#will write lore eventually

[umblrspectrum]

i love learning cursive just to write text for exactly one character

[northstarscowboyhat]

Corn picking day.

[pricetagged]

raft of the leucothea

A little Kyle piece for the Gaz lovers 💖 to tide you over while I work on the Nikolai and the Price stuff.

Shipwrecked. Washed ashore, injured and sick, and thankfully not alone. A man called Kyle Garrick has washed ashore with you.

No big warnings, just some ever-so-slight dubcon naked cuddling (for survival!).

----------

The harsh, salty spray stung your cracked cheeks. Like clay left to bake in the sun, you felt the cracking and peeling of stinging flesh. But you felt it, that was the important thing.

Sunshine seared through your eyelids, a high noon wake-up call. Glowing ember-red, turning the sands to hot coal beneath you. You only had a second to process it before you rolled over, cramping muscles seizing in a paroxysm of a crawl as you hacked and coughed briny, burning seawater.

Alive then.

You were scared to open your eyes. You could pretend that they were crusted shut, sand and grit and god only knows what flaking over. Irritating, painful. A conjunctivitis of caustic circumstance. If you opened your eyes, it was real.

No, it was better as you were. A temporary balm to a blistering scald. Eyes-wide-shut, blind to the horrible damp marl and putrid air burning through your smarting nostrils. Sea life and smoke; pungent enough to turn your stomach once more.

You moaned as you collapsed on the shore, skin-fever hot and itching. Grit and shell-shards dug in, piercing your sensitive flesh. Clinging, burrowing. Discomfiting. Like the discordant memories swimming to the surface, all driftwood and screams and kicking, aching feet.  

There was no more screaming.

The waves lapped at the shore, a gentle balmy breeze carrying the soft sloshing of surf. Hazy popping and crackling accompanied it, a paradisiac white noise that scrambled your sluggish thoughts. Your eyes fluttered open. Temporarily blind from solar glare, you blinked moisture back. Tried to, at least. You were parched, eyes-dry and throat drier.

Perhaps you expected to see devastation. Destruction. Flotsam and jetsam and bodies strewn along the beach. There was a fire, yes, but it was not from the casket of the ship. Debris visible, but neat. Collected and organized into tidy little piles by a great smoking fire. Through the heat-haze of the flames, you spotted a flash of green: fresh leaves. Gaseous white billowed up; perfect for maximum visibility.

"Ah, you're awake." A shadow fell over you, gentle hands supporting your back until you were somewhat upright. "Here, you'll need this."

You grimaced as your cracked lips crinkled around the fruit, harsh little fibres stabbing in. But the relief–

Light, nutty, refreshing. You guzzled it down, big greedy slurps as your hands raised to cup it closer, throat constricting as you lost your breath–

"Hey, hey, slow down," the stranger spoke, easily plucking the coconut from your shaky fingers. "You'll make yourself sick. Again."

"Thanks." You could at least croak out your gratitude, squinting to get a better look at him. "The others–?"

He was gorgeous, dark eyes and eyebrows slanted into the perfect expression of concern. He looked surprisingly normal, given the circumstances. Only a slight split on his full lips, a smear of sand crusted into his curls, marred his handsome face. You watched as his mouth twisted, as he rolled his neck glanced away. A grimace, more telling than words.

"Just you, me, the sand and the coconuts. Paradise cruise, eh?" He finally spoke, nose scrunching as the joke came out a little flat.

It wasn't a shock, but it was jarring all the same. Though you swallowed, your voice came out thick. "At least you're here. Wouldn't have gotten this open by myself."

It was feeble, words half swallowed as survivor's guilt and gallows humour met and warred. A dysfunctional marriage of relief and self-reproach curdled the coconut water in your stomach. A third player entered; unease. Anxiety, sending your heart rate spiralling high as your breaths grew shallow. Something stung your eyes, and you couldn't entirely blame the smoking fire–

"Hey, hey, look at me," You couldn't look away, not from his steady, unwavering gaze. Beautiful. Like sunlight filtered through whiskey, warm and soothing. "Breathe as I breathe– in, out, in– hold it– okay, out. That's right, that's perfect–"

He talked you through it, brought your trembling, clumsy fingers to his chest as he breathed in counts of eight. Kept his palm over your hand, cupped it against the rise and fall of his ribs. You could feel the firmness of his muscles beneath, feel the way his heart beat a steady rhythm just below your fingertips, and slowly, you relaxed into it.

Your cheeks were wet. You realised that around the same time you realised his other hand was rubbing ataractic circles on your back. A shameful emollient, setting you at ease but lowering your gaze. Here, in the arms of this stranger, who were you? Troublesome castaway, retching on the beach as he built a signal fire. Slurping down the fruit that he offered, then crying in his arms–

"Stop that," His hand paused between your should blades, chin tucked as he leaned down to catch your gaze. "You're doing so well, love. Bit of a fucked up situation we're in here."

"How are you so calm? How are you so organised? I feel like I'm going to drift away like–like–"

The hand at your back pushed you forward, pressing until you were draped across his lap. He rocked you, stubble against your temples as he shushed and soothed. Analgesic whispers that slackened your tight limbs, sent eyelids fluttering until you slipped into slumber. Mind numb, docked in restful harbours.

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

When you woke up, you were hot. Shivering, teeth-chattering, but hot. You could no longer smell the fire, but you could feel it against your bare skin. Toasty, crackling embers smouldering and making you sweat.

The fever slowed your mind, too. Thoughts turned to sluggish, sticky mulch as you nuzzled into the strong bicep supporting your neck. His skin was smooth, slightly tacky where it met yours, and you whined a little as you tried to pull away.

But moving sent your head spinning, aching muscles seizing until all you could do was cry.

"You're alright, just sleep. Don't move–"

"My clothes," you slurred the words, heavy and sticky on your tongue. Crystallising like spoiled honey, you tried to spit them out faster, but they just dripped. Molasses-slow, and murky. Confused. "I'm not– my clothes are– what–?"

"I took them off you–shh, shh– They were tattered anyway, we'll need to dig through the piles and see what we can repair." You felt his arm flex below you, rolling your head until it was resting on the pillow of his chest. You tried to open your eyes, but the image was hazy. Like looking through seaglass. "It's cold here at night, freezing. The fire's good, but body heat's best."

"'m too hot– feel too–"

"Yeah, noticed you weren't just cold when you wouldn't stop shivering," his forearm banded around your squirming body, pinning you to his. "I know, baby, I know. It's not nice. Gonna try to sweat it out of you. Don't exactly have the luxury of good food and medicine."

His voice was pitched low, sweet. It made you want to cry, mind adrift and body at his mercy. Holiday turned tragedy, swallowed up by the sea and spat up on the beach like refuse. Control slipped through your fingers, finer and more fickle than the sands below and all you could do was cry.

You felt his fingers, whisper-soft, stroking through the ends of your salty, parched hair. Your tears dripped down, soaking into your flushed cheeks and the sparse, scratchy hairs on his chest. He paused for a beat, fingers swiping over your damp forehead. Whisps pushed away until you felt a butterfly kiss against your clammy forehead. Quick and gentle and fleeting.

Small waves kissed the beach, too. Susurrus, splashing caresses that almost sent you drifting off again. The rumble of his voice tickled your cheek, made you blink slowly until you could make out his face through bleary eyes.  

"It's just you and me and this island," He spoke it softly, sting mollified by surety. Bittersweet ointment for a distressing prognosis. "I've got you; I'll take care of you. I promise."

Your answer was faint. "What if no-one comes for us?"

His arms curled tighter around you, twisted until you were splayed atop him. In another time, another place, you'd be flustered by the open splay of your legs, bare against his lean waist. Here, shame withered away, fizzled out. Ephemeral as seafoam.

"I told you, I'll take care of you. Rescue or not, it's you and me now."

Later, you'd blame delirium, fever dream-fugue, for how the words echoed in your mind. 'Just you and me.'

You and him, and the island.

-----------

[superbat-lmao]

Jason is never brought back, and instead of being lost in the time stream, Bruce dies. And realizes there’s an afterlife.

(Given that Bruce knows magic is real it’s not that much of a leap to realize there’s an afterlife. Of course, the bigger realization for him was that he ended up in heaven of all places.)

Bruce gets to see his parents. He spends all of his time with them, getting to know them, explaining his life to them. They have all the time in the world and Bruce feels a sense of peace he hadn’t felt when he was alive. By the time he gets to explaining his children, actually getting to tell his parents that they have grandchildren, he realizes they’ve stopped talking.

The novelty still hasn’t worn off for them, for Bruce getting to have real conversations with them and for his parents actually getting to see their son again. It’s no surprise that it knocks the wind out of Bruce when he remembers. Remembers that he’s dead. That his son is dead. That it doesn’t seem like a bad thing anymore because it means he can finally see him again.

But his parents have a weird look on their faces. They had all pushed through the awkwardness, how Bruce wasn’t their little boy anymore but a stoic adult who has techniques for withstanding torture and lacks emotional vulnerability. How Bruce hadn’t gotten a chance to actually know Thomas and Martha beyond scattered society stories that painted a caricature of who he’s talking to now.

But when he realizes that Jason is here, Bruce lights up. He can finally see his son.

So he asks his parents how to visit Jason. His parents had mentioned spending time with their own parents, meeting family members from different generations, how eventually Bruce would get to meet them too, he knows they know how to navigate the afterlife. And he’s finally ready to learn.

When Bruce asks, Thomas excuses himself from the conversation. Says that there’s someone Bruce has to talk to and he needs to go get them.

Martha waits with him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Thomas comes back with a blonde woman that Bruce almost doesn’t recognize. She looks nothing like her picture in his files, or the one Jason kept on his desk.

Thomas and Martha give Bruce and Catherine space while they talk about Jason.

She explains how when Jason had first come to the afterlife, Thomas and Martha had reached out. How the four of them had talked, bonded, grown close. How it had taken Jason time to emotionally recover from his death, from the betrayal of his Mother. From what he felt was the betrayal of his Father.

Jason didn’t want to see him.

Catherine had tried to explain, but Bruce hadn’t been able to follow much of the conversation after that revelation.

His son, who Bruce had turned into a cautionary tale for his other children, who he had missed every single day, who he had grieved and torn himself apart over, didn’t want to see him. And Bruce deserved it. Had chosen to get into a helicopter and left him standing in the sand. Had buried him.

Catherine is far gentler about it than he deserves. Says that Jason loved him, was grateful for everything, but just wasn’t ready.

He would still agree to seeing Thomas and Martha, still saw them as his grandparents, but couldn’t handle seeing Bruce, even if he missed him. Dying didn’t fix everything, the afterlife wasn’t some solution to all of the problems people had when they were alive. The afterlife was just the ability to have more time. And people didn’t come back from what Jason went through easily. Catherine tells him in no uncertain terms that Bruce will have to regain Jason’s trust. If he actually is interested in getting to see him.

Bruce tells her he will do anything to see Jason again. She nods and tells him she’ll keep in touch.

So he waits.

And waits.

And sees his parents, his grandparents, his great grandparents.

And waits.

He waits so long that he sees Harvey.

He sees Talia.

He sees Alfred.

After that, the waiting doesn’t feel quite the same. After all, he eventually sees Dick, again.

Bruce spends his time in the afterlife waiting for his children, and he is both saddened and relieved when he finally gets to see them again.

Dick, thankfully, is first. Bruce is also thankful he had to wait so long to see him again.

