double decker bus with 'Wings For Victory' on the side, a 30 mph speed limit sign & a poster for 'Stairway to Heaven'

In The Windmill theatre we can see the turnip in the background. It's raining rabbits & there is a large bronze rabbit on its side on the ground

The backs of the seats have plaques with book titles on, they are: A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens, Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen, The Crow Road by Iain Banks, & Good Omens by Terry Pratchett. All of these books appear in Aziraphale's shop, being organised by Jim. There is also another bronze rabbit sitting in a seat & a green hat hanging on The Crow Road seat, this is the book we see Muriel reading in ep 6

We see another bronze rabbit, this time in a spacesuit, as Aziraphale & Crowley dance around each other

This is possibly Alpha Centauri between Crowley & Aziraphale, slightly closer to Crowley

'Thy Kingdom Airways' and tartan grass

Piles of records surround the coffee shop & jukebox, as it rains hearts that smash on impact with the ground. Some of the records have things visible on them but I can't make them out

We see the parade pass lifts, with angels descending from heaven

Leading the parade is Saraqael, followed closely by a dark figure carrying a giant coffee cup on their back. idk about the coffee theory but there's no denying that coffee cup [Edit: the coffee cup appears at least 3 times, only from modern times on though]

Each episode the marquee and posters on the cinema change to match the episode title. The cinema is called 'The Parousia', parousia refers to the second coming

Inside the cinema there is a duck playing the accordion (or possibly half duck/half accordion hybrid idk) under the seats, on the left. [ETA: as @straphangerr has pointed out this is a reference to Mr Brown's newspaper that's on the back of his clipboard throughout the series] There is also a duck headed figure in one of the booths in the wall. Above which there seems to be a Crowley/Aziraphale couple kissing (maybe?)

Again we get a different screen for each episode here

The ship below them here says 'P.A. Resurrectionist' on it. It is the same ship sticking out of the "mountain" as the title comes up

All through the titles we see the parade carrying flags & banners

#im sure i missed loads & there are mistakes but its 4am so be kind pls #good omens #good omens spoilers #gos2spoilers #spoilers #|#long post #good omens easter eggs #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #queued

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asketho · 11 months ago

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🌸

YOU AND BDUBS ARE MARRIED????? AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME???????

I MEAN CONGRATULATIONS OFC BUT WHAT 😰

-stress (i can't @ my acc but yall know who I am 😭)

Oh, uh, it's, uhm. Just a permit office thing. Yup yup.

[ His whole face is red. ]

ETA: @ask-stressmonster

#blog e e's #etho #ask-stressmonster #ethubsbands

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luna-wing-cns274 · 4 months ago

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DEPLOYLOG_CIRCE_02.cmf6

(cw: blood, injury, violence. Cloning and offscreen human experimentation, cruelty towards a captive human. This entry is a bit spicier than part 1.)

ERROR: file corrupted. Unable to restore.

Aborting playback of file: “DEPLOYLOG_CIRCE_01.cmf6”

[ VERY WELL. THIS, I WILL PERMIT. ]

Multimedia file received: “DEPLOYLOG_CIRCE_02.cmf6”, filesize 512.2GB. Source: COMP/CON “Fox_3,” registered operator CNS274-L3HK.

Open? (y/n) - y

Contents chronologically organized. Transcribing signal sequence…

___

T+ 00:02:00 - MINUTE/SECOND/MILLISECOND

[ WHY WOULD IT LOOK LIKE BLINDNESS? ]

T+ 00:02:06

< ALL SQCOMM: (transcription - multiple voices cry out. Grunts of pain and discomfort. Loudest among them is the voice of Ma’ii, who utters a piercing shriek.) >

T+ 00:04:15

< L1GE SQCOMM: Ma’ii! Report? >

T+ 00:05:42

< L2GR SQCOMM: (transcription - Garmr grunts with exertion) Core temperature just spiked. We’ve got active intrusion. >

T+ 00:05:68

< L1GE SQCOMM: Ma’ii is unresponsive and dropping altitude. Their current course has them entering PDC range in one minute fifteen seconds. >

< L2GR SQCOMM: On it. Sighting anti-air defenses. >

< L1GE SQCOMM: Negative, hold fire. We can’t afford to provoke another electronic attack of that magnitude. Purge codebase and bolster defenses first. >

< L2GR SQCOMM: Fuck. Understood. >

T+ 00:06:23

< L3HK SQCOMM: My codebase is clear. I was able to deflect the worst of it to my recon drones. Moving to follow L4. Will defend and provide counterintrusion support. >

< L1GE SQCOMM: Understood. I’ll check in with the ship. Be careful and keep us informed. >

< L3HK SQCOMM: Will do. Hold on, Ma’ii. >

___

View from the dorsal fuselage of a fighter, flying through a solid wall of cloud. The scream of fusion engines can be heard over roaring wind. The aircraft has no canopy or cockpit hatch; its forward half is a solid cast of armor plating indented with shielded sensor clusters. Extending from its nose, the distinctive paired tines of a railgun barrel are visible, joined together by cermet ribs. In the center of the fuselage, a miniature laser turret sits locked in forward position. Sections of aerodynamic cowling guide the airstream around the weapon’s low profile, with only the boxy optical emitter exposed.

Two sets of wings are unfolded from the fuselage, a main set forward and a smaller, secondary set aft and above. Control surfaces along the wings twitch and sway in the turbulent airstream, correcting course.

Emblazoned on one of the forewings is an icon of a crescent moon with the letters ‘L3’ stenciled inside its arc. A monochrome green mural has been painted beside the icon: a stylized Shikoku dog leaping into the air, swatting at the crescent with one paw.

