#Maybe I can't draw bc I can't focus

[oifaaa]

you should draw every character related to superman in some way

I'm really not a professional enough artist to draw that many characters I would get bored after drawing 2 and give up after 5

[stargirl230]

Art summary 2024!

Was fighting for my life trying to fill in those last few months but I managed it without using too many wips or bday cards (rip september)

Huge ty to everyone who stuck around - pls know that I read all your kind tags and messages (often multiple times in disbelief) and that they always make my year <3

(no reposts!)

[storfulsten]

lol did I just lose 3 followers for mentioning a cool new song? ok

[pigeonclaw]

I had... such a hard time reading River of Fire. This book clearly has no sense for what it's trying to say or where it's going. Chapter lengths vary wildly (chapter 1 is 17 pages, chapter 9 is barely 5 pages and ends so abruptly) and any development for the characters is limited to an even more severe version of AVoS's usual problem —putting in a lot of short time skips and telling us afterwards that a problem was resolved off-screen, leading to a book that is almost entirely filler. (Funniest example is how a chapter-end cliffhanger was that Squirrelflight was one of the sickest cats in camp, and then in the next chapter some time has gone by and it's offhandedly mentioned that she's recovering well. She doesn't actually appear in a scene even once until after the plague is over.) I can feel the author struggling to find something to write about. And it's weird and sad to me because there actually is potential for a good plot here.

At this point, we've got a lot of cats struggling to find their place and fit into their homes: Twigpaw, Tree, Yarrowleaf, and sort of Sleekwhisker — she's ultimately a traitor, but still. All of these cats have a personal connection to Violetshine. She feels betrayed and depressed by Twigpaw going back to ThunderClan, she feels personally responsible for Tree because she found him and brought him here and — as is her typical pattern — she got attached to him really quickly for that reason, and she sympathizes with Sleekwhisker and Yarrowleaf but remains angry and distrustful towards them for their role in ShadowClan's dissolution and Needletail's murder. ShadowClan as a whole is just trying to get by and fit into SkyClan. This is a very unsettling time for both Clans, and for Violetshine in particular.

I would love for the plot to focus on this! Give me a book about Violetshine throwing everything into her friendship with Tree out of desperation to make someone in her life stay with her, spending time with Sleekwhisker and Yarrowleaf, and gaining some insight from her time with all of them about how hard it is to figure out where you belong when you don't really fit in anywhere and your loyalties are split between different groups. Bringing this understanding to her relationship with Twigpaw and learning to forgive her for leaving and trust her to make the right choices. Finpaw can also fit into that category of cats who are trying to fit into a new Clan. He and Twigpaw can be a great parallel/contrast to what's going on in SkyClan.

These elements are touched on only briefly — if at all — in the actual book and it's so disappointing. All relationships and character development are ignored in favor of devoting every single chapter to someone worrying about yet another vague and spooky prophecy and doing absolutely nothing about it. I'm with Jayfeather on this one — I'm sick of the prophecy.

A story is only ever as strong as its characters. This is why AVoS feels so weak to me — especially River of Fire — because the characters are not the focus. No matter how interesting they could be, they're always pushed aside. It's always about whatever prophecy of the day mentions the words "darkness" or "shadows" and ultimately barely matters.

[kyuponstories]

I think the only reason I've been hating my character art recently is bc the way I draw anatomy makes them too flat. My old artwork was drawn the same way tho, yet looked a lot more fluid? So idk if it's just me forgetting art skills, or if I just need to study making 3d anatomy for a while...

[skrunksthatwunk]

finally looked up whether ill lose my state scholarship if i drop out after lowkey deciding i probably need to and the answer is yes 😶

[moe-broey]

Does anybody wanna grab me by the hair and smash my head into the wall and smash my head into the wall and smash my head into the wall and smash my head into the walland . I could use a little help hwre.

[emmyrosee]

'Samu thoughts you say? (๑˘︶˘๑)

Bf! Osamu is the type of man that arrives home and searches for you just to kiss your forehead and ask about your day

The type to ask everytime you come back home from anywhere if you're hungry so you both can buy or make something

Bf! Osamu who has a stubble after a rough week in the restaurant and asks you to help him shave it since you didn't have time to share at all

Osamu who has a picture of you in his wallet AND his office at Onigiri Miya, maybe even one in the kitchen

The type to be subtle with the PDA but when you're both alone he's the biggest cat you've ever seen, noms on your cheeks or shoulders for no reason

Finally the type that knows you're the one when you spend the whole night with him with preparations for a big event on the restaurant

(I'm an avid Tsumu lover, but Osamu is just so boyfriend and husband material I can't ignore it)

OSAMU GOING OUT OF HIS WAY TO FIND YOU AND KISS YOU IS SO GOOD IM GONNA DIE

Bc he’s been so excited to kiss you all day, since this morning when he kissed you last, he just wants to run and pick you up and spin you around and pull you into this insane kiss because you make him feel on top of the world. He settles for an excited flurry of kisses from both of you, giggles and smiles and happy, easy breaths.

OSAMU WHO ASKS IF YOURE HUNGRY BECAUSE HE GETS TO DO HIS FAVORITE ACTIVITY FOR HIS FAVORITE PERSON AND WHO WOULDN'T LOVE DOING THAT???

who jumps up onto his feet and takes your jacket and kisses you with a quick flurry of "you hungry?" "did you eat?" "want to have a snack with me?"

OSAMU!!!!! WITH STUBBLE!!!! IM GONNA CHOKE-

who loves the way you shrink up your shoulders from the tickly feeling of him kissing your cheeks and neck, but loves the way you focus on shaving him even more, the tip of your tongue poking out as you draw the razor over his cheeks and jawline- you nicked him once on the neck, so now you force him to do it himself; but he still trusts you implicitly.

OSAMU WHO KEEPS PICTURES OF YOU EVERYWHERE IM-

he's got you in his wallet, his phone screen, there's one of you in his office and one of you in the inside of his onigiri miya cap. there's one of you in the restaurant, one facing out to the people, and one resting on the register. when someone asks who you are, he gets this wide, proud smile and confidently gives them an excited "my fiancé!"

OSAMU MIYA IS A BITER AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL

hes the clingy one, the one who dangles off of you, the one who leaves playful bites and curls on your lap and falls asleep with your hand in his fluffy hair.

