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stu-dyingstudent · 3 months ago

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Sakura Haruno fic recs: time travel AU

I'm finally getting around to recommending some good Sakura-centric time travel fics! There are plenty of them out there and they can be kind repetitive, but I always eat them up. Typically speaking, I really don't care much for the whole introduction bit at the start where it's the actual process of her being sent back... So just make it past there before you decide whether or not to continue!!! Also, I'm starting to think this list is getting kinda long, so maybe I'll do a second one?

I've been dying to post some of these fics in a list, so please enjoy!

Started: 2024.08.16

Last Updated: 2024.08.26

note: feel free to check out my master list which has a bunch of Sakura Haruno fic recs (all organized)!

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Sakura - lilac haze || ffn/ao3 || M || minasaku || time travel AU || complete

AU. Non-Canon. Time Travel. Please see inside for full warnings. Cross posted on Ao3. On his deathbed he was granted eternal peace and place to rest for all of time. Of course that was not appealing to him. Ever unpredictable to the end he had a counter offer. One that the Sage had to consider. In which Sakura's going to have a rough time. A really rough time.

If there is one thing I want you to take away from this list, it is this fic right here. I kid you not, Sakura is one of the best fics I have ever read. I have never felt so gutted, so heartbroken, so giddy, so stressed, all from one work. It's a masterpiece all while being criminally underrated. The characterizations and storytelling are beautifully done. You feel for the characters and the relationships formed along the way are truly great. Please share this author some love.

Check TWs before hand!!

The Misadventures of Kakashi and the Girl From No Where - Goldfishlover73 || ao3 || kakasaku || M || time travel AU || complete

When a girl called Sakura seemingly falls in the sky, Kakashi is skeptical. Far more skeptical than the rest of Team Minato are. War is approaching quickly and this strange girl is leaving more questions than answers in her wake, Kakashi must decide where his trust and loyalties lie in a constantly changing world.

Told in the perspective of Kakashi in his youth! Really interesting take and I love how strong Sakura is in this in addition to the fact that we get to see a different side of Kakashi that we aren't used to.

Anachronistic Drift - Elesrea || ffn || gen || T || time travel AU || incomplete

Her plan was flawless. Save Shisui. Save the world. Time-travel, Sakura-centric AU

Sakura spends years training to be sent back in time and save the world from Sasuke. Whilst masquerading as her younger self, she poses as an unofficial ANBU to stay anonymous in her efforts of changing the shinobi world for the better.

Tourniquet - lilac haze || ffn || T || minasaku || time travel AU || complete

She was his tourniquet. She stopped the bleeding, she stopped his bleeding. She stopped his pain, his despair, his loneliness. She was the first face he saw. She was the first person he trusted. She was the first person to keep his secret. She was his tourniquet. He did not love her. He only loved the idea of her. SakuraXMinato. Time-Travel Fic. Alt. Universe

I quite honestly think this is a hidden gem amongst time travel AUs since I never see people recommending it, but Touriquet is so good! What's interesting here is that it isn't Sakura that's playing with time, but rather Minato. The night of the Nine-Tails attack, rather than dying, he is sent to the future where post-war Sakura is the one to find him and keep the former Hokage alive. It's a delicate situation and one which is kept a secret from many, but through Minato's depression and difficulties with his new life, Sakura becomes a close confident.

Same author as Sakura! I gotta read more of their works

Armour-Sleeved Single Hit - thatdamnuchiha || ao3 || T || madasaku || time travel AU || one-shot complete

Sasuke always told Sakura she was weak. Even after she trained with Tsunade for years he only had eyes for Naruto whom he considered strong. She would forever be invisible to him no matter how many mountains she toppled. Being a member of Team Seven despite Sasuke’s refusal to acknowledge her meant she got herself into her fair share of sticky situations. Getting stuck a hundred odd years in the past had to take the cake though. But she was just a weak little girl and compared to the shinobi of old she’d be ridiculously pathetic. Sasuke had said she was weak to him – a modern day shinobi who hadn’t been forced into battle after battle like they did in the Warring Clans Era. Obviously she’d be nothing more than a spec of dirt in the eyes of the Founders.

Sakura manages to find herself in founding-era Konoha! While trying to prove that medical ninja are capable fighters she unknowingly gains the affection of Madara Uchiha. After all, the Uchiha find beauty in strength. Super cute read!

here are the fruits of your labor (would you like a cherry on top?) - snickiebear || ao3 || M || shisaku || time travel AU || one-shot complete

Shisui smiles and it is unlike any smile she has seen before. She cannot remember the last time she had seen a smile.

Sakura manages to fix everything and now tries to live her life in a past she doesn't know. Shisui is the first to find her and the two of them form a close relationship that continues through her journey of recovery.

The Moon Knows Best - darth_healer || ao3 || E || madasaku || time travel AU || complete

The Moon has played a cruel trick on Madara. He's still home, but it's not the same. Instead of a tranquil forest, there's a colorful vibrant village. Instead of the cliffside he knows so well, it's a collection of Senju faces, one of which belongs to his good friend Hashirama. And instead of Hashirama, Madara is saddled with a very interesting, pink-haired girl. MadaSaku in which young Madara goes forward through time.

Madara finds himself far into the future where the first to stumble upon him is Sakura. He's such a brat, but his and Sakura's interactions are rather entertaining.

In the Magic Hour - summersirius || ao3 || E || minasaku || time travel AU || complete

It's not perfect, but everything is beautiful. —Minato/Sakura

A sharingan mishap lands Sakura in the past where she drops down in front of team Minato. With her hope of returning to the present time dwindling, Sakura excepts her new life and tries to make the best of the situation and the new bonds that come with it. The dynamic between Sakura and the older generation is quite refreshing and her mentor relationship with the former team 7 is great.

Stumble - writer168 || ao3/ffn || gen || T || time travel AU || complete

Sakura wanted to die.Sasori was fine with staying dead.But it seemed fate had other plans for them, because when they both wake up younger with blood pulsing through their veins, they had to remember how to live again.Time Travel AU

Sasori and Sakura are both sent back in time and they try to make a difference in their respective villages. Told in the perspective of both characters, but primarily Sakura. She ends up forming a pretty sweet bond with Ibiki and Genma (which I love) and they help her through some things. Sakura has a rough time

A Twist in Time - wolf08 || ffn || sasusaku || T || time travel AU || complete

With Konoha on the verge of destruction, Sakura is sent on a last-resort mission to save her world by travelling to the past. Join her in coping with her old body's shortcomings, testing the natural laws of time, falling in love all over again, and rediscovering who she is.

