#paperthin answers!

[paperthingpunch]

Shinshiro Yagami 5-A kin list

"Boy, what are you dreaming of.." Hell yeah, I've always wanted to draw the tall hamster being flustered, and this is a perfect opportunity. What did he dream of? up to your interputation~!

thanks for the prompt anon!

[crimeronan]

On a scale of 1 to destroyed, how lost/shambled is Amity’s mental state in your next few chapters?

she's doing pretty okay at the beginning of chapter 2, all things considered!

....then she interacts with hunter.

[yeyinde]

i would give you my life for marriage counselor!reader x price part 3, pleaseeee im begging you 😮‍💨🙏😮‍💨🙏

He fucks you in your office, for sure.

18+. extremely dubious consent. unk. condescending Dom!Price.

Petty, combative. Authority figures make him itch. But there's a sick thrill that goes through him when he sinks down into your chair, fully dressed with just his trousers undone, cock freed, and pulls you, completely naked, onto his lap. Makes you ride him as he sprawls out over it, too; his hand tight around your neck to keep you up, the other dangling over the edge, drinking from the sneaky stash of booze he finds after rummaging around your desk (all the while, he had you sitting on top of it, one hand rifling through your belongings and the other buried between your thighs, making you answer his inane questions as he tuts about how you're getting his cuffs all wet, not such a smart little girl now are you? soakin' his hand like that. needy little thing, more like.)

It's not his preferred position, but he likes the sight of you glaring down at him as he fills you with his cock. Unable to to do anything at all even when you're on top, in the dominant role. Reduced to a mess of a once smart, haughty girl. Biting your lip as he bucks into you. Trying to smother the scream, the plea—slow down, slow down, please, it's too deep—that trembles on your lip. Pride and this fickle, paperthin ideal of agency is the only thing keeping it all in.

You think you can take him. Handle him.

So, John gives you the reigns and leans back on your smart little chair in your smart little office. Accolades hung on the wall. Polished and mature. It's all so—

Adorable.

The contrast of it all feeds the monster in his chest that's been prowling around ever since you tried to boss him around. The mouth that once said you're not trying hard enough, Mr Price you need to do better now all slack-jawed and drool slick as he spears inside to the deepest part of you he can reach; the doleful glare swallowed by the shiver of your lids as your eyes roll back into your pretty little head.

Struggling to take him. Hesitating to slide down the thickest part of his cock, whimpering when he shifts his hips and makes you take him down to the root. Tears flood your lashline, gleaming iridescent like sunshine hitting an oil spill. Lips trembling as you jolt at the realness of it all—of trying to handle him like you said you could but quickly realising you can't when the heart of yourself starts to feel like a raw, open wound.

Yeah, he thinks, and brings the bottle to his lips. You look so much better just like this.

And that's what it's about, really. Control. Something you stripped him of when he marched into your office and you—younger, less experienced, less established—just looked at him, and said, sit down right there, Mr Price.

Well. You didn't say it, did you? No, you commanded. And Price doesn't take orders from idiots in office who think they're his superior, so why the hell should he listen to you, mm?

But he did. And now he's savouring it because this is quid pro quo. Something for something. His compliance (ephemeral as it was) for you.

Because the problem is that you riled him up. With your neat, clean office. Your smart suits. The unbidden air of authority—this condescending, sophisticated cloud that clung to the haughty tip of your chin when you talked to him. It all itched under his skin. Made his heart thunder with the urge to break—

(Claim, maim—sometimes he gets the two mixed up, the word eliding together under the malformed snarl in his throat. But you're tough, aren't you? He's sure you can handle whichever one ends up spilling out.)

He bites down on the little sliver of skin beneath your jaw—that small patch where his hand, still spread over the thick of your throat, doesn't cover—and groans, feeling you clench tight around him. Tight little hole barely stretched enough to take him without it aching each time he moves, tugging on thin, sensitive skin until he has to snuff the whimpers he can feel crawling up your throat with a squeeze of his hand.

It has the after making his head swim already. When he finally finished getting his due, breaking you in, he'll take you home. Let you rest. Court you good and proper until you're melting his hands, softened wax for him to play with and mould however he likes. And he will.

He saw the potential in you the moment he leaned in close—too close, his ex-wife will accuse him of later; you never get that close to me anymore, John—and saw the shift of your throat when you swallowed. The flex of your thighs as you squeezed them tight together. The little flutter of your lashes, eyes listing treacherously downward, so achingly close to submission that it punched the air from his lungs. Kept him winded even as you pulled yourself back together. Meeting his stare with a glare of your own. All fire, all teeth. But he'll enjoy filing your canines down until they're pretty and soft and round—

"mm, not so arrogant now, are you?" He pulls you closer, nips at the thrill of your pulse until he feels it thudding against his enamel. Rabbit-quick. Ferocious lioness purring at his feet. "S'all you needed was my cock, mm, to make you this sweet?"

He doesn't expect an answer, and can really only groan when you eke out a liquid, breathless, fuck you, John, content to let you lash out as much as you want, holding you tighter in the cup of his palm. Pussy clenching tight, tears dripping down your cheeks—he basks in it even as you claw at him, pawing at his chest with your teeth bared as you pretend this is your choice. That you're taking from him with each unsteady, furious roll of your hips. Pulling him in deeper. Letting the part inside of you that rages against this hew fantasy into reality; cobwebs of delusion thickening in the whites of your eyes as you shatter over him, on his lap, stuffed full with the thick of his cock, and play pretend in your head that he's just your throne—

Even as he kicks his heels against the legs of your own, planting his feet on your carpet, in this space you build yourself, driving inside of you until the webs shake, starting to come loose.

You—this free, willful bird—have been left in the wild for too long. And he'll spend the next two months building your cage, and when he's finally finished, you'll beg him to throw away the key.

"Told you, didn't I?" he growls, hand tightening around your throat. "You were in over your head, little girl. You should have listened."

(Freshly divorced—ink still wet on the paper—and he's already engaged. How about that.)

[chvoswxtch]

follow my lead

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: matt's first mission with the mysterious s.h.i.e.l.d. agent and his quest for answers doesn't go as planned.

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, death, guns, and violence

word count: 3.4k

a/n: i'm absolutely blown away by the reaction to the first chapter and this series. i'm so excited that y'all are so excited, and that you're already enjoying it so much. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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“You know it’s rude to keep a girl waiting.”

The material of Matt’s worn gloves creaked in protest as he clenched his fists in annoyance, and his boots thudded harshly against the rooftop as he strode over towards her with purpose. He hated that she was always so calm, but what he hated more was being left in the dark. For three days since their encounter he’d been on edge. He knew the only way he was going to get his answers was by showing up tonight. She’d purposefully withheld information to force him to comply. 

But Matt wasn’t leaving this rooftop until she told him what he wanted to know, and neither was she.

As soon as she turned to face him after hearing his footsteps approaching, he reached out to grab onto her arms and shoved her back against the brick wall behind her roughly. He kept her pinned in place with his body so she couldn’t move, dipping his head to her height so their noses were barely an inch apart. His voice was gruff as it cut through the background noise of the city below.

“You’re going to answer my questions, and if you’re lying to me, I will know.”

“Well someone’s not having a very good day.”

Gritting his teeth, Matt gripped onto her tighter and shoved her harder against the wall, his paperthin patience one thread away from snapping. 

“Enough. I don’t give a shit if we have to stay up here all night, you’re not leaving this goddamn rooftop until you tell me-”

“For fucks sake, fine. What? What are you so pissy about?”

Matt clenched his jaw and his nostrils flared as he let out an aggravated exhale.

“How do you know about me?”

“I already told you that, dumbass.”

She didn’t struggle or fight against his hold. Her heart was thumping loudly, but not out of fear. It was anger, which made him let out a dry scoff. Matt didn’t think she had any justification to be angry in this situation. His hand flew up to grab her face aggressively, and he leaned in closer, his top lip faintly curled in a snarl as his voice took on a dangerous edge.

“Then tell me again.”

“You know, maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass, you would’ve heard me the first time.”

In a sudden movement, she grabbed at his wrist and twisted to make him let go of her face while simultaneously bringing her foot around his leg to shove her heel at the back of his knee. The action made him sink slightly with a grunt, putting his chest in perfect proximity from her knee that she’d suddenly lifted to push at his chest forcefully. Matt quickly grabbed onto her arm again and pulled her against his body, so when he fell backwards, he brought her with him. 

Gripping onto the back of her tactical suit, Matt yanked her body over his prone form, causing them both to roll in a somersault that crowned Matt on top. But his reign was temporary. In a split second, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and with a surprising amount of strength, twisted to flip them over, making Matt land on his back with a grunt. As she straddled him, she quickly reached for the baton in the holster on his thigh and slipped it out to press it hard against his throat. 

Matt grabbed onto her wrist while his other hand flew up to wrap around her own throat, applying the exact same amount of pressure she was to him. He could feel her pulse pounding against his fingers, even through the glove.

“I’m a little disappointed you’re holding back on me.”

She panted out as she looked down at him, a grin slowly stretching across her lips while cocking her head slightly to the side. He could feel her eyes wandering over him beneath her.

“Although, this isn’t entirely unenjoyable.”

