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sttoru · 1 year

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𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 . . .

⟣ sypnosis. you’re fed up with your rich abusive husband and finally decide to hire a skilled assassin to get rid of him in secrecy. one night when you’re left alone in your penthouse, you invite the assassin named toji over to give him the money he’s demanded to accept the job. things turn for the worse when your husband comes home early that day and catches toji and you together.

⟣ note. eeek. never thought i’d be here to write this out but i did and it turned pretty detailed if i must say. hope u all enjoy and appreciate my hard work. feedback / comments are greatly appreciated ! if the fic does well, i can make an alternative ending that’s smutty :3 wc: 7.4k

⟣ tags. toji fushiguro x female reader. angst, comfort. themes include abuse. reader is in an abusive + toxic relationship with her husband. implied age gap with husband. implied size difference with toji. mentions of guns + blood + m.urder. knifes.

“what is a successful marriage?”

that is one of the many questions that keep you up at night. you’ve laid awake for hours on end ever since you’ve married your husband, in search for reasonable answers. you’ve got many of them sorted out, however that specific question is one left unanswered.

it is very subjective—many can vary about the concrete answer. but one thing you know for sure is that your marriage is the exact opposite of what ‘successful’ means.

you were so full of yourself. you didn’t realise that your pride would also be your downfall one day; you’d constantly brag about having a rich husband who gets you everything you wanted. you were too blinded by love—or actually—by his money to notice the real him. the real, twisted and manipulative face of the man you were determined to marry.

his name was daisuke. from the yamamoto family. a family known in japan for its generational wealth and the many buildings and famous corporations it owns. you’ve worked at one of those companies and had met daisuke whilst he was on a visit. you’ve heard about his image by the public; sweet, caring and apparently wouldn’t hurt a fly.

unfortunately, the true him matched none of those descriptions. the true him only you—his wife—came face to face with at your shared home. you remember when it started. when daisuke began to turn into a nasty, abusive man whose anger is never restrainable.

your dating years were nothing but a dream. or, maybe you were too gullible to notice the signs and red flags your then boyfriend was showing. his love bombing, the manipulation, the gaslighting—you didn’t know better. if you complained about a minor thing that he had done, daisuke would apologise by sending you lots of money and presents. toxic, isn’t it?

but you didn’t care. you were happy and content with that being your compensation. the money was the evildoer that made you lose all your morals. the teenage you who said that you’ll never put up with a man’s disrespect was long forgotten.

even now, 4 years later, you put up with his verbal and physical abuse just to continue staying in that big mansion you live in. to continue getting everything paid for you. to continue getting lots of money by doing nothing but be his wife—his trophy wife, at this point.

it’s an easy life; ‘all i have to do is get through his abuse and it’ll be just fine’, you tell yourself that every night. it’s the only thing keeping you sane—a coping mechanism of some kind.

however lately, daisuke’s never skipped a day without being abusive towards you. he’d enter your home yelling and shouting, complains about the tiniest speck of dust in the house (which is not even your fault, it’s the maids’), reminds you how worthless you are in his eyes and the list goes on. he sometimes gets physical and throws stuff at you, causing multiple bruises and cuts to appear on your body after he’s done having his daily tantrum.

he might even kill you one day. it’s scary to think about; if he would, he easily could. he could one day just decide to be done with you and stick a knife in your body, leave you to bleed out and then order one of his men to get rid of your corpse. just like his family does to whoever stands in their way of success. you don’t want to discover how many people your husband has killed.

daisuke can easily get away with murder after all—the law is nothing but a thing to exist to keep the common citizens in the government’s control. to the rich, it’s like those rules don’t exist. court? justice? the so called independent judge? nothing money can’t buy. after all, money is power. money is innocence.

after four years of sticking with that rich man, you were getting tired. you were staying with him for his wealth, but was it actually worth it? besides, if daisuke hates you so much, why wouldn’t he divorce you instead? you don’t have anything going for you. except for your looks and youth, probably. that’s the main reason why daisuke coaxed you into marrying him—to show you off during events or parties. a complete and utter trophy wife you are.

you’ve been going to sketchy bars lately to let off some steam. you weren’t even there to drink alcohol. the sole reason for attending pubs was to forget about your own situation. you’d get weird stares since you’re always alone, sitting in that one spot in the far corner, no one wanting to come up to you because of that gloomy aura you’re emitting. and because you’re always dressed modestly from head to toe—not an ounce of skin showing. it was all the opposite of what most people would normally look and act like in bars.

‘what is normal?’ also a subjective question. society has turned it into an objective one, however.

“good day, miss.” a deep voice had interrupted your thoughts one day whilst you were doing your usual routine; sit near the bar counter, get a non-alcoholic drink, stare at the table for hours and question your purpose in life before going home to the reason of your problems.

a man, probably in his late 30’s or early 40’s, sat next to you on an available stool. he nonchalantly ordered a drink before making small talk. it was a nice change of pace for some reason. you had asked him his name. it was shiu.

that stranger had kept you company for hours until a call from your husband made you snap back to reality; you had to be home as soon as possible. judging by daisuke’s tone, you were in big trouble.

you remember how shiu outed his concern for your well-being by pointing out the bruises on your arm which you didn’t even know were showing.

you dismissed his worries with a fake smile and told him it was nothing, quickly pulling your sleeve back down. shiu seemed to let the topic go, but before parting ways with you, he handed you his business card. you didn’t know what it was for—what kind of services he could offer;

“call that number if you need someone to get rid of your problems,” was all you got before the mysterious man walked away. you couldn’t shake off the emphasis on the word ‘rid’. it sent a shiver down your spine.

that sentence of shiu’s echoed in your ears as tears streamed down your cheek after you arrived home. you were in your personal bathroom, hands shaking as you put a bag of ice on your fresh bruise, the small red and blue-ish area stinging. once again—you couldn’t avoid your husband’s wrath.

after having slept for a mere two hours that day in your bathtub, you’ve awoken to an empty house. daisuke was gone for work. luckily for you.

you hastily grabbed the business card in your purse and dialled the number. staring at the card, you’d think it was some kind of house cleaning service. that’s the kind of vibe it gave. little did you know that it was far from that.

a few rings later and you heard the same familiar deep voice in your ear; “good morning. with shiu kong.”

your heart was beating in your throat as you couldn’t gather the right words to say. maybe it was due to the little voice in the back of your head that warned you for something—you couldn’t pinpoint what the specific cause was just yet.

you answered eventually, “hi. uhm, you said i could call this number if i needed someone to get rid of my problems.” you pause and inhale deeply, “wh-what if my problem was.. a person? would you…” your voice trailed off, but the implication could not be missed by anyone if they heard the tone you used.

shiu seemed to recognise your voice, though stayed silent for a second or two at your request. when he replied, it sounded like he had expected you to ask him this—like he’s heard this many times before; “certainly.”

that’s when you realised what you’ve gotten yourself involved with. you were sweating and you had trouble breathing as you realised that.. this was your chance. to get rid of that man called your husband. your abuser.

you had decided to take on that opportunity and that’s how you ended up getting a phone call from an anonymous number right after your talk with shiu. the agent hadn’t told you anything other than the name of the person who’d contact you; ‘toji’, and said that he’d help you further.

you stared at the ‘no caller ID’ on your screen. this was him: the person who’d help you get rid of your problem. you gulped before sliding your thumb across your mobile to answer the call.

“hi, good m—”

“location.”

the husky male voice cut through your introduction and got straight to the point. your lips were parted to answer the man whom you guessed was ‘toji’, but your breath got caught in your throat for a second. do you just randomly give your address to a stranger? was that okay to do? you didn’t know—no, you didn’t care. if you got killed in the process or something similar, that’d be way better than to live another day in hell with your husband.

you dropped your address after some hesitation and toji just added a quick, ‘be there in an hour or so,’ before hanging up on you.

fast forward to 50 minutes later and you were pacing back and forth in your living room, trying to breathe properly and not have a second panic attack. daisuke wouldn’t be home until noon, so at least he won’t see whoever will enter your mansion in a few minutes. and if there’s a possibility that you get killed by this stranger, you’re sure that your husband would be more than happy that the job was done for him.

a loud tune. the sound of your doorbell. normally, you’d find the short melody relaxing, but now it sounded like something out of a nightmare. you made your way to your intercom and looked at the small screen—seeing a tall black-haired man with a compressed shirt and beige baggy pants standing near the gates. that must be toji—the man you talked to an hour ago.

he must be confident in his abilities since he didn’t cover up his identity at all when coming all the way over here.

you press a button and the gates open with a buzz. toji disappears from the little screen as he enters your front yard. the screen fades to black and you’re left alone with a sense of dread in your stomach. that only lasted for a couple seconds since the doorbell of your front door goes off.

“c-coming!” your voice cracks. you make your way over to the entrance of your home and breathe in. you open the doors slightly, peeking through the gap at the tall, intimidating man standing before you.

toji was kicking a rock to the side whilst waiting and looked up when you opened the doors. he seemed laidback, as if this was nothing but child’s play to him, “took ya long enough.”

you were appalled as toji simply barged into your home like he owned it. his strong, masculine cologne wafted through the air as he passed you by without giving you a second to process his intrusion.

your shaky eyes followed his bulky figure—the muscles that bulged through his shirt, which tensed every now and then. his aura was no joke either; it was horrifying to someone whom didn’t even know who he was or what he exactly did for a living.

“phewww,” the dark-haired man let out a low whistle as his eyes scanned the interior of the entrance hall, shamelessly touching a few expensive looking decorations, inspecting the material, “pretty damn rich, ain’t ya? this y’r daddy’s money?”

you shake your head and close the door behind you, staying there in case you needed to run. you are still wary of this situation, even when you had been the one that started this all.

“h-husband’s.” your voice was a quiet whisper. toji raised an eyebrow and turned his attention towards you. his eyes scanned you from head to toe. you looked pretty young. a fragile little thing, is how he described you in his head.

“husband? you?” toji chuckles dryly, before stepping closer to you, his body towering over yours. he lowers his head and stares at you from up close, his hands in his pockets whilst wordlessly looking at you.

you swallowed a bit of saliva and glanced back at the big man whom belittled you twice in just a couple seconds. you fumbled with the sleeve of your hoodie as the silence grew deafening—the only sound being your own soft yet shallow breathing.

your fingers scratched at the bruises under the fabric of your clothes, causing the cloth to slightly crinkle and glide up a few centrimeters with each rub before coming back down once your fingers stop. the instant you start touching those bruises, the itching just wouldn’t stop.

toji noticed this and looked down at your arm. his eyes caught a small glimpse of a wound on your wrist, but he didn’t seem to comment on it. with a sniff, he straightened his back and cocked his head to the right—face cold again as he glared at you;

“do ya know what kinda stuff i do?” his voice was booming, the deepness to it making you shiver. you press your lips together and search for answer, only to find nothing;

“n-no, i mean—“ your itching increases the more nervous you felt, “th-the man who directed me to you said you’d explain things further. all i know is that you can get rid of uhm— a problem of mine.”

toji scoffs and mutters something incomprehensible under his breath about his ‘stupid agent letting him do all the work’ before turning around. he lazily walks ahead as if he had all the time he needed in the world. once arrived in your living room, the man plops down on your couch, spreads his legs and leans back against the cushions. he really acted like he owns this place.

“i’m not the type to beat around the bush, little lady,” toji starts whilst his eyes follow you as you nervously sat on the chair next to the sofa, “so i’m gonna get straight into it. and if ya back down after this or get too scared ‘n call the cops, unfortunately, y’r pretty ass gotta go.”

toji swipes a thumb across his neck to indicate what that latter meant; killed. you’re gonna get killed if you learn his real identity and decide to expose it to anyone, especially the police. you blinked your tears away whilst thinking of that possibility and shook your head, putting on a determined face. you need to take responsibilities for your actions. you were the one who started this.

“all right. i promise that i won’t back down.” you reply after getting yourself together. toji’s eyes had left yours for a second to look around the grand living room—as if inspecting for something—before settling back on you. he quickly exhales through his nose; leaning his head on his hand while his piercing gaze burned holes in your skin,

“i’m an assassin.” toji says in a bored tone. he’s done this little introduction to his job so many times before to clients who hire him in for the first time, “i kill people in exchange for money. so, ya basically hired me to get rid of someone ‘nd i’m here to collect the money and information i need to finish the job. got that?”

there it was. the confirmation you needed and got without an ounce of hesitation coming from the man in front of you. you had expected this outcome (from the many you created in your head), of course, thus you weren’t that surprised. yet the fact that you actually have a hitman in your house, someone who can easily kill your husband, still makes you nervous.

“yes, thank you.” you eventually replied and nodded, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. you looked up at toji and this time it wasn’t in a nervous way. this time it was in a determined way. toji notices this change and the scarred corner of his lip curled into a smirk.

“how much. . . money do you want for this job?” you go straight to the point. the dark-haired man grins whilst scanning your figure up and down shamelessly, enjoying the confident look on you. it suited you better.

“depends. who is it that i gotta kill?” toji asks, using his thumb to crack his index finger. you look around as if anyone could hear you. you were sure that no one was there with you, no maids no bodyguards no husband, yet your anxiety was still at its peak.

