#fractured frequency fic

[knuckleslove]

hiii so like I haven’t stopped thinking abt ur fic ,, itsso so good, super crazy abt it :))

OMG. These are incredible. Yes. THIS. This is the moment!!

Thank you for sharing your art! It really means so much to me that my story meant enough to you to draw this. I’m really touched. And it makes me so happy to hear you are enjoying the ride!

Thank you. <3

[rapidhighway]

As a fellow knuckles enthusiast, do you have any fics you would recommend? I haven’t had much luck finding any so far :(

I love everything that Sarilleny has written, Fractured Frequency is one of my favorite fics ive ever read from any fandom, but their other works are also incredible

[on-wine-dark-seas]

Daughter of Disgrace

"Is there any place where Heaven's bastard daughters are welcome?"

🔞 Rating: Explicit [MDNI] ❤️‍🔥 Pairing[s]: Satoru + Sundari || Nadja + Sukuna ⚠️ Warning[s]: Explicit sexual situations, graphic depictions of violence, major character death[s], as well as some toxic relationship elements. Spoilers for the manga. Sukuna is his own warning but there is cannibalism, abuse, body horror, and mild torture in this fic. So canon-typical violence. 🪧 Summary: In the aftermath of Satoru Gojo's sealing, Sundari must choose rebellion in order to free him. Lucky for them both, rebellion has always been her preferred modus operandi. 🎧 [ godslayer principle ] -- Sundari's Playlist

⚠️ Be Advised: This is the sequel to Beast of No Nation. It's recommended that you read that fic first to get the context of this one.

⛩️ AO3 𑁍 FFN 𑁍 Fic Masterlist 𑁍 Parallax OCs 𑁍 Sonder OCs 𑁍 HCs & Meta ⛩️

𓃰 Chapter 12: In Every Lifetime

"An ending, a beginning, an ending, and a beginning. And so it goes; round and round; the great Wheel ever-spinning. The harmony of death and rebirth; sin and salvation; sacred and profane; poison and cure; disgrace and redemption; curse and blessing.The universe is a series of cycles; the most perfect math there is.

Who says our story must end here, my love?"

We all carry within us our places of exile, our crimes, and our ravages. But our task is not to unleash them on the world; it is to fight them in ourselves and in others. —Albert Camus

     Yuji cups Sukuna’s remnants in his palm. A miasma of crimson smoke swirls above them. Two crimson eyes glare back at him, and half the remains of a mouth sneer in hatred. Yuji seems unbothered by even this last vestige of vitriol his uncle bears for him. In Sundari’s inverted domain, what they have come to understand is not divine mandate, but a Heavenly Summons, their souls are briefly connected, their memories bleeding into one another’s. For a brief instant, they are alive and dead all at once, and Sukuna sees the simplicity of Yuji’s life unfold before his mind’s eye, painful and warm and filled with all the things his own life lacked.

     He sees his daughter’s ancient origins, from her birth amidst a clan of strong warrior women, to her ascension as a deified sorceress, protector of women and children, to her sealing after the terrible curse—his curse—finally found its fangs at the throats of the innocent; the painful fracturing of everything she was, the loss of all she knew. He sees too, the life she created for herself, a new version of her, still capable of strong, and ignorant of the cursed markings that give everyone pause. He sees memories of her dying her pink hair to jet black, a cloud of curls just like her damnable, beautiful, self-sacrificing mother. But, Sukuna notes with pride, Sundari’s face is all his: pride, insolence, and confidence in unfathomable spades.

     Sundari and Yuji see Sukuna’s soul, fractured and made whole repeatedly over centuries, and the whole cursed story of him unravels itself in their minds, including Kenjaku’s scheme that led to Yuji’s conception. They see all his deeds laid bare, and they see his story with Nadja unravel: love and loss, over and over again, and his determination to find her across the centuries. They feel the terrible emptiness of his unanswered question: why did you leave me? Worst of all, they see Sukuna before he became the force of reckoning he is now. They see the coiled, frightened child with too many arms, eyes, and mouths, and too much power to be controlled. For all of his life, others have sought to control him, and Sukuna has never accepted anyone’s yoke.

     At the core, they understand the hunger in him. Ravenous and all-consuming. Insatiable.

     This is what happens when two domains do not clash…but overlap, two souls vying not for dominance, but harmony.

     Yuji and Sundari’s souls hum on a similar frequency, a sustained note across time and space, heard and felt throughout Heaven and Earth.

     “Sukuna,” Yuji’s voice sounds the way a gentle summer breeze feels, and two crimson eyes glare up at him, glittering with malice…and fear. Mortality has never pressed so closely to the King of Curses in all his days.

     “Let’s try this again,” Yuji says, and there is a compassion in his tone that cuts deeper than any slash Sukuna has thrown.

     “Let’s try living with each other, not to curse one another…”

     Sukuna feels the curse in his guts, squirming and wriggling and burning.

     “Even if no one accepts you…”

     Stop it, brat. Stop it.

     “I can live with you.”

     Sundari is poised for the kill, but Yuji’s words give her pause and she regards him curiously. Even after all her father has done, all he has sought to do, Yuji still seeks to offer him the benediction of mercy? Sundari knows she should be angry—at the very least, offended—but she cannot find it in her heart to care. She feels scraped and raw and exhausted. She wants to end this cycle, to strip away her father’s curse and free the world of the burden that is him.

     But she’s seen his memories, she’s seen what he was, and what he was forced to become.

     “Don’t you dare try and play the compassionate card now, brat,” Sukuna sneers. “I am a curse, and you’d do well not to underestimate me.”

     “You aren’t a curse, dad,” Sundari says, weariness coloring her voice, blood dripping from her nose. She doesn’t know how much longer she and Yuji can sustain this connection. “Just…you can literally try again. Maybe Yuji’s right: maybe there’s another way. Another path. Anything but more of…this.”

     Sukuna’s gaze roils towards his daughter, taking in her appearance. The markings that once limned black into her brown skin are faded, almost more like birthmarks than tattoos. No matter what boon she has won from Heaven, she will bear his markings for all her days. That is how powerful his curse is.

     You aren’t a curse.

     I’m not a curse. I am cursed.

The realization reverberates through their shared connection, and all at once he gasps.

     Sundari and Yuji are suddenly gone, as is the divine presence that had united them. He stands alone in the darkness, but the presence in the void is familiar. He’s been here before.

     “Well, well, well,” a voice drawls, drawing his gaze downward. “Didn’t expect to ever see you here, of all people.”

Gojo Estate, Kyoto, December 30, 2018

     In the aftermath, Sundari dreams. For once, she is uncertain if what she sees is memory or fabrication, but she pays attention. The visions are disjointed, always in media res as dreams are prone to being, but the recurring symbols and themes are there, and she does recognize some bits of her own memories in the patchwork film reel.

     Sundari dreams, and Megumi stands in the darkness Sukuna has left behind, overcome by the sudden silence. He is once again alone with his own thoughts.

     But everything is so fuzzy around the edges. His thoughts move with the ponderous, amorphous pace of a lava lamp’s contents, and somehow always just out of his reach. It takes him hours to figure out how to formulate his thoughts into the obvious conclusion: Unlimited Void. This is the ill effect of surviving five waves of Unlimited Void. His thoughts are disjointed and fractured, out of sync and hard to catch.

     Ironically, he understands Gojo now more than ever.

     His eyes open, and he hears himself gasp, fills his lungs with air, breathes of his own volition for the first time in weeks.

     Sukuna is really gone, but Megumi can feel something knotted in his soul; furrows, like a claw marks. The separation should have killed him, but Sundari had a barrier active to protect him from sharing Sukuna’s fate.

     Megumi hears himself panting as his thoughts come in a sudden rush, then stretch out again at that damnable pace.

     “Fushiguro!” Yuji’s voice shatters the silence, and he sits up suddenly, startled all the way back into his body. His eyes take in the sight of Yuji, clad in his uniform, posing with a box.

     Out of the box springs Nobara Kugisaki. Megumi’s eyes go wide. His mouth works but no words come. Kugisaki, sporting a black eyepatch embroidered with a hammer, nails, and rose crest, grins in triumph.

     “Sorry I missed the party!” She boasts. “I was getting some much-needed beauty sleep! I heard it was a woman who saved the day!”

     Yuji rolls his eyes. “Well, she’s my cousin…technically. Kind of.”

     “Okay…are you ever…gonna explain that?” Megumi asks, frustrated with how slow his thought-to-speech reflexes have become. He imagines Gojo is having a good laugh at his expense about this. Megumi gets annoyed at the very thought.

     “Look who finally decided to join the land of the living!” Gojo’s voice shatters the quiet, and Megumi becomes annoyed for real. But he’s also relieved to see his sensei alive and well. Gojo is grinning, sporting new scars to match Yuji’s own. Megumi touches his face, is relieved to not feel Sukuna’s features swimming under his skin like a parasite. He can feel the rugged scar tissue where Sukuna’s face had overlain his own. It will be some time before he can look in a mirror comfortably again. He catches Yuji’s gaze, and the boy’s brown eyes are soft with sympathy. If no one else understands, Yuji understands what it is like to be ridden by the curse that is—was—Sukuna.

     Over the next few hours, Gojo and Yuji piece together the entire tale of mounting his rescue, from the moment he was taken, to when Sundari freed Gojo, to the final battle. Megumi remembers Nadja’s unexpected sacrifice in more ways than the others, and he looks away at the mention of her name. He had been present for Sukuna’s reunion with her, had born witness to their…relationship. He isn’t sure if Sukuna knew he was aware or if he simply did not care. He isn’t sure how he feels about it, only that he cannot find it in himself to hate Nadja for it. Whatever else there was, love had existed between those two, twisted as it was. And in the end, she’d chosen to save the person who could stop him.

     Megumi wonders if Gojo was right about love being the most twisted curse. In the end, it had claimed Nadja and Sukuna both. He looks at Yuji again, wonders if…

     “Where is Hikmat-san?” He asks. At the mention of Sundari, Yuji and Gojo exchange glances.

     “She’s not awake yet,” Yuji says sadly. “After she dismissed her domain, she collapsed. Gojo-sensei brought her back here with you.”

     Megumi looks down at his hands. He remembers being present when Sundari came back for Nadja’s remains. He remembers feeling Sukuna’s uncertainty. His fear. He was afraid of losing everything, including his life. But seeing his own daughter vowing to kill him had broken something in him. Megumi owes her a debt he can never hope to repay, but Sukuna has taken someone he loves as well.

     “She’s going to be in recovery a while,” Gojo says in that easy way of his, as if he doesn’t doubt Sundari will be up and about in no time. “But she’ll bounce back. I know my girl.”

     “Your girl, sensei?” Nobara asks, waggling her eyebrows. Gojo spreads his hands and sticks out his tongue.

     “Yeah, and if I can convince her, she’ll be your sensei too when you bunch officially become third years.”

     Yuji and Nobara look excited, their eyes sparkling. Megumi looks somewhat suspicious. He has a feeling there’s more to it than Gojo lets on, but he withholds his suspicions if only because his mind is still fuzzy, like moss has grown over the parts of his brain that are normally so quick to connect the dots. How long will this go on for, he wonders. He supposes he should count himself lucky this is the worst of the side effects.

     He should be dead, after all.

     Megumi is strong enough to walk on his own, and he dresses while Yuji and Nobara fill the emptiness with mindless chatter and Gojo looks on with a secretive smile, his eyes blindfolded once more. For a moment, it feels like old times. Megumi looks around for a calendar or clock. His phone’s been lost since Sukuna stole his body.

     “How long has it been? Since everything happened?” Megumi asks. Gojo grins in a way that makes Megumi regret asking the question just as Nobara answers: “You missed Christmas!”

     Yuji frowns and glares at Nobara. “So did you!”

     Immediately, she and Yuji break into an argument about whether or not missing Christmas was more important than saving the world. Gojo’s grin softens into a fond smile, and whatever mischief he had planned for his own response is withheld for now.

     Megumi does not get an answer to his question either way, and sighs.

     By now, he has deduced that they are on the ancestral Gojo Estate, a place he hasn’t been to since he was a small boy still learning to harness his technique. Being trained by Gojo Satoru’s own tutors before matriculating to Jujutsu Tech had made him intimately familiar with the grounds.

     He knows where to go, following Sundari’s cursed energy to another room. His classmates trail after him, still bickering, and Gojo walks behind them at a leisurely, long-legged pace.

     It’s just like old times, it’s nothing like old times.

     Megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes because of course Gojo put Sundari up in his old bedroom. She looked so exhausted, even in her comatose state. Megumi can’t help the stab of guilt that twists in his guts. Yuji places a hand on his shoulder.

     “It’s not your fault,” he says, understanding as always. Megumi’s jaw tenses but he can’t ignore how comforting it is to have Yuji touch him again after having Sukuna put them at odds. “She’s gonna wake up soon.”

     “Yeah,” Nobara says. “She can’t miss New Year’s!”

     “What is it with you and holidays?” Yuji asks irritably. Nobara places her hands on her hips, fixing him with a stare.

     “These are important milestones, and it makes sense that the woman who saved your sorry asses would be there to celebrate with us.”

     Yuji wants to retort that none of that makes any sense and that it was a team effort that took down Sukuna, but Gojo is brushing past them because Sundari is waking up. They hear her groan tiredly—irritably—before she’s moving.

     “Fuck me,” are the first words of the woman who saved the day. Nobara suppresses a snort of laughter, Megumi’s brows go up, and Yuji’s eyes go wide. Only Gojo seems unphased by Sundari’s choice of words.

     “Morning, beautiful,” he says to her, and she squints up at him with all four of her eyes. Her pink curls are disheveled, sticking up in all directions, her skin is dry and a little sallow, and there are shadows under her eyes Megumi’s shikigami could hide in.

     Satoru has never found her more beautiful because she’s still here. Alive.

     “What fuckin’ year is it?” Sundari asks, rubbing her face with both hands and yawning. It’s only when she uncovers her face that she notices the trio of students crowding the doorway.

     “Oh,” she says. “Sorry. Uh…come on in, kids!” She glares at Satoru, who is grinning. “What the fuck, man?” She mouths and he blows a kiss in response. Sundari does her best to fix her face as Yuji and Megumi join her. She takes a look at Megumi’s face, notes the scars in the places where her father’s face once was. He’ll bear those scars for all his days. She looks down at her hands, notes the scars of innumerable slash marks, like macabre tiger stripes. Also a mark from her father.

     The tattoos are still there, black again, no longer faded. Whatever else she got from the boon she demanded, Heaven still sees fit to remind her of her origins. No matter, she will carry the scars and the ink with pride. Let the world see how Sukuna’s daughter treats with sorcerers.

     You can prove them wrong.

Sundari looks at Yuji, who smiles at her, but there’s a blush in his cheeks that wasn’t there before.

     Cousins. She wants to laugh. What the fuck was Kenjaku’s problem? Ah well, at least she can say she’s got some semblance of family left to her. Yuji isn’t so bad, after all.

     “So,” she says. “I’d like to formally apologize for my dad being such a dick. Uh…Yuji, you’re still gross for just eating his Finger like that, but sorry for everything that came after. On the plus side, I got my memories and powers back. On the other plus side, my dad’s dead! Satoru, I’m starving…is there pizza?”

     Satoru laughs despite himself. “Whatever you want, babe. I think Shoko’s going to be by later for a physical.”

     Sundari swings her legs out of the bed and stands. She feels a slight rush that makes her momentarily lightheaded, and feels Satoru’s strong grip on her arm, steadying her. She meets his gaze, and they share a smile.

