#otp: a writer and his muse

[katherinehoughtoncastle47]

"If that's my present, I can' t wait to unwrap it."

[pisces-swirlix]

And here we have Katherine “I don’t want to pretend” Beckett bringing up her and Castle getting married completely unsolicited

Alright. So, you and I are married. We’re not married. Relax. It’s just pretend. I don’t want to pretend. Scared you’ll like it? Okay. If we’re married, I want a divorce.  329/365 days of caskett

[osunism]

Crystalline

Eyes meet, you know where this goes Her keys in, they take off their clothes They're soaking, caught in a dream Her skin shines, like crystalline —The Midnight, "Crystalline"

🪧 Summary: On the night Yuji Itadori consumes Sukuna’s Finger, Satoru finds a familiar face at the epicenter of a shocking discovery. Takes place three months after If. 🔞 Rating: Explicit ⚠️ Be Advised: Explicit sexual situations, recreational drug use, descriptions of violence, blood mention. ❤️‍🔥 Pairing: Satoru x Sundari [🧿👹]

🔏 This is a commissioned fic by the lovely @septembersums. With her permission, I finally get to post this fic so folks can understand how Satoru and his goddess met. September was kind enough to see my vision and bring it to life in her gorgeous writing style as part of my growing Parallax 'verse. She's an absolute joy to work with and talk to and I highly recommend commissioning a fic writer to bring your vision to life! September's AO3 <- Support her work too!

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

       Satoru is getting bored. 

         As much as he loves shopping, and he does love shopping, even Satoru has a limit when it comes to how long he can wander between food stalls browsing the options. Although boredom might not be the best word for it. Restlessness, maybe. 

         He’s been idling away the hours while he waits for Megumi to call with news that he’s secured another of Sukuna’s fingers. It’s a difficult job for a first year, considering how cursed spirits tend to flock to the cursed fingers, but Satoru is fairly confident Megumi can handle it.

         If not, Satoru will just teleport there as soon as he senses danger. Simple, easy. In theory, it shouldn’t go wrong. That idea does little to quieten down the sense of unease settling into Satoru. There’s something in the air tonight, something that tastes like intuition, something that feels off.

         Satoru attempts to shake the unnatural anxiety by purchasing some more kikufuku. Sweets usually help when he gets a bad feeling like this, which is a decidedly rare occurrence. Even with his impulsive spending, the feeling persists, and it gets stronger. He considers teleporting himself straight to Sendai to see what’s causing it but ultimately decides against it. He’ll know if something happens. 

         A shiver runs down his spine while he’s standing in front of a food truck that sells crepes, and he knows that his intuition was right. In an instant, he’s standing at the peak of a skyscraper, looking over the city. The wind whips at his loose-fitting clothes and his hair, as he pulls his blindfold down to get a good look at the situation at hand. 

         What he sees makes no sense whatsoever. It raises the fine hair at the back of his neck, makes the skin of his arms prickle with goosebumps. 

         Gaze cast towards Sendai, he sees something there— a ripple of cursed energy that looks like Sukuna, but much smaller and less destructive than one would expect of a freshly incarnated Sukuna. It’s a threat, whatever it is, and there’s no question about that, but it’s nothing compared to the other surge of cursed energy in the distance. 

Sendai is a blip on his radar in comparison to the potential nuclear explosion of cursed energy he sees building in Tokyo.

         A massive, ever-swelling fog of cursed energy covers an entire block, settling over the street like a storm cloud. The longer he looks at it, the bigger it grows. 

         It makes little sense, considering that he knows something significant just happened to one of the cursed fingers in Sendai, but it looks like Sukuna himself just appeared in Tokyo. A fully formed Sukuna with all of his power, decidedly unlike the tiny hints of it he catches when he’s near the fingers. 

         This is the real fucking thing— full-fledged, entirely unregulated, a ticking time bomb of a person who will detonate and kill hundreds of people if they aren’t contained and controlled quickly. 

         “How the fuck is Sukuna in two places at once?” Satoru hisses to himself. Not even Satoru could manage something like that. 

         Two threats, two people that he needs to keep away from the higher-ups and whoever else might be looking for an incarnated Sukuna. One, however, is a much bigger problem than the other. 

         A hypnotic bassline thrums in Sundari's ears, a familiar feeling that she normally loves. Right now, though, it’s too much. Something within her is changing, shifting, pulsating— growing. It feels like she’ll be torn apart by the surge of strength within herself, as she stumbles away from the dancefloor filled with gyrating bodies and into the bathroom. 

         Her breaths are labored, pulse racing, as she nearly doubles over against the wall. She’s drunk, sure, and she’s taken a few party drugs just to keep the night going, but she doesn’t feel right. Something’s fucking wrong, but she doesn’t feel bad. No, she feels good. She feels strong, a lot more so than usual. 

         The bathroom is empty right now, which is a shocker at a rave like this, but she’s thankful for it. Nobody needs to see her like this— panting, as the power within her claws and grips at her insides. It just grows, and grows, and grows. With a rough rasp, she stumbles over to the sink to look at herself in the mirror. 

         It might be the drugs talking, but something about her face doesn’t look right. She blinks a few times at the shifting, moving image reflected back at her.

         The scars underneath her eyes aren’t scars anymore. They’re eyeballs. Four of them. She squints at herself, leaning closer to get a better look.

         She should not have four fucking eyes right now. 

         Sundari has tried a lot of shit, but nothing that’s ever warped her perception like this. The extra eyes blink in tandem with her own, and she can somehow see through them. It’s disorienting, the shift in perspective, but her vision is only getting better as she acclimates to it. 

         “The fuck?” She mumbles, gripping onto the sink for balance.

         The porcelain shatters under her grip, and water floods into the bathroom. She’s always been strong— a good fighter, a damn good fighter. She even makes money off of it on the side, but she shouldn’t be that strong. She needs to get the hell out of here before she breaks something else, or worse. She can’t imagine what would happen if she bumped into someone right now with her newfound superhuman strength.

         She leaves the bathroom in a rush, stumbling at first as she ascends the dark stairwell that leads out of the underground rave and back into the streets of Tokyo. With every step, she miraculously seems to be sobering up. The metal door leading outside warps when she shoves it open. Fuck.

The cool night air feels better than it did inside. She inhales deeply, sighing audibly as she leans against the brick wall behind her.

         “Huh. You’re not Sukuna,” a familiar voice drawls from her left.

         She whips her head around to see who’s talking to her when she’s having the worst trip of her life, only to see a face she knows all too well. The wickedly pretty boy she hunted in the club a few months ago, not someone she expected to see tonight. He’s leaning against the wall next to her with his arms crossed, eyeing her warily. 

         “Nah— Sundari, but I thought you knew that,” she snaps back, a little annoyed to see him again right now of all times. “What are you doing here?” 

         “I do know that, but I didn’t expect to see you here either,” he argues, arms still crossed. “I should’ve known those seals on your back were for something big, but I didn’t think it was this big. Sukuna’s daughter, huh?”

         “The fuck are you talking about?” She asks, temper flaring.

         Maybe it’s the newfound strength she’s gaining, but this cryptic, confusing conversation is wearing on at her nerves. Something fucking big is happening to her— the last thing she needs right now is a weird conversation with a guy she fucked a few months ago. 

         “Come with me to my place, and I’ll explain it all,” he offers casually. “It’s a lot safer there than it is here for you. Lots of people are going to want to get their hands on you with all the power you’re gaining right now, and I promise you— I’m the one you want to end up with.”

         “You don’t know anything about me. Why would I go anywhere with you?” She snaps, pushing off of the wall with a little too much strength behind it. 

         The brick crumbles, leaving a sizable crater.

         Satoru looks between the crater and her eyes, as if that proves his point. 

         “You really want to deal with this without any information about what’s happening? What happens when you shove past a stranger on the street and break half of their bones? Or use your technique by accident and kill off a whole city block?”

         She hisses out a couple curses, weighing her options. Her decision is only really made when a fractal of a memory slams into her subconscious, and she relives it like a dream she’s forgotten. 

         The Godslayer, they called her. A monstrosity falling apart underneath her four hands, as she rips it to shreds. Worship, and her mother’s avoidance. 

         “Fuck,” she hisses. What the fuck was that?

         As far as options go, it’s looking slim right now. She could either trust this guy, or she could do exactly what he said when this keeps happening, and she can’t control her own strength. She doesn’t want to hurt people— not innocent people— not if she can help it.

         “What’s it gonna be, Sundari?” He pressures her.

         “Fine, fuck, let’s go,” she says. 

         He reaches out a hand to her, and she takes it begrudgingly. 