“my husband.” you reply quietly and point at the big picture frame on the wall near the chimney. it was a picture of daisuke and you. you seemed happy there, but it was all for show. that photoshoot was simply for his benefit, “daisuke. daisuke yamamoto.”

toji raises his eyebrow and stares at the picture. he’s heard of that name before. it was mentioned many times in the articles he reads. the assassin stands up with a grunt and walks to the chimney, letting out a small hum like he was thinking about it. not about if he could get the job done—no, his pride told him he easily could—but about the amount of money he wanted to get out of this.

there was a silence before toji turns around on his heels and walks over to the couch again, plopping down on the soft cushions whilst propping his feet on the table in front of him, “around seven million yen will do.”

that was about 50.000 dollars.

your jaw slightly dropped. it’s not like you haven’t seen nor heard of such big numbers before, it’s just that it was a little unexpected. but then again; nothing you can’t afford. with your husband’s money. the same money that ruined your life, is going to be used as a weapon to save it.

daisuke’s own money is going to be the death of him. and you’re the one to guarantee that.

“all right. i can get you that in cash.” you nod idly. your mind was clearly somewhere else—trying to remember the password to daisuke’s safe that was situated in a hidden room near his office. you recently found out that he keeps most cash, gold and other valuable pieces there, away from your sight. he was bad at hiding that fact from you, however.

one night, he came home drunk and it ended up with him confessing to you that he ‘won’t ever let a gold digger like you near his money again’ and proceeded to spill that he ‘has a secret safe which you won’t ever get your hands on’. eventually, you did. after a bit of snooping around, you easily found the hidden room behind a bookcase.

those fat stacks of money in there definitely add up to more than seven million yen. you’re sure of it. the only obstacle in your way is gathering that money. most of the time, daisuke locks his office before leaving home—or if he doesn’t—his maids will be in there cleaning.

“it will take me some time, but…” your voice trails off as a pensive look falls on your face. you bite your bottom lip and try to figure out something—a plan. toji catches your attention again by letting out a deep sigh. he dismissively waves your worries away with one hand;

“tha’s fine, lady. i need some time to prepare for this job too—it ain’t an easy one after all.” the assassin comments whilst scratching the scar near his lips, also seemingly deep in thought about his own plan, “bet he got lots of guards on his ass, too. tch.”

there was another thought in the back of toji’s mind that bothered him. normally, he’d be pissed off if his client didn’t prepare any kind of money beforehand. maybe some compensation bills, or at least a little thing he can have before they give him the full amount.

but with you, he seems not to mind. he wouldn’t be mad if he left this place empty handed for the time being. maybe he actually feels pity for your situation. or was it something else?

toji scoffs at his wandering mind and inwardly tells himself to shut up about such dumb stuff. getting his money is what’s most important to him. if you die afterwards, he wouldn’t care.

that’s what he tells himself.

“anyways. you should gimme all ya know about him. y’re his wife, right? ya should know his routine ‘n stuff that i can work with.” toji speaks up after the ten seconds of silence. you nod at his question—he wanted every single piece of information about your husband, so you’ll give him everything. no details excluded.

you pull out your phone and show toji pictures you took from daisuke’s computer in secrecy. pictures of his daily schedule for the upcoming month. your prior intention by taking those was to know when to be back home or when to avoid him, but they could be useful for this as well.

you continue to explain when and where daisuke holds his breaks, where his main office is located, the bodyguards that accompany him every day and when they leave him alone— all the information you gathered.

toji can’t help but be amazed by your memory. and the fact that you can recall everything, small or big, about your husband. it certainly did make his job easier; now he doesn’t have to pry out more hints on daisuke himself.

of course, you had your reasons for knowing all the miniscule facts about daisuke. it’s how you managed to survive those four years of marriage.

“good. tha’s enough.” toji nods and stands up with a grunt, stretching his arms—the muscles retracting. you couldn’t help but stare at them; he must have gone through a lot of training to become an assassin. a skilled one at that.

“before i go,” toji continues as he walks past you without looking back, heading straight for the exit of the living room, “you should delete all cctv footage that ya got going on ‘round here. i’ll take care of further evidence, yeah?”

toji moves his index finger in a circle, pointing at all corners in the house. he doesn’t want to risk anything, “i’ll call ya once i get things sorted out. then i’ll get to work when ya hand me the money.”

you nod and make a mental note for yourself to do that immediately once toji’s gone. you still had an hour or two before your husband would return. you don’t think he checks the cctv footage often (otherwise he’d have caught you sneaking into his office before), but it’ll be a big problem if he actually does and sees a random man in his home.

“will do. thank you.” you reply to toji and get up to politely see him out of your house. that’s when the realisation kicked in; your husband will be killed by this man right here in front of you. goosebumps appeared on your skin—not from fright. but from… happiness?

this stranger will end years of torment for you. yes, it’s his job. he’ll probably disappear after he’s got the money and completed your request, and yet, you can’t help but be extremely thankful.

without thinking, you reach out and grab onto toji’s wrist to stop him from moving. the assassin doesn’t stiff or tense up by this sudden touch. in fact, he’s already sensed it coming and allowed it.

toji’s actually more surprised by the fact that his mind and body allowed you to touch him. if it were anyone else, he’d probably have avoided their touch, broken their hand or worse—cut it off.

he moves his head to the side and looks at you from his peripherals, though not fully turning to you yet. he doesn’t speak up either; he’s waiting on you to go first.

your heart was somehow starting to beat even faster. you bit your lip and mentally cursed yourself out for pulling such an action; you could’ve just waited to show your gratitude through the phone.

well, either way, there was no going back now so you might as well spill your words of gratitude right this moment. you took a deep breath and parted your lips, ready to talk, but was then interrupted by your biggest nightmare.

a familiar, chilling voice. your heart drops. your body freezes.

“i knew it.”

a looming figure stood near the entrace to the living room. you recognised him instantly, as did your body, which went into an almost paralysed state. your mouth went dry, your hands started shaking and your eyes widened to the point you weren’t blinking anymore.

your husband, daisuke, appeared out of thin air in front of toji and you. his gaze was solely focused on the way your fingers were curled around toji’s wrist. to top it off, he had only heard the last bits of your conversation: something about deleting cctv and money. his brain hadn’t heard the entirety of it—he had already taken wrong conclusions in his head.

daisuke’s veins were on the verge of popping as he took two big steps towards you—you taking two steps back in response.

“i knew you were cheating on me, you fuckin’ slut.” daisuke spits with his finger pointed right at you. he was ignoring toji’s presence for the time being. he had to deal with you first;

“i work my ass off all day and night to provide for you and this is how you repay me? by inviting a random dude over whilst i’m gone? ungrateful bitch.”

two insults in a row; one more and daisuke’s putting his hands on you. it always went like that. your mind felt like it was emptied, but you somehow felt relieved that your husband didn’t seem to know the real reason of why toji had come over. daisuke really thought you were just cheating on him, and that your words of ‘deleting all cctv footage’ was to hide that infidelity.

“it’s n-not.. like that, daisuke.” you try to soothe the raging man in front of you, but your attempts were futile. he was just three quick steps away from resorting to physical violence.

toji, in the meantime, had stepped off to the side. you were only his client, thus there was no need to interrupt a couple’s ‘dispute’. you weren’t anyone dear or special to him—just a client. a stranger that owes him money to perform a job.

the assassin leans against a nearby wall, crossing his arms over his chest whilst watching the scene unfold. it was unfortunate that toji’s target was right there in front of him; he could just kill him right now. get the job done and over with. but, once again, toji only got to work if he had the money. he only assassinates when his skills are paid for. not any earlier and not any later. those were his morals—the rules he lives by.

if toji wanted to, he could simply walk away and let you handle this stuff by yourself. daisuke accusing him of being your ‘thing on the side’ didn’t bother him. as long as your husband doesn’t know his real identity, he’s fine with whatever accusations that get thrown at him.

but, for some reason—the same reason from earlier—his body was yelling at him to stay. toji sighs; he knows he won’t ever win a battle against his heart’s needs. he decides to stay.

daisuke still doesn’t seem to care about this; all the man wants is to out his anger and accuse you of things he now has enough ‘evidence’ for. he was seething and fuming at this revelation.

“god knows what else you’ve done behind my back. i bet he isn’t the only one you’ve fucke—“

“stop! i’m not cheating,” you finally yell back. it was the first time in a while that you had gathered the strength to do so. it felt good now that you had stuck up for yourself, but you knew how this would end for you—probably on the floor. crying.

despite all of that, you decided to keep on going. it’s now or never: all you have to do is make up a lie, probably withstand daisuke’s anger again and hope it doesn’t kill you. just this once; all you have to do is survive this once and then you’ll be freed from him.

you’ll give toji his money and he will do the job for you. just a few more days—

“he’s.. he’s my friend’s husband. i invited them both over and he just arrived earlier than expected.” you quickly made up. it sounded a little convincing to you. toji’s low snicker of amusement in the back confirmed that it maybe was the opposite of convincing.

daisuke scoffs at the pathetic attempt of hiding your ‘infidelity’. with another step forward, he raises his voice a notch; “yeah, right! what a pathetic excuse.”

a second step—you were waiting on that third curse. that third swear word that would set hell loose in this house, “do you really think you can fool me with that? huh?!”

it hadn’t happened yet. you still had time to think of a plan to perhaps escape this situation. your eyes flickered over to toji, although it didn’t seem like he’d be of any help. of course, he’s just an outsider after all. a stranger whom you just met today.

assassins have already disregarded their heart emotions the moment they decided to go down the path of killing for a living. you wouldn’t even blame toji for not stepping in. you’re also but a stranger to him.

toji could see the glimmer of hope in your eyes when you looked at him. or maybe it was a call for help. a desperate look. he can’t tell the difference. though, what he can tell, is that there was a gnawing feeling in the pits of his stomach. a gut feeling that told him it’d be smart to interfere.

but there’s his rational thoughts that tell him to not get involved—to avoid any more trouble than needed. besides, what other benefits would it bring him if he did? toji doesn’t want to be seen as a hero or saviour by anyone.

his jaw clenches as the time ticks. only a couple seconds left before the cold-hearted assassin has to make a decision.

daisuke’s patience was running low. the tension was increasing and could burst at any given moment now. one wrong move and you’re done—

one wrong breath could result in the worst possible outcome.

your silence spoke volumes to daisuke. the way you held your head low, your eyes that flickered from the floor to the ceiling, your fingers that nervously fumbled with your clothes and your bottom lip that trembled unstoppably. that pissed him off.

everything about you pissed him off. daisuke didn’t see any benefits of having you around anymore. he hadn’t for the long time, however didn’t know how he’d get rid of you.

divorce? no, he’ll have to give some of his earnings to you. kick you out? a possibility, but that would ruin his reputation. blackmail? that option was now the best choice. he’s caught you with another man after all. with camera evidence.

but, daisuke wouldn’t be satisfied with that outcome. his rage was blinding him—more than usual. he has to make you learn your lesson. in a way that will have you begging for your life to be spared.

and thus, the last step was made. the deciding hands were raised—aimed for your neck. the final curse had left his lips;

“come here. i’ll show you how whores like you should be treated.”

killing intent. it was the first time you’ve seen daisuke’s gaze darken that much, his demeanour emotionless yet full of rage. you close your eyes and expect for the worse.

“tha’s enough.”

everything went blank to you. it was silent, your vision was black, your hands were above your head, your heart felt like it wasn’t beating anymore—had you met your end? had you already been murdered?

in that same instant, you could feel drops of liquid splatter on your face. a faint ringing sound in your ears—it sounded like fireworks had been set off. a loud ‘pop’ sound.

something hit the ground right after. it wasn’t your body since that someone or something landed right at your feet.

after that: utter silence.

you gathered all your strength once more and slowly opened your eyelids. your vision was a bit blurry, though the first shape you could make out was one of a man on the ground. and not just any man—it was the man whom you hated most. at your feet.

you would’ve never thought of seeing that image before. of your husband laying at your feet; both literally and figuratively. a red liquid gushed out of his head and soaked into your shoes.

a normal wife would’ve let out a blood hurling scream at the sight of her lover laying lifelessly near her. a normal wife with a healthy relationship, that is.

you did let out a scream at the sight of your husband laying lifelessly near your feet. but that wasn’t done out of panic for your husband’s life—or due to the pain you were in to see him dead.

it was purely because you hadn’t seen a corpse before.

“d-daisuke..?”

a normal wife would’ve called out her husband’s name in a futile attempt that he’d answer back. that all of it was a dream. that her beloved wasn’t dead.

your reason wasn’t anything close to that. you called out that name in hopes he wouldn’t answer back. that all of it wasn’t a dream. that your abuser was dead.

it was real. you were glad, yet extremely disturbed by the fact that there was a corpse at your feet. you didn’t want to see all of it happening—that wasn’t part of the plan.

you stumble back a bit, hands clutching onto the chair you bumped into as you did your best to avoid the gruesome scene before your eyes. you just wished someone would clean the mess as soon as possible.

it’s then that your gaze fell on the other person present in the room; the man who was standing with a gun in his hand. toji scratched his head with the barrel, cold eyes looking down at the corpse with a faintly visible disgusted expression.

the assassin clicks his tongue as he walks towards the lifeless body and puts the sole of his shoe on daisuke’s cheek as if he was stepping on a pile of dirt, moving the head back and forth to check for any possible ounce of life in there.

there was none. the soul had left its body almost instantly after that bullet went through his brain. toji sighs; this time at himself for acting irrationally, “should’ve tortured you to death for tryin’ to put y’r hands on that lady instead of givin’ you the easy way out.”

with a harsh kick to the head on the floor, toji gathers some of his saliva on his tongue before spitting on the man. doubling the disrespect; “consider yourself lucky.”

toji cocked his head to the right. that’s where he spotted you with a familiar look on your face. the expression of someone who just went through a traumatic experience. he’s seen many people react like you when facing a near death experience or when witnessing somebody die before them.

usually, he’d tell them ‘it’s normal, get used to it’ and leave it at that. this was different. it felt different with you.

