#a discord server sounds like hell to maintain....

[garygoldenbignaturals]

Ngl i dont know how else id. Broadcast my oc stuff if this place goes kaput lol

[redfoxwritesstuff]

HI

umm smut request incoming…

Vox x alastor’s sister! Reader

Vox railing her and sending a video of something to Alastor (just like maybe a sound bite of her moans or sum) to piss him off… or…

Fucking on a live broadcast because he’s Vox and he if he thinks he can he will (I think he would censor most of it on live tv for the sake of he still technically wants to be the only who gets to see reader naked)

Either way the goal is to absolutely ruin Alastor’s sister to piss Alastor off

No rush…

I live for your writing

I love the way you write Vox…

-🐝anon

Hello, dearheart bumblebee-

Ask and you shall receive, I dearly hope you like it.

Vox x Alastor!Sister!Reader Rating: Adults only Content warnings: Potential age dynamics and power imbalance, dubious content, broadcast of sexual time without reader's consent, smut, putting way too much faith in a glass desk Join Us at VoxTek today! A discord server dedicated to Vox and the rest of the Hazbin crew.

The polished perfection of the tech district gleamed and sparkled around you as your simple low heels clicked against the clean pavement. Everything about the district was maintained perfectly, making it easy to forget you were in Hell as long as you didn’t look at the residents too long. 

You had been young when you died and when your elder brother joined you in Hell not too many years later, he had resumed his task of protecting you. It had been suffocating, as much so in death as it had been in life. 

Tonight, you were determined to break free from that suffocation. If you were lucky you’d pull it off without him noticing you’d strayed away from his approved districts while he was busy with his little hotel project. It had drawn his attention away from you for a while now and while you had always been an obedient young woman, you craved more. 

Music pounded the air as you approached a long line for a club. You’d never been in a proper club. At best, you were allowed to attend lounges and bars similar to what had been popular in the time of your life but after being dead for far longer than you had lived, you wanted to live just a little. 

What harm could it do? It’s not like Alastor would find out, he almost never came by the house lately anyway. 

Standing in the line was boring. It felt like it was never moving. You were convinced it would be morning before you got inside the stupid club. With your luck, come the brighter light of morning, while you still stood in this cursed line, Alastor would return home for the first time in almost a week to find you missing. 

You contemplated leaving as your tall ears flattened against your head. All you wanted was one night to act like a normal 22 (plus a few decades after death) year old living in the modern world and not the little early 1900s relic you spent most of your life being. 

Excitement erupted as a fancy black car pulled up just ahead of you in the line. The driver got out, wearing a dark blue pressed suit and held open the back door of the car. 

A man, tall with broad shoulders stepped out of the club as people excitedly tried to get his attention. His head was a flat screen, digitized face smiling wide as he seemed to soak up the attention. 

You leaned out of the line as you tried to get a better view of the man everyone was so excited to see. Whoever he was, he was attractive in a way you couldn’t really explain. His head was weird but the smile was charming and confident in a way that drew you in. 

His eyes scanned the crowd as he walked down the line, speaking to people here or there. Women and men alike swooned for the chance to take a picture with him. He was, without a doubt, a big deal. 

Did he know your brother? Would this man recognize your relation if he saw you? You shared many features with your brother, though you lacked the ever present smile and red hair. You had tried to obscure the relationship, donning black and browns rather than the red that dominated your wardrobe. 

“What do we have here?” 

Your ears flicked up and forward as you realized how close the man had gotten while you were lost in your thoughts. A started squeak slipped out of your mouth as you flinched back from his screen. 

“Aren’t you just the cutest thing,” He said as if it was the highest compliment, “what brings you out here?” 

“I wanted to go out?” You weren’t sure what to say, not knowing what he knew or who he was. 

“How’s that going for you?” He made a show of looking up the long line still to the door. “Been here long?” 

“A while,” You admitted, “I may just end up leaving, it’s getting late.”

“Splendid!” He clapped his hands together as he lifted the rope between him and the line you stood in. “What would you say if I told you I could take you somewhere better to get a few drinks and music?” 

“Like where?” You asked as you ducked under the rope before hesitating in front of him.

“Vee Tower.” He cocked his thumb to the tower that dominated the district. “We’ve got a bar in there.” 

“I- I don’t know who you are. Maybe I should pass,” 

“You really aren’t from around here, are you?” The man laughed, holding his hand out for you in invitation. “The name is Vox.” 

“You’re an overlord.” You stepped away, regretting leaving the safety of Alastor’s territories. You’d heard his name in passing as your brother talked on about the overlord meetings but knew little else about the man. 

“Yep,” He popped the p as he rose his digital eyebrow. “And you look a lot like another overlord. Enough that I wouldn’t feel right leaving you on the streets. Couldn’t let anything bad happen to someone who may be important to my peer, now can I?” 

“Your a friend of-”

“I am indeed!” Vox took your hand in his as soon as you made the slightest motion to take his hand. “You want to have a good time out in the tech district, don’t you?” 

He lead you toward the waiting car, shooing away the driver and pushing the back passenger door closed with his hip. He opened the front passenger door and all but shoved you in the car. 

Getting into the driver’s seat, he had the car in motion before you could even question how the driver was going to get back. 

“So, doll- what are you looking to get out of your trip to the modern age?” He turned his head, allowing his eyes to flick between you and the road. 

“I just wanted to have a good time. Get out from under my brother’s thumb for a bit,” You twisted the skirt of your dress in your hands. If Vox was a friend of Alastor’s you could surely trust him, though you couldn’t imagine him being friends with a tech overlord. 

“Ol Al smothering you?” Vox laughed as if he was in on some joke with you. He was a charming man and you found yourself smiling with him, relaxing into the seat as he made light hearted conversation. 

Before you knew it, you had a drink in your hand in Vox’s personal penthouse as he showed off tech to you, leaning over your shoulder as he crowded your space. You found yourself drawn to the warmth of him. 

When you leaned your back into his chest, you didn’t know but when you looked back on this night, you would identify that as the trigger for everything that would come next. 

His body was firm against your back and his breath, somehow coming from his screen ruffled your hair over your shoulder. His hand fell to your waist with a squeeze. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the prototype device in his hand to flop on a couch in his home office. 

Clawed hand pulled your head, forcing you to look over your shoulder as his bright screen burned into your eyes. You closed your eyes to protect them only to feel his screen against your face. It quickly shifted, smooth surface giving way to lips as he kissed you.

It was strange and electrifying. You couldn’t remember the last time anyone had kissed you. Being who you were and your brother’s reputation, few would even consider braving the Radio Demon’s wrath. 

You hadn’t realized how starved for romantic attention you were until his lips were on you. His mouth tasted like the air smelled ahead of a lighting storm, though you never would have thought of that as a taste before. 

You turned in his arms, resting your hands on his chest as your heart thundered in your chest. Strong hands dug into your waist as he walked you back until you bumped into his desk. 

He lifted you as if you weighed nothing, setting you on the edge of the smooth glass surface, trusting it to hold your weight. His tongue wormed into your mouth and you moaned at the feel of him. Your mind swam as alcohol and endorphins mixed, giving you a natural high that had you clinging to his chest. 

Vox tore his hands from your waist, grabbing your knees and forcing them further apart so that he could slot his body tight between your thighs. Blush burned your skin as you felt his hands run up your legs, pushing your skirt higher as he made his way back to your hips.

Could he see your blush in the dim light?

He pulled you to him by your hips, slotting his crotch tightly against yours as his tongue licked down your neck, leaving a trail of light static shocks in the process that had you gasping for air. 

You could feel his hardness against you, throbbing strong enough that you could feel it through his pants and your soaked panties. 

“Vox,” You needed him, gasping his name as he ground his hips into you. 

“Do you want me?” Vox asked, smirk plastered on his face. “Say you want me.” 

“I want you,” You answered as Vox sank to his knees. 

“Can I taste you?” His hands ran up and down your legs as he knelt in front of you. Static shocks ran over your skin, leaving goosebumps under his hands. 

“I’ve never-” It wasn’t really done in your limited experience in life and in death, you didn’t have much time to find your feet, all things considered, to feel safe enough to explore before your brother’s overbearing presence suffocated any chance you had to explore. 

“The first to do this for you?” He asked, eyes wide and earnest, not matching the sly smirk on his face in the slightest. His eyes, you realized, often gave him away. “Let me, please?” 

“Okay.”

Your breath caught and stuttered in your lungs as he slipped his claws under your panties and ripped them from you, leaving them in tatters as they fell to the ground. Strong hands ran up and down your inner thighs, spreading your legs further apart with each pass.

“Lean back,” He demanded, “Let me see you.”

You did as he asked, leaning back and supporting your weight on the palms of your hands. It took a few tries to find somewhere to put your hands that didn’t have papers or bits of tech. 

“Oh,” You gasped as a finger ran up your slit, touch so soft that it only caressed your part without delving inside your folds at all.

“So wet for me already.” 

You were far from prepared for the feeling of Vox’s mouth on you. Strong hands pulled your thighs apart, spreading your folds as he ran his long electric tongue up your slit. Static danced on your nerves as his long tongue slipped over your clit only to pull back and circle it. 

He pulled the nub into his mouth. Your brain struggled comprehend how any of this was possible when he had a flat screen for a face but as his long finger slipped into your entrance, you didn’t care. 

You moaned as he sucked harshly on your clit, running his tongue over the captured bundle of nerves as he pumped the single finger inside you until you were panting. A coil felt ready to break inside you and just when it felt like it would be too much, he pulled away.

“Why did you stop?” You asked as your breathing calmed.

Instead of answering, he leaned in and ran his tongue over your folds repeatedly. As soon as her breath was coming fast again, he entered her once again. Instead of his finger however, it was his long electrified tongue that wiggled itself into her. He slurped her slick from the source as he probed, static sending stimulation over everything he touched until she clenched around him. 

He moaned as she spasmed around his tongue, clenching the soft electric muscle. Slick poured into his eager mouth as he palmed himself through his pants to the music of your gasps. 

“Did you like that?” Vox asked as he climbed to his feet. 

“Yeah,” your arms felt weak as you struggled to support your upper body.

“Tell me how much,” Vox demanded as he worked his belt open.

“It felt so good,” You said, mind spinning as you watched him pull his belt from his pants, clattering to the ground as you babbled praise. “Your mouth felt so good on me. Your tongue,” 

Vox freed himself from his pants and you were left mesmerized by his cock. Dark skin covered his considerable size as glowing veins traced their way around his length. 

“You think that was good, just wait.”

He ran the head of his cock up and down your slit, gathering ample wetness as he leaned over you, working open the buttons on your blouse. You had no bra on under, leaving you fully exposed as he pulled your shirt open. 

“Who would have thought,” Vox loomed over you, hungry eyes roaming over your chest, taking in the swell of your breasts and how they moved with each gasping breath you took. “That that old timey prick had such a darling sister hidden away.” 

Fear flared in your mind at the way Vox spoke of your brother, not using the tone or words you’d have expected from someone who was a friend but before you could think too much on it, he was sliding inside. 

You were tight and tense as his cock breached your entrance but your copious slick ensured that your tense body did nothing to stop him. Inching in, he pushed your fluttering walls aside slowly as he filled you. When he stilled, you could feel the firm bones of his hips against you while the head of his cock kissed your cervix. 

“Fuck, doll.” He leaned over you, shoving the items on his desk to the floor without a care as be braced himself against the desk, ensuring you were boxed in, speared and with no where to go. “You’re so tight. Squeezing me like it’ll save you. His best kept secret, huh?”

You tried to get your feet in front of him, tried to find purchase to push him back so you could breath but his chest was solid and firm under your hand. It was like pushing against a wall. Your feet found no way to catch any part of him to push against, your attempts only causing you to wiggle and nudge the cock buried deep inside you. 

“Don’t worry, Doll- I’m not going to hurt you.” Vox promised, dark smile on his digital face. “I’m going to show you what you’re missing out on. Remember how good you said I made you feel? I’m going to make you feel so much better.” 

You clenched your jaw as he pulled back, heavy length pulling from your cunt in a wet drag until his tip, glowing slightly with the flush of his strange blood as it nestled just inside you.

“You look so good like this, spread out on my desk, little doe tail mashed against the glass and my cock spreading you.”

His hips snapped forward and you couldn’t contain the moan as the force jostled your body on the desk. Pulling back, he admired the way your ears sat atop your head, cocked to the side and limp, face slack and eyes drooping as you looked up at him. 

If he couldn’t have Alastor, he would have you. If he couldn’t have Alastor, he would ruin you. If Alastor wouldn’t want him, he would ensure you craved him. 

Another snap of his hips had a deeper moan pour from your pretty parted lips. This was wrong, you knew that now. He wasn’t a friend. You should have listened to your brother. You should have never left the safety of his territory. 

But it was hard to keep telling yourself that as Vox’s cock kissed your cervix with every thrust forward. The words that fell from his lips, hot promises and dark praises had you wanting more. 

Your slick poured out of you with every pull back of Vox’s heavy cock, you could feel more of your slick smear around your folds and hips, dripping down you and wetting the fur of your tail. 

You arched on the glass desk as Vox leaned forward, static tongue reaching out to twist and slither over your nipple, sending shocks through your blood and down your core. 

“Fuck,” you gasped, reaching out for his arms to somehow ground yourself as his lips enveloped your nipple, teeth grazing over the sensitive pebble. 

“Who’s making you feel good?” Vox asked as he pulled away, “Who’s cock are you taking so well?”