Eventually, after long, long lives, they’re all back together. With some new additions. Bruce gets Tim and Damian and Cass and grandchildren and so many people he has missed. Selina visits on “Tuesdays” and eventually he has a new level of normal for his afterlife. Of getting to see his family, his friends.

Dick is the one that eventually tells him.

He doesn’t say much, exactly. Can’t tell him how he is or anything concrete, but he says that he’s seen Jason. That some of the others have also been to see him.

Bruce tries to respond, to have something to say to that, but he can’t. The afterlife isn’t painless, and there’s nothing he can say that won’t hurt whoever he says it to. So he nods at Dick, places his hand on his son’s shoulder, and lets it be.

If linear time existed in the afterlife, then Bruce could say he’d been here longer than he’d ever been alive. Long enough that even Clark stops by occasionally.

It’s rare for him to be alone now. If he wanted it, sought it out, there is always someone for him to be able to talk to, spend time with. But sometimes, if he wandered out a little too far, he could find a small brook he used to play in as a kid, before the West end of the property had dried up.

Here, his Father had “built” a small bridge over the brook. It was part of a footpath that traveled through this part of the afterlife. If he squinted, Bruce could pretend he saw the West wing of the manor, and in the other direction, the edge of Gotham proper.

Clark would have called him Huckleberry if he’d seen him, one leg dangling over the edge of the bridge, the other bent, lying on his back. He could pretend he felt the wood grain, or maybe even a splinter as he listened to the flow of the water. Bruce had closed his eyes, wondering if now that he was dead and the brook wasn’t dried up, if it had fish in it. If it was someplace he could take Dick fishing. He’d gotten it into his head recently that he wanted to try a bunch of father-son bonding activities with both of his dads, so Bruce and John had been making a list.

Between one second and the next, Bruce felt a presence next to him. You didn’t have to travel on foot in the afterlife, or stick to any sort of conventions from being alive really, it was more of a courtesy thing than anything else.

When Bruce opened his eyes, he expected to see Tim, who broke those sorts of conventions more frequently than his siblings. Bruce had a feeling it had something to do with the boy’s obsession with science fiction, but he also presumed it was because he knew Bruce really didn’t mind.

When he glanced up at his son, Bruce lost all pretense of maintaining the “body” that was lying on the bridge. He would have said his heart stopped if he’d still had one. As it was, blinking, breathing, any of the processes that emulated life that people unconsciously maintained here, stopped.

Jason wasn’t even looking at him and Bruce couldn’t take his eyes off his son’s face, unwilling to jeopardize whatever this was.

He looked older, his jawline more defined and he sat taller, legs dangling off the bridge. Age was a funny thing in the afterlife, you could control how you appeared to others, but your mental state usually drew you towards a particular age. For his children, they mostly appeared in their 20s. Bruce kept himself in his 30s or 40s, unless his parents asked. Jason, if Bruce had to guess, was about 20, maybe 22 at the oldest.

When Jason finally looked over at him, he remembered how to breathe. He tried to clear his throat, to think of something to say, to tell Jason how much he missed him, how much he loved him, but all that came out was a strangled gasp. And then he was talking.

“Alfred said that what happened to me was a tragedy. Dick called it a nightmare. At first, Mom didn’t know how to talk about it since being a vigilante was hard for her to picture. She still doesn’t really get it, but I can’t exactly blame her. We led pretty odd lives for a while there.”

“I’ve met Tim and Damian and Cass, you know? Met their partners, their children. They’ve told me a few stories. How some cases went, missions with the League. Their own hero teams. I think Tim was the most excited to talk to me, not so sure about the others.”

“You’ve still got Alfred in your corner, although it’s odd seeing Dick argue for you. One thing about this place is that your memories don’t stay fuzzy or nothing, so all those fights you guys had? Crystal clear. Actually thought he’d take a swing at me once, not that it’d do anything. Still, glad you guys ended up figuring it out and all.”

“Mom said she came to see you when you got here. I’m assuming that’s why I haven’t seen you, although that’s a surprise too, you actually listening when someone asks you not to do something. The way the others talk about you I’d think you became Big Brother after I left. Worse than Babs even.”

“I’ve tried thinking about it. I mean, it’s been years since it happened and all but. I still don’t know what there is to say. Everyone’s been trying to convince me that you’d actually want. Well, that you’d want to see me. Talk or something.”

“But I know what I did. What happened. It’s why I left, I knew that you didn’t. That you wouldn’t ask me to leave, but that. You didn’t want me to stay.”

As he’d talked, Jason’s gaze had drifted back towards the water below them. His tone, retrospective and light, changed. Accusatory.

“It’s fucked up that you kept the suit, Bruce. No one wanted to admit it, but I know about the case. At least it meant I knew what you wanted was Robin, you enshrined the damn thing. So, yeah. I took off. Not like it worked out much better but it’s too late now. I don’t know what you want me to say. I figured dying would at least get me out of the lecture but I can’t even have that now.”

“So. Tell Dick this is me paying back that favor I owed him. Or whatever, I don’t really care. But everyone can stop coming around and all. I’ve said what I wanted to. I’ll hear you out and then I say we’re square.”

Jason had been looking away from him still, but when he got to the end of what was likely a prepared speech, he finally looked at Bruce. His face went slack in surprise. Bruce could have laughed at the expression if he wasn’t already crying.

“Jason. You are my son, even if,” Bruce took a breath. “Even if you don’t see me as your father. I never would have asked you to leave because I never wanted you to go. I can’t imagine- I love you. I have missed you every day since I lost you. I did not handle loosing you well. I understand that you’re upset and I think there’s a lot we should talk about. Even- especially if it’s going to be difficult. I am so sorry, Jason. None of it was your fault - it was mine. Please. Please let me try to- I don’t want to lose you again.”

[maddieandangel]

Consider: character-exclusive trinkets.

[rsenak]

It's incredibly funny to me how I'll be there drawing them being cute while plotting various bad things in their future. These crows cannot catch a break

[scarlet-hedgehog-from-hell]

Broken face 2018x... so angsty... such a bastard...

Also heres some sillies

[syluses]

Whenever i learn zayne + xavier’s characters i really wanna do a multi LI fic in an apocalypse! au 😖

imagine the group of them acting as saviors, swooping mc up or meeting her in some other similar, very power-imbalanced way while she’s braving the dystopian world alone. maybe she starts off with her gege caleb; maybe she starts off with a catch-22-like sylus as her mentor/protector; but i especially like the idea of her just being taken under their collective wing, and then their group slowly crumbles apart when they realize they’re really really into this cute new addition to their gritty, blood-soaked lives— yet they’re not particularly comfy with the idea of the other guys capturing her full loyalty and affection before one claims it for himself.

Whenever HWWIW is complete (or even before, lol, it depends) i think i want to start a nice lil series like this hehe 👀

[bowiecoded]

more random sangy doodles

[spamdelta]

A Re-Insight on Jolli and Jokir (Oh, and Seam is there too)

(note: this is a re-upload of my og post regarding part of my past "pre-corrupted" jevil's backstory in my au. It's being reuploaded for archival purposes (as i deactivated my old blog) and for it's relevance to my au. There have been some edits in wording but nothing really significant. Enjoy!)

Synopsis:

Based on the two joker cards in a deck, Jolli and Jokir are twin siblings that originate and live in the Card Kingdom. They’re two jesters who enjoy performing in acts and entertaining darkners, and Jolli and Jokir often have respective personas when putting on a show. However, most darkners don’t care for their acts, and as a result their audience is pretty slim to sometimes none. The only opportunity where the twins CAN perform for large audiences is when they get to perform with Seam – the Card Kingdom’s Court Magician – when they host the annual circus for all of Card Kingdom to see. The problem, however, lies in the fact that performers of the circus need permission from the four kings who rule Card Kingdom to participate – something that the kings never grant the jesters; since the last time the twins performed in the Circus years ago, an accident involving the siblings occurred and caused the circus to end in such a disaster the four kings deemed them both responsible for it – thus kicking them out of the Royal Court permanently. As such, Jolli – the more optimistic jester – works as hard as they can to practice performing and gaining the attention of more darkeners with the help of their brother, Jokir. Through their performances, Jolli hopes they both can one day become popular enough to gain the attention of the Kings again, where Jolli hopes the kings will give the twins a chance to redeem themselves and participate in the circus again – and potentially allow them back into the Royal Court once again. Meanwhile, Jokir – the more pessimistic jester – doesn’t believe the kings will grant them another chance, but doesnt have it in his heart to break Jolli’s spirits. One day, though, a powerful yet strange lightner falls into Card Kingdom and strikes a deal with Jokir, promising to help the two jesters become popular and gain attention from the kings. Believing this to be the most realistic path, Jokir agrees only to help fulfill Jolli’s dreams of joining the Royal Court again.

Jolli; They/Them; 30 years old (1996):

Being the optimistic sibling, Jolli’s slightly younger than Jokir and extroverted at heart. Jolli is a social jester with a confident, charismatic, and sometimes boisterous personality, and is also very genuine; they find no reason to hide their true personality or emotions. At the same time, Jolli can also be very blunt, eristic or stubborn with people – especially when they struggle to find logic behind things that don’t make sense to them. 

Given their sociability, Jolli is friendly to anybody they meet and often tries to make friends; however, due to their strong personality and sometimes brutal honesty, not many people care to indulge in Jolli or their antics past Jolli’s entertainment. As a result, Jolli secretly feels pretty lonely a lot and admittedly doesn’t like admitting they don’t have other friends out loud – it’s one of the few secrets the jester has (this has caused a bit of a misunderstanding from Jokir, who thinks Jolli has a lot of friends due to their sparkling personality when in reality both of the twins are in the same boat). Nevertheless, Jolli tries to not let that get them down and often hangs out with Jokir or Seam to fill that loneliness. 

Jolli, in essence, is also a go-getter; because they dream to join the Royal Court again, Jolli often works hard to practice performing and tries to encourage Jokir to do so as well – even if Jokir isn’t as enthusiastic about it (though, if Jokir is feeling too tired/fatigued Jolli wont force him to practice performing. Instead, he’ll act as the critic!). Jolli is also proactive and tends to take the initiative in general – often preparing themselves for the day or events ahead of time. 

While Jolli is often responsible, Jolli also loves playing pranks and causing chaos (they are an energetic clown, after all). When Jolli and Jokir were part of the Royal Court, Jolli would often playfully prank the inhabitants that lived there — including the Kings — much to people’s annoyance though they didn’t take it too seriously as, for the most part, the pranks themselves were pretty harmless (and at the time, a lot of darkners enjoyed Jolli as an entertainer anyway). Nowadays, though, since their relationship with the Kings is strained Jokir asks Jolli to keep their pranks to a minimum to avoid trouble and tarnishing their reputation (they may not live in the castle anymore, but who knows how long word would spread to the Kings if a prank went awry – people love to gossip). As a result, Jolli tries to reserve their pranks for Jokir sometimes but most often for Seam (as they enjoy seeing the plush’s reactions every time), but sometimes they slip up and cause chaos where they shouldn’t. 

While Jolli is a pretty energetic darkener themself, Jolli also has a weak soul (much like Jokir). Jolli’s soul will sometimes cause chest pains as well as make them suddenly feel weak and fatigued, making it difficult to even walk sometimes. While this instance happens sporadically, if Jolli overexerts themself the likelihood of it happening increases. Because Jolli doesn’t recognize their own limits sometimes, Jokir often reminds them to take breaks and is there to care for Jolli if they’re suddenly too fatigued. 