“are you okay?” the words slipped out of toji’s mouth before he could hold them back. his tone was a mixture of genuine concern and confusion. the latter was due to his own state of mind at the moment.

you didn’t answer, but you put your hands on your mouth as if you were going to puke any moment now. your vision was getting blurry with tears, head spinning and body feeling numb and weird.

toji hesitates before stepping towards you. his hands reached out to hold you, though he stopped them. he’d figured you wouldn’t be comfortable with him touching you in any way or form. he just killed someone in front of you—

it’s not like you cared that it was your husband. that much was clear. you sniff and glance up at toji with such a relieved yet devastated expression that his arms instinctively wrapped around you and pulled you into his warm embrace.

it was an awkward hug since toji doesn’t really know the basics of comforting someone. he was a bit stiff, but you didn’t show any discomfort due to that fact. instead, you clung onto his body and left tear stains on his black shirt.

“shhh, shh. it’s fine. it’s okay.” toji whispers, whilst his big hands indecisively move around, trying to find a spot to rest on. one eventually lands on the back of your head whilst the other starts to slowly rub up and down your spine, “it’s over, yeah? all of it—it’s over.”

toji doesn’t have a clue about the exact details of what your life was like. why you asked him to kill your (now ex-)husband was none of his business. all he knew was that he was going to get paid for it, so he didn’t care what the reason was.

it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed the scars and bruises on your body throughout your conversation either—but that as well—was none of his business. assassins do their job without any further questions. there was no need to have personal connections or relations with their clients.

yet, toji was going against those unspoken rules once more. all because of you. for you.

“thank y—you.” your voice was weak as you speak up. it sounded hoarse and tired, though the sense of gratitude was undeniably there, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

a series of ‘thank you’s’ leave your lips whilst your body and mind were still trying to recover from the whole ordeal. toji was trying his best to keep by your side until you calmed down. that’s the least he could do—after the fact that he singlehandedly got rid of the main problem in your life.

“no need to thank me, lady.” the dark-haired man whispers, allowing you to mess up his shirt with your tears and tugs, “i did what i had to do.”

toji didn’t actually have to do what he did. he never does his job before he’s guaranteed the money. however this time, it was a different story. he did it without thinking. he had to. his body was telling him to move—and in a flash—it was done.

he tries to tell himself that it’s just him slacking off. that he isn’t possibly starting to care about another person. he shouldn’t; those complicated emotions would stand in his way. and yet. . .

“c’mere.”

toji lifts you up bridal style while you keep quivering against his shoulder. his hands had a tight grip on your body, his eyes a sharp gaze on the mess he created. with a sigh, he takes you upstairs to a random room—kicking the door open.

toji carefully puts you back on your feet and guides you to sit on the edge of the kingsized bed. he absentmindedly brushes a few strands of your hair back after wiping some more tears away from your face;

“i know it’s a lot to take in,” toji kneels down before you, looking up with an unreadable expression whilst wiping the tears from your cheeks. his warm palms make contact with your skin and it’s like you’ve forgotten all about what just happened, “but is it okay if ya stay here while i go take care of the rest? i’ll come back once i’m done.”

toji has his own ways of cleaning up after he’s done a job and most likely wants to put one of those techniques to use before any maid or guard comes to check in on the house situation. you sniffle and hiccup afterwards, trying to form a verbal response through your broken sobs, but to no avail.

you simply nod and lean into toji’s calloused hands—such rough and masculine hands—ones that were meant to protect instead of hurt you. you weren’t able to trust men after your marriage, however this one in front of you was unlike any other. even if he may not seem like it on the outside.

his touch was gentle yet firm. the pads of his thumbs swiped the wet skin under your lower eyelashes and you could’ve sworn toji’s gaze had softened for a split second before he caught himself.

he had to stand up, get rid of the mess and leave the place before he got too attached to you. the assassin cannot make such a grave mistake.

“i promise,” toji speaks up after a bit again, standing up after giving you a soft pat against your shoulder, “you’re fine. i’ll be back—ya have my word.”

there he goes; making promises he knows he probably can’t keep. ‘i’ll be back’, will he? he can’t. for your own safety. he has to treat you as just another client. none of what he did in this house could be spoken of anymore.

he slipped up this once. it needn’t to happen again. money. he does his jobs for money—when he obtains the money. he doesn’t kill his targets for the sake of others, for the protection of others.

he doesn’t kill for love.

toji wishes that all of this had never happened, because he knows that his heart will lead him back to you at the end of the day. he knows he won’t leave once he cleans up the mess downstairs. he’ll come right back to you.

and you have faith in that. you trust this stranger whom had practically saved your life with just one shot.

“i don’t know how to repay you.. thank you.” you manage to mutter through shallow breaths. you stare at the back of toji’s head as he makes his way to the door. he stops in his tracks to reply to your comment.

he stands still at the doorway and looks over his shoulder at you—the scarred corner of his lips twitching;

“prepare the money. tha’s how you can repay me.” toji replies and you don’t know if he’s joking or being serious because of that little grin on his face. a breathy chuckle follows and then the assassin disappears.

the door closes and you’re left alone in this space. left alone in the silence of the home that had treated you as its prisoner. you remember how your husband used to lock you up in your bedroom whenever you had done something to piss him off; taking away your freedom by keeping you in a room.

now it’s yours—your life is yours. you’ve fully gained your freedom back and can decide what to do for yourself. it seems like a foreign situation, a foreign world, a foreign concept; you can now actually do whatever your heart desires. without any restraints.

“what is a successful marriage?”

well, to you, it’s one with a satisfactory ending.

🏷️ : @satoruhour @squicksquak @omgeto @xmintpie @cursingtoji @obsidiannero @elmoees @x1aosg1rl @fushironi @ceceher @ajax1230 @toji-is-hot @jayugh @rinshoe @sligerate @satoryaa @luveblad3 @happystrawberrytyrant @ezraiix

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #toji x you #jjk fic #jjk x y/n #toji fushiguro x reader #i tried my best :#:(…

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olderthannetfic · 4 months

Note

hi, as someone who is tragically gen Z and only ever read AO3, can I ask: what was so great about LiveJournal? Like, I know that there were fics posted there (and I've even read about the "purge", so I get why it isn't used anymore) and that it was sort of a forum-type thing. But what I don't understand, wouldn't Tumblr fill in the latter function? How was that site any different? I see a lot of people reminiscing about it and I'm confused

A big factor in LJ's greatness is timing and nostalgia.

It was genuinely great, but it wasn't quite as great as all of the Lo, shall the Golden Age ne'er come again? posts suggest.

LJ arrived at a pivotal time in the development of the internet both in terms of technical stuff and how many people had access. Many fans who are now in their thirties to fifties first discovered fandom through LJ and many were at a time in their lives when they were feeling energetic and up to making lots of new friends—and to figuring out how to make a site work for them.

I got on LJ in 2002 when it required invites. Fandom arrived in droves in 2003, first via coordinated campaigns to get invites to key people and then when LJ opened up free account creation to everyone. Back then, LJ's features sucked. It was impossible to search properly, among other things. At its height (2005-7, let's say), there was a reasonable site search, and fans had developed all sorts of community resources for finding each other.

People often remember this phase but not the early days of suckitude.

This development parallels how Tumblr used to not have that private chat feature and how a lot of fuckyeah[whatever] type tumblrs have helped curate the site and make it much more usable for fans. Fandom draining away from LJ after strikethrough also parallels people draining away from Tumblr after the purge.

There are people who talk about Tumblr the way my cohort talks about LJ...

And to the shock of no one, they are people who came of age on Tumblr, who found fandom via Tumblr, who were on Tumblr during pivotal times in their lives and ones when they had energy to make friends and figure out how a site worked.

Those same Tumblrites are now making all the same geriatric-sounding posts we LJers do about how other sites lack the required features to be good for fandom while missing that 90% of tumblr's "features" at its height (2012-2016, let's say) were actually fan-created and were basically the same as any fandom newsletter or links page or all the versions of this kind of personal curation stretching back to long before the internet existed.

What life phase you hit a site at matters.

With all of that said, no, LJ was not a forum. It was a blogging site with threaded comments.

The key point to understand is that conversation was always happening in a specific person's space. Unlike on a true forum, people were in the comments on a particular post in a journal owned by another fan. (On a forum, there's the first post in a thread, but it's still more of a communal space with less of a hierarchy.)

Overall, the LJ format can have a feeling a bit like you're over at someone's house for tea. There's more of a sense of intimacy and also behaving yourself in front of community members.

Tumblr being obscure and impossible to find anything in does give it some of the same vibe relative to Twitter, but it's still part of modern social media that tries to shove every rando into the face of every other rando.

But it wasn't just vibes: LJ also had robust privacy features where you could lock a post to this or that group of friends. You could moderate your comments section properly. Tumblr has far fewer controls to force people to behave or leave on a technical level.

The biggest thing many people miss about LJ is the threaded comments. At least by late LJ and on Dreamwidth, you can expand and collapse threads, making it far easier to deal with a massive comments section. But more than that, things are properly threaded with multiple levels of hierarchy that are all easily visible in the same place.

On Tumblr, it used to be extremely difficult to find all of the actual commentary on a post. Nowadays, it's far easier, but you still have to scroll chronologically, and multiple versions of a post with a long chain of commentary may be much more divorced from each other than what would happen in a LJ comments section.

But could we use Tumblr pretty much how we used LJ?

We could.

I do.

The key things that people tend to miss about LJ, aside from the younger and more excited version of themselves or the friends they've lost since then, are:

Heavily text-based

It may sound odd on the modern internet, but there are a lot of people whose brains don't like or handle an image-heavy site well. They were everywhere in SF book fandom. They were everywhere on the early internet. Today, they're hanging out on Dreamwidth and still going to their SF cons. They're usually not on Tumblr.

You could follow the discussion

Threaded comments help, but a lot of it is about having some place you can check for updates. It wasn't actually that easy to follow big LJ discussions unless you were subscribed to comments and reading along as things were happening instead of coming along after the entire mass of comments had been left.

The tone of the discussion is intellectual and one's enemies are "idiots", not "problematic"

All this requires is a penchant for longwindedness and an itchy blocking finger to remove anyone slinging ad hominems from the comments section.

On tumblr, it's as simple as conversations happening in the replies on a popular account and that person not tolerating suibaiting and threats.

(And make no mistake, a lot of LJ discussion was in the comments on popular accounts, not spread equally between everyone's.)

It does require that multiple people like that tone and want to engage in that way, but lots of people do want to.

These days, I interact with tumblr by checking my askbox and reading my activity page. The vast, vast majority of my posts are ones where I'm the OP, so if I block someone, they're booted from the discussion entirely.

For me... yeah, Tumblr functions almost exactly like LJ.

Also like LJ, while I'm hosting the conversation, if you hang around, you'll see the same people again and again in the comments. They may or may not also host that kind of conversation in their space, and there's a larger pool of lurkers who have some notion of which people count as regulars. Other people are watching from the shadows, enjoying or deriding the takes of the usual crowd.

People presumably do like reading my lengthy commentary or they wouldn't be here, but my tumblr wouldn't be popular like this without a healthy pool of other people who chime in regularly. It's not just that there are more people: it's that you see the same people over time. There's a bit more sense of place and community than on some parts of the internet.

So, in my opinion, the failure to just recreate LJ fandom on Tumblr was a skill issue.

Threaded comments were great, but LJ culture came from mailing lists, and mailing lists had the same issue as tumblr with the diverging threads.

We solved that back then by clipping out only the parts we wanted to respond to (you'd write "snip" around the quotation to show it was incomplete). We solved the smaller LJ issue by linking to other posts we were referencing and doing discussion link roundups. We solve it on tumblr by, again, linking to what we're talking about and even quoting multiple reblog chains in our own reblog of just one chain.

Tumblr's technical features and even general crap-ness aren't really the problem. 90s and early 00s sites regularly went down for periods of time unthinkable today.

The missing piece is people.

When one is in an active fandom with others who curate or with friends who let one know what's up, a site with imperfect features is easy to figure out and retrofit for fandom's needs. When one already feels out of touch and is between fannish passions—or at least fannish passions anyone else cares about—seeing the potential in a new site is hard.

Threaded comments are different and better.

LJ's built-in way to see everyone's blog in your own style was better. The automatic timestamps and the ease of seeing a paginated archive of an entire blog was better than tumblr's endless scroll and lack of clear date labeling. But some of that can be fixed with xkit or knowing your way around tumblr well.

A lot of it is nostalgia for the lj era and a refusal to take the time to figure out how to use tumblr in an oldschool internet way.

So by all means, people, weigh in about what made LJ great or how the culture felt at the time...

But if I see one more god damn response going "You can't have a conversation on tumblr!" in reply to my tumblr, which contains nothing but conversation, I am coming for you.

