#also this is the first time making a comic strip

[lithuea]

Heart Rate

[tiger-in-the-flightdeck]

.... Roy, you're supposed to be explaining why people think Connor's gay, not why they think you're gay.

[reticent-fate]

part 2/26? (might be restructuring uploads so it might be 27 parts instead. dw about it.)

from the beginning

inspired by the whole genre of otherkin hrt comics (obviously, i just forgot to mention it in the body of the first part)

[crossbackpoke-check]

Sat politely ankles crossed hands folded please say you have more thoughts about the DC deweys. Lazarus pit cold-eyed stare pristine and bloodthirsty anyway I would love to hear any further thoughts if you have the time + energy + motivation

how i imagine you waiting for me to re-read the resurrection of ra’s al-ghul and hush vol. 1+2:

ALRIGHT. in no particular order, thoughts about the dc deweys

connor fits very well into the mold of a talia al-ghul for me; chip on his shoulder, femme fatale, deadly and precise. he’s not the loudest but he’s got a dry wit that’ll cut you!

“why is connor an al-ghul at all and not batman” well first of all he’s already got the water connection, i’m gonna go dip him into the lake a couple hours north of the pas to make him incredibly long-lived, rejuvenated and beautiful

second of all i want him to be a questionable villain/antihero because he looks evil in those pictures but like beautiful evil. you see him at a multi-million dollar soirée and he’s bored of being there wearing his “heritage” beads and jewels he originally had from a thousand years ago. he and his assassins are only here to murder the head of state who’s planning to lay a pipeline through ancestral grounds

rip brandon duhaime i simply cannot imagine you as any kind of batman. lacks the gravitas, too much of a yapper, loves his wife too much. i curse thee to be green arrow if you’re in this narrative at all

assuming connor stays with toronto, would LOVE to think about toronto as one of the sites of the lazarus pit for many reasons

(a brief aside here to say that for me personally this is interesting if connor goes to winnipeg because i think they suit him better, he’s a manitoba boy, but re: the chip on his shoulder, he’s NOT a manitoba boy. he’s from the pas and very proud of it)

a) the amount of ‘toronto is the center of the universe’ hockey creation myths i can play with & birth/rebirth/reincarnation. if you WANT to feel unhinged trying to blend hockey and comics is an ice rink not just a pool of water?

b) mr. cathal kelly i love your works!!! toronto eats its young!!! thinking about this very literally in the sense of the resurrection arc where players come to toronto and are sacrificed, give up their body, their skill, in service of the demon’s head, and lose themselves.

c) we see echos of the same narratives and styles over and over again—if i can hop over to the flyers for a second, there is of course the curse of the *8s (18 richards, 28 claude, 48 danny b, 68 nolan, 88 lindros) but ALSO the danny brière -> tk -> morgan frost celly chain. every generation a resurrection, emerging clean and new from the pit

can you just briefly hold my hand and imagine wayne gretzky as an evil ra’s al-ghul wanting to possess a new body. gretzky i’m sorry to malign you and i know you never played in toronto but you are the best player in my head to fit the idea, i’m open to other suggestions

coming BACK to green arrow dewey (i did not re-watch arrow or re-read those comics sorry) connor could also be black canary, who takes a brief dip into the lazarus pit (toronto) before getting married to oliver. i do like that narrative but because we were talking about pristine and cold-blooded i figured connor dewar head of the league of assassins was more what you were after

now that i’ve gotten through world building… choose your own adventure narratives?

hockey-ish au: connor chosen as a host for the Next One. i think the lineage of the great one -> next one -> next next one -> next one up of gretzky -> crosby -> mcdavid -> bedard is taken, BUT i can imagine that the league of old boys all have the same intentions. connor gets sent to toronto unknowingly being prepped to get body-snatched by ???? and brandon duhaime of course accidentally stumbles on the plot and they have to fight to stop it

connor assassinating people :) snapshot of the head of the league of assassins delegating which major world events they’re going to change today. would love his shark face from the gifset to have blood spattered across it, ideally.

version 1 as head of the league of assassins: brandon is one of his assassins, big strong bodyguard type. devoted to him, would lay down his life, perfectly designed for connor (lady shiva/cassandra cain-ish). connor orders for something to be done and brandon does it there for him then gently wipes the blood off his face and apologizes for being careless and getting him messy.

version 2 as head of the league of assassins: an actual plot where connor aims to assassinate SOMEONE but brandon gets in the way. they meet at odds as their respective roles (hero, leader of a crime syndicate) but are magnetically drawn together as their alter egos. eventually brandon puts together the pieces of the Big Evil and manages to (legally!-ish as much as vigilante-ism can be legal) take it down and the ending panels show a tentative friendship and recognition of potential shared goals

also, jaromir jágr is immortal. don’t know if this is relevant OR related but he is. personal hot spring lazarus pit?

um. thanks for coming to my 1.5k ted talk (including tags). what a way to moritz seider lore drop that i DID grow up a comic book nerd, lmao. thank you so much for enabling me <3 i'll be here all week thinking about which teams would get what rings in a blackest night au

[ofcowardiceandkings]

is it a betrayal to nearly never draw Zelda in her primary outfit ?? do i care ????

[ramenheim]

It's two different ecosystems of computer literacy; they're only fluent in the one they use all the time (app-based UI + mobile website layouts), & aren't in the PC space that anyone who's worked in an office/grew up on a Home/School Computer Room set-up is familiar with.

I work with ppl my grandma's age who are ALSO more comfortable+familiar with the workings of smartphones/pads, and who dread diagnosing issues/even just using PC desktop based UI logic.

It's a **different** kind of digital competence & the problem about the knowledgebase divide should be approached from *that* angle, instead of the doomerism 'ppl are getting stupider nowadays; not like MY days' happening in notes.

Like, consider that most of the symbols aren't even similar to each other, despite supposing to do the same thing. I grew up on PC UI logic and *regularly* hate how mobile UI logic manifests; but also I haven't really kept up with PC UI logic since winXP (am also wrangling win10 into some semblance of xp; registry edits are scawwy) and still primarily use my phone as my 'internet source'. It's two different dialects being conflated bc they both access the same shared spaces, while also having their *own* closed ecosystems of relevant operation information + fulfillment of user needs + social modes.

Telling young zoomers to "just switch to linux" is nuts some of these ipad kids have never even heard of a cmd.exe or BIOS you're throwing them to the wolves

[painted-bees]

A quick, sloppy little comic about Magritte

[OC's]

(image description under the cut)

[Image Description: It's a vertical comic strip of 14 panels arranged one under the other. The style is realistic, done with sketchy lines in a dark burgundy. It is not colored or shaded and there is no background. The comic features the interactions of a couple, Magritte (also called Margie) and Rafael (also called Raf). Magritte is a young woman, she is wearing a baggy armhole tank top with a tight fitting black top underneath, shorts and boots. She has a messy bun and a small messenger bag slung over her left shoulder. Rafael is her partner, wearing baggy pants, sneakers, fingerless gloves, V-neck t-shirt and an open button-up jacket with a hoodie and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair has short side with long top bangs and a short goatee.

 (First panel): There's only Magritte visible from the waist up. Off screen, Raf says to someone else: “Magritte has our tickets.” Magritte is excited, looking straight forward. Her left hand in on her bag's strap, her right hand rummaging inside her bag. Magritte says: "Yeah! Even made sure to put them in my wallet so that I wouldn't- uh..."

 (Second panel): She is beginning to look concerned, now with her face turned to her back, both left hand holding the lip to open the bag wider and her right hand still rummaging inside. Magritte says: "wouldn't forget.... Hang on, it's not on it's usual pocket. Haha." The last is a nervous laughter.

 (Third panel): Magritte is kneeling on the ground. Rafael is standing to the side and behind her, only his feet visible. Magritte looks frantic, searching inside her bag. Her right arm is forearm deep digging in her bag. Magritte says: "It's definitely here-! It's the one thing I never forget 'cus I never take it out of my bag!" Rafael says, firmly: "Margie, when you took it out to put the tickets in, did you put the wallet back in the bag?" The letters are bolded, with the word "back" underlined for emphasis. Magritte says: "Give me some credit, there's no way I'm that stupid." The last three words are underlined for emphasis.

 (Fourth panel):  The scene has changed and now Magritte and Rafael are in a car. We see them from the passenger's side. Rafael is driving, looking straight ahead at the road. Magritte is hunched forward, hugging herself with the left hand. Her right hand is holding her head. She is looking out the passenger window, avoiding Raf.

 (Fifth panel):  Rafael turns slightly to look at Magritte.

 (Sixth panel):  The point of view is now a side profile view from the drivers side. Rafael has his left arm leaning on the open window, his right hand on the wheel. Magritte is hunched over facing the passenger window. Rafael says: "I'm not mad at you, if that's what you're worried about." Magritte says: "I can literally feel your disappointment."

 (Seventh panel): Back to the passengers side, Rafael is looking at the road. Magritte is frustrated, no longer leaning her head against her right hand and instead her hand is palm upwards. Rafael says: "Well, yes. It is a disappointing situation, but-" Magritte interrupts: "You'd think I'd be able to do the one thing I was asked to do-! That I'd at least learn from the last billion times I forgot shit. Rafael says, quieter: “that's not where I was going with this...”

(Eighth panel):  Magritte has her right hand holding her face with the palm on her cheek, left hand placing the tips of her fingers on her left temple and eye brows. She is frustrated and angry. Magritte says: "It's not like I've got anything more important rattling around in my brain.  But, for some reason, if it's not my music, or like.... food or something, then it's just not a priority. I can't make myself care enough to make it a priority!"

(Ninth panel): She now has both hands in front of her, elbows bent, finger extended in a vague hand gesture as if there was something in front of her. Magritte says: "I'm an adult in my 20s and I still manage my responsibilities like a child. I'd be more dependable if I could just stop and think for a second, but I'd probably forget to even breathe if it weren't for the..."

 (Tenth panel): Her frustrated expression turned to confusion. Her hands are still in the air in the same position as before. Magritte says:"... why are we parked?" Her noticing this stopped her rant.

(Eleventh panel): Magritte straightens up and faces the window entirely, left hand crossed over her body to lean on the car door. Rafael, off screen: "Margie." Magritte says: "Oh." Magritte's inner thoughts are written around her. "He stopped the car to scold me. No, not ‘scold’. Don't be a child about this. He's disappointed and just needs to make sure you understand so you can do better next ti-"

 (Twelfth panel): Magritte is still looking out the window, but now with a shocked expression. Rafael reached with his right hand, and its now resting gently on her upper back. Rafael interrupts her inner monologue with "I need you to stop repeating the shit your parents and teachers and such yelled at you growing up. They were wrong, and nothing you just said makes sense."