Matt’s lips pressed into a firm line at the playful tease in her voice. He let go of her throat and shoved the baton away from his neck.

“You were baiting me.”

“I just wanted to see what you’d do.”

Her demeanor was entirely too casual for his liking. After slipping his baton back into his thigh holster, she stood with a graceful fluid motion and let out a deep breath.

“But, like I was saying, I already answered that question. S.H.I.E.L.D. has a department dedicated to street level persons of interest.”

With a grunt, Matt launched his body in a kick up to land on his feet, twisting his head slightly to crack his neck.

“Then why wasn’t I approached sooner?”

“We didn’t have a use for you.”

Matt let out a deep sigh, placing his hands on his hips as he shifted his weight to his right foot.

“I still don’t understand how you know.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. has eyes and ears all over the city. I told you, just assume we know everything.”

“Yeah, but how?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

Matt’s voice boomed across the rooftop like a clap of thunder, the volume of it and his tone both betraying his fraying temper.

“This isn’t a goddamn game. This is my life. And both halves of it are mine.”

Amidst the soundwaves of fury, there was an undercurrent of something that caught her attention. It was faint, buried beneath the frustration that his most coveted secret had been uncovered so easily, but she could hear it. A hidden layer of panic.

They weren’t going to make any progress until she put his mind at ease. That anxiety had to dissolve so he could focus his attention on the task at hand. Letting out a sigh, she took a step closer towards him.

“Look, we have nothing to gain from telling the world who you are. We kept our distance because we didn’t have a use for you until now, and because you’ve been taking out some heavy hitters on our radar. We’ve even taken counter measures to keep you from being discovered.”

Matt tilted his head to the side in puzzlement, his lips parting to let out a breath.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not as careful as you think you are.”

Matt’s mouth snapped shut in annoyance. There wasn’t a single falter in her heart’s rhythm. She was telling the truth. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t dangling his secret over his head as extortion. But what caught his attention was how steady her heart was when she said he wasn’t as careful as he thought he was. When had he slipped up? And how? 

She turned to walk towards the edge of the rooftop and then paused, looking at him curiously over her shoulder with a subtle smirk.

“By the way, you have an astounding number of canes you’ve tossed all over the city. Do you buy those in bulk? Commit a Sunday a month to retrieving them all at once?”

Under his cowl Matt rolled his eyes at her comment, the amusement evident in her voice grating on his nerves. Okay, maybe there were some things he wasn’t careful about. But no way in hell was he about to admit that to her. He brushed past her as he headed towards the ledge of the rooftop without an answer, his voice rough with irritation. 

“Can we focus.”

“Oh now you want to focus? Five minutes ago you were going all ‘Daredevil’ on my ass.”

“Five minutes ago Tarasov’s men weren’t here.”

Her footsteps quietly echoed on the ground as she approached Matt, standing beside him at the ledge of the building. He could sense a change in her body language, and her tone was laced with mild annoyance instead of amusement.

“You didn’t read the file.”

“I read most of it.”

“But not all of it.”

The accusation immediately made him defensive.

“I do have a day job, you know. I don’t have time to just-”

“Tarasov isn’t the ring leader.”

Matt abruptly paused, letting those words hang in the air between them. Dropping his head slightly, he swore under his breath. He’d known about Tarasov, and after reading his name in the file she’d given him, he just assumed he’d been on the right track, and he hadn’t finished the rest of the pages. He’d been more concerned with how S.H.I.E.L.D. knew who he was rather than the operation he’d been investigating for months. In his selfish panic, he’d rendered himself unprepared.

Knowing now was not the time to white knuckle his stubborn pride, Matt let out an exhale of resignation.

“Then who is?”

“Niko Constantin.”

“He sounds like an asshole.”

“He is an asshole.”

Matt cocked his head to the side, his tone betraying his curiosity.

“You’ve met him?”

“I’ve encountered him.”

“Do you ever give definitive answers? Or are they all annoyingly vague on purpose?”

“Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Matt rolled his eyes again at the dry sarcasm laced within her tone. As she pulled out a pair of binoculars, Matt decided to make up for being informatively unprepared by telling her something she didn’t know for once.

“There’s seventeen of them.”

“I can only see twelve.”

The confusion in her voice was evident, and Matt smirked as he stepped up onto the ledge.

“Well, sight is overrated. I guess S.H.I.E.L.D. can’t train you to do everything.”

Matt reveled in the glare she shot in his direction when she heard the cocky condescension in his casual comment. As Matt prepared to jump onto the roof of the warehouse below, her hand suddenly shot out and gripped his arm.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“We’re here to take them down.”

“Yeah, efficiently. In case you hadn’t noticed, every single one of those guys is heavily armed. One gunshot and our cover is blown.”

“Y/L/N, I’ve been the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen for years. I know what I’m doing.”

“You do know that Hell’s Kitchen is like three blocks, right?”

Matt’s cocky demeanor instantly dissolved as he turned his head in her direction. She could see the offense written clearly across his features even though half of his face was covered by the cowl. It made a subtle smirk flash across her lips while she subtly shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m just saying. This operation is a lot bigger than three blocks. And this isn’t your back alley bullshit. I can’t get the information I need if you’re beating the shit out of everybody.”

“So what do you expect me to do? Politely ask them not to shoot at us and turn themselves in?”

Matt asked in barely concealed exasperation, gesturing down below, annoyance clear in his body language and voice.

“I want you to leave Constantin to me.”

“And how the hell am I supposed to know which one he is?”

“I’ll tell you.”

Matt clenched his jaw, making a muscle feather beneath the dark shadow of facial hair. He sank his top teeth down into his bottom lip and dipped his head back, which only emphasized the sharpness of his jawline. Raking his teeth over his bottom lip, he exhaled harshly through his nose and rolled his shoulders.

“And what if he doesn’t show?”

“Then I’ll go after the next best thing. Look, this is my mission. You wanna stay on it, you follow my lead.”

Matt frowned in displeasure as she headed towards the stairwell. Letting out another frustrated exhale through his nose, he muttered under his breath, mimicking her voice in a childish way.

“You wanna stay on it, you follow my lead.”

The docks were quiet. It was Saturday night, so most of the NYPD’s focus was assigned to the rowdy weekend crowd in the city. Or it had been bought specifically away from Pier Nineteen. While she surveyed the crew standing around with automatic weapons, Matt focused his senses on the men inside the warehouse.

“How does it work?”

“What?”

“Your…senses, I guess. I don’t really know what to call what you do.”

“What, it wasn’t in my file?”

Rolling her eyes at the sass in his voice, she turned to shoot him an annoyed look which he was able to decipher by the way her face tightened. 

“No. It wasn’t. It has the details of your accident, but that’s it. No experiment gone wrong. No special powers. No expendable bank account to pay for your hero fixation. Just a blind guy that can do weird shit.”

Matt could hear in her heart’s rhythm that she was being honest, and he felt a sense of relief that at least something about him was private to her knowledge, and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s. He wanted to keep it that way. The less they knew, the more control he had.

“It’s kinda hard to explain. You really wanna talk about that right now?”

He subtly gestured to a car that he could hear approaching. Letting out an annoyed sigh, she pulled a small device from her pocket and pressed a button. A high pitched frequency started to beep in rapid succession.

“Can you hear this?”

Matt winced at the noise, twisting his head away from it with a grimace.

“Yeah, why?”

Being able to see his physical discomfort, she quickly turned it off.

“Because I can’t.”

Matt cocked his head to the side, puzzled by her confession. 

“This is a tracking device. If you hear it go off, then you’ll know I’ve got Constantin, and you’ll know where we are.”

“And if I don’t hear it go off?”

“Then I won’t be upset if you say this is the worst first date you’ve ever been on.”

Matt scowled in her direction, his lips pursed in disapproval. Meanwhile, she was smirking at his obvious lack of amusement.

“Just keep those horns sharp, devil boy.”

Matt snuck towards the docks while she disappeared into the back of the warehouse. Silently slipping one of his batons out of the holster on his thigh, he took out the crew member closest towards him with a swift hit to the head, the body collapsing to the ground with a thud. The noise of the baton clattering on the ground pulled the attention of the other men.

While they quietly moved towards the source of the sound in pairs, Matt silently climbed to the top of one of the nearby cargo containers. Waiting until they’d passed by completely, Matt went after the small cluster of three that had remained standing guard by the dock. Jumping from the top in a flip, he knocked one of the guys out on his way down. Before the other two could react quick enough, Matt detached his Billy club in two and swung one end to his right. The hit knocked the closest man unconscious, as well as a few teeth loose. 

With a swift kick to the other man’s chest, the satisfying crack of four ribs sounded in Matt’s ears, and the man let out a yelp as he stumbled backwards, falling over the ropes into the water with a splash. Picking up the discarded automatic weapons on the ground, Matt removed the clips and tossed the disassembled pieces into the water.

The group of men that had left to investigate had returned, guns cocked, now following the sound of one of their own in distress. Matt leapt into action and was in the midst of taking out the remaining men when a gunshot accompanied by a loud scream pierced through the night. He immediately froze, a sharp needle of icy panic pricking at the back of his neck. But abruptly something stood out in his brain, and warning bells went off.

It wasn’t a woman’s scream.

