Surplus of arms

I wonder who he's talking to? 👀

God, I love how you draw him 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

Ayyyy, guys, please check out the Patreon for all images. You will NOT regret it, my God.

I love the lighting, the intimacy, and how amazingly they both are drawn!! Shows the dynamic between them so well too!!!

synopsis: wherein hoshina soshiro visits the first division base with the sole mission of seeing his precious, darling wife (and, of course, piss off captain narumi while he's at it)

The operating room was currently a mess. Everyone was speaking too loudly to their respective officers—barking orders, confirming, and providing updates on the kaiju attack. You were at the front and centre of it all, being the operator to Captain Narumi Gen himself. He expected quick updates on his unleashed combat energy, the locations of the kaijus, and steady reports on Hibino's use of Kaiju No. 8.

There's just one, teeny, tiny problem…

"[Name]," Captain Narumi called out, "I've handled the yojus on the southern side of the city. How are things looking?"

"Good work, Captain," you complimented, changing the drone camera to see the other officers. With experienced speed, you gathered everyone's statuses with their combat energies and their neutralisation with the kaijus. "The platoon captains have their sides handled, and it seems officers Hibino and Shinomiya have safely evacuated the remaining civilians within the vicinity—"

He cut you off before you could finish. "Yeah, yeah, the first division's doing their job. Any chance I could return to base right now?"

You felt a vein throb in your neck. This guy really has no sense of urgency when it comes to anything but his damn games and shopping addiction, huh? "Absolutely not, captain," you flatly rejected.

"Hah?! Why not? Everything's been dealt with!"

Another vein throbbed at your temple. Talking to the first division captain often feels like talking to a stubborn child, but with the arrogance of "Japan's Strongest Anti-Kaiju Combatant." A novel-length scolding could enter his ears and go straight out the other if it wasn't related to his interests, or god forbid, paperwork he was obligated to finish as a captain.

"Because Captain Narumi Gen of the First Division," you enunciated flatly, examining the battlefield with precision as you signalled to your co-workers to send some medics to a platoon. "You are still needed there."

"You said everything's fine and dandy. So, now you're lying, huh, [Name]."

"Please don't put words into my mouth, Captain," you sighed, the throbbing now echoing in your ears. Although before you could order him to advance towards the street, a familiar hand suddenly went past your shoulder and took hold of your connection with the captain.

"My, my, is that any way to treat yer operator, Captain Narumi?"

You felt another vein throb at the back of your head as your husband, Hoshina Soshiro, winked at you with the same playful demeanour he had with his subordinates. The first words in your mind were, "I miss you, Soshiro," quickly replaced by a doomed, "Why the hell are you here, Soshiro?" Despite feeling your muscles loosen from the warmth emitting from your husband, you couldn't deny the incoming headache you—and your co-workers—were about to witness due to Soshiro's arrival.

And, as expected, Narumi's demeanour shifted instantly the moment he heard Soshiro's voice. "What the hell are you doing in my turf, Hoshina?! Don't you know that third division officers aren't welcome here? Go back to Tachikawa!"

"Is it such a crime for a husband to visit his darling wife at work, Captain?" Soshiro drawled, placing his cheek on top of your head. His left arm found its way around your waist, a hand placed firmly at the curve of your waist. You could feel his thumb pressing gently against your side, drawing familiar circles that usually calmed you down, but did the opposite in the current situation (it still calmed you down).

"Don't you dare display any PDA on my turf with my officers, Hoshina! I'd have you fired immediately for abuse of superiority!"

"The only one abusing their powers is you, captain," you sighed, grabbing back your device from a smirking Soshiro with a pointed look. However, your husband merely grinned and stole a quick kiss on your cheek. "I apologise for the interruption, Captain Narumi, but—"

"[Name]!" Narumi screeched, causing everyone (minus Soshiro) to wince from the volume. "How many times do I have to tell you to divorce him already! I can't have a member of the first division fraternising with an enemy!"

Oh, boy. He's back at it again, you internally sighed. Your eyebrow twitched as you watched the supposedly strongest soldier on the battlefield crouch down and grip his hair tightly, all the while muttering about loyalty to the division and whatnot. Honestly, you heard the order so many times that you considered doing it as an April Fool's prank, just to see the captain's reaction the following day.