 (Thirteenth panel):  The perspective switches back to the driver's side profile. Rafael says: "A poor memory isn't synonymous with poor priorities. Nor does it speak to a lack of maturity. The priority was there, we just have to build a better habit of checking things before we leave the apartment. Both of us. It's gonna take time. You afford everyone else a ton of patience, all the time. Can you please afford some for yourself? The situation sucks, we were both looking forward to this. But it's not the end of the world. We didn't forget things on purpose. So let's take it easy and try to end the day on a good note. Alright?" Magritte says: "Okay... c-can we um...."

 (Fourteenth panel): Magritte has turned to face Rafael and her eyes are filled with tears and they're running down her cheeks.  Rafael looks startled, lifting his arm off Magritte's back. Magritte says: "Can we get some ice cream on the way back?" Rafael says: "O-of course!" End of description.]

This description was written and provided by Hiwi.

[fuiru]

A 44 year old man goes to a K-Pop Concert

I promised you a report on the K-pop concert that I, a 44-year-old accountant, went to a couple of weeks ago with my wife and daughter in Toronto. So here it is.

The band we saw were Ateez. They're my daughter's favourite band and my wife's second favourite. I know most of my mutuals are similarly aged like me and may not be familiar with them so let me give you a brief primer on Ateez.

Imagine the most attractive eight men you can think of, just unfathomably beautiful specimens of aesthetic perfection, and make them sing songs that somehow combine the subjects of 'dancing like nobody is watching' with 'we live in a dystopian hellscape that we must all work together to overthrow'. Give them an ongoing music video story lore that literally nobody - not even the band themselves - understand, so that online discussion of their visual motifs looks more like the fevered rantings of a conspiracy theorist, complete with speculation about alternate realities and time being a Moebius strip. There is also a giant sand timer, for some reason.

That's Ateez. That's what you need to know.

Now, K-pop concerts are very different to the gigs I've been going to for the last 28 (!) years. There's no support act, for a start. Also the band perform for like, three hours, with breaks for costume changes and interpretive dance. Furthermore, hanging above everything is the constant looming threat of mandatory military service.

So this being my first such concert, I wasn't sure what to expect. What happened was difficult to explain, but I will try as I am already six paragraphs into this write-up and I'm too invested to stop now. Here goes:

In his Wicked + Divine comics series, Kieron Gillen places modern pop icons as deities, feeding upon and gaining strength from the worship of their fans at the altar of musical performance. I thought I understood that metaphor. I thought I understood it AS a metaphor. I was wrong, because that night Ateez WERE Gods with a capital G and we were their worshippers, a crowd emanating adoration (in the religious and non-religious senses), bestowing strength upon them and gaining their strength in return.

If that sounds weird, it probably is. But as pointed out above, I have lived over four decades and never yet experienced anything like the overwhelming passion of that crowd, the utter abandon with which they conveyed their love for the band.

"But Fuiru, what of the actual music?" you ask. Thinking back, there was a moment in one of their songs - I can't remember which - where I watched the stage, and the people around me, taking it in, and I thought, "Man, I just love Music". But that doesn't answer your question, sorry.

Ateez's music is bloody great. As a tiresome indie/rock/metal kid I'm resisting the urge to add the usual tiresome indie/rock/metal caveat of "...for pop music" because honestly that does it a disservice. They have some genuinely amazing songs. Halazia is an absolute fucking masterpiece that descends into furious hardcore breakbeat. Bouncy is a big, brash racket that somehow is also a perfect pop song. Utopia, Wonderland, and Guerrilla are similarly superb. The obligatory boy band slow number is represented by Dancing Like Butterfly Wings which will make you cry because you will forever associate it with your twelve year old daughter being pointed to and waved at by her favourite Ateez member (Seonghwa) because of her Seonghwa-branded lightstick.

That might just be me, though.

So in summary: being a 44 year old dad at his first K-pop concert rules and you should endeavour to partake in the experience if the opportunity arises.

Finally, for any Atiny reading this: my bias would be San or Seonghwa but my wife and daughter said they were taken so it’s Mingi. My concert outfit (designed and created by my offspring) reflects this.

[innerfare]

Going Down On You - Part 1 

Summary: how they go down on you

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: pure smut

CW: NSFW // oral sex, shameless dirty talk, Kid is a little mean

——— 

Luffy: 

As soon as the two of you are alone, he’s pushing your legs apart. Often times, he doesn’t even take your clothes off, just pushes what he can to the side and buries his face in your pussy. He eats you out like an all you can eat buffet and comes back for multiple rounds. 

He slurps so loud- comically loud. 

“So tasty,” he’ll mutter. “I could eat this for hours.” Sometimes he does. He doesn’t stop when you cum, he stops when he’s had his fill, no matter what time it is. 

Sometimes, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night ravenous. If you’re wearing panties, he rips them off, so you’ve learned to sleep naked. Half asleep, he’ll bury his face between your legs until he’s had his fill, lapping tiredly at your folds, humming and groaning while he does it. If you try to squirm or get away, he gets super annoyed.

“Stop it,” he grumbles in that slight raspy voice of his, lips glistening with your juices. “I don’t care if you’re tired, I’m hungry.” 

What Luffy wants, Luffy gets. 

If the two of you were stranded on an island together, he probably wouldn’t even hunt for food. He’d just strip you down on the beach and pin you with his face between your legs until the two of you were rescued. At times, he even prefers eating you out to fucking you. 

Zoro: 

When he’s hungry, he won’t ask. He’ll just pry your legs apart and go to town as casually as making a cup of tea, though he does it with such fervor you think he must be an addict. 

He usually drags you on top of him and makes you sit on his face so he can lap at your folds at his leisure. He prefers to sit with his hands behind his back while he does it, as if he’s a king and you’re servicing him by letting him tongue your poor, aching cunt (you are), but if you’re being naughty, he’ll wrap those massive hands around your thighs and hold you in place. He also gets super annoyed if you squeal or squirm. 

“Quiet, woman,” he’ll tell you, furrowing his brows. “You’re distracting me.” 

He likes to spread your lips apart and take a good look at you first. He’ll bury his face in your folds and inhale as deeply as he can several times, taking his sweet time before he begins poking and prodding. He’ll mutter to himself as he does it. 

“Mmm, that’s good. Yeah, just like that. That’s a sweet pussy. So sensitive. I bet I can make it cream.” 

He’ll stop in the middle of what he’s doing to place some warm, lingering kisses on your folds before ramming his tongue back inside you. Really loves spitting in your hole and pushing it in deeper with his fingers. Will literally drool in your cunt because he enjoys seeing it spill out. 

Sanji: 

Literally so loud when he does it, makes the most over the top, dramatic noises, moaning as if you’re sucking him off. He especially loves to suck on your labia (no hate to innies but he definitely prefers outies, if you know what I mean). This man would carry a picture of your wet pussy around in his wallet if you let him. He takes the opportunity to taste you very seriously, a little too seriously. Has spent so much time perfecting his technique it’s unreal. 

He’s so sweet about it, too, and so grateful. 

“My precious babygirl, thank you so much for letting me taste this sweet pussy.” 

Such a giver he would happily give up his own pleasure for yours, but that doesn’t mean 69-ing isn’t his absolute favorite thing in the entire world. He especially likes it when he’s sitting up with his back against the headboard, your ass in the air and your face buried down in his lap (helps with the height difference, too). He’ll hold you open and massage your ass while he laps at your folds. 

Always wants to finger you in this position but can’t bring himself to do it, doesn’t want to waste a single drop of your juices; also just can’t keep his face out of your cunt long enough to manage. If hickies on your clit were possible, yours would be covered constantly. He also wants to eat his cum out of you after you two fuck.

Ace: 

All of those manners he worked so hard to learn go right out the window when he gets your panties off and his face between your legs. Is especially obsessed with the smell of you; as soon as he catches the scent, he’s on you like a beast. He wants it all over his face and hands. He wants to fall into bed and smell you on his sheets and pillows. 

“The best smell in the fucking world,” he’ll groan, dragging his nose up your slit. 

His favorite is to put you on your back and push your bottom half up so your bare cunt is high in the air, completely exposed and vulnerable for him to eat at his leisure. He’ll put his big, strong hands behind your knees and hold your legs in an impossible position while he buries his face in your juicy cunt, the knowledge it’s all his enough to make him hard. 

“Fucking delicious. And it’s all fucking mine.” 

Like his brother, he has quite the appetite, but unlike Luffy, he’s never just content to devour you. He’ll lap at your folds until you’re overstimulated, and then he’ll pull out his thick, veiny cock. He’ll shush you as he pushes it into your quivering cunt and fuck you until he’s as spent as you are, and then he’ll fuck you a little more.   

Sabo: 

Another ravenous appetite. Sabo is so messy when he eats you out. He’ll have your juices and his saliva running down his chin and smeared all over his cheeks. He’s even gotten it in his hair before. He doesn’t care, though. When he gets his face between your legs, he gets pussy drunk and completely spaces out. Time stands still, and the only thing that matters is pushing his tongue into your quivering little hole. 

It’s his favorite way to wind down after a long day, and if he’s been away on a mission, he’ll most certainly return with a new mission: to suck your soul out through your clit.  

He’s especially good with his tongue. He’ll stuff it into your hole and massage your most sensitive areas, working it in and out of you while his thumb kneads your sensitive clit. He likes to change positions a lot, putting you on your back then flipping you on all fours before dragging you down to sit on his face, and he’ll have a wicked grin on his face the entire time. The most important thing is that your fingers are tangled in his hair while he works. 

His possessive side really comes out while he’s going down on you. With Sabo, there’s no such thing as your pussy, only his pussy. He'll spit on your folds and leave hickies on your inner thighs to mark you as his.

“Nobody else gets to taste you. Not now, not ever.” 

Law: 

Most definitely uses it as a punishment. He’ll chastise you while he fingers you slowly, his lips mere inches from your leaking cunt. He’ll scold you for being so wet for him or for whining/being impatient. 

"Poor thing, you're aching for it."

When he does finally go down, he’s meticulous about it, tonguing every crevice and licking up every last drop. He’ll make you hold your own legs up and wide open so he can have easier access, and so he can busy his own hands with your breasts. 

On the occasions he does let you lower your legs, he really enjoys your fingers in his hair and your feet resting on his back. Especially likes it when you use your feet to push him away so he can wrestle with you a little; he pulls rank, too, telling you that you have to listen because he’s your captain or a doctor. 

“Y/n-ah, stay still. Doctor’s orders.” 

He’s a spanker and if you get too loud, his hand will come down on your breasts or ass until you grab a pillow to muffle your cries, never mind that the sound of him spanking you is louder than your moans. Also, he has a habit of falling into bed at 2am and waking you up with his head between your legs. 

Kid: 

Prefers to eat you out from behind. There’s no division between eating ass and eating pussy as far as this man is concerned, either. He does both or neither, and putting you on all fours or bending you over something is the easiest way for him to get what he wants. 

