#this is in fact coherent and very good……….

[prouc]

Smut without story

If you managed to fuck Art (which we can all admit it would be not so probable to begin with), he would absolutely kill you after, before or in between doing it. I think this man is not a necrophiliac entirely, and actually prefers a warm cunt than a cold and dry one, but I don’t think he would be against fucking a corpse.

But if you surprisingly managed to pull this bastard between your legs, I’d say it would go this way.

—>

Your pussy clenched tightly around his cock, almost as if had a mind of her own and wanted to suck his soul out of the very hole that managed to kiss your cervix each time the clown thrusted forward.

Your hands trying to maintain yourself up while grabbing the sink in front of you, your legs right now demonstrating how wobbly they were and useless to support your weight. You didn’t even remember how, when or where…

But it all happened so fast, your pussy almost releasing a damn waterfall when you saw the characteristic clown costume that made your panties wet.

You “knew” him, you couldn’t help yourself, each time you saw a photo of him in the news, you were always making sure to close your legs together as much as you could while biting your lower lip painfully hard, hand already creeping down your shorts.

You had “met” him in an alley, you were too drunk to care for your well-being, or the fact that the County Miles clown was in front of you, bag on his back and the menacing grin all his victims got to see before killed. Your fucked up brain (for liking this killer clown and being drunk) decided it was a good idea to go running towards him in a drunken stumble, almost yelling how hot he was and how wet he always made you. The clown stopped smiling, almost as if it was thinking how down bad you had to be to not fear him right now or maybe he was just confused. It didn’t matter in that moment, your core had throbbed upon seeing him and you were already pleading for him to fuck you little needy hole. You had the luck to find him in a good mood, deciding to humor you before turning your brain into mush.

So there you were, being finally fucked by the clown that twisted your panties in such a good way. The clown waved at you mockingly as he saw you look up to him, eyes glassy and hazy, lips slightly puffy from biting them constantly and black lipstick all over them in a messy sign that you had made out with the him moments earlier.

The clown laughed silently and dramatically at the sight of your face, a trail of saliva smudging the black lipstick in its way down, Art grabbed your throat, his palm on the front of your throat, forcing you to look up at him while he fucked your brains out, arching your back as far as he could. Hard, sharp and wet slaps decorating your moans and gasps in the tiny restroom of the gas station you guys were in.

It was a specific throb of your pussy that made the ever dramatic and playful clown drop his act immediately, as if someone had punched him in the gut with pleasure with the way your pussy uncontrollably clenched around his cock.

His expressions turned into a hard glare that sent a shiver down your spine, now uncomfortably bent by the way he was grabbing you. You would have thought he was mad if it wasn’t for the way his eyes softened just a little hint, not of “adoration” but of pleasure, you saw him clench his jaw as he looked down into your eyes, he was absolutely fucking you until you cried.

—>

You couldn’t breathe, your legs had went numb minutes ago, he was the only one making sure you didn’t buckle and fell to the floor. The repetition of the harsh slaps of his balls against your puffy clit made your clench your eyes shut, droll falling to the floor as he continued pounding into you, his face harsh, serious and just focused on your face and expressions. You had came just by his thrusts at least four times and you couldn’t speak, breath or even think coherently at this point, and yet this fucking clown hadn’t came once, as if he was purposely just edging himself again and again, as if he didn’t want this to stop.

He had you in his arms, legs wrapped around his hips as your head rested on the crook of his neck, arms limps around his neck as he never stopped pounding into you. You were absolutely subbing at this point, not knowing if it was from pleasure or how sensitive you had become. He grabbed the back of your head as your back touched the damp and dirty wall of the restroom, his other hand grabbing your ass so you wouldn’t fall down.

He surely wasn’t normal, or human to that matter, you had taken notice of this in the bad way, he was restless and had inhumane force by the way he had manhandled you, his slender figure doing no justice to how fucking strong he was.

After a few stuttering snaps of his hips, he rested the head of his cock deep inside of you, almost tenderly letting it kiss the entrance of your cervix, white long streaks of cum coating your walls as you shivered in his arms, eyes not being able to open anymore, your body not responding.

—>

He looked at your limp figure resting against the wall, sat up in the floor while breathing heavily and shakily. You were tired? How cute, but now he was going to take his prize for humoring your cunt. He booped your nose, cooing mockingly at your figure before dressing himself up again, not even tired. His hands grabbed the axe of his ever present bag, slinging it over his shoulder before plunging it into your tired cockdrunk skull.

Thanking you silently for the fun.

——————————————————————————

Disclaimer: I’m not a good writer, I’m sorry if it’s bad, English is really not my first language 😭

I’m just a Spanish girl obsessed by Art the Clown…🫶🏻

Literally the song I was listening to when writing this —>

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #63 – Saga, Book 1 by Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples

I first starting reading Saga a literal decade ago (I think literally because Rachel Maddow recommended it on a podcast? Which, god, what a 2010s sort of sentence). I absolutely loved it at the time, and read intermittently until it went on an extended hiatus. So extended, in fact, that I’d kind of assumed the series was dead and only learned it had restarted a couple years ago quite recently. So, seeing as I am now in need of a new comic, I figured I’d restart from scratch and work up to the new stuff. It holds up! (and the letters to the editor are a fascinating cultural time capsule).

The series follows Alana and Marko – star-crossed lovers who eloped together from opposite sides of a brutal and galaxy-spanning race-war – and their newborn daughter Hazel as they evade the numerous forces trying to see them all murdered before than can become an embarrassment. The first arcs of this are most one long blind panic finding transport off-world and only afterwards deciding upon a destination, it’s only in the last volume (with the pointed assistance of Marko’s parents) that there’s any thought of finding stability or a status quo. Along the way, both the family and the series collect a wider and wider circle of colourful hangers-on – and the narrative begins switching focus to give real narrative focus and character arcs to three different groups that find themselves tracking down the family. None of them are particularly happy lives, but they all make for very compelling drama.