With Sakura frustrated at being back to where she started in her becoming of a shinobi, she begins to train with Sasuke. This time around in her life, her relationship with her brooding teammate isn't so strained. Pretty cute read imo

Return & Rehash - SpaceNugget11 || ffn || sasusaku || M || time travel AU || incomplete

"You," Sakura snarled with bared teeth. Sasuke gagged for air, clutching at her forearm, but she only pressed harder into him. Her green eyes crackled, and she wished she could burn him alive with the heat of her anger.

Sasuke and Sakura certainly did not end in their last life on goods terms and it is prevalent from the moment Sakura awakens and attacks her teammate.

An Inch of Gold - KuriQuinn || ffn || sasusaku || T || time travel AU || complete

Team 7 is sent on a mission to investigate a disturbance outside of the village, where they encounter an unconscious girl in a crater. The mysterious Sarada insists she's a shinobi from the Hidden Leaf trying to rescue her teammates. When the team discovers she possesses a Sharingan, things become even more unbelievable. [Part of the Legacy of Fire Series]

Sarada lands herself back in time all while crashing into another team 7 mission gone wrong. An Inch of Gold is in multiple perspectives, but they're all done quite well. Sasuke and Sakura are obviously rather flustered by the situation and the fact they have to deal with it in front of the team makes it quite entertaining.

These Eyes of Mine (I Can See) - tsukuyue || ao3 || gen || time travel AU || complete

They've lost. Naruto was dead, killed at Kaguya’s hands. Along with him died any illusions of hope that they could win. They couldn’t win, but perhaps they wouldn’t need to. In attempts to stop the Fourth Shinobi War from ever occuring, Sakura is sent back in time to the moment of her birth. Protecting the people she cared about would be much easier if she knew all the facts. OR Where Sakura can see the dead, and Danzō deserves to die.

I'll be honest, I can't remember much, but I do remember that it was really good! I believe a large focus is the Uchiha massacre.

Trials of Change - Espoiretreves || ao3 || gen || time travel AU || complete

Haruno Sakura made a promise. Looking in the eyes of her Shisou and the reanimated Hokage, she took on the most important mission of her life. Go back in time and try to prevent the 4th Shinobi War. Now, Sakura is back to her 5-year-old body, with all the knowledge and haunting memories of the future. She vows to keep her precious people safe and stop certain events from happening, without altering the timeline too much. The trials her emotions and logic put her through have her questioning her very existence, but for the sake of peace, she has to push forward. No matter what.

If you love Shisui then you'll definitely like Trials of Change. Him and Sakura form the most wholesome friendship ever and try their best in taking down ROOT. A huge cast is present here and the whole thing is just great. It seems as if everyone has some character development lmao.

Time Flies Like An Arrow - Katlou303 || ao3 || gen || K || time travel AU || complete

Sakura traveled back in time with the intent of changing everything, but something went wrong, and now she's four years old having nightmares about impossible monsters and losing friends she has yet to meet.

I always like the ones where Sakura isn't fully aware she time travelled. I find it interesting in this fic to see how oblivious Sakura is to her situation, she's a four year old in mind and body. However, she still feels the need to make a difference in the lives of the people around her.

cut the head off the snake - itsthechocopuff || ao3 || T || time travel AU || complete

when eighteen-year-old, post-war Sakura is thrown back into her tiny, pre-Academy body, she makes a decision. she'd had a childhood once already, and this time, she's more interested in Not Dying when the inevitable shit hits the proverbial fan. so she will work harder, care less, kill more, and smile when she's done.and hey, if she ends up reviving an extinct nature transformation to attract the most corrupt, power-hungry man from her timeline, all the better for her, right?

Sakura decides that her first order of business after traveling back in time is to infiltrate ROOT and that's exactly what she does. Sai, Shin, and Shisui are all great characters and team Ro is present as well. Very good!

Update: just found out it was recently completed!!

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Q: Do you guys like my little comments? If you look at my other lists you'll probably notice that I tend to reuse some of what I say (bc I'm lazy), but for the most part I try to add something new whenever I put a fic on a list. I know that descriptions aren't always very helpful, so I like to put a little something for y'all to get a better idea of what to expect!

Send me recs if you have any!!!

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centrally-unplanned · 2 months ago

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IRL (In Real Life) - Buffydom Propaganda And The Internet-That-Was

It is 1997. You just got back from the latest Hot Topic run to restock on whatever the most raven-black bomb of Manic Panic they have on the shelves is, so you can do double-duty bleaching your hair in the shower while watching a CRT TV precariously mounted on the lip of your sink. On that TV is the Season 1 finale of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and you are obsessed. Unfortunately for you, no one else in Bowling Green, Ohio, shares your passion for a CW WB show about vampire hunting teens who purposefully fumble their line deliveries. You are alone, and you have shit you gotta say about it to someone, anyone, who will understand.

Fortunately for you, the marketing team at ye old WB anticipated that their audience would be a bunch of fucking nerds, and boy do they have a solution to your problem! Welcome to the Bronze:

A while back I stumbled upon the inexplicable existence of "IRL (In Real Life)", a 2007 documentary about the community that formed around the aforementioned Buffy fan discussion forum/chatboard. Officially running from around the launch of the show until it switched over to UPN after its fifth season (with the forum dying a dramatic death in the process), The Bronze was a highly active center for the Buffy fandom, which generated several spillovers into real life. In particular, it was famous for the creatives and even actors on the show occasionally posting on the forum, which culminated in members of the community organizing a yearly party in Los Angeles where posters would fly out and be joined by said cast and crew. This documentary charts its culture & history via interviewing an array of its members.

As always, I am not here to give the blow-by-blow; instead, what is the narrative this documentary is trying to sell?