“Vox,” you gripped his arm in one hand, reaching out and running your palm over his clothed chest as he moved above you, “Vox, please?”

“What do you need, Doll?”

Your body was rocking with each hard thrust, breasts bouncing with each jostle. He grabbed your hips as he straightened, pulling you harshly to hin with each thrust, making your breathy moans up in pitch as he hit something deep inside of you just right. 

“Please,” You repeated, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. 

“What do you like?” He questioned, leaning over you for a moment to kiss you hotly, tongue sweeping into your mouth as things shifted and moved on his desk. Electricity ran over your skin as his power flared but you couldn’t make yourself care. “Want to hear your voice.” 

“Your cock,” You gasped as he pulled back, a strand of saliva stretching between your lip and where his screen gave way to his lips. You gasped as he shifted you, angling your hips so that his cock pressed tighter against the soft front of your walls. “Feels so good.” 

He supported your hips with a hand under you, fingers wrapped around the little tail, underside sticky with spilled slick. It wasn’t comfortable but you were too distracted by the way he gripped your tail to care about the pressure. His other hand pressed on your lower belly, making the head of his cock hit the spongy bundle of nerves harder with each violent trust. 

“Fuck, so good.” he said, leaning forward again and supporting his weight on palm placed by your arm as you tightened around him. “Fuck babydoll, so tight. Going to ruin you. Going to mark you inside and out.”

“Please,” You whined, hooking your legs around his back as his pubic bone crashed and rubbed against your clit with every thrust, “So close. Don’t stop. Please,” 

“Who’s cock are you going to cum on?” His arm gave out, causing him to crash down on a elbow. A shimmering crack spidered out from where his elbow crashed into the glass surface. “Who’s cum are you going to take?”

“Vox,” You clenched around him, walls fluttering as you held onto him with arms and legs and core, wanting to pull him closer still, “Vox, I’m going to-” 

“Ffffuuck,” He moaned deeply as his cock, nestled right against your cervix twitched. His hips rocked as he spilled his load deep inside your twitching walls. Your hips rocked as you humped into him, urging his cock to twitch and spurt as your climax faded, leaving you twitching, gasping, full and satisfied. 

“You did so good for me,” Vox said as he caressed your face with a clawed hand. “Put on a hell of a show.” 

“What?” The word was slurred as you leaned into his touch, spent and body aching from the force of your orgasms. 

“Did you have a good night out?” Vox asked instead of answering your question. You groaned as his softening cock twitched, still slotted deep inside you. 

“So good,” you praised, wrapping your fingers around his forearm as you basked in the afterglow. “Felt so good. Worth sneaking out.” 

“Good,” Vox said, withdrawing from you and tugging your skirt down and packing his cock back into his pants. There was no avoiding the way your slick had marked up the front of his pants but he would deal with that later. 

“Vox, I-” You sat up, buttoning your top as you watched the attractive man straighten himself up. 

“A car is waiting for you. Your brother is looking for you. Better scurry back to the middle ages, Doll.” Vox glanced down at his phone before looking at your wide brown eyes. So innocent and soft where your brother was dark and sharp. 

“Will I see you again?” You asked, hopeful. 

“Maybe,” Vox teased, running his clawed hand over your tall ears that looked so much like his, “If your brother ever lets you out of his sight again.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by that as he ushered you out of his home. He hadn’t even given you a chance to clean up. With each step you took, you could feel your slick between your legs and the way his seed seeped from your stretched core. 

On the other side of the pentagram, Alastor thrashed through his broadcasting tower. Angel’s phone was shattered against the wall, screen dark. It didn’t matter, every time he closed his eyes he could still see it. 

The way your face looked, his sweet sister contorted in pleasure granted by that disgusting, flat faced, trend chasing buffoon. Alastor had no doubt that Vox had used you to get to him.

Vox didn’t care for you, not that Alastor wanted him to. What he dreaded though was your realization that your lover’s tryst was broadcast throughout Hell. All of Hell could have watched Vox claim the hardly seen sister of the Radio Demon. All of Hell could have heard the Tech overlord’s name fall from the one person closest to Alastor.

All of Hell saw Vox take what Alastor was responsible for protecting. 

“You’ll regret this, Old Pal.” Alastor promised as he sank into shadows to find out where you had been dropped off. 

[richardsondavis]

Why do I listen to their opinions?

They are toxic. They aren't supportive.

But they're right

Are they? They claim everything is localization. The Discord server I went to was at least nuanced about it.

Then why the hell did you post it in a sub where you know you'll get that kind of reply?

I wanted to see if I'm a bad guy for doing what I want. I want to see what they'll say to me. What vile bullshit they'll call me and so far...

They haven't called you names or nothing! They just talked about the topic you provided while they ignored your emotional ramblings.

...

Fucking think about it, Rich. You want to feel like a victim. Why? Because you just don't want to accept responsibility for your actions. Yes, you purchasing the physical copies of the manga you think you like isn't supporting the company that is actively injecting modern day sociopolitical ideas into works that don't even mention not even have them in the first place. You are a villain, a sheep who follows the herd, you are no one special and the fact that you don't accept that hurts me, Richardson!!! I am you! I am the part of you that wants you to be safe, I am the evil that lurks within you, the one that has the homophobic ideas, the one that tells you that this sentence sounds a bit off so you should fact-check it yourself, the many things that made you who you are. I am that being that made you who you are. What I want to happen is that you accept it, without fear, without fail!!! You love reading! You will gravitate towards these official localizations no matter what you do so own it. Become it. Say to people, you'd rather wait for the official localization. That's very based. Rich, accept who you are.

I prefer to call them translations, as I believe the word "localization" has a baggage that I don't want to unpack.

They're localized for the common English speaking folk. They're puritans but it's localized, my friend. Any shape or form is considered localization. So Bounding Into Comics making a difference between localization and translation is irksome to us.

Yes. I would still like to consider my options. I don't want to really spend more money on what I don't need. I have three series and I would like to maintain them. The other series I'd like to check, well, you can check them online. Plenty of resources for us, y'know?

True that.

By the way, I didn't catch your name.

Are you kidding? We're the same person!

Well yeah but you do have an identifier, right?

...

Xavier. I am Xavier.

Hello, X-Man.

Hello, Davis.

What do I want? Validation? Someone to tell me I'm right? What if I'm wrong? That if is really gonna be the end of me.

I've been suggested that I should learn Japanese and read the original works in Japanese. I'd like to but it's so much work.

I am merely asking if availing these translations by official sources whom these people unironically call localizations, is perpetuating these bullshit?

I haven't gotten a clear answer.

I want to get a clear answer.

Am I the bad guy here?

[misplacedgamer]

Why Bakugo is OK with "Kacchan" (and why he might not be going forward)

Ah, one of the great mysteries of the modern world: why the hell does Bakugo put up with Deku calling him “Kacchan”? Usually the way this trope goes is that the person who receives the silly nickname cannot stand it and will put up token complaints about it, but then eventually give in because they find they actually enjoy the intimacy of the nickname. But no, that’s not what happens at all! Not only is Bakugo totally fine with Deku calling him Kacchan, he even lets Kaminari get away with it.

So what exactly is going on here? Well through careful analysis (lots of screaming on Discord servers and sleepless nights) I think I’ve finally narrowed down just why Bakugo is so ok with it.

First, let’s actually outline what "Kacchan" means here. I know this is probably common knowledge at this point, but you never know who might need a refresher. “Kacchan'' is a diminutive nickname that Izuku gave Bakugo when they were children, and it combines the first syllable of the first kanji of Bakugo’s name (勝 - “katsu”) with the suffix “-chan”. “-chan” is a suffix usually used to sound cute; high school girls usually use it amongst each other to indicate familiarity, and they can also use it on their boyfriends. It’s also normal for kids to use this suffix amongst each other. Tsuyu actually uses “-chan” for all her classmates, male and female, which goes along with Hori having her say a lot of normal cutesy things while having a flat affect in her voice (this is more prevalent in the USJ arc, but we also see it in her solo filler episode in season 2).

We see in chapter 9 “Deku vs Kacchan” that Bakugo is the first of his friends to learn how to read kanji (this is where Bakugo first comes up with the nickname Deku, and the rest of the friend group just goes along with it), meaning that the rest of his friends at this point are only reading kana. A lot of written material in Japan will have pronunciation guides in kana above kanji, given that kanji can be pronounced in lots of different ways, so the kids at least know how to say Bakugo’s name (and “ka” is the first one you learn after vowels, so they definitely know it). I do think it’d be adorable if they couldn’t really pronounce his name and could only say “ka” but they probably can say his full name. It’s also important to note here that ALL of Bakugo’s friends call him Kacchan at this point, not just Deku. Bakugo still has real friends here, since he’s more or less a normal kid here and not the raging egomaniac we see in chapter 1, so he would absolutely get a nickname like this. It might not even have been Deku that came up with it.

Now, onto the main event: why still use it? With Deku I think it’s both really obvious and kind of not. First, the obvious part: Deku is definitely trying to maintain some sort of connection to Bakugo in any way he can. Even though he acknowledges that Bakugo is a real jerk, he still admires all the positive qualities Bakugo actually brings to the table (and is the only person to do so that early on in the story).

But I think there’s a subconscious aspect to this too. I think, by still calling him Kacchan, he’s still allowing himself to think of Bakugo as someone that’s ahead of him. It's definitely not something Deku is aware he’s doing, but if you spend 10 years constantly putting someone on a higher level than you, some of that is bound to linger. Look at how Deku treats All Might, another person who's been proven over and over to not deserve the pedestal Deku puts him on.

For Bakugo, I actually think it's the same situation, but in reverse. Bakugo at the beginning always believed that he was better than everyone else, ESPECIALLY Deku, the Quirkless nerd who would not leave him alone. Despite knowing he was stronger though, he constantly feels like Deku is looking down on him, judging him, calling him weak behind his back. Like Deku does to him, Bakugo is one of the few people at the beginning of the story who knows that Deku has plenty of positive qualities: he’s kind, he’s smart, he’s big hearted, and he’ll do anything to save the people around him, even if its pulling a kid out of a river. But unlike Deku, who is too focused on compensating for his own weaknesses, Bakugo buries his weaknesses so he doesn’t have to acknowledge that he’s just like everyone else. So when Deku calls him “Kacchan”, I think he enjoys it on some level, because it's something Deku has done since he was a kid and did just follow Bakugo around. If Bakugo is still “Kacchan”, then he can still pretend he has something over Deku.

But underneath it all, I do think Bakugo misses having Deku as a friend, or even having friends at all. We’ve seen in both 322 and one of the extra chapters that he treat Deku like shit because he’s pushing him away, and clearly Bakugo regretted that on some level (it’s probably partially why he goes so hard in on Deku the way he does; it’s overcompensation). It’s something that Bakugo is also trying to put aside and move forward from, given that he has both formally apologized and acknowledged Deku by his proper first name. Bakugo is finally trying to let go of all the stuff that has bogged down his relationship with Deku since they were kids.

And this leads to my second point: I don’t think Deku will continue to use Kacchan going forward. If they are truly to stand on equal footing, then Deku is also going to have to stop living in the past so much. He is also going to have to let go of his childhood relationship with Bakugo, both the good and the bad, if he’s to stop putting Bakugo on a pedestal and treat him as a friend.

Now, I’ve been going back and forth on who actually decides to get rid of the nickname. Deku is clearly not at this point yet, given that in 322 he immediately switched from “none of my friends can keep up with me” to “I can’t keep up with my friends, they’re all better than me”, and he and Bakugo really have not finished their talk yet. I do think they will get a chance to speak again and FINALLY get on each other's level, and I’m torn. On one hand, I think it would be cool to have Bakugo bring it up, since Deku up to this point has been the one pushing for more open communication and I would like the role reversal. On the other hand, I would like Deku to have some agency in actually deciding that he doesn’t need “Kacchan” anymore, that Bakugo isn’t a finish line that he has to cross in order to be a real hero. This could also be a nice segway into DvK3, as I would love if Deku was the one who actually initiates the fight this time around, and he could finally win because he’s not thinking about comparing himself to Bakugo but just fighting the best he can do.

I don’t know, either way I would not be surprised if “Kacchan” is retired in...lets give it 40 chapters. That’s about as long as it took for DvK2 to happen after the rescue operation in Kamino. So yeah, check in with you guys in a year to see if I was right!

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

think ur cool as hell & always love seein ur photos.... would love to talk more but i don't rly know you that well and i dont want to sound creepy in saying that.... u seem like an awesome freaking person and would love to get to know u more!! xoxo

bawh, this is sweet<3 its not creepy, idk i think the new internet has implanted this idea in ppls minds that if u enjoy someones presence online it means ur "parasocial" or "reply guy" or whatevr but. the internet is better when ppl are connecting & communicating. TBH i feel bad at maintaining conversations especially thru tumblr messenger its jst not my thing but ive formed some of my deepest friendships from slowly posting alongside the same ppl for years. sometimes i wana make a discord server for this blog but i hate having to moderate shit lol istoomuchpressure.. still, im alwaus considering it. thanku for the message i hope u have a luvly evening <3

[if-the-crown-fits-translate-it]

Discord pt 107

[Date: 28/03, 3:41 AM GMT - 28/03, 4:33 AM GMT]  

[Direct continuation of pt 106]

jayyyyyyyy: “actually now that I think about it-- you're allowed to talk to us, but the rest of the court isnt. any idea why?”