AND HIM SETTING UP THE RESTURANT FOR A JACKALS AFTER PARTY OR SOMETHING, KNOWING YOURE RIGHT THERE WITH HIM TO SUPPORT HIS DREAMS AND GIVE HIM A PROUD LOOK AT THE BEGINNING AND END OF EVERY DAY 🥺❤️❤️

[chryblossomjjk]

distractions | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: fuckboy!jk x inexperienced reader

⇢ RATING: m/18+

⇢ WC: 1.1k

⇢ WARNINGS: cute couple content, they drop the 'l' word guys, n*pple piercings n sucking bc u know... fixation lmao, v suggestive but no actual sm*t, finger sucking lol, the love is requited :')

⇢ SUMMARY: jungkook agreed to let you do his makeup, but he can't stop getting distracted.

⇢ NOTES: ugh i missed them dearly!! will be putting out more drabbles soon, but i'm currently trying to focus on my other wip!! i haven't posted anything in so long so i wanted to share this with you guys! school n work is hectic i already feel swamped pls be patient with me :') i miss having time for a hobby lmao!! anyways, i hope you enjoy and let me know ur thoughts! love u <3 also apologize if there's any typos or weirdness, this wasn't beta'd!! if you haven't read practice yet, pls read before this!!

⇢ SERIES MASTERLIST

“Kook, look up! How many times do I have to tell you?” 

Four months into the relationship and his attention span, or lack thereof, never ceased to amaze you. With a frustrated groan, you place the pointy end of your Sailor Moon brush between your teeth before gripping his chin and turning his wandering gaze back to you. 

“Bambi, I’m looking up!” He yell-laughs, doe-eyes wide and sarcastic as they bear into you, equally frustrated. You can already see the concealer you applied just a few minutes ago creasing. Dramatically, he karate chops his tattooed arm towards the ceiling, paralleling your scantily clad frame straddling him. The sudden jump has you shifting against his crotch deliciously. Now’s not the time for fooling around, though. You’re determined to put the cute brush set Jungkook randomly gifted you a few weeks back to good use, starting with giving your sweet boyfriend a full beat. “This is up! What other direction is up?”

What an asshole. 

You pop the pink plastic out of your mouth, taking an annoyed chomp out of his annoying fingers. It's playful, of course. You mean, you’ve just got done with a whitening strip, after all…

Jungkook takes the opportunity to shove his digits further past your glossy lips, reaching down just enough to feel your throat constrict, then pulling back. He stares up at you with the cheesiest fucking grin, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re mean,” you cough, wiping the drool at the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand.

“No you,” he counters, pinching your cheek patronizingly. “I love you, though.”

One month into the lovey-dovey phase of the relationship; that one where the initial butterflies fly away and you’re left feeling like ‘wow, maybe this is a forever sort of thing,’ and you still feel lightheaded every time Jungkook murmurs those three words.

“I love you, too,” you coo, reaching down to adjust his teddy-bear headband. Jungkook’s been growing his hair out. This was his last semester and he was determined to go out with a bang. For whatever reason, he had decided that bang was a mullet. You remember how confused you were when he showed up at your dorm at 3am, drunk off Fireball and excitement, asking you to cut his hair. You thought the request was outlandish and foolish, but you did it anyway, in your bathroom with eyebrow scissors. It came out a teeny bit crooked, and a tiny bit choppy, but Jungkook loved it, staring at his reflection with a big bunny smile and starry eyes. “But baby, this-” you tap on the headboard behind him, “-is up.”

He squints his eyes in defiance before complying. Ah, you’ve trained him well. A very good boy, indeed.

You’ve spoken, or thought, too soon, because after a few swipes of the plush bristles, a high-pitched ‘Appa!’ from your phone, leaning against your Kuromi makeup bag on the nightstand beside you, draws his dark pupils back to the cartoon. 

“That’s it,” you huff like an overwhelmed mother of three, yanking the device out of his sight. “Say goodbye to Aang. You’ve lost your Avatar: The Last Airbender privileges.” 

“C’mon, seriously?” He laughs while lunging forward, attempting to wrestle the phone out of your grasp. Giggling wildly, you toss it on the pink shag rug below you, out of his reach. The movement almost sends you toppling over. Luckily, Jungkook wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. “Bambi, you know I’m easily distracted.”

“But you said I could do your makeup,” you pout, batting your lashes at him.

“I know, I-”

“Don’t touch!” You shriek, preventing him from rubbing his eye.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes through a chuckle, holding his hands by his head in defense. “Maybe I…” You deadpan him as his eyes scan around the room before, not so subtly, landing on your chest. Cocking his head, he tuts his tongue and grips the hem of your shirt. Shamelessly, he stuffs the nearly transparent material into your mouth, exposing your bare breasts. “There, just like that,” he whispers, warm palms grazing up your torso to cup them, thumbs grazing over your little diamond heart jewelry. You gasp at the touch. “You know, I still can’t believe you actually got ‘em’.�� Neither could you, honestly, but if there was one thing Jungkook has taught you, it’s that sometimes, you need to step out of your comfort zone. Take risks. Especially when it results in the cutest little nipple piercings. “So fucking sexy…”

You feel his forming bulge poking against you. God, do you want him. But even Jungkook’s dick couldn’t derail you from the mission at hand. Raising an eyebrow, you lift up the makeup brush.

The tits really seem to keep him preoccupied. With a hand on his cheek, you feel his mouth hollowing, sucking your nipple gingerly as you lean over him and fill in his thick brows. Obviously, it’s a bit hard to focus. Every now and then, you have to tug his hair to redirect his nibbles back down to soft licks. 

“Okay,” you announce, letting the shirt fall from your candy-coated lips and sitting up, “what color?”

Out of the entire thirty-pan rainbow eyeshadow palette you’re holding up for him, he lazily points to the darkest shade in the top color. His favorite color, of course; black. You should’ve known. Your lips scrunch to the side in contemplation. Jungkook would look so yummy with a smokey eye.

So you blend and blend away with blacks, whites, and grays. Shockingly, your boyfriend manages to stay still throughout the entire process. You’re proud of him, really. He’ll definitely get rewarded afterward. And you were right, the final product is absolutely delectable. 

“Baby, your eyelashes are stunning!” You swoon. “And the smokey-eye looks so so so good with your eye shape.”

Silence.