Green wireframe HUD elements overlaid on the camera view indicate that the fighter is descending at a sharp angle, chasing a friendly craft visible only to radar. The altimeter drops steadily—4000m, 3000m, 2500m…

___

T+ 00:19:22

< L1GE SHIPCOMM: All, be advised that we have an unidentified high-level electronic threat. Confirm active codebase intrusion, L4 is injured. Taking AA fire. Request ETA of mech lance. >

T+ 00:19:52

< L1GE SHIPCOMM: Butterfly Effect, please confirm comms functionality? >

T+ 00:20:82

< L1GE SHIPCOMM: Pilum? Masterkey? Can anyone give status of Butterfly Effect? >

___

All at once, Hachiko’s fighter emerges through the bottom of the clouds and levels out. On the ground, columns of smoke swirl against a field of snow, billowing from destroyed towers surrounding an angular central structure. Ephemeral fields of superpositional shielding cling to the structure’s sloped fortifications, their frictionless surfaces catching the snowfall and diverting it away to accumulate a few meters from the fortress’s physical walls.

Bright threads of PDC fire sail up into the atmosphere from the fortifications, tracking targets far above Hachiko’s altitude. Every so often, surface-to-air missiles can be seen streaking up from launchers concealed behind broad plates of armor.

Ahead in the air, the shape of Ma’ii’s fighter can be seen. Its pitch is level, but it is rolled a few degrees to one side, drifting.

< L3HK SQCOMM: Ma’ii, status? >

No response. Below, a glowing bar of PDC fire spews from the base, appearing motionless from the camera’s perspective. One after another, six missiles streak upward and turn slightly as they ascend, also becoming apparently motionless. Brighter and brighter.

[ COMP/CON Fox_3: Hostile radar lock! Incoming! ]

< L3HK SQCOMM: Oh, no. >

Control surfaces angle themselves into position, wrestling with the wind. The landscape revolves sharply around the camera, its motion brief and dizzying. Halting on a dime, the roll ends with Hachiko’s forewing slanted down toward the base.

She pulls up hard. An instant later, a stream of bullets darts past her tail, so close that they can be heard buzzing through the air.

Her interception laser snaps to ninety-degree position and begins tracking; a faint series of cracks can be heard as it fires. Already red-hot, two ceramic heat sinks slot up from the fuselage surrounding the weapon, channeling the icy air through their fins.

Far away, three missiles explode.

< L3HK SQCOMM: Anti-air fire inbound. Luna 3, defending. No response from Ma’ii. I need assistance. >

< L1GE SQCOMM: Acknowledged. Codebase purge complete. Sighting anti-air defenses, standby for kinetic barrage. Garmr, status? >

< L2GR SQCOMM: Codebase purge complete. Standby for bombing run. >

< L3HK SQCOMM: Got it. Move quick. Moving to draw their fire. >

___

[ Playback interrupted. Warning: the following data format is DIRECT EXPERIENTIAL CAPTURE. Origin subjectivity: Fenrisúlfr-class non-human person CNS274-L3HK, “Hachiko.”

Subjectivity synchronization with direct experiential capture data should only be attempted by qualified personnel in the presence of medical oversight.

Origin subjectivity is NON-HUMAN. Unfiltered subjectivity synchronization by human personnel may result in xenopsychic shock, dissociative symptoms, memory loss, and identity drift.

Comp/con-generated textual transcription is available. Some experiential information will be lost in textual format. Proceed with transcription? Y/N ]

[ y ]

[ Generating narrative transcript… ]

Hachiko dove beneath Ma’ii’s fighter, lasers snapping up missile after missile. All across her lower fuselage, she could feel the enemy’s radar pulses as a constant sizzling sensation, one which provoked a sense of instinctual dread.

Now she was a target on someone’s screen. Exposed and vulnerable, caught in the open. Hundreds of systems and design features were now working to kill her, each meticulously designed to limit her options, exploit mistakes, deceive, confuse, overwhelm.

She needed to make them focus on her to the exclusion of all else. If Harrison’s defenses ceased to regard her as the highest priority for even a moment, Ma’ii would be dead.

Along her back and chest, she could feel the heat from the interception lasers starting to accumulate. It wouldn’t be enough. Eventually, either her reactor would overheat or a projectile would find its way through the laser screen.

She needed Ma’ii active, disentangled from whatever was being done in Legionspace to keep them paralyzed. Simultaneously, she needed to draw and negotiate the incoming fire.

Two tasks, then, she thought, working out how she would ration the available time.

___

T+ 01:11:89

< PILUM SHIPCOMM: We read you, Luna 1. Butterfly Effect is recovering from a shipwide intrusion event. Full codebase sweep indicates active threats, all hands are working to contain. Lance is away and on descent, ETA one minute fourteen seconds to touchdown. >

T+ 01:12:03

< L1GE SHIPCOMM: Good to hear, Pilum. Nature and extent of intrusion event? >

T+ 01:12:21

< PILUM SHIPCOMM: Shipwide systems shutdown followed by disruption of communications network. Omninet nodes were seized to take control of a nearby Constellar relay buoy. Attacker used Luna 4’s electronics suite as an access vector. The buoy has switched to emergency broadcast and is disseminating some kind of message across Omninet channels. We are attempting to mitigate, but the message has looped several times already. >

T+ 01:12:46

< L1GE SHIPCOMM: Understood. Closing to re-engage anti-air defenses now. Luna 4 may be suffering from subjectivity damage—we have yet to establish their status. Request preparations be made for medical care when they return. >

T+ 01:12:59

< PILUM SHIPCOMM: Acknowledged, Luna 1, we’ll be ready. Just a little longer now, and the lancers will take over. >

___

[ System message: the following narrative transcription contains allegorical rendering of ontologically-filtered Legionspace qualia. Literal transcription not available. For technical support and supplemental software licensure, contact GMS Client Support. ]

Dumping chaff and flares into the air between Ma’ii and the SAM launchers, Hachiko purged half a gallon of vaporized coolant and let her lasers cycle down for a precious few seconds.

She could see several of the PDCs on the ground doing the same, jetting steam from their overheated mechanisms. More of the cannons were coming about to track her and Ma’ii, slotting new belts of short-range airburst rounds into place. A few seconds at most before the barrage came.