My previous documentary write-up was about nerd culture in the 2010’s; newly ascendant, growing confident in its own values and looking to justify that to itself, wealthy and with a developed enough ecosystem for crowdfunding to create professional, polished documentaries of its own heroes. None of that is true for IRL. Filmed on whatever camcorder/potato hybrid proto-Ebay would cough up from its zero-bid listings in a series of hotel rooms and people’s living rooms in 2003-2004 after the forum had died, this is the era of nerd culture at its most conflicted and insecure; mocked by the mainstream and unsure if it should be proud of that fact or deeply ashamed of it. And this documentary wears this conflict right on its sleeve; one of its opening lines is a confident assurance to the audience of “don’t worry, we aren’t like those nerds”:

Throwing Trekkies under the bus in the process, cold! Particularly given how it proceeds to barely even blink before pivoting to explaining their hobby of running “WITTs”, multi-day-long collaborative roleplays:

You are exactly those Trekkies my dudes; you weren’t just at the devil’s sacrament you were hosting it! "WITT" stands for Whedon Improvisational Theatre Troupe, you can't recover from that guys.

(I love how “dozens” is large by the way - it was for the internet in 2001, right?)

Anyway, beyond documenting the forum and its members, the conclusion this documentary wants you to hold is that the Bronze was a special place of real community, and it is a community of “normal” people, who made real relationships. And in particular, that internet relationships can be just as real as those found in meatspace, that these relationships transcended the digital and entered the physical; and that this is what fandom can be about.

I want to start with the ways that narrative was correct within the context of the time. I can actually explain that Klingon comment! I have one extant interview with the director of the film, Stephanie Tuszynski, and she put her motivation as follows:

FFN: What made you decide to study Buffy fandom, particularly the Bronze, for your documentary? ST: The idea to do a documentary film about the Bronze actually came to me very early on, because "Trekkies" came out in the late 1990s so I was already a Bronzer at that point. And when I saw it I started throwing things at my television. I was incensed. That wasn't a documentary about the fandom experience, it was "hey let's find the most extreme examples possible and have a freak show!" It infuriated me […] It reinforced every awful stereotype about media fans while purporting to be objective.

It wasn’t a random example - the 1997 documentary Trekkies set the “standard” view of fandom as extremist oddballs, and Tuszynski specifically wanted to counter that. It was the early 2000’s after all, nerd stereotypes were strong, you had to fight them explicitly! In a society where there is strong background hostility to one’s identity, you will attempt to normalize it using known reference points; and certainly the people on these forums were more “normal” than the stereotypes admitted to because that entire binary framework is a dead end.

More importantly to the narrative is the online aspect, “making friends on the internet”. Another find I have is a blog post from a professor who used the film in a class; and in the film’s narrative of “people with no one ‘irl’ to share their hobby with finding friends online” triggered a debate around if the online relationships are “taking away” from in-person relationships that are presumed to be more valuable. A debate that still rages to this day over social media! But the contours were different back then, the internet was presumed to be niche, ancillary, and relationships made online in a completely separate box from “in person” friendships. The documentary goes to great lengths to explain that they were a real community because that idea is so contested. Ironically, they do this by emphasizing that they met up in person, hung out, attended each other's weddings, etc; as if only by meeting up in person could the relationships be validated as real? But you can’t truly fault them for meeting their implicit critics halfway in making their case.

So what can I fault them for?

*****

I was perpetually amused when watching the doc that they included two married couples in the filming, and for both one of the spouses would talk and the other would sit there, in silence, the entire time. Maybe they were members of the community and just not talkers; maybe their lines got cut in post. But what I kept thinking was that they were there selling normality to me; married couples are just inherently less oddball, less threatening, and in the era where “nerd = virgin” just less nerdy. Like with the Klingon line, there is an intentionality to the “just like you” vibe.

Which, as mentioned with the extensive forum roleplay, inevitably breaks down once the reality of forum activity is dug into. And I buried the lede here - you may have seen the title of the “longest” roleplay was “RTBS Soul Restoration Project”, but what does that mean? RTBS was a forum member’s name, and well:

Oh yeah, we are saving our friend from “a fate worse than death: worshiping Britney Spears” - welcome to 2001 baby! This is peak “nerd wars” stuff, the normies hate our shit so we hate the normie shit right back. Which is exactly how nerd culture was in the 2000's. I am not at all throwing shade at their tongue-in-cheek roleplay, resplendent in the ludicrously purple prose and asterisk-laden action descriptions as required by the early internet; but it sits in clear tension with some of the other messaging in this film. Leave Britney alone guys!

The documentary highlights a number of common practices from the forum - people doing daily greetings, the way that it being one unending massive chain of posts with no threading or topics meant people would mass-tag individual people to respond to and form “circles” that way - but there are things it leaves out. I did what any normal person would do after watching this documentary and read through over a year of archived posts on The Bronze to understand the community - but man did I not have to, as on literally the first page of my archived link I see:

And through God’s good grace that second link is archived:

Yes there are pictures at the link, and yes later on it does compare Buffy’s cleavage to the Mona Lisa. (The Giles link is not quite functional, but I was able to find it; sadly it is not nearly as thirsty)

I also found these “onboarding” sites for new members. Remember, this forum was the official forum, which meant there were no community mods or ability to “pin rules”, it was pure anarchy - so advice filled the gaps. And one of the bigger ones, in its *sighs and rubs forehead* blue font on black background, warns against “hottie posting” aka talking about how hot say Angel is, not because it isn’t allowed, but because it is like “pointing out the sky is blue” - it is so common that it will just get washed out.

It might seem like a similarly sky-is-blue comment to note that this forum was heavily about shipping, hotness discussion, fanfiction, and the like. Of course it was, right? These website “senior members” were trying to minimize it, police it, but it broke through constantly and also simmered under the surface through discussions and RP’s from my own review of the forum. The documentary, however, spends incredibly little time on it. Brief mentions of Angel fics, and no mention (iirc) of discussion of how hot the women were at all. Because once again those details really don’t fit into the narrative it is trying to sell.

At one point in the documentary someone notes how diverse all the friends they met in this community were? Which I broke out laughing over. In one way it is not wrong, I get it! Midwest college kids meeting people from all over the country, ages 40 to 14, talking about something no one in their podunk town understands. But on the other hand, you could not come up with a more standardized slice of humanity if you tried to rig it. Everyone here is an American+ with computer access in 1998, it is a grab bag of sys admins, nerd creatives, and comp sci majors. I did a random sampling googling the people interviewed to see what they are up to now, and literally a third of them are librarians. Even their fashion is like God played a prank on this director; not even a 2000’s anime con panel lineup is this stereotypical in the combinations of alt-goth lit girls and nerdcore computer bros.