The best way to describe this is I suppose a ‘science-fantasy dramedy’. Which sounds viscerally and violently wrong, but the comedy and the drama are both absolutely vital motors keeping it running. And this is the incredibly rare work that actually makes them work together seamlessly. It’s an incredibly vulgar book in a dozen different ways, but the characters are all plausible and compelling, and once you have granted the slightly contrived explanation for why both governments care so immensely about Marko and Alana the plot coheres enough to never take you out of the story. Which is helped by the pacing being fast and tight in a way that always kept me (at least) engaged. I do deduct points for the wise author character basically looking directly at the fourth wall and saying ‘and the profound message of my work is-’ (moreso because said message is truly eye-roll-inducingly vapid and dumb, granted), but that’s easily forgiven.

The comedy was...more hit-or-miss. There is a lot of clever wordplay and funny, high-context character beats. There are also a bunch of just absurd or striking visual gags or background details that really work. And then there is the giant with balls so big and hideous that they almost crush someone to death.

It’s been said (by people with far more knowledge of and investment in the medium than I) that mainstream American comics are these incredible wells of repressed sexuality – full of physically implausible women dressed for a burlesque and with panels framed by a particularly sleazy tabloid photographer, but oddly coy about actually talking about or including sex itself. Which tracks with my limited experiences, but might just be bullshit I don’t know – what I do know is that Saga is basically the exact opposite of that.

Which is to say, this is an intensely sexual comic, but an atypically non-sexualized one. Which is a bit of an odd distinction, but compare how Saga shows an uncensored orgy and how any given artist at a con draws prints of Power Girl and you’ll get the idea. This is on balance a very good thing, occasional junior-high-level visual gags and gross-out humour aside. Sex is a part of life, of varying importance to different people but something present and shaping the world regardless (and Marko and Alana very much do believably seem like a couple that’d have a kid together without a huge excess of planning beforehand).

Aside from Alana, Marko and Hazel (and hangers-on including a phantom babysitter and Marko’s somewhat-approving parents), the various groups hunting them get a really surprising amount of page-count – The Will, Lying Cat and Prince Robot are all basically main characters in their own right, and Gwendolyn, Sophie, Upsher and Doff aren’t fair off. It’s an immense accomplishment that a series of 28-30 page comics manages to bounce between so many characters and always keep them all moving, both physically and emotionally. (The character work and character design of this is worth at least the price of admission on its own, really).

The thing that most makes me love the comic is, I think, how it will introduce characters and tell you explicitly they are murderers and monsters – and then show them struggling and risking their life out of guilt or altruism or love, show them falling for people and being part of rich social worlds, show the trauma and baggage and shitty relationships that made them who they are. Make you care about them and root for them, want them to accomplish what they need to to get a happy ending – and then have them destroy something or kill someone else you’ve grown to care about. Aside from the really obvious stuff about intolerance and war, it’s one of the most consistent themes of the series that monsters have lives and loves too, which is frankly something I wish more stories (and just, people) took to heart.

The setting is glorious, in a ‘mural on the side of a stoner van’ sort of way. Laser guns and spaceships that are giant flying trees, a kingdom of robots with TVs for heads and the planet-sized egg of what’s basically a living black hole – nothing that’s designed to bear scrutiny, but endlessly inventive and evocative and clearly very fun for the artist.

The most striking thing is that – even for now, let alone fucking 2012 – the comic is just incredibly diverse. Even leaving aside the really weird or cartoonishy exaggerated species there’s more diversity in body type and silhouette in one crowd scene of Saga than in most Hollywood movies I’ve seen recently. Same with race and sexuality—the whole setting seeming functionally queernorm except for the one couple whose character arc requires that they come from Planet Homophobia is slightly eyeroll inducing but again, compared to the early 2010s norm it’s soaring so high above the bar you can’t even see the ground.

So yeah, have fallen entirely back in love with it. Can’t wait to start in on Book Two.

[librivore42]

A cultural exchange

This gif is mildly false advertising because there's no kissing in the fic but it definitely carries the 'Minthara yanks Gale in, much to his pleased surprise' energy. A secret withers gift for @quescon! Ao3 link below, and full text under the cut if you want to stay on tumblr (but comments and kudos would be welcome!)