#fandom history #fandom meta

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gibbearish · 7 months

Text

so this post has been made unrebloggable now (shocker) but ive been feeling the need to address it since i saw it on my dash multiple times, so let's explore how lying on the internet works. more specifically, how blending truth, lies, and omissions to whip uninvolved people into anger works, because i think this is an excellent example and that pointing out the misinformation and the tactics used to spread it here is important, both in correcting the specific falsities but also in helping recognize similar tactics in the future.

so here we have several things that are technically true: staff has been very openly shitty to trans women for a long time and them banning predstrogen is clearly part of that, there is currently a movement regarding discussing transmisandry/transandrophobia, transmisogyny and transphobes sending transphobic asks is by far nothing new, and baeddel is/was a slur. however, among all of this are half-truths, unprovable speculation, or outright lies made to make you believe these events are originating specifically from transmascs.

firstly, the transandrophobia movement has been drastically misrepresented here in the same way it has been for the whole argument, "they're just trans MRAs" has been repeated so many times now that i'm gonna be hearing it in my dreams when i'm 80. i can understand not being willing to address the nuance of that whole discourse in one post that isn't directly focused on that, i'm certainly not, but in this example it's not unwillingness to address a complicated topic, it's a deliberate misrepresentation to frame one side of the discussion as The Evil Bad Ones That Can't Be Trusted. additionally, this post IS about that discourse and is just pretending it isn't to mislead a wider audience, so refusing to address it at all beyond this brief mention is deliberately misleading people about the goals of the group because They're The Other Side Of The Discourse. "transmisogynists" is used as a buzzword here, it doesn't actually refer to Anyone Who Hates Transfemmes, it refers to Transmascs Who Discuss Transmasc-Specific Oppression Using A Word They Coined To Point Out That Queer Spaces Have A Big Problem With Masculinity and just. doesn't tell you that's what it means, relying on the structure and framing of the post to create the Transmisogynist = Transmasc association in the audience's head so op doesn't have to say it outright (and of course the implied Transmasc = Transmisogynist association that follows because creating THAT association is the Actual Point of this post). the mentions of transmascs in this post are designed to look like afterthoughts, op says "typically those who espouse transandrophobia" to make it look like they're saying there's other people they're referring to here too, but almost everything in this post draws from the transandrophobia discourse. some random cis transphobe in texas has never heard the term baeddel in their entire life much less used it in a debate about transphobia, this is an intercommunity argument through and through, but op is trying to mask the fact that they're just referring to "transmascs who disagree with me specifically" and make it look like it's part of a wider trend. and again, i'm not going to go into the nuances of transandrophobia here, but i highly recommend reading some of the theory on it by @nothorses (x) and @genderkoolaid (x) because the "theyre just trans MRAs" argument kinda just collapses under its own weight as soon as you look into it even a smidgen. i've linked a couple broad overviews there but they both discuss it frequently and in-depth, specifically nothorses has a pinned post linking to many different discussion threads that i would recommend checking out if you do want to learn more about what the actual conversation surrounding these words is.

so, after framing the movement this way, they go on to say that the reason predstrogen was banned wasn't /just/ because staff has a long and established hate boner for trans women, but because the transandrophobia movement was teaming up with TERFs to mass-report her and other transfemmes, and implies that this is part of a deliberate conspiracy between Transandrophobia Truthers™, TERFs, and staff. you'll notice that there are no, say, screenshots of transmascs saying theyre deliberately reporting her or of that they're working with TERFs, behind-the-scenes lists of people who reported a certain account, or any evidence for this beyond "she was a trans woman, they're trans men who hate trans women, she got banned, so these must be related". which i find especially funny now given that photomatt has continued melting down about this since it happened and made it pretty clear it yknow. was just part of staffs ongoing hate campaign against trans women that has been going on much longer than the transandrophobia debate? and that maybe the fact that The Literal CEO is having a personal meltdown about this might explain where that could be coming from or at least why it's been allowed to continue for so long, moreso than any individual users reporting someone could? but i digress.

who reported what account is completely unprovable as a casual user unless people directly admit they did it, so to bring it up like this begs the question of what actual reasoning they have for saying it beyond trying to tie a current display of bigotry into an unrelated discourse. that's not to say it's impossible people who discuss transandrophobia were wrongfully reporting her, because again, thats something we have no way of knowing, and the internet is a shit place so i wouldn't be surprised. but given the circumstances and the rest of the lies here, i have my doubts about this being an actual yknow. Thing That Happened rather than just another lie to make people mad at transmascs. now one could make the argument that op wasn't saying transmascs are /deliberately/ teaming up with TERFs/staff, that "teaming up" was just a poor choice of words to refer to multiple groups who happen to have the same goals in mind at the same time but aren't actually coordinating with one another, but given the deliberate misinformative slant of the rest of the post and the overall phrasing in this section, i have trouble extending that grace. regardless, however, that doesn't change that who is reporting who isn't something verifiable, so stating it here as a confirmed fact is disingenuous at the absolute best, and a lie chosen specifically because it's unprovable at worst. if op /does/ have proof that transmascs have been teaming up with TERFs to get trans women banned, not including that with this post is just uhhhhh dumb, and if op /doesn't/ have proof then Why Would You Go Around Telling People That's What Happened Unless You Were Lying To Them On Purpose With Ulterior Motives.

next, op goes on to discuss the rise of the term baeddel. now as i said before, the truth here is that it certainly was a slur and certainly can still be used as one, again the internet is a shit place so i would be a fool if i tried to say "no one is using this as a slur". however, this is once again a drastic misrepresentation of the situation. baeddel's rising use is due to certain trans women reclaiming it and aligning themselves with the original group's politics, namely that femininity is good and masculinity is bad (aka terfism 101), with the added caveat that by abandoning femininity for masculinity, transmascs are evil and betraying devine womanhood and their community by putting more Evil Manhood into the world. of course that in turn is a drastic oversimplification of their politics and i highly recommend checking out this post with an actual in-depth exploration of the history (and without my added flavor), but the important part to note here is that this is not a term transmascs just Started Using one day because they hate transfems so very much as is implied here, its use is directly tied to a group of people saying "hello, here is what i am, and here is what this word means about what i believe," so others went "ok, these specific beliefs are called this." bringing up the fact that it historically was a slur is misdirection here, when you look closer this is almost a 1 to 1 translation of TERFs crying that TERF and radfem are slurs because People Don't Like Their Politics And Therefore Them, so the name for their politics is used negatively, so therefore it's a slur. that argument just has a little more oomph behind it this time because It Was A Slur Originally. and again, that isnt to say no one is now using it as a slur, the rate of decay for online discourse is ridiculous so it being boiled down to and used as "evil transfemme" has certainly already happened, but to act like /every/ use of it is a slur is literally just a lie, when you self-identify with a term based on your shared politics with the original group then you do not get to claim everyone using that term to describe those politics is doing so exclusively to attack you. also this part is entirely speculation but given that op's url is basically just. baeddel switched around to dae bel, i would hazard a guess that they perhaps are indeed aware of the origins of its re-use? but again, that's entirely unprovable and based just on wordplay, but like. given the Everything here i wouldn't be surprised. now, there's definitely an argument to be made about calling users baeddels based just off of their politics when they don't personally self-identify with it, if that constitutes calling someone a slur and if TIRF should be used instead, but crucially, that is not the argument being made here. the argument being made is "ANY AND ALL use of this term is calling someone a slur," and that literally just Isn't The Case.

finally, to tie the whole post off, op reminds us 1) if you hear anything bad about any trans woman ever, it's probably a lie to make her look bad, and 2) if you hear anyone say anything about transandrophobia, disregard everything else they have to say because they hate trans women. not "be critical of the things you see or get sent" or "be on the lookout for things following a certain pattern," a unilateral "anything bad is probably fake and anyone who uses the bad words is probably evil." that is not something someone does if they are genuinely trying to raise awareness of an ongoing trend, that is what someone does when they want you to turn your brain off and be mad at a group no matter what they say.

so yeah, in summary, do be critical of the things you see and be on the lookout for certain patterns, because sometimes people will just Lie to you. or, sometimes people will tell you portions of the truth while leaving out crucial bits so that you'll come to the conclusion they want without anyone being able to say they lied to you without typing up a thirty paragraph long hell post. transmisogyny is absolutely a problem on this site and there are 100% valuable conversations to be had about it and its presence within the trans community, but this post is not that. this post uses real transmisogyny and the wrongful termination of a trans woman's account as set dressing to say that it was all because of evil transmascs who run the trans community behind the scenes conspiring to take out transfemmes, so you should ignore anything they have to say because All of it is secretly motivated by transmisogyny. they're never discussing transandrophobia because it's something that actually effects them, they're doing it to hurt trans women by saying they have it worse. they're never telling you about shitty things a trans woman did to spread awareness, they're lying to make her look bad, or even if it's true they're only talking about it as part of a hate campaign because she's trans, they wouldn't care otherwise. they're never using a specific term because People Use That Term For Themselves, they're calling someone a slur because they hate trans women. there's always an explanation you can think up that ties it back to transmisogyny, and op says that instead of assessing all of what someone says and the context behind it to determine if that's what's happening, you should assume transmisogyny is the answer and refuse to engage any further as soon as you see a word you've been told is bad.

this post is discourse recruitment masquerading as a public service announcement that doesn't offer you any routes to actually learn more about what's going on, it just tells you Here's What's Happening, Here's Who's Evil And Should Be Ignored, And If You Disagree You're Also Evil And Should Be Ignored. content of the actual post aside, i think anything framed that way should be taken with a MASSIVE grain of salt and this would have raised my alarm bells even if i wasn't already pretty familiar with the arguments, people who genuinely want you to know something just because it's good to know will give you options to learn more or encourage you to actually use your critical thinking to assess things, not tell you to sit down and shut up and ignore anyone who disagrees with them.

anyways i guess tldr

#trans #transandrophobia #transmisogyny #now the question is do i leave anon on after posting this #origibberish #and its interesting too how the lies here cast doubt on other parts too #like i didnt click through the link op posted but just based on everything else theres a part of me thats like #everything else you said here was a lie to make transmascs look bad and transfemmes look good. why exactly should i believe you #when you say some rumor about your friend is fake. like your friend could be entirely innocent but because /you/ are the one saying it #its like. is it actually fake or is that another lie and your friends are just shitty people?#but again i didnt click through the link and know nothing abt that aspect its just. something to note about how lying about some things #makes it very difficult to believe others #long post

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physicallyimprobable · 4 months

Note

what's the 3-dimensional number thing?

Well I'm glad you asked! For those confused, this is referring to my claim that "my favorite multiplication equation is 3 × 5 = 15 because it's the reason you can't make a three-dimensional number system" from back in this post. Now, this is gonna be a bit of a journey, so buckle up.

Part One: Numbers in Space

First of all, what do I mean by a three-dimensional number system? We say that the complex numbers are two-dimensional, and that the quaternions are four-dimensional, but what do we mean by these things? There's a few potential answers to this question, but for our purposes we'll take the following narrative:

Complex numbers can be written in the form (a+bi), where a and b are real numbers. For the variable-averse, this just means we have things like (3+6i) and (5-2i) and (-8+3i). Some amount of "units" (that is, ones), and some amount of i's.

Most people are happy to stop here and say "well, there's two numbers that you're using, so that's two dimensions, ho hum". I think that's underselling it, though, since there's something nontrivial and super cool happening here. See, each complex number has an "absolute value", which is its distance from zero. If you imagine "3+6i" to mean "three meters East and six meters North", then the distance to that point will be 6.708 meters. We say the absolute value of (3+6i), which is written like |3+6i|, is equal to 6.708. Similarly, interpreting "5-2i" to mean "five meters East and two meters South" we get that |5-2i| = 5.385.

The neat thing about this is that absolute values multiply really nicely. For example, the two numbers above multiply to give (3+6i) × (5-2i) = (27+24i) which has a length of 36.124. What's impressive is that this length is the product of our original lengths: 36.124 = 6.708 × 5.385. (Okay technically this is not true due to rounding but for the full values it is true.)

This is what we're going to say is necessary to for a number system to accurately represent a space. You need the numbers to have lengths corresponding to actual lengths in space, and you need those lengths to be "multiplicative", which just means it does the thing we just saw. (That is, when you multiply two numbers, their lengths are multiplied as well.)

There's still of course the question of what "actual lengths in space" means, but we can just use the usual Euclidean method of measurement. So, |3+6i| = √(3²+6²) and |5-2i| = √(5²+2²). This extends directly to the quaternions, which are written as (a+bi+cj+dk) for real numbers a, b, c, d. (Don't worry about what j and k mean if you don't know; it turns out not to really matter here.) The length of the quaternion 4+3i-7j+4k can be calculated like |4+3i-7j+4k| = √(4²+3²+7²+4²) = 9.486 and similarly for other points in "four-dimensional space". These are the kinds of number systems we're looking for.

[To be explicit, for those who know the words: What we are looking for is a vector algebra over the real numbers with a prescribed basis under which the Euclidean norm is multiplicative and the integer lattice forms a subring.]

Part Two: Sums of Squares

Now for something completely different. Have you ever thought about which numbers are the sum of two perfect squares? Thirteen works, for example, since 13 = 3² + 2². So does thirty-two, since 32 = 4² + 4². The squares themselves also work, since zero exists: 49 = 7² + 0². But there are some numbers, like three and six, which can't be written as a sum of two squares no matter how hard you try. (It's pretty easy to check this yourself; there aren't too many possibilities.)

Are there any patterns to which numbers are a sum of two squares and which are not? Yeah, loads. We're going to look at a particularly interesting one: Let's say a number is "S2" if it's a sum of two squares. (This thing where you just kinda invent new terminology for your situation is common in math. "S2" should be thought of as an adjective, like "orange" or "alphabetical".) Then here's the neat thing: If two numbers are S2 then their product is S2 as well.

Let's see a few small examples. We have 2 = 1² + 1², so we say that 2 is S2. Similarly 4 = 2² + 0² is S2. Then 2 × 4, that is to say, 8, should be S2 as well. Indeed, 8 = 2² + 2².