“Jungkook?” You lean forward, gripping his shoulders and shaking softly. Nothing but the sound of faint snores reaches your ears. The little fuck fell asleep. No wonder why he’s been so good. You laugh in disbelief, picking your phone off the floor and snapping a few pictures to show him in the morning. Reaching into your drawer, you take out a couple makeup wipes and start cleaning him up. You loathe makeup wipes and only keep them for emergencies, but Jungkook looks so peaceful that you can’t bring yourself to wake him.

Next, you snuggle beside him with a spare blanket, unable to yank your comforter out from under his thick, muscular thighs. He stirs when you gently pull off his headband. “I love you…” he mumbles, still half asleep. It’s as if the emotion is so ingrained in his subconscious that they bubble to the surface, even when he’s sleepy and incoherent. 

And you feel the same exact way. 

“I love you, Jungkook. Goodnight.”

© chryblossomjjk 2023 [do not copy, translate or repost]

[ghostchems]

phantom of the paradise - papa emeritus iv x reader

you go to a special screening of “phantom of the paradise” and end up being taken with the strange man who introduces the film

a/n: listen. i love awkward copia, i really do. but i also love seductive, mysterious, otherworldly copia and that is what this is. there’s just uh kissin’ here. also maybe this is me trying to get Ghost fans to watch this movie bc there’s so much ghost dna in it MAN. 3.7k words ao3 link.

Going to the movies alone never bothered you. In fact, over the years it's become one of your favorite pastimes. You can see whatever you want without worrying about finding a companion. Your taste is… well, it's your taste. Not everyone appreciates experimental '70s films or rock operas, which is exactly what you have planned for today. You've managed to snag a ticket to a rare showing of Brian De Palma's "Phantom of the Paradise" at your local independent theater. You first came across the film a few months ago, watching it nestled on your couch. From the moment it started, you knew it was something special.

You find a seat in the theater's center, perfectly positioned for the screen. Settling in, you cross your legs and place a notebook on your lap. Your pen taps rhythmically as you await the film's start, ready to jot down thoughts for your future Letterboxd review. The theater gradually fills, buzzing with excitement for this cult film on the big screen. You sigh deeply, relaxing into the plush seat. This feels like a well-deserved treat after a long work week, a chance to escape the real world for an hour and a half of drug-fueled musical numbers.

The lights start to dim and the chatter subsides. A man walks out on the stage, immediately capturing the theater’s attention. His appearance is nothing short of ghostly. His face is painted like a skeleton, with stark white bone-like features contrasting against the dark hollows of his eyes and cheeks. What's most striking, however, are his eyes - one a piercing white, the other an eerie green. He's dressed in a stylishly tattered suit jacket paired with a vibrant blue cravat at his neck. You glance down at your notepad and write:

Spooky ghost man.

He approaches the small podium and adjusts the microphone awkwardly. Clearing his throat, he begins to speak with a hint of an Italian accent, his captivating tone immediately drawing in the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, 'Phantom of the Paradise' isn't just a film to me." He pauses, his mismatched eyes scanning the crowd. "It taught me about the power of music, the price of ambition, and the beauty of the bizarre. It inspired me to embrace my own uniqueness." His words hang in the air for a moment before he concludes, "I hope it moves you as deeply as it moved me. Enjoy the show." His lips quirk into a barely perceptible grin as he taps his notecard against the podium. There’s scattered applause.

The lights dim further, signaling the film's start, yet your gaze remains transfixed on the ghost man, his stark white skull paint a beacon in the darkness. As you attempt to redirect your focus to the screen, a flicker of movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. The ghost man has silently glided into your row, settling a few seats away. Throughout the film, his presence lingers beside you, more aware of him than you would like to admit. His reactions prove oddly charming—a soft chuckle punctuating comedic moments, a subtle lean forward during tense scenes. What captivates you most is his quiet humming along to select musical numbers, his voice a barely perceptible whisper that, surprisingly, enhances rather than detracts from your enjoyment.

His enthusiasm is palpable, and you can't help but feel intrigued. As "The Hell of It" plays during the end credits, his soft singing drifts to your ears. The haunting melody lingers in the air as you find yourself unconsciously tapping your foot to the rhythm. When the lights slowly come up, you turn to catch a glimpse of the mysterious ghost man, only to find his seat empty. Blinking in surprise, you shift your gaze to your notebook. You realize there are more notes about the him than the movie itself.

Gathering your belongings, you linger in your seat for a moment, still processing the film and the man’s lingering presence beside you. You make your way to the lobby, your eyes scanning the crowd, searching for him. But he's nowhere to be seen. Without thinking, you’re already stepping out onto the street, the cool afternoon air hitting your face. You pause, unsure of what you're looking for or why. That's when you spot him—a flash of white and tattered elegance disappearing into an alley behind the theater. Without thinking, you follow, your footsteps quickening as you approach the narrow passage.

You round the corner, you catch sight of him walking away, unhurried and almost graceful. You hesitate, torn between calling out to him and silently observing this strange, captivating figure as he moves further into the shadows. Suddenly, he stops in his tracks. Without turning around, he speaks, amusement in his voice. "Are you following me, friend?" There's no accusation in his tone, just a gentle question. He slowly turns to face you, his mismatched eyes twinkling with an odd sort of understanding. "I suppose the film wasn't quite enough for you either, hm?" He chuckles softly, seemingly at ease with the situation.

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage. "I... I really liked your introduction," you stammer, feeling a bit foolish. "I'm sorry for following you. I don't usually do this kind of thing."

The ghost man's painted lips curl into a smile. "No need to apologize, tesoro. I tend to have this effect on people. Though, not typically from my film introductions." He takes a step closer, his eyes studying you with curiosity.

"Thank you," you say, offering a small smile. "I thought your introduction was really nice. It added something personal." You hesitate for a moment before continuing. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but... your appearance. Are you like dressed as a character from something?”

The ghost man's smile widens. "Ah, always the question, isn't it?" he says, running a hand through his graying brown hair hair. "This is… eh, me in a way. It’s a long story." He chuckles softly, the sound echoing in the alley. His expression shifts, a hint of shyness creeping into his demeanor. "Perhaps... perhaps it would be easier if I showed you," he says, his eyes searching yours. "Would you like to see?"

"How could you show me?" you ask, curiosity and caution in your voice.