         Missing pieces of Sundari’s life start to come together within the next few days. Satoru explains some things to her, like Sukuna, and how she must be his daughter or something similar to have inherited this power from him. Nadja always kept her father a secret from her, a piece of the past that she never wanted to unearth.

         The memories come back in waves, usually when she sleeps. Little bits and pieces that don’t make sense when separated but start to form a clearer picture when she puts them together. She’s a lot older than she thought she was, given that she was worshiped at some point a very, very long time ago. For a number of years that she can’t begin to quantify, Sundari’s power has been sealed away, locked inside of her and restricted, as she’d lived her life like a normal person.

         Satoru explains that Sukuna was recently incarnated somewhere else, and the seal was broken, which explains why she was suddenly able to break sinks, walls, and doors with her bare hands. The four eyes are hard to get used to, but at least the extra arms haven’t shown up yet.

         Now, she’s here in Satoru’s house, being fiercely guarded day and night like some sort of prisoner. Apparently, she’s in grave danger right now, as if shit wasn’t weird enough without that added layer of stress. Satoru’s the strongest sorcerer, which he told her very arrogantly, and his entire job is killing curses like her father, and possibly like her.

         It’s been tense. Sundari isn’t naive enough to think that she’s entirely safe with Satoru, seeing as he wants to kill her dad because he’s too powerful. Where does that leave Sundari at the end of this? She hates being guarded and coddled like a child, like she’s something that needs to be contained and controlled, rather than a person.

         She’s fucking stressed, and she can’t sleep without these dreams of her long-forgotten past haunting her. She doesn’t necessarily blame Satoru for needing to kill Sukuna— he’s chaos incarnate, he’ll kill thousands of people if he isn’t stopped.

         Somewhere deep inside of herself, Sundari is afraid. She’s afraid that Sukuna’s innate violence is lurking beneath her skin, waiting to come out when she doesn’t expect it. Afraid that if she’s left to her own devices, if she gets angry or upset, she’ll become like him. Her memories and Satoru’s stories do enough to remind her of what her father has done, of what she’s capable of if she doesn’t control herself.

         But she can control herself. She’s not a loose cannon waiting to be muzzled. Satoru might not see it yet, but she can.

         She doesn’t dare mention her feelings to Satoru. Not yet at least. He’s been nice to her while she’s staying here, he didn’t even make a fuss about it when she accidentally broke a door of its hinges trying to open it, but how much can she trust him? Not enough to reveal her deepest, darkest fears, that’s for fucking sure. 

         It takes Sundari a week to gain full control of her own strength. Like an astronaut that’s just come back from Mars, it takes her a while to settle into herself and feel comfortable with her own body’s limitations again. She knows not to push too hard on doors or rip the handles off of the sink.

         Muscle memory from the distant past is kicking in to help her contain her technique. At first, her cursed energy was a serious problem that was only contained by the seals Satoru has around his house. Now, she’s maintaining it herself so well that even Satoru was shocked to see it.

         The issue now is the weird tension between the two of them. Satoru’s helpful, but she can see the hunger in his eyes when he takes off the blindfold. She feels it within herself, too, now that she can focus on it without worrying so much about her own strength. Something unfinished and unspoken, leftover from the last time they were together. It was a good night, he was a good fuck, and that was supposed to be the end of it.

         Now, they’re living together, and despite the domesticity of that, she still can’t trust him. So, like any reasonable person, she comes up with an idea of how their get over the uncanny tension, or at least make it bearable.

         “Do you have any weed around here?” She asks, as they’re sitting on the couch together, silently watching some movie she’s not paying attention to.

         Satoru turns his head slowly to look at her, intrigue written on his features. God, he’s pretty. A little too fucking pretty— it makes sense that he’s as powerful as her, given that he looks like that.

“I could get some,” he answers nonchalantly.

         Sundari smiles, and maybe they’ll work out their differences after all. Even now, she struggles to be wary of him, he’s so smooth with his words. He matches her wit with ease and returns it just the same. They’re too similar— a little arrogant, both of them, but she doesn’t see it as a bad thing. She sees it as a challenge.

         Satoru does come back with some weed a few minutes later, and she struggles to watch him roll a joint— he’s good at everything, apparently, but not that.

         “God, you’re bad at that. Let me do it,” she says, frowning as she takes the half-rolled, uneven thing out of his hands.

         “I was getting there,” he pouts, rolling his eyes.

         “You really weren’t,” she teases, which draws a smirk out of him. He likes it when she talks back, she’s realized.

         Satoru watches with a catlike grin, as she fixes it for him. Her eyes lock with his as she runs her tongue over the smooth paper, before flattening it down to make a perfectly cylindrical joint. His eyes flicker between her lips and her own when she presses it between her lips and leans toward him, waiting for a light.

         He lights it, and she feels a thousand times better as soon as she inhales. Something to calm the nerves a little bit, it helps a lot, and he has money and connections enough to get some good shit.

         Maybe it’s a little too good, actually. They’re both on the moon talking about nothing, passing it between each other and laughing at each other’s jokes. He’s funny, she thinks, as she’s looking at him. The nerve of him to be hot and funny. He’s trying to explain his technique to her, but she’s lost before he gets half of it out.

         “Bet I could take you,” she says, relaxing with her head in her palm, as she sits a little closer to him than she realizes.

         “In a fight?” He asks, teasing and a little flirtatious.

         She grins. “Yeah, in a fight.”

         “Bet you couldn’t,” he argues.

         She’s not one to lose fights, and she tells him about it. The Yakuza pays her good money to fight in underground rings, and they wouldn’t hedge their bets on her if she lost. Satoru counters it by telling her that he’s never lost a fight— maybe for a second or two, but he always comes out on top.

         “Really? Last time I saw you, you didn’t end up on top at all,” she teases him, remembering the way she made him beg to fuck her.

         “That was an ambush,” he says. “You just caught me off guard. Won’t happen again, trust me.”

         “Yeah? We’ll see about that, Satoru. I’m disappointed you didn’t actually knock my IUD loose if you’re that strong.”

         “We can always try again.” 

         Satoru is a fucking flirt, a huge one, and she’s starting to like it. Maybe it’s a little Stockholm Syndrome, because they’ve been living together for weeks now, but she’s starting to actually like him. Before, they could’ve fucked again and went their separate ways, and that would be all there is to it.

         But now…

         Now, she doesn’t know. It’s just so easy to fall into a routine with him, to forget the situation and enjoy hanging out with him, despite the looming threat that he might try to kill her someday if she ever loses control.

        There’s chemistry between the two of them, chemistry that’s growing and changing with every day that they spend together. She’s never been one to fall in love or get attached for long, always too ready to move onto the next thing to get caught up in feelings.

         But all of these little moments between them during their time together are adding up, piling on top of each other, until whatever it is between them feels like more. His hand on the small of her back when he passes by her, a gentle touch here and there when she starts to spiral, even a hug one time.

         He says “Morning, beautiful” when she’s just rolled out of bed, curls sticking up in every direction and a sour look on her face. Always with a sarcastic drawl and a shit-eating grin on his face.

         She usually just rolls her eyes about it, but maybe she likes it a little. And he’s funny— the fucking nerve of him to look like that and be funny. She’s never met a man that can make her laugh like he does.

         The way he looks at her now— it’s more than fleeting affection. His gaze is lovestruck. She never thought the icy blue color of his eyes could look so warm. She misses him when he’s gone, and he always gives her the biggest grin when he comes back. Mutual attraction has blossomed and thickened. It’s been weeks of this now, and they’re unlikely friends. 

         They give each other shit when neither of them can seem to say something nice, but when she looks at him, her insides feel tight, like she can’t breathe. She can tell he feels it, too, by the way that he always wants to be close to her. He’ll make any excuse to sit next to her, to put his arm around the back of the couch when they’re smoking together, which has become a little bit of a ritual now. It makes it easier to forget their circumstances and just talk, which they somehow end up doing for hours.

         He always says how much he likes her curls, how much he likes the look on her face when she gets a wicked idea, her smart mouth and her attitude. He likes the way she dances, likes the way her body moves when she’s drunk, and the music is loud.

         She sees the way he looks at her, sees the way he takes care of her when she’s struggling with the memories that won’t leave her alone. They’re coming back thicker now, heavier than they were before. She feels haunted by it all, haunted by the life that she’s lived in complete ignorance to what she really is.

         More than anything, she’s haunted by her father. Sukuna, the worst human-turned-curse that has ever existed, at least in Japan. Why did her mother fall for him? For a fucking monster? And where does that leave Sundari?

         She knows herself; she knows that she can be destructive, she can be cruel. There’s an ache inside of her that longs for violence, an itch that she used to scratch with cage-fights and beating the living fuck out of men who abused sex workers, in her past life. She knows now that even if her causes were righteous and good, she enjoyed it.