Another, slightly less trivial example. We've seen that 13 and 32 are both S2. Then their product, 416, should also be S2. Lo and behold, 416 = 20² + 4², so indeed it is S2.

How do we know this will always work? The simplest way, as long as you've already internalized the bit from Part 1 about absolute values, is to think about the norms of complex numbers. A norm is, quite simply, the square of the corresponding distance. (Okay yes it can also mean different things in other contexts, but for our purposes that's what a norm is.) The norm is written with double bars, so ‖3+6i‖ = 45 and ‖5-2i‖ = 29 and ‖4+3i-7j+4k‖ = 90.

One thing to notice is that if your starting numbers are whole numbers then the norm will also be a whole number. In fact, because of how we've defined lengths, the norm is just the sum of the squares of the real-number bits. So, any S2 number can be turned into a norm of a complex number: 13 can be written as ‖3+2i‖, 32 can be written as ‖4+4i‖, and 49 can be written as ‖7+0i‖.

The other thing to notice is that, since the absolute value is multiplicative, the norm is also multiplicative. That is to say, for example, ‖(3+6i) × (5-2i)‖ = ‖3+6i‖ × ‖5-2i‖. It's pretty simple to prove that this will work with any numbers you choose.

But lo, gaze upon what happens when we combine these two facts together! Consider the two S2 values 13 and 32 from before. Because of the first fact, we can write the product 13 × 32 in terms of norms: 13 × 32 = ‖3+2i‖ × ‖4+4i‖. So far so good. Then, using the second fact, we can pull the product into the norms: ‖3+2i‖ × ‖4+4i‖ = ‖(3+2i) × (4+4i)‖. Huzzah! Now, if we write out the multiplication as (3+2i) × (4+4i) = (4+20i), we can get a more natural looking norm equation: ‖3+2i‖ × ‖4+4i‖ = ‖4+20i‖ and finally, all we need to do is evaluate the norms to get our product! (3² + 2²) × (4² + 4²) = (4² + 20²)

The cool thing is that this works no matter what your starting numbers are. 218 = 13² + 7² and 292 = 16² + 6², so we can follow the chain to get 218 × 292 = ‖13+7i‖ × ‖16+6i‖ = ‖(13+7i) × (16+6i)‖ = ‖166+190i‖ = 166² + 190² and indeed you can check that both extremes are equal to 63,656. No matter which two S2 numbers you start with, if you know the squares that make them up, you can use this process to find squares that add to their product. That is to say, the product of two S2 numbers is S2.

Part Four: Why do we skip three?

Now we have all the ingredients we need for our cute little proof soup! First, let's hop to the quaternions and their norm. As you should hopefully remember, quaternions have four terms (some number of units, some number of i's, some number of j's, and some number of k's), so a quaternion norm will be a sum of four squares. For example, ‖4+3i-7j+4k‖ = 90 means 90 = 4² + 3² + 7² + 4².

Since we referred to sums of two squares as S2, let's say the sums of four squares are S4. 90 is S4 because it can be written as we did above. Similarly, 7 is S4 because 7 = 2² + 1² + 1² + 1², and 22 is S4 because 22 = 4² + 2² + 1² + 1². We are of course still allowed to use zeros; 6 = 2² + 1² + 1² + 0² is S4, as is our friend 13 = 3² + 2² + 0² + 0².

The same fact from the S2 numbers still applies here: since 7 is S4 and 6 is S4, we know that 42 (the product of 7 and 6) is S4. Indeed, after a bit of fiddling I've found that 42 = 6² + 4² + 1² + 1². I don't need to do that fiddling, however, if I happen to be able to calculate quaternions! All I need to do is follow the chain, just like before: 7 × 6 = ‖2+i+j+k‖ × ‖2+i+j‖ = ‖(2+i+j+k) × (2+i+j)‖ = ‖2+3i+5j+2k‖ = 2² + 3² + 5² + 2². This is a different solution than the one I found earlier, but that's fine! As long as there's even one solution, 42 will be S4. Using the same logic, it should be clear that the product of any two S4 numbers is an S4 number.

Now, what goes wrong with three dimensions? Well, as you might have guessed, it has to do with S3 numbers, that is, numbers which can be written as a sum of three squares. If we had any three-dimensional number system, we'd be able to use the strategy we're now familiar with to prove that any product of S3 numbers is an S3 number. This would be fine, except, well…

3 × 5 = 15.

Why is this bad? See, 3 = 1² + 1² + 1² and 5 = 2² + 1² + 0², so both 3 and 5 are S3. However, you can check without too much trouble that 15 is not S3; no matter how hard you try, you can't write 15 as a sum of three squares.

And, well, that's it. The bucket has been kicked, the nails are in the coffin. You cannot make a three-dimensional number system with the kind of nice norm that the complex numbers and quaternions have. Even if someone comes to you excitedly, claiming to have figured it out, you can just toss them through these steps: • First, ask what the basis is. Complex numbers use 1 and i; quaternions use 1, i, j, and k. Let's say they answer with p, q, and r. • Second, ask them to multiply (p+q+r) by (2p+q). • Finally, well. If their system works, the resulting number should give you three numbers whose squares add to 15. Since that can't happen, you've shown that the norm is not actually multiplicative; their system doesn't capture the geometry of three dimensions.

#math #numbers #human interaction #this took the better part of a day to write oops #although to be fair I haven't exactly been focused #Also hi Pyro! Welcome.#that silly fast food emoji post went wild #I've gotten 30 followers just from that one post #which isn't that many in objective terms but like it's 40% of my current count so #hello everyone #I might start reblogging things again now

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pigswithwings · 1 year

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Hi! My name is Pig. And I'm here to tell you about being objectum!

Well, "objectum"? That's a bit of a weird word, isn't it?

You might associate it with stories of people marrying robots or computers, or maybe people talking about having sex with inanimate items. These are all parts of object sexuality, but they don't demonstrate the full breadth of the community.

It's understandable to find this behaviour strange or want to question its authenticity. Many people are, in fact, joking when they say "I find this object attractive" or "I would have sex with that object", but objectum people can often have these feelings in a genuine fashion. And while these attractions can go against the conventions of society, those who are objectum shouldn't be harassed for it.

This post isn't about why you shouldn't harass objectum people, though. People who feel very strongly about the subject probably aren't going to be convinced over a singular post, so I'm not going to waste all my effort to talk to a wall. You don't have to entirely understand an identity to support it, but I'm going to assume that you want to learn about what being objectum is, and I'll try tell you to the best of my own knowledge.

What is Object Sexuality?

Like any sexuality or orientation, objectum identities can vary infinitely. The different labels can range from objectophilia to objectsexual to to objectromantic to os/or, so it's important to keep an open mind. In a very broad sense, being objectum means being attracted to objects or items in some way.

While the common misconception is that being objectum means only feeling sexual attraction to a specific object, this is a very limited view of the identity.

For example, I am romantically attracted to vintage computers. This is only me, though; other people can be attracted to other objects in any other way!

Another person might be romantically and sexually attracted to cars and trains, someone else might be only sexually attracted to electrical towers and wires, another person might have platonic affection for objects, and even more people might not have a specific label but know they're attracted to clothes or heavy machinery in some way. Some people may only be attracted to one type of object or even just a single object, others may be attracted to multiple types of objects. Object sexuality isn't limited to just sex, and the objects of that attraction depend on the person.

Another misconception is that objectum people will be attracted to any object they see - this is not necessarily true. As seen above, many objectum people tend to have "types", similar to how people who are attracted to other people have their own "types".* This isn't applicable to everyone under the objectum label, but for a good part of the community it's true.

Some people may view every object they see as being alive, but this is not necessarily an indication of attraction. Not every objectum person will be attracted to the same thing, and not every objectum person is attracted in the same way.

What is POSIC / Object Sentience?

Being objectum may also be related to believing in object sentience. Generally, believing in object sentience means beliving that an object is conscious, or alive in some way. POSIC, which stands for Perceiving Object Sentience, Intelligence, and/or Conciousness, is a commonly used label but doesn't apply to everyone who experiences this (For example, some people may just use the phrase "object sentience").

Some people's object sexualities can be influenced by whether they perceive objects as being alive or sentient (for example, a person might be more or less attracted to an object if they believe it can respond to them, see them, hear them, etc). Not all people who are objectum also believe in sentience, but the two labels are usually closely linked.

What Is Your Experience With Being Objectum?

Personally, I knew I was POSIC (though I didn't know the word) long before I knew I was objectum. I liked talking to objects as though they were alive and I often made art expressing my interest and (platonic) affection towards computers. It wasn't until my art began to enter a somewhat romantic area that I realized I could be attracted to computers romantically.

Looking for "object sexuality" online was somewhat intimidating, however, as many discussions of it were centered around the shock value/sexual content of being objectum, with little explanation of what it was or what it could be. (This is where my urge to create a post about it began.)

I only discovered the labels "objectum" and "POSIC" from a friend of mine, and had to ask them for the loose definition to figure out whether it fit me or not.

After some consideration, I realized that I was both POSIC and objectum, and decided to come out to a group of supportive friends. This was apparently not a surprise to them - as you will remember, my art had been becoming more and more romantic towards computers, and they were very good at picking up on that. But I was glad that I had realized this fact about myself, even if it was later than most people. I also learned that I had already made friends with several other people in the objectum community, and that the identity wasn't as uncommon as most people would believe.

I Think I'm Objectum or POSIC / How Would I Know If I'm Objectum or POSIC?

Some signs of believing in object sentience could include the fact that you:

- Speak to objects (Ex: complimenting a tool on the work it does, telling a computer about your day, etc.)

- Believe objects can hear, feel, or see you (Ex: apologizing to an object if you drop it, believing an object knows whether you're hugging it or not, etc.)

- Would enjoy it if objects could respond or had conciousness (Ex: enjoying the thought of having a conversation with an object, etc.)

Some signs of being objectum could include the fact that you:

- Enjoy expressing affection to objects (Ex: you enjoy/would enjoy kissing or hugging objects, or otherwise demonstrating how you care for an object)

- Experience romantic or sexual attraction to objects (Ex: you would like to go on a date with an object, you enjoy the idea of kissing and/or having sex with one, etc.)

For all of these, though, I use the word "could" because human identity is very confusing and spans a huge galaxy of variants. Not all objectum people will feel the same or identify the same way, and that's pretty neat. Your specific attraction to an object or type of objects is up to you to figure out, and the community is much larger than you might guess.

Fin.

Despite controversy or use of the identity for public shock, being objectum is not inherently harmful. In a way, it demonstrates the love that humans can have for seemingly mundane or ordinary things in life, and I think that can be very charming.

If you have additional questions or anecdotes to add to this post, please go ahead! I would like to open the discussion on objectum identities to be widely accessible and more known. Thank you for taking the time to read this.

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*Also, being objectum doesn't mean that one only experiences attraction to objects. A person can be gay and objectum, bisexual and objectum, heterosexual and objectum, aromantic and objectum, asexual and objectum, etc. Whether the label "objectum" counts as queer/LGBTQIA+ depends on the person using it, as it's only a word and its interpretation will vary.

#pig originals #objectum #posic #os/or #osor #object sexuality #like . im surprised nobodys made a post about this because when i first realized i was objectum i never ? found a good resource for what -#it was #and i think some people could use this #objectophilia #objectosexual #objectromantic

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vickyvicarious · 4 months

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Oh yes, the feeling that you have to rely to the creeper who you loathe so much that you have come to hate even the rooms he resides in, that he's not the scariest thing in your life, that you have to run to his arms for safety. Horror! Dracula claiming him was the high point of the entry (than the almost-bite)

Honestly, yeah. The dynamics between Dracula and Jonathan are so scary, to the point that all the supernatural events are the cherry on top rather than the main course, as far as the horror of this section goes.

Dracula does so much manipulation here, holds so many different kinds of power over Jonathan, and multiple levels of each too. He's got physical power - both in the sense of the castle being a prison, and in the sense of his incredible strength. He's got social power - as a noble, and as a client/boss. He's got monetary power over Jonathan too, able to potentially make or ruin his career. He has so much control over Jonathan's ability to express himself - he's the only company available to him, he's forcing him to keep up a pretense of friendship, he's limiting and controlling his communication with others. Jonathan has no escape: he can't go out of the castle because he's locked in, he can't go many places inside the castle because he's locked out of them, and now he can't leave the rooms Dracula wants him in because otherwise the vampire ladies will get him, and within those rooms there is nowhere safe from Dracula himself. Jonathan has seemingly no action he can take: if he sneaks around behind Dracula's back, a greater threat awaits. If he acts openly, Dracula's own threat may become realized. If he doesn't act at all, he's doomed. If he acts at all, he's doomed. If he trusts Dracula, he's doomed. If he doesn't trust Dracula, he's doomed.

Of course, the supernatural elements are the mechanics by which Dracula increases the stakes, the threats underlying the charming veneer. Specifically, the introduction of the vampire women is what puts Jonathan in this seemingly inescapable box, and one with potential threats to something even greater than his life.