     Nobara gags.

     “I cannot believe Gojo-sensei got a girlfriend before I got a boyfriend,” she grouses. Yuji glares at her.

     “How is that hard to believe? I had to watch you get your literal brains blown out!”

     Nobara grins, her remaining eye glimmering. “I know. Wasn’t it fucking cool?”

     Yuji makes a face. “It was horrifying! I thought you were dead!”

     “As if some punk ass cursed spirit could drop me! I’m the Girl of Steel!”

     The bickering begins anew, and Megumi lets out a long-suffering sigh. Sundari decides she likes Nobara immediately. Maybe she’ll consider Satoru’s not-so-subtle requests that she look into teaching.

     “Gojo-sensei,” Megumi says. “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?”

     Satoru presses a kiss to Sundari’s temple, giving her a gentle squeeze before excusing himself to the hall with Megumi. Satoru knows there’s a few things he owes to Megumi, but he’s surprised when the door shuts and Megumi immediately throws his arms around Satoru.

     It startles both of them.

     Satoru’s arms come up and he places them around Megumi with a gentle smile. Neither one of them question the moisture soaking his jacket as Megumi simply clings to him.

     “I’m sorry, Megumi,” Satoru says, and means it. “When I took you in all those years ago, this wasn’t what I envisioned for you. I should have prepared you better, but none of us could have—”

     “It’s fine,” Megumi mumbles, taking a deep, shuddering breath. It’s not fine. Not right now. It probably won’t be for some time. “I just…I thought I was going to lose everything I ever cared about. When he…”

     There’s a lot.

     Satoru pulls Megumi back to look at him.

     “Do you want to talk about it right now? Are you ready to?” He asks, none of the usual playfulness in his voice. Megumi swallows, wipes his face hastily.

     “No,” he says softly. “Not right now. It’s too…fresh. My thoughts are still jumbled. I just needed to see that you’re real is all. I thought…when Sukuna figured out how to bypass infinity…”

     Satoru’s brows go up in surprise, a piece of the puzzle clicking into place. So that was why Nadja had intervened. She knew what Sukuna was using the Ten Shadows for. Satoru frowns. Why hadn’t she warned him ahead of time? Likely she counted on Sukuna wanting to counter her in the event of her betrayal. She had been playing against him, and Satoru had just been another piece on the board. No one had counted on her sacrificing her life to save Satoru. He remembers Sukuna’s shocked expression as Nadja countered his World Cutting Slash with her Executioner Blade. He remembers it shattering in her hands and seeing Sukuna’s technique broken in two. He’ll never forget that as long as he lives.

     He wishes he could commend her. He decided he will tell Sundari where Sukuna’s half of Nadja’s ashes are kept, since her own urn was destroyed in the final battle.

     “I’m the Strongest, remember?” He assures Megumi with a grin. Megumi doesn’t look convinced, and Satoru is worried about the state of his ward’s mind. He makes a note to hold Megumi back from missions until he’s been fully evaluated. And to ask if he still wants to be a sorcerer at all given all that has happened to him.

     “Why did you take me in…all those years ago?” Megumi asks. “Was it because of my technique?”

     Satoru hesitates. He’s been bracing himself for this conversation for a long time, but he hadn’t expected to survive his encounter with Sukuna. He’d had a letter prepared in case anything happened to him! Now he has to actually tell the whole gory story.

     Damnit, Nadja.

     “Well,” Satoru says. “It was your father’s dying wish, actually.”

     Megumi’s eyes go wide. “What?”

     Satoru chuckles, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s a funny story, in retrospect. A little ironic, really. Like I didn’t even know he had a kid, and then when I saw you it was like—well of course his kid would have fucking Ten Shadows, right?”

     “Gojo! You’re rambling. What do you mean it was my father’s dying wish? You knew him?”

     Satoru sighs. “Briefly, and it wasn’t a happy acquaintance. He tried to kill me, actually. Almost succeeded too. Look, one of these days I’m gonna sit you down and tell you the whole ugly story, and then you can summon Mahoraga or something and we can have it out, if you want.”

     “You killed him, didn’t you?”

     The words are like a guillotine blade, cutting all the life out of the small space between them. Satoru blinks, takes a deep breath, and slowly reanimates on his next exhale.

     “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I did. His final words were for me to keep you from being sold to the Zenins. From my understanding your dad was a gambling man, and his final bet was on you, Megumi.”

     Megumi stares at Satoru, his expression caught in a crossroads of too many things to name. For much of his life, he assumed his father had simply sold him off and had been living a charmed life off the money these last few years. For much of his life, Gojo Satoru allowed him to believe this.

     “I tried to tell you when we met,” Satoru says, as if reading his thoughts. “But you said you didn’t care to know what your dad was up to; I can respect that, and you’ve always known your own mind. I figured if you ever changed your mind, you’d ask. I admit my delivery of the news wasn’t the best. This isn’t much better. But the bottom line is he believed in you, Megumi. It’s the one thing he and I have in common.”

     Megumi’s throat bobs in a heavy swallow, and he looks away.

     “And then I got my entire body hijacked by Sukuna, killed my sister—”

     “You didn’t kill her,” Satoru says sternly, eyes flashing like blue fire. “Sukuna killed her, and he did it deliberately to hurt you. That death is not on you.”

     “You don’t know that!” Megumi says. “How could anyone know that?”

     Satoru snorts. “Actually, there’s one guy I can say who does know that. His whole technique revolves around shit like this, actually.”

     Megumi’s brow furrows and he makes the connection in his mind.

     “Higuruma-sama? Yeah…he trapped Yuji in his domain once. Put him on trial.”

     Satoru grins. “That’s him! He agreed to work as a sorcerer without question. He’s absolutely batshit, perfect for the job. Anyway, if you ever wanna know what you’re actually guilty of, just ask him to pull you into his domain. But be careful, if you’re guilty of something really bad, he’ll be obligated to kill you.”

     “What? Why would you tell me that?”

     Satoru rolls his eyes. “Because you’re blaming yourself for shit that wasn’t your fault, Megumi. And since you won’t believe me—your gorgeous, twice-blessed sensei—when I tell you you’re good, then I guess we can see if Higuruma has to, you know…” Satoru makes a quick slicing motion across his neck. Megumi stares at him impassively.

     “Never mind,” Satoru says. “You aren’t…you’re taking this remarkably well.”

     Megumi’s gaze is distant, as if he’s looking into the past and a soft smile crosses his face.

     Hey kid…what’s your name?

     Fushiguro.

     Not Zenin? I’m so glad.

     “What?” Satoru asks. “Don’t keep me in suspense, kid.”

     Megumi blinks like a waking dreamer and meets Satoru’s gaze.

     “Nothing, just remembering something from Shibuya, is all.” he says with a secretive smile. Satoru smiles back. He knows all about nothing. Satoru’s smile fades in the next instant, however.

     “Wait, why Shibuya? Megumi, I can’t even mention Shibuya without three sorcerers cowering in a corner in tears over it. Why are you smiling about that?”

     Over the next several weeks, they piece together the massive puzzle of chaos left in the wake of Sukuna’s devastation, and Kenjaku’s schemes. Sundari learns from the memories she and Yuji shared with Sukuna that Sukuna devoured Tengen whole and absorbed her into himself. As a result, his remains must be preserved in order to maintain the barriers Tengen has been strengthening and maintaining for countless centuries.

     Sundari also knows that Tengen is partially responsible for what Sukuna became. She and Yuji discuss it in private, agreeing to only share the knowledge they’ve gleaned from Sukuna’s memories with Satoru. It means a major power imbalance in favor of the Gojo Clan, but better them than Kamo. There’s also the dilemma of Choso, who bears the Kamo clan’s hereditary technique, but being what he is, will never ever be formally recognized by the clan. Yuji and Sundari take Choso in without question. The Kamo Clan raises no fuss about it, so long as the abomination of their clan’s shame makes no claims for power. Choso himself has no interest in clan politics, preferring to remain with his younger brother, Yuji, who continues his training in the art of Blood Manipulation in earnest.

     Sundari decides she will unpack the strangeness of their family tree at a later date. That Yuji hasn’t freaked out about a single reveal is a testament to his steely nerves, but Sundari thinks it’s because Yuji prefers a more simplistic view on his life and doesn’t overthink the minutiae. Sundari, however, has a millennium of experience under her belt and still nothing has floored her quite like the revelation of her father’s side of the family. Yeah, Sundari tucks that away for later…maybe they’ll recruit a jujutsu therapist they can all talk to one day.

     Aside, there is still the matter of the higher ups being decimated. No one knows who is responsible, and yet there can be no other answer. But who will dare come forward to accuse the Honored One, who is responsible for Sukuna’s defeat and helping return balance back to jujutsu society?

     Sundari has to commend Satoru for his political cunning. He’s consolidated enough power to execute his dream bloodlessly, but that still leaves the problem of jujutsu sorcerers being short staffed year-round.

     There are still curse users out there, and a missing armory from the Zenin Estate that no doubt is finding its way to the black market for exorbitant prices. The work of a sorcerer is unending, and Sundari joins Satoru on his investigations and missions, acclimating to life as a modern-day powerhouse, feared, scorned, and respected all at once.

     So it goes, round and round.

     Time seemed to slip through their fingers like water. The work of fixing Tokyo, of chasing curses new and old, of rebuilding the parts of Tokyo ruined by Sukuna alone…it is exhausting, and it is bitter. But it must get done. Even Nanami, injured as he is, finds a way to contribute in other ways, lending his expertise to the less experienced sorcerers, ensuring they have what it takes to survive in a field as chaotic as this one.

     Little by little, jujutsu society finds a way to limp back to life.

     And Satoru finally does the one thing he has been wanting to do since before this whole mess began: he buries Suguru.

     Once, he might have seen to this task alone, but he calls Shoko, tells her his intentions, and she meets him at the chosen location without any questions asked.

     Watching Suguru’s pyre burn feels like he is burning an old version of himself. Satoru cannot quantify what this moment will mean when he looks back on it later on in his life, when the grievous wounds have finally been balmed to oily scar tissue. He just knows that the version of him that loved a version of Suguru that died long before his body, no longer exists. As Suguru’s remains burn, and he and Shoko pick the bones from the ashes and place the ashes in an urn, Satoru lets himself weep for the first time.

     Shoko watches the strongest sorcerer alive curl up and weep, and she takes him in her arms and lets him. Satoru weeps for all that he has lost, all that was denied him, and all that Suguru could never become because his Six Eyes couldn’t tell him what was wrong before it was too late. He weeps and mourns at last—at long last—and purges his heart of everything. Suguru should have been here. This dream was because of him, and he should have been here. But Satoru knows he must let that regret go too, if he wants to succeed at all, he has to let it go. And after a while, the tears run dry, and his body feels soft and pliant in Shoko’s embrace. He sees the silent trail of tears down her cheeks and knows that they both needed to be here for this.

     It feels like a chapter being closed for both of them, and an unspoken apology for their own culpability in the wounds both of them bear from it.

     But there is no more room for guilt and self-flagellation.

     Satoru gives himself three days of quiet reflection in the aftermath, running the gamut of grief in all its ugliness and beauty and catharsis, and then he returns to the searing present. He returns to the realization of his dream.

     He finds his phone, sends a text to Sundari.

   Satoru resists the urge to point out the joke about too many appendages and organs, considering Sundari’s appearance. If he intends to get any affection tonight, he must behave. He still laughs, though.

     Satoru smiles to himself at her reply. It’s sweet of her, really, to give him space to grieve. Still, funnel cake sounds good, and he misses her. With everything returning to some semblance of normalcy, Sundari returned to her apartment, which didn’t surprise him in the least that it’s in Ginza. He makes a note to tease her about it later. Apparently, Nadja left everything to Sundari in her living will should anything happen to her. Satoru finds that ironic, as well. Still, it’s left Sundari nearly as wealthy—if not wealthier—than he is.

     Satoru considers it. He likes her apartment. It’s a quaint, earthy place with a vibe that reminds him of a rainforest in the middle of the city. Sundari keeps so much green, growing stuff in her home that the very air feels different.

     Satoru can already hear Sundari’s laughter in his head.

     Satoru is glad no one is around to hear his veritable squeal of glee. He needs to tell Nanami to get a girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever he’s into. Having one is actually amazing. He wastes no time, packing a bag and taking a cab to Sundari’s mid-rise apartment building. It’s an older building in a more solid style, and far more spacious than newer buildings tend to be. Satoru can make out her balcony, crawling with pothos and wisteria. Smirking and glancing around, he teleports into the air, floating over her balcony railing. Sundari just happens to be walking by when she spots him. Satoru grins when he sees her four eyes go wide, and she lets out a startled shriek before calming down to let him in.

     “What is your fucking problem?” She demands, but there’s no heat in her tone. Satoru closes the distance between them, wrapping her in his embrace and kissing her soundly.

     Sundari forgets his unorthodox entrance in favor of the kissing. By the time Satoru pulls away, his cheeks and hers are flushed, both of them heavy-lidded and half-drunk from the contact.

     “Oh,” Sundari sighs, a drunken smile slipping onto her face before she lets out an involuntary giggle. Satoru grins. It pleases him that he can fluster her and make her soft when the rest of the world must experience her so harshly.

     “You hungry?” Sundari asks. “I can order something or cook.”

     “I came here to eat you,” Satoru says easily as he removes his shoes before entering the apartment proper. Sundari glances at him with a smirk over her shoulder. She doesn’t fluster from his declaration, not after everything they’ve been through, and she doesn’t take his desire for granted.

     “Is that why you’re here, pretty boy?” She asks in that tone that makes Satoru shiver and smile. Yes, he’s her pretty boy. He wants to be her pretty boy. Hers and hers alone.

     “Yeah,” he says and without warning, he activates his technique. Sundari yelps as she’s suddenly drawn to him by an unseen force. Satoru catches her in his arms, and then he’s kissing her again, this time leaving his marks on her jawline and neck, breathing in deeply to imprint her scent on his very soul. Sundari makes small noises of pleasure, letting out a whimper when she feels the soft, wet muscle of his tongue trace patterns on her neck, tasting the salt of her skin.

     “I missed you,” Satoru murmurs into her skin. “I’m so happy I found you.”

     Sundari doesn’t know why her eyes suddenly sting with the threat of tears, and she has to catch her breath and blink several times.

     “I missed you too, Toru,” she whispers, and then lifts his head to look at him, staring into the pieces of Heaven he calls his eyes. “And I’m happy you found me too. More than.”

     It’s simple physics after that.

     Satoru and Sundari make their way to the bedroom, stripping as they go. She loves getting him out of his teacher’s uniform at the end of the day, and Satoru loves undressing her in general. Sometimes what she wears leaves little to the imagination [which he appreciates], but tonight she’s clad in clothes for lounging: a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top that has clearly seen too many wash cycles. Satoru helps her out of all of it, until she’s bare and laying back against the pillows on her bed, looking like some goddess out of a myth.

     As far as Satoru’s concerned, she might as well be. His goddess, at any rate. And he will pray to her in a way that only he can.

     For a moment, they take one another in, blissfully naked. There’s no skylight above Sundari’s bed, but there is a lantern that throws mandala patterns against the walls, dancing through the leaves of her massive monstera that crawls across her ceiling, making everything look wild and erotic and dreamlike. Satoru reaches out, traces the cursed markings on her body: the concentric rings on her strong shoulders; the black bands on her arms, wrists, thighs, and ankles; the ones on her face; the ones on her chest, following the swell of her high and proud breasts. He grins when she gasps as his thumb and forefinger capture and roll a nipple between them. He watches her legs part a little, eager. His eyes drift down, catch the sight of the mandala pattern illuminating the slick on her inner thighs, dripping from her cunt.