With a grunt he struck his fist across the last man’s jaw, picked his batons up from the ground, and took off running towards the warehouse in a sprint. He froze in his tracks when he sensed four lifeless bodies on the ground, and the unmistakable metallic tang of blood was thick in the air. Hearing commotion coming from the second floor, Matt dashed up the old creaky grated steps of the warehouse. 

There was a man tied to a chair that she was standing in front of. Her voice was clear and calm as she spoke in Russian. Matt didn’t know what she was saying, but the man was whimpering, repeating a phrase over and over in the foreign language. She lifted her foot and pressed her boot against his knee, and the more pressure she applied, the louder he screamed. The gunshot had been fired into his kneecap, the bullet shattering the bone, and Matt could hear the sickening crunch of the pieces splintering under her boot.

She lifted the barrel of the gun and aimed towards the man’s head, repeating the same question again. Without thinking, Matt tossed his baton towards her wrist, making her drop the gun, the metal clattering against the floor. She whipped her head around to look at him, removing her foot from the man’s knee. Her features twisted up in anger as she turned to face Matt.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“You didn’t say you were gonna kill him!”

Matt stalked towards her, panting from the physical exert of the fight and from running up the stairs. 

“This isn’t Constantin-”

“You didn’t say you were gonna kill anyone!”

Matt’s voice was loud as it filled the empty space of the warehouse, his anger and distress echoing off the worn walls. 

“I don’t have to tell you what I’m doing. I have my orders, and you have yours. Stand down.”

When she went to retrieve the gun, Matt reached out to grip her arm and yanked her towards him forcefully so there was barely an inch between their chests. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips, and her eyes were locked on the garnet colored lenses in the cowl that appeared almost black from the shadows that the dim light cast on his face. 

“No.”

There was an edge to his voice, and his chest rose and fell quickly from how shallow and choppy his breathing was. He could sense her clenching her right hand at her side, and his free hand slid down to grab the handle of his baton, both of them now locked in defensive stances.

“I’m not going to ask you again.”

There was a subtle warning in her voice, and an edge that was as sharp as his own had been, but he didn’t back down. His fingers tightened around his baton, the material groaning under the force of his strength. He’d noticed her right hand was her dominant one, and it was currently shifting back slightly, like she was preparing to strike. But he was ready for that.

“And I don’t like repeating myself.”

There was a brief moment that passed where neither of them moved or said a word. It seemed like she was waiting for something, but Matt didn’t know what it was. He’d gotten a taste of what she could do on the roof, but Matt hadn’t been the only one holding back. She could probably put up a hell of a fight, and maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. had trained her well. Maybe she’d been top of her class. 

But she didn’t have his training, or his senses.

When she started to raise her right fist, Matt reacted immediately, releasing his grip on his baton to reach out with his own right hand to grab her wrist with the intent to block her hit. But she didn’t even attempt to punch him. Instead, she caught him off guard by raising her left hand, and it was far too late that Matt realized he’d left himself unprotected. 

Suddenly he heard a crackle of electricity, and a jolt of immense pain licked at his neck and shot throughout his entire body, making him let out a guttural yell as he fell to his knees, shaking violently. With a swift spin, her foot connected with his head in a harsh blow, and his unconscious body collapsed on the ground with a thud. 

tags: @the-swift-escape @lambmurdock @lunakkey @Lfdybadgirlsdiw @devilmurdock64 @moonyinthestars @suits-and-smirks @day-dreaming-goddess @natashasotherhalf @rebel13lion39 @pixelfaery @ebsmind @mattmurdocksscars @ahhhhhhhydbhdg @ayupcap @thepassionatereader @awenthealchemist @zomtart @superrbffun @buckypops @snicksbabe @redroomproperty @angel113431 @18raven @a-sunflower-in-bloom @shadypaperwitch @lizziela @givemylovetoall @dreadful-secrets @dreadfulxives18 @jjprxntiss @bigratbitchsworld @s1xthirty @daisy-the-quake

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[inifinitypink]

PAPERTHIN PUNCH DOODLE BOARD FEATURING:

-parappa's cousin and his gal pal that tried to kill him once (dw they're in good terms now)

-Meuy Thai Muscly Rat lady

-A psychic idol from broadway and her nerd bff

-some edgy guy that desire to kill dog people with flame powers

-Cute couple ♥

-local collage girl that also happens to be #1 milkcan fan

EXTRA: TEAM MILKCAN design because I just realized I haven't posted it here lol, now onto lore:

-Katherine Bogard: -obviously based off of Terry Bogard- Katherine is a humanoid feline and the leader of the world-wide famous band, MilkCan. she participates on paperthin punch tournament in hopes of getting closer to to the usual sponsor of the tournament, Joe Howard; who has caused severe damage to her family's reputation that lead her to be abounded by them. outside of that, Katherine is a team player, a go-getter girl that enjoys various things such as playing baseball, singing and writing poems.

-Mau Mau Chan: -Based on Joe Higachi- Mau Mau is a short buff humanoid rat with a rough demandor and even rougher punches to follow. She's the drummer for the rock band, MilkCan. Unlike Lamia and Katherine that have personal reasons for joining the Paperthin punch tournaments, Mau Mau accompanies them for the sole purpose of fighting strong opponents, as she doesn't get to that very often. She also has a karma with romance, as every attempt of her dating somone ends with her "date" running away (they can't handle a girlboss sadly.)

-Blue Lamia: -Based on bluemary (who is stated to be terry's love interest)- Lamia is a humanoid sheep with very quite and shy demandor but, grappling abilities that can break her opponents bones. She's the back-up vocalist and guitarist for the rock band, MilkCan. at first, Lamia was only accompanying Katherine and Mau Mau on the fighting tournement at the leader's request but, on later tournements, Lamia would find herself joining more to find more answers about the hakkechu, the strange look-like grey sheep girl, and the sudden blood riot.

[featherfangart]

Really love your art ❤️ the wings you draw looks amazing 👏 how does one draw them? 👀 do you use any references?

Oh my god, this ask is making the circle full fr. ;; Thank you SO MUCH, Anon!! I've had an enormous wing kink most of my life, but scared of drawing and avoiding them for uh.......... most of my life lol. So reading this means A LOT. TLDR - yes, use refs of all sorts of birds! use gradients! don't overdoit with brushstrokes! wings are paperthin!

In 2021 I said fck it and-- asked my partner, @lesoldatmort, who's a wing-master to teach me how to wings. And the answer was simple - use refs. I did! And it looked better than before. But. Uh.

Most of my wings looked like-- pillow sheets? Or. Pillows. Blankets. Puffy and thick. (Rafe from December, 2020)

So the biggest trouble for me personally (and for my partner, who was trying to knock it in my thick skull), was to get the wings as thin as possible. And use refs. And draw a lot of wings.

The biggest and best advice I got from my man, was to think of wings as of paper. Flat and thin. And use gradients for the sections instead of too many brushstrokes for each feather. Actually, save on the brushstrokes where you can.

January 2022 this was the best I could do. And that's after a LOT of interference from my partner, who kept nagging me to get rid of brushstrokes and add. more. gradients.

In June I decided I'm cracking the case. Gave up on trying to paint too much, because I prefer lineart 95% of the time anyway and drew the Howl piece. Still too many brushstrokes, but I used vulture photos as a reference for this one. Adoration is from this time as well. Used a pinned down bald eagle as a ref for Zack's wing.

In summer, I did some more random studies, kept looking at wings very closely. Looked at other artists drawing them. In September I was lucky enough to get cmed to draw safer Sephiroth. And that was probably the final moment I gave up on too many details and brushes and started stylizing the hell out of it. And using gradients. And lasso tool. As my partner's been telling me for almost two years at that point. Thin. Finally.

And then I just kept going. Simplifying the hell out of them............

And here we are. I have a problem. It's called a wink kink. And I'm loving it. <3

A few months ago, due to a gender crisis, lol, I even started using the name "Alas" along with Alassa. Which supposedly means "wing" in latin.

So... Thank you for coming to my ted talk and personal vent and rant. Sorry this got so long! However, seeing somebody asking me specifically about wings in my art... feels like reaching a finish line after years of whining. Thank you so much! ;; <3

[gojuo]

What do you think about the director of the finale saying that Helaena “is the only one who has power over Aemond” and the article insinuating he has deeper feelings for her? https://www.tvinsider.com/1146955/house-of-the-dragon-season-2-finale-helaena-aemond-explained/ like what is this lmao 💀 Helaemonds are running with this now and saying that it’s similar to how Book!Alysmond was described but I still don’t see it ever going that far. It makes sense why he would have a soft spot for Helaena but Alys is supposed to be the only one changing him on a deeper level so this is really annoying.

I think that interview is the exact same as any other interview all the writers & directors have been giving these past few months: force-feeding the audience headcanons (to throw the fans a bone) because the actual writing for canon is so lackluster and paperthin, they have no choice but to make up for it in supplementary material like interviews and podcasts. That, in the end, isn't canon anyways since anything not shown on screen will never be canon.