         The blood, the violence, the chance to unleash the demon within herself that she knows is there. It’s just beneath her skin.

         In a moment of self-collapse, she tells Satoru the truth.

         “I never wanted to be his daughter,” she says, curled in on herself in her vulnerability, knees pressed to her chest. “I do my fucking best to not be destructive like he is, but everyone— your higher-ups, whoever the fuck else, they’ll only ever see me for these.”

         She gestures to the thick bands of black ink around her wrists.

         “I’ll never be free from people who want to control me for it. I can’t even fucking hide them like he can,” she mutters, frustrated and angry. “And even if I like you, I can’t stay here forever, so what do we do when this is over?”

         “You could work with me,” Satoru offers quietly from where he sits beside her.

         He doesn’t invade her space; he knows that she wouldn’t want him to right now. Instead, he sits with her, and he listens. Patiently, quietly— he doesn’t talk over her, he doesn’t give her solutions unless she asks for them. He’s kind to her, gentle with her when he can tell that she needs it.

         She has no fucking clue what to do with that.

         “And everyone we work with will only ever see me as a monster,” she answers, shaking her head.

         “Maybe, but you don’t have to prove them right,” he says. “You’re nothing like him, Sundari. I’ve talked to him, I’ve seen him. You’re less destructive than you think you are, and you make an effort to be good, to do the right thing. That’s what matters, that’s what makes the two of you so different. He wants violence, you want to control yourself and do the right thing.”

         “Does it matter? Will anyone other than you ever believe me?”

         She looks at the tattoos and despises them, wishes she could scrub them from her skin. This isn’t what she’s ever wanted to be. It wasn’t ever her choice, but the world will treat her like it was.

         “They will if you prove them wrong,” he says.

         A moment of silence lapses between the two of them, as they sit together in the living room, quiet and ruminating. Sundari’s frustration feels like fire in her veins. Even now, she’s struggling to contain everything within her. Her body isn’t big enough to fit all of this power inside it without an outlet.

         “What if we tested it out?” She asks, looking up at him, an idea on the tip of her tongue. “Just a little fight between the two of us— let me see if I can control it without breaking everything and losing control.”

         Satoru’s lips curve up into a hint of a smile. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask that.”

         She realizes that she’s falling for him in that moment, that all of this forced cohabitation has become something more to her, something that tastes like love on her tongue, even when she can’t bring herself to say it.

         Instead, she says, “Okay. Just don’t cry about it too much when I win.”

         “Ha, I could say the same to you,” he answers, and she knows his words taste like love, too. 

         It’s a friendly fight, Satoru reminds himself, as Sundari lunges for him again. She’s fast— faster than he imagined she would be, and she’s good. Resilient, too. She doesn’t wear down easily— her cursed energy is still thrumming through the air after half an hour of hand-to-hand combat.

         Her fighting style is unique, foreign to Satoru. She wasn’t trained in Japan, that much is clear, based on the way that she moves. The hand signs that she uses when she activates her technique against his are ones he’s never seen before.

         It wears him down to keep up with her unfamiliar movements. If he were anyone else, he’d have lost this fight half an hour ago due to the way she continues to periodically drain his cursed energy.

         But Satoru isn’t just anybody. His reserves are infinite, and he can tell that she’s realizing that, based on the scowl she’s sporting.

         “C’mon, Sundari— stop holding back,” he taunts her, after barely dodging one of her well-timed punches. She’s strong.

And she looks fucking good with a thin sheen of sweat on her skin, whipping around to dodge when he teleports behind her and aims a blow to the middle of her back. She almost blocks it, but he’s quicker than even her eyes can track. It lands, a punch straight to the chest, which sends her flying backwards into a tree.

         That should be the end of it, he thinks, when she gets back up with a wild, feral smile on her face. A little bit of blood trickles down from her lip, and for some god-forsaken reason, his pants feel a little tighter. She lunges for him again, and again. It’s a miss, but she manages to put him on the defensive again. He lifts up into the air to avoid a kick, and she drags him back down, which he counters with an elbow.

         “Stop fucking running if you think I’m holding back,” she taunts him in turn, before he sends her flying off out of view for a split second.

         He thinks that surely another hit like that will make her surrender. God, they’ve been at it all morning. His pulse is racing— he’s never fought anyone as strong as she is. It’s a fucking rush. The blood in his body doesn’t know if it should focus on his brain or his dick. Sundari fights like a warrior, like a goddess.

         She emerges from the tree line with two extra arms extending from her shoulder blades. She rolls them out, unphased at the changes to her body. There’s an extra mouth on her exposed stomach with sharp teeth, grinning at him with the same expression as the one on her face.

         His blood is definitely headed to his dick. That is a goddess. A vengeful, wild goddess. Her curls have come undone, fanning out around her beautifully, while she practically glows with cursed energy. Satoru has wanted her for weeks now, he’s wanted her since he first saw her again, but right now? Satoru needs her.

         He needs to see his goddess sprawled out beneath him, hot and sweaty and snapping at him with her sharp teeth, crying out for more as he fucks her. He wants to feel all four of her arms on him, pulling him in closer, he wants the extra mouth to lick him while his tongue is down her throat.

         She’s on him before he can blink, and this time— he doesn’t hold back.

         The blows shared between them are so rapid, neither has time to think. The sounds of skin meeting skin with dull thuds and their heavy, panting breaths are the only noises to be heard. He can barely regenerate his cursed energy at the same speed that she withers it away, and he realizes distantly that he might have never felt as alive before.

         One failed movement, and he’s on top of her. His own goddess is hissing out curses underneath him, struggling against his strength as he pins her down to the dewy, wet grass beneath them.

         “Yield,” he demands, voice low and breathless.

         “Fuck you,” she spits back, locking her legs around his waist to try and flip him. He doesn’t budge, not this time. There’s only one thing on his mind.

         “Yield, Sundari,” he says again, this time with a coaxing warmth.

         All four of her eyes are wide, pupils dilated to the point that her garnet eyes look black. She still struggles against him, but she’s slowing down, realizing how close they are. Very close, at that. Satoru’s on top of her with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pressed against her at every intimate junction with his fingers fastened around two of her wrists.

         Her other arms have receded back into her, given the position they’re in and the shift of the mood.

         “I said fuck you,” she repeats herself, quieter this time, as her eyes flit between his own and his lips. “I’m not yielding.”

         “You sure?” He murmurs, as his nose brushes hers. “You look like it. You look like you want to.”

That reignites some of her flame, but she pours it into a different approach this time. Always one to move first, she leans up to crash her lips into his. Satoru returns it with even more ferocity, tongue sweeping between her teeth as he presses her down into the grass, groaning against her lips.

         It’s frantic, feverish, the way that she’s tugging at his clothes, and he’s tugging at hers. His cock throbs against the confines of his briefs, as he’s yanking her athletic shorts down her legs and moving his attention to her neck. She nearly growls when he sinks his teeth into her skin, sucking a bruise into the side of her neck.

         She meant it when she said she wasn’t submitting to him, he realizes, as she flips them over with the practiced ease of a fighter, situating herself on top of him. Her hand slips underneath his shirt, desperate for touch and seeking more, more, more of it.

         “Ready to start begging again, Satoru? You did it so well last time,” She purrs, grinning wickedly, as she scrapes her teeth against his collarbone, eager to slip lower.

         “Ha, in your fucking dreams,” he says, before slamming her onto her back.

         She gasps, but he knows she can take it. He’s been fighting with her for an hour and tossed her into more than a few tree trunks, she can handle it. If the wide-eyed look on her face is any indication, she likes it. One hand around her throat, he slips the other down her body and between her thighs to feel her wetness. And god, she’s soaking.

         Circling her clit with his fingertips, he smiles down at her and knows that he looks just as feral as she does. She writhes underneath him, back arching.

         “You got me once, baby. I’ll give you that,” he admits breathlessly, slipping two fingers inside to draw out a strangled moan. “But this time, you’re gonna fucking beg for it. You’re going to tell me how bad you want me to fuck you, and I’ll think about it if you ask nice enough.”

         “You—You’re a fucking dick,” she says, but it’s hard to talk when she’s moaning. “Not begging, not doing it.”

         “Yeah?”

         He knows how she likes it; he remembers her body well. Her pussy sucks in his fingers greedily, as he wraps a hand around her throat and squeezes.

         “You look so fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs reverently, honestly. “You’re such a brat too, but you’re gonna take it so good for me, aren’t you? Telling me what a fucking dick I am, while you’re this wet for me?”

         “Fuck you,” she says, but it’s a whine more than anything.