     His eyes travel back up to her face, framed by blush-pink curls. Four ruby eyes gaze back, guileless and expectant.

     “You are so fucking beautiful, Sundari,” Satoru whispers reverently. “I could look at you forever.”

     Sundari’s cheeks bloom with heat and she bites her lip, suddenly feeling bashful. She knows she is beautiful, but it makes her stomach go into freefall whenever Satoru tells her. Her heart flutters in her chest.

     “You’re beautiful too,” she whispers, holding out a hand and beckoning him closer. Satoru goes to her, crawling between her spread legs, his cock hard and heavy between his thighs. Sundari’s hand lowers, her fingers wrapping around it and making Satoru hiss in surprise and then pleasure as she swipes her thumb over the head, smearing the droplets of his seed forming at the tip.

     “My pretty boy,” she whispers, her voice husky with desire. Satoru leans in, makes a whining sound as she squeezes his cock and nips his glossy, pink lips. “Mine.”

     “Yours,” Satoru says in a rush of breath as she strokes his cock with the tender firmness of one who knows he’s hers. It’s true, and his fingers curl into the sheets as he fights the pressure building in the base of his spine.

     “Sundari…” Her name comes out as a strained and hoarse gasp. Sundari smiles at him knowingly, and he sees the tender cruelty in it.

     “Yes, baby?” She asks, slowing her stroking. Satoru’s hips thrust involuntarily, seeking more of it. He wants to be inside of her—needs it, actually. He wants to envelop himself in the tight, wet confines of her cunt and never leave. He wants to fuck her until she dissolves like spun sugar in his mouth.

     “Oh?” Sundari’s smile becomes a grin. “Is that what you want, pretty boy?”

     Fuck. Had he said all that shit out loud?

     Satoru is silent for a moment, his cock hard as stone in her hand. He’s not the strongest sorcerer for nothing.

     “Yeah,” he says, his tone suddenly harder than before. “I do.”

     The equation between them shifts as Sundari’s eyes light up in excitement and Satoru pounces on her before she can react to the shift in the air between them. They struggle for dominance, of course, mindful of their strength for the sake of the bed itself rather than one another. Satoru still thinks fondly of the crater left by their coupling in his yard.

     This is different, though. There is no adrenaline from battle to fuel them: only the need and want for one another.

     And love too.

     Satoru is so sure this is love because he has tried being without her and he can’t.

     Don’t leave me baby, I just found you.

Eventually, Satoru pins Sundari, grasping her legs to place over his shoulders. He pushes her legs back, exposing her cunt, which opens like a beautiful flower, petals glistening and dripping with dew for his mouth.

     Satoru grins, his eyes glowing in the dim light, and spits directly into her pussy.

     Sundari moans and writhes in response at the obscenity of it all, and then Satoru leans down and meets her dripping cunt in an open-mouthed kiss. He does as he said he would: he eats her. Satoru’s jaw will ache, his tongue will ache, but Sundari will be thoroughly and unerringly sated. He makes sure of it.

     His lips wrap around her clit, sucking hard, moaning as if she is the best meal he’s had in ages. Sundari reaches for him, legs spread, and his hands find hers, linking their fingers while he gets lost in the slippery, wet heat of her, eyes closed in private bliss.

     “Ngh…Satoru…” She moans and he makes an inquisitive sound, looking up at her through heavy-lidded cerulean eyes, glowing brighter than a galaxy’s heart. Sundari keeps moaning his name, dragging out the vowels and hissing out the consonants as he works her clit until tears spring to her eyes and she’s panting and flushed and quivering with the desperate need for release.

     He pulls away just before she can come, and she lets out a frustrated sound.

     “No,” he says, his voice hoarse; chin, cheeks, and lips glistening with her juices. “No, baby. I want you to come on my cock. I want to feel this pretty pussy squeezing me when you lose your mind.”

     Sundari, so desperate to climax, nods and agrees. Satoru leans up, sitting back on his heels and dragging her by the hips into his lap, keeping her comfortably laying on the bed. His cock seems eager too, straining and hot against her went cunt. Satoru bites his lip before reaching down to grasp his cock in one fist, stroking himself before pushing the head inside of her. Just the tip.

     “Satoru!” Sundari hisses, and her eyes flash dangerously even as he rewards her with a smug smirk, teasing her by sliding the head of his cock up and down her slit.

     “Yeah?” He breathes. “Just testing the waters, baby, don’t worry.”

     And then he slips inside of her, relishing the guttural moan that spirals up from her as he sinks down to the hilt inside of her. For a moment he holds her hips, and it very still. He looks down at where they’re joined, the soft white hairs of his pubes rubbing against her clit and making her shiver. He bites his lip again when he feels her walls constrict around him. He’d almost forgotten about her conscious muscle control. But he’s ready, this time.

     “Mmm,” Satoru groans, tightening his grip on her thighs. “Ask nicely, Sundari.”

     Four crimson eyes narrow at him, and he rewards her with a blade-ready smirk, eyes flashing like stars in the dusky twilight of her bedroom.

     “You come into my home to make me beg?” She demands, moaning in frustration and indignation and pleasure alike as Satoru moves his hips just so, giving her just enough friction to make her pulse leap in her veins, but stopping just short of satisfaction. He can do this all damn night. He can do this until the world crumbles to dust.

     “No,” Satoru says. “I came into your home to make you come, but I want you to ask me, Sundari. I want you to ask me to make you come.”

     Sundari glares up at him and Satoru can’t help it: he laughs. She looks so much like Sukuna, down to the way her nose wrinkles to show her displeasure. Sundari bares her fangs.

     “Something funny, Six Eyes?” She growls, and Satoru feels her strength returning, legs pushing against his grip as her ankles lock behind his back. He’s still buried nine inches inside of her, but the way she’s focused you wouldn’t know it. Satoru reaches down, makes her watch as he swipes a thumb against her swollen clit.

     Sundari lets out a choked sound, her control momentarily slipping. Satoru teases her clit with light, tight circles, and her eyelids flutter. The lower ones even close.

     “That’s it,” Satoru purrs, watching her as he feels her pussy grow wetter around him with each stroke against her clit. He contemplates making her come without having to move his hips, but he craves movement as much as she does. It’s a contest of wills at this point, and unlike battles involving jujutsu, the flesh is far less durable during sex. He can only stem the tide of his own climax for so long.

     “S-Satoru…” Sundari’s voice comes out as a stammering whimper, and she pulls with her crossed legs, trying to force him to start moving. He sits there, stroking her clit idly, and there’s an almost cold wintery expression on his face, as if he’s the god and she’s the supplicant.

     The Honored One grins as his goddess opens her mouth and begins to beg him.

     The words come first as a stammering trickle, then a sultry, moaning torrent. She begs him and as she does, he increases the pace of his stroking thumb, spreading her slick over her clit, noting with pleasure when he sees his cock glistening with her fluids in the soft, golden light.

     “Come for me,” he murmurs and Sundari does. Satoru hisses as her walls flutter around him, and he holds her steady, stroking her clit through the orgasm that has her writhing and calling his name. It’s only when she’s about to settle down that Satoru gives in and begins to move his hips. He has been nice enough, and his goddess is strong. He fucks her.

     Sundari’s hands claw for purchase, one fisted in the sheets, the other going to her headboard to grip it tightly or risk getting her head knocked through the wall. Satoru doesn’t give her time to adjust because he’s indulged her pleasure. It’s his turn to chase that glittering edge, and he wants her to take it. God, she has done so much in the short time since her unsealing, he just needs her to take his cock right now.

     For a long stretch of time there is only the sound of Sundari’s short staccato gasps, Satoru’s labored groans, and the heavy, wet sound of skin meeting skin as Satoru attempts to nail her to the mattress. Sundari can’t think straight, and she knows that’s exactly how he likes it, gripping her hips and lifting her halfway off the bed to pull her along his cock. She throws her head back, screaming his name, begging him not to stop, begging him to come inside of her.

     Satoru plans to grant all of these requests in due time, but right now he wants her in every way he can have her. He stops his rhythm to pull her up. Without needing to be told, Sundari tangles her limbs around him: four arms pull him close and together they situate themselves into the Lotus position, face to face, heart to heart, body to body.

     “Hey you,” Satoru murmurs, nipping her lower lip with a smile. Sundari meets his gaze with heavy-lidded eyes, the concentric circles within them swirling. The curse she carries is gone, but the brand of her lineage remains. She is terrifying and beautiful and wild and he lovesherlovesherlovesher.

     “Hey you,” she replies, her voice sultry and husky.

     This time, they move as one, surging with one another’s breaths, cresting and falling into the troughs of one another’s respective rhythm, and finding harmony. Somehow the pleasure is insurmountable this way, and both of them become exceedingly aware that this is different.

     “Satoru…” Sundari breathes, and she can’t seem to fill her lungs fast enough as she clings tightly to him, nails scraping his back as she moves. “Satoru…I…”

     “I know, baby, I know,” Satoru murmurs, kissing her tenderly, open-mouthed and saturated, wanting to share her very breath in this moment. “I feel it too.”

     That bright and terrible presence from her domain inversion is watching them. The universe itself is sanctioning this union, and by doing so, redressing an imbalance for which their stars were written.

     The pleasure is beyond flesh, now. Sundari moves her body without thought and Satoru maps the contours of her back with his hands, sliding them up and up against her. He chants her name, kissing her temple, her cheeks, her neck, and taking her earlobe between his teeth just to feel her shiver in delight.

     In this space there are no demands made of the other, no commands, and no roles. There’s only the frequency of pleasure they have found, reverberating through both their souls like some primordial note sung long ago, and sustained through every cosmic union so heavily soaked in fate and destiny.

     When Satoru comes, he realizes that this is exactly how he felt when he was on the edge of death twelve years prior. And Sundari tumbles after him, clinging to him tightly as their thoughts and their very souls seem to touch like two exposed wires, sending sparks to spangling in their blood.

     The bright presence recedes like an ancient wave, and as they return to the skin and bone of their bodies, sweat-slick and panting, they realize that the only presence in the room now is their own.

     “Holy shit…” Satoru breathes, burying his face in Sundari’s neck. “That was…I think that’s the best sex I’ve ever had in my fucking life.”

     Sundari smirks, turning her head to nuzzle him with an almost feral purr.

     “Yeah,” Sundari agrees, her voice quiet and mystified. “Same. Do you think…what did it mean?”

     Satoru raises his head, his eyes swirling with a steady rotation of what Sundari swears are clouds this close. She blinks before the side-effects can start setting in: dizziness, vertigo, and dissociation. Satoru explained it like microdosing Unlimited Void.

     “I have a theory, but let’s talk about it in the morning. Tonight is for fucking.”

     Sundari’s laughter rings in the air like temple bells.

     Winter gives way to the tentative thaw of early spring. Most of the curses have been cleaned up, and Tokyo is almost back to her old self: hustling, bustling, busy, busy, busy. The rhythm of the city returns, and sorcerers resume their work of managing the cursed energy of an entire people. There are changes, however.

     The pay is better, for one. Satoru consulted with Mei Mei for that particular bit, and called a meeting of the clan heads, large and small, as well as elders in the community, and representatives of independent factions in order to oversee the drawing up of a new charter. It took several months, and there was dissent, but the basis of the new charter was laid, and Satoru sees part of his dream brought into reality. Just like infinity.

     Satoru’s snide remarks to Gakuganji the previous summer turned out to not be in jest or even in spite: his birth did herald a shift in the jujutsu world, and the biggest change is the number of sorcerers being born and those recently awakened to their abilities. Satoru helps delegate the task of assessing these new sorcerers and offering them a chance to study at Jujutsu Tech. He has been consulting with his colleagues and they came to the agreement that they can no longer feasibly pull only from high school aged students, especially since Kenjaku’s awakened sorcerers need guidance.

     Thus, Jujutsu Tech becomes open to all sorcerers for study, regardless of background or nationality. Satoru knows the biggest blind spot they had with regards to Kenjaku’s scheme was their obsession with secrecy, even from one another. He vows not to make such a mistake again.

     The changes are met with varying degrees of excitement and disdain. The students currently enrolled are thrilled to welcome more classmates, and sorcerers working for Jujutsu Headquarters begrudgingly welcome the extra hands.

     Despite all this, it is Sundari’s presence that polarizes jujutsu society. Sundari herself has known that it would be this way, but when she receives the first, crisp press of her new Jujutsu Tech instructor uniform, she knows that Satoru has fought a hard battle to approve her for training.

     The uniform itself is splendid: all black, of course, a tailor-cut jacket, with the gold swirl buttons representing Jujutsu Tech, a black mock-neck sleeveless top, and a black form-fitting mid-length skirt, slit up both sides for ease of movement. Her choice of footwear is a pair of black, platform boots. Sundari notes that the jacket itself has the trishula symbol embroidered in red on the back, to match the marking that adorn her and Sukuna’s brow. She smirks, knowing that it was Satoru who likely had a hand in that particular design choice.

     These don’t have to be a curse.

Sundari observes herself in the mirror with a hint of pride. Her pink curls are styled into two puffs atop her head, and she blinks all four of her eyes and for a moment she thinks she sees her father’s reflection instead of her own. She traces her face markings, and then smiles.

     “Well dad,” she murmurs to herself. “Here’s to a better way.”

Sugisawa Municipal High School, Sendai City, April 4, 2019

     The sun is shining when the car winds through the hills toward Yuji’s former high school. Ijichi is silent but occasionally glances at Yuji and Sundari, who sit in the back seat, each peering out their respective windows. The radio is turned to a news station, and they listen with half an ear as reports of Tokyo’s continued recovery from the Culling Games. Of all the barriers that had trapped players inside, Sendai’s region had been the most violent, and the scars of that war—invisible to non-sorcerers—are clear as day as they pull up to the high school.

     “Are you sure about this?” Ijichi asks as they step out of the car. Yuji and Sundari share a look, and Yuji nods.

     “It’ll be fine, Ijichi-san,” Yuji says brightly with his characteristic grin. The scars of Sukuna’s domain are faded, leaving only the slash he received from Mahito, and the scar at the corner of his mouth. Sundari’s own scars from Malevolent Shrine are faint, looking more like tiger stripes than anything else, and nothing can compete with the stark black lines of cursed ink.

     “Alright, I’ll defer to your judgement, Itadori-kun, Hikmat-san,” Ijichi executes a perfunctory and crisp bow. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to go.”

     Yuji and Sundari head toward the school. Since the Culling Games Sendai has been quieter, mostly because the residents are still frightened of the curses that sprung up over the winter like mold. Sundari’s cursed presence alone is enough to send any lesser curses scattering. They are like shy animals, crowding up against the borders of humanity, eager to taste the very people who feed their existence.

     They cross onto the football field and Sundari’s brows furrow.

     “Is there a dead body buried out here or something?” She asks. Yuji glances at her, eyes wide.

     “Wait, so the rumors were true?!” He asks back. Sundari blinks several times, staring at him. She decides not to press the matter further as Yuji leads her to the Stevenson screen further outside of the football field’s endzone. Yuji fishes an ornate, silk-wrapped box from his pocket. The inside is lined with red silk, and sitting there is a mummified finger belonging to Sundari’s father…and Yuji’s uncle.

     “And we’re sure this is the last one?” Sundari asks. Yuji gives her a knowing look.

     “Yeah!” He says. “Since he can’t come back through the Fingers anymore, the energy can ward off evil. A good talisman, don’t you think?”