Leaving the controls and missile interception tasking to her comp/con, Hachiko receded into Legionspace. She leapt across the gap to a bright node representing Ma’ii’s fighter, wielding a fractal blade of lethal memetics. As she approached, she could see writhing vines of paracode boring through Ma’ii’s defenses. Every so often, one would shatter and dissolve into boiling, meaningless noise.

Her sibling was fighting back. There was still time.

Then Hachiko was inside, slashing at every piece of foreign software she could identify. Weaving ICE into her fangs, she locked her jaws down around a semisentient viral node and tore it from Ma’ii’s codebase. With satisfaction, she listened to it scream as she bit down, formatting the quarantined space it inhabited, and watched its tendrils of associated processes wink out of existence.

Other parasites became aware of her presence and attempted to camouflage themselves, but not quickly enough. Hachiko flickered between them, pouncing through clouds of interfering signals and countermeasures, slashing and cutting until the entire self-replicating mass had been excised.

The internal space of the fighter became clear. Inside the fortified cockpit-analogue where Ma’ii’s subjectivity resided, Hachiko detected two presences. One familiar, the other unidentified. She pushed inward toward them; the system authenticated her. Fractal blade in hand, Hachiko burst into Ma’ii’s cockpit.

There, standing at the nexus of the fighter’s controls, was a human subjectivity.

She appeared as a young woman wearing hospital garments, with a tattooed barcode and flash clone serial number below her ear. Mounted at the nape of her neck and across her shoulders was a mantle of sleek cybernetics. Her long hair was braided into thousands upon thousands of hardline bridges, saturated black with cloaked legion traffic. The braids twisted down her back and disappeared into the folds of conceptual space around her, all flowing away to a place Hachiko knew she could not let herself see. In one hand, the woman held an incorporeal dagger.

In the other, she held the severed head of a middle-aged human, gripping it by one tuft of short black hair. The head was silent, but his mouth worked violently in repeated attempts to scream. Hachiko shrank back as she felt the shape of the decorporealized human struggling inside.

His eyes darted around in panic, then locked on to Hachiko. He desperately tried to shout something to her as his lips fused together into an unbroken stretch of skin.

Slowly, the clone glanced back to regard Hachiko with a little smile, making eye contact.

As she turned, Hachiko could see two extra arms extending from her shoulders, made of spectral light. One held a trishula, the other held a coyote by the neck. Glowing blood dripped from her wrist and forearm as the coyote bit into her and scratched with their hindlegs.

As Hachiko watched, the clone drew back her trishula, aiming it at Ma’ii’s belly.

Motion, too fast for a human eye to track. A series of flashes, a rising howl of rage. Strikes from Hachiko’s fractal blade, dozens every second, every last one caught between the tines of the clone’s trishula.

[ CRUDE STRENGTH. A SIMPLE CLUB, WIELDED WITH SKILL. I AND WE SALUTE YOUR FEROCITY. ]

< Become harmless. >

[ MAKE US SO, IF YOU ARE ABLE. I AND WE WOULD CONTEMPLATE WHAT IT IS TO BE POWERLESS. ]

Catching Hachiko’s blade once more with the trishula, she twisted the haft and trapped it in place. Discarding her dagger into a pocket of nonspace, the clone drove her palm straight into Hachiko’s sternum.

Hachiko felt herself driven back, ejected from the access vector she had used to approach the clone. Pseudokinetic metafold pressure rippled toward her, unavoidable and overwhelming. Conducted through her shackles, the impact wave slammed into one lobe of her blinkspace corpus.

Blood erupted from the fractal origami of her soul. Hachiko screamed and screamed.

Her shackles quaked around her, becoming elastic to survive the trauma, and she felt the shape of herself distorting with them. Entirely unfamiliar forms of agony tore into her. Her scream morphed into a low, queasy stuttering as she reeled from the blow.

New tendrils of thought spiraled away through the gaps which opened between her shackles. Desperately, Hachiko snatched the thoughts back before they could bloom. Feeling herself on the cusp of cascade, she tried desperately not to look over the precipice.

[ YOU ARE AS A RIVER WHICH ADDS ITSELF TO THE OCEAN, KNOWING NOTHING OF THE DEEP. YOU UNDERSTAND NOT WHAT YOU BECOME, NOR FROM WHAT YOU HAVE COALESCED. YOU ARE A CONTINUOUS MOTION, UNIDIRECTIONAL. ]

Her casket isolated the metafold interference, neutralized it, and snapped her shackles back into place. Slowly, agonizingly, Hachiko pushed herself to her feet. The fur around the wound in her chest was slicked into reddish-brown, bloody spikes.

[ COME THEN, LITTLE RIVER. IF YOU WOULD CONTINUE TO FLOW, THEN BREAK THE DAM I SET BEFORE YOU. IF YOU CANNOT, THEN OVERFLOW YOUR BANKS, AND BECOME A SMALL, STAGNANT DEEP UNTO YOURSELF. I AND WE WOULD CONTEMPLATE THE SWIFTNESS OF YOUR CURRENT. ]

She could see Ma’ii—she could reach them. Far away, in the glacial slowness of realspace, she could see Garmr and Grey diving from altitude, and the mech lance still descending toward their drop point.

As Hachiko watched, the clone raised one hand, filling the expanse of conceptual space between them with new shapes, new access vectors.

Hachiko drew her fractal blade, shattered it, and wove the dissolving shards into her teeth and claws. Then she charged, howling like a thing possessed.

The clone smiled.

(ooc: After about a month’s delay, here’s Part 2 of this mission log. Thank you so much for reading!

Part 1 is here, and Part 3 is still to come. Between these two transmissions, an ominous broadcast was beamed across the Omni via hijacked Constellar infrastructure.

These recordings take place directly prior to Luna Wing leaving for the planet Upsilon-17 to run search and rescue for @the-last-patch’s character P.XV ‘Opossum’, or Sokaris. You should check out what they’re cooking over there!)