The evolutionary process of joining this forum -> liking it enough to go to the live meetups -> liking that enough to participate in a documentary about it was a pressure cooker spitting out only a certain kind of person. Which is truly fascinating to see on display! This is the internet-that-was; and it bleeds through the grainy film despite the director’s efforts at times to the contrary.

Though even then it was only a very specific slice of the internet-that-was, because this is a very special breed of Online; namely, the professionals.

*****

Something that is decidedly not typical of The Bronze as an online community is that, as mentioned before, Joss Whedon and other creatives posted on the web forum, answering questions and also just playing around, and how that led to in-person parties where both forum members and cast/crew attended - the Posting Board Parties, or PBP’s. At these they hosted fundraisers, talked about the show, and in the documentary one girl reverently describes with incredible Repressed Lesbian Energy her experience of seeing Eliza Dushku dancing next to her. The PBP had a panel of party organizers, admission systems to keep out the “undesirables”, budgets, the works.

All this the documentary shares openly; it is a peak moment where the digital becomes real in a transcendent way, opening doors analog reality never could. It is also a cold-sweat-waking nightmare story from the lens of a modern Hollywood social media manager; one person in the documentary tells the tale of how one time lead actress Allyson Hannigan posted her phone number on the forum asking people to leave her cute voicemails. The person in question immediately called, and got Hannigan herself instead of the voicemail, so they chatted for a bit (The guy telling this tale is obviously lovestruck; his wife is sitting in typical silence next to him). Today this would be a code-red, nuke your phone situation; but the circle was so cloistered, and the rules so unwritten, that no one cared in these early years.

What they share less openly is all the drama that went into this event. They wax nostalgic about how the parties brought them together, but what isn’t mentioned is the church schism it caused, as the moment cast from the show started attending the party it got mobbed by outsiders. By its ~3rd year there were approximately 400 guests but only ~50 or so were from the forum. They had a huge fight about it, the head of PFP planning committee - “Morbius the Vampire”, who was later jailed for financial fraud btw - told the dissenting faction why don’t they just throw their own party if they hate his so much, and so they did. There was more fighting about it, and eventually they held a peace summit at an LA joint called Mel’s Diner to merge the two factions together. (My source for this is a book, which I will link later)

Hilarious, for sure, but while so much of what we have discussed is “proto online nerd communities”, this part is most decidedly not. The typical web forum absolutely cannot replicate the experience of roleplay-posting your way into shaking hands with Joss Whedon and having a shitfight over party budgets in LA. But most posters never got to attend these parties, of course, this didn’t mean much to them. While for those who did, you cannot help but imagine that this played a gigantic role in making them all become a “real” community. And care enough about that circle to, well after the forum was gone, schlep to a hotel room to be interviewed for a documentary about it. Participating in a documentary is always, in some way, an exercise in selection bias; but here the pruning is turned up to 11 - this is a very elite slice of a very unique fandom experience.

*****

I have one deeper level to go on this thread, somewhat buried in time today, that further shaped the participants here: “Whedon Studies”. The 2000’s was not the birth of media studies as an academic discipline; but it was the birth of fandom-driven media studies, and Buffy was nearly unassailably the leading light of that movement. Academics hosted entire conferences (and inexplicably still do!) on Buffy, Firefly, etc; almost all from the lens of gender & media, as Buffy’s brand was deeply entrenched in that deconstructive milieu. This movement would die a fiery death during the 2010’s shift in media & gender politics, and when the controversies around the toxic working conditions on the set of Buffy/Angel led to Joss Whedon’s near-total expulsion from creative pursuits. The whole edifice is, in a deep way, “cringe” for many of its former participants today.

But what is relevant for our story is that director Stephanie Tuszynski was a full member of that movement; while composing this film she was, for example, giving talks like these at conferences devoted to the Buffyverse:

God that is a lot of talks. This film itself was her thesis project for her I believe philosophy masters, and in our scant interviews lists other fandom-academic film projects she wanted to tackle (which as best I can tell fizzled out later). And the interview subjects were often participants in the same space as well! Academic-types doing media studies with a Buffy bent, or things like culture writers for new media outlets. One of them, writer Allyson Beatrice, even published a book about the Buffy fandom that was in regular bookstores:

To quote the blurb:

A hilarious collection of true stories from Allyson's days as one of the Internet's leading cult TV fan gurus, her mind-boggling escapades include meetings with network executives in dark steakhouses to try to save doomed TV shows and one hastily arranged wedding for two committed Buffy fans.

I highlight this not to say that academics cannot make documentaries, they certainly can. What I am saying is that if you point your camera at career Buffyverse writer Allyson Beatrice, and label her as a typical forum member giving you the hometown everygirl perspective on the community, you are, however unintentionally, lying to your audience. In its quest to give you the just-like-me Buffy fandom experience, what this documentary elides is that it is often giving you the lens of people who are fans of Buffy as a career. Those people are going to be bringing very different experiences to the table - of course they are concerned with sanitization, with nerd culture debates, the works. That is their bread-and-butter trade.

This dynamic bled into the forum’s day-to-day; there was a very clear hierarchy of “veterans” and “top” posters, who organize the live parties, have deep roots in the community, and even the ear of the show team...and everyone else. Particularly because as mentioned there were no rules on the forum, but since that can’t actually function in practice they self-generated community rules and thus their own leadership class. Cliques and groups were common and named, and veteran posters even had formally designated groupies:

I had also by this time become a groupie. I so enjoyed one particular Bronzer’s posts that she allowed me to become the seventh of her groupies. It was through groupie-dom that I got my first taste of firsthand WITT: several Bronzers, on the occasion of the birthday of she-to-whom-we-group, each took turns grabbing the microphone and praising the day that she was born. In retrospect, I’m not sure why we did this. But it was fun, and very funny, too, as we each took turns waxing melodramatic off the top of our heads. And from work, no less.

The source for this by the way is a 400 page ethnography of The Bronze posted by academic who did *cough* “field research” there; I am sure their membership in the “Bronzers Adoring Darla” fangroup was purely for comprehensive data collection purposes.