"Tsk, tsk, demanding such personal requests from yer operator has to be a misconduct, right, darling?" Soshiro chimed in, playing with a strand of your hair. "Told ya should've just stuck with the Third Division operation team."

"Please, don't pull me into this mess—"

"I SAID NO PDA, DAMN IT! SOMEONE GET HOSHINA OUT OF ARIAKE!"

Soshiro's grin widened as he asked, "Now, Captain Narumi. Which Hoshina are you talking about, hm?"

"I'M OBVIOUSLY TALKING ABOUT YOU, DAMN IT!"

You could see a vein bulging from Narumi's neck, how constipated he looked. He was even shaking with anger, eyes almost bulging out of his sockets. You'd let your husband continue bullying your superior officer in most cases, but you were still in the middle of a mission.

A mission that needed Hoshina [Name], the Operation Leader of the First Division of the Defense Force.

"All right, playtime's over," you interrupted, stealing back your communication device from Soshiro. Before he could add any more fuel to the fire (Narumi), you gently pushed him away with a small smile—clearly, you enjoyed the little show he gave you. "Vice Captain Hoshina, kindly step away from the operation table for Captain Narumi. We cannot afford distractions from today's mission any longer."

Soshiro just pouted, crossing his arms over his chest like you had just grounded him from his favourite pastime. "Eh? Don't tell me yer angry at yer husband, [Name]."

You shook your head, holding back a small chuckle at how cute Soshiro looked.

"Ha! You totally deserve that—"

"As for you, Captain Narumi," you quickly cut in, sending an alert to the man. "Shinomiya and Hibino seem to be struggling with the unexpected amount of yojus at the eastern side of the city. I've sent you their locations. Kindly assist them immediately, as Officer Hibino is currently banned from transforming."

Instantly, the playfulness in Narumi's face melted as he slicked his hair back. "Fine, fine, I'll help the rookies out. And afterwards, [Name]?"

You held in a resigned sigh. You could see the pointed stare Vice Captain Hasegawa was giving you through his drone camera. "You will be permitted to return to base ASAP. Rest assured, no one has touched the progress on your game in your office."

"Your damn husband better not have messed with it, or I'm having you run laps across the field."

"That's abuse of power, Captain Narumi," both you and Soshiro said at the same time, only with different tones. Soshiro, predictably, with a more bickering and teasing tone (though, you heard a twinge of protectiveness as well). As for you, well, you were all but ready to call it a day. Soshiro, better have dinner plans tonight, or else you'll have him sleeping on the couch for a week straight.

"SOMEONE KICK THAT DAMN MAN OUT OF THE ROOM ALREADY!"

And ahhhh WHAT??? I love both JJK and Kn8 and would love to read a crossover of both verses!! To see both sets of characters I love interact would be GOLD!

Either way, this story is so adorable, and you absolutely wrote them all in character. Abuse of power, indeed. Mind your beeswax Narumi, LMAOO.

I MAY BE SLEEPY N TIRED RN but the urge to draw him in this state is stronger 🔥

and since im tired, i figured to try this style of coloring? lighting? that i saw recently. i didnt fully apply it tho soooo maybe i shall revisit this another day with the proper render 👁️👁️

On some level, I think we all know that he has sensitive nipples. How do we know? Shhhh.

He's McLovin' being the filling to a breakfast sandwich.

And the said bowl-cut was a NIGHTMARE to do!

But otherwise, I'm quite proud of it!!

"Too difficult to please Taichou~"

"SHUT UP!!!"

What does he think about?

When the sand around them isn’t whipping at their exposed skin and leather. When the whizz of bullets has died into the humid air. When the sun pitches deep purple, the deep orange of flames licking up into the air, burning wood fizzling around them. When it’s all quiet and nothing else matters…

What does he think about?

Probably too much.