He’s so mean about it, too. “Poor little thing. You can’t function properly until you’ve been tongue fucked by your man, can you?” 

He’ll chew your nipples raw and snap at you to stop whining about it, you brat. He’ll pull back to spit directly onto your folds, doing it quite loudly because he knows it embarrasses you and makes your hole clench, you adorable fuck bunny. He’ll flick your clit and laugh when you squeal, and he’ll make fun of you when you cum, you needy slut. If you cream or squirt, you’ll never live it down, you pathetic whore. He’ll hold it over your head, but don’t take that to mean he doesn’t like it- he’s obsessed with your cream. 

He’ll spank you, but he prefers to bite. Your ass will be covered in bite marks and hickeys before he ever plunges his tongue into one of your holes. He’s feral when he does, growling and grunting the entire time. And when he’s finished, he’ll place a few sweet kisses on your cunt and ass, give you a light spank, and tell you to get yourself cleaned up. Unless, of course, he wants to fuck you after, in which case you’re in for a long night. If he eats his cum out of you, he'll most definitely be fucking another load into you.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[metranart]

hi! it’s me

i wanted to ask you how would the jjk guys react to you getting their lips tatted on you..?(specifically gojo)

like you got them with lipstick and they kiss a paper then the tattoo artist makes it a stencil in red and you put it right under your boob..?

(don’t do this if your uncomfy with it! also take your time your probably busy)

xoxo,em! take care

Hi sweets, sorry for the long wait, I've been awfully busy but here it is, I made it specially smutty to compensate lol hope you like it :) btw... I love your requests ;)

How would the JJK guys react to you getting their lips tattooed on you 💋

Ft. Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Choso, Suguru Geto, Ryomen Sukuna.

SATORU GOJO

Five missed calls and four unseen texts. Gojo sighs, scratching the back of his neck, he hated it when you left him on read. What could you be doing that was so damn important to ignore him.

The sound he had been waiting for since the day started makes his ears ring with excitement and without wasting a second, he opens the text message with your name on it.

Gojo Satoru's eyes widen, and his black glasses slide down the bridge of his nose almost comically thanks to his jaw dropping a little, all at the sight of the picture attached to a cute and adorable message that says:

"Do you like it?"

Gojo growls under his breath, subtly pulling with a shaky finger at the collar of his shirt, suddenly it's too hot there, his cheeks turn an accusatory red and his breathing has grown labored. Even his palms are sweating, for fuck's sake! What's wrong with him?! It's just the shape of his lips on the delicious curve of your under-boob. Shit! He's about to bust a cap inside his pants.

"Satoru-" Nanami's stoic voice breaks his trance and looking around almost as if had forgotten he was in the middle of a briefing, gets up and without any further explanation than: "Emergency!" Leaves the school, leaving behind and unattended, all his duties and mental sanity.

"Did you see the message on his phone, Geto?" a puff of smoke lazily comes out of Shoko’s curious mouth and Geto shrugs. "I saw that it was from (Y/N)." The black-haired snickers and everyone let out a unison, heavy sigh.

Gojo arrives in less time than is humanly possible at your apartment and without warning, not even a ‘hey, babe’, or a: ‘I just teleported myself into your room, hope you don’t mind’. You are dragged by your tall and strong boyfriend, special grade sorcerer and stripped of your top.

"S-Satoru, baby?"

You try to figure out what has him so bristled and with the delicacy of a saint but the curiosity of a child, he yanks your bra up, your delicious breast spills from underneath and his tattooed lips greet him.

"Shit!" is the first word you hear him say and it's almost a painful pant. "Those are my lips, aren't they? This is why you asked me to kiss that paper using the lipstick-...." he sounds accusatory but also incredibly excited.

You nod and let out a sigh that you didn't know were holding. "Phew! When you didn’t answer my text, I thought you didn't like it-"

"Not like it..." he sounds almost offended, and your bra is discarded when he pushes you on your back in the bed. "Not like it?! I love it! I want to eat you whole, (Y/N), I'm only holding back because I need to ask something first."

Being pinned down by his weight and his gentle hands on either side of your jaw, Gojo steals the little space and whispers his question against your ear. "Are you still sensitive from the tattoo, or can I give you a new one with the original source?" 

He kisses your earlobe playfully, and you can’t help but giggle dumbly, as you can't help your voice from shaking with excitement. "I’m not made of sugar-"

You can't even finish the sentence when his lips begin the endless and shameless work of awakening every nerve ending in your skin, the desperation palpable in the white-haired sorcerer as every piece of clothing is torn from your body and his and discarded on the floor as impure.

Purple mockeries of your tattoo in the form of hickeys adorn every patch of your sensitive neck like a new necklace, small bites from the small curve of your shoulder to the sinful curve of your waist, nipples swollen and perked from the greedy skating of his tongue on them. Gojo is not being rough, but he is not being gentle either, he is brutal in his advance but methodical and careful that your moans do not change tone.

"I'm going to tattoo myself on you from the inside out," his warn is muffled against your breast as his mouth devours the plump peak of flesh. Paying special attention to pressing his lips against your tattoo over and over and over again, as if certifying its authenticity and quality. The silhouette was exact, the perfect shape of his greedy lips. It was an almost erotic sight for him.

"Huh?"

"Sure,” he chuckled low before keep going, “white ink specially made for you. You'll see, I’m an awesome artist," having you panting, sweating and squirming isn’t enough for him. Oh no! he needs more, Satoru Gojo claims for something more permanent than a mere tattoo. "...My tattoos last nine months inside, and eighteen years outside, they talk and call you mommy, I’m that talented, sweets" tangled between his muscular limbs, your new resting place, he does whatever the fuck he wants with you. 

You feel the massive shape of his warm cock against your thigh, he’s been pumping himself no end, not letting you touch him not letting you aid him for fear of wasting his first load, that tasty, thick load he's been preparing especially for you. The mere graze of your fingers on him will be his end, he knows it, so he won’t ask nor accept your help, even when he longs to wrap your fist around his throbbing cock, desperate to help relieve the burning ache deep in his gut. Or better yet, wrap your perfect mouth around his cock and suck him off– NO! he now’s not the time for him to be negligent. 

Once loaded, abandons his quest for relief and rests his warm palm on your belly massaging it as if molding it to fit something of his, while the other keeps playing with your cunt, enjoying the way you suck his fingers deeper when he turns his attention back to your poor, neglected clit. 

“I never thought someone would be able to awaken my paternal instinct-... did my clan hire you, sweets?” he scoffed, playfully. He can tell that you’re close, not just from the needy moans and whimpers but the way your muscles are tensing and spasming around his digits. The desperate rocking of your hips against his palm, as a firm beg for relief.

“It's just a tattoo....”

“Na ah!” His hand continues playing with your tummy, your navel, the curve of your waist almost obsessively while his tongue makes out with the curve of your neck. “This was your way of telling me that you want me forever..." long finger prod at your gummy walls, searching for that hidden blessed spot that’s gonna make you go wild–

"Let me show you how gifted I am, my sweet girl..." 

He finds it in matter of seconds, and you lose all kind of restriction and complaint and Gojo can’t help but smirk against your neck as you tighten and quiver around his digits. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his thumb pressed over your clit, flicking at the sensitive pearl as he suckles a deep purple hickey on the skin. Long, thick fingers guiding you through madness with each and every stroke, it’s too much for your poor, oversensitive body to handle.

"Y-Yes, Satoru, shown me, fill me, mark me-… do whatever the fuck you want-"

You convulse in the spare seconds of glorious pleasure before cumming with a strangled shriek, and Gojo’s groan muffles against your skin when can finally sink in one roll of his hips, feeding you that fat cock he’s been pumping to the edge just for this exact moment, buries deep inside you, kissing your cervix in that one thrust of raw meat. With an animalistic grunt, spills his soul inside your womb, pouring every last drop of cum he's been cooking in those heavy balls until he empties himself, flooding your inside with his gifted seed. A rush of juices gushes from your trembling cunt onto your connected lower halves, and you feel and hear him pant like a dog next to your ear, as both come down from the high. 

"Am I your favorite tattoo artist or what?"

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NANAMI KENTO

He's stoic and serious, almost unmoving in his unflappable staring as you lift your shirt so he can see your new tattoo. His silent disposition is starting to make you more than a little nervous, since you know that Nanami Kento isn't exactly a crazy animal, but rather, a calm and quiet being who hides a wild side that he only shares with those closest to him. Making you wonder if you fall into that category or not, as his silence as he inspects the tattoo of his lips under your boob is virtually killing you with anxiety.

"Those are your lips, my love." You explain again, even though you've already done it three times, and you receive the same ‘mphm’ sound he made the first three times. 

"Remember? -… remember when I ask you to kiss a paper?"

"I do."

"Well, I gave that to the tattoo artist, and he made it a stencil in red and then I ask him to put it right under my boob...?"

"I see."

Those calm eyes, analyze from every possible angle the tattoo of his lips on your skin, it had never been so difficult for you to read your boyfriend. "Do you like it, do you hate it? Tell me anything, Kento."

Silence and more close observation.

You close your eyes, squeezing your eyelids shut as you take that deep breath of air, you need so much, and you are about to demand an answer when you feel it...

Your eyelids suddenly open looking down and there you find him: Your stoic, boyfriend, the sensible and calm man who is always in control, kneeling in front of you while pressing his lips against your tattoo, the round softness of your boob loses its shape momentarily as the blond pushes his face more firmly against the plump skin. The most unexpected kiss that you have ever shared and for some reason, the most erotic, too.

"K-Ken?"

"Did it hurt?" he asks suddenly from his kneeling position and the threat of you stuttering makes you just shake your head. Nanami steals another kiss against the softness of your breast like he can’t have enough of the sensation. "Are you sure it doesn't hurt?"

You nod, mesmerized by the sudden attention this blond showers you with, his hands caressing your bare back from top to bottom, slow and gentle with the tips of his fingers, it's delicious and it melts away the anxiety you may have been feeling, now, malleable in his hands. You let his face sink further into the curve of the tattoo of his lips and you moan his name as if you want to taste it rolling down your tongue.

"Nanami."

"... Do you still have the lipstick?"

"Huh?" That request brings you out of your reverie a little, and you look at him with some confusion, to which he smiles, that smile that makes you weak in the knees. "Y-Yes, it's in my purse."

"Lend it to me, darling."

With his palm splayed wide open he waits for you to hand over the lipstick. Digging for the cosmetic, he waits patiently until it's resting in his open hand and before you can air your doubts, he stands up, lifting you into his arms to take you with him, those muscular limbs feel like the safest place in the world and you nuzzle your nose into his neck to breathe in his scent combined with his cologne, and it’s intoxicating, so much so that you almost miss his next question.

“I’d like to suggest a few other places where my lips would look just as amazing on your body.”