A cultural exchange (1051 words) by Librivore42 Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Minthara Baenre/Gale Characters: Gale (Baldur's Gate), Minthara Baenre Additional Tags: Rated teen for the fact that they're definitely undressing eachother but that's about it, I'm bad at ratings okay Summary: Minthara is attracted to Gale, and Gale is clearly both interested and absolutely not going to make the first move, so why beat about the bush? She takes matters into her own hands.

~~~~~~

Minthara was indeed beautiful. Forceful. Powerful. Direct. So maybe Gale should have been slightly less surprised when, not half an hour after they’d set up their tents and he’d wandered toward the tree-line to look at some fascinating mushrooms, he’d been powerfully and directly pressed up against a tree.

“Minthara?”

“Wizard,” she said calmly, as if pinning wizards to trees and busying herself with the laces of their shirts was a common everyday occurrence.

Surely it wasn’t.

“May I-” he said, desperately trying to keep his voice level as a hand briefly dipped under the fabric, “ask what by Elminster’s beard you’re doing, exactly?”

“I did not think you would need it explained to you.” Red eyes much too close, much too pleasantly heated. “Or did your goddess not concern herself with the mortal necessity of undressing a bedmate?”

“Mystra would- I. That isn’t-” Feeling too flustered by the suddenness of it all to come up with a proper retort, he batted her hands away.

“Now really, I must protest!”

“Must you?” she said dryly, resuming her unlacing. “To what do you object, wizard?”

There were numerous and equally valid variables in this situation to object to. The suddenness of it, the lack of asking whether he was actually interested, as if his willingness to participate was not a consideration- not that he was wholly unwilling mind you, nevertheless it was the principle of the thing- but as his mind spun for some excuse to get her hands off of him so he could have a single coherent thought, all he could come up with was “The location.”

She raised her eyebrows, fingers stilling as he willed some blood back to his brain.

Good. She was distracted. Now he could push her very warm and very appealingly muscled arms away and walk back to camp and they could all pretend this had never happ-

“We. Ah. Are much too close to the campsite and our companions. A tent might afford us more privacy in this particular situation.”

Gods damn it. He went on, mouth working incessantly to fill up the silence she was staring at him with.

“Visual privacy at the very least, though if we were further in the forest we would have less chance of being overheard. It would be rather less comfortable but perhaps-”

“Are you never silent?” she said in milder annoyance than he was used to. And then, much to his surprise, “Very well. Privacy you shall have.”

Quick and efficient, he was grabbed by the mostly open shirt front and dragged into her tent, still a little dazed to have been given this consideration.

Once the tent flap closed them in together, she looked him up and down with vaguely proprietary air. Had Mystra ever looked at him like that, or had he always read it as affection? Minthara’s gaze was certainly different, but similar enough that it made him bristle.

“A second objection, if your sole interest is a warm body to satisfy your needs then I am certain there are many others to provide.”

A flicker of surprise, and then, bafflingly, increased interest as she stepped forward into his space and resumed undressing up.

“You are a strange one,” she said, her voice almost… amused? “If my sole interest was a warm body I would indeed have sought out another to provide it.”

Gale let out a slightly hysterical laugh, and he did have to wonder precisely how they got from Minthara seeming to express only the deepest disdain for him to her fingers sliding under his shirt and pushing it off of his shoulders.

Perhaps in drow culture disdain was a step up from indifference? He had to admit, he was not particularly well read on the ways of the drow, though he was dimly aware that men were faced almost exclusively with those two emotions. A shame really, he had been most remiss in learning more about their companion, not asking her nearly as many questions about the Underdark and drow as he had asked Lae’zel about the Astral plane and the Githyanki.

Given that Lae’zel was always very responsive and Minthara stared at him like a slug she’d prefer to step on, that was not surprising. But he could find books. Truly there was no excuse besides neglect that he had been caught so short-handed in this- her hands were at the laces of his trousers now - very…. sudden and… intimate…. cultural exchange-

A smack on his cheek, surprisingly light, brought him back to reality and the chill air on his increasingly bare skin.

“I expect you to pay attention.”

“Yes ma’am.” He wasn’t sure if it was the smack or the authoritative tone that made the response tumble from his mouth so readily, but he was sure that despite her lack of expression, he saw the following in Minthara’s eyes:

Surprise again Delight Satisfaction An even greater increase of interest

Duly noted. He filed that away in his currently limited mental codex of drow culture. Or his understanding of Minthara, at the very least. It would be prudent to assume that she was merely a partial reflection, not a complete representation, of what was no doubt a very varied and fascinating- oh Gods. Warm and calloused hands in the right place were remarkably focusing when he was in danger of getting distracted again.

He tried very hard to formulate a coherent thought again.

“Perhaps you should-” he gestured towards her. “Allow for a levelling of the playing field, as it were?”

“An impertinent question,” she scoffed, but took his hand and directed it to the buckles of her armour, giving him a little room to get his mind in order. He glanced at her quickly as he worked, noting the amusement buried deep in her eyes. She seemed to enjoy a little pushback, alternating with plenty of deference, though he had yet to learn if that was a drow preference, a Minthara preference, or simply what she preferred out of him.

“We shall have to do something about that failing of yours. Kneel.”

Ah well, who was he to miss an opportunity for greater cultural knowledge? He grinned a little, all too rapidly falling into the rhythm of this little encounter like a newly learned lanceboard strategy.

“Yes ma’am.”

[writing-for-life]

Reconciling DC cosmology is complicated, @windsweptinred . Despite Lucifer fitting into Sandman canon quite well (it fitted in exactly until NG decided to write Overture 🤣🙈), there are still instances where NG has established one thing and Carey quite another.

But here’s what’s established Sandman canon: Creation started with Night and Time as sort of primordial entities (much like what we get in Greek lore, but also… not that 🤣). The first three (I think even four to be honest) Endless are *definitely* older than the archangels (there was an inset in the comics at some point where NG explains it all, I’ll need to see if I can find it). Dream *is* older than Lucifer, possibly by a fair margin (but what are one or two billion years for those guys, right? 🤣).

The younger three are a bit more complicated and generally presumed to be younger than the archangels if I remember correctly. They’re the result of fairly established sentient life (that’s not just human life obvs). But that’s exactly where it gets complicated and also a bit wonky in terms of reconciling DC cosmology.

Because here’s the kicker: Even for Carey, the Presence was born in the Dreaming. It is quite clearly stated in Lucifer that the Presence is a creation borne of human belief. But unlike all other deities created in the Dreaming, that belief made the Presence more powerful than even the Endless. We have a retroactive Dream of a Thousand Cats situation here (in fact, it *is* Dream of a Thousand Cats, because Carey implied the Presence was dreamed into existence when we broke free from the cats. NG, on the other hand, has commented we’ll never know if cats really ruled the world—it’s just what *they* believe). Anyhoo, due to that, creation, the universe, and all the beings and their powers, became what they are now retroactively due to the DoaTC scenario (whether cats where involved or not probably doesn’t even matter. What matters is that enough of us dreamed the Presence into being, and exactly as powerful as it is). That includes a new distribution of power, so to speak.

