Oh man, I'm half-Japanese, and I can go on and on about how much weeaboos bother me... I'll try to keep this short.
Having been born in Japan and going to youchien there (the equivalent of pre-school and kindergarten), I'm capable of holding conversations and reading hiragana and katakana. However, I've lived in America since 1st grade, and since English was the primary language spoken at home (Japanese mother, American father), my Japanese vocabulary isn't the same as if someone were to grow up in Japan, since I've spent 3/4's of my life in America. Because of that I'm working on expanding my Japanese vocabulary, but what really bothers me is that is seems like 95% of people in America that want to learn Japanese are fucking weirdos. It's really, really, REALLY annoying. And I know I'll get some hate for this, but I can't stand people who want to learn Japanese just to "watch anime without subtitles". Here in the US there's all these weirdos that fetishize Japanese people and are trying to learn a language just to watch fucking cartoons, while I'm trying to learn it so I can communicate with my mother and other family members better. Also annoying how these weeaboos can act so know-it-all about it, like they think it makes them "cool" just because they learned some Japanese words. Another annoying thing is when they claim that they have perfect pronunciation when in actuality their pronunciation is horrible - but oh no, they're
convincedthat their pronunciation is 100% spot-on. I criiiiiinge so much whenever I hear people try to speak JapaEnglish with each other...
What's even more annoying though is how these people claim that Japan is DA BEST PLACE EVERRRR and is one big anime wonderland. It's. Not. They don't know anything about (or more like, intentionally ignore) how Japan can be subconsciously xenophobic (even to hafu's like me), their birthrate is declining and their population is aging because women are choosing not to have children because while more women are choosing to work (which is good), society still has the mindset that "men work, women stay at home to raise the kids" (which is bad), and 12-hour work schedules aren't willing to accommodate raising children.
Basically, I'm just annoyed that I feel like I can't express interest in learning more of
my first fucking language because everyone else in America that wants to learn it is a fucking weeaboo that just wants to watch anime without subtitles or hit on Japanese girls. They've attached a negative stigma to Japanese language and culture in America to the point where some people think the words "Japanese" and "weeb speak" are interchangeable. Honestly the only non-Japanese person that is interested in Japanese language & culture for valid reasons I know is my dad, who is just interested in languages in general and just happened to marry a Japanese lady, does not watch any anime, and doesn't talk in the "JapaEnglish" that weeaboos often do.
You know how I said I'm trying to expand my Japanese vocabulary? So yeah, I browse
/r/LearnJapanese. But a lot of the people that post there I can tell are weeaboos and have the same "know-it-all" attitude and they all get in arguments with each other, and whenever someone makes a "why do you want to learn Japanese" topic there's always responses of "so I can watch dem animes" or "so I can hit on girls" and random bouts of "desu nee" and "waifu" thrown in. It's really cringeworthy and fucking annoying. It kind of makes me sad that it seems no one else wants to learn Japanese for the same reasons I do, or at least for a reason that's not "anime without subtitles" or "hitting on girls". So yeah weeaboos, thanks for stigmatizing my first language and my mother's culture in the country I currently live in (United States).
/end rant, sorry if I offended anyone here as I understand this subreddit has a lot of former weeaboo's/current weeaboo's lurking. This is simply the opinion of a half-Japanese guy who was born in Japan, went to pre-school/kindergarten there, and has lived in America since 1st grade.
tldr; weeaboos disgust me
EDIT: minor clarification
Her first memory of him was the sensation of his presence, she could feel him before she caught sight of him sitting in the corner of a dim, neatly ordered storage room. Her eyes adjusted to the low light quickly but her skin prickled at some unseen crackle of electricity in the air. A nervousness, an excitement, an odd feeling of nausea washed over her simultaneously. Her hand twitched for her sword, she was fairly certain this was the bard they had been sent to rescue, but she didn’t trust anyone she stumbled across in these godforsaken sewers.
She could see his gray-blue hair first, neatly plaited around his striking face. A broad, tanned forehead with a strap of leather across it to hold his braids in place, a strong, square jaw and a series of gently curved scars across his sharp cheekbones and chin. A muscular, bronzed chest and neck peeked out from beneath his unblemished, clean leather armor. His slender legs were crossed, and a burlap sack was at each of his knees. He was surprisingly athletic-framed for a bard, not that she had met that many of them, but they usually looked like the heaviest thing they could lift was a bottle of booze.