“Kento!” you startle, it’s adorable to him and closing the distance, he presses his lips to yours, tasting, nibbing and licking as he carries you to his room. “You take suggestions don’t you, sweetie?” 

He chuckles at the flush growing wild on your cheeks, and you feel the softness of the mattress on your back as he sets you down with the care of a saint, before beginning to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. Your body shivers in anticipation and his lips curve up into the cheekiest grin you’ve ever seen him make, his large hand reaching out one elegant finger towards you and beckoning you with it. 

You’re on your knees in front of him in seconds, his knuckles running down the length of your jaw in a silky caress that has you purring like a kitten, leaning into his touch. That smile only stretches further, as your eyes flutter shut and you feel the greedy grip on his lips, hunting for another kiss. 

Unfortunately, it ends too soon, and your mouth holds that pouty shape that demands another sweet kiss, but instead of his fleshy lips, you feel the creamy slick of lipstick painting your lips.

“Tell me, (Y/N),” Nanami is delighted with how docile you are to him as he finishes painting your lips red, and it’s the sound of his pants zipper coming down that catapults your eyes open, “what would you think of me tattooing your lips right here?”

His finger points along his defined obliques and your mouth waters, this man was sincerely praised by the gods themselves, every muscle in his abdomen defined, those deep lines going down to his crotch giving that ‘v’ shape to his torso, that sinful path of golden hair that disappears under his trousers. It's too much for you.

"I think I need to see what it looks like first and then I can give you an informed answer, Kento."

His broad chest rises and falls violently, sweat runs down his forehead and his cheeks are an explosion of color. This is your masterpiece. Nanami Kento’s fat cock fits with effort in your mouth, but you certainly do your best to get it to touch the back of your throat with every thrust, you can feel him getting close, his thighs tremble under your hands, his forearm covers his eyes, his cheeks are about to explode… he’s too close, and your tongue curling around the tip doesn’t help him resist, you suck him off for over ten minutes and you’re proud of that pleasurable ache in your jaw when he comes shamelessly hard at the back of your throat and your name rips through his esophagus as it echoes through the walls of his apartment. Eventually, his hand stops keeping your head pressed against his pelvis, and with a wet pop, his still semi-erect cock hangs in front of your face, lubed in your saliva.

“You’re right, I think it would look nice.”

You tell him, admiring the lipstick residue that adorns the shape of his cock and balls, a crimson kiss near the base, another at the shiny, cum-dripping tip, another resting on the roundness of his coarse balls, and you love the whole image. You want a fucking mural in your living room with this image.

“Hell no,” the blonde says breathlessly, barely trying to recover from your masterful blowjob, “…no needle is going to touch me down there,” he threatens playfully but serious enough, “if you like the way it looks, you’re going to have to paint it yourself every time.”

A giggle escapes your mouth, red lipstick smeared on your lips as you grin evilly at him. 

“You have yourself a deal, baby."

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CHOSO KAMO

Choso can't control where the blood goes since, he met you, his cursed technique is out of control. That damn tattoo of his lips on the curve of your under-boob is driving him crazy, he thinks of it and the blood goes down to his crotch. He thinks of you and the blood makes a tent in his pants.

It's a mess that he's had to control with shameful continuous masturbation sessions. Jerking himself off, over and over, with your name as a mantra and the image of his lips tattooed on your breast as his banner.

"Shit, just go away." 

He murmurs with a tight voice, while his fist milks his fat cock in fast and violent motions, his flesh swollen painfully for more than an hour, he doesn't want you to come home from work and find him touching himself, he doesn't want you to find out that he lost control of his cursed technique. He had to lower himself to watching porn, something he had never done before, but it was of no use. So, he put on cream and although it had relieved him on other occasions, this time wasn't working its charm. Fuck! Pleaaaase-... maybe he needs more cream to slide better? No, no matter how much cream he spreads on it never compares even a little to your tight, little pussy. 

And it is the desperation, that he is running out of time that drives him to this miserable act. He takes, that one photo he treasures so much, out of the frame and places it between his fingers, his excitement growing as he looks at it, it is working. He beats his piece of swollen flesh more eagerly, grunting and growling like a dying animal, Fuck! he's close...his eyes close in concentration and his hand increases speed and pressure as his mouth hangs open… almost there, he can feel his balls tensing and tightening, so close, just a few more pumps, a couple more strokes, a little more pressure, almost there… his guts tighten and his brain enraptures in the moment forgetting to mind his surroundings, to enjoy the divine sensation that grows and grows and grows and FUCK!-

Choso Kamo cums, hard and heavy, rope after rope of creamy cum shoots out of the head of his cock like a mockery of how blood usually does when he uses his cursed technique, the pressurized jet of creamy juice spills out and doesn't finish pouring for about a minute straight. Once his balls are an empty, trembling sack, Choso can breathe again, his sweaty and naked torso rises and falls with violence that calms down the more air he sucks, the sweat begins to dry on his skin and his cheeks feel less hot. This was what he needed, the photo helped him a lot, although he can feel how he bathed it in cum, he can fix it quickly, clean every single trail of his sin before you get home-

"C-Choso?"

His hand, which was riding out the last few strokes of pleasure on his ultra-sensitive cock freezes and his eyes snap open to find you staring at the mess he is, just what he wanted to avoid, damn it! -

"B-Baby, I-" he starts to stutter and stops abruptly when his eyes register what he did.

Your cheeks are painted a deep red but that's to be expected, what's not to be expected are the cum globes that slide down your pretty face, down your cheeks, varnishing your eyelashes and part of your eye, messing up your perfect hairdo, staining your work uniform. Choso enraptured himself so much in his own fantasy that he didn't notice when you walked through the door, or when you approached him.

Now, he has no idea how to begin to apologize, the words are stuck in his dry throat. Are you angry? Are you furious with him? Your beautiful eyes only watch him, better said, ogle him: pants pooling at his ankles, shirt bunched up to his neck, his cock limp but slowly filling with blood again between his trembling fingers, the cockhead shiny and pink and still, spewing cum to further mortify him. 

Choso is paralyzed, unable to move and his mouth barely managing to open to spit out any explanation, snaps shut again from the shame that crushes him.

But that shame turns to bewilderment when his eyes catch the subtle movement of your hand gathering a glob of his cum that slides down your cheek, with all the delicacy and grace that define you, and you play with it for a second between your fingers before opening your mouth and dipping the digits between your tongue. Choso's jaw drops to the floor and his breathing hastens again, his cursed technique going out of control once more, summoning blood to that still throbbing and extra-sensitive part.

Your pretty lips curve into a feline grin that makes him feel like your prey, and he swallows hard, clenching his fists to keep his body from shaking, when his eyes meet yours.

“Is this what you do when I go to work, sweetheart?” you ask, licking your lips to collect the cum resting there, “you jerk off while looking at my graduation picture?” a flirtatious giggle escapes you when you specify, “...same picture where your little brother is, too, how dirty.”

Choso is a bundle of nerves, blood just keeps pooling where it shouldn’t, he’s so hard and swollen that your eyes drop there almost automatically.

“I’ll take care of cleaning everything-” 

You interrupt his apology, raising a finger to get his attention so he can see you, as you lift your pencil skirt up to your thighs and slowly settle yourself comfortably on top of his lap, nestling his cock between your warm stockinged thighs. Choso shivers and carefully as if asking for permission, let his large hands slide down those wide, inviting thighs. 

“…How about you start by cleaning me up first?” Your warm hand tangles around his firm erection and he growls low, “Then you get me dirty again,” you slide those fingers up and down on his stiffness in shameless incitement and smile when notice his eyes roll back his skull, “and we repeat it all until dawn.”

“Yesyesyesyesyes, whatever my girl wants-…” the words rush from his mouth, “…just one request,” an eyebrow rises on your face, and he grins, warm and almost, shyly. “May I see the tattoo of my lips again?”

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SUGURU GETO

“Do you… Do you really like it, Suguru?” You ask, lolling your head forward and humming when his fingers slowly travel up and unclasp your bra, the last barrier you have left to cover yourself.  Every little breathy sound you make comes ragged and soiled with a mix of uncertainty and excitement.

“Way too much, baby,” his low voice carefully admits from above you.  “I don’t know why you hid it from me in the first place. Don’t—don’t do that. You don’t have to. EVER.”

Your breathing keeps picking up when he keeps trailing his hands around either side of your now naked torso, running the tips of his fingers down your ribs and slowly tracing the curve of your breast, letting the pads of his fingers memorize the shape of his tattooed lips on your skin.

“Take off the rest of your clothes,” Suguru whisper, quite suddenly emboldened by his growing need. The gentle caresses pause at the very top of perked nipple, holding there for a second while he seems to think about it. “Please, don’t make me repeat myself.”

Soon his touch lifts away and he appreciates the sound your hands make, as those little limbs make haste in follow his request, the muffled shuffling of fabric being stripped of your skin somewhere close by and the soft noise it makes dropping to the floor, close to erotic to the first-grade sorcerer. And then suddenly—

“Oh, God—” you breathe, nearly melting into the seat of his school office when large, warm palms meet your skin and slowly start to ride the curve of your neck and collarbone downwards. Dammit, why does it feel so good?  Suguru Geto smirks, like the knowing devil that he is. “Do my hands feel amazing, baby? It’s just two palms, ten fingers-”

 “…. But they’re so strong and raspy and big….” Your mouth babbles unrestrainedly, “touch me more, Geto….”

One palm butterfly out across your breast and you moan, lewdly loud. “If Director Yaga hears, I’m going to be so fired, pretty.”

“S-Sorry…” 

Dipping and squeezing the soft, pillowy flesh of your boobs, Suguru Geto stares down at you, drinking every emotion and expression he can rip out of you. “Ho—fuck, like that.” Your approval is everything to him.

“I know,” Suguru murmurs, his voice ocean-deep and scraping across the shell of your eager ear when he leans closer from his privileged height to press one bended knee to the chair, right in between your thighs. He lets one hand drift down into the space he created and rub circles on the moist mound of flesh there, as his other hand comes up to cradle your chin, urging you to stretch your neck up and long for him. “You look so pretty like this— all naked and horny for me.”

“Someone might come in, lock the door…” you breathe in protest, remembering your shy nature, and he ignores you, slowly dragging his palm down your trembling slit.

“You don't get a tattoo as sensual as that, if you don't want everyone to drool after you,” he says, and you’re helpless to stop the embarrassing way your knees suddenly jerk farther apart when his hand moves to press a fat finger on your clit. “… Showing all the monkeys how sexy you are, and then showing them that you belong ONLY to me.”  

And then he squeeeezes your bundle of nerves, and your hips nearly come off the seat with it.

Nothing else exists besides your boyfriend’s pair of hands now gripping the bottom of the chair, to position your body closer to him. You hear yourself take exactly one shaky breath before his arms suddenly slithered under your knees, hauling you forward. Your lower back dips in at the angle, your pelvis now jutted out and propped up by the edge of the seat.  