     Sundari looks down at the box, and it’s not lost on her that both her parents have been reduced to such small talismans. Her mother’s ashes sit on her dresser, and her father’s remaining Finger will now ward off evil. She makes a mental note to come back and see about purifying the energy of this place because she is pretty sure there’s a dead body buried around here.

     Yuji places the box within the screen and shuts the door. Both he and Sundari press their palms together in prayer. For a moment the air is charged with the scent of burnt ozone or burnt sugar. Their cursed energy blooms like a lotus in tandem, the power of their jujutsu sealing the deal, as it were.

     When it is done, the air seems to return to normal, and the sun shines a little brighter. Sundari feels as if her heart is lighter, and there’s a warm feeling in her chest. She bites her lip as tears prick her vision. She never thought she’d feel a modicum of anything for her father. He’d been nothing short of horrible to her in the brief time she knew him.

     And yet…

     He’d loved her mother once. Loved her enough to beg for Sundari’s existence. Loved her enough to stay his hand from killing her. Loved her enough to call Sundari’s existence a miracle.

     Maybe he’d loved Sundari a little bit too.

     “Hey,” Yuji says, glancing at her. “You okay?”

     Sundari blinks away the tears and nods.

     “Yeah…just…taking in the moment. Thanks for doing this, Yuji. It was a brilliant suggestion.” She smiles at him, and he beams with pride, and for a moment he doesn’t look like a war-scarred sorcerer. Just a boy of sixteen with a strange family tree and a new lease on life. Sundari turns away from the Stevenson screen, away from the last vestige of her father.

     “Let’s go,” she says. “I promised Satoru I’d grab some kikufuku for him on our way back. And I’ve apparently got more teacher training.”

     Yuji and Sundari walk back across the football field, back toward Ijichi and the car, chatting about what kind of kikufuku to get, and Yuji offers to show Sundari around Sendai, claiming he’d already given Sukuna a tour, but he wasn’t as excited about it. Their voices fade across the field as the sun crawls across the sky, its light shifting the shadows in the trees.

Unnamed Shore, Unnamed Time

     “Well, well. What’s this, our second conversation?”

     Sukuna stares down at the cursed spirit, who leers up at him with that oil-slick grin and mismatched eyes.

     “Something like that,” Mahito says, recalling that none of the so-called “conversations” had been pleasant ones. He stands to his full height, but even that is nothing compared to the overwhelming height of the King of Curses. “My ability has to do with reshaping the soul, so I guess it makes sense that I wound up in this place.” But something about Sukuna is different…

     “Hey,” he says. Fuck it, there’s not much the King of Curses can do to him in this place. Sukuna raises his brow in response. “Something I meant to ask you. You were lying before, weren’t you? About living according to your nature. You weren’t acting in accordance with your nature at all, were you? You were taking vengeance for what was done to you.”

     Sukuna stares at the cursed spirit and for a moment Mahito thinks he’s fucked up again.

     Instead, Sukuna lets out a laugh that sounds almost amused and self-assured.

     “What difference does it make?” He asks. “I lived how I knew how to go on. I…” He thinks, shuts his eyes a moment, remembering. “Well, not entirely true. I was afraid my own curse would burn me up, so I could only spit out the curses writhing in my guts. I had two paths open to me, and I chose.”

     He doesn’t need to look to feel the familiar chill of Uraume by his side. They are quiet, eyes downcast, but Sukuna can see the tears glimmering on their cheeks. He places an arm around them, giving their slight shoulders an affectionate squeeze. The shiver that runs through them is one of relief and despair. Sukuna looks away from them, his eyes searching.

     “Looking for her?” Mahito asks, his tone taunting. Sukuna’s crimson gaze cuts to the cursed spirit sharply for a moment, questioning without a word. Mahito wonders how far he can press his luck before Sukuna makes good to kill him once and for all.

     “She passed through here not too long ago, we chatted for a bit,” Mahito places a finger on his lips. “Unfortunately, I don’t think her bosses took kindly to her loitering. She’s mortal now, after all. Can’t be caught holding up the cycle!”

     Sukuna’s expression hardens, and the wheels of his mind turn quickly. Where was she, then? If she passed through this place, then her soul must already be on its way to rebirth.

     Two choices.

     In every lifetime, I will probably love you.

     Sukuna shuts his eyes.

     “I see,” he says quietly. “Then if there is a next time, I think it would be nice to walk a different path.”

     “Do you think you’ll find her?” Mahito asks, grinning his malicious grin. Sukuna does not spare the curse a second glance as he takes Uraume’s hand and begins to walk, toward the darkness, toward the light.

     “You’ve gone soft, old bastard!” Mahito grouses. “Chasing after love! Blegh!”

     Sukuna laughs. “Of course I have,” he says. “I lost, after all.”

     Uraume looks up at Sukuna, a rare breach of their unspoken decorum, a question writ in their lilac gaze.

     “We’ll find her,” Sukuna says. “No matter how many times the Wheel spins, she was made for me. We’ll find her.”

Fin. Masterpost 𑁍 Previous Chapter

Author's Final Note: So, here we are at the end of a journey. I don't know if anyone is out there, silently reading my words and bobbing their head to the playlists, but to everyone putting eyes on this story and ears on the soundtrack: thank you! And to the folks who have been commenting on the chapters, or sharing my stories in the fandom: thank you! What initially began as a thought experiment of "what if Sukuna had a daughter with an immortal" became so much more, and I'd like to thank Gege Akutami for giving us Jujutsu Kaisen. I really haven't been this inspired to write for fandom for almost a decade, and I decided to check out this manga/anime and I've been obsessed ever since. It makes me so happy to write stories in such a fascinating world with such intriguing and fun characters.

Even though the manga is over, I'm holding out for an amazing anime adaptation going forward, and JJK is honestly a classic for me that I know I'll love revisiting it for years to come. I have other fanfic for JJK for those of you who are down to hangout at the Parallax Afterparty where I'll be posting stray stories, scenes that didn't leave the cutting room floor, character studies, and other cool lore that doesn't fit into the fics! Or, if you're really fucking with my galaxy-brain OC x Canon agenda, head on over to Lost Worlds & Endless Nights for the Parallax AUs. Or if you want different leads in other universes, head over to my series Sonder! I don't intend to leave the fandom, so for any holdouts: come get ya fanfic, here, hot off the presses! I'll be churning out these puppies for at least another six months to a year.

Again: thanks for reading. Talk to me in the comments or come holler at me on my other socials [if you got 'em] if you've got questions or wanna yell or whatever.

𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍 Muse 𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍𑁍

© 2024 Hajara Asiri. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging posts is okay]. This includes copying my masterlist format or feeding ANY of my writing to the uninspired AI garbage machines. I only upload on Tumblr, AO3, and FFN. Title and footer banners by me. Dividers and support by @cafekitsune.

☕️ Member of the @pixelcafe-network.

[pumpkinhead666]

AO3 destiel (canon/ canon divergent) fics

since I'm in a constant need of good canon divergent fics I'll just post this here in hopes of helping a poor soul (I update this every once in a while!) 𝔽𝕚𝕩 𝕚𝕥 𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕤 (0-10k)

Just Walk Through by ahurston

On the Sixth Day by fleeceframe

Every Thursday (Past, Present and Future) by someonetoanyone

Song of Songs by piesexuality

Can't Stop Lovin' You by Trenchcoat_Paradigm

(10-35k)

Toes In The Sand by imogenbynight

There Is Rest For The Wicked by fleeceframe

Closer (isn't close enough) by fleeceframe

Waveform Frequency by LeverDrift

Thunder Road by dothraki_shieldmaiden

On Labor by a_good_soldier

In Present Tenses by focacciabread

(35k-80k)

Keep Your Love Alive by dothraki_shieldmaiden, FriendofCarlotta

Fracture Mechanics by Rend_Herring

Ignite Your Bones by ilovehowyouletmefall

(80k+)

Forget Your Perfect Offering by ilovehowyouletmefall

Look For Me in Dreams by ChaoticTrinity

You Belong Among The Wildflowers by ImYourHoneyBee

Aching In The Absence of You by sobsicles

Let's Take A Drive by sobsicles

Mellow Is The Man by marquiavellian

𓆩⚝𓆪 𖤐 ⭒๋࣭. ˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳ .๋࣭⭒ 𖤐 𓆩⚝𓆪

𝕡𝕣𝕖-𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕤

(0-10k)

Cornflower Blue by riseofthefallenone

The Strength To Say by komodobits

The Lost Scene- S12E19- The Future by Alphabetindisorder (Justbrowsing2211)

Overthinking Barns by ImYourHoneyBee

White Dress Shirt by fleeceframe

Under Lock and Key by Trenchcoat_Paradigm

(10-35k)

Again by riseofthefallenone

The More You Love A Memory by deancaskiss

It's Such a Mystery (The Way You Know Me) by fleeceframe

Just A Touch by sobsicles

All The Nights by NorthernSparrow

(35k-80k)

Music Is A Love Language by Alphabetindisorder (Justbrowsing2211)

American Oracle by handsliketruth, whiskeyjuniper

𓆩⚝𓆪 𖤐 ⭒๋࣭. ˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳ .���࣭⭒ 𖤐 𓆩⚝𓆪

[knuckleslove]

Oooh. This scene always gets me ‘cause I have 2 nearly identical scenes in Fractured Frequency. They are like frame for fame THIS. It’s drawn so close to what I imagined, and it looks so sick here. Hhhhhhhh.

knuckles is ready for murder

[scoobydoofenshmirtz]

fic recs for...no particular reason

Wild that after 15 seasons Supernatural never actually had a finale. Oh well, we have fanfic. Here's a collection of some of my fav fics that fill the void of never having a finale. Click here for my full rec list.

Recs under the cut sorted by category, listed by wordcount

Post-canon

dean's coworkers vs the heteronormative agenda by cowboydeanwinchester T, 4,106

Hey Stud by mrhd M, 4,715

Fixed and Consequent by Faillen T, 5106

Perihelion by someonetoanyone e, 11,610

Haircuts and Harboring Hope by City_Of_Paper_And_Ink T, 14,558

six hundred sundays (and many more) by sobsicles M, 15,689

Learning Curve (I just want to say I love you) by tsujiharu M, 20,206

Something Happening Somewhen by allthismusic T, 20,364

*thunder road by dothraki_shieldmaiden E, 20,883

Good Times, Bad Times, Past Times by LazarusRose E, 25,313

swimming with the fish pond fishes by februyuri E, 25,674

so good at crashing in by Wintertree M, 26,430

Fenario by ftmsteverogers E, 47,085

the home we make together by vaudelin E, 48,133

The Things You Cannot Change by marbleflan E, 67,867

Right Where You Left Me by outdean E, 93,581

*take the long way home by dothraki_shieldmaiden E, 95,043

take the bones, begin anew by JustStandingHere M, 103,254

dumbassery, denial, doing (the three d’s to the destination) by sobsicles E, 108,427

*written pre november 2020

Fix-its

We always were but never knew it by frightfullyrude G, 3,819

The Jensen Mistake by fellshish T, 5,087

foundations by rhinestoneangels (almondrose) T, 6,236

of fire and circles by rhinestoneangels (almondrose) T, 7,939

adam bites the apple by sicsempertyrannis T, 10,946

I'll Follow You Into the Dark by friendofcarlotta E, 15,008

the valley of the shadow of death (keep walking) by p1013 E, 16,006

Waveform Frequency by LeverDrift M, 20,419

On Labor by a_good_soldier E, 24,661

Damn, I Wish I Was Your Lover by ImYourHoneyBee E, 26,300

Orbital Velocity Around a Celestial Body by LeverDrift, M, 26,718

things happen (they do, they do, they do) by sobsicles E, 27,918

according to all known laws of life/and he’s back (with a mind of his own) by sobsicles E, 29,727/38,219

straw house, straw dog by bsmith0708 E, 31,646

fools and pilgrims by lagaudiere T, 31,904

if it all fell to pieces tomorrow by spocklee M, 37,130

Fracture Mechanics by Rend_Herring E, 43,442

ascend by quiettewandering M, 53,277

between the essence / and the descent by tothewillofthepeople E, 67,547

Heart’s on Fire by chaoticdean, savetheclaypots E, 72,017

[the-walking-pie]

Whumptober 2022 Masterpost

Thank you to everyone who read my Whumptober fics this year. I suppose I’m a completionist now. Yay!

The entire collection can be found on AO3 here. The fandoms included are (in order of frequency):

Lupin III

Fire Emblem Three Houses/Hopes/Awakening

Pokemon Ranger and Legends of Arceus

Persona 4

The Great Ace attorney

Moomin

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Cat’s Eye (Anime)

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles

Fills by prompt are under the cut

Day One: Unconventional Restraints

Day Two: Confrontation

Day Three: Gun to Temple

Day Four: Hidden Injury

Day Five: Hyperthermia

Day Six: Ransom Video

Day Seven: Shaking Hands

Day Eight: Back from the Dead

Day Nine: Sleeping in Shifts/Caught in a Storm

Day Eleven: Self-done first aid/Makeshift Splint

Day Twelve: Cave In

Day Thirteen: Fracture

Day Fourteen: Desperate Measures

Day Fifteen: Breathing through the Pain

Day Sixteen: Mind Control

Day Seventeen: Reluctant Caretaker

Day Eighteen: Take My Coat

Day Nineteen: Repeatedly Passing Out

Day Twenty-One: “You’re safe now.”

Day Twenty-Two: Toxic

Day Twenty-Three: Tied to a Table

Day Twenty-four: Blood-Covered Hands

Day Twenty-Five: Duct Tape

Day Twenty-Six: “Why did you save me?”

Day Twenty-Seven: Magical Exhaustion

Day Twenty-Eight: Punching the Wall

Day Twenty-Nine: Better Me than You

Day Thirty: “Please don’t touch me.”

ALT prompt 6: Sensory Overload

ALT prompt 12: Carried to Safety

ALT prompt 15: Tears

[knuckleslove]

Honey, this is how writers are born. You just start somewhere. And yeah, your first draft might be shit. That’s fine. You can edit. It doesn’t have be great right away. But I guaranty if it means that much to you, someone out there will love reading it too.

Don't you sometimes get an absolutely extrodinary, mind blowing, such an awesome idea for a story, but you just don't have enough skill level to pull it off?

[unalivejournal]

u mentioned only reading kripke era fic do you have a reclist 👀👀👀and if not could you link some of ur faves cuz the stuff that gets circulated the most right now is all like late late seasons fic and kripke era is my favorite too but im having trouble finding that many fics for it or even seasons 6-10 era which im fine with also. its just that like. the last five seasons were so bad that it makes fic generally worse too because people have to jump off of just Thee stupidest plot choices no matter how good their prose skills might be. but anyway yea if u have recs that would be awesome :)

hi anon i was thinking abt making a reclist and u just gave me the perfect excuse thank u

jess adamilligan’s kripke era fic recs

from making this ive learned that i never bookmark ANYTHING. sorry all of these r like….. 10k and under. i DO read longer fic but i don’t have any kripke era longfics bookmarked & tbh i prefer short oneshots

season one gen

disclaimer because it’s unfortunately needed: NONE of these are w*ncest! they’re all completely tagged as gen and i did not read them with the intent of consuming ship content.

Coaster Park by fogsrollingin, 10.4k, G, gen

Coaster Park had been experiencing an unusually high frequency of technical difficulties. Dean wouldn't have pulled a shift treating nauseated, heat-stroked, or dehydrated park-goers for that if he could've helped it, but when 'technical difficulties' were accompanied by rumors of things moving and stopping on their own in front of the operators' eyes, Dean had to throw down.