Listen, these interviews are literally nothing + the writing for anyone in this show not named Rhaenyra is non-existent + Helaemond shippers have been yapping and harassing everybody for almost 3 years now over their non-canon ship that in-canon amounts to fucking nothing because the writers do not care about anyone not named Rhaenyra in the first place + I have answered like 5 asks I think on this topic already so just check my anti tag.

My advice to you is to stop putting any stock into any of these fuckass interviews because they are nothing but damage control for the dogshit writing everybody knows they're stuck with. Once you notice the pattern with these never-ending interviews, you'll realize how silly it is to fret over the writers' empty words & promises.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Neurodivergency stuff:

Having a character hyperfixation is so bizarre

[a rant about how character hyperfixations are different than special interests, how seeing Hobies makes me feel, and also daydreams that I don't necessarily control]

I talk about stuff like this here because I feel it should be normalized 🥺😁

I love Hobie. He's my hyperfixation.

But it's not like a special interest or normal hyperfixation. Like I love trains and subways and metros and I'll eat up ANYTHING about them but like - the interest is completely from an intellectual standpoint.

My Hobie hyperfixation is completely different.

Bruh I get about as much comfort looking at his photo as I do like hugging my own mother or some shit and that's not an understatement

Especially actual screenshots of the movie. Like I love fanart but for it to hit right it has to be 'actually him'.

Looking at photos of him genuinely calms me down and thinking about his voice makes me feel safe. I trust him.

I can accurately 'daydream' about him doing almost anything in vivid detail, but I'm not necessarily in control of him in those daydreams. There are just certain things he won't do. If I ask him a question I won't know the answer unless I 'ask' him. And if I don't like is answer I can't just change it cause he said what he said!!!

Um but yeah at least for me it's way more than 'Oh I love this character and reading fics about him' and way closer to 'this is somehow a person to me I talk to through my head. And I can feel the same warm feelings towards him as I do an actual existing human.

I know I can't touch him or hug him - and that gives the exact same emotion as if you were missing a friend that went away to college.

I know it's not the same, but my brain produces the same feeling from different scenarios than other people.

Like just by looking at this photo I can imagine the way his vest feels and what is like to hold his hand, and the fabric of his shirt, the way he smells, his guitar by my leg - and it's like ... I'm not trying to do that that's just what happens when I look at the photo

AND I CAN'T EXPLAIN IT ANY OTHER WAY OR ANY CLEARER AND I-

At least twice I week I have a daydream of Hobie rubbing my back and telling me to calm down and how he understands why I'm upset all in his accent in a very specific detailed rendition of his home thats never been shown on screen before-

And the emotional response is just as real and holds weight in my brain the same. It's way beyond just an intellectual interest, at least in my case.

Character hyperfixations are more emotional connections.

And IDK if that's how it is for everyone else??!!!! But uhhhh!!!!! Yeah- ummmm- haha yah mhm

I hope somebody can relate but like waking up and looking at a Hobie photo feels like waking up beside him and THAT'S THE TRUTH and if you think that's weird or cringe then

Homie idk what you want me to tell you it is what it is

And some people may find that weird or cringe or whatever I don't give the slightest fuck because isn't that amazing that the human brain can do that - see a human creation and take some much meaning and emotion from it, making a full circle of human creation and art powered souly by human emotion and the ridiculously sophisticated imagination humans are only capable of through centuries of evolution right

But can somebody tell me if it's like this for them or if not what does your Hobie hyperfixation look like

Also if you have daydreams too please tell me about them like can you control him in them like a Barbie doll, or is he completely independent?

Mines is probably 90% independent - there's somethings either outside of his character or things he just won't do

[like for those who follow me, in my head I can ask Hobie to take me to the locked basement, and he'll absolutely say no. And if I try to imagine him doing it, the daydream I imagine is a lot more paperthin, plus Hobie will say "That's not it and that's not me, quit imagining me like that-" and I can't continue the daydream

I-]

Since I just exposed myself lemme just-

[kovacs-of-courage]

Eclipse AU(Tldr at bottom of post_

So I made a modern-sort of percy jackson inspired AU for Linked Universe, I think it's fun to write! I hope other people enjoy it. Here's my weird rough summary. Willing to answer any and all questions!

The Chain are lost in time, trapped in an unending cycle of life and death. A familiar tale to the hero's spirit. In their last confrontation with the incarnations of demise, and the demons he commanded--the whole of reality went asunder, and the power of the gods shattered entirely.

After that confrontation--the nine embodiments of the hero’s spirit suffered the same fate as their homeland--their souls washed away in caskets of golden tears and failed promises.

Hyrule was wiped away, wiped from the face of history and beyond. The goddesses had to begin their creation anew, without the baggage of those that caused it’s destruction in the first place.

Earth, modern earth, was created in it’s place--with a few key changes.

For all their efforts--the remains of their first creation leaked through, infecting the history of our earth like vile rot. The monsters were the first to make the breach, their combined hatred and inhuman will to survive holding their corrupted essences together through the transition.

There are stories of these creatures, often disregarded as exaggerated hyperbole by historians, or metaphors for natural disasters. 

They were not.

The Queen Gohma haunts the jungles of South America, legends of her urchin-like young making victims of unfortunate wanderers; sustaining her immortal lifespan in the depths of her hollowed tree.

Argorok terrorized the skies of medieval Europe, casting plumes of fire on the feudal armies that tried opposing it’s oppressive reign; her accompanying packs of gleeoks hunting ancient sailors in the atlantic.

And there were many, so many more monsters that endured the chaotic folding of time and space, the near-annihilation of any sense of self--as the mind and soul were put to battle against the last, drawn out gasps of their dying universe. The destruction was biblical, the return of gods seen only in legend--it’s a wonder that anything survived that cataclysm.

The chain suffered a similar fate--at first--their existence and histories torn apart atom by atom, their souls stretched paperthin as thought and reality blended together during the collapse of stars.

But they endured.

They tumbled through the new cosmos, the echoes of their shared spirit melding into the foundation of the universe--as immovable as gravity. When humanity came to prominence; the chain were there to follow. They were reborn, stripped of their memories, into a thousand different societies, and countless eras.

At times of crises and devastation; their nine courageous souls were reborn across the earth, their courage burning brighter than it had been before. They were prepared for the changing world, their skills old and new continuing with each reset.

There are some echoes of continuity, however, rules that their spirit must follow.

Twilight is related to time in some way, and they’re the two who meet again the most. 

Wind is always born in sea-faring communities, whether that be in the literal age of pirates, or as an early tribesmen at the dawn of civilization--rediscovering his aptitude for sailing.

And as the chain have been reborn, so too have many of Hyrule’s legends, their essences bleeding forth onto our realm. The memory of that primeval history scars our world, and fragments of every era hides under the bustling, nation-states of our modern age.

Some more aware than others.

Those with the blood of Hylia returned, bringing the memory of their goddess with them--thought to be eradicated. They possess no royal heritage, living as normal citizens, the zeldas being born nearby their links.

The sheikah bounced back quickly, as Impa(SS) managed to come out of the transition with her memories intact--assembling her fractured tribe during the stone ages. 

TLDR: Modern AU that’s sort of percy jackson in how Hyrule seeps over. Ancient things hidden in modern times, with the chain reborn worldwide.

[danawinter]

So recently I started getting into comics, and it made me realize one of the things I was missing in Multiverse of Madness, is the personal connection between Wanda and the people fighting her.

I definitely have some mixed feelings about comic book arcs like Avengers Disassembled, but one thing that is very effective is that it's clear that this is a unique type of devastation that was caused by someone with reality-bending powers and a strong personal connection to the Avengers. This happens because of Wanda, and no one else could have caused this amount and this type of devastation.

And Multiverse of Madness does not give off that vibe to me at all. The conversation between Stephen and Wanda in the orchard (before Wanda is revealed as the villain) does not feel like they are meeting for the first time, but we're not given an indication of when they did meet, and to which extent they know each other. Did they meet before Infinity War? Did they meet at Tony's funeral? Did they ever have any close conversations where they really got to know each other? When Wanda mentions Christine, is that because they've talked about her before, or because Wanda just peeked into Stephen's mind to find his weakness? I can guess the answers to these questions, but I would've rather had the MCU answer them, if they want to tell a story like this.

But alright, let's suppose that there is no time to develop the Wanda/Stephen relationship before making her the villain, because of MCU-timeline reasons or whatever. However, there are other universes in this movie. That is the perfect opportunity to bring in some characters with a connection to Wanda, to still give us at least a glimpse of a connection that makes a fight so brutally intimate. But instead the Illuminati is just a set of cameos for us as the viewers, and there is no connection with Wanda. Except if you'd want to make the paperthin connections that Steve might've told her about Peggy, or that Wanda's main ally in WandaVision was Monica, and now she's going after a variant of her mother. But those are not really connections that feel like something incredibly close about Wanda is being explored.

What if this world had a variant of Quicksilver on the Avengers? What if there was a version of Vision, or the Ultron of this universe looked a lot more like Vision? Something like that would've put Wanda in a much more complicated position. We know that she is incredibly powerful, especially with the Darkhold; but putting someone she loves in her way to America Chavez (and thus her children) would be an incredibly difficult situation that I'd find very compelling.

But as the movie is now, Wanda could pretty easily get traded in for another villain, and it really would not make that much of a difference. And I think that is a real waste of a hero going dark.