In performances, Jolli’s persona is somewhat similar to their personality; when acting, Jolli plays as the “Happy-go-lucky” jester who is quite energetic and silly. In these performances, Jolli loves to perform and act in stories/tricks/jokes they and Jokir wrote (though in terms of jokes, Jokir writes most of them). They serve as the counterpart of Jokir’s persona. 

Jolli’s optimism stems from their belief that life is much more enjoyable when you hold onto hope and determination – whether that be for yourself or the people you care about. Jolli also believes that even one cannot truly enjoy life if they don’t do the things that make them happy. 

Jolli, unlike Jokir, also tends to take things more literally at points. As a result, sometimes the meanings behind certain jokes or comments will fly over their head (unless Jokir explains it to them). Jolli isn’t that great at telling jokes, either, which Jolli personally considers their most fatal flaw as a clown. 

Due to their energy and go-getter attitude, Jolli tends to get bored easily. As such, they crave excitement and prefer to occupy themselves as often as possible with either their current hobbies or responsibilities (e.g. chores, practicing for performances, gardening, etc.); Jolli also likes trying new or exciting activities, too. As mentioned before, though, Jokir reminds Jolli to take breaks and pace themselves for the sake of their soul. 

Regarding the twins’ relationships with each other, the two are very close. Jolli considers Jokir their best friend and looks up to him a lot (even if Jokir can be annoying), and they wouldn’t trade Jokir for anybody else. However, Jolli also wishes their brother would gain more self confidence in themselves and tries to encourage him or help Jokir in social situations for that reason.

Jokir; He/They; 30 years old (1996):

Being the pessimistic brother, Jokir is slightly older than Jolli yet strikingly almost the opposite of them; Jokir is mostly reserved and introverted, often observing situations rather than commenting on them. He is also pretty soft spoken, and likes to speak in lyricism and rhymes when conversing with others. At the same time, though, Jokir has major social anxiety when interacting with many people and often looks to Jolli for help. 

Around others, Jokir often acts shy and nervous due to their anxiety and unconfidence when talking to others they’re uncomfortable or unfamiliar with; similar to Jolli, this has caused Jokir to feel lonely due to their difficulty in making friends (though he’s more verbal about it), and as a result Jokir tends to stick with Jolli and/or Seam most of the time. 

However, whenever Jokir’s around their sibling or friends, their true personality blossoms as Jokir becomes much more laid-back, easygoing, and witty. Feeling more comfortable, Jokir is much more chill around Jolli especially and likes to joke around with them often — sometimes to the annoyance of Jolli. He also doesn’t get stubborn easily (unless you count not wanting to talk to people, to which yes, Jokir can get pretty stubborn with that), and is pretty flexible when it comes to changes as Jokir doesn’t particularly care. Around Jolli and Seam, Jokir also likes to be goofy on purpose sometimes too.

When Jolli and Jokir lived in Card Castle and were part of the Royal Court, Jokir’s personality was much more apparent as he acted much more silly and often told jokes to other darkners in addition to entertaining the Court. Additionally, he also partook in pranks and caused chaos with Jolli because it was fun and it was a sort of bonding time between the twins. After the accident years ago, though, Jokir developed a sort of fear and anxiety with getting into trouble, so he tries to steer Jolli away from causing it. This is because whenever Jolli gets in trouble, Jokir also gets in trouble, too – much to the uncharacteristic annoyance of the latter at first (likely stemming from Jokir’s insecurity revolving their reputation) This situation has also caused Jokir to dislike causing disruptions or chaos. 

Whenever they’ve gotten into trouble, Jokir often feels the need to take responsibility on behalf of Jolli; this gives darkners the impression that Jokir is the more responsible twin, but this isn’t really the case. Jokir doesn’t really like doing a lot of work or planning, as he often feels unmotivated or drained to do work (or even take care of himself, sometimes); Jokir coughs it up to just being ‘lazy’ though. Whenever Jolli’s fatigued, though, Jokir is willing to drop everything and take care of them (or if he can’t, Jokir will ask Seam for help). 

Similar to Jolli, Jokir has a weak soul – though the way their soul affects Jokir manifests differently. Consistently, Jokir has chronic pain (taking in the form of dull aches) mostly in parts of their upper body (e.g. arms and shoulders), though if he over-exerts himself Jokir may also experience chest pains too. This is also partially why Jokir doesn’t like doing things a lot because doing too much manual labor makes them fatigued (though not to the extent of Jolli). 

Unlike Jolli, Jokir isn’t very adventurous. He prefers to stay indoors and read books or write poetry/new material for their performances. Though, Jokir will go out with Jolli if Jolli wants to hang out, but Jokir likely won’t do anything really extreme and instead will probably just observe/joke around with his sibling.

Jokir’s pessimism mainly stems from his fears and anxiety for things going wrong and negatively affecting the twins. He also tends to look a little more negatively at the reality of certain situations and tries not to get their hopes up. Inwardly, he sort of believes that optimism isn’t really realistic (based on past experiences), but Jokir would never admit this to Jolli – after all, he could be proven wrong. Notably, though, Jokir doesn’t like letting his pessimism affect others – he prefers to be more of a chill jokester and treats others equally; Jokir is surprisingly very kind to others, but not as much towards himself.

In performances, Jokir’s persona is what most darkner’s impression of him is rather than his actual personality: a sad, negative clown who worries about everything. Jokir acts in this persona because in performances, he finds it easier to play as someone else than to be more genuine (even if it means exaggerating their anxiety). 

Regarding the twins’ relationship with each other, Jolli is also Jokirs’ best friend and loves their sibling a lot. While Jokir may not share Jolli’s optimism he does respect it (as opposed to thinking Jolli is foolish/naive) and admires Jolli a lot. Jokir see’s Jolli as the coolest person he’s ever met, and sometimes wishes he was like them. 

Seam; They/It/She; 35 years old (1996):

Seam – pronounced “Shawm” – acts as the official magician for the Royal Court. They’re a friendly, easy-going darkner who gets along with others well. It’s also been good friends with Jolli and Jokir since the jesters were part of the Royal Court years ago. Whenever Seam visits the two, they often bring all sorts of nicknacks it’s bought or found to show off, or she also likes to stay for tea or board games the twins have. When the three play games, Jolli is the one that usually loses while Seam and Jokir are equally matched even towards the end. This usually makes the end of the game more intense as to who’ll win (or at least, Jolli makes them intense by adding dramatic narration), but there’s generally a 50/50 chance either Jokir or Seam will win (the two never take it too seriously like Jolli, though, and like to laugh about it). 

Before the accident, Seam often worked alongside the twins to entertain the Kings with her magic tricks, which it still technically does today; however, since the twins have been kicked out Seam acts as the sole entertainer of the Royal Court – which can sometimes be stressful or unfulfilling as Seam is alone and the Kings are generally not amused. When the annual circus comes around, additionally, Seam feels more stressed as they’re in charge of planning preparations as the host (though luckily she doesn’t have to lead the circus thanks to the ringmaster, just plan and direct it – Seam can just play as the main magician performance-wise); this is different from when the jester twins were part of the Royal Court as the two often helped Seam out with preparations for the circus (being the other two Royal entertainers), but now that the two can’t join the Kings forbade Seam from seeking help from Jolli and Jokir (which Seam has broken a few times anyway to ask for advice from the twins. I mean, who’s gonna stop them?). Seeing how badly the twins want to join the circus and be part of the Royal Court again as well, Seam asked the Kings many times to grant them one more chance to perform in the circus but to no avail – the Kings won’t listen, especially the King of Spades. 

Even though the jester twins were kicked out of the Royal Court years ago, Seam visits them sometimes anyway because she enjoys their company and as friends. Seam enjoys Jolli’s enthusiasm and antics (though is always surprised somehow (comically, so) by their pranks, but Seam laughs at itself anyway afterwards), and Jokir’s laid-back and humorous attitude is also enjoyable to be around. She also finds the occasional bickering between the two twins very amusing, as well. However, Seam’s noticed how the two seem so hard on themselves in regards to their situation (with Jolli always pushing themselves despite their disability, and Jokir’s insecurities and anxiety manifesting in criticizing himself), and because of that Seam sympathizes the twins and wishes they wouldn’t push themselves so much (and tells them such) – the two have inherent value even if they don’t ever end up performing in the circus or joining the Royal Court again.

[barufisher]

i finished the game last night, here are my unpolished thoughts about the final act and what i liked & didn't like. this is very long and probably incoherent lol

what i liked:

the whole final battle was awesome, i loved the combat, and i really enjoyed the huge cutscenes of everyone fighting together. i had been really disappointed earlier about the lack of a battle scene at weisshaupt a la ostagar in origins, and this definitely made up for it

i liked the suicide mission and actually getting to assign people their roles in the battle

i LOVED Solas's betrayal, that whole section in the fade prison with the statues was one of the strongest scenes in the game, i think the entire relationship between Rook and Solas is really well developed. as the player, we know Solas is manipulating them, but i think they did a good job making it so it's still believable for Rook to fall for his tricks, especially with the Blood of Arlathan quest before this. (also it's very obvious Solas is Weekes' favorite, wish they would have just stuck to him and not all that other dogshit...lol)

i liked the idea of Varric's role here, but not the execution. i'll come back to this lmao

the giant dread wolf and archdemon fight was cool as fuck. no notes. that's just classic rule of cool, baby

also i had Davrin in my party while fighting alongside Solas and i really enjoyed his banter with him and how hard he laid into Solas's ass. it was very satisfying. yippee go Davrin!

okay. now. what i didn't like (sorry not going to bother with bullet points, it's going to be longer down here lol):

while i liked the suicide mission structure, i hated how the game all but told you who to assign where. there were no stakes at all, there was no way to get it wrong unless you did so intentionally.

this also brings me to. The Choice. between Davrin and Harding. i understand the need for a "fallen hero" here, it ties into the entire theme of regret with Solas as we see in the fade prison, it was necessary for Rook to be the person "at fault" (aka directly make the choice that ends with someone getting killed) but this choice was dogshit. it also was really fucking stupid to see Harding climb up and stand atop a giant stone pillar, and then NOT use her stone magic!!! i don't hate the idea of someone dying here, but this was just a series of failed choices over and over again. we should not have pitted returning fan fave Harding against the single Black companion (who comes in late and barely even gets his own story outside of his damn pet)-- it should have been Harding (narratively satisfying, she's been here since the beginning and dies for the fight) or Lucanis (he is literally the guy taking the shot), we also shouldn't have tied all the dwarf lore revelations to a character that can just fucking die at the end, and we shouldn't have had her stand on a giant stone pillar when she has STONE MAGIC!! i knew this choice was coming but her death still caught me off guard cus i was fully expecting her to collapse that stone pillar on her, not use her stupid puny bow 😭

i think this choice is also weakened by the fact that it's THEE only choice. it's obviously an echo of the earlier Treviso and Minrathous choice, which also didn't really seem to affect much outside of potentially losing the corresponding factions (and i think Lucanis's romance gets locked out?) i saved Treviso, so i got the Treviso questline later, and i assume that you get a Minrathous specific questline with the Shadow Dragons if you save the other instead (haven't seen myself tho so i'm not sure, just guessing). but it's very easy to recover the Shadow Dragon's reputation, and the final battle takes place in Minrathous no matter what. the only way for companions to die or the battle to fail is to just straight up ignore quests. you can't lose a faction's support at all unless you intentionally try to do so. i don't even think you can lose companions at all unless you intentionally ignore their quests and place them in the wrong spot. though the game still holds your hand through the battle and basically Tells You who to put where so they survive.