Suguru Geto licks his lips as if he as if a banquet were being presented to him and the following is him lowering himself to the floor in front of you, running those deliciously strong palms up the length of your thighs. Your new position encourages you to spread your legs wider for him.

“I think my lips, tattooed here,” his long, cascading loose hair caresses the inner skin of your thighs as he leans down to the lower curve of your tummy and places a soft, warm kiss, “would look great, as well.”

“Y-You think?” 

Your quivering lips exhale at the feeling of his hot, plump lips meeting your feverish skin, and hearing the sound of his breath hitch at the visual you give him, goosebumps spread all you’re your body.  

“I know it,” He promises, opening you up wider, subtly moving himself closer into the gap and letting you cradle his torso with your knees.

“Mine to feast on, mine to pamper,” the special grade sorcerer rumbles quietly, his grip on your thighs tightening as he licks his lips, hungrier. “So, mine to… own.”

“….-Own?”

And then you’re abruptly cut off by your own gasp when a soft, dexterous tongue slowly envelopes your clit. His lips slick between your folds as his rogue tongue flicks out like hot velvet to flutter greedily over your clit, humming low in his throat as he eats you with unreserved gluttony.

“Fuck, this is heaven. This is fucking heaven,” he rumbles against your sloppy pussy, “my sweet girl laying with her legs open and letting me eat her after I’m done giving classes—….”  

“Su-Sugu… oh, fuck—” Your words are barely discernible through the pleasure, deformed by the sound of your breaths and gasps. “Do—Do you think someone can h-hear us?”

Suguru smirk is swallow by your folds and his snicker muffled by his need to keep eating you to even let you know that a six eyes user had been spying from the other side of the door since you started. 

“Noones at the school at these hours but us teachers, baby. Don’t worry your pretty head.” 

His fingers curl against your thighs, his tongue swirling gentle circles around your swollen clit as he sinks two of his thick fingers deep inside your cunt. Both of your hands thrust out without thinking and snatch at his loose raven mane, fingers burying themselves into thick waves of hair. “Oh—f-fuck—”

He makes a rough little growl into your warmth every time you tug on his hair, and you tug every time, he pulls his fingers out and then pushes them back in again, until it becomes a vicious circle where both do that steadily, over and over until you’re sweating, hips arching up and doing everything you can to entice him to hurry the fuck up.

Suguru snickers again at your impatience, instead, he’s unbelievably slow, continuing to lick his hot tongue through your folds as his eager finger fuck you, so utterly patient and steadfast, learning the right notes to drive you crazy.

“You are close, aren’t you, dove?” he flicks that wicked tongue applying more pressure to your abused clit, “something’s beginning to burn in your core, I can see the cursed energy spreading threateningly along the muscles in your pelvis.” Suguru narrated what he felt with his own cursed energy, without a doubt the out-looker seeing the same as he was, just in HD. “It rises through your abdomen like unstoppable wave, seeps down into your knees and wraps around them. Your breathing is getting shallower, the base of your lungs suddenly feels too cramped by the oncoming explosion. I know, baby, just let it happen, don’t hold back. You can squirt on my face. I’m eager for you to baptize me on your fountain of love—”  

“Stop it, Suguru… I’m-I’m not…. I will not….” 

Your resistance is nothing but amusing to him, this is your nemesis. You hate how sensitive you are, how easy your boyfriends read you and undoes you with his mere tongue, you hate that squirting jet that makes your toes curl and your eyes blank, but once it’s over, makes you very aware of the mess you made.

Suguru finally speeds up, and that rock steady display of ferocity makes you want to cry.

“—I-I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, everything inside pulling up fierce and tight, your chest heaving and your grip in his hair turning to iron. “—Oh, fuck, I’m g-gonna cum—I-I—”

A quiet mhmmm sound rumbles low in gentle encouragement, and then he takes a second to softly suck on your clit to push you over the edge. His fingers curl, press up hard against something absolutely fucking devastating inside you, Suguru Geto knows you so well is almost unfair, and bite your lip is all you can do to stifle a sob when your body suddenly erupts in searing burning ecstasy.

Your back arches and you cum in his mouth, wailing his name while he groans raggedly and drags you through it. It’s hot and wet, in equal parts chaos and bliss. You’re still trying to calm your breathing when a gentle softness presses against your lips, mindful of rewarding you with as much love as he can profess in one single, chaste kiss. It’s over way too soon though, and by the time you open your eyes again, you blearily blink them at him. He’s already standing, impeccable and not one strand of raven hair out of place. A swift smirk curving his lips while his stare never strays from your destroyed persona, heaving and sweating and naked in a public place. Fuck! He adores you so much.

“Are you hungry?” He eventually asks looking straight ahead instead of you, the low frequency of his natural voice not masked anymore by his arousal.

You blink up at him twice, still slouched over the seat butt-naked, trying to figure out who is he talking to, all your clothes spread around his desk and the floor when you hear some familiar voice answer from the other side of the door.

“Starving.”

CLICK HERE TO READ ALL MY JJK SMUT FANFICTION COMMISSIONS

RYOMEN SUKUNA

The euphoric sway of his hips meeting yours should be an affront to the natural order, your boyfriend, Ryomen Sukuna, had been maintaining the same rhythm, precision and firmness in each thrust for more than forty minutes. 

You are cockdrunk, you don’t remember your own name, only his. Which comes out of your trembling lips in pieces or unfinished syllables. Your mind is a mess, a rabid mess of hormones and pleasure, but your insides are the most affected, making you endure mini-orgasm after mini-orgasm that shake your frame violently, leaving all your muscles exhausted and sweaty. Breathing ragged, face pressed against the sheets of his bed and your wrists swallowed by his large hands against the firm mattress, while he introduced you again and again to your new deity, his thick cock, which seemed just as hard and ready to continue making a mess of you. 

“…I’m sure you’ll think twice about pulling a stunt like that again now, won’t you, princess?”

Although his voice was breathless, it was still firm and solid, not like your pathetic moans.

“I…I thought you’d-…that you’d like it, Kuna-...” That sentence trailed from your half-open lips, between a sigh and a moan as he changed the angle to hit that spot of nerves inside you that made you see stars.

“I know you meant well but it was still unacceptable,” your boyfriend scolds you again, and a delicious shiver runs down your spine as his hands abandons your wrists in order to better hook on either side of your hip. The mere sensation of his thick fingers digging into your soft skin makes you cum again. "Fuck- you squeeze me so good, baby..." he praises, plunging his massive cock deeper into your quivering hole just to draw out more sensations, "-.... shit! If I cum again, are you going to keep it warm for me inside your tummy, princess?"

"Kuna, yes, always..." you moan into the sheets miserably, "don't stay mad at me, please, my love-"

"I loved the tattoo of my lips on your under-boob, don't doubt that" he affirms, firm thrusts clapping his midsection with yours, like giving his stamina a cheer. "But I HATED the fact that some guy had to do it. Don't you know any female tattoo artists, Isn't this the era of women's empowerment?"

You crawl forward and he catches you before you can shift positions. "Kuna, baby... let me ride you, so I can control the speed... I can't cum again-"

"I. Don't. care." He replies, skewering you again on his veiny, thick piece of meat that still feels like stone. "I'll put it in you as fast as I want and as long as I want until you learn your lesson-"

"Which is?"

"You, cocky little thing." He chuckles and emphasizes each word with a thrust. "Nobody. Touches. You. But. ME! Just ME."

“Mine.” Thrust, “Mine~” thrust, thrust, thrust, “MINE.” Thrustthrustthrustthrustthrustthrust—

Sukuna doesn´t hold himself back, even after he comes for the sixth time, he keeps going.

Slipping in and out of you, still rock hard, twisting you uncaringly in all kinds of positions and surfaces that his room provides, just fucking his cum inside you with every unpunished thrust.

You are tired, you are actually exhausted, you are emotional-... and you are drained.

“—I'm yours, just yours... hands off, w-world.... just y-yours~”

His hips stop, finally halting all movement when you give him what he's looking for, he just wants to hear that over and over again from your quivering lips and raspy throat, he just wants you to say it again. Maybe you should tattoo that as well.

Making you come one last glorious and almost painful time. Your naked body is left, used, sweaty and worn but warmly and safely wrapped in his arms. A huge smirk on his lips before he kisses your eyelids, so you open them again and once again you do.

"Now that we got that out of the way, let me see it again..." Sukuna asks, gently squeezing your tattooed boob inside his large palm, letting his eyes scan each patch of skin and how well he marked you with little hints of hickeys and teeth. "...I think we can play twister with every mark I left on your body," he snickers amused, "...but let's start with those lips on your breast."

“Jerk.”

He grins, satisfied. Hugging you harder to plaster your form closer to him, squeezing that sassy grin out of your pretty face.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NSFW ART FOR THIS DRABBLE 🥵

[ohcorny]

i reread all of chobits recently as insp for my next TT book and every time i think about some aspect of it all i want to do is rip it open and tear it apart and go "why?". it brings up so many concepts and scenarios within the premise of "what if computers looked like pretty girls" but it doesn't want to commit to saying anything about it or take its own world seriously.

i have a lot to say about chobits. arguably i have more to say about chobits than even chobits wants to say about chobits.

chobits is about sex except it isn't about sex at all. chi's power switch is in her vagina. we're shown images of chi doing sexy things, she gets tricked into doing a strip tease, and two separate men try to finger her and she does her Do Not Touch Me There magic powers thing, and we eventually learn every time she resets from the power button, her memories are erased, so you can't have sex with her without deleting her.

but we never unpack why her reset button is in her vagina, or why it's so important that nobody can ever touch her, or why people's personal computers were built with vaginas in the first place (we never have it confirmed that all persocoms have them, but that two separate men try to touch her there imply it's expected). why do the personal computers shaped like women have vaginas if not to fuck them. as a product, it is expected that you will fuck them*.