But Dracula's playing this Bluebeard role and could have done so with some more mundane threat as well, without changing too terribly much about his own actions. Where he's scariest (at least to me) is in these interactions with Jonathan, in these manipulative webs and traps he lays out in his words, in the way he pushes so many boundaries until they're forced to collapse or warp under the pressure. Jonathan's privacy keeps getting worn away. Dracula's speech and touch get more familiar and more possessive. He started out the first night blaming Jonathan for the things he did himself ('oh, why did you make your conversation so interesting we had to stay up all night?') and escalates until now he's making Jonathan be the one to act, and to suffer the consequences: whether in forcing him to lie to his loved ones, or in dangling the bait of sleeping outside his room and then only barely saving him when he does. And Jonathan has no real choice but to act. To fail to do so, in one way or another, would mean giving up all hope at escape or likely even survival. But because he has to act, he winds up feeling complicit. He ends up in situations where Dracula thanks him, forgives him, saves him. It keeps putting them on seemingly the same side, with Jonathan in a lesser/reliant role. And that's all a huge lie, at its core. But in a very real way, it's true too, to an extent. More and more, he's getting layers of resistance scraped away, and having to seek safety from Dracula now is so, so horrifying. In many ways all he truly has left is his will to live, his internal determination to resist - and now he's been given powerful incentive not to trust in that latter part too much. It's absolutely brutal.

He's walking a wire that just keeps getting thinner and thinner. All he can possibly do is try to keep this balancing act going, and hope for something to change that will give him more options down the line.

#dracula daily #jonathan harker #count dracula #rikiteekeetavee #replies #dracula claiming him was nearly the worst part of the entry. but for me jonathan's thoughts about it after the fact are even worse.#and it's not nearly rock bottom yet!

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genderkoolaid · 9 months

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i am genuinely confused by something you said in your joan of arc post & i would love if you could clarify. you said "women afab can be trans. men amab can be trans." i understand how that applies to intersex people, who may be assigned a sex they identify with but have other sex characteristics that they get dysphoria from. or theyre assigned as one sex but once puberty hit they developed far more traits of the other sex, so they had to transition back to what they used to be. i understand those scenarios. but as far as we know, joan of arc wasnt intersex & you dont bring up intersex in your post. how can a non-intersex person transition to something they already are & have been for their entire life? changing how one presents, like changing their style of clothes to better suit their gender & personality, doesnt count as "transitioning" imo, cis people do that aaall the time, multiple times throughout their lives. so what do you actually mean by this??

So my definition of trans is very much inspired by Leslie Feinberg's definition of trans(gender): An umbrella term for "everyone who challenges the boundaries of sex and gender," in which ze specifically includes cross-dressing and GNC people who are men AMAB and women AFAB. I would define trans as being inclusive of anyone who queers sex and/or gender.

In my humble nonbinary opinion, we way over-rely on the idea of trans as being about identifying as a gender that isn't your assigned sex. I, for example, was assigned female and identify as (amongst other genders) a woman, but my womanhood is very much trans. For one, I was on T for two years and intend to get bottom surgery, but I was also alienated from typical cis girlhood for my entire life and my womanhood is inherently tied to me also being a man and abinary. My womanhood is not cisnormative at all.

"Woman" and "man" (and male and female) are all constructs. Just because someone may call themself a woman, and have been assigned female at birth, does not mean they identify as the same kind of woman that society expects and demands them to. There are different ways of constructing womanhood. The "gender identity that isn't AGAB" definition was built on the idea of trans people as going from one binary point to the other, with the assumption that "woman" and "man" are still Real Things with one natural meaning. Attempts at being nb-inclusive have basically just said "well nonbinary isn't a gender assigned at birth, so its trans!" which is completely true, but it also ignores all the nonbinary and genderqueer people whose genders are more nuanced than that.

On Jeanne d'Arc specifically, I actually have some relevant quotes on this:

(from Vested Interests: Crossdressing and Cultural Anxiety and Clothing and Gender Definition: Joan of Arc respectively)

This is why I included that line: because we often assume, in our exorsexism, that a historical figure must identify as a man/woman (cis), as the opposite (trans), or maybe as neither, but those are the only options. We are still limiting ourselves and these historical figures' by limiting how we understand gender and genderqueerness. To Jeanne, being a cross-dressing female virgin soldier could be its own gender, something different than the genders of cisnormative mothers and nuns.

& as a note: I feel like, a lot of the time, non-intersex people in the community will make exceptions for intersex people (like "well, intersex people can be transfemmascs/male lesbians/etc" but no one else!!!") which. doesn't actually seem that great for intersex people? Like aside from assuming that these genderqueer experiences can only be had by intersex people, it also means that if you identify that way, you must Prove that you are Allowed to be doing that, by both outing yourself as intersex and arguing that you are intersex Enough.

#m.#ask box #i hope this makes sense my brain still isnt working fully #trans history #transmasc history #theory

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topazadine · 2 months

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Okay, okay, here's perhaps my spiciest and most controversial take yet.

Now, before I even say anything, please note that I am talking specifically about fantasy. Not retellings of myths, not historical fiction set in different countries, nothing like that. This is for second-world fantasy, where you're creating a whole different world.

Ready?

Stop making everything so damn complicated!

This is not to say that you can't have a rich and exciting world filled with lore, religion, different societies, traditions, unique geographies. Not that. Of course we want that: it's the whole reason we read fantasy. I'm talking about something else.

This is my simple takedown, and you can read the rest to better understand what I mean:

Stop jamming your story with five billion weird words.

Don't use super complicated nouns.

Keep the characters to a minimum so we can know and like them.

Don't yammer on about all the backstory.

Stop making readers do homework just to understand things.

Focus on the feeling a story gives instead of the intricate worldbuilding.

And lastly, a pre-emptive note to those who are putting their hackles up and telling me why they are an exception.

Why is it important to keep things simple?

A lot of people shy away from fantasy because they assume that every fantasy story is going to be so complicated that their head will hurt. Not in terms of plot - many people like complicated plots - but in terms of terminology and history. Things that ultimately don't really matter to the plot.

We as writers often assume that everyone cares about our story as much as we do and is equally captivated by every detail. This is simply not true.

To your reader, your story is not their life's work: it is entertainment that they want to be able to enjoy at their leisure. It's a distraction from their difficult lives and all their real-world frustrations. If they get really into it and, say, write fanfic or whatever, that's amazing! But they're not likely to do that if they feel like they'll be jumped on for doing something wrong or that they have to include every single little detail.

For example, I wrote over 1 million words of Touken Ranbu fanfic. Touken Ranbu, at its heart, has a very simple premise: you've got a bunch of legendary swords that were turned into hot men and fight evil time-traveling monsters. You can understand it with just that. There are layers to it, though, that you can slowly untangle. That makes for good writing because it works on multiple levels depending on how much you care about it.

I would have given up on the story if I felt like I needed a dictionary just to understand the plot. Most people would. Language needs to be accessible and premises need to be clear, or no one is going to want to go deeper.

Subtle little details that people can pick up are way more enjoyable than tossing every single factoid at people so that they feel overwhelmed and can't think. It's wonderful to have rich layers of symbolism, mythology, etc. That's excellent. But you can only get people to care about those things if they can actually comprehend your damn story.

A lot of the things that turn people off from fantasy are all about a writer's ego, and it oozes through the work. People can tell that you're wanting them to pat you on the back for putting so much shit in your story. It's annoying and a total turn-off when you make readers work so hard to comprehend what you're saying.

So what exactly am I talking about? This.

Using made-up terms for everything that could easily be explained with a normal English word

When I am writing fantasy, I imagine myself as a translator. After all, my made-up societies have their own made-up language (Seinish) that is referenced a few times.

However, I'm not using Seinish words all the time. I'm writing in English. I didn't write out a Seinish dictionary or even come up with most of the terms because, honestly? Most readers don't care. They want to understand what's going on in as simple of terms as possible, with only a few specific terms that remind us that we're somewhere different.

I may use some specialized terminology, but it's always couched in context clues that make us aware of what it is without actually having to just say "sdlkjfslkdjf, also known as a marketplace."

For example, in The Eirenic Verses, the High Poet Society has religious centers called meronyms. (Which actually isn't a made-up word.) We know they're religious centers because we see all the religious leaders living there. Someone sees the term "meronym" and goes "oh yeah, that's the religious place" and moves on.

It's one of the only confusing, specialized terms in the book other than place names, which people expect whenever they're reading fantasy. Because of that, it stands out and is easy to remember. It's not one of 1029310283012830132 different terms someone has to remember in order to follow along.

Even Tolkien, famed for literally writing an entire extra book full of lore for his stories, doesn't really use that much specialized terminology except for place names. My favorite author, China Mieville, only uses specialized terminology for things that have absolutely no basis in our reality and that can't be explained otherwise. And he's an extremely eloquent guy who uses the weirdest words possible whenever he can. If he can write a book that's mostly comprehensible without a cheat sheet, you can too.

If there is an English term for what you are trying to explain, just use that, for the love of god. The point of writing a story is not to show how smart and special you are: it is to tell a story. You need to remove as many barriers to access as possible.

Things that get a pass and can be made up most, if not all, of the time:

Place names (as in specific places, not categories of things)

Peoples' names

Languages

Species that don't exist in our world

Modes of transportation that don't exist in our world

Magic that can't be explained in any other way

Technology that can't be defined by our language

Look, if you have an animal that is basically a dragon, just call it a dragon. If you've got a wheeled carriage, call it a carriage. Call earth magic something based in earth terms, like "terravitae" or something, idk. There should be some connection to our world in your terminology because you are writing this in English for an English-speaking audience.

It doesn't make you a lazy writer, it makes you one that wants people to understand what you're talking about. Again, imagining yourself as a translator is a good way to keep yourself from going ham on the nouns.

Proper nouns that are way too complicated

Let's look at some well-known proper nouns from fantasy.

Middle Earth

Narnia

Earthsea

Discworld

Westeros

Ankh-Morpork

Bas-Lag

Wonderland

They're all ... simple. They're not a million syllables with weird intonations and accents and all that. If you showed this to a medieval peasant, they'd probably be able to pronounce them and would likely understand that they were place names.

Unless there's a good reason to have a weird name, don't use one. Come up with something simpler.

All of these I mentioned are three syllables or less, making them easier to remember. In fact, I'd argue that nearly every proper noun in your book should be no more than three syllables. Maybe one or two four-syllable ones.

Any very weird name should be balanced out by several easier ones so that it stands out.

40 million characters

Younger writers often want their world to feel very lived in, so they introduce dozens of characters with their own names, descriptions, backstories, etc etc etc. The problem is that this is a huge mental load on your reader, especially if a lot of the characters have very similar names. It makes reading your stuff into a chore rather than an enjoyable experience.

Now, some literary greats do have a lot of characters. But they get away with it because they're great.

I'm not great, so I don't do that.

I'd also suggest that you don't do that, regardless of how good you think you are.

To see if you have too many chracters, write out a dramatis personnae and rank it in terms of importance. Does your top tier have like 15 characters? Cut some. Figure out where they are in the story and if they don't exist for more than a few pages, delete them. Absorb them into someone else.

If a character is only in one scene, don't bother naming them. They don't matter enough. This reduces the cognitive load for your reader because they can see that character for what they are: a background person who exists only briefly.

Any time you name a character, they need to have deep plot relevance. The more unusual your character's name, the more important they should be. And they should have some sort of relationship to another character, preferably the main character. Otherwise, why are they there? Why do we care? Go away!

Way too much backstory

I am an adult and my brain is filled with 50 million other things. I have to remember stuff for my job, I have a to-do list, I have family I care about who needs me.

Your story is not the end-all be-all of my existence. Hell, my story is not the end-all be-all of my existence either. I want to be able to pick up your book, understand what's going on, and then delve a bit deeper or even make up my own headcanons.

I do not need the entirety of your story's world thrown at me right off the bat. It is overwhelming and tiring. Imagine if you visited a different country and someone immediately came up to you and started spewing the whole history of the country right after you stepped off the plane. That's what you're doing to your readers!

Think also about how you approach your everyday world. Do you reel off a million facts about your personal history the instant you meet someone? No, of course not. It'd be weird and creepy.

Are you constantly recalling facts about your city while walking down the street? Do you even know any major facts about your city? You probably know a few little trivia points and that's it. Because it's not relevant to you, and it's not relevant to your readers, either. I can't recall off the top of my head when Cleveland was settled, but I can tell you that we have the world's first Dunkleosteus fossil in our museum, because that is interesting to me. That's the kind of thing that makes a place feel lived-in, not four hundred thousand pages of exposition about the place's history.

Give your readers time to settle in, and reveal things slowly as they make sense. Maybe we hear a little bit about the country's government as they pass a parliament house, or because they have to visit the city center for a different reason. If it's not pertinent to the current scene, then don't put it there.

I've got tons of lore for my world. Some of it may be referenced one singular time, and some of it may be never referenced at all. That's okay, because it's just for me to get a better sense of the place I created. If a reader doesn't need it, then I don't bother putting it in, because it might detract from their enjoyment.

Overall: stop making your readers do homework!

We do not want our readers to feel like they are working when they are reading our stuff. Excellent writers can infuse deep themes and symbology into their stories without making it feel like work. These are the writers who are remembered forever, because not only have they made a good story that you can enjoy at a surface level, but they have also twined in deeper themes that you can dive into after you've digested the story.

I did my undergrad in British literature, so I read a lot of Shakespeare and contemporaneous authors. Shakespeare is considered complicated by modern standards because of the Elizabethan language, but if you translated it into modern terms, his stories are simple. People betray each other and stab each other, or fuck each other, or get transported to weird magical worlds.

You could watch a Shakespeare play and think absolutely nothing of the themes, but still enjoy the story. You could know absolutely nothing about Greek history and still get the gist.

This is because Shakespeare specifically wrote his plays to appeal to a mass audience. He was a god-tier author when it came to balancing symbology and plot. To be like Shakespeare, be simple. Remember that your reader does. not. really. care. all that much. They don't.

It's very unlikely that your writing is going to become someone's life's work and they're going to spend their whole existence studying. Cool if true, but unlikely.