and to be fair. this is true for the suicide mission in mass effect 2, but the thing is, there is so much more dialogue and variations with how you can play your character and interact with the companions and the world than there is in veilguard, it makes it feel like you do have more control over your character and the narrative, even if it's just the illusion of choice.

and then with Solas, it doesn't matter, he always ends up trapped/linked to the Fade, it just changes how he feels. (they also do this with the First Warden. i was excited for a potential variation between punching/not punching, but all it changes is his attitude when you find him later in Davrin's quest) okay.... well. is he going to return again after that post credit scene? and are they really going to write 3 (or 4, with lavellan i guess) different branching personality variations?

i think the powers that be just wanted to get rid of him in a way that would still leave the dragon age setting ultimately unaltered and open for more games in the future. especially given the secret post credits scene. which i also have an issue with. we're going to go from "it was all the Evanuris fault" to Actually, it was this secret third thing and everything we did was for nothing! AGAIN! if they want to make more dragon age games, they can just... start a new story. do they know that. (the fact they're implying Loghain was influenced by some outside force to do what he did at ostagar actually has me livid lol. leave origins alone!!!!)

anyways. now the fade prison. i have two issues, my main one being Varric. i actually started to suspect early on something was up with him, because he just sits in that damn infirmary the entire game, no interactions, barely any dialogue. i think Varric was horribly underutilized in this game, and it results in all of the emotional beats around him falling flat for me. of course, it's emotional for ME, the player, because Varric is a fan fave returning character and one of my own personal favorites. as far as i've seen in game, though... Rook has no relationship with him at all. i think this game would have been vastly improved with short playable origins that showed the two meeting and developing a relationship, and also he really really needed to have more scenes and dialogue in general. he's barely in the second half of the game, literally just sitting all by himself in that damn room, and even when he is in the cutscenes he has one single line that everyone obviously just ignores. it sucked. very disappointing finale for a really beloved character... it could have been so good if it was good....

because i DO love the idea of Solas using him to manipulate Rook (and i really like Varric and Solas's relationship & the way they contrast against each other), and also the idea of how being tricked in that way would actually affect Rook-- what's real, what's not, can they even trust what they're seeing at all anymore? especially when Solas "glitches" between Varric and Lucanis (idk if it's always him or your LI? would be cool if it's your LI, that's what i assumed) after slaying Ghilan'nain-- this could have tied in with the final romance scene. but of course the game doesn't get into any of that at all.

and now issue 2. how the fuck did Solas do that LOL. how did he switch places, how did he get out, how did it take Rook in his place when it was designed for elven gods? where are the other elven gods (did i just miss this explanation? did the other two just kill them in there)? 🤷 when did this place suddenly turn into a prison of regrets? was that Solas's presence influencing it, or did he do that intentionally for Rook? dont know! who cares. moving on...

i romanced Lucanis, and i was really disappointed with his romance. the final scene was sweet, but.... i think particularly with Lucanis you can tell so much of his story and arc ended up on the cutting room floor, it feels disjointed and as if we're missing pieces, and you can feel it in his romance, too. i also really didnt understand the "keep flirting (not a lock in) or end it now" choices that didnt feel like they did anything at all. why was i given like 3 different times to break up with him when we weren't even dating yet lmao. the romance was a bummer, of course i love the setting and the story but i go into these games expecting strong romance along with it and i was really banking on that being the highlight in this mess of a game but. alas

this also segues me back into the whole "trapped in the Fade prison" section. why was there no reunion with both your LI and everyone else? apparently Rook was in there for WEEKS!!! they hardly communicate this and Rook just reappears and jumps straight back into leading the team, no tears or questions asked about how they found them, how they got out, what everyone was thinking while they were gone... we also get a deus ex machina knife, how convenient that they did all that while i was gone and no explanation is given as to how it could possibly fool Solas, just trust us bro! 💆 i feel like trying to craft our own copy of the knife should have been something actively happening in the background throughout the entire game, and it gets finished while Rook is in the Fade. but this truly came out of nowhere lol

again i think it's obvious things were cut and rewritten and maybe this was the result of a frantic scramble to come up with something that would work, and i'll be generous and blame it on that, i guess...

when we finally get to the final confrontation with Solas, i was very excited, because again i feel like Rook and Solas's relationship is the best in the game, Solas's writing is consistent and strong, i knew this scene had to be good.... and i guess it was? but it felt so unsatisfying. i chose to fight him (my Rook would do anything to get him to shut up) and i was hoping for. an actual fight. you can do it with Mythal earlier in the game, and we already saw his giant wolf form, i was so excited. and then. no<3

okay! sure. we beat him with the power of friendship (not surprised and not even making fun of it here, it makes sense narratively, i knew some version of this was coming after the whole comparing Rook versus Solas bit in the Fade) but come onnnnn i wanted to fight the giant wolf.... sigh. i did check out the other endings as well, and it's clear the redemption ending is the "true" ending and also the best written one imo.

overall. this was a bad dragon age game. i had a lot of fun playing it though, so it's not a bad game game. the gameplay loop never got boring, i never got tired exploring or doubling back, i loved the maps, i loved the combat, and i did love the companions. but the writing is atrocious and racist. this is a horrible dragon age game. i don't know where i fall on recommending this. again, i've had a lot of fun playing and dissecting it, but i dont know that i could recommend this to dragon age fans. this would have been way more successful as a completely different fantasy game. the changes to the lore, disregarding the majority of the games that came before it, the horrible depictions of returning characters (the inquisitor and isabela were the worst offenders for me) the setting and characters feeling watered down and incomplete, the complete lack of the classic "grey morality" shtick (even if it's not always been implemented well)... idk man. bummer! it's obvious there was a cohesive vision at one point, i do think this game is a casualty of the current state of the gaming industry (i was honestly surprised it was functional on launch. not shade at bioware just in general that is rare to see now) we know EA thrashed bioware throughout development, and bioware made a lot of really bad choices, too (the racism is absolutely their doing, they made that choice back in inquisition). but we can see, particularly in the artbook, that there were good ideas & an intention to actually tie everything together and give this story the finale it deserved... but it all got lost along the way in a very ugly, chaotic development. and the game really suffers for it.

[vynxwave]

You:

~arceespinkgun

HAHSGZG YEAH

world must know EarthSpark Starscream’s plan in S2 didn’t come out of nowhere as commonly believed, but instead it began in S1!

[mechazushi]

Watercolor Memories

"And where are we at on the budget for the Research and Development Department?" Jozu Nogizaka, the Chief of Staff for Ariaka base asked from his seat at the conference table.

All the higher ups for the First Division were settled in one of the larger meeting rooms for the bi-monthly debriefing where everyone with an important job title get together to make sure everyone is on the same page. Not only was the Chief of Staff and his fellow associates there, but the Head Director of the Defense Force, Isao Shinomya. His assistant as well as Narumi Gen were there as well, with all three of them in different states of mental presence. The Director was listening as intently as he could, seeing as he had the most to gain or lose from a lack of communication from inside his cabinet members. Ebira looked to be following along for the most part, but any light that would normally be in one's eyes had dissipated considerably early into this drool meeting. Narumi, openly picking his nose with his feet up on the table, had certainly lost any and all interest in this communal interaction a while ago.

Which made it a good thing that he had enforced his decision to bring Kafka Hibino to the meeting with him. Not being one for paperwork, much less anything not related to the active takedown of kaiju threats, he usually got dragged along to these meetings by his second in command, Eiji Hasegawa. Recently however, the base had acquired the biological enigma that was Kafka and once they had deemed him not an immediate threat, they had run out of ideas as for what to do with him. They still weren't comfortable with him traveling outside of base, but had decided that he could at least wander around a few select buildings on the grounds as long as he had supervision. Not one to miss out on exploitative labor, Narumi weaseled his way into letting Kafka act as essentially a personal secretary.

Kafka didn't give it any second thought once he heard the offer since it let him outside of his small, barren closet he had to call a room. It became clear that he should have since most of what Narumi made him do had him chained to a desk piled with paperwork or had him running endless fetch quests for food around base. Still, Kafka went about it without complaint. It was either this or working out his room all alone, losing his mind from worry and baseless fear. Hasegawa wasn't too thrilled about this new arrangement since it meant that the strongest division officer to date just got to laze around more often, but he couldn't deny how Kafka's presence streamlined the paper processing and left him open to pursue actual second-in-command duties. It even worked out better in meetings.

All Hasegawa had to do was drag Narumi with Kafka in tow and go off to finish more important tasks. Kafka turned out to be incredible at note and record taking, so all he did during meetings was make an abbreviated list of important facts that he could rattle off to Narumi when he actually had the capacity and care to acknowledge them. All Narumi had to do was show up and look like he was interested... which was turning out to be the hardest task of all. As the First Division captain continued to look at anything else besides those in the room, Kafka just slid glances in his direction and sighed heavily at the patheticness of it all. Everyone here had made several attempts to correct his behavior, all to no avail. If anything, they've been letting him get away with it more now that Kafka was here to cover his attention deficit ass.

But even Kafka had to admit he was with Narumi on this. These meetings were soul-sucking. It took everything he had in him to keep a running tab in his mind about everything that was being decided on. Even then he didn't have to think that much harder as to how to frame his notes in such a way to make it easier for Narumi to understand at a glance. This left him with plenty of free time in between important bulletins for his mind to wander, and in turn his fingers as well. Kafka didn't get a seat at the table during these meetings and was forced to stand behind Narumi the whole time as he cradled a small tablet to write on.

Holding it in one arm meant he had to type with one hand, which he got impressively good at as the days went on. But since the sentences he wrote were so short, it left him standing there inactive for long periods at a time. Something that would eventually garner judging sneers from the other board members. To avoid these leering glances and an ever present fear of reprimand, he had taken up doodling in the margins of his digital notes. The notes app he wrote in had surprisingly adequate artist's tools that he could pull up and use alongside his typed notes. He, of course, deleted everything before he handed the tablet over to Narumi to read later, but the habit at least made him look busy during the more dull sections of the meetings.

It wasn't his first rodeo in dealing with digital media, but it had been a hot minute since the last time he could only work with a lower standard of equipment. He grew up playing around with the School's built in paint programs, but had eventually gone on to dabble in more advanced programs built specifically for mobile. Really, it just started as a way to kill time at work until he could go home and get a hold of his sketchbooks. What started off as glittering fantasies of being the best warrior known to man being put to paper, shockingly warped itself into anatomical studies of the monsters he butchered apart for most of his life. Once a pastime turned teaching tool had now reverted back to a simpler time. One of daydreams and recovering of memories not yet lost. Kafka drew the faces of those he shared the room with as warm ups, but would quickly find himself trying to draw those he wished to see again more prevalently.

It was a dangerous mindset to find himself in. He had a nasty habit of getting too caught up in how Reno would hold his head or how Haruichi would hold a drink to remember to focus on the words being said around him. To be stuck in the past was never good, especially when keeping your job meant concentrating on the present. In a sick sense of bartering, his mind came up with the solution of instead bringing attention to his past relationship to his ex-vice captain, Soshiro Hoshina. It didn't feel like they were together long, but the memories of their connection burned the brightest even in the darkest recesses of Kafka's mind. Their circumstances had changed drastically from the shrouded image of domesticity that they had gathered for themselves ever since the reveal of what lay dormant in Kafka's chest.