No historical tragedies or disasters in the area, ectoplasm, or EMF. Dean's only lead was a battered-looking kid that'd been coming to the park every day since it'd all started.

really interesting au fic! slightly ‘it’s a terrible life’. dean winchester is a hunter/EMT and sam wesson is a college kid destined to die on a roller coaster ride.

two basic motivating forces by sahwen, 7.8k, T, gen

He can’t cry, it’s not allowed; even as a child he was hushed into silence, whether his tears were from a long car ride or a late night or a raging fever. It’s never been an option, it’s never been an available outlet, and it’s not about to start being one just because he’s having an emotional breakdown on the bathroom floor.

Sam isn't only afraid of clowns.

BIG emetophobia tw (both for graphic depictions of nausea/vomiting and for the fact that this fic is about sam suffering from emetophobia) for this one but it’s my favorite sickfic. portrays anxiety over getting sick really well and is a fascinating examination of the different ways that sam’s fear of loss of control can manifest itself. also has lovely brothers content <3

Let’s Start at the Very Beginning (Remix of Just as Easy as 123) by nwspaprtaxis, 4k, T, gen

Dean’s functionally illiterate and Sam’s determined to remedy it...

PLEASE READ THIS ONE god it’s so sweet. dean never learned how to read properly due to his nomadic childhood and sam teaches him how.

dean/cas

Broadway Musical by Griftings, 9k, M, m/m

This is the day that marked the Holy and Blessed Union of Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle.

The merging of prominent bloodlines is always a grand occurrence, but breeding pedigree hunter families like Winchester and Harvelle is something to be rejoiced. It is also something to be meticulously planned, which thankfully the Host is very good at.

Or, the romantic comedy where Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle are destined to get married, Castiel is given the task of playing matchmaker and fails terribly, the entire Heavenly Host becomes a sitcom audience, God warns against male pregnancy, and Jimmy Novak is incredibly unimpressed with angels in general.

somewhat of a fandom classic and the humor holds up wonderfully. a very silly fic completed with commentary from angel radio throughout the entire thing.

Sappiest Season by dollsome, 2.7k, G, m/m

In which Dean and Cas have to stop an evil Christmas tree (like you do), and it requires a little fake couple action.

hilarious little s5ish fic. one of the first i read when getting back into spn. i don’t want to spoil anything but this is my favorite pick me up and i still giggle randomly whenever i think about it

The (Mostly Accidental) Courtship of Dean Winchester by tuesday

Angelic marriage rites were never intended to go quite like this.

another fandom classic. ik this one is recced a lot but how could i NOT include it. dean and cas get married (mostly by accident) and they’re huge cunts about it

the one thing in the galaxy god didn't have his eyes on by prufrock, 2.4k, T, gen + m/m

“Wait,” Dean says. “Let me get this right. You can fly, right—you can teleport—but you can’t drive a car?”

or, after the events of S5E03 "Free to Be You and Me," Dean teaches Cas to drive. Cas finds it stressful

im always a sucker for a good ftbyam fic. also i can’t drive so. resonation

So Says The Sword by komodobits, 85k, E, m/m

The briefing was simple: ‘Stand guard over the Michael Sword until the battle is ready to commence. Await further instructions.’

Castiel doesn’t mind working security duty; he was briefed shortly after the initial salvation of the Sword from the pit, and again before taking up his position. He knows what to do. However, it’s easy to forget that the green room isn’t real. Time moves differently there, the space ever-changing to make a prison of mountains, cathedrals, salt flats, orchards, and whatever Castiel was led to believe about Heaven’s greatest weapon—Dean Winchester is something entirely unexpected.

NO introduction neede. i think everyone on spntumblr has read this already but still. if you haven’t then i am demanding that you read it NOW. tbh i’m just adding this one so that i have at least one long fic here 😭

the weight by @myaimistrue, 3.5k, T, gen + m/m

“Do you…” Bobby sighs. “Listen, Dean, do you have something you wanna tell me?”

It’s the conversational equivalent of being punched in the stomach.

Or, Dean works through some things with Bobby's help.

WHEN I SAW THE USERNAME I GASPED I HAD NO IDEA THIS WAS U. anyway i Love coming out fics idk why i just do. the world is ending and dean comes out to bobby

canticles by 2street2car, 10.3k, T, m/m

“But you know something? If I couldn’t get you laid, at least I gave you a good first date.”

feat: footsies at a Ruby Tuesday, stargazing, the recreation of an iconic "Dirty Dancing" scene (no, not that one—the other one), and practicing for When You're With A Girl.

another ftbyam fic that skepticalfrog (i believe?) recommended a while back. made me feel at least 28 new emotions

Epilogue by JayneL, 28k, E, m/m

Bobby is here, swearing somewhere above and behind him; and Dean is here, talking about 2014 like it's a foreign country; and Sam is here, and is not Lucifer. Which means-- Bobby is here, swearing somewhere above and behind him; and Dean is here, talking about 2014 like it's a foreign country; and Sam is here, and is not Lucifer. Which means--

Cas is no longer when he was. Lucifer sent him back.

Coda to 'The End'.

2014 cas gets sent back to 2009, feelings ensue etc. i don’t remember all the details of this one bc it’s been a while but it’s really good

bonus

currently reading

Fragile As We Lie by perilously, 11k, E, f/f

Dragging Bela Talbot out of perdition isn't so much a decision as it is a frantic choice based on gut instinct. Her soul is bright, if fractured, and Anna yearns to do good again after the perversion of free will that immediately preceded her death.

Bela's no ordinary human, though; she's prickly and damaged and beautiful, and Anna doesn't want to leave her side. So maybe they can figure out how to navigate post-resurrection, post-Apocalypse-that-wasn't Earth together.

[knuckleslove]

Fractured Frequency Chapter 12 - Bond

Hey y'all, I was holding on to this to post with the next chapter as a double feature, but considering the state of the world today, I'm just going to share it with you all now.

This is a tiny bit of light that I can put out into the world. (I could certainly use some light too if you have any to share.) Fair warning, this is still an angsty story. There's always comfort, but ya know. It's rough out there y'all. Take care of each other.

~Sarilleny <3

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Whumptober 2021

Prompt #3: „Who did this to you?“

With a familiar tingling in his neural network, the EMH materialized in La Sirena’s sickbay. His biosensors kicked into action even before his holographic body had fully assembled and threw a barrage of medical data at him. Adaptive filters quickly cast the obvious, familiar facts aside (human, male, age 42, 6 ft, 80 kg) and prioritized the relevant ones: raised levels of cortisol and adrenaline (in the process of breaking down), elevated blood pressure, a dip in hemoglobin and an alarming level of blood alcohol.

Stress. Pain. Hemorrhage. Intoxication.

“What is the nature of your medical emergency?”

Captain Rios, standing by the hypospray dispenser, turned around unsteadily and used his hip to stabilize himself against the counter. Hunched over, he was protectively cradling his left hand in his right. Beneath the stark ceiling lights, the Captain’s face looked pale, and blood was glistening in his beard.

Potential hand fracture. Epistaxis of unknown origin.

“I need pain meds,” the Captain slurred, his tone hostile. “Can’t get the damn hypospray replicrate… precate…” He grunted in annoyance. “Can’t get the damn thing to work.”

The EMH pulled a tricoder from his coat pocket and pointed it at Rios. Processing its readings, he rearranged his forehead into a frown.

“I’m afraid the application of an acetylsaliciylic acid won’t fix a misaligned metacarpal fracture.”

The Captain gave him an irritated, blurry look.

“What?”

“Your hand is broken and needs to be set.”

Rios looked at the injured appendage in disgruntlement.

“Bullshit. I just need some ice and an aspirin.” He glared at the hologram. “Why isn’t there a single fuckin’ aspirin in here? It’s a fucking medical bay!”

Detecting a fresh release of stress hormones in the Captain’s system, the EMH’s programming switched to a de-escalation protocol. Automatically, his vocal frequency dropped and his timbre softened.

“I can give you something better than aspirin, Captain,” he said calmly. “A fast-acting analgesic. You will feel better immediately. And then we can take it from there.”

Rios seemed to consider yelling at him for a moment - something the EMH had become used to since his initial activation a few months ago - but then, swaying in place, the Captain asked with narrowed eyes: “You’re not going to sedate me, are you?”

“Not unless you want me to, Captain,” the EMH answered, mildly affronted.

There had been several occasions where he’d offered sleeping pills to Rios (all rejected), and one memorable day when he’d suggested an antidepressant and almost been wiped from La Sirena’s mainframe in response, but, unless the Captain’s behavior and brain chemistry scans fulfilled all the criteria for temporary mental incompetence, medicating him against his will would violate the hologram’s hippocratic coding.

“Do you want a sedative?”

“No!” Rios barked. Then he looked at his hand and tried to wriggle his fingers. The EMH’s biosensors detected a spike in pain intensity even before his patient hissed and winced.

“Alright,” Rios relented angrily, teeth clenched. “Give me the pain meds and set the damn hand.”

The EMH’s neural processors lit up in mimicry of human glee.

“Right away, Captain.”

He slid past Rios to reprogram the hypospray console and replicated the medication he needed. Swiftly, he loaded the vial into the dispenser.

“Sit down, please.” He gestured at the biobed.

Captain Rios grunted, but he clumsily did as ordered. The EMH pressed the dispenser to the side of his patient’s neck and administered the analgesic. On the monitor that had self-activated as soon as Rios’ body had touched the biobed, the hologram was satisfied to see an immediate physical response as his captain’s vitals settled down.

The decrease of pain was also visible in Rios’ body language and behavior. His tense frame softened as his muscles relaxed, his mouth unclenched and his eyes lost some of their aggressive sheen.

“On a scale of one to ten,” the hologram asked, “what is your level-”

“It’s fine,” Rios snarled tiredly. “Just fix the damn hand.”

“There is blood on your face. Would you at least allow me to examine your-”

“Madre de dios! I got punched in the face. It’s just a nosebleed. The hand, Emil! Just the hand.”

The EMH didn’t have a limbic system, but his AI coding answered to Rios’ use of his moniker with a quick burst of invigorating energy.

“Certainly, Captain.”

Gently and efficiently, he took Rios’ broken hand and, with a quick tug, realigned the index metacarpal. Rios, now intoxicated and medicated, barely flinched.

Looking at the broken skin on Rios’ knuckles, the EMH reached for the dermal regenerator.

“May I ask who did this to you?”

The Captain scoffed. “Why would that be any of your business?”

“Depending on the species, toxic agents could have entered through your injured epidermis upon contact. The Cal’thra, for instance, produce a toxin that mixes with their sweat when threatened, leading to necrosis in their enemies’ wounds, and in case you-”

“EMIL!“

The hologram shut his mouth. Inwardly, his processors bristled at the rudeness, but if he wanted to finish treatment before the Captain deactivated him (as he usually did at some point), he knew he had to stop lecturing him. He had learned a lot in recent months, and while dealing with La Sirena’s ever-belligerent, moody new owner wasn’t exactly pleasant, he at least gave the EMH ample occasion to execute his intended programming. This wasn’t the first time he’d fixed the Captain up after some sort of altercation, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“If you would now lie down and let me configure the ossifier matrix…”

He began tapping on a holographic screen.

“No.” Rios shook his head.

The EMH stopped, confused. “Excuse me, Captain?”

“I’m not staying in sickbay,” Rios slurred defiantly. “Just splint my hand and I’m out of here.”

The hologram shouldn’t be surprised. Captain Rios had refused proper treatment before, in favor of letting his wounds heal on their own. The EMH’s hippocratic coding, however, still balked at the sheer stupidity.

“Captain, the ossifier matrix will expedite bone fusion. Foregoing micro-repair will prolong your regeneration considerably. You will be in pain, and your hand will be in a cast for weeks!“

“I don’t care,” Rios growled at him. “Just do it and I’m out of here.”

The EMH sighed. After all these months, and with all the knowledge the hologram had at his disposal, he was still unable to understand the Captain’s motivations. He’d browsed each and every of La Sirena’s computer files accessible to him, and he’d dived deep into his-… Rios’ memory base to find the cause for his self-flagellation, to no avail. Every time he came close to an explanation, a hole opened up in the data. A log entry that had been erased, a medical file that was incomplete, a classified Starfleet report, a face without a name.

Resigned, the EMH replicated a splint and bandaged Rios’ hand.

“All done?” Rios asked when he’d finished.

The hologram cast another look at Rios vitals: except for his blood alcohol, everything was back within normal range. He would have preferred to keep an eye on his Captain, here in sickbay. Something beyond the reach of his scanners told him he should. But there was no medical justification. His nosebleed had stopped; his hand would heal; he would survive another hangover in the morning.

“Yes,” the EMH answered truthfully.

“Good,” Rios mumbled and pushed off the biobed, swaying and tugging his bandaged hand against his chest.

“Deactivate EMH.”

Emil disintegrated with a woeful hum.

(You can also read and comment on this fic on AO3:)

[azems-familiar]

WIP Whenever

i was tagged by @sleepswithvillains, thank you lovely for the tag!! i don't have a particularly good section of my current chapter of my Sith Years kotor fic ready (i need to work on that again, but i've just been stuck on it... oops), and while the HP AU chapter is coming along it's getting close to done and i don't want to spoil things, so.... have a snippet of kotor 2 things i was writing after playing through the game again!

“Hello, general.” The voice is soft, lightly accented, and Qatya groans and rolls onto her side, keeping her eyes closed against the pounding in her head, like something has it in a vice grip and is trying to split it in half. Grass tickles her cheek and the hand on her shoulder is a familiar weight, steady and solid. “You need to get up.”

Get up, general, we have to get out of here- “Lieutenant?” she coughs out, and she’s forcing her eyes open against the glare of the sun and the pain before she can think about it. The smell of smoke, and green grass around her, and Lieutenant Bao-dur kneeling next to her to pull her to her feet, and a bolt of adrenaline snaps lightning-hot down her spine and she lurches to her feet, sucking in a sharp breath (rocks falling around her and Bao-dur’s arm keeping her upright and wedged so tightly under her shoulder it keeps him standing, listing into each other like drunks as they stumble onto the shuddering planet’s surface, grass still green beneath her feet except for where their blood stains it, and she cannot breathe through the screaming, aching, endless pain in her skull as a world tears itself to pieces around her on her orders-), and for a moment all she can see is plains fracturing into planetoids and green turning sickly black and ash choking the air from thousands of ships plummeting like falling stars through the sky. “Where-”

“Easy,” he says, soothingly, and Qatya blinks and blinks again and the headache-blur in her eyes resolves itself into a wrecked shuttle and a winding gulch through a set of cliffsides, and Citadel Station a just-visible shadow on the horizon. “At ease, general, you’re all clear.”

Right. This is Telos, and there’s a collapsible double-bladed vibrosword strapped to her hip instead of a lightsaber, and the Force is no more than a whisper stretching out to her across the bond between her and Kreia, and the scar across her face is ten years healed instead of fresh and bloody and raw. All the same, for a moment she can taste the dust of Malachor V on her lips (like an echo, or a promise - and she’s known for a decade she would make all her choices the same if she made them again, but Force, that doesn’t mean she isn’t terrified that going back to war again won’t lead her back to the end of it all once more), and the shuttle’s whining engines sound all-too-much like broken screams in her ears, enough to make her flinch if she lets herself. (She doesn’t.)

“I suppose I don’t have to ask if you remember me,” Bao-dur says, and Qatya tears her eyes away from the planet around them to focus on his face, the familiar warm half-smile that twists the lines of his tattoos, tan skin more weathered than she recalls and horns gone a little sharper, a little less neat and military-precise. “It’s good to see you again.”