For someone as otherworldly, there would never be a moment that’s not too heavy, too consequential, too anxious to keep down for very long. Does he think about his family? The two who took him in as a prisoner and left him as a young boy with far too much love than he knew what to do with. And to the other part of himself, does he hear them? When he presses his forehead to cold glass, gentle hands pushing dust away from the surface from neglect. When the markings on his skin illuminate, flickering softly in an unspoken language unthinkable to the human ear, does he hear them?

He must.

The level of exhaustion that colors his face afterwards. The way he drags his feet through the sand. The way he slumps his head into the press of shoulder blades, gentle snores in an ear over the hum of Angelina. Whatever he hears, whatever he does, it must take so much. For someone who holds the world on his shoulders, everything about him is too much.

Wolfwood thinks his head is too big. His hair is too spikey. His body too lanky for this world of violence and brutality. There’s so much more he could say, so much he has already said aloud that he wouldn't mind saying again. He’s made that face droop in disappointment. Watched his words color hurt in sea glass eyes. Ignored the sour feeling in his stomach while watching glass hands scratch the back of a neck in nervous anxiety. 

His words know no bounds.

Does he think about how a fallen man still follows him around after an entire city disappeared? Does he wonder why someone who has killed so many chooses to hold back that urge when he says the word? Does he ever get the urge to get rid of the mistaken priest? To channel that power that thrums through his veins and colors his hair black as time goes by. To use that strength and wrap hands around a dusky neck?

Does he think about it?

The answer is always no.

It’s enough to make anyone nauseous. Enough to make one throw up their hands in defeat, to spew nasty words and to not give a damn about how they land. Wolfwood could spit and bite and bark as much as he wants. 

But they will never mean a thing anymore.

They stopped meaning a thing the moment tears stained pale cheeks that cried over a child too late to save. When glass and flesh hands pressed next to his on a sandsteamer. Pushing with all his might to save Hopeland.

Probably before all of that.

But that’s between him and the man upstairs. If that man is even listening.

The last time he ever felt any sort of divinity. The last time the rush of religious exaltation ran through his veins like ice water. The last time he could entertain falling to his knees in supplication was when his eyes landed on tangled black, webbed veins fanned out into feathers, glowing with energy from another dimension. When those wings swooped down to protect humans with their guns aimed at him. That night two angels fought and rose to the sky before only one plunged down. Gabriel in another life. Delivering destruction instead of salvation. 

It should have been a wake up call. To turn the other way. To rip up the contract that kept him tethered to uncertainty and never look back. But like the fool he is. He followed. Month after month until he felt that divinity again. Saw it with the peek of sea glass through curtains of honey gold. 

What did he think about then? 

The angel has an uncanny ability to show one thing and mean a thousand others. Beneath that smile, was there disappointment? Behind that “Nico,” was there “turn the other way and never come back?”

The masochist in him wants to say yes. Wants to revel in the rejection. But the other part of him, the hopeful and sticky and borderline aggravating part of him that Miss Melanie raised knows he is cherished. 

When a quarter of leftover donut is pushed toward him at whatever diner they can relax at. When calloused hands press gently against blood soaked bandages, a scowl directed internally as he’s patched up. When they share one too many drinks, getting hazy from the alcohol and giggly when the music is too loud. When he smiles at Wolfwood. When he laughs at Wolfwood, loud and boisterous and all neck and fanged teeth, rapturous and contagious enough to tickle his ribs. 

When that feeling pools in his throat thick enough to choke him, pressing against the back of his tongue to force the words out and swallowed down with bile. When this otherworldly, devastating angel does anything for him…

“Wolfwood?”

Soft words pitch through the air, smothering internal monologue with the present bleeding back from the edges. Thoughts buried for another time. Another night filled with cigarette smoke in a dingy hotel they can barely afford. There’s only now.

Now when he takes in the chill of the desert air. The feel of nylon beneath him from a sleeping bag that’s thin enough for the breezy air. Now when he counts to ten to gather the courage to finally look across the fire. Burnt orange whipping around them, pushing heat in every direction, parting like divinity itself to reveal messy blonde with dark underneath. A red coat folded neatly and bare arms on display through leather. Pale skin lightly flush from the heat and sea glass directed toward him once more. 