That’s why e.g. Dream, despite in theory being older than the Presence itself (and Lucifer, and the archangels), can be “less powerful” than them in one way but ultimately, he will always be more powerful in other ways. Power is relative here (we’re not talking superhero power scaling 🤣). Because the universe *needs* the Endless. And the Presence knows this (that’s where all the First Circle stuff comes in—it was only an Endless who could save the universe. Otherwise we’re back to the “is God truly all powerful and all good”-paradox. Heady stuff, not gonna go there 🤣). As long as there is sentient life, they *will* exist. This does not necessarily apply to the Presence, or Lucifer, or the archangels, even if some of them are currently deemed more powerful. But their power is tied to enough belief. The Endless just are. There is still an assumption in Sandman/Lucifer cosmology (and DC cosmology in general) that once people stop believing, that’s it. It might just take much, much longer than for some of the lesser deities.

So the Endless are less powerful in certain ways, but ultimately, they’re also more powerful because they will only cease to exist once sentient life ceases to exist. So unless the Presence decides to wipe all sentient life, The Endless will, in a way, always be more powerful. But the Presence *could* presumably do that. Only that it’d also mean there would be no believers left (now there’s a Rube Goldberg type-plan again, because we obviously know that even the Presence gets fed up at times 🤣).

It’s a catch-22 and brain pain stuff really. And pretty much always a “neither… nor”, “and… both”, “not quite” or “but also…” What I’m trying to say is: DC is trying to keep it coherent but ultimately never sorts out their shit, and we’re often on our own in trying to make sense of it all. And it’s best to keep the greater DC cosmology only very loosely connected and look at each story on its own, because otherwise heads *will* explode 🤣

Alright chaps, time to discuss, 'cause canon isn't quite clear on this one (or if it is, I was too dense to get it):

How is it explained that Lucifer is more powerful than Dream, when the Endless are above deities in the universal hierarchy, and Lucifer was created by a god?

Or is it less universal hierarchy related and more to do with the kind of power Lucifer wields (offensive? Destructive, arguably, although I like to see it more as productive power in the foucaulatian sense) vs that of Dream's (more passive? Defensive? Although we know he too is a warrior who fell gods).

What do y'all think?

[beantothemax]

This au is a parasite on my noggin....

What a small girl. She looked weaker than any kid Godot had ever seen. Dark bags under her eyes and she was a mess. Her hair was supposedly straight but after days of hiding in bushes and hardly surviving at all, he didn't blame her for her hair resembling a rat's nest.

And gods, she shouldn't even have been there. She should have been with a family member being cared for by loving hands, not at her papa's trial. Such a young child, she had done nothing to deserve that.

Of everyone in the office, the girl seemed to fear Godot most. Again, he couldn't blame her. His mask was odd and he wasn't the most friendly looking man out there.

Still, it was important she trusted him. Hesitantly, he removed his mask and lay it aside. The world was a horribly dark blur without it, but he could tolerate not seeing for just a little bit, just long enough to talk to her.

He knelt in front of her chair, carefully grabbing one of her hands.

"Are you ready, Elena?" he asked as carefully as he could.

"No," her tiny voice squeaked.

"It will be okay, lady Clarissa will hold your hand and she'll stand next to you. No one can hurt you up there."

"What about Harvey?"

"There's twenty guards and Clarissa is just as good at magic as your papa, they'll all protect you and you won't even get scratched!" Godot smiled as he said it.

He could only hope his words had calmed her for he could not see her face. He sat beside her and she asked every question she could think of about the trial.

Will they listen to me? What about papa? Would they take papa away? Can I hug papa?

"Why do you have a scar on your face?" she finally asked.

Oh. That.

Godot never done much to hide it for he never saw it himself, but it was still there. Just under his left eye, going diagonally up and ending at his hairline above his brow. He could only imagine it made him look scarier, but it wasn't as bad as that accursed mask.

"I knew a girl called Maya. She was very special, a lot like you. Someone tried to hurt her, but I protected her," he explained.

"So they hurt you instead?" Elena muttered.

Not because it was him specifically, but she wasn't wrong.

"Yes, they did. But I survived and I'm fine now, and what's more important is that Maya is too!" he smiled.

Elena stayed silent for too long. He wanted so desperately to now if he had said something wrong but the accursed poison that ruined his eyes couldn't make an exception just this once. He was left wondering.

"Will they hurt lady Clarissa?" she whispered.

Who knows. It was anyone's guess really. She might get hurt shielding Elena or Harvey might try to kill her for being so close to Osvald. Perhaps even the townspeople might hurt her, thinking she was an accomplice to the crime, whatever it was. There were so many ways lady Clarissa could get hurt.

"They won't. I'll make sure you both come out unscathed, I promise," he said firmly.

...

...

...

Again, that dammed unreadable silence. How he cursed Dahlia, cursed the day she took not only his years of his life but his appearance. He once looked normal, he once had eyes that didn't need a mask to see. Once, what felt like a lifetime ago, he did not scare people by merely existing.

...

"You're right. No one will hurt us if they know how strong you are!" Elena said, an odd sound at the end of her sentence.

A chuckle.

She wasn't scared.

The door opened and a guard ushered them inside the courtroom. Dozens of spectators watched their every move as they entered. Godot took his place, and with his mask back on, he could see Elena and Clarissa wait by the entrance. She held her head up high and tightly clutched Clarissa's hand. What a brave young girl she was, not daring to show how scared she was in a court of law.

...

He absolutely could not get the guilty verdict, no matter what it cost. Elena didn't need to be strong, she needed her papa.

TURNABOUT SCHOLARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! A!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

elena being so brave entering the courtroom…godot taking off his mask when he talks to elena so she isn’t scared…….. weh,,,,,,,,,, pie the power you now hold with being able to write about godot now……

[sesamestreep]

sexy himbo jock interpretations of James Tiberius Kirk are silly and do a disservice to the character for a lot of reasons, not least of which is that it fundamentally ignores all the times in canon when Kirk is faced with a scientific discovery or oddity and you can see the effort it takes for him not to clap and skip with excitement. like in ‘the devil in the dark’ when Spock posits that they might be dealing with a silicon based life form and McCoy’s like “but that’s impossible!” and Kirk literally crosses the room to flirt talk excitedly with Spock about the prospect and how it could work! and what it would mean!

What I’m saying is, Kirk’s gotta be smart and a huge dork because how else could he pull a bad autistic bitch like Spock?

[billiuspendragon]

Akechi would probably get really low marks on his essays at school (if the way they're marked is anything like how they were marked in my school anyway) despite being well-read and knowing about the source material.