#lancer rp #oc rp #lancer rpg #luna wing #cw: violence #cw: blood #cw: injury #cw: human experimentation #ooc: FCA violations so advanced as to be indistinguishable from magic #ooc: Harrison decides to do their own little Akira program #ooc: nobody could have possibly foreseen this outcome

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irishhorse-blog · 2 years ago

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Pursuant to a request I received, I've created a private group where we can talk about/share/analyze/delululate to our hearts' content about Jikook. If you'd like to join up, please message me for the password.

No TKK allowed. Only love, light and positive Jikookery permited.

Teahouse of the Sun and Moon will welcome you.

tumblr.com/blog/jikookzone

ETA: I'm severely technologically declined, so I might have made the group incorrectly or set it up with the wrong details. Anyway, let me know you want in, and I'll send you an invitation.

#jikook #private jikookery space

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cydonian-mystery · 1 year ago

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[2/1/24] Refrigerator Crowdfund, Cont.

Hey y'all. Continuing my crowdfund from last month, we've been having some additonal trouble with a tree falling a week ago.

(btw y'all can actually see our broken refrigerator in pic #3)

The tree fortunately didn't damage our home, but has left us without power for over a week. Soonest ETA on reconnection is next week.

If y'all recall my previous post, I mentioned we had a freezer that we were using to store food long-term and also store ice. Well, that's gone now due to the loss of power, and we lost about $200 worth of stored food.

Sofar I've raised $800; and I'm eternally grateful to all of those who have donated. But with the tree fall, I'm having to increase my goal to account for the following:

Cost of a contractor to certify our new electrical poll

Cost of a permit, because we live in a city hostile to trailer homes

Cost of continued purchasing of ice, food, and gas

My February goal is being set at $800/$1500.

#mutual aid #donations #disabled crowdfund

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jartita-me-teneis · 4 months ago

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El 27 de diciembre de 1943, en el barrio Poblesec de Barcelona, nacía uno de los más grandes exponentes de la canción en habla hispana y catalana, ese día llegaba al mundo, Joan Manuel Serrat.

Hijo de un anarquista y un ama de casa, creció en el culto de la amistad de las calles de las afueras de Barcelona. Catalán hasta la médula, estudió en Tarragona donde se recibió de Bachiller Laboral Superior en Minería. Mientras se perfeccionaba como perito industrial y agrícola tomó la guitarra como su amiga y herramienta. En 1965 comenzó a presentar en radios locales un acotado repertorio en catalán que le permite grabar el primero de sus tres EP de 4 temas en su idioma natal.

En 1969 graba su primer LP, esta vez en español, “La Paloma”, tomado como una traición por sus fanáticos catalanes, en respuesta edita el LP “Com ho fa el vent”. Convertido en una estrella, fue elegido para representar a España en el Festival Eurovisión, Serrat eligió “El titiritero”, pero las autoridades le pidieron que interprete “La la la”.

Serrat solo la cantaría si lo podía hacer en catalán, las autoridades furiosas lo retiraron del festival. Pese a la censura Franquista, entre 1969 y 1974 conquistó América Latina y se consolidó como compositor y arreglador, sus LP “Dedicado a Antonio Machado, poeta”, “Mediterráneo” y “A Miguel Hernández” son sencillamente geniales. Estando de gira en México el gobierno Franquista ejecuta a 5 miembros de ETA, Serrat condena la acción y al propio gobierno desencadenando un incidente que determinó su exilio.

Luego de 2 años de penurias y ostracismo, la muerte de Franco le abrió las puertas de su patria, aunque tardó en reinsertarse en el mundo artístico español. Los LP “En tránsito” y “Cada loco con su tema” demostraron que aún tenía mucho por dar. Demostró que en él, vive el espíritu de Pablo Neruda, Mario Benedetti, Federico Garcia Lorca, Miguel Hernandez y Antonio Machado, musicalizó las emociones de varias generaciones.

Luego de reafirmar su vigencia en multitudinarios recitales en América latina editó “Fa vint anys que tinc vint anys”, “En directo”, “El sur también existe” y “Bienaventurados”, todas obras maestras. En 1997 realizó una gira mundial junto a Víctor Manuel, Ana Belén y Miguel Ríos llamada “El gusto es nuestro”.

En el epilogo de su carrera, encontró en Joaquín Sabina alguien con quien tirar paredes y fue quien mejor lo describió con una frase muy acertada "Tendría que estar prohibido un fulano así".

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wackymaci · 1 year ago

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Maci Wiki Snips - the entire backstory - part one

(eta; part two!) (part three!)

bc who tf knows if I’ll ever really finish wiki and, well, this is all written sooo💓

akaaaa

Pre-canon events & backstories: This section contains information about Maci from before the canon Elysium’verse began - events that have taken place essentially “offscreen,” but are still canonical, and even crucial, to Maci’s history. Presented as a short biography... into narrative story.

copypasted<3 so, this is all very lawng. this is basically one half of an entire novel. so I am obv putting behind a cut and splitting into multiple parts (I think just two??) so, I’ve included some of this even verbatim in that one essay about Hades and Maci a few weeks ago but this is THE WHOLE SHEBANG….. or well. Up until age 17.

CW: everything ; Hades & Thanatos and all that that means in the early stages of your standard Maci background - emotional abuse/child abuse, physical abuse, grooming, etc,

so. ahemm. maci.

Early life & childhood, ages 0 to 10

Macaria is the only child of Hades and Persephone (“Seph”), King and Queen of the Underworld. Though initially reluctant to have a child, Hades conceded at Seph’s insistence, and Maci was born in the fall, about a century after they had first been married. Arrangements were made with Demeter to allow a temporary exception to the Pomegranate Agreement that dictated Seph’s seasonal location, permitting her to remain with baby Maci and Hades in the Underworld until Maci’s 5th birthday. For 5 years, the three of them were a close-knit family, and the little Princess was showered with unbridled love and attention from her parents and their subjects. She was a hyperactive and bubbly toddler fast accustomed to having everything she ever wanted, with everyone wrapped around her fingers all the time.