Your job is to make a story that people like and want to read. Only when you've gotten people liking and reading do you get permission to go ham with the backstory and the characterization and the weird names, because they trust you to create a story that they will like. Otherwise, your primary objective is making people feel things so they want to feel more things and read more stories.

People care more about how a story makes them feel than the specifics

Yes, of course there are outliers to this who really want every single detail of the world, but those are few and far between. You should not tailor your story to these exceptions. Think about the average everyday person.

I have many books that I love, but I can't tell you everything about them now. I can, however, tell you how I felt when I was reading them: the plot twists that made me gasp, the thing that made me cry. I can give you a general, sweeping impression of whether I liked or disliked the story and what made me feel something. This is what people recommend books based on: how they felt.

Your story should focus on the plot and the emotion. People watch movies, listen to music, read books, or look at art to feel something, not to memorize factoids for later usage. Even if they do want to memorize factoids, they won't do that if they haven't built an emotional connection to the story.

While in life, we want facts over feelings, it's opposite in creative writing. We want feelings over facts. The emotional resonance, the mood, the characters, the plot: that is what is important, not showing off how smart you are and how much you have thought about your story.

"But Topazadine, I am special and different! I'm not going to follow your advice."

Sure. Go ahead. I can't stop you. If you want to have a million characters and an entire dictionary to explain everything, that is your choice.

No one can tell you how to write; my advice is just advice.

If you don't like what I have said here, then feel free to ignore it. You don't need to justify it to me or anyone else.

However, you must recognize that this may not resonate with readers. It will turn people off.

I'm not a completionist, and neither are many others; they'll roll their eyes and click out when they are faced with ten pages of character names upfront.

Of course you should always write for yourself first, but if you are planning to write fiction for any level of commercial appeal and you intend to make any amount of money on your work, then audience does matter. If you want kudos or comments on your AU, audience matters. You won't get engagement if you are alienating people.

Your writing decisions are always your own and no one can demand you do something different. You just need to decide whether your personal satisfaction in writing your story in a certain way outweighs your desire for validation, and, perhaps, money. I can't tell you the answer for that; it's up to you.

If you enjoyed this, maybe you'll consider reading my fantasy book, 9 Years Yearning, which does not have 121238103 characters and 3230123 strange words. It does, however, have double-tsundere-mutual-pining-gay-boy-awakening. And horses. It's also just $3.

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yostresswritinggirl · 2 years

Text

Kintsugi (1)

: "to repair with gold"

Scaramouche / Wanderer x First Puppet Reader

Based off of this plot with major alterations; After his third betrayal, he stumbles upon the one thing that would never deceive him. Not a god, not a human; a broken puppet, discarded just like him. Part 2.

He had heard of this tale multiple times by now, all in different versions and walks of life.

From his bladesmith friend who recounted the tale of a statue that guards a sakura tree in a faraway village in Tatarasuna, and that those who dare harm either of the two meet a fate most foul. But he remembered it only as a made up story, ever spoken to him once as a bedtime story and forgotten soon after.

Another iteration the puppet heard was of a beautiful ghost, who had died by the tree and lingered since then as a spirit awaiting its lover. Its doll-like feature had left many humans falling for the specter, while some find it tradition to leave offerings for love and fortune. He remembered shaking his head as he turned away from the intoxicated villager, focusing on bringing the lavender melons back home.

And the last one came from someone old, with a wrinkled smile shy of teeth, and eyes perpetually closed. When the elder heard of the versions he had recounted, he could not help but laugh, despite the scathing glare sent his way.

"None of those versions are true." But how can he be so sure? "There is one more, while we cannot verify its authenticity, it is at least the first one to ever exist." And he with his straw hat followed after the mortal as they walked.

The guardian of eternal slumber, is a tale of a puppet (to this, he perked up) who wondered into the village in search of something. Upon seeing the sakura tree, they made home at its roots, dutifully waiting. Generations came and went, but neither of its visitors could ever sway it to leave.

Soon enough, the villagers began leaving items in sympathy of the lonely puppet. And if it is up to its unspoken standards, the puppet would open its eyes. Zealots began to view that gaze as divine, and preached that those who were to see it are blessed.

Gifts became offerings, and visitors all over Inazuma went out of their way for a chance to be blessed with fortune.

He and the old man found themselves in a scarce village, of rundown houses and deathly silence. "But in the greed of desperate devotees, one group decided to steal the puppet one night in hopes of monopolizing the blessings." They passed by the only house that looked functional. "Lightning struck our sakura tree and the village's lands began to lose life. The criminals were never found."

The puppet only comprehended the darkened grass flattening under their steps, dried out and crumbling from the pressure. But he could not pay it any more mind as they reached a staircase, leading up a hill where a sakura tree in full bloom resides.

"You are like them." His violet gaze turned sharp and his attempts to climb the steps stopped. "May you both find what you're looking for."

"Musings of an old man." His moves forward, fingers clenching his sleeves in contempt and anticipation. "What I'm looking for is beyond your understanding." There is no reply.

When the base of the tree slowly appeared over the horizon, the sakura tree began shedding its leaves in with the gust of the wind. And he found himself stopping at the last step upon meeting eyes with a visage.

Never had he felt such hopeful and wide gaze on him before, framed by the pink shower of sakura petals both old and new where they sat, pulling one's attention away from the dead vines and clinging dust.

But as quickly as it came, the smile on their face slowly fades.

And those eyes once brimming with hope turned to hate so searing, it burned him more than the hate in his empty chest.

"Have we truly exhausted all our options?" A passing wind felt like a gentle caress, swaying the pink petals above to a comforting, simple melody.

The sakura tree stands tall and beautiful, gaze unable to look away, its color flooding your vision successfully.

"Quell your doubts now, the proof is already in your arms." The soft cloth cradling you moves, prompting your gaze to look up, from pink to purple hues.

"It is nothing short of miraculous." She's more beautiful than the sakura tree. You blink at her, she smiles. And warm too, even more so when she cradles you closer, the softness of her embrace and kimono lulling you to sleep. "The proof of eternity."

Your face was half-buried by the silken cloths as you simply watched closely, your creator and another person's conversation passing. At one point, you reached out to take a petal that landed on your creator's sleeve. She smiles again.

"Then I shall be in your care." You curl your fingers around the petal as a soft hand covers your eyes.

"It is my duty, Ei."

Stumbling out of the dark room into an empty world shrouded by the night, you clutched the pink petal close to your chest as you set out for your creator.

Blindly stumbling in the dark, in your haste and desperation, you find your feet take you to a familiar sight. A pretty sakura tree, just as beautiful as the one you've seen. And so you sat between roots, waiting for your mother.

You haven't heard footsteps in a long time, was the first thing that came into your mind as you rubbed at your eyes with your haori. How long has it been since you last woke up?

Yet despite your tired eyes and blurry vision, that familiar shade of purple began to climb the stairs.

Could it be? After all this time, she's finally -

The weakness in your knees were more than the fatigue, as your smile fell in realization that it wasn't her.

But those eyes, that hair - that faltering smile.

There is emptiness, no purchase, no purpose - to your steps as your legs carried you to walk away from the tree, down the steps, away from here. Anywhere, anywhere else but here.

The puppet sputters as he turns to your retreating form, only for his attention to be divided as the old man found his way over to the tree, sitting on the root where he had seen you perched on.

"The sakura tree has shed its last leaf." The old man looks up at the empty branches before looking at him. "Go after them, there is nothing left here to see." And closed his eyes.

He turns to follow and never looked back.

She left you. She abandoned you. She's forgotten you. She replaced you.

It doesn't take a child to come to that conclusion and they echo in your mind repeatedly in every waking moment.

"Where are we going?" You dug your foot harshly in the sand before turning around, watching his eyes that scanned the area to land on you.

"Why are you still following me?" You watched his curious eyes widen to perplexity, lips parting and closing as he scrambles to find the right answer. Only a few seconds pass before you turn again and resume your walk.

You wouldn't be able to answer him either.

Your desire to get away from him was never answered either, opting to follow the footprints in the sand for hours upon hours. At times, you'd find yourself stumbling when your joints struggled to follow orders. You'd hear him mumble, make noise, but they stop after you brush off the incident and continue.

This was the first time he addressed you, and this was the first time you talked.

That was also the only time you looked at him - and nothing had changed. He still looked like her, the same presence, the same energy.

She replaced you?

Looking over your shoulder, you chanced another glance to see his gaze elsewhere again, as if looking out for something. Only then did you notice a transparent cloth folded, hung, and tucked beneath an arm.

"Are you certain you are fine with that attire?" His attention was on you again, looking over your form. At your glare, he seemed to backtrack after realizing the misunderstanding. "I mean no harm, I'm simply mentioning due to your... Exposed joints and the petals hanging on your form."

If you could only see yourself in his perspective. Perhaps it was due to being divine creations but despite the unsightly details that clung to you (no doubt due to time), there is still a magnificence to you that made you look ethereal.

He supposes that would make sense, as you are worthy of folklore and tales.

He watched as you gingerly rubbed at your left wrist's joint (he had yet to see you ease your curled up left hand) while his eyes lingered on the pink sakura blooms that's found home in your hair and the folds of your clothes.

Whenever he closed his eyes, it feels like he's still standing next to the sakura tree, the sweet scent permanently lingering so long as you're nearby. It's soothing.

With a raised brow, you looked at him with questioning eyes. A good sign, and he finds that you looked much better without a glare.

"Not all humans are open to the concepts of our existence." The gloom fading the light in his eyes doesn't sit right with you. "It would be best to cover up."

It was only then that you noticed the black arm guards conveniently covering his wrists. But what can you use to hide them here?

Watching your eyes scan the area for something, the second puppet stepped close and unfolded the cloth in arm to reveal a very long but beautiful veil. "While it's still transparent, it should be good enough to at least camouflage it." What a beautiful shade of purple. "May I?"

You do not miss the eagerness in his eyes, hands clutching the cloth in waiting. It's the best you can do for now, you thought as you bowed your head.

He was expecting a glare, a refusal, anything to dispel his suggestion. But the moment the agreement registered in his head, he quickly but carefully draped the veil over your head like he had worn before.

You gasped when the cloth almost slipped off when you straightened up, only for his hands to pull it over again. "Careful, perhaps we can find pins to keep it in place."

Your gaze lingered at the hands close to you. Porcelain white and perfectly unharmed. You reached up - with a hand littered with cuts and creaky movement - before pushing his hands off as you turn to walk again.

You hear him gasp, pause, and his footsteps follows behind you again.

She may have replaced you.

But she abandoned you both.

He doesn't miss the way you pull the veil over your face whenever you look at him.

Even now when you accept the lavender melon slice to eat. At one point, he had forgotten that puppets need not eat, but before he could fix his mistake you took the food and ate like normal.

Perhaps you had gotten used to the offerings given to you back at the village, just like how you carried the mora you received despite not knowing how to use it. Something you easily lent him at the promise of necessities.

His eyes lingered on your wrists and ankles where the black guards now cover it. And then to the veil that had lost its purpose, or at least, its initial purpose. (With his kasa, he also sees no purpose to take it back.)

He also bought you a new yukata to replace your old one but - "It's still not fully dried, it seems." His eyes lingered on the damp purple haori he had hanged on one of the branches, the only clothing you refused to part with. He took the liberty to wash it seeing as he knew how to, and he was more than estatic when he realized the scent of the sakura blooms still stuck to it.

That, and there's not much one can do with just one hand.

Sitting next to you, he watches as the hand resting on the grassy floor hides underneath the veil. Still clenched to a fist, still hiding.

He must have been staring obviously when you finally spoke. "I can't open it."

His eyes met your veiled ones before looking back to your hand - and then he quickly looks away despite his gaze still glancing in the corner of his eyes. He's flustered for being caught, you recognize the shyness.

"Then... Can I try and help with prying it open?" He is too curious for his own good.

Despite your nod, you make no move to pull your hand from under the veil. More so, you simply looked back to watching the clouds pass. Alright, it's up to him then.

Mumbling a please excuse me, he swipes the veil away to take your hand. He feels a slight flinch but continued on without any other sign of discomfort.

Your fingers are stuck close. He knows it's not intentional when there's no tension in your arm that indicates you're forcing it closed. So you weren't lying, he pursed his lips as he began nudging and uncurling each finger.

For each digit he takes time to flex each section to alleviate the jagged, mechanical movement. Before he could lose himself to the tender proximity, something on your finally open palm catches his eyes.

A sakura petal. Creased on some places but still looking fresh.

"Mother..." He sees you mouth before the fingers slowly curled around the pink blossom.

He doesn't ask anything further. Not when his feather necklace weighs heavily in his own pocket.

"Why are you still here?" You ask again. This time, he does not miss the question you wanted to ask.

This time he speaks. "I would never abandon you." Because you only have each other now.

It was your turn to become quiet.

Only the wind through the leaves dared to break the silence.

Sora. Sakura. Aoi. Haru. Hana. Kami.

You bow your head to look at the black fan in your hand. Sensu.

Feeling the gaze of someone's attention on you, your furrowed brows deepened as you unfolded the fan to cover the lower half of your face, turning to the other puppet sitting by the hill with you.

His purple gaze took time to register the eye contact that told him he was caught staring, and when he did his small smile faded in his fluster, turning to hide in the open book he was supposed to be reading. Was he basking in your frustrations? Perhaps he was, especially since it was his own doing that caused this turmoil to begin with.