He would reach the word count easily, but I think he'd have trouble staying on topic and would ramble about irrelevant details. Idk about other schools but in mine you'd get marked down for exceeding the word limit, which is definitely a problem he would run into. I think he'd find it hard to make the essay read well from beginning to end with a conclusion and everything.

[ruporas]

i've been wondering- what do you think of vash and ww's relationship to pain? do u have any thoughts on it??

cuz i was just thinking like. obviously they're both extremely resilient and don't care much if they get hurt in the process of achieving whatever, but like... as for the pain specifically, i have to wonder.

cuz i'm reading trimax for the first time and toward the end of the sand steamer mess kite basically asks if vash even feels pain. and i mean... he has to, since not that long ago he just hit the floor with a dramatic blood splatter lmao. but like.

is he just suppressing visible reactions? or does he just not feel pain unless it's above a certain level?

and i wanna know about ww too if you have thoughts, i just haven't gotten that far in trimax :')

forgive me if my wording is all over the place, i havent been very elegant in my words Lately, but i am always down to talk about specific shit involving vash and wolfwood,

if we're just talking physical pain, yeah, i think they feel pain normally!

For Vash, he is the master of repression throughout Trimax, so I think naturally, he keeps a strong face no matter the level of hurt, whether on the outside or inner. It's just in his nature to not allow others to worry about him by pulling through with a fake smile or in some cases, he feels like he deserves the pain inflicted on him so even if he's getting pulverized to shit or threatened against his life, he'd default to a silence as opposed to screaming in agony that might make people think he isn't feeling anything. It's probably also second nature for him to no longer yelp or cry at pain after the amount of years he's spent getting hurt, but i think this only applies if he isn't emotionally involved in a fight (which is rare, but it happens in ch. 38).

In terms of physical pain, he seems to feel it like how regular humans do. I've thrown together some examples where he goes owchie owchie owchie that aren't too spoilery:

The Emilio scene is kind of why I don't think he's just playing up the theatrics of feeling pain, though I do think he would on some occasion, especially since he roleplays with children all the time. Verbally saying "ow ow ow" could potentially be an instinctive reaction too or maybe a source of comfort. But yeah!! I think Vash has always been able to feel pain and it's not like being a plant has lessen his ability to do so. Any resilience built is tacked on due to him being alive for 100 years and being a guy with a clear painted bullseye on his entire figure that ends up getting him shot and scarred.

In the end, the pain that gets to Vash the most will always be on an emotional level rather than physical, but Vash is such a genuine person and so present when it comes to other people that even if it's a pain he can take, it'll still hurt him terribly in more ways than one.

For Wolfwood; I think in general, those under the Eye of Michael have a strong resilience to dealing with pain due to the regen potions and the amount of training forced on them. I don't think we ever get the full description of what exactly those in EoM endured throughout their younger years, but we saw WW get shot at an early age in chapter 12 and we can assume it happened more than once. Over and over again until he won't even flinch against it just like how killing without hesitation was attempted to be drilled into him. I don't really know how it works scientifically… but I fully believe that he's mostly numbed to the physical sensation of it and it's the psychological part that gets to him more. Wolfwood himself is a naturally skilled fighter too, not that that really has anything to do with his dealing with pain, but I think his focus and attention on a battle and his stubbornness to win kicks an adrenaline that allows him to ignore the pain.

Though, his body also gets sore and tired just like any regular human does and there's this instance where he goes owie too:

(While NOT as much as Tristamp WW does where he's cracking a cold one every goddamn minute, I do think Trimax WW has gotten used to taking regen pots and thus, can afford to be careless and not give a damn.)

So, physically, technically in canon, they don't really have anything that specially makes either of them unable to feel pain, but just as you said, they're incredibly resilient. And ultimately, the both of them are affected emotionally/psychologically that hurts them more than the physical aspect of it, considering how physical pain is almost a daily chore for them to deal with (Vash being hunted for sport for majority of his life + Wolfwood being involved in experiments/killings for majority of his life.)

I think Trigun in general, while showing physical pain being a strong factor of hurt for regular people like us constantly seeing civiilians get beat up or shot, it tends to boil down to the multiple varieties of pain when it comes to those who deal with physical pain often (Gung Hos, Vash, EoM members).

I didn't know where to put these comments but here are extra thoughts:

They're both evidently really good at hiding their pains or any mark of vulnerability. They both could have a hole in their chest and go days without anyone else noticing so long it isn't killing them.

They're both pretty reckless during battle, but I think for Vash, he already tries to avoid violence at all cost and thus, do in a roundabout way lessen his own chance of getting hit in hoping to not stir that violence against another. As a result, I think Wolfwood can be way more reckless and ends up getting hurt more unnecessarily as a result of it.

They both are capable of healing at quick rates so I'm sure that allows the pain to feel more temporary, less of a risk to sustain, and to further hone in not caring too much about getting shot. That only applies for themselves individually though because every time they see each other get hurt, they're always so so worried despite knowing the other will be fine.

i'm pretty sure i repeated myself like 800 times, but i hope this Answered the question SFGMSDKGSMDKH i also tried to be vague enough in my wordings and focus only on the beginning-ish of trimax so to not spoil! i hope u enjoy ur reading of it!!

[sskk-manifesto]

:)

[thedreadvampy]

imo anti-intellectualism doesn't just mean reacting against academic language or "having enough of experts" it also means crucially reacting hostilely to attempts to learn or to make ideas and knowledge accessible.

what I mean is if somebody explains something in simple language and your response is to call them stupid for doing so, or, more commonly, to mock people for needing a common language explanation, you're not fucking helping.

part of tackling anti-intellectualism and wilful ignorance is making learning and understanding accessible and rewarding. widening the conceptual gap between Academia and The Regular Man just encourages the idea that academic thought is elitist, irrelevant or untrustworthy. the counter to anti-intellectualism is academic accessibility.

(that doesn't mean 'everything should be understandable to everyone' or 'nobody should be using technical language or highly complex ideas' bc things like technical language and specialist conversations and academic communication exist for a reason and help move things along with specificity and depth.

and yeah some people still just have no interest in learning and will get mad about not being invited to a conversation they have no interest in.

but. the minute you start sneering at people for not having heard of an idea or not yet having figured out how to understand it, or talking shit about attempts to make knowledge more broadly accessible and comprehensible, you are not on the side of knowledge. that's all bb thanks 😘)

[wander-wren]