Duke: “Today is the only exception on discord, the crown said that we may only do an introduction and answer any questions you few may have! curiosity when running rampant can be dangerous you see. With regards to twitter however, the truth is that we are simply more mature.”

jayyyyyyyy: “definitely seems like it-- you guys seem to be a lot more compact with how you respond to things”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “Duke do you remember meeting crown? just curious!”

Duke: “Do not tell the others I told you this but many times I have crept down and listened to the scoldings our siblings have given each other, the brutish way they bicker and the consequences of their actions. Poor Baroness, her dress I mourn for! the Crown understands that despite us being young and despite us being newer members of the family we certainly have much more of a handle on things than the other poor lions do.”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “Oh”

jayyyyyyyy: “do you like dresses, Duke?”

Duke: “Meeting Crown? it was a summer's day, Ibelieve. My sister and Iwere having an outing at a beach with our family and we went off to explore and then...... Hm. It is quite interesting how joyous occasions can just slip past the mind! how time goes so quick when you are having fun it seems as though Icannot quite recall.”

jayyyyyyyy: “that-- I. hm”

Kate 👑: “Oh, the beach sounds lovely! I've never been, unfortunately- I'd get too many weird stares...”

Duke: “Dresses I do find intriguing! I prefer trousers and shirts though - much easier to clean and outfits do not come to ruin if a seam of either garment rips.”

jayyyyyyyy: “oh! I was asking because you said you mourn for her dress?”

emuhlee: “Oh Duke, what kind of music do you prefer?”

Duke: “Oh beaches can be quite lovely! the water usually is so soothing and lovely. Kate, perhaps one day my sister and I may escort you? there are private beaches although I am unaware where the closest one may be.”

jayyyyyyyy: “I’d love to go to the beach-- its always seemed so nice, but unfortunately water burns me :')”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “I’ve never been allowed to any beahes but from what I’ve heard they're lovely!”

Duke: “I adore multiple composers, it is hard to say! Niccolo Paganini my rank among my preferred if it may help.”

Raeva: “I've never been to beach but I have been to the coast and watched the waves crash and turn.”

Kate 👑: “I've been considering... filing down my antlers so I don't get weird looks, so maybe I can go out in public- but I'd love to maybe come with you one day!”

[jayyyyyyyy: “oh! I was asking because you said you mourn for her dress?”]

Duke: “And I do mourn for her dress. It was crafted with such care and deocre. Beautiful dresses are already difficult to maintain and it is a shame when one falls due to petty arguments.”

jayyyyyyyy: “aah I see”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “Duke, how old are you and your sister? just curious!”

Duke: “I feel selfish for taking so much time and attention onto myself, do you have any interesting things about yourselves you would care to share?”

Duke: “My sister and Iare seventeen years of age.”

jayyyyyyyy: “oh! uh”

jayyyyyyyy: “well, uh.. I’ma full enderman, if you havent guessed already. a few people have commented on my eyes being green instead of purple though :]”

Kate 👑: “I mean...I have antlers like a deer... I don't know if that would be considered interesting...”

S T A L: “I'm not quite sure. Ithink I'm a human if that helps”

Duke: “These are quite interesting things! Tell me, jay are you able to teleport?And Kate do you grow velvet?”

Raeva: “I like your antlers Kate even if you tried to gouge me with them once~”

Duke: “There is no shame in being human, it is what my sister and I are afterall!”

Big G (they/them): “17 yrs old gang pog”

jayyyyyyyy: “I can teleport! Ihave a lot of control on where I teleport to, though I also tend to panic teleport if it gets to that point”

Big G (they/them): “Also I am definitely not human, which is interesting I'd say.”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “I have fox ears and a tail but sometimes my ears play music against my will- and I have like black holes for eyes- not sure if that's interesting but its something abt me :/”

Duke: “Oh, that is intriguing! how does it feel to teleport?”

Dollar General Tubbo: “Sorry I haven't spoken much, I am more of a listener; but I'll properly introduce myself. The name I go by is Moth. I am also an enderman... Sort of. Long story. Green eyed as well :]”

Duke: “Your ears play music?”

Duke: “Oh goodness, so many endermen! It is a pleasure to meet you, Moth. I am Duke.”

jayyyyyyyy: “it feels.. well, at first it felt, erm.. strange? it upset my stomach a little, moving within the folds of space and all. now all it feels like is as if someone flicked my stomach”

Kate 👑: “They do... it's such an awful experience. I always look like I came right out of a horror movie...”

Dollar General Tubbo: “Pleasure to meet you as well, Duke.”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “uhh yeah, my fox ears sometimes switch from normal to mechanical and play music- I don't have control over it though so it gets annoying at times

like sometimes I'll be half asleep and my ears are like "mmmm melohi go brr" and then I cant sleep”

Duke: “You all are such interesting individuals! Teleporting sounds like such fun but also like such pain, Jay. It sounds so unpleasant and yet it is as natural to you as breathing is to I.

Your ears truly are a mystery though Ren! Do you know what causes it to be as such, or have you suffered from this affliction since childhood?”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “like dont get me wrong mellohi is a poggers song but it's unsettling when its playing in a dark room at 2 am”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “uhh I have an idea of why ears switch.. although I’m not sure as to why they only play music-

and I mean I technically have had them since  I was a child but I wasnt born with them-”

Duke: “Was it a curse?”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “depends on what you mean by that..

Duke: “Nothing bad, I assure you. I am simply just curious.”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “if you mean like someone said some magic words and now I have to go on some quest to get rid of it, then no

but I see them as a curse or burden”

Kate 👑: “I'd take those ears over antlers any day...”

Duke: “My sincerest apologies to the both of you, it sounds painful.”

Raeva: “We all look like we crawled out of hell somedays.”

Big G (they/them): “lol”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “I currently look like I crawled out of my hell tbh-”

Duke: “You should see me in the morning before I had my first cup of tea, I am truly a sight to behold!”

emuhlee: “You've mentioned tea a few times, what's your go-to type of tea?”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “I've been wearing the same clothes for like- how long has it been- for like 2 weeks because these are the only clothes that fit me rn, god there's so much dirt”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “yeah what type of tea person r u??”

Dollar General Tubbo: “Ren, do we need to go get you more clothes?”

Duke: “My preferred blend is Da Hong Pao. It's rich blend is truly something worth tasting.”

emuhlee: “maybe there are doll clothes laying around for you, ren/j”

Renboobigceenzatublraffectionate: “*normal clothes wouldn't fit me anyways we'd have to get van manto shrink them-”

Duke: “Have you ever crafted your own garments?”

[An argument breaks out between two of the server members that continues alongside this conversation]

Duke: “Getting in contact with a tailor may be in your best interest. While the needlework will have to be fine due to your small size the amount of fabric you use up would be less than a yard, likely evening out the cost.”

Duke: “Oh dear me. Be kind to your flock members, they are all you have.”

Kate 👑: “This is what I meant when I said that some of them don't appear to like the family, Duke...”

Duke: “The grandfather clock ticks away and I know I must leave soon. It is a shame Kate seeing your words proven true. Before I leave would you all enjoy a story?”

emuhlee: “A story sounds nice. Do indulge us?”

Duke: “"Do you love us?" asks the star to the moon, "Do you love us as you love the sun?"

"No," said the moon, for it could not lie to the ones it loves so preciously, "I love you more."

"Do you love the sun, then?"

"Indeed I do."

"Then how can you love us more?"

"Because," the moon said, gazing down at earth, "I love the ocean most of all."

Goodnight little sheep, I hope you all have sweet slumbers and lovely dreams. I myself will be having tea before bed, so I do hope you indulge in something nice before you sleep. I do hope you cease your arguing to find peace.”

[bullflight]

((I’ve been quiet...))

((There really is no one singular reason I ended up making this sort of ‘update’ post. I know I’ve been really inactive here and elsewhere. I’m mostly to blame for it, my in real life troubles only now, after nearly eight months, finally looking to be easing up.

But here’s the thing: for the most part, my social network here on tumblr has completely rotted away. I’ve been with Bull for 7 years. A lot of the people I’ve befriended, roleplayed with, and even had relationships with... a lot of those people are gone. Some have left Homestuck behind, on neutral and negative terms. Others have stopped roleplay as a hobby. I’ve had a small handful of falling-outs. Hell, I’ve been blatantly ghosted by people I had sincere feelings and connections with.

I get it. Life happens. It hurts like a motherfucker, but it happens. I wouldn’t be here 7 years later with a smut-centric literary exploration of transhumanism and self-worth in the face of trauma and mental illness. [That makes Bull and what I write sound so much cooler and more legit than it is. Sue me.]

But I keep coming back. This is the place I found my real life BF. This is the place I actually began promoting myself as a writer, an artist, and networking with people. I, despite all the setbacks with his timeline and with roleplay partners, and with my life happening outside of here, I like Bull. He means a hell of a lot to me. I have a few planned projects for outside of the roleplay, homestuck universe with him for the future. 

That hasn’t made tumblr and existing here any easier. 

People I liked and admired change, negatively, and reveal themselves to be awful people. This happens a lot more often than you’d think. Drama exists on a cycle, once every few months or years cropping up and culling a sizable portions of present muns and muses. The homestuck fandom, hell the actual content for that matter, are going through a, decidedly twitter-based, reckoning. And you know what else?

People talk shit. People always have. There’s a fair few number of muns and muses who refuse to engage with Bull or me, ic or ooc on any level because of shit that happened six to seven years ago. I had multiple other muns, underage and aware I don’t engage with underage folk, lie to me and solicit me and Bull for nsfw content, in rp and to a certain extent in out of character discussions. I have had most of those people come forward after the fact, apologize, and we both proceed to move on. I started in this fandom and in this scene when I was 19/20. I get it. Shit happens. 

I use Bull to explore a variety of topics. I used to use Bull, and to a certain extent still do, to hone my skills in writing erotica. I’m sure there’s people who associate with me now who don’t know that I’ve been a professional author [and bad as fuck about progressing with it] for several years now. This hobby? Roleplay? It’s both an escape and a method of developing my skills.

And I’ve had multiple people lie to me, engage in darker themes, in erotic content, in discussions about the troublesome and problematic content in the canon proper, and then turn around and call me out, whisper amongst their circles behind my back, and have permanently color a sizable portion of this community’s opinion of me. 

Recently? Besides being ghosted left and right? I’ve been kicked out of friends’ servers because there were people there who were ‘uncomfortable’ with me and with Bull because of shit that happened more than half a decade ago and they’re too chickenshit to talk to me in person about it. There’s people who go around and discuss roleplay, ongoing and not yet resolved, that I do in private with them and it invariably goes around that I and my muse are horrendous awful people and I need to be shunned. 

I’m not here much anymore.

The fact of the matter is that this is not a ‘tumblr’ or a ‘roleplay community’ problem. This is a social media problem. Twitter for homestuck? An absolute dumpster fire. I’m there. I see it. It’s not too different from the shit I saw here in 2013 and 2014. 

There’s people who come into communities, plant a flag, and then burn and pillage the land before making a big show of leaving to go do it elsewhere. There are muns and muses who were driven into toxic corners by other people in this community and had nowhere left to go creatively. There are people, like myself, who lose chances at engaging in a hobby because of little whisperings behind the scenes. 

I’ve lost a lot of people close to my heart. I’ve lost a lot of people I considered good friends. I know that I am not blameless in all of those situations. I am a different person online than I am in real life, someone who is openly affectionate, sexual and flirtatious as a means of connecting with people, and someone who catches and keeps feelings too damned easy for my own good. I know I’ve had times, even if I am only aware of it in hindsight, wherein I crossed someone’s boundaries. But I apologize. I try to do better. I have good days and bad days and weeks where I go back to bad habits and bad mindsets, but I’m not an outwardly malicious or aggressive person.

And yet... within the confines of this roleplay community, this fandom, and social media in general...

You find out real quick if you’re not churning out content, whether it be art or writing or roleplay or cute selfies or callouts or engagement in performative drama... if you’re not making things for people to consume, they’re going to find you boring. They’re going to lose interest. You’re going to go from someone overwhelmed with DMs and Skype and Discord messages on a daily basis cause you were ‘popular’ to someone who cant even maintain a friendship with someone you admire and adore because they have people talking shit in their ears when you’re not around. 

I’m genuinely sorry to anyone and everyone who’s ever been at the receiving end of anything from my erratic, anxious, and depressed behavior. Every day I’m actively trying to be better about containing that shit and not letting it pilot my life and my relationships.

There’s no means to make people, roleplay partners and art friends and accounts you talked to a handful of times through fanmail [god I am dating myself now] to just reappear out of the ether. Sometimes people vanish. Sometimes people go away and you’ll never hear from them again. I get it. I’ve been on the internet since 2002. Before social media that was just a reality. I know it is. But I have tried, nonetheless, to keep in touch, to keep a foothold in this community, to be active, to be engaging, to be... something.

Yet, regardless of trying, eventually you start feeling like something went sour when two dozen people ghost you over the course of a year. When people with no relation to each other left and right just go ‘poof’ and stop replying, stop updating, stop existing. And you feel displaced. They’ve moved on to other things. You feel like you’re boring. Like you’re a one trick pony. That the craze for Daft Punk ended years ago and your gay robo-fuck isnt en vogue anymore and no one wants you around. And no matter how much Bull means to me, no matter how much I put into him, there is inevitably going to be drama, there is going to be people trying to push me and him out.

And for all purposes? It looks like they’ll get what they want eventually.

I exist on discord. 

Pretty much that’s it. 