         She’s getting close, he can tell. The adrenaline still pumping through her veins makes it easier to get close without him having to work for it. He’ll edge her time and time again until she’s a mess, slick and wet and crying for him. He traces the tattoos along her chest with his fingertips when he finally releases her throat, rolling one of her nipples between his fingers. Her walls constrict around his fingers, but he retreats before she can cum.

         One, two, three times. He brings her to the edge until she’s all but snapping at him, hissing out curses and whines.

         “Say please, Sundari,” he murmurs, low and taunting. “Say please, and I’ll make you cum. I’ll make you cum so hard— I know you want it, you’re so wet for me.”

         “Fuck— Fuck,” she mewls, rocking her hips against his fingers, as if he’ll let her cum. “Please— Please? Please, Satoru,” she finally relents.

         “Good fucking girl,” he praises, leaning down to kiss her, as he finally lets her stumble over the edge. “So fucking good for me,” he coos against her lips, as she spasms beneath him, whining and humping his fingers through her orgasm.

         The shockwaves of it barely have time to end before he’s slipping his cock into her warmth, hissing out a breath at the way she sucks him in. So wet, and so tight. He can’t help himself, can’t wait a second for her to adjust to his length, he sets a brutal pace in fucking her.

         “So fucking good,” he growls against her lips, biting her lower one until he can taste her blood. “That’s it— fucking take it, take all of it.”

         He maneuvers her over onto all fours, pressing a hand down to the apex of her spine to force her into a severe arch, as she moans incoherently beneath him. The sound of his hips flush against her ass makes him bite his lip, muscles tensing and flexing involuntarily as he tries to hold back from finishing inside her. She’s about to cum, he can tell, but not without permission.

         “Beg for it, tell me how much you fucking want it,” he demands, moving to cover her body with his own, murmuring in her ear. “Know you want it; know you want me to fill up your pussy— don’t you?”

         “Yes— yes— please,” she whines, and Satoru’s ego swells to new heights upon seeing this goddess falling apart underneath him.

         “That’s it, just like that— don’t stop— tell me how much you fucking need it,” he rasps against the shell of her ear, tugging her earlobe between his teeth.

         And she does— she begs beautifully, knees buckling as she trembles through another orgasm. Satoru chases her down to the ground, slamming himself into her over and over again until his entire body seizes up with pleasure. He bites down hard on her shoulder when he comes, filling her up with every drop of his cum.

         The two of them stay like that for a while to catch their breath, still half-clothed and panting against each other in the crater they just fucked into the earth.

         “Still a dick,” she reminds him, which draws a chuckle out of him.

         “You yielded, didn’t you?” He says arrogantly, kissing the nape of her neck as he pulls off of her.

         “You’re hearing things,” she says, sitting up to readjust her top. “I never surrendered to you, and I never will. At least, not in a fight.” She winks at him, and he smiles back at her.

         Fuck, he’s pretty sure he’s in love with her.

         Later that night after a shower and some food, Sundari sleeps in Satoru’s bed for the first time. It feels natural, after all they’ve done. They fucked again after that— inside, this time, rather than outside in the wet grass. Neither of them broached the topic of feelings, but they both know it’s there. Something intangible but real settling between the two of them.

         After such a long day, she falls asleep almost immediately, only to be plagued by dreams again.

         This one, however, is different from the rest.

         She’s standing in her hometown, far from Japan and Satoru and everything else. Back in her old life, where she was The Godslayer, dressed in the trappings of a demigoddess worshiped by her people. This isn’t uncommon in her dreams, but she has an unexpected visitor in this one.

         A monk, it seems. His hair is black and long, silky as he moves toward her with a deceptively serene smile on his face. Stitches sit on his forehead, which draws her attention and makes her wary.

         “Sundari,” he says. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you. Gojo Satoru has made it exceedingly difficult to reach you in the past few months.”

         Immediately, she’s suspicious. Whoever this monk is, she doesn’t like the energy he emanates. She doesn’t like the look on his face— so calm, so unbothered, he must be hiding something.

         “And what do you want?” She asks, straight to the point.

         He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want something from her. Satoru warned her that the higher-ups of the jujutsu society might not be the only people that are looking for her. This monk strikes familiarity somewhere within her, as if she’s seen him before but can’t remember it for some reason.

         “Still as blunt as ever, I see,” he says, sitting next to her. “I have a proposition for you.”

         “Of course you do.”

         “Sukuna has returned, as has your power,” he says. “Do you know why you were sealed?”

         She grits her teeth, unwilling to answer. He knows something that she doesn’t, but she’s not naive enough to be tempted by whatever he’s offering until she knows what he wants in exchange for it.

         “I’ll take that as a no,” he says in her silence. “There are so many mysteries surrounding you, most of which are unknown even to you. Your father, who he is and how you came to be. The seals on your back, an entire life lived that you can only remember bits and pieces of.”

         She thinks of her mother in that moment. Nadja would know, she’s certain. The monk has piqued her curiosity— of course she wants to know who she was before her memories disappeared, and of course she wants to know about her father, even if she’d never admit it aloud.

         If she had to ask anyone, it would be her mom.

         Seemingly reading her mind, the monk laughs. “Nadja thinks of you as a child, even after all these years. She’d never tell you anything.”

         “And I’m guessing you can,” she says, annoyed at this long-winded speech.

         “Correct,” he agrees. “I can reveal it all to you, shed light on every shadow in your life. I’ve watched you closely since you were born, Sundari. I even helped to put those seals on your back after you slaughtered that town.”

         Sundari’s eyes grow wide, horrified at the implication.

         “What do you want?” She demands again.

         “I want your cooperation in the coming days,” he offers nonchalantly. “Sukuna will regain his full power sooner rather than later, and he’ll fight alongside me in an… event that I’m planning. You could meet him for yourself, let him tell you about his relationship with Nadja, and I could fill in all of those blank spots that you can’t stop obsessing over.” 

         “So, you want to have control over me when you do something big and fucked up in the future,” she says with an eyeroll. “Got it.”

         She seemingly cannot stop running into people that want to control her or collar her. Even Satoru isn’t immune to that. As much as she likes to live in the fantasy of their relationship, she knows that his goal at the end of this is to contain her. In that way, he’s not so different to the monk.

         “I want to work with you,” he corrects her. “In exchange, you’ll know everything, including your father. I know you’re not interested now, you think you have other options, so I’ll give you time. When you realize that I’m the only source for uncovering the mysteries your mother keeps from you, I’ll find you. Until then, Sundari.”

         He presses a hand to her shoulder, a way of saying goodbye, and she wakes with a sharp gasp, bolting upright in the bed.

         Satoru is awake in an instant, eyeing her warily in the darkness. 

         “Nightmare?” He asks groggily. 

         For a moment, she considers keeping it to herself, just in case. Deep inside, she knows that even if Satoru likes her— even if he loves her— his ultimate goal is not so different to the monk. He wants to control her; he wants her freedom. She’s given it to him by agreeing to stay here willingly for so long, why should she offer up more of herself to someone who will use her like a pawn? 

         They all do. That’s all she is to them. Whether it’s the monk, or Satoru, or the higher-ups, or her mother— they want to own her, to contain her. They want her collared and docile, so that she doesn’t self-destruct and take the world down with her, like Sukuna. 

         “What do you want out of this?” She asks, defensive and guarded. 

         Satoru sits up, shaking his head at her. “What do you mean?” 

         “What do you want from this? From me? What’s your goal?” 

         “To protect you,” he says. “I’ve told you that from the beginning—” 

         “No— you know I don’t need protecting. What is it? Is it just control?” 

         No one has ever protected Sundari, nor have they ever needed to. She’s been on her own, and she’s been fine that way. If anything, she’s always been the protector, the savior, the one who helps when things go to shit, and someone needs muscle to deal with it. 

         “Control?” He asks, huffing out a laugh. “Is that what you think this is?” 

         “What should I think? Why else would you keep me here?” 

         He scoffs. “I don’t know what you saw in that dream, but the past month you’ve been here, the only thing I’ve done is protect you. The higher-ups want you dead, god knows who else wants you dead— I keep them away from you,” he says, unwavering. “I just want to keep you safe, to make sure that no one wants to use you for their own gain.” 

         “So that you can use me instead, right? At the end of this? I’m powerful, so you need to contain me, collar me, make sure I don’t fuck you over—” 

         “Sundari,” he says sharply, cutting her off. “Do you think I could control you, even if I wanted to? If you wanted to leave here right now and go be a force of fucking nature, do you think I could stop you?” 

         She stares at him, unsure of her answer. Could he? 

         “You’re not a pawn to me, you are not something I need to keep under my thumb,” he continues. “You’re an equal to me,” he admits softly. “In every way, I see you as an equal, and the only thing I’ve ever wanted is to keep you away from people who won’t see you that way.” 

         “Why?” She murmurs, uncharacteristically soft and fragile. 