*i assume, because the comic never says so!

the man who invented persocoms is the same person who built chi and her sister, and he built them to be daughters for his wife. he put the reset button in chi's vagina. we never find out why. we never get a HINT of why. he built the chobits so they could feel and fall in love, but also built them so they could never fuck. you can extrapolate a reason why a man might build his daughter-androids that way, but the series itself never touches it, and never makes any sort of point about it. it's just presented as an immutable fact that chi can't fuck without it deleting her, as if it was born of happenstance and not a person's choice.

what does that actually say about anything? what is it trying to say about sex? is it about the commodification of female bodies, how once they're used up sexually they're worthless? that if you can't love somebody without fucking them, what good is your love? that love without sex is okay (but also a huge burden and sacrifice a man must accept for the sake of someone else's happiness?)

what does it want to say! chobits is about sex, but it doesn't want to commit to any specific message about sex.

and that's just ONE issue i have with it. there are so many things chobits wants to be about but won't say anything about. it wants to be about the persocoms replacing human connections, we constantly get told 'gee people hang out with persocoms a lot', chitose publishes a whole inexplicable book series about people preferring persocomes to humans. it's to the degree that a prominent character's husband gets So wrapped up in (presumably) fucking his android that he locks his actual wife out of the house, having just straight up forgotten she exists. we don't have anything to say about it though. she falls in love with a new man. the people who hang out with their persocoms too much are all background characters in crowds. we never look at how the rise in persocoms has affected society as a whole.

it wants to be about grief, in the story about the man who marries a persocom and has to watch her slowly degrade until she can't remember him anymore, or the kid whose older sister died and he tried to replace her with a persocom who he dresses up/treats as a maid and lives alone with despite being omega orphaned and 11 years old. but then it's fine. the man who married a persocom gets in a relationship with a high school girl 20 years younger than him (CLAMP!). it's fine! the boy who tried to replace his older sister just accepts that the persocom replacement won't replace her. still treats/dresses her up like a maid and lives alone. is she his legal guardian. i don't know. don't worry about it.

and it wants to be about women, because everything about the story is about women, all the persocoms are women, all the tragedies are wrapped up in the death of a woman, or a woman's heartbreak, or a woman's feelings. but it has fucking nothing to say about women beside look how pretty they are. my boobs are E cup, sempai :) teehee

it makes me insane.

friend @amphiaria put it best as "Unfortunately the story is uninterested in itself" and i can never forgive it for being so aesthetically good, giving us the best design for an android (the ear things are Perfect) and then being So Fucking Bad.

in conclusion:

[assignedmale]

This September is Assigned Male Comics' 10th anniversary! What a ride it has been. What started off as doodles during class when I was still at school changed my life in so many ways. It brought me new friends, adventures, and love. It made me learn about art, about the world, about myself. (I also learned English - at the beginning, it was my friends who were translating the strips!) I am eternally grateful for the community that was created around these characters.

It hasn't always been easy. You probably saw firsthand at one point or another how threats and verbal abuse have been a daily routine of the past decade for me. I'm thinking about that time I got doxxed and forced into hiding, or when ne*-naz*s stormed a library I was speaking at, or when a certain hate group (the British government) published a letter in the media because my comics are threats to civilisation and whatnot. I look back at all these things, and sure, a part of me feels tired and exhausted, but also proud. Because despite everything, I chose to keep doing this, and I'm still here. It has to be worth something.

This year has been a struggle of every instant. I'm focusing on keeping my head above the water. Your help during the hardships of last winter has been so vital, and I thank you for being here and for your patience with order delays! The situation brought my husband and I to our knees, and we're still counting pennies to be able to afford groceries. Making art in this context has certainly not been the easiest.

Still, I find joy in making these comics. Creating something empowering and entertaining for trans communities and their allies feels essential now more than ever. Meeting so many of you during my speaking tours has been life-changing, and I cherish the memory of each of these encounters. I miss you all, by the way! I can't wait to be back on the road.

In the meantime, I'm announcing today a virtual speaking tour for the next few months! I will accept invitations from associations, groups, schools and libraries. I will make a separate post about it in the next few days, but feel free to message me now for more details.

Thank you for being part of this journey.

To many more!

xx

Sophie

To subscribe and help me towards financial stability : www.patreon.com/assignedmale

To get me a 10th anniversary coffee so I can stay up late partying (as if) : www.ko-fi.com/sophielabelle

(pictured : the page's first profile picture!)

[trumanbluee]

Can I request Wade finding out his female s/o squirts please?

minors dni !! this is 17+ nsfw material !!!

please reblog if you like it!

word count: 1.3k

warnings: squirting, oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk (its the merc with the mouth, what do you expect?)

a/n: had a bit of writers block this week but wanted to post this!!! thank you so much for the request! <3 also im sorry my tags aren't working & tumblr is only letting me tag some people in my taglist! im sorry :(

There's no denying it, Wade likes it dirty. So the first time he makes you squirt, he's fucking ecstatic.

He's got you in nothing but his over-sized shirt, on your back, legs suspended in the air, a pillow beneath your hips as he runs his fingers teasingly along your slit, his fingers coming up glistening with slick.

He's already made you cum twice, your juices smearing up the inside of your thighs as Wade overstimulates you, a single finger circling your bud gently.

"So wet for me, angel, and only made you cum, what, twice?" he teases, bringing his hand up to his face and popping his fingers into his mouth, moaning exaggeratedly, his eyes rolling back into his head comically. You giggle at his theatrics, pushing his bare shoulder playfully with your foot.

He grins at you, grabbing your ankle before you can pull your foot away, and leans down, pressing a deep kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and you moan softly, hips bucking off the bed slightly.

He pulls away, pressing a ticklish kiss to the sole of your foot, pulling a giggle from your lips. He smiles against your skin, trailing kisses up your leg before he reaches your glistening pussy. He groans at the sight, using both his hands to spread your lips apart before pressing an open mouthed kiss right on your clit.

You let out a loud moan at the sudden contact, hips bucking up off the bed. Wade tuts, pushing your hips back down as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs.

One of his hands stays thrown across your lower abdomen, holding you down gently, the other coming down to spread your lips apart, allowing him to lick a strip from your dripping hole to the top, his tongue circling around your clit harshly.

You whine, brows furrowing as he holds your hips down onto the bed, soft pants and moans slipping from your lips as he begins lapping at your pussy, his hand holding you open slowly moving down.

You feel him tease a single digit at your entrance, and whine impatiently, one of your hands coming down to grab the back of Wade's head, pushing his mouth onto your cunt.

You hear a loud slurp, your hips jolting as Wade sucks at your clit, pushing a single digit into your well-fucked-out hole. You whine, trying to roll your hips and press his finger deeper into you.

"...S'not enough," you whimper, nails scratching Wade's head as you try and press him deeper into your cunt, a wet noise sounding from your pussy as he lazily fingers you with one finger.

Wade pulls off of your pussy, lips and chin shining with your juices, a sly smirk on his face.

"..Y'want more do ya, baby?" he asks, voice full of faux pity as he stills the pumps of his singular digit, pulling it out completely, making it so he's not touching you at all.

You feel as though you could cry, and you whimper, trying to blink away the tears in your eyes, a mix of overstimulation and desperation. Wade looks up at you from where his face is hovering mere millimetres from your cunt, eyes softening at your red cheeks and teary eyes.

"Oh, my princess," he coos in faux-pity, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of your right thigh, sucking gently, "What'dya need, angel?"

He teases two fingers through your slit again, collecting your wetness on his middle and ring finger.

You whine, eyes shut tight as you try and muster the means to speak.

"...Need...Fuck--"

You're interrupted by Wade blowing a gust of cold air over your pussy, the muscles in your stomach tightening as goosebumps bloom on the skin of your thighs. He chuckles from between your legs, continuing to press soft, open-mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs.

You whine, hips bucking up, and Wade pushes them back down with an arm across your waist, but takes mercy on you, pressing his hot mouth to your clit in a sloppy kiss. You jolt, moaning softly.

Without warning, Wade slips his middle and pointer finger into you, curling upwards. Your head is thrown back, and he quickens the pace of his fingers, your slick dripping down his chin as he easily adds a third finger.

You keen loudly, shaky thighs instinctually closing around Wade's head and hand as he laps at your cunt, his index, pointer, and ring fingers curling perfectly inside you, rubbing your spot just right.

You feel a pressure building in your belly, one of your hands playing with your nipples as you bring the other down to grip onto Wades arm on your stomach. He grabs your hand without looking, squeezing softly, before applying pressure to your lower stomach.

"...Oh...Fuck! ...Shit!" You moan, eyes squeezed shut as your back arches off the bad at a particularly harsh swirl of Wade's tongue on your clit. Wade feels your walls clench around his fingers and keeps his pace, continuing the subtle curl of his fingers inside you.

Slurping sounds fill the room, mixed with your high-pitched moans as the tension builds more and more in your belly. Wade suckles at your clit as you fist the bedsheets in your hand, the other still tugging harshly on your nipples.

You feel your stomach tighten and your thighs clench impossibly hard around Wade's head as the coil in your stomach snaps, your back arching up off the bed with the help of the pillow beneath your ass. Wade swirls his tongue over your clit at a rapid pace, curling his fingers hard before he feels you gush over his hand.

"Oh shit! Oh shit!" You exclaim, toes curling as they dangle over Wade's shoulders. Your eyes roll back in your head, and your brain goes fuzzy as you feel yourself cumming.

He groans against your pussy, pulling his hand out and his face away, bringing his hand up to play with your clit as he watches you squirt all over him and the bed.

His eyes are wide in bewilderment as he watches you soak him, "..Shit, baby.. y'gushin like fucking Ol' Faithful all over me.."

You're almost in a comatose state as he grins up at you, fucking giddy with excitement. You're laying back on the bed, chest heaving up and down quickly as you try and regain your breathe. You muster the strength to reach down and push Wade's hand off your cunt, whining at the overstimulation.

Wade chuckles, pressing an affectionate pat to your puffy clit before retracting himself completely. You groan softly, pushing him away from your pussy but trying to pull him up the bed towards your face.

He obliges, crawling up the bed to you and leaning against the head of the bed, pulling you to lean your head on his chest.

You sigh contently, a soft smile on your face as you look up at Wade through bleary eyes before nestling your cheek into his peck, exhaustion finding a quick home in your body, your bones and muscles feeling loose and jiggly.

Wade cards a hand through your head, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, "Can't believe you just fuckin' squirted, hotstuff," he speaks, and you can hear the smile in his voice as he shakes his head in disbelief.

You giggle against his chest, "..felt so weird."

Wade laughs above you and you hear it rumble in his chest, his hand still carding through your hair affectionately.

"M'not gonna lie, I thought you were just straight up fuckin' pissing for a second." You laugh at this, mustering the energy to playfully slap Wade's bare chest.

"But you better be ready, doll-face," Wade deepens his voice, leaning to whisper right in your ear, sending shivers down your spine, "m'gonna be gettin' you to do that all the fuckin' time."

You don't reply, but Wade knows he won't be getting any complaints from you when he sees your thighs rub together as you hide your face against his chest.

©trumanbluee - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! but i do not wish for my work to be republished, translated, or copied. thanks!

taglist: @tvwebs @muteprincess @blckbarbiedoll @dwthisuserisalive @catts-world @helpyourself-9 @tiredemzz @starstruckracc @imcrying24 @aintsoprettynow @thedevilsaysthings @darerlin @tokkiwrites

[a2zillustration]

Farewell

Not "farewell," but "see you later."

| First | | Previous |

[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

...Time to blather on under the cut. I've got thank yous, some notes about potential future comics, and if you scroll to the end of the post, I've decided to compile Croissant Adventures into a physical book. It's mostly for me, so I can hold all TWO HUNDRED AND FIVE of these strips in my hands, as a brick, but if you'd like to own a copy as well, I'll have a link to the preorders down below. If this is where you're going to stop reading, I'll extend a quick heartfelt thanks to you for joining me on this adventure!