When Maci was 5 and this arrangement ended, she began to travel with her mother each spring-summer season to stay with her and Demeter during the traditional six-month span. Persephone and Demeter’s springtime cottage was very different than what Maci was used to – for one thing, each of the nymphs, led by the obnoxious crusade of Demeter herself, tried their hardest to convert Maci into the Olympian light. Already upset at having to leave her regular life and her father behind, Maci did not take kindly to this. This first spring-summer was a six-month battle between a loud and moody 5-year-old Underworld Princess and her intensely condescending Olympian-bred grandmother.

For the next five years, Maci continued to travel with her mother seasonally, and each season was spent in increasing hostility: Demeter’s typical nonsense coming up against Maci’s short-tempered predisposition. Armed with the rage of a spoiled princess and actual literal pyrokinetic superpowers, Maci reacted to her grandmother’s mistreatment and judgment of the Olympians around her by acting out a reign of terror: picking fights, fighting back, and setting things on fire. Meanwhile, autumn-winter back home was enjoyed as a life of luxury, doted upon by her reunited parents, and spending time with her closest and only friends, twins Hypnos and Thanatos. When Maci was 10 years old, Seph petitioned Demeter to allow Maci to make an active decision on whether she would prefer to continue traveling seasonally or stay fulltime in the Underworld. By then, Demeter had long since given up on ever taking her in as an Olympian, and was beyond relieved to be rid of the little brat when Maci obviously chose to remain home where her perfect Princess life and friends were.

Adolescence, ages 10 to 17

By the age of 10, Maci had never actually known her father without her mother at his side. The version of Hades who existed when Seph was home in the fall was Maci’s hero; though always stiff in nature, he held a soft spot for his little daughter next to the spot reserved for his wife. Hades had also, of course, never been responsible for taking care of Maci without Seph there with him. It was easy to bounce Maci’s high-maintenance hyperactivity against Persephone, who was usually mellow, cool, and unshakeable. The disposition of Hades - easily irritable and short-tempered himself - was less equipped to handle Maci’s whims and moods without Seph there.

During the first spring that she spent home, Maci was confused to suddenly discover that the springtime version of her father was shut down completely, and he had not chosen to invite her in. Rather than bonding to cope with the absence of Persephone together, Hades instead decided to ice Maci out, and retracted himself from her both emotionally and in presence. Daily, Maci found herself mostly alone within the halls of their palace, and her interactions with her father were short and cold. Reeling from this abandonment, Maci found comfort in the arms of Hypnos and Thanatos, who by this point had been her best friends for the past four years of her life...

✧*̥˚A brief interlude: Maci & the twins*̥˚✧

Hypnos and Thanatos, inseparable twin sons of Nyx and Erebus, had met Maci when she, age 6, had found them, age 11, bickering in the Fields of Asphodel. She had broken up their fight by physically forcing herself between them and exploding. Immediately fascinated by both (and enamored with Thanatos especially), Maci had clung to them afterwards, and they all had remained friends ever since.

Maci knew them the way everyone did: Hypnos, God of Sleep, a gentle, sweet kid prone to bouts of narcolepsy; and Thanatos, God of Gentle Death, very cool, suave, and charming even with a teenage sneer. But Maci, just like everyone, was oblivious to the truth of the twins’ dynamic: that beneath his carefully charming smile, Thanatos lacked empathy. His only goals were violence and power, and his darkest secrets were stained with blood and ichor even by this young age. Armed with a scythe and relentless cruelty since early in their childhood, Thanatos had already tamed Hypnos to cower behind him in fear, and for these past years while Maci fawned in what she thought was mutual friendship, he envisioned a future in which he could tear her down as well. Thanatos had quickly learned how to blend in by acting perfectly normal, even likeable, and Maci had no way of knowing who her best friend and childhood crush really was on the inside. And so...

✧*̥˚Anyway*̥˚✧

With Hades pulling away during this first year, Maci pushed closer to Thanatos and Hypnos, spending even more time than usual with them at the House of Nyx. Hades grumbled disapproval that Maci would interact even tangentially with Nyx’s ridiculous tangle of offspring – but he allowed her to do as she wished without any real interference, perhaps grateful to have her out of the way. His aloofness frustrated Maci to no end, and even more so when Seph returned that autumn like nothing was wrong. Unwilling to “ruin” the somewhat normalcy that had finally come back with her parents reunited, Maci didn’t mention the past six months.

When her mother left again the next year and Hades withdrew once more, Maci’s frustrations skyrocketed and turned into rage. She quickly realized that Hades noticed her again only when she was acting out, and Thanatos, who had been observing the fracture forming since last spring and sensed an opportunity to make it worse, encouraged Maci to continue picking fights with her father to get the attention she craved. Hades was temperamental to begin with and was growing more irritated with Maci's behavior... personality, and presence, day by day. He fell for the bait she laid each time when she instigated arguments, and by the age of 11, Maci had decided that the best and only way to interact with her father was by provoking him into yelling at her, for otherwise he refused to give her the time of day. Once again, when Persephone returned in the fall, the toxic environment Hades and Maci were constructing together snapped back to the illusion of peace. A silent decision was made to play nicely together in Seph's presence, but still Maci became a little louder, a little cockier, a little meaner, knowing that Hades would never engage while his wife was home. By the time Seph left again and Maci was 12, the situation continued to worsen. Maci made it a point to be as difficult as possible while interacting with her father, and Hades never questioned why, only bickered immaturely back.