Hoshina was mad about it, that was for sure. Kafka had become so wrapped up in the idea of being loved by the last person he ever thought he deserved it from that he actively shoved his biggest secret under the rug. All just to feel one more day of tender warmth from his lover. Recent events had forced everyone's hands and fresh wounds had to be quickly patched with no real healing touch behind them. Hoshina still came to base every two weeks to train Kafka in Squadron Style hand-to-hand, but neither one made any move to bring up how the reveal seemed to cut down the trust that had been built between them. With the looming threat of another coordinated attack looming over everyone, it had been silently decided that it would have to be put to the side for now.

Kafka was desperate to say he was sorry, in any way he could. That he knew he should have said something earlier, damn the fact that their budding attachment to each other was about as stable as a newborn deer's legs. You don't hide the fact that you have an alien entity buried in your chest just because you want to see how far you can get away with courting above your military station. It wasn't just to see if he could either; He never viewed their love as something so empty and vain. Kafka more than looked up to him. Hoshina was the pinnacle of everything he ever wanted to be growing up. And that same person was looking back at him and telling Kafka that he had a chance; that he believed in him no matter how small that chance was. He wanted to be anything and everything that Hoshina could ever want to see in a partner, in someone that could stand by his side as well as Mina's. Hoshina loving him back was just a bonus.

Kafka just had to hope there would be a moment where he could put it all into words.

"Narumi, if you keep bouncing your heel against the table, I will not hesitate to assign you to janitorial duty for a year." Director Shinomiya gruffly commanded from his seat at the head of the table.

"It's not my fault you geezers are talking about dull shit. Losing my mind over here." Narumi groaned as he moved the offending foot off of the table, the movement snapping Kafka out of his spiraling misery.

"This "Dull Shit" as you so put it is critical for the defense of the nation!" Jozu declared as a fist bounced firmly on the boardroom table.

As Narumi began to engage in a battle of differences with the Chief of Staff, Shinomiya stole a brief look at the wall clock, "Tell you what. If you can tell the group what the last subject we were discussing was, I'll dismiss this meeting early."

"Uhhh... okay. Yeah, sure, I can do that." Narumi drawled as he was caught unaware by the proposition.

"The last thing we were talking about was..." Narumi chewed on his lip as he tried his best to think back to what the conversation was about in the first place. He threw several pleading glances back as a distracted Kafka before leaning back in his chair.

"Psst! Help me out here!" He harshly whispered, his lips almost curling into a snarl from how long it was taking Kafka to answer him.

Kafka fingers flew frantically over the screen as he tried to find the last place he left off in his notes for the meeting. As soon as he found it, he leaned down to Narumi's ear to whisper the answer back.

"We were about to move away from talking about the budget for the R&D department!" Narumi claimed with as much confidence as he could muster.

As everyone in the room glared disapprovingly for a moment longer than comfortable, Narumi began to direct the collective brunt of the glare back towards Kafka, who was visibly sweating buckets. A loud and disappointed sigh soon broke the uncomfortable silence before a creaking of a chair was heard from the head of the table.

"Meeting Adjourned." The director ordered as he stood up, the toll of the meeting now seen more clearly in the lines of his usually impassive face.

While everyone there would have gone on record stating that these meetings were important and necessary to have, it wouldn't have taken a trained eye to see just how fast everyone was leaving the board room. Even the Director let out a low gasp of relief, his sinking shoulders betraying his stone visage in the smallest way possible. Not waiting for more people to leave the room, Narumi didn't hesitate to drag Kafka out by the collar and pulled him out into the connecting hallway. Hoping to corner Kafka somewhere a little more private, he dropped his hand and sauntered away knowing his subordinate would follow closely behind. Narumi had long since caught on to Kafka's tactic of playing around with the tablet to give the appearance of being busy, but hadn't cared about it before now. Having almost been humiliated by the potential distraction made him wonder what could Kafka be doing that garnered so much divided attention. Once they had made a more comfortable distance away from the board room did Narumi start his investigation.

"Mind handing me the notes since you're still here?" The captain requested, starting his attack early. The sudden question made Kafka shake himself out of his fog of thoughts and fumble around with the prematurely dismissed tablet.

"Yeah, sure, give me a second." He answered back as he woke the screen back up.

"A second?" Narumi pressed harshly, leaning in to the irritated energy he developed back in the meeting.

"I-I just want to check for spelling mistakes." Kafka casually lied as a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, betraying his nerves.

"That's bullshit and you know it." Narumi countered as he made a swipe for the device in Kafka's hands.

"What's up with you, Mr. McGrabby Hands? Usually I have to print these out and staple them to your forehead in order for you to read them." Kafka retaliated as he had to dance around his commander, making painstakingly sure the tablet didn't fall into the wrong hands.

"Maybe I just wanna see what kinda shit you're doodling on company time." Narumi growled with determination as he tried every trick in the book to knock the tablet out of Kafka's hands.

"Pfffft, w-who me? I-I'm not doodling! I wouldn't do that!" Kafka sputtered as he cradled the device close to his chest while trying his best to erase all of the artwork he had scrawled in the margins of the pages.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Kafka. I would too if I could." Narumi continued to goad as he pressed himself as close as he could over Kafka's back, still in a battle for dominance over the hotly desired device.

"Here, here! Take it! Jesus..." Kafka shouted defensively as he tossed over the tablet into Narumi's surprised hands. Narumi took a moment scrolling excitedly, hoping that Kafka had missed a piece somewhere on the digital pages. His eager grim dropped quickly into a disappointed scowl once he was sure there was nothing incriminating to be seen.

"Told you." Kafka confirmed breathlessly, "Busy with spell checking, like I said."

Narumi eyed him distrustfully through his bangs as he stayed hunched over the tablet. His suspicions over his officer's habits had yet to be dissuaded, but he relaxed his shoulders and took ownership of the device nonetheless.

"Whatever. Anything you draw probably looks like dogshit anyway." Narumi teased maliciously, wondering what kind of reaction he would get if he did.

Seeing the ploy for what it was, Kafka made sure to keep himself looking unshakeable as he tried to stare down his current captain. Soon, the two of them heard a pixelated popping noise that was synonymous with the act of receiving a call over their government issued ear buds. Hasegawa's authoritatively dull tone soon filtered in with a slight crackle.

"Narumi. I request Kafka's presence outside in the West Quadrant. Is he available to do so soon?" The commander's right hand man asked, the sound of the wind unmistakable under his request. Narumi sighed irritably as he gave a long, hard stare right back at Kafka.

"Yeah. Meeting's over so he should be there soon." Narumi answered before he nodded Kafka away, signaling he could go.

Kafka silently bowed back and turned sharply on his heels. Narumi watched as he lightly jogged away at a clipped pace, clearly wanting out of his company. Making sure Kafka didn't come running back for any unknown reason, Narumi picked up the disregarded tablet once again and gave the note screen a thorough once-over. Biting the inside of his cheek, his eyes glanced over the back and forward arrow at the bottom of the screen. He took a chance and tapped on the button several times. His eyes grew wide as he watched the margins of the notes become jarringly splashed in broad strokes of color. Giggling manically to himself, Narumi ran off back to his office so he could study Kafka's colorfully intricate secrets in peace.

Fall in Tachikawa had brought a bitter chill along with the changing of the leaves. It came slicing in on those pervasive and penetrative winds, the kind that makes old men say "It wouldn't be so bad if not for the wind". Soshiro's brother often compared him to this type of weather, saying that if it wasn't for his blades, he would be easier to ignore and that it's more regrettable that he isn't. It was the type of weather that made every fiber of your body run for warmth despite it not being life threatening. Hoshina would have dove for a more welcoming form of warmth, one he had become intensely attached to shockingly quickly, but was forced to supplement it with one cheap glass of beer after another.

He wasn't normally a heavy drinker, not unless you counted coffee. Lately the nights after work had started to require something stronger than coffee and after dark training. Everywhere he walked, it was just another reminder of what he lost. Crumbling walls, cracks in the foundation, it all reminded him of Kafka. It almost felt like it was all taunting him. The cracks and crannies mutating into leering jeers, mocking and slandering him, saying he wasn't strong enough. That if he had taken Number 10 down faster, that the base would still be here, that nobody would have been forced to transfer, that Kafka...

Thus the alcohol. At least with something fermented running through his system, there was a chance Hoshina could redirect his brain to something less soul-sucking. When it was just mug after mug of coffee, all it did was make the thoughts churn faster and bring up every little problem he didn't feel like dealing with right now. With the alcohol, the thoughts were slower. Sure it was the same thoughts, but he could at least buy himself enough time and fake plausible excuses to make himself feel better. His first and most recurring thought being about his current coldness towards his most treasured cadet.

Kafka was a Kaiju...apparently. And he had somehow managed to hide any indication of this affliction during the six months they had been together. Hoshina was beyond mad about it -he was furious- but that feeling did nothing against what he already knew to be self evident about the both of them. Given a second to open his mouth, Hoshina knew that Kafka would spill apology after apology, be on his hands and knees begging for forgiveness. He would probably go so far as to say that he would understand if Hoshina would prefer to never see him again after breaking his trust so demonstrably. It wouldn't stop Kafka from trying anyway, just so he could have a chance to help Hoshina understand that he didn't do it out of maliciousness or genuine distrust. Hoshina had an idea of why he did it, but he didn't want to tear himself up over it any further by jumping to conclusions.

All he knew was that if he was given that same second, he would have cut Kafka's throat before he had a chance to speak. Yes, it was partly because that would be his sick idea of a fitting punishment for not saying anything about it sooner (It's not like he would die from it). But the bigger reason was that Hoshina wouldn't be able to hear Kafka even suggesting they separate over something so trivial. Well, it felt trivial to Hoshina anyway. Soshiro loved Kafka. Even as Kafka was being loaded into the transport, Hoshina had to dig into everything he had not to cut down anyone that would be in his way and drag his dopey partner off over the horizon to whatever sense of safety they could carve out for themselves. He wanted to forgive Kafka just as much as he wanted to forgive Hoshina, but God he was too damn prideful to let this go so easily.

It's not like they had any time to hash this out properly anyway. Not with the attack of Tachikawa Base acting as an indicator for worse to come. He went into his arrangement with Kafka knowing full well that what was being unsaid was going to hurt them both, but talking it out and trying to heal from what would be said would take up so much precious time that they did not have. All this arrangement was to Hoshina was a way to see Kafka one more time, to get to touch him one. more. time. This was his way of making sure that moving forward, Kafka had a chance to be safe, as well as keeping track of how he was feeling. After he explained to Mina what he was going to be doing every week, she wrote down a list of expressions Kafka makes and what they meant. Kafka wasn't just Kaiju Number 8 to the Third Division, and Hoshina had to work with what he could do to make sure Kafka felt anything but unwanted.

But by not saying anything, Hoshina couldn't get back the same treatment Kafka would return tenfold if he just asked. This was the one-sided, unspoken, understanding that sent him to the local bars most nights. He initially despised the the communal loneliness that seemed to permeated the atmosphere of these places, but soon found himself becoming a major contributor of the melancholy fog he once avoided. The dark wood walls offered a sense of artificial coziness while the bartender had a good sense of when to talk it out with a customer and when to just serve and leave. The man behind the bar never offered to converse with him, probably understanding with just a glance that Hoshina's problem wasn't something that could be solved with small talk.

So there he sat. Nursing a third mug of light draft beer and praying that memorizing the wood grain pattern in the mahogany in front of him will be enough to distract him churning mind for one more night. With his eyes crossing and his mind still not quiet, Hoshina quickly understood that he was fighting a loosing battle. With a tired sigh, he pulled out a last ditch effort seeing as he didn't feel fit to head back just yet. He pulled out his phone and began to scroll endlessly, the motions sufficiently rendering his skull numb.