His ghost man's eyes brighten. "There's something not far from here that will explain better than my words ever could," he says, gesturing down the alley. "It's just around the corner."

A part of you suspects this could be a trap. You're reminded of the film—how Leach's initial trust in Swan led to his downfall. Yet, despite the warning bells in your head, you find yourself nodding. "Alright," you say, surprising yourself. "I'll come with you."

The ghost man's painted face softens. "Thank you for trusting me," he says quietly, a hint of warmth in his voice. "This way, per favore." He turns and begins to walk deeper into the alley, his movements slow and deliberate. Your eyes fall to his pants, tattered just like his coat and tight. You trail behind him, notebook still in hand as a sense of unease begins to creep over you. The dimly lit alley seems to go on forever. Where could he be taking you? Why not just explain himself?

After a few minutes of walking, you find yourself standing before a small chapel tucked away a few blocks from downtown. There's something unsettling about its appearance—the weathered stone seems to absorb the dim streetlight, and the windows are dark and opaque. Your gaze falls to a few lone gravestones in the yard. The ghost man gestures towards the entrance.

"After you," he whispers, his voice barely audible. You swallow a breath before pushing open the heavy wooden door. The interior is dimly lit, black flickering candles casting long shadows across the walls. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you gasp. Directly across from you stands a large stained glass window, its center dominated by a portrait of the ghost man himself. The inscription reads 'Papa Emeritus IV'. The window depicts him in all his skeletal glory, a coy look on his face, a barely perceptible smiles. The craftsmanship is exquisite and with vibrant colors, namely the bright blue robe adorned with intricate yellow and black designs that cloaked him. You turn to Papa, questions forming on your lips, but he's already moving towards the window, his eyes fixed on his own image.

He reaches out, his gloved fingers tracing the outline of his own face in the glass. "This is who I am," he says, his voice echoing in the empty chapel. Papa's finger traces further down to the script on the window: Avē, avē Antichriste! Avē Satana! A shiver runs down your spine as you recognize the Latin phrase. It reminds you of "The Omen." As you absorb the stained glass and the chapel's eerie ambiance, you're struck by how much Papa resembles the Phantom—not of the Paradise, but of the Opera. You can't help but draw parallels between the two figures, especially given that he's all but lured you to his secret lair.

Lost in your thoughts and the mesmerizing stained glass, you fail to notice Papa's approach. You feel his presence behind you — a chill runs down your spine as you feel his breath on your neck. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Papa's voice is soft, almost wistful.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Your heart races as you feel Papa's gloved hands gently come to rest on your shoulders. The touch is light, almost comforting, but it sends a jolt of electricity through your body. The stained glass before you seems to shimmer in the candlelight, Papa's painted face both mesmerizing and unsettling. You remain frozen, unable to speak, as Papa's fingers give your shoulders a gentle squeeze.

His touch lingers for a moment before he steps back, allowing you to breathe again. "Tell me," Papa's voice is low, almost hypnotic, "what do you think of my little sanctuary?"

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "It's... nice," you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. "Like something out of a dream...” Or a nightmare, you think to yourself. You turn to face Papa, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "Why did you bring me here?"

Papa's lips curl into a warm smile. "To show you a glimpse of my world," he replies, his voice a low, melodious purr. "As I mentioned, I have an effect on certain people—those with open minds who might be receptive to an offer, perhaps... or simply to satisfy their curiosity."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued yet cautious, the theme of this encounter. "An offer? What kind of offer?" Your jaw clenches as you recall the film, half-expecting Papa to produce a contract like Swan did with Leach.

Papa's grin widens, revealing a hint of perfectly white teeth. "Ah, curious, aren't we? Well, cara, I represent a rather... unique congregation. We're always looking to expand our flock, so to speak."

"Congregation?"

"Yes," Papa nods and a gust of air makes the candles in the room flicker. "I'm part of what you might call the Satanic church. But, eh, not to worry," he adds quickly, noticing your expression, "it’s not what you think. We're about celebrating individuality, embracing the unconventional, and most importantly... music."

You blink, struggling to process this information. "Music?" The connection suddenly clicks. "That explains why you sponsored the film."

"Oh yes," Papa says, his voice taking on a passionate tone. "Music is at the heart of what we do. It's how we express ourselves, how we connect with each other and the world around us. We have a band of ghouls and I am the bandleader — eh, but that is not my only job. It is my favorite part, though. Other than sponsoring cult films, of course.”

You hesitate, your eyes darting around the small chapel. There's an undeniable allure to Papa's words and presence, but a nagging voice in your head warns you this could be a trick. Yet, something about his sincerity and the passion in his voice when he speaks of music resonates with you.

"I... I'm not sure," you say, your voice wavering slightly. "All I had planned for today was to see a movie… not this."

Papa's expression softens. "I saw you in the theater. Your passion for the film, your openness to the unconventional. I, eh, thought you might be someone who could appreciate what we offer. Someone who might want to... explore a bit further." His words strike a chord within you, resonating with a part of yourself you didn't know existed. Your heart flutters, excitement and nervousness coursing through your veins. As if sensing your stress, Papa reaches out, his gloved hand gently cupping your face. His thumb brushes along your jaw, the touch electrifying and soothing.

"There's no need to decide right now," Papa murmurs, his mismatched eyes locked with yours. "But perhaps... a taste of what we offer?" His painted lips curl into a soft, inviting smile.

Your heart races, feeling trapped. Is this really happening? You know the smart thing would be to leave, to get far away from here and forget this ever happened. But, you find yourself unable to tear your gaze away from his piercing white eye.

"I... I think I'd like that," you whisper, your voice barely audible in the hushed chapel. A burning curiosity has taken hold of you, one you can't shake. Papa's otherworldly aura envelops you, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. His hand drifts from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. With his other hand, he takes your notebook—the last barrier between you—and tosses it over his shoulder.

Your breath catches in your throat as Papa leans in, his painted face drawing closer. As his lips meet yours, time seems to slow. The kiss is unlike anything you've ever experienced—soft yet electrifying, tender yet passionate. The gentle pressure of his lips sends waves of heat through your body, each one more intense than the last. You find yourself leaning into him, your hands instinctively reaching for his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his tattered coat. Papa's arms encircle your waist, pulling you closer until you're pressed against him. The scent of incense, candlewax, and a hint of brimstone envelops you, making your head spin.