It’s been a decade since she saw the iridonian zabrak last; he’d still been in the Vengeance’s medbay when she took a shuttle down to Coruscant for the last time, and she’d trashed her military comm and gotten a new one, keeping only her old personal Jedi frequency attached to a commlink left at the bottom of her tote bag, in case of emergencies. (The only time it’d ever gone off had been something like a year, a year and some months after her exile, a desperate message sent out to the entire Order recalling them to their enclaves and the Temple itself in preparation to fight a war none of them had believed they’d need to face. She’d watched the transmission once, twice, a third time, eyes flickering nearly-hungrily over the familiar faces of the High Council - Kavar stiff and serious and quietly burning, Atris stern and uncompromising but with the faintest touch of uncertainty around her eyes - and then she’d deleted it and shoved the comm away, and packed her bags and made for the deepest part of the Outer Rim, where no one, not even the Jedi, not even Revan, could ever find her.) She can’t deny that it is good to hear his voice after so long, even if the sameness of it and the title send her spinning back into the war she’s been trying so hard to escape - he’d been one of the few she’d regretted not staying in contact with, after she left.

“Likewise,” she says, and when she smiles at him, it’s sincere.

tagging @ipreferfiction @darthsassacre @darthmarrsgf @tarrevizsla and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it!

[visualizing-archive-data]

In the Avatar fandom, we love serving up the Respect Women Juice. But do we actually drink it? The data suggests not.

A quick glance at AO3 shows that there are almost the same amount of fics featuring Zuko as those including Katara and Toph, the two most popular female characters, combined! But that just tells us who our favorites are. What about the stories themselves?

Well.

Here’s the gendered pronoun usage of the top 20 AtLA fics on AO3, sorted by bookmarks.

To make this plot, I had a natural language processing (NLP) algorithm tag the texts of all these fics for parts of speech. Then I extracted the gendered pronouns (he/him/his/himself and she/her/hers/herself) in order to calculate the ratio. (Here’s why I excluded proper nouns, ie character names, and here’s the same chart for the top 20 completed fics, as well as my own).

Okay but... given who our favorites are, this is cringey but not unbelievable. So what do the characters in these stories do?

NLP can answer that, too! First I evened out the data set by only including fics which have two or more female characters in the tags (bye bye Salvage, ribs, The Crown Hangs Heavy and Perfection is Overrated). Then I set a herd of lemmings on the tagged text... (no really, it’s called lemmatization, where it gets the root, or lemma, of the word -- so ‘says’ and ‘said’ both become ‘say’) and then extracted the pronoun-verb pairs from the texts (eg: She runs ..., he looks ...).

Keep in mind that we’re treating the text as a whole, so the results are going to be heavily weighted towards the long fics: Embers, Fractures, The Dragon King’s Temple, Ozymandias, King of Kings and Little Zuko v the World are all over 100K words. But let’s take a look at the most common actions that men and women make in those fics.

It’s actually pretty even! The top six verbs are the same for both male and female characters. Men are talking twice as much as women (there goes that stereotype), but then again there are generally more male characters in the spotlight of these stories -- and given my own body of work, I can’t point any fingers there. Men are also glancing and sighing a lot... as opposed to women, who reply and go.

Here’s more appealing visuals for those of you who think graphs are boring.

Most common verbs following ‘he’, sized by frequency of occurrence, and:

most common verbs following ‘she’.

I don’t see any glaring differences, so it seems that at least men and women are being treated the same by the writers. Although a look at the other end of the scale might help: what verbs are used ONLY after male or female pronouns?

Huh. Some interesting entries, most notably ‘kiss’ as female-exclusive. Just so you know, there’s only 31 ‘she’-following verbs that occur more than twice (out of ~750 such verbs in all the fics).

It looks to me like the writers of the fandom might have a ways to go in terms of representation (and the readers in showing their appreciation towards women-focused works!), but at least there’s no significant misrepresentation of female characters and their actions.

What about this stands out to you?

For myself, I’m interested in comparing this to the legendary fandom that is Legend of Korra... stay tuned!

[mtab2260]

I realized I never actually gave a... I guess— description on what Turbine Addition really is. Then also how I got the idea and built Lukian.

(Warning long essay)

Basically, when I was on my third rewatch of the show since august, I was watching episode 3x10: Maveth and I had a interesting thought after May snuck away from everyone to find Andrew. What if, Lash or Andrew actually spares one inhuman In that compound? It’s not completely unheard of/ unrealistic, he did spare Daisy on multiple occasions. But— obviously, I had to give a reason why this inhuman was spared over the others.

It was a idea that floated in my mind for maybe a month, I wanted to create an Inhuman who was spared by Lash and ends up joining the team from there on. I kept thinking of angles on how I could do it but none of them ever seemed right. Until I watched episode 2x17 with my friend— who I had blackmailed into watching the show. (Yes, I did two rewatches at once.)

For those of you who don’t know by heart each episode by it’s number (I had to look it up)— the title is Melinda, and it’s the episode where we finally learn about Bahrain. When I rewatched that episode the idea just teleported into my brain.

Lash spares an Inhuman because one of them is a child.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Obviously during episode 3x10 Andrew still had some control over Lash and wasn’t fully tainted by him yet. So when Andrew/ Lash saw the kid Andrew definitely fought for every ounce of control he had over the situation. He knew how killing a kid— no matter how much the situation demands it— can destroy a person, because he saw it happen to May.

Then I also kept thinking about the inhuman epidemic and then later— Robin, like how she definitely couldn’t only ever be the only inhuman child during the outbreak, right? It was just highly unlikely. We know Terrigenesis at a young age, or any age really can change a person. Not just physically, or on a cellular level, but mentally. We see it with Andrew and also with Katya, and Robin. Which, all in all is really fitting— Andrew was May’s husband, May killed Katya, and Robin was May’s daughter.

But nonetheless that’s not my point, my point is at Afterlife there was a certain age everyone went through the mist. It was an age where they’re young enough to adapt, but old enough to understand. Now, Katya and Robin were both young when going through Terrigenesis and their gifts were something that were more mental than others. It was contained to their body, it wasn’t an external gift like Daisy’s, Lincon’s, Joey’s, James‘, Kora’s. It was like Jiayang‘s, Gordon’s, Raina’s, Yo-Yo’s, Andrew’s— all of their powers are contained to their person.

So if they didn’t have a mental gift like Katya and Robin, and they were at-least mature enough to understand then having a kid go through Terrigenisis could work. And obviously if you’re gonna create a character that has an external gift, you gotta give them an uncontrollable destructive power like Daisy’s. But the fun thing about Daisy’s power, is that it also has endless creative possibilities.

I wanted a power like that.

After some workshopping and a few completely terrible ideas... I got: air molecule manipulation. Or other words, tornado powers. Before I started thinking on how his powers worked I needed an explicit way to think of how Daisy’s powers worked since I was modeling his power after hers. From my two rewatches at the same time I started making notes on what we knew about her powers and how they feel to her specifically.

She can hear the vibrations of everything around her (but it’s not as noticeable at first glance)

Can amplify the ’sound’ of the vibrations to cause an earthquake, or avalanche

Internalizing her powers improperly caused her arms to fracture

Strong beam of concentrated vibrations for a long period of time can cause her to blackout/ nosebleed

The vibrations don’t only just come out of her arms

Lack of care can also lead to her arms to fracture

Now vibrations and electricity, are both element related powers, but they work differently. Lincoln said after he went through the mist every cell in his body generated a different electronic charge. Basically, the power (pun intended) came from his body without needing an external source. Yes, I know I said Lincoln‘s power was an external one, but it isn’t contained to his mind— or person. I feel Daisy’s vibrational powers are different, mostly because, if she could generate vibrations directly from her cells then her bones wouldn’t be breaking from too much of it. Kinda like how Scorch had those fire pellets in his blood to prevent him from burning himself, Daisy doesn’t have vibrational immunity.

Gordon said everything in the universe was giving off it’s own vibrational frequency, and Daisy could control that. So in order for her to quake Talbot’s ass to the sun she need to obsorb the vibrations around her, store them in her first (the bees under her skin), then send the vibrations out through her palms.

I’m not gonna get into why her bones crack and everything, but it’s an important downside.

Obviously.

As I said I wanted to model my character’s powers as closely as I could to Daisy’s, which I did, but I couldn’t do it exactly for obvious reasons. Yes, you store air like oxygen and carbon dioxide (not for long) in your body temporarily— but your body is going to use it because it needs it. Plus you can’t send air molecules through skin tissue like vibrations can— it’s why we have noses. The skin tissue is too dense for the diffusion of the molecules to take place there. So if I had to say, his power is more of a cross of Daisy’s power and Joey’s power. He needs an external source to wield his power and manipulate the element he can control, but can’t store it in his own body.

So I had a powerful power for my character but I needed a downside. Each incredibly OP power had one: Daisy with her bones, Robin could see the past— present— and future but just didn’t know what went where, Raina became the monster under the bed (or Sonic), Jiayang had to kill someone to heal herself. I thought for a while on this, how can I make a downside for a power like that?

Obviously there’s not many options because oxygen is such a fragile thing to living organisms, and lack of it isn’t exactly ideal. Fitz’s brain damage being a prime example, another example being all those people who died due to hypoxia on the floating ship where the Gravitonium was. So as I said— fragile.

I was going over my notes again of Daisy’s power when the hearing aspect struck a cord. Since their powers are so similar in the aspect of they’re both natural disasters, he was going to need a way to create those tornados around him, like with Daisy and the earthquakes— when the power isn’t concentrated but it’s still triggered. I wanted the sound to be like what you hear when you hear wind over the phone, and when it’s blowing past your ears and it creates that sound. That’s where I got the inspiration from really, static noise and whistling.

So I had that down, and instead of it being like Daisy’s, the sound is much, much more apparent. Mostly because you can hear the wind, like when is passes your ears or if the wind current is just strong enough— but you can’t necessarily hear vibrations. You can when you put your finger on the rim of a water glass and go around the edge, but if you don‘t... you don’t really hear much (I think). And also another thing, sound in general.

The reason why there’s no sound in space is because there’s no air molecules in space, there’s nothing for the sound waves to hitch a ride on. Which leads me to my next point. If he can hear the wind and the air molecules around him and sound passes through the air molecules then he could hear sound through his powers without needing ears. You’re basically adding a third— non-connected to the others— ear.

And people get sensory overload just normally, adding that third ear would be too much. So long story short: the down side to air molecule manipulation powers is... headaches. But like a really bad headache, I don’t know if they’re migraines at that point, I know there’s a difference but I haven’t done my research on that yet. But essentially, headaches. And later on there will be a fix for that.

Just keep in mind chapter seven.

Now the one thing I absolutely love about AoS is despite all the crazy, outlandish stuff they go through— there is always science and reason to back it all up, making it seem ever more realistic. And that’s what I love, the realism of it all (Yes, I‘m well aware they do time-travel, and there’s aliens/ superpowers). So if I was going to make a story, then I needed it to be realistic, otherwise I’d probably hate it myself.

And I’d rather not hate my own fic— thank you very much.

So when I thought about Flint, him being fifteen, with inhuman powers and the team was still hesitant to bring him in because he’s a kid— I knew I had a problem. Especially since my character is thirteen. I needed a realistic answer to why and how the team would actually allow a thirteen year old to join SHIELD.

Being inhuman helps, sure. Especially with a power that could rival Daisy’s (tornadoes are bloody strong). But he’s still a kid. It does help that with how tense season three is with inhumans and Hive they’ll need all the backup they can get, even if it’s an inhuman kid who Hive can control. I have very logical reasons why Lukian stays with the team despite everything, but it hasn’t been revealed yet so I’m gonna keep my trap shut.

I’ll give you a hint though, there’s a reason why he can lie so well.

Now onto the character himself, Lukian. Why I made Lukian the way he is? Well the trauma part is very clear, you can’t have a main character without trauma. That’s just simply unheard of.

For gender, I thought about making him a girl at first because that’s what AoS is all about really— Strong women. But... all the lines I had in mind, just made it seem cheesy and with poor writing. So he became a boy. Sorry.

For his name, Lukian, honestly it’s not much of a story. I just really suck at creating names and thought a kid in my class had a really cool name so I copied it for my character. I know it’s Ukrainian, but that doesn’t mean that’s Lukian’s (my character) ethnicity. Especially since Lukian isn’t apparently his name... cough cough (Kelly Clements) Cough. That specifically will be revealed in the next chapter, if I ever finish it. And when I first thought (copied) it, I didn’t realize how close it would be to Lincoln and how much similar those names look if you read them really fast.

So, my bad on that part.

For Lukian’s (Kelly’s) age it goes back to Terrigenisis warping his mind, and the logic and reason. No matter how kick-ass a seven year old may be, he’s still a seven year old and everyone but May won’t see past that. Plus, school.

For his personality it goes back to that trauma section. Trauma and experiences make us who we are, so obviously that will play a bit part in who Lukian is. And for all the trauma you pick up you will need a coping mechanism to hand all of it. Whether it’s break down right there, bottle it up, run away, hide from it, ignore it— whatever it is, we all have one. And for Lukian his coping mechanism is just pretending that he doesn’t care, that he’s fine— that there’s nothing wrong. It’s not that he’s completely like Simmons who created a horror movie in her locked up tight music box, though in a way it’s simular. A big part is bottling things up, putting on a mask— but another part of it is just simply not caring.

Personally that’s my coping mechanism, it’s terrible and when I become a real adult I’m bloody fucked, but it’s what I do. I have a big test coming up, what do I do? I don’t study and don’t let it stress me out. I just don’t care about it and don’t think about it until when I’m actually taking the test. I still get decent grades too so it’s not a completely bullshit mechanism, but boy, my future is going to die fast. Mostly because I’m in high school and I don’t really know how to study now because of this.

Anyway, back to the story, that’s essentially his coping mechanism. Along with a hint of deflection with humor too. Again, like Daisy. As I go more into the story you’ll find there are many Lukian and Daisy parallels. It’s probably why Daisy has taken such a liking to Lukian in the first place, and why they get along so well despite barely knowing each other for three weeks. Or it’s because I wrote them that way, who knows?

The reason why I had Lukian have an interest in robotics and in engineering goes back to the downside with his powers. As you may know, the kid may have stolen a few things from the lab to help with that headache of his. Plus if he’s good in science and has a usefulness besides fighting, then it’s another reason for him to join. Obviously the team isn’t gonna just let him ditch school, so him actually being smart helps if school isn’t well... at a school.

Now, why did I name this fic the way I did?

The Addition part is very simple and easy, Lukian is an addition to the team. I wanted that to always be in the title, but what I wanted before that was something that related to Lukian. Whether it’s his powers, or personality, it didn’t really matter but nothing really called out to me or fit properly. And again as I said I’m terrible at naming things, currently on chapter ten I’m more than half way done, I still don’t have a bloody name for it. So like my coping mechanism, I forgot about it for a bit.

So I went on to what the team’s connections will be with Lukian, thinking about who each member of the team is to Lukian and how close he is to everyone. Obviously May’s relationship with him will be most strained, not because of May herself and her trauma, but because of his too (I’m not saying anymore). And the closest relationship he’ll have will be with Daisy, because again paralells. And, because she was the one to find him and she is also his transitioner and trainer.