I’m still working on commissions I’ve owed for an embarrassingly long time. I’ll start posting art again some day. And maybe I’ll be better about keeping in touch. Maybe not. Sometimes you just need to accept defeat. 

I’ll be around.))

[greyias]

FIC: Swipe Left

Title: Swipe Left Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Gen Rating: T  Author’s Notes: For @rinskiroo​, who needed a fic written incorporating a very, erm, special dating profile I shared over on Discord. Pieces of said profile were adapted to fit the universe. Also, a very special thanks goes to @aearyn​  for helping me come up with some amazing HoloNet dating apps.

If there was one thing Theron needed to learn, it was to find a way to prevent Jonas from pulling him into operations at the last minute. It always seemed to end up with him in the most awkward situations. The details of the missions always seemed sketchy, and tonight that had somehow landed him in a candlelit restaurant with an, admittedly attractive, Hrakian making googly eyes at him from across the table on a blind date.

He kept eyeing the man, trying to figure out exactly what nefarious plot the seemingly innocuous person had gotten wrapped up into. They certainly didn’t look like someone who ran with the Crimson Horde, one of the more minor gangs that was making a power play. Looks could be deceiving though — for now he’d have to keep playing his part.

“So, Theron,” the Hrakian said, golden eyes raking over him and flashing in appreciation, “I have to say, your profile pictures don’t do you justice.”

“My profile—?”

“Just go with it,” Jonas’s voice sounded over the audio feed in his implants, cutting Theron off before the confusion could be heard in his voice. “You don’t want to arouse any suspicion.”

Normally, Theron would find a chance to get on his sub-vocal mic and throw a snarky reply back at the man on the other end of the surveillance feed, but the table was too small, and the room too quiet, for him to disguise the noise. He briefly wished for just enough relative privacy so he could make a rude gesture at the holo-cam watching from the far end of the room, or at least glare, but that would definitely count as suspicious. So with little recourse, Theron fixed a wide smile in place and kept his cover.

“Well, Therzee—”

“It’s pronounced Thazia.”

“Sorry,” Theron said quickly, hoping that the flush didn’t show in his cheeks.

This was not exactly showing off his suave nature—but then again, he really wasn’t big on grand seductions. He preferred ops with a lot more explosions and adrenaline. But this was a Jonas Balkar op, so of course it had to be complicated. And he’d really needed more than thirty seconds to try and glean important details like his target’s name from a note hastily scribbled on flimsi.

“No, it’s okay, it’s a common mistake.” Thazia reached across the table, gently resting his hand on Theron’s. “But I’d be happy to help you with your pronunciation later.”

He was going to kill Jonas when this was all said and done—but until he had free clearance to murder his partner, Theron would have to make do funneling his annoyance into an even wider grin. “Later? But we haven’t even ordered appetizers yet.”

Thazia returned the smile, almost coyly. “You surprise me.”

“Yeah?” Theron smirked, and took a sip from the glass of whiskey he’d ordered.

“I mean, that’s what I get for making assumptions,” Thazia said. “Everyone moves at their own pace, even aspiring holoporn stars.”

The whiskey spewed across the table as Theron choked. He didn’t even bother trying to maintain his cool, suave image as he tried to process that statement. “What?”

That got a frown. “Your… you told me the nerdiest you’ve ever been was the one time when you wore glasses for a geeky school library themed adult film.”

“I told you that?” he asked hoarsely.

“You contacted me,” Thazia said. “That was your icebreaker message.”

“Hard to imagine anyone would use that as an opening line for a romantic match,” Theron ground out, although the statement was clearly meant for the person he could now hear laughing on the other end of the surveillance feed.

“I just assumed you were trying to impress me with your sexual prowess,” Thazia shrugged. “I’ll be honest I almost swiped left when I got that message, but I just… really needed to know about the goat.”

“The goat?” Theron meant to snarl. It sounded more like a squeak to his ears though.

“And you said you would only explain it in person. That the whole story was too risqué for the StarDate app.”

“Could you excuse me for a moment,” Theron’s voice was almost dangerously calm as he pulled a datapad from his pocket, “I need to check on something.”

Without any preamble, he quickly connected to the HoloNet and pulled up StarDate, the cheesiest and most notorious dating site in the galaxy. His fingers flew across the keypad, eyes furiously scanning the screen, until he found what he was looking for.

“Balkar,” he growled, completely dropping the ruse, “did you make a fake dating profile for me?”

“Hey, it’s only fake if the information isn’t real,” Jonas replied back cooly.

“I am not a porn star! Aspiring or otherwise!”

“Really? Could have fooled me with the amount of times you wind up naked on missions.”

“There were extenuating circumstances! You know what, I’m not going over this again--also that’s not my favorite book!”

“I took a shot in the dark. Sometimes you swing and you miss.”

“And what the hell is ‘Jedi Camp’?”

“All of your training as a kid.” Jonas said a little too innocently. “Is that not what it’s called?”

“I’m going to kill you!”

“Who are you talking to?” asked the very confused Hrakian.

Theron ignored him. He had much more important questions to get answers to, such as, “Why is there a picture of me spitting out a drink?”

“It shows character!” Jonas insisted.

“No it doesn’t—it shows saliva!”

“Well, I just wanted to give your potential suitors a preview of what they were getting in for!”

“I—I do not drool!”

“Really? Because I thought I heard—”

“You’ve heard nothing!” Theron insisted and then shot a look back at his date who was very slowly backing his chair away from the table. “Where are you going?”

“Um,” Thazia looked around nervously, “not to holo a friend to come rescue me from my mad date?”

Stars, the poor man look absolutely terrified, and not in the cornered animal way most of the perps he’d busted did. No, he just looked like a nice, normal person whose date had started ranting out loud to an invisible person.

“Balkar,” Theron growled, “did you lie about a mission to set me up on a blind date? Like an actual date with a real person and making me think they’re a dangerous gangster?”

“Of course not, do you think I’m a monster?” Jonas said. “I just thought you two might hit it off. Him with his insatiable curiosity about goats, you with your—”

“We are not talking about the goat right now!”

“Also your target is the guy two tables to the left—the Crimson Horde’s actual accountant. Oh, and I think he’s figured out you’re with the SIS since you started screaming at invisible people. You should probably do something before he gets away.”

Damn it.

He was going to have a long conversation with his partner after all of this over—probably with his fists—but for now… for now he had a job to do. With a quick apology to poor Thazia, Theron leapt over the table and gave chase to the gangster.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“But, Theron,” Jonas pretended to sound wounded, “you’re a shoe-in for a promotion after single-handedly bringing in the key to infiltrating and dismantling Crimson Horde.”

“I don’t want a promotion,” Theron paused long enough to glare at his partner. “What I want is to get my face off of the HoloNet so I can just do my job in peace. A job that, may I remind you, requires anonymity.”

“You act like managing a digital footprint is a difficult thing in this modern galaxy.”

“You’re changing the subject,” he muttered petulantly.

“Which is?”

“Why you didn’t just sign yourself up—isn’t seducing people on the taxpayer’s dime your thing? You could have gone to that restaurant just as easily as me.”

“Ferr knows my face, so I couldn’t exactly sidle up to him. Besides, you work too much.”

“Well someone has to!”

“You need to get out more. Go on a date. Have a good time.”

“That wasn’t a date. I was working!”

“And who’s fault is that?”

“Yours!” He snapped. “I don’t have time to clean up your messes.”

“Why, do you have plans?”

Theron felt the barest rush of heat to his cheeks, but it was just visible enough for the other man to catch.

“You do! Wait—don’t tell me it’s an actual date. With a real person.”

“It might be. What of it?”

Jonas sniffled and pretended to wipe away a tear. “I’m so proud. My little boy is growing up.”

“I am not your little—can you help me with this? If I’m late, I’m pretty sure that’s going to be the last straw for Thazia.”

“Is that your little goat-infatuated admirer from earlier?”

“Yes. I felt like someone owed him an apology after that whole mess of a dinner.”

“That’s adorable, you asked him out for real. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Theron snarled in frustration as he continued to scroll through the literally hundreds of potential matches on StarDate as he failed to navigate the app’s poor user interface, accidentally swiping left on a profile he wasn’t even trying to look at.

“What the hell Balkar? How do I deactivate this thing?”

“You’re the slicer,” Jonas shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Newscaster: ...In stranger news, there are reports that the popular dating service, StarDate, has gone offline after all of its servers suffered a catastrophic failure over the weekend. Both competitors, LoveForce and HoloConnection, were contacted but had no comment at this time.

Newscaster: Back to our continuing coverage, the Republic Military again deny rumors about a strike on Dromund Kaas, even as more reports emerge regarding the  disappearance of the Sith Emperor…

“Shan, has anyone ever explained to you the definition of ‘overkill’?”

“Bite me, Balkar.”

[ariadnelives]

Chapter 21 -- The Dossier

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3”]

“So, before we start, what did we end up doing with the, uh,” Ariadne asked as the crew filed into the briefing room, “gift from our new friend?”

“The what?” Sweettalk asked.

“The head,” Sasha replied.

“Ah,” Sweettalk said, “don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, boss.”

“Noted,” Ariadne conceded, “Spacebreather, would you care to catch the crew up on what we learned from Prescott’s dossier?”

Spacebreather nodded. “Our target is The Zealot, and we now know his true name to be Dr. C. Alexander Simon. Archival photos of him match up with the photo we received from La Pesadilla, and our friend ViLaz.” Spacebreather jerked her head in the general direction of a visibly distraught ViLaz. “Much of this information concerns ViLaz directly, so for the sake of her privacy, we will only be sharing details which she has agreed to disclose publicly. Everything else will be kept absolutely need-to-know.”

ViLaz seemed barely able to hold herself together. Tears were welling up in her eyes, which would have come as a surprise to anyone who was paying close attention to her eyes, since one of them was synthetic and no longer should have had the ability to produce tears.

Spacebreather continued, “ViLaz has been raised to believe that Dr. Simon is her biological father. Technically this is true, but not in the sense you’d expect. He is, in fact, her sole biological donor. According to Prescott’s dossier, ViLaz is one of three genetic identicals produced from Dr. Simon’s DNA.”

“So, she’s a clone?” Taryn called out.

Spacebreather wiggled her hand noncommittally. “See, that’s what I said too, I don’t really understand it, but… Ariadne?”

“Well, yes and no,” Ariadne explained. “For lack of a better term, the process used to create them could be described as ‘cloning,’ but it’s important to note that she while her DNA was taken from Dr. Simon, she does not seem to be genetically identical to Dr. Simon himself.”

ViLaz flinched at this.

Ariadne continued, “Prescott’s intel tells us that Dr. Simon’s area of expertise before his theories were discredited and the controversy surrounding his experiment forced him to retire in disgrace was the search for a way to induce biological immortality in humans or, failing that, maintain continuity of consciousness.”

Spacebreather restrained herself from smiling. “And when you finally get her to translate that from nerd, what you basically get is that he wanted to either find a way to make you live forever, or to put your brain in a new body.”

Sweettalk’s hand shot up.

Spacebreather pointed at her. “Not a classroom, ask your question.”

“That doesn’t sound all that controversial, I mean,” she said, “That just sounds like basic medical stuff. Sasha’s whole shtick is cheating death, right?”

“The concept is not what was controversial. The methods, on the other hand…” Ariadne began, glancing over to ViLaz, who was silently crying and hoped no one would notice. Everyone collectively decided to pretend they didn’t, and Ariadne continued, “he was spearheading a project that would allow a dying person to save their consciousness and memories to computer, and then, using the indoctrination tech we learned about from La Pesadilla, eventually download that mind into a new body. In order for the transplant to take, the body would have to be a close blood relative, and it wouldn’t do any good to have the new body die from the same thing as the old one, so the goal of the experiment was to create a genetically engineered clone designed to withstand whatever killed them the last time.”

“Rumor has it, Dr. Simon is not well,” Spacebreather said flatly, “some kind of terminal genetic condition that killed his father, and grandfather, and great-grandfather, and all of his relatives born with a Y-chromosome, in their 40s. Based on ViLaz’s recollection, that’s about how old our Zealot would be right around now. Our belief is that he continued his experiments after he was forced to retire, hoping to create a new host body that wouldn’t fall ill like his original body.”

“Hoping to create, as our Dossier calls it,” Ariadne paused, “a Viable Lazarus.”

The crowd murmured in shock and, again, collectively pretended to not notice ViLaz crying.

“Dear lord,” Sasha whispered, “ViLaz, I’m so—”

“Don’t call me that!” She spat back.

“I’m sorry,” Sasha said quietly, and backed off.

“My visions of the Red God always told me that I was to be his vessel in the material world,” ViLaz explained, wiping her tears off on her sleeve, “he said that my father’s body was too weak and infirm, and that he needed a strong healthy vessel to carry his word to the people.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ariadne said, “the whole time you knew you were being used as an… an organ farm?!”

“The Red God told me I was to be his prophet,” ViLaz replied. “It just all seems a little too coincidental, if the Red God spent all those years telling me to give up control of my body, and now I find out my father created me as a host for himself. It’s… blasphemous that he would use an ancient and beautiful religion just to manipulate people like this.”

There was a fairly stunned silence through the entire hall, which is more or less to be expected whenever someone’s religious beliefs, or lack thereof, suddenly become a central fixture in a conversation where they were not expected. Of course, in most situations, it would simply be a matter of opinion, and most people would simply let it slide rather than get into a theological debate that no one could ever possibly definitively win.