[paperthingpunch]

hana g1

"Welcome back papa!" Hana exclaimed with joy. As her father gave her a headpat. eventually putting the plate of the various bowls, chopsticks and the soda juice in the dining table and clapsing hands. "As you can see, Papa! I've been experimenting with a new recipe and I was wondering if you could give it a taste!"

--------------------------------------------

(I've decided that for every drawing request like this, it will come up with a small dialogue, or at least some narration explaining the thoughts I had behind the artwork. )

in classic sunny funny style, Hana Hydro also ha the abnormal cooking quirk! except her food is actually digestible, And commander potter is her #1 tester for every new abnormal recipe she makes! he gives her proper feedback on what's the strongest and weakest points of her recipes, and how can she improve them.

I picked the "fool" color pallets because it fit with the theme of this one, plus anon didn't pick any color, just emoji

regardless, thank you for your request anon!

[randomthefox]

Maybe I just don't understand the procedures that go into making comics, but Sonic comics always being shit make no sense to me. When making comics, there are far fewer factors to worry about than video games. Long as you can draw it in a sequence, you should be able to do anything, right? So the only conclusion can be that Sonic comics suck ass because the people working on them are determined to continually make horrible creative choices.

Comics are a medium where you can do all sorts of insane things. Combine that with a series like Sonic, and the creative juices should flow endlessly, right?

But the sad answer is that the garbage we see in all official Sonic comics is due to the writers, wanting to make garbage under the belief they're creative something good. There's also the problem of them looking down on the source material.

Scrapnik Island and the twitter comic about Chao are seriously the only good official Sonic comics ever made.

I think any Sonic comics made after the end of IDW should always be one shots or mini series with a definitive beginning and end. Whenever a Sonic comic tries to be ongoing, it always sucks.

Fucking I know, right? Making a Sonic comic that's actually good should be the easiest thing in the world, let alone making a Sonic comic that just doesn't suck ass. Lock up one of the high quality artists working on IDW up in my basement and force them to draw whatever they want, and I could make a good fucking Sonic comic. It's SONIC. Basically every character in the series is two dimensional at best and all their important character traits can fit on half a business card. We're not talking about fucking Hamlet here.

And yet somehow these Sonic comics all SUCK COMPLETE ASS. They're not even moderately passable if you're feeling generous and grading them on a curve. They all get the characters from the videos games hopelessly fucking wrong such to the point that they're just completely different entities wearing recognizable skin. And that's when the games characters are even fucking on screen, which is a rarity because instead these comics are BLOATED TO THE BRIM with donut steels that aren't from the video games. The plots are somehow paperthin and also padded to obscene lengths at the same time like a milimeter of butter scraped across the entire length of a baguette. There's NO thematic cohesion or narrative purpose to ANY of it, it's just Shit Happening For No Reason and all the characters act like idiots because that's what the plot requires them to do. The scripts for these comics would get laughed out of a third grade creative writing class.

It is abundantly clear at every possible turn that the people creating these Sonic comics HATE Sonic. Not just don't care about it and are apathetic, they ACTIVELY RESENT the franchise they're writing for and wish that it was anything else. And see their position as writers as an opportunity to try and turn Sonic into what they think it should be. The Sonic comics have never ever EVER been written by somebody who has actually PLAYED the Sonic games and ENJOYS THEM as a FAN. And that toxic venom against the franchise drips through on every fucking page of every single comic ever since the very first release of the very first Archie issue.

I literally cannot fucking believe how fucking good Scrapnik Island is in comparison to its contemporaries. It feels like a comic that fell into our universe from an alternate timeline, a timeline where comics like this are what Sonic comics were always SUPPOSED to be.

WHY IS THIS COMIC THE EXCEPTION?

WHY CAN'T EVERY SONIC COMIC BE LIKE THIS?

THIS COMIC IS ALL I EVER FUCKING WANTED FROM A SONIC COMIC IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?

If the choice was between Archie/IDW Sonic or no Sonic comic whatsoever, I'd happily choose no Sonic comic. BUT THAT'S NOT THE CHOICE. BECAUSE SCRAPNIK ISLAND EXISTS. SO CLEARLY MAKING A GOOD SONIC COMIC IS A FUCKING OPTION

WHY CAN'T THEY JUST MAKE GOOD SONIC COMICS IT'S NOT THAT FUCKING HARD DANIEL BARNES AND JACK LAWRENCE AND NATHALIE FOURDRAINE DID IT SO WHY CAN'T EVERYONE ELSE???

[miniscrew-anon]

HSH Febuwhump Day 1 - Touchstarved (Time)

Welp here I go - off to write a thing every day for 28 days! I hope you guys are ready for a bunch of unrelated stories probably chock full of typos and multiple tenses. I’m not giving myself any wordcount goals so how long or how short these end up are going to rely completely on my mood.

But we’re kicking this off with our favorite home owner turned babysitter.

------

It was like lightning on his skin. His flesh prickled at the light touch, shivers running down his spine. He felt over exposed, like his skin was paperthin and every sensation was magnified, played onto his bare nerves. Try as he might, he couldn't hide the way her delicate fingers made him shake.

He couldn't meet her eyes when she noticed. He didn't want to see her disappointment. She'd always hated it when he didn't take care of himself.

"Oh, Link," She murmured, sad lilt in her voice. The softness of it would have taken him to his knees if he weren't sitting.

He breathed out through his nose when her hand moved from lightly touching his shoulder to a firm press against his spine. Her hand trailed up and down his back, smoothing in its motion but devastating in every other way. It made him want to sit up and melt at the same time.

"I'm fine." Time clasped his hands in his lap and stared out past the porch, watching the ways the fireflies lit up the ranch. He'd always loved sitting out here like this. He never thought he'd get to again. "I'm alright."

"I know," she answered. She shifted, sitting up on the swinging bench. Slowly, she moved to lean on him, pressing against him like the most comforting weight.

Time shivered at her touch. Too much. She's always been too much. Like a flashflood after a drought, destruction and life all at once.

He drinks it in like a man dying of thirst, happy to drown if it meant feeling her touch one more time.

-----

As Warriors once so tastefully put it - It’s been years since the man has gotten laid. After his divorce I imagine the only contact he’s had was strangling his enemies or punching someone in the face. So jumping back into a relationship was probably kind of rough. 

Anywho lmk what you think. I’ll probs put these on A03 at some point but idk when. not daily. I’m too lazy for that lmao.

[autridi]

@wargoer said:  ❝ i had hoped my days of ceaseless battles were over. ❞

          ❝    𝐚𝐡,    𝐚𝐡.    ❞      𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐝,    cant forwards      &.      chin tucked to embroidered hem.      ❝    i went to your house,    kratos.    i knocked,    ❞      a pause for emphasis.      a tattooed arm gestures to kratos then opens in a wide arc.      ❝    on your door.    ❞      he steps forwards once      &.      then again.      𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰.     snake measuring prey.      what he sees before him is an effrontery.      a gauche debauchery of a false god at the center of his perfunctory ambling.      𝘈𝘙𝘌 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘛𝘐𝘙𝘌𝘋 𝘖𝘍 𝘉𝘓𝘖𝘖𝘋𝘚𝘏𝘌𝘋,  𝘎𝘖𝘋 - 𝘒𝘐𝘓𝘓𝘌𝘙 ?      the iron - scent,    the cloying copper of a world inundated by plague      &.      blood at the hands of the ashen - fiend.      so much,    therein,    wholly unnecessary.       ❝    i do not want war,    kratos.  much less,  do i want a war with you.    ❞

          he stopped before him.      his wool cloak swirling around his knees.      the sun hung west,    a winter - white      &.      lucent glass eye watching them,    heimal light reflecting long blades from the gold damask on his shoulder.    in motes that sifted      &.      spun,    sliding away like optic strobes.      ❝    correct me,    if i am mistaken,    but this    —    all this prophecy    —    it has nothing to do with you.      i asked that you not get involved.      i was willing to overlook the death of my boy …      &.      still your answer is no.    ❞      (  there is the subtlest shift in his demeanor,    from this ,    this sympathetic diplomat  to reveal just a hint of the hardened      &.      serrated edges of an authoritative man.      edges that would seem unpleasant to touch.      his face transforms under this paperthin veil of farce,    solidifying into a demurring austerity.  )      ❝    you wouldn’t know peace if it were standing right in front of you,    looking you in the eye.    if you did not want war,    you at the very least would not have gone looking for týr.      &.      yet you did.  what did you hope to gain from it ?      hm ?      you throw a bone      &.      you expect for a dog to come running towards it,    kratos,    but i didn’t think you were one.    ❞      

         he has made his way to the wolves,    noting the matted      &.      dusty fur,      &.      is brazen enough to reach for them,    scratching beneath their chin.      his back turned to the god.      ❝    take your boy,      &.     go home,    kratos.      this doesn’t have to end with blood.    ❞

[melto]

people outside the industry dont respect you and the theatre industry doesnt respect you either so like. Standing there simply. people don’t understand what all you have to do and how time consuming it is and how stressful it can be because everyone still thinks theatre is a joke in the end even people who’ll watch theatre they’ll be like well it is a lot of work to put shit on! and then turn around and minimize what you do because you Love it or it’s entertainment and other people cant follow dreams or have “exciting” jobs and have to work a desk job like that means anything like i basically HAVE a desk job with a bunch of other shit i have to do as well and then people in theatre know just how much you have to do and they just wont care because they know you wont let it fail they know you will keep doing they know they can stretch you paperthin or if someone isnt doing that they just don’t understand all the hats you have to wear and how yes reh starts and ends at this time but im here early and staying late and taking work home and answering calls and emails on the fly and playing middleman for everyone and be both everyones friends and the bad guy and both sides in the end is just well you knew what you were getting into you knew what you were getting into but i dont think its a crime to ask for more than just like an inch of respect but everyone acts like you just asked if you could get away with murder

[drawing079]

Exception On Line 129

Chapter 5: Not So Strange

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

A Human AU SCP-079 x SCP-682 Fanfic

Warnings: Violence, Alcoholism, Brain damage/trauma, Police brutality

Description: Zero is a reclusive computer science major, floating by in college with the help of vodka by his side. His only human interaction seems to be from his distant father, who abandoned him as a child but now is trying to make a bit of effort to be back in his life. And after a failed virus he sends to a Cray supercomputer gets exposed, he is forced to pay for the consequences of his cyber crimes in more ways than one.