hi, calling all fanfic writers and readers and also people who have Made Videos for a little help with a potential project.

disclaimer: this is, as i said, very potential and still in the Shiny New Idea stage, i’m trying to determine feasibility at the moment.

so, you know speedpaints, right? as in, timelapsed drawing video with music or narration laid over it. consider the same thing, but with writing.

(the tentative term at the moment is speedfic, which has some precedent being used this way, because speedwriting means something else. but i digress)

the idea is that i would post timelapsed videos of me writing short fics and explain my process, probably focusing on specific elements like worldbuilding, character voice, plot, etc. i could also talk about planning, editing, and maybe some other general fanfiction topics.

this leads me to several questions. the main one, of course, is “would anyone else even be interested in this sort of thing?”

but assuming that answer is yes—there are some logistical issues inherent in doing this with words that aren’t caused by doing this with art, namely the “speed” and “narration” bits, and lots of other fiddly little things.

so i guess i’m just asking what writers/readers would want from a project like this, any preferences as far as video structure/length/content, just anything, really. before i go chasing the Shiny New Thing, i want to know if it’s worth it

[violexides]

last night i finished my "rewatch" of SDR2 and i do have a lot of thoughts specifically when comparing the different strengths and weaknesses of THH and SDR2 however for the sake of time (i have to leave for class soon) one thing i will say is that getting older and a hiatus did not, in fact, make me any less in love with komaeda nagito's character.

[sleepdepravity]

Happy to be your filter for funny history stuff.

[navree]

So I read a fanfic the other day and now I'm terribly scared of what the showrunners will do in s2. Like, I don't know what reason they'll give us for Daeron to be away but in the fic he was sent away because he had brown eyes and Rhaenyra was like "guess who has bastard children now" eventhough Daeron wasn't a bastard because Alicole was strictly platonic. And like, I know this is irrational because even they can't fuck up so badly, right? But then again, I don't trust them

I think the showrunners have said "oh he was just off in Oldtown with his Hightower relatives" because what definitely happened is they forgot Daeron existed and then Twitter pointed it out and they needed to figure out what to do. I don't think they'll try anything with the Hightower-Targaryens and their parentage, just because that's a bit old and tired (and it seriously dilutes the story which is why I hate the theory that Helaena's kids are Aemond's I hate it so much). So I don't think they'll fuck up badly on that regard, because I've actually liked a lot of what the show's doing, as much as I complain about things I dislike, and the issues don't seem to be about Bad Writing.

I think the issue we've seen with some of the writing in HOTD is that there are a lot of people writing different episodes, so it can feel a bit disjointed. Game of Thrones had many, many flaws in its writing but for the most part, it was written almost exclusively by David and Dan, with one episode a season (for the first four season) being written by GRRM and one episode a season written by Bryan Cogman, so everything could be kept with two people who share a vision and have a clear understanding of what they want to do (no matter how bad what they wanted to do was). Meanwhile, one season along of House of the Dragon has more people listed as having written an episode than I saw listed as writers for the first four seasons of GOT, so what we have is an episode written by someone who loves Daemon, then an episode written by someone who hates Daemon but still is Team Black, then an episode written by someone who hates Daemon and loves Aegon, then an episode written by someone who's Team Green but loves Rhaenyra, and on and on it goes. If they're able to be concise, to storyboard and plan correctly enough so that everyone has an understanding of what needs to go into each episode, and keep things small scale in their writers' room while also having a singular vision, things might go better than we've seen.

And it does appear they're taking George more into consideration than D&D did, so we have that as a final failsafe against any asinine decisions.

[brick-van-dyke]

I'm not very far through it, but 'The Library of Broken Worlds' by Alaya Dawn Johnson is delightfully new and inspiring.

Maybe this is a little pessimistic to say, but I always figured that most stories have already been told to some degree, in the sense that we will all inevitably write using a pre-existing archetype in world building regardless of if we intend to, and only different variations on these archetypes were left to tell, but this book is proving me wrong left and right; showing a world that is so thoroughly unique and beautiful in its creativity and world building that I can't help but reevaluate that mentality. I have yet to know more of the story or the overall theme, but so far this book has proven to be wonderfully delightful in its handling of a whole new and distant world and incredibly original. It's written in such a compelling way that reveals its lore and rules spectacularly and uses a very unique method of writing that, while has been done before, feels fresh in its delivery. It's one thing to tell a story, but another to tell it to a god. I highly recommend it even if I'm only going from the first one and a half chapters; that was all it took for this book to blow me away.

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 & 𝑫𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒔 𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖

── mdni sexual content ; headcanons on how the boys would act with you (afab!reader) when you have a praise kink. inclusive of: praise (obv), pet name usage, dirty talk, teasing, general foreplay, vaginal sex, overstimulation.

featuring : rafayel, sylus, xavier, zayne, caleb, jeremiah, luke, kieran.

an : this was a request i put off a liiittle bit bc i had to think of how i wanted to approach the prompt, but! it was super superrrr fun, and i maybe wrote a little bit more for each of the guys than i intended hehe <3

taglist : under the cut !! (SIGN UP HERE)

KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

ʀᴀꜰ���ʏᴇʟ

praise from rafayel is raw.

undeniably, during the day, there's a little part of him that would be a little shit about it—tease you to wit's end, preying on your little praise kink like it's a shiny little pearl he's found for him to play with. good girl~ here, pretty girl~ there… there'll be a little sing-songy tone to his voice, a teasing lilt, and sometimes it's more than you can take—sometimes you'll snap out of embarrassment, sometimes you'll maybe shove him away, sometimes all you can do is puff your cheeks up and do a little hmph. but really, it doesn't work out very much—"you're such a cutie, miss bodyguard."

but then there's a little switch that flips when the both of you are alone.

because the love that he has for you is overwhelming.

you're more than just a pretty girl, more than just a good girl, more than just the teasing little praises he's been singing all day just to rouse a reaction from you.

you're the love of his life. you're perfect to him.

and he's pounding into you as you writhe and moan beneath him, his hair clinging to his forehead, lips parted in heavy pants… his eyes are heavy-lidded with desire, but there's nothing more obvious in those pretty pretty magenta eyes of his— than how much he truly treasures you. his voice is breathless when he speaks, he doesn't stop the movement of his hips, so lost in drinking in the sight of you splayed on his bed like this—and maybe, all he can say is, "beautiful."