And to emphasize, I am not saying this is problematic or anything - the groupie things were all in good fun, best I can tell. I simply aim to showcase how the Bronze wasn’t just a baby version of online fandom forum dynamics; but also a baby version of e-celebrity mechanics. Something the documentary does not even attempt to touch on because that would be something normal people would not understand.

*****

All of the above may have come off like one big roast, and it is a little bit, but as I have mentioned before every documentary is propaganda. It is just impossible to have a tight film building a narrative out of the pieces of letting people speak to the camera without that narrative being but a slice of the truth those people want you to know. The Bronze web forum was a very special place to these highly invested fans, and this documentary is not lying to you about that.

But it is also a big part of early internet fandom! The Bronze was famous at the time, and it is right there at the beginning of so many shifts; the first generation of non-technical internet users, a new era of ‘fantasy’ media with the trappings of prestige and social critique, a boom in critique-as-community, and more. I very much want the full picture of that community; who made it up, what did they want from it and what did they get from it, and so on. No film could offer the full picture; this film’s homebrew rawness gives a valuable piece of it, and I enjoyed it for that. I just aimed here to draw out not only what the broader, more accurate dynamics of The Bronze were, but also the cultural question of why the film focuses on what it does, hides what it refuses to show, and what that says about 2000’s internet & nerd culture. Hopefully I succeeded in that.

And also to have fun looking at some incredibly dated Buffy fandom bullshit. May it have been fun for you too! {hugs you and waves goodbye}

#essay #buffy the vampire slayer #history of the early internet #Yeah I have no excuse for the length on this one - sometimes you just wanna be self-indulgent

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olderthannetfic · 18 days ago

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Fandom's Newspaper: Revisiting /Report

It's 2011. LJ is dying. Fandom is splintering. You keep asking where we're going next.

You're haunted by the creeping realization that the rest of "we" is leaving for some stupid, weird site with bad features that lacks all the things that make a proper fandom home. They wouldn't really do that, would they? They wouldn't go where you can't follow!

It's okay though: LJ was fandom's home because it was hands down a better site. You'll simply have to wait till someone builds one with the right features, and then fandom will naturally migrate back there.

At least there's AO3. It's getting so big! There are over twenty thousand accounts and two hundred thousand works! Too bad there are so few Asian fandoms on it. Anime fandom will probably always be on FFN even if it's kind of hostile to m/m. Oh well.

But where is the community?

You stumble across a podcast that's a couple of slashers chatting about the latest in fandom. How fun! It's like the best of a fandom newsletter and a phone call with your fandom bestie rolled into one! You're between fandoms, and you don't have that bestie right now, but /Report lets you feel like you know what's going on. It's like reading the fandom newspaper!

Okay, but in all seriousness, at Slash Report (/report)'s height, I often saw people talk about it the way they talk about my tumblr now, and it cracks me up. I guess in any era, we're wondering where everybody else is.

/report was a casual podcast of friends chatting that ran from August 2011 until June 2016.

I wasn't a regular listener back in the day. I did listen to quite a few episodes later on, long after they'd aired, but also long ago by now. A couple of things that I do remember from it (like mentions of Chinese media) make me think it would be highly entertaining to revisit it now, in 2024.

Tumblr is still hanging on as a fandom hub of sorts, just like LJ was still active in 2011. (Just pretend you can't hear that clock ticking down!) So much else has changed. The internet is a radically different place now. But fans are still floundering around, looking for a sense of connection.

So just for fun, listen to /report's very first episode 101 Slash Cast.

Suits, Hawaii Five-0, The Mentalist, and a mention of knots that has nothing to do with omegaverse!

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evilwriter37 · 4 months ago

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20 Questions for 20 Writers

Tagged by: @howtodrawyourdragon. Thank you!

1. Is writing a hobby or way of life?

100% a way of life. It kind of has been since I was a child. I was sick all the time and had story ideas, so I started writing them down when I was too sick to go to school. I got bored of just reading and wanted to make my own.

2. A journal full of writing notes or a clean, completed manuscript?

Well, currently I have folders upon folders of notes for my fantasy novel, but obviously I would like a clean, completed manuscript at some point. The entire work is 28k words at the moment.

3. Who (or what) is your writing inspiration?

My special interests for sure. Obviously How to Train Your Dragon, but when I get into something, I really get into it. Lol, one could say autism is my writing inspiration.

4.Which is worse: someone you "idolize" reading your first draft or listening to you sing?

Probably someone I idolize reading my first draft. I'm getting a lot better at receiving rejection and critique but it's still very hard for me. I had a good singing voice before I had covid. (The band teacher and the chorus teacher in high school would fight over who got to have me. I chose band.) Covid has absolutely wrecked my singing voice, but I think I can get it back with practice. So yeah, I'll take someone listening to me sing over reading my first draft.

5. Has writing from someone else's POV ever changed your own perspective?

I don't think so, no.

6. Tumblr, AO3, LiveJournal, or FFN?

Ao3. One time ao3 logged me out and I was like: "What are you doing? I live here!" I do have fics on tumblr that have over 100 notes and I have no clue how that happened, especially when I look at interaction now. Interaction and fandom as a community are just dying on this website. Oh, and fanfiction.net was so horrible that I deleted all my stories from there and never looked back.

7. AO3 wordcount, and are you satisfied with it?

3,125,805. I'm more than satisfied. I'm stunned. And for some reason self conscious? I've had people call me crazy for writing so much fanfic, especially for the same fandom, and it just hurts, because this is my passion. What did you think I was going to do? Hit 1 million words and stop writing? No fucking way.

8. What movie/book/fic gripped you irrevocably?

Movies and shows: How to Train Your Dragon, Good Omens, Teen Wolf

Books: Hard to say because I only really recently got back into reading. I haven't written fanfic for a book since I wrote a single Captive Prince fic. Oh man, Captive Prince was so good. Thank you pro censorship people for recommending it! (People got so mad about it and the themes in it that I decided I had to read it. So worth it.)

Fics: I'm so, so gripped by @lifblogs Bad Batch fic: Brother, Hold Me Up. That thing is an absolute work of art.

9. What's the highest compliment you could ever be given, and have you been given it?

I think the highest compliment I got was someone reading Infernal Fascination of all things with their book club. Like, this person would give me updates about what was said during meetings and they just devoured it. It was awesome.

10. What defines your writing style?

Visceral description and poetic prose. I like to think.