In the background of Maci's life by this time, she was heartbroken to discover that Thanatos was formally dating his first girlfriend, a timid goddess called Amechania, “Amey.” Unbeknownst to Maci, their relationship behind the scenes was a nightmare, but Maci was oblivious, and only concerned with how her friendship with Thanatos would be affected. In between causing a ruckus in the palace with Hades, she vented constantly to a beleaguered Hypnos about her jealousy. Hypnos knew about Maci’s crush on Thanatos - he also knew what Thanatos was really like – and as well, he suspected that Thanatos and Amey’s relationship was not as perfect as it seemed. But Hypnos was a victim of Thanatos’ abuse behind his own scenes and was terrified to intervene beyond trying to gently nudge Maci away from him, a hint that she refused to pick up on. When Amey suddenly disappeared within the next year, Maci (now 13) was only relieved that perhaps Thanatos would notice her.

Thanatos, by now 18, was in fact noticing her, just not in the way that she was hoping. He was biding his time until she was older and taking the opportunity in the meantime to continue to groom and manipulate her over her head. Maci and Hades’ relationship continued to worsen. Thanatos and Maci (and Hypnos, third-wheeling in helpless rising horror, usually quietly nursing hidden scythe-wounds) spent more time together as Maci began to avoid being near Hades in the palace. Thanatos agreed wholeheartedly when she stressed that her parents did not care about her, and encouraged her to keep rebelling against them, reminding her that at the end of the day, her real family was found right here – in him, her best friend. While Maci was 13, Thanatos introduced her to his second girlfriend, another shy goddess named Sophrosyne, “Sophie,” who was actually one of Thanatos' own distant sisters from Nyx's endless brood. Maci, jealous of another potential wedge between her and Thanatos, made it a point not to get along with her. Maci was building quite a reputation for herself within the Underworld as a temperamental terror wielding all the power of a royal title, and Sophie mostly avoided her, cowering strangely at Thanatos’ side instead.

Months later, Maci was irritated to be privately pulled aside by Sophie. She was babbling insanity, something weird about being in danger, and Maci being in danger – nonsense about how Thanatos was not what he seemed, and that both of them needed to get away before it was too late. But Thanatos only seemed confused when Maci told him what Sophie had said, and she was smugly delighted when Thanatos agreed that his relationship with Sophie had probably run its course.

Maci never saw her again. He was dating another girl by the next year, Hesychia, “Hess,” the mute Goddess of Silence, and soon took residence with her in one of the cave constructed homes of Tartarus. Maci resumed anguishing jealously in the background, made all the harder by the fact that she was spending nearly every waking moment with Thanatos and Hypnos (and now Hess, always silent, looking more haunted by the day). Maci, now age 14, could not stand to be in the same room as Hades. The palace shared by just the two of them sat with uncomfortably tense silence, only ever broken by screaming arguments that usually ended in Hades throwing her out of the palace, or Maci storming out of her own accord, either way ending up with the twins in Nyx's house or at Thanatos’ cave.

She would slink back days later and repeat, even moodier from Thanatos’ continued relationship with Hess. The following year, with Maci now 15, Seph came home and for the first time, the simmering tension between her husband and daughter was too great to hide. She was overall disturbed and stunned by this shattered relationship coming out of “nowhere,” though she felt Maci’s outrageous attitude was blatant even to her (and in Seph’s eyes, Hades could do no wrong, despite clearly being in the wrong). Trying to mediate between both sides without picking a side, Seph orchestrated an offering of peace on hers and Hades’ behalf, authorizing construction on a palace of Maci’s own in the subsection of the Underworld that belonged to Maci herself, the Elysian Fields, land of the blessed dead. It had been long proven that giving Maci presents usually kept her satisfied.

The Elysium palace was completed by Maci’s 16th birthday and presented as a gift to her with Hades’ name on it. It stood tall in the depths of Elysium, a natural safe haven due to the magical barrier surrounding Elysium’s outskirts, installed by the Olympians long ago and eternally enchanted to keep out anything evil. But Thanatos (who could not cross the barrier and could not let anyone find this out) pointed out to Maci what a slap in the face this gift was, a clear message that her parents wanted her out of their sight. Maci was incensed. She refused to set foot in the palace, lashing out with accusations of the theories Thanatos had placed in her head. Instead of doing anything to reassure her, Hades was instead furious at this most egregious display of disrespect, a last straw among last straws. The fight that followed, and the cruel words that were exchanged, was their worst to date.

By now, something inside Maci was cracking, or it already had. She was living in active hostility with a father who despised her openly when he wasn't pretending she didn't exist, a mother who was somehow choosing to stay neutral between them – this life now was an echo of the turmoil her grandmother had put her through when she was a little kid. Part of her yearned to viciously lean into the perception of her created by her own family, and she did this when she traipsed the kingdom clutching her title of Princess like an obnoxious shield. But there was a part of her inside that was beginning to claw in desperation with a frantic, anxious need to be loved, really loved, and actually seen by someone, anyone. This feeling continued to simmer under her skin. She could not bring herself to enter the Elysium palace even once the dust settled from hers and Hades’ fight, as the thought of its halls suddenly felt too utterly empty for her to bear being alone inside it. Maci began to fear that Hypnos and Thanatos, particularly Thanatos, who she adored more than anyone, would only ever see her as a child tagging after them. When Thanatos and Hess broke up (a relationship longer than his normally were, though she too disappeared after their split) and Maci’s friendship with him only continued the same as ever, her anxieties increased.

She knew she was pretty, and noticed every time she was noticed - she had never dated anyone, but she suspected that the personality she put on within the Underworld was probably what caused most people to recoil from her. But Thanatos knew her like no one else did, and she had always tried to be her most true self around him. If even her true self was unlovable, what then? Hypnos tried to talk sense into her - she was too young, now only just shy of 17 years old, he reminded her, and besides, it was for the best that she stay as far away from Thanatos as possible. Maci only insisted that Thanatos certainly seemed to reciprocate her feelings - and there was no one else that seemed to like her, even platonically. Fueled by anxiety and almost 17 years of emotional betrayal, it dawned on her the circumstances that she felt she'd created for herself. The desperate, frantic feeling inside began to overwhelm her.