His eyes were two black pits of tar, swimming beneath long, thick lashes and heavy brows that matched his hair. The look in them, the vacancy, the emptiness, she remembered it vividly. The same hollowness as that evening as he abandoned her to her fate, bidding her farewell and slipping from her life as quickly as he had come into it. It all seemed like a dream, the reality of it burning with the pages of his journal as the fire caressed them and licked over the edges of his paltry excuses. Every moment with him felt borrowed, stolen even, his evanescence tortured her with doubts, the more tightly she clung to him the more convinced she became that he would leave her.
All it took was a single summons, the ill-timed appearance of his brother and Raelis Shai, the tiefling whose jealousy was clear from the start. She too longed to possess him, hold him to her, keep the intensity of his affections focused on her and her alone. Surely she had some ulterior motive for helping Roth to find his brother, some hope that she could bring the enigmatic bard back into her life, or her bed.
Reconciliation was far from Nessa’s mind, when Haer’Dalis stalked through the doorway of their shared room each footstep was a hammer beating at the delicate glass of her fragile heart. The gentle pad of his boots descending the steps were enough to shatter it entirely, she lay fragmented before the waning fire. She wanted to cast him from her memory, pretend nothing had happened between them, brush it off as inevitable and carry on as if it meant nothing to her, but she was never a good liar. Truthfully, the pain of her grief was suffocating. It went beyond Haer’Dalis, beyond a mere breakup, she was struggling with the realization that loss and pain were unavoidable for Bhaal’s children. If you were to survive, it was only because others were not surviving, and even if she could manage to be the last Bhaalspawn alive, what then? What future was there for her? What had the point of her existence ever been, other than to be a vessel for her father’s rebirth?
She had hoped Haer’Dalis would be with her, at the end, to face the uncertainty of her fate together. The others clung to
her too tightly, they would refuse to let her go even if it were the only way to halt Bhaal’s return, but Haer’Dalis would have the strength to accept whatever fate she chose for herself. She knew he could move on from her, but she didn’t anticipate it happening now, so close to the end.
There was an amazing ability Haer’Dalis had, a skill that made him a natural on the stage and won him a host of fans, a piercing magnetism and a way of making it seem as if the whole world disappeared once his dark eyes were fixed upon you. Time stopped when you were the object of his attention, he bestowed a sense of importance and gravity upon the most timid and unremarkable of people. At first it made her uneasy, as if he were trying to cast some sort of enchantment on her, but she grew to accept that he genuinely was interested and the intensity was merely a part of his fiendish nature. She had encountered tanar’ri before, they were charismatic, attractive in spite of their gruesome appearance, and Haer’Dalis offered a safe opportunity to indulge in the strange magnetism of demons without the threat of death or mutilation.
She tried to chase away thoughts of his unnaturally warm skin, his hot breath, the contrast of his feverish mouth as it pressed against her cool lips. The first time he snaked a lithe arm around her waist, as they sat together before a fire not unlike the one she lay before now. It was in a sparsely decorated room at an inn in the Umar Hills, the evening before they set out to investigate the strange happenings in the area. She had been plagued with nightmares, there was something odd in the air and the shadows seemed somehow longer, the sky dimmer. Haer’Dalis had been awake writing and heard her thrashing in her room, he had crept down to her room and listened from outside her door. Her whimpers and muffled cries alarmed him and he cast a spell to unlock the door and force his way into her room. She awoke with a start, cursing as she caught sight of the open door, her hands moving to weave a spell. Haer’Dalis’ soft, smooth voice greeted her, his gentle laughter rang in her ears as his unexpectedly warm hands wrapped around hers. It was the first time they had touched, she would never forget it.