During an unnecessarily violent arrest, he suffers a brain injury and anterograde amnesia, damaging his short-term memory. But during his time detained, he meets a violent man with an infamous short-temper, who takes a surprising interest in him.

(Read it here on Ao3 or continue below)

Exception On Line 129: Not So Stranger

By the time the sedatives have wore off, the prying nurses and noisy cops were long gone. They had originally wanted to question Zero, and so did his doctor, in order to gauge the extent of his head trauma; but all parties concerned were informed he was incompetent for questioning due to his sedation, and deflected until tomorrow to pester him later.

And incompetent indeed; when everyone had left, Numin had attempted to ask how he felt, only to get a slurred ‘what’ back at him, to which he assumed it was best to wait for Zero to be back in a sober clear mind before attempting conversation again.

Sometime in the afternoon Zero slipped under, falling asleep in the same position looking up at the ceiling, with the only indication of sleep being the closure of his eyes, and his already slow heartbeat growing even further apart in tempo on the beep of the heart monitor.

By the evening of that day, when he awoke, his head was finally clear enough to think straight, and the headache was fainter as it ricocheted inside his skull.

Shifting, the most movement he’s made since morning, Zero sat up in a daze, blinking blankly around the bright fluorescent room. Outside he noticed it was dark behind the paper-thin blinds, yet the unnatural lighting in the hospital room kept the room too bright for it to feel like evening. An uncomfortable discrepancy, especially considering how he had fallen asleep during daylight with only a hazy recollection of the day, only serving to further his ongoing confusion.

“Lucid now?” A familiar voice pried, surprisingly gentle, despite the unhidden harsh edge it innately carried. Turning to face the voice, a bit delayed in his reaction due to the lingering effects of the sedation, Zero faced the stranger in the bed beside his own.

When he met his eyes to the other man’s soft green ones, a sudden intrusion of memories flooded in.

His roommate. Zero couldn’t recall his name, but he felt fondly in his recognition of him, even though their interactions were hazy to retrieve.

Actually, not hazy; they were basically absent. All he knew was that this man was one he was familiar and friendly with.

“Barely lucid… god, my head feels like cotton.” He groaned, bringing his hand up to rub his temple, only to find the texture of soft gauze at his fingertips, bits of it snagging at his short jagged nails. “I… I was asleep for a while, but we met earlier today, right?”

The green hue of his roommate’s eyes darkened, in a melancholic transition that somehow made his next words seem despondent. “Yes, we’ve met. Do you remember me, Zero?”

The pressure to take away that undying anguish in his expression made Zero stressed to probe his memories for an answer that would sate his roommate.

“I remember… you… wrote something on my hand, I think?” Not even confident in his own foggy recollection, Zero knit his brow at the other man, as if silently asking for confirmation.

The other man let out a short sigh, almost in relief but not quite there just yet, at the sign of even a sliver of working memory in Zero’s head.

“Yes, I wrote my name down so you wouldn’t forget. The nurse put your IV back in but it should still be visible.”

Tilting his head down at his hand for confirmation, surely enough he found a name printed on the back of his palm in neat lettering, alongside his IV line buried deep into a superficial vein.

“Numin. Oh, that name does ring some bells.”

His roommate chuckled, albeit still tensed in the manner. “It should. You needed to be reminded of it quite a few times.”

With a couple blinks, Zero tore his eyes off the print on his hand to look up at Numin. “It’s weird, it feels like I met you years ago. Like the memories are so far back in my head that I have to focus to try and retrieve them. Did I really just meet you today? We didn’t have, like, a class together or anything?”

He ended his inquiry with a little cock of his head to the right, like an honest signal of innocent curiosity, and Numin consciously wondered if he was trying to be a little cute on purpose.

He stopped that thought right in its trail, though; since when does he think of others as cute?

“This morning, when you woke up for the first time since your accident, we met,” he hesitated, just slightly, remembering bitterly how badly Zero took this information last time, “you’ve been in a coma for several days now.”

Although there was an undeniable widening of Zero’s eyes in surprise, it quickly waned, as if the knowledge had awoken within him the fact he had heard that before. Nevertheless, his heart did start skipping a beat faster on the heart rate monitor, and Numin noticed Zero began biting his lower lip. Centered both above his top lip and below his bottom were two pierced holes, so Numin deduced that he must’ve had a habit of biting a lower lip piercing; although, regardless of its presence, Zero seemed to chew his lip anyway. Made Numin wonder if at some point he just got it pierced to have something to bite at.

“Ah. Yeah, I think I remember something about that.”

In his palm, Zero had a handful of his bedding’s blanket gripped tight, anxiously holding onto anything that could ground him. A sore pang clawed in Numin’s chest; he wished he could go over there again. Almost yearningly, he tugged gently at the handcuffs keeping him in place, a deep inner part of him imploring himself to just break it off again like last time.

“Is there anything else you remember?” Prying in order to keep his thoughts from getting him in more trouble, Numin looked back up to face Zero. He was sitting off the edge of his bed, fist still full of his paperthin hospital blanket, looking up in almost a bit of a daze. Numin couldn’t tell if it was because he was lost in thought trying to remember the events from earlier today, or if the Valium was still lingering a bit in his system. Nevertheless, it was enough of a daze to leave him oblivious to the slight drop of his hospital gown off one of his shoulders, exposing his collar bone, as well as a small written tattoo beneath it. In black lettering, it marked: ‘Print (“Hello World”)’, a basic one-line computer program, leading Numin to infer he must know how to code.

Although placid, the exposed skin had that word bubbling back up into Numin’s mind again. Cute.

Was his face just hot or is he now blushing over the visible collarbone and that tattoo?

“I remember, you were talking to me, but I can’t recall what about,” Zero finally spoke up, breaking Numin’s distraction on his slightly exposed shoulder, and with his headspace back to reality Zero absentmindedly tugged his gown’s collar back up, none the wiser that Numin was growing red in the cheeks as he stared at it.

As if to compose himself and continue on as if he wasn’t lost tracing his eyes on that soft skin beneath Zero’s gown, Numin swallowed, continuing the conversation.

“We talked about a handful of things. None of them come to mind?”

Blinking thrice, Zero looked down from the ceiling back at him. “Maybe, I don’t know…”

Awkwardly, his fumbled with the slack of blanket in his hand, crumpling it anxiously. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but… did you say something about being gay?”

Startled, Numin let out an unexpected laugh, amused as Zero’s bashfulness to address it.

“Bisexual, but yeah. You got the gist of it.” And, almost teasingly, he added, “Seems like you made that information top priority to recall. Are you always that good at remembering sexual orientations, or am I just special?”

Adding fuel to the fire of Zero’s embarrassment, now he was the one blushing. However, keeping his usual front, he managed to bite back with his own quip, despite the rouge color of his face betraying his actual thoughts.

“I don’t often forget when an interesting man tells me he likes men.” As if in an effort to divert the subject matter, he continued, “besides that… I think I remember you being here?”

He made a pat to the side of the mattress, on the bed where Numin had sat with him during his anxiety attack. And although he didn’t remember too clearly the details to which Numin was beside him, Zero does recall a warming comfort. Even if the actual memory was absent, it left a fond afterglow, and even through the frightening awareness of his amnesia he felt the sentiment they must’ve held.

“I was. Got in quite the bit of trouble, too.” Numin agreed, with a sigh, dejectedly giving his handcuffs another clank. As if maybe they’ll just phase through the bar if he moved them enough.

Regardless, they were symbolic anyways. If Numin wanted to keep out of anymore trouble at this point, he’ll have to allow the cops to have their illusion of control over him.

Even if that’s all it was. An illusion.

“If… if it’s proper to ask, what are you here for?” Meekly, Zero gestured vaguely at the hospital room around him. He’s never been detained before himself, and he wasn’t too sure if it was an appropriate question to ask.

But instead, Numin offered a little shrug, nonchalant.

“Shot in the forearm. Very minor surgery to remove the shards, but it didn’t do any major damage.”