Tagging @wyked-ao3 @the-bar-sinister

#ao3 #writing #long post

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youdontneedhenry · 3 months ago

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I’ve been wondering about the progression of Patrick’s feelings about/for Eliza. What do you think it was like? When did he fall in love with her? Is he?? Was he always? Is there a moment you point to, or a series of moments? Any hesitation on his part?

I have some of my own thoughts but am dying to know everyone else’s head canons. I also really love @blacklister214’s fanfic (Honesty and Codology on ffn) which gives us a glimpse into Patrick’s psyche in a unique way.

I also loved the comment from @soendgame saying Patrick was very aware of Duke and wouldn’t want to pressure Eliza as long as that situation was going on.

Anyway I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I know others think about it too so I want to know 😂

#scarnash #eliza x patrick #patrick nash #eliza scarlet #msatd #miss scarlet pbs #miss scarlet #miss scarlet and the duke #thoughts #no thoughts just scarnash

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osunism · 21 days ago

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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.

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starlight-eclipsed · 9 months ago

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All the trouble he went through to hide his injuries and black blood, and it leaks out of his face. Figures.

I am running out of ways to tell people to go read A Dark Among the Lights by LuckyLectio on AO3. I'm starting to feel like this is an early 2000s FFN authors note with cheesy dialogue...I might just start saying random nonsense since it feels awkward to just post a link.

Anyway, chapter 12 was honestly really fun to read in spite of the fact that Dark was, y'know, actively dying. The character interactions are fantastic, I love all of them so much and their inter-personal relationships are written so well. Here's hoping next chapter goes better for our shady boi :b

Bonus below the cut:

A doodle for this chapter :3

Also it's a crying shame that tumblr seems to hide the wonderful file names I give my pieces, so here's what we have so far :D

#my art #dark link #adatl #fun fact: it's very difficult to shade pitch back skin #the torchlight is probably exaggerated because it was the only way to make the forward-facing shot not look completely awkward #why have i been drawing all these scenes at vastly different light levels despite all happening relatively back-to-back?#first: what are you a cop #second: the Vibes

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jackson-imbecille · 2 months ago

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Yippee, edited the hell out of this because I hated how it was. Might do more editing later.

The Warehouse

3.5k words Supernatural/Danny Phantom

Written in 2020 FFN AO3

The Winchesters hear about a string of suicides in Elmerton and come to investigate. Or, Sam and Dean overhear Spectra messing with Danny and talking about his home life. They offer to help him, human or not. Follows the AU where Danny is completely ghost and has minor shapeshifting abilities to make himself appear human.

“So, this is the place?” Dean asked.

“Yup.” Sam answered.

The warehouse was dark and grimey. A recent string of suspicious suicides in the building had caught the attention of a four amateur ghost hunters a few days back, three of which were currently hospitalized, and the last one was found dead from inflicted injuries. The building itself was nothing special. It was long abandoned and falling apart. The walls groaned as if they were on the verge of collapse, the roof was sagging in some areas, and had large holes through in others. Crates and boxes littered the floor, stacked up to fifteen feet high. Some rotted or ripped through on the sides, spilling their unidentifiable contents out and onto the floor

“Man, this place is destroyed. How is it still standing?” Dean asked, kicking aside a piece of the fallen roof.

“It won’t be for long.” Sam said. “It’s set for demolition next month.”

“So,” Started Dean, “You thinking a ghost, or…” he shrugged.

Sam shook his head. “It’s possible, but I don’t think so.” He walked over to some of the crates and began to examine them. “There isn’t really a record of anyone dying here before the suicides though, so I’m not sure. It could be anything.”

“It sure looks haunted.” Dean took a step and tensed as he heard a loud crunch from under his boot. He shivered as he lifted his foot to see the crushed skeleton of a small animal underneath. “The place gives me the creeps, like the Van Ness House.”

“I get what you’re saying.” Sam pulled an EMF meter out of his jacket pocket. “Hopefully it’s just a ghost and we’ll be able to get this over with without anyone else dying.” He was just about to turn the EMF meter on when he heard someone.

“Spectra, you’re an absolute bitch. You know that right?” At the sound, both Winchesters hid behind a stack of crates. Dean shoved Sam aside to look over them. Sam glared and crouched to peek around the side of the pile.

A figure emerged from a hole in the wall across the warehouse.He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, mostly black with white accents and shoes. Short in stature with tanned skin, white hair, and eyes that glowed toxic green. He seemed young, couldn’t have been older than fifteen. He picked his way through the wreckage, unintentionally moving closer to the Winchester’s hiding spot, before stopping in the middle of the warehouse to look up.

Dean pulled out his gun, but Sam took it and raised his eyebrows. Dean rolled his eyes, but nodded. He took his gun back and stowed it. They’d sit back and listen, for now.

“There’s no point in hiding, I know you’re here. I thought I told you to stop messing with humans.”

For a while, nothing happened. The deafening silence was broken with a cackle that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It echoed through the room in an almost unbearable cacophony of noise and then silenced. The source of the sound staying hidden.

“Oh, you’re hilarious. You know that, right? See, you said I needed to ‘stop playing psychologist to lure humans to their deaths.’ And guess what? I haven’t been playing psychologist with them, and you’re not human. So I’m not breaking any silly little rules. Anyway, let’s talk. How have you been feeling recently? Have you finally started working on that temper of yours?” The voice was condescending and filled with mock cheer.

The kid rolled his eyes. “And so much for not playing psychologist.” He mumbled. “Cut the crap Spectra. You know exactly what I meant. Why are you here anyway? And alone? Did your little assistant dump you or something?” He chuckled a bit at his jab, scanning the room for the source of the voice. No dice.

“It seems you haven't. Can’t say I’m surprised. Well, I knew if I approached you, you wouldn’t take the time to listen before attacking. But you wouldn’t be able to resist interfering if I stirred up some trouble. I had to get your attention somehow, and it’s so nice to meet on neutral ground, isn’t it?” You could almost hear a grin in her tone.

“Are you serious? You did all that just to talk to me?” The kid was fuming. Gesturing wildly and pacing back and forth while yelling at empty space. “You could have, oh, I don’t know, made a phone call like a normal fucking person! Man, now I’m gonna miss curfew again just because you wanted to be all dramatic. And I just got ungrounded!”