Thank you, reader.

This is undeniably the largest project I've ever tackled in my art career; it was never supposed to be this big, and I expected maybe a handful of people to read it, at most. Instead, it became this massive project that I've been working on for ten months straight, and in the end these characters meant so much to me. I'm incredibly grateful for everyone who's bothered to read my little comic strips, whether it was just one or two, or if you've been here since the beginning, following Croissant's adventure from the minute they plummeted off the nautiloid. Thank you so much for being here and supporting this project. Thank you to everyone who left kind words and comments, sent me asks about Croissant, liked or reblogged these posts, or just read these and enjoyed them! While I was determined to finish this project no matter what happened, you certainly made it all the more fun and kept me excited to tell you the next part of Croissant's story.

Thank you, Larian.

If by some chance someone at Larian ever happens to see these, I also want to give an immense thank you to everyone who was a part of making this game. I don't play that many games these days, but BG3 rocketed to the top of my all-time favorite games almost immediately. (It was also the game that made me feel the most out of anything I've ever played; I got legitimately depressed for a few days during my run don't worry I'm fine now we're all good haha). You can tell there was so much work, and so much love involved in this game's development, and I'm so happy the studio has been rewarded with multiple awards in recognition of that dedication to making a fantastic game. Thank you again for sharing this story with us, and I can't wait to see what the studio does in the future.

Is this goodbye?

I'm hoping this is less of a "goodbye," and more of a "see you later." I'll probably take a bit of a break, since I've put off other projects for months, and art fight is happening, but I have many more things I'd like to add to Croissant's story! I have yet to play the epilogue, and I intend to illustrate parts of that depending on what happens. I also have a handful of comics for post-game Breadweave, in addition to some scenes I thought would've happened in-game but weren't canon so I left them out of the original story. (If I haven't gotten to these in a few months and you find yourself wondering about Croissant again, my ask box is always open, feel free to give me a good kick to get me back into their story, lol).

...A book?

I said I never intended this project to be so large, and I meant it. But now that I'm sitting here with two hundred and five Baldur's Gate 3 Tav comics, I really wanted to compile them into a physical book for me to hold. This is mostly for me, but if you'd also like one, I'll have a preorder available in my shop until the end of July.

✨✨✨ Croissant Adventures Preorder ✨✨✨

If you made it to the end of this post, I can only thank you again, from the bottom of my heart. I hope Croissant's story brought you joy, and if you're able to play BG3, I hope that you're having just as much fun in your own tavs' stories.

[kbspangler]

This is the public statement from @alepresser and myself which went up at Webtoons tonight.

Now for some ranting. Just from me, not from Ale—she's innocent of the art crimes I've committed in the past, and boy howdy have I committed art crimes.

This is the first page of my first webcomic, A Girl and Her Fed. I started this thing back in 2006. (I don't actually need a head count of those reading this who weren't yet born in 2006. I'm sure you're delightful and I wish you well in college.)

And this is the last page I drew in early 2020 before I turned art duties over to Dr. Beer. It's better, right?

Well, these days, A Girl and Her Fed has pages like this:

I drew this comic for fourteen fucking years because it's a story I wanted to tell, and I thought webcomics were the perfect format for it. I didn't know how to draw. I got better through sheer obstinate perseverance and sticking to deadlines as best I could for, again, fourteen fucking years. I sought out a replacement artist when I ran into time constraints and couldn't do art plus writing anymore; I'm a much better writer than an artist, so I had no problems whatsoever kicking art to the curb.

The first time Ale sent me art that would go up on the website—art I hadn't needed to draw myself—I literally cried in relief because I had been grinding myself down for, yet again, fourteen fucking years.

So when I read comments from people who say they want to make a webcomic but can't draw themselves and therefore need to resort to AI, that little line between my eyes gets dangerously deep.

This isn't like I'm some old dude who's bitching over student loans getting cancelled after making regular payments. This is me, someone who threw raw art onto the internet like a monkey hurling fresh poo, because I wanted to make a webcomic and the art is part of the process of storytelling via webcomics! I could've (arguably should've) hired an artist right out of the gate, and that would've been part of the process of making comics, too: a partnership between an artist and a writer is also something which grows and develops over time.

For example, after Dr. Beer and I spent two years working on AGAHF, we decided we enjoyed our partnership so much that we set out to make another webcomic! It's great! It's got wonderful art and consistent storytelling! You should read it!

But turning art duties over to unaltered images generated by AI because you want to make a webcomic but "just can't draw" is, frankly, a bullshit excuse. I'm not talking about persons who are physically unable to draw due to disability—I'm talking about people who say they want to make webcomics but simply don't wanna do the art part.

Friends, if you don't want to show your entire ass in front of God and country, you don't actually want to make a webcomic.

Do the thing yourself.

If you're scared, don't be. Take the plunge. Set a goal of twenty strips and do the thing yourself. If you can already draw but can't write? Great! Write twenty strips, write forty panels, etc. You might surprise yourself. If you can write but can't draw? Great! Draw twenty panels and see what happens.

Whatever comes out of it, it's a thing you've done yourself. It's something new you've given to the world, no matter how big or small. Be proud of that. And if you need to partner with someone else to make your comic dreams work? You can do that, too! It's still a thing you've done yourself, and many projects are stronger when done together.

...but maaaaaaaaaybe hire that partner before you've busted your own ass for fourteen fucking years. That one's on me.

[siggiedraws]

Sonic is fundamentally unrelatable and unrealistic - and that's a good thing

I want to address a common sentiment in the fandom that I've seen countless times over the years - the idea that Sonic should be more humanlike. Specifically, the idea that Sonic should have more human traits, such as anxiety or insecurities, that make him emotionally vulnerable in some way.

I have always felt that this sentiment strips away what I love about Sonic so much—that it goes against his character as someone who is meant to be inspirational rather than relatable. From the bottom of my heart, I truly believe that making Sonic more relatable ruins his appeal and misses the entire point of what role he is meant to fulfill. Sonic being the way he is, an inhuman being that is extremely strong and unyielding mentally and emotionally, makes him an inspirational character that is appealing outside of the realm of relatability.

Please note that I am discussing Game Sonic for this essay, not any versions of Sonic from spinoff media.

(Special thanks to @blurredblu for helping me write this essay!)

Relatability =/= likeability

First, it is important to define "relatability" for the rest of the essay, as what is seen as relatable can vary across countless different cultures and lifestyles.

In this case, we are discussing facets of the human psyche. Traits such as emotional vulnerability, insecurity, or trauma are traits seen as humanlike because they imitate the depth of the human mind. They come across more realistic, and thus relatable to people in real life who have generally gone through emotional hardships.

Relatability is also considered with the implied audience in mind, according to Craft in the Real World by Matthew Salesses.

If relatability were somehow a goal of craft, then the question should be: How can a writer go about trying to make a piece of fiction relatable? If we mean “relatable” as sharing a reader’s experience, the first place to go is audience. We must always ask: Relatable to whom? Which brings us back to the elephant in the room—to call a manuscript “relatable” is really to make a claim about who the audience is or should be.

When writing relatability in fiction, what is important to recognize is who the target audience is. Sonic is a character that was initially created to appeal to a wide target audience, not only meant for young boys but for girls, women, and an older age range in general. When it comes to marketability however, Sonic is almost always advertised towards children, and this demographic is the most pertinent when we look at versions of Sonic written with relatability as a goal. With this idea of the target audience in mind, a character who is portrayed as young and having a childish temperament would be more relatable. The Paramount Sonic movies are a great example of a version of Sonic explicitly written to be relatable to the target demographic on a broad level, heavily influenced by the culture that the movies derive from: specifically a middle-class, suburban, small-town vision of American life. Sonic is portrayed as dependent, inexperienced, and abiding by a nuclear family structure who idolises many elements of American popular culture, such as Keanu Reeves or Marvel/DC superhero comics. Compare this to the games, where Sonic is shown to be self-supporting, wise, and living life as an unfettered vagabond, all without a trace of any pop culture utterances.

In other words, Sonic was created to be the height of unrelatability to his target audience.

It is not lost on me that the prevalent desire for Sonic to behave realistically ties into the idea that the goal of crafting a good character is to emulate realistic human characteristics. A character's relatability is what allows audiences to connect with the character, which is considered unequivocally a good thing.

What is forgotten in this rudimentary line of thinking is that characters in media need to fulfill a role. Characters are not people like you or me, but fictional creations made to serve a particular purpose. There needs to be thought put into what narrative role the character fulfills and why they are portrayed a certain way to the audience. Hence, there must be a reason for the relatability, instead of employing it haphazardly.

To quote Craft in the Real World once more:

"readers’ expectations for fiction are created by their previous experiences with fiction—in other words, by culture."

The desire for Sonic to be relatable can be attributed to people recognizing pervasive tropes present in their previous experiences with fiction, internalizing these commonalities as the correct way to write good stories, and assigning these to Sonic as a result. While I can understand the logic behind this thinking, it is crucial we don't limit our appraisal of media by saying a protagonist ought to abide by a certain limitation, when it's the breaking of rules, however rigid they are, that allow for different methods of storytelling. Sonic breaks the so-called rule that a protagonist must be relatable, and it's this unrelatability that enhances and strengthens the narrative in many Sonic games. In other words, writing Sonic in a relatable way can be a way to write him; that does not mean it is the only or correct way to do so.

We should bear in mind that there are usually financial incentives to cast characters as mentally or emotionally relatable to audiences. To create a protagonist that appeals to all audiences to maximize revenue, the solution is typically to make them broadly relatable. While this can be a successful formula, it is important to not apply it to media indiscriminately. If a myriad of works all prioritise having characters be relatable over what makes them unique, you may end up sacrificing creative integrity for the sake of following a trend. In Sonic's case, you would lose the inimitable appeal that makes him stand out. While relatability can be valuable in certain contexts, it should not dominate all other considerations of writing a character, especially when it is done for the purposes of profitability as opposed to earnestly conveying a character to, ultimately, tell a story.

What makes Sonic stand out

What, then, makes Sonic stand out as a character? His inhuman mental fortitude. In a wide and varied cast of characters such as the Sonic cast, each with their own unique emotional struggles, Sonic stands out as the sole character with no struggle. He has no weak point, no Achilles' heel. Though he is weak to water, that is only a physical weakness. Mentally, he is too strong for anything to affect him long-term.

As stated before, characters are designed to serve specific creative purposes. In Sonic's case, his striking mental resilience is to highlight other messages and characters in the story. This is because Sonic usually plays the guiding or support role in his stories. He is not the sole focus. There is always at least a second character that the story focuses on to highlight that character's problems and struggles, and how that character ends up overcoming that conflict, often with Sonic's help.