It wasn't something he ever wanted to make a habit out of. He was always going on about how there were so many other tasks that could be done that were more beneficial than doom-scrolling. It made him sound like an out-of-touch senior, but he always stood by that sentiment. Well, before now at least. He hated to admit it but some nights it really was the only thing that could get him distracted enough to sleep. Hoshina pulled up Chatter and skipped over his For You page, preferring to look at more national headlines than anything the algorithm spat in his face. He had only scrolled for a short while before he came across a familiar account profile.

Narumi had had posted something earlier in the day and it was quickly making headway through the notarized list of most fascinating things showcased that day. Hoshina just rolled his eyes at it and quickly moved past it, not feeling like being exposed to whatever attention-whoring shenanigans that fool had cooked up for himself. A few articles later, he felt weirdly compelled to go back up and look at it with the idea that maybe he would feel better if he could glean some scathing retort to it. It might make Narumi's post more popular, but when he joined in the conversation, that just meant that it only drew in more attention because he chimed in. And some days that would be enough for him.

Scrolling back up however, Hoshina was blindsided by the subject of the post. Narumi had posted some art. Not only that, it was art that Hoshina recognized. Hoshina had spent so many hours leaning over the artist's shoulder, critiqued every little doodle that ended up on the bottom of incident reports, and had been the subject of many an artwork that it was impossible for him not to distinguish Kafka's deft hand on the digital canvas. Rounded patches of cool colors cascaded under crisp, but messy line work. Portraits were nothing more than organized scribbles, but the still life's were where Kafka really shined.

In the slim margins of what were clearly meeting notes, Kafka had managed to depict one of the managerial heads sitting across from him at the table, including the top of Narumi's head and boot in frame and in perfect point perspective. "He does not deserve to look like a Renaissance painting" was the caption of the post. Hoshina only caught the heading of the post as he accidentally backed out of observing the screen shots more closely. Looking around the edges of the post, he understood that what he was looking at wasn't even the original post. Clicking one link after another, Hoshina managed to dig around long enough to find the rest of the chain of posts, all talking about Kafka's art.

"My assistant is so cooked Dawg! Caught his ass doodling during a meeting!1!" Was the title to the start of it all. From there, it had devolved into a more serious critique of the art found. One post after another was about how accurate the details were. Occasionally, there was one about how stupid-looking a fellow defense force member appeared, but it just looped back around to the precision of it all. Hoshina wasn't surprised. After all he had the same reaction to the first time he had discovered Kafka's artistic talent. The memory bubbled up unbidden, causing Hoshina to sniff back a runny nose as he tried not to get swept away by his feelings. The memory continued to play in the back of his mind, projected onto the phantom screen hung in the back of his eyes...

It was an unseasonably warm day in March last year. Hoshina only had the new recruits for a few months now, but he was feeling like they were making lots of progress to breaking in to being the best soldiers of this generation. For a reward, the ground troops of the Third Division got to leave the base for a whole day. There was a slight caveat to this in that they were asked to turn out to a school spirit event, but none of them minded since it still meant they got to skip out on training for a day. In fact, it felt like they were more than happy to show up to the event and get the chance to inspire the next generation themselves. Some even went above and beyond, buying some cheap toys and candy to pass out. Kafka had gone out of his way as well and bought boxes and boxes of chalk.

Hoshina had been continued to be surprised by this man. Even still having only 1% aptitude for the suits, he continued to be a mainstay among the Defense Force. Once Hoshina made enough excuses for him, backed by Kafka's consistent information gathering while in the field, it started to feel like the Higher Ups just gave up and backed off. So what if one guy in their platoon only had 1% percent to spare? He was doing his best to earn his keep and with everyone else surpassing records previously held by earlier iterations of their platoons, it seemed like they could spare to have the extra hand around. Unfortunately, this did unintentionally classify Kafka as a mascot, but no one was going to offer the information up intentionally.

And it wasn't like the man wasn't doing anything to dissuade the mascot allegations. When Hoshina had finally cleared enough paperwork to come down to the school to let some of the other officers take off, he saw Kafka over in a corner of the school's lot looking like he was giving a very educational lesson. Dressed in cheesy vacation finery, that is to say an open Hawaiian shirt with a white tank and jean shorts paired with socks and sandals, Kafka had squatted down so he was eye level with his own congregation of children and was animatedly discussing something that had them all enraptured. Surrounded by buckets of chalk, Kafka was using one to illustrate something on the black top before them. Interest immediately piqued, Hoshina decided to slide on by for a visit.

Childish chalk drawings littered the lot around him as he made his way over, some appearing to have been abandoned halfway through. Looking over at where Kafka was, Hoshina could see a much more detailed drawing of what looked to be a fearsome battle of strength between a comically large Isao and a daikaiju. Just under it, Kafka had started up another illustration and was using it as a base for an art lesson in chalk. He talked in simple words, having to slow himself down in his own excitement several times just to make sure that the other kids were following along. He actively encouraged questions, surveying his grouping to make sure everyone had a chance to see and to understand. On his knees, Kafka leaned over his own makeshift canvas and was about to start demonstrating a new facet of art but suddenly stopped once Hoshina's shadow made his presence known before he opened his mouth.

"Wait! Don't move." Kafka said as he held his hand up without looking, "Don't move a muscle. Stay right where you are."

He took out a piece of chalk and began to quickly sketch the outline of Hoshina's shadow. One Kafka got all the way around his head, he started to sketch other details of Hoshina's face like his haircut and sly shaped mouth.

"I know that silhouette anywhere!" Kafka exclaimed as he finished his rough outline, "Vice Captain Hoshina! I was wondering when you would show up." He finished just as he looked up at his vice captain and flashed him the brightest smile he thought he would ever see.

The two of them exchanged pleasantries, but it was already too late for him. Once he knew of the way Kafka saw the world, Hoshina started to become more and more invested in all other aspects of him. Kafka's art was a gateway into his mind, and Hoshina didn't hesitate to walk right in. It looked so bright and hopeful on first impressions, but the more Hoshina hung around Kafka the more he would start to catch glimpses of things not being the case. Kafka stopped being just the funny man of the group to him after he found out about his talent. Much like other great artists, Kafka was as layered and as colorful as watercolor on canvas.

Thus began a months-long secret relationship with a man that was originally here off of pity and bias. Hoshina was thankful he could stop making excuses to keep him around at some point, because now it meant he could poke around at Kafka a little more. More intently, more personally. He always found Kafka fascinating from the get-go, seeing as his initial performance during the second test was surrounded with an air of secretive fascination, but that all fell away once he saw the shining facets of Kafka's mind. Hoshina felt he was no better than a crow some days, but the love and attention he received from Kafka just meant that he stumbled onto a gift that just kept giving.

Hoshina continued to scroll down the chain of posts, trying to keep himself from bursting into tears. Each new sketch, each scrawl and scratch of digital ink felt better than anything intense nostalgia could replicate. It was almost like a salve for his weary mind, an old childhood blanket that never aged a day, offering comfort and relief and sorely, much needed warmth. It had been so long since a hand-written scrap of love had graced his desk, Hoshina hadn't realized how much he needed them to continue his day. If snapshots of daily life at Ariaka made him feel bad, seeing any piece of Kafka's old life at Tachikawa made Hoshina's heart skip a beat.

Lungs hiccuping as he scrolled past happy recreations of outings long past, he wondered if he was going to be able to keep it together for much longer. It wasn't that he was embarrassed to be seen crying, it was more so with how he felt right then. He felt like he was too open, his heart becoming too exposed. Like a bonsai being harshly shaped and molded into a memoriam of what he and his division once had. A flash of blackish-purple and the side profile of someone's cheerful face finally broke Hoshina. Slamming the phone on the counter, he brought a hand up to muffle an unbidden sob. He hadn't looked long, but he knew Kafka well enough that it couldn't have been anything other than his most favorite thing to draw.

Grabbing his mug of unfinished beer, Hoshina took off running towards the restrooms, not wanting to garner attention from the smattering of people in the dive bar he was holding himself up in. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the forced drought of affection, maybe just seeing Kafka art was the last straw, but Hoshina found that he couldn't take it anymore. Hoshina had been forcing a facade every moment of every day he managed to get out of bed. Being in a shitty little bar at the end of the night might have allowed him to drop the mask a little, relieve some of the pressure that the mask had been holding back, but even the Vice Commander, Second to Mina Ashiro in power and strength, had his limits. Seeing that Kafka still thought of him as a muse was his line in the sand.

He slammed the mug down on the long row of sinks as he neared the other wall. Turning sharply on his heels, he fell back onto the teal painted, concrete brick wall as his knees gave out from under him. His brain felt warm, like it had been taken out of his skull and been manhandled under the hot sun for far too long. His chest felt like it was in Number 10's crushing grip all over again, which honestly felt preferable to having nothing to hold him in their arms right now. A part of Hoshina wondered if he was imagining his legs shaking or if he really was being that fucking pathetic; drinking alone, crying in a dirty dive bar bathroom, killing himself over his iron sense of pride. No part of him was delusional enough however to deny the boiling streams of tears falling down his tired eyes as they fell onto his tightly gripped phone.

With just one glance, the same comfort Kafka's art gave him rendered him a sopping mess. He was the one that told Kafka not to get attached to his team-mates, and now here he was, being reminded all over again as to why he should've taken his own advice. It was stupid, it was demeaning, and it was all his fault. Sitting here, on the floor of a place he never would have walked into before he met Kafka, one thought fought it's way through the tears and tinnitus and made him confront this one, now ever present fact about himself. Given the chance to start all over again, to have never been close to Kafka in the first place and had just investigated what he first considered to be a threat, Hoshina... wouldn't have taken it. Kaiju or not, Hoshina would never give that man up for anything.

And yet he did. Because if he really held true to what he wanted, Kafka would still be at Tachikawa, not halfway up the country in another base being placated with busy work because no one trusts him with anything important anymore. For the longest time, hell even to this night, Hoshina's mind continued to waver back and forth over whether or not he ever really had a chance to fight the powers that be. Whether he really could have helped Kafka to stay or if it all was genuinely out of his hands, then and now. Like any of it matters this late at night anyway. Beds had been made, but all Hoshina could do was wish to lie in the one he made with Kafka.

Well... as much as it killed him right at this moment, at least he had Kafka's art. Art was supposed to make people feel something anyway, right? This was just another check mark on the long list of incredible things Kafka was capable of. Taking slow, deep breaths until after the tears stopped, Hoshina prepared himself to look again. The pain of the memory was great, but forcing oneself to not feel anything was starting to be worse. Grabbing the glass of beer from the counter, Hoshina wiped the spilled tears off the screen and turned it back on.

It was just what he expected, really. The last two posts containing about eight images total were all just head shots of Hoshina with different expressions. "Okay, this is just embarrassing. Why is there so many pics of this schmuck?" Was the first post's title, a little rude but a genuine question for those unprepared for the full weight of Kafka's unyielding need to have Hoshina be his inspiration. He let out a small giggle as he took a sip of beer, remembering Kafka's weird obsession with scribbling out rough outlines of his face in the corners of anything paper-like he could get his hands on. Several pages of his notebooks dedicated to kaiju anatomy specifically were often signed with his face next to Kafka's name. Hoshina liked to tease him about it, calling it the new age version of carving initials into trees. Seeing the post sort of healed him inside just a little, knowing Kafka hasn't completely changed even with their undisclosed separation from each other.