The casualness of his tone threw Zero off, and he gave the other man a noticeable wide-eyed look.

“You were shot!?”

The shock in his tone made Numin chuckle. The cavalier nature he had about his injury was unnatural, like violence was something he found ordinary and injury was something he found unthreatening.

“Yeah, cop tried handcuffing me, so I stabbed him in the stomach,” at that, he made a gesture to with his free hand towards his own abdomen, lightly tapping below his ribs as if to indicate where the cop had taken his knife before continuing, “but the bastard was able to reach for his gun and got a shot in before I knocked it out of his hand.”

Still appalled, Zero blinked thrice in bewilderment, as if trying to process the exact capabilities Numin had. The energy he had was commanding and all-consuming, and it seemed he was way more than just a front in that regard.

“What... happened to him?” Zero barely managed to get out on the border of a whisper, quiet in almost a careful way, in case this was a question that could provoke a negative reaction.

Hearing the breathless nature of his question, Numin drew a toothy and predatory smile. The look of it almost seemed like he was reminiscing on fond memories, but his green eyes were festering with a darkness that betrayed a more sadistic delight to his face.

“Dead. I shouldn’t have even let him live long enough to get a shot in. Disgusting little maggot...” the last part of his sentence road his vocals on almost a growl, with each word dripping with abhorrence.

It sent a chilling shiver down Zero’s spine.

Aggression and violence wasn’t a surprise from his roommate, not in the slightest considering his demeanor. But something about the idea of actually killing someone, taking a life and having no regret, was absolutely bone-chilling.

There was a soft voice in the back of Zero’s head, warning him if his acquaintance with this man was dangerous. It begged him to withdraw from the conversation, to stop entertaining his roommate lest he accidentally got on his bad side. However, there was an even louder voice fighting that reasoning, and drawing him to continue.

It was at first terrifying to learn Numin had murdered someone. A deep, unsettling seed of knowledge that is now embedded into Zero’s brain, and it felt like he was watering the seed with every passing moment he dwelled on that unnerving idea. And as with any seed, it grew, and changed, and the more Zero thought about it the more his feelings about it were fuzzier than originally anticipated.

And after dwelling on it for a few moments, Zero can’t exactly lie that the idea wasn’t now also alluring, interesting in a way he can’t describe. Like a mixture of morbid curiosity to know more, with the knowledge it was bad to be interested but undeniably being drawn to it nonetheless.

His roommate had murdered someone.

And somehow, he wasn’t afraid of Numin for it.

“Is that what you’re in trouble for? Stabbing a cop to death?”

As if intrigued by Zero’s lack of fear, instead finding just shock and interest, Numin narrowed his eyes curiously, holding his dark smile. But it was no longer in glee to his lurid memories, instead it was in growing fascination for Zero’s interest.

“He was arresting me for something else, but his death is added onto my charges at the moment. However, my civil defender said something about being able to claim he shot me first and I stabbed in self-defense, but that’ll be a tough story to sell.” There was a taste of annoyance in his tone, as if reluctant to peddle the idea of being shot first before stabbing the cop. As if it strangled his pride too much for his liking, that he would allow another to harm him first.

Or, perhaps, that he would allow another to dare harm him at all.

“Wait, so he was already arresting you for a different crime at the time?” Suddenly, as if the thought of more charges was an alien concept, Zero’s eyes noticeably widened at his revitalized surprise.

Unbeknownst to him, it left another doe-eyed astonished look on his face— albeit still probably due to the lingering drug— that had a bit of warmth suddenly rising to Numin’s cheeks again, subtly but still nonetheless present through a hazy rouge ghosting his complexion.

Cute. He couldn’t tell if he hated himself for thinking that word at all or if the feeling was just frustration from yet again noticing how attractive he thought Zero was. Either way, the surfacing of that word bothered him.

Numin hadn’t the slightest clue why he couldn’t quite shake the idea from his train of thought. The idea that Zero was being cute right now.

“Yeah. I was being arrested for a separate murder charge at the time, so I thought, hell, what’s another?” Although there was a jesting tone in his voice meant to convey a bit of humor, the tension he was carrying found itself laced among his words and inwoven with his expression. Tension only aggravated by the newfound evasiveness Numin’s eyes took on.

Zero noticed the reddish hue on his roommate’s face now. A quick smirk rose onto his lips before he stifled it, killing it as fast as it was born— he’ll pretend he doesn’t notice, but he’s well aware that Numin knows he definitely did.

“Makes sense. What’s one when you can have two.” Despite the topic at hand currently being murder victims, Zero continued with a cadence that was surprisingly cavalier. Guess when someone is noticeably blushing and growing a bit hot and bothered when they’re speaking to him it really takes the fear out of talking to someone with possible murder charges. After all, a cold hard murderer showing a bit of sheepishness like a nervous teenager talking to their classroom crush?

Oh, dare Zero even think— it might be a bit attractive.

Someone so calloused and violent, coming undone ever so slightly in his presence. Even if the undoneness was painted in just a faint blush of attraction on the other’s face, or slight tenseness in their words.

It made Zero feel a bit special, in a way.

“Two? Ah, I forget how many, but it’s well over two.” Although still collecting himself a bit, breaking his eyes back down to his handcuffs as if to hide the unspoken redness in his face, Numin’s voice composed itself with his next line, as if more thought would distract him from that word he kept trying to ignore whenever he looked at Zero. “Definitely more than two, it’s maybe… Maybe around a dozen or so? Although however many I’m charged with is beyond me. I’m certain the cops aren’t aware of all of them.”

The shock momentarily got to Zero for a split second, just at the sheer number. Or perhaps the shock was over Numin not even knowing the exact count; both were equally something to raise his brow in surprise at.

“Damn. Well, spoiler alert, I’m not here for murder myself.” After saying so, the memory of the officer pounding at his apartment door over an arrest warrant bubbled up into his consciousness, giving him an involuntary shiver when it popped at the surface.

Like old film flickering in his head with how vague and out of focus the memories were, he felt it more so than saw it.

Pain zipping up and down his back as he was knocked to the floor. Frail legs desperately kicking to keep the officer off of him. Hard boot connecting with his temple once, and the world darkening as everything slips away for a split moment into sheer pain and confusion. The second kick he doesn’t remember, but only assumes must’ve hit him after those memories cut short, hitting a blank wall as the world around was stolen away from him.

Unexpectedly, he noticed his mouth was a bit drier than a moment before.

“Come to think of it… I-I’m not all too sure what I’m arrested for, exactly.”

There was an unsteady shake in those words. Numin felt that deep part in his chest ache for him again, and without even thinking there was an audible jingle as he tugged the handcuffs yearningly again, subconscious desire turning into subtle action.

He wished he wasn’t confined.

“You can’t remember?” Softly, despite the gruffness of his voice, Numin verbally acknowledged Zero’s amnesia again.

Giving a weak half-hearted shrug, Zero blinked twice blankly, as if his eyes were focused on an absent memory. Or, at least the spaces where a memory may have been.

“I don’t know if I can’t remember or if I never knew in the first place. It’s weird, but somehow… even when I think I forgot something, I have the feeling that the information was once there.” A couple more blinks calibrated his eyes back to the dull hospital room around him, before continuing. “Like I noticed that I can’t recall your name again. Although for certain, I’m sure I’ve been told it more than once.”

The start of a weak and curious frown ghosted Numin’s lips. “Do you remember where to find it?”

There was another nervous bite on his bottom lip from Zero. Hesitant, as if taking a fifty-fifty shot at where he could possibly find his roommate’s name, he shakily raised his hand and checked the back of it.

And sure enough, confirming his hunch, there was a name in neat lettering there.

“Ah, the name Numin does ring a bell.”

His roommate chuckled deeply. “You said that last time.”

Tossing a perked brow up at him, Zero narrowed his eyes playfully.

“Well, then… let’s hope this time it’s louder bells.”

He ended his own retort with a slight chuckle of his own, almost distracted enough to not notice when the door opened for a nurse to hurry in. Numin recognized him as the one who injected the Valium into Zero’s veins this morning, and the viridescent hue of his eyes turned stygian and dark in bitter spite towards a particularly guilty party who Numin saw at blame for this morning’s fiasco.

“Oh-- Mr. Novem, I didn’t expect you up.” Tense, perhaps giving a few cautious glances at Numin to ensure he was still properly restrained, the nurse made his way for Zero’s bedside, only to have his patient narrow his eyes at him in distrust and sit up tensely in his bed, body language insinuating that his memory still recalled the face of who injected Valium into his veins earlier today.

Or perhaps, it was less of the memory of who Anderson was, and more of the innate emotion that seeing him evoked. Not a name, nor face, nor even incriminating action to seed a taste of discontent on Zero’s tongue when he saw the man; rather, it was a raw and visceral recoil, like how one would instinctively recoil from a bee’s sting before they had even realized they have stepped upon one.

Simply put, it was a knee-jerk reaction, memoryless by nature. Yet, the reaction his mind and body naturally had towards the nurse told Zero enough of the story; he was not a friend, nor was he one to be trusted.

“Yeah, I’m sure you would’ve liked not dealing with me for a few more hours, huh?” Leveled as to not betray enough defiance that could warrant another injection, Zero hissed at the nurse ever so begrudgingly.