His lips move against yours with increasing fervor, and you feel yourself getting lost in the sensuality of the moment. The kiss deepens, and you taste a hint of something sweet on his tongue. It's intoxicating, addictive, and you find yourself wanting more. His gloved hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as his tongue explores your mouth with skilled precision. Your knees weaken, and you cling to him for support, your fingers digging into the fabric of his coat. The kiss seems to last for an eternity, stealing your breath and leaving you dizzy with desire. When Papa finally pulls away, you gasp for air, your chest heaving. Your lips feel swollen and sensitive, tingling with the lingering effects of his touch.

His appearance is noticeably more disheveled now, his painted face slightly smudged and his tattered coat askew. His mismatched eyes gleam with a wild intensity, and his chest rises and falls rapidly, mirroring your own breathlessness. It's clear that the kiss affected him just as profoundly as it did you. His gloved hands still rest on your waist, his grip firm yet gentle.

"My, my," he purrs, his voice husky and low. "You are full of surprises, aren't you?" A sly smile plays on his lips as he regards you with a mixture of admiration and desire. The candles in the chapel seem to flicker more intensely, casting dancing shadows across his painted features. “May I kiss you again?” When he asks so politely, how can you say no?

"Yes," you breathe, barely audible even to yourself. "Please."

Papa's eyes flash with desire as he swiftly lifts you, his surprising strength catching you off guard. He sets you down on the altar, the cold stone a stark contrast to your heated skin. His lips crash against yours once more, hungry and demanding. His gloved hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into his touch, lost in his enveloping presence. He draws your lower lip into his mouth, dragging his teeth along it, eliciting a gasp from you.

He plants a few kisses to the corner of your mouth, then drifts to your jaw and further down. His lips trace a tantalizing path along your jawline, each touch sending shivers down your spine. As he reaches the sensitive spot just below your ear, you feel his hot breath against your skin, causing goosebumps. Papa's kisses become more insistent as he moves down your neck with soft, feather-light touches and more passionate, open-mouthed kisses. Your breath hitches as he finds a particularly sensitive spot at the base of your neck and you can feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin.

You can't help but wonder if you've crossed a line you can't come back from — but do you really care at the moment?

Papa lifts his head to meet your gaze, his face paint now thoroughly smeared. You wonder if any has transferred onto you. He leans in, his strong nose brushing along your cheek as he presses his forehead against yours. Suddenly, the candles flicker out, plunging you both into darkness—save for the ethereal glow of the stained glass window. He rests hands resting on either side of you and his chest heaves with each breath. His ghostly eyes, glazed with desire, lock onto yours as he watches you catch your breath. "Will you consider joining my flock?" he asks, his voice husky.

You struggle to catch your breath, your mind still hazy from the intensity. "I... I'll think about it," you manage to say between gasps, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his offer hangs in the air.

Papa's lips curl into a grin, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "Take all the time you need, tesoro," he purrs. "When you're ready… I'll find you." He leans in, his painted face mere inches from yours. His gaze searches your face, a flicker of softness in its depths. With careful gentleness, he presses his lips to yours. This kiss is vastly different from his other kisses — tender, almost romantic. As he pulls away, you feel a pang of loss. Papa's smile returns as he takes a step back, his gaze never leaving yours. "Until we meet again," he murmurs.

You watch as he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing in the small chapel, growing fainter until they fade entirely. Left alone on the edge of the altar, you're surrounded by flickering candles and the lingering scent of incense. A part of you considers calling out, asking him to stay, but something holds you back. In the end, you let him go. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. Your legs feel shaky as you slide off the altar, adjusting your clothes with trembling hands. The cool air of the chapel hits your flushed skin, bringing you back to reality. Eye scan the dimly lit space, searching for your notebook. You spot it on a nearby pew, right where you must have dropped it earlier. Opening the notebook to a fresh page, you fumble for your pen. Your hand is still unsteady as you begin to scribble down the man’s name and the Latin on the stained glass, a reminder of the otherworldly encounter you just had.

With one last glance around the empty chapel, you clutch your notebook to your chest and make your way towards the exit. The outside world feels startlingly normal after what you've just experienced. Your feet hit the ground with renewed purpose as you head back to your apartment.

Your mind wanders as you walk home. You can't help but wonder if Papa's offer is similar to Swan's - a large contract signed in blood that would bind you to him until death. Perhaps you’re being dramatic. He seemed to model himself after the phantom, but you're not so sure of his intentions. There's something more sinister about Papa that sets him apart. The way he moved, the intensity of his gaze, the power of his touch - it all hints at something beyond human. You shiver, remembering the electrifying sensation of his kiss, the intoxicating taste on his tongue. Part of you is terrified, but another part is thrilled by his allure.

You approach your apartment but you find yourself glancing over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Papa's striking figure materialize from the shadows. The memory of his touch lingers on your skin, and you can still taste the sweetness of his kiss on your lips. You unlock your door with trembling hands and quickly close it once inside, leaning against it with a slow exhale. Your eyes fall on your laptop, and a sudden urge overtakes you. You rush to it, opening a new browser window. Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before you type: "Papa Emeritus IV”.

There he is, Papa Emeritus IV, in all his ghoulish glory. The images match perfectly with the man you encountered in the chapel - the skull-like face paint, and his haunting white eye. You scroll through countless photos, some showing him in the tattered suit you saw today, others in the more elaborate robes depicted in the stained glass window. Your heart races as you dig deeper. The Satanic church he mentioned? It's real, though perhaps not in the traditional sense you might have imagined. It's more of a theatrical rock band called Ghost, with Papa as the frontman. Their music videos and live performances are a spectacle of occult imagery and rock opera grandeur, reminiscent of the very film you just watched.

Everything Papa told you checks out. The band of ghouls, his role as the bandleader, the emphasis on individuality and unconventional expression - it's all there, laid out in interviews, fan forums, and official band statements. You even find mentions of their penchant for sponsoring cult film screenings, just like the one you attended. As you lean back in your chair, a mix of emotions washes over you. Relief at him telling you the truth, confusion at his theatrics. Your fingers unconsciously trace your lips, remembering the electrifying kiss.

You can't help but wonder: what would joining his "flock" truly entail?