The second post was where his tears started to threaten to fall again. It was still bust and head shots of Hoshina, but they all had a reoccurring theme of him in various stages of sleep. "I hate E V E R Y T H I N G about this... WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU KNOW WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE ASLEEP?!?!??! I hope this is just some creepy stalker fan-shit on GOD." Was the title of the second half of the post. Again a... reasonable response, considering that their relationship was never public before now. Somewhere in the deep recesses in his thoughts, Hoshina had a feeling that this was going to come around and bite him in the ass, but being three beers in made it really hard to care about problems one couldn't immediately foresee. Sure made it really easy to remember the past, so it seemed. With every side angle, every illusion of light filtering over pale peach skin in every hastily drawn rendition of happy mornings past, Hoshina couldn't escape another trip down memory lane.

Kafka used to have a horrible sleep schedule, even while in the Defense Force. He was the type of person to fight every minute getting up once he heard the wake up siren due to staying up late at night studying. Hoshina was never going to admit this, but he was hoping he was going to have a chance to somewhat abuse his relationship status with Kafka and. . . encourage a slight change to the schedule. All for his own good of course. Can't continue to be a valuable member of the Defense Force if one isn't awake enough to contribute. Come to find out, Hoshina wasn't going to have to intervene at all once it was made clear that he didn't mind being Kafka's muse.

Hoshina caught on pretty quickly that Kafka was starting to get up earlier and earlier so he could sketch him at his most vulnerable. He hardly used paper medium anymore at this point, too much to drag around which made it obvious. He was the type of person that kept his illustrations close to his chest, not wanting to let others see before he was finished. Using his phone was just more convenient all around for him, checking all the boxes in all the right ways. As a birthday gift for Kafka, Hoshina went out of his way to get a hold of a phone that had a built in stylus. Every spare second Hoshina had to snag a glance of Kafka, was every second Kafka had his nose shoved in his new phone, scrawling away at it.

Which led to these precious moments they found themselves in while hiding from the world in Hoshina's room. Kafka had started to sleep with Hoshina at his place, working late enough into the night that everyone went to bed before he did just so he could book it over to his partner's room and stay with him until before morning. If anyone was to ask either of them why he went through so much trouble and risk, they both would jokingly answer that it was all for Hoshina's benefit because he runs cold and Kafka's practically a walking space heater. Really, it was for Kafka. That man would have spent all hours of the day looking and drawing Hoshina's face if anyone let him.

And that's exactly the view Hoshina woke up to most mornings. As his awareness slowly dripped back into his mind, he could feel his body was sprawled out at odd angles over his side of the bed. When Hoshina first joked about his plan to let Kafka stay over at his section of the barracks, he noted how oddly enthused Kafka was with the idea, but became visibly dismayed once the vice captain brought up how the two of them could never fit on his measly, military issued twin mattress. It wasn't long before Hoshina intervened with some supply orders and had a second twin frame and mattress smuggled up to his room. Snugged up against the wall with his pillow crammed under his broad chest, was Kafka; lying on his stomach and was most likely sketching another picture of Hoshina asleep and awkwardly positioned.

Hoshina did his best not to stir, knowing how easy it was for Kafka to break concentration when he was doodling. Keeping his eyes in that closed looking state, he continued to watch as Kafka chewed at his upper lip in deep thought as he was prone to do if he felt like he was struggling with a particular piece. Hoshina could watch him sketch his art all day if he could. The expressions Kafka went through as he worked told a story just as vibrant as his art could be. After watching his face contort from one of irritated concentration to comically restrained victory, Hoshina couldn't hold still any longer and giggled. Catching his muse awake, Kafka moved as if he was struck with a taser and instinctively tried to shield his phone from Hoshina's amused gaze.

"Come on, let me see!" Hoshina wearily droned with a smile, "I've been posing for you for hours." He sluggishly pulled his arm closer to Kafka's shoulder and gently massaged it, making it clear that he wanted to be closer.

Kafka let out a relaxed chortle as he complied and shifted just a little closer, "Uh huh, trying so hard to "pose" you started drooling for accuracy?"

"I do not!" Hoshina sleepily countered as he pushed Kafka playfully. The two of them giggled together as they liked to do, falling into that easy pattern of living that formed naturally when they were alone.

Suddenly not content with just a shoulder touch and a warm view, Hoshina slowly stalked himself closer to his bed-mate while staying under the thin sheets. He draped his nude form over Kafka's equally naked, prone back, slotting his hips over the lower officer's round ass and burying his face into the now super heated neck. Arms were nestled under the heavy frame as Hoshina took a long snort of Kafka's natural scent. He shifted back and forth a little purely for indulging in the sensation of another's heated being underneath him. Any and all thoughts Kafka had about continuing his daily morning sketches went flying out the window as he took the wordless affection with what was hoped to be a touch of grace.

'Seriously. Is there anything other than me in there?" Hoshina placidly asked once he finished absorbing Kafka's essence

"Kinda hard to say. You're always the most interesting one in the room." Kafka answered with a slight shudder, unintentionally exposing his neck at the languid tactility overloading his senses at the moment.

Nosing at the undefended area offered to him, Hoshina wiggled out an arm and took Kafka's phone from his hand. Kafka let it happen since Hoshina was probably one of the few people in this world he would let see such personal designs. His partner never had anything truly mean to say about his work, Even some of his more critical commentary was offered up as a joke which made it all glide down more easily. Those comments were only really applied to moments when Kafka was clearly not putting all of his effort into a piece, so in the end they didn't damage anything ego-wise. Some days it felt like Hoshina was the only person Kafka could get some genuine, reliable feedback, so it made him feel all the better that there was something he could do that occasionally impressed his commander on some level. Continuing to scroll through the list of drafts saved on his phone, Hoshina let out a concerning sounding chuckle at the volume of saved images that appeared to be about him.

"Geez, it's just one after the other with you isn't it?" Hoshina commented as he pulled his head out from behind Kafka's neck to look better.

"No no, keep scrolling. I'm pretty sure I have a few pieces that are different." Kafka challenged, now just as curious as to where those images went.

"From what, last year?" Hoshina jokingly asked as he looked at his lover more pointedly.

"Noooo, hold on. There's gotta be one that's more recent." Kafka answered as he took the phone back. He quickly scrolled the page back to the top and picked one from yesterday.

"Yeah, see? Some of these have multiple images." Kafka politely informed as he moved past a sketch of Hoshina drinking coffee and instead focused on a distorted self portrait.

"What even is that?" Hoshina wondered as he tried to lean closer to the phone.

"It's supposed to be a self portrait, but I drew it from how I look in your headboard. See?" Kafka said as he held up the image to the reflective metal bars that made up the back of Hoshina's bed.

"Oh, I get it now. Distortion practice?" Hoshina observed as his eyes flickered between the image and the inspiration.

"Something like that." Kafka confirmed as he pulled his phone back to search through the rest of his drafts for more evidence that he's not solely focused on his lover.

Hoshina let out a soft hum as he watched Kafka try to defend himself, "You know, now that I think about it, there was detail missing from that piece."

"Wait, really?" I mean, I thought I was doing well with the proportions." Kafka muttered as he went back to the sketch they were looking at first.

"See? Right there." Hoshina pointed to a spot on Kafka's shoulder in the image when it was pulled back up, "There's something missing."

"Really? Not to question you or anything- you're the one with a better eye for detail after all."

"Yep, this." Hoshina interrupted and swiftly bit down on the sensitive part of Kafka's neck where it met the meat of his shoulder.

Kafka sharply gasped as he accidentally bucked into the treatment, "God, you're a menace" He muttered lovingly.

"Hmmm, you love me for it though." Hoshina groaned back after he languidly lapped at the mark it left.

Kafka returned a kiss before continuing to move through image after image. As he watched, Hoshina found his various thoughts coming back to one central theme.

"Surprised you haven't started an art blog before now." He ruminated as Kafka pulled up another sketch.

"Used to, actually. On Chatter? Back in my late high school, early Monster Sweepers days." Kafka offered openly as he tossed an unimpressed look over his shoulder.

"You're kidding." Hoshina responded with genuine astonishment, to which Kafka shook his head no with an amused smile.

"Well show me then!" Hoshina cheered enthusiastically, shimmying impossibly closer to Kafka like he was settling down to a good movie.

"I-I-I can't do that!" Kafka retorted with the blush on his face quickly creeping back over his cheeks, "I couldn't remember the password if my life depended on it."

"You don't have to log in, you still remember your username right?" Hoshina questioned, now desperate for this potential snapshot of Kafka younger in life.

"I mean... yeah?" Kafka answered shyly, "God, this is going to be so embarrassing." He muttered before he closed out of his sketching app and opened up another one.

After several retypings in the quest to remember his old high school username, Kafka eventually came across the page after backtracking from someone else's old post. It was clear from the dated visual puns in the blog banner that it had certainly been a while before he had updated anything. They both cringed a little once they saw that it had been fifteen years since he had last updated.

" 'TheBestDEFENSEIsAGoodArtist'? That's your username?" Hoshina teased with dripping malice and astonishment.

"Look it was either that or something clever with Goromon. It was the last thing Mina helped me with before... well, you know." Kafka tried to defend himself, but any move to do so collapsed under the weight of the memory.

Hoshina noticed the way his face fell just that little bit and snuggled up closer as reassurance, "Probably for the best you didn't go with the second one. Probably would have confused a lot of people to come to your page and not see anything related to it." He mentioned as he squeezed his arms around his partner's chest.

"Well, it wasn't like there wasn't any Goromon fanart from time to time. Maybe if I did, I would have had a chance to be more popular." Kafka countered dolefully.

"What did you draw anyway?" Hoshina politely asked with both curiosity and gentle encouragement.

Kafka slowly scrolled down the page to let Hoshina take in the art. It was set to show from most to least popular, making it clear that a lot of people liked his funnier depictions of kaijus. Every once in a while, something drastically different broke up the timeline. There were several anatomical pencil sketches of kaiju bodies with various layers peeled away from them. From the skin to the veins, down past the muscle and right through the core of the bones, it was a study of raw power poised in a deathly still life. There were even notes and arrows that littered the borders of the page that pointed out something that couldn't be depicted through graphite lines alone. There were several and they all varied in quality, clearly bringing to light a growing talent.

A flash of color snapped at Hoshina's attention as Kafka continued to scroll past. Shooing his finger away, the vice captain took back partial control of the phone so he could see what that last image was. It was a digital rendition of one of the larger kaiju skeletons that continued to rage through the streets of Japan. What made this one different from all the rest was the fact that it wasn't just showing the skeleton, but the damage done to the surrounding buildings as well. Over all of it was a plush blanket of foliage, lacing its way over and under the long broken rubble and the now ancient looking remains of the gargantuan threat. It had set itself apart from the other productions of Kafka's mind, not only from its content but also from a still-fresh feeling of inexplicable melancholy. Such a bright picture should have told a story about new beginnings, but the only thing Hoshina could feel from this particular work was an odd sense of desolation.

"This one is quite different." He commented as he looked at it intensely, absorbed into the alien terrarium on the other side of the digital glass.

"Yeah." Kafka scratched the side of his head and sighed with bitter sounding heaviness, "Believe it or not, that is a vent piece." he continued as he pointed a quick accusatory finger at the screen.

"A vent piece?" Hoshina questioned.

He found it was an odd subject matter to use to depict intense negative emotion. Not only that, he had a hard time picturing Kafka illustrating something so calm and serene as an outlet for whatever turbulent emotion that could be concocting inside that thick skull of his.

"Yeah." Kafka sighed again as he took back ownership of the phone, "I drew this one after my... sixth? Attempt at joining the Defense Force."