because sometimes, sometimes, he's just not the best with words. maybe he can't bring himself to form a coherent thought anymore but that; how beautiful you are, how ethereal, how perfect. between strings of moans of your name, maybe it's all he can say. but it's pure, and raw, and genuine in every sense of the word, almost like a cry tearing from his chest, because what he really means when he snaps his hips down to yours and fills you up with every last drop of his cum, is—i love you.

ꜱʏʟᴜꜱ

praise from sylus is enough to steal your breath away.

it's unexpected, mostly a surprise—albeit a pleasant one. and it's really not that he wouldn't do it often. it's quite the opposite, in fact; he'd do it often. because he knows. he knows exactly how to get you going, how to rile you up… and it's something that he would capitalize on, since your reactions have always been thoroughly endearing to him as much as they were amusing.

by this, i mean, it doesn't just stay in the bedroom. not at all. it slips into simple, everyday things. and that's why it's so unexpected for you.

after successfully completing a mission, he'd walk over and pull you towards him by the waist: "good job, sweetie." a basic task done in front of him, maybe something as simple as making yourself—or both of you—a meal, and: "what a good girl you are." the back-and-forth bickering you would sometimes have might end with him tapping a finger to his cheek, a little up, a glance of appreciation—"you're adorable when you're excited, sweetie." or maybe sometimes he'd walk up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, lean in to have his lips graze over the shell of your ear… "do you know that i'm quite fond of you? such a good, good girl for me."

he'd chuckle at the stutter in your motions, the flush on your cheeks… and he'd know you're defaulting to thoughts of the bedroom. especially when his voice would dip, all low and sultry, that satisfied, satisfied smirk on his face. 90% of the time, he'd get what he wants—which means you underneath him, fisting the sheets as he ravishes you whole; tongue, and teeth, and fingers… and more. of course, he'd aim for nothing more than to give you pleasure, and he knows how to make it better with just a few added words of praise.

"you're doing well, kitten. that's right, just like that… you make it so easy for me to worship you."

maybe he's conditioned you with it just a little bit.

xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ

xavier's praises are soft, but very direct.

he's not one to cut corners, not when it comes to the way that he sees you. like sylus, it slips into little, everyday things, half with the intention to rile you up, and half to genuinely just say what he's thinking. but as direct as his statements would be, he'd sometimes play a little coy. the irony is never lost with you. and yet, he'd do it anyway. all casual statements, blinks of innocence, smiles that would indicate he had zero idea of the effect he had on you.

you knew otherwise, though.

"you did really well," he'd say after a fight with a wanderer, "all that training really paid off." he'd nod, that familiar little nod that you know so well—to everyone else, it's so completely normal… and to you, it would have been, had the twinkle in his eye not been present, had his touch against your hand not lingered for a little bit longer than usual.

"i like your perfume today, it's nice," is how he greets you in the morning sometimes, with a smile that would have looked completely innocent—it not for the half-step he took closer to you, if not for the little twitch in the corner of his lips, if not for the way he'd reach over to move your hair from your face.

"your dress is pretty. i think it really fits you." a cute little compliment, no? you'd have taken it as such, but you wouldn't have missed the way his eyes would rake over your body, even with the slow, innocent blinks he'd give you afterwards. it doesn't matter that he offers you his hand for you to take, it doesn't matter if he brushes it off like he didn't just have every thought in his head on display for you. because at the end of the day, all of this turns into your fingers intertwined, you pressed up against your pillow, his head buried into the crook of your neck as he pumps his cock into you.

"mmmh… you're so good for me, angel, feel so good, so good…"

a little incoherent, not all that audible, but you can still hear it. he'd nuzzle into your skin, vibrations of his voice sending shivers through your body… there's something in him that doesn't quell him to stop, losing himself in how good you feel, how good you are. "you smell so good… you taste just as good, too, angel… you're so soft, so pretty, so pretty, so pretty, so pretty… nmh, don' want to stop…"

ᴢᴀʏɴᴇ

the way zayne praises you is quiet. gentle.

it's the kind that flows seamlessly into your ear like a soothing little melody… yet, his voice would carry with it a certain level of firmness, indicating that you have no other say in the matter. because he means it—and that's that. it's the kind of praise that's reassuring every time he'd say it, no matter how many times he'd say it. he's your safe haven. he knows how to make you feel better about yourself. insecurities? doubts? worries? gone, immediately. because that's the way it is with him.

it doesn't matter what about you he's praising, nor does it matter when. it's used less as a trigger for your pleasure, and more for him to be unfiltered with you. it doesn't matter if he's seeing you for a dinner date and you're all dressed up, it doesn't matter if he's coming home to you in your pajamas with messy hair and no makeup at all. it doesn't matter if you lose at a little board game the two of you had been playing, it doesn't matter if you'd won nearly half the stall at the carnival that day, doesn't matter if you're on the phone with him and there's a beat of silence as you listen to each others' breathing. it doesn't matter, either, if he's all the way inside of you, slow, rhythmic thrusts, lips attached to your ear—it doesn't matter if his hands had found their way to your chest, fondling and kneading at the soft flesh.

he'll whisper sweet words into your ear, always, whenever he gets the chance.

and at night, he holds you close, hushed words perfectly timed with each and every thrust. they aren't sweet nothings. they're sweet everythings. because he knows that these words are exactly what you need from him, exactly what you need to feel loved, and appreciated, and cared for. with zayne, praise is as genuine and as pure as it gets—sure, he'll cherish the way you whine in response, the whimpers that fall from your lips… he knows that it gives you an extra bit of pleasure, but that's a plus. more than that, he'd never fail to convey how much you mean to him. it's the perfect opportunity for him. just to hold you close, and make love to you like this, quiet, hushed little words of affirmations…

good girl. you take me so well, my love. you feel so good, darling. you're perfect for me.

ᴄᴀʟᴇʙ

praise from caleb is a little infuriating, but it works.

perhaps it's because you're much too used to bickering with him, all these playful little fights about anything under the sun that could usually end up in a fit of giggles—but praise from him comes off a little more like a tease sometimes, a little bit borderlining on mocking. not because he doesn't mean well, but, because… it takes a while for you to realize he's being genuine about it. he probably has to drill it into you himself—repeat it a few times, eyebrow raised, amusedly gauging your reactions. he'd watch you turn from a scoff, to a look of confusion, to the gradual realization that dawns—"caleb!" a gasp of surprise, and maybe you hit his shoulder a little, maybe he has to laugh.

but he means it.

he means it when he calls you beautiful, means it when he says you make him proud. he means it when he tells you how much you mean to him, means it when he tells you that there's no other person he'd rather be around like this, than you.

and he'd look you straight in the eyes when he says it again—repeats it, probably, for the nth time that day, trying to make you understand that it's real.