[elriel-oblivion]

Hey elriels, just wanna say I absolutely love the elriel corner of tumblr and sharing the space with you guys. It's geniunely the only place I can get good concentrated elriel content on the whole Internet 😭 reddit is usually full of Elain/az haters or Lucien/gwynriel simps and so even elain/elriel threads become poisoned. Plus you don't get the same level of analysis and deep dives there as you do here.

So thanks for being here 🥰🥰 Elriels are so intelligent and soft and I love it.

That said, I've realised the acotar podcast I've been listening to this year (Book Talk for BookTok) has slowly descended into anti elriel rhetoric every time el or Az is mentioned and I just 🥲🥲🥲 Genuinely thought they would give a generous, fair analysis on elriel but all they've given since their ACOWAR analysis is pro elucien/Lucien and anti elriel and I can't with it any more. Really gutted bc I generally enjoy the rest of the podcast, but their analysis always excludes pro elriel interpretations or even skips over textual evidence that 99.999% points to elriel endgame (eg they didn't touch at all on Feyre questioning the elucien bond and Rhys saying the bond is sometimes wrong but every time Lucien is mentioned in the book, he gets a pro elucien point). Bit ironic bc one of them is a self-proclaimed elriel herself and both usually allow for multiple interpretations of the text.

I'm currently on their ACOFAS analysis so maybe it'll get better but I doubt it bc there was more of that misogynistic 'Elain's so rude, she doesn't even give Lucien a chance!! Shes denying what her body wants when it always draws towards him!!' idea in just the first episode alone 🙃 Pity. They don't have this outlook when Nesta's spiralling and wants to be away from everyone incl Cassian.

I'll prob finish their FAS analysis and when they release their ACOSF analysis, I'll listen to that too bc they do have good literary analysis, but for elriel, it's a no from me.

So does anyone know of any pro-elriel acotar podcasts? Amazing if the podcast focus is elriel throughout the series but I doubt that exists lolol so I'd be happy with another in depth acotar analysis by people who have a pro elriel outlook. Or at least, even if they give pro elucien points, not to erase the elriel evidence and give both sides a fair chance.

Tldr: know any pro elriel acotar podcasts?

[123puppy]

Sharing a bed is peak Appleradio potential but lemme run with the idea of Alastor suffering through sleepless night and all of the above

If he can help it, Al will stay awake for as long as he can until he passes out, and wherever he goes to lie down and rest is anyone's guess but I like to think he hides in the guest rooms of the hotel, the darkest corners like the closets, under the beds, anywhere where no one can see or find him

During the start of their relationship Alastor never slept in a bed with Lucifer for months. It was a thing Lucifer didn't know how to tread upon since Alastor will deflect the questions or attempts to sleep in the same bed, and that's it, nothing but lying in bed, sleeping. No touching required

With some gentle persuasion and endless promises not to do anything but close their eyes and lay in bed for 8 hours, Alastor caved and they were sharing a bed late one night

And it was... nice. Very nice. The presence of Lucifer alone calmed his mind, he can hear the soft breathing of the man beside him and the small shifts whenever Lucifer rolled around in bed. It put him at ease, his eyes closed, taking in the scent of his partner, and....

He can't move, why can't he move, he's still in bed but it feels wrong, so very wrong, wait where's Lucifer, where did he go he was right here a second ago, why are the shadows creeping towards him, they look more jagged and seem to sneer at him like he's a disgusting piece of meat, wait his throat, why can't he breathe, what is sitting on his chest no wait-his windpipe is being crushed-what is happening why can't he breathe!?!!?!? His hands, they're stuck, his vision is getting blurry, the shadows are laughing at him and begin to swallow him, suffocating him even more, he tries calling for help but all that comes out is a bleat-

Lucifer is in a panic when he gets woken up by the tremors on the bed and witnessing his partner suffering through Sleep Paralysis, he calls Alastor by his name and what he gets is a bleat in response and his heart throbs at the impact the sound makes

He wants to touch but fights the need bc there is no good outcome from it so he continues to call Alastor gently, coaxing him out of his petrified state by giving him reassurance after reassurance and remaining close by but not touching so that Alastor can feel his presence

It was grueling to hear his partner make broken sounds and painful to get sharp popping noises and drowned out radio static, but Alastor fully wakes up and Lucifer is so relieved

But Al, Al is frozen, silent, breathing heavy as his eyes dart around the room, like he's looking for something, and Lucifer sees how frantic he is, he's getting ready to run-

And Alastor is startled when a wispy outline of a duck nuzzles his cheek what-

Said duck waddles into his line of sight, exaggerated movements and soft chirps drawing Al's attention away from his downward spiral. A second joins the first, then a third, fourth and fifth. They're following each in a figure eight pattern and harmonizing together

And Alastor is mesmerized by the scene, his smile small and exhausted but calm and less strained, radio static softer with a hint of a song coming into focus as the display calms him, breathing steady

And maybe this becomes a thing before they go to bed or when another Sleep Paralysis/Nightmare happens and maaaybe Alastor would inch closer and closer to Lucifer until their backs would touch and sleeping becomes a little bearable

[nart-is-a-monster]

The following post contains people hating on a character on a skirt and a brief mention of sa and unaliving, please if any of those is something that triggers you skip the post and take care of yourself.

lets begin with the boundaries that i have

I do not feel comfortable with minors going to this or my nsfw acc simply because, is not a safe place for you to go (not even social media too but that's a different talk)

I do not like people going into any of my acc's to send my draws or content to minors bc... bitch do i even have to explain how fucked up that part is?

And last but not least; if you're going to talk shit about me at least talk shit with bases and evidence, how do you not have the first and most important rule about gossip? like??????

booooo tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes tomatoes

I will not name anyone that was involved because first of all,they are minors and even tho they are old enough to know that what they're doing is wrong, naming them could do more harm than good and I think they are able to change if they just accept that their actions have consequences.... I'll be also using neutral pronouns for the ppl involved.

if you know the ppl that are in the screenshots please don't share their social media or acc's to avoid them getting harassed, also please don't harass the people mentioned here.

with that being said!

this situation has been happening for i think the last month when someone informed me about someone talking shit about my art on a private discord server.

I think that the concept of blocking blogs that have stuff that you're triggered or you don't vibe with is very simple to understand.

the persons that have been talking about how i don't draw normal stuff and how dare i to draw varian in a dress and being cute ohh no god forbid....