“Still playing pretend I see?” The voice, Spectra crooned, dripping with amusement.

The boy suddenly stopped moving. “What?”

She laughed again, seeming to find great humor in his offense. “Oh, I just find it so endearing. Your ignorance, that is.”

The boy glared at the walls and threw his hands up. “Okay, fine. If you did all this just to make fun of me, then there’s no point in talking.” His hands lit up with green light as he stared at the walls as if they were about to attack.

“You think if you just keep playing human, they’ll continue to care about you. Unfortunately, you can’t keep up the act forever. Soon enough, you’ll slip up. And they’ll destroy you.” She stated, her words laced with shallow sympathy.

The boy’s hands flickered out and his face dropped for a moment, barely perceptible, before recovering. Eyes now full of fire and fury. “What did you just say?”

“The second they find out what you are, they will end your pathetic existence! It’s only in their nature.” She stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Okay, you need to shut up right now. ” The boy gritted out as his hands balled into fists. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. They wouldn’t do that. They’re my parents and they love me.”

“But are they really?”

He was caught off guard. He tried and failed not to let it show. “Yes, they-”

“I mean, yes, of course they made you, but did they really raise you?” The voice questioned, its tone light as if it were discussing something simple as the weather. “I mean, who used to tuck you in at night? Who fed you, clothed you, comforted you? Certainly not them.” The boy opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

“When you started falling behind in school, who noticed? When you came home bloody and bruised, who patched you up? Who looked for you everywhere when you ran away? Who helps you through nightmares, panic attacks, the list goes on and on and on,”

“I don’t-”

“Your sister.” The voice said, cutting him off a second time. His face fell. “Your sister has always taken care of you because the ones who should have didn’t. Your sister, who gave up her whole childhood so that you wouldn’t have to. Now, she didn’t deserve all that did she?”

“It’s not their fault! They were…”The boy searched for an excuse to clear his parents’ names. “They were busy.”

“Yes, yes, busy opening up a door to the other side, don’t we all know it. Busy shooting down ‘monsters’ that didn’t deserve it, busy shooting at you.”

The boy’s face fell further. “They didn’t know it was me, I was...” His eyes started to well up.

“Oh yes, your little disguise. The ability to shift your form is such a useful one! From a distance, no one on earth would recognize the Phantom as little Danny Fenton. But up close, it’s blatantly obvious. What difference does a little color swap make?

“Of course, those idiot ‘parents’ of yours have seen you up close in both forms and yet, they didn’t recognize you. They had you strapped down to an autopsy table, ready to slice you open for the sake of science. You can’t get a closer view than that. They had you pinned like a bug, inches away from their stupid little eyes and didn’t see you. If your sister hadn’t tricked them into leaving the lab, they’d have flayed you open without a thought.”

“Stop.” It was quiet, barely audible through the voice’s echoes.

“And then, when you were captured by those other hunters, what happened? It took them three days before they realized you were missing. Three days. And it wasn’t even your human identity that they noticed was gone.”

“Stop! Just stop it!” His fists were clenched and tears were falling freely at this point. The voice kept going.

“Soon enough, you’re going to mess up. They’re going to find out what you are. And the fact that they created you is not going to stop them from doing what hunters do.” The voice softened. “You aren’t safe there.”

The boy shook and covered his ears. He fell to his knees and curled in on himself, curling smaller and smaller as if to disappear.

“I’m not listening to you,” He whispered. “You’re just using your weird emotion powers to make me miserable so you can feed off me like a leech.”

The voice paused, then replied. “I didn’t bring you here to feed on you.”

The boy’s grip on his ears loosened and he glanced upward. “What?”

The voice grew soft and caring. “We’re worried about you. Both you and your sister. We’re worried the two won’t survive long in that house, and for good reason.”

The boy glared up at the shadows. “My sister is human. Even if they try to end me, they would never, ever hurt her.” He snarled.

“You were human too weren’t you?”

A tall woman with red hair materialized from the shadows and walked towards the boy.

She crouched carefully in her red suit and pulled down her sunglasses. There was an almost motherly kindness in her eyes.

“Face it.” She placed one hand gently on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re dead. They killed you and they don’t even know it. You’ll never be human again. Staying with hunters is the worst thing you could do. You need to be with your own kind.” He looked away from her. She sighed.

“I can take you and your sister somewhere safer, somewhere you can live without fear. There are rooms ready and waiting for you at Vlad’s mansion.”

The boy scrunched his nose in disgust. “Why should I trust you? Vlad has been trying to kill my dad for years, and you tried to kill my sister. Why should I believe that either of us would be safe with you?” He pulled away from the woman’s grip and stood.

“Anyway, Vlad has that weird obsession with my mom. He’d give her anything she wants. I don’t think I’d ever be ‘safe from her’ with him.”

The woman recoiled and stood. “I admit that I haven’t made the best choices in the past, but I am changing. Vlad is too. We are helping each other move past our mistakes and do better.” The boy scoffed. She continued.

“Vlad has realized that Maddie will never return his affection and has moved on. You have nothing to fear from us, which is far more than you can say about your parents.” She smiled at the boy. The boy thought over her words and took a step forward, his eyes glazed over with a milky green haze. The woman offered her hand to him. He lifted his hand to shake it, but stopped.

“I don’t believe you.” He pulled his hand away and stepped back, as if being anywhere near her would burn him. The green haze disappeared. “This is what you do. You manipulate people into trusting you, then hurt them. You’ve killed people, both you and Vlad.” His words were picking up speed and volume.

“You’re both evil. I don’t want anything to do with either of you!” He yelled.

The building went silent. The woman’s kind understanding smile morphed into a rage filled sneer. Her arm snapped forward and grabbed the boy’s wrist. He panicked and began to fade from view, but the woman tightened her grip and pushed him to the ground. He tried to scoot away, but she pinned him to the ground with one foot.

The woman grinned, displaying far too many teeth and wagged her finger. “Ah ah ah, no escaping, freak. Vladdie’s paying me good money to get his little toy back, so just relax and let this happe-”

BANG

Stunned, the woman loosened her grip. The boy scrambled free and stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall. She held a hand to her chest, green liquid pouring out of multiple wounds. She looked around the warehouse until she locked eyes with Dean, still aiming the shotgun at her. She glared and hissed.