he repeats it even when he has you sinking into the mattress, pinned down by his weight, legs raised to his shoulder as he fucks himself into you. "yeah, you like that, right, pipsqueak? you're all beautiful like this, taking me so deep… fuck, i can't get enough of you. you're the only one for me, baby." he'd lift a hand to delicately trail down the side of your cheek, and you'd be astonished at the blatant swirl of lust and love settled deep in his eyes—filthy words punctuated with praise; he just can't help himself around you.

"mmm, pretty cunt all wrapped up around me… shit, i love you so damn much, why're you so perfect?" his hips would snap up so roughly, in contrast to the gentle caresses he'd leave over your body, in line with the way he's brought you up to orgasm after orgasm. "you're doing so well, baby, c'mon. you can cum again, just one more f'me…"

ᴊᴇʀᴇᴍɪᴀʜ

jeremiah's praises are a little bit… inconsistent.

not that you never know when you're going to get them, because he does it quite freely—pretty often, mostly whenever he feels like saying nice things about you, which, well… happens to be quite a lot.

but you never know how you're going to get them.

he's big on compliments, always has been. so sometimes it's extremely easy for him to whip out a few words of praise. maybe he saw a flower that reminded him of you. he'd send it over with a sweet letter detailing what you mean to him. or maybe he'd send a simple text, just a little "thinking of you today, princess!" to make you smile. sometimes, he'd give you a little kiss on the cheek, on the nose, say an equally simple "hey, you look beautiful today." or on other days, he'd play a little bit coy, maybe sending a little wink your way after some cheesy compliment disguised as a pickup line—playful, a little bit of a little shit about it, and these are the ones that probably get you the most flustered.

but as much as he prides himself in his way with words—literature lover at heart, poetry lover first before anything… well, sometimes he doesn't have words. not when it comes to you.

because, how can he? sometimes he's too overcome with emotion—the fact that you're here, the fact that you're with him, the fact that he can actually cup your face and look into your eyes and say with conviction that he's finally with the girl he loves more than anything else in the world. even more than flowers. even more than words.

and it's such times that he's more flustered than you. nevermind your praise kink—sometimes he's the one tripping over his words, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and flushing in embarrassment when the words won't come out right. there's a little less of the nonchalance, the playfulness. he tries to be more serious, but it backfires, because he is serious—about you, about both of you, about your relationship… and about how much he loves you.

so even in intimate moments, your body flush against his; even in the way that he kisses you, so tender and loving and sweet… even when he rolls his hips against yours in a slow, gentle motion, even when he'd make love to you under the dim lights of his bedroom… sometimes, his words just fail him. sometimes all he can do is look into your eyes and breathlessly moan out your name. sometimes he has to dip down and nuzzle into your chest, whining out something incoherent—something like a mushed up string of i love you's if you really listen closely enough.

there's a little less praise to go around.

maybe he'll call you pretty, maybe he'll call you perfect… maybe he'll say a little something about how good you feel, but they're lost and broken into moans, and maybe you're both too into it to really register anything he's saying. because for all that he prides himself with his words, he's really just a little too lost in the feeling of you to bother.

(in the end, it's easier for you to get his praise outside the bedroom…)

ᴋɪᴇʀᴀɴ

praise from kieran is… rare.

he's not used to it; not at all.

part of him maybe thinks he should do it more—well, no, he knows that he probably should, especially when he knows it makes you feel good. he'd admit it to himself that he likes getting you all flustered, enjoys knowing that he has a certain effect on you, that even a simple little praise is enough to give him such a reaction. but words of affirmation aren't particularly his thing, and it just… doesn't happen very often. if it did, it would happen randomly, with nothing too elaborate, maybe even just said in passing—mostly because he doesn't want to draw attention to it. there's a part of him that feels a little bit embarrassed about being so direct with his words like that.

still, it happens nonetheless, sometimes. and when it does happen, it's really truly almost as if there's nothing else you can think of but him. his words. the fact that he's actually really, truly, legitimately praised you.

pretty. just one word. he has you pinned against the wall, something of a knowing smirk visible on his lips as his fingers trace the curve of your jaw and dip lower.

good girl. two words, two fingers dip into your mouth for just a moment… and he's so pleased when you let him. so what else can he do but kiss you? what else can he do but press his body up against yours, feel the way you practically melt against him like this?

he's remembering truly just how much his praise gets to you, and it spurs him to act further—low grunts about how good you feel when he hoists a leg up to his waist so he can slide himself into you, all snug and comfortable in your wet heat... he could praise you for how well you take him, little words about how you're absolutely the best—"mmm you're driving me crazy, angel… just like that. good. fucking. girl."

it's rare, and he doesn't do it often. but maybe, sometimes, when he does start… it's a little bit difficult to stop.

ʟᴜᴋᴇ

one thing to be established is: luke's praises are constant.

they never stop. you hear them so goddamn much. in fact, maybe part of you even feels a little used to it.

it happens nearly all the time, as many times as he can think to—sometimes a little bit teasing, sometimes just to get under your skin a little, sometimes maybe a teeny bit (a lot) obnoxious about it… or, sometimes, in a softer tone, a little more genuine than usual. but the root of it really remains to be that he'll take every little opportunity to throw a compliment your way. especially when he realize it affects you a little more than he originally thought. because the way your heart rate accelerates? the way you'd freeze in place for even just a tiny tiny moment, every single time? even the way your cheeks heat up, maybe sometimes the way your eyes would dart away from him to look at anything else in the room… it gives him pure joy, and it only makes him want to do it more.

"heyy, pretty little miss hunter!" in simple, everyday settings? he'd be so casual about it when he sees you, maybe throwing a little wink your way. the grin on his face would be so telling about how much he just knows. "you look cute today!" or, "that thing you did just now was really cool!" or even just, "what's my pretty girl up to this time, huh?" and it gets your brain blanking in seconds.

but it doesn't compare to the bedroom—a quiet place where he's softer, gentler… where all you can hear are his praises, about anything and everything, hands moving over your body in tender, petting caresses. "your skin's super soft," he'd mumble. "did you use a new shampoo, or something? smells real nice." and he'd dip his head into your neck, lick at the sensitive patch of skin… his hands would slide between your legs, rubbing teasing circles over your clit. "mmm… tastes good… feels good…" he'd dip his finger in, gathering your slick, chuckling at how much there already is— "damn, sunshine, so wet for me? that's what i like to see."

it's a little infuriating, in a sense. he finds every little thing to praise, but… he means it. there's so much of you to praise. it's more than just how well you take his fingers, his tongue, his cock; it's more than just how good you feel or how good you're being for him… it's just, everything. he wants to say what's on his mind with you, and especially behind closed doors? he's got a whole lot of thoughts, and all of them happen to be good things about you.

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