I don't know if you can't realize maybe I'm drawing Varian (A CHARACTER THAT DOESNT EVEN EXISTS) as trans masc and trans fem, and that anyone can have their hc and any hc are valid!

IF YOU DON'T LIKE WHAT I DO OR DRAW JUST DON'T FOLLOW ME ¡is that simple!

the situation with the person who is the owner of the server where they talk shit about me has not moderate well the place and allowed ppl to hate talk about a creator who they don't even know, neither talk to, nor they should interact with.

I tried to confront the person by sending them a text message on tumblr, said text message has been ignored and the person simply uploaded a new post back then, so....

also im going to tag this with vat7k bc the problem happened inside the fandom.

screenshots and more details under the cut

how to respect other people's boundaries

aparently y'all need a tutorial

"A certain kind of guided, detailed writing can not only help us process what we’ve been through and assist us as we envision a path forward; it can lower our blood pressure, strengthen our immune systems, and increase our general well-being. Expressive writing can result in a reduction in stress, anxiety, and depression; improve our sleep and performance; and bring us greater focus and clarity."

this is from an article of harvard that explains how writting helps to heal trauma.

remember to inform yourself before talking or using terms you don't know the meaning

trauma bonding definition

what is destructive criticism

I can accept criticism when it comes from a place of pointing out a part of my artwork that can be upgraded or a different technique i could use, or even the pose or the technical aspect of a painting/drawing, what is literally just insulting an artwork because you don't like it and have no grounds for it and is just hate... that's what i don't accept.

criticism and arguments come from a ground of respect from the both sides, not from only straight up hate and disrespect.

that's all i have to say abt it all...

please remember to be safe online and even more if youre a minor

how to be safe online

[sweetieviktor]

"take me back to the night we met", feat. viktor.

summary: you knew he was dieing, but seeing him using shimmer was too much to bare . based on the song "the night we met", by lord huron.

word count: 720.

content warning: season 1, act 3 spoilers! idk if shimmer use count as a cw, but anyways this is angst and it doesn't have a happy ending!

author notes: there's so much time since i've written fanfiction!! but i loved doind this one and i swear that i cried while writing this. and this may be very ooc and doesn't match the scenes in season 1, act 3, but i dont have time to watch it again now and i was so hyped up bcs of season 2 that i just had to write something, yk? also, there may be some typos or grammar errors even though i re-read this like 3 times i think lol. but yeah, here it is!

you came back to his lab expecting to see him doing good, maybe working on his research, too focused on any stuff he was doing at the moment and not noticing you by the door, but he wasn't in there, or so it looked like.

he was hunched over his desk, in his hands was a glass tube, the remaining of the purple liquid shimmering in the dark room, illuminating just enough to draw his weak silhouette amongst the shadows.

“viktor…?” was everything you said while getting closer to him, walking with slow steps, trying to make no sounds to alarm him.

“stop.” raising a hand, that was all he said.

just as you were told, you stopped on your tracks, observing that, his once perfect hand, was now painted in a shade of purple, the same that was inside the glass recipient.

it can't be. right?

“what you did to yourself?”

“i did what needed to be done.” he was so baretoned, you didn't understand why he seemed so rude, so crude, so… unlike him.

when his words settled in, it felt like your stomach was turning, wrapping itself around your guts, making you sick. you felt sick, for him.

“please, please, viktor, don't tell me that you're using sh-” “yes.”

of course you knew about his condition, of course you knew he wasn't doing good at all, and mostly, you knew that things were meant to end, one way or another. but you didn't think he would kill himself like this.

and this was all you needed to break.

“why you didn't told me? i could have helped you, we could find a way to work through it,” the tears started to prick on your eyes, your voice breaking, the anger at yourself pooling into your core. “you wouldn't need to use shimmer, vik...”

the feeling that the universe stole and took all that once mattered to you was what drove you insane. the feeling that you could make things different, make things better, the oh so simple solution that you could find, if only he had told you.

“it’s not that easy! you wouldn't understand if i told you sooner. no one would understand it, even if they tried really hard to.” he turned his head towards your direction, looking at your face for a brief second, before turning his gaze back to the ground, his purple irises trying to focus on something that wasn't your saddened face, now, feeling his own eyes burning, burning even more than the blood running in his veins. “we are in piltover, the city of progress, and yet, i am stuck behind, and i'm dieing. so, i needed to do something, and i did.”

“what you don’t understand is that you're destroying yourself, viktor. destroying yourself so slowly that it almost feels like torture. i fear that i wouldn't be able to see you for another day.” you sobbed, the tears rolling down and he didn't dare to look at your eyes again, he knew that you were crying. he knew it and he couldn't bear the thought that he was the one that made you cry. “if there is a god somewhere, i wish they could turn back time and take me back to the night we met. maybe things could be different, right?”

looking at him, a weak, nervous smile was all you could get out while crying, thinking to yourself when things started to get this wrong and how you let it happen, without even realizing what was wrong. how could you let him do this to himself?

your body was shaking, it felt like the whole world was trembling. the nonstoping thoughts hammering your head, your heart a mile per minute, the air in your lungs wasn't enough. everything, everything seemed like it was crushing down on you, right in this moment.

“i'm sorry. i'm so sorry... i need to go. now.”

you needed to get out of here, you needed to breathe.

you headed back to the door, wishing that some cold breeze would cool you down, would just stop your mind and racing heart. wishing for him to be fine again. praying for any and all gods that lived in the skies and beyond, praying for him to be alive. just for a bit more.

[fanatical4creation]

INVERTED!Poppy!!!

Finally made her up, I was just putting it off and putting off designing her but then I took my pen, my new laptop and drew it, now look at her!!!

Alright let's start shall we?

Design:

"OMG FANATICAL WHY DOES POPPY LOOKS LIKE A FRISK-" Shhhhh, you need to calm down, i'll explain everything;

Alright, bare with me: The original Poppy mentions in an animation, that she's talking to her therapist, that people usually thinks she's a Chara, but she's none! And I think, I theorize, I suppose that the reason why she looks like a Chara is bc an Frisk was drawing her (you know her lore?), so supposing that the whole concept of Invertedverse is that the original universe Underswap, that Frisk who drew her is an Chara, so if the Frisk drew a Chara in the original, here the Frisk that is now a Chara would draw a Frisk....... so, that's the logic here.;

Even though Poppy is still not a Frisk nor a Chara, but I don't think I translated that into her design, maybe I'll redo it sometime.