The gun shot several more rounds at her, but she disappeared into the shadows, escaping every blast. “I know this isn’t the end of this. Sooner or later you will return, just begging for our protection. Pray it isn’t too late when you do.”

The darkest shadows in the building pulled together, as if being sucked up by a black hole, before vanishing altogether.

“You okay kid?”

The car ride to Danny’s house was tense and quiet. Every once in a while, the kid would tell Dean which direction to go in, but other than that, it was nearly silent. Which made every little sound from the tires rolling across road or gravel ever more grating and ominous. Fifteen minutes passed before anyone said anything. Sam and Dean spent the time thinking of the best way to start the inevitable conversation, while Danny spent it hoping that the conversation wouldn’t come. In the end, it was Dean that decided to break the silence

“So, that Spectra, she doesn’t seem like much fun huh?”

The kid didn’t say anything. He just stared down at his hands as he picked at his fingernails. Scraping at loose cuticles, peeling away flaking bits of the nails and ripping away dead skin.

Recognizing his failure, but determined to try again, Dean continued. “Was she telling the truth about the,” He paused, thinking of the best way to word what he was thinking. “Situation with your parents?”

The kid looked up for a brief second before continuing to pick at his nails, now picking at the right hand instead of the left. His face darkened and he stopped picking at his hand before he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He just sat like that for a second before letting out a huff of air and looking out the window at the cars passing by.

“Turn left here”

The car turned.

After nearly seven more minutes of awkward tension, Dean made his third attempt at breaking the uncomfortable silence. “They’re hunters right?” He offered, using a question they already knew the answer to in order to give Danny an opportunity to choose whether or not to join in on the conversation. Unfortunately, Danny’s unresponsiveness and continued window staring showed that he had declined to take the opportunity.

Dean looked to Sam, nonverbally asking for help. He had never really been that good at the talking to people thing. That had always been Sam’s strong suit. Luckily, Sam picked up on the message.

“What Dean means to say is, we aren’t sure if you going home would be the best decision. We know how most hunters will shoot first, ask questions later. Hell, that’s what we were raised to do. And if your home situation is already that bad, are you sure it would be safe to go back?”

Danny turned his attention from the window to the tiny crumbs of debris stuck in the seams of the seat cushion to the left of him. He picked at them with his left hand while his right fiddled with the hoodie string pinched between his fingers. He was trying to keep a neutral face, but every few seconds it would break.

“Bet Jody wouldn’t mind taking care of another kid, or maybe Bobby.”

Sam turned his head to Dean and gave him a look. Nonverbally telling him to shut up. Dean shrugged and went back to staring at the road.

Sam sighed and directed his eyes to the rear view mirror to look at Danny. “We just want to know if taking you back is the right option.”

The kid stopped fidgeting with the crumbs on the seat and moved his left hand to fiddle with the same hoodie string his right was fidgeting with. His face was tightened into an uncomfortable closed mouth grimace. He dropped the string and picked at the fraying edge of his sleeve before opening his mouth and looking up. He seemed to have changed his mind about something though as he quickly shut it and looked down again.

A couple minutes later he opened his mouth again and hesitantly spoke, eyes fixed to the sleeve in his hand. “I-” He stopped for a second, looked to his left, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and started over. “They’re my parents. I’m not just gonna abandon them, they need me.” He kept his head down, eyes averted from the mirror Sam was looking through.

Dean’s face hardened and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. Sam turned a concerned glance at him before focusing his eyes back on the kid in the backseat. He let out a breath before speaking.

“Kid, we’re not asking what your parents want. We’re asking if we’re going to endanger you by bringing you back to them.”

An uncomfortable look painted the kid’s face before he looked back toward the window and it dropped, leaving behind a blank and unreadable expression. He stared out the window for a couple more minutes before he opened his mouth to speak.

“Turn left on seventh street.”

A few minutes passed, then Sam sighed, slightly frustratedly before he began to speak again.

“We get it, we’re two random guys that just happened to hear all of that, you have every right to be wary of us. But if what that Spectra said was true, you aren’t safe there.”

The kid completely ignored him, face blank as he scanned the area. Then after a few seconds, he pointed at the brightest, most obnoxious zoning violation of a building either of the Winchesters had ever seen.

“It’s that house, the one with all the lights and stuff.”

Slightly stunned, Dean hesitantly pulled into the driveway next to what looked like a cross between an RV and a military grade tank and parked the car. The kid put his hand on the door to leave, but before he could, Sam turned around to try to talk to him.

“You don’t have to go back to them, there are people who would be willing to take you in and help you, human or not.”

Danny looked down as if contemplating his options, but he soon came to a conclusion.

“Goodbye.”

He opened the door and walked back into the house like a lamb to the slaughter. They knew that this would be the most likely outcome, but it was still somehow shocking.

“Are we seriously going to let him just walk back to that house?”

Sam wiped a hand across his face in defeat, then shook his head.

“If he’s not going to accept help there’s really nothing we can do to stop him.”

Dean waited a few minutes, then tightened his grip on the steering wheel before cursing and hesitantly switching the car to reverse. He wished he could just barge into the house guns blazing and solve the problem that way, but that wouldn’t work. These were humans he was dealing with, hunters at that, and what they usually did wouldn’t fly.

No matter what situation he thought up in his head, he couldn’t come up with a way he could try to fix this without risking more harm to the kid.

He started to slowly back out of the driveway, already regretting his decision to leave, when suddenly, he heard a knock on the car window.

Standing there was the kid and a girl not much older than him, maybe around sixteen or seventeen. She looked similar to him, most likely siblings, but there were a few differences. Her hair was bright orange, her skin was lighter, and she was taller. He rolled the window down.

Each kid was carrying a couple small items. A stuffed bear, a pillow, a backpack, and a few books for the girl. A stuffed dinosaur, a pillow, and what looked like a plastic rocket for Danny.

The kid fixed his eyes to the ground and hugged his things closer to him before the girl behind him nudged his arm with her elbow. He looked at her questioningly, she just gave him a reassuring look and made an exaggerated deep breath. He closed his eyes and copied the breath before looking up and meeting Dean in the eye.

“Those people you said could help, do you think they’d be willing to take in more than one kid?”

#danny phantom #supernatural #danny fenton #penelope spectra #jazz fenton #sam winchester #dean winchester #tw implied child abuse #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #my writing

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