He scrolled back up a little so Hoshina could read the caption over the attached picture.

"Just got out of the Defense Force testing lab again. Just gotta wait for an answer now, but I can already tell this isn't going to end well. Got a job interview with a kaiju cleaning department in a few days since I'm leaving High School at the end of the month, so lets hope that goes better!"

"Don't you think you were jinxing yourself a little with that caption?" Hoshina tried to jokingly ask, but it was clear that Kafka was stuck relieving his childhood blues.

"At that point you get a sense of what the instructor was looking for in their recruits. They don't really hide their preferences well, even when they're just glancing in your direction." Kafka answered dejectedly as he moved away from the image.

"After that, I had stopped captioning them. I didn't even bother giving them names." Kafka continued to scroll down his page, every once in a while another, similar piece of art made itself known.

He was right. None of them were captioned. He didn't know if it was intentional, but with none of them being named it seemed to add on to the sense of grief. It almost made it feel like these pieces were abandoned, which was not like Kafka at all. Failing time and time again in such a predictable manner would obviously break anybody's will, but the outcome of such torment had created these pieces. Now with context, these illustrations had ingrained themselves into Hoshina's mind. This was the first instance of him ever learning what a broken Kafka looked like.

"Here." Kafka quietly announced, "This is the last thing I ever posted to this account." He pulled up what looked to be the roughest sketch Hoshina thought he would ever see.

This looked more like a vent piece than any of the others he had seen along the way. Quick, harsh, and dark lines were strewn all over the limited space of the sketchbook this was depicted on. From what Hoshina could deduce, it was one of the larger kaijus with nothing remarkable about its appearance. The details would have come in later for sure, but it was clear that this piece never made it to that stage. From what he could tell however, was that this one had the potential to be one of Kafka's more disturbing artworks.

Buildings were flattened all around the corpse, cracked and broken apart like several city blocks had undergone a devastating explosion. The body was lying on its back, its limbs at unnatural angles. Its stomach looked more than exposed, more so that the explosion that leveled the buildings around it had been caused by whatever was inside the beast. It didn't look flayed, more so shredded and mangled- almost beyond recognition. While the others had been depicted with at least some sense of grace among the dereliction, this was far from it. This was agony and misery made pure and raw. Hoshina was almost glad that Kafka didn't finish this one. He hadn't known that his officer had such an ability to express such pain from just a bare-bones sketch, and he hoped that Kafka would never have to again.

"Told myself if I made this final test, I would finish it." Kafka's cold and stoic words broke the trance the image had held over Hoshina at that moment. "Not hard to guess what happened."

"You finally did make it though, haven't you?" Hoshina offered as a small token of relief against the unintentional strife he didn't know he would be causing that day.

The Kaiju Alert system went off before Kafka could give back an answer.

There wasn't a day that hadn't gone by where Hoshina had wondered if there was anything better he could have said in that moment. What even was there to say? Better late than never? You made it anyway, despite everything? He knew Kafka wouldn't take any of those as consolation. After all, Kafka still hadn't made it, per se. He wasn't by Mina's side like he promised all those years ago. It didn't help Hoshina was technically standing in the way of that, and that wasn't even getting into their unapproved relationship or the whole "Defense Force's New Kaiju Pet" situation. Even if it wasn't expressed through his art, Hoshina knew that it was probably still chewing Kafka up inside.

At least their current situation hadn't caused Kafka's art to revert back to his earlier standard of subjects. That meant that there was still something he was holding onto, some semblance of hope or light that managed to drag Kafka through each day. Which was more than Hoshina could say for himself. He couldn't show it, but he had long since lost any hope for a sign that things had a chance to go back to normal. That was just the case some days, having to adjust to what could potentially be a permanent change in schedule.

Hoshina really didn't want that to be the case. If he had any true, real power, he would tell the directors to shove it and have Kafka back at Tachikawa by morning. But he couldn't. The best he could do was arrange these weekly visits under the guise of training and nothing else, and that "Nothing Else" clause was what was truly killing him on the inside. Despite the pride, despite the resentment, he wanted to see Kafka again- really see Kafka again, Not just for training but to hang out and have dinner together again, to wake up together in the morning and rush out the door before anyone could question them again. The only thing stopping it all from continuing was time...

...Or was it? Looking back through the drawings showing moments from before everything went to shit, Hoshina started asking questions he had thought he had already answered but only gave slapdash, shoddy excuses as a stopgap for the emotions he wasn't ready to deal with. Yes, they didn't know how much more time they would have together, but most normal people would take that as an excuse to do everything they could to spend more time together. The real fact of the matter was, it wasn't Hoshina using a lack of time as an excuse to hold off having the one conversation that was the key to fixing his lack-of-a-relationship-woes. It wasn't just keeping up the excuse of not wanting to further complicate their already uncertain future. At the core of it all, Hoshina just didn't want to admit that he was a petty, prideful man.

Kafka being a Kaiju didn't bother him in the slightest. If anything, he would have probably have been milking that excuse dry to weasel his way around any potential hiccups that would be stemming from his technically inappropriate relationship to his subordinate. What really bothered Hoshina the most about this whole unfortunate situation was the fact that it felt like Kafka didn't trust him enough to tell him about his situation before now! It boiled his blood some days when he remembered that Reno and Kikoru both knew about Kafka's condition before he did. He was also aware of the circumstances surrounding how those two ended up finding out, but he always felt like he was dealt a similar opportunity and somehow that information was denied anyway. They were dating! They were serious! What do you mean Kafka never felt like telling him?

It wasn't until about a month into their awkward separation treatment that Hoshina stopped and thought about why Kafka held it back from him. Even if Kafka did trust him completely, there was no guarantee it wouldn't have made things worse. Kafka could have proven seven ways from Sunday that he could be trusted to fight alongside others, but there would always be doubt. Hoshina wouldn't have been able to offer any certainty to Kafka that the captains or the directors could be trusted with his unusual situation. Hell, if Kafka had told him in the earliest days of their relationship, there might have been a chance that Hoshina would have been the one to give his partner a reason to never trust again. Solely because of the pressure from his job, of course, but if push had come to shove then... Hoshina had a feeling that things would not have ended up as passively as they are now.

In the end, Hoshina had no right to blame Kafka or hold anything against him. At this point, the silent-not-silent treatment was purely because Hoshina's pride was wounded from the insinuation. Now that fire that kept his ruefulness going was practically down to the embers. Even the resolve to not be the first to apologize was dwindling. It became clear all of a sudden that Kafka was never going to be the one to apologize for withholding information because he follows Hoshina's initiative. If he's the one acting like it's not a good time to hash out one's feelings for each other, then Kafka will sit tight and hold his tongue until Hoshina makes any sort of indication that he's ready to listen. Kafka's just as good at respecting boundaries as he is following orders, but it certainly makes it harder on Hoshina when he knows he's the one at fault for perpetuating this purgatory he didn't mean to drag Kafka into.

Screw pride and screw pettiness, Hoshina was truly missing his man tonight and if the price of having him back in his was the cost of losing face, then fine. Having to eat his own words would definitely be a step up from wallowing in a shitty bar drinking shitty beer night after night. The beer would taste better with company, but in order for that to happen he'd have to find a way to open the door to a proper apology. He didn't want to make it feel like he was only apologizing because he was lonely, he really did want to be sincere about it. Problem was, he couldn't remember a time where he sounded genuinely sincere. In his line of work, if he was found to be wrong on something it would have cost him his job. And as far as being wrong in his friendships went, well... when everything comes down to a matter of opinion, one doesn't tend to care who's right or wrong then. This really would be the first time he would have to admit that he was both sorry and wrong.

As his hand unconsciously brought the near empty beer mug to his mouth, Hoshina came to understood that he wasn't even in the right head-space to come up with anything sincere, let alone sound like it. Looks like this was just going to have to be another problem for Morning Hoshina to work out among the other million problems he usually had to deal with. Most of those problems might just end up getting shoved to the side tomorrow. Once he figures out a way to get his Kaiju boyfriend back in his arms, a lot of those problems aren't going to seem so big after then. For now though, Hoshina just felt like milking whatever time he had allotted for himself in the bar, just savoring the crappy drink and watching the shit show Narumi dug himself into tonight.

By accidentally refreshing the page, he had discovered a fresh trail of posts linked to the chain he had already made. Turns out Narumi had started an argument with another professional artist over the quality of Kafka's boredom doodles, and in retaliation had tried his had at a self portrait. It looked no better than a child's pre-school scratches, but Narumi was trying to say that there was a basis for a new, hidden talent somewhere in the mess of scribbles on their screens. Hoshina just chuckled as he saw Kafka's fiercest supporter come to his defense in near-real time. He took a couple screenshots of the conversation with the plan to hold it over Reno's head later as blackmail. Might also become a teaching tool as to when and how not to feed internet trolls, who knows?

It appears that several other members of the Third Division also couldn't sleep tonight as the likes and reblogs of more, familiar accounts began to trickle through the now popular chain of posts. A lot of them had begun to openly theorize over whether or not Kafka actually knows his Vice Captain that closely or it's all just some imagery practice. If Hoshna wasn't under the influence, he normally wouldn't have started to develop this intense feeling of being out of the loop. If Hoshina wasn't under the influence, he wouldn't have started thinking about how funny it would be to stir the pot a little. If Hoshina wasn't under the influence, he would certainly have never acted on such invasive and impish thoughts.

Picking himself off of the bathroom floor and feeling like there was nothing to loose, Hoshina took a long look at himself in the mirror. Instead of reflecting upon himself and reconsidering how damning this could turn out, he defaulted to being the one thing he and Kafka understood all too well-

-the joy of becoming a class clown.

Taking inspiration from Kafka's continued use of his image and depicting it in any way, shape, or form, Hoshina decided to shed both his jacket and shirt and tossed them carelessly onto the bathroom counter. Chugging the last of the beer, he intended for some of it to leak down the sides of his mouth and spill slightly over his chest. Twisting and shifting under the bright florescent lights, Hoshina managed to find a pose that felt vaguely suggestive enough to his likeness and still looked tasteful enough to look like something an artist would use as a reference pose. Pulling up his camera and hovering it by the side of his head, Hoshina gave himself one more once-over before he took the photo. At the last second, he remembered some of the faces Kafka had sketched out earlier at the meeting, with one in particular being a portrait of him with his tongue playfully sticking out. A face he was sure done before as far as he remembered. Replicating the face, Hoshina took the photo and posted it directly to one of Narumi's older posts from this morning, one that was more directly related to Kafka and his obsession to his Vice Captain.

He posted it with the caption-

"Tell your "Assistant" that he can have his Muse back if he can promise not to cry into his sketchbook over it."

@margoteve <- felt only right to tag you since it was your headcanon about Kafka being an artist that caused this to spiral out of control.

@iceclew <- just letting you know I posted another story. I'll port a copy over to Ao3 later tonight.

@kafkahibinomybeloved<- you were probably going to find this on your own anyway, but I just thought I'd cut out the middle man.

[withguilt]

but who will love my hotd mermaid oc hmm hmm??

[mul-tea]

He's got a really great idea on how the night should be spent.

[anora-mac-tired]

What if Anora Mac Tir became the Inquisitor?

I finally started this! Check it out here

Not going to lie this thing is going to just be the casserole dish of so many dragon age ideas I have. Its very Canon-Divergent. Different take on the HOF and the Ferelden Grey Wardens after DA:A, different elements of the Mage-Templar war, and a lot more.

Will include all the Inquisition crews POVs as well.