         “I love you,” he says. “I— I don’t know if it’s too soon, or— fuck, I don’t know, but I do. I love you, love the way you laugh, love your bad attitude, love the way you fuss and fight with me. I want to be with you— I don’t want to take your freedom, I want to work alongside you, just– I want to be near you,” he murmurs. 

         “You love me?” She mumbles, leaning closer. 

         “I love you,” he repeats, placing a hand on her cheek. His eyes scan along her face for any reaction. “That’s all there is. I don’t care what you are, or what other people think you are, I just want to keep you safe.” 

         Maybe she can believe him, if only for right now. The monk’s offer is still on the table, still a temptation that she’ll have to grapple with, but this is real. She’s never been looked after before like this, she’s never had anyone feel the need to protect her, to keep her safe. She’s always been strong— when has there ever been the need for it?

         But Satoru is strong, too, and she understands the way he feels. She wants to protect him, too, whatever the cost may be. If anything happened to him, she’d lose her fucking mind, she’d destroy everything in her path. 

         “Okay— Okay. I’ll work with you,” she murmurs, pressing her forehead to his. A little grin creeps up on her face. “Under the condition that I want strong opponents— I want to fight people that are worth it.” 

         “Done,” he says, smiling back at her. “Are you okay?” 

         “Yeah,” she breathes. “I— I love you. It might be too soon, but–” 

         He kisses her before she can say another word, and for the time-being, they’re happy. 

Writing © 2024 @septembersums and posted with permission. Sundari Hikmat © 2024 @osunism. Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost anywhere without permission [reblogging original posts is okay]. This includes my masterlist and fic format as well as feeding my writing to an AI garbage machine. I only upload on Tumblr, AO3, and FFN. Title and footer banners by me. Dividers and support by @cafekitsune.

☕️ Member of the @pixelcafe-network.

[writing-for-life]

Lupē

Finally, finally I manage a Calliope/Morpheus fic (the Sandman Rarepair Fest had to come along to kick me into gear). It’s just a short vignette, but I hope I did them justice because they will always be the OTP to me. The prompt is Hurt/Comfort.

You can read on Ao3 or here. And no matter where you read, your kudos, comments, shares and reblogs are so appreciated and help writers to get their stuff discovered 🖤

Lupē (616 words) by Writing-for-Life Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Calliope/Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Calliope/Dream of the Endless, Calliope & Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Reconciliation, Past Relationship(s), Rare Pairings, Canon Compliant, During Canon, Canon Related, Canon Rewrite Summary:

Calliope had wept for him so many times, and she felt the tight grip of grief resurfacing. She had mourned the laughter that would never echo through these halls again, the stories of his father he would never pass on to children of his own, the promise of a future shattered. […] And she was tired of mourning, of a grief that felt like it was hers alone to bear.

Lupē

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow upon the twisted spires of the castle. She had not returned here since that fateful day.

The Gatekeepers stood before her, eyes like onyx reflecting the aeons they had witnessed. Last time, they had been impassive, their voices cold as they denied her entry.

But tonight, something had changed: They recognised her.

"Calliope," the wyvern’s voice echoed through the mist. "You seek the Lord of Dreams."

She nodded, and her throat felt so tight she could barely swallow. "I come to speak to him."

Calliope's fingers trembled. She remembered the bitter words they had exchanged—the accusations, the tears. Later, Oneiros had been unyielding, her attempts to speak to him ignored. She was not even sure what would have happened had he acted differently then; the thought of bringing forth an apology entered her mind and was as quickly dismissed. She felt her hands ball into fists, bitterness resurfacing.

No, this is not the time.

The guardians exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. "Why are you here, muse?" the hippogriff asked.

She hesitated. "Our son's absence binds us, even in sorrow."

There was no more talk, no further interrogation. The gates just creaked open.

Calliope stepped across the threshold, and her footsteps echoed on the stairs and the marble corridors. With every step, her heart picked up pace until it was racing so fast she could hardly catch a breath.

The door was as she remembered—unchanged, the wood dark and polished, etched with symbols whose meaning she understood and yet didn’t.

Just like him.

But that wasn’t true. He had been changed when last they met. Familiar yet different, faint echoes of what once she loved—and hated.

Calliope pushed the door open, and the air itself seemed to hold its breath. For a moment, she wondered what she had expected to find. How she had expected him to greet her. And then she knew that this was exactly it:

His back turned on her, no sign of movement, frozen in space.

She crossed the room, her breath catching in her throat, unable to speak.

She didn’t have to.

"Calliope," he whispered, still not turning. There was a rawness to his voice, even in that whisper, that caught her unaware.

She reached for him, without any hesitation, and while it surprised her, it felt right. As her hand touched his shoulder, he flinched subtly, but he didn't pull away.

When he finally turned, his eyes held galaxies, and their shared history was etched on his face—the pain, the longing—it was all there, laid bare.

And it was hard not to see Orpheus in him. Hard not to remember how he had told him stories, his voice like a melody spun from darkness and light, stardust and moonbeams, while the boy’s laughter would echo through the halls of the castle, and his cries for more brought a moment of happiness to everyone who heard it.

And then it was gone.

Calliope had wept for him so many times, and she felt the tight grip of grief resurfacing. She had mourned the laughter that would never echo through these halls again, the stories of his father he would never pass on to children of his own, the promise of a future shattered.

She had sung dirges and sought solace in memories, but they only deepened the pain.

And she was tired of mourning, of a grief that felt like it was hers alone to bear.

In that moment, his eyes searched hers. “You came.” And perhaps, they were seeking answers and forgiveness.

“You called.”

And perhaps, they were also holding the faint glimmer of hope…

[homeagainrose]

This is the absolute fastest I've ever ended up in a) a new fandom and b) with a new OTP.

Fastest!

So of course I do what writer me does best: wrangle the muses and write fic.

I am testing the waters so preview of fic. A snippet/sampling/taste.

Under the cut. You know the drill. And no fears, I will still write all my other fics once the muses calm down about Darth Arms Out.

He feels her almost the instant the Jedi ship enters the system. Similar to Mae but so very different. He doesn’t recall ever feeling someone quite like her. Mae claimed her sister was dead. It feels like Mae was very wrong – if the Force signature is anything to go by. He tries to remember the name Mae said.

“Verosha.” He tests the name in his mouth. It feels like something important. Then he tries the nickname. “Osha.” Now that feels right.

He whispers her name under his breath a few more times as he moves around the stolen apothecary shop. It is only a matter of time before the Force brings her to him. He can practically feel it in the air – it’s charged like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. He reaches back out into the Force.

She’s powerful, more than she probably realizes. Strong but buried, diminished. Almost as if someone decided she too was not worth the effort. He snarls at that thought. Mae claimed the Jedi wanted her. Well if she was trained by the Jedi, it explains why part of her feels hidden. He will take great pleasure in drawn her out to her full potential.

He swallows the smile and hunches his shoulders as Mae returns to the shop. He already knows her mission failed. He would have felt it if she had succeeded. He grants her the poison she demands, carefully keeping his true self hidden. It is only a matter of time before she is here, and then everything will fall into place.

[pinkomcranger]

@hearts-are-connected crying and screaming

"self-reflection time" they say, huh?

[barabaitcharactergenerator]

scotty-scott of howl fame

ah yes, my icon. my muse. my silly rabbit.

favorite thing about them - his tits on a meta level, i think what i appreciate most about scott is that it feels as though he was bio-engineered in a lab to be specifically catered to me. hairy, bearded, muscular, jockish, funny, kind, endlessly optimistic, stupid as hell, AND has canonically committed multiple atrocities as a big, sexy werewolf? be still, my beating heart. i feel like the monster prom creators stalked my social media circa 2017-2018 and collectively agreed that they were gonna make a dating sim ro that would make this one specific gayboy so, SO happy.

least favorite thing about them - also on a meta level. look. im not a nasty little hater (except when i am), but i have to admit that the writers are CONSTANTLY shoving him to the side in favor of the rest of the cast. even in his own game, Monster Roadtrip, a majority of the events tend to lean on polly being the center-focus with scott acting as her sidekick. this was esp apparent in the End of the Road ending where Polly was basically the main character while Scott was also There (sort of). ill admit i partially understand this since polly is generally a more active character while scott is more reactive, but still, id love to see my boy get his kudos

favorite line - there's so many good ones but im just gonna with one based on a recent screenshot i took: "I really like macaroni, but I'm not allowed to boil water by myself, so I just eat the noodles raw."

brOTP - DA PRANK MASTERZ BABEY!!! Scott is my fav MP character and Polly is my second fav, so you it's only natural that I'd be obsessed with their dynamic. canonically bimbo and himbo besties.