He spent that evening with her, he insisted that it was she who was doing him a favor as he too was troubled by strange shadows and whispers that left him too uneasy to sleep. They sat before a fire, on a shoddily woven rug before the rough stone hearth, the warmth of the flames and the tiefling’s nearness felt as if it seeped into her very bones. Stories were shared, laughter stifled so as to not wake the others, Haer’Dalis’ curiosity about her childhood and journey through Amn was nigh insatiable. The death and destruction that had followed her wherever she went did not repel him as it did others, nor did he ask for any great detail, instead he seemed entranced by her stories of survival in the face of great trials. Her destiny intrigued him, he openly admitted it to her, but he had no interest in the power of her heritage, it was merely the chaotic upheaval of the Time of Troubles that piqued his interest. He shared with her the guiding philosophy of the Doomguard and his devotion to it, it was strange but not entirely without merit. So their conversation continued, they sank deeper and deeper into one another’s minds, their bodies crept closer together on the threadbare mat.
She barely noticed that he was so close to her until she felt his hips brush against hers, a tingle of anticipation raced down her spine and into her belly. She became acutely aware of the looseness of his half-unbuttoned shirt, the rise and fall of his toned, smooth chest and the hint of brimstone in his scent. He reached a hand up to brush a lock of gray-blue hair that had fallen into his bottomless black eyes. He paused into the middle of the story he was sharing with her about his time with Raelis Shai and gave her a curious glance. A knowing smile tugged at his lips, he could tell that his nearness had an effect on her, and from the faint outline she could see in his form-fitting leathers she was not the only one who had become aroused.
They had shared many conversations before, he had openly flirted with her in front of the others, but this was the first time that an air of true intimacy had developed between them. Haer’Dalis was surprisingly slow in his physical affections towards her, it fact he was so slow that she had become fairly certain that his supposed affections and attentions were nothing more than an act. A bit of fun for them both, nothing more.
As they sat beside one another, faces turned towards each other, she could feel something different burning in his unblinking gaze. He reached out to touch her hair, a rough thumb caressed her cheek as it brushed past her ear and down the slope of her neck. She had wrapped a blanket around her to cover her bare skin but she let it drop as his hand slid down her throat towards her collarbones. She heard his sharp intake of breath as the cloth fell and revealed a series of scars littered over her chest, snaking under her smallclothes. He must have been able to see the shame that flashed in her eyes because he pulled back his hand to unbutton his own shirt, he pulled it off to reveal thick, angry scars on his chest and torso.
She reached out before she could stop herself, the cool tips of her slender fingers ghosted ever-so-gently across his most secret, most terrible wounds. The tenderness of her touch affected him greatly, the compassion and understanding that shone in her eyes was more than he deserved but he could not deny his desire any longer.
He wanted to press her to the ground, tear off her thin, nearly transparent smallclothes and help this broken, tormented girl before him escape into a world of pleasure for as long as he possibly could. He had seen how often she had offered her aid to the helpless, she tried to hide the small purses of coins she slipped to the orphans in the slums but it was not missed by his sharp eyes. Nessa stubbornly fought against the river of misfortune, she protested against the inequities of life with a fervor that was surely a reaction to her divine heritage. Struggling against the inevitable, fighting to slow entropy, he knew that she sought redemption in her good deeds. Redemption for the destructive powers of her father’s legacy.
But he held himself back, his hand returned to her face, brushing against her narrow chin. His thumb slid across her lips and she pressed a kiss against it, the softness of her lips was tantalizing. Godchild or not, she was a woman before him, a woman with needs, wants, hopes, dreams. His hand fell to her chest, his fingers traced over the geometric scars on her chest and slid under the thin cloth that covered her breasts. His thumb grazed over her nipple and she bit back a moan of pleasure. His hands were so warm, the sensation of him touching her skin was intoxicating. He leaned forward to press a soft kiss against her lips, his hesitation a silent request for her permission to continue, and it was answered with a cool tongue that slipped into his mouth. She leaned forward to wrap her arms around his neck, the blanket fell away completely as she climbed up onto his lap. He could feel her firm nipples pressed against his chest and his erection strained against the ties of his leather breeches. Long, pale legs wrapped around him, her delicate, spring-like scent hung in the air around him, he reached up to run his hands through the cascade of raven locks that spilled down her back. He had dreamed of her like this more times that he would have liked to admit, he had restrained his desire for her body and sought to find out more about her before charming his way into her bed. But there had been no seduction, no games, merely an affection that grew slowly over time. It had been so long since he had been with a woman, months since he had left Raelis’ company, his head swam as she slid her body against his.