And while I was thinking about all of that, no matter where Mack was on the closest relationship list, there was no way Lukian was getting on the team without a nickname from the nickname king. And since if you’re inhuman basically it’s a rule your nickname will be based off of that I started sorting through air related nicknames. Breezy was my top choice originally but Breezy Addition just didn’t sound as strong as Turbine Addition. But don’t worry Breezy as a nickname from Mack isn’t going to disappear, it’s just going to take a while to get to from a writing standpoint.

And.... this is when I’ve realized I’ve been writing this for the past three hours and now it’s bloody three am. Thanks for coming to my extra long Ted Talk/ fifty paged essay.

And if anyone actually read all of this... holy bloody fuck you have a long attention span.

[limited-practice]

In The Bar of Bad Things part 4

Hubcap, Nickel, and Helex continue to have increasingly unpleasant and implausible times in an alien bar where nothing goes right for them.

@jet-teeth my continued thanks to you for the fantastic art you’ve drawn for this fic! It’s all perfect, PERFECT

art for chapter 1 is here, and the drawing for this chapter is at the end of this post.

This nonsense story is a lot of fun to write, and it’s the best thing to talk with people about it because that’s where I get most of my inspiration from. I’m always grateful to everyone who’s read it and talks with me about it it’s the best thing, thank you!

Chapter 1 is here on tumblr  and chapters 2, 3 and this one are on Ao3.

2904 words of sfw random antics at a bar where everything keeps going wrong are below the cut. 

“It's about time,” Nickel said. She felt someone come to a slow stop behind her, but she didn’t bother to look over her shoulder at them. “Did you get lost in that bathroom?”

“Ha, no! I didn't- didn’t get lost," Hubcap replied. He slid up next to her and plastered a too wide smile onto his face. He laced his fingers together tightly. “I’m here. I'm fine. I'm here and I’m fine."

“We heard some banging,” Helex said in a slow and knowing tone. “We thought you were having a Good Time after sending your message, if you know what I mean."

“WE did not think that,” Nickel said. “I didn’t think about him for a second after he left us.”

“Do you know what I mean?” Helex said, ignoring her. “Because I do. And so does Nickel. But you’re a small sheltered Autobot with no experience, so you probably don’t.”

“I, ha, wait,” Hubcap said. He tried to inject some steel into his voice. “How do you know I don’t have any experience? You could be setting yourself up for major embarrassment here. I could be embarrassed by you for a change.”

Helex gave him a fondly condescending look.

Nickel gave Helex her third best weary look. “He’s got a rotating cast of desperates all throughout the galaxy that message him for Good Times as soon as they can, so it’s safe to say he’s got some experience. We have more important things to do, so just ignore him. And do you know what I’m going to ignore? A continuation of this conversation.”

“But just because he has a list of admirers doesn’t mean he’s got experience with any of them,” Helex said, continuing the conversation. “Or anyone at all. Does it Nickel? Does it?”

Nickel gave him her second best weary look. She paused. She remembered how terrified Hubcap was about replying to his send nudes message. She fought not to think about it any more. She tapped her fingers against her leg. “No. No it doesn’t Helex. It doesn’t. Are you happy now?”

“I’m always happy.”

Helex picked up two full glasses. He drank from one and offered the other to Nickel. “Your one has little bubbles in it.”

He gently shook the drink to fizz it up further. “Look at them go!”

Nickel fought back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

She reached out a hand to take it.

WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!

“What the?" Nickel's head snapped up, the drink forgotten.

Everyone in the bar collectively snapped their heads up. Heads and eyes and sensors swivelled like searchlights to seek out where the blaring alarm was coming from and what it meant.

Helex drank Nickel’s drink in one gulp. He made a face. “I don’t like this.”

WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!

“It’s an alarm,” Nickel said. “You’re not supposed to like it.”

She put her hands on her hips and looked around. “Is that the fire alarm?”

“Uh, no,” Hubcap said, twisting his fingers together and peering up at the ceiling anxiously. “That’s not the fire alarm.”

“Did you set off the fire alarm?” Nickel pointed a finger at Helex. “Did your smelter slow leak again and set something on fire?”

“No!” Helex held three innocent hands up. His fourth held another drink. “It’s not me! I promise!”

“Because I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve told you to see me as soon as you get a micro-fissure or a heat fracture in it. I’ve lost count of the number of times I've told you, I really have.”

“It wasn’t me! I’ve been standing next to you the entire time!”

“Just because you’re here now doesn’t mean you couldn’t have leaked elsewhere earlier, does it? Does it Helex? Does it?”

“I just said it’s not the fire alarm,” Hubcap muttered to his fingers. “But Primus forbid anyone should ever listen to--”

Whoop Whoop Whoop!

Whoop Whoop Whoop!

“I’m going to see who’s set the fire alarm off,” Nickel scowled. “That useless bartender had better turn it off soon because one, I can’t see a fire anywhere and two, it’s giving me a headache.”

She stalked away.

Hubcap glanced around. It wasn’t the fire alarm. The frequency sounded all wrong. It felt all wrong. There wasn’t an explosion or any type of mortal threat that he could see, but people were pouring out of the bar as if their life depended on it. The DJD and the Wreckers were nowhere to be seen. They must have been some of the first to evacuate. Which meant that whatever was happening or was about to happen would be serious and life-threatening and a horrible experience in general. Which meant they had to leave immediately. Hubcap made a sudden move towards the nearest exit, but he was stopped by one of Helex’s arms on his shoulder.

“If it’s not the fire alarm, what is it?” Helex asked.

“I don’t know,” Hubcap said, giving Helex’s hand a wary look. “But it’s something bad. It’s something serious. Something serious has happened and people have left. So we should leave too. We have to leave.”

He tried to take a step towards the exit.

Helex gently squeezed Hubcap’s shoulder.

All three layers of Hubcap’s plating buckled. An explosion of alarms erupted and spread throughout his system, warning him of imminent structural collapse and irreparable damage to most of his primary circuit field if this tremendous external pressure continued.

“Nickel’s not back yet,” Helex said.

>//> critical system breach in 6, 5, 4,

“We’ll wait as long as it takes for her!” Hubcap gasped. “I want nothing more in my short little life than to stay right here with you and wait for her but oh god please let go of me I don’t want to die like this!”

“Die?” Helex released Hubcap’s shoulder. He gave him what he considered to be a reassuring look. “You’re not going to die. Someone will put that scary fire out, don’t you worry.”

Hubcap massaged his near crippled shoulder. He muttered desperate thanks of praise to Primus and dark promises of revenge to Helex under his breath.

Helex bent his head down so that his mouth brushed Hubcap’s ear. “What?”

“Ahh!” Hubcap sprang back and gripped his shoulder harder.

“You’re weird,” Helex told him. “I like it.”

Helex looked around. “Where’s Nickel?”

“How should I know?” Hubcap snapped.

Helex flexed the fingers of his shoulder grabbing hand. “What?”

“I said I’m terribly sorry but I’m afraid I don’t know. But I do know that she’ll be fine, and that we’ll do absolutely everything in our power to find her and make sure she’s OK and we won’t, absolutely won’t, evacuate this death trap of a bar until she’s back with us despite the fact that she’s the most capable out of the three of us and could take out anyone with one eye closed and is the one who will outlive us by millions of years no matter what happens.”

Helex nodded slowly. “Do you know what this means?”

Hubcap's processor whirled “...that we’re...going to die while she looks in on us through a window and shakes her head in sadness but not surprise?”

“It means that we have more time for drinking!”

“Yeah, that was definitely going to be my next guess.”

Helex turned back towards the bar. Every inch of the enormous counter was taken up with different sized glasses filled with liquids in every colour imaginable. Some were fizzing, some were smoking, one was hardening into concrete and several were leaking.

“Look at what I ordered while you were having fun in the bathroom.”

“...how…” Hubcap began, as a sense of impending doom bit into his spine and slid down it using nothing but teeth, “...many drinks did you put on my tab?”

Helex took a sip of the drink he now held in a small hand. “Two of each per round.” The liquid slid down his throat, and he blinked in happy surprise. He held out the glass and peered into the roiling mustard coloured froth inside. “Oh that’s good.”

“I should hope so,” Hubcap said slowly, “Because that drink is going to cost me an arm and a leg.”

“It’s going to cost more than that.” Helex drained the glass. “Have you seen how much debt you’re in?”

“...excuse me?”

“It’s a lot.” Helex smiled. “I’ve crippled you.”

“What?”

“But only financially.”

“That’s so much worse!”

Hubcap whipped out his communicator and poked it hard. He brought up his bank account and typed in the password. He looked at the string of numbers that told him how much money he now owed. He made the soul searing sound of eternal pain that all of Helex’s victims made.

“Calm down,” Helex said. “I can’t hear the mysterious wailing alarm over you.”

Whoop Whoop Whoop

Whoop Whoop Whoop

Helex put his glass down on the bar. “So. Did your weirdo friend respond to those pictures of questionable content you sent them?”

Hubcap looked at the horrific negative numbers screaming along the bottom of his bank account. They were neon red. They were pulsing. They were underlined. His mouth was open and his spark was fading.

“Well?” Helex prompted.

“How?” Hubcap whispered.

“How what?”

“How did you manage to drink so much?” Hubcap’s horrified eyes scanned the itemised charges and calculated the times they were bought. "Everything on the bar right now is your fourth round! I was only gone for a few minutes!"

Helex patted his smelter fondly. “She’s a thirsty girl.”

“I’m ruined,” Hubcap said to himself. “I can’t pay this back. I’ll have to take out a loan. I’ll have to take out several. I’ll have to rob someone and go on the run for the rest of my life.”

“I’ve already called the Debt Collector of Eternal Interest and Perpetual Payback to take you into Bank Custody.”

Hubcap’s head shot up. “What? Why?!”

Helex shrugged. “Owed her a favour.”

“Oh my god.”

“She’ll be here soon. I gave her our location and your description. And since she’s getting on in years, make sure you’re respectful and shriek extra loud when she starts stabbing you. Her hearing’s on the way out and her frame is frail.”

“Oh My God.”

Whoop Whoop Whoop

Whoop Whoop Whoop

“Why are you yelling so much?” Nickel asked.

“Ah!” Hubcap yelled, startled. He gripped his communicator hard.

“I can’t hear the alarm over your wailing.”

She looked at Helex. “It’s not the fire alarm. I checked. I asked the bartender what it was, but all he said was ‘it’s not the fire alarm’ before bolting out of the exit door.”

Helex nodded. “That’s what we thought.”

Nickel looked over Hubcap’s shoulder to see what was on his screen. She cackled loudly. “You’re so screwed.”

“I’ve already called the Debt Collector,” Helex said. “She’ll be here after she’s had a nap.”

“Someone her age needs her rest,” Nickel agreed. “When she gets here I’ll offer to give her a check-up free of charge.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“She works hard. And it’s difficult to get customers in her line of work these days. Hardly anyone has a lot of money now, which means they’re not in a lot of crippling debt that needs to be recovered. It was nice of you to give the work to her.”

“Do the two of you,” Hubcap said slowly, “Really not care that I’m about to get stabbed by a geriatric debt collector?”

“Don’t call her that,” Helex said. “Show some respect.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten into so much debt in the first place,” Nickel said flatly. “You need lessons on how to manage your finances. Swindle runs a basic course for absolute beginners you should go on.”

“I didn’t get into debt myself! Helex put me in it! He’s drinking this overpriced place dry and making me pay for it!”

Nickel’s expression didn’t change. “Because you said he could. Remember? You agreed to pay for all his drinks so he’d cover for you when you went to message your friend.”

Hubcap’s mouth opened to respond. It stayed open. “...I didn’t think he’d buy so many,” he said limply.

“There’s an old Earth saying about Assumptions,” Nickel said. “Swindle covers it in his course.”

“I am not paying Swindle money so he can trick me into giving him more.”

“How’s that worse than tricking yourself out of it?”

“You should definitely tell him this story,” Helex said. “He might name a case study after you. You know, the type of example that everyone laughs at but also takes seriously because they’d die ten times over if it ever happened to them.”

Whoop Whoop Whoop

Whoop Whoop Whoop

“That’s really goddamn annoying,” Nickel glared.

Helex nodded in agreement. He unravelled his long tongue and coiled it inside another foam coated glass. He slurped noisily as he cleaned it.

Hubcap put his hands on his head and remembered that there had been a few good times in his life.

Whoop Whoop Whoop!

Whoop Whoop Whoop!

“First of all,” Nickel said, “The fact that I can hear you over the sound of this alarm is disgusting. You’re disgusting.”

S L U R R R R R P

“And second of all, we need to get out of here. Everyone’s already left. I don’t know what that alarm’s for, but it can’t be anything good.”

Helex unravelled his tongue from the glass and sucked it back into his mouth. “It’s not all bad. It means no-one’s going to try and sneak one of my drinks off of the counter again. They screamed so loudly when I caught them!”

“Exit. Now.”

“I’m just saying--”

“You can stick your tongue in things when we get back to the ship,” Nickel ordered. “Now let’s go.”

Nickel strode towards the nearest exit. “Helex, contact the ship and give them our locations for transport. I’m not going to be stuck in this miserable place for whatever awful thing is about to happen. Hubcap, you figure out what the alarm is for. And stop crying.”

“...I’m not crying. I’m just...thinking. Concentrating. The air’s very dry in here and sometimes that makes my eyes water to compensate and--”

Just as Nickel reached the exit a set of huge black and yellow containment doors slammed shut in front of her face and blocked it.

“Dammit!”

She spun around and immediately headed to the secondary exit. Huge blast doors slammed down in front of those doors too.

Nickel clenched her hands into fists and groaned in deep frustration. “I can’t believe we’re stuck in this dump!”

“Shall we have another drink?” Helex asked.

“Stuck?” Hubcap said, as he tried to surreptitiously wipe his eyes. “We’re stuck in here? We’re actually stuck? In here? Stuck?”

“Stop repeating yourself and calm down. It’s really annoying.”

“Well excuse me for, you know, not being in the best frame of mind given everything that’s just previously happened to me.”

“Ooh, bubbles!” Helex chirped.

“We’re not drinking any more bubble drinks,” Nickel snapped. “We’re going to find a way out of here before whatever bad thing is going to happen to us happens to us, understood?”

“But if it’s stopped then maybe it won’t happen,” Hubcap said cautiously. He looked around the deserted bar, and scanned it with even greater attention and dread than he had examined his bank account. “Maybe it’s already happened. Or it’s been prevented. Or it was never actually going to happen in the first place, and that was just an unfortunate and unintended miscommunication of a defensive or offensive response to an external threat that never ended up materializing.”

“What in the goddamn hell are you babbling on about?” Nickel said. “I am one second away from charging a new spaceship to your account Hubcap. One second! And then I’m going to give Swindle a heads up that despite being broker than broke you’re a prime candidate for--”

“The alarm’s stopped,” Hubcap said bluntly. “Listen.”

Nickel listened. The wailing alarm had stopped. And in its place was a low, slow, grinding mechanical hum that was steadily getting louder and louder and louder.

“That’s not good,” she said.

Hubcap shook his head in agreement.

Tiny white stars drifted down in front of Nickel’s face. She locked eyes with Hubcap. They both followed its spiralling path down, down, down to the disgusting sticky floor where it popped silently at her feet.

She looked back up at Hubcap. Who was already looking up at the ceiling with a horrified expression on his face.

“Like I said, bubbles,” Helex beamed. He held out all four hands and turned his palms up to the ceiling. Small piles of happy popping bubbles collected in piles on them.

Nickel reluctantly looked up. She read the warning. “So that’s what the alarm was for,” she whispered.