Wolfwood offers a gruff noise from his throat, ignoring the honeyed feeling in his stomach to reach for the pack of cigarettes in his sleeping bag.

“You were quiet for longer than usual. I got nervous.”

He flicks his lighter, forgoing the flip before lighting his cigarette and sucking hard to almost catch filter. It keeps him quiet.

Because Vash has started rambling as he always does. Animated and smiling, with one wild hand, the other detached and resting beside him. For as much as he talks, Wolfwood hates how much he listens. Every random tidbit. Every bad joke. Every laugh that makes him believe in a higher power for just a second. 

“It’s just funny,” Vash chuckles, finishing the end of a thought Wolfwood didn’t catch through the nicotine hitting his veins. “I often wonder so much about you.”

“Ain’t exactly a closed book, Spikey.” He lies, exhaling toward the fire, watches the flames catch the smoke and grow. “What do you wanna know?”

Vash hums, a discordant note that plucks some string in Wolfwood’s chest with a ferocity that almost makes him bowl over.

“I always find myself wondering at least once a day…. ‘What does he think about?’”

And Wolfwood—

Wolfwood pinches the edge of his cigarette, takes in a harsher drag. Revels in what it brings. It’s destructive enough to make a great habit. Ash coats his throat, burns away his health and most thoughts that bother him for longer than necessary. But it does little against the honey in his chest. With the way it coats his lungs and colors the back of his throat.

Because he thinks about too much.

How Vash’s head is too big. His hair too spikey. His morals too hypocritical. How Vash thinks too much about others but how he would never change it for anything. How Vash takes in the hatred and violence of those around him, directed at him, and still offers nothing but forgiveness they do not deserve. 

He thinks too much about how his dumb ass red coat gives him away no matter where they go. How he smiles and plays with children when they’re brave enough to run alongside him. How he helps everyone who needs it no matter what it costs him.

How it only makes that disgusting feeling inside of him grow and emulsify into a gooey madness that might kill him. How—like now—he tilts his head in question, sea glass too honest and too something fucking else he has been fighting for too long. 

What the fuck does Vash think about?

Wolfwood would like to think that through the guilt and self-sacrificial bullshit, Vash thinks of cigarette smoke and backs pressed together while bullets rain down from all angles. He likes to think Vash thinks about a suit jacket with one too many buttons undone. Of the way he swings The Punisher when he wants to show off for him.

But Wolfwood won’t go there. Because he knows when to back away from something that might kill him. 

And ain’t that a lie?

Because here he is, sitting across from an angel that he hopes will bring him divinity until he stops breathing. 

Honey syrup lays against his tongue, threatening to pry his mouth open and let it pool on the sand. So he takes another drag, lets the burn do nothing, offers Vash a simple shrug before he says,

“Not much, Tongari.”

Even though what he wants to say is far too much. Far too romantic. Far too hopeful for the both of them. The less he says, the longer Vash will stay.

Hello????

I'm not even going to ask where this came from, but you NAILED their dynamic so well, from the way they are an antithesis to each other, to the way that this makes their bond so much stronger, to what it is they seek (and find) in each other, an age-old symmetry.

Even though I don't know the lore as well as you do, the way you dove into what makes them each tick, from Vash's selfless, unapologetic pureness of heart, that refuses to take on the colours of the jaded, no matter how many times he's hurt, physically and mentally. And Wolfwood's constantly search for something worthwhile in the world to call his own, to match the divinity he knows is out there in unsuspecting form. Just perfect.

The prose is so atmospheric, conjuring everything from the recklessness and danger of their journey across this wasteland, to the dusty intimacy of the campfire and the forbidden thoughts that swim too close to the surface.

You've encapsulated what a romance between them would be so clearly, the way hearts dance around each other, even while understanding of their own feelings comes all too clearly.

You bring up that vital idea: on this journey together, there might not be time or space for tender feelings, but it doesn't negate their presence, or the dozens of unspoken ways that love can be shown.

Windy Path

Drumrolls 🥁😁 I've been meaning to create these since a long time 😍

Some of these don't exactly look like stained glass but I liked the designs, so I kept them🥲

Feedback is appreciated as always🫶🏻

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➡️ 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 ✨

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