Not a word was spoken between them, there was no more time for conversation, the only sounds were stifled sighs and moans as they explored one another's bodies. He leaned forward to gently lower her to the ground, his nimble hands pulled the last of her smallclothes down her legs and threw them aside. She breathed in sharply as he positioned himself between her legs, she tried to grasp at the ties of his pants but he gave her a playful grin and shook his head. The jingle of his earrings when he shook his head at her, it was a sound she couldn’t forget, nor the feeling of his soft hair brushing against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. When his tongue finally slid across her aching clit, she thought she might come immediately, she hadn’t been with a man or a woman in so long she had lost track. The liquid heat of his breath against her, and the warmth of his tongue as it traced over her most sensitive parts made her toes curl. Within a few short moments she jerked upwards, her body racked with intense pleasure, but the tiefling wouldn’t stop. His tongue circled around her, strokes became more focused, harder, and his hands caressed her thighs and buttocks. She came again, this time more gradually, and the orgasm rolled over her for what seemed like an eternity.
He held her tight as she tried to squirm out of his grasp, he was intent upon seeing if she could come again but she had other ideas. She finally slid out from his hands and paused to take in the view of him kneeling before her, his chest bare and his olive cheeks flushed with a hint of pink. He was beautiful, sinewy and scarred, his frame slender like hers but well-muscled. She brought herself up to her knees and leaned forward to kiss him, shivering as his hot tongue pressed into her mouth. She reached down and loosened the ties of his breeches, pushing the leather down and revealing a thick erection that twitched as she slid her hand around it. He sighed softly as her fingers moved against him, gently working over the length of him, and he could feel desire quickly building within him. He tugged himself out of her grasp and pressed him chest forward, he wrapped an arm around her as he lowered her to the wooden floor.
She spread her legs beneath him, he could feel the heat of her and the wetness of her against his cock as she lifted her hips up towards him. He paused, his eyes searching her for any sign of discomfort, any hint of hesitation. She reached down and grabbed him and desperately pushed him into her, their eyes locked on one another as he slid deep into her. Nessa thrust against him hungrily, she felt another orgasm building and the delicious sensation of fullness was almost more than she could take. He held her hips back, his hand gripped her flesh as he began to slowly pump himself into her in purposeful, rhythmic movements. He wanted to savor as much of this as he could, he struggled to keep his control as she tightened around him. He teased her, holding back as he felt her nearing climax, his impish grin drove Nessa even more mad with desire. He continued this until she became impossibly tight, as her eyes closed and her body was racked with waves of ecstasy he allowed himself to speed up, his hips thrusting wildly. When his name escaped from her lips he couldn’t hold back anymore, he quickly pulled himself from her and emptied his seed onto the floor between her legs.
She glanced at him, curious, but this was his way. He had no interest in sireing children across the realms, and his wandering nature did not seem fit for fatherhood. It would take him many weeks to convince Nessa that it was no insult to her, it was merely a precaution. After her soul was taken from her, after they nearly died in the Underdark, there was no more holding back. He asked for her commitment, for a promise to love one another, and one another only, and she did not hesitate to agree. There was no more fear of children, instead there was a hope that maybe she could fall pregnant, that perhaps they could have a child together before she faced whatever terrible trials awaited her. Perhaps they could escape entropy with the most creative of all mortal acts.
It didn’t matter, in the end, she never fell pregnant and was uncertain if it was even possible, anyways. Irenicus was not gentle in his experiments, and she had never met a Bhaalspawn with a child before. Haer’Dalis was gone, as she was certain he would be, and she was left alone on a cold floor before a dying fire, tortured by memories and a love that refused to release her from their grasp. She knew Roth’s veiled threats were serious, it was clear that Haer’Dalis was unhappy to see his brother, her heart whispered to her that he was telling the truth when he said he would never willingly leave her side. Powers outside of both of their control pulled strings, they were mere puppets, she of the gods and he of his past.
But her heart’s whispers weren’t alone, and she was never, truly alone either.
He was there,
his voice was always present,
he never left her side. With Haer’Dalis gone, her last tether to the mortal world frayed, and she felt herself falling into a black pit of despair. As she descended, as she buckled underneath the weight of her grief, her divine blood ignited within her veins. It surged to protect her and envelop her in an armor of wrath and retribution. It was good that Haer’Dalis was gone, that he wouldn’t be here to witness what she could become. What she
would become.