Ariadne had two reasons for not letting this particular statement slide. The first was that she was a very passionate Atheist, and unfortunately had a rather nasty habit of being somewhat condescending when discussing it, especially towards those who still subscribed to the religion she practiced as a young girl. The second, and the much more important reason was that ViLaz’ statement about her religious beliefs was objectively, factually incorrect.

“V— Sugar …” Ariadne caught herself before using the name that would remind ViLaz of her father’s machinations, and knelt down to meet her gaze, “first of all, people have been using religion to manipulate people since the first caveman found a rock to worship. Second, I hate to break this to you, but the Red God cul— church— is not an ancient religion.”

ViLaz looked confused and upset. “What?”

“The earliest written references to it are in the last few years,” Ariadne said, “most of the scripture we’ve gathered just seems like watered down Christian Dogma, we think that’s why he had all those Church documents and artifacts. He was studying the growth of an effective religion so that he could pervert it to his own ends. His servants just told you it was an ancient religion to put the pressure on to do what he wants.”

Something dropped within ViLaz, as though she’d just looked at her entire world from a distance only to realize it was nothing more than a rubber balloon floating five feet in front of her face.

“The Red God really was just him all along, wasn’t he?”

Ariadne sensed that she had perhaps been too blunt, and quickly tried to turn the conversation around. “Come on, let’s get you to the library. Fastwing?”

“Yeah boss?” Alicia asked from somewhere near the end of the crowd.

“Take… our young friend to the library, find her a really good book, read it with her, and help her pick out a new name. I think there’s a lot more to her than just a Viable Lazarus, and I think she deserves a name that captures that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Alicia said, and walked up to ViLaz. “Come on, babe, let’s get you a nice cocoa too.”

“Cocoa?” She asked as she was ushered out the door.

“Oh man,” Alicia said, “your day is about to get so much better.”

Once they were out of the room, Spacebreather continued the briefing. “The cult, the whole religious aspect, was just a front to get more test subjects. From what ViLaz has been telling us, right now he can only permanently take over one of the clones’ bodies if they consent to the transfer. But, there’s a reason why everybody who goes into the Life Centers seems to come out a suddenly devout missionary.”

Ariadne picked up here, sensing that Pilar didn’t like describing the more technical aspects of the dossier. “With the data Prescott gave us, our best guess is that the Suffering Test they administer at their life center uses the same tech from the Immersion Pods. It overwrites people’s personalities entirely and turns them into mindless zombies who live only to serve the cult. He shows them some horrible vision of the hell they’re going to, and they’re so scared they sign up for the conditioning. I’m assuming that’s how he got the Acolytes to raise ViLaz the way they did, so during our assault on their compound, let’s try to remember that it’s generally unethical to kill the mind-controlled.”

“We think he probably appropriated the name Ariadne for his prophet character in order to capitalize on our legend,” Spacebreather explained, “he probably figured there was no real Ariadne and that it was just some name punk kids gave when they were arrested, and decided that claiming to have the Real Ariadne would bring in lots of new curious people that he could subject to his brainwashing.”

Sweettalk, having taken her earlier admonishment to heart for the first time ever, spoke without raising her hand. “This is all really nice to know, but Prescott promised a Silver Bullet. How does any of this help us take him down?”

“The implants in the clones’ heads are linked to a master unit directly controlled by Dr. Simon. It’s how he was able to make ViLaz see the Red God and—” Ariadne paused for a moment and considered the ramifications of telling a partial truth, then decided to give only the information her crew absolutely needed to know, “It’s how we’re going to find him. All we have to do is reactivate the implant and with a little clever hacking thanks to yours truly, we should be able to pinpoint the other implants it’s linked to and reveal the true location of their compound. We’re going to need time to prepare, and a much larger strike force than we had at the casino. Deathsbane, I’d feel safer if you picked out an apprentice and started showing her the ropes, we’re going to need a medic on the ground and another on call in the ship with Fastwing.”

“Sasha will remain in the ship, her apprentice can join us in the assault.” Pilar said flatly.

“I thought we were past this,” Ariadne sighed, “we got kidnapped and she got arrested last time you—”

“And last time we let her go planetside with us, someone died.”

Sasha turned bright red, which Sweettalk noticed and felt a near-compulsive urge to defend her. “Nobody that mattered! And besides, you can’t possibly blame her for—”

“Do me a favor and shut your goddamn mouth, Sweettalk,” Spacebreather said.

Sweettalk was taken aback, but stood up and tried to stretch to Pilar’s height. “What did you just say to me?”

Sasha was somewhat stressed. Her sister was wrong, but she still didn’t want to see her get punched, especially not when she already held such a grudge against Sweettalk as it was.

Ariadne desperately wanted to keep the peace, so she attempted reason again. “Remember what Beam said—”

Pilar swung around to face Ariadne and held up her index finger to cut her off. “I… Said… No… End of discussion.”

Spacebreather then stormed out of the room, leaving everyone too stunned to respond.

Sasha stood up. “Thank you for standing up for me,” she said to Sweettalk and started walking toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Sweettalk asked.

“I’m finally standing up for myself.”

[starlightlotus]

Tag you’re it 💖(Tag Game)

Thank you for tagging me @24hourshipping

rules: fill in your answers then tag 10 mutuals you’d like to get to know better

star sign: Taurus

name: Iza

height: 5′4″ or 5′5″

put your iTunes or Spotify on shuffle. what are the first 4 songs that popped up?

1. Anpanman - BTS 2. 2nd Grade - BTS 3. Embarrassed - BTS 4. As If It’s Your Last - BLACKPINK

have you ever had a poem or song written about you? I probably have like... 4 to 5 poems that my bf wrote for me maybemore

when was the last time you played guitar? Possibly.... several years ago? I can’t remember. 

who is your celebrity crush? Oscar Isaac and Adam Driver-

what’s a sound you hate and a sound you love? Hate: Fire alarms Love: wind chimes and the ocean (I can’t decide)

do you believe in ghosts? Mhmm.

how about aliens? Ehh.

do you drive? no, only got a permit (Hawaii’s got some crazy drivers saveme)

what was the last book you read? Good Poems by Garrison Keillor I have to read it for my English course this semester oof

do you like the smell of gasoline? Absolutely not c:

what’s the worst injury you’ve ever had? Ever shaved your legs and accidentally cut your ankle right on the bone part? Yeah... there’s a scar but most of it is gone at least.

do you have any obsession right now? Maintaining my Discord server along with this blog!

do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong? Let’s just say that I have quite a few grudges. No ill will, just a lot of disappointment in those people. But I pay little attention to them now. (Iza? Having grudges? More likely than you know, buddy.)

in a relationship? Hell yeah! 5 years and still going on with my bf!

I tag: @radioshark @eros--arrows @your-local-kogane @selfshippingsylveon @lets-selfship @atmospheric-light @teaships @yans-selfshipstand @blushesinbinary @nightlynightwing

You folks can do this if you want to, but this is fun to do and you get to know more about others! Let’s all have fun! ^^

[onlyonecanbeking]

What You’re Missing

An excerpt from a roleplay discord server. Experience life with yourself and your figment muse in an apartment complex. This conversation is between Dark and his partner in crime (not romantically) in an offhand coax to get Dark to attend a fantastic penthouse party.

Warning: very brief mention of suicide

The morning sun glittered in waves through the large black ranch doorframes of the apartment, creating a haze of light that spread throughout the open space. Two of the doors were pushed open to the balcony, allowing for the fresh cool air to filter in. The distant trill of birds gently filled the silence of dawn, creating a peaceful and serene environment in the small french oasis.

Seated alone on the bulky grey cotton couch in the living room was Dark. He faced himself away from the staircase and instead towards the balcony outside, directly beneath one of the two giant gold wired chandeliers. One glossy black shoe was planted firmly to the custom woven rug, the other hooked against his knee that he bounced to a slow and calming melody in his head. Leaning back against the pillows, he basked in the sunlight in a William Westmancott Ultimate Bespoke, a three-piece hand-stitched creation taking around 200 hours of fine stitching and expertise of the most experienced tailors. The very makings of the outfit carried it to a total of $75,000. The fine deep navy blue fabric was coupled with a spotted navy and white tie, unbuttoned in front to allow for his seating to be far more casual. With newspaper draped in one hand and resting on his lifted leg, his relaxed, stoic, and regal appearance was something one might find on a magazine.

A quiet clunking of footsteps came then from the kitchen, a figure appearing from the shade beneath the stairwell. A blue satin robe was tied tight to her waist, flickering against the dark wooden floor with each poised step. The light brown locks of her hair were still slightly disheveled, and the skin under her eyes still sagged from typical morning drowsiness. Bare feet carried her into the living space, past the fireplace and towards the couch that Dark rested on. In both of her pale hands were black ceramic mugs, steam rising from the brim as they both had been filled with hot brazillian coffee. One with cream and sugar, one without. She wound herself around the couch, careful not to block Dark’s view of the outside before coming to a stop beside him, sliding two circular mats closer on the coffee table to set down each mug on top of them. Dark had yet to look up from the pages of the newspaper.

She carefully nestled herself down onto the couch, being sure not to grunt or sigh too loudly to interrupt the silence and sounds of birds. Sliding back into the comfort of the cushions, she reached for her own mug, easily deciphered by the light brown coloration of the coffee in comparison to rich ebony. Cupping it there in her hands, she merely resided in Dark’s presence, bringing the cup up to her lips to take a sip.

“Two Grey figments fade after being deemed indecisive by twenty-eight of the fifty Council members.”

Dark’s voice suddenly rose, the smooth depth of his tone evoking Riley to bring her eyes towards him. His own gaze was still to the newspaper, expression unchanging and unreadable. Still, he continued.

“After the rapid deterioration of human host Kerr Dann,noticed by others of the Void community, figments Akasha and Fyll were brought before the Council as the suspected cause of host Dann’s problems. After an elongated debate and discussion, both Akasha and Fyll confessed that their position as Grey figments had made them become rebellious and unhappy. They had begun to purposefully skip duties and paperwork. Because of this, the Council took a vote to decide the two’s fate. Majority decided that their duties as figments would be revoked because of their indecisiveness and detrimental costs to their host. Unfortunately, both figments fell into a state of depression, and faded into non-existence two days later.”

The woman let out a soft sound, lowering down an already half empty cup into her lap in order to respond.

“That’s a shame.”

A short and curt nod from Dark was his only physical response, causing black strands of his perfectly kept hair to slightly wiggle. “I knew Fyll. Some years ago, of course. He was a good man. A very hard worker. He used to be a Dark figment… before he lost his host to suicide.”

He murmured softly, as if to not disturb the peaceful setting the sunrise provided. Finally, his eyes moved, bringing them up in order to level them with her own. The very nature of that contact caused for her to bring her gaze down to her lap, tapping a thumb against the handle of her mug.

“Poor Fyll.”

“It was his own doing.”

Dark interrupted her pity dismissively, snapping his newspaper shut with a clap and bringing the pages down onto the coffee table. He exchanged it instead for his own coffee cup that he held gingerly in ice grey hands.

“He did his job well. Too well. He would not stop finding the smallest reason for his host to feel something negative. He kept bombarding them with sadness and anger and hopelessness because he desperately wanted something to do.”

The young lady of course could put the pieces together from there, and the rush of understanding met her, causing her to gently sigh. “They made him a grey figment as punishment.”

Dark drew his stare out towards the sharp blue sky, tilting his head back slightly to drain the cup of its coffee. The muscles of his neck and jawline bulged and relaxed as he swallowed, but the woman kept her attention strictly to the conversation. Or at least, she tried to. When he set the mug back down against the table, he spoke again.

“There is nothing more cruel than making a figment with distinct purpose have almost no purpose at all. But I understand why the Council did it. He took his duties much too far and much too seriously.”

“And you don’t?”

Her response came with much more strength than she had intended it to, prompting for Dark to jerk his head in her direction. His eyes had obviously swelled with surprise, burning with molten crimson. But beneath that look was a defined challenge. She had already begun, however, and she shrugged her shoulders towards his silent and burning return.

“I will admit you have done a very good job taking care of Mark. You balance his anxiety so that he is urged and compelled to complete his work but not overwhelmed by it. You work with his other figments to let him cry for joy when he needs to, and step back when he does not. You do your job as it is expected of you, despite everything you’ve gone through.”

She took a breath, observing how his expression did not soften. He knew criticism was coming just as much as she did. She continued with confidence she did not feel.

“But Dark. People hate you. As in ‘I don’t care if he never comes back, in fact let me shoot him myself’ kind of hate. And I know, you’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t care what relationships you’ve made and who does or doesn’t like you but consider. One of these days that hate is going to come and bite you in the ass. Hell, it already has plenty. But eventually, it is going to come in such intense waves that you’re going to get distracted from your work trying to defend yourself. You’ll half-ass your paperwork or forget to do it completely, and then what? We’ve already seen that the Council doesn’t much like seeing an unhealthy host.”

Dark was still silent. She wasn’t done talking.

“Your attempts at being respected and intimidating in order to match your expected quota are being taken way too far. Wayyyy too far, and you’re going to get ruined for it. You need to start to at least try being remotely pleasant to people. Build an acquaintanceship with the others in the apartment.”

Dark had uncrossed his legs at this point, elbows resting against his knees. Half of his face was shadowed by the descending angles of the sunshine still pushing through the doors and windows, but she managed to still see both of his red eyes intently staring her down. It took all of her strength to maintain that stare. If there was one thing she had ever learned from Dark, it was to never back down from what you believe in.

“And how do you anticipate I do that?”