A few flecks of guilt surfaced in the nurse’s soft umber eyes, uncensored and uninhibited. They gave his patient a genuine look of remorse that both Numin and Zero were surprised to see.

“My apologies for this morning. Things were, um, out of hand… in more ways than one.” Despite him reaching for Zero’s chart and making a few routine recordings of heart rate and alertness, the actions seemed more methodical and habitual rather than cold. “You had sustained quite a bit of damage from your arrest. Your coma was expected to last much longer, and finding you awake and lucid in addition to your roommate being unrestrained probably wasn’t the best atmosphere. The sedation was a tragic necessity to get things under control.”

Audibly in the background, Numin scoffed. But, perhaps in a more complacent state of mind considering his physical circumstances, Zero leaned more towards the believability of Anderson’s words— at least, if only noticeable by the slight release of tension knitting his brow in distaste.

He decided to entertain that the nurse was being truthful. At least, because he had no memories to contradict Anderson’s story of how this morning went.

“How long was I out for?” Inquiring through a hesitant tone, as if to attempt to gauge how serious the nurse actually was on his remorse, Zero pried for some answers.

Or, at least he tried to, if Numin didn’t interject almost immediately.

“A few days. I told you earlier already.” As if they were the only two in the room, Numin shot Zero a stern look, conveying a level of seriousness and intimidation in the darkness of his eyes that wasn’t quite there a moment before in their lighthearted words. And, nestled in the shadows of that darkness was a condensation to the nurse; he wasn’t even going to grace the guilty party with recognition, instead speaking only to Zero.

“A-ah, so have I been… under arrest? I’m not handcuffed to the bed like he is.” Words feeling thick and off balance on his tongue, Zero stuttered them out gracelessly, but not out of meekness to the nurse’s presence; he was instead nervous from the obvious cue from Numin that he wasn’t to continue addressing the nurse.

And, without even looking in his direction, Zero could feel the cold darkness in Numin’s eyes bearing down on him, festering in what the best case scenario is frustration, and worse case anger.

Noting the atmosphere himself, the nurse seemed meek to pique up. It took a few moments before he could muster to.

“You’re temporarily detained, not technically arrested. Your injuries and coma seemed severe enough to not warrant restraints, but if you pose a danger to others or a risk of escape—“ he made a curt yet polite nod towards Numin, signaling his example, “— then, you may also be handcuffed as well.”

“Ah. Makes sense. Guess I’m not complaining, then.” Zero replied back, albeit without complete presence in his own words. There was an obvious distraction hovering over his cadence, perhaps a voice inside him asking if the questions were worth Numin’s irate stare burning through his skin.

“It’s for the better. Honestly, if I’m being level with you, your charges might even be dropped.” Continuing the conversation between short scribbles and readings he was recording, Anderson’s nerves seemed to have ironed out a bit. Perhaps the reality of Numin being confined was comforting. Perhaps the irate glances being the most hostility he was expressing reassured him.

Zero could only guess the nurse has seen him in quite a rage state to be so initially cautious.

“Dropped? Dropped how? Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what my charges even are.” His words were strained, their delivery being just a bit faster than his previous reply, exposing his underlying urge to hear what he was actually arrested over.

Anderson peaked an eyebrow in slight surprise, looking over his clipboard of vitals and notes at his patient.

“You were charged with cyber crimes for breaching the Cray Incorporation’s computers. I don’t know the details, but I’ve been told it’s not exactly a grave offense,” there was a gentleness in his eyes, softening a bit in sympathy, “but, due to the brutality of your arrest and the injuries you sustain, I’m no lawyer but… I don’t exactly see the charges going through.”

A short catch of his breath exposed Zero’s relief and surprise— he honestly didn’t even register his hack as major enough to even be noticed, let alone criminalized.

“Finally, some words from you that have actual meaning: you’re no lawyer. So why don’t you stop talking to him and stringing him along on these guideless assumptions?” Sharply, like the irritation towards Zero was being snuffed out and instead ignited onto Anderson, Numin diverted his attention.

Zero blinked, taken aback but also secretly relieved he was no longer under those threatening eyes.

“I-I’m just saying, that’s what it looks like at the moment. Were you even aware of his charges, Mr. Belua?” Without much confidence underlying his reply, Anderson noticeably tightened his grip on Zero’s chart sheepishly. Nevertheless, his dominant hand still continued their short and purposeful scribbles, as if to hide the idea his nerves around Numin may be preoccupying him.

The restrained, dangerous man chuckled. Zero has never heard someone laugh with both darkness and irritation enveloped together, intertwining in an unnerving way as to coax goosebumps from those who heard. Surely enough, confirming with a quick glance, some bumps were already decorating Zero’s exposed forearms.

“Doesn’t matter what he was charged with. I knew it wasn’t a violent crime, that’s for sure.” Giving his chained fist a quick pound against the bed’s side rail to rattle his handcuffs, Numin made both a show of his aggression and a show of his containment. Nevertheless, there was a bit of a sadistic gleam in his eyes that Zero saw, a noticeable delight Numin took when the poor nurse jumped at his threateningly loud hit against the side rail.

“You know, those handcuffs aren't just for my protection-- they’re for his, as well.” Anderson gestured to Zero, pen still in hand as he pointed, before turning to said patient. “I’m sure for your consideration, you might want to hear he’s a danger to his roommates. He put his last one in the ICU.”

“Don’t you dare!” Numin growled, straightening up in his bed but unable to do anything more than yank threateningly at his cuffs.

“W-what are you talking about?” Zero squeaked back at Anderson, almost meekly at the news.

“I’m talking about why he was put with you. We put him with a comatose patient on purpose… He kept breaking out of his restraints and assaulting the other ones.”

“Because they were disgusting! I couldn’t stand to listen to anything that came out of their worthless mouths!” Numin nearly shouted back, seething with so much irate that it dripped off each syllable like venom. His unshackled hand came down to grab the side rail that he was cuffed to, tightening around the metal in a white-knuckled grip, and he gave another violent shake that sounded close to breaking it. The jarring noise of it made Anderson drop his chart, recoiling with a startled step back.

“Mr.Belua, calm yourself or I’ll have to call in the head nurse.”

“You want me fucking calm!? Then get out of here! I’ll rip your tongue out if you wanna stay and keep talking!” Like an animal in a cage, he thrashed savagely, clanging the handcuffs around in his fit. The bed rattled with it, loud and unnerving, hinting his threat was going to be fulfilled if Anderson dared stay any longer.

Even though the words weren’t even directed at him, Zero found himself curling up nervously, tucking his knees under his chin and holding onto his legs like a surrogate security blanket. Whether between the room’s atmosphere or his surfacing anxiety, the wound on his head throbbed deep with his heart rate, fast and heavy. The air was getting too thick to breath in smoothly.

Weirdly enough, that tone and anger reminded him of his father.

Even the nurse seemed shaken. His eyes only parted off Numin to make a glance at his clipboard and pen on the floor, rethinking his decision to aggravate such an infamous patient. Although it only took a few mere seconds, the racy thoughts in his head to finish his rounds and leave this room was apparent on his face. A few beads of sweat made a constellation of fear on his brow, and rather than make a deal out of this and call in the head nurse, he decided to pretend this didn’t happen.

After all, if worse comes to worse, he didn’t want Numin breaking loose; Anderson already knew he could. And he didn’t want to be the guilty party who had provoked him.

Without much other words, Anderson gave a sorry glance at Zero, before reaching for the chart on the ground. After hastily clipping on the pen and returning it to Zero’s bed post, he turned heel and left, stumbling slightly in his hurry and shutting the door quickly behind him.

It took Zero a few moments before he realized his body was shaking.

He could hear Numin’s quick, frustrated breaths from across the room. Almost like the breathing of a wolf about to growl. Like an impending attack was coming, that maybe if he stayed still and quiet he could avoid. Meekly, Zero slouched into himself, as if trying to not be there.

He’s used to not being there. He’s used to trying to pretend not to exist. If his dad has taught him anything, it was that.

Numin didn’t say a word. Just kept breathing, deep and upset. Angered.

Zero wanted to remember something about his roommate to trust. To fall back on as reassurance that this man wouldn’t vent his anger upon him now that the nurse is gone.

But aided by his anxiety, his memories all seemed distant and fuzzy.

His head was pounding.

All he could feel right now was fear for him. It felt like his father across the room. It felt like that was the last time he had been sober and so afraid of someone before.

“Zero. Are you okay there?”

It was Numin speaking, anger still laced in those words but concern still surfacing. Yet it wasn’t his voice Zero heard.

It was his father’s.

“Say something. P-pl…” hesitating, as if reluctant to cede his pride, the voice dropped an octave lower before continuing, “p-please, just say something, Zero.”

It sounded like his father’s voice. Not him, not Numin-- It was his father.

The memories burned in his head, blistering with the searing pain of his headache. He can’t remember this roommate. For whatever reason, in this godforsaken bright white room, he only remembers his father.

A few sparse tears beaded his lashes, barely held back from rolling down his hot red face.

“Please… I-I didn’t mean to scare you, just… Just tell me you’re okay, Zero.”

The words didn’t even register.

Zero was already gone.