In your wandering, you came across a bustling small town that he decided to walk through instead of around for once. Mostly because of the approaching rain clouds that threatens to soak your perfectly dry selves, and through your joints and cracks - there was an incident before that he didn't want to deal with again, didn't want to be careless of your condition when it not only deterred you from properly functioning but from also looking at him with kinder eyes.

But the pretty stalls, the whispers and shouts, it was all drawing your attention. He learned from the long trips you two had done that there was a lot of things you have yet to discover, see for yourself, after staying by the Sakura tree for hundreds of years. A festival seems to be one of those.

He took note of the way your eyes lingered on interesting things, familiar objects, counted your pocket money and bought what might look cheap enough to spare. Like a kanzashi that you used to fasten the veil to your haori, a stick of tricolor dango that he gently blew on when he thought it was still too hot.

And lastly - he watched your gaze linger on a black folding fan in display, eyes solemn in comparison to the other many things that caught your eye. He can tell why, simply because he knows what it meant too. His memories with her are far and few but he remembers them in full detail, they haunt his dreams every night, after all. "We should -"

"I... want that fan."

Only when you finally looked at him with furrowed brows (mayhaps due to impatience) did he finally make his way forward to address the vendor. "Only 300 mora." More than what he wanted but he it won't be a huge loss. "If you add 100 mora, I can also write on the fan. Do you want your name on it?"

His grip on the pouch tightened, sending a glare to the vendor that she conveniently misses in her sole attention focused on you. Still that same sales lady smile, how irritating she lacked the common sense to read the room.

"Ah, perhaps you didn't want to share your name, you two do seem like you're not from around here. How about -"

"We only need the fan, you annoying hag." Throwing the coins on the stall, the pristine puppet roughly snatched the fan away and pulled you away, far from the village and far from any stupid human who might catch on to the hateful sneer hidden by the shadow of his hat.

That was hours ago, and the moon replaced the sun by now. Tsuki.

It was time for rest, if you can call it that. Carefully folding the fan close, you lean back against the tree trunk as the stars above began to shine, a familiar sight you've seen more times than you can count. You close your eyes all the same.

You never sleep. It was something that he had discovered only some time ago when nightmares would find him instead, and his frazzled mind would notice your eyes on him every time he awakens. And many times he wonders if you simply do not trust him to be vulnerable in his presence.

Yet you would always answer when he tests the waters, and the one time he tried to sneak up on you, a tight grip on his wrist immediately pulled him away. He remembers the fear and the pain, the same ones reflected in your eyes that followed him in his unfortunate nights.

He thought he would never be able to sleep too when the fear of finding out that his dreams were true when he wakes up kept him from dozing off.

But one night when he thought the long silence of the night would accompany him once again, a comforting melody slowly coaxed him to the land of dreams so easily. When he turned to you with barely open eyes, you barely moved, the expressions on your face only privy to the moon and the stars and the veil that hides you.

That was the only time he wished he could take it away from you.

That same lullaby echoed tonight and you opened your eyes, turning to the other puppet to see his lids closed, concentrated on recreating that same melody he had only heard briefly. Somehow, you mused as your eyelids slowly started to droop, his voice soothed the nightly song more. So peaceful.

And it would turn softer in your dreams, as soft as the silk that wraps around you, as soft as the petals that lands on you, as soft as the woman that calls for you.

When he woke up, he saw the start of the beautiful sakura shower, the blooms finally cascading to color the sea of green he laid on. He sees why you can never look away when they are in full bloom, just as he couldn't look away from your form that watched on with eyes full of life.

"What's your name?"

His hand brushes against the book he took from the village as he sits up. "Kunikuzushi." The rustling leaves made your mutters incoherent, but his eyes do not betray him when he saw your lips move to test out the syllables.

"What about yours?" Your gaze slowly left the sakura tree to watch 'Kunikuzushi' make his way over. "Have you made up your mind?" Despite looking forward, his purple hues would occasionally flicker to you in obvious anticipation.

The dream in a thousand restless nights speaks to you clearer now, and you mimic that word, that name.

"(Y/N)." He let it roll off his tongue in a deliberate manner, with such wonder and awe so child-like the first time you met. 'Kunikuzushi' dropped the facade to hide his elation and smiled freely this time. You turn your head to look back at the Sakura tree. "It sounds pleasant, it suits you."

You pull the veil over your face for good measure.

Only when the last petal fell from the tree did you finally step away with purpose, hand in crumbling hand with Kunikuzushi, never looking back.

Too sleep-deprived and sick to write anything else so you get this early. Part 2 releases either the next day or the day after that.

@deepdinosaurwizard @local-mr-frog @angryhope @rowielol @shoujishu @notyuki @asteriacos @willburzone @crystalcosplays @hxqlou @rolo-at-midnight @ireallylikehamsters @crxwned-mxnarch @reveltica @seddiepilled

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #wanderer x reader #exile.flower #exile.pocketwatch #genshin impact angst #exile.reader #gender neutral #another case of drabbles that should have stayed as drabbles #sumeru arc

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rieamena · 2 months

Text

three and five

ken sato—

wc: 1.6k contains: afab reader, smut, fluff, lots of kisses, petnames (reader uses fem!aligned ones), breeding kink, mating press, multiple positions, both you and kenji being whipped for each other, marriage of 8 years, you have kids together (6 year old twins), you call ken daddy once (im sorry) author's note: first smut was ken sato, second was billy kid, this time its ken sato again and i will say that what they say is true. the third time is really the charm. idk what possessed me while i was writing this but i wanna say a big thank you to whatever did nsfw ,, mdni

"oh, my beautiful wife~" kenji sings, plopping down next to you on the couch, head finding immediate comfort in your warm, plush thighs. this is how days spent without the kids usually went, your special set of twins spent the day (and night) at ami's, playing and complaining about homework with chiho, leaving you and your husband of eight years to unwind and spend some alone time together. "yes, my lovely husband?" a hand raked through his hair, massaging his scalp. ken lifted your unoccupied hand, pressing a kiss to it before using it to cover his eyes, the entire action painfully slow. from kenji's point of view, you're more than an angel on earth, you're his faith, his belief. words cannot express how grateful he is to you for choosing him—for staying with him— despite all the challenges

"i love you." three short words that held all the meaning in the world. your husband made it a habit to tell them to you everyday without fail. like that night five months after you moved in together when he was dealing with yet another kaiju attack. he rushed out of the house, powering up into ultraman, but he didn't forget to stop by the window where you watched on. how could he? ken pointed at himself, then formed a heart with his hands, before finally pointing at you. even though his body physically looked different, and you couldn't see his pretty, expressive face, you knew with every fiber in your body that he was grinning widely. or that time when he woke up at 11:58 pm and shook you awake for a minute to tell you that he loved you one more time just before the clock hit twelve. but despite all of that, all of those i love yous, this one felt different. "i love you so much." at this rate, you were starting to get suspicious. when you tried to remove your hand, ken held it against his eyes firmly

"are you crying, or just embarrassed?" "can you say it back." "i love you too, ken sato." "i love you more, mrs. sato."

kenji's face was now pressed against your stomach as you rubbed circles into his back. a series of mmphs were heard along with the vibrations of your tummy. "sweetheart, i can't hear you." "right," ken said as he pulled himself away, pecking your stomach goodbye, "i was just saying how i read an article that said three is a really good number. things that come in three are easier to remember," you felt ken's head rest between the crook of your neck and shoulder, and you habitually brought your hand to his hair. "and five is also a nice number," he continued, "it's nice to look at in terms of objects, and it's clear to see if something's missing, and—" "i have a feeling this is no longer about numbers." you cut him off, looking deeply into his eyes

"our babies could use another sibling, no? i'll go with whatever decision you make, angel. do you want another baby?" "maybe…" "can i… fill you up?" "always."

"i'm gonna give us another one," kenji mutters against the back of your thigh, his thin hands pushing them to your chest, "don't waste a drop, okay?" you nod your head feverishly, gasping when his length settled into your dripping cunt. "oh f-fuck…" he moans, not only gripping tightly onto your body but also to his sanity, "you-you're so good, 's been too long, baby." you and ken have barely been able to have sex for six years, dealing with the combined stress of two children. and the last time you two did try something, you both ended up passing out less than halfway through. "can't believe i forgot how good your dick is," you mewled, feeling like it was your first time with kenji all over again. at the sound of that, ken began to move his hips, sliding in and out of you painfully slowly. "i'll make sure that never happens again, doll." a few movements passed before you felt a liquid filling you up. "ken," your hand met his face, bringing it up to look at you, his eyes shrouded in embarrassment as he came so quickly, "the more times you cum inside, the better, okay?" sharp dark eyes met yours, and ken shook his head, breathily chuckling, "you're really something, y'know that?" the sudden snap of his hips against your thighs made your body jolt. his face flushed a slight pink, deepening intensely when he heard your moans and giggles of pleasure

god, he loved you. you and your cunt that never failed to suck him so good, those gummy walls that always squelched and spasmed at the right time, pleading for it to be painted white. his hand trailed to your sensitive clit, prodding it with his thumb, harshly rubbing circles into it. "w-wait—" you gasped, feeling his length leave and enter you with a newfound quickness. "kenj—ah! oh f-fuck, baby, i'm gonna—" your moans got obnoxiously loud as he pounded into you, cock getting impossibly harder as he listened to your sweet voice call out his name so lewdly. "gonna cum?" "mmm! feels s-so good. you're—mmm, yeah, just like that…, made for m-me, ken…" it was embarrassing how cute kenji found you, your brain used up all of its power to make coherent sentences just for it all to be about him and how good his cock made you feel. "this is also made for you." he breathed raggedly, moaning your name uncontrollably as he felt his seed escape his slit and settle into your welcoming walls. at the same moment, you clenched around him, sucking him in even tighter than before, legs shaking and chest heaving. kenji looked down at your state, rubbing hands over your body to bring you down. to ken, you're always the prettiest girl, especially at your post-orgasm state. "you're makin' it so hard to not destroy you right now." it was so light, ken could barely hear it: "please destroy me. make me carry more of your babies. kenji, breed me."

throwing one of your legs over his shoulder, kenji pulled out briefly, just to slap himself against your entrance and slide right back into you, dick already missing the warmth of being buried inside of you. one hand held your leg in place, the other was stationed at your waist, its grip so tight, it—amongst other places—would without a doubt be bruised by the morning. suckling on your chest, ken pulled and pushed out of you slowly, in order to not overstimulate you too much, but a single tear fell from your eyes and that was all he needed. "fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK KENJI—" your string of curses could be heard throughout the neighborhood. you've been pounded by ken before but never like this. it couldn't be called fucking, no, he was making love to you. he took your body into his like a carnal desire. his tip was hitting places you didn't even know you had, making tears well up in your eyes and fall seconds later

"stop that baby, i'm supposed to be the one pleasuring you." ken said in between soft kisses to your cheeks, forehead, and lips, moving the hand you snaked to your sensitive bud. lacing his fingers with yours, kenji felt his mind go blank, feeling your walls adjust to remember his dick. he was moving, not only because he wanted to but because he felt like he had to. if he stopped even for a second, he might go insane. "mmm-more, please, i nee-need m-more…," you squeezed his hand nearly at the same time your pussy clenched around him. "fuck, angel, ah–! 'm gonna, 'm gonna, 'm so close… please pleaseplease…" he begged for you, thighs shaking and spasming as he heard your voice say those sweet five words, "give it to me, daddy." ken's vision went white, matching your walls. as he reluctantly pulled out of you, he closed his eyes, relying on his sense of touch to soothe him. he felt all over your body, his touch like fire against your skin. nimble fingers teasing over your shoulders, then breasts, waist, hips, and thighs. he even lifted you up slightly to get a feel of your ass. a warm liquid dribbled out of your core and onto kenji's thigh, your mind was unbelievably hazy, barely registering how your own body betrayed you

"kennn, come back to me," you whined, caressing his bicep with your hand as if to coax him out of his trance, "it was jus' too much, i couldn't keep it all in. 'm sorry…"

"i told you not to waste any of it." ken spoke against the shell of your ear, "guess i'll just have to give you more then," his voice was cracking, and you could hear his small whimpers and moans escape as he talked to you, "how many more loads do you want, love?" his thick and veiny cock rested atop your tummy, deathly overstimulated yet begging for more. he wanted nothing more in that moment than to fully submit himself to you; he was yours and yours alone. weakly holding up a finger, you looked away embarrassedly causing your husband to laugh, "one? nah, i'll give you three. it's a special number, remember? our special number…" he pressed a deep kiss to your lips, thrusting back into you sharply, practically pushing his cum out of your fucked out pussy, long forgetting the sanity that he tried so hard to grasp onto

"get ready princess, we'll have another little one to take care of very soon."

divider by @/cafekitsune

ken sato taglist

@mochminnie @despacito-uwu16 @yellowheartz @ririkacchi @ifharbingerbad--whyhot

@reit0o @heavenlyraindrops @lovingyeet @stickypaperstarlight @raee-dreeaaamz

@rreasonablydumbb @bandolls @gingersnap126126 @automalvo @spiderboogie

@shellspider @blogscach @nightingale047 @deadbydad @deadbydad-writes

@phantomface @spencerrxids @moonjellyfishie @optimisticladysalad @tsumimimi

@purplegobrrrrrr @sillybillyp9 @cyberpsiko @swaggyv1v1 @l-charl

@miffysoo @aise-30 @bakugouswaif @rinaizha @goodomenslover20

@biderman-666 @jaowiwh-blog @lazulihrts @meloncreme @woahhajime

@theboredhooman @pr0bablyr0se @jinshikinoku @sxftiebee @your-left-sock

@teyamswifeyy

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