His voice had become sultry, but she could see directly into it. He used it to try and break her resolve. To weaken her statements, builds seeds of doubt that blossomed into questioning her own intelligence. Perhaps it would have worked on her months ago, but not now. She fought back with a smile, voice becoming lighter to combat the deepening of his own.

“The penthouse party is being held today. I’m sure plenty people would be grateful for your company. For more than ten minutes.”

His forehead creased in deep rivets as his brows lifted, having yet to even blink his eyes much less move them away from hers. However, after a moment they become glassy and distant, seeming to give the sign that he was lost to reality and deep in thought. She could only assume he was considering what she had said, threats about the Council’s wrath more than her request to attend the party. Finally, air pushed from his nostrils in defeated exasperation, and he leaned back again, letting Riley realize just how tensed up she had become. “I will attend this party.”

“Ye-”

“But.”

Her celebration was abruptly ended mid-clap, leaving her arms dangling there in the air as she froze to listen. Of course he would never do anything for free. She watched his eyes quickly scroll down her form, appearing to be looking upon the robe she wore instead of the actual shape and state of her body.

“You entire wardrobe needs to be exchanged. I will not have you representing my residence walking around in the outfits like you wore yesterday.

“The fuck was wrong with my dress?”

She returned spitefully. Dark cast an unimpressed scoff that was returned with a mocking frown. When he spoke, his condescending nature shone like a flashlight.

“The material looked to be 70% polyester and 30% god-knows-what.”

“Yea okay and? I don’t exactly have the money to spend on seventy grand dresses and suits.”

“That is not to my standards.”

The woman fought very very hard to not roll the ice of her eyes up into the ceiling. Based on the facial expression of the man angled across from her, that is exactly what he expected, and he didn’t hide the small shit-eating grin on his lips. Fangs poked out in curved displays of teeth, but she ignored such a motion. Instead, she again inhaled deeply.

“Fine. Okay, fashion police. You pay for my clothes and redo my closet only if you attend the party for at least one hour.”

Another crisp nod bent his head for a moment, somehow managing to make that singular act graceful and poetic.

“Very well.”

Relieved and victorious, the woman finally provided a more genuine smile, casting a giggle of excitement between ruby lips. In a swing or two of effort, she propelled herself off the couch and back onto her feet in a stand, robe cascading back down to her ankles as she pulled her arms out for a stretch.

“Thank goodness. That conversation made me sweaty. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Need someone to join you?”

“Not in your goddamn life.”

[learnjapanesebod]

Q. Is there really no such thing as swear words in Japanese?

A. No. There is such a thing as swear words in Japanese, but the "profanity" often heard on Japanese TV isn't the same kind of profanity as English swear words because they're not considered "taboo" language.

If you watch a decent amount of Japanese TV such as anime, movies, live-action dramas, etc., you might have noticed that a lot of times subtitles will translate the dialogue to include English profanity or cussing, like the words "shit," "fuck," "bitch," etc.. You might in turn then be wondering if these are accurate translations, because surely the Japanese-equivalent of these words wouldn't be a part of something like an anime or TV show meant for kids airing in the middle of the day.

This will be the context for this lesson.

Perhaps the simplest way to distinguish between profanity in English and profanity in Japanese is that in English swear words have a double-function of being harsher (or cooler) than normal language and being taboo. And as you can probably already tell, the coolness or the harshness is something that directly derives from the fact that the words are considered inappropriate/taboo. Calling someone "a fucking idiot" as opposed to "a complete idiot"-despite the fact that they both mean the same thing, is way harsher or cooler because the word "fuck" is considered inappropriate/taboo.

Japanese profanity for the most part does not have this double-function. It separates the two functions into two different realms.

It has taboo words but they are scarce, represent a minority of "Japanese profanity," and you’ll pretty much never hear someone say them in public, even if they’re adults. These will be words such as racially discriminatory terms or perhaps the most infamous example: the Japanese word for vagina. The thing to point out regarding this minority is that they’re typically used for literally cursing someone and do not become flexible like English swear words in which you can say something like "fucking X" or “piece of shit X,” wherein you add on the swear to any given statement to make it sound harsher/cooler overall.

The same pretty much goes for the other way around in that there are also ways the Japanese language makes things sound harsher or more aggressive, but these words won’t be taboo. In fact, most of the time, it won't even be the actual words but rather the grammar of the entire speech that makes a statement insulting/harsh in Japanese.

If you aren’t a complete beginner of the Japanese language, you’ll know that it has a pretty extensive system of enforcing grammatical specifics like conjugating words a certain way to maintain your speech as-say: polite, formal, honorific, humble, casual, etc. For better or for worse, simply not using polite language to someone in Japanese could be considered insulting enough. This inherent cultural and linguistic difference between Japanese and English in turn influences the way speakers of those respective languages "swear."

To exhibit this, see the following examples of common Japanese "swearing" and how they are actually words you could perfectly use in formal, real-life conversations, but once you "grammatize" them a certain way they become full-on insulting and frowned upon.

Example(s):

糞 (くそ/kuso) Definition: "feces, excrement, dung, poop, bullshit, shit, damn" This is considered a swear when it is said alone and likened to the English exclamation of "Shit!" or "Damnit!" But the word itself is not profane at all, as shown by the following perfectly normal compound words that contain it.

糞虫 (くそむし/kusomushi) "dung beetle"

鼻糞 (はなくそ/hanakuso) "booger, snot, mucus, nasal discharge"

糞食らえ (くそくらえ/kuso kurae) "eat shit!" In this example, it returns to being part of a swear but it still is not because the word 糞 (くそ/kuso) itself is considered profane. Instead, it is the imperative/command form of the verb 食らう that makes this statement insulting.

糞餓鬼 (くそがき/kusogaki) "piece of shit brat, son of a bitch" Another example of it being a part of a swear because the overall statement is offensive

ふざけるなよ！ (fuzakeru na yo!) "cut the shit! stop fucking around!" This derives from the perfectly normal verb word 巫山戯る (ふざける/fuzakeru), which simply means "to fool around, to joke around, to kid around, to jest, to screw around, etc." It becomes an offensive swear not because the word itself is profane but because the casual verb conjugation of it is considered rude. (ふざけんな！ would be even stronger with its even shorter/slang-ish form.) Alternatively, if we were to conjugate it into the more polite, て-Form + 下さい to mean "please do VERB," then it would become ふざけないで下さい and would be a perfectly okay statement to say in a real life conversation without insulting someone, translating to "please stop fooling around"

うるさい (urusai) Literal definition: ”noisy, loud“ Likelier English translation (due to how rude it is to be telling someone straight to their face that they are being loud): "Be quiet! Shut up!”

どけ! (doke) Literal definition of original verb word 退く: “to step aside, to move, to make way” Likelier English translation (again, due to the imperative command form verb conjugation that expresses aggression): “Get out of my way! Fuck off!”

くたばれ! (kutabare) Literal definition of original verb くたばる: "to kick the bucket, to drop dead, to die, to croak" Likelier English translation (again, due to the imperative command form verb conjugation that expresses aggression): “Drop dead! Go to hell!"

Exception Example(s): These word(s) are both insulting/offensive and considered taboo.

手前 (てめえ/temee) Definition: "you" (used when the speaker is extremely angry and implies that the addressee is of an inferior stature, therefore it is usually translated into English to something along the lines of "bastard, motherfucker, etc." instead)

Conclusion: While there is such a thing as Japanese profanity, it is very different from English profanity. English profanity is more imaginative, colorful, and has something of a subculture to it, in which new profane, slang words are being termed pretty much everyday (e.g. fuckboy, asshat, dickweed, cumswallow, cocknose shitbucket, etc.). Japanese profanity for the most part consistently derives from the technical points of its grammar due to the language being influenced by Japanese polite culture.

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】

Learning Japanese is a YouTube video series with the sole purpose of providing Japanese lessons online for free for anyone at any level! Find 300+ videos of various topics including grammar, vocabulary, kanji, culture, anime, and more with the link below! https://www.youtube.com/user/learnjapanesebod

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[archivesdiveronaevents]

Date: April 3rd

Time: 8:00PM

Location: Twelfth Night Galleries

It was a scene of lush decadence, the gardens running with deep colors of burgundy and cobalt and jade as models marched down the runway like Verona’s new gods, bleeding silk and velvet rather than blood, their jewels shining like beacons in an unforgiving night. Some of the guest models have found their footing faster than others, but everyone, models, spectators, witches alike, glow with something holy. The respite of a show, of drinks, of mixed company with the threat of violence and escalation neutralized by the presence of three dark wardens was perhaps what the city needed. All mobs remained on their best behavior, ever mindful of where they were, perhaps, relieved for three pairs of watchful eyes keeping vigilant, and the show concluded without a hitch (except, perhaps, the one or two clumsy guest models nearly tripping over their own feet).

At eight, the doors to the Museum flung open, and everyone begins their slow trickle into the galleries to find that in place of the large spaces and benches that filled each exhibition hall before the grand paintings was one large marble table that spanned the entire length of the hall, already set with silverware, wine and appetizers and apertivos. Seating was at the guests’ discretion, and everyone gravitated close to their respective mobs and allies - even on neutral territory, it is nearly treasonous to wander too closely to a sworn enemy with benevolent intentions during a war. Only Cosimo and Juliana Capulet and Roman Montague and Faron Vasiliev are assigned seats, the first two to the left and the last to the right of the Witches.

The air is thickest with vehement tension the closer one is to the heads of the respective mobs and the head of the table, expectedly, but words are kept low and free of blatant antagonism… for now. There is nothing to be said for the hostile glares Roman shoots Faron from beneath his lashes, nor the knowing smirk Faron offers Juliana when Cosimo has turned his head.

Reverent servers, quiet and quick on their feet, begin carting out dishes one after the other, Brasato all'Amarone served with polenta, platters of prawn, oysters and clams, Lesso e pearà, Risotto all'Amarone, and the table quickly becomes full of all of Verona’s most famous and fragrant dishes, the guests easily putting aside tense words for the succulent food placed in front of them. Soon, only the sounds of forks scraping on plates and hushed, content murmurs fills the museum, and the Witches glance at each other, satisfied.

Hea stands first, glass raised, then Cinead and Mallory - everyone else knows to remain seated while the triumvirate stands, but to raise their glasses as well.

“Veronians, thank you for partaking in our revelry tonight. In divided times, it’s important to know that while we all share one city and one kingdom, there is a balance that runs through us all. It’s as pervasive as time and space, invisible to all but those who are conscious of it, and we, the Witches—”

The sound of violent retching cuts Hea off, and they appear to be mildly irritated by the interruption until they realize the source: Cosimo Capulet. He clutches his chest in pain, retching, and when he opens his eyes they are weeping crimson. The Witches’ eyes widen, and they swivel their head to Juliana, who has grown pale with fright, realization that the vision she saw at the circus has come true— and she abruptly throws  her head to the side as bile rises from her stomach into her throat. Many others follow suit, falling violently ill, the sound of them hitting to the floor in agony fills the hall while those unaffected struggle to help them and call for help.

The first thought is this: Why have the Witches done this? But then, Cinead doubles over in pain, their face contorted in anguish and nausea— Mallory catches them before they can fall, and they turn to Hea.

“We are left with more questions than answers,” they hiss. There is the knowledge shared only between the three of them: Hea recognized the backdrop of the vision Juliana had frantically showed them as their museum, had organized the show and dinner in order to see who dared to inflict biological damage on neutral territory. What they didn’t anticipate was the extent of the trauma - nearly half of the attendees have fallen ill.

But then, a realization. Only Montagues, Capulets, and neutrals are afflicted— the Spades remain untouched. Three stony gazes fall upon Faron, and the rest of the room follows.

“This is your doing,” Mallory says coolly, their usual whimsy chilled into steel. Faron only grins and rises from his seat slowly, taking their hostility as his cue to receive his due credit.

“Potent, no? Call it a modern Cantarella.”

“Perhaps you are too green to understand the heinousness of the crime you’ve just committed, signor,” Hea says, “But to incite discord on our territory is a trespass no one commits, if they are wise. You ask for consequences you’re not prepared to receive.”

“I think I’ll manage,” he hums, bringing his hands behind his back as he surveys his work like the proud architect of the third circle of hell. He watches Cosimo, bent over in pain, and returns the Capulet’s incredulous stare with his own bemused gaze. “You’re sick, my dear Cosimo, don’t waste your time asking ‘why’ when I’ll tell you anyway. Because right now, as we speak, The Taming of the Soup burns in the night, and with it, a chunk of the Montague empire. Sometimes I’m patient. Sometimes I’m not. You don’t move quickly enough for my tastes.” He turns to Roman. “Funny how easy it is to distract a city with a good show, isn’t it?”

Priam, stricken by the sight of Cosimo and Juliana writhing, runs to fling open the museum doors to let in air and open up a means of escape for his boss and heiress, but is blocked by Brielle.

An anguished yell erupts, then a gunshot—Odessa doesn’t bother to hide her guilt, nor her hands shaking with rage as she lowers her pistol. But her anger becomes confusion when Faron doesn’t fall. He opens up his suit jacket for everyone to see the light catching on the emeralds and rubies and sapphires sewn into the fabric of his shirt, the bullet lodged firmly in between. “Looks like I’ll have to thank Ornella. Allowing me to use and commandeer her long awaited debut to serve as a distraction, and now this… she truly is a gracious woman.”

“She serves the Spades well.” Grace chimes in lowly.