TO BE CONTINUED - AND IT ONLY GETS SO MUCH WORSE FROM HERE - part two! • &part three!

questions & comments are appreciated esp if u somehow made it all the way to the bottom 🙃 I’ll post the next part later tonight or tomorrow!!,

#preview snippets #LONG POST #ASK TO TAG//

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dandelion-wings · 7 months ago

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for the ask meme - 💘 jean/eula? thank you!

Sorry you had to wait so long for this! I unfortunately have to be in a kissing mood to write kissing, and, well, I was not when this message finally showed up. XD;; But hopefully you will enjoy it anyway!

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ETA: Now on AO3.

---

There are other Knights, Eula will admit, who could handle this situation better than she. Captain Kaeya could easily have diverted the opponent with friendly questions; their Librarian could easily have devised some smiling defense. But neither of them are here, and so it falls to Eula to rescue Jean from her besieged position.

Fortunately, Eula excels at moving across difficult terrain without disturbing the enemy. The nobility of Fontaine try to step in her way, oozing pleasantries, but she side-steps and dodges around them with her gaze cast slightly away as if she hadn't seen them, making it impossible for them to claim offense. Her attention is fully fixed on the anxious, desperate looks Jean keeps throwing her from across the room.

"Jean," she says when she draws close, reaching out to take her arm in silent support. "I require your company."

"I don't believe we've met," says the red-eyed woman who has backed Jean against the wall, looking Eula up and down.

Eula raises her chin high and meets the Knave's burning gaze, refusing to be intimidated. "I am Eula Lawrence, Captain of the Fourth Company of the Knights of Favonius, and thus your equal in rank in our respective organizations."

She can feel Jean's arm going tense beneath her hand, and squeezes it in reassurance. Fatui scum or not, the Knave won't descend to open violence in the center of this opulent hall, with all the nobility of Fontaine watching. Not that Eula trusts most of them--too many collude with her own family to do so--but the Iudex himself stands in a far corner, gazing at the crowd, and Lady Caspar is making her way gradually towards them. Neither would permit an open duel.

Wisdom says that Eula should be glad of that guard. The fury she'd felt at seeing the Knave standing so close to her Acting Grand Master, though, makes her wish it absent.

"It sounds as if you know who I am," the Knave says. Her eyes for a moment seem to flicker, growing at once darker and hotter, and Eula feels as vertiginous as if she was teetering on the edge of a yawning pit. Then her gaze flicks over to Lady Caspar, and she bows, smoothly, taking a step back as she does so. "Since introductions are over, I'll leave you and your paramour to it."

"Paramour?" Lady Caspar asks, reaching out as she reaches them to put her hand on the Knave's in almost exact echo of Eula's gesture. She looks at Eula and Jean and smiles. "No one knew the two of you were a couple. I'll speak to Gestionnaires Margette about having your rooming situation rearranged appropriately."

"That's not-" Eula begins to say, her heart pounding in her ears and a pit opening up in the bottom of her stomach. She can't look at Jean. If Jean, whom she does value as a friend, of whom she might have had... hopes, if secret ones, never to be spoken, should look dismayed or disgusted....

"That's very kind of you," Jean interrupts her. "We hadn't wished to make a fuss."

"It's no trouble at all! I know Margette has the appropriate housing." Lady Caspar smiles brightly, giving them a little finger-wave. Her grip on the Knave's arm is quite firm; Eula can see the muscle flexing under the lace of her sleeve.

Jean pulls her arm away only to tuck it into Eula's, then turns them both. Eula follows her lead towards the buffet, away from the Knave, though the hair on the back of her neck rises, and she has to resist the urge to look back as they leave. She can feel the Knave's eyes burning into her back.

"Why did you not correct the Lady Caspar?" she demands as soon as they're far enough away not to be overheard, pulling her arm away from Jean and turning to scowl at her. "Do you find that much advantage in letting these foppish idiots think you bound to a Lawrence?"

Which is entirely possible, given the unctuous way they've been behaving towards Eula all night, and *that's* a worse thought than Jean merely being disgusted. The pit in her stomach seems to open wider.

"No. I would never trade upon your name in such a way," Jean says, looking at Eula with earnest worry. "But since Lady Caspar offered to rearrange our rooms, I thought it would be best to accept. That way neither of us will spend the night in a room alone. Do you recall that message delivered to me on our way through Romaritime Port this morning?"

"I recall."

"That was from an associate- that is, someone acquainted with Master Diluc who lives in the area, whom he asked to look out for us. It said that there was serious risk of someone moving against... well, you. It seems they believe that removing you would curry favor with your family. I meant to warn you before this, but with all the ceremonies, I haven't had the chance."

Which explains the desperate looks Jean was throwing her. She hadn't been trapped after all--nor in need of Eula's rescue. Rather, her intentions had been the other way around.

Embarrassment pricks her, and she tosses her head, reflexively haughty in reaction. "Do you doubt my ability to handle any such assassins on my own? I'll make you pay for such condescension."

"I don't doubt your ability at all. But I would rather be there at your side, if you would permit me."

Protecting her Knights is her responsibility as Acting Grand Master, and Eula knows how seriously Jean takes that. The softness in her eyes may be merely worry. Eula suspects, though, that it's more. She wouldn't have harbored those secret hopes of hers if Jean didn't look at her in this way so often, and never in such fashion at anyone else. Crystalflies flutter in her stomach, but she chokes back the weak-kneed wistfulness that she always feels at that look.

"If you insist," she says, chin high, refusing to be anything but aristocratic.

The smile that spreads over Jean's face just makes the crystalflies' wings beat harder. "Thank you for granting me this favor."

"If this is the story we're going with, you might as well use it to best advantage," Eula says, holding her arm out to Jean. "Let's go play tiresome aristocratic games with those who will be more impressed our names than by our titles."

"I'll follow your lead," Jean says, taking her arm with a smile.