With all this in mind, would Sonic stories be improved if Sonic was, instead, a human-like character with flaws and insecurities? Or would this muddy his core concept and require all Sonic stories to be changed unrecognizably to fit this new, different character?

Sonic has no backstory - and that's a good thing

Understand that this section is not an attack on backstories in general. For the most part, backstories provide insight into a character's motivations and personality. They are effective in accomplishing what they were meant to do - creating characters that are meant to be realistic.

Sonic is not meant to be realistic.

Yuji Naka once stated the reason behind Sonic's lack of a backstory in an interview: if you uncover all the mysteries, then the character will become uninteresting.

Very little information of Sonic's backstory has been revealed. We know that he is from Christmas Island (same interview link as above) and it is implied in the Sonic 1 manual that he and Eggman already know each other and have been regularly tussling before the events of the first game. These are vague and unspecific details that are not brought up in Sonic games at all, and for good reason.

Distance is required to portray a character who you are meant to be separate from rather than analogous to. Maintaining a certain level of mystery around Sonic creates intrigue, as a question is begged but never answered or even brought up in Sonic stories. This is because Sonic's backstory has no relevance on the narrative and delving into it is not necessary.

Sonic's motivations are simple and straightforward. He likes to run and go on adventures because it's fun. He likes to help people not out of some heroic obligation but because he wants to do what he feels is right. There is no need for a backstory to explain Sonic's motivations when they are plainly presented to you in such an uncomplicated manner, and what's on the face of it is just wholly what it is.

Sonic is also a character that remains static rather than having a major character arc. While he can grow when it comes to things that don't affect his overall character, such as Sonic learning and overcoming Shadow's Chaos Control technique in Sonic Adventure 2, he has no emotional conflict to overcome. He has been a fully realized character since the beginning of the franchise.

Compare this to a character like Tails, whose character arc is about him being bullied for his two tails in the past and being inspired by Sonic to be more confident in himself, as communicated in the Sonic 2 manual and his Sonic Adventure campaign. Divulging Tails' backstory is necessary for the improvement of Tails' circumstances and confidence levels to be effectively communicated in the story.

Fictional characters are narrative devices created to tell a story. They are not real. Again, there must be narrative reasons for them to be the way they are.

Providing Sonic's backstory would serve no narrative purpose—none that would serve the themes his stories and character are meant to serve, at any rate.

Sonic has no trauma - and that's a good thing

Upon analyzing Sonic's character in the games for so long, it has become astoundingly clear to me that Sonic does not have an ounce of mental trauma from everything he has been through. This should not be seen as a bad thing, but rather a well-thought-out and deliberate decision that serves to reinforce the role his character serves.

In the face of situations that would be considered stressful or traumatic to the average person, Sonic remains unfazed and even excited. There are countless examples of this: Sonic jumping from a plane with nothing but shrapnel to use as a surfboard in Sonic Adventure 2; Sonic expressing excitement that he's near an active volcano spewing lava in '06; Sonic exuberantly grinding over pits of lava in Black Knight; Sonic burning up with excitement at the prospect of dangerous stakes in Team Sonic Racing while everyone else seems to be concerned.

For Sonic, danger and near-death experiences are not a source of emotional struggle, but rather a source of fulfilment and joy. He lives life on the edge; the excitement of diving off of a plane or nearly falling into lava only fuels his love for life.

Additionally, Sonic also enjoys the simpler pleasures of life. Exploring the world. Reading books. Going on relaxing vacations. Racing through open fields. Life is one big adventure and Sonic is having a blast living it.

The idea of Sonic having some kind of secret, hidden trauma that he hides under the guise of a fake smile can be a fun fanon trope, but, for the purposes of canon and official Sonic stories, there are clear reasons why they should stay as fanon. If Sonic had trauma, it would undermine his unrelatability and make no sense given his role in his stories. Tropes such as Hurt/Comfort and Angst are ubiquitous when it comes to fandom culture, and this could be a case of those tropes appearing in the Sonic fandom simply due to the nature of fandom itself. Enjoying fanon in and of itself is all well and good, but advocating for it in canon will homogenize it by stripping away what is unique about the media we love.

In the end, there is no reason to believe that Sonic pretends or does not behave genuinely when it comes to expressing his true emotions. Sonic simply has nothing dark inside of his heart to hide. This is confirmed in Unleashed, where Sonic's heart is strong enough to resist the negative emotional forces of Dark Gaia without him even realizing. The subconscious nature of the action combined with his humility even leads him to initially think it to be Chip's doing. His heart is so strong and so pure that it is incorruptible by negative forces. This shows how Sonic's resolve is effortless and practically baked into who he is.

Sonic's internal strength is completely unconscious on Sonic's part. He doesn't actively try to be the way he is. He just is.

Sonic doesn't cry - you get the idea

It has become a hot topic in the fanbase in recent years that Sega once provided a revision note for Sonic to not express excessive emotion such as outwardly crying or sobbing.

This idea has generally been met with hostility and aversion from fans. However, this negative reaction has always confused me, and I hope to offer a different perspective to the issue.

Why does Sonic need to cry?

Let's expand on this argument for fairness' sake. A common rebuttal grants that Sonic doesn't usually cry. But in extremely emotionally difficult situations, such as loss or mourning, Sonic should cry because it is only natural to cry in such a situation.

Again, I want to challenge this notion. We could approach it from the angle of human psychology and behaviour—it is far from the case that everyone cries in response to severe adversity, belatedly or otherwise—but instead I want to explore this with respect to the narrative angle we have covered so far. Specifically, with respect to the idea that characters, unlike you or me, are designed and portrayed with certain purposes in mind.

Why would it be natural for Sonic to cry?

To help understand Sonic's handling of loss, let's analyze four examples from the series of Sonic losing someone.

In Sonic Adventure 2, Sonic stays strong and composed right after Shadow's presumed death, paying respect to his fallen ally.

In Sonic Unleashed, after Chip leaves him, Sonic takes a deep breath before moving forward with a smile on his face.

In Sonic Battle, Sonic is desperate for Emerl to live and expresses this openly.

In Sonic '06, Sonic expresses a great amount of despair when Elise dies in an explosion aboard the Egg Carrier.

It is clear from the outset that Sonic is not an uncaring individual - he wouldn't do all the selfless things he does if not because he didn't care about people. He also still feels strong emotion at losing those close to him, but he handles those emotions with a great deal of fortitude. In Adventure 2 and Unleashed, his reaction is more subdued, while in Battle and '06, it's clear that Sonic is upset and isn't afraid to show it. The difference could be due to that in the prior examples, Sonic watched them die in front of his eyes, while in the latter examples, they were already gone by the time we see Sonic's reaction.

Nevertheless, Sonic feels emotion. It is only because he does not express himself in an adequately typical way that this idea is met with so much outrage and pushback. Because Sonic does not cry, and because an expected response in certain scenarios would be to cry, it is perceived as a writing mistake that must be fixed. Sonic is perceived as a bad character because he does not fit into a rigid box of socially acceptable expressiveness.

But why is Sonic acting outside the norm necessarily a bad thing? The fact that Sonic can go through such hard situations and remain positive is a testament to his strength. The fact he doesn't cry makes him come across as superhuman when it comes to mental fortitude. That is not a mistake of his character that needs "fixing." That is the entire point.

The animosity towards the idea of Sonic not crying, that he must express himself a specific way, a distinctly normal and humanlike way, is stirred from the irrational, yet sadly common, leap in logic that Sonic must behave and experience life like you or me.

There is an irony, too, to how localised this demand of realism is of Sonic. I've seen no outrage demanding that he spill blood or break bones like us. But, apparently, he must shed tears to be a good character. Sonic is superhumanly resilient while running, or fighting, or taking on the miraculous powers of the Chaos Emeralds. Chaos is power and power is enriched by the heart. Sonic's is shown to be one of the strongest and purest out there, one that moves ever on from and through the pain of loss, grief, and tragedy. Isn't it bizarre, then, that this is considered a defect to him?

The messaging of Sonic

Sonic's core concept as an inspirational character must be maintained because it is key to the emotional messaging of nearly every single Sonic game.

Right from the very first game, you play as a plucky little hedgehog, fighting against the tyranny of Eggman's industrialization threatening to destroy all life on the planet.

Sonic is small and unassuming. But he fights anyways, determined to stop Eggman. And he does.

This concept remains throughout the franchise. Sonic always remains steadfast in the face of great adversity. From Sonic CD's "You Can Do Anything" vocal theme telling the player to believe in themselves to simple yet motivational phrases—ones that Sonic himself has given to the likes of more normal characters such as Elise: "If you have time to worry, then run!"

There is even a quote on the Japanese box art of Sonic & Knuckles comparing Sonic to the Sun, the far and unreachable star in space that our entire galaxy revolves around.

We look up at the Sun like how we look up to Sonic.

As brought up earlier, Sonic is the antithesis of relatability to his target audience, children.

This is because he is meant to inspire children.

The fact that Sonic remains so popular and successful to this day is undeniable proof that relatability is far from a necessary ingredient for likeable characters. Given the fact that Sonic is such a strong-willed character, that he fights endlessly against adversity with a smile on his face, that he always gives positive words of encouragement, is it any wonder why he is so popular with children? Sonic is a wonderful role model that promotes living life to the fullest. Sonic is deceptively wise, seeming to know simple yet effective solutions to every problem. Sonic encourages you to chase your dreams, to stay strong through hard times, to enjoy life.

Sonic is a friend who is always there for you.

Not only does Sonic provide guidance to characters, he provides guidance in the real world as we navigate our lives and the trials and tribulations that come with them. Each character that presents a problem is the character we are meant to connect with, and Sonic is who we strive to be.

CONCLUSION

I do not hold any grudge against relatable characters. I love them, just as I love all kinds of different characters in all kinds of media.

I believe that coexistence is possible. I believe that you can praise a character for their relatability and realism, just as you can praise a character for being the antithesis of both of those things, and these do not have to be contradicting principles for one to have. It all depends on a character's narrative function and how their character traits – both relatable and unrelatable – serve the story that is being told.

Sonic the Hedgehog is a character whose role in the narrative is to inspire and guide other characters. From a Doylist perspective, he represents the prominent, all-embracing messaging about staying strong and positive despite all odds, inspiring and guiding his target audience.

Every decision put into Sonic's character traits serve his role perfectly. Of course this extraordinary character does not behave like you or I do. Why would he? That's simply not his nature; a gust of wind in the breeze, moving endlessly all throughout the world. A pure and positive heart who has achieved the innate desire of all humankind in a way that we will never truly understand, free from the burdens of human nature. Freedom.

Sonic is unrelatable and unrealistic. And he is an amazing character.