OTP - Scott howl x ME!! i like him and brian a lot, i think they're cute. im a sucker for jock x jock and golden retriever x constantly tired so the two of them manage to hit a sweet spot for me.

nOTP - the game keeps trying to push scott x vicky or scott x amira and like, im sorry, but trying to get me to ship Bara Icon Scott Howl with women? im calling homophobia. besides im more of a vicky x vera and amira x damien guy so on all fronts those ships just dont really appeal to me

random headcanon - for reasons i cant disclose this has been canonically refuted but i always pictured scott's grandma as one of those very classic horror movie werewolves- all fangs, all carnage, very little sexy (unless you're into that sort of thing, in which case, hey. you do you). she used to be the alpha of the pack back in her day and was an absolute menace to monster society, until she got a little older and settled down. still, she secretly craves the old days when monsters could be monsters, and keeps trying to convince scott to embrace his more animalistic side, even though he keeps telling her that murder isnt actually really mean and you probably shouldn't do it.

unpopular opinion - the monster prom fandom doesnt really have that much discourse so i dont know whats an unpopular opinion vs what isnt. uuuh i think scott should have won that popularity poll back when monster prom was still getting updates and gotten the new secret ending instead of damien's "punch the sun" ending

song i associate with them - this was on a scott howl playlist and i like it so uh. through and through by khai dreams

favorite picture of them - obv my pfp pic is one of my favs but here are a collection of Certified Scott Images

and some fav outfits:

[ckret2]

youve gotten a few asks about billford before, and your plans for ford's relationship with bill in your fic, but im curious if you personally ship it yourself/*like* it. and, just for the hell of it, if you have any opinion on billdip too, since that one's even more controversial.

I'm gonna put most of this under a cut since it's not only long, but also long about two different topics, but the tl;dr is:

Yeah, I'm a fan of billford. I don't think it's canon, inevitable, or necessary to their dynamic, and I'm still on the fence about whether things will tilt toward the romantic in my fic or if it'll stay platonic, but I do enjoy the ship a lot because it has a lot of (obsessive, weird, unhealthy, angsty) elements that interest me to explore in ships. Billdip, on the other hand, does nothing for me. I don't care about how people ship imaginary characters in their fictional fandoms and I'm not gonna block anybody for liking it, so this isn't a moral stance, here—I just don't like it personally.

One of the things that intrigues me most about a ship is the idea of love that's gone so far it isn't even love anymore but punched out the other side into unhealthy obsession, and "I'll spend the next thirty years of my life hunting you to death" versus "What if I turn you into a gold statue and carry you around to stare at you a lot" sure fit right into "unhealthy obsession." On top of that, some of my favorite ship dynamics are:

the worshiper and the person they've picked to revere as their god, either metaphorically or literally—with bonus points if the person they've devoted themself to doesn't deserve that worship and maybe isn't even all that special, and the worship actually reveals more about the mind of the lover than it does about the (un)divine nature of the beloved

the mad scientist and the muse who gives them ideas and inspires their work (one of my all-time OTPs has a line where the mad scientist says to his ex "we were each the muse to the other"), with bonus points if they both get so caught up in "what can we do together? What dreams can we make reality—" that they plunge into full "so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should" territory—and bonus bonus points if they eventually come out of the haze of SCIENCE and one of them is horrified by what they've done... but maybe the other one isn't.

two people who are wildly compatible with each other (similar hobbies, tastes, worldviews! they fill in the gaps in each other's personalities! they each happen to be the other's type! they understand each other like no one else can! whatever, fill in the blank!), but for some reason one betrayed the other, they've tried to kill each other, and now things are vicious and bloody and painful and raw between them; but if they talk to each other and accidentally let their guards down for even a split second, all that history is still there, they still like the same stupid movies and share the same stupid inside jokes no one else will ever understand and have the same stupid complementary life dreams, they could have been good for each other, but there's no road back to where they were before the betrayal. Their chemistry is like two huge magnets strapped to land mines: the attraction is as powerful as ever but heaven help them both if they ever touch.

or, alternatively, two people that have all that chemistry, but are just really toxic and do bad things when they're together and enable all each other's worst tendencies, even if they don't necessarily do bad things to each other; and they've got to navigate the fact that they might adore each other so much but they are objectively worse people when they're together.

I like ships with inhuman things. As a writer I like waxing romantic about the inhuman things and trying to convince the reader that yes, this too is beautiful and lovable when seen through the eyes of a lover. I will make you take the stupidest love interest seriously for five minutes. I've romanticized a sticky pile of goo, I've romanticized a robot spider, I've romanticized the concept of being a disembodied voice, I've romanticized a pteranodon made out of lava, and I'll romanticize a cyclopic gold-plated corn chip too, don't test me. Who better to adore a sentient triangle than a scientist-artist who sees the beauty in precise angles?

Depending on the headcanons and/or AUs you're working with, you can get all of these pretty darn easily out of Billford.

I like writing Ford as the awed naive intellectual, hungry for knowledge, for the secrets of the universe, for more, who was utterly dazzled and starstruck by this divinity who tantalized him with esoteric secrets—and who's been furious at Bill for thirty years for betraying him, hurting him, threatening his home and everyone he loves, but underneath all that also furious at him for not being what he advertised when he could have been that; and Bill, meanwhile, playing it cool, far too comfortable playing the role of faux god, but privately, secretly distraught that his favorite "student"—the one who takes Bill's "teachings" and gets creative and inventive with them, the one who always wanted to know more, not just about the universe but about Bill personally—his favorite student no longer worships him, doesn't even respect him, doesn't even see him as an equal, but looks at him like he's the scum of the universe, and Bill won't even admit that it bothers him but it's killing him that nothing he does can get his favorite to so much as smile at him again.

That's the dynamic in my head when I write them. You could play it as purely professional, a god disappointed to lose a worshiper like a boss disappointed to lose his best employee or a celebrity disappointed to lose the president of his fan club; or you could play it like platonic friendship, maybe a QPR; or you could play it like a romance. I like the zest added when you toss romance into this already nasty mess of emotions. I like capping off all that heartache with, "—and if things had turned out differently, maybe I would have taken your hand and traveled with you to the ends of eternity, if only you weren't [such a brutal heartless backstabbing piece of shit]/[unable to forgive a few white lies and some light torture]."

Billdip, on the other hand, does absolutely nothing for me. Not even just for the age reason—that does squick me out, but even if I try to look at it like "okay pretend he's aged up" or "stick it in an AU where they're both dumb kids having dumb kid crushes" I just, see nothing there. I don't even see anything there platonically. Like, legitimately—for the fic I'm working on, I've been trying to figure out what kind of dynamic/interactions they'd have beyond just "Dipper scowls at Bill a lot" and even on that level I've been struggling to think of something compelling between them. I look back on the fact that for a good few years billdip was the ship in the fandom and I go, "why? where's the meat? what do they do for each other?"

I'm forced to imagine that the ship must have been based on some combination of "fandoms naturally want to ship the everyman main character with the charismatic fun villain," "a bunch of teens with crushes on Bill were using Dipper as their self-insert stand-in," and "people assumed Bill wasn't lying when he said Dipper impressed him and didn't start revising that opinion until we got to see firsthand that he uses lines like that on everybody." It feels really uncharitable of me to the shippers to assume that their OTP is founded entirely on statistically average fandom trends and character misinterpretations rather than, like, y'know, traits actually present in the characters, so I'm taking it on faith that there's probably more to it than that and I just don't see it because it just ain't my jam.

When I do try to speculate harder on "how would I get them to interact with each other in a compelling way, like, just in a platonic sense?" my brain starts going "well, dipper's a nerd who's into the paranormal, he wants to know about mysterious things? maybe he's fascinated with bill as a mysterious thing? and maybe... idk, why would bill give a hoot about dipper—maybe bill takes advantage of that fascination, tempts him with more information, maybe he's amused by Dipper's curiosity about weird things—?" and that's usually about the point where I go "this is just, the way Bill and Ford met. This is the watered-down junior version of Bill and Ford's first few weeks." In trying to figure out what the heck Bill and Dipper would even talk about I keep accidentally recreating a less interesting version of Bill and Ford's dynamic.

I want and need Bill and Dipper to have an interesting character dynamic in this fic so being unable to come up with something that personally compels me has been actively frustrating me lmfao, but it does serve to illustrate my main point here: man, billdip does nothing for me so hard that I can't even see them platonically interacting.

[keiteiken]

SHIPPING INFO. answer the following for your muse(s) so people know how shipping works on your blog.

What’s your OTP for your Muse(s)?

itafushi canon asf 😩 i love love love them

What are you willing to RP when it comes to shipping?

yūji is obviously a minor so... 👀 nothing freaky. we keep it pretty pg17 here. first romance is my peaceful bread and butter tho.