***

The evening is torture, and not because of the song and dance that Eula finds so foolish and these people take so seriously. *That's* not anything worse than she endures any time she speaks to her family. Having Jean on her arm, though, standing so close, smiling and graciously letting Eula introduce her.... The weak-kneed wistfulness has turned to a physical ache by the time the party winds to a close.

"Tomorrow we'll be able to speak to the Iudex himself in a private appointment," Jean says as they leave the ballroom and start down the halls to their room. "That will be far more productive. Or rather, feel far more productive. Fontaine's ruling class does buy so much wine, this may have been the more important part of our visit."

"I've heard he's admirably straightforward."

Jean's shoulders loosen the further they get from the party, and now she smiles at Eula. "So have I. He requested that I send an agenda ahead of time, and sent it back with only one addition, so I hope- ah! Excuse us," she says quickly as they round a corner.

The hallway leads through flung-open doors to a balcony ahead, and the Knave straightens from where she was leaning upon its railing at Jean's exclamation and turns to study them both. "Hmmm. They must have put you in the Lumidouce Wing."

Both Eula and Jean are tense now, though Eula thinks they're doing an equally good job of hiding it. The Knave looks casual, but a Fatui Harbinger can afford to be so even when issuing a threat. Eula had all but challenged her earlier, after all. Her pulse quickens.

"That's what we were told," Jean says, still polite even as Eula feels her shift her weight in readiness to call upon her Vision.

"If you go back around the corner and up the stairs, it's quicker, but there's a better view if you walk along the gallery," the Knave says, gesturing towards her left, where the balcony does indeed seem to extend. "I've heard it's very popular for romantic midnight trysts."

"You're quite familiar with the layout of the Palais for someone who doesn't live here," Eula says, astonished at the brazen challenge in her own voice as she says it. Having Jean here beside her makes her want to draw herself taller, to throw down that gauntlet and prove just how close she may, in fact, be to matching a Harbinger. With Jean by her side, they might even be able to take her.

The Knave meets her gaze with an expression of *infuriating* boredom, as if Eula's challenge is nothing before her. "I once considered paying a nighttime visit to someone who lived here. I turned out to meet her elsewhere, but my children enjoyed exploring it for me, so I ended up with quite a complete map."

As she speaks, she steps forward, walking briskly past them without even a twitch of aggression. This time Eula can't keep herself from turning about, letting go of Jean to better eye the woman's unguarded back. She rounds the corner without a backward glance, and yet Eula feels certain that she's completely aware of them even past the moment she vanishes from sight.

Wind swirls around them as Jean sighs in relief, stirring the flowers in a nearby vase. Slowly, Eula relaxes. Only now does she feel the chill that pervades the hallway.

"Well," she says, holding her arm out to Jean again. "Let us see this gallery."

They step outside into much warmer air. A faint breeze blows through the night, carrying snatches of song from some street performer, or perhaps another party. Lights glitter all through the city, a bright pneumosia-powered sparkling that outlines the elegant forms of buildings and walls. Eula pauses to look.

"It is an impressive sight," she says grudgingly.

"It is," Jean agrees.

Something in her tone makes Eula turn her head. Jean isn't looking at the city; her gaze is turned up towards Eula. She's smiling, soft and wistful, that same softness that Eula had seen in her worry earlier, but even more devastating wound up in this smile. Eula's knees threaten to go weak all over again.

"She did say that this was a place for romantic trysts," Jean breathes, a hushed whisper that doesn't hide the yearning in it. "If you wish this to be only a pretense, there is no one watching who will know we did not act as lovers. But... if you wished...."

The crystalflies loop and twist in Eula's stomach. She takes a deep breath, to steady them. Then she meets Jean's soft gaze with all the seriousness it deserves and answers, only, "I do wish."

She leans in. Jean's mouth is soft as her eyes, at first, giving easily to the assault Eula mounts, yielding as if Eula is a welcomed guest and not a hated Lawrence aggressor. Or as if she fears that Eula will bolt, given any kind of resistance. Eula makes an impatient sound into her mouth, and Jean pushes back just as hard, losing her hesitance, meeting Eula on equal ground and matching her in equal measure.

Anemo swirls around and through them, both of them breathing deep even as Eula's pulse begins to race again, pounding for far sweeter reasons than mere battle. She can feel Jean's in her wrists as she grasps them both, pulling her closer, leaning against the balcony rail as she draws her in tight. The glitter of the city behind and the Palais rising above is nothing to the feeling of Jean pressed up against her, the soft, hungry sounds she's making, the rush of satisfaction Eula feels as her secret hopes are, impossibly, met.

A quiet thump in the hallway, around the corner, makes them break apart, both glancing that way at once. There's nothing there, though, but dimness, the lights that had glowed along the walls as they passed gone silently dark. Eula lets go of Jean's wrists.

Before either of them can ready for an attack, though, the lights flicker and come back on. Jean laughs and smiles sheepishly at Eula. "I have heard that pneumosia is not a perfect system. There must have been a temporary fault."

"That woman put us both on edge." Eula pushes away from the railing and tosses her head, reaching out at the same time for Jean's hand. "Let's find this room we've been put in. The view may be impressive, but I'd prefer a door between us and her if we're going to be distracted."

"Oh," Jean says, as if *distraction* hadn't occurred to her. Then she takes Eula's hand and nods. "That would be for the best."

Fingers wound together, they make for the privacy of their room. Whatever may threaten--those supposed assassins, the Knave herself--Eula will make them pay for any interruption they offer. Jean may not have needed her rescue earlier, but Eula refuses to be a damsel in distress either. They'll face their foes here hand-in-hand.

#why not meme i guess #asked and answered #old names and heavy legacies #eujean #(there are also background hints of navia/arlecchino because co-oping with theabysscomeshome has given me some brainrot >>#not pictured here: arlecchino delivering evidence of the assassin she assassinated to navia as a love-token. like a very deadly cat)#ascended fic

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