A huge hatch covered the entirety of the ceiling. It was studded with jets and openings and switches. Stamped across it in twenty different languages were the words 'Hostile Suppressant Foam. Mechanical Grade. For Use In Emergencies Only. Never, Ever, EVER Ingest.’

The hatch slowly opened.

She heard Hubcap typing furiously on his communicator.

Orange warning lights strobed the room.

She heard Helex lick his lips and swallow.

The ever widening hatch began to rain foam down on them

A tidal wave of deadly foam slowly leaked out of the ever widening hatch directly above their heads.

“We are so screwed.”

[gumnut-logic]

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 3.2

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Three - If not for the courage of the fearless crew – Part 2 Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1 | 2.2 | 2.3 | 3.1

Author: Gumnut

23 - 27 Dec 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 2909

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Artist!Virgil, Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D I hope you enjoy it.

Okay, you’ve almost caught up with me and I go back to work tomorrow :(  So, unfortunately updates are going to slow as work takes over my life for the next five days – it is my double weekend where I work both Saturday and Sunday and I will whinge appropriately. I have been fortunate to be off work from Christmas to New Years and have churned out somewhere around 15,000 words in an attempt to finish this fic…and I failed (It is currently at 32,000 words and climbing). Getting there, but my writing speed will drop dramatically as RL takes over ::pouts::

Happy New Year to all you wonderful Thunderbirds peeps. Thank you for all your support on this fic and all the others I’ve played with throughout the year.

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

 “You’re going to be talking gibberish. We don’t speak whale. You could do more harm than good.”

“I have to try.”

“This isn’t about you.”

“I know that, John.” A harsh indrawn breath. “Please. It might be just enough to cause a distraction to draw the mother away so Gordon can do what needs to be done.”

John glared at his brother. It wasn’t an angry glare, but a worried one. Virgil was acting odd. His attention kept focussing elsewhere, his expression troubled.

But John trusted Virgil, so he set up the audio interface with the buoy, giving both his brother’s mic and his keyboard access to the amplifier and transmitter currently hanging in the water column. He looped in full control over the frequency and amplitude and duplicated the buoy’s holographic feed onto Virgil’s tablet so his brother could see what was happening.

Gordon appeared to be in a glaring contest with the mother whale.

Virgil played the first note.

John held his breath.

And his brother began to sing.

-o-o-o-

Virgil recited the notes of the distant whales’ answer to the mother’s distress call in his head as his fingers touched the keyboard. It had a pattern in both the math and the music bouncing around in his brain. He couldn’t duplicate it, but he could harmonise with it.

At first he echoed it a little, getting a feel for the extra dimension of the lower frequencies and the fact he couldn’t hear it when the computer calculated it below human range. Then he improvised.

The mother’s call still echoed through his body, its pulses sharp and poignant. Whales were mammals. Humans shared a relatively recent ancestor and if there was one constant amongst all the mammals on this planet, it was emotion. It might not be quite the same, but if he could feel that mother’s anguish, perhaps she could feel his reassurance, his hope, his need to help.

He wasn’t one to sing often, but in this case he felt the need to connect beyond the electronic and create the sounds only his voice could communicate.

So after a few initial attempts to align his music with the language of the great whale, he let himself go.

-o-o-o-

Mamma whale continued to stare at Gordon.

His brother’s voice echoed through the water around him, the melody fractured by the parts Gordon could not hear.

“C’mon, beautiful, you gotta like that. Virgil is a great musician.” Please.

She moaned again.

Virgil’s melody acknowledged her even though Gordon knew his brother had no idea what she was saying.

The music pleaded and even Gordon felt its draw.

Mamma muttered and drifted a little closer to her calf, nuzzling her as the little girl whimpered.

Calming notes and his brother’s voice slipped into a fragmented resemblance of a familiar lullaby their mother had sung when they were children. No words, just notes, his tone softer, his voice deepening.

Gordon edged closer to Mamma.

She didn’t move.

Still staring, her beautiful eye fixated on him.

Closer.

A little more.

He reached out and touched her.

Still she stared.

He brushed his gloved hand across the folds above her eye. “That’s it, beautiful. I’m from International Rescue. We’re here to help.”

The water vibrated around him as she punctuated his statement with her voice.

Moving slowly, he took off his right glove, removing the barrier between them.

Her skin was wrinkled, yet smooth to touch.

Her eye kept staring at him.

He kept stroking.

Virgil kept singing.

They stayed that way for a period of time Gordon wasn’t quite sure he could measure, when Mamma suddenly let off a grunt and a whine before backing off a little, opening the distance between her and her calf.

Oh, thank god.

“Thank you, Mamma.”

She didn’t answer, but also didn’t stop staring at him.

Gordon edged closer to the calf and when she didn’t intervene, he moved even closer, approaching the little one where she could see him, her frantic eye darting between him and her mother.

Net was snagged up half her face and wrapped around her pectoral fin.

Gordon swallowed and approached, reaching gently up in a parrot of the movements he had made with her mother.

“Hey, sweetheart. Who did this to you? Hey?” He reached out and touched her eyebrow ever so gently. “I’m so sorry.  We’ll make it better. I promise.”

His bare fingers brushed such soft skin.

She didn’t pull away.

“Hey, Scott. You and Alan, in the water, quietly. Either side of this little one. Let’s get her free.”

His brothers’ FABs were ever so quiet.

Gordon stroked the little girl’s eyebrow, muttering reassurances as his brothers materialised quietly beside her. It was no surprise when it was Scott who took his side between calf and mother.

Mamma moved a little, but didn’t protest.

Keep eye contact.

Keep stroking.

Keeping his voice low. “It is wrapped around her fin and caught in her mouth. Scott, see if you can free her fin. Alan, cut away the netting on that side and I will manage it on this side. She is very tired. Who knows how long she’s been stuck here.” His stomach roiled with anger again.

“FAB, bro.”

Scott’s hand landed gently on his shoulder and squeezed.

Virgil was still singing.

Gordon kept stroking.

Scott made short work of the net on her fin, cutting the cursed nylon rigging away with a very sharp knife. Alan signalled that he had cut the netting on her left side.

“She’s looking at me.” Alan’s voice was quiet.

“Al, she’s scared. Show her you care.”

Gordon was still stroking her eye ridges.

“How?”

“Reassure her. She’s a rescuee like any other.”

As Gordon turned to the net caught in her mouth, his little brother started murmuring reassurances.

“Okay, sweetheart, let’s get you free.” He put his glove back on and with a final brush of her brow, he set to work cutting netting away from her throat folds.

In places it had gouged deep into her skin.

His heart flickered between sorrow and anger.

Scott moved in to assist and between them the majority of the snag was cut away.

That only left the tangle in her mouth. She was actually free to move now, but she stayed where she was, perhaps unaware of her freedom, perhaps because she still had net in her mouth.

Bubbles danced on her skin as she stared at him.

He brushed his hand across her eye ridge again, ever so gentle.

Scott settled beside him and tentatively reached out and touched her flank. “She’s beautiful.”

Gordon sighed. “That she is.” A pause. “Stay here. Keep her calm as much as you can. I need to look at her other side. Removing that last piece will probably hurt.” He swallowed. Ignoring the emotion roiling in his gut, he turned away and dove under her.

Alan was splayed across her left flank, still murmuring reassurances, his arms wrapped around her as much as he could.

Gordon bit his lip, not sure whether to laugh or cry at the sight of his little brother hugging a whale.

Ultimately, he did neither and simply approached her other eye beside Alan and gave her a reassuring stroke.

The net had worn into the corners of her mouth as she struggled against the snag. He could only pray it wasn’t caught in her baleen.

Gritting his teeth, he nudged the net a little, testing it to see if he could pull it out. Once slipped from the groove it had cut into the poor calf’s skin, it did move...just enough to give him hope.

“Okay, guys, be wary. This might hurt.” He reached over and caressed her eye ridge again. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, but this has to come out. We’re almost done.” Another caress.

Her eye fixated on him.

He tugged on the net.

To his surprise it slid easily, the majority of it just thin nylon rope.

Then it snagged.

The calf let out a sharp groan, her pectoral fins flailing.

Shit.

Alan narrowly missed getting tossed.

“Woah!” Scott yelped from her other side.

“Scott, you okay?”

“I’m good. That must have hurt. Have you got it all out?”

“No.” It was a rush of exhaled air.

Mamma moaned, then clicked at her daughter, but she stayed where she was.

Gordon returned to her eye. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His hand stroked her again. God, he wished he could communicate with her. Ask her to open her mouth so he could take the blasted net out safely.

As if the thought was a magic wand, she did exactly that, slowly opening her mouth just a crack.

“Oh, that’s it, sweetheart, yes.” His hand brushed over her rostrum, gently encouraging her to open just that little bit wider. Her sheets of baleen emerged and Gordon refused to acknowledge his awe of this moment, knowing if he did, he would get lost in it.

Reaching in, he gently slid his fingers between the brush-like filaments of her feeding filters, ever aware he was probably either the first or one of very few to have ever reached into a live whale’s mouth. His fingers followed the netting until he could feel what it had caught on. And yes, it was caught in her baleen.

He swore silently and, as gently as he could, he fiddled with the rope, desperate to get it loose.

The calf shifted in the water, agitated. Mamma called out again and Virgil, still playing, still singing, answered best he could with a gentle note echoing through the water.

“Almost there, sweetheart.” He said it more to reassure himself than the calf. He wanted to swear. Unable to see the snag and relying on touch, he failed to locate the tangle. Frustrated he removed his hand and then removed his glove. He needed more information.

Placing his bare hand into a whale’s mouth was an experience. But it gave him the information he needed to unhook the netting from her plates. Something soft and squishy brushed against his palm and he had the distinct impression that he had just been licked.

In any case, he was able to remove his hand and the netting along with it.

The relief was a physical thing, his whole body wilting.

He handed the net fragment to Alan and with a brush of his bare fingers across her rostrum again, he returned to her eye.

She stared at him.

“You’re free, sweetheart.” His fingers touched her eye ridge and to his astonishment, his vision blurred.

Aw, shit. Crying underwater was not a good idea.

He blinked madly and straightened himself out. “John, Virgil can stop playing now. She’s safe.” Scott swam up beside Gordon and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

The calf’s eye flickered to his brother and back to Gordon.

Virgil sung one more note, long and plaintive, then faded into silence.

Water lapped at the calf’s flanks.

A quiet click.

A moan.

And Mamma was moving in.

Gordon grabbed Scott and Alan and dragged them backwards, out of range as Mamma took her place beside her offspring. There were several more clicks and moans.

She draped a pectoral fin over her baby.

Nudged her gently.

A flick of a tail and they were both moving. The calf was still exhausted, but she was no longer snared and the injuries should heal, though likely scar. Gordon thought briefly back to the sunfish he had seen yesterday. One of the lucky ones. His anger surfaced again.

Mamma groaned loudly and a wave of something washed over them. Gordon felt it in his gut. It was as if she had reached out and touched him with her voice.

They stayed there until the blue of distance swallowed the pair.

As the last of the adrenalin left his system, Gordon found himself shaking. But it wasn’t over yet. He turned towards the inflatable. “John, I need Four out here, now.”

-o-o-o-

It took John to snap him out of it.

Soft words.

A hand on his shoulder.

An end to the music.

Virgil found his throat aching, his abdomen complaining and his whole musculature system pissed at him for holding his position so long, wired with so much tension.

He let his shoulders drop and groaned. “God.” His hands on his face and he bent over the keyboard.

“Virgil?”

“I’m fine.” It was automatic and muffled by his palms.

John’s hand was back on his shoulder anyway.

Virgil sighed and pushed himself upright, looking up at his brother. “I’m okay, John, honest.”

That earned him a copper frown. But John was forced to turn back to his controls as WASP called in.

Virgil rubbed his face.

His holographic display showed the mother and her daughter turning back onto the south-easterly migration route. His eyes latched onto them.

The mother let off a groan and a wave of intensity washed over him. His bones sung with it and he gasped out loud.

Then it was gone.

“Goodbye.” It was a parched whisper falling from his lips.

John was shooting more worried looks at him.

Virgil pushed away his keyboard and struggled to his feet. Yes, he was going to pay for this little jamming session. His abdomen complained extensively.

But his head was so...full.

“Vir-“

“I’m fine!” Okay, it came out sharper than it should have. Another sigh. “Sorry. I’m...” He waved a hand in the direction of the back of the boat. “I’m just going to see if Gordon is okay.” His brothers were making for the inflatable on his display.

“Take it easy.” John’s expression was still annoyingly worried.

“I’m good. I promise.” He just needed a moment to think.

Gordon called for Four and John turned to action the request. Virgil took the chance for what it was and slipped out of the room, one arm wrapped around his middle.

-o-o-o-

By the time Gordon made it to the inflatable and dragged himself and his brothers out of the water, Two was on approach.

He glanced at their yacht and sure enough, his second eldest brother could be seen climbing the steps to the bow of the boat. He was hunched over just a little more than Gordon was comfortable with.

He nudged Scott and gestured in Virgil’s direction.

His big brother’s lips thinned.

Two’s VTOL fired as she braked mid-air and levelled herself out. Tin was brusque, keeping conversation to procedure, no doubt as unhappy with the reason for this callout as the rest of them.

Virgil straightened on the bow of the yacht and stared up at his ‘bird.

“I’m going to fish that net off the ocean floor before it can hurt anyone else. You want to field our musician?”

“FAB.” It was muttered as Scott eyed his artist brother across the water.

Okay, it wasn’t fighting fair to target Virgil with smother-brother number one, but there had been something in that music that even Gordon and his tin ear could pick up. He would check on the man himself, but that net had to be removed immediately.

Two dropped her module with a splash and Alan engaged the inflatable’s engine to dart them over to it. Gordon jumped off onto the open module ramp, the sight of his ‘bird, as always, lifting his spirits.

He rolled his shoulders as Alan turned the inflatable around and bee-lined for the yacht.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

-o-o-o-

“I’m fine.”

Virgil said it loud enough to be heard above the roar of Two’s VTOL the moment Scott set foot on the top step leading up to the bow. His wetsuit was still dripping, blue neoprene leaving puddles in his footprints.

He raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t say a thing.”

“You thought it, though.”

Scott shrugged and took the remaining steps to reach his brother’s side. He eyed him sideways, noting the tension knotting the muscles in Virgil’s shoulders through the light shirt he was wearing.

An arched eyebrow and Scott reached out, letting his arm drape across those tight shoulders. As expected they flinched the moment he touched them. He pushed the matter and pulled his brother into a damp one armed hug, regardless.

Some of the tension slipped away.

Target result achieved.

“That was some performance.”

“Hmm.” It was distracted and barely acknowledged, Virgil’s eyes still on his ‘bird.

“John says WASP was able to grab a good percentage of the onsite perpetrators. Penny reports she has some good leads on the financial sources. We will find those responsible and they will pay.”

“They can rot in hell.” The hate and acid in Virgil’s voice was so uncharacteristic, Scott had to stop himself from taking a step back.

“Virg?”

He turned away, pulling himself out from under Scott’s arm. “I’m going to go lie down. And before you ask, yes, I’m fine, okay and completely dandy. Just...a little tired.” Virgil ran a hand across his face.

Scott eyed him, completely unconvinced, but knowing if he said anything it would be either brushed off or his brother would explode. “Okay.”

Virgil looked up at him and Scott was taken aback by the anguish in those dark eyes. But Virgil reached out and squeezed his arm before brushing past and heading back towards the steps off the bow.

Scott’s eyes followed him as his brother braced his side and made his way down.

Yes, they could rot in hell.

-o-o-o-

End Day Three, Part Two