How large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable?

obviously not with adults. yūji being -18 i will only ship other muses his age up to 17.

Are you selective when shipping?

a bit. i definitely prefer to ship with someone i have good friendship chemistry with, bc i love sending art inspo and i yaps a lot. i love matching hype energy too.

How far do steamy moments have to go before they’re considered NSFW?

I won't be writing any on this blog lol

Who are other muses you ship your muse with?

don't look at me: itakugi and itamaki

Does one have to ask to ship with you?

please do, and please also make it known if you don't want to ship! if i feel chill enough with you 100% i'm just as comfortable shipping

Are you multiship?

yes! each writer has a different interpretation of a muse and i love exploring that. no exclusives yet but i am willing and open

Are you ship obsessed or ship more-or-less?

boooth, most of the relationships i have are familial bonds like with @koseigu's sukuna and @brazenlystrong's gojo. i adore writing those kinds of ships just as much as i do romantic ones. these two are 100% yūji's brother/uncle-dad and adopted dad 😩

What is your favorite ship in your current fandom?

refer to question one :3

Finally, how does one ship with you?

come talk to meeee! i promise i bite affectionately. but seriously no need to be shy with me at all haha. i'm so puppy coded, ask literally any of my moots 😂😂

tagged by : @koseigu ♥️

♡︎tagging : you and you and her and you

[grimmusings]

♢ Bill Weasley (25+) ⭒ Harry Potter ⭒ Michael Fassbender ♢

Bill Weasley is a canon character from Harry Potter, and his portrayal is largely a mix of headcanons, book, and movie lore. Unless writing with a Fleur muse, they may have dated but did not marry. He still uses Shell Cottage as a safehouse during the war. All details vary based on verse, and I'm happy to write him into crossovers or AUs.

♢ wanted connections: This is by no means a comprehensive list, and I can roll with most muses as far as basic interactions. I'm happy to ship Bill with other Harry Potter characters and OCs/fandom crossovers based on chemistry, but unless they're on my OTP list, they need plotting and interaction first. There is never any pressure to ship with me, even if they're on my list.

⭒ OTPs: Fleur Delacour, Nymphadora Tonks ⭒ Family: All the Weasleys! We love Brother!Bill. Since Bill is not with Fleur in every verse, please run any canon or OC children by me in advance. ⭒ Other: Any HP muses, werewolf muses from other lore

♢ verses: ⭒ post!hogwarts: Following his graduation from Hogwarts, Bill works as a Cursebreaker for Gringotts bank and fights in the battle of Hogwarts against Voldemort.

Note: Bill and the writer would like to register their protest against She Who Must Not Be Named and her notably transphobic ideology by injecting as much queerness and diversity as possible into this fandom.

[everharrt]

SHIPPING INFO // ANSWER THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR MUSES SO PEOPLE KNOW HOW SHIPPING WORKS ON YOUR BLOG

WHAT IS YOUR OTP FOR YOUR CHARACTER(S)?

In his most original creation, 10 years ago, Esmé was attached to a witch named Alice. He was charged with protecting her and his soul was bonded with hers. He fell deeply in love with her. I will always have a soft place in my heart for that ship, and if Alice's writer is out there somewhere I wish them nothing but happy days and to know I think about those two so very often.

As for presently - I only have 2 ships established on Esmé currently and I am deeply adoring both of them.

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE?

This will always be on a case-by-case scenario. Esmé is 35 minimum in his canon, pending younger for verses. In canon the most I would be comfortable would be perhaps 10 years? I feel as if a fresh twenty year old has a lot to learn and can too easily be exploited by older partners, so I'd like to steer away from inciting any of that dynamic or presentation. I can easily see him being involved with someone older than he is, however. There's not really a limit upward from 35. But again, it's all case-by-case, depending on the muses involved and the dynamic.

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING?

I can be. Mostly I look for chemistry with the muses and chemistry writing. We don't have to know each other intimately out of character --- the aforementioned mun who wrote Alice and I did not speak much out of character aside from dynamics on the occasion (things that reminded us of the muses) but we gelled very well with how we wrote and the chemistry was there. It really comes down to writing styles and interest in the ship itself. If one side is giving more than the other and it's obvious that they aren't really interested, it's easy to lose the feel in general.

WHO ARE OTHER CHARACTERS YOU SHIP YOUR CHARACTER WITH?

I'm open to anything, mostly. No taboo topics, nothing squicky, and Esmé is a bit pickier with his partners / who he has interest in but if all of the right boxes are checked I'll give it a whirl.

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU?

All you have to say is "I ship this, do you?" I don't require much more, and a lot of people are shy or misread things. Just for clarification, sure. And if I don't see the ship that doesn't mean I won't in the future - it just likely means we need to write or discuss the dynamic more.

ARE YOU SHIP-OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS?

I won't say obsessed but I'm tired of tiptoeing and pretending I'm not interested in ships of all kinds. Character relationships are what drive our development at the end of the day. So I'd say in-between, ship favorable.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM?

I'm not in any particular fandom but some favorite ships are: Spike and Julia from Cowboy Bebop, Kerrigan and Raynor from Starcraft, Ana Amari and Reinhardt from Overwatch, Fiona and Sean from Shameless, Wolfgang and Kala from Sense8.

FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU?

Establish a dynamic of some sort and ask.

I stole this! Feel free to steal it and tag me if you'd like.

[katherinehoughtoncastle47]

8.07 - THE LAST SEDUCTION

[osunism]

07DEC2019 04:00 AM JST

🪧 Summary: Satoru comes home from work and just wants to be in the arms of his goddess for a while. 🔞 Rating: E for Everyone ⚠️ Be Advised: Angst [just a smidge] and fluff. 💋 Pairing[s]: Satoru x Sundari [🧿👹]

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

It's late when Satoru drags the entirety of his exhausted frame through his apartment door, kicking off his shoes with none of the characteristic grace he displays in his sorcery. To say that he is exhausted is an understatement. Cleaning up all the messes left in Kenjaku and Sukuna's wake has taken nearly all of his free time. For once, the Strongest just wants to shut his eyes and be actually dead to the world for a few hours. Maybe a few days, fuck.

He leaves his phone on the kitchen counter, not bothering to charge it. It died over an hour ago, and honestly if he never has to take another fucking call it'll be too soon. What a goddamn mess it's all been.

He makes his way to his bedroom, aware that he needs to get ahold of himself before he wakes Sundari up. There's nothing Sundari hates more than being jostled from sleep and Satoru has definitely had to weather her muzzy curses more than a few times after late night missions. He creeps into the bedroom, noting that Sundari is fast asleep as evident from the nest of pink curls spilling out from under the covers. Satoru takes a moment and breathes.

Almost a year ago, Sundari tumbled into his life, and he's never been happier. She's grouchy, has a bottomless pit for a stomach, and throws haymakers that he's pretty sure could crack the world in two, and she swears like a sailor. She's also the most beautiful, terrifying, and powerful sorceress he's ever met.

And why not? Sukuna's her fucking father. Talk about an ironic twist of fate.

Satoru takes his time, reaching down to brush a few of those blushed curls from her face. All four of her eyes are shut, and he can make out the rapid twitches of her eye movements beneath the skin. Sometimes the Six Eyes really does too much, but he's never seen the world any other way. He can't imagine not memorizing every vein, every sinew, every cracked bone, every pore...he can focus his sight and even see the brightness of her soul.

He wouldn't trade his view for anything.

Satoru reluctantly leaves the bedside, stripping off his clothes as he heads to the bathroom. Over the years, he's learned that the quietest place on earth outside of his own innate domain is under a hot shower. He washes away the weeks of aches and pains, the scent of curses and jujutsu, and sighs as he presses his palm against the cold, slick tiles and lets the water stream over his head and down his back. He rolls the tension from his neck and shoulders, groaning in relief.

Thirty.

After the shower, Satoru dries off, and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His own Six Eyes stare back at him. His body feels the same, though he has an immeasurable number of additional scars, courtesy of Sundari's father and his lethal domain. He runs his fingertips over the pink scar tissue left in the wake of his admittedly sloppy RCT job. The scars are badges of honor, but he thinks about how that battle ended and his heart shudders.

Thirty.

Satoru finally crawls into bed, and right on cue, Sundari grumbles. Still, even as she sleepily fusses at having been disturbed, she is reaching for him instinctively. Satoru lets himself be enfolded in all four of her arms and buries his face in her curls, inhaling deeply. She smells earthy and spicy and warm, and he feels his entire body relax in her embrace, boneless and safe.

"Happy birthday," Sundari mumbles into his throat, pressing a lazy kiss on his skin. She smiles when his voice hums in response.