“She does. Which is more than what could be said of the Capulets now—you’re far too sick to even serve yourselves.” Faron raised an eyebrow and turned to Cosimo and Juliana, both pale and shaking. “Luckily for you, we’re here to fill in the spaces. Rest assured, it will only be temporary, until you’re fully recovered.

“But by then we’ll have the rest of Verona.”

Overview: This marks the end of our scene, dear readers. The Taming of the Soup lies in ashes, and with it, a part of the Montague empire, the territory now belonging to the Capulets and Spades. With many of their clients stolen by their neighbors to the east, the Montagues are now struggling to maintain their current clientele and influence. Nearly half of the Capulets and Montagues are incapacitated and the Spades remain untouched, their power growing as everyone else weakens.

Victims of the poisoning will have experienced severe nausea, temporary paralysis, shortness of breath, aches, and in extreme cases, bleeding from the eyes.  The following have been afflicted by Faron’s poisoning and will have to be hospitalized for at least a week:

ALEXANDER

JULIANA

VIVIANNE

TIBERIUS

VALENTINA

CINEAD

PAVEL

REGINA

HUGO

NIKOLAI

RAMONA

BELLAMY

COSIMO (critical condition)

In the meantime, Faron has taken over as interim boss for both the Capulets and the Spades, with Boris as the underboss and Calina as adviser. All Capulets and Spades now report to him while Cosimo, who was the most severely affected by the poisoning, remains in the hospital in critical condition. He will relinquish his position and return to his post as adviser to both Capulets and Spades once Cosimo is released.

The Montagues do not intend on taking this lying down. There are whispers among the mob of guerilla warfare, evening the playing field by any means possible.

Assignment: If your character is one of the above listed above, you may plot and thread the moments at the dinner, visitations at the hospital, and their first few days back with anyone you’d like! As for everyone else: Montague muses will be engaging in guerilla warfare—plot with anyone you’d like on your character attempting to incite small-scale attacks against the Capulets and Spades. Desperation drives them, although it is up to you and whoever you plot with whether or not they are successful in their attempts. Some suggestions include ambushing emissaries and soldiers, damaging Capulet and Spade property, recruiting more soldiers (NPCs), etc. Some Capulets may find they’re fighting two fronts: resisting Montague attacks as well as their own internal conflict with their new leadership, if applicable. Spades must ensure they maintain control of their new territory and members while discouraging any mutinous thoughts or attempts.

As always, you are encouraged to play out these interactions on the dash or in a chatzy. If you hold these interactions in a chatzy, please post it on the dash so we may all be a part of the excitement. All interactions may occur between the dates of APRIL 3RD to APRIL 17th. As always, feel free to ask us questions!

[spookyknight]

VoltronFic: Torrent

Torrent

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Keith x Lance

Summary: Paladins red and blue find calm in the storm on a treacherous uninhabited planet.

my heartfelt thanks @skyestiel for your enthusiastic support and advice

Read on AO3

or

Uotanea is loud. Not because of high winds or fauna or a bustling city. It’s hard to explain.

The high-and-low pitched whine reminds Lance of the server room back at the Garrison. He’d followed Pidge in there once. The noise drove him crazy after a while. It wasn’t particularly loud or grating. Just the inescapable droning of electric current. A constant oscillation that gets under his skin. It ripples through him, clashing with pulse and respiration; casting doubt on the body’s natural rhythm.

The reality is different from Coran’s convoluted explanation of the electromagnetic hum that inundates the planet’s atmosphere. Though, admittedly, Lance started tuning out the particulars once he discovered Hunk and Pidge would be attending an intellectually stimulating tech-engineer meeting between the Olkari and the Blade of Marmora while he and Keith were stuck on a fetch mission.

From what he does remember, the vibrations stem from ugulite, the highly reactive mineral they’ve been sent to collect. The metal element is formed underneath the planet’s crust. Lacking sophisticated mining equipment, the paladins are to access ugulite from a deposit in the Janesper Canyon—the jagged, rocky gorge they’re currently traversing.

The reactive field interferes with advanced electronics, so their Lions have to wait on the surface. Along with any useful Altean tech that would make their lives more comfortable. Just two dudes roughing it on a deadly, uninhabited alien planet.

Fun.

At least the electro-din limits the ability for conversation. Keith has a rudimentary Geiger-counter-thing that registers whatever magnetic waves the ugulite gives off. He blazes the trail based on the direction a little red arrow is pointing. Lance follows.

It’s a bit like their first adventure. Going out into the desert on Keith’s word and finding the first Lion. Only Blue was a more exciting prize than a fancy magnet. And Earth was a lot less dangerous than Uotanea. Probably.

They’ve lost sight of the surface. Rocky pillars, arches, and buttresses surround them, the terrain carved and forged in the likeness of some ancient temple. The descent into the gorge is gradual. It means more hiking than climbing, which is good. But walking is also tedious and that damn noise is incessant.

“Are we getting close?” Lance asks.

Keith doesn’t turn around, but his posture tenses. “Are you seriously asking me ‘are we there yet?’”

“I am asking,” Lance replies slowly, drawing it out, “if the uggo-lite-o-meter says we’re getting closer.”

“It’s a dial with an arrow.”

“So...no.”

“You wanna take over?” Keith holds up the instrument.

Lance waves him off. “No, no. You’re doing great. Must be your superior arrow-following skills. Good job, buddy.”

The hum starts to dissipate. Keith stops in his tracks, looking back at Lance. Right. That’s bad. It means the exposed ugulite deposit is preparing to discharge built-up electrostatic energy into the air. An electrical storm, complete with caustic rain, is imminent.

Basic rain, Coran explained, not acidic. Still corrosive. The precipitation would have a high pH dangerous to their skin and detrimental to their armor.

They’re prepared for this. At the base of a bowed pillar rock formation, the paladins unload their packs and start to make camp. Keith digs out stakes and tension rods and Lance unfolds a large sheet of plastic material. Inky black clouds gather in the sky. There’s a light breeze and a buzzing feeling in the air. Static and plunging pressure. It speeds their construction. The hum is almost gone. The resulting silence is deafening in its own way. There’s an awareness in the lack, like ears ringing after a rock concert.

Lance unrolls the groundsheet. Keith bangs stakes into the dry ground at a steep angle. They thread thin black poles through fabric channels. The sky is full on ‘Auntie Em! Auntie Em!’ dark, now. The ground rumbles. Lance’s hands start to shake.

It takes both of them to bend the tension rods and affix them in place. The tent is up. Keith sprays the rainfly with the protective coating Coran provided. A thin chemical shield promises to keep the shelter intact.

There’s an ear-splitting crackle—a quake sending lightning up from the ground.

Keith startles, eyes wide. “Get in. Hurry!”

They snatch their remaining gear and scramble into the tent.

Lance turns to zip the entrance closed. For a moment, everything is quiet except their harsh breathing. The rain begins a sporadic sprinkle, advances to a drizzle, then finally increases to a rhythmic pitter-patter.

The tent holds, showing no signs of leaking or corroding.

Keith exhales a relieved sigh. Lance looks over and he’s wearing a bashful little smile. They both chuckle, adrenaline fading into a grateful anticlimax.

They’re stuck, but they’re safe.

The tent is long and narrow, affording just enough room for two bodies to lie down with a comfortable gap between them. Fatigue sets into joints from the long hike. A respite sounds good. Lance unfastens the bulkier plates of his armor, placing them in a neat pile by his feet. Keith mirrors his movements, unburdening himself and settling down.

They lie parallel in silence, watching the tented ceiling and listening to the rain. It’s nice. Existing in the same space without squabbling. Maybe it’s something about braving the elements. In their training exercises, the paladins always did perform better against a common enemy.

Dangerous as it is, the rain is pleasant. Its cadence soothes just as the ugulite’s magnetic buzz irritates. Opposite forces. Discord and calm, red and blue, Keith and Lance. He’s getting maudlin. It’s just that the rainfall reminds him of home.

“I miss this sound so much,” Lance says.

He doesn’t mean to voice the thought out loud, but there it is. Keith hums thoughtfully. “You can play rain audio in your room.” “It's not the same.” Lance presses his hand up against the fabric to feel the percussive tap of each raindrop as it hits. “You can tell when it’s real. It feels so close.”

“You’re a pluviophile.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Lance lowers his hand and smirks, exhaling a laugh. Where Keith picked up that vocabulary gem is a mystery. They maintain soft voices; speaking without drowning out the rain, through some unspoken agreement.

“I read that it’s because it reminds you of the womb,” Lance murmurs. “Being safe inside but surrounded by the sound of water and everything. It feels like home.”

He looks over at his companion. Even in the dim light, Keith looked relaxed. His eyes are half-lidded. He, too, is entranced by the tempo of the rain and the freedom of seclusion. If they close their eyes, they can pretend they’re back on Earth. Homesick yearning seizes up in Lance’s chest. If only.

Keith reaches over and takes his hand. An act of empathy. Another bonding moment, he supposes. They connect over commonalities. Displacement, high expectations, mortal danger.

Lance feels mesmerized and sedate. The other paladin’s hand squeezing his should be a signal. But he’s so relaxed. The movement on the other side of the tent doesn’t register. Keith is rolling on his side, leaning in, and then—suddenly, it seems—Keith’s lips are on his.

Lance freezes. His brain kind of short-circuits.

Rain, quietude, a gentle kiss. Everything is soft and faded like a daydream. Like he’s just drifted off and his mind is wandering. He’s watching his dream-self, trying to shove him into action, but it’s not working. There’s a disconnect. “Shit.” Keith pulls away, lies on his back with an arm thrown over his face. “I misread that. Just—shit. Lance springs up. “Wait. Whoa, wait. Hold up.” He turns toward the red paladin. “I've been trying to get you to notice me for, like, going on three years. And just now...what the hell did I do?”

“What?”

Keith shifts his arm, peeking out one eye from under the crook of his elbow. It’s insanely endearing.

Lance makes a show of looking around the tent. “Is it the lighting? Have you been put off by the radiance of my devilish good looks?”

Keith scoffs. “What are you talking about? You’ve been fighting me ever since we met.”

“Yeah.” Lance throws his arms up as far as the tent will allow. “You’re a very frustrating person.”

“Right. You hate me.”

“No.” The blue paladin is adamant. “Dude, would we be able to form Voltron if I hated you?”

“But you don’t like me,” Keith mumbles, his voice small.

Lance sighs, his posture deflating. “I don’t know you. You don’t let anyone in.” Keith peels his arm away from his face, so at least Lance knows he’s listening. “Even at the Garrison. You were always so focused on being the best. In your own world, in some kind of zealous competition with yourself. You won’t let anyone help you.

“I wasn’t trying—I didn’t need to be the best.” Keith averts his eyes. “I never thought I was good enough.”

Lance leans down, getting in his teammate’s face, their foreheads nearly touching. He waits until Keith tears his gaze away from the wall of the tent. Even in the dark, he recognizes when their eyes connect. It sends a prickle up his spine.

“You are good enough.” He swallows to keep the schmaltzy waver out of his voice. “Better than.”

Keith’s features shift, his expression inscrutable. Something raw, intense. “You are too.”

And it breaks something inside Lance, hearing that. He gets misty-eyed and chokes a tiny sound back in his throat that he won’t call a sob. It’s everything his cadet self wanted to hear before all this started. He wishes he could reach back, tell past-Lance that someday he’ll be cowering from basic-rain on a faraway planet and Keith Kogane will finally tell him he’s worthy.

Lance lowers his head, brushing their noses together before capturing the red paladin’s lips. The contact is soft, but the spark of it jolts through him like thunder. Or it’s actual thunder. They are weathering a storm.

Keith hums, a tremor running through him. He slinks his arms around and pulls Lance closer. Fingers comb through hair. Mouths open and the kiss deepens. The air in the tent is hot and electric. The universe shrinks to the fervent slide of lips, the wandering of hands. The rain pit-a-pats on the tent.

Uotanea might be heaven.

Lance pulls back, just to get a breath of air between them. He takes in the flushed and disheveled paladin beneath him. It’s a vision he wants burned in his memory. Along with the needy sound Keith makes before kissing him again.

The drizzle peters out and the electromagnetic hum of the ugulite builds. Keith flinches away and Lance knows he hears it too.

“Quiznak,” Lance deadpans.

Keith laughs. It’s an enticing sound and Lance is helplessly charmed. The red paladin tips them over and Lance falls on his side with an oof. The stony ground is not forgiving. Their legs tangle together.

The hard knock is forgotten when Keith licks a line up his neck. Lance shudders, a traitorous whimper slipping out. Another slick glide of his paramour’s tongue, followed by suction. Desire washes over him, making his pulse race. It feels wanton and wicked and makes him seriously consider abandoning this stupid quest.

He doesn’t grasp the intention until Keith is finished, swiping his tongue over his handiwork one last time. There’ll be a mark, right beneath the blue paladin’s collar.

“This comes with us,” Keith says.

Lance nods, understanding. It would be easy to chalk this all up to the rain. They could go back to how things were before. Strained but familiar. Or they could move forward, into uncertainty. Lance votes for the latter.

He leans in, to seal the pact. And maybe to tempt his new flame into putting off their task a little longer. He doesn’t make it. There’s an incongruous clatter—this comical sproing—and the ceiling caves in.

Keith growls. “You didn’t secure the ridge pole in the grommet?”

“It wasn’t me!”

“Dammit, Lance.”

“How do you know it wasn’t your grommet?”

Keith untangles himself, flailing the fallen fabric out of his way to gather his gear. He finds the zipper and opens it. Grumbling to himself, he exits, leaving Lance alone in the collapsed tent. The electro-din is back with a vengeance.