Her clothings are intriguing. It's her original teenage/adult clothings but with some green and a purple cloak or cape, whatever that is. This cloak represents her importance inside OmegaTimeline, that reminds me;

View from back Ω:

Made it with wind because it's cool, plus, her silhouette is cool too

Story:

Core was the "ruler" of Omega Timeline, everyone would look for them when there was a problem and needed help, everybody trusted them, but they put Poppy on their place... Core is a very mischievous character, no one really knows why they put Poppy in charge.

Omega citizens theorize that the reason is because Core was lazy, or that they didn't like the attention, or maybe they wanted to focus fully on recruting people, even thought after Poppy got in charge Core was rarely seen interacting with people and also the numbers of new survivors to get to the OT decreased.

Poppy tries her best to help remain peace within Omega Timeline, even if it requires all of her energies, thought she could really use some help, she thinks that the reason why her parent is more absent while she was in charge was because they knew she could everything alone, and that she should do it.

She doesn't have many friends, and the old ones got far away because she's too busy working signing papers, solving problems, financing projects, etc, etc.

Character:

She suffers. That's the truth, she just needs a vacation and a hug from her girlfriend.

She doesn't like parties... just thought it was important to mention.

Poppy doesn't like her parent, almost hates them even, they seem so irresponsible, imature and a coward, after just letting their daughter in charge of a (practically) country in surprise, it's expected for her to feel that way

Poppy has to be the clueless character in the whole Invertedverse, the reason is that she's so busy at work, or too busy being tired, and she usually gets information on what's going on from Core, but Core have been very silent lately, wonder why...

She has the hobby of playing board games, dancing and origamis!

She likes to cook more for others than herself

Sometimes she would visit the Madame T's orphanage, mainly to see Cadence and her friends, but also to donate and all of that things famous ppl do in orphanages idk.

Even thought she does a lot of hard work sometimes she'd take credit over someone elses work unintentionally, i mean, she's kind of the president.

She can't lie, like literally, maybe it's just her morals, or maybe it's a supernatural force idk.

She also keeps taping her fingers in hard surfaces all the time, I think it's anxiety.

Oh yeah, her full name is still Poppy Marusina, but she can also be called Iris Marusina, or maybe I'll change that to her original name, idk

Poppy (c) fmsdraws

[blueberrybeomgyu]

hihi berry :333 i have finally come to tell u about my maso sub taesan thoughts 🤫

im thinking overstimulating him until it hurts, but not only just through multiple orgasms but also stimulating him in different ways all at once. keeping a vibrator stuck to his leaky aching cock while you sit on his thighs, running your sharp nails down his skin hard enough to draw blood, maybe clamping his nipples and pulling at them. pinching his tummy and his thighs, yanking at his hair — when his head is pulled back like that you slap him till his cheeks are red and he’s drooling under you, skin tingling.

i think hed be a little bratty, a little mouthy just to get you to hurt him more. wants your slaps and degrading words to be genuine instead of you just doing it because he likes it. tie him up with rope instead of handcuffs so its rougher on his skin so he can’t squirm too much, and maybe shove a gag in his mouth or tape it shut, loves the feeling of you ripping the tape off <3

get one of those mini floggers even (the tiny whips that are stringy, idk how to explain them) and drag it across his skin before striking him with it, around his collarbones, nipples, stomach, his cock, and his thighs. he lovesss when you use it on his cock, it just hurts so good and he cant control the way his body jerks every time the leather makes contact with his most sensitive parts. pinch his thighs and coo at him while he just looks so pathetic under you, he camt do anything but take everything you do to him but he wouldn’t have it any other way !!

okay i got carried away… but im very serious ab this topic so i hope u fw it heavy <33 - 🥝🩷

MY KIWI GIRL 😣😣😣😣 u know wtf im talking about!!! let me think about how to make this masterpiece any better (impossible) small text cause there's a lot to say

taesan lovesloveslovesss when it feels like there's too much to focus on, he can't be too in his head about anything and will finally have a clear mind where he can just focus on you and how you make him feel.

he's already so sensitive cause of the vibrator, and he's trying to tune in on that feeling to calm down a little, but then you run your nails over his tummy or tug on the nipple clamps and there's too much calling for his attention, it feels like there's something happening on every area of his body and it's so overwhelming, when you slap his cheek he's shuddering through a sob and another orgasm, helpless to hold back his pitiful noises, he'll sound so whiny and pathetic in a way that has him humiliated when the scene is over

thinking of taesan and vibrators always makes me think of bunny's taesan a-z, vibrators on him are the best way to overstimulate him, i think he lasts pretty long typically but with vibrators, it's like he can barely think before he's cumming and he loves that, he also loves that you keep pulling orgasms out of him despite him begging you to stop, the lack of control is a little frustrating and that only makes it better for him -- that no matter what he says, he's powerless in this situation

he lovess being slapped and when you introduce floggers he's so turned on by the idea, he's a little impatient as you trail the flogger across his skin, he just wants to get on with it, but the built up tension only makes it better when you actually strike him with it, blindfold him and he has no idea where or when you're going to strike him next, trying so hard to tell where you are based on your condescending words

i love bratty taesan, he's not necessarily a mean boy but he'll say things like is that all? this is nothing, even when he's so sensitive and spent, he's finding a way to mouth off bc if he can form words it's not enough, he needs to feel so ruined and helpless that he can barely think, can barely defend himself when you insult him

i think sensory deprivation is a big yes for taesan, and overstimulating the senses he does have, make him wear noise canceling headphones, plug his mouth, blindfold him, and it's all the better when you press a vibrator to his tip and jerk him off, he has no idea what he sounds like so he can't hold back his muffled whines, he's hyper focused on the scent of your perfume clung to the sheets, and his fists are clenching and unclenching around nothing where they're bound by the ropes, can't use his hands to clean up the spit dribbling down his chin, he's so beautiful like that

i think he's mostly a whimperer/panter and his voice can get all soft and breathy, wincing when you peel the tape off of his mouth to ask him what he's so noisy for, and by the time you finally sink down on his cock, he can barely do anything but look up at you with shiny eyes, nodding along when you call him a slut or acknowledge that he'll let you do anything to him as long as he gets to bleed for you