"No song?" He murmurs, just as sleepy. Sundari doesn't even have the energy to nip at him, but her tongue traces a soft and gentle circle over the source of his voice, making his throat bob in a swallow.

What follows is a sleepy, rumbling rendition of the traditional birthday song. Sundari punctuates Satoru's name in the lyrics with a lazy swat to his ass, making him laugh.

"Happy birthday to you~" Sundari concludes in a sleepy murmur struggling to be a melody, having not moved from her position buried in his neck and chest.

Satoru nuzzles her, grinning. It's the best version of the song as far as he's concerned.

"I love you, Bug," he says softly.

"Love you too, old man," Sundari mumbles back, and drifts off to the sound of Satoru's affronted gasp.

© 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.

[oncforallxbroccoli]

SHIPPING INFO // ANSWER THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR MUSES SO PEOPLE KNOW HOW SHIPPING WORKS ON YOUR BLOG.

WHAT IS YOUR OTP FOR YOUR CHARACTER(S)?

bakudeku, izuocha, tododeku, kamideku, rodydeku, dekuxmelissa, shindeku, etc.. (Basically, I can and will ship Izuku with anyone that he has, or can have, chemistry with. I'm multi-shipping trash.)

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE?

I'm chill with shipping most ships... exception being any minor with an adult.

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING?

Yes and no? It depends on whether Izuku has chemistry with them. (Which, given its Izuku, there is a good chance he will.)

WHO ARE OTHER CHARACTERS YOU SHIP YOUR CHARACTER WITH?

In MHA;; I will basically ship Izuku with anyone he has chemistry with who is around his age.

And I don't really have any crossover ships with Izuku right now. But ngl Izuku and Yuji Itadori (JJK) or Izuku and Tanjiro (DS) would be two of the purest and cutest ships imaginable regardless if they are platonic or romantic.

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU?

Yes, please. Do not try and force ships to happen, especially if we haven't talked OOC at all. Like I'm very much a "go with the flow" writer and let the muse chemistry happen naturally. But I would still like some sort of heads up about a potential ship happening.

ARE YOU SHIP-OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS?

I wouldn't say I'm "ship-obsessed," like I'm more than happy to write platonic scenarios with Izuku (things with teachers/mentors, training/sparring, etc.

But saying that.. this is Izuku, and he has a large bias for a certain explody blond. (*coughs*"kacchanandeveryoneelse"*coughs*)

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM?

My favorite ship... in MHA at least (and not Izuku related) ... would be erasermic.

FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU?

Just message me OOC. We've never interacted? Message me. We have interacted, and our muses get along? Great. Message me.

Tagged by: @explodcor

Tagging: whoever wants to do this.

[grimulf-of-the-wilderness]

SHIPPERS GONNA SHIP -or not

SHIPPING INFO. answer the following for your muse(s) so people know how shipping works on your blog.

what’s your OTP for your muse(s)?

I do not have one and when I created Grim that was the last thing on my mind. Ironically it was ONE of the first questions I was asked too.

I have learned to NOT have high hopes for GrimShips. I think this will be the one and only muse that I have written for that will have many friends and minimal lovers. He's flirt tho' he tries. HA.

what are you willing to RP when it comes to shipping?

I adore writing romantical threads, fluff, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers with the right writing partner, little bit of angst -not too much. Even friends with benefits I'd be down to write as well. It's lovely when things happen between muses organically but I'm not opposed to pre-plotted ship scenarios but that depends entirely upon the rapport between me and my writing partner.

Also I throw Grim everywhere. I feel like Genshin RP on tumblr is kinda ded or worse anti-hilichurl so Grim is not locked into Genshin-only ships. I toss him into crossovers more often than not.

Not into infidelity, pregnancies, icsts, non-con or age play or cest. I politely pass on the ol' 'my muse is a virgin scenario' too. Grims bio contains more deets for hard passes in his NSFW section if you're reallly curious otherwise just ask me.

how large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable?

Both muses have to be adults. No minor muses or muns. Period.

Tech Grim is 500+ years old. I picture him being a twenty-something year old when the cataclysm happened and he was cursed. He ages super slow, even his hilichurlian evolvement is stalled. SoooO, hes a grumpy old man!

are you selective when shipping?

Chemistry is crucial on the dash or in the thread.

It's nice when you have a connection between muns BUT I have done ships without that, even though it's a bit more risky and things can flop for one reason or another and you just wasted ALL of your time. I prefer to have a good ooc banter with a partner I'd be down to ship with, it is more comfortable that way and the open line of communication is valuable to have.

IF I am shipping with you/yr muse YOU are not 'bothering me' when you send asks, Dm's, brain dumps about the ship. Or even just chit-chatting about it and proposing what IF situations.

I do prefer a ship with someone who matches my energy, If I'm putting in the effort are they? Am I giving their blog, muse and storyline so much of my attention and they are giving me nothing or worse --> half-assed? That one-sided feeling can sink a ship really fast for me.

The only time I get truly 'selective' or discerning is if I smell the crazy on you. If I see you becoming possessive and like HOARDING my muse away from other writers, or jealous of my muse or someone else's muse, I will shut that shit down fast. I have experienced my share of crazy RP-ers and I can tell you some horror stories.

how far do steamy moments have to go before they’re considered NSFW?

Because Grim is what he is the moment he kisses someone it's getting tagged as NSFW.

He's a MONSTER not everyone wants to see him giving some muse the tongue ~

If a conversation veers towards a mature topic it gets tagged.

does one have to ask to ship with you?

Not necessarily. Sometimes it JUST happens on its own.

And you can always ask if you're really curious to know 'would Grim be attracted to my muse?' or 'would Grim be romatical towards my muse?' and I can let you know if there's a shot or if he would be uninterested before you get too far and invested.

how often do you like to ship?

I love shipping but Grim seems to be the collector of friendships so there's that.

0 romantic ships atm.

are you multiship?

Yes, I tend to view ships separately. Each thread is in its own realm. Nothing is connected, unless it's plotted out between ALL muns involved and ngl thats not my fav thing to do There is too much leeway for a disaster to happen.

are you ship obsessed or ship more-or-less?

I would not call myself ship obsessed at this point.

I Dooo love me a good ship and I can become excited for things to bloom. But I think, at this point I am more like connections obsessed for Grim because his blog is so NEW and getting a new RP partner to work with is FAR more thrilling to me at this stage.

what is your favorite ship in your current fandom?

One word. CAPITANO. That is all.

--I feel sorry for that one rp partner I work with having to put up with my bs. shhh they prolly will not see this. heh.

finally, how does one ship with you?

Jump in and write with me!

Grim may look intimidating but he's a goofball and has a good heart despite looking like a murder beast. Ask me, chit chat. Break the ice or take a risk and just dive into a thread, see if theres even a good click between our muses beforehand.

Tagged by: i stole it >=]

Tagging: ANYONE who would like to do this. I read @piousolus 's reply and thought to myself ehhhhhh you know what I need to do dis for Grim.

[blastintriumph]

SHIPPING INFO // ANSWER THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR MUSES SO PEOPLE KNOW HOW SHIPPING WORKS ON YOUR BLOG.

WHAT IS YOUR OTP FOR YOUR CHARACTER(S)?

i'll only answer for katsuki here since this is a single muse blog lol and well it's katsuki/izuku

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE?

at his current age, anything more than 2-3ish years

HOW FAR DO STEAMY MOMENTS HAVE TO GO BEFORE THEY ARE CONSIDERED NSFT?

i don't write nsfw with katsuki, so i guess the limit would be more than kissing? basically think anything that's only acceptable in a pg-13 movie and that's as far as it will be.

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING?

kinda. i think katsuki is tough to ship with and i enjoy slow burns, but i also really love ships. ultimately it comes down to compatibility/chemistry

WHO ARE OTHER CHARACTERS YOU SHIP YOUR CHARACTER WITH?

i mean within the rp realm, i think any of katsuki's classmates/class b/ocs and characters in his age group would be viable so long as the writers and characters click. personally, within the context of the series, i also really like to ship katsuki with shouto and ochako. i'm not a super picky person though so honestly if someone were to explain to me what they see in a ship or i see cute art i'd probably like it!

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU?

for someone's muse to have a crush on him? nah. maybe just let me know, but i'd never say no to that. for like legit shipping and building a plot and all that well... obviously lol i think it'd be hard to otherwise?

ARE YOU SHIP-OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS?

i can live without it but i do enjoy it a lot so :3

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM?

my blood bleeds green and orange

FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU?

just ask tbh. i know we all a lil shy here but fr just ask and throw ur ideas at me

tagged by: @vartouhix tagging: @celesticlnstcrs @ingxnium @kimuromou @contemptui @wishmcker & whoever else wants to do this!!