Lance pouts. “Can’t we go back to the kissing part?”

Keith is making a racket outside, undoubtedly assessing what went wrong with their survival structure and preparing to move out. He huffs when his partner doesn’t follow.

“Help me take this down so we can get this over with,” the red paladin calls.

Lance dons his armor. Gathers his gear. Crawls out of the tent. And prays for rain.

[ariadnelives]

Chapter 9 - The Bastard

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3]

Four or five other gangly-looking boys at other cubicles stood up to observe the scene. They did not move to intercept the strange young woman who'd just physically assaulted one of their employees. Clearly this was not a particularly competent security force.

“Zee!” Sasha gasped.

“Relax,” Sweettalk whispered back, “I know how to handle this guy.”

A high-pitched “Jesus Christ!!” escaped Prescott's mouth involuntarily. “Some way to greet your big brother after four years!”

“Stop telling people you're my brother,” Sweettalk hissed. Deathsbane and Backflip each had a hand on one of her elbows, which reminded her not to hit him again. Ghostrunner, on the other hand, was chuckling quietly to herself.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, “I think you broke my son-of-a-bitching jaw.”

“Sweettalk, can you fill us in?” Backflip asked, “I mean, we didn't come all this way just to punch this guy, did we?” This was intended as a rhetorical question, but Backflip glanced over at Sasha to confirm.

“Who the hell is 'Sweettalk?'” Prescott got to his feet and began straightening his shirt, which had come untucked in the fall from his office chair.

“We were hoping to enlist your help, asswipe.” Sweettalk snarled.

“Well, you've certainly got a strong initial pitch.” He scoffed, still rubbing his jaw. “You know, I'm going to see a doctor about this. You'll be receiving a bill.”

“Oh, for Christ's— Sasha, can you see if I broke his jaw if it'll move this along?” Sweettalk pushed her forward slightly.

Sasha immediately reached to feel for a break in his jaw.

“Get your hands off of me,” he said, attempting to swat her hand away.

“I'm a doctor,” she said simply, and moved his arm out of the way with one hand while inspecting the point of impact with the other. “Wow, you are … incredibly weak.”

Prescott visually scanned Sasha, who was still wearing Pilar's tattered clothes. “You're a doctor? Where's your degree from, the school of hard knocks?”

“Your jaw's fine,” Sasha said simply, stepping back with moderate disgust at the disrespect she'd been shown, “Zee, hit him again.”

Sweettalk moved to follow this instruction. Prescott shouted “WAIT” and flinched so hard that he accidentally tripped backwards over his own chair and landed on the floor again. Sasha's confidence that he could be of some help had reached an all-time low. He attempted to get back into a standing position but decided it wasn't worth it and sat back in his chair, hoping he would not be once again punched out of it. “What do you people want from me?”

“We need to get into a secure facility,” Sweettalk explained, “and nobody's better at worming their way in where they're not wanted than you.”

Prescott looked indignant. “I'll have you know I'm a legitimate businessman now.”

Ghostrunner looked around the threadbare office and chuckled quietly to herself that Prescott could maintain any illusion of legitimacy in his business.

“Triton Securities, eh?” Sweettalk asked mockingly. “Aren't you usually in the business of getting past security systems?”

“Exactly,” Prescott explained, “who better to patch the holes in someone's fence than someone who's spent their life sneaking through them? We've got new businesses opening up in the bio-dome every day and despite some promising revitalization, there's been something of a crime wave, so for a small fee, my company installs alarm systems, sophisticated locking mechanisms, everything a business needs to keep their assets safe. There's not a secure system in this dome that we didn't have a hand in.”

“I don't buy it,” Sweettalk said, “you never get paid just once. What's the scam?”

“No scam,” he replied, trying a little too hard to sound genuine, “like I said, I'm a legitimate businessman now.”

Ghostrunner once again snickered at his use of the word “legitimate.”

“That’s a shame. It'd be in our interests to know we could get past the system,” Sasha said sarcastically, “we might have paid, I don't know, five hundred thousand, maybe a million credits for that kind of information.”

She dramatically dropped the unzipped rucksack on his desk, revealing the thick wads of 100-credit notes within.

One of Prescott's coworkers overheard this and stood up to leave the room. The rest of the employees followed suit, all giving Prescott a knowing nod as they passed his desk.  

“I'm listening,” Prescott said seriously when the room was clear.

Sasha continued with her spiel, “Oh, but you're a legitimate businessman, right? I mean, we would've paid top dollar if there was—”

“Drop the act,” Prescott urgently barked, eager for the bag of untraceable bills on his desk, “it's clear we all know the real score.”

“The Red God Life Center. You get a quarter million up front if you tell us how to get in,” Sweettalk explained, “and the other 750,000 when you get us back out.”

Prescott considered this and came to the conclusion that it was simply too much money to refuse. A cool million credits was easily five times more than the price of any security system they'd ever sold. Hell, he thought, he could take the down payment and run and still come out with more than he’d make selling security to ten of these trendy bars. He reached for the bag and Sweettalk pulled it out of his reach.

“Give us something to prove you can get us in,” Sweettalk demanded.

Ghostrunner tapped on her watch, seemingly to indicate that this proposition would not be on the table for much longer.

He sighed. “Our security systems are absolutely uncrackable if you don’t have the key, that much is true. What we don’t tell our clients is that they all have a back door: Enter a special code and the whole system shuts off. We keep the key to that door and sell it to petty thieves for a fraction of what they'll make selling the shit they stole. It even falsifies the internal records to make it look like the system wasn't properly armed at the time of the robbery, so law enforcement chalks it up to user error and our good reputation isn't tarnished.”

Sweettalk grinned, but still managed to convey that she was disgusted by him. “Supply and demand, you create both. The businesses wouldn't need your security systems if you weren't giving cat burglars the keys to the kingdom. The robbers wouldn't need to buy your help if you hadn't installed those systems. It's the perfect scam! You're totally redundant, and yet, you get paid anyway!”

“I prefer the term 'vertical integration' to 'scam,' but that's neither here nor there. I'm paid to keep the robbers out and, separately, to get the robbers in. There's a lot of money in working both sides of the law, you know. Now, give me the cash and I can give you a dossier on how to get in, and out, of the Red God compound without incident.”

Ghostrunner cracked a wide smile and tapped her watch again. A flickering hologram depicting Prescott's face appeared several inches above the watch's face, and spoke in a tinny voice:

“I'm paid to keep the robbers out and, separately, to get the robbers in. There's a lot of money in working both sides of the law, you know.”

Prescott's eyes widened in panic. He was a professional grifter, he should have seen this coming. It was a rookie mistake, being blinded to the risks by his own greed in light of an offer he couldn't afford to refuse. “How long were you recording?”

“Started right about when my associate tapped on her watch,” Sasha smirked, “and I believe the recording cut off just before you would've incriminated us.”

“It won't hold up in court,” Prescott pleaded.

“It doesn't need to,” Sasha rolled her eyes, “it just needs to get the law looking in your direction. This won't get you a conviction, but it will get the cops a warrant, and once they know what they're looking for, they'll find that backdoor in no time.”

“Which is to say nothing of the court of public opinion. I don’t think an angry mob waits for a warrant, do they?” Sweettalk smiled while closing the rucksack and taking a little too much delight in the shame and embarrassment in his eyes as the money slipped away from him. “That little recording is on its way to our good friend Tripwire as we speak. Tripwire has already received a message instructing her to forward it to the Sheriff's office in 48 hours if I don't personally tell her, face-to-face, that you've cooperated with our every demand. That means if you harm us, hinder us, or attempt to warn the Red God organization, you will be exposed, arrested, and convicted. Oh, and you won't have any patsies this time, your coworkers haven't been implicated and I'm sure they'll deny any knowledge of this scheme even if you've been caught.”

“You'll be offering your services Pro Bono,” Sasha explained, “or you'll be in a jail cell by week's end. Call it a 'friends and family discount' if you like.”

Sweettalk laughed derisively. “We're not related and I don't like him. Call it blackmail. Now, let's see that dossier.”

Prescott sighed, defeated, and called her a derogatory name which was, frankly, unfair regardless of the fact that she was extorting him.

Sweettalk grinned ear to ear. “Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual.”

[learnjapanesebod]

Q. Is there really no such thing as swear words in Japanese?

A. No. There is such a thing as swear words in Japanese, but the “profanity” often heard on Japanese TV isn’t the same kind of profanity as English swear words because they’re not considered “taboo” language.

If you watch a decent amount of Japanese TV such as anime, movies, live-action dramas, etc., you might have noticed that a lot of times subtitles will translate the dialogue to include English profanity or cussing, like the words “shit,” “fuck,” “bitch,” etc.. You might in turn then be wondering if these are accurate translations, because surely the Japanese-equivalent of these words wouldn’t be a part of something like an anime or TV show meant for kids airing in the middle of the day.

This will be the context for this lesson.

Perhaps the simplest way to distinguish between profanity in English and profanity in Japanese is that in English swear words have a double-function of being harsher (or cooler) than normal language and being taboo. And as you can probably already tell, the coolness or the harshness is something that directly derives from the fact that the words are considered inappropriate/taboo. Calling someone “a fucking idiot” as opposed to “a complete idiot”-despite the fact that they both mean the same thing, is way harsher or cooler because the word “fuck” is considered inappropriate/taboo.

Japanese profanity for the most part does not have this double-function. It separates the two functions into two different realms.

It has taboo words but they are scarce, represent a minority of “Japanese profanity,” and you’ll pretty much never hear someone say them in public, even if they’re adults. These will be words such as racially discriminatory terms or perhaps the most infamous example: the Japanese word for vagina. The thing to point out regarding this minority is that they’re typically used for literally cursing someone and do not become flexible like English swear words in which you can say something like “fucking X” or “piece of shit X,” wherein you add on the swear to any given statement to make it sound harsher/cooler overall.

The same pretty much goes for the other way around in that there are also ways the Japanese language makes things sound harsher or more aggressive, but these words won’t be taboo. In fact, most of the time, it won’t even be the actual words but rather the grammar of the entire speech that makes a statement insulting/harsh in Japanese.

If you aren’t a complete beginner of the Japanese language, you’ll know that it has a pretty extensive system of enforcing grammatical specifics like conjugating words a certain way to maintain your speech as-say: polite, formal, honorific, humble, casual, etc. For better or for worse, simply not using polite language to someone in Japanese could be considered insulting enough. This inherent cultural and linguistic difference between Japanese and English in turn influences the way speakers of those respective languages “swear.”

To exhibit this, see the following examples of common Japanese “swearing” and how they are actually words you could perfectly use in formal, real-life conversations, but once you “grammatize” them a certain way they become full-on insulting and frowned upon.

Example(s):

糞 (くそ/kuso) Definition: “feces, excrement, dung, poop, bullshit, shit, damn” This is considered a swear when it is said alone and likened to the English exclamation of “Shit!” or “Damnit!” But the word itself is not profane at all, as shown by the following perfectly normal compound words that contain it.

糞虫 (くそむし/kusomushi) “dung beetle”

鼻糞 (はなくそ/hanakuso) “booger, snot, mucus, nasal discharge”

糞食らえ (くそくらえ/kuso kurae) “eat shit!” In this example, it returns to being part of a swear but it still is not because the word 糞 (くそ/kuso) itself is considered profane. Instead, it is the imperative/command form of the verb 食らう that makes this statement insulting.

糞餓鬼 (くそがき/kusogaki) “piece of shit brat, son of a bitch” Another example of it being a part of a swear because the overall statement is offensive

ふざけるなよ！ (fuzakeru na yo!) “cut the shit! stop fucking around!” This derives from the perfectly normal verb word 巫山戯る (ふざける/fuzakeru), which simply means “to fool around, to joke around, to kid around, to jest, to screw around, etc.” It becomes an offensive swear not because the word itself is profane but because the casual verb conjugation of it is considered rude. (ふざけんな！ would be even stronger with its even shorter/slang-ish form.) Alternatively, if we were to conjugate it into the more polite, て-Form + 下さい to mean “please do VERB,” then it would become ふざけないで下さい and would be a perfectly okay statement to say in a real life conversation without insulting someone, translating to “please stop fooling around”

うるさい (urusai) Literal definition: ”noisy, loud“ Likelier English translation (due to how rude it is to be telling someone straight to their face that they are being loud): “Be quiet! Shut up!”

どけ! (doke) Literal definition of original verb word 退く: “to step aside, to move, to make way” Likelier English translation (again, due to the imperative command form verb conjugation that expresses aggression): “Get out of my way! Fuck off!”

くたばれ! (kutabare) Literal definition of original verb くたばる: "to kick the bucket, to drop dead, to die, to croak” Likelier English translation (again, due to the imperative command form verb conjugation that expresses aggression): “Drop dead! Go to hell!“

Exception Example(s): These word(s) are both insulting/offensive and considered taboo.

手前 (てめえ/temee) Definition: "you” (used when the speaker is extremely angry and implies that the addressee is of an inferior stature, therefore it is usually translated into English to something along the lines of “bastard, motherfucker, etc.” instead)

Conclusion: While there is such a thing as Japanese profanity, it is very different from English profanity. English profanity is more imaginative, colorful, and has something of a subculture to it, in which new profane, slang words are being termed pretty much everyday (e.g. fuckboy, asshat, dickweed, cumswallow, cocknose shitbucket, etc.). Japanese profanity for the most part consistently derives from the technical points of its grammar due to the language being influenced by Japanese polite culture.

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